TALKING HEADS

MARINE

by Pam Gems

Copyright © Pam Gems
Pam Gems is hereby identified as author of this work in accordance with section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. The author has asserted her moral rights. 

All rights whatsoever in this play are strictly reserved and application for performance etc. should be made before rehearsal to Rose Cobbe, United Agents, 12-26 Lexington Street, London W1F 0LE, UK. Tel: +44 (0) 20 3214 0800.
http://unitedagents.co.uk/agents/rose-cobbe/. Assistant: Dan Usztan. Email: dusztan@unitedagents.co.uk Tel: +44 (0) 20 3214 0873. No performance may be given unless a licence has been obtained.

TALKING HEADS

MARINE

Her accent is Australian except when she is in character.  Then it is English.  Her swearing is bleeped.

	Nah, nah, nah!

	Put it down - here, gimmee the box - (mutters) for God's sakes -

	What do you mean it'll print black?  Never mind what they told you - Harald - where is he, come over here.

	Harald.  Do I - or do I not know what I'm talking about?  Look at this.  They're trying to make me look like a fucking ingenue.  I don't care what it says, I know how I'm gonna look and you can all -

	Your best is not good enough, cookie, I'll do it myself.

	I said I'll do it myself.  Go and see to Helen.  (To herself)  If you dare.

She hums as she makes up her face.

	That's better.

	Marine, you're an interesting looking woman.

	(Calls)  Harald, did you get my crumpet - (aside) that'll be the day.

	No!  No butter.  Ginger marmalade with pepper dressing - Now!

	Christ Almighty, why do you have to say everything twice?

Fade and up.

	Three takes, three prints - not bad, Marine, well, you don't mess about.  I read the whole script, not just me own lines.

	I know what I'm doing.

	Day One, you lay down the rules.  Everything clear, we all know where we stand.

	English picture...who's Top Dog?

	The import.

	The Yank whose name speaks to the US market.

	In this case, a name from Oz.

	With LA credentials.

	When you've been on set with Clint, in bed with Gene Hackman - now there's a guy, best I ever worked with.  I sign up for a nude scene to get a major movie, Gene finds me in tears in the shrubbery, I tell him about me small tits - next morning I walk on the set full of misery in me dressing gown - nude scene's off.  Gene just stands there.

	Nah, when you've looked up Harry Ford's nostrils, cuddled Tom after he's been sentenced for life and didn't do it...

	Course Gene like  me 'cos my name was Marine.

	Having been one himself.
	Called me a one-off.

	Yup.

	That's me.

	When they need a bit of spice or a McGuffin for the third act it's "Get Marine.  We need Marine."

	When they can't afford me it's "Get a Marine type."

	I only do class work.  Big budget - small budget - either way it must have class.  Funny think class.  You're either born with it or not.  People spend their lives wondering if they should have chosen the avocado bathroom.  Innocent really.  My old Da knew all about class.  He could con the knickers off a Parisian madame.  Class was his ticket.  Had his shoes made in London.  And his hats.  Always wore a hat.

	Where - is - my - tea?

	What are you talking about?  Tea - just tea!  Milk, no sugar, what's he on about?

	There's not enough money on this shoot.  They're being thrifty.  Big mistake.  You have to con like Zero Mostel in The Producers.  Cover yourself every which way and be seen to spend upfront.  Get them in up to their necks.

	The shoot - the cinematography - you whizz through that.  Extra camera?  No.  New costumes?  No.  You save the cash for selling.  To pay the fucking journos, to make a big noise.  To put on the class where it's useful - to land the right lays.  I had to go through the whole drama faculty to get a ticket from Melbourne to California.  Left a few hearts behind.

	"Don't go, it'll be tough, Marine" -
	"You'll have to sling hash" -

	"Work check-outs" -

	"Sell kink."

	Not Marine.

	I hired a limo, slept with the driver, got him to take me to the hotel you all know the name of - told them that I was on the run from Mr Big, got his name from a piece about Las Vegas - said I was frightened for my life.

	They couldn't wait to get rid of me.

	I said could they find me some work - next day, bingo.

	OK, it was television.

	But a series.

	A beach series.  I got some augmentation and the hooter shaved on credit, went on Pilates, fish and veg, used my English accent and never put out on the first date.

