August: Osage County

  JEAN: If you won’t look, there’s no point in showing them to you.

  STEVE: Okay, okay, I’ll look then.

  JEAN (Dumb guy voice): “Lemme look at your tits, little girl—”

  STEVE: C’mon, we’re partners!

  JEAN: No!

  STEVE: Aren’t we amazing card partners?

  JEAN: Forget it!

  STEVE: I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.

  JEAN: I don’t want to see yours.

  STEVE: You ever seen one?

  JEAN: Yes.

  STEVE: No, you haven’t.

  JEAN: Yes, I have. I’m not a virgin.

  STEVE: You’re not?

  JEAN: Not technically. Well, no technically, I am. I mean not theoretically.

  STEVE: That changes everything.

  (He moves in close to her.)

  JEAN: What are you doing?

  STEVE: Nothing.

  JEAN: You’re gonna get us both in trouble.

  STEVE: I’m white and over thirty. I don’t get in trouble.

  (He turns off the light. Total darkness.)

  JEAN: Hey . . .

  STEVE: Shhh . . .

  (Moaning, heavy breathing from Steve, in the dark. The overhead light clicks on. Johnna stands in the dining-room entryway, brandishing a cast-iron skillet. Jean and Steve, clothes in disarray, separate.)

  JEAN: Oh my God . . .

  STEVE: Ho, fuck!

  (Johnna approaches Steve.)

  Hold up there, lady, you don’t know what you’re—

  (Johnna swings the skillet, barely missing Steve’s nose.)

  Hey, goddamn it, careful—

  (He reaches for the skillet. She swings again and smacks his knuckles.)

  Ow, goddamn—!

  (He grimaces, holds his hand in pain. She wades in with a strong swing and connects squarely with his forehead. Steve goes down. Johnna stands above him, arm cocked, watching for a recovery, but he does not attempt it.

  Elsewhere in the house: Bill, Barbara and Karen wake in their different locations, head to the dining room.

  Karen sees Steve on the floor and screams:)

  KAREN: What happened?!

  (Johnna and Jean share a look. Karen goes to Steve, props him up.)

  Steve, what happened?!

  (He groans.)

  Tell me what happened.

  JOHNNA: He was messing with Jean—

  KAREN: Honey, you’re bleeding, are you okay?

  (He groans again, tries to stand.

  Now Bill and Barbara enter the dining room, both in their night clothes.)

  BARBARA: Jean, what are you doing up? What’s going on—?

  JEAN: We were, I don’t know—

  BARBARA: Who was? Talk to me, are you all right? BILL: What happened to him? Do I need to call a doctor?

  JEAN: Yeah, I’m fine. KAREN: I don’t know.

  BARBARA: Johnna, what’s going on?

  JOHNNA: He was messing with Jean. So I tuned him up.

  BARBARA: “Messing with,” what do you mean, “messing with”? BILL: What . . . what’s that mean?

  JOHNNA: He was kissing her and grabbing her.

  (This information settles in . . .

  Then Barbara attacks Steve, who has by now gotten to his feet. Ad-libs. Karen gets between them. Bill grabs Barbara from behind, tries to pull her away. Ad-libs.)

  BARBARA: I’ll murder you, you prick!

  BILL (To Karen): Get him out of here!

  STEVE: I didn’t do anything!—

  JEAN: Mom, stop it!

  KAREN: Settle down!—

  BILL: Get back in the living room!—

  BARBARA: You know how old that girl is?!

  STEVE (To Jean): Tell them I didn’t do anything!—

  BARBARA: She’s fourteen years old!—

  JEAN: Mom!

  STEVE: She said she was fifteen!

  BARBARA: Are you out of your goddamn mind?

  KAREN: Barbara, just back off!

  (Karen manages to push Steve out of the dining room, into the living room. During the following, they get dressed and pack their bags.

  Barbara, Bill, Jean and Johnna remain in the dining room.)

  BARBARA: Oh my God! Do you fucking believe that crazy prick?!

  BILL: I know, I know, settle down.

  BARBARA: “Settle down,” the son-of-a-bitch is a goddamn sociopath! What the fuck is going on?

  BILL (To Jean): Are you okay?

  JEAN: Yes, I’m okay, what is the matter with you?

  BARBARA: With us?

  JEAN: Will you please stop freaking out?

  BILL: Why don’t you start at the beginning?

  BARBARA: What are you doing out of bed?

  BILL: Please, sweetheart, we need to know what went on here.

  JEAN: Nothing “went on.” Can we just not make a federal case out of everything? I couldn’t sleep, I came to the kitchen for a drink, he came in . . . end of story.

  BARBARA: That’s not the end of the story. BILL: That’s not the end of the story.

