a dangerous woman play

8/14/2019 A Dangerous Woman Play

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A Dangerous Woman

A Play in One Act

by Don Stevens

CAST (in order of appearance)

Susan Piccone

Vanessa MacGuire

Angelina Serina Piccone

Bob Bell

Officer Lenny

Judge King

Olivia Pickles

One Act Play,

Three Scenes



Scene I

Living room of Angelina Piccone.

Scene. CURTAIN IS DOWN. Table in front of stage in foreground. Three chairs. A

portrait is hung nearby of a serious Italian man, and LIGHTS GO UP. Two women are

sitting, one is eating pasta, while the other is staring into the distance. SUSAN is eating,

pausing only to breathe, and cherishing every bite. VANESSA has a lost look on her

face.

SUSAN. I think we should make Lou pack his bags, don’t you?

VANESSA. (looking at her sister suddenly, as though she had just seen a ghost)

I’m sorry, what did you say?

SUSAN. I’m talking about Sweet Lou. Honey, are you okay? Is your marriage

to Roger still on the rocks?

VANESSA. No—I mean maybe—it’s not that. Oh, dammit. (She puts her hand

to her mouth.) I need to tell you something, Susan.

SUSAN. Did you say damn? That’s the first time I heard you curse in a long

time, Vanessa. This thing about Sweet Lou looks like it’s got you wound up too.

VANESSA. What about Sweet Lou?

SUSAN. Well, are you blind? You saw what he did to the kitchen. Building her

a gadget to roll meatballs, and that pasta maker—it’s big enough to grind a small child!

And then it was the vacuum cleaner that also doubles as a hair dryer.

VANESSA. Susan, he is an inventor, that’s what they do—invent things.

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SUSAN. Yes, I know, but those people are dreamers. They never make it big—

they never invent anything useful.

VANESSA. Well, actually, Sweet Lou has invented some pretty neat stuff.

SUSAN. Not on our time, Sis. He hooked up this house with a crazy alarm

system. It called the police the last time I came over. The house is hooked up to its own

sirens and flashing lights. It looks like we’re filming for COPS every time I come in

here.

VANESSA. Mother must have disconnected it.

SUSAN. Thank God for that.

VANESSA. But isn’t it a good idea to have the place secure? Ever since Father

died (they both look at the picture) Mother has been so vulnerable. Sweet Lou is just

being a good neighbor, that’s all.

SUSAN. Good neighbor my tush! Did you see the way he’s been fixing

everything around here too? The sink, the washing machine, the plumbing.

VANESSA. Mother says he’s good at plumbing. She says he has all the right

tools.

SUSAN. I bet he does. I’m telling you, that’s what they all do before they move

in! He’s trying to replace daddy.

VANESSA. No one can replace daddy!

SUSAN. Tell Mom that. He already has the house booby trapped so we can’t

even come in. (She looks at VANESSA.) I wonder why Mom calls him Sweet Lou?

VANESSA. Me? Why should I know? I don’t know him, I never—

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SUSAN. I know Sis, I was just thinking out loud. Sweet Lou may be pleasant

enough, but I wouldn’t trust him with my piggy bank, let alone leave an entire house at

his disposal.

VANESSA. Let’s not forget that he gave—I mean gives--her company.

SUSAN. I’m worried how much company. With Mom’s age it too dangerous to

take part in physical—well—you know.

VANESSA. (Looking at SUSAN confusingly). I don’t understand.

(SUSAN whispers in VANESSA’S ear. Then VANESSA looks at audience bug-

eyed.)

SUSAN. (swallowing her last bit of pasta) Mmm. I wish I could cook like this. I

wish I had time. I have to admit, I love coming here to eat. These visits to Mom have

done a number on my tummy. (She pats her belly.) People might even think that I’m

pregnant. Imagine that, the immaculate Susan. Pregnant without a man!

VANESSA. Don’t give up. You just need to find the right guy.

SUSAN. Of course it’s easy for you to say that. I have trouble just finding a guy,

let alone the right guy. Look at you, my younger sister, giving me advice. I’m so envious

at what you’ve accomplished.

VANESSA. It’s really not so much.

SUSAN. Of course it is. A lovely home. A wonderful husband, at least most of

the time. Two beautiful children. Mom is so grateful you gave her grandchildren. She

still resents me for going to school, and wasting her precious money!

VANESSA. Susan, don’t be so hard on yourself. So what if you’re not practicing

law, at least you’re doing something that you really do well.

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SUSAN. Great! Go to law school, and now I cut hair for a living. Talk about a

wasted life. (She pushes her plate forward, and takes a sip of her drink.) Now, back to

Sweet Lou. Mom is old, Vanessa, I think it’s feasible that we make the decision on what

to do with Sweet Lou. He could be after her money, I know she doesn’t have much—but

I read about men like that.

VANESSA. Susan--there’s something I have to tell you.

SUSAN. What dear?

VANESSA. It involves Sweet Lou--

(MOTHER enters carrying a cheescake, three plates, and a knife. She is a short,

stout woman with large eyeglasses, white hair, and a tight wrinkled face with loose lips.

She is wearing a housedress with a cooking apron.)

MOTHER. Hello my beautiful daughters. I guess you are wondering why I

called you two here. (She lays the cake on the table.)

SUSAN. (whispering to VANESSA’s ears) Wondering? You call me practically

screaming. I thought it was an emergency! (She places a hand on VANESSA’S

shoulder.) Oh God, the old coot has asked her to marry him!

MOTHER. I know you think I’m old, and you may think I’m losing it, but I’m

not. (She scratches her head.) At least, I don’t think I’m losing it. Anyway, I called you

here to talk to you about Sweet Lou.

SUSAN. (standing) You can’t marry him! I won’t allow it.

MOTHER. (at SUSAN) Me? Marry anyone? At my age? Have you been

drinking, again?

SUSAN. (ignoring MOTHER, bringing her plate forward) I’ll have a piece—“

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MOTHER. Anyway--how could I marry him? He’s dead.

SUSAN. (dropping her plate to the floor) He’s dead? Sweet Lou is dead?

MOTHER. Look at what you did! Are you going to clean that up?

VANESSA. Mother, what are we going to do with—

SUSAN. (placing a hand on VANESSA’s) Don’t worry about it, Sis, What

difference does it make? He’s at peace now. (She is hiding her smile.) What was it,

Mom? Heart failure?

MOTHER. Peace? I don’t think you should call it peace. He’s been murdered.

SUSAN. Murdered?

MOTHER. Yes, are you deaf? And no, I’m not imagining things. Sweet Lou’s

dead. He’s been murdered. I know that much because I was the one who killed him.

VANESSA. Killed him? So he is dead?

MOTHER. What do I have, two deaf daughters? You heard me. I killed him.

Now, who wants cheesecake?

SUSAN. Mom, I can’t believe you’re saying this. I don’t believe you.

VANESSA. Mother, are you sure? I mean, you did check? Is he really dead?

MOTHER (to VANESSA) Yes, my precious. What do you think, I don’t know

how to check to see if a person is alive?

VANESSA. Did you check for a pulse?

MOTHER. Of course I did.

VANESSA. Did you place a compact mirror to his mouth to see if he was still

breathing?

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MOTHER. No. But I did put a plate of food to his nose, and he didn’t budge. He

must be dead if he resisted my pasta dish. Besides, why are you doubting me, Vanessa?

