The room was warm and clean, the curtains drawn, the two table lamps alight-hers and the one by the empty chair opposite. On the sideboard behind her, two tall glasses, soda water, whiskey. Fresh ice cubes in the Thermos bucket.
Mary Maloney was waiting for her husband to come him from work.
Now and again she would glance up at the clock, but without anxiety, merely to please herself with the thought that each minute gone by made it nearer the time when he would come. There was a slow smiling air about her, and about everything she did. The drop of a head as she bent over her sewing was curiously tranquil. Her skin -for this was her sixth month with child-had acquired a wonderful translucent quality, the mouth was soft, and the eyes, with their new placid look, seemed larger darker than before. When the clock said ten minutes to five, she began to listen, and a few moments later, punctually as always, she heard the tires on the gravel outside, and the car door slamming, the footsteps passing the window, the key turning in the lock. She laid aside her sewing, stood up, and went forward to kiss him as he came in.
“Hullo darling,” she said.
“Hullo darling,” he answered.
She took his coat and hung it in the closer. Then she walked over and made the drinks, a strongish one for him, a weak one for herself; and soon she was back again in her chair with the sewing, and he in the other, opposite, holding the tall glass with both hands, rocking it so the ice cubes tinkled against the side.
For her, this was always a blissful time of day. She knew he didn’t want to speak much until the first drink was finished, and she, on her side, was content to sit quietly, enjoying his company after the long hours alone in the house. She loved to luxuriate in the presence of this man, and to feel-almost as a sunbather feels the sun-that warm male glow that came out of him to her when they were alone together. She loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, for the way he came in a door, or moved slowly across the room with long strides. She loved intent, far look in his eyes when they rested in her, the funny shape of the mouth, and especially the way he remained silent about his tiredness, sitting still with himself until the whiskey had taken some of it away.
“Tired darling?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m tired,” And as he spoke, he did an unusual thing. He lifted his glass and drained it in one swallow although there was still half of it, at least half of it left.. She wasn’t really watching him, but she knew what he had done because she heard the ice cubes falling back against the bottom of the empty glass when he lowered his arm. He paused a moment, leaning forward in the chair, then he got up and went slowly over to fetch himself another.
“I’ll get it!” she cried, jumping up.
“Sit down,” he said.
When he came back, she noticed that the new drink was dark amber with the quantity of whiskey in it.
“Darling, shall I get your slippers?”
“No.”
She watched him as he began to sip the dark yellow drink, and she could see little oily swirls in the liquid because it was so strong.
“I think it’s a shame,” she said, “that when a policeman gets to be as senior as you, they keep him walking about on his feet all day long.”
He didn’t answer, so she bent her head again and went on with her sewing; bet each time he lifted the drink to his lips, she heard the ice cubes clinking against the side of the glass.
“Darling,” she said. “Would you like me to get you some cheese? I haven’t made any supper because it’s Thursday.”
“No,” he said.
“If you’re too tired to eat out,” she went on, “it’s still not too late. There’s plenty of meat and stuff in the freezer, and you can have it right here and not even move out of the chair.”
Her eyes waited on him for an answer, a smile, a little nod, but he made no sign.
“Anyway,” she went on, “I’ll get you some cheese and crackers first.”
“I don’t want it,” he said.
She moved uneasily in her chair, the large eyes still watching his face. “But you must eat! I’ll fix it anyway, and then you can have it or not, as you like.”
She stood up and placed her sewing on the table by the lamp.
“Sit down,” he said. “Just for a minute, sit down.”
It wasn’t till then that she began to get frightened.
“Go on,” he said. “Sit down.”
She lowered herself back slowly into the chair, watching him all the time with those large, bewildered eyes. He had finished the second drink and was staring down into the glass, frowning.
“Listen,” he said. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
“What is it, darling? What’s the matter?”
He had now become absolutely motionless, and he kept his head down so that the light from the lamp beside him fell across the upper part of his face, leaving the chin and mouth in shadow. She noticed there was a little muscle moving near the corner of his left eye.
“This is going to be a bit of a shock to you, I’m afraid,” he said. “But I’ve thought about it a good deal and I’ve decided the only thing to do is tell you right away. I hope you won’t blame me too much.”
And he told her. It didn’t take long, four or five minutes at most, and she say very still through it all, watching him with a kind of dazed horror as he went further and further away from her with each word.
“So there it is,” he added. “And I know it’s kind of a bad time to be telling you, bet there simply wasn’t any other way. Of course I’ll give you money and see you’re looked after. But there needn’t really be any fuss. I hope not anyway. It wouldn’t be very good for my job.”
Her first instinct was not to believe any of it, to reject it all. It occurred to her that perhaps he hadn’t even spoken, that she herself had imagined the whole thing. Maybe, if she went about her business and acted as though she hadn’t been listening, then later, when she sort of woke up again, she might find none of it had ever happened.
“I’ll get the supper,” she managed to whisper, and this time he didn’t stop her.
When she walked across the room she couldn’t feel her feet touching the floor. She couldn’t feel anything at all- except a slight nausea and a desire to vomit. Everything was automatic now-down the steps to the cellar, the light switch, the deep freeze, the hand inside the cabinet taking hold of the first object it met. She lifted it out, and looked at it. It was wrapped in paper, so she took off the paper and looked at it again.
A leg of lamb.
All right then, they would have lamb for supper. She carried it upstairs, holding the thin bone-end of it with both her hands, and as she went through the living-room, she saw him standing over by the window with his back to her, and she stopped.
“For God’s sake,” he said, hearing her, but not turning round. “Don’t make supper for me. I’m going out.”
At that point, Mary Maloney simply walked up behind him and without any pause she swung the big frozen leg of lamb high in the air and brought it down as hard as she could on the back of his head.
She might just as well have hit him with a steel club.
She stepped back a pace, waiting, and the funny thing was that he remained standing there for at least four or five seconds, gently swaying. Then he crashed to the carpet.
The violence of the crash, the noise, the small table overturning, helped bring her out of he shock. She came out slowly, feeling cold and surprised, and she stood for a while blinking at the body, still holding the ridiculous piece of meat tight with both hands.
All right, she told herself. So I’ve killed him.
It was extraordinary, now, how clear her mind became all of a sudden. She began thinking very fast. As the wife of a detective, she knew quite well what the penalty would be. That was fine. It made no difference to her. In fact, it would be a relief. On the other hand, what about the child? What were the laws about murderers with unborn children? Did they kill then both-mother and child? Or did they wait until the tenth month? What did they do?
Mary Maloney didn’t know. And she certainly wasn’t prepared to take a chance.
She carried the meat into the kitchen, placed it in a pan, turned the oven on high, and shoved t inside. Then she washed her hands and ran upstairs to the bedroom. She sat down before the mirror, tidied her hair, touched up her lops and face. She tried a smile. It came out rather peculiar. She tried again.
“Hullo Sam,” she said brightly, aloud.
The voice sounded peculiar too.
“I want some potatoes please, Sam. Yes, and I think a can of peas.”
That was better. Both the smile and the voice were coming out better now. She rehearsed it several times more. Then she ran downstairs, took her coat, went out the back door, down the garden, into the street.
It wasn’t six o’clock yet and the lights were still on in the grocery shop.
“Hullo Sam,” she said brightly, smiling at the man behind the counter.
“Why, good evening, Mrs. Maloney. How’re you?”
“I want some potatoes please, Sam. Yes, and I think a can of peas.”
The man turned and reached up behind him on the shelf for the peas.
“Patrick’s decided he’s tired and doesn’t want to eat out tonight,” she told him. “We usually go out Thursdays, you know, and now he’s caught me without any vegetables in the house.”
“Then how about meat, Mrs. Maloney?”
“No, I’ve got meat, thanks. I got a nice leg of lamb from the freezer.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t know much like cooking it frozen, Sam, but I’m taking a chance on it this time. You think it’ll be all right?”
“Personally,” the grocer said, “I don’t believe it makes any difference. You want these Idaho potatoes?”
“Oh yes, that’ll be fine. Two of those.”
“Anything else?” The grocer cocked his head on one side, looking at her pleasantly. “How about afterwards? What you going to give him for afterwards?”
“Well-what would you suggest, Sam?”
The man glanced around his shop. “How about a nice big slice of cheesecake? I know he likes that.”
“Perfect,” she said. “He loves it.”
And when it was all wrapped and she had paid, she put on her brightest smile and said, “Thank you, Sam. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Mrs. Maloney. And thank you.”
And now, she told herself as she hurried back, all she was doing now, she was returning home to her husband and he was waiting for his supper; and she must cook it good, and make it as tasty as possible because the poor man was tired; and if, when she entered the house, she happened to find anything unusual, or tragic, or terrible, then naturally it would be a shock and she’d become frantic with grief and horror. Mind you, she wasn’t expecting to find anything. She was just going home with the vegetables. Mrs. Patrick Maloney going home with the vegetables on Thursday evening to cook supper for her husband.
That’s the way, she told herself. Do everything right and natural. Keep things absolutely natural and there’ll be no need for any acting at all.
Therefore, when she entered the kitchen by the back door, she was humming a little tune to herself and smiling.
“Patrick!” she called. “How are you, darling?”
She put the parcel down on the table and went through into the living room; and when she saw him lying there on the floor with his legs doubled up and one arm twisted back underneath his body, it really was rather a shock. All the old love and longing for him welled up inside her, and she ran over to him, knelt down beside him, and began to cry her heart out. It was easy. No acting was necessary.
A few minutes later she got up and went to the phone. She know the number of the police station, and when the man at the other end answered, she cried to him, “Quick! Come quick! Patrick’s dead!”
“Who’s speaking?”
“Mrs. Maloney. Mrs. Patrick Maloney.”
“You mean Patrick Maloney’s dead?”
“I think so,” she sobbed. “He’s lying on the floor and I think he’s dead.”
“Be right over,” the man said.
The car came very quickly, and when she opened the front door, two policeman walked in. She know them both-she know nearly all the man at that precinct-and she fell right into a chair, then went over to join the other one, who was called O’Malley, kneeling by the body.
“Is he dead?” she cried.
“I’m afraid he is. What happened?”
Briefly, she told her story about going out to the grocer and coming back to find him on the floor. While she was talking, crying and talking, Noonan discovered a small patch of congealed blood on the dead man’s head. He showed it to O’Malley who got up at once and hurried to the phone.
Soon, other men began to come into the house. First a doctor, then two detectives, one of whom she know by name. Later, a police photographer arrived and took pictures, and a man who know about fingerprints. There was a great deal of whispering and muttering beside the corpse, and the detectives kept asking her a lot of questions. But they always treated her kindly. She told her story again, this time right from the beginning, when Patrick had come in, and she was sewing, and he was tired, so tired he hadn’t wanted to go out for supper. She told how she’d put the meat in the oven-”it’s there now, cooking”- and how she’d slopped out to the grocer for vegetables, and come back to find him lying on the floor.
Which grocer?” one of the detectives asked.
She told him, and he turned and whispered something to the other detective who immediately went outside into the street.
In fifteen minutes he was back with a page of notes, and there was more whispering, and through her sobbing she heard a few of the whispered phrases-”...acted quite normal...very cheerful...wanted to give him a good supper…peas...cheesecake...impossible that she...”
After a while, the photographer and the doctor departed and two other men came in and took the corpse away on a stretcher. Then the fingerprint man went away. The two detectives remained, and so did the two policeman. They were exceptionally nice to her, and Jack Noonan asked if she wouldn’t rather go somewhere else, to her sister’s house perhaps, or to his own wife who would take care of her and put her up for the night.
No, she said. She didn’t feel she could move even a yard at the moment. Would they mind awfully of she stayed just where she was until she felt better. She didn’t feel too good at the moment, she really didn’t.
Then hadn’t she better lie down on the bed? Jack Noonan asked.
No, she said. She’d like to stay right where she was, in this chair. A little later, perhaps, when she felt better, she would move.
So they left her there while they went about their business, searching the house. Occasionally on of the detectives asked her another question. Sometimes Jack Noonan spoke at her gently as he passed by. Her husband, he told her, had been killed by a blow on the back of the head administered with a heavy blunt instrument, almost certainly a large piece of metal. They were looking for the weapon. The murderer may have taken it with him, but on the other hand he may have thrown it away or hidden it somewhere on the premises.
“It’s the old story,” he said. “Get the weapon, and you’ve got the man.”
Later, one of the detectives came up and sat beside her. Did she know, he asked, of anything in the house that could’ve been used as the weapon? Would she mind having a look around to see if anything was missing-a very big spanner, for example, or a heavy metal vase.
They didn’t have any heavy metal vases, she said.
“Or a big spanner?”
She didn’t think they had a big spanner. But there might be some things like that in the garage.
The search went on. She knew that there were other policemen in the garden all around the house. She could hear their footsteps on the gravel outside, and sometimes she saw a flash of a torch through a chink in the curtains. It began to get late, nearly nine she noticed by the clock on the mantle. The four men searching the rooms seemed to be growing weary, a trifle exasperated.
“Jack,” she said, the next tome Sergeant Noonan went by. “Would you mind giving me a drink?”
“Sure I’ll give you a drink. You mean this whiskey?”
“Yes please. But just a small one. It might make me feel better.”
He handed her the glass.
“Why don’t you have one yourself,” she said. “You must be awfully tired. Please do. You’ve been very good to me.”
“Well,” he answered. “It’s not strictly allowed, but I might take just a drop to keep me going.”
One by one the others came in and were persuaded to take a little nip of whiskey. They stood around rather awkwardly with the drinks in their hands, uncomfortable in her presence, trying to say consoling things to her. Sergeant Noonan wandered into the kitchen, come out quickly and said, “Look, Mrs. Maloney. You know that oven of yours is still on, and the meat still inside.”
“Oh dear me!” she cried. “So it is!”
“I better turn it off for you, hadn’t I?”
“Will you do that, Jack. Thank you so much.”
When the sergeant returned the second time, she looked at him with her large, dark tearful eyes. “Jack Noonan,” she said.
“Yes?”
“Would you do me a small favor-you and these others?”
“We can try, Mrs. Maloney.”
“Well,” she said. “Here you all are, and good friends of dear Patrick’s too, and helping to catch the man who killed him. You must be terrible hungry by now because it’s long past your suppertime, and I know Patrick would never forgive me, God bless his soul, if I allowed you to remain in his house without offering you decent hospitality. Why don’t you eat up that lamb that’s in the oven. It’ll be cooked just right by now.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sergeant Noonan said.
“Please,” she begged. “Please eat it. Personally I couldn’t tough a thing, certainly not what’s been in the house when he was here. But it’s all right for you. It’d be a favor to me if you’d eat it up. Then you can go on with your work again afterwards.”
There was a good deal of hesitating among the four policemen, but they were clearly hungry, and in the end they were persuaded to go into the kitchen and help themselves. The woman stayed where she was, listening to them speaking among themselves, their voices thick and sloppy because their mouths were full of meat.
“Have some more, Charlie?”
“No. Better not finish it.”
“She wants us to finish it. She said so. Be doing her a favor.”
“Okay then. Give me some more.”
“That’s the hell of a big club the gut must’ve used to hit poor Patrick,” one of them was saying. “The doc says his skull was smashed all to pieces just like from a sledgehammer.”
“That’s why it ought to be easy to find.”
“Exactly what I say.”
“Whoever done it, they’re not going to be carrying a thing like that around with them longer than they need.”
One of them belched.
“Personally, I think it’s right here on the premises.”
“Probably right under our very noses. What you think, Jack?”
And in the other room, Mary Maloney began to giggle
Sabtu, 31 Maret 2012
Kamis, 29 Maret 2012
Raymond's Run by Toni Cade Bambara
I don’t have much work to do around the house like some girls. My mother does that. And I don’t have to earn my pocket money by hustling; George runs errands for the big boys and sells Christmas cards. And anything else that’s got to get done, my father does. All I have to do in life is mind my brother Raymond, which is enough.
Sometimes I slip and say my little brother Raymond. But as any fool can see he’s much bigger and he’s older too. But a lot of people call him my little brother cause he needs looking after cause he’s not quite right. And a lot of smart mouths got lots to say about that too, especially when George was minding him. But now, if anybody has anything to say to Raymond, anything to say about his big head, they have to come by me. And I don’t play the dozens or believe in standing around with somebody in my face doing a lot of talking. I much rather just knock you down and take my chances even if I am a little girl with skinny arms and a squeaky voice, which is how I got the name Squeaky. And if things get too rough, I run. And as anybody can tell you, I’m the fastest thing on two feet.
There is no track meet that I don’t win the first-place medal. I used to win the twenty-yard dash when I was a little kid in kindergarten. Nowadays, it’s the fifty-yard dash. And tomorrow I’m subject to run the quarter-meter relay all by myself and come in first, second, and third. The big kids call me Mercury cause I’m the swiftest thing in the neighborhood. Everybody knows that—except two people who know better, my father and me. He can beat me to Amsterdam Avenue with me having a two-fire-hydrant headstart and him running with his hands in his pockets and whistling. But that’s private information. Cause can you imagine some thirty-five-year-old man stuffing himself into PAL shorts to race little kids? So as far as everyone’s concerned, I’m the fastest and that goes for Gretchen, too, who has put out the tale that she is going to win the first-place medal this year. Ridiculous. In the second place, she’s got short legs. In the third place, she’s got freckles. In the first place, no one can beat me and that’s all there is to it.
I’m standing on the corner admiring the weather and about to take a stroll down Broadway so I can practice my breathing exercises, and I’ve got Raymond walking on the inside close to the buildings, cause he’s subject to fits of fantasy and starts thinking he’s a circus performer and that the curb is a tightrope strung high in the air. And sometimes after a rain he likes to step down off his tightrope right into the gutter and slosh around getting his shoes and cuffs wet. Then I get hit when I get home. Or sometimes if you don’t watch him he’ll dash across traffic to the island in the middle of Broadway and give the pigeons a fit. Then I have to go behind him apologizing to all the old people sitting around trying to get some sun and getting all upset with the pigeons fluttering around them, scattering their newspapers and upsetting the waxpaper lunches in their laps. So I keep Raymond on the inside of me, and he plays like he’s driving a stage coach which is OK by me so long as he doesn’t run me over or interrupt my breathing exercises, which I have to do on account of I’m serious about my running, and I don’t care who knows it.
