"Heathcliff - the Musical"

By Dixie J. Whitted

---

It is evening in West Hollywood. Our friends are seated in the walnut-paneled library of Tim's Mediterranean-style mansion. Outside it is raining heavily, a perfect obbligato to the gloom within...

Tim: I was quite hopeful going in...but when I started noticing tiny details such as the fact that ABC failed to order any billboards for our show...

Rowan: Not to mention the 5-second spots they sneaked in on at least two occasions when their other programs were getting fat, healthy one-minute spots...

Dix: Well, if the prospect of being engulfed by enraged Timbos doesn't make ABC cringe in its boots, our letter-writing campaign should generate interest among the other, more discriminating, networks.

Tim: Thank you. This outpouring of support means a great deal to me.

Rowan [holding up his empty glass:] ...Speaking of "outpouring..."

Dix passes him the bottle of brandy they've been working on.

Tim: Perhaps I should be considering returning to my first love,--legitimate theatre. Voiceover work for cartoons and commercials is all very well, but it's not actually...

Dix: Fulfilling?

Rowan [topping up his glass:] Oh, sorry, did you want more?

Tim: Exactly. If the creative spark is to remain alive, it needs nourishment. A live audience generates that energy that galvanizes the performer to reach new heights.

Rowan: As one who holds a Master's Degree in electrical engineering, I can guarantee that simply touching a live wire will make you reach new heights.

Dix has strolled over to the window and drawn the drapes aside. The rain is beating down on the darkened garden and a tree branch rattles against the window. There is a sudden flash of lightning that illuminates the dripping foliage, then a low rumble and crash of thunder.

Dix: Tim, I think I have an idea...may I have some notepaper?

Tim goes to his rolltop desk and fetches a handful of typing paper for Dix, who takes a pen from her purse and begins to write.

Dix: Why don't you fellows go and check on the Chicken Continental? It's been in the oven for half an hour and it should be almost ready.

Rowan: I'd better toss that salad too. Tim, where do you keep your garlic press?

They leave, headed for the kichen. Dix is scribbling away furiously while the ideas are still fresh in her devious little mind...

. . . . . . * . . . . . * . . . . . *

Part Two

After a hearty meal our friends are relaxing again in the library. On the coffee table is a pile of closely-written pages and Dix is explaining her cunning plan...

Dix: We all want to make ABC look like the total idiots they are, right, fellows?

Tim and Rowan: Well, nature beat us to it, but let's hear your idea.

Dix: Right now, plays about Jekyll and Hyde and Les Miserables are doing big box-office.

Tim: The Phantom of the Opera made a nice comeback too, and it's nearly a hundred years old.

Dix:...Well, no one has yet turned Wuthering Heights into a musical.

Rowan: Can't think how they overlooked it.

Dix [to Tim:] I see you as Heathcliff. Dark, surly, a brooding gypsy smouldering with molten passions.

Rowan: Hot stuff, in other words.

Dix: I'll play Cathy as a headstrong, willful, spoiled vixen.

Tim: Torn between two lovers? A documentary approach then?

Dix: And Ro,--you can give Edgar Linton a personality transplant.

Rowan [sighing:] That mealy-mouthed fop? He needs it. Oh, well, perhaps I could seduce a few of the supporting actresses.

Tim [picking up one of the sheets of paper:] "Heathcliff's Vow." Is this one of my songs?

He sings,

The moonlight on the moor
Is calling, Cathy,
Come to thy window,
Hearken to my cry...
The hillside deep in heather
Knows that we belong together,
To live and laugh and love
Until we die.

Your coldness
Tears my beating heart asunder,
Come out, or know the rage
Of love denied...
Never while I move and live
Shall your perfidy forgive
Should you dare
To make yourself another's bride!

Never think I shall forget you,
Slave and master since I met you,--
Oh, my Cathy, my wild rose,
My heart, my queen...
But beware the fury
Of a savage lover,
For I'll shed the blood
Of him who steps between!!

Tim: Not too shabby. I think you've captured this maniac's outlook quite well...

Rowan [applauding:] I can hear the pitter-patter of a Tony Award tiptoing toward you.

Dix: I've written several songs for each of us for various opportunities in the script. Here, Rowan (handing him a page).

Rowan: "Edgar's Whine." Hmmm.

Rowan sings,

I've been brought up
Very gently,
Vulgar commerce
Never mentioned,
So you know, it's element'ry
That I'm always
Well-intentioned
Toward the
Common folk
Who mingle
In their coarse
Variety...
Though my friends
Are free and single,
Matrimony is for me.

This young Cathy's
Pert, malicious;
Has a dowry
With it all.
Should she show
Her temper vicious,
Send her packing
To the Hall.
Heathcliff, foundling,
Bounder, half-caste,
Soon will learn
To know his place...
Let the wedding feast
Be ordered--
Cast our triumph
In his face!!

Rowan: Well, that's sure to annoy him. I see that you've also written in a duel between Heathcliff and Edgar.

Dix: I felt that the story needed a bit more action.

Tim: A little blood never hurts, either.

Rowan [reading ahead:] Hang on a minute,-- that's *my* blood you're talking about!! At least let me wound him a little. Slice off an ear or something...

