Intimate Apparel - Mrs. Van Buren

Act 1, Scene 2 begins

I feel exposed. I think the straps need to be tightened, Esther.

No, ma’am, that’s the way it’s meant to be, but I’ll add a little more fabric to-

No, no, if this is what you made for that singer, it is what I want. All right. I’m coming out. Oh God, I look ridiculous, and I’m behaving absolutely foolishly, but I’m not sure what else to do. Look at me. I’ve spent a fortune on feathers and every manner of accouterment. They’ve written positively splendid things about me in the columns this season.

I’m sure they did.

But does it matter? Has he spent a evening at home? Or even noticed that I’ve painted the damn boudoir vermillion red?

You look lovely, Mrs. Van Buren.

Ha! I feel like a tart from the Tenderloin. Granted I’ve never been, but I’m told. Are you sure this is what you made for that… singer?

It is identical to the stitching.

And you say the French women are wearing these?

So I’m told.

I don’t believe it. It hardly seems decent. But I suppose the French aren’t known for their modesty.

Well, it the rage. Some ladies ain’t even wearing corsets in private.

Is that true?

Most gals don’t like ‘em, even fine ladies like yourself. Truth is, I ain’t known a man to court pain for a woman’s glance.

You’re not one of those suffragettes are you?

Oh God no, Mrs. Van Buren.

Indeed. I’d just as soon not tamper in men’s business.

Talk and nickel will but you five cents worth of trouble.

It’s come to this. If Mother dearest could see what has become of her peach in the big city.

(moment between Esther and Mrs. Van Buren where Esther runs her hands down the sides of the corset)

Do we really need all these dangling things?

Oh, I hope you ain’t mind, I added a touch of beading along the trim.

It is different.

Do you like it?

I confess, I almost do. It’s a bit naughty. Yes, I might even wear it beneath my gown tonight. Do you think anyone will notice? It is the annual Gardenia Ball, quite the event of the season.

So I hear.

And do you know what that means? They’ll all be there, parading their good fortune. I’ll have to smile, be polite, because I’m known for that, but I will dread every last minute, every bit of forced conversation with the Livingstons and the Babcocks. They want to know. All of them do. When are you going to have a child Evangeline? And my answer is always the same. Why we’re working on it, dear speak to Harold. And dear Harry will be in a sour mood for a week. You probably don’t even know what I’m talking about. Have you children?

No, Mrs. Van Buren. I ain’t been married.

Never? May I tell you something?

Yes. If you like.

I’ve given him no children. I’m afraid I can’t. It’s not for lack of trying. One takes these things for granted. You assume, when it comes time, that it will happen. And when it doesn’t, who is to blame? They think it’s vanity that’s kept me childless- I’ve heard the women whispering. If only I were that vain. But it’s like he’s given up.

But, you’re so beautiful.

You think so?

Yes, I can’t imagine he’d ever lose interest.

But he has turned to other interests. Trust me. This will stay between us? I’m told you’re discreet.

I just sew, missus. I don’t hear anything I ain’t supposed to.

You understand why. I’d rather not be a divorcee- at my age it would prove disastrous.

Do you think there’s something wrong with a woman alone?

What I think is of little consequence. If i were brave, I’d collect my things right now and find a small clean room some place on the other side of the park- no, further, in fact, And I’d… but it isn’t a possibility is it?

I don’t know that I’ll marry.

Of course you will. It’s just a matter of finding the right gentleman.

Ma’am, I don’t want to speak out of turn … but then I get this-

Yes?

I’m almost ashamed to say it. At my age it foolish, I know.

What is it?

A gentleman… A gentleman has taken interest in me.

Really? How wonderful! Is he respectable?

I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know him actually. I got me this letter from Panama. A man in Panama. He wrote about two weeks back. I been carrying it around since. But, I ain’t so sure I should answer.

And why not?

I ain’t much of a writer.

Oh-

No, I ain’t a writer at all. The fact is I can’t read.

Do you have the letter? May I see it? Panama. He has lovely penmanship- that’s important. He isn’t careless with his stroke- that’s the mark of a thoughtful man. It’s a good thing, I believe.

I won’t respond, of course, if it ain’t appropriate.

Nonsense. He’s halfway across the world. I’m sure he’s perfectly harmless. A bit lonesome perhaps, that’s all.

But if I have Mrs. Dickson over at the rooming house help me … but as you can see he has taken interest in me.

Would you like me to help you write to him Esther?

I couldn’t ask.

You needn’t, I insist.

I never done this before.

Nor have I.

Maybe it ain’t such a good idea, Mrs. Van Buren. I ain’t really got much to say.

Goodness, of course you do-

No I don’t! … Sure I can tell him anything there is to know about fabric, but that hardly seems a life worthy of words.

Come Esther, don’t be shy. Now, how shall we start?

I don’t know.

What sort of things do you like to do?

I… I go to church every Sunday … He keeps a wealth of fabric in that apartment. He got everything you need, even things you don’t know you need-

Esther, you’re jumping a bit ahead of yourself. Shall we begin with “Dear Mr. Armstrong-”

Yes. That’s good. “Dear Mr. Armstrong-”

“I received your letter…”

Mid-way through Scene 5: Hand-dyed Silk

Hand-dyed silk? Is it popular?