	Never looked back.

	Fuck me if they haven't sent down Earl Grey.  I said look - when I want piss I'll pay for piss.  Muffins instead of crumpets, but Fortnum's apricot compote - OK, I guess.

	The reason you're sitting round half the time is so's the men can play with  their toys.

	At least they've given me a decent trailer, after the usual hullabaloo and head banging.  Shower - dressing area and cooker - they tried to put in a microwave, I said are you nuts, destroy every vitamin as soon as it hits the pan?

	Very primitive country, England.

	Twice as many public lavatories for the men as for the women - I mean, come on!

	And do you ever see a condom machine in a women's loo in Britain?  What century are they in?

	I'm doing my own make-up in the trailer.  Like Marlene, whom I was named for only the old Da couldn't spell.  She always saw to her own slap - and her own lighting.  Nothing she didn't know about lighting.

	Bit of a role model.

	Professional.

	A stayer.

	Like a good steeplechaser, knew her way round the track.  Very maternal woman in her own way - liked to cook, and nurse people when they were sick.  Not for me.  You can keep the maternal stuff.  Four sisters and two little brothers - Ma with her ass round her knees, hand like wire wool - no thanks, Marine.

	I weakened once.

	Beautiful looking guy, owned half Texas and wanted a son and heir.

	Three Lear jets, three Cadillacs - what colours did I want, what extras - sod it, can you eat three dinners, take three baths, smoke three cigarettes at the same time?

	It's disproportionate.

	I left skid marks.

	As the star of this piece of art house hopeful I've been sitting in on the dailies.  Putting my oar in.  They hate it, but - I'm the head honcho.  Anyway, they're not total idiots.  They know I know what I'm saying.  One of my first live-ins in Hollywood was an old cutter.

	Who makes the movies?

	The cutter.

	With or without some big-ass know-nothing director breathing bad breath down his neck.

	The only job worth a lick in the business.  I know print from print.

	I've got a good mind for sequence.

	I'm getting them into shape.  Fresh flowers every morning in the trailer - no chrysanths, no dahlias and - pu-lease - no glads.  I'm not too fond of heavy scent in close quarters, and some of the arrangements are pretty weird, but you have to give them their heads.

	Where - is - everybody?

	What - the - fuck - is - happening?

The sound of a police car arriving.  It gets very loud.  And stops.

	What the - ?
	Harald!  Harald?

Fade and up.

	I don't believe it.

	The little whey-faced girl from make-up?

	The one I frightened to death?

	You're sure?

	Well - nothing to do with me.

	What the fuck's she want to do a thing like that for?  And on location!

	She's lucky we've got facilities.

	(On the telephone)  OK, OK.  So how long are we going to be kept - ?

	What?!  Where is she now?  Why?  Why isn't she in casualty - she should have been pumped an hour ago - probably brain-dead by now - not that you'd notice the difference -

Fade and up.

	Well find out!  Christ, do I have to do everything myself!

Fade and up.

	Somebody must know where he lives - what do you mean, kicked her out... uhuh...uhuh...a vet?  Guess he sees enough canine anuses a day not to need one back at the ranch.

	Why ask me?

	What does the production manager say?

Fade and up.
	Bring her in.  She can lie down on the sofa.

	OK, sit up if you want.

	She looks OK.

Sound of girl, puking.

	Oh great.  All over my wig.

	Look, Harald.  I'm on set in fifteen minutes, if we're lucky, and I have the stairs scene to do and that young prick is going to want twenty takes and I'm going to do them to prove I'm 28 and not 38 - Get her Out of Here!

	I know I said bring her in.

	Because she was in the fucking toilet!

	I don't know.

	For Christ's sakes - you can't put her in a hotel room on her own.

	I don't know!

	Oh Christ, that's my call.  God, she looks - (shouts) - are you OK?  Harald, she can't stay here, I need to concentrate.  You'd better take her back to my place.  Take the limo, it's smoother.

	(Bawls)  I'm coming, you bastards. 

	Tell her she can stay for three days, then she's on her own.  You'd better hire a nurse.

Fade and up.

	Fourteen takes.  He was getting the eye and the finger in the end, so he kisses my hand, says "Beautiful work"!

