Writing for Vaudeville Part 60

ANGELA: I'd like to catch any husband I ever get, nag.

MISS CAREY: Oh, a pouter--I know that kind.

ANGELA: Oh, no. Why, every time I insulted him he kissed me--the brute. (After a second's pause.) But--excuse me--how do you know so many kinds of men if you've never been married?

MISS CAREY: (Quickly.) Boarders--to make ends meet, I've always had to have a male boarder since I was left an orphan. (She rises--turns her back to audience--gives a touch to her pigtail, during the laugh to this line. This business always builds laugh.)

ANGELA: (Absent-mindedly.) Well, I've heard that male boarders are very nice.

MISS CAREY: I've never had a nice one yet, but I've named nearly all the style male brutes there are. What kind of a brute have you? (She sips tea.)

ANGELA: Why, I don't know--I've often wondered--you might call Harry a "lollard."

MISS CAREY: A lollard?

ANGELA: Yes, I invented the word, and believe me, a woman suffers with a lollard. (At this, MISS CAREY lets her spoon fall in cup.)

MISS CAREY: I should think she would. How did a sweet young thing like you ever meet such a type of a vertebrate?

ANGELA: At a military ball, and oh Mrs.--

MISS CAREY: _Miss_ Carey.

ANGELA: Miss Carey--he was the handsomest specimen. His hair looked so spick--his shoulders were so big and broad--his teeth so white--and his skin, well, Miss Carey, if you'd seen him, I'll bet you'd have just gone crazy to kiss him yourself. (MISS CAREY, who is drinking tea, nearly chokes on this--coughing on the tea which goes down the wrong way.)

MISS CAREY: (After the business.) How did he lose his looks?

ANGELA: By becoming a lollard. Listen! (They pull chairs in front of table together, teacups in hand.) It happened on the honeymoon-- on the train--as we sat hand in hand, when all at once, the wind through the window, started to blow his hair the wrong way, and oh, Miss Carey, what do you think I discovered?

MISS CAREY: He had been branded on the head as a criminal.

ANGELA: Oh nothing so pleasant as that--but the hair that I thought grew so lovely and plentifully, had been coaxed by a wet brush from the back over the front, and from the east over to the west.

(Indicates by imitating action on her own head.)

MISS CAREY: Oh, a lollard is a disappointment of the hair.

ANGELA: No, Miss Carey, no. Listen. I said, "Oh, Harry, your hair which I thought grew so evenly and plentifully all over your head really only grows in patches." He only answered, "Yes, and now that we're married, Angela, I don't have to fool you by brushing it fancy anymore." In despair, I moaned "Yes, Harry--fool me--go on love, fool me and brush it fancy."

MISS CAREY; (Rising and crossing R.) That was your first mistake.

No woman should ever call any man "love."

ANGELA: Oh, I didn't know what I said--I was so busy the whole journey pulling his hair from the back to the front and the east to the west (Same business of ill.u.s.trating.)--and then, oh Miss Carey, what do you think was the next thing I discovered?

MISS CAREY: (In horror.) His _teeth_ only grew in patches.

ANGELA: No, but I had fallen in love with a pair of tailor's shoulder-pads--yes--when he took off his coat that night, he shrunk so, I screamed (Pause--as laugh comes here.)--thinking I was in a room with a strange man--but all he muttered was "Angie, I can loll about in easy things now, I'm married"--and that's how gradually his refined feet began to look like ca.n.a.l-boats--his skin only looked kissable the days he shaved--twice a week--his teeth became tobacco stained--and to-night--to-night, Miss Carey, he stopped wearing hemst.i.tched pajamas and took to wearing canton flannel night shirts. (In depth of woe after the big laugh this gets.) Miss Carey, have you ever seen a man in a canton flannel night shirt?

MISS CAREY: (After an expression of horror.) I told you I am not married.

ANGELA: (Innocently.) Oh, excuse me, I was thinking of your boarders.

(MISS CAREY screams "what" and shows herself insulted beyond words.) Is it any wonder my love for him has grown cold? Men expect a woman to primp up for them--we must always look our best to hold their love--but once they wheedle us into signing our names to the marriage contract--they think (Suddenly, seeing dress again.)--Oh Miss Carey, what do you charge for a frock like that?

MISS CAREY: I have no night rates for gowns, Mrs.--

ANGELA: Just call me Angie--'cause I probably will live with you now. (Slips her arm through MISS CAREY'S, laying her head on the older woman's shoulder.)

MISS CAREY: (Disengaging her.) We'll talk that over in the morning-- if you want, you may sleep upon that couch--I'll put out the light.

(She does so.) I'm going to bed--I must get a little rest. (She gives a sharp turn and goes to her room. Blue light floods stage.

Through the half open curtain she is seen having trouble with her bed covers--getting them too high up, then too far down, etc. Big laughs on this business.)

ANGELA: (Taking down hair.) Miss Carey, you said you were an orphan--I'm an orphan, too. (There is no answer.) I can't tell you how I appreciate your insisting on my staying--let me make your breakfast in the morning, Miss Carey. (No answer.) Harry might at least try to find me. Aren't men brutes, Miss Carey?

MISS CAREY: (Loudly from within.) They certainly are.

ANGELA: (Lets peignoir slip off her shoulders, is in pretty silk pajamas.) In the morning, I must think how I can earn my own living.

(She lies down as snores come from next room.) Miss Carey, are you asleep? (Snore.) Oh dear, she's asleep before I am--she might have waited. (A key is heard in the door--Angela sits up in alarm--as key turns, she screams.) Oh Miss Carey, wake up--someone's at the door--wake up. (Miss Carey jumps up and out of bed.)

MISS CAREY: Good Lord--what is it now? (Puts up light--the door opens, and immaculately dressed, handsome young man in evening clothes, white gloves, etc., enters--FRED SALTUS.)

ANGELA: Burglars! (She runs behind curtain of MISS CAREY'S room.)

MISS CAREY: You simpleton. I told you I had a male boarder. This is it, Mr. Saltus.

FRED: Oh, Miss Carey, pardon me--I'd have come in by the back door, but I didn't know you were entertaining company.

MISS CAREY: I'm not entertaining anyone--I'm trying to get a little rest before it's time for me to get up--and young lady, if you'll come out of my room and let me in, I'll beg of you not to disturb me again. (She shoves ANGELA out in her pajamas, unintentionally knocking her into MR. SALTUS, and goes back to bed.) (Ad. lib.

talk.)

ANGELA: (Embarra.s.sed and rushing behind the frock on the dressmaker's figure.) I've made her awfully cross--but I thought it must be a burglar--'cause, you see, I never knew boarders were allowed out so late at night.

FRED: (Recognizing her.) What are you doing here?

ANGELA: (Forced to confess.) I've left my husband. (He gives a whistle of surprise.) You know he's the man on the floor below--you may have seen me with him--once in a great while.

FRED: I've seen you often (Delighted.)--and so you've left him, eh?

ANGELA: Yes--and I'm really quite upset about it--naturally he's the first husband I've ever left--and you can imagine how a woman feels if _you've_ left _your_ husband--that is your wife. (All in one breath.) Are you married?

FRED: No indeed--not a chance.

ANGELA: (Quickly fishes her opera cloak off couch--slips it over her and goes to couch.) Then come here and sit down. (He does so.) I should think the girls would all be crazy about you.

FRED: Oh--they are--are you boarding here too now?

ANGELA: Yes, but Miss Carey doesn't know it yet.

FRED: Tell me, have you ever noticed me coming in or going out of the building?