It will be by fall.

Really? I’ll have to weave that tidbit into conversation this evening. My in-laws are coming. The frog and the wart. Oh and did I tell you? I saw Mr. Max Feidler of Germany conduct selection from Don Juan. I had to endure an encore from the soprano- what was her name? Something Russian no doubt. I’d rather have gone to the electric show at Madison Square Garden, but you see, Harry isn’t impressed with electricity. “Miracle upon miracle, but there remain things science will never be able to give us,” he says, so he refrains from enthusiasm. By the way, I bled this morning, and when I delivered the news to Harry, he spat at me. This civilized creature of society. We all bleed, Esther. And yet I actually felt guilt, as though a young girl again apologizing for becoming a woman. Maybe I’ll be a bohemian. A bohemian needn’t a husband, she’s not bound by convention.

I don’t see why you let him do you this way, missus. If you don’t mind me saying.

Have you ever been to the opera?

Never.

Oh God, you’re lucky. It’s one of those things required of me. I’m certain you’ve found a more engaging means of entertainment.

I actually only been to the theatre once.

Really? What did you see?

Nothing special. A blind gal from Alabama sang spirituals. I need you to lift your arms.

Like this? It’s pinching me right here. I’ve never been to a colored show, I’m told they’re quite good.

I suppose.

I should like to see one for myself. You must take me to one of your shows.

And you will take me to the opera next time you go?

I would… if I could. It would be marvelously scandalous, just the sort of thing to perk up this humdrum season. it is so easy to be with you. Your visits are just about the only thing I look forward to these days. You, and our letters to George, of course. Shall we write something dazzling to him? Something delicious?

But, if-

What? Why not?

Perhaps something simple this time- I believe there real affection growing.

Yes, one would hope. He seems quite taken.

I don’t want him to be disappointed.

And he needn’t be. We’ll send him your warmth and he’ll find you irresistible.

Do you think you could describe this silk? … What it make you feel right now. It-

The silk? Are you sure?

Yes.

Mercy, if my friends knew I spend the day writing love letters to a colored laborer, they’d laugh me out of Manhattan.

People do a lot of things that they don’t ever speak of.

I smoked opium once, with the most proper of women. She dared me and I did it. And you? What have you done?

He handsome enough.

Come, what did he say when he saw you?

He ain’t say much of nothing. he just stood there for a moment regarding me with his eyes. Yellow, cotton-and-cane eyes. I didn’t have no tongue.

He must be something of a romantic. He traveled halfway across the world because of some promise on a paper.

He still smell of salt and ground nuts. It make me sick and it make me excited.

I was tipsy on my wedding night. I recall being in love with the notion of love, and everything took on a rosy glow. Harry was foolish and confident and I was frightened to death.

Act 2, Scene 3 - Rose Chemise

He’s gone to Europe.

I’m sorry to hear that.

You needn’t be. It’s a relief actually. Some business obligation. I don’t expect to see him for months. He’ll find ways of prolonging his stay, no doubt. Anyway, I’m considering a visit with friends in Lenox this summer. It’ll be good to escape the city, don’t you think? You could come, of course. I’ll recommend your services to several women.

I thank you, but I can’t. Here. I found a strand of lace for your rose chemise. I know it ain’t exactly what you wanted, but-

I had all but forgotten. I ordered it over four weeks ago. Four whole weeks. It’s not like you to-

I been busy.

Oh? Indeed. How is our Mr. Armstrong?

Good. Well… he good. Work scarce, and he so particular. He wanting, but his pride make him idle. And I try, I do, but he ain’t really take to this city.

But he will. I am certain. Oh Esther, it must be wonderful to be in love.

I suppose.

Is everything all right?

Yes.

Such a long face so early in the day. I won’t allow it. Come.

I’d like to settle matters. Please. You ain’t paid me in two months and I need the money.

Of course, I hadn’t realized. You know what? I miss writing our letters. I do! I’ve been absolutely without purpose for months.

Let’s not talk about the letters!

Fine, we won’t.

I’m sorry Mrs. Van Buren.

Something is wrong.

No. Nothing.

Esther, what is it?

The other day George asked me to read a letter. I took it in my hand and I lied. I lie every day. And I’m a Christian woman.

We all do what we must, no? We are ridiculous creatures sometimes.

Do you love Mr. Van Buren?

I am a married woman, such a question is romantic.

But I fear my love belongs someplace else.

And why is that?

I shouldn’t say. No, I can’t. Perhaps I’m wrong.

Perhaps not. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry. Please don’t go. I just wanted to show you what it was like to be treated lovingly.

Don’t say that. You don’t love me.

How do you know? Please. We will forget this and continue to be friends.

Friends. How we friends? When I ain’t never been through your front door. You love me? What of me do you love?

Esther, you are the only one who’s been in my boudoir in all these months. And honestly, it’s only in here with you that I feel… happy. Please, I want us to be friends.

I’m sorry. I can’t.

Coward! I’m sorry. There.