August: Osage County (20 page)

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Authors: Tracy Letts

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Anyway you have your own hash to settle. Before you start making speeches to the rest of us.

BARBARA: Right . . .

KAREN: Come January . . . I’ll be in Belize. Doesn’t that sound nice?

(Karen exits, rolling her suitcase behind her. Bill enters.)

BILL: I’m taking Jean with me. We’re heading back.

BARBARA: Fine.

BILL: She’s too much for you right now.

BARBARA: Okay.

BILL: I’m sure you’ll blame me for all this.

BARBARA: Yeah, well . . .
(Beat)
I fail. As a sister, as a mother, as a wife. I fail.

BILL: No, you don’t.

BARBARA: No? I’ve physically attacked Mom and Jean in the space of about nine hours. Stick around here much longer and I’ll cut off your penis.

BILL: That’s not funny.

BARBARA: I can’t make it up to Jean right now. She’s just going to have to wait until I come back to Boulder.

BILL: You and Jean have about forty years left to fight and make up.

BARBARA
(Confused)
: Why, what happens in forty years? BILL: You die.

BARBARA: Oh, right.

BILL: I mean—

BARBARA: No. Right.

BILL: If you’re lucky.

BARBARA: Says you.

BILL: If
we’re
lucky.

(Pause.)

BARBARA: You’re never coming back to me, are you, Bill?

BILL: Never say never, but . . .

BARBARA: But no.

BILL: But no.

BARBARA: Even if things don’t work out with you and Marsha.

BILL: Cindy.

BARBARA: Cindy.

BILL: Right. Even if things don’t work out.

BARBARA: And I’m never really going to understand why, am I?

(Bill struggles . . . it seems as if he might say something more, but then:)

BILL: Probably not.

(Silence. Bill heads for the door. Barbara watches him go and sobs.)

BARBARA: I love you . . . I love you . . .

(He stands for a moment, his back to her. He exits. Barbara stands, alone.)

SCENE 3

The study: Barbara and Johnna, in the same positions as Beverly and Johnna in the Prologue.

Barbara’s had a few. She nurses a glass of whiskey.

BARBARA: One of the last times I spoke with my father, we were talking about . . . I don’t know, the state of the world, something . . . and he said, “You know, this country was always pretty much a whorehouse, but at least it used to have some promise. Now it’s just a shithole.” And I think now maybe he was talking about something else, something more specific, something more personal to him . . . this house? This family? His marriage? Himself? I don’t know. But there was something sad in his voice—or no, not sad, he always sounded sad—something more hopeless than that. As if it had already happened. As if whatever was disappearing had already disappeared. As if it was too late. As if it was already over. And no one saw it go. This country, this experiment, America, this hubris: what a lament, if no one saw it go. Here today, gone tomorrow.
(Beat)
Dissipation is actually much worse than cataclysm.

JOHNNA: Mrs. Fordham, are you firing me?

BARBARA: Barbara. No, no. Oh, no. Far from it. I’m owning up to my own shitty behavior. And I’m giving you the opportunity to quit. I mean . . . there’s work. And then there’s
work
. And after all . . . I’m here. Look around. No one else is here. I mean, am I here, or am I here? I’m not saying your services aren’t necessary. I just mean:
I’m
still here, goddamn it.

JOHNNA: I’m prepared to stay. I’m familiar with this job. I can do this job. I don’t do it for you or Mrs. Weston. Or even for Mr. Weston. Right? I do it for me.

BARBARA: Why?

JOHNNA: I need the work.

(Barbara finishes her glass of whiskey.)

BARBARA: Johnna . . . what did my father say to you?

(Pause.)

JOHNNA: He talked a lot about his daughters . . . his three daughters, and his granddaughter. That was his joy.

BARBARA: Thank you. That makes me feel better. Knowing that you can lie.
(Beat)
I want you to stay on. Don’t worry about your salary. I’ll take care of it.

(Johnna nods, exits. Barbara refills her whiskey glass.)

(To herself) I’m
still here, goddamn it.

SCENE 4

For the first time since the shades were removed from the windows, the house is seen in morning light.

Barbara and Sheriff Gilbeau stand in the living room.

BARBARA: Everyone just . . . vanished.

