Tales of the Jazz Age

Porcelain and Pink

A ROOM in the down-stairs of a summer cottage. High around the wall

runs an art frieze of a fisherman with a pile of nets at his feet and

a ship on a crimson ocean, a fisherman with a pile of nets at his feet

and a ship on a crimson ocean, a fisherman with a pile of nets at his

feet and so on. In one place on the frieze there is an overlapping--here

we have half a fisherman with half a pile of nets at his foot,

crowded damply against half a ship on half a crimson ocean.

The frieze is not in the plot, but frankly it fascinates me. I could

continue indefinitely, but I am distracted by one of the two objects

in the room--a blue porcelain bath-tub. It has character, this

bath-tub. It is not one of the new racing bodies, but is small with a

high tonneau and looks as if it were going to jump; discouraged,

however, by the shortness of its legs, it has submitted to its

environment and to its coat of sky-blue paint. But it grumpily refuses

to allow any patron completely to stretch his legs--which brings us

neatly to the second object in the room:

is a girl--clearly an appendage to the bath-tub, only her head and

throat--beautiful girls have throats instead of necks--and a

suggestion of shoulder appearing above the side. For the first ten

minutes of the play the audience is engrossed in wondering if she

really is playing the game fairly and hasn't any clothes on or whether

it is being cheated and she is dressed.

The girl's name is_ JULIE MARVIS. _From the proud way she sits

up in the bath-tub we deduce that she is not very tall and that she

carries herself well. When she smiles, her upper tip rolls a little

and reminds you of an Easter Bunny, She is within whispering distance

of twenty years old.

One thing more--above and to the right of the bath-tub is a window.

It is narrow and has a wide sill; it lets in much sunshine, but

effectually prevents any one who looks in from seeing the bath-tub.

You begin to suspect the plot?

We open, conventionally enough, with a song, but, as the startled

gasp of the audience quite drowns out the first half, we will give

only the last of it:

JULIE: (_In an airy sophrano--enthusiastico_)

LOIS: (_Starting_) Oh, 'scuse me. I didn't know you were here.

JULIE: Oh, hello. I'm giving a little concert--

LOIS: (_Interrupting_) Why didn't you lock the door?

JULIE: Didn't I?

LOIS: Of course you didn't. Do you think I just walked through it?

JULIE: I thought you picked the lock, dearest.

LOIS: You're _so_ careless.

JULIE: No. I'm happy as a garbage-man's dog and I'm giving a little

concert.

LOIS: (_Severely_) Grow up!

JULIE: (_Waving a pink arm around the room_) The walls reflect

the sound, you see. That's why there's something very beautiful about

singing in a bath-tub. It gives an effect of surpassing loveliness.

Can I render you a selection?

LOIS: I wish you'd hurry out of the tub.

JULIE: (_Shaking her head thoughtfully_) Can't be hurried. This

is my kingdom at present, Godliness.

LOIS: Why the mellow name?

JULIE: Because you're next to Cleanliness. Don't throw anything

please!

LOIS: How long will you be?

JULIE: (_After some consideration_) Not less than fifteen nor

more than twenty-five minutes.

LOIS: As a favor to me will you make it ten?

JULIE: (_Reminiscing_) Oh, Godliness, do you remember a day in

the chill of last January when one Julie, famous for her Easter-rabbit

smile, was going out and there was scarcely any hot water and young

Julie had just filled the tub for her own little self when the wicked

sister came and did bathe herself therein, forcing the young Julie to

perform her ablutions with cold cream--which is expensive and a darn

lot of troubles?

LOIS: (_Impatiently_) Then you won't hurry?

JULIE: Why should I?

LOIS: I've got a date.

JULIE: Here at the house?

LOIS: None of your business.

(_JULIE shrugs the visible tips of her shoulders and stirs the water

into ripples._)

JULIE: So be it.

LOIS: Oh, for Heaven's sake, yes! I have a date here, at the house--in

a way.

JULIE: In a way?

LOIS: He isn't coming in. He's calling for me and we're walking.

JULIE: (_Raising her eyebrows_) Oh, the plot clears. It's that

literary Mr. Calkins. I thought you promised mother you wouldn't

invite him in.

