Madelin de Rumba

by Arthur Danin Adler

A Play about a Woman and Her Dummy

<excerpt>

The driving sound of Latin music. Madelin appears, colorfully dressed, dancing with a male mannequin, a soft, floppy dummy dressed in a tuxedo without the bow tie. His feet are strapped to her feet. She holds "him" erect by the arms... among other places.They dance, she and her dummy, in frantic movements, huge sweeps to the floor, dizzying spins across the stage. Suddenly she stops, shifting her shoulders, rolling her hips, staring at her partner. Then she snaps her head to the audience.

Madelin (in a thick, mocking Spanish accent) I am exotique... no? I am passionata... eh? I am a mujer without hair... I am desire with fire... I am woo-mahn... I am love... (hissing) I am sssex... (whispering) I am crazy... muy loca!

(She dances off with her "man". At one point, she grabs his ass and makes his body bolt into the air. At another point, she drapes "him" over a chair and kisses "him" roughly, bites "him" in the neck, spreads her legs and his, and rhythmically pumps "him" up and back. She stops abruptly, whirls around, plops in the chair letting go of the dummy's arms. He falls over in a backward arch, his feet still strapped to hers.)

(With no accent) Crazy... and tired. Hola, am I tired... of all the bullshit dripping from their faces. The two-faced looks... the two-faced talks... the this-is-the-way-I-am-today, and tomorrow-is-another-day. Oh yes... I'm tired, but not too tired to go on living, to go on dancing, to go on f...

(She jumps up, lifts the dummy erect, and dances off.)

You know, I got married once. He wasn't my first man and he sure wasn't my last. But I married him... tall, dark, handsome phoney-baloney who thought he was Orson Welles. No... that's not true. I thought he was Orson Welles. He thought he was god's gift to me.

What a straight up married life we had. And there was some love in it. Then he got bored and I got boring. He was a dreamer and I was a sleeper. He was a rat and I was a mouse. He was smart and I was dumb. And when I got smart, he got numb. Ha! I got a life and he got a wife. Man, was I good looking... can't you tell... real good looking. So what's a girl gonna do. Hey, what is a man anyway? A hunk of meat, a stick of skin and blood? Does he make the sun come up? Hell no! But he sure can make it go down.

Hey... how old do think I am? Pretty old? Older than you think? Yeah. The body wants to give up... wants to sag to the floor in a quiet mess. But not me. See... this is me inside. I'm in here kicking and juicing... I'm breathing hard and trying to breathe harder. And until this silly shell finally collapses, I'm a whirling, twirling, stomping, romping, kiss of a woman... a big, wet, kiss of a woman. Hey... want to know how to make time stand still? Keep moving!

(Sings)

Dancin', I'm dancin', my legs are in the air
Movin', I'm groovin', there's color in my hair
Isn't it exciting that I simply want your body dripping sweat
You're panting.
Isn't it exciting that you simply make my body very wet
I'm panting.
We're dancin', we're dancin', your balls are in the air
We're movin', we're groovin'... phew, your dust is in my hair.

(She stops and spits)

How old am I? I'm older than my father was when he died. Man, there was a man. Gorgeous, a lover. He had it, he knew it, they knew it... he couldn't keep his pants on. He took every woman that came his way. He gave them what they wanted and they gave him every drop of passion they could squeeze out of their tongues. He left them dry because he drank them up like they were banana daiquiris. He was a vampire, a banana daiquiri vampire who left each victim in a glass full of crushed ice, with a smile on her face and a maraschino cherry between her legs. He was gorgeous. My mother didn't kill him. I didn't kill him. He married another woman, a gray-faced woman and gave her a daughter and set them up like a firing squad. They just shot at him and shot at him until they filled him with so many holes you couldn't see him any more. Why? Why did he do that? This Latin lover, this hunk of filet mignon, this woman's man. Why? Got afraid... that's what did it. Couldn't take his eyes off the clock. Stopped moving. But not me! I'm his daughter but I'm a lot further along than he ever was. And the only hole in me is the hole of holies, the pit of purpose, the cave of candy, the mouth of mystery, this garden of liquid gold.

(Singing)

Chika, chika, boom, chika, boom, chika, chika, chika
Chika, chika, boom, chika, boom, chika, chika, chika
Chika, chika, boom, chika, boom, chika, chika, chika
Chika, chika, boom, chika, boom, chika, chika, chika

Did I tell you I was married? Yes, I did. And when it was over, and he went on to another adventure, and the kids we had went on to theirs, I started moving again.

I was free. A little sinus-drip of guilt now and then, but I was free. All that time... ten years later, twenty years later you turn around and say: What the hell happened to the last twenty years. It's like waking up in the middle of the night with your covers on the floor and the heat off. It's cold... and dark... and very lonely. Why lonely? Because you're finally left with the only person you can trust... yourself... and you don't know who the hell she is... because you never met her. Comprende?

What happened to the last twenty years? It's the Rip Van Winkle syndrome! Ha! It's the Night Of The Living Dead in the morning. It's gone and you're naked... oooh... and either you wrap yourself in a K-Mart housecoat full of regrets or you run your hands over your body and say: I like this, oooh... this feels good. What happened? This is what happened. You just... honored your family... you just... respected your culture... you just... did the right thing. Bullshit! It's fear, woo-mahn... it's fear. Afraid not to go to college. Afraid not to take that job. Afraid to go on that date. Afraid not to go on that date. Afraid to fuck. Afraid not to fuck. Afraid to light a candle, close the bathroom door, look in the mirror and say: You... you're me. My eyes to your eyes, you're me. Fear... that's the train-ride that takes you through all of life's little PMS's until you reach the final stop: Sagsville. Everything droops, your mind droops and you wonder what the hell it was all about. Hey Dr. Alzheimer, where were you when I needed you (....... )