	Not bad.
	It's all in the eyes.

	Amazing looking guy playing the Russian.  Can't act - well, when did that fall off trees?  Good face bones.  Smells OK.  Some of them smell so bad - it's the angst.  God, who'd be the poor buggers who have to carry fifty million dollar plus movies?  Carry all that on your back?  It's no life.

Fade and up.

	The light was good today.  For England.

	God, I'm tired.

	(Sounds of bath water)  Lorraine - could you fetch me in the big bottle of Bulgari moisturizer from the lav - it's on the marble ledge - (Sings to herself)  "There may be trouble ahead, But while there's music and movement, and love and romance, Let's face the music and dance" - thanks -

	For Christ's sakes, Lorraine, you've seen a pair of tits before.  Not bad, eh?  Cost me a fortune and a half.

	Did you eat anything?

Fade and up.

	Rain.  So it's back to knitting the six-foot scarf for Dutch Piet and I'm running out of orange wool.  I'll have to trust Harald to match the colour.  Got my new nails...jossed around with the crew for a bit but you can't hang about for too long.  Makes them uneasy.

	She's great with food, Lorraine.  Looks anorexic, they often cook well, I've noticed.  She'll bring in a tray with something light, not too chewy.  Seems to understand what you need.  As my food trainer says "Make food your friend and not your enemy."

	That bitch has got to go.

	I'm trying to work!

	I will not come back to look at a face like a white cowpat.

	Harald!

	You've got to find her a place - a flat, a room - there must be something she can afford.  No - today!  I want it done today!

	The big scene tomorrow.

	I'm bloody nervous.

	I know how.  Keep it unpredictable - late cut...a few googlies...

	Trouble is, like cricket or any other game, your form comes and goes.

	Fall back on technique of course.

	Not the same though.

	I'm too fucking old for this.

	You're a vain cow.

	You couldn't resist a big fat leading role, could you?

	You're a fool, Marine.

	One bad lead can put you out forever.  Sticks to you like shit - well, it can do.

	She's very good at foot massage.

	Today was better.  We cracked on - my face was good.  I look great in the pilot's gear - had a stills session - a couple of journos came by and we cracked some Aussie vino - all very matey - guarantees nothing of course, slidy bastards.  The women are the worst.  They do women power, all girls together then shaft you for a sodding by-line.  One of them said I smirked - another one said I looked like a spaced-out chipmunk in my sci-fi movie - thanks a bunch, Miss Wattles.

	Day off tomorrow.

	So,
	Come on, Lorraine.

	What was it all about?

	Come On!  Do yourself in?  Throw away your life - for a Man?  What's his name?

	Uhuh.  Ian who?

	Markham...Markham.  Never heard of him, is he in the business?

	Oh, a civilian.  What's he do?

	A vet?  You were shacking up with a vet?  I thought they were kidding.  How'd that happen?

	Uhuh.  Uhuh.  Never mind the cat, get to the vet.

	In Fulham.

	Uhuh.

	How long were you together?

	Three years?

	And he snuffs you.  For another lady, yeah?

	Oh.  Not.  So who wanted the babies - you or him?  Come on, Lorraine - it's numero uno reason.  The day Bruce Willis said he'd like to make another family we took to the hills - me, the entourage, my best friend, the chihuahua, my nutritionist - we even dismantled the summer house and took it with us as a healing spot...I needed it.

	Down lower - small of the back.  Ahh - that's better.  That's good - that's so good.

	So, are you going to tell me or not?

	So you move to St John's Wood - he's doing OK.  He says What?  Here, help me up.

	He says you're holding him back?

	How?  What's that supposed to mean - well, you must have some idea.

	Yeah, well that wasn't smart.  Never show needy.

	OK.  You've lost your guy, your billet in St John's Wood, and you're in a business that's all variables and no constants as my accountant says.

	Of course I don't know what it bloody means - ask him.

	So there wasn't another woman on the scene?

	There was or there wasn't?

	A show-jumper.  Yeah, well - they're goers.

	Dumps her, too?  Why, is she holding him back?

	Too demanding.  So then what?

	He buys you a ring?

