Polygamy

Play takes place in a kitchen where a couple, about forty-five, are finishing breakfast. A door on stage left. Rita, a brunette, wears a knee length terry cloth robe. Henry, balding, sweatpants and a T-shirt. At curtain, Henry is tilted slightly back in his chair. Rita folds a section of the Sunday New York Times, places it on the table, and pushes toward Henry.

RITA

Read this. They arrested some renegade Mormon guy in Arizona who has two-dozen wives. The youngest is thirteen, and her mother is accused of, and I quote, “coercing her daughter into consummating the relationship.”

HENRY

The father know about it?

RITA

Page nine. (He begins to flip pages) He’s the guy’s best friend and agreed to the marriage even though he knew that it wasn’t civilly legal.

HENRY

A real father would have trouble with that. It’s rape for Christ’s sake.

RITA

Well it is every man’s fantasy. A harem, scores of nubile beauties at his beck and call. Just like this guy.

HENRY

No, I don’t think so, a harem is different, they’re slaves. What I can’t believe is that the father just gave up his daughter.

RITA

It’s Biblical, Henry. Lot did it. Offered his virgin daughters to a gang in exchange for them not buggering two male strangers he’d invited into his house.

HENRY

Come on Rita, that’s an allegory. That whole story is too weird. Like later, up in the cave, after his wife’s been turned into a pillar of salt and his daughters get him drunk so they’ll get pregnant by him. Were he that drunk, unless God willed it, he’d never get it up.

RITA

And the difference between Lot offering his daughter’s virginity to the mob and this girl’s father is?

HENRY

Bigamy. Which is illegal.

RITA

So’s slavery, but it’s still the fate of women.

HENRY

You’re saying that you’re a slave?

RITA

Many wives are. And more would be if it was legal.

HENRY

Slavery?

RITA

No — polygamy. The Q’uran says it’s fine for men, who can support them, to have four wives. If the government allowed that to be the case here, half the men in this country including Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell would convert to Islam tomorrow and we’d be wearing veils and walking ten paces behind you.

HENRY

Never. Burkas aren’t sexy enough for Americans, plus, for me anyway, one wife is enough.

RITA

What does that mean?

HENRY

You’re all I need, dear, and I like the way you dress.

RITA

Pretty lame. And patronizing. And way too easy. If you could marry three more women who would they be?

HENRY

I hate hypothetical questions.

RITA

No you don’t, you’re always asking them. Suppose we could live in Ireland? Suppose we bought a sailboat? Suppose the kids move home after college? You asked each one of those last night as I was trying to go to sleep. You adore hypotheticals.

HENRY

That’s different. They could happen. So they aren’t really hypothetical. More like…like musings.

RITA

Okay, so muse out loud on this. If you were given the choice of living without television but were allowed four wives, you’d cancel the cable faster than a fifteen year old boy gets stiff at the sight Britney Spears. Right? (pause) Now tell me, who would the other three be? Hypothetically, of course.

HENRY

I don’t want to.

RITA

Answer me, which isn’t too much to ask. Which three women, and they have to be people we know, no celebrity crushes, no fictional characters, would you choose? (pause) Nicole Granger is number one, right?

HENRY

Oh no. This is the ‘does this dress make me look fat’ question in disguise. I’m not playing. I’m content with just you.

RITA

Just me?

HENRY

Just you. What’s wrong with that? Just as in only not merely.

RITA

Spare me the vocabulary lesson, Henry. Besides, contentment is for cows. People are satisfied or unsatisfied and I’ll be satisfied only when you take this seriously. Who besides Nicole?

HENRY

Nicole is a friend, I can’t think of her that way.

RITA

And what am I, a harem girl? Jesus you can be insensitive. Couldn’t you love a friend? Lust for a friend? Imagine a sordid steamy moment with a friend? Fantasize about a romantic evening of abandon with a friend? Are friends only for escorting to the mall and parent teacher conferences. Are they?

HENRY

I’m pleading with you. Don’t do this.

RITA

(After a pause) I don’t like the look on your face. You seemed quite startled by Nicole’s name. Are you two having an affair?

HENRY

For Christ sakes, Rita, I am not having an affair with anyone. I am trying to digest a perfectly lovely breakfast, cooked by the only wife I intend to ever have, and I don’t have the foggiest idea why you want to push this.

RITA

Because I’ve read that couples who won’t discuss their true feelings and desires — who bottle them up inside — have serious problems. One scientific study I saw said that couples who won’t admit their innermost thoughts are three times more likely to get divorced than those who share their fantasies and dreams to one another.

HENRY

You pulled that stat our of your ass. There is no such study, scientific or otherwise. Sounds like the National Inquirer to me.

RITA

I heard it on NPR.

HENRY

No, I’m not letting you get away with that. You said you read it, and, besides, you don’t listen to NPR.

RITA

I do in the car.

HENRY

So do I and I never heard that.

RITA

So, if not Nicole, I am dead sure that Lisa would be on the list?

HENRY

Dominici or Ford?

