[She sits down shaking, taking a grateful drink. She holds the glass in both hands and continues to laugh a little.]
STELLA: Why did you scream like that?
BLANCHE: I don't know why I screamed!
[continuing nervously]
Mitch—Mitch is coming at seven. I guess I am just feeling nervous about our relations.
[She begins to talk rapidly and breathlessly]
He hasn't gotten a thing but a goodnight kiss, that's all I have given him, Stella. I want his respect. And men don't want anything they get too easy. But on the other hand men lose interest quickly. Especially when the girl is over—thirty. They think a girl over thirty ought to—the vulgar term is—"put out."... And I—I'm not "putting out." Of course he—he doesn't know—I mean I haven't informed him—of my real age!
STELLA: Why are you sensitive about your age?
BLANCHE: Because of hard knocks my vanity's been given. What I mean is—he thinks I'm sort of—prim and proper, you know!
[She laughs out sharply]
I want to deceive him enough to make him—want me...
STELLA: Blanche, do you want him?
BLANCHE: I want to rest! I want to breathe quietly again! Yes—I want Mitch... very badly! Just think! If it happens, I can leave here and not be anyone's problem....
[Stanley comes around the corner with a drink under his belt.]
STANLEY [bawling]: Hey, Steve! Hey, Eunice! Hey, Stella!
[There are joyous calls from above. Trumpet and drums are heard from around the corner.]
STELLA [kissing Blanche impulsively]: It will happen!
BLANCHE [doubtfully]: It will?
STELLA: It will!
[She goes across into the kitchen, looking back at Blanche.]
It will, honey, it will.... But don't take another drink!
[Her voice catches as she goes out the door to meet her husband.
Blanche sinks faintly back in her chair—with her drink. Eunice shrieks with laughter and runs down the steps. Steve bounds after her—with goat-like screeches and chases her around corner. Stanley and Stella twine arms as they follow, laughing.]
[Dusk settles deeper. The music from the Four Deuces is slow and blue.]
BLANCHE: Ah, me, ah, me, ah, me...
[Her eyes fall shut and the palm leaf fan drops from her fingers. She slaps her hand on the chair arm a couple of times. There is a little glimmer of lightning about the building.
A Young Man comes along the street and rings the bell.]
BLANCHE: Come in.
[The Young Man appears through the portieres. She regards him with interest.]
BLANCHE: Well, well! What can I do for you?
YOUNG MAN: I'm collecting for the Evening Star.
BLANCHE: I didn't know that stars took up collections.
YOUNG MAN: It's the paper.
BLANCHE: I know. I was joking—feebly! Will you—have a drink?
YOUNG MAN: No, ma'am. No, thank you. I can't drink on the job.
BLANCHE: Oh, well, now, let's see.... No, I don't have a dime! I'm not the lady of the house. I'm her sister from Mississippi. I'm one of those poor relations you've heard about.
YOUNG MAN: That's all right I'll drop by later.
[He starts to go out. She approaches a little.]
BLANCHE: Hey!
[He turns back shyly. She puts a cigarette in a long holder]
Could you give me a light?
[She crosses toward him. They meet at the door between the two rooms.]
YOUNG MAN: Sure.
[He takes out a lighter]
This doesn't always work.
BLANCHE: It's temperamental?
[It flares]
Ah!—thank you.
[He starts away again]
Hey!
[He turns again, still more uncertainly. She goes close to him]
Uh—what time is it?
YOUNG MAN: Fifteen of seven, ma'am.
BLANCHE: So late? Don't you just love these long rainy afternoons in New Orleans when an hour isn't just an hour—but a little piece of eternity dropped into your hands—and who knows what to do with it?
[She touches his shoulders.]
You—uh—didn't get wet in the rain?
YOUNG MAN: No, ma'am. I stepped inside.
BLANCHE: In a drug-store? And had a soda?
YOUNG MAN: Uh-huh.
BLANCHE: Chocolate?
YOUNG MAN: No, ma'am. Cherry.
BLANCHE [laughing]: Cherry!
YOUNG MAN: A cherry soda.
BLANCHE: You make my mouth water.
[She touches his cheek lightly, and smiles. Then she goes to the trunk.]
YOUNG MAN: Well, I'd better be going—
BLANCHE [stopping him]: Young man!
[He turns. She takes a large, gossamer scarf from the trunk and drapes it about her shoulders.]
[In the ensuing pause, the "blue piano" is heard. It continues through the rest of this scene and the opening of the next. The young man clears his throat and looks yearningly at the door.]
Young man! Young, young, young man! Has anyone ever told you that you look like a young Prince out of the Arabian Nights?
[The Young Man laughs uncomfortably and stands like a bashful kid. Blanche speaks softly to him.]
Well, you do, honey lamb! Come here. I want to kiss you, just once, softly and sweetly on your mouth!
