She Writes What She Knows--Losing at Love

Leslie Caveny rummages around in her purse and pulls out a large pink clock on a rope. “It’s my biological clock,” she says blithely, hanging it around her neck. “Of course, most people’s biological clock is about getting married and having babies. This is just about having someone to sleep with. So maybe it’s a hormonal love-life clock. Someday, somewhere, somebody will want to be with me.”

It is--and isn’t--as tragic as it sounds. In her “Love of a Pig” (through Aug. 13 at Studio City’s Theatre West), Caveny, 27, traverses the rocky wasteland of singlehood and one-sided love in a way that is at once comical, sad, terrifying, mortifying and exhilarating. It is also achingly real. Working with a quick-change chorus of cohorts, Caveny plays Jenny, an engaging violinist who is head-over-heels for Joe, a churlish, self-involved bass player.

Ostensibly a piece of fiction, the writer’s own love life is the obvious--and unabashed--source. “How pathetic have I been?” says Caveny, giggling. “Very pathetic.”

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The titular reference, she says, denotes “a guy who does not treat you well, and you take it. He may not treat you any way at all, and still you want him. I know a lot of women like that--and a lot of men. So it’s not a man-hate thing. I spent a lot of years blaming men. Finally, I realized if I blame them, I don’t have any control. But if I take some of the responsibility, I can control it, I can change it. I can change what I’m willing to put up with.”

That includes societal pressures.

“I’ve been accused of being an Amazon. I’ve felt guilty too, like, ‘Oh, I’m not feminine enough; my body’s not a certain way.’ I think I’m past that now. I’m liking myself more in that way.” And yet she says firmly, “I’m not someone who’s dying to be married. I mean, in the least few years, I’ve been asked out on more dates. So I’m not panicked in the sense that nobody’s showing any signs of interest at all. It’s just that so far, all my relationships have been unhealthy.”

How unhealthy?

“I always felt I was very strong, independent, capable, happy,” she says wryly. “But in relationships, I’d become nothing. My longest relationship was 11 months; the average is six months. There’ve also been times I couldn’t get a date to save my life. I once went a year and a half without a hug, kiss, anything. Then I’d meet someone who’d want to be taken care of. So I’d get in there, try to fix their lives; they’d need me and want to be with me all the time--and I’d think that was love. But it was never about me .”

The love match in this play is one of those lopsided scenarios.

“It’s based on a particular man who I was obsessed with,” Caveny says, nodding. “I chose to pretend the relationship was something completely different. If he just looked at me, I’d think, ‘Yes, he loves me!’ ” For months, she nursed her crush from afar, as friends egged her on, persuading her that his passivity was not disinterest but shyness. Then one night, out of the blue, he made his move. She was wary but succumbed. The next morning he didn’t speak to her. (“ Major pig.”)

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Growing up in New Jersey and Alabama, Caveny recalls writing poems and stories from childhood on. At 15, she developed a bad case of acne and persuaded her parents to let her transfer to a boarding school. “High school was very hard and very cruel,” she says soberly. “Being made fun of and teased. Looking back, I realize they probably didn’t say as many things as I thought. But I was so self-conscious. And I felt so hideous.”

At Boston University, Caveny studied playwrighting with Derek Walcott but got a bachelor of fine arts in theater performance. “I always wanted to be a writer,” she explains, “but I decided I couldn’t try to do both. So writing went on the back burner. But I always took creative writing classes, and did some short stories.” She pauses. “I believe in my acting abilities 100%, and I love performing. But there’s a separate pride I have about writing. It just feels more . . . important.”

A move to New York after college was short-lived: “I spent my time auditioning, trying to pay the rent and running from scary people. A guy put a knife to my throat in the subway. That had been my biggest fear--and now it was coming true. I thought, ‘I’m going to die like this? This is ridiculous.’

Since arriving here in 1985, Caveny has become a member of Theatre West’s acting and writing workshops, and also ventured into doing stand-up comedy around town. In the stand-up work, she says, “I do one character predominantly, kind of an alter-ego. But it works out very nicely. ‘Babs’ can be as pathetic as she wants--and nobody ever thinks it’s me.”

Displaying her private pain publicly, Caveny says, has never fazed her. “I guess I don’t worry about peddling my guts on stage,” she says with a shrug. “I worry about physical danger. I don’t want to pretend that people can’t hurt my feelings. Of course they can. But when we did this for the Theatre West Fest, so many people came up to me and told me how they related to it, it blew my mind. They all knew Joe. The funny thing is, none of the men ever think they’re Joe.”