(page 1)
Now some people like to act like things come easy to them, won’t let on that they practice. Not me. I’ll high-prance down 34th Street like a rodeo pony to keep my knees strong even if it does get my mother uptight so that she walks ahead like she’s not with me, don’t know me, is all by herself on a shopping trip, and I am somebody else’s crazy child. Now you take Cynthia Procter for instance. She’s just the opposite. If there’s a test tomorrow, she’ll say something like, “Oh, I guess I’ll play handball this afternoon and watch television tonight,” just to let you know she ain’t thinking about the test. Or like last week when she won the spelling bee for the millionth time, “A good thing you got ‘receive,’ Squeaky, cause I would have got it wrong. I completely forgot about the spelling bee.” And she’ll clutch the lace on her blouse like it was a narrow escape. Oh, brother. But of course when I pass her house on my early morning trots around the block, she is practicing the scales on the piano over and over and over and over. Then in music class she always lets herself get bumped around so she falls accidentally on purpose onto the piano stool and is so surprised to find herself sitting there that she decides just for fun to try out the ole keys. And what do you know—Chopin’s waltzes just spring out of her fingertips and she’s the most surprised thing in the world. A regular prodigy. I could kill people like that. I stay up all night studying the words for the spelling bee. And you can see me any time of day practicing running. I never walk if I can trot, and shame on Raymond if he can’t keep up. But of course he does, cause if he hangs back someone’s liable to walk up to him and get smart, or take his allowance from him, or ask him where he got that great big pumpkin head. People are so stupid sometimes.
So I’m strolling down Broadway breathing out and breathing in on counts of seven, which is my lucky number, and here comes Gretchen and her sidekicks: Mary Louise, who used to be a friend of mine when she first moved to Harlem from Baltimore and got beat up by everybody till I took up for her on account of her mother and my mother used to sing in the same choir when they were young girls, but people ain’t grateful, so now she hangs out with the new girl Gretchen and talks about me like a dog; and Rosie, who is as fat as I am skinny and has a big mouth where Raymond is concerned and is too stupid to know that there is not a big deal of difference between herself and Raymond and that she can’t afford to throw stones. So they are steady coming up Broadway and I see right away that it’s going to be one of those Dodge City scenes cause the street ain’t that big and they’re close to the buildings just as we are. First I think I’ll step into the candy store and look over the new comics and let them pass. But that’s chicken and I’ve got a reputation to consider. So then I think I’ll just walk straight on through them or even over them if necessary. But as they get to me, they slow down. I’m ready to fight, cause like I said I don’t feature a whole lot of chit-chat, I much prefer to just knock you down right from the jump and save everybody a lotta precious time.
“You signing up for the May Day races?” smiles Mary Louise, only it’s not a smile at all. A dumb question like that doesn’t deserve an answer. Besides, there’s just me and Gretchen standing there really, so no use wasting my breath talking to shadows.
“I don’t think you’re going to win this time,” says Rosie, trying to signify with her hands on her hips all salty, completely forgetting that I have whupped her behind many times for less salt than that.
(page 2)
“I always win cause I’m the best,” I say straight at Gretchen who is, as far as I’m concerned, the only one talking in this ventrilo-quist-dummy routine. Gretchen smiles, but it’s not a smile, and I’m thinking that girls never really smile at each other because they don’t know how and don’t want to know how and there’s probably no one to teach us how, cause grown-up girls don’t know either. Then they all look at Raymond who has just brought his mule team to a standstill. And they’re about to see what trouble they can get into through him.
“What grade you in now, Raymond?”
“You got anything to say to my brother, you say it to me, Mary Louise Williams of Raggedy Town, Baltimore.”
“What are you, his mother?” sasses Rosie.
“That’s right, Fatso. And the next word out of anybody and I’ll be their mother too.” So they just stand there and Gretchen shifts from one leg to the other and so do they. Then Gretchen puts her hands on her hips and is about to say something with her freckle-face self but doesn’t. Then she walks around me looking me up and down but keeps walking up Broadway, and her sidekicks follow her. So me and Raymond smile at each other and he says, “Gidyap” to his team and I continue with my breathing exercises, strolling down Broadway toward the ice man on 145th with not a care in the world cause I am Miss Quicksilver herself.
I take my time getting to the park on May Day because the track meet is the last thing on the program. The biggest thing on the program is the May Pole dancing, which I can do without, thank you, even if my mother thinks it’s a shame I don’t take part and act like a girl for a change. You’d think my mother’d be grateful not to have to make me a white organdy dress with a big satin sash and buy me new white baby-doll shoes that can’t be taken out of the box till the big day. You’d think she’d be glad her daughter ain’t out there prancing around a May Pole getting the new clothes all dirty and sweaty and trying to act like a fairy or a flower or whatever you’re supposed to be when you should be trying to be yourself, whatever that is, which is, as far as I am concerned, a poor black girl who really can’t afford to buy shoes and a new dress you only wear once a lifetime cause it won’t fit next year.
I was once a strawberry in a Hansel and Gretel pageant when I was in nursery school and didn’t have no better sense than to dance on tiptoe with my arms in a circle over my head doing umbrella steps and being a perfect fool just so my mother and father could come dressed up and clap. You’d think they’d know better than to encourage that kind of nonsense. I am not a strawberry. I do not dance on my toes. I run. That is what I am all about. So I always come late to the May Day program, just in time to get my number pinned on and lay in the grass till they announce the fifty-yard dash.
I put Raymond in the little swings, which is a tight squeeze this year and will be impossible next year. Then I look around for Mr. Pearson, who pins the numbers on. I’m really looking for Gretchen if you want to know the truth, but she’s not around. The park is jam-packed. Parents in hats and corsages and breast-pocket handkerchiefs peeking up. Kids in white dresses and light-blue suits. The parkees unfolding chairs and chasing the rowdy kids from Lenox as if they had no right to be there. The big guys with their caps on backwards, leaning against the fence swirling the basketballs on the tips of their fingers, waiting for all these crazy people to clear out the park so they can play. Most of the kids in my class are carrying bass drums and glockenspiels and flutes. You’d think they’d put in a few bongos or something for real like that.
Then here comes Mr. Pearson with his clipboard and his cards and pencils and whistles and safety pins and fifty million other things he’s always dropping all over the place with his clumsy self. He sticks out in a crowd because he’s on stilts. We used to call him Jack and the Beanstalk to get him mad. But I’m the only one that can outrun him and get away, and I’m too grown for that silliness now.
“Well, Squeaky,” he says, checking my name off the list and handing me number seven and two pins. And I’m thinking he’s got no right to call me Squeaky, if I can’t call him Beanstalk.
“Hazel Elizabeth Deborah Parker,” I correct him and tell him to write it down on his board.
“Well, Hazel Elizabeth Deborah Parker, going to give someone else a break this year?” I squint at him real hard to see if he is seriously thinking I should lose the race on purpose just to give someone else a break. “Only six girls running this time,” he continues, shaking his head sadly like it’s my fault all of New York didn’t turn out in sneakers. “That new girl should give you a run for your money.” He looks around the park for Gretchen like a periscope in a submarine movie. “Wouldn’t it be a nice gesture if you were . . . to ahhh . . .”
I give him such a look he couldn’t finish putting that idea into words. Grown-ups got a lot of nerve sometimes. I pin number seven to myself and stomp away, I’m so burnt. And I go straight for the track and stretch out on the grass while the band winds up with “Oh, the Monkey Wrapped His Tail Around the Flag Pole,” which my teacher calls by some other name. The man on the loudspeaker is calling everyone over to the track and I’m on my back looking at the sky, trying to pretend I’m in the country, but I can’t, because even grass in the city feels hard as sidewalk, and there’s just no pretending you are anywhere but in a “concrete jungle” as my grandfather says.
The twenty-yard dash takes all of two minutes cause most of the little kids don’t know no better than to run off the track or run the wrong way or run smack into the fence and fall down and cry. One little kid, though, has got the good sense to run straight for the white ribbon up ahead so he wins. Then the second-graders line up for the thirty-yard dash and I don’t even bother to turn my head to watch cause Raphael Perez always wins. He wins before he even begins by psyching the runners, telling them they’re going to trip on their shoelaces and fall on their faces or lose their shorts or something, which he doesn’t really have to do since he is very fast, almost as fast as I am. After that is the forty-yard dash which I used to run when I was in first grade. Raymond is hollering from the swings cause he knows I’m about to do my thing cause the man on the loudspeaker has just announced the fifty-yard dash, although he might just as well be giving a recipe for angel food cake cause you can hardly make out what he’s sayin for the static. I get up and slip off my sweat pants and then I see Gretchen standing at the starting line, kicking her legs out like a pro. Then as I get into place I see that ole Raymond is on line on the other side of the fence, bending down with his fingers on the ground just like he knew what he was doing. I was going to yell at him but then I didn’t. It burns up your energy to holler.
(page 3)
Every time, just before I take off in a race, I always feel like I’m in a dream, the kind of dream you have when you’re sick with fever and feel all hot and weightless. I dream I’m flying over a sandy beach in the early morning sun, kissing the leaves of the trees as I fly by. And there’s always the smell of apples, just like in the country when I was little and used to think I was a choo-choo train, running through the fields of corn and chugging up the hill to the orchard. And all the time I’m dreaming this, I get lighter and lighter until I’m flying over the beach again, getting blown through the sky like a feather that weighs nothing at all. But once I spread my fingers in the dirt and crouch over the Get on Your Mark, the dream goes and I am solid again and am telling myself, Squeaky you must win, you must win, you are the fastest thing in the world, you can even beat your father up Amsterdam if you really try. And then I feel my weight coming back just behind my knees then down to my feet then into the earth and the pistol shot explodes in my blood and I am off and weightless again, flying past the other runners, my arms pumping up and down and the whole world is quiet except for the crunch as I zoom over the gravel in the track. I glance to my left and there is no one. To the right, a blurred Gretchen, who’s got her chin jutting out as if it would win the race all by itself. And on the other side of the fence is Raymond with his arms down to his side and the palms tucked up behind him, running in his very own style, and it’s the first time I ever saw that and I almost stop to watch my brother Raymond on his first run. But the white ribbon is bouncing toward me and I tear past it, racing into the distance till my feet with a mind of their own start digging up footfuls of dirt and brake me short. Then all the kids standing on the side pile on me, banging me on the back and slapping my head with their May Day programs, for I have won again and everybody on 151st Street can walk tall for another year.
“In first place . . .” the man on the loudspeaker is clear as a bell now. But then he pauses and the loudspeaker starts to whine. Then static. And I lean down to catch my breath and here comes Gretchen walking back, for she’s overshot the finish line too, huffing and puffing with her hands on her hips taking it slow, breathing in steady time like a real pro and I sort of like her a little for the first time. “In first place . . .” and then three or four voices get all mixed up on the loudspeaker and I dig my sneaker into the grass and stare at Gretchen who’s staring back, we both wondering just who did win. I can hear old Beanstalk arguing with the man on the loudspeaker and then a few others running their mouths about what the stopwatches say. Then I hear Raymond yanking at the fence to call me and I wave to shush him, but he keeps rattling the fence like a gorilla in a cage like in them gorilla movies, but then like a dancer or something he starts climbing up nice and easy but very fast. And it occurs to me, watching how smoothly he climbs hand over hand and remembering how he looked running with his arms down to his side and with the wind pulling his mouth back and his teeth showing and all, it occurred to me that Raymond would make a very fine runner. Doesn’t he always keep up with me on my trots? And he surely knows how to breathe in counts of seven cause he’s always doing it at the dinner table, which drives my brother George up the wall. And I’m smiling to beat the band cause if I’ve lost this race, or if me and Gretchen tied, or even if I’ve won, I can always retire as a runner and begin a whole new career as a coach with Raymond as my champion. After all, with a little more study I can beat Cynthia and her phony self at the spelling bee. And if I bugged my mother, I could get piano lessons and become a star. And I have a big rep as the baddest thing around. And I’ve got a roomful of ribbons and medals and awards. But what has Raymond got to call his own?
So I stand there with my new plans, laughing out loud by this time as Raymond jumps down from the fence and runs over with his teeth showing and his arms down to the side, which no one before him has quite mastered as a running style. And by the time he comes over I’m jumping up and down so glad to see him—my brother Raymond, a great runner in the family tradition. But of course everyone thinks I’m jumping up and down because the men on the loudspeaker have finally gotten themselves together and compared notes and are announcing “In first place—Miss Hazel Elizabeth Deborah Parker.” (Dig that.) “In second place—Miss Gretchen P. Lewis.” And I look over at Gretchen wondering what the “P” stands for. And I smile. Cause she’s good, no doubt about it. Maybe she’d like to help me coach Raymond; she obviously is serious about running, as any fool can see. And she nods to congratulate me and then she smiles. And I smile. We stand there with this big smile of respect between us. It’s about as real a smile as girls can do for each other, considering we don’t practice real smiling every day, you know, cause maybe we too busy being flowers or fairies or strawberries instead of something honest and worthy of respect . . . you know . . . like being people.
THE END
Sometimes I slip and say my little brother Raymond. But as any fool can see he’s much bigger and he’s older too. But a lot of people call him my little brother cause he needs looking after cause he’s not quite right. And a lot of smart mouths got lots to say about that too, especially when George was minding him. But now, if anybody has anything to say to Raymond, anything to say about his big head, they have to come by me. And I don’t play the dozens or believe in standing around with somebody in my face doing a lot of talking. I much rather just knock you down and take my chances even if I am a little girl with skinny arms and a squeaky voice, which is how I got the name Squeaky. And if things get too rough, I run. And as anybody can tell you, I’m the fastest thing on two feet.
There is no track meet that I don’t win the first-place medal. I used to win the twenty-yard dash when I was a little kid in kindergarten. Nowadays, it’s the fifty-yard dash. And tomorrow I’m subject to run the quarter-meter relay all by myself and come in first, second, and third. The big kids call me Mercury cause I’m the swiftest thing in the neighborhood. Everybody knows that—except two people who know better, my father and me. He can beat me to Amsterdam Avenue with me having a two-fire-hydrant headstart and him running with his hands in his pockets and whistling. But that’s private information. Cause can you imagine some thirty-five-year-old man stuffing himself into PAL shorts to race little kids? So as far as everyone’s concerned, I’m the fastest and that goes for Gretchen, too, who has put out the tale that she is going to win the first-place medal this year. Ridiculous. In the second place, she’s got short legs. In the third place, she’s got freckles. In the first place, no one can beat me and that’s all there is to it.
I’m standing on the corner admiring the weather and about to take a stroll down Broadway so I can practice my breathing exercises, and I’ve got Raymond walking on the inside close to the buildings, cause he’s subject to fits of fantasy and starts thinking he’s a circus performer and that the curb is a tightrope strung high in the air. And sometimes after a rain he likes to step down off his tightrope right into the gutter and slosh around getting his shoes and cuffs wet. Then I get hit when I get home. Or sometimes if you don’t watch him he’ll dash across traffic to the island in the middle of Broadway and give the pigeons a fit. Then I have to go behind him apologizing to all the old people sitting around trying to get some sun and getting all upset with the pigeons fluttering around them, scattering their newspapers and upsetting the waxpaper lunches in their laps. So I keep Raymond on the inside of me, and he plays like he’s driving a stage coach which is OK by me so long as he doesn’t run me over or interrupt my breathing exercises, which I have to do on account of I’m serious about my running, and I don’t care who knows it.
(page 1)
Now some people like to act like things come easy to them, won’t let on that they practice. Not me. I’ll high-prance down 34th Street like a rodeo pony to keep my knees strong even if it does get my mother uptight so that she walks ahead like she’s not with me, don’t know me, is all by herself on a shopping trip, and I am somebody else’s crazy child. Now you take Cynthia Procter for instance. She’s just the opposite. If there’s a test tomorrow, she’ll say something like, “Oh, I guess I’ll play handball this afternoon and watch television tonight,” just to let you know she ain’t thinking about the test. Or like last week when she won the spelling bee for the millionth time, “A good thing you got ‘receive,’ Squeaky, cause I would have got it wrong. I completely forgot about the spelling bee.” And she’ll clutch the lace on her blouse like it was a narrow escape. Oh, brother. But of course when I pass her house on my early morning trots around the block, she is practicing the scales on the piano over and over and over and over. Then in music class she always lets herself get bumped around so she falls accidentally on purpose onto the piano stool and is so surprised to find herself sitting there that she decides just for fun to try out the ole keys. And what do you know—Chopin’s waltzes just spring out of her fingertips and she’s the most surprised thing in the world. A regular prodigy. I could kill people like that. I stay up all night studying the words for the spelling bee. And you can see me any time of day practicing running. I never walk if I can trot, and shame on Raymond if he can’t keep up. But of course he does, cause if he hangs back someone’s liable to walk up to him and get smart, or take his allowance from him, or ask him where he got that great big pumpkin head. People are so stupid sometimes.
So I’m strolling down Broadway breathing out and breathing in on counts of seven, which is my lucky number, and here comes Gretchen and her sidekicks: Mary Louise, who used to be a friend of mine when she first moved to Harlem from Baltimore and got beat up by everybody till I took up for her on account of her mother and my mother used to sing in the same choir when they were young girls, but people ain’t grateful, so now she hangs out with the new girl Gretchen and talks about me like a dog; and Rosie, who is as fat as I am skinny and has a big mouth where Raymond is concerned and is too stupid to know that there is not a big deal of difference between herself and Raymond and that she can’t afford to throw stones. So they are steady coming up Broadway and I see right away that it’s going to be one of those Dodge City scenes cause the street ain’t that big and they’re close to the buildings just as we are. First I think I’ll step into the candy store and look over the new comics and let them pass. But that’s chicken and I’ve got a reputation to consider. So then I think I’ll just walk straight on through them or even over them if necessary. But as they get to me, they slow down. I’m ready to fight, cause like I said I don’t feature a whole lot of chit-chat, I much prefer to just knock you down right from the jump and save everybody a lotta precious time.
“You signing up for the May Day races?” smiles Mary Louise, only it’s not a smile at all. A dumb question like that doesn’t deserve an answer. Besides, there’s just me and Gretchen standing there really, so no use wasting my breath talking to shadows.
“I don’t think you’re going to win this time,” says Rosie, trying to signify with her hands on her hips all salty, completely forgetting that I have whupped her behind many times for less salt than that.
(page 2)
“I always win cause I’m the best,” I say straight at Gretchen who is, as far as I’m concerned, the only one talking in this ventrilo-quist-dummy routine. Gretchen smiles, but it’s not a smile, and I’m thinking that girls never really smile at each other because they don’t know how and don’t want to know how and there’s probably no one to teach us how, cause grown-up girls don’t know either. Then they all look at Raymond who has just brought his mule team to a standstill. And they’re about to see what trouble they can get into through him.
“What grade you in now, Raymond?”
“You got anything to say to my brother, you say it to me, Mary Louise Williams of Raggedy Town, Baltimore.”
“What are you, his mother?” sasses Rosie.
“That’s right, Fatso. And the next word out of anybody and I’ll be their mother too.” So they just stand there and Gretchen shifts from one leg to the other and so do they. Then Gretchen puts her hands on her hips and is about to say something with her freckle-face self but doesn’t. Then she walks around me looking me up and down but keeps walking up Broadway, and her sidekicks follow her. So me and Raymond smile at each other and he says, “Gidyap” to his team and I continue with my breathing exercises, strolling down Broadway toward the ice man on 145th with not a care in the world cause I am Miss Quicksilver herself.
