August: Osage County (21 page)

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Authors: Tracy Letts

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?
 
(Ivy looks from Violet to Barbara . . . suddenly lurches away from the table, knocking over her chair.)
 
 
BARBARA: Ivy?
 
IVY: Why did you tell me? Why in God’s name did you tell me this?
 
VIOLET: Hey, what do
you
care?

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