University of California at Berkeley, Sproul Plaza (Photo, Courtesy of Alison Moore)
MARCH FOR LOVE
Written
By
Cynthia Adina Kirkwood
ANGLE ON PROTEST AT A UNIVERSITY PLAZA AND YVONNE
PROTEST
No diversity. No peace. No diversity. No peace.
The chant is an unrelenting one. It continues for as long as the protest lasts. At first, Yvonne makes an obvious physical effort to talk louder than the demonstrators. But once she begins to interview students, she becomes engrossed in her work and unmindful of the steady mantra in the background.
Yvonne, 39, is out of breath as she approaches a woman demonstrator. She is a svelte brown-skinned woman with long legs and a heart-shaped face.
YVONNE
I’m a reporter from the San Francisco Daily Mirror. Who’s the organizer here?
DEMONSTRATOR
She points to a Chinese American man wearing jeans, and a blue and white pin-striped shirt. His sleeves are rolled up and the top three buttons are undone, nearly revealing a well-developed chest. The man exudes confidence.
Over there. His name is Kevin Chin.
YVONNE
Thanks.
She rushes over to him.
.
Hello. I’m Yvonne Galsworth of the San Francisco Daily Mirror. I’d like to talk with you.
KEVIN
All right. Let’s go over here.
They step out of the protest, out of the circle.
TWO SHOT OF YVONNE AND KEVIN
YVONNE
May I have your name?
He needs no prodding. He seems to be an old hand at giving the press what it needs as quickly and efficiently as he can. Yvonne begins writing in her Reporter’s Note Book, which is 7 inches wide by 10 inches long, as soon as Kevin opens his mouth. Taking notes is as natural to her as breathing. She would feel naked without her notebook and pencil, and the shorthand she has created over the years.
KEVIN
Kevin Chin. That’s C-H-I-N. I’m president of the Third World Coalition, an organization of groups on campus representing Asian Americans, African Americans, Latinos, Native Americans and political groups that believe in our cause. We contend that Clearview University discriminates in hiring teachers. Ninety-one percent of the tenured faculty is white, and 89 percent is male. There is definitely a need to better reflect the population as a whole and the student body. Two-thirds of the freshman class this year are people of color. We need role models for them. We’re tired of waiting for change. The past 10 years have brought very little. That’s why we’re out here demanding change now. It’s a matter of survival.
YVONNE
Survival?
KEVIN
Yes, survival. We’ve got to make a claim for ourselves. Stand up and be recognized. The days of the invisible man, the invisible woman, are over.
YVONNE
What do you mean “invisible”?
KEVIN
I mean a certain attitude that either places people of color into an “other” category or considers us as exotic, which is another way of dismissing us. We want to be recognized and represented on the university faculty. We want to be seen in the higher echelons of academia.
YVONNE
Do you have any specific demands?
KEVIN
Yes. We want at least one African American professor hired in the English, business administration, political science or history departments during the next school year. That’s why we’re out here at the beginning of the fall semester, to give the school some time.
YVONNE
Have you spoken with the administration?
KEVIN
Of course. And we’ve gotten nowhere. So, we decided to take the struggle to the streets. We’re educating the community at large. This situation is an embarrassment.
THREE SHOT TO INCLUDE A PUSHY, RIVAL REPORTER
The reporter, MARIE KOZLOWSKI, is 23, blond and rude. But she does not realize it. Fresh out of journalism graduate school, she’s doing everything her teachers taught her, including wearing a blue skirt suit with a silk tie. She is too young and naïve to know that a little civility in a harsh world will sometimes take you far. She ignores Yvonne, talking to Kevin as though no one else is there. And Kevin, who knows the value of publicity and who has run through his spiel, prepares to deliver it again.
MARIE
I’m Marie Kozlowski of the Berkeley News. What’s going on?
KEVIN
I’m Kevin Chin. C-H-I-N. I’m president of the Third World Coalition.
YVONNE
I’ve got to go. Thanks, Kevin. Where can I reach you if I have more questions later?
KEVIN
The organization’s campus number is 658-1131. My number is 869-3415. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need more information.
YVONNE
Thanks.
Marie wears an expression of impatience and vexation. She sees that Yvonne is way ahead of her on this story.
MOVING SHOT
Yvonne is on the run again. She glides over green grass, where students are sunbathing and studying, and over stone-lined walks, where they’re toting books and talking with each other on their way to classes. She passes two large brick buildings before coming to a third made of marble with columns. This unique edifice reminds the onlooker of ancient Greek and Roman ruins, and of the Supreme Court building in Washington. D.C. It inspires awe and reverence. It is the vault of power. Yvonne stops at the foot of the steps.
