Sadie, Sadie - Monologue

Sadie, Sadie, guilded lady . . . Sadie, Sadie gilded lady. Sorry. I've been waiting for the bus for a long, long time. Have you been waiting long? Buses seem like forever. Especially now, in the dark, in the middle of the night, or rather morning I should say. I try not to think much about the time when I wait. . . . like the watched pot, only the morning will boil. 

You may have a seat next to me if you wish. . . no, no, I guess you wouldn't, not you, not next to me. Sadie, Sadie. That? that's a song. They used to sing it when I was a kid, in the south, a song of the south, when ladies were belles, I haven't rung in years, and I think I'd be more of a clang than a ring. 

Well you liked that did you? . . . ., I never was the prissy type, never had a vapor in my life, but now I'm here waiting with you at a bus stop the dark part of the morning. You coming from a party, wearing a suit, so dapper.

I love parties, music and drink and the food, not hard to tell that I like a little
extra bite from the hors douvers table .... last party I went to was fancy, caviar floating on white stars of sour cream, all sitting on top of a little teeny, tiny potato, just enough for one bite. 
We were buying art, well, he was buying art, I was gasping at the bids and tippling a continuous glass of champagne. What? Not the type? That's exactly the type I see you as. What type do you see me as? You don't want to say. You're blushing. (with a bit of sternous) Well types are seldom accurate. Too narrow, too restrictive either that type or this type never a shade of this and a shadow of that. 
I like the darkness of the morning better than the darkness of the night. How about you?
Yes, there is a difference, in the morning, the light, it rises there, in the east and the night well . . . but the dark is lighter in the mornings, more of blue than black.
You never noticed before? I guess I've sat waiting in both darknesses for much too long.
Sadie, Sadie . . . You remember the song. Gilded lady . . . yes, right. you sang it as a kid . . . Sadie, Sadie guilded lady . . .married lady? Married? No, not me, never me. The song? The song says married lady? UH UH, no, We never sang it like that, we never . . . (sadly) did. Not where I am from. I am from the south, I told you, but I am from the confederacy of fallen women, the cracked belles, the women who walk between marriage and professional women, the women who love the wrong men, who fall for the hollow promises, who hear exactly what the man expects us to hear. It's a great place to be in the moment, but in the darkness, in the aloneness, it takes it's toll, it seeps beyond the exterior, it creates a fissure that only enlarges, never seems to shore up. Men, men sleep with women all the time, it's expected, but of the women with whom they sleep it is unexpected, a terrible catch 22, for with whom are these men expected to sleep? 
ME? Yes, tonight. In his bed, in his fancy. I lived for a moment In his pledge of honor.

Would you like a potato? I have a pocket full, they did have caviar, and the very sourest of cream. I'm afraid I licked off the caviar and the cream, the cream came off in my pockets, I couldn't quite find a way to discard of them discreetly, so I kept them here, in my pockets. No, no, he was not discreet, he didn't say he would be, but he offered me forever, forever until the darkness fell. I believed forever, I always want to believe in the forevers, but always end with the nevers. 

Yes, yes, you do remind me of him. the suit I think, the hair combed back in a wave, your carriage, that of confidence, of assertion, the carriage of a man who gets more times than not what he sets out to get. Women of confidence, of such carriage, cannot get the same things as a man, cannot want the same things as a man, cannot take pleasure in the same things as a man, it is the inequity of man, but I guess then it is a man made world that we live in isn't it? I guess then I should be thankful that I shall not be killed physically for believing this man, our world has progressed beyond that one rung or two, but I still die a little, with each forever I fall into.

Your legs are beginning to tire? Well, please do, have a seat, right here right next to me. 
Well, thank you, it is my father's smile, I rather like yours as well. My dress? it's a party dress, bought for the art party, last night. Sort of sparkles, like the stars against a night sky. 
Thank you, I do believe your arm will warm, these mornings do get a bit chilly. I never plan to be waiting outside at this hour, never do think to bring a silk wrap to throw over my shoulders.
Your shoulder is strong, rather hard, but that's all right, my head was getting tired. Seems like I've been waiting here for a lifetime. HMMMMM, you do smell good, cologne or after shave? Armani? I should have guessed, a man who dresses like you, but what on God's green earth are you waiting on a bus for, at this hour? Oh, you're from out of town? Just finished a long and boring business meeting, they always are too long, too boring. You'd like to buy me a cup of coffee at your hotel? How about something sweet, something other than a potato? . . . . . . I don't know, it's been such a long night. Your breath is awfully warm and sweet, It tickles across my eyelashes as you breath. (pause) This is nice. Oh look here, here it is, our bus. Well, I've managed boarding buses at this hours many, many times by myself, but a gentleman's grip on my waist as I climb these stairs in these extraordinarily tall heels, I thank you, and now that I think about it, a cup of coffee might do me some good, now that this morning is beginning to lighten.