Mucci – Hillary’s Tea p.1

Hillary’s Tea

CAST

Hillary Clinton

Monica Lewinsky

Optional:

Offstage Voices

Media Circus

Time: August, 1998

The action takes place in a reception room of the White House overlooking the Lawn and Pennsylvania Avenue.

Hillary’s Tea

A play in one act
By
John Mucci
"People will get used to anything."
Fyodor Dostoyevsky,
Crime and Punishment
Vers. 11/23/98
Contact:
John Mucci
9 DeForest Rd
Wilton, CT06897
Copyright © 1998 Penultimate Productions, LLC
Hillary’s Tea.
[At rise, a small reception room, "in one", at an obscure anteroom of the White House. It is August, 1998; HILLARY CLINTONis discovered, in a business suit, carefully selected and freshly pressed. SHE refers to a few notes in her hand. SHE then tucks them away in a file folder. SHE inspects for dust with her handkerchief, and with one last look about for everything being in its place, folds her arms as though anxiously thinking about something. [a beat]
Three solemn KNOCKS at the door. It opens slowly—we cannot see who is behind it, but a deep, quiet voice announces:]
MAN’s VOICE
She’s here, Mrs. Clinton.
HILLARY
Thank you. [change in tone] Come in, my dear.
[Simply, with no precursors or phalanx of guards, and wearing anything but a blue dress, MONICA LEWINSKY enters.]
MONICA
Thank you, Mrs. Clinton.
HILLARY
Hillary—please.
MONICA [playing along]
…Monica.
HILLARY
That’s a good start. [pause] We have an awful lot to talk about. But— it really can’t be done here in the hall. Tea is waiting. Shall we—?
MONICA
You name it.
[They approach the double-door at the back of the set. HILLARY graciously starts to turn the left hand knob, but the door does not open.]
MONICA
That one always sticks.
[MONICA opens the right hand door, and with the barest –cool?—look at each other, THEY pass through it into the room beyond. As THEY do, the ‘in one’ set flies up gently, revealing the main setting: a gorgeous reception room in the White House, with two large multi-paned palladium windows set in the back, looking out onto the lawn with Pennsylvania Avenue far in the distance.
The room is set with a tea service, rather stuffy furniture including two love-seats, a splendid rug, venerable paintings of women from the 18th century, and a sideboard, on which are placed refreshments, including an etagère with cakes, and a prominent plate of cookies.
Stage left, far upstage, is another double door, leading to a hallway beyond.]
HILLARY
Have a seat. I’ve served tea nearly since I was born. I don’t feel like playing mother today. Help yourself.
MONICA
Maybe in a minute. Any soda?
[MONICA heads for the sideboard, where she familiarly selects a glass, fills it with ice, and opens a can of Jolt.]
HILLARY [sitting in a loveseat]
Make yourself at home. Please.
[MONICA reaches into a drawer and expertly withdraws a bottle opener, obviously very much at home. She holds out the opener and a green bottle.]
MONICA
Perrier?
HILLARY [tiniest bit flustered]
No thanks: I can’t risk the carbonation. When you speak in public, you get out of the habit of putting bubbles in your system.
[a beat] So! Not to put too fine a point on it, how do you feel about the way—things are going?
MONICA
I don’t think about it. Last few weeks? Things have gotten a little …out of hand. [a beat] Don’t make a joke about that.
HILLARY
[on guard, but smiling, with an admonishing finger up]
I almost did. If there’s anything we’ve done for the English language this year, it’s to make it Im-possible to talk. I can barely slip out a sentence without regretting it. I almost fired the chef last week when I saw he had "spotted dick" on the menu. I mean, how can you serve that under the best of circumstances?
MONICA [agreeing, moving closer to HILLARY]
When they don’t out and out misquote you, it’s the best you can hope for sometimes.
HILLARY [laughing aloud]
I know! It’s impossible to talk, impossible to think, plan, …do – I’d say in short, impossible to really be. [a beat] Feeling guilty?
MONICA
Not really. But my victim mask is starting to snap its straps. You want tea?
