MY BLOODY SEANCE - Part Two

PREVIOUSLY ON "MY BLOODY SEANCE":


21ST CENTURY GYPSY:  How did you know?
WHITE MAN IN SUIT:  You come to a psychic reading and you ask how did I know?
Yes, I see.
Now please sir, take my hands.
Would you mind very much...
Sir?
I say, I saw you were smoking.  Before.  Would you mind washing your hands?


AND TONIGHT ON "MY BLOODY SEANCE":


My hands?  You want me to wash my hands?


Or if you have some kind...some sort of anti-bact...


My hands are clean.


No one's hands...


I'll tell you what...


No one's...


Here's what we'll do.  If you want my hands clean...you want 'em washed?  You do it...


Do what?


You wash my hands...you do it for me...come here...


THEY CROSS THE FRAME, THE STAGE, THE IMAGINARY WORLD INSIDE MY HEAD AND THUS YOUR HEAD TO A SINK HIDDEN BEHIND A LAYER OF GAUZY VEILS/SCARVES.  IT'S STANDARD EQUIPMENT-SMALL WHITE PORCELAIN SINK--CHUNKY AND FUNCTIONAL YET SMALL, TUCKED IN THE CORNER ALL WITH EXPOSED PIPAGE.  


Here...{she says, handing him a white bar of soap.  She rolls up the sleeves of her loose fitting sweater.  [yes, that's right.]  She sweeps her long brown hair behind her shoulders.  He's getting a second look at her in this new context.  She begins running the water.  She holds her hands under it and turns to him.}...so?


{He's standing with the soap in his hands.  Staring at her.}


Can't you...can't you just...


Listen, you need my hands clean? - YOU do it.  


{She turns her face away from him but he can still see her in profile in the mirror behind the sink.  She is clearly defiant.  Resigned, he pushes his suit jacket sleeves and unbuttoned shirt cuffs up onto his forearms and joins his hands with hers in the sink, lathering the soap.  Up close he admires her prominent nose, the way it gives a theme to her features, the way her eyes lean in towards it, the way her small mouth sought to compensate for its dominance, the way her entire face taken at once was full of sensuality and had a fervent quality of rich ethnic beauty that rang down through the generations of a pride and stubbornness that was unmovable, unconquerable.  He took her hands in his and began to wash her fingers.  He was instantly aroused by her when she exhaled abruptly and he smelled the cigarettes...and...and...garlic on her breath-it made it all (the arousal) now so much worse.  He no longer cared or needed her hands to be 'clean' but he never wanted to let go of them in the soapy warm water.  He could see her breasts move down the vee of her sweater as he rocked her body through her hands and arms and he imagined them swaying and pressing against the sweater's fabric and then imagined them in his hands and his mouth...}


Clean enough now?  {the accent again...the statement, lacking articles, abrupt, efficient, bare-minimum, second-languaged...he wanted her now more than anything else.  Could this be some kind of gypsy spell she cast over him?  She looked him straight in the eye.  His anticipation was palpable.  Any subtle signal and he would rip off her clothes and have her straight away on this filthy floor.  She held the moment, fully in command of herself and the situation, and then laughed, quickly and derisively, and all in a second he was wholly unmanned.}  


Come. {she mocked him with the word leading him back to the table.}