READER NOTE: You've entered the theater after the first scene. It would be better if you push the button below the armrest and reconfigure the action to the beginning. (In other words, for Pete's sake, read Scene one first!) If you've already read scene one and you'd like just a refresher, then read scene one's summary below. But if you are of the first class and stubborn like a non-vaccing mule, you're not going to listen to my advice anyway ... so here you go:
SCENE 1 SUMMARY: Phillip Dellaney and his mother, Margaret are in Phillip's bedroom discussing that night's dinner which is to celebrate his completion of seminary and placement as a priest. On the wall, over the dresser is a large crucifix from which Christ seems to be a silent witness to the proceedings. Several people have scheduled visits with Phillip in the hours before the dinner, and Margaret is there to oversee that schedule. In the course of their conversation, she sees a magazine peeking out from the dresser drawer. Desiring his room to be tidy, she removes it and reads the title: "Confidential Magazine". She scolds him lightly about its inappropriateness, and puts it neatly back, closing the drawer.
CHARACTERS:
(As they appear, or when they make a strong presence in other characters’ dialogue):
Phillip Dellaney: Age 26, a behemoth of a man, at a height of 6' 7", and pushing 300 pounds, having thick, muscular shoulders and hips, and with thighs like heavy coiled springs, not just capable of carrying such a load through life, but carrying it at a lively pace. A recent seminary graduate, he will be an odd duck as a priest. He is searching for something with all his heart.
Marcia Mackie: One of a group of seven girls who figures significantly in Phillip’s mind whenever he thinks of his tender years at his Catholic high school. Still young, at 25, and attractive, something troubles her. She teaches Spanish in that same Catholic high school.
Barbara Smith-Jacobs: Also one of the seven girls whose life impacted Phillip greatly during high school. An investment broker, already successful at 25, her demeanor exudes sexuality and self-assurance, and she faces life head-on. Men tend to fear her without knowing exactly why.
Margaret Dellaney: Brief appearance, Phillip's mother.
Setting: Phillip Dellaney’s upstairs bedroom, tidied in readiness for guests. Entrance to room, upstage, right. Furniture is sparse: a very long bed, centerstage, right; several inexpensive chairs, downstage, center; on the wall above the dresser, upstage center, Jesus still keeps watch over the room from his two-foot-tall, highly-polished, dark, mahogany cross.
Time: 1953
At Rise: PHILLIP DELLANEY, smiling, sits opposite MARCIA MACKIE her face a bit pale, and a seductive-looking BARBARA SMITH-JACOBS. PHILLIP, legs crossed, presents a rather ungainly, uncomfortable image in his black slacks, with cuff ridden up a hairy half-inch; he wears a white dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top. BARBARA seems to be enjoying his discomfiture.
BARBARA:
(Her eyes scanning him slowly, south to north)
Forgive me, Father … for I have sinned.
MARCIA:
For goodness sake, Barbara—
BARBARA:
Well, I have. And I might again. That’s one thing about Catholic sins … they can be committed only in the privacy of your mind, but that still counts. So, they need to be forgiven. Again and again.
(To PHILLIP)
Right? Isn’t that right … um … what do we call you?
PHILLIP:
(Laughing)
Just Phillip. I’m not yet ordained.
BARBARA:
Oh, goodie!
MARCIA:
Barbara … you’re embarrassing us. Please! You weren’t like this driving over.
BARBARA:
I’m sorry, Phillip, am I embarrassing you?
PHILLIP:
You’re fine. It can be awkward reacquainting after nine years.
BARBARA:
How cute, you remember. Marcia, he remembers.
MARCIA:
Oh, my God!
PHILLIP:
It’s okay, Marcia. We all have our ways of coping.
MARCIA:
Well … let’s just—
(Suddenly, as though inspired)
Phillip! I want to tell you, I was your greatest fan at Notre Dame. I went to all the local games I could, and I followed all your away games on the radio.
PHILLIP:
I’m flattered.
MARCIA:
(With genuine excitement)
You made defensive lineman of the year at just a sophomore. A sophomore! You were so good, I always wondered why you didn’t play there as a freshman. I’m sure they were interested in you.