LOIS: (_Desperately_) She's so idiotic. She detests him because

he's just got a divorce. Of course she's had more expedience than I

have, but--

JULIE: (_Wisely_) Don't let her kid you! Experience is the

biggest gold brick in the world. All older people have it for sale.

LOIS: I like him. We talk literature.

JULIE: Oh, so that's why I've noticed all these weighty, books around

the house lately.

LOIS: He lends them to me.

JULIE: Well, you've got to play his game. When in Rome do as the

Romans would like to do. But I'm through with books. I'm all educated.

LOIS: You're very inconsistent--last summer you read every day.

JULIE: If I were consistent I'd still be living on warm milk out of a

bottle.

LOIS: Yes, and probably my bottle. But I like Mr. Calkins.

JULIE: I never met him.

LOIS: Well, will you hurry up?

JULIE: Yes. (_After a pause_) I wait till the water gets tepid

and then I let in more hot.

LOIS: (_Sarcastically_) How interesting!

JULIE: 'Member when we used to play "soapo"?

LOIS: Yes--and ten years old. I'm really quite surprised that you

don't play it still.

JULIE: I do. I'm going to in a minute.

LOIS: Silly game.

JULIE: (_Warmly_) No, it isn't. It's good for the nerves. I'll

bet you've forgotten how to play it.

LOIS: (_Defiantly_) No, I haven't. You--you get the tub all full

of soapsuds and then you get up on the edge and slide down.

JULIE: (_Shaking her head scornfully_) Huh! That's only part of

it. You've got to slide down without touching your hand or feet--

LOIS:(_Impatiently_) Oh, Lord! What do I care? I wish we'd either

stop coming here in the summer or else get a house with two bath-tubs.

JULIE: You can buy yourself a little tin one, or use the hose-----

LOIS: Oh, shut up!

JULIE: (_Irrelevantly_) Leave the towel.

LOIS: What?

JULIE: Leave the towel when you go.

LOIS: This towel?

JULIE: (_Sweetly_) Yes, I forgot my towel.

LOIS: (_Looking around for the first time_) Why, you i***t! You

haven't even a kimono.

JULIE: (_Also looking around_) Why, so I haven't.

LOIS: (_Suspicion growing on her_) How did you get here?

JULIE: (_Laughing_) I guess I--I guess I whisked here. You know--a

white form whisking down the stairs and--

LOIS: (_Scandalized_) Why, you little wretch. Haven't you any

pride or self-respect?

JULIE: Lots of both. I think that proves it. I looked very well. I

really am rather cute in my natural state.

LOIS: Well, you--

JULIE: (_Thinking aloud_) I wish people didn't wear any clothes.

I guess I ought to have been a pagan or a native or something.

LOIS: You're a--

JULIE: I dreamt last night that one Sunday in church a small boy

brought in a magnet that attracted cloth. He attracted the clothes

right off of everybody; put them in an awful state; people were crying

and shrieking and carrying on as if they'd just discovered their skins

for the first time. Only _I_ didn't care. So I just laughed. I

had to pass the collection plate because nobody else would.

LOIS: (_Who has turned a deaf ear to this speech_) Do you mean to

tell me that if I hadn't come you'd have run back to your

room--un--unclothed?

JULIE: _Au naturel_ is so much nicer.

LOIS: Suppose there had been some one in the living-room.

JULIE: There never has been yet.

LOIS: Yet! Good grief! How long--

JULIE: Besides, I usually have a towel.

LOIS: (_Completely overcome_) Golly! You ought to be spanked. I

hope, you get caught. I hope there's a dozen ministers in the

living-room when you come out--and their wives, and their daughters.

JULIE: There wouldn't be room for them in the living-room, answered

Clean Kate of the Laundry District.

LOIS: All right. You've made your own--bath-tub; you can lie in it.

(_LOIS starts determinedly for the door._)

JULIE: (_In alarm_) Hey! Hey! I don't care about the k'mono, but

I want the towel. I can't dry myself on a piece of soap and a wet

wash-rag.

LOIS: (_Obstinately_). I won't humor such a creature. You'll have

to dry yourself the best way you can. You can roll on the floor like

the animals do that don't wear any clothes.