ANGLE ON
what Yvonne’s eyes are seeing as she climbs the bottom step to the far-away top step. Then, we see the name of the building engraved in marble over the doorway. It says:
HOPKINS HALL
ADMINISTRATION
ANGLE ON YVONNE
She takes a breath and then runs up the steps. Once inside the building, she walks straight to an office door on the first floor. In gold letters, it says PRESIDENT. She turns the gold doorknob, opens the heavy wooden door and walks into an outer office. Her manner has changed to that of a calm, professional woman in control, the kind of woman who does not even anticipate rejection, the kind of woman who would never run in public. She addresses the petite, white-haired woman who is wearing a black skirt suit made of good cloth, a white silk blouse with her black jacket and a single strand of pearls. The older woman, who is sitting behind the secretary’s desk, has held her position for several decades and has assumed a certain – and what she has deemed proper – way of conducting affairs. The name plate on her desk reads ESTELLE DURANT, but no one would think of calling her by her first name. Mrs. Durant breaks into a smile of relief when she sees Yvonne. Protests upset this anachronistic secretary: she is happy to see a familiar, friendly face.
YVONNE
Good afternoon, Mrs. Durant. How are you?
MRS. DURANT
I’m quite well, thank you. What can I do for you?
YVONNE
I need to talk with President Oak about the protest. I just need a few minutes to get his side of the story.
MRS. DURANT
Of course. Let me tell him that you’re here.
She gets up and knocks on the president’s door.
PRESIDENT OAK (OS)
Come in.
Mrs. Durant disappears for a few seconds in the office of the deep-voiced president. She wears the same smile when she comes out.
MRS. DURANT
You can see him now.
YVONNE
Thank you, Mrs. Durant.
Yvonne walks into an office with high ceilings, a long brown leather couch against the wall near the door and a matching winged chair opposite a large, imposing desk near the picture window overlooking the campus. The walls are decorated with framed diplomas and Joan Miró paintings. The modern art, the president’s personal touch, matches his relaxed attitude and attire, a brown corduroy suit with no tie. He looks like the American history professor he was before he became a university president years ago. He walks everywhere and hikes for exercise, and his body shows it. He is a fit and vigorous 60. Graying at the temples, he has a kind face and an open manner. He stands as Yvonne enters, and they shake hands.
PRESIDENT OAK
Yvonne, it’s good to see you again. It’s been a while. I haven’t seen you since you wrote that piece on fraternities and sororities making a comeback. How have you been?
They both sit down.
YVONNE
Busy, very busy. It seems I’ve been assigned a lot more random murder and mayhem stories that have been keeping me away from my higher education beat. How have you been? How’s everyone in the family? Your newest grandchild?
PRESIDENT OAK
Everyone’s fine. Splendid. And the baby is cutting teeth already. Everyone’s getting bigger and older, but not always wiser. Well, I know you’re here with questions about the demonstration. So, fire away.
YVONNE
The students say they want a black faculty member hired in a year. They say they’ve met with you and not gotten a satisfactory response. Is that true?
PRESIDENT OAK
My response may not have been satisfactory to them, but it’s the best I can do. They want everything yesterday. I admit that diversity on the faculty is something that we should have, that we need to have. But these things can’t happen overnight. We need time, time to find qualified people. And people who are right for the university, and for whom the university is right. I’ve tried to explain this to the students. I can’t promise anything. There are variables here out of my control.
YVONNE
Have you talked about any possible compromised time schedule Or any changes in the interviewing and hiring process?
PRESIDENT OAK
No, we haven’t.
YVONNE
Are you planning to meet with the students today? Have you already met today?
PRESIDENT OAK
No. I won’t be meeting with them while they’re parading about. It’s a peaceful protest. Let them have their say. We’ll talk tomorrow. Maybe we can work out a compromise, as you put it. Any other questions, Yvonne? I’m getting pressed for time.
YVONNE
No. I want to thank you for seeing me.
She gets up.
PRESIDENT OAK
Oh, no problem, Yvonne. I know that you’re fair. And I always appreciate your insight. If you need me, you know how to reach me.
YVONNE
Thanks again.
She leaves his office.
Goodbye, Mrs. Durant. Thank you.
MRS. DURANT
Goodbye, Miss Galsworth.
She leaves the outer office. Marie, the young reporter, nearly runs into her.
MARIE
Excuse me.
YVONNE
Of course.
Yvonne stands outside the door listening for a few moments.
MARIE (off screen)
Hello. My name is Marie Kozlowski. I’m a reporter with the Berkeley News. I have to see President Oak. It’s about the protest.
MRS. DURANT (off screen)
I’m sorry. President Oak is not seeing any more members of the press.
MARIE (off screen)
But I’m here with the local press. He hasn’t spoken with the Berkeley press. We have as much right, more right, to the story than the San Francisco newspapers.
MRS. DURANT (off screen)
I’m sorry President Oak is not giving any more interviews.
MARIE (off screen)
I can’t believe this. This is an outrage. Doesn’t he realize that he’s restricting information? This is unfair. It’s unjust.
Yvonne walks away during Marie’s ravings. She wears a bemused smile.
CUT TO:
EXT: THE PROTEST
Yvonne approaches a young, Japanese American police sergeant wearing his stripes on his sleeves. Again, her manner changes. This time, she becomes one of the guys who would laugh at the vice squad sex crime jokes and toss back a beer with other members of the force. She knows MIKE.
ANGLE ON YVONNE AND MIKE
YVONNE
Hey Mike. How many people at this thing?
