Sweet Bird of Youth

  No! That's what I do not believe. If I believed it, oh, I'd give you a diving exhibition. I'd dive off municipal pier and swim straight out to Diamond Key and past it, and keep on

  swimming till sharks and barracuda took me for live bait, brother.

  [His chair topples over backward, and he sprawls to the floor. The heckler springs up to

  catch him. Miss Lucy springs up too, and sweeps between Chance and the heckler, pushing the

  heckler back with a quick, warning look or gesture. Nobody notices the heckler, Chance

  scrambles back to his feet, flushed, laughing, Bud and Scotty outlaugh him. Chance picks up

  his chair and continues. The laughter stops.]

  Because I have come back to St Cloud to take her out of St Cloud. Where I'll take her is

  not to a place anywhere except to her place in my heart.

  [He has removed a pink capsule from his pocket, quickly and furtively, and drunk it

  down with his vodka.]

  BUD: Chance, what did you swallow just now?

  CHANCE: Some hundred-proof vodka.

  BUD: You washed something down with it that you took out of your pocket.

  SCOTTY: It looked like a little pink pill.

  CHANCE: Oh, ha, ha. Yes, I washed down a goof-ball. You want one? I got a bunch of them. I

  always carry them with me. When you're not having fun, it makes you have it. When you're

  having fun, it makes you have more of it. Have one and see.

  SCOTTY: Don't that damage the brain?

  CHANCE: No, the contrary. It stimulates the brain cells.

  SCOTTY: Don't it make your eyes look different, Chance?

  MISS LUCY: Maybe that's what I noticed. [As if wishing to change the subject] Chance, I wish

  you'd settle an argument for me.

  CHANCE: What argument, Miss Lucy?

  MISS LUCY: About who you're travelling with. I heard you checked in here with a famous old

  movie star.

  [They all stare at him. . . . In a way he now has what he wants. He's the center of

  attraction; everybody is looking at him, even though with hostility, suspicion, and a cruel sense of sport.]

  CHANCE: Miss Lucy, I'm travelling with the vice-president and major-stockholder of the film

  studio which just signed me.

  MISS LUCY: Wasn't she once in the movies and very well known?

  CHANCE: She was and still is and never will cease to be an important, a legendary figure in

  the picture industry, here and all over the world, and I am now under personal contract to her.

  MISS LUCY: What's her name, Chance?

  CHANCE: She doesn't want her name known. Like all great figures, world-known, she doesn't want or need and refuses to have the wrong type of attention. Privacy is a luxury to great stars.

  Don't ask me her name. I respect her too much to speak her name at this table. I'm obligated to her because she has shown faith in me. It took a long hard time to find that sort of faith in my talent that this woman has shown me. And I refuse to betray it at this table. [His voice rises; he is already 'high'.]

  MISS LUCY: Baby, why are you sweating and your hands shaking so? You're not sick, are

  you?

  CHANCE: Sick? Who's sick? I'm the least sick one you know.

  MISS LUCY: Well, baby, you know you oughtn't to stay in St Cloud. Y'know that, don't you? I

  couldn't believe my ears when I heard you were back here. [To the two boys] Could you all

  believe he was back here?

  SCOTTY: What did you come back for?

  CHANCE: I wish you would give me one reason why I shouldn't come back to visit the grave

  of my mother and pick out a monument for her, and share my happiness with a girl that I've

  loved many years. It's her, Heavenly Finley, that I've fought my way up for, and now that I've made it, the glory will be hers, too. And I've just about persuaded the powers to be to let her appear with me in a picture I'm signed for. Because I . . .

  BUD: What is the name of this picture?

  CHANCE: . . . Name of it? Youth!

  BUD: Just Youth?

  CHANCE: Isn't that a great title for a picture introducing young talent? You all look doubtful.

  If you don't believe me, well, look. Look at this contract. [Removes it from his pocket.]

  SCOTTY: You carry the contract with you?

  CHANCE: I happen to have it in this jacket pocket.

  MISS LUCY: Leaving, Scotty? [Scotty has risen from the table.]

  SCOTTY: It's getting too deep at this table.

  BUD: The girls are waiting.

  CHANCE [quickly]: Gee, Bud, that's a clean set of rags you're wearing, but let me give you a

  tip for your tailor. A guy of medium stature looks better with natural shoulders, the padding cuts down your height, it broadens your figure, and gives you a sort of squat look.

  BUD: Thanks, Chance.

  SCOTTY: You got any helpful hints for my tailor, Chance?

  CHANCE: Scotty, there's no tailor on earth than can disguise a sedentary occupation.

  MISS LUCY: Chance, Baby . . .

  CHANCE: You still work down at the bank? You sit on your can all day countin' century notes

  and once every week they let you slip one in your pockets? That's a fine set-up, Scotty, if you're satisfied with it but it's starting to give you a little pot and a can.

  VIOLET [appearing in the door, angry]: Bud! Scotty! Come on.

  SCOTTY: I don't get by on my looks, but I drive my own car. It isn't a Caddy, but it's my own car. And if my own mother died, I'll bury her myself; I wouldn't let a church take up a

  collection to do it.

