THE INTEGRATION OF PINKY MORAN

CHARACTERS:

PINKY/MEL (P/M): is a 35 yr old man with a dual personality who,
 as Melvyn, is a somewhat introvertive, precise, capable, but
 unexciting investment consultant. He loves his wife but takes
 her for granted. As Pinky, he is an outgoing, pseudo-suave,
 adventurous cat burglar, who is somewhat macho, and with an eye
 for the ladies. In interactions with accomplice Biff he reverts
 to street vernacular. In the denouement, the new P/M becomes a
 clear-headed, assured, and once again faithful (to his wife) man
 with a renewed zest for life.

WILMA: is a 35 yr old college-educated woman and appears to have
 no job outside the home. She loves her husband P/M very much and
 is very eager to have his "problem" come to an end. She rises to
 the occasion when Pinky increduously starts burglarizing his own
 house. In dealing with "Pinky", Wilma becomes assertive and
 commanding. When dealing with "Mel" and Jill she reverts to
 being somewhat fearful and dependent.

JILL: a friend of Wilma, is a 28 yr old psychotherapist who is
 intelligent and enthusiastically eager to help but seems to be a
 little inept due to inexperience. Both Wilma and P/M are her
 clients.

BIFF: is a 25-45 yr old man who, though not very bright, is
 unswervingly loyal to his accomplice in crime, Pinky.

(Curtain opens on an unoccupied living room of a condo apartment.
 After a moment, some movement is seen through the upper part of
 a window up center. It is the feet of a man suspended on a rope.
 With his feet kicking back and forth as he seeks a toe hold, the
 rest of the man's body slowly comes into view as he is lowered
 in a series of short jerky movements. He Þnally is in position
 to reach lower sash, open it, and with some difÞculty, crawl
 through it into the room. He is wearing a ski mask, a black
 turtle-neck sweater, dark slacks and a backpack. Once in the
 room, he unbuckles and steps out of the harness by which he was
 attached to the rope. He removes his backpack and leaves it in
 the center of the þoor. He furtively looks around, and, keeping
 his back to the walls, he makes his way around the room. He
 carefully opens the bedroom door, peeks in, and closes it again.
 He similarly looks through the archway into the kitchen. Now
 assured that the place is empty, he goes to the TV set, looks it
 over, and lifts it a bit to gauge its weight. He then goes to
 the stereo and other electronic equipment touching each item as
 if evaluating it. He then goes to his backpack, removes a
 walkie-talkie portable radio from it, extends its antenna, and
 talks into it. All the typical radio sounds, as well as the
 voice on the other end, are heard by the audience.)

P/M: (Furtively and somewhat quietly) Abel to Baker . . Abel to
 Baker . . Come in . . Come in. (He puts radio near ear and
 listens. Hearing nothing, he repeats) Abel to Baker . . Abel to
 Baker . . Come in . . Come in.

BIFF: That you, Pinky? Talk louder . I can hardly hear you.

P/M: (A little angry and a little louder) I can't talk louder and
 don't call me Pinky, you dummy! Stick to the code!

BIFF: Sorry. I forgot. How ya doin'? Over.

P/M: Abel to Baker . . Abel to Baker . . (Slowly with emphasis on
 each word) The . . pavement . . is . . smooth. . . The . . cup .
 . runs . . over.

BIFF: (Pause) What?

P/M: The code, dummy! Remember the code! No telling who may be
 listening.

BIFF: Yeah. Yeah. I remember now. Looks good, huh?

P/M: Shhhhh. Next message. (Again slowly) Retract . . the . .
 landing . . gear. Got it? Over.

BIFF: I got it!

(P/M goes to to window and assists as harness and rope are pulled
 back out the window and up in a series of short jerky movements.
 When they are gone, he closes window and removes a large plastic
 trash bag and a crowbar from backpack and goes into bedroom
 closing door behind him. After a moment, the front door opens
 and a woman in street clothes briskly enters, leaving door open,
 carrying two paper sacks of groceries. She walks directly to
 kitchen, stepping over backpack, and emerges almost immediately
 without the groceries. As she walks toward door again, she
 casually moves backpack out of the way. She exits. P/M re-enters
 living room with a sack of furs which he deposits near the front
 door. He goes to where he last left his backpack. Momentarily
 puzzled, he spots it in the corner and removes another sack from
 it. He picks up the walkie-talkie.)

P/M: Abel to Baker. Come in.

BIFF: This is Abel.

P/M: (Angrily) No, dummy! I'm Abel. You're Baker!

BIFF: Oh. Sorry.

P/M: Next message. (Again slowly and distinctly) Deploy . . to .
 . þank . . position. (Pause) Did you get that? I said, Deploy to
 þank position.

BIFF: I heard you. I heard you. . . . But I don't remember.

P/M: (Shouting angrily) Get your ass off the roof and down to the
 truck, you nincompoop!!!

BIFF: Gotcha. You can count on me.

P/M: Yeah. Like Þve to ten at Chico. (To himself) Why did I ever
 pick a klutz like that!

(He takes two steps toward the bedroom, then stops and stiffens,
 as if he hears someone coming. He quickly picks up a vase from a
 table and just manages to get behind the front door before it
 opens. Woman enters with a third bag of groceries. As she closes
 door she sees man standing behind it with upraised arm and vase.)

