Tea and Sympathy (10 page)

 

(AL looks at her, wondering how she knows)

 

 

I know all your footsteps. He's coming in for tea.

 

 

(AL starts to move to door)

 

 

Well, Al?

 

 

(AL makes a helpless motion)

 

 

You still want me to tell Mr. Reynolds about your moving next year?

 

 

 

 

AL
(After a moment)

 

 

No.

 

 

 

 

LAURA

 

 

Good.

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

I mean, I'll tell him when I see him.

 

 

 

 

LAURA

 

 

Oh.

 

 

 

 

AL
(Turns on her)

 

 

What can I do?

 

 

 

 

LAURA

 

 

I don't know.

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

Excuse me for saying so, but it's easy for you to talk the way you have.
You're not involved. You're just a bystander. You're not going to be hurt.
Nothing's going to happen to you one way or the other. I'm sorry.

 

 

 

 

LAURA

 

 

That's a fair criticism, Al. I'm sorry I asked you . . . As you say,
I'm not involved.

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

I'm sorry. I think you're swell, Mrs. Reynolds. You're the nicest
housemaster's wife I've ever ran into . . . I mean . . . Well, you know
what I mean. It's only that . . .

 

 

(He is flustered. He opens the door)

 

 

I'm sorry.

 

 

 

 

LAURA

 

 

I'm sorry, too, Al.

 

 

(She smiles at him. AL stands in the doorway for a moment, not knowing
whether to go out the hall door or go upstairs. Finally, he goes upstairs,
and into the study door. LAURA stands thinking over what AL has said,
even repeating to herself, "I'm not involved." She then goes into the
alcove and off.)

 

 

 

 

AL
(Outside TOM'S bedroom door)

 

 

Tom?

 

 

(TOM moves quietly away from the door)

 

 

Tom?

 

 

(He opens the door)

 

 

Hey.

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

I was sleeping.

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

Standing up, huh?

 

 

(TOM turns away)

 

 

You want to be alone?

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

No. You want to look. Go ahead.

 

 

(He indicates the window.)

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

No, I don't want to look, I . . .

 

 

(He looks at TOM, not knowing how to begin . . . He stalls . . . smiling)

 

 

Nice tie you got there.

 

 

 

 

TOM
(Starts to undo tie)

 

 

Yeah, it's yours. You want it?

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

No. Why? I can only wear one tie at a time.

 

 

(TOM leaves it hanging around his neck. After an awkward pause)

 

 

I . . . uh . . .

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

I guess I don't need to ask you what's the matter?

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

It's been rough today, huh?

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

Yeah.

 

 

(He turns away, very upset. He's been holding it in . . . but here's
his closest friend asking him to open up)

 

 

Jesus Christ!

 

 

(AL doesn't know what to say. He goes to TOM'S bureau and picks up his
hairbrush, gives his hair a few brushes)

 

 

Anybody talk to you?

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

Sure. You know they would.

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

What do they say?

 

 

 

 

AL
(Yanks his tie off)

 

 

Hell, I don't know.

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

I went to a meeting of the dance committee. I'm no longer on the dance
committee. Said that since I'd backed out of playing the part in the play,
I didn't show the proper spirit. That's what they said was the reason.

 

 

 

 

AL
(Loud)

 

 

Why the hell don't you do something about it?

 

 

 

 

TOM
(Yelling back)

 

 

About what?

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

About what they're saying.

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

What the hell can I do?

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

Geez, you could . . .

 

 

(He suddenly wonders what TOM could do)

 

 

I don't know.

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

I tried to pass it off. Christ, you can't pass it off. You know, when I
went into the showers today after my tennis match, everyone who was in
there, grabbed a towel and . . . and . . . walked out.

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

They're stupid. Just a bunch of stupid bastards.

 

 

(He leaves the room.)

 

 

 

 

TOM
(Following him into sitting room)

 

 

Goddamn it, the awful thing I found myself . . . Jesus, I don't know
. . . I found myself self-conscious about things I've been doing for
years. Dressing, undressing . . . I keep my eyes on the floor . . .

 

 

(Re-enters his own room)

 

 

Geez, if I even look at a guy that doesn't have any clothes on, I'm
afraid someone's gonna say something, or . . . Jesus, I don't know.