  VIOLET [impatiently]: Scotty, if you all don't come now I'm going home in a taxi.

  [The two boys follow her into the Palm Garden. There they can be seen giving their

  wives cab money, and indicating they are staying.]

  CHANCE: The squares have left us, Miss Lucy.

  MISS LUCY: Yeah.

  CHANCE: Well . . . I didn't come back here to fight with old friends of mine. . . . Well, it's quarter past seven.

  MISS LUCY: Is it?

  [There are a number of men, now, sitting around in the darker corners of the bar,

  looking at him. They are not ominous in their attitudes. They are simply waiting for something, for the meeting to start upstairs, for something. . . . Miss Lucy stares at Chance and the men, then again at Chance, nearsightedly, her head cocked like a puzzled terrier's, Chance is

  discomfited.]

  CHANCE: Yep . . . How is that Hickory Hollow for steaks?

  Is it still the best place in town for a steak?

  STUFF [answering the phone at the bar]: Yeah, it's him. He's here. [Looks at Chance ever so

  briefly, hangs up.]

  MISS LUCY: Baby, I'll go to the checkroom and pick up my wrap and call for my car and I'll drive you out to the airport. They've got an air-taxi out there, a whirly-bird taxi, a helicopter, you know, that'll hop you to New Orleans in fifteen minutes.

  CHANCE: I'm not leaving St Cloud. What did I say to make you think I was?

  MISS LUCY: I thought you had sense enough to know that you'd better.

  CHANCE: Miss Lucy, you've been drinking, it's gone to your sweet little head.

  MISS LUCY: Think it over while I'm getting my wrap. You still got a friend in St Cloud.

  CHANCE: I still have a girl in St Cloud, and I'm not leaving without her.

  PAGEBOY [offstage]: Paging Chance Wayne, Mr Chance Wayne, please.

  PRINCESS [entering with pageboy]: Louder, young man, louder. . . . Oh, never mind, here he

  is!

  [But Chance has already rushed out on to the gallery. The Princess looks as if she had

  thrown on her clothes to escape a building on fire. Her blue-sequined gown is unzipped, or

  partially zipped, her hair is disheveled, her eyes have a dazed, drugged brightness
; she is

  holding up the eyeglasses with the broken lens, shakily, hanging on to her mink stole with the other hand; her movements are unsteady.]

  MISS LUCY: I know who you are. Alexandra Del Lago.

  [Loud whispering. A pause.]

  PRINCESS [on the step to the gallery]: What? Chance!

  MISS LUCY: Honey, let me fix that zipper for you. Hold still just a second. Honey, let me take you upstairs. You mustn't be seen down here in this condition. . . .

  [Chance suddenly rushes in from the gallery: he conducts the Princess outside: she is on

  the verge of panic. The Princess rushes half-down the steps to the palm garden: leans panting on the stone balustrade under the ornamental light standard with its five great pearls of light.

  The interior is dimmed as Chance comes out behind her.]

  PRINCESS: Chance! Chance! Chance! Chance!

  CHANCE [softly]: If you'd stayed upstairs that wouldn't have happened to you.

  PRINCESS: I did, I stayed.

  CHANCE: I told you to wait.

  PRINCESS: I waited.

  CHANCE: Didn't I tell you to wait till I got back?

  PRINCESS: I did, I waited forever, I waited forever for you. Then finally I heard those long sad silver trumpets blowing through the palm garden and then--Chance, the most wonderful thing

  has happened to me. Will you listen to me? Will you let me tell you?

  MISS LUCY [to the group at the bar]: Shhh!

  PRINCESS: Chance, when I saw you driving under the window with your head held high, with

  that terrible stiff-necked pride of the defeated which I know so well; I knew that your come-

  back had been a failure like mine. And I felt something in my heart for you. That's a miracle, Chance. That's the wonderful thing that happened to me. I felt something for someone besides

  myself. That means my heart's still alive, at least some part of it is, not all of my heart is dead yet. Part's alive still. . . . Chance, please listen to me. I'm ashamed of this morning. I'll never degrade you again, I'll never degrade myself, you and me, again by--I wasn't always this

  monster. Once I wasn't this monster. And what I felt in my heart when I saw you returning,

  defeated, to this palm garden, Chance, gave me hope that I could stop being a monster. Chance, you've got to help me stop being the monster that I was this morning, and you can do it, can

  help me. I won't be ungrateful for it. I almost died this morning, suffocated in a panic. But even through my panic, I saw your kindness. I saw a true kindness in you that you have almost

  destroyed, but that's still there, a little. . . .

  CHANCE: What kind thing did I do?

  PRINCESS: You gave my oxygen to me.

  CHANCE: Anyone would do that.

  PRINCESS: It could have taken you longer to give it to me.

  CHANCE: I'm not that kind of monster.

  PRINCESS: You're no kind of monster. You're just--

  CHANCE: What?

