Authors: Tracy Letts

August: Osage County (7 page)

BOOK: August: Osage County

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Beverly Weston out of Oklahoma. And don’t think he didn’t have his opportunities, either, after
Meadowlark
came out.

BILL: I’m sure.

VIOLET: After
Meadowlark
was published, he got offers from everywhere in the country, lots better places than Colorado.

BARBARA: Now you want to knock Colorado.

VIOLET: It’s not hard to do.

BILL: Barbara, Jesus—

BARBARA: Daddy’s book came out forty years ago. Academia’s very different now, it’s extremely competitive.

VIOLET: Please, tell me all about
academia
.

BARBARA: Daddy gave me his blessing, and I didn’t even ask for it.

VIOLET: ’Swhat he told
you
.

BARBARA: Now you’re going to tell me the
true
story, some terrible shit Daddy said behind my back?

BILL: Hey, enough. Everybody’s a little on edge—

VIOLET: Beverly didn’t say terrible things behind your back—

BILL: Vi, come on—

VIOLET: He just told me he’s disappointed in you because you settled.

BARBARA: Is that supposed to be a comment on Bill? Daddy never said anything like that to you—

VIOLET: Your father thought you had talent, as a writer.

BARBARA: If he thought that, and I doubt he did, he was wrong. Anyway, what difference does it make? It’s my life. I can do what I want. So he was disappointed in me because I settled for a beautiful family and a teaching career, is that what you’re saying? What a load of absolute horseshit.

VIOLET: Oh, horseshit, horseshit, let’s all say horseshit. Say horseshit, Bill.

BILL: Horseshit.

(Bill exits to the kitchen.)

BARBARA: Are you high?

VIOLET: No.

BARBARA: No, are you high? I mean literally. Are you taking something?

VIOLET: A muscle relaxer.

BARBARA: Listen to me: I will not go through this with you again.

VIOLET: Go through what?

BARBARA: These fucking pills.

VIOLET: They’re muscle relaxers—

BARBARA: I will not do this again.

VIOLET: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

BARBARA: The psych ward? Calls at three A.M. about people in your backyard?

VIOLET: You’re so much drama—

BARBARA: The police, all the rest of it? You
do
know what I’m talking about. You spent a goddamn fortune on these fucking pills—

VIOLET: Stop yelling at me!

BARBARA:—and then you spent another fortune getting off them.

VIOLET: It’s not the same thing, I didn’t have a reason.

BARBARA: So now it’s okay to get hooked because you have a reason.

VIOLET: I’m not hooked on anything.

BARBARA: I don’t know if you are or not, I’m just saying I won’t go—

VIOLET: I’m not. I’m in pain.

BARBARA: Because of your mouth.

VIOLET: Yes, because my mouth burns from the chemotheeeahh.

BARBARA: Are you in a lot of pain?

VIOLET
(Starting to cry)
: Yes, I’m in pain. I have got . . . gotten cancer. In my mouth. And it burns like a . . . bullshit. And Beverly’s disappeared and you’re yelling at me.

BARBARA: I’m not yelling at you.

(Bill returns.)

VIOLET: You couldn’t come home when I got cancer but as soon as Beverly disappeared you rushed back—

BARBARA: I’m sorry, I . . . you’re right. I’m sorry.

(Violet cries. Barbara kneels in front of her, takes her hand.)

You know where I think he is? I think he got some whiskey . . . a carton of cigarettes, couple of good spy novels . . . aannnd I think he got out on the boat, steered it to a nice spot, somewhere in the shade, close to shore . . . and he’s fishing, and reading, and drinking, and if the mood strikes him, maybe even writing a little. I think he’s safe. And I think he’ll walk through that door . . . any time.

(Lights down on the dining room, and up on the attic, where Johnna is reading. Jean has put away her iPod and now ascends the stairs.)

JEAN: Hi.

JOHNNA: Hello.

JEAN: Am I bugging you?

JOHNNA: No, do you need something?

JEAN: No, I thought maybe you’d like to smoke a bowl with me?

JOHNNA: No, thank you.

JEAN: Okay. I didn’t know.

