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A-goosing statues in the dark.

If Sherman’s horse can take it,

So can you—oo!

[There is a knock on the door.]

JEKYLL: [Aside] Hmmmm. A possible guinea pig. [To knocker] Entrez, s’il vous plait.

[Jekyll’s wife, a gorgeous, tragically neglected older woman, enters. He does not recognize her. She immediately sings to him in a rich contralto a show-stopping song about her total devotion to him.]

JEKYLL: May I ask who you are?

MRS. JEKYLL: I’m your wife, Henry.

JEKYLL: Right, right, right. Got it now.

MRS. JEKYLL: When you failed to come home for supper, I called around to find out what had become of you.

JEKYLL: [Genuinely concerned] Am I all right?

MRS. JEKYLL: Here you are.

JEKYLL: Thank God. I could be lying in a ditch somewhere.

MRS. JEKYLL: They said you were going all out for the Nobel prize.

JEKYLL: [Intensely] It’s the new me, Mildred.

MRS. JEKYLL: [Correcting him] Hortense.

JEKYLL: It’s the new me, Hortense. Say—you look thirsty to me.

MRS. JEKYLL: Thirsty?

JEKYLL: [Offering the beaker] This’ll put hair on your chest.

MRS. JEKYLL: Why would I want hair on my chest?

JEKYLL: Just a friendly expression. You have to pick me up on every last little thing? I don’t know how our marriage has lasted as long as it has.

MRS. JEKYLL: That stuff smells vile!

JEKYLL: But you love me so much. That was you, wasn’t it?

MRS. JEKYLL: Yes—it was I.

JEKYLL: Okay—so drink, chug-a-lug, chug-a-lug; so drink, chug-a-lug, chug-a-lug!

MRS. JEKYLL: This is the first thing I have ever refused you.

[MRS. JEKYLL exits with dignity.]

JEKYLL: [Aside] If it’s anything that burns me up, it’s women’s lib. [To himself] Okay, big boy—if you’re ever going to get to Stockholm, you’d better drink this stuff yourself. Here goes nothing.

[He holds his nose and drinks. Nothing happens for a moment, then a horrible transformation starts to take place. He claws at his throat, makes subhuman sounds, drops to the floor, rolls out of sight under a desk. When he emerges, he has become an enormous, homicidal chicken. He flings open the window, and, flapping his wings, jumps out into the night.]

CURTAIN

• • •

INTERMISSION

• • •

SCENE 5: THE STAGE AT MIDNIGHT THE SAME NIGHT. THE STUDENTS HAVE BUILT A SET TO REPRESENT A NINETEENTH-CENTURY LONDON STREET. THERE ARE THREE FACADES FROM LEFT TO RIGHT: A LOW-LIFE PUB, A SINISTER STOREHOUSE WHERE JEKYLL DOES HIS EXPERIMENTS, AND JEKYLL’S RESPECTABLE HOME. ALL HAVE OPERATING DOORS. THERE ARE STREETLAMPS. THERE IS A PROMINENT SIGN ON THE SECRET LAB SAYING, “SECRET LAB.”

[Before the rise: College library clock strikes twelve.

At the rise: Full cast, except for WHITEFEET, DR. JEKYLL, and MRS. JEKYLL, is onstage. All except LEGHORN, who is a mere observer in his regular business suit, are dressed in Victorian costumes from every level of society. POPS is a bobby, already on duty. SALLY is a whore with a heart of gold, already waiting for customers under a lamppost. JERRY, who is going to be Dr. Jekyll, wears a top hat and evening cape, and directs many students who are still working on the set, painting, driving nails. Among them is SAM, wearing a tweed suit and derby, who is to be Utterson, Jekyll’s best friend, and KIMBERLY, who is dressed as a nursery maid. Her elaborate perambulator is parked on the street. LEGHORN has been interesting himself in the fog machine, which is now putting out wisps of fog.]

JERRY: Okay, kids—that’s close enough. We just want to give the general idea. No point in getting it absolutely perfect tonight.

[Students put down their tools, assemble on the street, awaiting instructions. LEGHORN goes to JERRY.]

LEGHORN: I got your fog machine going.

JERRY: I see.

LEGHORN: It really is one of my old industrial chicken roasters. Didn’t realize they were being sold now as fog machines.

JERRY: It wasn’t cheap.

LEGHORN: Nothing ever is. If you ever wanted to roast a half a ton of chicken in five minutes, you still could—feathers and all.

JERRY: That’s nice to know.

SALLY: I love you, Jerry. I’d die for you, if you wanted me to. JERRY: That’s