Art Ache by Lucy Arthurs Page A

sad? The tears are in your eyes . . . I’ll stand by you.
    What! Now I’ve replaced it with a Pretenders song. I hate that song. No, I actually love it, but it makes me cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Whatever you do.
    ME
    Um . . . this play . . . because it’s about children and society and choices and . . . when I had my baby it really became clear to me just how important children are. They’re the future . . .
    Teach them well and let them lead the way. Whitney Houston, for God’s sake!
    ME
    . . . they’re very important . . . and family is . . . um . . . there was a quote I read somewhere. An African saying. Um . . . it takes a village to raise a child. Yes. Um . . . and this play is about that village. The village that raises the child.
    Because the father has shot through. Arsehole! Mongrel! Bastard! The father has shot through so the mother has to rely on the village. The village. The mother has to . . .
    And then the tears are there. I can feel them. My eyes are brimming and people are looking at me. I’m wearing my hurt on my sleeve. I’m suddenly see-through. I’m suddenly Susan. Suddenly Seymour. Suddenly, the wheels are in motion. Suddenly, I’m sobbing.
    ME
    Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m very connected to the subject matter and I/
    BOOFHEAD
    /I think we should just start the read. Don’t you?
    A strong German accent comes out of my mouth.
    ME
    Jawohl!
    Oops. I said that aloud. Harking back to his EIN numberplate.
    ME
    I mean, yes. Yes, that sounds good.
    BOOFHEAD
    Great.
    MR. GORGEOUS
    (to me)
    Thank you.
    BOOFHEAD
    Ramona will read the stage directions.
    RAMONA
    Act One, Scene One. A children’s playground. A woman enters, full of hope.

Chapter 9
    Early evening same day. The lounge room.
    “As to marriage or celibacy, let a man take which course he will, he will be sure to repent.” Socrates.
    I was the first one out of the rehearsal room. I longed for the comfort of home. I longed for Jack and the backyard and late afternoon sun on his hair and a warm bath, a book, bed for Jack and then bed for me.
    The Rolling Stones were onto something when they told us you don’t always get what you want. I managed the backyard bit, the warm bath, the book and bed for Jack, but instead of the full Martha Stewart ending to my first day of rehearsal, I have my soon-to-be ex-husband turn up at my house to debrief about the day.
    However, before he gets to the reprimand I feel sure is in the offing, first he chooses to obliterate my self-esteem just a little bit more.
    BOOFHEAD
    I’m knocking dates back, left, right and sideways at the moment.
    He’s lying. I can see it in his eyes. But still I want to stab him in the chest. Where’s a metalbolic Freemason’s medieval replica sword when you need it?
    BOOFHEAD:
    I’m going through a bit of a purple patch.
    I want to cut him into tiny pieces and feed him to the cat next door. The one that keeps pissing on our—no— my back deck. No, I’ll feed him to our goldfish instead—Frank Finatra. Yes, hilarious play on words, I’m aware. A light-hearted name for a young fish, bestowed upon him when I was a light-hearted young woman. Bugger that, I’m fond of Frank Finatra. He hasn’t done anything to deserve freshly hacked up Boofhead.
    BOOFHEAD
    People are throwing themselves at me. I’m mixing it up a bit.
    ME
    Spare me the gory details.
    BOOFHEAD
    Well, spare me the mental breakdowns at rehearsal.
    And here comes the reprimand.
    BOOFHEAD
    It’s embarrassing.
    ME
    Embarrassing?
    BOOFHEAD
    Yes. We’re there to rehearse, not to watch people . . .
    ME
    What? Have feelings?
    BOOFHEAD
    Leave that to the actors.
    I want to elaborate. I want to tell him we’re supposed to be there to delve into the richness of the human psyche. To explore human connection and emotion within the framework of a theatrical performance. I want to rave on about Dionysian rituals and artists being the healers within the community. I want to . . .
    BOOFHEAD
    You were crying, for God’s sake.