WILMA: (Casually) Oh, there you are. Take this, will you? (She
 hands him the groceries. She also reaches for and takes the vase
 from his still upturned hand.) And I'll handle this. It is a
 little fragile you know. (The man is so stunned at the woman's
 nonchalant reaction that he seems frozen and speechless and
 momentarily forgets about his upraised but now empty hand. The
 woman puts the vase back in its place, then comes back to him
 and abruptly pulls his ski mask off. In an annoyed tone.) And
 please don't wear this in the house. (She tosses it on a chair.
 The man, now recovering a bit from his shock, lets the groceries
 fall to the þoor, lunges for the chair, hurriedly puts the mask
 back on, and heads for the front door as if to escape. But the
 woman gets between him and the door.) Okay. Wear that silly
 thing if you must, but you're not getting away. (She puts both
 hands on his chest and assertively pushes him backward while she
 talks so that he eventually falls backward into the chair.)
 Don't you run off when I want to talk to you. (He makes a move
 to get up out of the chair but she pushes him back down again)
 Now you stay there till I'm through. I already saw your face. I
 can describe you to the police. But I won't if you cooperate.
 Will you hear me out? (He feels trapped. He looks right and
 left, then after a moment he silently nods.) Good. Here's the
 deal. You leave all the stuff you were going to steal and I
 won't turn you in. (He nods and starts getting up.) Not so fast,
 Buster, there's more. You owe me. (He settles back in chair) You
 think you can break in, go through my stuff, and violate my
 privacy? Well you can't. I know about guys like you. (She moves
 to backpack and picks it up.) You think you're smart. And you
 actually do have some good skills. I know you're good with
 tools. (She pours out contents of the backpack on þoor
 displaying a variety of burglary tools.) You could get an honest
 job if you wanted. (Now annoyed) And for God's sake, take off
 that mask! I feel like I'm talking to a Halloween kid. Take it
 off! I already saw your face. (He slowly pulls the mask off and
 drops it next to chair.) There, that's better. Now, this is what
 I want from you. I want you to know how it feels to be useful -
 how it feels when you do something that others can appreciate.
 (Pause) Am I getting through to you? Do you understand what I'm
 saying? (After a moment, he shakes his head.) And I'm tired of
 your head signals. Say something, for God's sake!

P/M: (Puzzled) Lady, I just can't believe I'm sitting here and
 letting myself be lectured like a trapped schoolboy.

WILMA: But you are trapped. And before I'm done, you are going to
 learn something, Pinky.

P/M: (Startled) How . . how did you know my name?

WILMA: Never mind. Just listen good. There are a few things in
 this Condo that need Þxing. I need a man handy with tools.
 You're handy with tools. You're elected.

P/M: (Puzzled) You want me to do some Þxing? For you? Here?

WILMA: You got it.

P/M: What do I get out of it?

WILMA: That's it. You get out of a breaking and entering rap. Not
 to mention attempted burglary and threat to do bodily harm with
 a dangerous weapon.

P/M: Weapon?

WILMA: The vase.

P/M: Oh.

WILMA: And if I like your work, I may even pay you a little.

P/M: Pay me? I can't believe this!

WILMA: Just a little. But enough to let you get the feel of
 honest money.

P/M: Well I'll be damned!

WILMA: You want that too?

P/M: What?

WILMA: Never mind. Well, how about it? You do some honest work.
 You get paid. And you're off the hook. Is it a deal?

P/M: What if I work and you still turn me in?

WILMA: Trust is the Þrst step of your rehabilitation. (The radio
 beeps. She calmly picks it up.) He's busy. Call back later. (She
 replaces it.) Well. I'm waiting for your answer.

P/M: (Pause) OK. . . It seems I'm over a barrel . . . What do you
 want me to do?

WILMA: The drain under the kitchen sink is leaking. I've got a
 bucket there. (She motions to tools) Take your kit of tools and
 see if you can make it behave.

P/M: (He begins to gather up tools) OK, I'll give it a try. But I
 wasn't exactly prepared for plumbing when I came here.

WILMA: Use your imagination. Be creative. Remember, the ass you
 save may be your own.

P/M: Say . . . You're not a bad looker. I wonder what you're like
 when you're not cracking the whip.

WILMA: (A little pleased) Cut the chatter and get to work. And
 pick up those groceries you dropped. Good thing the eggs were in
 the other bag.

P/M: (Picking up groceries) You know . . I do like some . . Þre .
 . in a woman.

WILMA: (Warming further) Just keep moving. Or you'll Þnd out how
 hot I can make it for you.

P/M: OK, OK. Don't overdo it, lady. But you don't look like
 someone who needs to strong-arm a guy just to get a drip Þxed.
 Ever think of trying something a little more . . . appealing?

WILMA: Knock off the soft soap, Bozo. I'm not letting you off the
 hook. Get going on the drain.

P/M: (Moving towards kitchen) Maybe later we can . . talk.

WILMA: Just get going.

(As soon as he enters kitchen, she quickly goes to phone and
 presses a number. All the telephone sounds and the voice at the
 other end are heard by the audience.)

JILL: Hello.

WILMA: Jill?

JILL: Yes?

WILMA: This is Wilma. Wilma Anderson.

JILL: Yes, Wilma. What's up.

WILMA: (No longer assertive but now plaintive and concerned) It's
 Mel. He's become Pinky again.

JILL: Is he in trouble? Did they catch him stealing or something?

WILMA: He tried to burglarize our own home this time. But I
 walked in on him.

JILL: Oh no! Did he hurt you?

WILMA: No. I don't really think he's dangerous.

JILL: That's good. How'd you handle it?

WILMA: I tricked him into staying.

JILL: You didn't confront him with his problem, I hope?

WILMA: No. I know you don't want me to do that. Did he keep his
 last appointment with you?

JILL: No, and he didn't call my ofÞce to cancel either. He was a
 no show.

WILMA: I feel so helpless. You're sure I should just go along
 with whatever person he happens to be.

JILL: That's right. We can't force it. It might be too traumatic.
 He could go catatonic on us.

WILMA: (Concerned) Could he really?

JILL: (Hesitantly) Well . . I don't know for sure, of course. I'm
 still reading up on it. (More conÞdently) But we've got to be
 careful. Eventually, he'll discover that he's two entirely
 different people in one skin. But he must be psychologically
 ready.

WILMA: And till then, Mel doesn't know Pinky and Pinky doesn't
 know Mel?

JILL: That's right. Each has his own separate world.

WILMA: (Sadly) And I'm part of only Mel's world.

JILL: That's right. But Pinky and Melvyn must eventually
 integrate into one personality. With a little luck, we'll be
 able to remove all traces of Pinky from your marriage.

WILMA: (A little embarrassed) Well . . there are a few . . parts
 of Pinky . . that I rather enjoy.

