La integración vertical real en los hoteles de tres estrellas de la ciudad

A spot of light again lights the lounge wall-clock a hand winds time backwards to 8.30, earlier that morning.

The stage is semi dark until LIZ comes in via a door stage right, which leads to bedrooms and other rooms off stage. She opens the lounge curtains and then goes into the kitchen to pull up the blinds and have a glass of water. She has a sheet of paper containing a list of items that she is ticking off – she also adds items to the bottom of the list from time to time.

LIZ: Caterers, dresses, cake (sighs and ticks). The flowers … umm (she picks up the phone and dials). Hi Nance, it’s me – you’re picking up the flowers

when you pick up the dresses right? (Pause) OK that’s good. (Pause) The

time? Umm, it’s after 8 o’clock, (pause) you said call early (pause). Kate? No,

she’s probably not even up yet (pause). No, she’d gone before I even got up,

(pause), no, nothing – she didn’t say anything at all … (pause) hang on …

(she writes on her list) … blue … (under her breath) … so clichéd. In a black

suitcase you reckon (pause)? Where? No, I can’t remember ever seeing it.

Ok, I’ll have a look. If I can’t find it, you’ll have to have a look when you come

‘round (pause). Yes, I know – you don’t need to tell me. I can’t believe we’ve

left so much to the last minute. (Pause) Yes I know, of course we will. (Pause.)

Ok, how long will all that take? (Pause) Ok, so you’ll be here around 11 – yeah, that’s really good, thank you. I’ll make pizza or something – we’ll have

an early lunch or brunch (pause). No, I won’t forget, I’ll go and look for it now.

(Pause) Ok, see you soon, bye (She hangs up her phone then picks up some pages of hand written notes that are lying on the end of the kitchen bench and goes into the bedroom closing the door behind her).

LIZ: A blue pendant – I’m sure I don’t know what she’s talking about. (She looks

about the room then kneels near the foot end of the bed, reaching underneath

it) Ok, now ... God this thing weighs a tonne (she drags out a brown suitcase

and clunks open its old latches). You obviously haven’t been opened for a

while, have you? (The smell of the past catches her momentarily. She sits

down.) Oh wow, I knew you kept diaries Mum, but this … this is crazy …

there’s a library’s worth here. (LIZ lifts one out carefully, but loose, handwritten

pages and photographs fall out of it. She scrambles to put everything back together and put the journal back into the suitcase, but it falls open begging to be read).

The stage lights dim such that colours have faded to greys apart from a small spot of colour surrounding LIZ who is sitting at the end of the large bed. (This

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grey/colour lighting effect splits the space into two different time frames – LIZ is in one time frame but the rest of the room is in another.) LIZ begins reading the diary quietly. The audience becomes aware that MOIRA is in the bed, and stirring from sleep and as the alarm clock clangs – she taps it quiet. In complete silence, LIZ and the audience watch as MOIRA stretches and gets out of bed to go through her morning routine. She goes into the bathroom and goes to the toilet, washes her hands, and then takes off her nighty (sleepwear). MOIRA is only just obesely overweight. Unlike the typical images of obesity, there are no folds of flesh, just curves, smooth curves – she’s an attractive woman. She glances at her reflection in the large mirror in front of the audience before standing tentatively onto the bathroom scales but then gets off and onto the scales again to double-check the reading. She puts her nighty back on and then writes down her weight along with a few comments in a diary. The diary MOIRA is writing in is a newer version of the diary LIZ has pulled from the suitcase. LIZ notices that at the top of the page a weight is recorded and she reads it out loud.

LIZ: “The 89kg has a ring around it – and the note – probably still the effects of

the school BBQ – tomorrow will be better – it has to be”. MOIRA comes back

into the bedroom to make-up her bed, reposition all the cushions and ensures everything is immaculately tidy. She then returns to the bathroom and turns on the shower and after a few moments she undresses and gets in. While the audience can’t see her having a shower, they can hear the water running quietly in the background. Meanwhile, LIZ is reading excerpts from the diary. After a few words MOIRA’S voice replaces LIZ’S voice.

LIZ: It’s 2am, and again I can’t sleep.

MOIRA’S VOICE: Liz says the kids at school are teasing her about me. If you

want to know what people think and how they hate, listen to their kids.