  PRINCESS: Lost in the beanstalk country, the ogre's country at the top of the beanstalk, the

  country of the flesh-hungry, blood-thirsty ogre--

  [Suddenly a voice is heard from off.]

  VOICE: Wayne?

  [The call is distinct but not loud, Chance hears it, but doesn't turn towards it; he freezes

  momentarily, like a stag scenting hunters. Among the people gathered inside in the cocktail

  lounge we see the speaker, Dan Hatcher. In appearance, dress, and manner he is the apotheosis of the assistant hotel manager, about Chance's age, thin, blond-haired, trim blond moustache, suave, boyish, betraying an instinct for murder only by the ruby-glass studs in his matching

  cuff-links and tie-clip.]

  HATCHER: Wayne!

  [He steps forward a little and at the same instant Tom Junior and Scotty appear behind

  him, just in view. Scotty strikes a match for Tom Junior's cigarette as they wait there, Chance suddenly gives the Princess his complete and tender attention, putting an arm around her and

  turning her towards the Moorish arch to the bar entrance.]

  CHANCE [loudly]: I'll get you a drink, and then I'll take you upstairs. You're not well enough to stay down here.

  HATCHER [crossing quickly to the foot of the stairs]: Wayne!

  [The call is too loud to ignore: Chance half turns and calls back.]

  CHANCE: Who's that?

  HATCHER: Step down here a minute!

  CHANCE: Oh, Hatcher! I'll be right with you.

  PRINCESS: Chance, don't leave me alone.

  [At this moment the arrival of Boss Finley is heralded by the sirens of several squad

  cars. The forestage is suddenly brightened from off left, presumably the floodlights of the cars arriving at the entrance to the hotel. This is the signal the men at the bar have been waiting for.

  Everybody rushes off left. In the hot light all alone on stage is Chance; behind him is the

  Princess. And the heckler is at the bar. The entertainer plays a feverish tango. Now, off left, Boss Finley can be heard, his public personality very much 'on'. Amid the flash of flash bulbs we hear off:]

  BOSS [off]: Hahaha! Little Bit, smile! Go on, smile for the birdie! Ain't she Heavenly, ain't that the right name for her!

  HEAVENLY [off]: Papa, I want to go in!

  [At this instant she runs in--to face Chance. . . . The heckler rises. For a long instant,

  Chance and Heavenly stand there: he on the steps leading to the Palm Garden and gallery; she

  in the cocktail lounge. They simply look at each other . . . the heckler between them. Then the Boss comes in and seizes her by the arm. . . . And there he is facing the heckler and Chance

  both. . . . For a split second he faces them, half lifts his cane to strike at them, but doesn't strike .

  . . then pulls Heavenly back off left stage . . . where the photographing and interviews proceed during what follows, Chance has seen that Heavenly is going to go on the platform with her

  father. . . . He stands there stunned. . . . ]

  PRINCESS: Chance! Chance? [He turns to her blindly.] Call the car and let's go. Everything's

  packed, even the . . . tape recorder with my shameless voice on it. . . .

  [The heckler has returned to his position at the bar. Now Hatcher and Scotty and a

  couple of other of the boys have come out. . . . The Princess sees them and is silent. . . . She's never been in anything like this before. . . . ]

  HATCHER: Wayne, step down here, will you.

  CHANCE: What for, what do you want?

  HATCHER: Come down here, I'll tell you.

  CHANCE: You come up here and tell me.

  TOM JUNIOR: Come on, you chicken-gut bastard.

  CHANCE: Why, hello, Tom Junior. Why are you hiding down there?

  TOM JUNIOR: You're hiding, not me, chicken-gut.

  CHANCE: You're in the dark, not me.

  HATCHER: Tom Junior wants to talk to you privately down here.

  CHANCE: He can talk to me privately up here.

  TOM JUNIOR: Hatcher, tell him I'll talk to him in the washroom on the mezzanine floor.

  CHANCE: I don't hold conversations with people in washrooms. . . .

  [Tom Junior, infuriated, starts to rush forward. Men restrain him.]

  What is all this anyhow? It's fantastic. You all having a little conference there? I used to

  leave places when I was told to. Not now. That time's over. Now I leave when I'm ready. Hear

  that, Tom Junior? Give your father that message. This is my town. I was born in St Cloud, not him. He was just called here. He was just called down from the hills to preach hate. I was born here to make love. Tell him about that difference between him and me, and ask him which he

  thinks has more right to stay here. . . . [He gets no answer from the huddled little group which is restraining Tom Junior from perpetrating murder right there in the cocktail lounge. After all, that would be a bad inciden
t to precede the Boss's all-South-wide TV appearance . . . and they

  all know it. Chance, at the same time, continues to taunt them.] Tom, Tom Junior! What do you want me for? To pay me back for the ball game and picture-show money I gave you when you

  were cutting your father's yard grass for a dollar on Saturday? Thank me for the times I gave you my motorcycle and got you a girl to ride the buddy seat with you? Come here! I'll give you the keys to my Caddy. I'll give you the price of any whore in St Cloud. You still got credit with me because you're Heavenly's brother.