I take my time getting to the park on May Day because the track meet is the last thing on the program. The biggest thing on the program is the May Pole dancing, which I can do without, thank you, even if my mother thinks it’s a shame I don’t take part and act like a girl for a change. You’d think my mother’d be grateful not to have to make me a white organdy dress with a big satin sash and buy me new white baby-doll shoes that can’t be taken out of the box till the big day. You’d think she’d be glad her daughter ain’t out there prancing around a May Pole getting the new clothes all dirty and sweaty and trying to act like a fairy or a flower or whatever you’re supposed to be when you should be trying to be yourself, whatever that is, which is, as far as I am concerned, a poor black girl who really can’t afford to buy shoes and a new dress you only wear once a lifetime cause it won’t fit next year.
I was once a strawberry in a Hansel and Gretel pageant when I was in nursery school and didn’t have no better sense than to dance on tiptoe with my arms in a circle over my head doing umbrella steps and being a perfect fool just so my mother and father could come dressed up and clap. You’d think they’d know better than to encourage that kind of nonsense. I am not a strawberry. I do not dance on my toes. I run. That is what I am all about. So I always come late to the May Day program, just in time to get my number pinned on and lay in the grass till they announce the fifty-yard dash.
I put Raymond in the little swings, which is a tight squeeze this year and will be impossible next year. Then I look around for Mr. Pearson, who pins the numbers on. I’m really looking for Gretchen if you want to know the truth, but she’s not around. The park is jam-packed. Parents in hats and corsages and breast-pocket handkerchiefs peeking up. Kids in white dresses and light-blue suits. The parkees unfolding chairs and chasing the rowdy kids from Lenox as if they had no right to be there. The big guys with their caps on backwards, leaning against the fence swirling the basketballs on the tips of their fingers, waiting for all these crazy people to clear out the park so they can play. Most of the kids in my class are carrying bass drums and glockenspiels and flutes. You’d think they’d put in a few bongos or something for real like that.
Then here comes Mr. Pearson with his clipboard and his cards and pencils and whistles and safety pins and fifty million other things he’s always dropping all over the place with his clumsy self. He sticks out in a crowd because he’s on stilts. We used to call him Jack and the Beanstalk to get him mad. But I’m the only one that can outrun him and get away, and I’m too grown for that silliness now.
“Well, Squeaky,” he says, checking my name off the list and handing me number seven and two pins. And I’m thinking he’s got no right to call me Squeaky, if I can’t call him Beanstalk.
“Hazel Elizabeth Deborah Parker,” I correct him and tell him to write it down on his board.
“Well, Hazel Elizabeth Deborah Parker, going to give someone else a break this year?” I squint at him real hard to see if he is seriously thinking I should lose the race on purpose just to give someone else a break. “Only six girls running this time,” he continues, shaking his head sadly like it’s my fault all of New York didn’t turn out in sneakers. “That new girl should give you a run for your money.” He looks around the park for Gretchen like a periscope in a submarine movie. “Wouldn’t it be a nice gesture if you were . . . to ahhh . . .”
I give him such a look he couldn’t finish putting that idea into words. Grown-ups got a lot of nerve sometimes. I pin number seven to myself and stomp away, I’m so burnt. And I go straight for the track and stretch out on the grass while the band winds up with “Oh, the Monkey Wrapped His Tail Around the Flag Pole,” which my teacher calls by some other name. The man on the loudspeaker is calling everyone over to the track and I’m on my back looking at the sky, trying to pretend I’m in the country, but I can’t, because even grass in the city feels hard as sidewalk, and there’s just no pretending you are anywhere but in a “concrete jungle” as my grandfather says.
The twenty-yard dash takes all of two minutes cause most of the little kids don’t know no better than to run off the track or run the wrong way or run smack into the fence and fall down and cry. One little kid, though, has got the good sense to run straight for the white ribbon up ahead so he wins. Then the second-graders line up for the thirty-yard dash and I don’t even bother to turn my head to watch cause Raphael Perez always wins. He wins before he even begins by psyching the runners, telling them they’re going to trip on their shoelaces and fall on their faces or lose their shorts or something, which he doesn’t really have to do since he is very fast, almost as fast as I am. After that is the forty-yard dash which I used to run when I was in first grade. Raymond is hollering from the swings cause he knows I’m about to do my thing cause the man on the loudspeaker has just announced the fifty-yard dash, although he might just as well be giving a recipe for angel food cake cause you can hardly make out what he’s sayin for the static. I get up and slip off my sweat pants and then I see Gretchen standing at the starting line, kicking her legs out like a pro. Then as I get into place I see that ole Raymond is on line on the other side of the fence, bending down with his fingers on the ground just like he knew what he was doing. I was going to yell at him but then I didn’t. It burns up your energy to holler.
(page 3)
Every time, just before I take off in a race, I always feel like I’m in a dream, the kind of dream you have when you’re sick with fever and feel all hot and weightless. I dream I’m flying over a sandy beach in the early morning sun, kissing the leaves of the trees as I fly by. And there’s always the smell of apples, just like in the country when I was little and used to think I was a choo-choo train, running through the fields of corn and chugging up the hill to the orchard. And all the time I’m dreaming this, I get lighter and lighter until I’m flying over the beach again, getting blown through the sky like a feather that weighs nothing at all. But once I spread my fingers in the dirt and crouch over the Get on Your Mark, the dream goes and I am solid again and am telling myself, Squeaky you must win, you must win, you are the fastest thing in the world, you can even beat your father up Amsterdam if you really try. And then I feel my weight coming back just behind my knees then down to my feet then into the earth and the pistol shot explodes in my blood and I am off and weightless again, flying past the other runners, my arms pumping up and down and the whole world is quiet except for the crunch as I zoom over the gravel in the track. I glance to my left and there is no one. To the right, a blurred Gretchen, who’s got her chin jutting out as if it would win the race all by itself. And on the other side of the fence is Raymond with his arms down to his side and the palms tucked up behind him, running in his very own style, and it’s the first time I ever saw that and I almost stop to watch my brother Raymond on his first run. But the white ribbon is bouncing toward me and I tear past it, racing into the distance till my feet with a mind of their own start digging up footfuls of dirt and brake me short. Then all the kids standing on the side pile on me, banging me on the back and slapping my head with their May Day programs, for I have won again and everybody on 151st Street can walk tall for another year.
“In first place . . .” the man on the loudspeaker is clear as a bell now. But then he pauses and the loudspeaker starts to whine. Then static. And I lean down to catch my breath and here comes Gretchen walking back, for she’s overshot the finish line too, huffing and puffing with her hands on her hips taking it slow, breathing in steady time like a real pro and I sort of like her a little for the first time. “In first place . . .” and then three or four voices get all mixed up on the loudspeaker and I dig my sneaker into the grass and stare at Gretchen who’s staring back, we both wondering just who did win. I can hear old Beanstalk arguing with the man on the loudspeaker and then a few others running their mouths about what the stopwatches say. Then I hear Raymond yanking at the fence to call me and I wave to shush him, but he keeps rattling the fence like a gorilla in a cage like in them gorilla movies, but then like a dancer or something he starts climbing up nice and easy but very fast. And it occurs to me, watching how smoothly he climbs hand over hand and remembering how he looked running with his arms down to his side and with the wind pulling his mouth back and his teeth showing and all, it occurred to me that Raymond would make a very fine runner. Doesn’t he always keep up with me on my trots? And he surely knows how to breathe in counts of seven cause he’s always doing it at the dinner table, which drives my brother George up the wall. And I’m smiling to beat the band cause if I’ve lost this race, or if me and Gretchen tied, or even if I’ve won, I can always retire as a runner and begin a whole new career as a coach with Raymond as my champion. After all, with a little more study I can beat Cynthia and her phony self at the spelling bee. And if I bugged my mother, I could get piano lessons and become a star. And I have a big rep as the baddest thing around. And I’ve got a roomful of ribbons and medals and awards. But what has Raymond got to call his own?
So I stand there with my new plans, laughing out loud by this time as Raymond jumps down from the fence and runs over with his teeth showing and his arms down to the side, which no one before him has quite mastered as a running style. And by the time he comes over I’m jumping up and down so glad to see him—my brother Raymond, a great runner in the family tradition. But of course everyone thinks I’m jumping up and down because the men on the loudspeaker have finally gotten themselves together and compared notes and are announcing “In first place—Miss Hazel Elizabeth Deborah Parker.” (Dig that.) “In second place—Miss Gretchen P. Lewis.” And I look over at Gretchen wondering what the “P” stands for. And I smile. Cause she’s good, no doubt about it. Maybe she’d like to help me coach Raymond; she obviously is serious about running, as any fool can see. And she nods to congratulate me and then she smiles. And I smile. We stand there with this big smile of respect between us. It’s about as real a smile as girls can do for each other, considering we don’t practice real smiling every day, you know, cause maybe we too busy being flowers or fairies or strawberries instead of something honest and worthy of respect . . . you know . . . like being people.
THE END
***15 Daily Journal
My activities Today ..
^ Studied at campus
^ Watched a movie
^ washing dishes
^ made script of Drama's Call
^ online, looking for information on the Internet and online learning ..
that's good @()@
^ Studied at campus
^ Watched a movie
^ washing dishes
^ made script of Drama's Call
^ online, looking for information on the Internet and online learning ..
that's good @()@
Rabu, 28 Maret 2012
Richard Freshman
by
Jeffrey R. Parenti
x3942
1060 Morewood
Box 2109
(The scene is a cafeteria. It is during lunch rush, and there are few empty
tables. Enter Richard, who finds one and sits down with his nutritious lunch. He
takes from his heavy backpack a letter from his mother. He begins reading:)
Richard: "Dear Richard, Hey, Tiger, how are you? I hope you are adjusting well
to college life. In a few days you will get the book I sent you: How To Be Happy
At College."
(Enter Girl, with lunch, desperately looking for an empty seat. Finally, she
sees one next to Richard.)
Girl (coming over): Is this seat taken?
Richard (rather stunned): Uh -- no. Please, sit down.
Girl: Thanks. (Sits.)
(Richard clumsily hides the letter under his cheeseburger. After an awkward
pause:)
Girl: Say, what's your name?
Richard: Uh, Richard.
Girl: Are you sure?
Richard: Yes. I'm Richard. (Sticks his hand out for her to shake.)
Girl (glancing at his hand): Richard what?
Richard: Richard Freshman.
Girl: That's unfortunate.
Richard: Pardon?
Girl: Nothing. (Chuckles. Thinking out loud:) Richard Freshman. That's classic.
What a stupid name. I mean, it's bad enough to have that name when you're a
freshman, but. . . Even when you're a senior you'll still be a Freshman. (Nods
her head.) Even worse your name is Dick. Dick. Dick Freshman. Ooo.
(Shaking her head, Girl gets up and leaves with her lunch. Richard sighs and
goes back to his letter.)
Richard (Reads): "Now Richard, don't go around breaking all the girls' hearts.
Only kidding. Enclosed is your weekly $5 allowance." She remembered! "Spend it
wisely. I hope you're meeting a lot of new friends."
(While Richard is reading, two frat boys enter, one carrying a stack of flyers,
the other a small booklet. They are staring at the booklet, trying to figure out
who Richard is. Finally, they approach him.)
Tim #1: Uh, Richard. . . Richard Freshman?
Richard (With his mouth full): Yeth.
Tim #1: Hi, I'm Tim. (Shakes Richard's hand.)
Tim #2: And I'm Tim. (Shakes his hand.)
Tim #1: We're from the Alpha Alpha fraternity.
Tim #2: But some people call us AA for short.
(Tims laugh at Tim's joke. Obviously Richard doesn't get it.)
Tim #1: Uh, anyway, we just wanted to tell you that we're open to freshman any
time, uh, here's a calendar of events. (He hands Richard a flyer.) Tomorrow is
the, uh, Buffalo BBQ. And Sunday is the Jello Bake-Off and Frog Jumping Contest.
Monday -- Monday is great, it's the Spam Sculpture Spectacular. And later next
week we'll be having movie night. And we'll be showing the "Porky" films that
evening.
Tim #2: Good movies.
Tim #1: Good movies. So, feel free to drop by any time, come meet the brothers
Richard: Um, thanks guys, but honestly I am not considering joining a
fraternity.
Tim #1: Oh, well, you know, you don't have to pledge if you don't want to, just
come by --
Richard: Really, guys, I don't think so.
Tims (Offended): Well, fine. So, you won't consider stopping by? Fine. Whatsa
matter, don't like us or something? Don't think the Jello Bake-Off is fun? Guess
you won't be needing this then. (Tim #2 grabs the flyer he gave to Richard. Exit
Tims. Richard goes back to his letter.)
Richard (Reads): "Now, Richard. Remember to choose your friends carefully." I
will, mom. "I have to go because Dad needs help up the stairs. I'll send a case
of chilicheese treats every month so you won't be hungry. And don't forget to
take your vitamins. College work takes a lot of energy." (Takes out his
Flinstones vitamins) I think I'll take a Barney today.
(Enter Millis. Millis is big. Real big. Probably 6 1/2 feet tall, weighs twice
as much as Richard. He seems lost, confused. He sees Richard and rumbles over.
Millis grabs the cheeseburger and puts it on his empty tray. Then Millis takes
Richard's entire lunch and exits. Richard, mouth full of cheeseburger, sits
looking stunned. Enter Jimmy, everybody's friend. He sees what just happened to
Richard.)
Jimmy (Sitting down): That was Millis Borg. He lost his meal tickets last week,
so he has to steal people's lunches so he can eat. It means he likes you.
Richard: Oh.
Jimmy: By the way, my name's Jimmy. What's your name?
Richard: Richard.
Jimmy (A la Mr. Rogers): Hi, Richard. (Shakes his hand.) I'm a Communication
major. What's your major?
Richard: Computer Science.
Jimmy: Awesome! Where do you live?
Richard: Kennedy 963.
Jimmy: Really? I'm in K-962! We're next door neighbors! Wow!
Richard (Sarcastically): Great.
Jimmy: Yeah! Well, see you around.
(Jimmy exits. We hear Richard's stomach growl. Enter President.)
President: Hi, my name is Dr. Robert M. Misqueue, President of the University.
(Shakes Richard's hand.) Welcome to NCLU!
Richard: Go to Hell.
(Blackout.)
(Next scene is Richard's dorm room. A mailbox. Richard is sitting on his bed,
writing a letter to his mom.)
Richard (Writing): Dear Mom,
I'm fine, how are you? I'm having an interesting time at college so far. I met
a nice boy named Millis today. We shared lunch. I also met my next door
neighbor. His name is Jimmy. He's very polite.
(Jimmy passes by and peeks his head in Richard's room)
Jimmy: Hey Richard. Pretty small room.
Richard (Writing, sarcastically): I think we're going to be real good friends. I
haven't met my roommate yet. His name is Chris. It says here that he's a
Computer Science major, too. We should be in some of the same classes so we'll
get to study together. I'm really looking forward to meeting him.
(Enter Chris, staring at a piece of paper, anxiously.)
Chris: Is this room 963?
Richard: Yes.
Chris: Then you must be Richard. My name is Chris Tuney. I'm your roommate.
(Richard looks Chris over. About Richard's size, long, black hair, and, most
evidently, a girl.)
Richard: Uh --
(Richard mulls this over while Chris unloads her stuff on her bed. He reexamines
the paragraph bio on Chris. Finally:)
Richard: You're Chris Tuney? (Noticing her sketchbook on the bed.) Computer
Science major?
Chris: Oh, this? I just draw in my spare time.
(She does look like an artist. Leather jacket with the back painted, dressed all
in black. She doesn't have any of the characteristics of a geeky comp sci major.
And she was still a girl.)
Richard: Um, I knew this was a co-ed dorm, but --
Chris: Oh, forgive me for not explaining. Actually, I'm supposed to be a guy. I
checked the "M" box by accident on the application. And since my name is Chris,
no one ever found out I was really a girl. I don't mind if they think I'm a guy.
It means I get to live on a floor with about a hundred guys. And room with one.
You don't mind, do you? (Laughs.)
Richard: Well, heh, heh . . .
Chris: I mean, how many guys can say their roommate's a girl? Well, I gotta go
register for classes. Bye! (Exits.)
Richard (To himself): Don't worry, Richard, this isn't actually happening.
(Returns to writing letter.) Well, Mom, I've determined that college life is
going to take a little getting used to.
Jimmy (Poking his head in): Hey, Richard, the Freshman Get-To-Know-Me Picnic is
in 15 minutes. Not gonna miss it, are ya?
Richard (Grinning and bearing it): No. No chance of that.
Jimmy: Ok, see you there, Richard. (Exits.)
Richard (Writing): Yup. I miss home already.
(Blackout.)
(Next scene is same room, that night. Richard is lying on his bed reading a Star
Trek novel. Enter Chris with her sketchbook.)
Richard (Still expecting Chris to be a guy): Hi.
Chris: Have you been in here all day?
Richard: Yeah.
Chris: Why don't you go out and so something?
Richard: I have been doing something. Reading. (Flashes her his book.)
Chris: I see. Well, after I finished registration, I went to the top of the Phee
Building and sketched the Quad. This really is a beautiful campus.
Richard (Back to reading): Mmmmm . . . .
Chris (After a pause): Well, we're going to be sharing a room all year, so I
might as well know something about you. Why'd you pick Computer Science?
Richard (Puts his book down. Proudly): Because I'm good at it. In high school, I
aced every computer course offered. I won the Basic Achievement Award, the
Pascal Achievement Award, the Fortran Achievement Award, and the Excellence in
Programming Award. I'm also fluent in C, Lisp, and Assembly. I graduated seventh
in my class. I was easily the best programmer in my school.
Chris: So why did you come to a hole like NCLU?
Richard: My parents couldn't afford it. See, my father's an asparagus farmer.
Demand was low last year.
Chris: What about a scholarship?
Richard: I guess I didn't have enough extra-curricular activities. Hey, I was in
the Young Republicans Club! What more do they want?
Chris (Smiling): Well, I don't know. But it's the same with me. My parents are
broke, too. Besides, I wouldn't want to be at a nerd school like MIT or Caltech
anyway.
Richard (Offended): What? I'd kill to go to MIT!
Chris: Mmmm. (Moves over to her closet to get a change of clothes. Takes a shirt
off a hanger.) So, what else do you like to do?
Richard: Well, I read books, watch TV a lot, do a lot of programming -- (Chris
takes off her shirt.) Whoa -- (Shields his eyes with his book.) Umm. . .
Chris (Turning around): Geez, Richard, you act like you've never seen a girl in
her underwear before.
Richard (Swallowing): Well. . . .
Chris: Hey, if it bothers you that much. . . . . (Puts her shirt on. Richard
lets out a sigh of relief.)
Richard: Listen, Chris, we have talk about this. I mean -- it's -- you see --
you can't be a girl. I mean, what will I tell my mom? She'll kill me!
Chris: So you don't tell her! I thought that's what college was for. Getting
away from Mom.
Richard: Well. . . . . this (motions to Chris and her girl stuff) makes me --
uncomfortable.