JILL: (A Little surprised) Oh? . . Well . . we'll see what
 happens. Meanwhile, don't talk to Pinky about Melvyn. Let him be
 Pinky until he snaps back by himself.

WILMA: It sure is scary when that happens.

JILL: I'll bet it is. The book says there may be a trigger that
 makes him switch personalities back and forth.

WILMA: Trigger? What sort of trigger?

JILL: I don't know yet. It could be a situation, or a word, or a
 household object, a piece of clothing. Almost anything.

WILMA: (Hesitantly) Do you . . really think you can . . handle
 this OK? I mean . . you're still new in your practice and all. I
 just thought . . .

JILL: Look, Melvyn's problem is rare. But he's not the Þrst. And
 it's all in the book. I'm studying it carefully. How hard can it
 be?

WILMA: You certainly sound . . conÞdent.

JILL: Trust me.

WILMA: OK. I do, Jill. You've been such a great leader in our
 Thursday Women's Group.

JILL: Thank you. Is Melvyn there now?

WILMA: Yes. He's in the kitchen.

JILL: I haven't seen him as Pinky yet. Will he be there for a
 while?

WILMA: Probably.

JILL: Then I'll come right over. I was going out anyway. I'll be
 there shortly. Be careful.

WILMA: I will. Bye.

JILL: Bye. (Hangs up)

P/M: (Having removed his sweater to reveal a collarless but
 stylish shirt, he enters from kitchen carrying backpack and
 sweater which he deposits on þoor) Well, I think I got the leak
 stopped. But the cabinet under the sink is a mess. Some of the
 stuff you had in there got a little wet.

WILMA: (Assertive again, scolding) You mean you didn't empty out
 the cabinet before you started. You're no better than Mel. (She
 catches herself)

P/M: Mel? Who's Mel?

WILMA: (Nervously) Uh . . . nobody . . . just somebody I used to
 know. (Recovering) I'll take a look in the kitchen.

P/M: A boy friend? Ex husband?

WILMA: Just drop it.

P/M: (Somewhat sensually) You know, it doesn't Þgure. A nice
 saucy woman like you without a . . man around. Don't you get a
 little . . lonesome?

WILMA: (A little sarcastically) And I'll bet you're just the guy
 who can . . cheer me up.

P/M: (Bragging) Had no complaints yet.

WILMA: Wait'll I take a look at your plumbing job. Meanwhile, do
 you do furniture?

P/M: Furniture?

WILMA: I mean, can you loosen it up?

P/M: What're you talking about?

WILMA: The chest of drawers in the bedroom - the one in the far
 corner - the bottom two drawers will hardly budge.

P/M: (Glumly) Furniture is way out of my line. But, OK. I'll look
 at it. By the way, do I get a coffee break sometime?

WILMA: Oh . .Yeah . . I'll get some (Moves toward kitchen) . And
 after the chest, I have a stubborn light switch for you.

P/M: One thing at a time, lady.

(As she walks to kitchen, he slowly walks toward bedroom. When
 she is out of sight, he wheels and goes to his walkie/talkie.)

P/M: (Picking up radio) Biff. Are you there? . . Come in.

BIFF: I'm here. But what about the code? You said we should . . .

P/M:(Interrupting) Screw the code. There's a big change in plans.

BIFF: Change? I just barely learned the last plan.

P/M: Shut up and listen! This pushy broad walked in on me just
 after I found the furs. She got a good look at my face.

BIFF: Oh, that must have been her who answered. What's her name?

P/M: (Annoyed) I don't know. Who cares what her name is. Just
 listen, will you. She said she'd Þnger me to the cops unless I
 did what she said.

BIFF: Did what she said? . . Sounds interesting. . . What'd she
 want?

P/M: Well . . plumbing . . for starters.

BIFF: Plumbing? . . Whose plumbing?

P/M: Whose do you think. Her's, of course.

BIFF: Her plumbing?

P/M: Yes, her plumbing. And stop interrupting. I haven't located
 her jewelry yet. I don't want to leave without them. So I'm
 playing along with her nutty little game till I Þnd them. I'll
 charm her socks off if I have to. (A little boastfully) Actually
 . . I think she kinda likes me.

BIFF: (Doubtfully) I don't know, Pinky. It sounds like you're in
 trouble. Do you need some help? Do you want me to come up and
 help ya?

P/M: No! The last thing I need is you gumming up the works. Just
 sit tight till I call ya.

BIFF: What ya gonna do now?

P/M: She wants me to look at her chest.

BIFF: Chest?

P/M: Yeah, chest.

BIFF: What chest?

P/M: Her chest . . in the bedroom.

BIFF: Bedroom? Whose bedroom?

P/M: (Annoyed) Her bedroom! And stop repeating what I say, will
 ya!

BIFF: OK. But I still think you need help getting out of there.
 (Pause) You . . do want to get out, don't ya?

P/M: (Annoyed) Oh for cryin' out loud! Just stay in the truck and
 watch out for cops. And don't look suspicious.

BIFF: OK, Pinky. Out.

(Pinky replaces radio and moves toward bedroom.)

WILMA: (Enters from kitchen with cup and saucer and now wearing a
 distinctive apron. It is mostly blue with large white letters
 saying - I ATTRACT GRAVY) Fix that chest already?

P/M: (Evasive) Uh . . No . . I . . just came out to get . . . .

WILMA: Get what?

P/M: (Stares at her) What . . . is . . . that?

WILMA: What is what?

P/M: That . . . thing . . . you're wearing . .

WILMA: What thing? (She looks down and touches her apron)

(He stiffens momentarily then jumps one step back staring at
 where he previously stood. There are brief sound and light cues
 suggesting a psychic phenomenon has taken place. He then visibly
 relaxes and becomes Melvyn with very different speech and
 mannerisms.)

P/M: Where's today's Wall Street Journal, Wilma? (He spies it on
 an end table near chair.) Oh, there it is. (Moving towards
 chair) I believe this issue has the second of a three-part
 series on municipal bond trends. I don't suppose you could get
 me a cup of tea. I'd appreciate it.

WILMA: (Pause) Melvyn? (Pause) Is that you?