(Jean stands, looking at her.)

Am I bugging you?

JOHNNA: No, huh-uh.

JEAN: Okay. Do you mind if I smoke a bowl?

JOHNNA: I. No, I—

JEAN: ’Cause there’s no place I can go. Y’know, I’m staying right by Grandma’s room, and if I go outside, they’re gonna wonder—

JOHNNA: Right—

JEAN: Mom and Dad don’t mind. You won’t get into trouble or anything.

JOHNNA: Okay.

JEAN: Okay. You sure?

(Johnna nods. From her pocket, Jean takes a small glass pipe and a clear cigarette wrapper holding a bud of marijuana. She fixes the pipe.)

I say they don’t mind. If they knew I stuck this bud under the cap of Dad’s deodorant before our flight and then sat there sweating like in that movie
Maria Full of Grace
. Did you see that?

JOHNNA: I don’t think so.

JEAN: I just mean they don’t mind that I smoke pot. Dad doesn’t. Mom kind of does. She thinks it’s bad for me. I think the real reason it bugs her is ’cause Dad smokes pot, too, and she wishes he didn’t. Dad’s much cooler than Mom, really. Well, that’s not true. He’s just cooler in that way, I guess.

(Jean smokes. She offers the smoldering pipe to Johnna.)

(Holding her breath)
You sure?

JOHNNA: Yes. No. I’m fine.

JEAN: No, he’s really not cooler.
(Exhales smoke)
He and Mom are separated right now.

JOHNNA: I’m sorry.

JEAN: He’s fucking one of his students which is pretty uncool, if you ask me. Some people would think that’s cool, like those dicks who teach with him in the Humanities Department because they’re all fucking their students or wish they were fucking their students. “Lo-liii-ta.” I mean, I don’t care and all, he can fuck whoever he wants and he’s a teacher and that’s who teachers meet, students. He was just a turd the way he went about it and didn’t give Mom a chance to respond or anything. What sucks now is that Mom’s watching me like a hawk, like, she’s afraid I’ll have some post-divorce freak-out and become some heroin addict or shoot everybody at school. Or God forbid, lose my virginity. I don’t know what it is about Dad splitting that put Mom on hymen patrol. Do you have a boyfriend?

JOHNNA: No, not these days.

JEAN: Me neither. I did go with this boy Josh for like almost a year but he was retarded. Are your parents still together?

JOHNNA: They passed away.

JEAN: Oh. I’m sorry.

JOHNNA: That’s okay. Thank you.

JEAN: Oh, fuck, no, I’m really sorry, I feel fucking terrible now.

JOHNNA: It’s okay.

JEAN: Oh God. Okay. Were you close with them?

JOHNNA: Yeah.

JEAN: Okay, another stupid question there, Jean, real good. Wow. Like: “Are you close to your parents?”

JOHNNA: Not everybody is.

JEAN: Yeah, right? So that’s what I meant. Thanks.

(Johnna takes a framed photograph from her nightstand and hands it to Jean.)

Oh, wow. This is them.

JOHNNA: Mm-hm, their wedding picture.

JEAN: That’s sweet. Their costumes are fantastic.

(Johnna smiles. Jean hands the photograph back, walks around the room.)

This is a great room. Very
Night of the Hunter
. This used to be my room when we’d come and stay.

JOHNNA: I’m sorry.

JEAN: Oh. No, I . . . it doesn’t matter to me. It’s just a room.
(Beat)
What are you reading?

JOHNNA: T. S. Eliot.

JEAN: That’s cool.

JOHNNA: Your grandfather loaned it to me.

JEAN: Grandpa’s weird. Mom freaked when she got the call from Aunt Ivy this morning, just like . . . freaked. I’ve never seen her like that. I couldn’t get her to calm down. It was weird. I guess it’s not weird that she freaked out, but like, to see your mom freak like that, like you’ve never seen before, y’know? And we’re real close. Did you ever see your parents freak out?

JOHNNA: They weren’t really the type.

JEAN: Yeah, right? So like imagine if you did just one day see them like totally lose their shit, just like, “Whoa.”