	Yuh, yuh, yuh -

	Yuh - yuh - uhuh...

	He dumps you again?!

	What sort of guy is this?  Who does he think he is - Brad Pitt?

	Where are you going?

	Oh.  I see.  He is a good-looking guy.  No mistake.  You should burn this - any photos, anything belonging to him - trash can.  Get your ass out of your elbow, Lorraine.  You're not bad looking.  Good legs, nice nose, good hair, all you need is - oh, for fuck's sakes not the sodding waterworks again...

Fade and up.
	It's no good, Harald.  She'll have to go.  Send for bloody Marguerite and get Jacklyn over - I'm not hacking this on my own, I need back up.  There's the river scene, then two days in a castle with no facilities and no heating - never mind the promises - on their budget?  We'll be lucky to see a gas ring.  It'll be cauliflower cheese and chips for dinner...

Fade and up.

	Marguerite!  Get your ass in here, where is she?  I need soup and bloody croutons - dried, not fried - now - no parsnip, artichoke, tomato or veggie - what?

	I'll take the onion.  No cheese.

	Quicker to make it myself.  If I knew how.

Fade and up.

	Marguerite, can you turn that off, I'm trying to work.  Well go somewhere else.  Try Paraguay.  Not we get the sulks.  God I'm not looking forward to tomorrow.  Trouble with this script is there are two third act climaxes.

	Find something different, Marine.

	On her tomb it read "Blame the writer".

	What?

	Oh God.

	I'll go to bed early.

	Marguerite?  Fetch me a 60 watt bulb, this one's not bright enough.

	I always bring books.  Kath Mansfield, Sylvia Warner.  And Edith Wharton.  The best.  You learn edge from Edith.

	Been through my lines so many times I can't remember the first sentence.

	You'll be OK, Marine.
Fade and up.

	(English accent)  "I always believed, Ray, that if I dreamt - if I focused hard enough, for long enough, through every evening, every long night - that you would come home.  Alive.  Here.  Looking into my face.

	I see you so clearly.  Your eyes, with the brown flecks in the blue...your mouth" - cut!

	Harman can I say I miss his smell, the way he smells?

	OK, have it your way.

	"Your eyes, with the blue flecks in the brown - " sorry -

	"Your eyes, with the brown flecks in the blue - your mouth, the lines - here - and here -

	And you are here.  Not there.  Not bleached on some dry, windy hill.  There's no goodbye.  Only hullo."

Sounds of applause.

	It went OK I think.  Too many words - that's what you get with an English script.  If they'd let you just stand there - well, they love their words, pretty much all they've got left.

	Not a lot to do.  A few pickups - the garden stuff, pace the weather, two days lost last week, no wonder you're all so bloody blue, Lorraine.  They should shut this country down from November to April - either that or buy everybody a sun machine.

	How are you getting on with Jacklyn?  I see she's got you signing me name on the send-outs.

	You bet your life she's forceful.  Lower East Side, short-waisted, no neck - best grafter in the business, and pulls!  Insists on it.

	The boys love her.

	Because she gets inside their skulls.

	Changes their lives, gives them direction - sort of challenge.  Works every time.  I couldn't run my life without her, best in the business, you should see her client list.  Listen, do you ever open a paper or magazine without seeing my face?  And I'm not talking about Wagga-Wagga Weekly.

	Lorraine, have you ever thought about taking an assertion course?

	You bloody fool, Marine.  You were lucky she came back every time you dumped her.  Quiet, soppy, obedient Lorraine - best thing that's happened to you this year - well, apart from Dutch Piet.  She never argues, doesn't forget a thing, her street make-up is the best on the block, even Princess Michael wanted to know who does me face.

	No, Lorraine's an all-rounder.  Discreet, knows the business, sees off the punters and the journos without cocking up, looks after the mail, the laundry, the appointments, the food - Marine, a bit of consideration you've got that girl for life.  Ian, the vet, eat your heart out.

	Why not?  You'd be doing her a favour.  Regular work, well-paid, plenty of travel - and we're not talking club class.

	Lorraine?

	Lorraine?  Nah - nothing - couldn't find me eyelashes.

	Never confront, ask for decision.  Just let things grow.

	Quietly does it.

	We'll see.