JULIE: (_Complacent again_) All right. Get out!

LOIS: (_Haughtily_) Huh!

(JULIE _turns on the cold water and with her finger directs a

parabolic stream at LOIS. LOIS retires quickly, slamming the door

after her. JULIE laughs and turns off the water_)

JULIE: (Singing)

JULIE: Hello! (_No answer_) Are you a plumber? (_No answer_)

Are you the water department? (_One loud, hollow bang_) What do

you want? (_No answer_) I believe you're a ghost. Are you? (_No

answer_) Well, then, stop banging. (_She reaches out and turns on

the warm tap. No water flows. Again she puts her mouth down close to

the spigot_) If you're the plumber that's a mean trick. Turn it on

for a fellow. (_Two loud, hollow bangs_) Don't argue! I want

water--water! _Water_!

(_A young man's head appears in the window--a head decorated with a

slim mustache and sympathetic eyes. These last stare, and though they

can see nothing but many fishermen with nets and much crimson ocean,

they decide him to speak_)

THE YOUNG MAN: Some one fainted?

JULIE: (_Starting up, all ears immediately_) Jumping cats!

THE YOUNG MAN: (_Helpfully_) Water's no good for fits.

JULIE: Fits! Who said anything about fits!

THE YOUNG MAN: You said something about a cat jumping

JULIE: (_Decidedly_) I did not!

THE YOUNG MAN: Well, we can talk it over later, Are you ready to go

out? Or do you still feel that if you go with me just now everybody

will gossip?

JULIE: (_Smiling_) Gossip! Would they? It'd be more than

gossip--it'd be a regular scandal.

THE YOUNG MAN: Here, you're going it a little strong. Your family

might be somewhat disgruntled--but to the pure all things are

suggestive. No one else would even give it a thought, except a few old

women. Come on.

JULIE: You don't know what you ask.

THE YOUNG MAN: Do you imagine we'd have a crowd following us?

JULIE: A crowd? There'd be a special, all-steel, buffet train leaving

New York hourly.

THE YOUNG MAN: Say, are you house-cleaning?

JULIE: Why?

THE YOUNG MAN: I see all the pictures are off the walls.

JULIE: Why, we never have pictures in this room.

THE YOUNG MAN: Odd, I never heard of a room without pictures or

tapestry or panelling or something.

JULIE: There's not even any furniture in here.

THE YOUNG MAN: What a strange house!

JULIE: It depend on the angle you see it from.

THE YOUNG MAN: (_Sentimentally_) It's so nice talking to you like

this--when you're merely a voice. I'm rather glad I can't see you.

JULIE; (_Gratefully_) So am I.

THE YOUNG MAN: What color are you wearing?

JULIE: (_After a critical survey of her shoulders_) Why, I guess

it's a sort of pinkish white.

THE YOUNG MAN: Is it becoming to you?

JULIE: Very. It's--it's old. I've had it for a long while.

THE YOUNG MAN: I thought you hated old clothes.

JULIE: I do but this was a birthday present and I sort of have to wear

it.

THE YOUNG MAN: Pinkish-white. Well I'll bet it's divine. Is it in

style?

JULIE: Quite. It's very simple, standard model.

THE YOUNG MAN: What a voice you have! How it echoes! Sometimes I shut

my eyes and seem to see you in a far desert island calling for me. And

I plunge toward you through the surf, hearing you call as you stand

there, water stretching on both sides of you--

(_The soap slips from the side of the tub and splashes in. The young

man blinks_)

YOUNG MAN: What was that? Did I dream it?

JULIE: Yes. You're--you're very poetic, aren't you?

THE YOUNG MAN: (_Dreamily_) No. I do prose. I do verse only when

I am stirred.

JULIE: (_Murmuring_) Stirred by a spoon--

THE YOUNG MAN: I have always loved poetry. I can remember to this day

the first poem I ever learned by heart. It was "Evangeline."

JULIE: That's a fib.

THE YOUNG MAN: Did I say "Evangeline"? I meant "The Skeleton in

Armor."

JULIE: I'm a low-brow. But I can remember my first poem. It had one

verse:

JULIE: If it's not too ancient or complicated or depressing. Same way

with people. I usually like 'em not too ancient or complicated or

depressing.

