Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 11

EMILY. George!

OLLIVANT. Now I don't know much about the stage, Emily, but Ben does. He says you're not made for an actress, Mary; you haven't got a chance.

MARY. [_Turning._] Father!

OLLIVANT. Can't you see your failure isn't your own fault? If you were a beauty like Helen Safford or some of those other "stars"--but you're not pretty, why, you're not even good-looking and----

MARY. [_With bitter vehemence_.] Oh, don't go any further. I know all that. But I don't care how I look off the stage if only I can grow beautiful on it. I'll create with so much inner power and beauty that people will forget how I look and only see what I think and feel. I can do it; I have done it; I've made audiences feel and even got my "notice"

because the stage-manager said I was "too natural." Helen Safford--what's she? A professional beauty with everything outside and nothing in. You think of her eyes, her mouth, and her profile; but does she touch you so you remember? I know her work. Wait till I get a chance to play a scene with her--which they may give me because I'm not good-looking--I'll make them forget she's on the stage the first ten minutes--yes, and you and Ben, too, if you'll come. Helen Safford? Huh!

Why, people will remember me when she's only a lithograph.

OLLIVANT. Well, then, why haven't you had your chance?

MARY. [_Quickly._] Because most managers feel the way you and Ben do.

And not having a lovely profile and a fashion-plate figure stands between me and a chance even to read a part, let alone play it. That's what eats the heart out of me, mother; and makes me hate my face every time I sit down to put on the grease paint.

OLLIVANT. Well, don't blame me for that.

MARY. [_Going to her mother, who takes her hand._] You can laugh at me, father; you don't understand. It's foolish to talk. But, oh, mother, why is such beauty given to women like Helen Safford who have no inner need of it, and here am I, with a real creative gift, wrapped up in a nondescript package which stands between me and everything I want to do?

[_With determination._] But I will--ultimately I will make good, in spite of my looks; others have. And what I've suffered will make me a greater artist.

OLLIVANT. [_In a matter-of-fact tone._] Are you sure all this isn't overconfidence and vanity?

MARY. I don't care what you call it. It's what keeps me working.

OLLIVANT. [_Quickly._] Working? But how can you work without an engagement?

MARY. That _is_ the hard part of our life; waiting, waiting for a chance to work. But don't think I stand still when I haven't an engagement. I don't dare. That's why I keep at my voice work and dancing and----

OLLIVANT. [_Suddenly interrupting._] Dancing and voice work when you have no engagements. Would you mind telling me who is paying the bills?

MARY. [_Indignantly._] Father!

OLLIVANT. I think I have the right to ask that.

MARY. Have you?

OLLIVANT. I am your father.

MARY. [_With quiet dignity._] You thought you'd force me here at home to do as you wished because you paid for my food and clothes; when you took that from me you _ceased_ to have that right. Don't forget since I left you've not helped me with my work or given me a penny.

OLLIVANT. [_Suspiciously._] Mary.... No, that's not why you went away from home?

MARY. No.

OLLIVANT. Or you met some man _there_ and....

MARY. No.

OLLIVANT. There is some man.

MARY. Why a _man_?

OLLIVANT. d.a.m.n them; I know them. [_Breaking._] Good G.o.d, Mary, dear, you haven't...? Answer me, daughter.

MARY. [_Calmly._] No, there's been no need of that.

[_He has been violently shaken at the thought, looks at her intently, believes her, and then continues in a subdued manner._

OLLIVANT. Then who helped you? Ben?

MARY. How could he help me? Are men the only ones who help women?

EMILY. [_Quietly._] Tell him, Mary; it's best now.

OLLIVANT. [_Turning slowly to her in surprise._] You knew and have kept it from me?

EMILY. [_Calmly, as she puts down the hat she has been tr.i.m.m.i.n.g._] I found I hadn't lost my old skill, though it's been a good many years since I held a brush--since before we were married, George. I had an idea I thought would sell: paper dolls with little hand-painted dresses on separate sheets; they were so much softer than the printed kind, and children like anything soft. I wrote to Mr. Aylwin--you remember--he was so kind to me years before. He had called here once before when you were away and asked after my work. He used to think I had such promise. He found an opportunity to use the dolls as a specialty, and when I explained he induced some other firms to use all I can paint, too. They pay me very well. I made enough each month to help Mary when she went behind.

OLLIVANT. [_Incredulously._] You! After you heard me say when she left I wouldn't give her a cent?

EMILY. [_Looking fondly at_ MARY.] You were keeping Ben, weren't you?

OLLIVANT. But--that's--that's different.

EMILY. I didn't see why we shouldn't help _both_ our children.

OLLIVANT. [_Perplexed by this he turns to_ MARY.] And you took it?

MARY. Yes.

OLLIVANT. You knew how she got the money?

MARY. Yes.

OLLIVANT. Your mother working herself sick for you, and you took it?

EMILY. I told you I've never been so happy.

MARY. [_Simply._] I couldn't bargain with what I felt. I had to study.

I'd have taken anything, gotten it anywhere. I had to live. You didn't help me. Ben and I both went against your will, but you helped him because he was your son. I was only your daughter.

[OLLIVANT _eyes her and seems to be struggling with himself. He is silent a long while as they both watch him. Finally, after several efforts he speaks with emotion._]

OLLIVANT. Mary, I--I didn't realize how much you meant to me till--till I thought of what might have happened to you without my help.

Would--would you have stayed on in the city if--if your mother hadn't helped you?

MARY. [_Firmly._] Yes, father; I would have stayed on.