Her Royal Highness

A hotel room. It is well-decorated but messy. The duvet has been thrown off the double bed. The stage is lit very brightly. A woman sits at a large and glamorous vanity, looking in the mirror. The vanity is littered with make-up, tissues, magazines and empty glasses. There is a closed door at the back of the room. The woman is elegant and middle-aged with black hair, red lipstick and wearing a satin dressing gown.

HENRIETTA     Gin is magnificent. Timeless, one may say. From Hogarth to Gordon’s; crisp, fresh, never dull. (She chuckles) And wine. Oh, wine! Full and dark and deep. When has anyone ever questioned wine, I mean, truly? It is staple. Iconic. It is fruit made poison, and yet how we love it.

It gets better with age, wine. That’s what’s so magical. The longer it lives, the more we crave it. Wine does not fade away, it grows stronger.

She finishes what is left of her current drink. The lights dim slightly.

I was snatched by a man with an eye for beauty. It’s always a man. He told me I was beautiful, and rightly so. I was the most beautiful woman in the world.

As she speaks she plays with her face in the mirror: pushing up her skin, nipping it, pulling her eyebrows and sucking in her cheeks.

The Queen. Henrietta Regina Hawthorne. They got the nickname from my initials. See, people were clever back then. Not like now, chasing the skirt of any half-brained smile that takes their fancy. No, now I – I was something special. It’s so tough to make it in New York, not everyone can do it.

Voices mutter behind the door. She turns to face it. The voices ask each other what she is doing. She turns away, choosing to ignore them. She drinks. Her speech becomes faster and more passionate.

You need that special something and by God I had it. I broke all the records: fastest selling cover, most internet searches, Sexiest Woman, Most Beautiful Woman, Most Powerful Woman. I was everywhere, and I mean everywhere. It takes a lot. Yes, people hop on for their fifteen minutes but it takes real skill to form a career - a lifestyle – out of it. Oh, and I did just that, I did exactly that. A million dollars for one shoot. Four photographs. Four. Each one worth two-hundred-and-fifty grand.

She walks across the room and picks up a half empty bottle of gin. She walks back to the vanity where she sits and pours herself a generous glass.

They loved me, the public. They couldn’t get enough. I couldn’t leave my house without getting a hundred photographs taken, each one ending up on the front of a magazine which would then sell thousands of copies. (She drinks) I was a drug. An industry. Without me the business was nothing.

She picks up a magazine and stares at the cover.

It’s a daring colour to choose, white. It could have been dull and drab. (Beat) But there she is. Sparkling in the snow. And of course, of course she’s nude. Nude yet distant. Undressed and yet completely naive.

She takes a large sip from her drink. The lights dim slightly.

Everybody’s favourite. Young. Fresh. Perfection. Pure as the driven snow. That’s what they all say, even here.

She points to the magazine cover.

Snow White Girl. (She laughs) Well, not nearly as good as the Queen. (Her face falls) But this, this cover. The snow, the arrangement. So simple.

She finishes her drink without taking her eyes off the magazine.

And that look – her eyes.

She begins flicking through the pages, showing the audience each page and pointing at them. Her voice becomes more frantic.

These photographs. A close-up, just beauty. And her smile. Sweet, innocent, of course. Dancing in the snow, trying to seem carefree. And this one. Signing the magazines of little boys. Seven of them. They look at her with complete devotion, clearly staged. Black and white. So elegant. She’s so elegant.  Perfect, it’s perfect.

She puts down the magazine and pours herself another very large glass of gin. She pauses for a moment before speaking, as if building up to something.

         

Too perfect. She shines too brightly. (She drinks) Queens do not share their thrones. Queens take action. I-

The voices behind the door grow louder. A man’s voice becomes distinct.

MAN BEHIND DOOR (angry) What is taking her so long? 

Henrietta stands up and then sits again. She closes her eyes tightly and drinks deeply. The lights dim further.

    

HENRIETTA     She was on the television just this afternoon, several channels at once. News stories, photographs. She was interviewed by Oprah. Oprah. A full hour long special. And that little slice of meat, that little bitch. She says she doesn’t smoke, never has, never will. Never drinks either. (She makes a toasting motion with her glass and drinks) Oh, and this is the best part. She refuses to have sex until she’s married.

Henrietta laughs harshly and rolls her eyes, putting down her glass and clapping her hands together. She runs her hand through her hair, making it stick up oddly. She stands up and begins to pace, still laughing.

No sex before marriage. It’s brilliant! What a brilliant, brilliant lie. The tramp’s probably already had one terminated. But no, she wears it well. (She raises her voice) Pure as the virgin freakin’ snow!

She laughs again, almost hysterically. She walks back to the vanity and picks up her drink, carrying it with her as she continues to pace. Her body language becomes more expressive and violent, causing her dressing gown to drop on one shoulder. Her words begin to slur.