[Without waiting for him to accept, she crosses quickly to him and presses her lips to his.]
Now run along, now, quickly! It would be nice to keep you, but I've got to be good—and keep my hands off children.
[He stares at her a moment. She opens the door for him and blows a kiss at him as he goes down the steps with a dazed look. She stands there a little dreamily after he has disappeared. Then Mitch appears around the corner with a bunch of roses.]
BLANCHE [gaily]: Look who's coming! My Rosenkavalier! Bow to me first... now present them! Ahhh—Merciiii!
[She looks at him over them, coquettishly pressing them to her lips. He beams at her self-consciously.]
SCENE SIX
It is about two A.M. on the same evening. The outer wall of the building is visible. Blanche and Mitch come in. The utter exhaustion which only a neurasthenic personality can know is evident in Blanche's voice and manner. Mitch is stolid but depressed. They have probably been out to the amusement park on Lake Pontchartrain, for Mitch is bearing, upside down, a plaster statuette of Mae West, the sort of prize won at shooting-galleries and carnival games of chance.
BLANCHE [stopping lifelessly at the steps]: Well—
[Mitch laughs uneasily.]
Well...
MITCH: I guess it must be pretty late—and you're tired.
BLANCHE: Even the hot tamale man has deserted the street, and he hangs on till the end.
[Mitch laughs uneasily again]
How will you get home?
MITCH: I'll walk over to Bourbon and catch an owl-car.
BLANCHE [laughing grimly]: Is that streetcar named Desire still grinding along the tracks at this hour?
MITCH [heavily]: I'm afraid you haven't gotten much fun out of this evening, Blanche.
BLANCHE: I spoiled it for you.
MITCH: No, you didn't, but I felt all the time that I wasn't giving you much—entertainment.
BLANCHE: I simply couldn't rise to the occasion. That was all. I don't think I've ever tried so hard to be gay and made such a dismal mess of it. I get ten points for trying!—I did try.
MITCH: Why did you try if you didn't feel like it, Blanche?
BLANCHE: I was just obeying the law of nature.
MITCH: Which law is that?
BLANCHE: The one that says the lady must entertain the gentleman—or no dice! See if you can locate my door-key in this purse. When I'm so tired my fingers are all thumbs!
MITCH [rooting in her purse]: This it?
BLANCHE: No, honey, that's the key to my trunk which I must soon be packing.
&nbs
p; MITCH: You mean you are leaving here soon?
BLANCHE: I've outstayed my welcome.
MITCH: This it?
[The music fades away.]
BLANCHE: Eureka! Honey, you open the door while I take a last look at the sky.
[She leans on the porch rail. He opens the door and stands awkwardly behind her.]
I'm looking for the Pleiades, the Seven Sisters, but these girls are not out tonight. Oh, yes they are, there they are! God bless them! All in a bunch going home from their little bridge party.... Y'get the door open? Good boy! I guess you—want to go now....
[He shuffles and coughs a little.]
MITCH: Can I—uh—kiss you-goodnight?
BLANCHE: Why do you always ask me if you may?
MITCH: I don't know whether you want me to or not.
BLANCHE: Why should you be so doubtful?
MITCH: That night when we parked by the lake and I kissed you, you—
BLANCHE: Honey, it wasn't the kiss I objected to. I liked the kiss very much. It was the other little—familiarity—that I—felt obliged to—discourage.... I didn't resent it! Not a bit in the world! In fact, I was somewhat flattered that you—desired me! But, honey, you know as well as I do that a single girl, a girl alone in the world, has got to keep a firm hold on her emotions or she'll be lost!
MITCH [solemnly]: Lost?
BLANCHE: I guess you are used to girls that like to be lost. The kind that get lost immediately, on the first date!
MITCH: I like you to be exactly the way that you are, because in all my—experience—I have never known anyone like you.
[Blanche looks at him gravely; then she bursts into laughter and then claps a hand to her mouth.]
MITCH: Are you laughing at me?
BLANCHE: No, honey. The lord and lady of the house have not yet returned, so come in. We'll have a night-cap. Let's leave the lights off. Shall we?
MITCH: You just—do what you want to.
[Blanche precedes him into the kitchen. The outer wall of the building disappears and the interiors of the two rooms can be dimly seen.]
BLANCHE [remaining in the first room]: The other room's more comfortable—go on in. This crashing around in the dark is my search for some liquor.
MITCH: You want a drink?
BLANCHE: I want you to have a drink! You have been so anxious and solemn all evening, and so have I; we have both been anxious and solemn and now for these few last remaining moments of our lives together—I want to create—joie de vivre! I'm lighting a candle.
MITCH: That's good.
BLANCHE: We are going to be very Bohemian. We are going to pretend that we are sitting in a little artists' cafe on the Left Bank in Paris!
[She lights a candle stub and puts it in a bottle.]