P/M: (Not paying attention) And I'm getting a little tired of
 Orange Pekoe. I'm in the mood for some . . Red Zinger.

WILMA: (Looks at cup in her hand, then sets it down and goes to
 him) Sure . . Mel. (Pause) How . . How are you feeling? (Mel is
 engrossed in paper) Mel?

P/M: (Finally reacting) Oh . . Uh . . Fine. Why do you ask?

WILMA: Just checking. Did you . . go to the ofÞce today?

P/M: No. I decided to take the day off. I'm sure Phillip covered
 for me. God knows I covered for him often enough.

WILMA: Had you . . planned anything special for today?

P/M: Not really. But I did seem to have the urge to do something
 a little different . It seems to come on every now and then.
 (Looking at her and smiling.) Kind of a . . devilish feeling . .
 if you know what I mean. (Goes back to paper) But . . after a
 while . . it seems to go away.

WILMA: I see. (Cautiously) You know you missed your last
 appointment with your psychotherapist.

P/M: Did I? I'm sorry. But you know I've been seeing Dr.
 Derwinski mostly to please you. The occasional memory lapses I
 have really do bother me. But they may go away by themselves. It
 may be just a transitory condition. It doesn't seem to affect my
 work very much.

WILMA: Just the same, I'd feel better if you'd be more regular.
 You're scheduled to see Jill next Tuesday, you know.

P/M: You know, I feel like I'm under a microscope in her ofÞce.
 It's quite obvious that I'm one of her Þrst clients.

WILMA: Jill is a very capable woman.

P/M: But just because you go to her group - Women for Holistic
 Harmony - doesn't mean . . .

WILMA: (Interrupting) All the more reason. I've got conÞdence in
 her. (Gently) Look, Mel, it's very important to me. I want you
 to continue seeing her . . and regularly.

P/M: Oh, all right, Wilma. I'll do it for you. Remind me the day
 before. Now, please, may I have that tea?

WILMA: Sorry. I forgot.

(She returns to kitchen, picking up cup and saucer along way. P/M
 returns to paper, turns a page, and accidentally drops end
 section of paper on þoor next to chair. Casually and without
 looking he reaches down and simultaneously picks up paper and
 discarded ski-mask which he, still casually, places on end table
 next to chair. He continues reading for a moment then slowly
 lowers paper, then slowly turns head to look at ski mask. Again
 accompanied by sound and light cues, he again momentarily
 stiffens, then leaps from the chair and stares back at it
 suspiciously as if it were a hot plate.)

WILMA: (Appearing in doorway) You did say Red Zinger, didn't you?

P/M: (As Pinky again) Red . . what?

WILMA: The tea. Red Zinger.

P/M: (Pause) I thought you wanted me to look at the furniture.

WILMA: (Pauses, then realizing that change has again occurred) Uh
 . . . Yeah . . . . . You do that. (A deep breath) Meanwhile . .
 I'll scratch the tea and get the coffee. (Wilma exits to
 kitchen.)

P/M: (Goes to backpack, picks it up and heads for bedroom. The
 Walkie/talkie beeps. He picks it up.) What's up, Biff?

BIFF: I'm not sure. A woman came by and she looked at me kinda
 funny.

P/M: Funny?

BIFF: Like she wanted to say something, But she didn't.

P/M: What'd she do?

BIFF: She went into the building. She may be goin' up to where
 you are.

P/M: Who cares. Look, I gotta go. This broad's keepin' me busy.

BIFF: What're you doin' now?

P/M: I've gotta loosen her drawers.

BIFF: (Pause) Drawers?

P/M: Yeah, drawers.

BIFF: You mean . . drawers . . like . .

P/M: (Annoyed) Yeah, drawers!! And stop repeating! I told ya, I gotta go!

BIFF: Pinky . . I thought you were lookin' for her . . jewelry.

P/M: I am! I am!

BIFF: Oh . . Say, I get it . . It's part of the new plan, isn't
 it? Something about . . charming her socks off.

P/M: (Exasperated, to himself) I can't believe this. (To radio)
 Biff, do me a favor. Don't think. Don't do anything. Just wait
 for more instructions.

BIFF: OK, but be sure to let me know if you want me to come up .
 . to help you get out.

P/M: Yeah, yeah, sure. Just get off the air now. Out. (He
 replaces radio. To himself) What a dummy. (He picks up backpack
 and walks toward B.R.) If I didn't need his truck, I'd . . Oh,
 what the hell. At least he's loyal. (Exits)

(After a moment, doorbell rings. Wilma enters from kitchen and
 goes to door, opens it, and Jill ,a woman of about 25,enters
 briskly carrying purse and book. She is wearing a colorful
 sweatsuit and equally colorful running shoes.)

JILL: Did you know there's a suspicious man downstairs in front
 of your building? He's sitting in a truck.

WILMA: Suspicious?

JILL: Yeah. He's suspicious because he's trying so hard not to be.

WILMA: Oh. That may be the voice at the other end of this.
 (Points to walkie/talkie) But I'll Þll you in later. Pinky's in
 the bedroom.

JILL: (Pause) Bedroom?

WILMA: Yeah . . Working on my drawers.

JILL: (Pause) Drawers?

WILMA: I'll explain that later too. Since I called you, he's gone
 from Pinky to Mel and back to Pinky again.

JILL: (Interested) He has? (A little dramatically) The cycles are
 getting shorter. It's a good sign. We may be approaching
 integration.

WILMA: As he was changing form Pinky to Mel, he seemed to be
 awfully interested in my apron.

JILL: This apron?

WILMA: Yeah. It's one Mel bought for me, partly as a gag. It was
 after I stained one of my outÞts with chili sauce. He kidded me
 a lot about it.

JILL: I told you, most anything could be a trigger. Even some
 clothing.

WILMA: I sure hope this ends soon. I can't take much more of this.

JILL: (Somewhat melodramatically, with book in hand) We're
 entering the critical time. When the Pinky embodiment of his
 subconscious Þnally emerges to meet the Melvyn of his conscious
 life, the meeting will be highly unpredictable. There may be
 some severe identity confusion. Let's hope it won't last long.

WILMA: Have you actually seen this happen?

