TERRI: Like a panther? Sleek and sassy. Prowling—
MARK: Through the wild.
TERRI: Don’t you mean, the jungle?
MARK: Yes, the . . . Wait, no! I see where you’re going!
TERRI: Big deal, I was sniffing your tracks ten miles back. I’m so wild, right? The hot sun blazing. Drums beating in the distance. Pounding, pounding . . .
MARK: That’s not fair—!
TERRI: Pounding that Zulu beat.
MARK: You’re putting words into my mouth . . .
TERRI: No, I’m just pulling them out, liberal.
(Terri cracks her whip, driving Mark away from her.)
What good is that handbook now? Did you forget? Forget you’re only supposed to talk about my mind? Forget that a liberal must never ever reveal what’s really on his?
MARK: I’m sorry. I’m sorry . . . Mistress!
TERRI: On your knees, liberal!
(Terri runs the heel of her boot over the length of Mark’s body.)
You wanted to have a little fun, didn’t you? With a wild dark woman whose passions drown out all her inhibitions.
(Terri pushes Mark onto his back, puts the heel of her shoe to his lips.)
I’ll give you passion. Here’s your passion.
MARK: I didn’t mean to offend you.
TERRI: No, you just couldn’t help it. C’mon—suck it. Like the lily-white baby boy you are.
(Mark fellates on her heel.)
That statistic about black women never getting married? What’d you do—study up for today’s session? You thought you could get the best of me—admit it, naughty man, or I’ll have to spank your little butt purple.
MARK: I didn’t study—honest!
TERRI: You hold to that story? Then Mama has no choice but to give you what you want—roll over!
(Mark rolls onto his stomach.)
You actually thought you could get ahead of me on current events!
(Terri whips Mark’s rear during the next few lines.)
MARK: No, I mean—that statistic—it was just—
TERRI: Just
what
?
MARK: Just street knowledge!
TERRI: Street knowledge? Where do you hang out—the Census Bureau? Liar!
(Terri pokes at Mark’s body with the butt of her whip.)
Don’t you know you’ll never defeat me? This is your game—to play all the races—but me—I’ve already become all races. You came to the wrong place, sucker. Inside this costume live the intimate experiences of ethnic groups that haven’t even been born.
(Pause)
Get up. I’m left sickened by that little attempt to assert your will. We’ll have to come up with something really good for such an infraction.
MARK: Can I—can I become Chinese again?
TERRI: What is your problem? It’s not our practice to take requests from the customers.
MARK: I—don’t want you to make things easy on me. I want to go back to what you call a position of weakness. I want you to pull the ropes tight!
TERRI
(Laughs)
: It’s a terrible problem with masochists, really. You don’t know whether being cruel is actually the ultimate kindness. You wanna be the lowest of the low? Then beg for it.
(Mark remains in a supplicant position for the following ritual as Terri casually tidies the room.)
MARK: I desire to be the lowest of men.
TERRI: Why?
MARK: Because my existence is an embarrassment to all women.
TERRI: And why is that?
MARK: Because my mind is dirty, filled with hateful thoughts against them. Threats my weakling body can never make good on—but I give away my intentions at every turn—my lustful gaze can’t help but give offense.
TERRI: Is that why you desire punishment?
MARK: Yes. I desire punishment.
TERRI: But you’ll never dominate your mistress, will you?
(Pause)
Will you?!
(She cracks her whip)
All right. Have it your way. I think there’s an idea brewing in that tiny brain of yours. You saw me stumble earlier tonight—then, you felt a thrill of exhilaration—however short-lived—with your forty-percent statistic. All of a sudden, your hopes are raised, aren’t they? God, it pisses me off more than anything to see hope in a man’s eyes. It’s always the final step before rape.
(Pause)
It’s time to nip hope in the bud. You’ll be your Chinese man, and me—I’ll be an Asian woman, too.
(Pause)
Have you been staring at me across the office—Mark Wong?
MARK: Who? Me?
TERRI: I don’t see anyone else in the room.
MARK: I have to admit—
TERRI: What?
MARK: You are . . . very attractive.
TERRI: It’s good to admit these things. Don’t you feel a lot better already? You’ve been staring at me, haven’t you?
MARK: Maybe . . .
TERRI: No, you don’t mean “maybe.”
MARK: My eyes can’t help but notice . . .
TERRI: You mean, “Yes, sir, that’s my baby.” The only other Asian-American in this office.
MARK: It does seem like we might have something in common.
TERRI: Like what?
MARK: Like—where’d your parents come from?
TERRI: Mom’s from Chicago, Dad’s from Stockton.
MARK: Oh.
TERRI: You didn’t expect me to say “Hong Kong” or “Hiroshima,” did you?
MARK: No, I mean—
TERRI: Because that would be a stereotype. Why—are
you
a foreigner?
MARK: No.
TERRI: I didn’t necessarily think so—
MARK: I was born right here in Los Angeles!
TERRI: But when you ask a question like that, I’m not sure.
MARK: Queen of Angels Hospital!