MIKE
I’d say about 250 at its peak. There are about 100 here now. There haven’t been any arrests. No injuries. Someone threw a rock earlier, but no one got hurt. You didn’t miss anything. So, how’s it going? You okay? You sure looking good.
He gives her a slow once-over from her long legs to her striking face.
YVONNE
Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. You could be arrested for that. (laughing) Good seeing you, Mike. Got to go.
Mike is satisfied with the good-natured reception of his leer. He always flirts with her; she always shoots him down with a quip. He laughs at this one.
MIKE
That’s a good one, Yvonne. Yeah, see ya.
ANGLE ON YVONNE
She walks away from Mike and nearer the protest. Then, she stops and looks around for a protester to interview. She searches with her eyes.
ANGLE ON PROTESTER NO. 1
A Native American woman with short, dark hair carrying a briefcase in one hand and a homemade placard in the other that reads: WHERE AM I ON THE FACULTY?
ANGLE ON PROTESTER NO. 2
A ruddy faced man carrying a sign that says: STILL FIGHTING FOR EQUALITY AFTER ALL THESE YEARS.
ANGLE ON PROTESTER NO. 3
A tall, mahogany-colored man, his name is ALEXANDER DUNBAR. He’s wearing jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top buttons undone. Strapped around his waist is a brown leather money bag. His low-cut hair draws even more attention to his intense, slanted eyes. His walk is actually a saunter. His unrushed manner seems continental.
ANGLE ON YVONNE
She has picked out her next interview. She starts walking toward Alex, her notebook and pencil at the ready.
YVONNE
Hello. I’m Yvonne Galsworth of the San Francisco Daily Mirror. I’d like to ask you a few questions.
ALEX
All right.
Alex is carrying a sign that reads: THE TIME IS NOW.
YVONNE
Why are you here today?
ALEX
To meet you.
Yvonne is surprised. She had not picked up on his interest. She recoups and resumes her straight-ahead reporting routine.
YVONNE
Right. And why else?
Alex, just as quickly, resumes his politico stance.
ALEX
I’m a senior here, majoring in philosophy. I’ve had one professor who was not white, a black man who taught African American literature. I’ve had no women teachers at all. There’s something wrong about that. Something intolerable. I’m here to change that, to help correct the balance. It’s as simple as that.
YVONNE
What’s your name?
His mood becomes flirtatious again and more contagious than before.
ALEX
So, you are interested?
YVONNE
Very funny.
ALEX
It’s Alexander Ibrahim Dunbar. My friends call me Alex.
YVONNE
And your age?
ALEX
Twenty-three.
YVONNE
Did you start school late?
ALEX
No. I grew up in Dakar, Senegal. My parents moved to West Africa as Peace Corps teachers. After their stint, they stayed on as teachers. They sent me to the States when I was 18 for university. I became disoriented. I took a couple of years off to read and travel before entering this school.
YVONNE
Sounds good.
ALEX
You’ve traveled, too, haven’t you?
YVONNE
Yes, but I’ve lived and traveled mostly in North and East Africa. Cairo, Khartoum, Dar es Salaam.
ALEX
I think we have a lot in common.
YVONNE
What city do you live in?
ALEX
I live in Berkeley. Where do you live? In San Francisco? That’s not far.
YVONNE
It doesn’t matter where I live. Thanks for your time. You’ve been a great help.
She opens her shoulder bag, fumbles for her keys and then drops them on the ground. Both she and Alex step out of the circle to get them. They both squat to pick them up. Their hands clasp; they look straight into each other’s eyes. Yvonne blushes and turns away. She pulls her hand from his. Alex smiles, knowing that he has made his mark. He knows that he has a chance. They rise to their feet.
YVONNE
Thanks again for your help.
ALEX
Anytime. It was my pleasure.
Yvonne walks back to her car at her typical fast pace with a sense of purpose. She gets into her car and removes the press card, which she puts into the glove compartment. She starts driving back to San Francisco on streets empty of traffic. When she gets onto the second bottom rung of the Bay Bridge, she pulls out her cell phone and calls her editor, Bill.
YVONNE
City Desk.
BILL
This is Bill, Yvonne.
YVONNE
I’m coming in. About 250 protesters, members of a coalition of minority organizations and other political groups, demanded more diversity among faculty members. There were no arrests or injuries. The president said he agrees with the principles, but these things take time.
BILL
Sounds like you got it. Does it look like good art?
YVONNE
Nah, not unless it’s a slow news day. Gail probably got some decent shots. I haven’t seen her. I guess she got here after I did and left before I did. Maybe she got something artsy.
BILL
Thanks, Yvonne. Jack was just asking me what I had for tomorrow. The news meeting is about to start. See you.
YVONNE
OK.
ANGLE ON SAN FRANCISCO SKYLINE
The sun, dancing on the water, lights up the white sails of boats in the bay and sets the windows of towers and other buildings afire. The city looks like magic.
