Ideal (18 page)

FINK
: Who's there?

WOMAN'S VOICE
: [
Offstage
] Say, Chuck, could I borrow a bit of cream?

FINK
: [
Angrily
] Go to hell! We haven't any cream. You got your nerve disturbing people at this hour! [
A muffled oath and retreating steps are heard offstage. He returns to the others
] God, I thought it was the police!

FA
NNY
: We mustn't let anyone in tonight. Any of those starving bums around here would be only too glad to turn you in for a—[
Her voice changes suddenly, strangely, as if the last word had dropped out accidentally
]—a reward.

KAY GONDA
: Do you realize what chance you are taking if they find me here?

FINK
: They'll get you out of here over my dead body.

KAY GONDA
: You don't know what danger . . .

FINK
: We don't have to know. We know what your work means to us. Don't we, Fanny?

FANNY
: [
She has been standing aside, lost in thought
] What?

FINK
: We know what Miss Gonda's work means to us, don't we?

FANN
Y
: [
In a flat voice
] Oh, yes . . . yes . . .

KAY GONDA
: [
Looking at
FINK
intently
] And that which means to you . . . you will not betray it?

FINK
: One doesn't betray the best in one's soul.

KAY GONDA
: No. One doesn't.

FINK
: [
Noticing
FANNY
's
abstraction] Fanny!

FANNY
: [
With a jerk
] Yes? What?

FINK
: Will you tell Miss Gonda how we've always . . .

FANNY
: Miss Gonda must be tired. We should really allow her to go to bed.

KAY GONDA
: Yes. I am very tired.

FANNY
: [
With brisk energy
] You can have our bedroom. . . . Oh, yes, please don't protest. We'll be very comfortable here, on the couch. We'll stay here on guard, so that no one will try to enter.

KAY GONDA
: [
Rising
] It is very kind of you.

FANNY
: [
Taking the lamp
] Please excuse this inconvenience. We're having a little trouble with our electricity. [
Leading the way to the bedroom
] This way, please. You'll be comfortable and safe.

FINK
: Good night, Miss Gonda. Don't worry. We'll stand by you.

KAY GONDA
: Thank you. Good night. [
She exits with
FANNY
into the bedroom.
FINK
lifts the window shade. A broad band of moonlight falls across the room. He starts clearing the couch of its load of junk.
FANNY
returns into the room, closing the door behind her
]

FANN
Y
: [
In a low voice
] Well, what do you think of that? [
He
stretches his arms wide, shrugging
] And they say miracles don't happen!

FINK
: We'd better keep quiet. She may hear us. . . . [
The band of light goes out in the crack of the bedroom door
] How about the packing?

FANNY
: Never mind the packing now. [
He fishes for sheets and blankets in the cartons, throwing their contents out again.
FANNY
stands aside, by the window, watching him silently. Then, in a low voice
:] Chuck . . .

FINK
: Yes?

FANNY
: In a few days, I'm going on trial. Me and eleven of the kids.

FINK
: [
Looking at her, surprised
] Yeah.

F
ANNY
: It's no use fooling ourselves. They'll send us all up.

FINK
: I know they will.

FANNY
: Unless we can get money to fight it.

FINK
: Yeah. But we can't. No use thinking about it. [
A short silence. He continues with his work
]

FANNY
: [
In a whisper
] Chuck . . . do you think she can hear us?

FINK
: [
Looking at the bedroom door
] No.

FANNY
: It's a murder that she's committed.

F
INK
: Yeah.

FANNY
: It's a millionaire that she's killed.

FINK
: Right.

FANNY
: I suppose his family would like to know where she is.

FINK
: [
Raising his head, looking at her
] What are you talking about?

FANNY
: I was thinking that if his family were told where she's hiding, they'd be glad to pay a reward.

FINK
: [
Stepping menacingly toward her
] You lousy . . . what are you trying to . . .

FANNY
: [
Without moving
] Five thousand dollars, probably.

FINK
: [
Stopping
] Huh?

FANNY
: Five thousand dollars, probably.

FINK
: You lousy bitch! Shut up before I kill you! [
Silence. He starts to undress. Then
:] Fanny . . .

FANNY
: Yes?

FINK
: Think they'd—hand over five thousand?

FANNY
: Sure they would. People pay more than that for ordinary kidnappers.

FIN
K
: Oh, shut up! [
Silence. He continues to undress
]

FANNY
: It's jail for me, Chuck. Months, maybe years in jail.

FINK
: Yeah . . .

FANNY
: And for the others, too. Bud, and Pinky, and Mary, and the rest. Your friends. Your comrades. [
He stops his undressing
] You need them. The cause needs them. Twelve of our vanguard.

FINK
: Yes . . .

FANNY
: With five thousand, we'd get the best lawyer from New York. He'd beat the case. . . . And we wouldn't have to move out of here. We wouldn't have to worry. You could continue your great work. . . . [
He does not answer
] Think of all the poor and helpless who need you. . . . [
He does not answer
] Think of twelve human beings you're sending to jail . . . twelve to one, Chuck. . . . [
He does not answer
] Think of your duty to millions of your brothers. Millions to one. [
Silence
]

FINK
: Fanny . . .

FANNY
: Yes?

FINK
: How would we go about it?

FANNY
: Easy. We get out while she's asleep. We run to the police station. Come back with the cops. Easy.

FINK
: What if she hears?