Chris: You mean rooming with a girl? Come on, you'll get used to it. Besides,
did you really expect your roommate to be just like you?
Richard: No, but I didn't expect him to --
Chris: Have breasts? Heh, heh. You'll live, Richard. (Returns to her closet and
gets a skirt. As she takes off her jeans. Richard completely covers up his eyes
with his book. Noticing this:) My God, Richard, are you really this shy around
girls? (She quickly puts on her skirt and comes over to Richard. She touches him
on the arm. He jumps ten feet.) A wee bit jumpy, are we? (Takes the book from
his hands.) Richard?
Richard (Shakily): Could I have my book back, please?
Chris: Why don't you come with me to the Let's-Be-Friends Freshman Dance? You'll
meet some people. . . . .
Richard (Searching for an excuse): Uh, no, really, I, uh, have -- have to start
a program tonight --
Chris: For what? Classes don't start until next Monday.
Richard: Well, I have to start it so I'll be ahead. . . . Besides, my mother is
going to call in about a half an hour. . . . . (Looks at his watchless wrist)
Chris: You don't have to do a program and your mother will call back. C'mon,
let's go. (Takes his arm.)
Richard (Pulls away): No, really. I -- I can't.
Chris: All right, Richard, stay here and veg with Mr. Spock and friends. (Throws
him his book.) I'm going to have some fun. (Puts on her shoes.) See you later,
Richard.
Richard: Bye. (Chris exits.) Whew. That was a close one.
(Blackout.)
(Next scene is a classroom. Small, capacity maybe 30 people. There are tables
that fit two people each. Enter Richard. He sits down at a table. He takes out a
notebook from his backpack and opens it to the first page. He writes down the
date, time, etc. Other students start to file in. One of them is Millis. Millis
is on the late side, and scans the room for an empty seat. Finally, he spots one
next to Richard. As he sits down, Richard flashes an unbelieving and shocked and
unbelieving look at Millis.)
Professor (English accent): Ok, I'd like to get started. This is Biology I
Laboratory. My name is Dr. David C. Ennard. Our first experiment involves the
digestive tract of a young turtle. The person sitting next to you will be your
lab partner for the entire semester. Today I'm going to dismiss you early so you
can get acquainted and do some initial research on the subject. Ok? If there are
no questions, I'll see you next week.
(Richard raises his hand, but the professor ignores him.)
Millis: We will work in your room. Where do you live?
Richard (Weakly): Kennedy Hall.
Millis: Let's go. (Gathers up his 20-page notebook and pen and rumbles toward
the door.)
(Richard closes his notebook and clumsily shoves it into his backpack. He
lurches the backpack on and heads toward the door, running to catch up.
Blackout.)
(Open to Richard's room. The door opens. Enter Millis with Richard's keys. He
throws them on Richard's spotless desk. Enter Richard, carrying several
thousand-page Biology books. He struggles in and sets them down on his desk. Out
of breath, he shoots a biting glance at Millis, who doesn't notice. Richard
takes off his backpack and takes his notebook from it.)
Richard (Taking the top book off the stack): Ok, I think we should start with
the oral cavity. Salivation is an important part of the digestive system. . . .
Millis (Looking at Richard's awards): What are you, a computer geek or
something?
Richard: I am a Computer Science major.
Millis: Computer geek.
(Richard restrains himself from answering.)
Richard: Listen, I think we should start doing our research --
Millis: Nah. Biology is boring. We'll do it later.
Richard: We'll fall behind --
Millis: I don't care. I hate Biology.
Richard: Why?
Millis: In high school I lost a girlfriend in Biology class.
Richard: Well, we have to get this done --
Millis: I shouldn't have to take this class anyway.
Richard: Why not?
Millis: Well, for one thing, I'm a Dance major.
Richard: What? No, really, what's your major?
Millis: Dance!
Richard (Laughing): Dance? You mean ballet? Tights, tutus? That kind of dance?
No way! Ha, ha --
Millis (Grabs him by the throat): Is there a problem?
Richard (Coking): No.
Millis (Smiling): Good. (Lets go.) Now, what were you saying about salivation?
(Reaches for book.)
Richard (Still recovering): Ahem! Well, we should start with
salivation, important salivation. . . . . You're really a Dance major?
Millis: Yes -- why?
Richard: Well, you don't look like a Dance major. I mean, you look like you
should be playing football or something.
Millis: I don't like football. Besides, who cares if I don't look like a dancer.
I like to dance. Ok?
Richard: Ok! Ok! (After a long pause, realizes something): So, why are you
taking Biology then?
Millis: I have to! It's required.
Richard: For a Dance major?
Millis: They tell us it's a new and improved curriculum.
Richard: Oh. Well, we might as well do it.
Millis: No, this sucks. I'm hungry. Let's go eat.
Richard: I thought you lost your meal tickets.
Millis: I did. You're buying me dinner. Geek. (Picks Richard up by the shirt and
carries him out the door. Blackout.)
(Open to Richard's room. Chris is sitting on her bed practicing her flute. Enter
Richard, angry.)
Chris: Hey, Richard. What's wrong?
Richard: This darn Pascal program. The grader took 40 points off. I got a 60 on
it.
Chris: What did you do wrong?
Richard: He wrote something about not using arrays in this program.
Chris: We haven't covered arrays in class yet, Richard. No wonder he took 40
points off.
Richard: But using an array was the most effective way to solve the problem. I
should've gotten extra credit for being clever.
Chris: No. You didn't follow directions. That's why you had points taken off.
Richard: This school sucks.
Chris: Why, cuz you didn't get a hundred on one program?
Richard: No, but they graded unfairly. What did you get?
Chris: A hundred.
Richard: What?
Chris: I followed directions.
Richard: You couldn't have gotten a hundred!
Chris: Why? Cuz I'm a girl?
Richard: Well. . . yes.
Chris (Angrily): Why do you think that?
Richard: Well, first of all, there were no girls in my programming classes --
Chris: This isn't your high school, Richie.
Richard: Please call me Richard.
Chris: You've got a lot to learn. Loosen up.
(Awkward pause. Richard looks over his program. Chris fiddles with her flute
then puts it down. She looks over at Richard, who is still examining his papers.
She gets up and sits next to Richard on his bed.)
Richard (Taken aback, moves a bit away from Chris): What?
Chris: Do you mind if I sit on your bed?
Richard: Well, gee, you already are, so I guess not.
Chris: Let me see you program.
Richard: No.
Chris: Let me see it.
Richard: No, way, it's against the rules to share code.
Chris: Please, Richard. I want to help you. Besides, the program is over and
graded.
Richard: I don't think it would be wise to --
Chris (Impatiently): Give me the program or I'll kill you! (Richard, stunned,
gives it to her. She looks it over.) Ah. Here. If you take this procedure out,
the one with the array, then add a few more variables, the program's done. (She
flips through many pages.) And a whole lot shorter. Why did you make this
program so long? It only required two pages of code.
Richard: To make it look nice. The more work you do, the better grade you get.
Chris: Not true, obviously. (Gives him back his program. She gets up, goes over
to her bed, and starts to put her flute away.)
Richard: You really know what you're doing, don't you?
Chris: Yeah, I do. Surprised?
Richard: Yeah, I mean, pardon the expression, but you don't look much like a
computer geek.
Chris (Laughs): Well, it helps to have more than one interest.
Richard: So, of all your wonderful interests, why did you pick comp sci?
Chris: Well, I don't know. I guess I feel a sense of accomplishment after
teaching a machine with zero intelligence to do something complex. How about
you?
Richard: I hear there's a lot of money in it.
Chris: Is that all you care about?
Richard: Well --
Chris: No, I curious. What do you want to accomplish in a career in computers?
Richard: Well, uh, um. . . . I never really thought about it.
Chris: Maybe you should.
Richard (Defensively): Have you?
Chris: Yes, actually. Eventually, I want to design and program robots that help
the blind, elderly, and disabled.
Richard: Really?
Chris: Mm-hm. (Pause.) Have you started Program 3 yet?
Richard (Lying): Started? I'm done. Easy.
Chris: That's good. I'm going to the lab to start typing code. Later.
Richard: Bye! (Chris exits. He turns on his computer and starts typing. As he
types:) Program 3. Begin. (He continues to say Pascal things quietly while he
types for a while. Then, the door flies open. Enter Millis.)
Millis: Let's do Biology, geek.
Richard (Turning around): Millis! Don't you ever knock?
Millis: Knock? Why?
Richard: Next time knock. And my name is Richard.
Millis: Shut up, geek. Get over here and give me you lecture notes.
Richard: Why weren't you in class today?
Millis: I had a dance rehearsal.
Richard: All right. They're in here. (Hands Millis a notebook.)
Millis: I also came so we could work on our turtle digestive tract research.
Richard (Still typing): Can't you come back later? I have a program to write!
Millis (As he walks over toward Richard): I can't come back later. I have a
performance tonight. The research is due tomorrow. So I suggest we work now.
(Puts a heavy hand on Richard's weak shoulder.)
Richard (Weakly): Ok. (He gets up, crosses to a small bookcase where some notes
and books are.) I took some notes on the small intestine and finished up the
research on the rectum.
Millis: Good. That's about all we needed, right?
Richard: Yes, that should about do it.
Millis: Well, ok, I'll go back to my room and type these up.
Richard: You will?
Millis: Yes, I will. I'm a very good typist. 60 words a minute. I used to be a
secretary. (Exits.)
(Richard, pleased, but a little stunned, returns to his program. Blackout.)
(Next scene is that night. Richard is still working at his computer on his
program. Enter Chris.)
Chris: Hey, Richard, whatcha doing? (Looks over his shoulder.) Is that Program
3? I though you said you were done with that.
Richard (Frustrated): No, uh -- I was. I'm just making a few additions.
Chris: Well, what's the matter with it?
Richard: There's one error left, and I've been trying to find it for the last
hour.
Chris (Pointing at the screen): There it is. You missed a semicolon. (She laughs
quietly. Richard hangs his head.) Don't you hate that?
Richard (Frustrated): I don't believe it! A lousy semicolon? I spent an hour
looking for that!
Chris (Smiling): Ah, but that's why you love programming, right? (Richard
ignores her and just shakes his head.) Well, at least you're done now.
Richard (Annoyed that he didn't find the error): Yeah.
(Jimmy peeks his head in the room.)
Jimmy: Knock, knock.
Richard (Turning around, annoyed but polite): Hello, Jimmy. Come in.
Jimmy (Entering, clipboard in hand): Sorry to bother you, Richard. I volunteered
to be on the Anti-Drug, Alcohol, and other Amusing Substances Committee. I have
to check your room to make sure it's "clean." (Makes quotation marks with his
fingers.)
Richard: Well, I assure you, I have nothing that --
Jimmy: Oh, it'll just take a few minutes -- (Turns around and sees Chris for the
first time) Hello. (Still looking at Chris:) Richard, why don't you introduce me
to your friend?
Chris (Offers her hand to shake): I'm Chris Tuney. I'm Richard's roommate.
Jimmy (Starry-eyed, shakes her hand): Really? (Vacant stare and pause. Lets go
of her hand.) Well, I think this room's pretty clean. (Scribbles something on
his clipboard. To Chris:) By the way, my names's Jimmy, I live next door. . . .
um, see you around, I guess. (Turns to leave. Under his breath, to Richard:)
How'd you pull that off, you lucky dog? (To both:) Bye, bye! (Exits and closes
door.)
Chris: Well, he's quite a little insect, isn't he?
Richard (Surprised): What, don't you like him? Every other girl on campus does.
He dated at least 10 girls in 5 weeks of school. It's sick.
Chris: Yeah, he's a regular college stud. Nah, I could never date a guy like
that. (Pause.) What about you, Richard? I haven't seen you with many girls yet.
(Richard looks over but doesn't answer. Jokingly:) You do like girls, don't you?
Richard (Offended): Of course I do.
Chris: Well, what's the problem, then?
Richard: Been much too busy.
Chris: Oh, come on. Jimmy seems to have enough time.
Richard: Oh, please. He's a communications major.
Chris: No, I'm curious, Richard. Why don't you date?
Richard: No reason. (Uncomfortably:) Listen, I don't think I want to talk about
this --
Chris: Aw, roommates are supposed to talk about girls. (Richard turns back to
his computer and types some more. After a little thought:) Why do I make you so
nervous, Richard? If I get within 5 feet of you I can feel you shake. (Adding
with a smile:) And that's with all my clothes on. (Richard's discomfort shows in
his face. Chris continues to pry:) What about high school? Ah, you must have had
a bad experience in high school. What -- a dance -- the prom? Who did you take
to the prom, Richard? Did she dump you or something? What happened, Richard, you
can tell me -- (She approaches him. As she puts her hand on his shoulder, he
leaps up and crosses the room nervously.)
Richard (Bitterly, not looking at Chris): I didn't go to the prom, ok?
Chris (Softly): Why not?
Richard (Searching for a story): I -- I had to s-stay home and. . . baby-sit. My
sea monkeys.
Chris: Richard, why don't you tell me the truth --
Richard (Frantically): No, uh, I, uh -- couldn't afford it. Proms cost a lot,
you know. Hundreds of dollars nowadays. Actually -- oh, now I remember -- we
went on vacation that weekend. Cape Cod, I think. Yeah, it was --
Chris (Stops his from pacing by grabbing both his arms): You couldn't find a
date.
Richard (Shaking): How did you know?
Chris (Yelling): Jesus, you're worse than jello on a spring. What are you afraid
of? (Richard shrugs.) Are you afraid of me? (Nods.) It's easy, Richard. It goes
something like this: I like you, Richard, I want to go out with you! (Richard
raises his head, eyes wide.) Do you like me, Richard, do you want to go out with
me? (Nods.) Good! Was that so hard? (Shakes his head. Softer:) Here, sit down,
Richard. (They sit on his bed.) Remember to breathe, Richard. (He exhales.
Slight pause.) Is it ok if I put my arm around you? (He nods. She does.) Boy,
you sure are a basket case. (She sighs.) Listen, I know you're new at this
dating thing, so I'll take it easy on you, ok?
Richard (Smiling): Thank you.
Chris: How do you feel now?
Richard: Better.
Chris: Yeah, I think your shaking is down to a few Hertz.
(There's a knock at the door.)
Richard and Chris: Come in.
(Enter Millis.)
Millis (Suddenly nice): Uh, hi, Richard. I thought I'd drop these notes off
because I won't be able to make it to Biology again tomorrow. (Hands them to
Richard.) Uh, listen, Richard, I want to -- apologize -- for calling you geek.
And for stealing your lunch all those times. You'll be pleased to know that I --
persuaded -- administration to replace the meal tickets I lost.
Richard: That's great. Oh, hey, how did your dance performance go?
Millis (Looking into the air): Wonderful. The ovation from the audience really
brought me at peace with myself.
Chris (Lights up. Gasping): Wait a minute! (Gets up and approaches Millis.)
You're Millis Borg! I saw your performance tonight. You were beautiful,
stunning, exiting. And so graceful for (Looks him over) such a big man. It was
breathtaking.
Millis: Well, thank you very much. I'm glad you liked it. There's cast party in
a few minutes -- would you like to come along and meet some of the other
dancers?
Chris: I'd love to! (gets her coat. They turn to leave, hand in hand.)
Millis (Over his shoulder): Bye, Richard.
(The door closes. Richard is left alone in his room, sitting on his bed. He sits
for a few moments, emotionless. Then he puts the notes aside and takes out a pen
and paper. He writes:)
Richard: Dear Mom,
I met a girl today. She asked me out. We had a lousy relationship.
Unfortunately, it lasted less than 60 seconds. She left me for a 2-ton gorilla
in a tutu. It doesn't bother me, though. i know you didn't meet Dad until you
were 47. Besides, I don't think I'd like dating much anyway. There's a lot of
things I should be doing instead. Like Program 4, which is due 3 weeks from
Monday. I'm going to start it now.
Your son,
Richard
(Richard crosses to his computer and begins typing.)
Richard: Program 4. Begin.
(Blackout. The End.)
Jeffrey R. Parenti
x3942
1060 Morewood
Box 2109
(The scene is a cafeteria. It is during lunch rush, and there are few empty
tables. Enter Richard, who finds one and sits down with his nutritious lunch. He
takes from his heavy backpack a letter from his mother. He begins reading:)
Richard: "Dear Richard, Hey, Tiger, how are you? I hope you are adjusting well
to college life. In a few days you will get the book I sent you: How To Be Happy
At College."
(Enter Girl, with lunch, desperately looking for an empty seat. Finally, she
sees one next to Richard.)
Girl (coming over): Is this seat taken?
Richard (rather stunned): Uh -- no. Please, sit down.
Girl: Thanks. (Sits.)
(Richard clumsily hides the letter under his cheeseburger. After an awkward
pause:)
Girl: Say, what's your name?
Richard: Uh, Richard.
Girl: Are you sure?
Richard: Yes. I'm Richard. (Sticks his hand out for her to shake.)
Girl (glancing at his hand): Richard what?
Richard: Richard Freshman.
Girl: That's unfortunate.
Richard: Pardon?
Girl: Nothing. (Chuckles. Thinking out loud:) Richard Freshman. That's classic.
What a stupid name. I mean, it's bad enough to have that name when you're a
freshman, but. . . Even when you're a senior you'll still be a Freshman. (Nods
her head.) Even worse your name is Dick. Dick. Dick Freshman. Ooo.
(Shaking her head, Girl gets up and leaves with her lunch. Richard sighs and
goes back to his letter.)
Richard (Reads): "Now Richard, don't go around breaking all the girls' hearts.
Only kidding. Enclosed is your weekly $5 allowance." She remembered! "Spend it
wisely. I hope you're meeting a lot of new friends."
(While Richard is reading, two frat boys enter, one carrying a stack of flyers,
the other a small booklet. They are staring at the booklet, trying to figure out
who Richard is. Finally, they approach him.)
Tim #1: Uh, Richard. . . Richard Freshman?
Richard (With his mouth full): Yeth.
Tim #1: Hi, I'm Tim. (Shakes Richard's hand.)
Tim #2: And I'm Tim. (Shakes his hand.)
Tim #1: We're from the Alpha Alpha fraternity.
Tim #2: But some people call us AA for short.
(Tims laugh at Tim's joke. Obviously Richard doesn't get it.)
Tim #1: Uh, anyway, we just wanted to tell you that we're open to freshman any
time, uh, here's a calendar of events. (He hands Richard a flyer.) Tomorrow is
the, uh, Buffalo BBQ. And Sunday is the Jello Bake-Off and Frog Jumping Contest.
Monday -- Monday is great, it's the Spam Sculpture Spectacular. And later next
week we'll be having movie night. And we'll be showing the "Porky" films that
evening.
Tim #2: Good movies.
Tim #1: Good movies. So, feel free to drop by any time, come meet the brothers
Richard: Um, thanks guys, but honestly I am not considering joining a
fraternity.
Tim #1: Oh, well, you know, you don't have to pledge if you don't want to, just
come by --
Richard: Really, guys, I don't think so.