ANGLE ON SAN FRANCISCO STREETS
We’re following Yvonne’s view as she exits the freeway and drives into downtown San Francisco in the Tenderloin District. She sees three odd scenes. First, a Rubenesque woman is standing in the doorway of a hotel that is so seedy it seems to be closed. She is wearing pink mule slippers and a fake satin pajama outfit as she opens her top revealing huge breasts. The drug dealers on the street don’t even look twice. Then, as Yvonne stops at a light, she notices a transvestite wearing a black leather skirt that just covers her behind and a long, curly black wig that’s askew. She is waiting for a bus and gets on as Yvonne drives away. After Yvonne parks her car in an alley littered with paper and bottles, she walks by a homeless man pushing a shopping cart outside the side entrance to the building, which houses the afternoon paper and her morning paper. When he sees her, he stops moving, looks her straight in the face and begins an angry chant. Yvonne does not look at the man dressed in a shirt and pants that look as though they are a part of him, he’s had them on that long. His straight mousey brown hair is matted and his front teeth rotten, although his light way of walking says that he cannot be older than 30.
HOMELESS MAN
Fuck you, bitch. Fuck you, bitch. Come here. Come here.
Yvonne pulls open the door to the building and walks in. She has not shown any reaction to any of the street scenes. She speaks to the guard who is standing at a podium about 20 paces from the door in front of a turnstile and a gate. The guard is a young man wearing a look of disinterest as Yvonne opens the gate and walks through it.
YVONNE
Hi, Joe. How goes it?
JOE
Okay. Okay.
Yvonne takes a quick right, opens another door and, then, turns right, where there are elevators. She calls for one and takes it upstairs to the third floor. She gets off and enters a waiting area. It is carpeted in a deep red. On the right is an office with an elaborately carved wooden door topped with carved figures. At first glance, the door is impressive but looks kitsch at a closer look. Yvonne walks straight ahead, greets a receptionist sitting at a desk who buzzes her in to another door, which leads to the newsroom.
YVONNE
Hello, Cecilia. Thank you.
CECILIA
You’re welcome.
Cecilia wears a smile and flowing clothes with floral print. She’s about 30 and has an intelligent face. One wonders about her because she gives off an air of mystery.
The newsroom, itself, is hopping with activity. Telephones are ringing everywhere. We’re still seeing what Yvonne sees. A blond copy person, a 19-year-old man wearing an Izzy Pop T-shirt and long hair pulled back with a red rubber band, darts around this cavernous room, dropping newspapers on the desks of reporters and editors. There are two offices, which Yvonne passes immediately after walking through the portal. The offices belong to the publisher and the managing editor. Everyone else, no matter what their rank or prestige, sits in the open air. The reporters and City Desk editors, on the right side of the room, have partitions around their desks, which reach as high as their heads, making it impossible to see their neighbor without standing up or shifting position. But there is a lot of that. Most of these desks are unoccupied. On the left side of the room, the news, wire and copy editors sit in four rectangular arrangements without the partitions. Most of the 20 reporters, who are in the newsroom, are talking on telephones, some typing as they hold conversations at their computers, which make a clicking noise. One reporter in his 60s, a man who looks like a walrus and wears a handlebar moustache, seems to be shielding his eyes from the fluorescent light in order to read the newspaper on his desk. A closer look shows that his eyes are closed, and he is sleeping. Yvonne walks over to Bill, an Assistant City Editor, to whom she reports. Although he is sitting, you can see that he is a tall man, more than 6 feet tall, and lanky. His coloring is fair: he would get burnt easily in the sun. His straight hair, which brushes his shoulder, is nearly blue-black, it’s so dark.
ANGLE ON YVONNE AND BILL
YVONNE
I’m back. How much space have I got?
BILL
15 inches.
YVONNE
15! Come on, Bill. This isn’t a one-shot deal here. This is a developing story. I’ve got everyone talking. The Berkeley News won’t have that. The San Francisco Pilot won’t. President Oak’s not talking with anyone else but me.
BILL
All right. All right. 20.
YVONNE
20! Only 80 lines!
BILL
20. That’s tops. And I need it by 5.
Yvonne realizes that she cannot bargain anymore. She feels good about her gain.
YVONNE
Okay. Great! Thanks, Bill. You got it.
ANGLE ON YVONNE
She walks to her desk a couple of feet away. She passes two reporters who are caught in a typing frenzy.
YVONNE
Hello, Walt. Barbara.
The two acknowledge her greeting without looking up or breaking their momentum. They mumble their words which are barely discernible.
WALT-BARBARA
How ya doing, Yvonne.
Yvonne sits at her desk, which is near a window that looks out on office buildings across the street. She pulls out her reporter’s notebook from her shoulder bag, leafs through it and, then, starts typing.
CUT TO:
EXT: THE STREET – PURPLE TWILIGHT
Yvonne, still dressed for work, is carrying a brown leather briefcase that’s well-made but tattered. It belonged to her father’s father, who was a smart and successful real estate businessman in Belize. She enters a Thai restaurant in her neighborhood of Haight-Ashbury. She speaks to the young pixieish Thai woman behind the counter who looks up from a textbook as Yvonne walks in.
YVONNE
Hi, how are you? I phoned in an order for your wonderful Tom Kha, your coconut chicken soup.
RESTAURANTEUR
I’m fine. I thought it was you, but I wasn’t certain. Your soup’s ready. I’ll go get it.
