Part V: Snakes – (Chapter 80)
Every great story seems to begin with a snake.
...You mean to say that after all you are really going to be the kind of
woman who the baker won’t let near the bread?
(Darkness. Music: Elvis Presley’s
“Return to Sender.” Lights come up center stage to reveal Goodsam, stage right, and Badsam, stage left, lying supine on
divans, the bottoms of their bare feet touching in mirror fashion. Dr. Garrett, a therapist, is seated in a
large, elegant leather chair with a high back, just behind the two divans. He
looks every inch of his profession, sporting perfectly coiffed black hair and
matching pointed beard, not at all like the Dr.
Garrett described in Chapters 52 and earlier. He wears an expensive
tweed suit. Dr. Garrett’s body language suggests the stereotypical “shrink”
demeanor: straight back, crossed legs, notebook and expensive pen in hand – an
overall superior and arrogant demeanor. He barely looks at his patients. Music
fades.)
Dr.
Garrett: So how do you feel about
that?
Badsam: I love my new body. I love slinking around like a
luscious feline...
Goodsam: It’s not right, it’s not natural...
Dr. Garrett: Tell me about your feelings.
Goodsam: Feelings? What do feelings have to do with anything?
Badsam: Everything, honey.
Goodsam: (Ignoring Badsam.)
We are not whole. We need to be whole.
Badsam: Speak for yourself.
(Goodsam and Badsam sit up and begin arguing.)
Dr. Garrett: Now, ladies...
(Goodsam and Badsam ignore him and continue
bickering. Dr. Garrett’s chair
rolls backward, disappearing into the darkness of upstage. As they gesture
wildly, and as their argument escalates, A
Woman, about 25, dressed in a brown form-fitting uniform, suggestive of
UPS, dotted with matching sequins and matching high heels, enters stage right,
strutting like a streetwalker. The first three or four buttons of her uniform
are opened; underneath, she wears a green sequined Danskin body top. The Woman carries a clipboard and a very
large colorful package sealed with multicolor tape and decorated with large
bows in rainbow colors, something that one would want to rip open immediately.
She goes center stage, just in front of the Two
Sams, turns her back to the Audience,
and sets the package in front of her. Hands on hips, she wiggles her rear,
assuming a suggestive pose. A drum roll. Goodsam
and Badsam stop their argument,
their attention now focused on the figure in front of them.)
Goodsam: MOTHER? What are you doing here?
Badsam: She’s not our mother; she’s too young. Our mother
would be older than us, not younger. This one’s a real babe...
Goodsam: (Angrily.) Knock it off. She’s our, eh,
Samantha’s mother from another time, another dimension. Show due respect, you
little minx.
Badsam: Undue respect...
Samantha’s Mother: (Ignores the exchange between The Sams. In a sing-song voice,
suggestive of Marilyn Monroe.) Special Delivery for Ms. Samantha Anne
Mallory.
(In a synchronous motion, Goodsam
and Badsam slowly get up from
their divans, and smooth out their leotards.)
Goodsam: She’s not here...
Badsam: ...But we’ll take it anyway...
Goodsam: WHAT??? We
can’t do that...
Badsam: (Surprised tone.) Why, the hell not?
Goodsam: It doesn’t belong to us.
Samantha’s Mother: (Impatient voice.) Aren’t you two related to
her?
Goodsam: In a manner of speaking, but...
Samantha’s Mother: (Sighs deeply.) That’s good enough for me. (Thrusts
the clipboard toward Goodsam.) Sign
here.
Goodsam: I don’t feel good about this.
Samantha’s Mother: I don’t got all day. I got a life, you know. Just
sign this, and I’ll be on my way.
Goodsam: Horns of a moral dilemma.
Samantha’s Mother: (Picks up the package.) Look, if you don’t
want it, I’ll deliver it to someone else.
Badsam: (Pushes past Goodsam.)
No, no, no, no. I don’t have a problem here. (Grabs the clipboard from Samantha’s Mother and signs with an
exaggerated flourish. She shoves the clipboard back at Samantha’s Mother and turns away from
her.)
Samantha’s Mother: (Shaking her head, she takes the clipboard.)
Some people... (Exits stage right, strutting to the rhythm of a horn, like a
stripper or streetwalker.)
Badsam: (Squats to pick up the package. As she lifts it
from the floor, she seems surprised at its lightness.) Why, there’s nothing
in here.
Goodsam: Don’t bet on it.