Have I ever lied to you?

(VANESSA shakes her head.)

MOTHER. Didn’t I tell you to marry Roger, and not wait for another chance like

your stupid older sister did?

SUSAN. Mom!

(VANESSA nods.)

MOTHER. And what about the time I warned you about that banana peel that

your cousin Vinny left on the stairs when you all were kids? If it weren’t for me, you

would’ve fallen and split your head open!

SUSAN. Mom, I’m the one who slipped on the peel! Remember the stitches!

You never warned me!

MOTHER. (staring at SUSAN blankly, then raising her shoulders) I’m an old

woman, I forget things. Anyway, if you still don’t believe me, he’s in the kitchen—next

to the fridge.

(SUSAN, shocked, motions VANESSA to go into the kitchen. VANESSA gets up

and goes BEHIND THE CURTAIN. She comes back ten seconds later, screaming with

no voice.)

MOTHER. (cutting slices of her cheesecake) He left quite a mess, didn’t he?

VANESSA (after sitting back down) I didn’t know there could be so much blood

in one human being.

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MOTHER. (giving the first slice to VANESSA) He wasn’t easy. The sucker kept

moving like a cockroach.

(SUSAN gets up and goes to the kitchen.)

MOTHER. I wouldn’t go in there unless you have a strong stomach. But then,

anyone who eats as much as you must have a strong stomach.

(SUSAN comes back, staring at her MOTHER.)

MOTHER. I sure wish I could get those stains out. I imagine it couldn’t be any

worse than tomato sauce. (She lays a big slice on SUSAN’s plate, then holds out the knife

in front of her.) This was easy to clean.

(SUSAN screams.)

MOTHER. I’m just kidding, I threw the real weapon away!

(SUSAN runs to the phone, and dials.)

SUSAN. Hello, police? I—there’s been a mur--- a mur—

MOTHER. (taking the phone away and then talking into it) Gimme a large with

extra pepperoni. What? Isn’t this Gino’s Pizza Parlor? Oh, sorry. Wrong number. (She

hangs up and then tells SUSAN.) Squealing on your own mother. Shame on you!

SUSAN. (tiredly) I need a drink.

(VANESSA stands and hugs MOTHER.)

SUSAN. (holding a glass of liquor) Why did you kill him?

(MOTHER walks over to the picture of her late husband, holding VANESSA’s

hand. SUSAN walks over to them.)

MOTHER. He reminded me of your father, at the end. It wasn’t planned or

anything. It’s just that he was a lousy skunk. May he rest in peace.

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SUSAN. Don’t talk about Daddy! I hate this picture of him. Look at him, trying

to stand straight, drunk as a skunk. (She wobbles, trying to also stand straight. She turns

around.) I really don’t see the resemblance. Can you?

(MOTHER and VANESSA both shake their head, fearfully.)

SUSAN. This was at Vanessa’s wedding. At my younger sister’s wedding. Ha!

Sometimes I think you enlarged this one just to irritate me, Mom. To remind me that I’m

not getting any younger.

MOTHER. I still love your Daddy. He wasn’t always a drunk, or a loser. We

shared the best of our years together. (She grabs SUSAN’s drink.) Did you drink before

you came here?

(SUSAN nods, ashamed.)

MOTHER. You are going to stop drinking. Even if I have to kill you to stop!

(MOTHER goes back to the table, sits and starts eating her cheesecake.)

SUSAN. Sure, Mom, you just kill anyone who doesn’t listen to you—or obey

your commands.

MOTHER. If that were the case you would’ve been dead a long time ago,

Sweetie.

VANESSA. (to SUSAN) Maybe we should bury him in the yard?

MOTHER. (still staring ahead) And ruin my beautiful flower beds? No way!

SUSAN. We need to hide him somewhere where no one would ever think of

looking.

MOTHER. Then put him in your bedroom, Susan. No one ever goes in there.

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(SUSAN makes an attempt to pounce after MOTHER, but is stopped by

VANESSA.)

VANESSA. Come on, we have to think this over.

MOTHER. (turning around to see them) You two listen to me! I, Angelina Serina

Piccone, daughter of the late Mr. Pope Surelli, and wife of Leo Piccone, am ashamed.

Not because of what I did, but the way you two are reacting! You act like you’ve never

seen a dead body before!

SUSAN. (looking at VANESSA then back to MOTHER) But Mom, we have

never seen a dead body before!

MOTHER. (shrugging her shoulders) Oh, well, it’s not the first time your mother

saw one. Back in the old days, you saw them all the time. On the porch, in your bed, in

the trunk of your car.

SUSAN. I have an idea!

MOTHER. Oh, no! Didn’t I warn you about those things you call ideas?

SUSAN. Shut up, Mom. (Then excitedly to VANESSA.) Why don’t we dump

him in a ditch, or a gravel pit, or in a pond!

VANESSA. You act like you are enjoying this, Susan. I think we should call the

police. (Then to MOTHER.) I think we should tell them what happened. The whole

story.

SUSAN. What do you mean the whole story—is there more?

MOTHER. (standing up, going toward them.) Vanessa, listen to your older sister,

she knows best. (She goes behind the curtain saying,) Dump the bastard!

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VANESSA. What could they do to her? They can’t give her the death penalty?

Can they?

SUSAN. I don’t know, I’ll have to figure out the legal side to this, right after I get

over the shock value. But maybe you are right. I mean—she was ready for a retirement

home anyway? But prison? That’s so harsh, even for Mom.

VANESSA. Maybe we can make a deal with the judge?

SUSAN. I suppose I could try to lessen the charge.

VANESSA. Oh, Susan! You can be Mother’s lawyer!

SUSAN. Stop being silly! I have never tried a case before.

VANESSA. You could do it. I have faith in you.

SUSAN. It takes more than faith. Besides, Mom will never go for it.

(MOTHER enters again. She has removed the apron, and now it looks as if she is

ready to go out somewhere.)

MOTHER. All right, I’m ready to go.

VANESSA and SUSAN. (together)

Ready to go?

MOTHER. Here we go again with the deafness! Yes, you imbecile offspring!

I’m ready to go.

SUSAN. Where are you going?

MOTHER. To the prom! Where do you think I’m going—you putz? Call the

cops, before I change my mind. Go ahead, call them, I’m ready.

(VANESSA comes to MOTHER again crying, while SUSAN picks up the phone)

MUSIC ON AND LIGHTS FADE OUT.

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Scene II

Courtroom.

SCENE—Curtains rises. A small courtroom is seen. Two tables east and west, each with

two seats, one extremely high podium in center for judge, and a witness chair next to the

podium. The east side is the defense, and the west side is the prosecution. SUSAN is

explaining to Angelina that she needs to be more sympathetic. Angelina is dressed in a

powder blue suit with a white carnation, eager to convince the jury that she is a harmless

little old lady.

SUSAN. No, no, Mom, this is the way to smile.

MOTHER. What, you don’t think I know how to smile?

SUSAN. Of course you do, but your smile is like the smile of a cat who just

swallowed the canary.

MOTHER. (sharply) Susan! The judge doesn’t want to see how I smile.

SUSAN. Mom, any way to show that you are a peaceful law abiding person will

help you. And considering your circumstances, and your temper, I suggest that you

practice smiling immediately! (She looks inside her briefcase.) Remember, we are

claiming self-defense.