JILL: Uh . . No . . Not really. It's a rare phenomenon. But I'm
 on that chapter now. (Holds up book)

WILMA: Poor Mel. How did this whole thing start?

JILL: I don't know for sure yet. It might stem from an acute
 identity anxiety disorder.

WILMA: All this is too technical for me. I just want things to be
 normal again.

JILL: There may be some signiÞcance to the name he uses . .
 "Pinky".

WILMA: Well I know he didn't invent it. It was given to him.

JILL: What do you mean?

WILMA: It was his one and only þing with the local Little Theater
 group.

JILL: (Very interested) Tell me more.

WILMA: Well, one of Mel's friends is an amateur director. He once
 was kind of desperate and he talked Mel into a part in a play a
 few years ago.

JILL: What kind of part?

WILMA: I'll have to think about it. But I do remember the name. I
 helped him learn some lines. The name of his character was Pinky
 Moran.

JILL: (Visibly very interested) Tell me all you can remember.

WILMA: I guess Mel didn't mention this in his sessions with you?

JILL: No, he didn't.

WILMA: I'm not surprised. The play wasn't a very good one and I
 thought Mel was very glad it was over when it was.

JILL: What kind of a character was Pinky Moran?

WILMA: Hmm. Let me see. He had a lot of lines to learn. And he did 
get the girl at the end. So I guess he was a main character.

JILL: I mean what was the personality of the Pinky character like?

WILMA: Oh. As I recall, Mel had some difÞculty getting into it at
 Þrst. He had to pretend he was kind of þashy - you know - like a
 cross between Tom Cruise and Spider Man.

JILL: Flashy, huh. Might it also mean . . adventurous?

WILMA: Yeah.

JILL: And good with women, maybe?

WILMA: Yeah. And that's the part I thought was really funny.

JILL: (Musing) Hmm. This may be important. It seems a little
 clearer now.

WILMA: What do you mean?

JILL: I think you'll have to admit, Wilma, that Melvyn does not
 ordinarily give the impression of a þashy, adventurous, lady
 killer.

WILMA: (With a little laugh) You can say that again.

JILL: (Pacing, partly to herself) I think that role he played may
 have had a profound effect on him. It may have awakened a deeply
 buried facet of his personality - a facet he perhaps thought
 would not be found acceptable by others . . . . unless . .

WILMA: Unless?

JILL: Unless . . I'm totally wrong.

WILMA: Oh.

JILL: But again, I may be right.

WILMA: So . . you think he may really want to be like Pinky Moran?

JILL: Quite possibly. (As if lecturing) Actors frequently relish
 a part far removed from their daily lives. It gives them a safe
 opportunity to express their innermost desires. For example,
 some ordinarily very gentle people can play some angry man roles
 with a rage that is awesome to see. (To Wilma) What else do you
 remember about the play?

WILMA: Not much. I sort of remember one scene where Mel - or
 Pinky - was in a woman's bedroom. . . Then there was this golf
 club.

JILL: What golf club?

WILMA: A nine iron, I think.

JILL: No, I mean . . .

WILMA: (Interrupting) Oh. Uh . . She was swinging it . .
 threatening him with it. Maybe he was going to attack her, or
 steal something.

JILL: Steal?

P/M: (Entering from B.R.) Well, they're a little looser now. But
 I don't know how long they'll . . . (He sees Jill and stops
 short)

WILMA: (Awkwardly) Uh . . . That's good . . . Good work . . . I
 was just telling my friend . . Jill . . She's a . . . a . .
 novelist. . . . I was telling her about . . about what good work
 you do.

JILL: Uh . . Yes . . And . . I'm interested . . Very interested .
 . Perhaps you can . . . do some work for me too.

P/M: Now wait a minute. This is getting out of hand. I only
 agreed to . . .

JILL: (Interrupting) I'm just down the street. There are a . .
 number of things you might . . do for me.

P/M: Down the street?

JILL: Without a man around the place, things can get a little . .
 run down after a while.

P/M: (With some interest) Oh . . . Maybe we can talk.

WILMA: Excuse me. I just remembered something. I'll be right
 back. (Exits to B.R.)
P/M: (With ingratiating tone) So . . . you don't have a man
 around to keep your place shipshape.

JILL: I understand you're pretty good with . . tools.

P/M: I don't mind saying , I'm a man of many talents. And . .
 I've been around.

JILL: (Cautiously) Have you . . . always been this talented?

P/M: (Ignoring question) I've had some experiences you wouldn't
 believe. Some really close shaves too.

JILL: So. . . . You've had some adventures? Perhaps you can tell
 me a little about some of them. I'm always looking for . . .
 action sequences for my . . novels.

P/M: Action?

JILL: You know . . male behavior.

P/M: (Moves closer to her) Male behavior, huh. So . . you write
 about . . men?

JILL: Men and women. At the moment, I seem to be more interested
 in men . . . and what makes them . . what they are.

P/M: You mean . . what makes some guys . . . different from other
 guys?

JILL: Perhaps.

P/M: Hopeless.

JILL: I beg your pardon.

P/M: I said it's hopeless. There's no explaining it. Some guys've
 got it. And some guys don't. That's just the way it is.

JILL: If I had to guess, I'd say you're one of those who's . . .
 got it.

P/M: (Edging still closer) Enough about me. What do you do? When
 you're not writing about men, that is.

JILL: Oh . . I keep busy.

P/M: Ever been married?

JILL: That's rather personal . . . but no . . . I haven't. What
 about you?

P/M: I'm free as a bird. I've gotta be. There's too much to see.
 Too much to do. Too many women to . . . (Stops himself)

JILL: To what?

P/M: (Pause) Let's get back to you again, shall we? May I call
 you Jill?

JILL: If you like.

P/M: You're the Þrst novelist I've actually met, Jill. I've often
 wondered what kind of people put those stories together. For
 example, are they the kind of people who . . do . . . . . or who
 just write about . . . . doing . . . . things?

JILL: (Pause) Are you asking about the difference between actual
 experience and . . . fantasy?

P/M: Fantasy?

JILL: Do you fantasize, Pinky?

