The story below was inspired by the one act play by Ferenc Molnár "A Matter of Husbands" written in 1922 and published in English in 1923 (hence in the public domain). His play is about two women and a man, where one woman is lying to the other. It's so convincing that the the reveal at the end is that she was lying. I wondered, what if both were witches, one real and one not, and bother were lying.
Fred Quibble is a lawyer with a schoolboy’s crush on beautiful BeBe. BeBe Majors, a young actress who’s full of life and loves to flash her glittery dressing gown with an exotic design. They enter BeBe’s dressing room and Fred shuts the door.
BeBe’s dressing room has a dressing screen, a dressing table with various make-up trays and bowls spilling over with jewelry. A flower bouquet sits on a small table between a sofa and a chair. Behind the chair is a small closet. The closet door is open.
“She’s a witch, BeBe.” Fred says.
BeBe admires herself in the big mirror on her dressing table and barely looks at Fred. “All husbands say that about their wives, Freddie dear.”
“You don’t understand,” Fred says. Fred seems worried.
There’s a soft knock on BeBe’s dressing room door. BeBe looks at Fred and points to the closet. He tip-toes into the closet and quietly shuts the door behind
him.
Backstage, in the hallway outside a dressing room, Jane Quibble paints a portrait of a typical plain, worried, young woman with a nervous disposition. She’s dressed in a modest coat, a simple dress and well-worn shoes. She clutches her purse to her like it was a teddy bear. Jane knocks again timidly at BeBe’s door.
BeBe opens the door. “Come in, I’m just putting on my make-up. Do I know you?” BeBe asks.
“I’m Jane Quibble. You don’t know me but I know you,” Jane says.
BeBe waves Jane in. “I should hope so, my poster's in the lobby upstairs,” BeBe says with a bell-like laugh. “What can I do for you?”
“I know how easy it is for you. One night you dress like an exotic witch, and the next night you prance around practically nude like a Greek goddess. You’re beautiful and I’m not. What chance have I against you? I admit that when it comes to looks I’m no match for you.”
“You really think my costume is attractive? I’m playing the witch in Cinderella. You know, ‘abra-cadabra, alakazam!’ and the prince turns into a frog.”
“Yes, and and I don’t want my husband to turn into a frog.”
“I’m completely confused. What are you talking about?”
“Give me back my husband, or else!” Jane shouts.
“Give you back your husband? What's this about? What husband?”
“Give me back my husband, or else!”
“You’re wondering which one. Brown hair, mustache, glasses. He is your agent’s lawyer, Fred.”
“Oh, Freddie the lawyer! I met him once ... yes, of course.”
“You’ve met him more than once. Just give him back to me. It’s a simple request.”
“Again, I’m at a loss. Why do you say I have Freddie?”
“You just admitted that you knew him.”
“Of course I know him. He drew up my last contract. A nice man with a beard –”
“– mustache –”
“– mustache, glasses, and blond hair.”
“– brown hair.”
“I meant to say brown. ... Listen, if you weren’t such a foolish young woman I’d be angry. Where in the world did you get the idea that I’ve taken your husband from you?”
Jane pulls out an envelope from her purse. “Then what about this letter?”
“Letter? To me? Let me see,” BeBe says.
“No. I’ll read it to you.” Jane opens it and reads tearfully. “Ahem. ‘My darling, I won’t be able to see you at the theater tonight. Urgent business. A thousand apologies. Ten thousand kisses. Freddie.’ What do you say to that?”
“Oh!”
“I found it on his desk yesterday. He forgot it to pack it into his briefcase. And I opened it.” Jane sheds a tear.
BeBe offers Jane a tissue. “Are you saying your lawyer husband Freddie writes a letter and leaves it behind him on the desk accidentally? A good lawyer would never do that. Their livelihood depends on keeping track of papers - contracts, depositions, and so on.”
“I see.”
“Tell me, has your husband been ignoring you recently, but he used to be attentive and affectionate?” BeBe asks.
“Why, yes,” Jane admits.
“It’s perfectly clear that your husband has been playing a little joke on you to make you jealous.”
“You really think so?” Jane relaxes.
“There, dear, you mustn’t feel bad. You think your husband’s in a world of perpetual temptation, in a backstage world full of beautiful sirens without a moral in sight. You both hate us and fear us. No one knows that better than your husband. And so he writes a letter and leaves it behind for you to discover.”
“It’s forgotten already, dear.”
“What was it, ‘abra ...’?” Jane asks.
“abra-cadabra, alakazam!” BeBe reminds her.
“Abra-cadabra, Ala-kazam!” Jane says with a flourish!
RIBIT! A frog croaks in BeBe’s closet.
“That’s it!” BeBe turns around fishes through her bowl of jewels. She’s already forgotten about Jane.
“Oh, okay. Well, thank you again.” Jane fades out.
When BeBe looks around Jane is gone. “Freddie, she’s gone.”
BeBe gets up, goes to the closet. RIIIIBIT! Freddie the Frog croaks again on the floor of the closet. BeBe doesn’t even notice and drops her dressing gown on top of him, as she draped her witch costume over her body, admiring herself in the mirror.
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