  JEAN: We smoked pot, all right? We smoked a little pot, and we were goofing around, and then everything just went hay-wire.

  BARBARA: What have I told you about smoking that shit?! What did I say? BILL: Then Johnna just chose to attack him with a frying pan? I don’t think so.

  JEAN: Look at you two, you’re both so ridiculous. It’s no big deal, nothing happened.

  BILL: We’re concerned about you.

  JEAN: No, you’re not. You just want to know who to punish. BARBARA: Stop it—

  JEAN: You can’t tell the difference between the good guys and the bad guys, so you want me to sort it all out for you—

  BARBARA: You know what, skip the lecture. Just tell me what he did!

  JEAN: He didn’t do anything! Even if he did, what’s the big deal?

  BILL: The big deal, Jean, is that you’re fourteen years old.

  JEAN: Which is only a few years younger than you like ’em.

  (Barbara slaps Jean; Jean bursts into tears.)

  I hate you!

  BARBARA: Yeah, I hate you too, you little freak!

  (Jean tries to exit. Bill grabs her.)

  BILL: Jean—

  JEAN: Let me go!

  (Jean pulls free, runs off.)

  BILL (To Barbara): What’s the matter with you?

  (Bill exits, pursuing Jean.)

  JOHNNA: Excuse me.

  (Johnna exits, returns to her attic room. Barbara regains some composure, moves into the living room. Steve has by now dressed and exited, carrying suitcases. Karen is pulling on a sweatshirt, grabbing a few leftover items, restoring the hide-a-bed.)

  KAREN: I can do without a speech.

  BARBARA: I beg your pardon?

  KAREN: I’m leaving. We’re leaving. Back to Florida, tonight, now. Me and Steve, together. You want to give me some grief about that?

  BARBARA: Now wait just a goddamn—

  KAREN: You better find out from Jean just exactly what went on in there before you start pointing fingers, that’s all I’m saying. ’Cause I doubt Jean’s exactly blameless in all this. And I’m not blaming her. Just because I said she’s not blameless, that doesn’t mean I’ve blamed her. I’m saying she might share in the responsibility. You understand me?

  I know Steve should know better than Jean, that she’s only fourteen. My point is, it’s not cut and dried, black and white, good and bad. It lives where everything lives: somewhere in the middle. Where everything lives, where all the rest of us live, everyone but you.

  BARBARA: Karen—

  KAREN: I’m not defending him. He’s not perfect. Just like all the rest of us, down here in the muck. I’m no angel myself. I’ve done some things I’m not proud of. Things you’ll never know about. Know what? I may even have to do some things I’m not proud of again. ’Cause sometimes life puts you in a corner that way. And I am a human being, after all.

  Anyway you have your own hash to settle. Before you start making s
peeches to the rest of us.

  BARBARA: Right . . .

  KAREN: Come January . . . I’ll be in Belize. Doesn’t that sound nice?

  (Karen exits, rolling her suitcase behind her. Bill enters.)

  BILL: I’m taking Jean with me. We’re heading back.

  BARBARA: Fine.

  BILL: She’s too much for you right now.

  BARBARA: Okay.

  BILL: I’m sure you’ll blame me for all this.

  BARBARA: Yeah, well . . . (Beat) I fail. As a sister, as a mother, as a wife. I fail.

  BILL: No, you don’t.

  BARBARA: No? I’ve physically attacked Mom and Jean in the space of about nine hours. Stick around here much longer and I’ll cut off your penis.

  BILL: That’s not funny.

  BARBARA: I can’t make it up to Jean right now. She’s just going to have to wait until I come back to Boulder.

  BILL: You and Jean have about forty years left to fight and make up.

  BARBARA (Confused): Why, what happens in forty years? BILL: You die.

  BARBARA: Oh, right.

  BILL: I mean—

  BARBARA: No. Right.

  BILL: If you’re lucky.

  BARBARA: Says you.

  BILL: If we’re lucky.

  (Pause.)

  BARBARA: You’re never coming back to me, are you, Bill?

  BILL: Never say never, but . . .

  BARBARA: But no.

  BILL: But no.

  BARBARA: Even if things don’t work out with you and Marsha.

  BILL: Cindy.

  BARBARA: Cindy.

  BILL: Right. Even if things don’t work out.

  BARBARA: And I’m never really going to understand why, am I?

  (Bill struggles . . . it seems as if he might say something more, but then:)

  BILL: Probably not.

  (Silence. Bill heads for the door. Barbara watches him go and sobs.)

  BARBARA: I love you . . . I love you . . .

  (He stands for a moment, his back to her. He exits. Barbara stands, alone.)

  SCENE 3

  The study: Barbara and Johnna, in the same positions as Beverly and Johnna in the Prologue.

  Barbara’s had a few. She nurses a glass of whiskey.

