I LONG TO BE A FALLEN WOMAN
(A One Woman Play)
by
Barbara Anton (copyright 1997 All Rights Reserved)
Lately I've been regretting my misspent youth. Misspent
how? I behaved myself. Lamentable. Why the hell didn't I kick up
my heels?
(Sings from "My Way") Regrets, I've had a few.
(Speaks) I would love to have been Mata Hari! All that
lovely sex in the name of patriotism. I'd seduce the enemy and
at the moment of truth I'd ask slyly, "Tell me, General, how
many mega tons is your bomb?"
I should have been Ava Gardner...she kicked it with
Frank Sinatra and a few bullfighters. I'd sure like to wave a
red cape in front of a bullfighter or two.
Or I would like to have been Delilah, the originator of
the clip joint. I wish I was the one to give Sampson a clip
where it hurt. Not a circumcision, a haircut. Oh, to experience
the euphoria of bringing a strong man to his knees.
Eve didn't make the mistake I did, she took a bite out
of the apple. So what if she doomed the whole human race?
Because she couldn't keep her mouth shut we've got this clothes
problem: purple is in, purple is out.This year it's citrus. I
ought to look good in orange...I've got a shape like a kumquat.
Hems up--hems down, tight, loose, outrageous,
subdued...but clothes are our plumage, we've got to go for it.
Anything looks good on young girls but not on anyone over twenty.
I was young once...and pretty. I could have been
Madonna. I could have worn those pointed metal breast cups and
strutted around in my underwear. But hey, it's too late
now...with my luck the elastic in my bloomers would break.
You know who I really would like to have been? Mae West.
Now there was a woman. How about that hourglass figure? I'm
built more like an alarm clock--but at least I'm still ticking.
"Come up and see me sometime," she said that to Cary
Grant. She discovered him, you know. When she saw him sashaying
that gorgeous body across the lot, she said, "I want that", and
she went and got it.
"Come up and see me sometime."
I'll bet he went up to see her more than one time. He
never came up to see me...but then I never invited him.
Maybe that's why I never got lucky. Maybe it's not luck,
maybe it's pluck. Maybe all you have to do is point and say, "I
want that", and then go get it. Whatever it is, I didn't have
it. Herman did the pointing and I just tagged along like a
homeless hound, afraid he might be the only one to ever point.
In my next life, if there is a next life, I'll go after
what I want. Cary Grant, come up and see me sometime.
Now it's Brad Pitt...he's the sexiest man alive. I
wouldn't mind taking a bite out of that boy. But it's too late
now, I've lost all my teeth.
I'd like to have been Elizabeth Taylor. She had eight
husbands. Eight, count 'em. She covered it all, from Nicky
Hilton's hotels to Larry Fortenski's trailer...from Mike Todd's
jet to Larry's motorcycle. She went from being showered with
jewels by Richard Burton to packing Larry's lunch bucket. Yup,
she had it all. I had Herman. Now Liz is peddling
perfume...White Diamonds, Black Pearls...mine would be "Green
With Envy".
I wouldn't mind being Marilyn Monroe. She had the
President and the Attorney General...and possibly the House and
the Senate. Marilyn...Norma Jean...a little orphan, shuttled
from one foster home to another, and she bedded a president. It
must have been that walk. I might still be able to wiggle when I
walk if I wear only one orthotic.
(Sings) Regrets, I've had a few.
(Speak) My life was too safe, too predictable, too well
structured. I needed a touch of evil in my life. Like Bonnie
Parker. Imagine dying beside your lover in a shoot out...in an
old Ford, your hands on a sawed-off shotgun, your body riddled
with bullets. What a way to go! I'll just fade away quietly here
at Shadydale on an old 1967 Beautyrest...my body riddled with
regrets.
Hey, I could have been Lizzie Borden. Now there was a
gal that took a whack at it. I never understood that. Now if it
had been her in-laws....
I should have been Virginia Hill, Bugey Siegel's moll.
Imagine the thrill of romancing Bugsy while he was turning those
miles of sand into Las Vegas. I wish he had played my slot
machine. I should have looked for a nut like that. Poor Herman
was no nut...maybe a fruit. Maybe that's why he showed so little
interest in me: Herman was a neuter.
Remember when Ingrid Bergman left her husband and baby
and went to sit on that Italian director's volcano? Stromboli,
wasn't it? When I hankered after our Italian chauffeur, all I
did about it was send out for pizza.
Lady Chatterly had the right idea, if the stud in your
bed is dead, hit on the gardener...you'll get what you're
looking for there. I read the book, but didn't follow up on it.
From now on, when I see a man that appeals to me, I'm going to
go after him. What am I saying? If I followed a man now he'd
call the cops.
Maybe not...if I find the right man. Maybe I can find a
stud that's legally blind...like Al Pacino in that movie. I'd
sure like to tango with Al. Who am I kidding? One tango and I'd
stiffen up so I couldn't walk for a week.
But that's no reason I can't raise a little hell. After
all, what did Marilyn Monroe and Mae West and Mata Hari have
that I don't have. Nothing, right? All right, they grouped it
better, but I've got the basic equipment. I could have been a
femme fatale. It's my fault that nothing but Herman ever
happened to me.
Dolly Parton has a husband, but that doesn't stop her
from having a fling or two. Dolly Parton. Now there's a girl
with equipment! She could get work if she was down to only two
body parts. I wonder if anyone would miss her voice if she
stopped singing.
Well, I can't sing and I'm not packing grapefruit, but
I'll bet I could still scare up something if I put my mind to
it. I've got to be careful though, with my cataracts I might hit
on Dennis Rodman. Now there's a man...or a woman...or something.
Whatever he is, he sure knows how to have fun. Maybe I should
dye my hair orange...or pink...or green. No, my hair's so thin
I'd only color my scalp to look like mange.
Remember Charles Boyer? Come wiz me to de Casbah. He was
thin on top, but he sure was sexy. He put a gleam in my eye.
Back then the gleam in my eye was lust, now it's the sun
reflecting off my bifocals.
Charles Boyer...I finally convinced Herman to take me to
the Casbah, but the day we landed in Algiers I got the runs. I
was a lot less like Hedy Lamarr and more like that Olympic
runner, Jackie Joiner. There were a few times there when I think
I broke her record.
Hey, I could have been Evita Peron.
(Sings) Don't cry for me, Argentina.
(Speaks) If they could make a saint out of that sinner,
maybe they could make a dictator's darling out of me.
Who am I kidding? It's too late. I might never be a
fallen woman, but I haven't been shut out entirely: my arches
have fallen!
CURTAIN
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