8 Hotels

Nicholas Wright

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2019
• Print ISBN: 9781848428553
• eBook ISBN: 9781788502504
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

'Iago only suspected it. I know.'

Celebrated actor, singer and political campaigner Paul Robeson is touring the United States of America as Othello. His Desdemona is the brilliant young actress Uta Hagen. Her husband, the Broadway star José Ferrer, plays Iago.

The actors are all friends, but they are not all equals. As the tour progresses, onstage passions and offstage lives begin to blur. Revenge takes many forms and in post-war America it isn't always purely personal – it can be disturbingly political too.

Based on true events, Nicholas Wright's play 8 Hotels was first staged at the Minerva Theatre, Chichester, in 2019, in a production directed by Richard Eyre.

UTA

UTA. My first impression of Paul was that he took up half the room. I mean the personality of him. His eyes were alive, his confidence bounced off the walls and his smile was bright enough to light a fire. He was also incredibly smart. I thought, ‘He ought to be a politician.’ Later, when I saw him speaking at a rally, I realised that he already was one.

It started like this: Peggy had brought Joe and me for Paul to look us over for her production of Othello: Joe as Iago, me as Desdemona, Paul as star of the show. Joe and I got Paul’s approval and we played the Shubert Theatre for two hundred and ninety-six performances: the longest Shakespeare run ever known on Broadway, after which we took the play on a coast-to-coast tour. By then, a lot had changed between all three of us.

INDIANAPOLIS

UTA in a hotel bedroom, unpacking a suitcase.

UTA. Have you no idea what I’m talking about?

JOE, who is out of sight in the bathroom, calls back to her:

JOE. The water was running. What did you say?

UTA. There was an evening dress in the window of the store next door.

JOE. Why didn’t I see it?

UTA. You were ringing the bell for the night-porter and he wasn’t answering.

JOE. So what’s it like?

UTA. It’s an iridescent, sea-green, spangly dress. I’ve never seen one like it anywhere.

JOE. When would you wear a thing like that?

UTA. Parties, like tonight. Receptions, dinners. We’ve been to a whole stack of those and I feel dowdy as hell compared to the other women. I think I’ll get it in the morning.

JOE. What’ll it cost?

UTA. A hundred dollars.

JOE comes out of the bathroom.

JOE. A hundred dollars? Are you serious?

UTA. I need to look good, Joe. I’m an actress. I’m on show.

JOE. I’m an actor and do you know what my tuxedo cost? Not to mention the shirt and shoes and the bow tie? Forty dollars the lot. One hundred dollars is ridiculous.

UTA. Don’t worry! I’ll pay for it!

JOE. What makes you think you can afford it?

UTA. Of course I can. I get the same as you.

JOE. We’ve got expenses, Uta. Do you know the interest on our loan? Do you know how many cheques I sent off this week? I don’t want to argue about it. This was one of the most seriously annoying days of my life. Have you got any cigarettes? Give me your bag.

UTA. We smoked them all.

JOE. Shit.

Pause.

There’s a machine in the lobby.

UTA. It’s broken.

JOE. Dammit, I’m tired.

Pause.

UTA. Joe.

JOE. Mm-hm?

UTA. Why don’t I know if I can afford a dress?

JOE. Not that again.

UTA. Why don’t I even know if I’ve got a hundred dollars? Is that a stupid question?

JOE. It’s not profoundly stupid, but I can’t help wondering why you never asked it before.

UTA. Because it seems to me like…

JOE. Sweetheart, if you want to write our cheques and read the statements and the bills, you go right on ahead, nobody’s stopping you. I’m just saving you the trouble.

UTA. It’s no trouble, Joe, but it seems to me that it’s only normal for an adult woman to know how much money she’s got.

JOE. But with a married couple, one partner can take on certain responsibilities while the other partner takes on the rest of them. Have you ever wondered why you’re on six hundred a week for the tour?

UTA. Isn’t it what they offered?

JOE. Au contraire. I renegotiated. You’d be on three-fifty if I hadn’t held out, and so would I. That’s five hundred dollars a week more than we would have gotten without my efforts. So maybe you’ll allow me some modest influence on the spending of it.

UTA. I didn’t know about…

JOE. … no, you didn’t, because I didn’t choose to brag about it. I also renegotiated our billing. You haven’t objected to our names going above the title.

UTA. I don’t give a damn where my name goes.

JOE. Well you ought to give a damn, because billing is status and status is money.

UTA. I don’t give a damn about money either.

JOE. Yes, you do. You want a hundred dollars for a dress. Is that money or is it not?

The telephone rings.

UTA. That must be Paul.

JOE. Tell him we’ve got some rum up here if he wants to look in.

She answers the phone.

UTA. Hello? Oh, it’s you!

(To JOE.) It’s Peggy.

(On the phone.) No, we’re wide awake, we’ve just arrived. It was a…

(To JOE.) She says can she come up?

JOE. Tell her it’s okay.

UTA. That’s fine. Room 824, just by the elevator.

Rings off.

Before she arrives…

JOE. I’m not gonna talk about this now.

UTA. … what’s puzzling me is that I don’t remember paying even one of my paycheques into a bank.

JOE. I pay them in. Have you only just noticed?

UTA. What do you pay them in to?

JOE. First American…

UTA. No, not which bank! Which bank account…?

JOE. Ours, sweetheart. Our bank account. Where else would the money go? Look, Peggy’s coming up so…

UTA. Is it my bank account as well as yours?

JOE. Yes, in effect.

UTA. What effect are you talking about?

JOE. Oh, for God’s sake, Uta…

UTA. Is my name printed at the bottom of the cheques?

JOE. No, why would it be? You don’t write cheques. You’ve never written a cheque in your life.

UTA. So…

JOE. Listen to me. The name on the cheques is mine.

UTA. What, all of it?

JOE. What are you…?

Rather satirically, UTA spells out his name to its full extent.

UTA. ‘José Vicente Ferrer de Otero y Cintrón?’

JOE. It says ‘José Ferrer’, okay? Because it’s my account in a technical sense. Look, I don’t want Peggy bursting in while we’re…

UTA. So how come my paycheques end up in your bank account?

JOE. It’s how it works, sweetie. I endorse them for you. On the back of the paycheque. Six hundred dollars, less deductions.

UTA. What do you write on the back of the paycheque?

JOE. What do you think? I write ‘Uta fucking Hagen’. As a result of which, you get use of the money, which…

UTA. You forge my signature!

JOE. Uta, I do not…

UTA. You’ve got no right to do that!

JOE. It’s purely a way of…

UTA. Week after week after week you have been… What kind of idiot do you think I am?

JOE. Good, fine, we’ll change the system!

UTA. You call that a system?

JOE. Don’t worry, it’s all gonna be different! You pay the bills, you pay the carer, you pay the gardener, you get the roof fixed. Fuck it, Uta! Fuck it all! It’s been a long fucking day and I am sick of it!

A knock on the door.

UTA. Let her in.

JOE. You let her in.

UTA opens the door. PEGGY comes in. Slacks, shirt, cardigan. UTA and JOE are pleased enough to see her, but echoes of their row hang on in the air.

PEGGY. Thank God, you’ve arrived. I’ve been so worried about the ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title page
• Contents
• Introduction
• Original Production
• Characters
• 8 Hotels
• A Note About Sources
• About the Author
• Copyright and Performing Rights Information