P/M: Fantasize?

JILL: Yes, do you have fantasies?

P/M: What kind of . . fantasies?

JILL: Do you ever daydream about having a different . . . life? .
 . . About being like someone else?

P/M: There you go again. You switched the conversation back to me
 again. (He edges still closer to her) How do you get your ideas
 about men? . . . About men in your stories, I mean.

JILL: From everywhere. From newspapers. From real life. From my
 imagination, I suppose.

P/M: Imagination? So you yourself fantasize. Tell me about your .
 . fantasies.

JILL: (Backing away) Mr. Moran, that's a very personal question.
 (As if quoting from a textbook) One's fantasies are generally
 kept very private. Revealing them to another can be useful but
 is risky. It leaves one very vulnerable. It takes a great deal
 of trust in a relationship to engage in that kind of intimate
 communication.

P/M: (A little nervously) . . Say . . Are you a shrink as well as
 a writer?

JILL: (She slides her book under her purse) Do you have anything
 against . . shrinks?

P/M: (Confused) I don't know. . . uh, I'm not sure . . . uh, I
 don't know. . (Recovering) You're an interesting woman, Jill. I
 have some stories, some man stories, I'd like to tell you. I'll
 bet you'd appreciate them . . . I mean, being a writer and all.
 Maybe when I come over to your place . . . for some repairs . .
 . we can talk some more.

JILL: I've changed my mind. I don't think that would be such a
 good idea.

P/M: Why? You told me you've never married . . . that there's no
 man around the house.

JILL: (Pause) Let's get off this subject. There's no future in
 it. I know who you really are.

P/M: (Gets still closer to her) I doubt it. Any way, I'd like to
 Þnd out more about who you really are.

JILL: (Backing away) I said let's drop it. I'm just not
 interested.

P/M: Not interested? In me? In anybody?

JILL: To be honest, I do have a . . certain . . interest in you,
 but it's not what you . . .

P/M: (Moving close enough to her to grasp her by both wrists)
 Well, then. The feeling is mutual. What's the problem?

JILL: (Pulling away but still held by wrists) Look. I'll have to
 be blunt. I said there's no . . man . . . around the house.

P/M: No . . man . . around the house? What does that mean?

JILL: It means I live with a woman, and please take your hands
 off me.

P/M: (Still holding wrists) You live with a woman? A room mate?

JILL: You can call her that if you want. (More emphatically) Now
 please let go of me!!

P/M: (Slowly) . . Say . . . I'm beginning to get the picture. . .
 . .You're a . . . . a . . . .

JILL: That's right. (Now very angrily) And if you don't let go
 right now, you're going to get a kick where you'll remember me
 for a long time.

P/M: (Letting go and backing away with hands up) Say no more,
 Jill. Live and let live, I always say. I was sure barking up the
 wrong tree, wasn't I? Well . . . . I'll . . . just have to . .
 shift gears a bit.

JILL: (Regaining composure) Better yet, turn off your engine.

P/M: OK, OK . . . . Now, let's see . . . Where were we . . . We
 were talking about . . .

JILL: I wonder what's keeping Wilma.

P/M: Wilma? Oh, so that's what her name is. We somehow never got
 around to introductions. (Now puzzled) Yet, she did know who I
 was. . . This is one weird situation. . . I don't understand it
 all yet.

JILL: But it's exciting, . . Right?

P/M: (Thoughtfully) Yeah. . . . It is . . . . You bet it is.

JILL: And you like excitement. You like being in the center of
 the action. You like the attention . . . the danger . . . the
 notoriety.

P/M: (Very slowly) . . You know . . . your voice is beginning to
 sound . . . familiar. . . Are you sure . . . we haven't . . .
 met before.

JILL: (Very interested) Is there anything else familiar? Anything
 else . . about me?

P/M: (Still very slowly and dreamlike) . . There . . is . . .
 something. . . . Something that's coming to me . . . It has . .
 a color . . . . Maybe . . . a blue . . . Yes . . . something . .
 . blue.

JILL: Something blue? . . . . Associated with me? . . . What sort
 of thing is it?

P/M: (Thinking hard) It's blue . . . and . . . it's . . . around
 your neck.

JILL: Around my neck? (She pauses thoughtfully, touches her neck,
 then goes to her purse, opens it, and removes a colorful,
 predominantly blue, scarf. She looks at it, then at him, then
 knots it loosely around her neck.)

P/M: (He stares at Jill's scarf, then momentarily stiffens. Sound
 and light cues again. He again jumps back a step, stares at
 where he was, Þnally relaxes, then goes over to Jill in a very
 polite and cordial manner, now as Mel) Dr. Derwinski, so nice of
 you to call. Wilma and I were just discussing my next
 appointment with you. I see you're wearing the scarf Wilma got
 you. I helped her pick it out,you know.

JILL: (Cautiously) You . . . you did? Well . . . thank you,
 Melvyn. It was very nice of Wilma and the women's group to
 remember my birthday. (Recovering) You missed our last
 appointment, didn't you?

P/M: I really am sorry about that, Doctor.

JILL: Please. I'd like you to call me Jill. We're not in the
 ofÞce now.

P/M: Sure . . Jill . . . Anyway, I must have been tied up with
 something very important to have forgotten the appointment.
 Although, at the moment, I can't recall what it may have been.

JILL: Perhaps another one of those . . memory lapses?

P/M: I don't know. Perhaps.

JILL: (Cautiously) Tell me, does the name . . Pinky Moran . .
 mean anything to you?

P/M: Hmm . . It does seem to have a familiar ring to it . . . It
 . . . may have been a character in a play I . . once saw. Why do
 you ask?

JILL: Just a hunch I have. Please let me know if anything comes
 to you.

P/M: OK. By the way, I'll get Wilma. She may not know you're here.


JILL: Oh, don't bother just yet. Let's talk.

P/M: Sure, anything you say . . Jill.

JILL: (Casually) So . . . How are things going with you?

P/M: Except for my memory problem, things are Þne.

JILL: Good . . . And . . how are things . . . between you and
 Wilma?

P/M: Just the same, I guess.

