The drawing room, gloomy and cavernous as ever. JOE sits under one of the lamps, reading a book. NORMA, her face invisible, lies face-down on the massage table, covered only by a towel. A MASSEUR is working on her legs; an immaculate BEAUTICIAN, a blonde, is attending to her cuticles, and a woman ASTROLOGER in a headscarf hovers about at the top end of the table.

ASTROLOGER
I don't think you should shoot before July 15th.
Right now is a perilous time for Pisces.
If you wait till Venus is in Capricorn
You'll avoid a catalogue of crises.

(The MASSEUR drums away at her thighs.)

FIRST MASSEUSE
I need three more weeks to get these thighs in shape,
No more carbohydrates, don't be naughty.

SECOND MASSEUSE
We'll soon have you skipping like an ingenue,
You won't look a day over forty.

(At this point, NORMA turns her face to look downstage and we see that it is coated in some thick white gunk, with slices of cucumber covering their eyes. Meanwhile, JOE puts his book down, checks his watch, gets up and begins moving round the room, trying to appear casual, but evidently looking for something.)

FIRST BEAUTICIAN
We have dry heat, we have steam.

SECOND BEAUTICIAN
We have moisturizing cream.

THIRD BEAUTICIAN
We have mud-packs, we have blood sacks.

SECOND BEAUTICIAN
It's a rigorous regime.

ALL
Not a wrinkle when you twinkle,
Or a wobble when you walk.

THIRD BEAUTICIAN
Of course, there's bound to
Be a little suffering.

ALL
Eternal youth is worth a little suffering.

ANALYST
Listen to your superego not your id,
Age is just another damn neurosis.
I’ll have you regressing back to infancy,
And up into the womb under hypnosis.

DOCTOR
I inject the tissue of the foetal lamb,
The formula’s the one Somerset Maugham owns.
Just a modest course of thirty-seven shots,
And you will be a heaving mass of hormones.

ALL
No more crow's feet, no mote flab,
No more love handles to grab.
You'll be so thin they'll all think you're
Walking sideways like a crab.

Nothing sagging, nothing bagging,
Nothing dragging on the floor,
Of course, there's bound to be a little suffering,
Eternal youth is worth a little suffering.

Of course, there's bound to be a little suffering,
Eternal youth is worth a little suffering.
Of course, there's bound to be a little suffering,
Eternal youth is worth a little suffering.

(With this, the BEAUTY TEAM packs up and leaves, shown out by MAX. JOE, still looking, winds up in NORMA's vicinity. SHE suddenly produces a script from under a towel.)

NORMA
Is this what you're looking for, by any chance?

JOE
Why, yes.

NORMA
Whose phone number is this?

(JOE takes the script from her, a little sheepish, not answering. NORMA rises from the massage table, gathering her towel about her, peeling the cucumber slices from her eyes.)

NORMA
I've been worried about the line of my throat. I think this woman has done wonders with it.

JOE
Good.

NORMA
And I've lost half a pound since Tuesday.

JOE
Very good.

NORMA
And now it's after nine. I'd better get to bed.

JOE
You had.

NORMA
Are you coming up?

JOE
I think I'I1 read a little longer.

NORMA
You went out last night, didn't you, Joe?

JOE
I went for a walk.

NORMA
You took the car.

JOE
I drove to the beach.

NORMA
Who's Betty Schaefer?

(Silence. Eventually, JOE shakes his head.)

JOE
Surely you don't want me to feel I'm a prisoner in this house!

NORMA
You don't understand, Joe. I'm under a terrible strain. It's been so hard I even got myself a revolver. The only thing that stopped me from killing myself was the thought of all those people waiting to see me back on the screen. How could I disappoint them? All I ask is a little patience, a little understanding.

JOE
Norma, there's nothing to worry about, I haven't done anything.

NORMA
Of course you haven't. Good night, my darling.

(SHE kisses him lightly, as best she can in the circumstances, and sets off upstairs, a bizarre figure in her mask and white towel. JOE waits until she has disappeared and gathers up his script. Then HE turns to the audience.)

JOE
I should have stayed there.
Poor Norma,
So desperate to be ready
For what would never happen.
But Betty would be waiting,
We had the script to finish.
One unexpected love scene,
Two people
Both risking
A kind of happy ending.

(HE slips quietly out through the French doors. As HE does so, MAX, previously seen escorting the BEAUTY TEAM out, quite unexpectedly emerges from the shadows of some recess in the room. His expression is troubled.

Fade to black.)