  BARBARA: One of the last times I spoke with my father, we were talking about . . . I don’t know, the state of the world, something . . . and he said, “You know, this country was always pretty much a whorehouse, but at least it used to have some promise. Now it’s just a shithole.” And I think now maybe he was talking about something else, something more specific, something more personal to him . . . this house? This family? His marriage? Himself? I don’t know. But there was something sad in his voice—or no, not sad, he always sounded sad—something more hopeless than that. As if it had already happened. As if whatever was disappearing had already disappeared. As if it was too late. As if it was already over. And no one saw it go. This country, this experiment, America, this hubris: what a lament, if no one saw it go. Here today, gone tomorrow. (Beat) Dissipation is actually much worse than cataclysm.

  JOHNNA: Mrs. Fordham, are you firing me?

  BARBARA: Barbara. No, no. Oh, no. Far from it. I’m owning up to my own shitty behavior. And I’m giving you the opportunity to quit. I mean . . . there’s work. And then there’s work. And after all . . . I’m here. Look around. No one else is here. I mean, am I here, or am I here? I’m not saying your services aren’t necessary. I just mean: I’m still here, goddamn it.

  JOHNNA: I’m prepared to stay. I’m familiar with this job. I can do this job. I don’t do it for you or Mrs. Weston. Or even for Mr. Weston. Right? I do it for me.

  BARBARA: Why?

  JOHNNA: I need the work.

  (Barbara finishes her glass of whiskey.)

  BARBARA: Johnna . . . what did my father say to you?

  (Pause.)

  JOHNNA: He talked a lot about his daughters . . . his three daughters, and his granddaughter. That was his joy.

  BARBARA: Thank you. That makes me feel better. Knowing that you can lie. (Beat) I want you to stay on. Don’t worry about your salary. I’ll take care of it.

  (Johnna nods, exits. Barbara refills her whiskey glass.)

  (To herself) I’m still here, goddamn it.

  SCENE 4

  For the first time since the shades were removed from the windows, the house is seen in morning light.

  Barbara and Sheriff Gilbeau stand in the living room.

  BARBARA: Everyone just . . . vanished.

  SHERIFF GILBEAU: You were the one I wanted to talk to.

  BARBARA: ’Kay. Sit down. Do you want some coffee?

  SHERIFF GILBEAU: No, thanks.

  BARBARA: God, Deon, you look really good. You really . . . filled out. Nicely, I mean. You just look great.

  SHERIFF GILBEAU: Thanks.

  BARBARA: How ’bout me, don’t I look good?

  SHERIFF GILBEAU: Yes, sorry, yes. You look great, too, just great.

  BARBARA: Did you want some coffee?

  SHERIFF GILBEAU: Uh. No. No, thank you.

  BARBARA: And you’re the sheriff. Of all things. That’s ironic.

  SHERIFF GILBEAU: Why is that ironic?

  BARBARA: It’s not. It’s incongruous. I think I misused “ironic.” Oh, if my husband could hear that. Well, fuck him. No, but it is, “incongruous.”

  SHERIFF GILBEAU: Why’s it incongruous?

  BARBARA: Because of your, because of your . . . your dad.

  SHERIFF GILBEAU: Oh, I see, yeah.

  BARBARA: Is he still alive?

  SHERIFF GILBEAU: Yeah, after a fashion. He has Alzheimer’s.

  BARBARA: Oh. That’s awful.

  SHERIFF GILBEAU: He’s in a home over in Nowata.

  BARBARA: I’m sorry to hear that. That’s just. Married? You’re married? Wow. Hot flash. I’m sorry, did you want some coffee? I asked you that already. You’re married.

  SHERIFF GILBEAU: Divorced.

  BARBARA: Join the club.

  SHERIFF GILBEAU: Really?

  BARBARA: I mean, I’m joining your club. I mean looks like I’ll be joining your, your club.

  SHERIFF GILBEAU: Sorry to hear that.

  BARBARA: Have kids?

  SHERIFF GILBEAU: Three daughters.

  BARBARA: Uh-huh. Look at that.

  SHERIFF GILBEAU: Right, no, I can’t tell you—

  BARBARA: Three daughters, that’s—

  SHERIFF GILBEAU:—how many times I’ve thought about the Weston sisters over the years.

  BARBARA: The Weston sisters. Been a while since I heard that. Sounds like a singing group.

  SHERIFF GILBEAU: Yeah, I guess.

  BARBARA: “Ladies and gentlemen . . . The Agitated Weston Sisters.”

  SHERIFF GILBEAU: Is your husband still here?

  BARBARA: No, he left a few days ago. A week ago? Two weeks ago. Two weeks ago? Back to Colorado, with my daughter. With Jean.

  SHERIFF GILBEAU: She seemed real sweet.