[At this point, while MARCIA and PHILLIP talk, BARBARA gets up and begins wandering about the room, stopping at the dresser, looking up at the Crucifix, running her hand across the dresser surface; then, strolling over to the bed, she sits on it, exploring it with both palms, languorously, eyes closed, smiling. PHILLIP is obviously very much aware of BARBARA’S meandering, though he keeps his attention for the most part on MARCIA.]
MARCIA (Continues):
You were probably adjusting to college life? Is that why?
PHILLIP:
Why?
MARCIA:
Why you didn't start playing until your sophomore year.
PHILLIP:
(with difficulty)
Yeah, it was… it was kind of like that.
MARCIA:
Funny, as good as you were, I don’t remember you playing in high school.
PHILLIP:
Well, I only took—a growing spurt over the summer before my junior year at Saint Francis. That’s when coach asked me to try out. I did, but … well, I was too skinny for the line and too awkward for any other position. So …
BARBARA:
(From the bed)
That was only as a Junior. But, as a senior at Francis, there was—whoa, Nelly!—nothing skinny about you then.
PHILLIP:
(Smiling uncomfortably)
… that was after a full year of pretty intensive weight training.
MARCIA:
(Quickly)
You sure made up for it at Notre Dame, though.
BARBARA:
(From the bed)
Oh-ho! I’ll bet those college girls were hanging all over you.
PHILLIP:
(Laughing, but glancing uneasily over his shoulder at BARBARA)
Hardly. Left tackle’s not the most glory-filled position on—
MARCIA:
What do you mean not the most glory-filled? I can’t think of anything more glory-filled than being one away from tying the collegiate record for most sacks in a season … and at just a sophomore. With two games left, you'd have easily beaten the record … if you hadn’t gotten injured.
PHILLIP:
(Glancing at BARBARA’S activities)
Well, I don’t know that I’d say that …
MARCIA:
I would, Phillip. If those two Michigan State linemen hadn’t high-lowed you …
PHILLIP:
You sure know your football lingo.
MARCIA:
A double fractured shin. They had to cart you off the field. I could’ve cried. At least if you had to be injured and have surgery, it happened late in the season, and it gave you time to recuperate before your junior year.
BARBARA:
(Leaping from the bed)
Surgery!
(Returns to her seat)
You poor dear! Your Mom and Dad must’ve been devastated.
PHILLIP:
They were. Turned out to be a more complicated surgery than they’d figured, but with a few pins and screws and a lot of physical therapy, I was back in the lineup for my junior year.
MARCIA:
Oh, I remember! The newspapers and the sports radio announcers were speculating where you’d go from there. I have a clipping at home—I wish I’d brought it—how the Cleveland Browns and the Buffalo Bisons had their scouts out to every game.
BARBARA:
Oh, show me the scar, Phillip. I want to see the scar.
MARCIA:
Barbara, for goodness—
PHILLIP:
It’s really nothing to speak of.
BARBARA:
Don’t be such a prude, Marcia. And I don’t want to speak of it, Phillip—I want to see it. Just a peek.
PHILLIP:
There’s no harm in that, I suppose.
(Hiking up his pant leg to his knee, and separating the hairs just below and to the outside of his knee cap, to expose the two-inch, scar)
See? Nothing.
BARBARA:
(Gasping, pressing her hand to her heart)
Nothing?!
(Reaching out to touch it)
How can you call that nothing?
[PHILLIP pulls his leg sharply away from BARBARA, who yanks her hand back, as though receiving an electric jolt. There is an expanding moment of palpable tension as PHILLIP pulls down his pant leg and gives MARCIA and BARBARA a timid flicker of a smile]
BARBARA (Continues):
Oh, my! Now, there’s the Phillip I remember ... from …
(counting on her fingers)
… from what? Nine years ago? Has it been that long?
MARCIA:
(Getting up)
Oh, Jesus—I’m leaving!
BARBARA:
If you left back then, you wouldn’t be here now, would you, Marcia? But then, ha! where would you have gone?