SHERIFF GILBEAU: You were the one I wanted to talk to.

BARBARA: ’Kay. Sit down. Do you want some coffee?

SHERIFF GILBEAU: No, thanks.

BARBARA: God, Deon, you look really good. You really . . . filled out.
Nicely
, I mean. You just look great.

SHERIFF GILBEAU: Thanks.

BARBARA: How ’bout me, don’t I look good?

SHERIFF GILBEAU: Yes, sorry, yes. You look great, too, just great.

BARBARA: Did you want some coffee?

SHERIFF GILBEAU: Uh. No. No, thank you.

BARBARA: And you’re the sheriff. Of all things. That’s ironic.

SHERIFF GILBEAU: Why is that ironic?

BARBARA: It’s not. It’s incongruous. I think I misused “ironic.” Oh, if my husband could hear
that
. Well, fuck him. No, but it is, “incongruous.”

SHERIFF GILBEAU: Why’s it incongruous?

BARBARA: Because of your, because of your . . . your dad.

SHERIFF GILBEAU: Oh, I see, yeah.

BARBARA: Is he still alive?

SHERIFF GILBEAU: Yeah, after a fashion. He has Alzheimer’s.

BARBARA: Oh. That’s awful.

SHERIFF GILBEAU: He’s in a home over in Nowata.

BARBARA: I’m sorry to hear that. That’s just. Married? You’re married? Wow. Hot flash. I’m sorry, did you want some coffee? I asked you that already. You’re married.

SHERIFF GILBEAU: Divorced.

BARBARA: Join the club.

SHERIFF GILBEAU: Really?

BARBARA: I mean, I’m joining your club. I mean looks like I’ll be joining your, your club.

SHERIFF GILBEAU: Sorry to hear that.

BARBARA: Have kids?

SHERIFF GILBEAU: Three daughters.

BARBARA: Uh-huh. Look at that.

SHERIFF GILBEAU: Right, no, I can’t tell you—

BARBARA: Three daughters, that’s—

SHERIFF GILBEAU:—how many times I’ve thought about the Weston sisters over the years.

BARBARA: The Weston sisters. Been a while since I heard that. Sounds like a singing group.

SHERIFF GILBEAU: Yeah, I guess.

BARBARA: “Ladies and gentlemen . . . The Agitated Weston Sisters.”

SHERIFF GILBEAU: Is your husband still here?

BARBARA: No, he left a few days ago. A week ago? Two weeks ago. Two weeks ago? Back to Colorado, with my daughter. With Jean.

SHERIFF GILBEAU: She seemed real sweet.

BARBARA: Ah, she’s a nymphomaniac.

SHERIFF GILBEAU: Really.

BARBARA:
“Jean.”
That’s a stupid name.

SHERIFF GILBEAU: I like it.

BARBARA: You know why we named her that? Bill’s a big Jean Seberg fan. Now
that’s
ironic.

SHERIFF GILBEAU: I don’t get it.

BARBARA: Jean Seberg killed herself. With a massive over-blah of . . . blah-biturates.

SHERIFF GILBEAU: Oh.

BARBARA: So.

(Silence.)

SHERIFF GILBEAU: Barbara? Are you okay?

BARBARA
(Softly)
: I’m fine. Just got the Plains.

SHERIFF GILBEAU: I thought . . . I thought if you were going to be staying here a while we might get some lunch someday. Catch up? Been a long time.

BARBARA: Mm.

SHERIFF GILBEAU: Would you like to get some lunch someday?

BARBARA: Mm-hm.

SHERIFF GILBEAU: The other reason I came. I got a call from a woman named Chitra Naidu, who runs the Country Squire Motel. She was throwing out some old newspapers and she saw a photo of Mr. Weston that ran with his obituary. And she recognized him as the man who stayed in Room 17 for two nights, the first two nights of his absence.
(Beat)
She said he checked in and she didn’t see him again until he checked out. He made no phone calls. She has no way of telling if he received any phone calls. But I can have a check run on the line to find out if he did.

BARBARA: Do you have a . . . cigarette?

SHERIFF GILBEAU: Yeah, sure.
(Fishes for a cigarette)
I can check with the phone company, is what I mean.