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MOTHER. How can I forget? You made me stay up last night memorizing lines,

(to audience) as though I was in some stupid off-Broadway play.

SUSAN. Well, pretend that you are in a play. Lord forbid, we don’t want them to

see the real you—(then turning sharply to MOTHER)—not that you’re a bad person, it’s

just that some people don’t understand the things that go on in our family.

MOTHER. Family? What do you mean? You make it sound like we’re gangsters.

I wasn’t selling drugs to teens on the street, or leading a prostitution ring like some

Madam. Although sometimes I wonder, when I look at the way you dress, that maybe I

was.

SUSAN. Mom! Be serious! Just practice your smile.

(MOTHER tries to smile innocently, and when SUSAN turns away, MOTHER

sticks out her tongue at SUSAN.)

SUSAN. (not looking at MOTHER) I saw that, Mom. Okay, if you want to play

around, that’s fine with me. It’s your life you’re playing around with. Remember that.

MOTHER. Rubbish! Smiling like a saint is not going to help me. Or even these

clothes! These stupid bingo night clothes you made me wear, this is not going to help me

either. It’s the truth—the truth I tell you—that will get me out of this mess. And the truth

is that I am innocent.

SUSAN. But Mom, you did kill him!

MOTHER. (shrugs her shoulders) Oh, well. Then it’s you, Sweetie, that will save

me from the gallows of death. My own daughter, whom I put through law school years

ago, and who suddenly decided to become a beautician. I’m glad that all that money was

well spent.

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SUSAN. (shining) Mom, I’ll do my best defending you.

MOTHER. Oh, I meant this hair-do, Sweetie. (She shapes up her hair with her

hands.) You are the best beautician in the Village.

SUSAN. Great, thanks for the encouragement! I wanted to get someone else to

defend you—someone who is more, well—qualified.

MOTHER. Susan, I’m sure you’ll do your best. It will come all back to you. I

have all my faith in you.

(SUSAN exits left.)

(MOTHER goes down on her knees and begins praying.)

MOTHER. Hey, Jesus! I know I haven’t been exactly a saint. Or a role model, or

even much of a human being, for that matter, but please, I beg you, please, with all your

strength and wisdom, and all of your glorious power. Please do not let my prison look

like one of those B grade women films starring Linda Blair. And if I have to have a

cellmate, let it be a woman who can’t talk. A deaf cellmate, yes, that would work well.

The last thing I need is some whining little wench telling me how she’s going to escape.

(She hears voices coming.)

Oh, yeah, God. One more thing. Don’t let me be raped by some prison guard. Unless he

looks like Nick Nolte. (She stands and moves behind the table and sits.)

Enter PROSECUTER BOB BELL and OFFICER LENNY. LENNY is a black

man in his twenties. He is wearing a uniform and he goes over to the podium and dusts

it. BOB BELL is a well dressed man in his thirties. He is at his table, (on the left side)

lays his suitcase near the edge of the table, and starts looking over folders, papers, and his

watch. He is apparently in a rush. He notices MOTHER sitting on the opposite side.

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She notices him too. She tries her best to smile several times with several different faces.

BOB BELL shakes his head vigorously and goes back to his paperwork.

VANESSA. (enters right) Oh, Mother, how are you? (She hugs her.) I can’t

believe they held you with no bail—that was ludicrous!

MOTHER. I know. Such a travesty!

VANESSA. Just because you called all those cops nasty names! (She turns to the

audience.) You can’t help it—you were terribly distraught—you would have never done

that in your right state of mind.

MOTHER. (looking toward the audience) Me? Sweet, gentle me? Of course not.

I would’ve never called those cops “filthy slimy pigs with poop for brains” if I had been

in my right state of mind.

VANESSA. (looking at BOB BELL) Mother, who is that gentleman?

MOTHER. I think he’s the prosecution. (She glances at him) Looks like he can’t

put away a ladybug, let alone a lady.

VANESSA. (shaking) He scares me!

MOTHER. I know, Precious. Don’t let your sister see him, she’s always attracted

to scum.

(SUSAN enters left, accidentally knocks off BOB BELL’s briefcase, and their

eyes meet.)

SUSAN. Oh, I’m sorry.

BOB. No—it’s not your fault, I shouldn’t have kept it so close to the end.

SUSAN. I’m so clumsy.

BOB. It’s really quite all right, I assure you.

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(They stare at each other while she gives him the pile of paperwork.)

MOTHER. Oh, Vanessa, we’re too late. She’s eyeing him like he was a hot fudge

sundae.

VANESSA. Don’t worry, Mom, Susan can’t be that desperate.

MOTHER. Vanessa, you don’t know your sister that well—do you? (She closes

her eyes.) Let’s hope they keep everything at a professional level.

SUSAN. I’m Susan—Susan Piccone.

BOB. Are you related to the defendant?

SUSAN. Yes, I am.

BOB. Are you her granddaughter?

MOTHER (charging for BOB angrily) Grandaughter? I’m going to kill him! Let

me at him!

VANESSA. (holding MOTHER back) Stop, Mother! Calm down. Didn’t you say

let’s keep it at a professional level?

MOTHER. That’s before that snake deprived me of my womanhood.

(SUSAN returns to her table to join MOTHER and VANESSA.)

LENNY. All rise. Honorable Judge King presiding. Ruler of this courtroom.

Ruler of this forest, of all animals, of all humans, of all that is life as we know it. King of

the hill, King of the Road—

(Judge KING enters rather urgently from left)

KING. Enough, Lenny! How much more do I have to hear of your banter. (He

goes to podium and is tidying up). Next time, I swear I will save you a doughnut, Lenny.

You need to stop being so sensitive!

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LENNY. The King of Crullers is now in the house!

KING. (hitting mallet) Enough.

SUSAN. (turning to MOTHER) We lucked out. Judge King’s mom is just about

the same age as you. Maybe he’ll be sympathetic.

KING. Why must these podiums be so high? You all look like ants from here.

(he sighs) All right, let’s get this under way. Let’s see what do we have here.? The state

vs. Angelina Serina Piccone. The charge of second degree murder. Hmm. (He looks over

to MOTHER.) Mrs. Piccone, do you realize what these charges mean?

MOTHER. (after a pause) Can I speak, your honor?

KING. Why of course. But I do suggest you speak with your counsel before you

do.

MOTHER. For what? Permission? I’m the mother here. Anyway, I do realize

what the charges mean. But look at me. Do I honestly look like a threat to society?

KING. So do you admit to being responsible for (looking at papers) Lou

Jackson’s death?

MOTHER. Oh, yes, the bum deserved it.

SUSAN (placing a hand over MOTHER’s mouth) Your honor, the defense is

pleading self-defense. (She makes MOTHER sit, and then she sits also).

KING. Self defense. How fascinating. Hmm. All right, let’s hear opening

arguments. Prosecution. (Turns to BOB.)

BOB. (rises) Thank you, your honor. I am here today to convince the jury that

Angelina Serina Piccone is the cause of Lou Jackson’s demise. Which means, because of

her, or her actions, if you will, he is dead. Before we describe the events, let’s put

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something in perspective. I know what all of you are thinking. How could this cute

innocent old lady—

MOTHER. Hey, watch who you calling a lady—I mean watch who you calling

old.

