Tell Me You Love Him

(A two-act play.)

 CHARACTERS

Linda: A woman in her mid-forties. She once was a beauty but her body is marked by the ravages of childbearing and years of frustration—professional, sexual, perhaps also spiritual.

Roger: Linda’s husband, also in his mid-forties. Roger is tall, portly and carries himself with a slightly self-important air.

TIME

1972

ACT 1

SCENE

The bedroom of Linda and Roger’s suburban, split-level ranch. A suitcase is open on the bed. Linda is furiously rummaging through her closet and dresser for essentials, which she hurls into the maw of the suitcase. Roger follows her pitifully, trying to calm her down, trying to appeal to her in some way.

Linda: I’m going to destroy you.

Roger: How can you… Jesus. Linda.

Linda: I swear to God I’m going to get a lawyer and fucking destroy you, Roger.

Roger [imploringly]: Linda, Linda, Linda! Sweetheart. Linda.

Linda: Mark. My. Words.

Roger: Sweetie, sweetheart. Don’t.

Linda: I’m taking the house. I’m taking the other house. I’m taking the kids.

[Roger shakes his head in sorrow and frustration.]

Linda: I want the American Express. I want the Diners Club. I am going to take everything and destroy you. I hate you.

Roger: Stop. Please. Quiet. Stop.

[Linda pauses outside the closet, a loosely folded dress in her arms, and looks at Roger. A trace of a smile crosses her mouth.]

Linda: I always thought you were a faggot. [She turns around again and continues gathering clothes.]

Roger: Linda!

Linda: I should know.

Roger [angry now, gesticulating]: Just because I’m not the one who’s out there cheating on you! Fucking! Fucking other men!

Linda [as she bends down to pick up some shoes, not even bothering to turn to him]: You’d like to fuck another man.

Roger: Fuck you! What the fuck is wrong with you?

Linda: Faggot. I’m leaving you. [In a sing-songy voice] At. Once.

Roger: Linda. Linda, Linda!

Linda: I swear I will destroy you and leave you broke. And sad.

Roger: What did I do to you for Christ’s sake?!

Linda: If you have to ask me a question like that after all these years, well—

Roger: Yeah! That’s a fucking perfectly reasonable quest—

Linda [in a sighing tone]: Then I don’t know. Then I don’t know what to tell you, Roger.

Roger: Tell me something!

Linda: What do you want me to tell you.

Roger: Why!

Linda: Why what, Roger?

Roger: Why are you leaving? Honey?

Linda: You know why.

Roger: I should be the one to leave!

Linda: Then fucking leave.

Roger [enumerating with his fingers]: You fuck Sam Barnes. You fuck Kyle Gray. You fuck Aaron Wyatt! Aaron Wyatt!

Linda: So what?

Roger [shouting, breathless]: A man I play tennis with!

[Linda stares at Roger for few moments. She almost flashes a look of pity, but just as soon her face hardens again.]

Linda: You will never, ever, get it, Roger.

Roger: Get what?!

[Linda shrugs and continues packing.]

Roger [defiantly]: I could have fucked some women!

Linda [chuckling, bitterly sarcastically]: Right!

Roger: I could have fucked women! I could have fucked students!

Linda: Well you should’ve fucked ‘em then.

Roger [imploringly]: What the hell kind of thing to say is that? To say to your husband.

Linda: Not for long.

Roger: Not for long!

Linda: I'm going to divorce you, Roger.

Roger: Sweetie.

Linda: I'm going to divorce you within an inch of your life.

Roger: Honey. I don't want to fuck my students.

Linda: Not the female ones maybe.

Roger [livid]: I don’t want to fuck my students!

Linda: Don't flatter yourself, Roger. They don't want your tired, old cock. They don't want that inside of them.

Roger: Jesus, Linda.

Linda: Trust me.

Roger [still hot]: Sharon Lindstrom flirts with me in my office. I could FUCK her!

Linda [with a derisive guffaw]: Oh Miss New Hampshire? Miss New Hampshire runner up, 1969? In your dreams, mister!

Roger: I don't even want to fuck her!

Linda: No shit, Sherlock.

Roger [trembling with rage]: Stop it, Linda. Drop it. Stop it.

Linda [insouciantly]: Roger, I have long suspected that you're a homosexual. Those are the facts.

Roger [trying hard to compose himself]: If I were, how could I love you so much?

Linda: Beats the hell out of me.

Roger [screaming]: What’s the matter with you?! What happened to you?!

[Linda has her back to Roger and gives no reaction whatsoever. Roger paces, puts his hands on his hips and off them again, trying to calm down.]

Roger: I'm going to marry Susan Perotti.

Linda [matter-of-factly, surprisingly unsarcastic this time]: Roger, honestly. I talk to Susan. She's my friend.

Roger: I'm going to fuck her and I'm going to marry her!

[There is a pause, almost as though Linda did not hear Roger.]

Linda: Whatever floats your boat.

Roger: I could!

Linda: No you couldn't. You can't. And you won't.

Roger [suddenly grabbing Linda’s arm]: Do you love him?!

Linda [trying to jerk away]: Let go of me!

