Trout Stanley

Claudia Dey

• Publisher: Coach House Books
• Year: 2001
• ISBN:
  9781770562295
• Topic: Littérature
• Subtopic: Théâtre canadien

Described by Variety as 'Yukon Gothic, ' Claudia Dey's acclaimed play Trout Stanley is set in northern British Columbia, on the outskirts of a mining town between Misery Junction and Grizzly Alley. In this inhospitable setting live a pair of sisters, twins who are not identical in any way: Sugar, a complicated, insecure waif who still wears the tracksuit her mother died in ten years prior, and Grace, a rough-and-tumble hellcat who owns the local dump. At the play's opening, it is their thirtieth birthday, and the TV news has announced the disappearance of a local Scrabble-champ stripper. While Grace is at the dump, housebound Sugar is surprised by a mysterious drifter, one Trout Stanley, foot fetishist and fake cop, who is searching for the lake where his parents drowned – a fishy story if there ever was one. He quickly becomes mired in a surreal love triangle with the two sisters.

Trout Stanley is about three people who confuse codependence for co-operation and affliction for affection. An eccentric, captivating story in which the biggest catch of all is love.

Lavishly illustrated by Jason Logan.

Act One

Scene One

Midnight. Grace and Sugar are asleep in their bedroom. Front door lock is jimmied open. A man enters. Bare feet. Bearded. Untended and overgrown. A filth to nest in. He closes the door quickly behind him. Eyes adjust. Moves immediately to the kitchen counter, the fridge – finds a half-eaten roast. Eats until he is licking bone. Some growling. Opens cupboard doors until he finds a bottle of something. Tips it back. Swoons a bit. Makes his way to the door. The television. Lured. He sits inches from the screen. Turns it on. Low volume. Switches through channels evangelical: nature, detectives, sports, news. He bangs the side of the television trying to get better reception, remembers where he is, realizes that he has made some noise and dives behind the couch – as Grace Ducharme comes out sleepy-eyed. Grace reaches for the converter to turn off the television, but she is drawn in by the news – as is he.

NEWS: … Was last seen when she left Rodeo Bob’s Steakhouse Emporium and Nude Dancers in Chetwynd, BC, at approximately 3:30 a.m. yesterday morning. Co-workers say she insisted on walking home, refusing rides, despite the nearly torrential rain that night. Not odd behaviour for the independent and some have even said brazen exotic dancer and local Scrabble champion. Authorities have not ruled out foul play, adding that ladies of the night are prone to vanishing. In other news, the caterpillar population continues to –

Grace thinks she hears something. She clicks off the television. Stands still. Scanning. She tiptoes around; the intruder dives and rolls stealthily. She opens the door to their bedroom.

GRACE: Sugar.

Asleep. Starts to close door. Swings it open again.

GRACE: Sugar.

Definitely sleeping. She closes it. Periscoping. Grace decides that there is nothing there. She gets a soda from the fridge, cracks it open and returns to their bedroom. The man comes out from behind the couch. He heads for the door, catches sight of Sugar’s crocheted slippers languishing under a night light. He picks them up; he strokes them and sniffs them. Some growling. He puts them back where he found them. Bottle still in hand, he makes his exit.

Scene Two

The next morning. Sugar – track suit, crocheted slippers, humming ‘Happy Birthday’ – darts about the kitchen making Grace’s lunch. She places item after item and packs soda after soda into a large lunch pail. Grace is offstage. Sound of hair dryer – approaching jet engine. Hair dryer stops.

SUGAR: Happy Birthday Grace.

GRACE: Happy Birthday Sugar. Big day.

SUGAR: Big day.

GRACE: Our big day.

SUGAR: Our big day.

GRACE/SUGAR: Lucky thirty.

SUGAR: We had our share o’ sufferin’ –

GRACE: An’ now we’re in the clear.

SUGAR: In the clear.

SUGAR/GRACE: Lucky thirty.