	Only two more days!  Malibu, here I come!

Fade and up.

	What do you think, kid?

	Not bad, eh?  I had it modelled on the Cape Cod houses on the East Coast - bleached wood and shingles, has a nice settled look - that's if the ocean doesn't get it, or the mud slides from up yonder.  The pool's heated, you'll find the ocean pretty cold, don't know why they call it the Pacific, ah, it's great to be back.

	I've a feeling that little movie's going to open.  It's got layers.  I mean, when you have Helen Mirren guesting as the Prime Minister and Eileen Atkins as the spy - never lifted her voice, used this anxious, modest, ignore me shtick - beats Kevin Pacey out of the door, it was a learning curve to work with her.  I kept my end up.  The boy was too young but a nice jawline.  Good-looking.  I should have encouraged him - nah, doesn't do on a shoot, even on location.  D.C.O.L. , as the old saying goes.  Doesn't Count on Location.  But it does.

	No, you're feeling pretty good, Marine.

	(Calls)  Lorraine, where are you off to?

	I didn't know she was Catholic.  About the only thing we have in common, poor bitch.  She should give it the digit, like yours truly - look at her going down the drive - religion, the last resort for the bewildered...she looks like a cardigan that's been given the wrong wash.

	Poor little cow.

	Come on, Marine - you're doing her a favour!

Fade and up.

	Lorraine - I've been thinking.

Fade and up.

	What the fuck came over me?

	It's being between scripts.  I should have taken that crap with Mel - it's having nothing to do, nothing to learn, no-one to fight with.

	On the other hand - it's not that great for me.  Imagine having droopy drawers creeping around the casa like a trusty from Alcatraz fed on cabbage stalks and tinned spaghetti.

	The first thing you've got to learn to do, girl, is stand up straight.  Look the world in the eye - shoulders back and down - you're just a walking advert for low self-esteem.  We'll put you on aerobics, maybe some shadow boxing.  Are you doing the thirty lengths in the pool?

	Lorraine!  Get your ass in here.  Steven and Kate are due in ten minutes and I hope they're not getting carrot sticks and celery, you dumb whore.

	D'you know?  I think she answered me back.  Certainly made a joke, a little one-liner there.

	The thing about hair is make it genuinely, unnaturally natural.  She looks so much better with the club cut and the lights.

	Different animal.

	Except for the gear.

	The trouble with clothes is the plainer the look, the more it costs.  She's out of the game on what I pay her and we're not the same size - I'm bigger boned.

	Let me see.

	Nicole's too tall.  Julia?  Too freaky and droopy.

	Gwyneth?  Too grungy.

	Bening?  Nah, too sophisticated.  I'll give Sandra Bullock a ring, we need the sporty look to show off those legs.  When you got 'em...

	At least she's beginning to look as if she belongs around the place.

Fade and up.

	Jackie, hi.
	Yeah, thanks.

	Yup.  We signed this morning.  Just thought I'd call, let you know.

	Listen, where was that assertion course you took after Mickey Whatsit spat in your face?

	Oh hell - not Palm Springs.

	Because it'll be hoover the wallet before my feet touch the forecourt.

	No, it's not for me!

	Who do you think?

	Lorraine!

	Because I'm an idiot.

	Sure she'll be off...wouldn't you?  Maybe she will come back, as Harvey Weinstein, take over Fox and I'm in work for life.  Anyway, what the fuck.

	Because I'm sick of doing half a job, Jack!  She looks great but she's still - you know - lower than a baby's bum.

	You really think she'll skip?

	You're probably right, you usually are.

	OK, I'll drop the idea.

Fade and up.

	It's amazing.

	She seems the same.  Looks good - t-shirt, trainers and biker jacket - Ralph Lauren, DK, and Dustin Hoffman's daughter.  She sounds the same, same low posh English voice.

	But she's different.

	Moves like a snake through brush.

	Not with attitude.

	Just - there.

	I don't know what to make of it.

	I'm going to have to say something.  She was in the kitchen sorting out menus with Cookie.  I said "Lorraine - can I have a word?"  She said "Give me five minutes."  She kept me waiting.

Fade and up.

	"Lorraine, now you've done the assertion course - what are your plans?  Do you want to move on?"