Tims (Offended): Well, fine. So, you won't consider stopping by? Fine. Whatsa
matter, don't like us or something? Don't think the Jello Bake-Off is fun? Guess
you won't be needing this then. (Tim #2 grabs the flyer he gave to Richard. Exit
Tims. Richard goes back to his letter.)
Richard (Reads): "Now, Richard. Remember to choose your friends carefully." I
will, mom. "I have to go because Dad needs help up the stairs. I'll send a case
of chilicheese treats every month so you won't be hungry. And don't forget to
take your vitamins. College work takes a lot of energy." (Takes out his
Flinstones vitamins) I think I'll take a Barney today.
(Enter Millis. Millis is big. Real big. Probably 6 1/2 feet tall, weighs twice
as much as Richard. He seems lost, confused. He sees Richard and rumbles over.
Millis grabs the cheeseburger and puts it on his empty tray. Then Millis takes
Richard's entire lunch and exits. Richard, mouth full of cheeseburger, sits
looking stunned. Enter Jimmy, everybody's friend. He sees what just happened to
Richard.)
Jimmy (Sitting down): That was Millis Borg. He lost his meal tickets last week,
so he has to steal people's lunches so he can eat. It means he likes you.
Richard: Oh.
Jimmy: By the way, my name's Jimmy. What's your name?
Richard: Richard.
Jimmy (A la Mr. Rogers): Hi, Richard. (Shakes his hand.) I'm a Communication
major. What's your major?
Richard: Computer Science.
Jimmy: Awesome! Where do you live?
Richard: Kennedy 963.
Jimmy: Really? I'm in K-962! We're next door neighbors! Wow!
Richard (Sarcastically): Great.
Jimmy: Yeah! Well, see you around.
(Jimmy exits. We hear Richard's stomach growl. Enter President.)
President: Hi, my name is Dr. Robert M. Misqueue, President of the University.
(Shakes Richard's hand.) Welcome to NCLU!
Richard: Go to Hell.
(Blackout.)
(Next scene is Richard's dorm room. A mailbox. Richard is sitting on his bed,
writing a letter to his mom.)
Richard (Writing): Dear Mom,
I'm fine, how are you? I'm having an interesting time at college so far. I met
a nice boy named Millis today. We shared lunch. I also met my next door
neighbor. His name is Jimmy. He's very polite.
(Jimmy passes by and peeks his head in Richard's room)
Jimmy: Hey Richard. Pretty small room.
Richard (Writing, sarcastically): I think we're going to be real good friends. I
haven't met my roommate yet. His name is Chris. It says here that he's a
Computer Science major, too. We should be in some of the same classes so we'll
get to study together. I'm really looking forward to meeting him.
(Enter Chris, staring at a piece of paper, anxiously.)
Chris: Is this room 963?
Richard: Yes.
Chris: Then you must be Richard. My name is Chris Tuney. I'm your roommate.
(Richard looks Chris over. About Richard's size, long, black hair, and, most
evidently, a girl.)
Richard: Uh --
(Richard mulls this over while Chris unloads her stuff on her bed. He reexamines
the paragraph bio on Chris. Finally:)
Richard: You're Chris Tuney? (Noticing her sketchbook on the bed.) Computer
Science major?
Chris: Oh, this? I just draw in my spare time.
(She does look like an artist. Leather jacket with the back painted, dressed all
in black. She doesn't have any of the characteristics of a geeky comp sci major.
And she was still a girl.)
Richard: Um, I knew this was a co-ed dorm, but --
Chris: Oh, forgive me for not explaining. Actually, I'm supposed to be a guy. I
checked the "M" box by accident on the application. And since my name is Chris,
no one ever found out I was really a girl. I don't mind if they think I'm a guy.
It means I get to live on a floor with about a hundred guys. And room with one.
You don't mind, do you? (Laughs.)
Richard: Well, heh, heh . . .
Chris: I mean, how many guys can say their roommate's a girl? Well, I gotta go
register for classes. Bye! (Exits.)
Richard (To himself): Don't worry, Richard, this isn't actually happening.
(Returns to writing letter.) Well, Mom, I've determined that college life is
going to take a little getting used to.
Jimmy (Poking his head in): Hey, Richard, the Freshman Get-To-Know-Me Picnic is
in 15 minutes. Not gonna miss it, are ya?
Richard (Grinning and bearing it): No. No chance of that.
Jimmy: Ok, see you there, Richard. (Exits.)
Richard (Writing): Yup. I miss home already.
(Blackout.)
(Next scene is same room, that night. Richard is lying on his bed reading a Star
Trek novel. Enter Chris with her sketchbook.)
Richard (Still expecting Chris to be a guy): Hi.
Chris: Have you been in here all day?
Richard: Yeah.
Chris: Why don't you go out and so something?
Richard: I have been doing something. Reading. (Flashes her his book.)
Chris: I see. Well, after I finished registration, I went to the top of the Phee
Building and sketched the Quad. This really is a beautiful campus.
Richard (Back to reading): Mmmmm . . . .
Chris (After a pause): Well, we're going to be sharing a room all year, so I
might as well know something about you. Why'd you pick Computer Science?
Richard (Puts his book down. Proudly): Because I'm good at it. In high school, I
aced every computer course offered. I won the Basic Achievement Award, the
Pascal Achievement Award, the Fortran Achievement Award, and the Excellence in
Programming Award. I'm also fluent in C, Lisp, and Assembly. I graduated seventh
in my class. I was easily the best programmer in my school.
Chris: So why did you come to a hole like NCLU?
Richard: My parents couldn't afford it. See, my father's an asparagus farmer.
Demand was low last year.
Chris: What about a scholarship?
Richard: I guess I didn't have enough extra-curricular activities. Hey, I was in
the Young Republicans Club! What more do they want?
Chris (Smiling): Well, I don't know. But it's the same with me. My parents are
broke, too. Besides, I wouldn't want to be at a nerd school like MIT or Caltech
anyway.
Richard (Offended): What? I'd kill to go to MIT!
Chris: Mmmm. (Moves over to her closet to get a change of clothes. Takes a shirt
off a hanger.) So, what else do you like to do?
Richard: Well, I read books, watch TV a lot, do a lot of programming -- (Chris
takes off her shirt.) Whoa -- (Shields his eyes with his book.) Umm. . .
Chris (Turning around): Geez, Richard, you act like you've never seen a girl in
her underwear before.
Richard (Swallowing): Well. . . .
Chris: Hey, if it bothers you that much. . . . . (Puts her shirt on. Richard
lets out a sigh of relief.)
Richard: Listen, Chris, we have talk about this. I mean -- it's -- you see --
you can't be a girl. I mean, what will I tell my mom? She'll kill me!
Chris: So you don't tell her! I thought that's what college was for. Getting
away from Mom.
Richard: Well. . . . . this (motions to Chris and her girl stuff) makes me --
uncomfortable.
Chris: You mean rooming with a girl? Come on, you'll get used to it. Besides,
did you really expect your roommate to be just like you?
Richard: No, but I didn't expect him to --
Chris: Have breasts? Heh, heh. You'll live, Richard. (Returns to her closet and
gets a skirt. As she takes off her jeans. Richard completely covers up his eyes
with his book. Noticing this:) My God, Richard, are you really this shy around
girls? (She quickly puts on her skirt and comes over to Richard. She touches him
on the arm. He jumps ten feet.) A wee bit jumpy, are we? (Takes the book from
his hands.) Richard?
Richard (Shakily): Could I have my book back, please?
Chris: Why don't you come with me to the Let's-Be-Friends Freshman Dance? You'll
meet some people. . . . .
Richard (Searching for an excuse): Uh, no, really, I, uh, have -- have to start
a program tonight --
Chris: For what? Classes don't start until next Monday.
Richard: Well, I have to start it so I'll be ahead. . . . Besides, my mother is
going to call in about a half an hour. . . . . (Looks at his watchless wrist)
Chris: You don't have to do a program and your mother will call back. C'mon,
let's go. (Takes his arm.)
Richard (Pulls away): No, really. I -- I can't.
Chris: All right, Richard, stay here and veg with Mr. Spock and friends. (Throws
him his book.) I'm going to have some fun. (Puts on her shoes.) See you later,
Richard.
Richard: Bye. (Chris exits.) Whew. That was a close one.
(Blackout.)
(Next scene is a classroom. Small, capacity maybe 30 people. There are tables
that fit two people each. Enter Richard. He sits down at a table. He takes out a
notebook from his backpack and opens it to the first page. He writes down the
date, time, etc. Other students start to file in. One of them is Millis. Millis
is on the late side, and scans the room for an empty seat. Finally, he spots one
next to Richard. As he sits down, Richard flashes an unbelieving and shocked and
unbelieving look at Millis.)
Professor (English accent): Ok, I'd like to get started. This is Biology I
Laboratory. My name is Dr. David C. Ennard. Our first experiment involves the
digestive tract of a young turtle. The person sitting next to you will be your
lab partner for the entire semester. Today I'm going to dismiss you early so you
can get acquainted and do some initial research on the subject. Ok? If there are
no questions, I'll see you next week.
(Richard raises his hand, but the professor ignores him.)
Millis: We will work in your room. Where do you live?
Richard (Weakly): Kennedy Hall.
Millis: Let's go. (Gathers up his 20-page notebook and pen and rumbles toward
the door.)
(Richard closes his notebook and clumsily shoves it into his backpack. He
lurches the backpack on and heads toward the door, running to catch up.
Blackout.)
(Open to Richard's room. The door opens. Enter Millis with Richard's keys. He
throws them on Richard's spotless desk. Enter Richard, carrying several
thousand-page Biology books. He struggles in and sets them down on his desk. Out
of breath, he shoots a biting glance at Millis, who doesn't notice. Richard
takes off his backpack and takes his notebook from it.)
Richard (Taking the top book off the stack): Ok, I think we should start with
the oral cavity. Salivation is an important part of the digestive system. . . .
Millis (Looking at Richard's awards): What are you, a computer geek or
something?
Richard: I am a Computer Science major.
Millis: Computer geek.
(Richard restrains himself from answering.)
Richard: Listen, I think we should start doing our research --
Millis: Nah. Biology is boring. We'll do it later.
Richard: We'll fall behind --
Millis: I don't care. I hate Biology.
Richard: Why?
Millis: In high school I lost a girlfriend in Biology class.
Richard: Well, we have to get this done --
Millis: I shouldn't have to take this class anyway.
Richard: Why not?
Millis: Well, for one thing, I'm a Dance major.
Richard: What? No, really, what's your major?
Millis: Dance!
Richard (Laughing): Dance? You mean ballet? Tights, tutus? That kind of dance?
No way! Ha, ha --
Millis (Grabs him by the throat): Is there a problem?
Richard (Coking): No.
Millis (Smiling): Good. (Lets go.) Now, what were you saying about salivation?
(Reaches for book.)
Richard (Still recovering): Ahem!
salivation, important salivation. . . . . You're really a Dance major?
Millis: Yes -- why?
Richard: Well, you don't look like a Dance major. I mean, you look like you
should be playing football or something.
Millis: I don't like football. Besides, who cares if I don't look like a dancer.
I like to dance. Ok?
Richard: Ok! Ok! (After a long pause, realizes something): So, why are you
taking Biology then?
Millis: I have to! It's required.
Richard: For a Dance major?
Millis: They tell us it's a new and improved curriculum.
Richard: Oh. Well, we might as well do it.
Millis: No, this sucks. I'm hungry. Let's go eat.
Richard: I thought you lost your meal tickets.
Millis: I did. You're buying me dinner. Geek. (Picks Richard up by the shirt and
carries him out the door. Blackout.)
(Open to Richard's room. Chris is sitting on her bed practicing her flute. Enter
Richard, angry.)
Chris: Hey, Richard. What's wrong?
Richard: This darn Pascal program. The grader took 40 points off. I got a 60 on
it.
Chris: What did you do wrong?
Richard: He wrote something about not using arrays in this program.
Chris: We haven't covered arrays in class yet, Richard. No wonder he took 40
points off.
Richard: But using an array was the most effective way to solve the problem. I
should've gotten extra credit for being clever.
Chris: No. You didn't follow directions. That's why you had points taken off.
Richard: This school sucks.
Chris: Why, cuz you didn't get a hundred on one program?
Richard: No, but they graded unfairly. What did you get?
Chris: A hundred.
Richard: What?
Chris: I followed directions.
Richard: You couldn't have gotten a hundred!
Chris: Why? Cuz I'm a girl?
Richard: Well. . . yes.
Chris (Angrily): Why do you think that?
Richard: Well, first of all, there were no girls in my programming classes --
Chris: This isn't your high school, Richie.
Richard: Please call me Richard.
Chris: You've got a lot to learn. Loosen up.
(Awkward pause. Richard looks over his program. Chris fiddles with her flute
then puts it down. She looks over at Richard, who is still examining his papers.
She gets up and sits next to Richard on his bed.)
Richard (Taken aback, moves a bit away from Chris): What?
Chris: Do you mind if I sit on your bed?
Richard: Well, gee, you already are, so I guess not.
Chris: Let me see you program.
Richard: No.
Chris: Let me see it.
Richard: No, way, it's against the rules to share code.
Chris: Please, Richard. I want to help you. Besides, the program is over and
graded.
Richard: I don't think it would be wise to --
Chris (Impatiently): Give me the program or I'll kill you! (Richard, stunned,
gives it to her. She looks it over.) Ah. Here. If you take this procedure out,
the one with the array, then add a few more variables, the program's done. (She
flips through many pages.) And a whole lot shorter. Why did you make this
program so long? It only required two pages of code.
Richard: To make it look nice. The more work you do, the better grade you get.
Chris: Not true, obviously. (Gives him back his program. She gets up, goes over
to her bed, and starts to put her flute away.)
Richard: You really know what you're doing, don't you?
Chris: Yeah, I do. Surprised?
Richard: Yeah, I mean, pardon the expression, but you don't look much like a
computer geek.
Chris (Laughs): Well, it helps to have more than one interest.
Richard: So, of all your wonderful interests, why did you pick comp sci?
Chris: Well, I don't know. I guess I feel a sense of accomplishment after
teaching a machine with zero intelligence to do something complex. How about
you?
Richard: I hear there's a lot of money in it.
Chris: Is that all you care about?
Richard: Well --
Chris: No, I curious. What do you want to accomplish in a career in computers?
Richard: Well, uh, um. . . . I never really thought about it.
Chris: Maybe you should.
Richard (Defensively): Have you?
Chris: Yes, actually. Eventually, I want to design and program robots that help
the blind, elderly, and disabled.
Richard: Really?
Chris: Mm-hm. (Pause.) Have you started Program 3 yet?
Richard (Lying): Started? I'm done. Easy.
Chris: That's good. I'm going to the lab to start typing code. Later.
Richard: Bye! (Chris exits. He turns on his computer and starts typing. As he
types:) Program 3. Begin. (He continues to say Pascal things quietly while he
types for a while. Then, the door flies open. Enter Millis.)
Millis: Let's do Biology, geek.
Richard (Turning around): Millis! Don't you ever knock?
Millis: Knock? Why?
Richard: Next time knock. And my name is Richard.
Millis: Shut up, geek. Get over here and give me you lecture notes.
Richard: Why weren't you in class today?
Millis: I had a dance rehearsal.
Richard: All right. They're in here. (Hands Millis a notebook.)
Millis: I also came so we could work on our turtle digestive tract research.
Richard (Still typing): Can't you come back later? I have a program to write!
Millis (As he walks over toward Richard): I can't come back later. I have a
performance tonight. The research is due tomorrow. So I suggest we work now.
(Puts a heavy hand on Richard's weak shoulder.)
Richard (Weakly): Ok. (He gets up, crosses to a small bookcase where some notes
and books are.) I took some notes on the small intestine and finished up the
research on the rectum.
Millis: Good. That's about all we needed, right?
Richard: Yes, that should about do it.
Millis: Well, ok, I'll go back to my room and type these up.
Richard: You will?
Millis: Yes, I will. I'm a very good typist. 60 words a minute. I used to be a
secretary. (Exits.)
(Richard, pleased, but a little stunned, returns to his program. Blackout.)
(Next scene is that night. Richard is still working at his computer on his
program. Enter Chris.)
Chris: Hey, Richard, whatcha doing? (Looks over his shoulder.) Is that Program
3? I though you said you were done with that.
Richard (Frustrated): No, uh -- I was. I'm just making a few additions.
Chris: Well, what's the matter with it?
Richard: There's one error left, and I've been trying to find it for the last
hour.
Chris (Pointing at the screen): There it is. You missed a semicolon. (She laughs
quietly. Richard hangs his head.) Don't you hate that?
Richard (Frustrated): I don't believe it! A lousy semicolon? I spent an hour
looking for that!
Chris (Smiling): Ah, but that's why you love programming, right? (Richard
ignores her and just shakes his head.) Well, at least you're done now.
Richard (Annoyed that he didn't find the error): Yeah.
(Jimmy peeks his head in the room.)
Jimmy: Knock, knock.
Richard (Turning around, annoyed but polite): Hello, Jimmy. Come in.
Jimmy (Entering, clipboard in hand): Sorry to bother you, Richard. I volunteered
to be on the Anti-Drug, Alcohol, and other Amusing Substances Committee. I have
to check your room to make sure it's "clean." (Makes quotation marks with his
fingers.)
Richard: Well, I assure you, I have nothing that --
Jimmy: Oh, it'll just take a few minutes -- (Turns around and sees Chris for the
first time) Hello. (Still looking at Chris:) Richard, why don't you introduce me
to your friend?
Chris (Offers her hand to shake): I'm Chris Tuney. I'm Richard's roommate.
Jimmy (Starry-eyed, shakes her hand): Really? (Vacant stare and pause. Lets go
of her hand.) Well, I think this room's pretty clean. (Scribbles something on
his clipboard. To Chris:) By the way, my names's Jimmy, I live next door. . . .
um, see you around, I guess. (Turns to leave. Under his breath, to Richard:)
How'd you pull that off, you lucky dog? (To both:) Bye, bye! (Exits and closes
door.)
Chris: Well, he's quite a little insect, isn't he?
Richard (Surprised): What, don't you like him? Every other girl on campus does.
He dated at least 10 girls in 5 weeks of school. It's sick.
Chris: Yeah, he's a regular college stud. Nah, I could never date a guy like
that. (Pause.) What about you, Richard? I haven't seen you with many girls yet.
(Richard looks over but doesn't answer. Jokingly:) You do like girls, don't you?
Richard (Offended): Of course I do.
Chris: Well, what's the problem, then?
Richard: Been much too busy.
Chris: Oh, come on. Jimmy seems to have enough time.
Richard: Oh, please. He's a communications major.
Chris: No, I'm curious, Richard. Why don't you date?