She walks to the back and returns with a brown paper bag. She rings it up on the cash register.
RESTAURANTEUR
So, how was your day?
YVONNE
Fine. I had a good day. Lots of mayhem and murder. Read about it in tomorrow’s Daily Mirror.
They both laugh.
RESTAURANTEUR
I will, Yvonne Galsworth. You are our most famous customer.
YVONNE
Thank you.
RESTAURANTEUR
You’re welcome. See you soon.
YVONNE
Probably.
Yvonne leaves the restaurant, climbs back into her car parked nearby and drives home, which is several blocks away and uphill. Many people fill Haight Street, where the restaurant is located. There are lots of characters dressed in Sixties hippie style with Indian print material, others in Hells Angels’ black leather and many panhandlers, who look as though they are not old enough to drink legally. But once Yvonne makes a left turn and starts climbing, the area becomes residential and filled with lots of colorful Victorian buildings and few people. She sees a man and women in their 40s walking with their arms around each other and carrying briefcases. Both are wearing suits. They are smiling broadly and looking at each other as though no one else exists. Then, she sees a woman in her early 20s pushing a stroller with a toddler in it. Yvonne sighs but then looks at the trees turning color on her block as she pulls into her garage, and the trees bring a smile to her face again. She gets out of her car loaded down with her food, briefcase, shoulder bag, newspapers, books and magazines. She closes her garage door with the push of a button and enters her building from the outside with a key. She manages to do this by lifting one leg and balancing the papers on her knee, which she braces against the door. Once inside her 1930s brownstone, she valiantly climbs three flights of stairs without stopping, unlocks her apartment door at the far end of the hall and throws most of what she is carrying on a living-room couch – everything but the food, which she carries farther into the kitchen.
YVONNE
Another day.
She walks into her bedroom and kicks off her shoes. Then, she goes into the adjoining bathroom in her square-shaped one-bedroom apartment and starts running a bubble bath as she takes off her dress. She whizzes about the apartment, picking up strewn magazines and newspapers and placing them into different piles. She turns off the tap for the bath and brings a 12-inch television into the bathroom. She places the TV on the toilet, and she places her cellphone and food on the edge of the bathtub as she gets into the bath. She turns on a sitcom rerun when the telephone rings. Yvonne looks relieved when she hears it. She answers smiling.
YVONNE
Hello?
ANGLE INSET ON CALLER
She is a blonde with curly hair that ends at the nape. Her peaches and cream complexion makes her look healthy at 37. Sitting cross-legged on the couch in her apartment, she seems athletic as she constantly changes position. Sandy is a good friend of Yvonne.
SANDY
Hi, Yvonne. It’s Sandy. How are you?
Yvonne talks hurriedly as though she’s reliving the day’s rhythm
YVONNE
San! I’m exhausted! What a day! I’ve been on the run since early this morning. I had to do a follow on that bizarre belly dancer killing in Marin. So I drove out there and back. And for what? There’s no story there. It’s over. I tried to tell Bill that, but he didn’t believe me. Sometimes I can’t believe the stories he thinks up. Editors. The bane of my existence.
SANDY
That’s our purpose in life. To cause reporters pain and irritation. You worked on that all day?
YVONNE
No, I went out on a real story this afternoon at Clearview. A protest demanding diversity on the faculty. A real protest, San, with signs and shouts. I haven’t marched in one or covered one in years. It was exciting.
SANDY
You relived your youth.
YVONNE
Yes, I guess so, although I know you’re not saying that I’ve lost my youth. I really haven’t had time to think about it. I just got home and got into the bathtub when you called. But I guess it did remind me of my hell-raising days at Williams. The depressing aspect about it is that I once participated in a stand-in outside the administration demanding the same thing as these kids. That was 19 years ago! What’s changed?
SANDY
Yeah, sometimes it doesn’t seem as though anything has. Sometimes I feel as though I’d be more effective going back to work on the University of Wisconsin’s underground paper, Takeover, at Madison. Of course, it doesn’t exist anymore. Instead, I’m editing
(MORE)
SANDY (CONT’D)
news stories and writing headlines for the San Francisco Pilot. Once in a while, I’ll catch something that’s insensitive or helps to perpetuate prejudice. Today, I handled a story where the president of the local NAACP’s quote was followed by “he said, articulately.” Would the paper describe a white person in a similar position as speaking articulately? No. It’s racist. I deleted the word. But for the most part, I feel as though I’m perpetuating business as usual, and the business is rotten. The newspaper reports on a narrow parameter of the community, and the reporting is very flat. There’s no analysis or perspective. It’s white men recording the activities of white men as though they alone comprise the world when, in fact, they are a minority.
YVONNE
I suppose the fact that we’re in the newsroom signifies a change, although there aren’t many of us, and few of us are in any positions of power.
SANDY
Yes, and even if we were . . . I don’t know. It seems you’ve still got to cut your hair to be allowed into the boardrooms.
YVONNE
I know what you mean. So, what’s new at our rival paper?