. . . . . * . . . . . * . . . . . . *

Part Three

Events have moved swiftly for our friends. Once word was out about their new project, there was no lack of financial backing offered. Timbos, Inc., put up 50% of the funds and the remaining stock was divided among Tim, Dix and Rowan.

Rehearsals proceeded smoothly, several Timbos eagerly filling supporting roles, working on costumes, helping as prompters, etc.

Dix [sotto voce:] At least this way I can keep an eye on them...

Dix, Tim and Rowan are on stage at the theatre doing a run-through for timing.

Tim: Oh, quite. (He starts offstage.) That reminds me -- the wardrobe people want me for more fittings.

Dix: "Wardrobe?" Linda F, Betty T, Martha and Connie? They've already measured you about six times. This morning. Anyway, I'd like your opinion of my song.

Rowan: All right, you little vixen you. Break a vocal chord.

Tim: Shall I stand in the wings and glare at you with a fiendish expression?

Dix: Yes, that'll put me in the mood.

She crosses to stand near the dressing table; it is a bedroom set.

Dix sings "Cathy's Ballad,"

As a child I gave myself
To the tender passions;
Now I've put them on the shelf
For I've discovered...Fashions!!

Creamy laces,
Velvets, satins,
Flashing in their
Rainbow hues;
Rich brocades
And silk tempations,
--All for me
To pick and choose...

[spoken:]   Shall I stoop to
            A landless churl?
            Nay, that's no life
            For a girl!

[breaking the choke hold:] --Not so fast, you!!

Dix: Bryan!! Now!!

A large net drops from the flies overhead, enmeshing the struggling figures.

The Timbos in the audience surge forward and head for the stage. Tim walks to center stage and calms them.

Tim: Be calm. Let's see what we're dealing with...

Rowan enters from the wings, closely followed by a flock of excited Village Maidens.

Rowan: 'With what we're dealing.' Can't end a sentence with a preposition, can we?

Anna [Village Maiden:]...Now a PROPosition...

Lynne [Village Maiden:] --Me!! Me!!

Dix has used one of the swords to cut Linda F free of the net, leaving the muffled assailant still partially entangled. The folds of its hood fall open and a snarling face peers at our friends.

Tim: Mamie Taurus!!

Christine Z slips past the Village Maidens and confronts the sneering TV executive.

Christine Z: So!! [to Dix:] Can I torture her a little?

Dix: Perhaps later. Let's question her first.

Tim: Yes. What on earth is the meaning of all this?

Taurus [drooling slightly:] YOU!!!!! All those months I schemed and planned and used all my wiles to get to first base with you -- and you IGNORED ME!!!

Tim: Excuse me?

Taurus [beginning to foam at the mouth:] It began when I first watched you filming "Over the Top" -- that British accent, those hypnotic hazel eyes, those sensual lips...then one of the crew played the "Best of Tim Curry" CD and I was hopelessly in your power!!

She has pulled free of the net and drops to her knees, clutching at Tim's ankles. Dix bonks her on the head with the sword pommel and Tim retreats a few steps.

Taurus: --But you never gave me a glance!! The times I scrawled 'I'm Your Love Slave' in lipstick on your dressing-room mirror, the evenings when I hurled myself in front of your moving car and you swerved to avoid me!! Even a tire mark would have been SOMETHING!!!

Tim: Oh, was that you? Actually, this sort of thing happens quite a lot...there seem to be Timbos virtually everywhere I go lately. I've grown used to their pretty ways.

Taurus [frantically:] I even started an affair with Rupert Gorton, hoping to make you jealous!!

Rowan: Ah. I thought you were just near-sighted. Perhaps legally blind.

Tim [to Taurus:] Did it ever occur to you to simply introduce yourself? We might have gone out for a drink, played a game of Tetris...

Dix: That ordinary maneuver would never cross the devious mind of a network executive. They don't reason like normal people.

Rowan: Actually, they don't seem to reason at all.

There is muttering among the Timbos. Melissa steps forward.

Melissa: But what are we going to do about her? We can't go on with the play if she's going to keep sabotaging it.

Rowan: True. And we can't string her up by the goolies, for obvious reasons.

Dix: I think that a nice rest cure is in order. Lizz, what was that medication that cured you of homicidal-by-popsicle-stick tendencies?

Lizz [smiling angelically:] Here. (Handing Dix a large bottle of rainbow- coloured pills,) Just give her three of the yellow ones, four of the blue ones and a *whole handful* of the green ones.

Tim: Are you sure?!!

Lizz: Works for me...[singing]...'...On the good ship, Lollipop...'

Rowan: I think I preferred her as a deranged assassin.

Dix turns back to look at Ms. Taurus who has taken her shoes off and is playing with her toes.

Taurus:'...This little Timmy went to market...'

Dix [beckoning some of the more muscular Timbos:] 'There is a Happy Dale, not far away...'

The Timbos gather up Ms. Taurus who is now giggling quietly, take her out to a plain van and load her inside.

Dix: Now,--let's get this show on the road!

The End

--------------------------------------------

Love & TimTales,
Dix

Back to Dixie's page

---

This page is hosted by Get your own Free home page