(Laughing into her palm)
We were—oh, this is too good!—we were at your own house.
[MARCIA sits back down, bows her head, and quietly sobs. PHILLIP looks from one to the other for a long moment, then nods.]
PHILLIP:
No, now is a good time. Nine years is too long for us all to be holding it in. I have too many unanswered questions, myself.
(Beat)
Marcia … Barbara … Help me out. I’ve tried over the years to piece things together. And it’s hard because some of it was … well …
MARCIA:
(Hugging herself, rocking side-to-side, trembling)
Traumatic?
PHILLIP:
Traumatic’s a good way of putting it. Yes, traumatic … but—but only at that … one … point.
BARBARA:
(Almost gleeful)
Sounds like old Phillip is feeling some guilt over young Phillip’s … activities?
PHILLIP:
Guilt, yes, and—and, um—and em-embarrassment.
BARBARA:
Oh-ho! Juicy! But why—why if you were so embarrassed at the time and so guilty about it now … why did you invite Marcia and me to tonight’s—whatever it is—celebration?
PHILLIP:
I did. And if you had only come to that, and not here, I’d have tried to pull you aside at some point and ask the two of you to go out for coffee afterward.
BARBARA:
Okay. We’re here, so …
PHILLIP:
(Touching MARCIA’S arm gingerly)
Are you okay? Can I get you a tissue?
MARCIA:
I’ll be fine, thanks. I’m embarrassed right along with you. Barbara’s the only one who thinks it’s all a hoot.
PHILLIP:
It’s for my benefit you’re here. I’m the one that wants to … to shine the light on some dark corners of the past. After nine years of darkness, I have no right to ask the two of you to shine your lights on it too.
MARCIA:
(Reaching out, returning PHILLIP’S earlier touch)
I’m fine. It’s time.
PHILLIP:
Okay … let’s start with this: what was I doing there?
BARBARA:
(Giving MARCIA a perplexed look)
You don’t remember? You really don’t remember?
PHILLIP:
Help me here. Please. Seven girls. Seven seniors, alone at your home, Marcia. Why weren’t your folks there? Why would they leave seven girls alone for a sleepover? And suddenly they’re not alone. I’m with them … with you. Why? How?
BARBARA:
Most seventeen-year-old guys would say hallelujah to that! Praise the Lord! I found heaven!
PHILLIP:
Clearly, you don’t know the self-doubts going on in a seventeen-year-old boy’s mind.
MARCIA:
Let me just tell you what happened—what led up to it all. Because … I don’t think you know the image that each girl that age was forced to carry around of themselves. Expectations young ladies were supposed to live up to.
BARBARA:
You can say that again!
MARCIA:
You ask why we were allowed to be there for a slumber party? Where were Mom and Dad? They were at the same place your Mom and Dad were, Phillip. Which is why your folks didn’t question you coming over, either. They were at the annual convention for parents of Catholic students. Held every year—that year at New York City.
(Beat)
And we weren’t supposed to be alone! My older sister, visiting from her college’s semester break, was supposed to chaperone us. But she wanted alone-time with her fiance, so after getting our promise—a promise and a wink, she was conveniently absent until the next day.
PHILLIP:
I remember those conventions. They went to them all. So …
(glancing at each of them)
So … why?
BARBARA:
Why would seven hot-pantied girls—
MARCIA:
Oh, geez!
PHILLIP:
Why me, I mean? Why not Nick? Why not Jessie? Both lettermen. Any number of guys that were more popular than I? Why me? I was a nobody at Saint Francis.
BARBARA:
There’s something you don’t know about girls. We may have been in the dark about the minds of boys … but for us there were conquests and then there were conquests. Nick, Jessie? Naw!
(Shakes her head and smiles, knowingly, at Marcia)
All strut and vanity. They fed off other kids’ attention.
(Beat)
The quiet ones, though …
(Sucks in a deep breath through her teeth)
… quiet, good-looking, innocent—but what was going on behind those dark eyes? We all wanted to know that. And we wanted to be the first to know.