SANDY
Nothing, really. I finished Chapter 12 of my second novel earlier today. Much earlier, at about 3 a.m. Those grueling hours at afternoon papers. I had to be at work at 5. I nearly fell asleep on the thousandth “Is the drought over yet” story. I’ve got no complaints about the job. I just wish they’d let me work part time, so I could get some more sleep. It would benefit the paper and me to have a well-rested, clear-headed view of the world. Anyway, that’ll work itself out.
YVONNE
I keep telling you that you should come over to the Daily Mirror.
SANDY
Yvonne, I don’t really want to work at another paper. I don’t want to learn yet another organization’s idiotic style, its idiosyncratic way of spelling kidnapping with one p and cigarette deleting the last two letters. Not to mention having to learn its way of writing headlines that set it apart from the rest. I don’t think in terms of one to six columns, and I don’t want to sum up anything in five or six words. Writing headlines is unnatural for me. I don’t want to go to another paper and wear another mask that doesn’t quite fit.
YVONNE
Okay. Okay. It was just a suggestion. Will you remember me when you become rich and famous?
They both laugh.
SANDY
Not to worry. And when my first book gets published, I’ll throw the party of the year, an event worthy of mention by one or two columnists.
YVONNE
How’s Danny?
SANDY
He’s fine. We’ve been talking, keeping each other informed of the important things happening in our lives. It’s amazing that since we decided to go our separate ways three months ago, our relationship is at its best.
YVONNE
You’re planning to get back together with him, aren’t you?
SANDY
I’m not planning anything. The day he can mention his ex-wife’s name without his mishigosh, his crazy guilt, anger and torment, burning in his eyes, is the day we can see each other again. What about you?
YVONNE
Nothing to report in that department. Although someone flirted outrageously with me today.
SANDY
Oh. Who?
YVONNE
One of the demonstrators I interviewed today.
SANDY
One of the demonstrators! How old was he?
YVONNE
Oh, he was a baby. Twenty-three. Remember 23. We weren’t even that young when we met at the Long Beach paper in Southern California ten years ago. Still, it was fun to be flirted with. I’m beginning to forget that I’m a sexual being. I haven’t had sex in months.
SANDY
Yes, I know when you’re talking about. When are you leaving for New York?
YVONNE
This weekend. It’s the day after tomorrow already! The birthday dinner party will be wonderful! Mari will be 38. We’ve known each other since we were in diapers. She’s invited me and three other close friends. Mari’s a food consultant who does catering and
styling for photographs. So, the food will be scrumptious, and it will look exquisite. And,
of course, it’ll be great to see everyone again. I saw Mari last year, but I haven’t seen the others in years.
CUT TO:
INT: MARI’S STUDIO APARTMENT
Bay windows filled with plants take up the wall near the door in this odd-shaped apartment with parquet floors. On an adjacent wall hangs a large, framed Two Tahitian Women Gaugin poster. The picture shows two bare-breasted women, one cradling a wooden board of fruit and the other holding blossoms. A wall closet takes up most of the wall opposite the windows, and behind that is a small kitchen. Opposite the kitchen is a double bed covered with pillows. The bed is separated from the dining table by a wooden bookcase lined with history, art, travel and recipe books. Yvonne and four other black women sit at the rectangular table covered with a white tablecloth, lightly strewn with confetti and lighted by two candles. They are all about the same age, make the most of their natural endowments and wear black evening outfits.
MARI, fair-skinned with shoulder-length red-highlighted hair, wears a silk blouse and a skirt that falls just above her knees. She is dressed the way she would for a catering job, tastefully but not in an overpowering way.
RITA, chocolate-colored with a Grace Jones block haircut, wears a catsuit.
BENITA, cinnamon brown with her hair worn in a severe bun, wears a turtle-neck angora sweater and a short black leather skirt.
BARBARA, burnt sienna with straightened hair worn in a chignon, wears a conservative evening dress that looks like Saks Fifth Avenue or some other swanky department store buy. Her face is carefully made up; her long nails painted and perfect.
Yvonne, wearing a vintage 1950s crepe dress with large cloth-covered buttons down the upper back, is relaxed and at home. She helped Mari move into this apartment 16 years ago. The red-rimmed Eritrean straw basket hanging on the narrow wall near the bay window was a gift she picked up in her travels more than 10 years ago. She’s not moving as fast as she usually does: she’s content to sit and listen.
YVONNE
I’d like to propose a toast to the chef and birthday girl.
Everyone giggles.
YVONNE
You know you’re getting older when you laugh at being called a girl. Anyway, Mari. May the spirit of your 39th year reflect the fiery vibrancy of the food you have prepared for us to eat today. To Mari!
EVERYONE
To Mari!
They clink glasses and take a sip of Veuve Clicquot Brut champagne.
MARI
I’d also like to say something. I really did enjoy cooking for you yesterday and today. It was my way of showing you how much you mean to me and how much knowing you has enriched my life. I’m just so happy you could all come.
She starts to cry a little. Yvonne, Rita and Benita get teary-eyed.
BARBARA
Oh, don’t cry.
MARI
It’s all right. I’m happy.
She stops crying quickly.
ANGLE ON MARI
And on each woman as her name is mentioned.
