Read an Excerpt
BITTER SAUCE by Eric Bogosian
Inspired by Shakespeare's Sonnet 118
A couch in the midst of the small living room of a small apartment. On the couch sits RENGIN, a beautiful young woman, in a white wedding gown. She is drinking from a pint flask of bourbon. The phone rings. She doesn't bother with it. Instead, she rises unsteadily and checks herself out in a mirror.
A voice can he heard on the message machine.
HERMAN(voice): Rengin, it's me. Are you there? Please pick up if you are. Rengin? I'm sorry. Whatever I did. I'm such an ass. Please pick up. Please? OK. I'm coming home. I'm actually downstairs. If you are there, don't be surprised when you see me. Maybe you're in the bathroom. Then I understand why you're not picking up.
RENGIN has walked over to the answering machine and is watching it record the message.
RENGIN: Herman, you don't get it. You never got it. She goes back to the mirror.
RENGIN: What is this I am wearing? A white dress. Meaning what? Virginity? That the male proboscis has not slid through my vaginal lips? What bullshit! (drinks) What the fuck am I here? A human sacrifice? I am a womb being readied for impalement and fertilization. Yech!!!
She touches the bodice, feels it, as she drinks.
RENGIN: But I can't take it off. I'm drunk as shit and I can't take it off. He's got to see me like this. We should go out together like this. Maybe someplace that has a mosh pit. I should mosh in my wedding dress and then find some bikers and have three guys screw me at the same time. And make Herman watch. Prepare him...
She drinksand wails.
RENGIN: FUCKING "A," MAN, HOW THE FUCK DID THIS HAPPEN?
HERMAN enters.
HERMAN: Rengin, what's wrong? Why didn't you answer the phone?
RENGIN: I'm getting shit-faced.
HERMAN: Why, honey? You don't like your wedding gown?
RENGIN: No, I don't like my wedding gown. Hey, I have an idea. You wear the wedding gown and I'll wear the tux. And then when we go on our honeymoon I'll fuck you. How about that?
HERMAN: I think you're drunk.
RENGIN: No shit, Sherlock.
HERMAN: Why don't we go to bed? Tomorrow's a new day. C'mon.
RENGIN takes a long look at HERMAN.
RENGIN: You want some of this?
HERMAN: No. Thanks.
RENGIN: What do you want?
HERMAN: I just want to be with you, Rengin. To love you and take care of you.
RENGIN: Why?
HERMAN: Because you're you
RENGIN: Uh-huh.
HERMAN: Are we going to start this now? Again? RENGIN deflates.
RENGIN: It's not your fault. It's my fault. Everything's fucked up and it's my fault. I'm afraid, I'm afraid of you.
HERMAN: Why are you afraid of me?
RENGIN: Because you actually love me. With real love, not pornographic, catch-the-prize love.
HERMAN: And don't you love me?
RENGIN: No. No. You're right. Let's go to bed. I love you too, Herman. I really do. If we both died tonight, like Romeo and Juliet, that wouldn't be so bad, would it?
HERMAN: It would be great.
RENGIN: I really flicked up this time.
HERMAN: Hey, we all have our faults. I'm no saint.
RENGIN: You're not? I thought you were.
HERMAN: (small smile) Why don't you take the wedding gown off so it isn't all wrinkled tomorrow? They cost a lot to dry clean. And then you tell me what's bothering you.
HERMAN unzips the back.
RENGIN: Yeah... I do love you, you know. Whatever happens.