Je suis la Dame aux Camellias! Vous êtes—Armand! Understand French?
MITCH [heavily]: Naw. Naw. I—
BLANCHE: Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir? Vous ne comprenez pas? Ah, quelle dommage!—I mean it's a damned good thing.... I've found some liquor. Just enough for two shots without any dividends, honey...
MITCH [heavily]: Thats—good.
[She enters the bedroom with the drinks and the candle]
BLANCHE: Sit down! Why don’t you take off your coat and loosen your collar?
MITCH: I better leave it on.
BLANCHE: No. I want you to be comfortable.
MITCH: I am ashamed of the way I perspire. My shirt is sticking to me.
BLANCHE: Perspiration is healthy. If people didn't perspire they would die in five minutes.
[She takes his coat from him]
This is a nice coat What kind of material is it?
MITCH: They call that stuff alpaca.
BLANCHE: Oh. Alpaca.
MITCH: It's very light weight alpaca.
BLANCHE: Oh. Light weight alpaca.
MITCH: I don't like to wear a wash-coat even in summer because I sweat through it.
BLANCHE: Oh.
MITCH: And it don't look neat on me. A man with a heavy build has got to be careful of what he puts on him so he don't look too clumsy.
BLANCHE: You are not too heavy.
MITCH: You don't think I am?
BLANCHE: You are not the delicate type. You have a massive bone-structure and a very imposing physique.
MITCH: Thank you. Last Christmas I was given a membership to the New Orleans Athletic Club.
BLANCHE: Oh, good.
MITCH: It was the finest present I ever was given. I work out there with the weights and I swim and keep myself fit. When I started there, I was getting soft in the belly but now my belly is hard. It is so hard now that a man can punch me in the belly and it don't hurt me. Punch me! Go on! See?
[She pokes lightly at him.]
BLANCHE: Gracious.
[Her hand touches her chest.]
MITCH: Guess how much I weigh, Blanche?
BLANCHE: Oh, I'd say in the vicinity of—one hundred and eighty?
MITCH: Guess again.
BLANCHE: Not that much?
MITCH: No. More.
BLANCHE: Well, you're a tall man and you can carry a good deal of weight without looking awkward.
MITCH: I weigh two hundred and seven pounds and I'm six feet one and one-half inches tall in my bare feet—without shoes on. And that is what I weigh stripped.
BLANCHE: Oh, my goodness, me! It's awe-inspiring.
MITCH [embarrassed]: My weight is not a very interesting subject to talk about…
[He hesitates for a moment]
What's yours?
BLANCHE: My weight?
MITCH: Yes.
BLANCHE: Guess!
MITCH: Let me lift you.
BLANCHE: Samson! Go on, lift me.
[He comes behind her and puts his hands on her waist and raises her lightly off the ground]
Well?
MITCH: You are light as a feather.
BLANCHE: Ha-ha!
[He lowers her but keeps his hands on her waist. Blanche speaks with an affectation of demureness]
You may release me now.
MITCH: Huh?
BLANCHE [giddly]: I said unhand me, sir.
[He fumblingly embraces her. Her voice sounds gently reproving]
Now, Mitch. Just because Stanley and Stella aren't at home is no reason why you shouldn't behave like a gentleman.
MITCH: Just give me a slap whenever I step out of bounds.
BLANCHE: That won't be necessary. You're a natural gentleman, one of the very few that are left in the world. I don't want you to think that I am severe and old maid school teacherish or anything like that. It's just—well—
MITCH: Huh?
BLANCHE: I guess it is just that I have—old-fashioned ideals!
[She rolls her eyes, knowing he cannot see her face. Mitch goes to the front door. There is a considerable silence between them. Blanche sighs and Mitch coughs self-consciously.]
MITCH [finally]: Where's Stanley and Stella tonight?
BLANCHE: They have gone out With Mr. and Mrs. Hubbell upstairs.
MITCH: Where did they go?
BLANCHE: I think they were planning to go to a midnight prevue at Loew's State.
MITCH: We should all go out together some night
BLANCHE: No. That wouldn't be a good plan.
MITCH: Why not?
BLANCHE: You are an old friend of Stanley's?
MITCH: We was together in the Two-forty-first.
BLANCHE: I guess he talks to you frankly?
MITCH: Sure.
BLANCHE: Has he talked to you about me?
MITCH: Oh—not very much.
BLANCHE: The way you say that, I suspect that he has.
MITCH: No, he hasn't said much.
BLANCHE: But what he has said. What would you say his attitude toward me was?
MITCH: Why do you want to ask that?
BLANCHE: Well—
MITCH: Don't you get along with him?
BLANCHE: What do you think?
> MITCH: I don't think he understands you.
BLANCHE: That is putting it mildly. If it weren't for Stella about to have a baby, I wouldn't be able to endure things here.
MITCH: He isn't—nice to you?