JILL: Just the same? . . Is that good? Is that what you want?

P/M: Gee . . . I don't know . . . I suppose so.

JILL: Let me put it this way. (As if giving a test) Would you say
 that the quality of your marriage has been improving? . . .
 Staying the same? . . . Or declining a bit?

P/M: Jill, this is beginning to sound like an ofÞce appointment.
 Maybe I should go back to calling you Dr. Derwinski.

JILL: Do you resent my asking you these questions?

P/M: No, of course not . . . Well . . . maybe a little . . . Gee,
 I don't know. To tell the truth, I do feel like Wilma and I are
 in a rut. Nothing seems to be happening. At least nothing new
 and different.

JILL: Have you discussed this with Wilma?

P/M: (Pause) Probably not.

JILL: Why?

P/M: (Squirming uncomfortably) Gee . . . I don't know.

JILL: Stop saying "I don't know". The fact is, you do know. Isn't
 that right?

P/M: Gee . . . I don't (stops himself) . . . Jill, I'm feeling
 more and more uncomfortable. Can we . . .

JILL: (Interrupting) Is it fear? Are you afraid to talk to Wilma
 about it?

P/M: Why should I be afraid? I'm . . .

JILL: Go on. You're what?

P/M: Look . . . Maybe you're right . . . Maybe I am a little
 afraid.

JILL: Afraid of what?

P/M: (Pause) I'm afraid . . . she'll laugh at me.

JILL: Laugh at you for what?

P/M: (Pause) For . . . what I want.

JILL: What do you want?

P/M: (Pause) Zing.

JILL: Zing?

P/M: Yeah . . Zing . . I want more zing in my life. (He rises and
 begins his soliloquy. He becomes increasingly animated as he
 paces around the room and orates in a rising crescendo.) I want
 to do things . . try things . . things that others will take
 notice of . . appreciate . . admire. I want to feel like I'm an
 important part of what makes this world go around. I want to
 lead . . not follow. I want to create . . not just react. I want
 the thrill of accomplishment . . the thrill of the chase . . the
 risk . . the danger . . Yes, I said danger. Daring to do what
 others may only dream about. Living on the edge. Drinking in the
 excitement! Feeling the admiration of others! . . The respect of
 men!! . . (Reaching peak intensity) The adulation of women!!! .
 . . . (Now becomes embarrassingly aware of his emotional
 performance) . . I want . . . I . . . . . . . . . . . . . (Now
 suddenly totally composed and casual, as he sits down again)
 Yeah . . A little more zing would be nice.

JILL: (Astonished at his outburst) Melvyn . . I must say . . You
 do have some strong feelings . . . And you're afraid to share
 them with Wilma?

P/M: Well . . you know Wilma. You know the kind of person she is.
 She's always led a sheltered life . . . even in our marriage.
 She's settled into a nice comfortable routine which I'm sure she
 enjoys. Any great change would upset her. She's a competent,
 reliable, and loving wife. A joy to have around . . . but
 demure. I have to make the decisions. As a matter of fact, she
 never . .

WILMA: (Bursting into the room brandishing a golf club and now
 dressed in a blue negligee) Robber!! Crook!! Thief!! Steal my
 stuff, will ya!! (Advances on P/M)

P/M: (Astonished) Wilma!! . . What?? . . Why are you . . . .

BIFF: (Bursts in through the front door and lunges into the room
 wearing a ski mask and ridiculously brandishing a walkie/talkie
 by its antenna as a make-shift weapon.) Head for the door,
 Pinky!! I'll cover ya!!

P/M: Hey!! What's going on?? Why are you . .

BIFF: (Advancing toward Wilma and JIll) Grab the loot and let's
 go!!

P/M: What do you mean by this?? What . . . (Sound and light cues
 begin and continue throughout the remainder of this sequence.
 P/M momentarily stiffens, relaxes, then reacts to Biff, now as
 Pinky) Biff, you numbskull, I told you to stay downstairs. I
 don't need . .

WILMA: Hang on to your hair, Buster, your head's going for a
 ride. (Advances on P/M)

P/M: (Backing away) Now, watch it, Lady!! Take it easy!! Take it
 easy!! Put that thing down!! Someone could get . . (He stiffens,
 relaxes, then reacts to Wilma as Mel) Wilma, are you out of your
 mind?? What are you doing with my . . .

BIFF: Pinky!! C'mon!! Let's go!!

WILMA: Mel!! It's me!! Your wife!!

BIFF: Pinky!! C'mon!!

WILMA: Mel!! It's me!!

BIFF: Pinky!!

WILMA: Mel!!

BIFF: Pinky!!

WILMA: Mel!!

(During this exchange, P/M frantically reacts Þrst to one and
 then the other repeating "Biff" or "Wilma". He is obviously
 undergoing back and forth changes between personalities.
 Throughout most of this sequence, Jill has been moving about the
 periphery literally jumping with joy as she views these
 phenomena unfolding before her. She alternates between furiously
 thumbing through her book and adding to the chaos by shouting
 encouragements such as "C'mon Melvyn!!" and "Go Melvyn, go!!" By
 now, Biff and Wilma have squared off and circle each other still
 brandishing their "weapons". P.M Þnally puts his arms around his
 head as if to shut everything out. He slowly sinks to his knees,
 then puts his head to the þoor with arms still wrapped around
 his head. Biff and Wilma notice this and cease their warlike
 posturing. Sound and light cues subside, all activity stops, and
 all eyes are on P/M.)

P/M: (Slowly lowers arms, rises, dusts off trousers, and looks
 around at everybody in the silence. Now totally calm and
 relaxed, and exhibiting a new integrated personality - one
 somewhat closer to Pinky than to Mel) Well now . . . Perhaps
 it's time for all of us to be properly introduced. Wilma, Jill,
 this is Biff, my sometimes companion and accomplice for my
 adventures in second story larceny. (They only stare at each
 other) Biff, meet my wife Wilma, and my shrink . . uh . . pardon
 me . . my therapist . . . Dr. Jill Derwinski. And take off the
 mask, please. Wilma doesn't care for that stuff around here.