[a beat]
Are we dawdling?
HILLARY
I’m not dawdling. [a beat] No tea for me, it makes my stomach gurgle. No one takes you seriously when your stomach gurgles.
[SHE takes a deep breath, and puts her hand over her heart, as though saying the pledge of allegiance.]
With events such as these, everything not only has a time and a place, but also a rhythm that needs to be observed. We are still pounding the drum slowly.
MONICA
Have you got anything to eat?
HILLARY
There are cookies under that cover.
[MONICA removes a lid decorated with an ugly American Eagle rampant, revealing a whole nest of chocolate fudge cookies. She brings back four or five to the tea table.]
MONICA
Want one? [bites]
HILLARY
Sure. I can’t resist. [bites] And now you know they’re not poisoned.
MONICA
Poisoned? I’d never think it. That’s too–old fashioned.
[HILLARY stretches her legs and takes her shoes off; then she tucks her legs under her, as she sits on the loveseat.]
HILLARY
Oh, if there’s anything around here we are, it’s modern. Go ahead and be comfortable, my dear.
MONICA
Where else but in the good old U.S.A?
HILLARY
I have to keep reminding myself of that sometimes.
[As they speak, we see on the lawn a lone reporter with a microphone, peeping from afar, into the window. He circles around slowly, looking into the windows.
MONICA takes her shoes off as well, and rather inelegantly schlumps her way over to the refreshments again.]
HILLARY
When I was young, I was astonished at the dummies who managed to make money in this country. And was it all just a question of money buying you happiness or not? — What do you feel about money?
MONICA [chewing a cookie]:
Money is money. Getting what you want is another story. You don’t always get money for what you do, and you don’t always have to pay money to get what you want.
[SHE represses a Jolt eructation]
HILLARY [leaning forward]
Uh-huh. But money can make things happen faster, no? [she leans back] That’s its charm. Don’t you agree?
MONICA
I don’t know. I’ve kind of given up on ever rolling in dough anyway. Despite Lifetime Television.
HILLARY
Well, let’s not worry about that. I don’t know where I get off talking about money so fast.
[The reportermotions to his crew to advance, and soon a cameraman, with a soundman, come into view, and they seek to get a good angle. Soon another cameraman and anchorperson come into view, and they start to compete for the better angle. This is all done in absolutely silent pantomime which should be orchestrated as to be visible, but not entirely distracting to the audience.]
MONICA
Are you going to offer me money?
HILLARY
Ha! There’s a charming thought. No. What I’m warming up to here, is that we are in one of the most extraordinary positions two women have ever been in –you need to appreciate that.
MONICA
Oh, it’s a-something, all right. I feel it.
HILLARY
It’s—how do I put it? a Greek drama. A Dickens novel—a Grisham thriller. All the elements are in place.
MONICA
Don’t I know it.
HILLARY [her voice slowing]
And now it is time to bring things to a crisis.
MONICA
What’s that mean?
HILLARY [uncomfortably]
Well—Everything has been clicking away, day by day, at a good clip; same stupid headlines—which reminds me: why don’t they get a better picture of you?
MONICA
Oh, I know.
HILLARY
It’s the same two photos, over and over. I know some great make-over guys…
MONICA
Well, there was that one shot on Time Magazine…
HILLARY
Oh. Hugging him, yes. I hated that. I don’t know what I hated more that week, the Givenchy campaign with the Jack RussellTerrier, or that dumb look on your face.
[The REPORTERS become somewhat agitated. Female reporters start to appear at the windows, taking microphones, taped by the camerapeople, setting up stories. A portable canvas with a painting of the White House on it is unfurled for a reporter to stand in front of.]
THEY become more aggressive outside, climbing on each other’s shoulders, pushing bigger lights onto the lawn—moving lawn furniture around on their heads, standing on tables.]