Richard: No reason. (Uncomfortably:) Listen, I don't think I want to talk about
this --
Chris: Aw, roommates are supposed to talk about girls. (Richard turns back to
his computer and types some more. After a little thought:) Why do I make you so
nervous, Richard? If I get within 5 feet of you I can feel you shake. (Adding
with a smile:) And that's with all my clothes on. (Richard's discomfort shows in
his face. Chris continues to pry:) What about high school? Ah, you must have had
a bad experience in high school. What -- a dance -- the prom? Who did you take
to the prom, Richard? Did she dump you or something? What happened, Richard, you
can tell me -- (She approaches him. As she puts her hand on his shoulder, he
leaps up and crosses the room nervously.)
Richard (Bitterly, not looking at Chris): I didn't go to the prom, ok?
Chris (Softly): Why not?
Richard (Searching for a story): I -- I had to s-stay home and. . . baby-sit. My
sea monkeys.
Chris: Richard, why don't you tell me the truth --
Richard (Frantically): No, uh, I, uh -- couldn't afford it. Proms cost a lot,
you know. Hundreds of dollars nowadays. Actually -- oh, now I remember -- we
went on vacation that weekend. Cape Cod, I think. Yeah, it was --
Chris (Stops his from pacing by grabbing both his arms): You couldn't find a
date.
Richard (Shaking): How did you know?
Chris (Yelling): Jesus, you're worse than jello on a spring. What are you afraid
of? (Richard shrugs.) Are you afraid of me? (Nods.) It's easy, Richard. It goes
something like this: I like you, Richard, I want to go out with you! (Richard
raises his head, eyes wide.) Do you like me, Richard, do you want to go out with
me? (Nods.) Good! Was that so hard? (Shakes his head. Softer:) Here, sit down,
Richard. (They sit on his bed.) Remember to breathe, Richard. (He exhales.
Slight pause.) Is it ok if I put my arm around you? (He nods. She does.) Boy,
you sure are a basket case. (She sighs.) Listen, I know you're new at this
dating thing, so I'll take it easy on you, ok?
Richard (Smiling): Thank you.
Chris: How do you feel now?
Richard: Better.
Chris: Yeah, I think your shaking is down to a few Hertz.
(There's a knock at the door.)
Richard and Chris: Come in.
(Enter Millis.)
Millis (Suddenly nice): Uh, hi, Richard. I thought I'd drop these notes off
because I won't be able to make it to Biology again tomorrow. (Hands them to
Richard.) Uh, listen, Richard, I want to -- apologize -- for calling you geek.
And for stealing your lunch all those times. You'll be pleased to know that I --
persuaded -- administration to replace the meal tickets I lost.
Richard: That's great. Oh, hey, how did your dance performance go?
Millis (Looking into the air): Wonderful. The ovation from the audience really
brought me at peace with myself.
Chris (Lights up. Gasping): Wait a minute! (Gets up and approaches Millis.)
You're Millis Borg! I saw your performance tonight. You were beautiful,
stunning, exiting. And so graceful for (Looks him over) such a big man. It was
breathtaking.
Millis: Well, thank you very much. I'm glad you liked it. There's cast party in
a few minutes -- would you like to come along and meet some of the other
dancers?
Chris: I'd love to! (gets her coat. They turn to leave, hand in hand.)
Millis (Over his shoulder): Bye, Richard.
(The door closes. Richard is left alone in his room, sitting on his bed. He sits
for a few moments, emotionless. Then he puts the notes aside and takes out a pen
and paper. He writes:)
Richard: Dear Mom,
I met a girl today. She asked me out. We had a lousy relationship.
Unfortunately, it lasted less than 60 seconds. She left me for a 2-ton gorilla
in a tutu. It doesn't bother me, though. i know you didn't meet Dad until you
were 47. Besides, I don't think I'd like dating much anyway. There's a lot of
things I should be doing instead. Like Program 4, which is due 3 weeks from
Monday. I'm going to start it now.
Your son,
Richard
(Richard crosses to his computer and begins typing.)
Richard: Program 4. Begin.
(Blackout. The End.)
Queens from a Marriage
QUEENS FROM A MARRIAGE
A Ten-Minute Play
by
Scott C. Sickles
Copyright © 1993
by Scott C. Sickles
75 Chapel Drive
Pittsburgh, PA 15237
Home: (412) 366-3239
VOX: (412) 734-8951
Cast of Characters
Paul FISHER: 30s, Bloom's ex
Jared BLOOM: 30s, Fisher's ex
PAUL Fisher: FISHER in his 20s, Jared's spouse
JARED Bloom: BLOOM in his 20s, Paul's spouse
Note: The actors playing FISHER and PAUL should resemble each other.
The same should be true of BLOOM and JARED. The two pairs should also
be easy to differentiate from each other. (e.g. FISHER/PAUL are tall
with dark hair and BLOOM JARED are shorter with red hair.)
Scene
A public restaurant and a private bedroom.
Time
Five years after and seven years during their marriage.
QUEENS FROM A MARRIAGE by Scott C. Sickles was originally presented by
Pyramid Productions (Ted Hoover and Melissa Martin, producers) in its
No-Doze Dozen marathon of ten-minute plays at the City Theatre Lab in
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, on July 23, 1993. It was directed by Ted
Hoover. Art Manion was the stage director. The cast, in order of
appearance, was as follows:
Paul FISHER Brian Czarniecki
Jared BLOOM Michael James
PAUL Fisher Jamie Pickett
JARED Bloom John Highberger
SETTING: Up stage, two chairs behind a table. Down stage, sheets and
pillows set up to represent a bed. A prop phone should be placed under
the pillows.
AT RISE: PAUL and JARED are in bed, under covers. FISHER and BLOOM sit
in their seats. Lights fade out on PAUL and JARED.
FISHER
Thanks for meeting me.
BLOOM
Well, it's been awhile.
FISHER
I heard about you and� the train guy. I'm sorry.
BLOOM
Don't be. He was a while ago. You haven't kept very good tabs on me.
Which is fine. Last time we spoke, you were seeing that window
dresser. He seemed nice.
FISHER
He was. Very cheerful. We split a few months ago. All that sunshine
got on my nerves. I guess I was used to your�
BLOOM
Incessant bitching?
FISHER
Individual perspective. You've lost weight.
BLOOM
Thanks; you're aging well. Sorry. I get a little catty when you're on
my mind. Not that it happens that often. Sure, every day, but for
shorter periods of time, usually in public rest rooms for some reason.
FISHER
When it does, what do you think about?
BLOOM (staring at Fisher's crotch)
Nothing specific.
FISHER
I remember things that made you smile: holding hands in movie
theatres, falling asleep together on the divan, that spot behind your
knee--
BLOOM
Before you go on, let's focus on the positive. What about me do you
miss the least? I usually start out missing you and then convince
myself I shouldn't.
(Lights cross fade to JARED and PAUL.)
PAUL
Why do we have to rush this?
JARED
I'm not the one who wants to end this marriage; I'm simply the reason
you want to. I'm willing to try fixing this--
PAUL
Oh, please. All you ever do is bitch about how aloof I am. It never
occurs to you that after seven years, I might need--
JARED
If you say "need some space," the clich� police will force me to kill
you. You can have all the "time apart" you need to "find yourself,"
while I hang myself with one of your old trick's jock straps.
PAUL
After all that, what can I say?
JARED
Try "goodbye."
(Lights cross fade to FISHER and BLOOM.)
FISHER
Maybe this was a bad idea. I just thought� I wanted to see if there
was�
BLOOM
"�anything left between us?" Oh, please. Seven years isn't adequate
trial and error? Could we talk about something else? I'm sensing
countless hours of insurance-funded therapy going up in flames.
FISHER
I hoped we could see more of each other to find out if we wanted to
start seeing each other again. Then maybe�
BLOOM
You're hopeless. I will tell you, though, I don't only remember bad
things. But, my feet stay bolted to the ground.
(Lights cross fade to JARED and PAUL)
JARED
I'm floating on air. My father didn't ask which one of us was the
bride. The pastor was cute. You were dashing, dapper and another
appropriate word that starts with "D." The room is elegant. The night
is wonderful. Everything is perfect. What's on TV?
PAUL
Are the strawberries and champagne supposed to be romantic or an
aphrodisiac?
JARED
As if we needed an aphrodisiac. I don't know. They're sweet. Like you.
Oh, puke, I said it. That's it. One "cornyism" per day until the
honeymoon is over, and then no more forever. That only pertains to me,
of course. You're going to be corny for the rest of our lives.
PAUL
Do you mind?
JARED
I'll get used to it.
PAUL
I mean staying together that long. I know it's a little late to bring
this up, but I have lots of plans for us.
JARED
Cape Cod house? White picket fence? A very hyper Shih-tzu puppy named
Rommel?
(PAUL and JARED kiss.)
(Lights cross fade to FISHER and BLOOM.)
BLOOM
It wasn't especially unique. It was a marriage. It had good moments
and� other moments.
FISHER
All of the apologies were sincere.
BLOOM
Don't you think you're over-romanticizing? I mean, who's to say - not
that I'm even remotely interested, mind you, in considering the
possibility of finding out whether or not we want to think of spending
more time together - but: who's to say we won't have the same problems
again?
(Lights cross fade to JARED and PAUL.)
JARED
I can't believe you fucked him! I know I'm not the most exotic lay of
the land. But just because I'm tired for a couple weeks, doesn't mean
I don't mind. If I knew this was your other option, I'd have let you
boink me in my sleep.
PAUL
I tried that. It's the same thing.
JARED
When we were dating, I had no problem with our "open relationship." I
just thought getting married made things� This was your idea. You
wanted the rings, the wedding. "It'll be like Leopold and Loeb without
the mess."
PAUL
This didn't mean anything. I didn't think you wanted to be bothered,
so I� ordered out. We just� lost control.
JARED
How could either of you control yourselves around that magic fuck wand
of yours. Oh, My God! It's�
(JARED mimes being compelled to stick his face in Paul's crotch.)
It's got me! Sucking me in so I'll suck back. How could any mere
mortal resist?
PAUL
Are you finished?
JARED
Not until I bite off your dick.
(PAUL pulls Jared's face out of his crotch.)
PAUL
I apologize. I promise I'll never do this again.
(Lights cross fade to FISHER and BLOOM.)
BLOOM
I think I'm looking for a guarantee knowing they don't exist.
FISHER
I promise if we get back together, I'll do my best to ensure we have
completely different problems.
BLOOM
That's an offer. Why do you want this, Paul? I was foul-tempered and
clingy. I'd have left me long before you did.
FISHER
Maybe I have bad taste.
(Lights cross fade to JARED and PAUL. JARED talks on a cordless
phone.)
JARED
No, I'm not handing him the phone. I'm an existentialist, Mrs. Fisher,
I don't care what you think. Consider how this looks to me. We return
early from Greece because you send a telegram about a family
emergency. This turns out to be Paul's ex-fiance's husband dying six
months ago. Then, you tell Paul her child is actually his. When Paul
mentions this, she doesn't know what he's talking about. This leads me
to believe A: you tried to undermine me with some woman who shares a
sexual history with your son� my husband� and B: you watch too many
soap operas! If you want to apologize for being a conniving bitch,
I'll give him the message. Otherwise-- excuse me? You insist? Well, in
that case�
(Hangs up.)
PAUL
I always feel better after you malign my mother. I'm sorry about all
this.
JARED
It's entertaining. Besides, I really didn't like Greece.
PAUL
You're just saying that to make me feel better.
JARED
No, Paul, I hated it. I don't need foreign sand, heat and bad plumbing
to find out how much we love each other. We need to do that right
here. I don't know what to do. I've tried more romance, less romance,
asking for less complicated sex more often and more complicated sex
less often. I keep staring at the Slimfast wondering if it can help.
What can I do, Paul?
PAUL
I don't know. I know you've tried not to burden me with what's on your
mind. You haven't mentioned you sob in the shower; Or that your mother
was in the hospital again.
JARED
She just wants attention.
PAUL
What's wrong with attention? Maybe you need to bother me more. When
you get lost in your head, I should ask you where you're going. We
should stop being afraid of loving each other too much. Even if we do.
JARED
I could take this time to make an extremely inappropriate reference to
"lip service."
PAUL
Come here.
(They kiss.)
(Lights cross fade to FISHER and BLOOM.)
FISHER
I work at home, so you could interrupt me any time� anything
important� came up. What good has therapy done you if you're still not
able to embrace love?
BLOOM
This sounds more like� regret. Desperation. Loneliness.
FISHER
Lust?
BLOOM
Oh, yeah. Lust is definitely--
(Lights cross fade to JARED and PAUL.)
PAUL
What I'm saying is: we should either get serious or split up. And to
be honest, I don't know if I'm ready to be serious.
JARED
I don't know either. About you, that is. I know I'm ready to get
serious. But, you're probably not. And do I really want a commitment
with you? That would be a colossal mistake if you weren't ready, which
of course you're not, so why talk about it? I suppose it's been fun�
PAUL
Yes. It was for me. Wasn't it fun for you?
JARED
For the most part. Don't worry. You'll find someone, soon. Maybe
they'll have a friend who might know someone I could go out with once
or twice before this happens again. Not that this happens all the
time; just when I'm in a relationship; which really isn't that often.
We can stay friends. You can
JARED (cont'd)
tell me how lonely short term, empty flings are, and I can tell you
how lonely it is without them. And there'll be good times too, like
when we talk about loneliness over cake.
PAUL
We could have a serious, open relationship, couldn't we?
JARED
Are you sure you'd want that?
(Lights cross fade to FISHER and BLOOM.)
BLOOM
I'm beginning to feel a little manipulated here. Not that I don't
enjoy it. But, in retrospect, I think we may have been doomed from the
start. The point is, we were never what we needed for each other. I
needed someone who took our relationship completely seriously. You
needed someone who could coast. We're not like that anymore.
FISHER
Can I see you again? Maybe someday we'll find a happy medium. Or just
the right people. We can talk about them over cake.
BLOOM
Sure. Call me.
(Lights up on everyone. BLOOM & JARED and FISHER & PAUL look at one
another and shrug. Then, they all look at each other not knowing what
to do next.)
(BLACKOUT)
THE END
A Ten-Minute Play
by
Scott C. Sickles
Copyright © 1993
by Scott C. Sickles
75 Chapel Drive
Pittsburgh, PA 15237
Home: (412) 366-3239
VOX: (412) 734-8951
Cast of Characters
Paul FISHER: 30s, Bloom's ex
Jared BLOOM: 30s, Fisher's ex
PAUL Fisher: FISHER in his 20s, Jared's spouse
JARED Bloom: BLOOM in his 20s, Paul's spouse
Note: The actors playing FISHER and PAUL should resemble each other.
The same should be true of BLOOM and JARED. The two pairs should also
be easy to differentiate from each other. (e.g. FISHER/PAUL are tall
with dark hair and BLOOM JARED are shorter with red hair.)
Scene
A public restaurant and a private bedroom.
Time
Five years after and seven years during their marriage.
QUEENS FROM A MARRIAGE by Scott C. Sickles was originally presented by
Pyramid Productions (Ted Hoover and Melissa Martin, producers) in its
No-Doze Dozen marathon of ten-minute plays at the City Theatre Lab in
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, on July 23, 1993. It was directed by Ted
Hoover. Art Manion was the stage director. The cast, in order of
appearance, was as follows:
Paul FISHER Brian Czarniecki
Jared BLOOM Michael James
PAUL Fisher Jamie Pickett
JARED Bloom John Highberger
SETTING: Up stage, two chairs behind a table. Down stage, sheets and
pillows set up to represent a bed. A prop phone should be placed under
the pillows.
AT RISE: PAUL and JARED are in bed, under covers. FISHER and BLOOM sit
in their seats. Lights fade out on PAUL and JARED.
FISHER
Thanks for meeting me.
BLOOM
Well, it's been awhile.
FISHER
I heard about you and� the train guy. I'm sorry.
BLOOM
Don't be. He was a while ago. You haven't kept very good tabs on me.
Which is fine. Last time we spoke, you were seeing that window
dresser. He seemed nice.
FISHER
He was. Very cheerful. We split a few months ago. All that sunshine
got on my nerves. I guess I was used to your�
BLOOM
Incessant bitching?
FISHER
Individual perspective. You've lost weight.
BLOOM
Thanks; you're aging well. Sorry. I get a little catty when you're on
my mind. Not that it happens that often. Sure, every day, but for
shorter periods of time, usually in public rest rooms for some reason.
FISHER
When it does, what do you think about?
BLOOM (staring at Fisher's crotch)
Nothing specific.
FISHER
I remember things that made you smile: holding hands in movie
theatres, falling asleep together on the divan, that spot behind your
knee--
BLOOM
Before you go on, let's focus on the positive. What about me do you
miss the least? I usually start out missing you and then convince
myself I shouldn't.
(Lights cross fade to JARED and PAUL.)
PAUL
Why do we have to rush this?
JARED
I'm not the one who wants to end this marriage; I'm simply the reason
you want to. I'm willing to try fixing this--
PAUL
Oh, please. All you ever do is bitch about how aloof I am. It never
occurs to you that after seven years, I might need--
JARED
If you say "need some space," the clich� police will force me to kill
you. You can have all the "time apart" you need to "find yourself,"
while I hang myself with one of your old trick's jock straps.
PAUL
After all that, what can I say?
JARED
Try "goodbye."
(Lights cross fade to FISHER and BLOOM.)
FISHER
Maybe this was a bad idea. I just thought� I wanted to see if there
was�
BLOOM
"�anything left between us?" Oh, please. Seven years isn't adequate
trial and error? Could we talk about something else? I'm sensing
countless hours of insurance-funded therapy going up in flames.
FISHER
I hoped we could see more of each other to find out if we wanted to
start seeing each other again. Then maybe�
BLOOM
You're hopeless. I will tell you, though, I don't only remember bad
things. But, my feet stay bolted to the ground.
(Lights cross fade to JARED and PAUL)
JARED
I'm floating on air. My father didn't ask which one of us was the
bride. The pastor was cute. You were dashing, dapper and another
appropriate word that starts with "D." The room is elegant. The night
is wonderful. Everything is perfect. What's on TV?
PAUL
Are the strawberries and champagne supposed to be romantic or an
aphrodisiac?
JARED
As if we needed an aphrodisiac. I don't know. They're sweet. Like you.
Oh, puke, I said it. That's it. One "cornyism" per day until the
honeymoon is over, and then no more forever. That only pertains to me,
of course. You're going to be corny for the rest of our lives.
PAUL
Do you mind?
JARED
I'll get used to it.
PAUL
I mean staying together that long. I know it's a little late to bring
this up, but I have lots of plans for us.
JARED
Cape Cod house? White picket fence? A very hyper Shih-tzu puppy named
Rommel?
(PAUL and JARED kiss.)
(Lights cross fade to FISHER and BLOOM.)
BLOOM
It wasn't especially unique. It was a marriage. It had good moments
and� other moments.
FISHER
All of the apologies were sincere.
BLOOM
Don't you think you're over-romanticizing? I mean, who's to say - not
that I'm even remotely interested, mind you, in considering the
possibility of finding out whether or not we want to think of spending
more time together - but: who's to say we won't have the same problems
again?
