The driving sound of Latin music. Madelin appears, colorfully dressed, dancing with a male mannequin, a soft, floppy dummy dressed in a tuxedo without the bow tie. His feet are strapped to her feet. She holds "him" erect by the
arms... among other places.
They dance, she and her dummy, in frantic movements, huge sweeps to the floor, dizzying spins across the stage. Suddenly she stops, shifting her shoulders, rolling her hips, staring at her partner. Then
she snaps her head to the audience.
Madelin I am exotique... no? I am passionata... eh? I am a mujer without hair... I am desire with fire... I am woo-mahn... I am love... (hissing) I am sssex... (whispering) I am crazy... muy
(She dances off with her "man". At one point, she grabs his ass and makes his body bolt into the air. At another point, she drapes "him" over a chair and kisses "him" roughly, bites
"him" in the neck, spreads her legs and his, and rhythmically pumps "him" up and back. She stops abruptly, whirls around, plops in the chair letting go of the dummy's arms. He falls over in a backward arch, his feet
still strapped to hers.)
(With no accent) Crazy... and tired. Olá, am I tired... of all the bullshit dripping from their faces. The two-faced looks... the two-faced talks... the this-is-the-way-I-am-today, and
tomorrow-is-another-day. Oh yes... I'm tired, but not too tired to go on living, to go on dancing, to go on f...
(She jumps up, lifts the dummy erect, and dances off.)
You know, I got married once. He wasn't my first
man and he sure wasn't my last. But I married him... tall, dark, handsome phoney-baloney who thought he was Orson Welles. No... that's not true. I thought he was Orson Welles. He thought he was god's gift to me.
straight up married life we had. And there was some love in it. Then he got bored and I got boring. He was a dreamer and I was a sleeper. He was a rat and I was a mouse. He was smart and I was dumb. And when I got smart, he got numb. Ha! I
got a life and he got a wife. Man, was I good looking... can't you tell... real good looking. So what's a girl gonna do. Hey, what is a man anyway? A hunk of meat, a stick of skin and blood? Does he make the sun come up? Hell no!
But he sure can make it go down.
Hey... how old do think I am? Pretty old? Older than you think? Yeah. The body wants to give up... wants to sag to the floor in a quiet mess. But not me. See... this is me inside. I'm in here kicking
and juicing... I'm breathing hard and trying to breathe harder. And until this silly shell finally collapses, I'm a whirling, twirling, stomping, romping, kiss of a woman... a big, wet, kiss of a woman. Hey... want to know how to
make time stand still? Keep moving!
Dancin', I'm dancin', my legs are in the air
Movin', I'm groovin', there's color in my hair
Isn't it exciting that I simply want your body dripping sweat
Isn't it exciting that you simply make my body very wet
We're dancin', we're dancin', your balls are in the air
We're movin', we're groovin'... phew, your dust is in my hair.
(She stops and spits)
How old am I? I'm older than my father was
when he died. Man, there was a man. A Latino man. Gorgeous, a Latin Lover. He had it, he knew it, they knew it... he couldn't keep his pants on. He took every woman that came his way. He gave them what they wanted and they gave him
every drop of passion they could squeeze out of their tongues. He left them dry because he drank them up like they were banana daiquiris. He was a vampire, a banana daiquiri vampire who left each victim in a glass full of crushed ice, with
a smile on her face and a maraschino cherry between her legs. He was gorgeous. My Latina mother didn't kill him. I didn't kill him. He married another woman, another Latina woman, but this time a gray-faced woman and gave her a
daughter. So what did they do? They set themselves up like a firing squad. They just shot at him and shot at him until they filled him with so many holes you couldn't see him any more. Why? Why did he take that? This Latin lover, this
hunk of filet mignon, this woman's man. Why? Got afraid... that's what did it. Couldn't take his eyes off the clock. Stopped moving. But not me! I'm his daughter but I'm a lot further along than he ever was. And the
only hole in me is the hole of holies, the pit of purpose, the cave of candy, the mouth of mystery, this garden of liquid gold.
Cast: 2 Women, 5 Men
Setting: Same level, split-interior. Minimal set pieces,
Performance Time: 65 Minutes
In the deception and distortion of today's politics, a band of Latin rebels is floundering in their attempt to overthrow a brutal regime. Though the suppressed population adores and supports the group, the rebellion is failing.
Rebel leader, Juan Castia, is haunted by nightmares that underscore his doubt and lack of resolve. In a desperate attempt to spur the rebellion into a full-blown revolution, a decision is made: Castia will allow himself to be captured, to
be given up to the authorities who will be forced to martyr him. The result will be a symbol... to enflame and lead the country to its freedom. With an eerie parallel to the Christ-story, Castia persuades his young "son" to
instigate the betrayal to the police. It works! The execution of Castia launches a widespread uprising that brings down the regime. But betrayal breeds betrayal. The revolutionary government becomes a newly costumed version of the
"pigs" they deposed. The final blow to the zeal and idealism comes in the revelation that Castia was never executed. He lives and he will remain a hidden prisoner for the rest of his life as his former comrades canonize him for
the sake of the "people."