MONICA [hurt]
Hey.
HILLARY
—no, let’s not get off the beam. We need to put our heads together and come up with the ending of this drawn out farce. [closes her eyes] Free associate. It could be anything. I’d prefer it were somewhat outrageous— [pause]
MONICA [shielding her eyes]
You mean it hasn’t been outrageous enough?
HILLARY [reflecting]
No. Not by half.
MONICA
[in danger of hemorrhaging headlines]
"Rumors of Mistress…" "Dewey-eyed intern…" "The cigar-trick" "Special Prosecutor Says"– "Uncovers the Truth" "Special Report…" "DNA proves…" "DN—"
[She begins to choke on the cookie. Although she takes a sip of Jolt, she has trouble breathing. HILLARY carefully comes to her aid, tapping her on the back; the audience wonders whether the cookie was poisoned in any case. Then it gets serious, and HILLARY tries CPR, rather tentatively; then as MONICA falls to the floor, HILLARY needs to dislodge part of the cookie by exploring MONICA’s gullet with her finger. Finally the offending crumb comes sailing out inelegantly, and MONICA is left breathless, then does indeed burp, while HILLARY washes her hand off, in Perrier, at the bar.]
HILLARY
No, not outrageous enough, not by half. I think that Time Magazine cover hurt the most. Your smile is worth a thousand blurbs.
MONICA [still breathless]
So… is yours. Those jokes… are all over.
HILLARY
Which one were you thinking of in particular?
MONICA
Why is Hillary like Cleopatra?
HILLARY
I’m sure I’ve heard it, but go ahead. Why is Hillary like Cleopatra.
MONICA
Queen of Denial.
[A long pause. Then Hillary bursts out laughing.]
HILLARY
Shall we compare jokes about us? How’s about the new game in Washington…?
MONICA [flat]
Oh, yeah. Swallowing the Leader. That’s an old one. That came out almost a year ago. God, now it’s Jewish jokes, president jokes, cigar jokes, dress jokes, choke jokes…
HILLARY
What did I hear the other day? Just like "give me a Kleenex" and "go Xerox this" are everyday trade names, yours will be one too.
[a beat]
MONICA [really horrified]
Yeah, but what’ll it mean?
[Somehow, she’s really embarrassed. It’s just too personal] Like some husband says: "Hey, hon, will you …Monica me?"
HILLARY [equally appalled]
Oh, I can see it now. One of those awful huge stogies in the cigar store—with your picture on the band. [shudders] That same picture.
[a beat]
If anyone gets wind of the fact that a mouth organ is called a Har-Monica, we’re all done for.
MONICA
Aw, leave me alone. Who spends time thinking all that shit up anyhow? Is it true all those dumb-ass jokes come from writers on the Letterman show?
HILLARY
How else could they be so bad?
[Their smiles are gone, and they look wistfully at the floor. MONICA absently taps a glass with a spoon, and makes a lovely crystal tone. They both think of it as a pitch to sing on. Then they begin to sing, Hillary leading and Monica responding chorally, learning, weaving in an untutored descant :]
TOGETHER:
I used to dream that
I would discover
The perfect lover
Someday. I knew I’d recognize him
If ever
He came round my way.
I always used to fancy then,
He’d be one of those god-like kind of men.
With a giant brain and a noble head…
MONICA [frowning]
I can’t.
[a beat. She goes to take another bite from the cookie, and stops, in disgust]
You know, Dean & DeLuca sells cookies of you and me and him at the register?
HILLARY
United. In pastry.
MONICA
See? I knew someday I’d be rolling in dough.
[reflects: loud:] Why the hell aren’t there cookies of Ken Starr and Linda Tripp?
HILLARY
No one would ever take a bite. Don’t you see? It’s a sign that we should go on. We have appeal.
[By this time, out on the lawn, the news people are in a state of quiet near-hysteria. A cherry-picker basket is coming into view, and a reporter seems to be hanging by his heels, swinging into view with his microphone. They all look like gibbons in a zoo, jumping up and down, clambering over themselves in terrible pantomime, practically destroying one another to get some advantage. Morton Deane stands like a bastion of strength at the window until his eyebrows take off on either side of his face and crawl up the window.]