(Lights cross fade to JARED and PAUL.)
JARED
I can't believe you fucked him! I know I'm not the most exotic lay of
the land. But just because I'm tired for a couple weeks, doesn't mean
I don't mind. If I knew this was your other option, I'd have let you
boink me in my sleep.
PAUL
I tried that. It's the same thing.
JARED
When we were dating, I had no problem with our "open relationship." I
just thought getting married made things� This was your idea. You
wanted the rings, the wedding. "It'll be like Leopold and Loeb without
the mess."
PAUL
This didn't mean anything. I didn't think you wanted to be bothered,
so I� ordered out. We just� lost control.
JARED
How could either of you control yourselves around that magic fuck wand
of yours. Oh, My God! It's�
(JARED mimes being compelled to stick his face in Paul's crotch.)
It's got me! Sucking me in so I'll suck back. How could any mere
mortal resist?
PAUL
Are you finished?
JARED
Not until I bite off your dick.
(PAUL pulls Jared's face out of his crotch.)
PAUL
I apologize. I promise I'll never do this again.
(Lights cross fade to FISHER and BLOOM.)
BLOOM
I think I'm looking for a guarantee knowing they don't exist.
FISHER
I promise if we get back together, I'll do my best to ensure we have
completely different problems.
BLOOM
That's an offer. Why do you want this, Paul? I was foul-tempered and
clingy. I'd have left me long before you did.
FISHER
Maybe I have bad taste.
(Lights cross fade to JARED and PAUL. JARED talks on a cordless
phone.)
JARED
No, I'm not handing him the phone. I'm an existentialist, Mrs. Fisher,
I don't care what you think. Consider how this looks to me. We return
early from Greece because you send a telegram about a family
emergency. This turns out to be Paul's ex-fiance's husband dying six
months ago. Then, you tell Paul her child is actually his. When Paul
mentions this, she doesn't know what he's talking about. This leads me
to believe A: you tried to undermine me with some woman who shares a
sexual history with your son� my husband� and B: you watch too many
soap operas! If you want to apologize for being a conniving bitch,
I'll give him the message. Otherwise-- excuse me? You insist? Well, in
that case�
(Hangs up.)
PAUL
I always feel better after you malign my mother. I'm sorry about all
this.
JARED
It's entertaining. Besides, I really didn't like Greece.
PAUL
You're just saying that to make me feel better.
JARED
No, Paul, I hated it. I don't need foreign sand, heat and bad plumbing
to find out how much we love each other. We need to do that right
here. I don't know what to do. I've tried more romance, less romance,
asking for less complicated sex more often and more complicated sex
less often. I keep staring at the Slimfast wondering if it can help.
What can I do, Paul?
PAUL
I don't know. I know you've tried not to burden me with what's on your
mind. You haven't mentioned you sob in the shower; Or that your mother
was in the hospital again.
JARED
She just wants attention.
PAUL
What's wrong with attention? Maybe you need to bother me more. When
you get lost in your head, I should ask you where you're going. We
should stop being afraid of loving each other too much. Even if we do.
JARED
I could take this time to make an extremely inappropriate reference to
"lip service."
PAUL
Come here.
(They kiss.)
(Lights cross fade to FISHER and BLOOM.)
FISHER
I work at home, so you could interrupt me any time� anything
important� came up. What good has therapy done you if you're still not
able to embrace love?
BLOOM
This sounds more like� regret. Desperation. Loneliness.
FISHER
Lust?
BLOOM
Oh, yeah. Lust is definitely--
(Lights cross fade to JARED and PAUL.)
PAUL
What I'm saying is: we should either get serious or split up. And to
be honest, I don't know if I'm ready to be serious.
JARED
I don't know either. About you, that is. I know I'm ready to get
serious. But, you're probably not. And do I really want a commitment
with you? That would be a colossal mistake if you weren't ready, which
of course you're not, so why talk about it? I suppose it's been fun�
PAUL
Yes. It was for me. Wasn't it fun for you?
JARED
For the most part. Don't worry. You'll find someone, soon. Maybe
they'll have a friend who might know someone I could go out with once
or twice before this happens again. Not that this happens all the
time; just when I'm in a relationship; which really isn't that often.
We can stay friends. You can
JARED (cont'd)
tell me how lonely short term, empty flings are, and I can tell you
how lonely it is without them. And there'll be good times too, like
when we talk about loneliness over cake.
PAUL
We could have a serious, open relationship, couldn't we?
JARED
Are you sure you'd want that?
(Lights cross fade to FISHER and BLOOM.)
BLOOM
I'm beginning to feel a little manipulated here. Not that I don't
enjoy it. But, in retrospect, I think we may have been doomed from the
start. The point is, we were never what we needed for each other. I
needed someone who took our relationship completely seriously. You
needed someone who could coast. We're not like that anymore.
FISHER
Can I see you again? Maybe someday we'll find a happy medium. Or just
the right people. We can talk about them over cake.
BLOOM
Sure. Call me.
(Lights up on everyone. BLOOM & JARED and FISHER & PAUL look at one
another and shrug. Then, they all look at each other not knowing what
to do next.)
(BLACKOUT)
THE END
Selasa, 27 Maret 2012
***14 Daily Journal
Oh, Wednesday.
:*:*:*:*:*
Sadnees day..
Tired day ..
I didn't know what did to do.
Bad feeling, too.
Just did Intro to Lit and Morsyn's assignment with my group.
Sat together in Faculty Lobby.
Keep enjoy and full spirit!!
:*:*:*:*:*
Sadnees day..
Tired day ..
I didn't know what did to do.
Bad feeling, too.
Just did Intro to Lit and Morsyn's assignment with my group.
Sat together in Faculty Lobby.
Keep enjoy and full spirit!!
Madonna
In Love with Madonna
by Paul Knag
Characters:
Earl: A black homeless man in his late 40s.
Yolanda: A homeless woman in her 30s.
Cybelle: A young girl.
Nicole: A young girl.
Hooman: A man in his late teens/early 20s.
Andrew/Cop #2: A man in his late teens/early 20s.
Madonna: A woman in her late teens/early 20s.
Colin : A man in his late 40s.
[A park in New York City. To the right there is a large park bench. To the left there is a swing set, with two swings. Both are on an angle facing the center stage. There is a small black and white TV next to the bench which is constantly on. The play takes place in time towards the end of the century. Earl, a large black homeless man wearing a purple turban on his head, is asleep on a bench. Colin, a policeman enters with his silent white partner (Cop #2). He has his night stick in hand.]
Colin: Hey, move it buddy. Ya gotta move. You can't stay here.
Earl: Excuse me officer. I live here.
Colin: Come on, don't gimme no shit. Move it.
Earl: Hey, don't I know you?
Colin: Come on, Come on!
Earl: I swear I know you. Damn I can't remember where.
Colin: I'm the police that's who I am. I seen your ugly face around before and I don't want to see it again. So move it, buddy. Come on out! Out! (Earl doesn't move. Colin hits him with the stick. Ya deaf? Did you hear me ya fuckin nigger? I'll drag your ass right down to jail if that's what you want. (Colin turns his back. Earl stands.) So he ain't gonna move. God damn lazy nigger. (Colin turns around. Earl is right in front of him) Holy shit! (Colin starts beating him with his night stick) Holy fucking shit! (His partner joins in as they flail Earl who has dropped to the ground) Look at that, assaulting a police officer. Fuck you ya scumbag.
Earl: Please, officer. I'm a Vietnam veteran. I served my country...
Colin: Come on, Come on. I don't wanna hear it. (To his partner) Everyone's got a God damned story to tell. Move your ass or we'll really fuck you next time Jimbo. I don't want to see your ugly face around here again. And this ain't coming from me, I'd like to make that very clear. This is department policy. Department policy, ya hear? All scumbags out of the parks. Orders from the Chief.
Cop #2: Yeah the Chief.
Colin: You heard it. Better run if I see your black ass again.
[They exit.]
Earl: It's cold. So freezing cold in the morning. Ain't it a blessing I ain't freezed to death. Damn cops up early this morning. Don't matter. It's gonna be a fine day today. Maybe I'll get me some money today. Money Money Money. If I got me five dollars you know what I'd do? I'd go to the store and get me a chicken. One of those ones that are all cooked an everything. I'd go to the store and get me one of them. If I get five dollars. I hope today ain't another sorry day. I don't need no sorry days. Another sorry day for another sorry world. The United States of America. Yeah, everyone's sorry these days. �Sorry, I ain't got no dime. Sorry I ain't got no time. Sorry, I ain't got no..' ...bullshit! Man. I'm tellin' you. No one's gonna do nothin' for ya these days. Sorry people-- they not sorry, they sorry! I listen to them everyday, dishin out their sympathy with their hands in their pockets. Sorry. Why don't they just say no. Yeah that's what they should say. Just say no. �Say no to drugs.' Yeah. �Take a bite out of crime.' �Drink milk, it does a body good.' �Lucky dog, I'm a luck, lucky dog.' No I ain't. I don't want no luck. The devil brings luck. Lucky dog. The devil's dog's a lucky dog. It's blessin's man! Blessings from God! God bless you! God bless America! The sun is risin'! Hallelujah! If I get five dollars's I'm gonna get me a chicken. It would be a blessed day! God send us a blessed day! The Lord said, �Ask and you shall receive! Ask and you shall receive!' A blessed day for America! For all of us. I ask you God! For America! Everyone's who's an American. We who believe in the colours: the red the white and the blue-- the yellow, the brown and the black, all part of America. Crumbling! America is everybody's junk. What is an American? I am an American. We are Americans. Killers! What is an American? A hero! I am an American. We are Americans: African, Asian, Chicano, Mexicano, Bohemian, Armenian, Yugoslavian, Antartican, American. An American is helpful, friendly, curious, kind, cheerful, obedient, brave, cruel and irreverent. I'm proud to be an American. A soldier. I fight for your rights, for your right, your Goddamned self righteous right to fight. And we always win because we are Heroes. We always win because we are the best. So turn on the T.V. Turn it on baby. Television's got everything! Damn Sam, I'm a hungry man. Got some chicken? I want some chicken. Fried chicken, fried, fried chicken makes me want that finger licken' good good tasty tasty chicken, funky deep fat fried fried chicken. Chicken for a lucky dog, chicken for a funky frog Chicken, chicken, funky fried chicken...I ain't never starved, cause I have faith. Faith in the Lord. Halleluja! I believe! Do you believe? I don't never worry. Ask and you shall receive, said the Lord. Never never worry do I, not one second, worrying's a waste of my time, time precious time! The Lord is my shepherd and I shall not want. ( Hooman enters SL. ) Good morning, man. God bless you. Could you spare some change? God bless you. Funky chicken makes me sing, chicken chicken ding a ling. Hey man, how bout some change for a disabled veteran? Come on, I'm a Vietnam veteran. I risked my life for your freedom. God bless you. Have a nice day. Vietnam. Vietnam. Do you know what happened in Vietnam? I tell you a story. We got fucked that's what we did. Them yellow heads fucked us up. Damn gooks. I'm a gook killer, I am Sam. Invisible yellow monsters. Creeping, crawling they creep in and then BANG! You're dead. They must die. It's our job. Cause Uncle Sam-- Uncle Sam-- Uncle Sam-- says I am! And theres one thing you can't never forget. Just one thing: the traitors, and the spies. They got eyes. Eyes and ears. All around. You can't see them, until you die. And they're comin! For you. For me. For all us us, everyone who lives free. They keep us down, like a ball and chain, cause we're all killers and we're all slaves. For the US of A, Lady Liberty and Uncle Sam. For God. In God we trust, ain't that right? In God we trust. Ain't no one else. Cause we all need money. Money, money, money! Excuse me please my friend, could you please help out a disabled veteran? Please, I'm destitute. I just need two dollars.
Hooman: Sorry, Man.
Earl: Sorry, Sorry people. God bless you sorry people. Sorry I can't give you nothin I'm sorry cause I'm doin' somethin more important. Something crucial to this society. An you just a God damn bum. That right? Get a job, ain't that right? Yeah. Hey, what's wrong with you, boy?
Hooman: Man, what's up with the heat. You seen �em?
Earl: Hey nothin' but cold around here. I've been freezing to death.
Hooman: Man, they been sweating me all night.
Earl: Ain't it great to be a kid. An play all night long.
Hooman: I ain't playing, man.
Earl: (Sings) �I don't wanna grow up, I'm a Toys �R' Us kid, a million toys for girls and boys will really flip your lid, I don't wanna grow up �cause baby if I did, I wouldn't be a Toys �R' Us kid, more games, more toys oh boy!'
Hooman: Man, Shut up!
Earl: (finishing) � ...I wanna be a Toys �R' Us kid.'
Hooman: What's up with that shit?
Earl: Ain't you got some change for a Vietnam veteran. I'm out on the street now. I just want to get me something to eat.
Hooman: Who the fuck do you think I am, the salvation army? You fuck with me, you'll be lucky if I didn't whip your ass right now.
Earl: I'm a Vietnam veteran.
Hooman: Vietnam. Man, fuck Vietnam. That's worn out news, yesterday's news, last fucking decade's news. This ain't the sixties, it's the now. That's all you sorry old bastards ever talk about.
Earl: (sings) �I don't wanna grow up, I'm a Toys �R' Us kid...'
Hooman: Shut it! (pushes him) Shut the fuck up.
Earl: Hey! Easy now. I'm old. I'm an old man. Please, ain't you got any change? Every bit helps.(He sits down on the bench)
Hooman: You make me sick. Get a fucking job.
Earl: I'm a disabled veteran. Just a little change, please. You look like such a nice young man.
Hooman: Man, where do you get this shit? I ain't your nice young man, you obviously ain't got too good eyes. You're damn lucky I don't fuck you up right now. I was in the Army, you know and I know how to kill a man. And I'll tell you right now I killed myself lots of A-rabs when I was there. And you know what, you look like an A-rab to me, towel-head. Vietnam, what an embarrassment. This is America. We don't fucking lose! I won my war. We kicked some ass.
Earl: I don't believe you. You ain't no soldier boy. You're a punk.
Hooman: Like fuck I'm not.
Earl: You got any scars?
Hooman: Scars? Fuck no.
Earl: You ain't got no scars. I'll tell you something. You know why I wear this around my head?
Hooman: Because you want to be an A-rab.
Earl: Because it keeps my head together. When I was in Vietnam, boy, I got fucked up bad. They broke my head open. You don't know what the Viet-Cong did to American soldier-boys. They tied them up. Crucified to stakes, and then cut them very slowly with little blades in the blazing heat and they left them there. And then at night wild animals would come and lick my wounds and chew on my oozing flesh and I had to scream and yell to show that I was still alive, that I wasn't carrion yet. They cut me and burnt me. I don't think you know what pain is, boy? What cruelty is? What horror is? You feel it, yeah. And you suffer. And you ask why. Why? I'll tell you why. Because your Uncle Sam told you so. You'd do anything for Uncle Sam, wouldn't ya? You're a Yankee Doodle Dandy. No, I didn't think so. Well he don't care about you neither. (Earl hits him. Hooman falls down. Hooman pulls a handgun.)
Hooman: I swear I'll blow you away, you fucking lunatic. (Earl starts to laugh) I'll kill you nigger.
Earl: Nigger Nigger Nigger Nigger NIGGER!! I'm a blind nigger. But shit, I can hear them. (Hits the ground) Damn! They're coming in fast now like yellow jackets. They're everywhere. Cover me! I'm goin' in! Fuckers! They're everywhere!
Hooman: Don't move or I'll blow you away. I'll do it man. Way the fuck away. To oblivion. To death. Yeah. Death, dead as a doornail. C'mon you fuckin bum, fuckin slave. (He walks up to Earl.) Kneel! (Earl is already on his knees. He looks up at him. Suddenly Earl wrestles him down by the legs and gets him by the throat.)
Earl: Don't call me nigger.
Hooman: OK.
Earl: You know, I should kill you. Now shouldn't I?
Hooman: No.
Earl: And why not? What do I have to lose? Huh?
Hooman: Please man, please. I just got out of control man. I don't like to be hit man. But it's cool. It's cool. I'm sorry.
Earl: Oh soldier boy. Don't grovel. It's so humiliating, and I thought you don't like that.
Hooman: I don't like to be killed, man.
Earl: You don't like to be killed? But ain't that what soldier-boy thrives on? Ain't that what gets him going. What gives him that fucking thrill. That threat. That danger. Don't you like danger?
Hooman: No. No, I hate danger, man. I'm sorry man. It's cool man. I'm sorry.
Earl: Oh sorry, sorry people. Sorry boy, sorry Goddamned world. (He lets Hooman go.) You call yourself a soldier. You're just a dope dealer.(He gets up and walks away, always facing the other direction. ) A pill peddler. You call yourself a Hero. A Hero of the United States of America. An American soldier? You're nothing. I'm nothing. We're all nothing. Nothing's nothing anymore.
Hooman: Fuck man, I can't deal with this shit. I'm making a living and if you got a problem with that well fuck you. What the hell is the problem here? I'm an entrepreneur. This is America right, home of the free and the brave? Man, what you want me to do. I done my time. There was another war since you all last woke up and I was in it. It was against a bunch of sandy-assed A-rabs and we kicked their brown camel dung asses real bad. You see there was this lunatic named Saddam Insane who thought he was all bad and shit and he could take us on. What a fucking joke! We're American fuckin' Heroes. That's what we are, not the hippy freak Vietnam fags that got their asses wipped. We won. And we came home and we were honored. All of us. Stormin' Norman and Colin Powell leadin' the way. And what the fuck. I get home and here I am. There's nothin for me. Nothin except for a couple of flags and shit. Man, I need money, I gotta make a living. That's the name of the game. M-O-N-E-Y. All I do is meet the demand, you know. It's just simple economics. Supply and demand. I don't tell no kids to smoke base. They come to me on their own. People got it all backwards. It ain't the dope man who's fucked up, he's the one who keeps his head. It's the junkies, man. Rock heads-- fuck �em. You got to be out for yourself or they'll fuck you right up the ass, man. Who do I trust? Me. That's who I trust. Ain't no one else in this world. Anything else and you'd be dreaming. You gotta live in reality. Man, that's the problem in this world. Everyone's out in dreamy land. You start sleeping and someone be stabbing you in the back. So you don't sleep man, if you want to live right. Business. It's what makes this world go round. I ain't on no welfare, none of that shit. I got some pride. That's the difference between you and me. I got my pride and you ain't got shit beggin' around in the dirt like a bitch. You gotta get some pride and stop letting people fuck with you. You gotta know who's number one. And that's the only way to be. And let me tell you something. We ain't at Sesame Street and I ain't Big fuckin' Bird. I'm the dope man, and if you can't deal with it, well fuck you, I'll pump you full of lead and you'll be a dead motherfucker. Yo, I can either be you or I can be me. Don't sound like no choice to me. They've already made me my choice. The goddamned American Dream! [Hooman takes the gun.]