BOB. (in disbelief) Oh, well. Ladies and gentlemen. This grandmother is not your

ordinary cookie baking, loving, woman that everyone thinks she is. No, indeed. Today I

will prove to the jury that she, and only she, was responsible for the death of another

human being. This is not just another senseless death you read about in the papers, or

watch on Court TV. This is real—but still a crime nonetheless. We will show that the

defendant had motive, means, and opportunity. We will show that she knew the victim

well. Well enough to call him over for tea, or a light lunch, perhaps. And well enough to

stab him—right in her own kitchen. (He looks seriously to the jury, and then turns back to

his seat.)

KING. Will the defense present their opening statement?

SUSAN stands and takes in a deep breath.

MOTHER. (smacking SUSAN’s behind) Go ahead, knock ‘em dead, just like

your Momma.

SUSAN. Mom! Stop it! (Then running her fingers through her hair, she moves to

face the jury.) Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. We are all criminals. Criminals to some

degree, of course. I’m sure that if I ask each and every one of you if you’ve ever felt like

hitting someone, you would say yes. Breaking a few of their bones, perhaps making their

nose bleed. In everyone’s life there has been a time when one says, “I wish I could hurt

him or her—or even killed him or her—and get away with it”. Face it, (she raises her

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hand) I’m guilty. I’ve thought about it several times—and I’m sure that you all have too.

At some point in your life. If you haven’t yet, believe me, you will.

MOTHER. That’s it Sweetie, make them sympathize!

SUSAN. (angrily looks at MOTHER, then slowly starts pacing) Let’s not forget

that there has been a crime here. We know the killing of another human being is against

the law—we are sure of that—and we also know that what the defendant did was wrong.

But let’s look at the bigger picture. Put yourself in her shoes. Imagine you are old,

feeble and suddenly find yourself dependent on others. You’ve worked long and hard all

of your life, and now you have reached your golden age. The age that entitles you to

enjoy what you worked for. The age to be taking trips around the world, or watching

your grandchildren grow, or perhaps even taking up golf at some well known country

club. (SUSAN stops pacing, and stares at the jury.) The defendant, Angelina, had no

time to enjoy her life. She suddenly found herself overwhelmed with old age, and

burdened by the troubles of her daughters and their families. They say that a mother’s

love is deeper than any wishing well, and stronger than any pride. Angelina spread her

love so much that she left little time to love herself.

(VANESSA yelps loudly, and pulls out a tissue.)

SUSAN. When Lou Jackson became her neighbor, she thought she finally had a

confidant, someone whom she could talk to, or spend afternoons with drinking iced tea

while sitting on the porch. Perhaps someone who could be more than a companion.

Maybe even a second chance on a romance. They courted for a while. Angelina became

giddy just like a high school girl again. Lou had taken decades from her life. But soon,

as you will find out, he gave her back those years, and then some. All at once, shattering

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her illusions, breaking promises, and ruining her dreams. Just like the prosecution has

said, this is not just another killing. This is a story of a friendship gone bad; a betrayal

that had used up all of Angelina’s trust, and taken advantage of her heart. She felt

suddenly trapped and all alone once again. She could not take the lies, the deceptions,

the broken promises anymore. Consequently, she was faced with a choice that she will

definitely regret for the rest of her life. (SUSAN walks back to her desk.)

MOTHER. You didn’t exactly make me sound like Mother Theresa.

SUSAN. (nervously) Because you’re not. This is a hard case to defend. I have to

make the jury sympathize with you. And make Sweet Lou the meanest person who has

ever walked the earth. So if you have anything helpful to say, say it! Otherwise I suggest

you shut your trap and practice your idiotic smile!

(MOTHER turns slowly to the jury and smiles at them).

VANESSA. Susan, you did a great job, I’m so proud of you!

KING (stretches) Prosecution, please call your first witness.

BOB. Your Honor, I’d like to call Vanessa MacGuire to the stand.

VANESSA. (genuinely surprised) What? What do I have to do with this?

SUSAN. (stands) Objection!

KING. (looking at Bob) Have you consulted with me before about this? If you

have, I don’t remember.

BOB. No, your honor, I have not.

KING. (to SUSAN) Does the defense object?

SUSAN. Yes, your honor. Damn’ well I do! I mean—excuse me—your honor,

may I approach the bench?

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KING. (nodding) Come on, dear girl, tell me what is troubling you.

SUSAN (rushes to the bench and speaks to KING) I cannot see how this will

have anything to do with the case. The prosecution has not informed me of this witness

—

KING. Your sister?

SUSAN. –Yes. My sister. I have the witness list, and Vanessa MacGuire is not on

it.

KING. Well, Ms. Piccone, you are certainly correct about that, but do you think it

would seriously damage your defense if your own sister testifies? What could she

possibly have to say to help the prosecution?

SUSAN (biting her lip and looking as if she is about to witness a fatal accident) I

just don’t like it your honor.

KING. A lame excuse, Ms. Piccone. (To Bob) Mr. Bell, can you give me a reason

why I should agree that this witness testifies?

BOB. Certainly, you honor. May I please approach the bench as well?

KING. Why not? The more the merrier.

BOB (striding towards them) I just would like to show the jury what kind of

woman the defendant is. A character sketch. And what better way than to question her

own daughter? (Looking at SUSAN) Well, one of her beautiful daughters.

(SUSAN is uncomfortable, out of breath, and crosses her arms, while gazing in

his eyes.)

(KING is watching them both gaze into each other’s eyes.)

KING. Are you okay, Ms. Piccone?

21



SUSAN. Yes, uh, your honor. I’m fine. I just feel a little queasy! I’ve never

seen a prosecutor who has tried to pick up the defense attorney at the trial before!

BOB. What do mean pick up, all I did was give you a compliment.

SUSAN. If you think I’m going to make a deal with you—because of a stupid

compliment—you’re crazy!

BOB. I don’t deal—I win my cases. And I don’t give out compliments freely, so

if I did, it was genuine, and definitely the last one you are getting.

KING. Would you two like to continue this after the trial?

(They ignore him, and stand, back to back).

KING. You know, in all honesty, I do believe the compliment was genuine, and I

have never seen Mr. Bell bribe a deal out of the defense with praise or a compliment.

SUSAN. Well, sorry then, Mr. Bell. I do accept your compliment, and thank you

for it. But still no deals! (She returns to her table)

BOB. (raises his hands, and goes back to his table.) Women!

KING. (hitting his mallet.) Now, now, settle down. Let’s try to keep this

professional. This is not the dating game. Why didn’t I listen to my wife and retire?

Now, call your first witness—hell, I’ll call her for you. Vanessa MacGuire, please come

on down (waving her down). Raise your right hand. There you go. That’s the girl. Now

swear her in, Lenny.

LENNY. Place your left hand on this good old book. Do you promise to tell the

truth, the whole truth, or the truth as you see it? Or what someone has paid you to call

the truth—so help you, God?

VANESSA. (gulps) Yes.

22



LENNY. (looking down at her hands) You got some nice nails, ma’am. Judge,

look at her nails, aren’t they nice?

KING. Will the witness bring forth her lovely hand?

(VANESSA confusingly shows her right hand to the judge.)