This is the th-thing, hmm. This is the thing. The thing that nobody realises, or, no, they do realise it, but pertend – pretend - not to. Here we are, a modern, forward-thinking society, yes? Yes. Possibly. But no! See, with the new minnellium came a new wave of misogyny. (She drinks) It’s true! Think about your successful women: actresses, singers, dancers, actresses, TV celebrities and, yes, models. Think about today’s stars. What do they all have in common? Beauty, yes. That’s always been the case. But now the pressure’s up. You need to be beautiful AND skinny AND sexy and yet completely, utterly, completely naive.

She sits down at the head of the bed and faces the audience. She drinks. The lights dim further. By now, the stage is very dark and Henrietta is almost indiscernible. Her voice is quiet.

And what is missing? What is left out of this picture of idealitic femiminity? Power. Nobody wants power anymore. (She hiccups) Nobody wants a queen. People want a girl. (She laughs a little) And the irony is that by showing no power the girl takes it all. The world is her mirror; it’s all about her. It only tells her what she wants to hear.

She stands up in the darkness, walking closer to the front of the stage. She becomes angry.

But I have power too. I have power! I am the Queen ... act ... command. They ... suffer the con- the consequences. She will suffer the consequences. Soon-

There is a sharp knock at the bedroom door. At the same time as the noise, the lights flash back to their original brightness. Henrietta seems disorientated. She stumbles over to the vanity and puts down her glass before walking to the door and opening it. A man stands on the other side dressed in a shiny silver suit. His hair is slicked back and he appears frustrated but controlled.

HENRIETTA     (smiling) Oh, Michael! Hello darling. I feel like I ... haven’t seen you in-

MICHAEL       What are you doing? They’re waiting for you downstairs. (He looks at his watch)

HENRIETTA     Yes, yes I know. I know. Sorry, I’m sorry, Michael. Eveething’s a bit ... (She gestures to the room) Do you like a drink?

MICHAEL       (Looking her up and down with disdain) No, no I don’t.

Henrietta’s face falls. She attempts (and fails) to neaten her hair, wiping it from her face. She re-ties her dressing gown.

HENRIETTA     I’m just getting ready, Michael. (She laughs nervously) A lady needs her pampering, you know.

MICHAEL       You’re beautiful, Etta. I’ve always told you              that.

Henrietta smiles and sighs with relief. She throws herself into Michael, clutching his chest.

HENRIETTA     Oh Michael! Lovely, lovely Michael. You know, you’ve always made-

MICHAEL       (pushing Henrietta away, visibly angry) It’s my job to tell you that, Henrietta. As your agent I am obliged.

Michael produces a comb from inside his jacket and combs back his hair. Henrietta turns away from him, stepping further into the room.

HENRIETTA     Yes. Yes but, it’s more, really. Much more, true, so true, isn’t it? Caring. I know that-

MICHAEL       It is also my job to tell you that your reaction to my new client was simply unacceptable. You must accept that I have a job to do and money to make, and sadly, Henrietta, you are not making me that money, and she is. She’s younger, sexier, fresh, more popular, and if you don’t up your game you’ll be swigging gin in hotel rooms for the rest of your life.

Henrietta stares at him, wide-eyed.

This shoot will make or break you, Henrietta. Don’t fuck it up.

Henrietta moves her mouth, as if trying to speak.

God woman, you stink. (He sighs) Just get a shower. Be downstairs in five minutes.

There is silence as the two look at each other for several seconds. Michael leans against the doorframe and looks her up and down again.

              It’s a shame they can’t stay young forever.

He leaves, slamming the door behind him. Henrietta winces at the noise and makes her way back to the vanity, where she sits and finishes her drink. Mascara runs down her face.

HENRIETTA     (whispers) Good Housekeeping (shouting, looking up at the audience) Good Housekeeping! My career will make or break itself due to a photo shoot for Good Housekeeping? This is it, this is what I am reduced to. Not, not, not Vogue, Barper’s Bazaar, Time, InStyle. No, no no no, Good Housekeeping, that’s it. My moment, my chance. Good housekeeping!

She pours herself yet another drink, finishing the bottle, and picks up the magazine before she begins pacing the room again. As she sips the lights dim once more.

(calmer) They asked her how it felt, being on Vogue, and she said strange. (She laughs) Strange? That’s it. Not magnificent, elating, ex-extraordinary, no. Strange. Fucking. Brainless. Fool. It’s not right. It’s not right that someone so stupid should be so loved.

She begins to shout again, drinking every few seconds and causing the lights to become dimmer and dimmer.

I had it all. Beauty, power and brains. I refuse to play the part of the virgin. I am not innocent, I am sinful and commanding and strong.

She falls to a crouching position, looking up at the audience, crying and shouting.

I am the serpent in the garden! Take my fruit and ruin yourselves! Become wasted like me.

She tries to rip the entire magazine in two, but cannot muster the strength. Instead she starts tearing the odd page out and scrunching it up and throwing it behind her as she speaks.