Apparently, one of them was laughing and saying that his mother would rather

die than look like me. People, especially parents, should know better. Who would want to look like me? And yes, I’ve contemplated dying. I’ve thought about the tree on Jackson’s bend along the highway. I want to believe my girls need me regardless of what I look like and that being their mother is what’s important and all I need to concern myself with right now. But I’m an embarrassment – I know I am. None of Liz’s drawings have me in them. I’m invisible – I’m so big, yet I’m invisible. I can’t use the, “I was behind the camera – someone’s got to take the photo” excuse – not this time. But nor can I bring myself to ask Liz why I’m not in her drawings – I can’t ask her – I’m

out of the journal – it’s a drawing of a happy trio – herself, her sister and their father – there are several similar drawings. It brings tears to her eyes – where was her mother? She continues reading for a while but looks back at the drawings again.)

LIZ: I can’t remember drawing these – but I must have; they’re definitely mine –

that’s my childish signature. I have no idea what I was thinking. Although, I do remember someone telling me that fat people like my mother can drop dead at

any moment simply because they’re fat. (She continues reading)

MOIRA’S VOICE: People would rather lose an arm, be blind or crippled, or even

die than be like me. Of course I’ll never ask her about the drawings and why I’m not in them. These are such dark days.

LIZ: (Puts the loose pages back where she found them.) I shouldn’t be reading

this. (She turns over several pages and begins to read again.)

MOIRA’S VOICE: I’ve been loathed and hated my whole life – not because of

who I am or what I’ve done, but because of what I weigh – because of a

number on a scale. I should be slim. Slimness means success so fatness

means failure – and they’re both measured in kilograms. Why is weight a measure of who you are? (LIZ turns over a page to a photograph of an old man.) It’s Dad’s anniversary today – he’s been gone a year now – Do I miss him? Perhaps. I certainly don’t miss the constant reminding and chiding about my weight. “It’s a lack of self control – you simply need to control yourself –

and it’s laziness. Ugh … all fat people need to do is eat less and move more!”

He’d say this as I cleaned him up, lifted him off the toilet, and helped him back to bed. How often had I heard it? It’s so simple – so easy. Endless bullying. People don’t hide or disguise their disgust or dislike of fatness – of me – it’s in their voices and on their faces. Sometimes I see fear. I’m just fat, I feel like screaming – I’m not dangerous or contagious – it’s not going to rub off onto you. You don’t need to remind me that I’m fat either – it’s not something I don’t see when I look in the mirror. I see it. I’m aware of it. I know I’m fat! But believe it or not it’s not something I actively choose to be – why would I? Why the hell would I? No one has any concept of how hard this is – I wish they did.

It’s not simple – it’s complex. It’s complicated. Does it occur to anyone that I’m

trapped in here? I’m trapped in this ugly shape – this bad, wrong shape. I fight

to be free of it every day, but I don’t win. There has to be another way out of my misery. But there’s no escape. Knowing the girls need me keeps me here – and keeps me going.

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LIZ: This was – 1999. (Pause) I had no idea it was so bad for you. I wish I did. I

can’t believe you picked a tree. How did I not know about this? I wonder if

Nance knew? (She keeps reading.)

The shower stops. Still in shades of grey, MOIRA dries herself then wraps herself in a towel before brushing her teeth and flicking a comb through her hair. She puts on moisturiser and perfume and then selects what she will wear for the day. From time to time she checks how she looks in the mirror as she dresses, clearly enjoying having attractive underwear and lingerie, jewellery, clothes and shoes to wear. Before leaving the bedroom she pulls a gym bag off the shelf in the wardrobe and puts a set of training clothes, shoes and a fresh towel into it.

When MOIRA eventually leaves the bedroom, the room returns to colour with LIZ still sitting hunched up on the floor at the end of the bed reading the diary. MOIRA goes into the grey-lit kitchen to drink a glass of water before grabbing a bottle of water and a box of prepared food from the fridge. She tosses them into her gym bag, collects her keys from a bowl on the lounge sideboard and then goes out through the ranch-slider door. As she leaves, colour returns to the room – LIZ blows her nose – a few moments later the stage lights fade to black.