Badsam: (Shaking the package.) What the heck’s in here
anyway? (She begins picking at the bows and tape.)
Goodsam: (Leaps toward Badsam.)
That’s not for you to know. (She snatches the package from Badsam. As the package shifts to her, it
appears to assume a great weight.) Whoa! You said this was light...
Badsam: (Snatches the package back and tosses it into the
air as if it were a feather and catches it again.) Light is as light does.
One woman’s burden is another’s plaything. (Again, starts picking at the
tape.) Hmmmm...I wonder what’s in here...
Goodsam: (Shocked.) You’re not thinking about opening
it...
Badsam: Why not?
Goodsam: (Sputtering.) It doesn’t belong to us. It’s
against the law to open other people’s packages.
Badsam: You forget, my prissy twin, we ARE Samantha.
Goodsam: Not while we’re split.
Badsam: LEGALLY we are her, and that’s good enough for me. (Begins
ripping off pieces of tape.)
Goodsam: (Grabs Badsam’s
arm.) Think before you look. Remember Pandora’s Box?
Badsam: Isn’t that part of the fun?
Goodsam: (Shakes her head. Drops Badsam’s arm, lowers her head, and walks down stage right.
To Audience.) I’m not
responsible for her actions. (Exits right stage.)
(Spotlight tightens on Badsam,
who is tearing into the package. When she is almost done, the box flaps pop
open; bright, multicolor light pours from it and fills the stage. Badsam leaps back.)
Badsam: (Slowly walks back over to the box, which, by now,
shimmers with a life of its own. Tentatively looks inside.) Whoa!
(The box shakes and quivers as the light intensifies. A poof of smoke
blows from the box, and, when the smoke clears, a black-haired woman, a flapper dressed in a short
green dress with sparkling tassels, emerges. Her hair is bobbed, and she wears
a live boa constrictor around her shoulders.)
Badsam: Who are you?
Woman: (Stands suggestively, hands on hips.) You know who I am. It is
you who found the letter.
Badsam: What letter?
Woman: The letter you weren’t supposed to read.
Badsam: There’s been lots of letters...
Woman: This was an important letter, filled with family secrets and
innuendo...
Badsam: You DO seem oddly familiar.
Woman: ...Remember my obituary?
Badsam: (Her demeanor indicates complete understanding:) Veronica!
Veronica: Very good.
(Goodsam enters stage right. Her demeanor suggests complete shock and
horror.)
Goodsam: (Her hand on her heart.) What are you doing
here?
Veronica: I bring an important gift.
Badsam: Oh, boy! I want, I want, I want...
Goodsam: (Puts her hand over Badsam’s mouth.) You be quiet. (To Veronica.) You’ve been long dead.
And the dead have no business bearing gifts for the living...
Badsam: (Pulls away from Goodsam.)
I like presents, I don’t care where they come from, who gives them...
Goodsam: You should care. You must always consider motive.
Badsam: (Ignoring Goodsam.
To Veronica:) Gimme my
present.
Goodsam: Don’t you even want to know what it is?
Badsam: I don’t give a damn. Besides, she wouldn’t have
crossed over if it wasn’t something fantastic.
Veronica: I come with great urgency.
Badsam: See?
Goodsam: (With great exasperation.) Her great urgency
might herald our downfall. (Goes center downstage. To Audience:) We all know the dead
should remain dead. Conventions must be followed. (Returns to Veronica and Badsam.)
Veronica: Who cares about conventions? I bear an intriguing
gift, one that will offer you great excitement and thrills.
Badsam: Gimme!
Goodsam: Beware!
Veronica: (Ignores Goodsam’s
warning. Takes the boa constrictor from her shoulders and holds it out to The Sams.) Please.
Goodsam: NO!
(Ignoring Goodsam, Badsam reaches for the snake. As she
touches its skin, a poof of smoke fills the room; when it clears, both Veronica and the snake are gone. In
their place appears an extremely handsome Man,
about 40, thick salt and pepper hair, matching beard, deeply tanned. On his
chest is a tattoo of a diamondback snake. He stands about six feet five inches
tall, perfectly built, muscular but not overly so, perhaps even slightly on the
lanky side. He wears nothing but a pair of skimpy red and white swimming
trunks. There is something extremely magnetic about this Man, but there is also an aura of
something very sinister and dangerous.)
Man: Hello, ladies.
Badsam: YESSSS!
Goodsam: Oh, no!
(Darkness. Music: First few lyrics of Elvis Presley’s “Return to Sender.” Curtain.)