KING. (feeling VANESSA’s hand) Oh, yes, Lenny, I see what you mean. Lovely

color, I may add. Also, her hands are soft. Soft as a baby’s tush. Do you use Palmolive?

VANESSA. Well, actually, I use this hand cream—

SUSAN (stands angrily) OH COME ON! GET ON WITH IT! (She places her

hand over her mouth) Sorry, your honor.

KING. Miss Piccone, one more outburst from you and I’ll—I’ll do something.

What is it that we do Lenny?

LENNY. Feed them to the lions, your honor?

KING. No, that was done away with years ago.

VANESSA. Hold them in contempt, your honor?

KING. That’s it! Mrs. MacGuire, you have brains as well as beauty!

VANESSA. (smiling proudly) Thank you, your honor.

BOB. May I continue with my witness, your honor?

KING. Why yes, Mr. Bell, please do. (He holds his chin up with his hand,

intrigued.)

BOB. (moves from behind his desk) State your name, date of birth, and address.

VANESSA. My name is Vanessa Piccone MacGuire. I live at 1717 Bridesmaid

Court, and I am twenty-nine.

BOB. Do you have a family, Mrs. MacGuire?

23



VANESSA. Yes, I do. Two children, Carl, age six, and Jamie, age five.

BOB. Would you consider your family stable?

VANESSA (confusedly, but politely) We have a house, not a stable, sir.

BOB. Stable, as in a stable home. Is your marriage on the rocks? Does your

husband beat you or the kids?

SUSAN. Objection! Your honor, the prosecution is badgering the witness!

KING. Overruled. I can’t imagine anyone laying a finger on this lovely creature.

But I am curious. Go on.

VANESSA. No. My husband, Roger, has never hit me or our children. We are

not Ozzie and Harriet, but we do love each other.

BOB. So, Mrs. MacGuire, you are able to tell the difference between a healthy

family home life, and an unhealthy one?

VANESSA. Of course I am. But what one calls healthy, or normal, does not

necessarily mean it’s healthy, though. Some battered women think it’s normal that

husbands beat their wives, and some mothers think it’s normal to punish their children by

physical abuse.

BOB. Very interesting, Mrs. MacGuire. How do you know so much about the

subject? Did you take lessons in school?

VANESSA. No, I did not. I just know from experience. I could not go to college

—I could not.

BOB. And why was that, Mrs. MacGuire?

VANESSA. Well, we really couldn’t afford it. Susan was going to graduate

school, and someone had to take care of the house and Mother.

24



BOB. Do you ever regret not going to college?

SUSAN. Objection! Your honor the prosecution is wasting the jury’s time and the

taxpayers’ money!

KING. (to BOB) Mr. Bell, are you going somewhere with this?

BOB. I am not planning to go anywhere, your honor.

KING. I meant with this line of questioning, Mr. Bell. Will this be revelent?

BOB. Yes, your honor, please let me continue.

KING. All right, (looking at his watch) but please do hurry. We don’t want to

miss lunch. (Turning to LENNY) Lenny, what kind of lunch specials do they have at the

diner on the corner?

LENNY. I do believe the special at the diner today is Tuna Casserole.

KING. Has anyone tried the tuna casserole? (He looks around.) Does anyone

recommend it?

LENNY (shaking his head) No, sir, your honor. I tried it last week. Almost

called out sick the next day.

KING. (sighing) Oh, well, fast food again. My wife will kill me for eating that.

BOB. Your honor, may I precede questioning the witness?

KING. Oh, yes, go on, please do.

BOB. Thank you, your honor. Now, Mrs. MacGuire, did you regret not finishing

school?

VANESSA. (looking at SUSAN, who is flipping a pencil, and then looks at

MOTHER, who is troubled, and scared.) Yes, I do regret it.

25



BOB. Did you ever ask your mother if you could go to college, to better

yourself?

(SUSAN nods, but says nothing.)

BOB. And what did your mother tell you?

VANESSA. Mother kept telling me that I would be wasting my time. And

wasting our money.

BOB. And what brought her to this assumption that you will be wasting your time

and money?

VANESSA. (gulps) My older sister. My mother kept telling me that I’d end up

like Susan. She used to say Susan went to school, and it didn’t do any good for her.

Wasting all those years, and all that cash. (She paused, looking sad, but then brightened.)

Susan did not waste her time, or money; she studied law, and now she is defending

Mother.

BOB. She didn’t always try cases, did she?

VANESSA. No, for a while I guess she was lost, or something.

BOB. What do you mean, lost?

VANESSA. Well, she took up barber school, at least that’s what I think it was

called, and became a beautician. Mother used to say that all the time and money that

Susan spent studying law, and look at her now, fixing up perms older ladies. (She takes a

tissue from her purse.) But I never thought about it that way. I still thought that going to

school was the right thing to do, whether or not you use your degree. And I also thought

it was a way to get out. (She places her hand over her mouth)

BOB. What do you mean, get out, Mrs. MacGuire?

26



VANESSA. Oh, nothing.

BOB. Get out? (Facing the jury) Do you mean escape? Escape from your home-

life, your responsibilities. Escape from you own mother ?

MOTHER. (standing, angrily) Objection! Your honor, the prosecution is being

an asshole!

KING. Mrs. Piccone, please be seated! May I remind you that it is only your

lawyer who could object. And please refrain from using obscene language!

MOTHER. (sitting) I’ll show him something obscene if he doesn’t leave my

Precious alone!!

SUSAN. Please, Mom, relax! Nothing is going to happen. (She stares like a

madwoman, and continues to roll the pencil with her fingers until it breaks.)

(VANESSA is crying.)

VANESSA. I did want to escape! All the time! I couldn’t stand it there. I love

my mother and I always will, but at that time in my life, I just wanted to leave home.

BOB. Calm down, Mrs. MacGuire. Tell me about your acting. Did you not play

the lead to several high school plays.

VANESSA. Why, yes. I studied hard for it, I was very good. I used my home

life as an escape for my acting. Daddy use to call me his Audrey Hepburn.

BOB. Tell me about your father, Mrs. MacGuire.

VANESSA. (shrugs her shoulders) Daddy used to sell fruit. He started with only

one stand when he moved to America years ago. And then when he married Mother, he

bought another stand. She ran one, and he ran one. She kept selling fruit on the street

27



corner, right until she had Susan. Then she couldn’t stand on her feet so much, so she

stopped.

BOB. So it was your father who was the provider of the family?

SUSAN. (nodding) Until he died.

BOB. How did your father die, Mrs. MacGuire?

SUSAN. He was in a car accident. He got run over.

MOTHER. (bolts from the chair). Objection! You leave your father out of this!

KING. Mrs. Piccone, I don’t want to tell you again! NOW PLEASE BE

SEATED!

SUSAN. I’m sorry, your honor. She’ll behave. (Then to MOTHER) What is it,

Mom? You’ve never acted this way before when we talked about Daddy’s death.

MOTHER. (facing the jury) That’s because we never discussed it in a courtroom.

BOB. Can you tell me the circumstances of your father’s death?

KING. Mr. Bell, I hope this is going somewhere because my stomach is

growling!

BOB. Yes, sir, it is. (He goes to his desk, and pulls out a file.) Here is Exhibit A.

I'll let you read it, your honor, and I’ll tell the jury what it is.

(BOB hands it to KING, and KING put on his eyeglasses.)