RITA

Ford? Lisa Ford? You’d want that transom-assed slut for a wife? She’s made a pass at every man we know and half of the women. She’d give the rest of the harem a disease.

HENRY

No, Lisa Dominici, but I didn’t know whom you meant.

RITA

That’s good because it would cost you an arm and a leg to keep Lisa Ford in panties. How could you even think I’d mean her? Says a lot about me when you’d have her on your list.

HENRY

List? Rita, there’s no list. It only exists in your mind. And were there a list, and again, I stress that there is no list, but were there a list, while Lisa Dominici might be on it, Lisa Ford would not.

RITA

Okay. Besides Lisa D who else is on this list of yours?

HENRY

Stop doing this. There is no list.

RITA

Is too. You just don’t want to admit it. Which makes me think that the list is all tramps. If they weren’t you’d be honest about who they are. I’d rather know that I was married to someone with a slut fetish than be left in the dark about it. (beat) I’ve got it. Bet the kids on it. Ellie Martin. I’ve seen you ogling her backside every it goes swinging by. She might be just fine in the sack, but you’d regret having her around. She’s the shallowest, woman I know. You should hear her at the gym.

HENRY

If I plead guilty to liking her ass — and it is, from afar mind you, quite a nice one, will you give this up? Ass ogling is hardly the same as polygamy.

RITA

So you’d rather sneak around chasing some nice looking pair of legs and a heart-shaped ass than be honorable enough to marry her?

HENRY

I’m already married.

RITA

But you’d love to seduce Ellie Martin, wouldn’t you?

HENRY

I have no intention of seducing Ellie, which I doubt I could do anyway, nor do I want her as my wife.

RITA

Do you doubt it because you tried and failed? What if she was amenable?

HENRY

Jesus, Rita, no. It’s Sunday. We’re supposed to relax. I do the crossword puzzle. You putter in the garden. I mow the lawn, you walk the dog. We call the kids. It’s the best day of the week. Remember last Sunday? You were all muddy from the garden, I was sweaty from mowing. A shower together, an afternoon nap. How did we get from a Utah polygamist to…

RITA

He’s an Arizona rapist.

HENRY

Okay, how did we get from an Arizona rapist, to Ellie Martin’s ass? What do you really want here?

RITA

Answers. Just think of the three women we know, who, were it legal, and they were willing… and you could provide for all of us…I’m making this easier here, you’d marry.

HENRY

This isn’t going away is it? Why can’t we rewind to last Sunday. I’ll mow, you walk the dog, we’ll take a shower, snuggle into clean sheets.

RITA

No. I didn’t know you then. And your only hope of ever getting me between the same sheets as you again is to fess up. Three to go, Henry.

HENRY

(He pauses and refills his cup) Three more names and this is over?

RITA

Three more wives. All people we know. No celebrities, or movie stars you’d never have a chance with. Three real, we-know-them-well, women.

HENRY

If I can’t have a young Bardot or Deneuve I won’t play, or Jeanne Moreau, Rita Morena…Oh, Leslie Uggams, too

RITA

My game. My rules.

HENRY

All right, but a few conditions or I won’t play. No explanations of my choices. Just the list. Three names. And no yelling or hysterics when you hear them. Deal?

RITA

Deal.

HENRY

Cross your heart. (Rita crosses her heart. Then after a sustained pause during which she fidgets with her napkin) Sharon Mulrooney, Jessica Rappaport, and… and, one more…let’s see, and, Donna Rousseau.

RITA

All blondes, all younger than me, all better built… You bastard. Shows what I mean to you. Three knockouts, and not a one over thirty-eight. Everyone damn one gorgeous. I can see where I’ve let you down. Tits too small, ass too small, hair the wrong color.

HENRY

You promised no yelling.

RITA

That was before I found out that you’d like to trade me in for a hard body blonde, and I’m not yelling.

HENRY

They aren’t hard bodies. Christ they’re as soft as we are.

RITA

Really? Felt each of them have you? No wonder you don’t want Nicole or Ellie. They’re just a couple of over forty hags like me.

HENRY

I never said you were a hag. In fact, I have not said one disparaging word to you.

RITA

But you wanted to. All this time, twenty-three years, you’ve craved some Swedish chick with golden braids and a better ass and bigger boobs than me. Surprised you didn’t stick a bottle of hair dye in my Christmas stocking, or sign me up for one of those “bigger breasts in ten days” offers. (Imitates a Scandinavian accent) I’m Inga, your hostess, want a nice sauna and massage?

HENRY

No. No, no, no, no, no. You are not going to do this. I answered your question, which I begged you not to make me answer because I knew this would happen.

RITA

Scared that the truth would come out weren’t you?

HENRY

No. Damn it. I wasn’t afraid of that. I didn’t want to fight, but now that we’ve begun, dearest, you answer me. Which three men friends of ours do you want for your harem?

RITA

No fair. This is about you.

HENRY

No, Rita, what’s good for the gander is good for the goose.

RITA

That’s not the expression.

HENRY

It is now. You started this. Who we’re you thinking about last Sunday afternoon? Paul Tibbets? I’d bet the house on it. That arrogant SOB.