 

 

 

 

AL
(During this, AL has come back into the room, unbuttoning his shirt,
taking it off, etc. Suddenly he stops)

 

 

What the hell am I doing? I've had a shower today.

 

 

(He tries to laugh.)

 

 

 

 

TOM
(Looks at him a moment)

 

 

Undress in your own room, will ya? You don't want them talking about
you too, do you?

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

No I don't.

 

 

(He has said this very definitely and with meaning.)

 

 

 

 

TOM
(Looks up at his tone of voice)

 

 

Of course you don't.

 

 

(He looks at AL a long time. He hardly dares say this)

 

 

You . . . uh . . . you moving out?

 

 

 

 

AL
(Doesn't want to answer)

 

 

Look, Tom, do you mind if I try to help you?

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

Hell, no. How?

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

I know this is gonna burn your tail, and I know it sounds stupid as hell.
But it isn't stupid. It's the way people look at things. You could do
a lot for yourself, just the way you talk and look.

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

You mean get my hair cut?

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

For one thing.

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

Why the hell should a man with a crew cut look more manly than a guy
who --

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

Look, I don't know the reasons for these things. It's just the way
they are.

 

 

TOM
(Looking at himself in bureau mirror)

 

 

I tried a crew cut a coupla times. I haven't got that kind of hair,
or that kind of head.

 

 

(After a moment)

 

 

Sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you. Thanks for trying to help.

 

 

 

 

AL
(Finds a baseball on the radiator and throws it at TOM. TOM smiles,
and throws it back)

 

 

Look, Tom, the way you walk . . .

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

Oh, Jesus.

 

 

 

 

AL
(Flaring)

 

 

Look, I'm trying to help you.

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

No one gave a goddamn about how I walked till last Saturday!

 

 

 

 

AL
(Starts to go)

 

 

Okay, okay. Forget it.

 

 

(He goes out.)

 

 

 

 

TOM
(Stands there a few moments, then slams the baseball into the bed and
walks out after AL into sitting room)

 

 

Al?

 

 

 

 

AL
(off)

 

 

Yeah?

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

Tell me about how I walk.

 

 

 

 

AL
(In the sitting room)

 

 

Go ahead, walk!

 

 

 

 

TOM
(Walks back into the bedroom. AL follows him, wiping his face on a towel
and watching TOM walk. After he has walked a bit)

 

 

Now I'm not going to be able to walk any more. Everything I been doing
all my life makes me look like a fairy.

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

Go on.

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

All right, now I'm walking. Tell me.

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

Tom, I don't know. You walk sort of light.

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

Light?

 

 

(He looks at himself take a step.)

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

Yeah.

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

Show me.

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

No, I can't do it.

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

Okay. You walk. Let me watch you. I never noticed how you walked.

 

 

(AL stands there for a moment, never having realized before how difficult
it could be to walk if you think about it. Finally he walks)

 

 

Do it again.

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

If you go telling any of the guys about this . . .

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

Do you think I would? . . .

 

 

(AL walks again)

 

 

That's a good walk. I'll try to copy it.

 

 

(He tries to copy the walk, but never succeeds in taking even a step)

 

 

Do you really think that'll make any difference?

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

I dunno.

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

Not now it won't. Thanks anyway.

 

 

 

 

AL
(Comes and sits on bed beside TOM. Puts his arm around TOM's shoulder
and thinks this thing out)

 

 

Look, Tom . . . You've been in on a lot of bull sessions. You heard the
guys talking about stopping over in Boston on the way home . . . getting
girls . . . you know.

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

Sure. What about it?

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

You're not going to the dance Saturday night?

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

No. Not now.

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

You know Ellie Martin. The gal who waits on table down at the soda joint?

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

Yeah. What about her?

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

You've heard the guys talking about her.

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

Come On, Come on.

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

Why don't you drop in on Ellie Saturday night?

 

 

 

 

TOM

 

 

What do you mean?

 

 

 

 

Al

 

 

Hell, do you want me to draw a picture?

 

 

 

 

TOM
(With disgust)

 

 

Ellie Martin?

 

 

 

 

AL

 

 

Okay. I know she's a dog, but . . .