BOB. It’s an autopsy report of Don Piccone, dated years ago. Some paint chips

were found imbedded in the victim’s clothing, and skin. The lab report shows that Don

Piccone was run over by a black sedan, possibly a Chevy Malibu. A classic car if it was

here today. The death was instantaneous, and they never caught the driver of the car. The

death was ruled an accident.

28



KING. (looking at the document, and then at BOB) So what does it mean?

BOB. It means that it was a suspicious death. (He looks at MOTHER.)

Suspicious deaths seem to follow you, Mrs. Piccone. It started with your high school

math teacher who failed you twice.

MOTHER. (looking at the jury) He choked on his own pencil.

BOB. Wrong! He was stabbed in the throat by a No. 2 lead pencil.

(MOTHER looks increasingly nervous.)

BOB. What about your best friend, Harriet? Do you remember how she died?

MOTHER. Yes, I do. She had an unfortunate accident when she was having a

perm.

BOB. Wrong again, Mrs. Piccone. Your best friend, Harriet Jones, died under a

hair dryer at the local hair salon. (To the jury.) The same hair salon that you worked at

twenty years ago. Harriet Jones was killed by third degree burns, her head scorched

almost completely off. And the police thought they found strap marks across her chest, as

though she might have been pinned down to the seat. First your math teacher, then

Harriet Jones, then your husband, run down by a car that several witnesses saw you drive

earlier that week. How much was that life insurance policy on your husband, Mrs.

Piconne? (He moves steadily toward MOTHER.)

(SUSAN is shocked, and so is VANESSA.)

(KING has his mouth gaped open.)

(MOTHER bolts off of her chair to grab BOB.)

SUSAN (trying to pry them apart) Mom, leave him alone. You’ll hurt him! Don’t

hurt him!

29



(LENNY pulls them apart, and MOTHER accidentally falls.)

(VANESSA stands up) NO, no. It’s not true!

KING (hitting his mallet) Order! Order! Mrs. Piccone, what on earth? For

heaven’s sake, please be seated! One more outburst from you, Mrs. Piccone, and I’ll lock

you up myself and throw away the key! (Turning to VANESSA) You may sit, Mrs.

MacGuire, unless the defense needs you. (He looks at SUSAN.)

(SUSAN is dazed, and confused.) What? Oh, no questions, your honor.

(VANESSA steps down and rushes to MOTHER and they hug.)

SUSAN (standing up) I would like the previous information to be removed from

the record because it has no bearing on the case that is presented today.

BOB. You can’t do that! This has bearing!

KING. In what way, Mr. Bell?

BOB. Well, earlier Susan, I mean Miss Piccone, gave an opening speech that

made her mother look like an angel. What I presented made her look like a—

KING. A what, Mr. Bell? A criminal? Please don’t waste my time again, Mr.

Bell. What ever happened in the past is of no concern, you know that yourself. A person

can be tried only for the crime that is presented. You cannot blame her for what

happened five years ago, or twenty years ago. The only thing that we need to know is

whether or not she killed Sweet Lou—I mean, Mr. Lou Jackson. Is that clear, Mr. Bell?

Bob. (sighs) Yes, your honor.

KING. Good. Let it be removed from the record what was just said about the

past, (looking at the jury), and I encourage all the members of the jury to forget about it,

30



too. The only case that is on trial today is the murder of Lou Jackson. Thank you. (To

BOB.) Mr. Bell, do have any other witnesses?

BOB. Yes, sir I do. I have Mrs. Olivia Pickle, Mrs. Piccone’s next door neighbor.

Mrs. Pickle, can you please take the stand?

(Mrs. PICKLE is part of the audience, and it is here that she walks up to the stage,

then to the witness box.)

LENNY. Raise your right hand, and place your left on this good old book.

PICKLE. But I’m left-handed.

LENNY. It doesn’t make any difference, ma’am, it’s all good. (PICKLE places a

hand on the book.) There, now, lady, are you gonna lie?

PICKLE. No, why of course not.

LENNY. Thanks.

BOB. Could tell us your full name, age, and address for the record?

PICKLE. My name is Olivia Pickle, age 62, and I live at 32 East Windham.

BOB. Next door to Mrs. Piccone?

PICKLE. Yes. It’s a two-story brick house with white trim.

BOB. (standing) Mrs. Pickle, do you recall the events of the day in question?

PICKLE. Yes, I do.

BOB. Good, now tell me in your own words what happened on that fateful

Thursday afternoon.

PICKLE (looking up, and saying her words as though they were studied, like an

actress) I remember I was doing laundry in the room next to the kitchen. That’s where I

have my laundry room. I basically live on the main floor. Me legs aren’t as strong as

31



they used to be. Anyway, I always do laundry on Thursdays. Since I live by myself, I

have to do it only once a week.

BOB. And while you were doing laundry, did you not hear a scream?

PICKLE. Well, it was more like a man wailing. At first I wasn’t sure. You see,

my washing machine has been on the blink lately, and it has been doing this funny noise.

Similar to a man screaming. So when I heard the noise I couldn’t tell where it was

coming from. There I was, clutching me bra in one hand and me panties in the other,

hearing a man’s dying scream. I didn’t know what to do. I asks myself, “ Now, Olivia, is

this your imagination playing tricks on you, or is your clothes screaming at you?” Then

I remember that the washing machine made that funny noise; but when I looked at the

knob, I saw that it had already stopped spinning. So that could only mean that the noise

was coming from elsewhere! And that’s when I went to the window.

BOB. What did you see, Mrs. Pickle?

PICKLE. Well, first I saw her younger daughter’s car parked in the driveway. I

thought perhaps that she was visiting, and that maybe the noise was from those noisy

brats, but then again, maybe Vanessa wasn’t really there, that maybe it might be me

neighbor just borrowing her daughter’s car, so I continued looking, and that’s when I saw

the witch.

BOB. The what, Mrs. Pickle

PICKLE. The witch. (She points to MOTHER.) Her!

(MOTHER bolts out of her chair, this time, dropping the chair, and SUSAN and

VANESSA both hold her back, SUSAN covering her MOTHER’s mouth.)

32



KING. Order! Watch it, Mrs. Piccone,. You are in a court of law! (To PICKLE.)

Mrs. Pickle, please try to refrain using colorful descriptions when describing the

defendant.

PICKLE. Well, excuse me! I meant to say that I saw Mrs. Piccone looking like

she just wrestled some bull! She saw me almost right away. She did something nasty

then closed the blinds!

BOB. What did she do, Mrs. Pickle?

PICKLE. I rather not say.

BOB. Please, Mrs. Pickle, do not be ashamed.

PICKLE. I always been a lady. When my husband died of heart failure fifteen

years ago, right in me arms, he looks up at me, and says “Olivia, don’t ever change,

always be a lady.” So that’s what I am--a lady.

BOB. Mrs. Pickle, it is necessary to show the behavior of the defendant on the

afternoon in question. It could greatly inform us of her state of mind.

(PICKLE looks steadily at KING.)

KING. Mrs. Pickle, it would please the court if you let us know what happened

after Mrs. Piccone saw you.

PICKLE. (straightens her posture) Well, like I says, she closed the blinds rather

quickly, like she didn’t want me to see what was going on inside. And right before she

did close those blinds, she stuck out her middle finger, and gave me the bird!