MARCIA:
Oh, bull—hockey. Like that was what you were thinking?
PHILLIP:
Behind those dark eyes were fear. Confusion. Self-doubt.
MARCIA:
Then, Phillip … why did you accept?
PHILLIP:
I was flattered, I guess. You were the one who called, remember. I, um—I guess I can tell you now—I kind of liked you. And I didn’t know that you were there without your folks. I certainly didn’t know there were six other girls with you.
MARCIA:
I’m sorry.
PHILLIP:
(Chuckling)
Oh, no. Don’t be. Even if I thought you were alone—maybe especially if I thought you were alone—I would’ve come. With my heart in my throat. But I’d have come.
MARCIA:
Well … I wasn’t—alone. Anyway, I called you. We had the plan all worked out, to a tee. Everything. When you arrived and saw all of us there, I remember it took a lot of persuading to convince you that Mom and Dad trusted you to take care of us in case … any boys came over. It was pretty lame, but somehow you bought it.
PHILLIP:
I do remember feeling kind of … I don’t know … empowered. Heroic? Protective? I know that most of the guys, by the time I was a senior, respected me, probably because of my size.
BARBARA:
But you weren’t planning to make a move?
PHILLIP:
(Quickly)
A move! No! No, I don’t … think that was ever in my mind. Especially not with all of you there. I wanted to protect you all like a big brother would his little sisters.
BARBARA:
How gallant. And that made us all the hotter, you know!
PHILLIP:
But … but from then on … everything started getting jumbled up and confused.
MARCIA:
Well, we had it all planned, Phillip.
(Beat)
As with all slumber parties, us girls talked about girl things. School. Teachers. Subjects. Those things. Of course, boys. You seemed very comfortable talking about everything—well, I remember you listened to our talking about boys, but didn’t contribute. I mean, what could you, from a boy's perspective?
PHILLIP:
I must say, I do remember feeling comfortable being with just a bunch of friends.
MARCIA:
And we all got tired about midnight. Us by design. Oh, we could be good liars. All us girls got in our pajamas. We climbed into sleeping bags and under blankets on the floor. I gave you my bedroom to sleep in, and my bed, being as you didn’t have any pajamas with you. So, off you went.
BARBARA:
(Rubbing her hands, giggling)
Let me tell the rest, Marcia. Can I tell it?
MARCIA:
I don’t know … You seem—
BARBARA:
To enjoy those memories? Hell yes, I enjoy them. I didn’t bury them to begin with. You’re the one wanting to dig up old bones. I’ve been dancing with their lively spirits for nine years.
[There is a gentle rap on the door, a pause, and then PHILLIP’S mother’s voice calling out his name]
PHILLIP:
Yes, Mother …
[MARGARET pushes open the door and stands in the doorway]
MARGARET:
(Giving the ladies a finger-flutter wave and a smile)
I’m sorry, kids. I didn’t want to interrupt you, but … Phillip, Dr. Fitzimonds phoned, said he was running late. So I switched visiting times with … with … what’s his name—who was coming in at five?
PHILLIP:
(A palpable darkness seems to drift across his face, for just an instant)
Arthur DelaTurie? That’s—that'll be fine.
MARGARET:
Anyway, that left a gap. So I phoned and asked Arthur to come in at about four. I hope that doesn’t cause any problems.
[PHILLIP glances at his watch. MARCIA scrambles to get to her feet. BARBARA watches both with a barely suppressed smile]
MARGARET (continues):
I did … I caused a problem, didn’t I? Oh, my … I should have—
MARCIA:
That’s fine, Mrs. Dellaney. We’ve already overstayed our visit. We were just—just catching up.
PHILLIP:
Thank you, Mom. We still have twenty minutes. We'll wrap it up before then. You’ll let me know when he arrives?
MARGARET:
I will. I’m sorry to interrupt you.
(Stepping out and proceeding to pull the door closed)
You kids enjoy your reminiscing.
BARBARA:
Oh, we will, Mrs. Dellaney. Yes, we'll do that.
END OF SCENE 2
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