LordPeter List Literary Contest

(Harriet is seated at a small table with a cup of coffee on it. Antoine and Charis are dancing. There is no music.)

HARRIET: Nowhere to go but here. The lounge. (Pause.) At this time of day. What day is it, I wonder. (She looks at her watch.) Tuesday. Perhaps if I -- (She takes a sip of coffee. Makes a face of disgust.) My coffee's cold. (She shrugs her shoulders.) Nothing to be done.

ANTOINE (dancing by with Charis): You could call the waiter.

HARRIET: I called the waiter yesterday. It did no good.

ANTOINE: But you weren't here yesterday.

HARRIET: Are you sure?

ANTOINE (nods): It was someone else. We've been here all along (looks at Charis) haven't we?

CHARIS (simpers): Dancing.

ANTOINE: Waltzing.

CHARIS: Playing the game.

ANTOINE: The game?

CHARIS: You know.

ANTOINE: Ah, the game!

CHARIS: Games. Golf, cricket, tiddlywinks. Sports of all sorts.

ANTOINE: Tennis of all kinds.

CHARIS: I love tennis! (They whirl away.)

HARRIET: Well, that passed the time. (She looks slowly around the room.) There's a fan. And that woman is wearing ostrich feathers. I'm sure they're from an ostrich. I saw an ostrich once. At the zoo. (Pause.) It might have been an emu.

ANTOINE (returning with Charis): They come here every evening.

HARRIET: The emus?

ANTOINE: The women. To relive old memories. To remember their lives.

CHARIS: To dance with you.

ANTOINE: I am a good dancer, aren't I?

CHARIS: You look a little like a frog.

HARRIET: He does. (Antoine and Charis dance for a moment in silence.)

CHARIS: My gown is of a rich petunia color.

ANTOINE: Petunias are purple.

CHARIS: Pink.

ANTOINE: Purple!

CHARIS: Pink!

ANTOINE: They are of a violet purple... rich...deep...clinging.

CHARIS: My gown is petunia.

HARRIET: Peony.

CHARIS (angrily): Who are you to say? (She exits. Antoine looks at Harriet, shrugs, and follows.)

HARRIET: They will all leave soon. Go to their jobs. (Pause.) Play tennis. (Long pause.) I will probably still be here. (She takes a sip of her coffee. Makes a face.) Nothing to be done. Well, I should be going. (She does not move. Curtain.)

-- the glass-blower's cat

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