MOTHER. I WAS WAVING HI YOU IDIOT!!!

33



PICKLE. No, you weren’t. A wave has the whole hand flapping and it involves

all this (she demonstrates) wrist movement, you see? That was definitely not a wave—

not enough fingers for that!

KING. Order! Please! Keep this courtroom professional. This is not a talk show,

ladies and gentlemen. Mr. Bell, please go on.

BOB. Mrs. Pickle, how would you describe your relationship with Mrs. Piccone?

PICKLE. Before our argument, or after?

BOB. Both.

PICKLE. She was a witch before the argument, and a witch after.

SUSAN. Objection! Your honor, the witness is badgering my client!

KING. Sustained. (To Pickle) Remember to keep it professional, Mrs. Pickle.

PICKLE. (shrugging) Sorry, dear.

BOB. Mrs. Pickle, tell me about your argument with Mrs. Piccone.

PICKLE. Well, there’s not really much to tell. Before the argument she would

just ignore me every time I said good morning, or waved—(to MOTHER)—with all five

of me fingers, mind you! And then when Lou started coming over—

BOB. You mean, Lou Jackson, the deceased?

PICKLE. Yes, that is the same man. (She pauses and sighs.) So when Lou started

coming over—

BOB. Mrs. Pickle, when did Lou start to come over?

PICKLE. Well, geez, do you want me to talk or don’t you? What am I doing

here, if you keep interrupting me, now?

BOB. I aplologize, Mrs. Pickle, but please be more specific.

34



PICKLE. (straightens up again, then starts speaking loudly, and slowly, as though

everyone in the room were deaf) WHEN LOU STARTED COMING OVER TO ME

HOUSE, MRS. PICCONE DIDN’T LIKE IT. I THOUGHT THAT MAYBE SHE

WOULD GET JEALOUS.

KING. Mrs. Pickle, please, we are not deaf.

PICKLE. I know you’re not, sir, but he is (pointing to BOB)

KING. Then speak in a normal tone for the rest of us, please.

PICKLE. All right. Well, where was I now? I keep getting interrupted. Oh yes,

me thinking that she might be jealous. What with all those repairs that Lou did to the

witch’s—I mean Mrs. Piccone’s house. He fixed her porch, her backyard fence, her

screen door that kept slamming, and all that plumbing he did to her upstairs, I will never

know—I left that to me imagination.

BOB. Why did Lou start coming over to you, Mrs. Pickle.

PICKLE. I asked meself that question over and over again, and I could not

answer. But then he answered it for me. You see, she never paid him for his services.

The handyman jobs, nor the plumbing. Although I can’t blame her for not paying for the

plumbing, because I heard he didn’t have experience in that field—at least that’s what the

other housewives been tellin’ me.

BOB. So he came to you to do some repairs?

PICKLE. No. Not at all. He came to discuss his problems. He told me that when

he was with her, all she ever did was talk about herself, and he couldn’t get a word in

edgewise. It was always her, her, her. He was simply tired of it. So when he come up I

fix him a good cuppa tea and we chat about the world, and the weather and such.

35



BOB. Was there anything else going on between you two?

PICKLE. What do ya mean?

BOB. Were you and Lou Jackson ever lovers?

PICKLE. Blimey hell! What do you think I am? A common whore? No, siree!

I still belong to me husband, even though he’s six feet under.

BOB. It is hard to find such devotion in anyone these days, your honor. Carry

on, Mrs. Pickle.

PICKLE. (shrugs) Lou was nice enough. I fancy some women found him

attractive, but he was a picky one, he was.

BOB. What do you mean picky?

PICKLE. He liked them young. Real young.

BOB. You mean he was a child molester?

PICKLE. (shaking her head) No! No! Don’t be puttin words in me mouth! Lou

liked them young. You know, in their twenties or such. Still legal adults mind you, but

still disturbing to think about.

BOB. So Lou was not attracted to you?

PICKLE. Of course not. And I wasn’t attracted to ‘im. It was strictly platonic,

our relationship was.

BOB. (facing the jury) So if he wasn’t attracted to you, then he surely wasn’t

attracted to Mrs. Piccone, who is much older than you?

MOTHER. (standing) Hey watch it! I’m not dead yet!

KING. Order in the court!

(MOTHER sits down again.)

36



PICKLE. Apparently Mrs. Piccone didn’t know that Lou only liked young girls.

(She looks at MOTHER.) Nothing ever happened between me and Lou, I hope you

realize that. There was no reason to get jealous.

BOB. So because of her jealousy, she gave you what is commonly referred to as

“the bird” that fateful afternoon.

PICKLE. Yes, and because of her jealousy, poor old Lou is dead!

SUSAN. Objection. The witness is merely speculating!

KING. Sustained. Any other questions for the prosecution? (BOB shakes his

head and returns to his seat). Well then, defense—your witness.

(SUSAN stands up and cannot hide the worried look on her face.)

SUSAN. Now, Mrs. Pickle. Could you tell me the deceased’s financial status?

PICKLE. Who? Lou? He didn’t have two dimes to rub together.

SUSAN. So he was poor?

PICKLE. I wouldn’t say that. I said he didn’t have two dimes to rub together—

but he did have plenty of nickels and pennies.

SUSAN. (sighs) Mrs. Pickle, did Mr. Jackson ever ask you for money?

PICKLE. No.

SUSAN. (surprisingly) Are you sure?

PICKLE. Of course I’m sure. Not that it would matter if he did. Anyone asking

me for money would be like asking a blind man for directions—I’d send them on their

way.

SUSAN. Didn’t Lou live off his friends and neighbors?

PICKLE. No.

37



SUSAN. (annoyingly) Did he ever ask them to buy him meals, or pay his rent?

PICKLE. He owned his home. He’s had that paid off since twenty years. He got

his pension, and Social Security I guess. He ate like a bird, even when he did eat at his

neighbors’. I don’t know what rubbish she’s been tellin’ you. Lou was a true gentleman.

If you don’t believe me, ask the others in the neighborhood.

SUSAN. (sorely) That will be all, Mrs. Pickle. Thank you.

(SUSAN sits back down.)

(PICKLE exits and when passing MOTHER, she tries to look at her, but

MOTHER is clearly ignoring PICKLE’s glance. She sits back down in the audience.)

BOB. (rising) I now call Angelina Piccone to the stand.

(MOTHER rises. VANESSA starts crying and hugs MOTHER. MOTHER looks

over to SUSAN, who does not look back. SUSAN is just staring out into the distance.

She walks to the witness stand and sits.)

(LENNY comes forward with the Book.)

MOTHER. Save it Lenny, (looking in the heavens) God and I go way back.. He

knows I’ll tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

(LENNY gives her a reassuring smile, and she smiles back at him genuinely.)

(BOB walks closer to the witness box.)

BOB. Mrs. Piccone, could you go over what happened that day?

MOTHER. I was minding my own business, watching my soaps on TV, when I

heard a knock on my door. I wasn’t expecting anyone except the mailman, so when I saw

Lou’s face, it surprised me.

BOB. But aren’t you used to him coming over?

38



MOTHER. Yes, it’s just that lately he’s been spending his time elsewhere, and

seeing his droopy face through my screen door wasn’t exactly something I expected. As

a matter of fact, I thought he was a burglar. That’s why I killed him.