FANNY
: She won't hear. But we got to hurry. [
She moves to the door. He stops her
]

FI
NK
: [
In a whisper
] She'll hear the door opening. [
Points to the open window
] This way . . .

[
They slip out through the window. The room is empty for a brief moment. Then the bedroom door opens.
KAY GONDA
stands on the threshold. She stands still for a moment, then walks across the room to the entrance door and goes out, leaving the door open
]

CURTAIN

 

T
he screen unrolls a letter written in a bold, aggressive handwriting
:

Dear Miss Gonda,

I am an unknown artist. But I know to what heights I shall rise, for I carry a sacred banner which cannot fail—and which is you. I have painted nothing that was not you. You stand as a goddess on every canvas I've done. I have never seen you in person. I do not need to. I can draw your face with my eyes closed. For my spirit is but a mirror of yours.

Someday you shall hear men speak of me. Until then, this is only a first tribute from your devoted priest—

Dwight Langley

. . . Normandie Avenue

Los Angeles, California

Lights go out, screen disappears, and stage reveals studio of
DWIGHT LANGLEY
. It is a large room, flashy, dramatic, and disreputable. Center back, large window showing the dark sky and the shadows of treetops; entrance door center Left; door into next room upstage Right. A profusion of paintings and sketches on the walls, on the easels, on the floor; all are of
KAY GONDA
; heads, full figures, in modern clothes, in flowering drapes, naked.

A mongrel assortment of strange types fills the room: men and women in all kinds of outfits, from tails and evening gowns to beach pajamas and slacks, none too prosperous-looking, all having one attribute in common—a glass in hand—and all showing signs of its effect.

DWIGH
T LANGLEY
lies stretched in the middle of a couch; he is young, with a tense, handsome, sunburned face, dark, disheveled hair, and a haughty, irresistible smile.
EUNICE HAM
MOND
keeps apart from the guests, her eyes returning constantly, anxiously, to
LANGLEY
; she is a beautiful young girl, quiet, reticent, dressed in a smart, simple dark dress obviously more expensive than any garment in the room.

As the curtain rises, the guests are lifting their glasses in a grand toast to
LANGLEY
, their voices piercing the raucous music coming over the radio.

MAN IN DRESS SUIT
: Here's to Lanny!

MAN
IN SWEATER
: To Dwight Langley of California!

WOMAN IN
EVENING GOWN
: To the winner and the best of us—from the cheerful losers!

TRAGIC
GENTLEMAN
: To the greatest artist ever lived!

LANGLEY
: [
Rising, waving his hand curtly
] Thanks.

[
ALL
drink. Someone drops a glass, breaking it resonantly. As
LANGLEY
steps aside from the others,
EUNICE
approaches him
]

EUNICE
: [
Extending her glass to his, whispers softly
] To the day we've dreamt of for such a long time, dear.

LANGLEY
: [
Turning to her indifferently
] Oh . . . oh, yes . . . [
Clinks glass to hers automatically, without looking at her
]

WOMAN IN SLACKS
: [
Calling to her
] No monopoly on him, Eunice. Not anymore. From now on—Dwight Langley belongs to the world!

WOMAN IN EVENING GOW
N
: Well, not that I mean to minimize
Lanny's triumph, but I must say that for the greatest exhibition of the decade, it was rather a fizz, wasn't it? Two or three canvases with some idea of something, but the rest of the trash people have the nerve to exhibit these days . . .

EFFEMINATE YOUNG M
AN
: Dear me! It is positively preposterous!

MAN IN DRESS SUIT
: But Lanny beat them all! First prize of the decade!

LANGLEY
: [
With no trace of modesty
] Did it surprise you?

TRAGIC GENT
LEMAN
: Because Lanny's a geniush!

EFFEMINATE YOU
NG MAN
: Oh, my, yes! Positively a genius!

[
LANGLEY
walks over to a sideboard to refill his glass.
EUNI
CE
, standing beside him, slips her hand over his
]

EUNICE
: [
In a low voice, tenderly
] Dwight, I haven't had a moment with you to congratulate you. And I do want to say it tonight. I'm too happy, too proud of you to know how to say it, but I want you to understand . . . my dearest . . . how much it means to me.

LANGLEY
: [
Jerking his hand away, indifferently
] Thanks.

EUNICE
: I can't help thinking of the years past. Remember, how discouraged you were at times, and I talked to you about your future, and . . .

LANGLEY
: You don't have to bring that up now, do you?

EUNICE
: [
Trying to laugh
] I shouldn't. I know. Utterly bad form. [
Breaking down involuntarily
] But I can't help it. I love you.

LA
NGLEY
: I know it. [
Walks away from her
]

BLOND GIRL
: [
Sitting on the couch, next to the woman in slacks
] Come here, Lanny! Hasn't anyone got a chance with a real genius?

LANGLEY
: [
Flopping down on the couch, between the two girls
] Hello.

WOMAN IN
SLACKS
: [
Throwing her arms around his shoulders
] Langley, I
can't get over that canvas of yours. I still see it as it hung there tonight. The damn thing haunts me.

LANGLEY
: [
Patronizingly
] Like it?

W
OMAN IN SLACKS
: Love it. You do get the damnedest titles, though. What was it called? Hope, faith, or charity? No. Wait a moment. Liberty, equality, or . . .

LANGL
EY
:
Integrity.