I will never be as white as snow. Someone had to do something. (She stands) And it was me. I took it upon myself - courage - smart about it. I picked the perfect moment. No one, no one, can be photographed all the time.

She rips the cover off the magazine and screams in frustration as she tears it into small pieces. She drops what’s left of the magazine and stands on stage silently for several seconds, breathing heavily. Then, abruptly, she walks over to the vanity, wiping her eyes. She sits, picking up a lipstick and reapplying it shakily.

It’s the, erm, the industry, really. A complete... a complete lack of loyalty. Uh huh. No respect for the veretans, the venerats, the, erm, the veterans. No respect for the veterans of the industry.

She laughs to herself, finding her stride again. She stands and walks back across the room and picks up another, unopened bottle of gin, which she opens and pours herself a drink from. She returns to the vanity and tries to sit down on the stool but falls to the floor. She continues to speak unfazed, drinking deeply. The lights dim further.

Why do they need NEWER models, anyway? What’s so great about youth? I have more than youth, more, I’ve experience. Uh huh. I’m like wine. Potent. (She laughs) It’s about power, really, isn’t it? They think they’ve got it, but I have got it. I’ve got the power. I’m the Queen, the Queen! I command! I- (She pauses) I’ve spoken of this already, haven’t I? (She drinks) I have the power now. I have won it from them in this game. Life is but a game. A fairy story. I have written my own confusion. Conclusion. They’ve got no choice but to choose me- he fails, if he should fail... I have my pack-up blan, my tricks. (Beat) I am the serpent in the garden. I trust no one.

She stands quickly, and begins pacing. By now the stage is very dark. She carries her drink with her, taking regular sips.

It needed to be done, it was necessary. Necessary. I did what no one else could. I reminded them, they needed remembering, reminding. Remind them just how much I have given them, they have taken it all. (Her voice becomes quiet) But what if it is discovered? What if the trail- might lead back, back to me? (She drinks) No. No, no. It cannot.

A faint spotlight hits the back of the stage, beyond Henrietta. It reveals the Snow White girl dancing around the room, smiling. She wears a white dress, with long dark hair down her back. Her arms are clutched to her chest. Henrietta faces the audience.

A favour, I did her a favour really. One day they would get rid of her anyway, and that- that is the cruellest of ways.

The Snow White girl suddenly appears distressed. She removes her hand from her chest to reveal an enormous stain of deep red. Henrietta continues to face the audience, as she speaks the Snow White girl looks around for help, but remains silent.

They would stab and stab, stab, stab. Rip out her heart and lock it away. A complete, utter, cold loss of interet, interest. (Her voice rises as the Snow White girl falls to the ground. The spotlight disappears.) Put her out. Put her out. Put her out of her misery before they do. Before the misery. I am, am a saint. An act of mercy. They needed to remember-

Henrietta freezes, she appears shocked. She sits at the top of the bed, facing the audience. The lights slowly grow brighter, until they have returned to their original intensity. When she speaks her voice is loud and cracked.

              (whispering) What was it he said?

She looks around pleadingly at the audience.

              (shouting) What was it he said?

She stands and walks over to the door and opens it. (The memory of) Michael stands on the other side. He leans against the doorframe in exactly the same position he was before he left previously. He looks her up and down in exactly the same way. He speaks in exactly the same tone, word for word.

MICHAEL       It’s a shame they can’t stay young forever.

Henrietta slams the door shut and runs back to the bed in a panic. She once again sits at the head of the bed, facing the audience.

But she- she, she will, she will be. She will always be young! (She pleas to the audience.) What does it take to be famous, hmm, truly, truly famous? Forever. What does it take to be remembered? (Her voice is panicked) How, how how how, how does one stop a star from fading? Oh no, oh no, don’t tell me! (She begins to cry) How does one keep it bright?

Behind her, the Snow White girl stands and stares out into the audience. She makes gestures of bowing and curtsies, smiling silently. Henrietta lies down on the bed, still facing the audience. Tears stream down her face. Her voice is quieter.

It is too late. It is done. The only way to live forever is to die young... they will never forget, she will be the one. Tradegy, tradegy... Tragedy is a fast pass to eternal song. Oh God, oh God, oh God. (She raises her head and finishes her nearly-full drink, the lights dim completely.) They will be telling her story for centuries to come.

             

The stage is very dark and quiet. All that the audience can hear is Henrietta’s whimpering and a shattering as she drops her glass on the floor. There is a sudden knock on the bedroom door.

              ENTER!

A spotlight falls upon the door as it flies open. A burly man in a black suit stands imposingly. He clutches a small box from which a trickle of blood drips. He faces the audience and his voice booms. He is all that is visible on the stage.

HUNTER        I have seen to the deed, your Highness, we have won.

HENRIETTA     (whispers) Oh god, oh god

The spotlight disappears with a crack. The stage is silent and completely black.

What have I done?