BIFF: (Taking off mask, puzzled) Pinky . . . What's all this? . .
 . I don't get it . . . It looks like all these people know you .
 . Everyone knows you . . . except maybe me . . . Who are you
 Pinky?

P/M: Biff, my friend, in your usual simple but direct way, you
 have asked exactly the right question. Who am I? . . Who is
 Pinky? . . Who is Mel?

BIFF: Mel? Who's Mel?

P/M: (To Biff) Later, Biff, I'm on a roll. (To others, somewhat
 excited) I can't remember when I've felt this way before . .I
 feel strange . . I feel good . . I feel . . well . . energized .
 . Maybe liberated . . Yeah . . liberated . . that's a good word
 . . Also . . things are rapidly falling into place.

JILL: Do you remember . . Pinky?

P/M: Sure I do. I was Pinky Moran, the cat burglar.

JILL: Do you remember Melvyn?

P/M: You mean Melvyn Anderson, solid citizen and faithful
 husband. Absolutely. I was good old Mel.

WILMA: (Disturbed) Was? What do you mean "was"? Who are you now?
 And what about me? Am I still part of your life? (To Jill) I'm
 scared, Jill. What's going on?

JILL: (Thumbing through book, to Wilma) I don't know for sure.
 He's one or two chapters ahead of me. (To P/M) Keep talking,
 Melvyn.

P/M: (Going over to Wilma and hugging her reassuringly) Take it
 easy, sweetheart. Don't worry. It's OK. I still love you. In
 fact, I think I love you even more now. Things are much clearer.
 I'm still sorting things out. But I feel like I've learned a lot
 in a very short time.

WILMA: (Earnestly) I love you too, Mel. And I need you. Are you
 sure you're all right? Can I get you some tea . . or coffee . .
 or whatever?

JILL: (To Wilma) You know, it's beginning to look like Melvyn and
 Pinky are both gone, perhaps forever. We've got a new person
 standing in front of us. Isn't it exciting?

WILMA: I can see that for myself, Jill. He's a new person, all
 right. And, no, I don't think it's exciting. I still think it's
 scary.

BIFF: New person? . . Pinky, I'm confused. How many of you are
 there? How many people do we split this loot with?

P/M: (Leading Biff to door) Biff, I'm sorry to say that this was
 our last caper together. It's all over. Go home. I'll square
 things up with you later. It was fun while it lasted, Pal.

BIFF: (Reluctantly) OK, Pinky, if you say so. (In a stage
 whisper) Is this still part of the new plan?

P/M: (Pushing him out the door) I'll call you. (Biff exits)

WILMA: (Anxiously) Mel, you've been associating with criminals.

P/M: Oh, Biff's no criminal. He's harmless. I've really got to
 get back to that poor guy and explain. I owe him that.

WILMA: But you've committed crimes. You're in trouble.

P/M: Yes, I did steal a few things. But I gave them back . .
 generally the next day. I don't think anybody will prosecute. It
 was for the excitement . . the danger.

JILL: Is that what you want? What you need?

P/M: I needed to Þnd out something about myself. I found out. I'm
 satisÞed.

WILMA: What did you Þnd out?

P/M: For one thing, when I was Pinky, I found out that I did have
 some guts . . that I was capable of doing a lot of things . .
 even wild things. I never knew that. Now that I know that, I
 feel better, I can relax. (To Wilma) And I learned a few things
 about you too. You treated me very differently when I was Pinky.
 I had never seen you so assertive. You were powerful. WILMA: I
 was?

P/M: Yes, you were. You were exciting. You had . . zing.

WILMA: Zing?. . You like . . zing?

BLANCH: (Emphatically) Believe me. The man wants zing.

WILMA: I suppose . . I was never properly . . stimulated.

JILL: Talk about exciting. I can hardly wait to write this up.
 What a case history. Maybe I'll send it to a journal. OK with
 you? P/M: It's Þne with me. Go ahead. Will you include the part
 about the . . novelist?

JILL: Oh, I don't know. I might.

P/M: And by the way, that bluff about the room mate really didn't
 fool me a bit.

WILMA: Bluff? Room mate? What room mate?

JILL: So . . you think it was a bluff, huh? In any event, it
 worked, didn't it?

WILMA: Worked? What worked?

JILL: (To Wilma) He'll explain later. (To both) But there are
 still some gaps, though. I didn't understand this bit about the
 golf club and the negligee.

WILMA: I know you warned me not to interfere. But I wanted to
 speed things up.

JILL: What do you mean?

WILMA: When you were talking to Mel, uh . . to Pinky, that is . .
 I suddenly remembered more about that play - when Pinky Moran is
 looking for jewelry in a woman's bedroom. She wakes up and grabs
 a golf club to defend herself. They struggle . . one thing leads
 to another . . and they fall in love.

JILL: Just like that?

WILMA: I told you it wasn't a good play.

P/M: (With mock disagreement) What do you mean it wasn't a good
 play? It changed my life.

JILL: Melvyn, give yourself credit. You changed your life.

P/M: And that's another thing. You've called me Melvyn for the
 last time. I hate Melvyn! And Mel isn't much better. A new
 personality needs a new name.

WILMA: A new name? Aw, c'mon now. I don't see what's wrong with .
 . . .

JILL: (Interrupting ) What a great idea! A new stage in life. A
 new name.

P/M: I don't know about life stages, but I want something that's
 . . different . . Something that's . . me . . the new me . . the
 real me.

WILMA: Do you really feel that strongly about it?

P/M: Yes. I do.

WILMA: Well . . OK . . So long as it's not "Frankenstein". What
 do you have in mind?

P/M: (Somewhat dramatically) An old family name. From now on, I'm
 . . Tyson Anderson . . Investment Consultant. (Wilma and Jill
 make sounds of approval)

WILMA: Sounds impressive.

P/M: But that's just for the outsiders. (He assumes a bit of a
 macho air, takes a few mildly strutting steps, postures a bit)
 Those who know what I'm really like (Reaching out and putting
 his arms around the shoulders of both women, still with a
 he-mannish air) They can call me . . . Tiger.

                              Curtain