THE YOUNG MAN: Of course I've read enormously. You told me last night

that you were very fond of Walter Scott.

JULIE: (_Considering_) Scott? Let's see. Yes, I've read "Ivanhoe"

and "The Last of the Mohicans."

THE YOUNG MAN: That's by Cooper.

JULIE: (_Angrily_) "Ivanhoe" is? You're crazy! I guess I know. I

read it. THE YOUNG MAN: "The Last of the Mohicans" is by Cooper.

JULIE: What do I care! I like O. Henry. I don't see how he ever wrote

those stories. Most of them he wrote in prison. "The Ballad of Reading

Gaol" he made up in prison.

THE YOUNG MAN: (_Biting his lip_) Literature--literature! How

much it has meant to me!

JULIE: Well, as Gaby Deslys said to Mr. Bergson, with my looks and

your brains there's nothing we couldn't do.

THE YOUNG MAN: (_Laughing_) You certainly are hard to keep up

with. One day you're awfully pleasant and the next you're in a mood.

If I didn't understand your temperament so well--

JULIE: (_Impatiently_) Oh, you're one of these amateur

character-readers, are you? Size people up in five minutes and then

look wise whenever they're mentioned. I hate that sort of thing.

THE YOUNG MAN: I don't boast of sizing you up. You're most mysterious,

I'll admit.

JULIE: There's only two mysterious people in history.

THE YOUNG MAN: Who are they?

JULIE: The Man with the Iron Mask and the fella who says "ug uh-glug

uh-glug uh-glug" when the line is busy.

THE YOUNG MAN: You _are_ mysterious, I love you. You're

beautiful, intelligent, and virtuous, and that's the rarest known

combination.

JULIE: You're a historian. Tell me if there are any bath-tubs in

history. I think they've been frightfully neglected.

THE YOUNG MAN: Bath-tubs! Let's see. Well, Agamemnon was stabbed in

his bath-tub. And Charlotte Corday stabbed Marat in his bath-tub.

JULIE: (_Sighing_) Way back there! Nothing new besides the sun,

is there? Why only yesterday I picked up a musical-comedy score that

mast have been at least twenty years old; and there on the cover it

said "The Shimmies of Normandy," but shimmie was spelt the old way,

with a "C."

THE YOUNG MAN: I loathe these modern dances. Oh, Lois, I wish I could

see you. Come to the window.

(_There is a loud bang in the water-pipe and suddenly the flow

starts from the open taps. Julie turns them off quickly_)

THE YOUNG MAN: (_Puzzled_) What on earth was that?

JULIE: (_Ingeniously_) I heard something, too.

THE YOUNG MAN: Sounded like running water.

JULIE: Didn't it? Strange like it. As a matter of fact I was filling

the gold-fish bowl.

THE YOUNG MAN: (_Still puzzled_) What was that banging noise?

JULIE: One of the fish snapping his golden jaws.

THE YOUNG MAN: (_With sudden resolution_) Lois, I love you. I am

not a mundane man but I am a forger---

JULIE: (_Interested at once_) Oh, how fascinating.

THE YOUNG MAN:--a forger ahead. Lois, I want you.

JULIE: (_Skeptically_) Huh! What you really want is for the world

to come to attention and stand there till you give "Rest!"

THE YOUNG MAN: Lois I--Lois I--

(_He stops as Lois opens the door, comes in, and bangs it behind

her. She looks peevishly at _JULIE _and then suddenly catches

sight of the young man in the window_)

LOIS: (_In horror_) Mr. Calkins!

THE YOUNG MAN: (_Surprised_) Why I thought you said you were

wearing pinkish white!

(_After one despairing stare _LOIS _ shrieks, throws up her

hands in surrender, and sinks to the floor._)

THE YOUNG MAN: (_In great alarm_) Good Lord! She's fainted! I'll

be right in.

(JULIE'S _eyes light on the towel which has slipped from_ LOIS'S

_inert hand._)

JULIE: In that case I'll be right out.

(_She puts her hands on the side of the tub to lift herself out and

a murmur, half gasp, half sigh, ripples from the audience.

A Belasco midnight comes guickly down and blots out the stage._)

CURTAIN.