Roger: Do you LOVE HIM?!

Linda: What do you think?!

Roger: Do you LOVE him?

[Linda closes her eyes. Her body deflates slightly. She seems like she’s on the verge of either tears or laughter.]

Linda: I'm very fond of him.

[Roger lets go of her arm and turns away.]

Roger: Do you love me?

Linda: I'll do you one better: I hate you.

Roger: Come on. Come on now. That's not true.

Linda: Suit yourself.

Roger: Do you love me?

Linda: I fucking hate you.

[A few seconds pass. Linda finishes packing and zips up her suitcase.]

Roger: Tell me you love him.

Linda [softly]: I need to get to the airport.

Roger: Tell me you love him.

Linda: I'm very fond of him. I need to get to the airport.

Roger: Tell me you love him.

Linda: Roger, stop being a baby. I need to get to the airport.

Roger: We're not going anywhere until you tell me you love him.

Linda [with pointed perfunctoriness]: I love him. Let's go.

[Linda walks out the bedroom door. Roger waits for a second, appearing a bit helpless, then picks up her suitcase and follows her.]

[Curtain.]

ACT 2

SCENE

Same as Act 1.

[Roger and Linda reenter the bedroom. Roger places the suitcase back on the bed, where it was before. Linda proceeds to unpack as Roger sits on the edge of the bed and slowly takes off his shoes and socks. About a minute passes.]

Linda: You hungry?

Roger: No. Yeah. A little bit, yeah.

Linda: Lemme unpack and I can fry us some eggs.

Roger [lying back on the bed wearily]: Sure. Great. Thank you, sweetheart. That'd be great.

[Another minute or so passes as Linda finishes unpacking. When she’s done she places her suitcase on the floor by the wall and sits on the edge of the bed to remove her shoes.]

Roger [slightly nervously]: You gonna put away your suitcase?

Linda [placing one hand up to Roger in a “pushing back” gesture]: I’ll put it away tomorrow, honey.

Roger [with slightly exaggerated deference]: OK! OK, OK, OK.

[A few seconds pass.]

Linda: Carson's on.

Roger: What?

Linda: Carson's on?

Roger: Oh sure. Yeah.

[Roger takes the remote control from his bedside table and turns on the TV. The opening theme of the “Tonight Show” can be heard. Roger stares dully at the screen.]

Linda: OK. Eggs. Toast?

Roger: Yeah sweetie. That's great.

Linda: Jam on one piece or jam on both pieces?

Roger: Jam on one piece.

Linda: OK—

Roger: No, jam on both pieces.

Linda: OK. Raspberry or peach?

Roger [after a beat]: Peach.

Linda: OK.

[Linda turns toward the door and begins to move away when Roger stops her, putting his hand on her arm.]

Roger: Kiss?

[Roger and Linda kiss lightly, dispassionately. Linda exits. Roger looks back toward the TV as Johnny Carson continues his monologue. A few seconds pass with Roger watching the show, apparently absorbed by it.]

[Curtain.]

TROOPS

I thought about it. It actually wasn't

TROOPS

wonderful coaches that Patty learned discipline

I waded out into the surf, up to my ankles, to my knees. It went on for a long ways without getting too much deeper. Finally I was up to my hips and I dove in, reemerged, and swam frantically, trying not to touch the bottom, wanting to really swim, at least a little while. I lifted my chin up with the swells, aware all the while of the scary power of the ocean. I swam out a little more and treaded water, finding that I could barely touch the sand. I swam along the shore, turned around and swam the other way, and then turned in. When I put my foot down again I felt an angry stab from a sentient thing, something trying to save its life. I recoiled and swam away fast, back to the beach, and limped up on a little clot of blood and sand.

TROOPS

Burke walked quietly awhile in the sun

The Pickpocketers

Twice in France they tried to pickpocket me. The first time, I was walking up the metro steps in Paris. I must have been carrying Jackie in her stroller, holding up the handles as Sara held the front. I felt something on my ass. A feathery, faint sensation I might have ignored had it been momentary. But it persisted, deliberately, for two seconds or so, and I understood. I swung my arm around behind me, feeling nothing. I patted my pocket, felt my wallet, and looked for the thief. There were two people, I think, one to either side, a woman to the right, a man to the left—I think. They appeared absolutely oblivious. Neither looked up at me. Neither betrayed a bit of guilt. Was the man reading a folded-up newspaper? I don’t know. It couldn’t have been either of them—could it? Was the criminal somehow among the two or three others, further down the stairs? Or had he disappeared completely?

The second time, we were walking up the streets of Nice to the train station, hurrying for our train back to Cannes. I was carrying Jackie. There it was again, that telltale, wispy feeling. I turned around and pushed my wallet back into my pocket. Behind me were two very young boys, maybe 11 or 12. I lifted my right hand, Jackie still cradled in my other arm, and prepared to slap one of them—the one to my right, closest to me, who evidently had done it—across the face. He lifted his arms above his head and mumbled a vague plea: M’sieur… non... His face bore a mixture of insolence and shame, the Fallen Angel’s grimace. I hesitated. I did not strike him.

“Salaud!” I yelled. I turned back around and they ran away.