Authors: Tracy Letts

August: Osage County (21 page)

BOOK: August: Osage County

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SHERIFF GILBEAU: Barbara . . .

BARBARA: Mm . . . just . . . touches . . .

(She kisses him. He begins to take her arms but she moves away.)

SHERIFF GILBEAU: Barbara.

BARBARA: I’m . . .

SHERIFF GILBEAU: I’m sorry?

BARBARA: I . . .

SHERIFF GILBEAU: Barbara? Barbara, did you say something?

BARBARA: I’ve forgotten what I look like.

SCENE 5

Barbara, still wearing her nightgown, and Ivy, in the dining room. The house has taken on a ghostly cast.

Elsewhere in the house: Johnna prepares dinner in the kitchen.

IVY: Is she clean?

BARBARA: Clean-ish.

IVY: So she’s not clean.

BARBARA: The woman’s got brain-damage, dummy. If you think I’m going to strip-search her every time she slurs a word—

IVY: You know the difference.

BARBARA: She’s moderately clean.

IVY: “Moderately”?

BARBARA: You don’t like “moderately”? Then let’s say tolerably.

IVY: Is she clean, or not?

BARBARA: Back off. We’re trying to get by here, okay?

IVY: I’m nervous.

BARBARA: Why? Oh, Christ, Ivy, not tonight.

IVY: Why not?

BARBARA: We’re only just now settling into some kind of rhythm around here. Now you come in here with your little
issues
—

IVY: I have to tell her, don’t I? We’re leaving for New York tomorrow.

BARBARA: That’s not a good idea.

IVY: “A good idea.”

BARBARA: For you and Little Charles to take this thing any further.

IVY: Where is this coming from?

BARBARA: I just got to thinking about it, and I think it’s a little weird, that’s all.

IVY: It’s not up to you.

BARBARA: Lot of fish in the sea. Surely you can rule out the one single man in the world you’re related to.

IVY: I happen to love the man I’m related—

BARBARA:
Fuck love
, what a crock of shit. People can convince themselves they love a painted rock.

(Johnna brings food from the kitchen.)

Looks great. What is it?

JOHNNA: Catfish.

BARBARA: Bottom feeders, my favorite.

(Johnna retires to the kitchen.

Violet enters from the second-floor hallway, heads slowly for the dining room.)

IVY: You think I shouldn’t tell her.

BARBARA: You should rethink the whole proposition. New York City is a ridiculous idea. You’re almost fifty years old, Ivy, you can’t go to New York, you’ll break a hip. Eat your catfish.

IVY: You’re infuriating.

BARBARA: I ain’t the one fuckin’ my cousin.

IVY: I have lived in this town, year in and year out, hoping against hope someone would come into my life—

BARBARA: Don’t get all Carson McCullers on me. Now wipe that tragic look off your face and eat some catfish.

IVY: Who are you to speak to me like this?

(Violet enters the dining room.)

BARBARA: Howdy, Mom.

VIOLET: What’s howdy about it?

BARBARA: Look, catfish.

VIOLET: Catfish.

BARBARA
(Calling off)
: Johnna!
(To Violet)
You hungry?

VIOLET: Ivy, you should smile. Like me.

(Johnna enters.)

BARBARA: Mom needs her dinner, please.

(Johnna exits.)

VIOLET: I’m not hungry.

BARBARA: You haven’t eaten anything today. You didn’t eat anything yesterday.

VIOLET: I’m not hungry.

BARBARA: You’re eating. You do what I say. Everyone do what I say.

IVY: May I ask why neither of you is dressed?

BARBARA: What is it with you?

VIOLET: Yeah.

BARBARA: We’re dressed. We’re not sitting here naked, are we? Or did you want us to dress up?

VIOLET: Right, ’cause you’re coming over for fish.

BARBARA: Right, ’cause you’re coming over for fish we’re supposed to dress up.

(Johnna reenters with two plates of food.)

JOHNNA: I’ll eat in my room.

BARBARA: That’s fine, thank you.

(Johnna exits with her plate of food.)

(To Violet)
Eat.

VIOLET: No.

BARBARA: Eat it. Mom? Eat it.

VIOLET: No.

BARBARA: Eat it, you fucker. Eat that catfish.

VIOLET: Go to hell!

BARBARA: That doesn’t cut any fucking ice with me. Now eat that fucking fish.

IVY: Mom. I have something to talk to you about.

BARBARA: No, you don’t.

IVY: Barbara—

BARBARA: No, you don’t. Shut up. Shut the fuck up.

IVY: Please—

VIOLET: What’s to talk about?

IVY: Mom—

BARBARA: Forget it. Mom? Eat that fucking fish.

VIOLET: I’m not hungry.

BARBARA: Eat it.

VIOLET: NO!

IVY: Mom, I need to—!

VIOLET: NO!

IVY: Mom!

BARBARA: EAT THE FISH, BITCH!

IVY: Mom, please!

VIOLET: Barbara . . . !

BARBARA: Okay, fuck it, do what you want.

IVY: I have to tell you something.

BARBARA: Ivy’s a lesbian.

VIOLET: What?

IVY: Barbara—

VIOLET: No, you’re not.

IVY: No, I’m not—

BARBARA: Yes, you are. Did you eat your fish?

IVY: Barbara, stop it!

BARBARA: Eat your fish.

IVY: Barbara!

BARBARA: Eat your fish.

VIOLET: Barbara, quiet now—

IVY: Mom, please, this is important—

BARBARA: Eatyourfisheatyourfisheatyourfish—

(Ivy hurls her plate of food, smashes it.)

What the fuck—

IVY: I have something to say!

BARBARA: Are we breaking shit?

(Barbara takes a vase from the sideboard, smashes it.)

’Cause I can break shit—

(Violet throws her plate, smashes it.)

See, we can all break shit.

IVY: Charles and I—

BARBARA: You don’t want to break shit with
me
, muthahfuckah!

IVY: Charles and I—

BARBARA: Johnna?! Little spill in here!

IVY: Barbara, stop it! Mom, Charles and I—

BARBARA: Little Charles—

IVY: Charles and I—

BARBARA: Little Charles—

IVY: Charles and I—

BARBARA: Little Charles—

IVY: Charles and I—

BARBARA: Little Charles—

IVY: Barbara—

BARBARA: You have to say “Little Charles” or she won’t know who you’re talking about.

IVY: Little Charles and I . . .

(Barbara relents. Ivy will finally get to say the words.)

Little Charles and I are—

VIOLET: Little Charles and you are brother and sister. I know that.

BARBARA: Oh . . . Mom.

IVY: What?
No
, listen to me, Little Charles—

VIOLET: I’ve always known that. I told you, no one slips anything by me.

IVY:
Mom
—

BARBARA: Don’t listen to her.

VIOLET: I knew the whole time Bev and Mattie Fae were carrying on. Charlie shoulda known too, if he wasn’t smoking all that grass.

BARBARA: It’s the pills talking.

VIOLET: Pills can’t talk.

IVY: Wait . . .

VIOLET: Your father tore himself up over it, for thirty some-odd years, but Beverly wouldn’t have been Beverly if he didn’t have plenty to brood about.

IVY: Mom, what are you . . . ?

BARBARA: Oh, honey . . .

VIOLET: It’s better you girls know now, though, now you’re older. Never know when someone might need a kidney. Better if everyone knows the truth.

IVY: Oh my God . . .

VIOLET: Though I can’t see the benefit in Little Charles ever knowing, break his little heart.
(Tell Ivy)
Tell me though, honey: how’d
you
find out?