RITA

(Pause) No, but it’s an idea for the future.

HENRY

Get all wet over a bunch of brown curls do you? And that stupid mustache that hangs halfway down to his belt. I hate to ruin your fantasy, but it’s a well-known psychological fact that only guys with desperately tiny willies wear mustaches like that.

RITA

Now who’s pulling stats out of his ass? Forget psychology, allegory, vocabulary, Doctor Freud, the truth is you won’t admit that you want someone else, no, many ones else.

HENRY

Many ones else?

RITA

Laugh it off. One more way to hurt me. Pile it on, like admitting you like fondling Ellie’s ass better than you do mine. Now, to top it off, I’m not only a homely, flat-chested brunette, but I’m stupid.

HENRY

I have never touched Ellie’s ass, and I do not think that you are flat-chested or stupid. (A long silence) Oh ho ho. No my dear you sure aren’t stupid at all. I get it. I get it. Took me awhile, I’m the idiot here, not you. Should have seen this from the start. This is all about permission, isn’t it? You want me to say something that gets me in trouble so you can tell me about you and Paul. Probably been going on since the Hale’s Christmas party. I saw you laughing at all his numb-assed jokes. How blind could I be?

RITA

I was half lit at that point and would have laughed at reruns of Hogan’s Heroes — Mister fill up the wife’s wine glass every time she turns her back — and who, I might add, was fawning over Christy Fowler at the time. So get off Paul Tibbetts, he’s…

HENRY

As soon he gets off you, or you get off him as the case may be.

RITA

We’re not on each other. You’re trying to shift your guilt… make your Goldilocks wanker’s fantasy seem like no big deal. But it is a big deal, dreaming about those other women when you screwing me, the mother of your children, imagining another woman’s lips when I’m… Jesus, then, too, I’ll bet…you bastard. I couldn’t be enough for you, no matter what I did.

HENRY

At first I thought maybe this was just your old friend PMS coming by for a visit, but now I really wonder what you’re hiding, Rita. I was eating my breakfast, looking forward to enjoying the one day we get to spend together, and because of some sicko in Arizona, you’re accusing me of wanting to dump you for someone or many ones else. Okay. I’ve ogled Ellie Martin’s ass and I’ve imagined holding it, but in the same way as a kid I imagined banging Catherine Deneuve after I saw Belle de Jour. It isn’t real.

RITA

Belle de Jour? How nice. How very nice. A frigid housewife turned whore who gets pelted with mud and horse-whipped. Great fantasy. I am so sorry that I never could bring myself to let you do that to me. (She stands up) Why don’t you just move out and find someone or many ones who’ll meet your needs.

HENRY

One minute I’m finishing my bacon, the next I’m getting kicked out of the house? You can’t imagine that I’d ever want to horse whip you?

RITA

Maybe I’m just wising up. Here. (She drops her robe, turns her back to him and pulls the hem of her gown down tight with both hands at her side and sticks out her backside.) It’s the best I can do, (turns to face him) I can’t grow one like Ellie, but this one’s as good as Bardot’s, who had the ass of a fifteen year old boy anyway.

HENRY

Don’t.

RITA

(Patting her backside) Why not? Not good enough. Not firm enough?

HENRY

(Moves to stand beside her) It’s Sunday, let’s not fight. Let’s go to the bedroom.

RITA

No. Here, Master, in full daylight. Where you have to look at me, but I don’t have to see your face when you’re pretending that I’m Ellie.

HENRY

If this is your fantasy, I’ll play that game, but I won’t play the other game. I’ll be anyone you want me to be. I don’t want somebody else, but I’ll be Paul if you want me to be.

RITA

Not Paul. Ed.

HENRY

Ed? Ed Farrell?

RITA

His chin, it’s sexy.

HENRY

Mine’s weak?

RITA

Your back is sexy, your eyes, too. Your chin’s okay.

HENRY

But Ed’s is better? Have you…?

RITA

(Stands behind her chair gripping the back with both hands) I’ve imagined it. On his deck, gazing at the lake at night. October, cool, but not cold. What about you and Ellie?

HENRY

Winter. A fireplace. Snow on the panes. Down comforter. Wine.

RITA

Buxom blonde, booze, fade to the fire? You’re usually more imaginative than that.

HENRY

(Taking her hand and pulling her up to face him)

Who else?

RITA

Strangers, mostly. You?

HENRY

The same. Women in airports, on the street. Not always blonde.

RITA

Some of my strangers are bald.

HENRY

Really?

(They kiss and begin to dance toward the door on stage left)

RITA

Ed, we shouldn’t.

HENRY

Ellie, you’re beautiful in this light.

RITA

Your jaw is so strong. Shall we go out onto the deck?

HENRY

No, it’s snowing hard. I’ll stoke up the fire. We can finish our wine.

HENRY

Ellie, you have the nicest…

RITA

Don’t push it.

HENRY

It’s Sunday.

RITA

I’m sleepy. (Glances back over her shoulder.)

HENRY

Don’t look back. (They dance out the door.)