Grace enters in a short shorts camouflage zip-up – her hair sprayed into a sculpture. Grace spins for Sugar.

GRACE: Dynamite, eh.

SUGAR: Sure is dynamite.

GRACE: A zip-up. Lates’ summer trend. A T-shirt and shorts in one quick zip-up.

SUGAR: Looks hot.

GRACE: Does look hot doesn’ it.

SUGAR: Looks hot an’ dynamite.

Grace pulls on her cowboy boots.

SUGAR: You got boots too.

GRACE: Like ’em?

SUGAR: Where’d you get the loot?

GRACE: Like ’em?

SUGAR: Where’d you get the loot for the boot?

GRACE: I didn’ wan’ to tell ya Sugar Cereal, ’cause I didn’ want ya to feel left out. But, ’cause ya keep nudgin’me, here it is … Ya know the billboard at the Four Corners, the one everybody has to pass comin’ in or goin’ outta town? Well, it’s empty right now an’ as you know Stan’s Western Gear an’Shootin’Range is no stranger to seizin’ opportunity. They were lookin’ to do some advertisin’ to go along with huntin’ season: ‘Look out Deer. Look out Moose. We got rifles an’ we’re lookin’ for youse.’You remember that one. Who could forget it? Guess who they asked to be their billboard girl. That’s right Sugar. Your very own Graceland.

Photo shoot was day before yesterday. I wore this very thing. Stood in front of a camo backdrop with a particular glare in my eye. Somethin’between red-hot sexy an’I’m-gonna-squeeze-your-balls-blue dangerous. Irony. That’s what we went for. Irony.

Billboard goes up today. Gonna be a big day in more ways than one. Stan thinks it could cause traffic slowdowns if not accidents. He’s hired backup at the store expectin’ a crush o’ people. That’s what he called it: a crush. ’Cause o’ me. Graceland, your very own billboard girl. He let me keep the zip-up an’ the boots as a token o’ his respect.

SUGAR: A billboard Grace.

GRACE: A billboard.

SUGAR: At the Four Corners Grace.

GRACE: Nexus o’ the Western world.

SUGAR: You’re so lucky.

GRACE: Don’ be down Sugar. We get the face we deserve in this life. An’ surely you got yours for a reason.

SUGAR: I’m never gonna meet a handsome doctor.

GRACE: Shush it. That is no way to talk.

Sugar serves Grace a hard-boiled egg, Pop-Tarts and a glass of milk.

GRACE: (breakfasting) Now you listen to me Sugar. You listen to every word. There is gonna be a plague or a scourge or a flood or some kind o’ infestation here. Happens everywhere else. No reason it can’t be Tumbler Ridge. Whole country’s gonna know about it. Whole country’s gonna be glued to their TVs an’ radios, callin’ in donations, sendin’ cans o’ soup, sleepin’ bags an’ hairbrushes. We’re gonna be a disaster zone an’ when we are those handsome doctors are gonna be comin’ in by the busload. An’ because we’re on the outskirts o’ town, we won’t be gettin’ vaccinated in the gymnasium, in the arena, in the church basement. No Sugar. We won’t be gettin’ vaccinated there. We’ll be gettin’ vaccinated right here. Two words, my sweet Sugar Cereal, two words: house call. Knock, knock. An’ there they’ll be in their white coats with their black bags full o’ everything that heals includin’ two (holds up ring finger) shiny diamonds.

SUGAR: You really think that’s gonna happen?

GRACE: I know it’s gonna happen.

SUGAR: How?

GRACE: Where’s your faith Sugar?

SUGAR: Dunno.

GRACE: Find it.

SUGAR: Can’t.

GRACE: Billboard got you down. I knew it would. Darn it. (back to the boots) Stylish though, eh. They’re the classic cowboy boot. Classic rodeo cut. Fit like a glove. If you came into town, you could get cowboy boots.

SUGAR: I don’t want cowboy boots.

GRACE: Cla...