	She said no.

	"You don't want to try something fresh - I'm going to need time to - "

	She said oh no.  She was grateful for the course, and felt that her work had improved because of being able to get tough with the builders and the pool man, but she adored her job and couldn't imagine being anywhere else.  She loved the Coast, the woods, the beaches, doing the dinner parties and the brunches.  She liked the charity work, the trips, the premieres, in fact she liked everything about her job, thanked God every day for it, and could she give me a hug?

	Which we did.

	She said, there was just one thing.

	I thought - here it comes.

	She said she wanted a sex life.

	I thought fuck.  She wants my body.
	I nearly said yes, just to keep her.

	She said she wanted to invite the vet over to Malibu.  For a holiday.

	Sounds crazy to me.  Last time she heard he was shacked up with a divorcée and an Airdale with a dodgy leg.

	Well!

	Would you ever believe it?

	Fuck me.

	The vet turns out to be even better looking than his pictures - a young Paul Newman with a Greg Peck profile and Richard Gere burns.  It makes sense of everything.

	No wonder she took to the pills.

	He's been here three days.  Keep your hands off him, Marine.

	I took them to Spago's last night.

	Looks like the Ridley Scott is a go project.

	I play the thousand year old Empress.  Great money, OK script...not too many words.  The costumes will be hell - the sort where you can't get out of them to pee.  Still, not till next year.

	And the little English movie is up for awards!  There you go - play both ends of the park, you can't go wrong.

	There's a beautiful atmosphere here.

	I saw it from day one.  Lorraine's guy's got a thing for her.  He tries to walk away, but he can't.

	I know that one.

	Been there.
	He's puzzled.

	The man's disorientated.  He doesn't know what's going on.

	Can't take his eyes off her.

	I think I'll get a henna rinse.  Randy's in town.  We go back and - who knows - maybe forward.  He's sane - 'ish - hetero, loaded but not too loaded.

	Smells great.

	We're pretty relaxed the four of us.

	Swimming, tennis, picnics on the beach.

	Tonight Lorraine was talking about Ian's practice back in London.  He should have been back weeks ago.

	Randy's moving in.  We'll see how it goes.  No strings.  Great tennis player.

	Lorraine says Ian should sell his practice and open up here.  She's right.  With those looks he'd make a million by Thanksgiving.

	I must be mad.

	I'm in partnership.  With a vet.  never even owned a canary.  Sixty forty, me and Ian.  Lorraine found the perfect spot, top dollar but a great area.  Spanish rancho-style house, big piece of land, belongs to a Persian who's buying in the hills to breed big cats.

Fade and up.

	Something's up.

	Lorraine's been singing around the place for the last six months.

	She's gone quiet all of a sudden.

	Came to me this morning, said "What do you think I should do?"

	I said "Do you want to keep it?"

	"Oh yes" she said.

	I said "OK.  Let's go for it."

	We fixed up the garden for the wedding.  Lorraine wanted just a few friends but I said you can't, you have to think of the practice.  So we got Jackie in, settled on a hundred for the ceremony, three hundred for the reception - too many people at the ceremony, it looks commercial.  Father O'Reilly said he'd officiate and did we mind a girls' choir?

	It is a beautiful, beautiful day.  As always.  I'm in beige-silk suit, flower hat, low heels.  Lorraine doesn't show yet.  She's wearing a cream dress, mid-calf, very simple.  Armani.  My gift.

	I'm looking forward to the ceremony, dunno why.

	The whole thing went like a Busby Berkeley musical.  The girls sang - people brought their pets - Lorraine's idea - the food was perfect - thanks to Lorraine - she changed into Calvin Klein slacks and we saw them off in the new little Citroen - my present - with rice and rose petals and tin cans on the bumper.

	I'm going to miss her.

	Why'd you do it, Marine?  You could have had that girl as a support system for the rest of your life.  No good depending on Randy.  Shack up with a locations manager, most of the time you're looking at the wall.  Alaska last month, Tokyo till the Fall...

	What d'you let her go for?

	I'm feeling a bit low.

	Empty house feeling in the pit of me stomach.

	Ah, you're hungry, you silly bitch.

	Either that or you're in a state of grace.

END