MONICA
All right, so how do we wind this down?
HILLARY
You still don’t understand. We need to key it up. If we can’t pull the plug on it, we might as well …overload the circuits. [closes her eyes again] Free-associate. What would be more outrageous yet to happen?
MONICA [biting her lip]
We publicly execute Linda Tripp on the White House lawn.
HILLIARY [considers]
Now, now. No personal agendas in this.
MONICA
What do you mean? How could the slightest touch on this snot-coated spider web be anything but personal?
HILLARY [Cleopatra-like]
Because we say it isn’t. [she reflects again] How?
MONICA
How what.
HILLARY
How would you do it? You know: publicly execute…
MONICA [thinks]
Oh. Drawn and quartered. On all networks. We could sell close-up privileges to Fox. Guts everywhere. Just like Mel Gibson in Braveheart. I can see her with that terrible hairdo ripped out by the roots. Her teeth: –out with greasy pliers.
HILLARY [resigned]
It’s tempting, but I think it would be misinterpreted. I mean something that will really make them sit up and take notice.
MONICA
That would take some doing.
HILLARY [now she’s engaged]
Yeah. We’ve disgusted an entire nation to a point where the clergy have run out of vocabulary. Harlot, vestment, and spilled his seed just don’t make it anymore. The press had its chance to be the hero in all this. They blew it. They could have created a modern "Scarlet Letter." All they did was make a second-rate "I Dream of Jeanie." Now they want us—they’re waiting for us to knuckle under. [disgusted] To the press!!
MONICA
The bastards. Scarlet Letter. That was written by Daniel Day Lewis, right? So you think we’re gonna knuckle under?
HILLARY
Of course not! The press are a bunch of children. Playground greed and covering their shitty pants.
[A reporter falls from a tree, trying to get closer. Two reporters, a man and woman start a fist-fight on the lawn.]
MONICA
Well, it takes a village… [HILLARY is shocked and hurt] …and someone’s got to be the village idiot.
HILLARY [mollified]
I see. We have to be sure they don’t think they can set the rules. The ultimate thing is… if this is your last hurrah, you'd better get something out of it that—you know, that you can stick with. Because this is a good stepping stone. It's not many times that you're going to have someone of my stature opening a door for you.
MONICA
Yeah. ... I just wish I didn't have all this emotional stuff. I wish I could be like him.
HILLARY
[with difficulty — and with an ounce of misguided tenderness]
Oh, I'm so glad you're not.
MONICA
I guarantee you he has not gone through one ounce of pain having to do with me in the past six, seven months. He just—threw it all away, you know? And now it’s splashed all over. With those jerk-asses coming at us like bullies…
HILLARY
And worse.
MONICA
With their sad-faced ‘how-awful’ tone they always put on… God, that dorkhead on channel 7…
HILLARY
Such tattletales…
MONICA
We’ll do them one better. [gasps] Like Woody and Sung-Yi!
HILLARY
You maybe could have picked a better example, but that’s the ticket. So what’s the most energetic ‘take-that’ we could give them?
MONICA [brightly: getting into it]
I’ll send him a whole case of Zegna ties!
HILLARY
Better than that.
MONICA
…You send them to him.
HILLARY
No: let me start. [SHE pauses dramatically]
I divorce him, and you marry him while he’s still in office.
MONICA
Wow. That’s heavy. Then what would all those bumper stickers mean? "Impeach the President and Her Husband." I’d be flattered.
HILLARY
Think of the wedding! We could get Chelsea to be maid of honor. She’s a sport.
MONICA [giggling]
Oh, stop.
HILLARY
The ceremony could be held in the House of Representatives, with all the Chief Justices performing it.
MONICA
Under a chuppa. Made from an Egyptian flag.
HILLARY
Yes! And all the bridesmaids in a sort of piebald blue. At the reception he can give one of those tremulous speeches. And quote JFK: "Ich bin ein Bubba-linner…"