TERRI: Mmmm. What else do you imagine we might have in common?
MARK: Well, do you ever . . . feel like people are pigeonholing you? Like they assume things?
TERRI: What kinds of things?
MARK: Like you’re probably a whiz at math and science? Or else a Vietcong?
TERRI: No! I was editor of the paper in high school, and the literary journal in college.
MARK: Look, maybe we’re getting off on the wrong foot here.
TERRI: Actually, there
is
one group of people that does categorize me, now that you mention it.
MARK: So you
do
understand.
TERRI: Asian men.
(Pause)
Asian men who just assume because we shared space in a genetic pond millions of years ago that I’m suddenly their property when I walk into a room. Or an office.
(Pause)
Now get this straight. I’m not interested in you, OK? In fact, I’m generally not attracted to Asian men. I don’t have anything against them personally, I just don’t date them as a species.
MARK: Don’t you think that’s a little prejudiced? That you’re not interested in me because of my race? And it’s even your own? I met this black girl a few minutes ago—she seemed to support
her
brothers.
TERRI: Well, her brothers are probably a lot cuter than mine. Look, it’s a free country. Why don’t you do the same? Date a Caucasian woman.
MARK: I tried that too . . . a couple of women back.
TERRI: I’ll tell you why you don’t. Because you Asian men are all alike—you’re looking for someone who reminds you of your mothers. Who’ll smile at the lousiest jokes and spoon rice into your bowl while you just sit and grunt. Well, I’m not about to date any man who reminds me even slightly of my father.
MARK: But a blond rejected me because I
didn’t
remind her of her father.
TERRI: Of course you didn’t! You’re Asian!
MARK: And now, you won’t date me because I
do
remind you of yours?
TERRI: Of course you do! You’re Asian!
MARK: How—how can I win here?
TERRI: It’s simple. You can’t. Have you ever heard of historical karma? That’s the notion that cultures have pasts that eventually catch up with them. For instance, white Americans were evil enough to bring Africans here in chains—now, they should pay for that legacy. Similarly, Asian men have oppressed their women for centuries. Now, they’re paying for their crime by being passed over for dates in favor of white men. It’s a beautiful way to look at history, when you think about it.
MARK: Why should my love life suffer for crimes I didn’t even commit? I’m an American!
TERRI: C’mon—you don’t expect me to buck the wheel of destiny, do you? This is the 1990s—every successful Asian woman walks in on the arm of a white man.
MARK: But—but what about Italian men? Or Latinos? Do you like them?
TERRI: I find them attractive enough, yes.
MARK: Well, what about their cultures? Aren’t they sexist?
TERRI: Why do you stereotype people like that? If pressed, I would characterize them as macho.
MARK: Macho? And Asian men aren’t?
TERRI: No—you’re just sexist.
MARK: What’s the difference?
TERRI: The—I dunno. Macho is . . . sexier, that’s all. You’ve never been known as the most assertive of men.
MARK: How can we be not assertive enough and too oppressive all at the same time?
TERRI: It’s one of the miracles of your psychology. Is it any wonder no one wants to date you?
MARK: Aaargh! You can’t reject me on such faulty reasoning!
TERRI: I can reject you for any reason I want. That’s one of the things which makes courtship so exciting.
(Pause)
It seems obvious now, the way you feel about me, doesn’t it?
MARK: It does not!
TERRI: C’mon—whether black, blond or Asian—I think the answer is the same. You . . . what?
MARK: I . . . find you attractive . . .
TERRI: Give it up! You feel something—something that’s driving you crazy.
MARK: All right! You win! I love you!
TERRI: Really? You do? Why, young man—I had no idea!
(Pause)
I’m sorry . . . but I could never return your affections, you being so very unlovable and all. In fact, your feelings offend me. And so I have no choice but to punish you.
MARK: I understand. You win again.
(He heads for the shackles on the wall)
TERRI: Say it again. Like you mean it.
MARK: You win! I admit it!
TERRI: Not that—the other part!
MARK: You mean, “I love you”? Mistress Terri, I love you.
TERRI: No! More believable! The last thing anyone wants is an apathetic slave!
MARK: But I
do
love you! More than any woman—
TERRI: Or man?
MARK: Or anything—any creature—any impulse . . . in my own body—more than any part of my body . . . that’s how much I love you.
TERRI: You’re still not doing it right, damn it!
MARK: I’m screaming it like I always do—I was almost getting poetic there . . .
TERRI: Shut up! It’s just not good enough.
You’re
not good enough. I won’t be left unsatisfied. Come here.
MARK: But—
TERRI : You wanna know a secret? It doesn’t matter what you say—there’s one thing that always makes your words ring false—one thing that lets me know you’re itching to oppress me.
MARK: Wha—what do you mean?
TERRI: I don’t think you want to hear it. But maybe . . . maybe I want to tell you anyway.
MARK: Tell me! I can take the punishment.
TERRI: What sickens me most . . . is that you feel compelled to play these kinds of parlor games with me.
MARK: What—what the hell are you—?!