MARI
Now, I’d like to make a toast. May there be more happy occasions that gather us together – Rita and Barbara from Chicago, Yvonne from San Francisco and Benita from the Bronx, or from wherever we happen to live. Thank God for you, dear hearts. With your friendship, I know I’m blessed. To you!
EVERYONE
To us!
They clink champagne glasses again and sip.
BENITA
Everything looks so good! I don’t want to touch it. It looks like a piece of art. You’re an artist, Mari.
MARI
Thank you. But I made this dinner to be eaten. Let’s eat!
BENITA
You don’t have to twist my arm.
Everyone begins.
BARBARA
Umm. Delicious.
BENITA
Yum.
RITA
Oh, this smells wonderful, and it tastes sublime.
YVONNE
Yes. Yes. Your food is a smashing success.
MARI
Thank you. Thank you. I’m glad.
RITA
Mari, what is this vegetable?
MARI
That’s a wild mushroom. I wrote everything out on your menu cards beside your plates.
RITA
(mockingly pretentious)
Oh, how appropriate.
She picks up the card and reads.
RITA
September 9. Mari’s Dinner for Special Friends. Beginning with salmon rosettes in cucumber cups and pizzette of caramelized onions, sun-dried tomato and olives. Champagne with the appetizers. And for the entrée: Linguine in wild mushroom cream sauce, scallops and prawns sautéed in ginger-lime butter, mixed green salad with goat cheese and walnuts sprinkled with a vinaigrette. A full-bodied, tropical fruit tasting Chardonnay with the entrée. And for the dessert: Fallen chocolate soufflé cake and Grand Marnier Bavarian cream with orange segments. Bon appetite!
She puts down the card.
My goodness. I’m impressed.
BENITA
Imagine. Our little Mari did all this. You’ve come a long way since Plaza Gardens on 152nd Street. Remember that corner shop, Mario’s, where we’d always stop after classes at junior high and get greasy sausage sandwiches?
MARI
I remember. I can’t believe we ate as many of those things as we did. We loved them! We were addicted to them. Everyone was.
YVONNE
I remember when Mari and her family were still living in the Astoria projects one floor above mine. You had to be younger than 10 or 11, and you were already beginning to dabble in the culinary arts. I had forgotten all about this until now. You made a cake with green peppermint icing. You were really proud of it.
RITA
You have come a long way. By the time I met you at N.Y.U., I knew you liked to eat, but I don’t recall you doing much cooking. Then, we lost daily contact after you transferred to Barnard for your sophomore year. Still, we did frequent restaurants with tasty food. You always knew where to go for a good meal.
BARBARA
I guess I’m bringing up the rear. When Mari and I worked on Wall Street at that investment firm, we sometimes did catering jobs together. That was about seven years ago. You were well on your way by then. Everything here is delicious! I can’t say it too many times.
MARI
Thanks, everyone. Speaking of years going by, since I’ve been doing food styling – about a year now – I’ve been meeting lots of people and I’ve gotten many exclamations when I tell them my age. ‘Thirty-eight’, they say. ‘You don’t look it.’ What is 38 supposed to look like, I’d like to know? Twenty pounds overweight? Tired? Stuck in an unsatisfying career?
They all shake their heads
BARBARA
Beaten black and blue by your husband?
RITA
Working 9 to 5 at a job you hate and drinking at night to forget it?
BENITA
Taking care of a houseful of kids with runny noses and nasty dispositions?
They laugh. As the laughter subsides, Yvonne speaks.
YVONNE
I’d like to have children.
MARI
I would, too. This is a new feeling for me. If I were involved in a loving relationship with a man who would be a good father, I’d like to become a mother.
BENITA
I feel the same way. I’d like to have children, at least one. But I’m not about to run out there and get knocked up.
RITA
Boy, this is a change. I’m in the minority on this one. James and I always talked about having children sometime in the future. Now that we’re divorced, I ask myself whether I see motherhood in my future at all. I’m not certain I want to remarry, much less have a family, although I know that’s what Norman wants. I really like my independence. Norm and I have been practically living together for two years, but he has his apartment, and I have mine. I’m comfortable with that.
YVONNE
I’m tired of living alone, having my own place. It feels unnatural.
MARI
I know what you mean. There’s nothing to prove anymore. I’ve been doing this for 18 years now.
BARBARA
I think I’d like a family, although I never planned on it when I was married. But right now, I’m all wrapped up in my move in a few months to Italy.
YVONNE
Umm. Italy. I’ve never been there, but people who have been keep telling me that I’d love it.
BARBARA
I certainly do. I love the language; I love the people; I love the men. I’ve been engrossed trying to figure out how I’m going to make this move. You know, the mechanics of it all. And I’ve been studying my Italian. I’ll be doing business in English with wholesale clothing buyers in the States, but I’ll be living in Milano. I can’t wait ‘til I gain some command of the language. It’s so lilting; it’s beautiful.
RITA
I haven’t really traveled outside of the States. I’ve been to St. Thomas in the Virgin Islands, but that barely counts. There are so many American tourists there. I’d like to see more of the world.
