Issue 85, Fall 1982
Characters: ED & JOANNE, a mid-western couple.
ART & ELLEN, a somewhat older, more sophisticated couple.
Setting: A hot empty beach on an island in the Pacific.
Time: Shortly before sunset.
[ARTHUR, in shirt, shorts, sun hat and dark glasses, stands in the shade of a palm. ED, in swim suit, faces him. Enter ELLEN in bikini.]
ART: Look at Ellen, Ed. Have you ever seen such a complete and perfect tan? A body like brown sugar. She melts. Show us your bottom, Ellen.
ELLEN: Why don’t you sit down, Arthur? You look like the last white man standing there.
ART: You know I don’t like the sand all over my body. This is a public beach.
ELLEN: Yes, my love. But we’re not in San Diego. Not in Detroit. This is Pago Pago.
ED: This isn’t. . .
ELLEN [Interrupting]: It isn’t? Then where the hell are we? Fiji? Samoa? There was a guarantee, you know. A certain number of islands.
ART: We are on an island in the western hemisphere.
ELLEN: Yeah. Thank God we own the place. What shall we call it, damn it, Ed? Little America?
ART: Shades of Douglas MacArthur. Shades of those who never returned.
ELLEN: I wonder how many fell on this very beach. Remember those pictures in Life: the first American war dead, the boys half buried in the sand? Remember?