BOB. (facing her) Burglar?

MOTHER. Yes. Call me paranoid, but I thought Sweet Lou was a burglar.

BOB. A burglar, robbing you in the middle of the afternoon?

MOTHER. Call me overprotective—call me senile—but I thought Sweet Lou

was a burglar.

SUSAN (rises, angrily) Objection your honor! This is news to me!

BOB. You’re not the only one. (To MOTHER) Mrs. Piccone, do I have to remind

you that you are under oath? (MOTHER nods). I find that story hard to believe, Mrs.

Piccone.

MOTHER. Well, then, don’t believe it. That’s the problem with you young

people. You never believe what elders tell you.

BOB. (pulls out a plastic bag with a knife that has dried blood on it.) I believe in

evidence, Mrs. Piccone. This is exhibit B, your honor. Found in the trash bin. (He

shows the jury, and then gives it to KING.)

(VANESSA shrieks.)

BOB. Your honor, the autopsy revealed that Lou Jackson was killed by one stab

wound in the center of his back. If he was mistaken for a burglar in the middle of a bright

afternoon, as Mrs. Piccone had testified just now under oath, then why would she stab a

burglar in the back? In her own kitchen, mind you?

MOTHER says nothing.

39



Bob. Mrs. Piccone, you admitted to killing Sweet Lou, but you had no reason to.

He was not having an affair with Mrs. Pickle. He wasn’t even having a relationship with

you. He had helped you by making repairs around the house, and he even came around

to eat your wonderful food. In all honesty, I cannot see a reason for killing him. You

obviously knew it was he who came in to your house—that burglar theory will not hold.

So Mrs. Piccone, why did you kill Sweet Lou?

(There is silence in the courtroom.)

VANESSA (rising slowly from her seat). She killed him for me.

(There is noise everywhere.)

KING—What are you saying? Is this true?

MOTHER—No, don’t listen to her.

BOB—But, how are you involved?

(And finally,)

SUSAN—I don’t even know my own family!!!

BOB. Mrs. Piccone, please explain.

MOTHER. I don’t know what she’s talking about. Maybe my insanity has

passed down to her.

VANESSA. May I take the stand, your honor?

KING. Oh yes, young lady. You have a lot of explaining to do.

(MOTHER exits and meets with VANESSA.)

MOTHER. Please , Sugar Plum, you don’t have to tell them, the damage is

already done.

VANESSA. Mother, this is the right thing. Now please, sit.

40



Scene III

EIGHT MONTHS LATER. Correctional Facility, outside

Scene:. Curtain still down. Spotlights shown on MOTHER, SUSAN, and

VANESSA. There are fences around, or paintings of fences. Birds are chirping.

MOTHER is dressed in a prison outfit. VANESSA is dressed elegantly, and SUSAN is in

a maternity dress; she is seven months pregnant. All three face the audience and begin

walking softly (while in place).

VANESSA. Mother, I think they’re working you too hard.

MOTHER. No, they’re not. They have me in the kitchen now. I’m literally

feeding an army! I’ve never seen so many hungry faces.

VANESSA. That’s too much for you to do.

MOTHER. Are you kidding? I love it here. At home I dreamed of having

somebody to cook for. It’s quite different from everywhere else I’ve been though.

People here talk to me, respect me, and they believe me when I threaten someone’s life.

Face it, I have a track record now. (She grabs both her daughters’ hands while still

walking.) You see, girls, since your father died, I’ve been miserable. I felt like no one

cared for me. Useless.

SUSAN. Mom, you can’t mean that. Just because Vanessa and I are so busy, it

doesn’t mean that we don’t need you.

MOTHER. I know, Sweetie. (To VANESSA) How’s Roger?

43



VANESSA. He’s great! We are still going to counseling. I found out there’s a lot

of things we needed to talk about. This was a great thing for our marriage, it put

everything in perspective. He’s learned to appreciate me more.

MOTHER. That’s it Sugar Plum, don’t break up. That’s the chicken way out.

Try to make things work. (She sighs.) It’s something how life can change you in such a

short time. Look at me, a common criminal. I never thought my life could be so exciting!

(She places a hand on SUSAN’s big belly.) And you, waiting for your first child. A year

ago you were crying for companionship—no wait, you were waiting more than a year,

make that forever.

SUSAN. I know, Mom. If it weren’t for you killing Sweet Lou, I would have

never met Bob.

MOTHER. I still can’t get over it, my oldest daughter marrying the State’s

Attorney. For a while there, at the trial, it seemed as though you were conspiring to lock

me up forever.

SUSAN. I would never do that.

MOTHER. I know that, Susan, but it’s hard to trust your daughter when you’ve

busted some heads in your time.

VANESSA. Mother, please, watch your language!

MOTHER. I’m sorry, but everyone talks like this in here. (She stopped walking,

making everyone stop.) You know, for the first time in my life, looking at myself and

both of you, I could honestly say that I am happy.” (She looks up at the sky, and says,

while smiling.) Thank you, Sweet Lou.

VANESSA. (looking up also, asking) Why did you call him Sweet Lou?

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MOTHER. It’s a nickname. Like we used to describe our family. There were so

many with the same names, so we improvised. Like your Uncle Johnny, not to get him

confused with your cousin Johnny from Georgia; we called your uncle, Hard Luck

Johnny, because of his bad luck. And we called your cousin Pink Johnny because he’s

gay.

VANESSA. I didn’t know that.

(They started walking again.)

MOTHER. Your cousin Little Maria, we named her that when the doctor told us

that she could not grow anymore. Or remember Big Tony, that nice man who delivered

fresh milk to our doorstep? (Both daughters nod.) Big Tony was named for his huge—

oh well, you get the idea.

VANESSA. But what about Sweet Lou? Did he have a sweet tooth or

something?

MOTHER. Let’s put it this way—he was sweet—not like the sugary kind, but in

spirit. You see, I named him that before I knew that he liked younger women. I named

him that when I thought there was a chance for him and me. (She took both her

daughters arms again, as a bird is heard nearby.)

MOTHER. (looking at SUSAN) You’re a little quiet today, Mistake Susan.

What are you thinking about?

SUSAN. (with a smile on her face) Mmm. I think that may work. Since Sweet

Lou has brought Bob and me together, I think it’s only fair that we name the baby after

him. That is, if it’s a boy.

MOTHER. When do you find out?

45



MOTHER. (Nodding.) Don’t worry, it’ll be a piece of cake. Just keep thinking

that this time next year, you and me will be in Cancun, Mexico, thanks to the Style n’

Vac. Clean and look beautiful at the same time!

VANESSA. Thank God they didn’t mention anything about Sweet Lou’s

inventions at the trial. Are you sure Lou hadn’t patented the vacuum cleaner that is also a

hair dryer?

MOTHER. Of course I am. Do you think I would have kill him if I wasn’t sure?

VANESSA. What a fabulous invention. Sweet Lou must have been a genius.

MOTHER. He was. But you know, Precious, it’s better for people to think that it

was invented by a woman.

VANESSA. Women, Mother. Invented by two women. You and me. (She smiles

proudly, and with a gleam in her eye, she says.) I’m so excited, we are going to make

millions!

(A crow cackles overhead. MOTHER AND VANESSA turn around to exit

together as)

THE CURTAIN FALLS.

47

a dangerous woman play

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