MARI
So would I. I’ve seen a lot of the U.S. I think it’s time I broadened my travels. I’ve even been thinking about going to cooking school in France or Italy for a year or two.
YVONNE
I had done a lot of world travel at one point in my life. Then, I got into the newspaper business 13 years ago, and I’ve pretty much stayed Stateside. I don’t quite know why. I guess I get obsessed with my work. I find it hard to take time out to travel.
RITA
It’s hard for me to get away, too. I’m the only counsel for the cable television contracts with Cook County. I work long, long hours.
BENITA
I guess my reason is money, not time. Although I’m still taking voice lessons, working club gigs at night and holding down a day job as a word processor, I’m working for a temporary agency, so I could get away. But I’m just making enough money to pay the rent, buy food and go out occasionally.
BARBARA
Well, everyone is welcome to visit and stay with me. I expect I’ll be there at least a year. Who knows? I may settle there. It’s the only place I’ve lived where I feel at home, and I’ve lived in a few places in the States.
MARI
I’m definitely going to visit. You won’t have to extend the invitation more than once.
BARBARA
Good. Good. It’ll be wonderful to see you in my new home.
MARI
We all seem to be going through transitions either with new careers or new places to live.
YVONNE
Yes. I’ve only been in San Francisco two years. It’s the first place I’ve lived in the States where I feel at home. But I’m still adjusting. It’s nothing like Southern California. The climate is temperate, which I don’t like. I miss the heat and sensuality of L.A. But I meet people in San Francisco who read the books I read; I meet people who read books.
RITA
We are going through changes. I’m looking for a new job outside of Chicago, so I’ll be moving soon, too. I’ll probably be back on the East Coast.
YVONNE
What about Norm?
RITA
I don’t know what’s going to happen. We love each other. But he knows I’m looking, and none of the jobs I’ve considered are in Illinois, much less Chicago. Still, he’s been very supportive. I don’t know that I’d want him to follow me. I feel that there’s something wrong with a situation where someone moves for someone else. Too compromising. It’s bound to create problems and resentment later on.
YVONNE
You really are going the singles route, aren’t you?
RITA
I don’t know. I just don’t know. But I will with time, I guess. What about you, Yvonne? What’s going on in San Francisco?
YVONNE
Nothing. A lot of it has to do with a lack of time. But I’m feeling like a piece of dried-up fruit.
BENITA
Same here. And I could find the time.
MARI
I’m taking time out. It’s still difficult to imagine myself with someone other than David. We were together since I was 25. He took me through my growing pains, so to speak, although he took me in directions, I realize now, that I didn’t want to go. I wanted to please him.
A heavy pause follows.
BARBARA
It’s harder to date nowadays, what with the specter of AIDS.
RITA
Yes. AIDS makes a difference. It makes people more skittish about getting involved, and it probably prolongs a lot of relationships. But don’t you think that age has something to do with it, also. I mean, I’ve never dated. Not really. I have no idea what that’s like.
YVONNE
I’ve never dated.
BENITA
I’ve never dated.
MARI
I did when I was in college. It’s probably time we did do some of that. Let’s drink to change.
They clink glasses and sip.
But not without taking a look at the past.
She reaches for a packet of photographs under the table on the floor. She passes the pictures around one by one.
It’s my New Year’s Eve party when we were just out of college. Remember?
Everyone, but Barbara, shrieks.
RITA
Oh, wonderful!
BENITA
That was so long ago. I feel ancient.
YVONNE
I’m afraid to look.
BARBARA
I’m off the hook here. I didn’t know you then. I can just enjoy looking at the pictures without any memories.
MARI
Oh, but the memories are good. Look at Yvonne hanging out of this black jumpsuit number. Sexy mama.
YVONNE
I don’t believe it. That was a different time back then. I was living with Ken in Washington, D.C. I can’t even remember what my life felt like then.
MARI
Look at Rita in her gauzy white transparent blouse without a bra.
RITA
That was in my antique clothes-buying days. That was a vintage blouse.
MARI
Yes, covering nubile young breasts.
Everyone laughs.
BARBARA
Ouch, that smarts.
YVONNE
That is rough.
BENITA
Hm hm hm. Watch out. She’s snapping.
RITA
All right. All right. Let’s look at Mari. Well, the clothes are classic. They aren’t dated, but the face and body . . .
There’s more laughter. Mari gets up and fiddles with the tape player sitting in the bay window in front of closed blinds and behind a couch. Disco Inferno by the Trammps, a disco hit, starts to play. Mari starts dancing.
MARI
This body can still move the way it did then. I saved the tape I played at the party.
Everyone shrieks. Mari extends her hand to Rita, who ignores it.
Need some help getting out of the chair?
RITA
Honey, you better clear the floor ‘cause my moves have improved.
She gets up and dances.
BENITA
Show her, girl. And save some space for me.
She joins them.
BARBARA
I hate to waste music.
YVONNE
You’re not going to outdo me.
She jumps up, too.
BENITA
This is bizarre. I remember dancing to this here more than a dozen years ago.
RITA
I know. It’s like a time warp.
YVONNE
It’s weird. Am I going to go home to D.C. after this?