Earl: Don't worry about me boy. I've got eyes in the back of my head. Peace brother. Peace be with you. My name is Earl.
Hooman: How long you lived here Earl?
Earl: Since before you were born.
Hooman: You're strong for an old man.
[Hooman exits]
Earl: Yes, I'm an old man. Let me sit down. Let me catch my breath. (He sits.) [Hooman exits SL, Madonna enters SR.]
Earl: Good mornin' miss.
Madonna: Ya ain't seen anybody around?
Earl: Who ya lookin' for?
Madonna: My boyfriend.
Earl: I ain't seen shit.
Madonna: Well that helps.
Earl: Ain't nobody been around.
Madonna: Well fuck. That's just like him, blowin' me off again. Bastard.
Earl: Not very considerate.
Madonna: Not at all. He treats me like I'm some bimbo. Why do I put up with it? Why?
Earl: He's your pimp?
Madonna: What? Hey, what do you think I am? He's my boyfriend. Didn't you hear me? I don't got no pimp. I'm self- employed.
Earl: Self-employed? You ain't gonna get anywhere if you don't get an agent. You can't promote yourself. It don't work that way.
Madonna: I works fine for me.
Earl: All right.
Madonna: Why does he always keep me waiting?
Earl: �Cause he's the dope man. A cocky little thug.
Madonna: You know him?
Earl: No.
Madonna: Well shut up then.
Earl: I apologize, miss. So are you a whore by profession or just an amateur?
Madonna: Neither actually. (With pride!) I'm a dancer by profession. I fuck on the side.
Earl: Part time.
Madonna: You could call it that.
Earl: So why are you a whore?
Madonna: Hey, what is this? Twenty questions?
Earl: To buy your rock?
Madonna: What?
Earl: You whore to buy your rock.
Madonna: No I don't. My boyfriend gives it to me free, for your information. I've got my own reasons.
Earl: You gonna tell me?
Madonna: Why should I? It's my own private reason and it's none of your affair. Earl: You're right.
Madonna: And besides, you wouldn't understand. It's girl stuff.
Earl: I apologize, miss. I didn't mean to pry. Are you in love?
Madonna: What?
Earl: Do you love your boyfriend?
Madonna: Look. There ain't nothing wrong with sex. Why are you on my case? Sex doesn't mean love, there ain't no such thing as love. OK. Well that's just my opinion, and I guess maybe I'm cynical, but you ain't had my life. I believed in love a long time ago when I was a holy little virgin. But since I've started fucking I knew it wasn't true. It's a lie. OK. So that's why I whore. You got a problem with it? Hey, it's my body and I can do with it whatever I want. I don't got no pimp. And that's how it's gonna be. I'm self- employed. I'm the only one telling me what to do. Me. I'm the one in charge. You got it? So what else do you wanna know? My phone number, my bra size?
Earl: I used to be a whore.
Madonna: I bet.
[Enter Andrew, SR]
Earl: You know you're pretty for a whore.
Madonna: I told you, I'm a dancer. [To Andrew] Hey baby. You want some sex? Hey baby.
Andrew: What?
Madonna: Ya wanna fuck me?
Andrew: I don't got much time.
Madonna: A quickie. 50 bucks.
Andrew: Come on.
[They exit SL. Enter Yolanda and waifs SR]
Nicole: I swear I just saw her. She was here. Standing right here. It was her.
Cybelle: Really?
Nicole: Oh. She's soooo pretty. She looks like a goddess. I wish I was like her.
Yolanda: I ain't seen no one. You girls dreamin' again.
Nicole: She's real mom. She's really pretty and really cool and I think she's a professional dancer.
Yolanda: Well then she's probably rich as sin so next time you see her girls, I don't want no fawning. Pull some money out her ass.
Nicole: Oh Mom. That's all you think about.
Yolanda: Well then, miss sassy ass. You can dream the day away. And I'll eat.
Earl: (To Yolanda) Excuse me, miss. Could you spare some change for a disabled veteran? (Waifs go to swing on the swing set.)
Yolanda: Shut it Earl. I ain't got time for your games today.
Earl: Oh lady, I do insist. Come here, my Guinivere, I require just a kiss.
Yolanda: You ain't gettin' nothin' from me for free.
Earl: I've got yout warm and friendly company. And how are my beautiful little waifs, today?
Yolanda: Starving and sick and cold. An they're mine.
Earl: You never can tell. You know I can see myself sometimes in their eyes.
Yolanda: Don't flatter yourself, Earl.
[Enter Andrew, SR. Walks around back. Smoking, etc.]
Earl: There ain't nothin' more beautiful than little girls.
Yolanda: You better shut your stinkin' mouth before I put my foot in it. You don't know nothin' about girls. Them two little brats are a constant pain in my ass. All they do is whine and complain and give me gray hairs. Why Why Why they ask all day long. Never shut up them two. Spoiled little brats. That's what they are.
Earl: You got two beautiful little girls.
Yolanda: I got two hungry little mouths to feed other than my own.
Earl: Children are God's greatest blessin'.
Yolanda: Listen to the men speak! They's a woman's greatest curse. You want �em. You can have �em. They make'n me go hungry.
Earl: You don't know what you have. You've got a family.
Yolanda: Oh give me a fuckin' break.
Earl: You're a mother. There ain't no job more important.
Yolanda: You're full of shit. Fuck off.
[Enter Hooman, SL. He eyes the girls on the swing set. ]
Earl: It's true. You all don't understand, �cause you had it all your life. It's about love, trust, family. If you ain't got it you alone in the forest. An there's some sly and evil things out there. The whores and the generals. I tell you a story. Come here girls. Uncle Earl gonna tell you a story: Once upon a time there was a hunter. He was a fine hunter and one day he went into the forest and found an old human skull.
Nicole: Oooh, gross.
Earl: So the hunter goes, �What happened?� and then the skull says to him: �Talking brought me here.� So the hunter he was amazed an all that and so he ran off to tell the king about this talking skull.
Cybelle: Skulls don't talk.
Earl: Yeah, the king, he couldn't believe it either and decided to send guards out with the hunter to see if he had told the truth. The king ordered the hunter killed if he had lied. When they reached the place where the skull was, the hunter tried to get the skull to talk again but it wouldn't. As much as he tried, the skull just stared back at him. When the guards realized the skull could not speak, they killed the hunter and left the forest. The skull then asked: �What happened?� and the hunter's head said, �Talking brought me here.
Nicole: What's it mean?
Earl: It means watch out for the traitors, and the spies.
Nicole. Oh.
Yolanda: No it don't. It means know when to shut your mouth. You see girls, if you keep on whining you gonna die too, cause you gonna starve to death. Now lets go. I've had just enough of this old bum and his damn folk tales.
[Exit: Yolanda and Waifs. Andrew wanders over and to Hooman.]
Andrew: Hey man. Hey man, what's up?
Hooman: What's up?
Andrew: You got the shit man.
Hooman: Chill man. Ears and eyes man. Ears and eyes everywhere. All around us man. So chill.
Andrew: It's cool, man. It's cool.
Hooman: All right man. So it is. All right. What you need tonight? Some base?
Andrew: No man. Coke. Straight up.
Hooman: Coke? All right. Now you know I usually set you up cool. But I got like just a little problem today, you know. Just a small one.
Andrew: Oh Shit.
Hooman: You see my supply is kinda short, these days for that shit. I can't meet the demand, you know what I'm saying? So prices goin' up a little bit. You understand.
Andrew: Oh, shit man.
Hooman: Economics, my friend, simple economics, don't they teach you that shit in college?
Andrew: Man, I only got 100 dollars.
Hooman: That's all right homes. That's cool. I'll set you up strait. Listen, have I ever done you wrong? We do business. I don't fuck around with business. So stop fussin. What I do got is some high quality product. You know what I'm sayin?
Andrew: High quality bullshit.
Hooman: Yo man. Who you the fuck you think you're talkin to? Man, I don't got time for your lip. Now you want it, or you can just get the fuck out my face.
Andrew: Sorry, I'm cool.
Hooman: All right. Here's the scoop. I just gotta short you a little. Now this is high quality, uncut Colombian shit man. Straight from the source. This amount will do you as good as a whole gram of the regular street shit. Freeze it man.
Andrew: Tasty.
Hooman: No dope man. Clean high quality product.
Andrew: All right.
Earl: (Sings) �Get up! Get on up ah! Get up! Get on up ah! Stay on the scene, like a sex machine. Get up! Get on up ah!'
Hooman: Shut up!
Earl: Boy, you should respect your elders.
Hooman: (Approaches him.) Man, you can suck my dick. (Andrew runs off.)
Earl: I can?
Hooman: Yeah. You should know not to go messin' with my business. Can't you see I'm conducting business?
Earl: A Business man.
Hooman: That's what I am.
Earl: (Sings) Business man- That's what I am.
Hooman: (Turns to Earl) Man, shut up. (Andrew slinks away and exits.)
Earl: (Sings) �The way I like it- The way it is-'
Hooman: You're a crazy man.
Earl: (Sings) You got it. Gonna get some funky chicken. You know it. Kentucky's finger lickin'.
Hooman: You should get your head checked. (He notices Andrew is gone) Fucker! (He exits.)
[Earl continues to sing Sex Machine. Andrew enters]
Earl: You better watch your ass boy. They's bad men a-lookin for you.
Andrew: Hey, mind your own business.
Earl: Just lookin' out for your sorry ass.
Andrew: Shut up you damn bum.
Earl: You watch it boy. You should respect your elders. I've been pullin' shit since before yo daddy knew how to jerk off.
Andrew: You're just a bum, hasn't anyone ever told you that? You're a leech on society and I'm sick of hearing your ravings. Well where is she?
Earl: Who?
Andrew: Yolanda, she's late.
Earl: Why do waste your money on that dirty old ho?
Andrew: None of your business. But just since you wanted to know the woman knows how to suck. Experience man. It's experience I like. Someone who's been around the block once or twice. Someone who's got a clue. A woman who knows how to suck dick. Not some priss bag princess from Connecticut.
Earl: I'll take the princess.
Andrew: Man. That's the problem with all you poor people. You're all hung up on us rich people. You think about us more than we think about ourselves. Spending all day sitting around wishing you were me. Well it ain't that great being rich. We're no different. We're people too, we're no happier. We just got money and all the problems that go with it. You ain't no better when you got money. You're just richer. That's all. And poor people got more character. Man, a rich girl will whine and cry and give you hell, but a poor girl. No. She'll get down on the floor and suck your dick good and hard and nasty like she's supposed to, no fuss. Nothing. She just does what she's supposed to. It's her job, and she knows it, so she doesn't spend all day long trying to fool herself into believing that she's anything else. No pouting and crying. You just give her your cash and she's gone. No fuss, no problems, no daddies. It's efficient, like it should be. No fucking let's go back to preschool and feel our feeling and get in touch with our sexual identity bullshit. Girls around here know what's up and what to do with it. They understand reality. Back home, they don't know anything but Bennetton and Beemers. I'm not with all that pretentious shit. Atound here I can be myself. I spend my money here where people appreciate the value of a dollar. And if I get a girl pregnant, it isn't any fiasco. I like that. Black people are strange, but some of them are cool, you got to admit it.
Earl: Some of �em, yeah. Yolanda. Now that's my girl. A good mother. I love her ass. I do. Even if its a ho ass. Never a harder working honest ho like her. She keeps her children fed. Beautiful girls. God bless her.
Andrew: So where is she man, you seen her?
Earl: Seen her? Oh no man. I ain't seen shit. Man I never see shit. You should know that. I'm blind, man. I can't see. Blind as a bat. (Sings) �You got the right one baby, uh-huh!'
Andrew: Oh, come on man. I saw her just a little while a go right here with you. I just want to give her some business. I'm not gonna fuck with her. Man, come on. Five bucks.
Earl: Ah, shit man. I ain't no snitch.
Andrew: Come on man. Just tell me where she is.
Earl: Go. Go on boy. Get your ass outta here. Run. Before you get yourself shot. [Andrew exits. Hooman enters.]
Hooman: You seen him? You seen him Earl? I'm gonna hang him by his dick!
Earl: I ain't seen shit. Man, I never see shit. You should know that. Blind as a bat. (Sings) �You got the right one baby, uh-huh!'
Hooman: Come on man. Don't give me that shit.
Earl: I ain't seen shit. You deaf?
Hooman: As deaf as you are blind.
Earl: Can you read lips?
Hooman: Man, shut up. I'm gonna find that skinny fucker. The police are gonna have to come and peel me off his bloody ass. Man, no one fucks with me.
Earl: Well ain't you one bad ass motherfucker.
Hooman: Don't you ever forget it. When you gonna realize that I just don't care?
Earl: Ain't you a tough white boy.
Hooman: Yo man, I ain't white.
Earl: Looks it to me.
Hooman: I ain't white. But I ain't no nigger either. Yo, man. You tryin' to start something again? Man you pissin me off.
[Enter Yolanda and Waifs]
Yolanda: All right, Cinderella. I've had just about enough of your sassy mouth. Stop aggravating me. We ain't made enough money yet.
Earl: Well look who's here. How's it goin', moms?
Yolanda: Earl. Oh, Earl. I need a fix Earl. I really need it. I need some money. I need to work, Earl. Can you set me up? Oh Earl. [To Hooman] I'll give you a blow job for 10 bucks.
Hooman: 50 cents.
Yolanda: Fuck you.
Hooman: No, fuck you, bitch. Dumb ass hooker. I ain't payin' for your junk. I hate you fuckin' drug addicts. A fucking disease. That's what you are. Fuckin' junkies. I ain't payin' for your AIDS mouth to suck on my dick.
Yolanda: You're a fucking prick.
Hooman: But she'll do... (motioning to the girls) both of them. (He caresses one of them)
Yolanda: I'm gonna kill you you motherfucker. Get your hands off my child. You bastard. I'm gonna rip your dick off and feed it to you.
[Hooman exits, laughing]
Asshole. Doesn't he have one ounce of decency. Children, for christsake! Oh, child, I'm sorry.
Cybelle: It's all right mommy. I'd fuck him. It's OK. We need the money.
Yolanda: Oh honey. Don't say that. Don't ever say that.
Nicole: It's all right mom. We understand.
(They Exit.) (Madonna enters alone. Burning up is playing in the background.)
Madonna: Goddamn prick. Who the hell does he think I am? I'm not just any dirty old piece of ass you know. I'm a dancer, for your information. That's my profession. Ain't nothin' wrong with putting a little spirit into your profession. Shit, it's essential. I'm an artist, and ya gotta put your soul into art or else it's nothing. Its garbage. Ya see sex is just like dancing. If you don't wiggle your ass and show �em your stuff they're not gonna get off. There's nothin in the world I love more the dancing. Its real art you know. Real organic, spiritual ya know. An expression of the soul and all that. Its just that most people don't express their souls. They hide everything inside, all strapped up tight. That's why they can't dance-- these white people-- most white people I know. Ya see dancing is basic, kinda animal like. You got to strip away all that shit that keeps you from being the honky ass suit and tie big shit that you are. You can't dance with a suit and tie on. My God. And those big old dresses. Its just silly. Dancing is the expression of the soul through the body. To express yourself you got to show yourself. Nobody's really danced until they've danced bare-assed naked. Let's face it. Animals don't wear clothes. You got to let it all hang out and wiggle and throb. Express yourself! Clothes just burden you down. You see that's why it's like sex-- The people who can really do it are dancers. They dance with each other. And that's why I'm such a good fuck. �Cause I'm a dancer. I'm a professional. So what do you think? You think I'm good enough? You want me? (she approaches an audience member) Excuse me. Do you want some sex? Excuse me. Do you wanna fuck me? I wanna be your whore. You want me baby? You wanna see my stuff? [Music comes up louder.]
You want me. Come and get me. [Madonna dances. The music stops abruptly. She stops dancing] Hey! You ain't paid me yet! What about the goddamned money! You pricks! Fuckers! I hate men! Fuck �em. I don't need �em. I never a good man in my life. All they know how to do is fuck. Well girls can fuck too. You'll see. I'll be rich one day. I'll be a star. And everyone will know who I am and wish they were me. Oh yeah I'll get paid. I'm gonna get paid back and paid well and then I'll never need them. I ain't afraid of anything. Nothing! There ain't no man who can step in my way. They think I'm stupid. (Laughs) A bimbo. I got them by the balls. I only give them what they want, it's so easy. And I'm gonna fuck them. For all the times they fucked me! A rich whore. Queen whore. A fuck goddess! And when I've got them all with their pants down, I'll laugh. I'll laugh at them! Hahahahaha! I promise you! The girls are gonna have some fun! [Earl rises from the bench]
Earl: Hey you. Stop talkin' to yourself. You're much better at dancin' than at talkin.
Madonna: You like dancing?
Earl: Baby, I'm the funkiest thing since James Brown.
Madonna: That's all old stuff. C'mon, I'll show you.
[Madonna gets Earl up and starts dancing. Burning up is playing. Earl slowly gets into it. He lets himself be mastered by her in dance. He is her slave on the dance stage. Hooman arrives on stage towards the end of the song. He watches them, and the music stops suddenly as he steps forward]
Hooman: Goddamn it bitch ain't you got any shame?
Madonna: We was only dancin'
Hooman: Dancin'? You were humpin that old bum like a God damned whore.
[ Earl retreats back to the bench and watches his television.]
Madonna: You saying I'm a whore?
Hooman: No you're not. You're a dancer.
Madonna: But I fuck for money.
Hooman: On the side.
Madonna: From behind, on top, upside down, anyway you want it baby.
Hooman: Shut up bitch. You know I hate it when you talk like that. You sound like a cheap slut. Can't you be a fuckin' lady for once. Get some class.
Madonna: (Teasing) How can I get any class if all I am is a part time hooker. I want to be a call girl. You know and do senators in Limousines.
Hooman: You know you're a sad case. Ya got slut blood.
Madonna: Damn, you're touchy-touchy today. What's the matter? That time of the month?
Hooman: What the fuck are you trying to say, bitch? I don't like your implication, bitch.
Madonna: Don't you call me a bitch no more! Who do you think I am? I'm not just some-- slut on the street. I'm a person, I've got feelings too. And I'm gonna be famous! I promise you.
Hooman: I've never heard anything so goddamned trite in my whole life.
Madonna: Fuck off. (Hooman hits her)
Hooman: You watch your mouth bitch. I know what you been up to. I've noticed you little tricks, stealin' a little here and there, and you think I didn't notice. We'll I did, but it was cool. I let you get away with it �cause you're so goddamned pitiful. But not anymore. I don't give a shit about you bitch, I ain't a sucker. You baseheads are a bad lot. If it wasn't for the money, I'd never sell the shit. So fuck it. Go get your crack rock from someone else. �Cause I ain't your fuckin' daddy.
Madonna: No. No baby. I'm sorry. I know I've been a real bitch lately. I'm sorry, I really am. I'll make it up to you I swear. Anything you want. Please, please baby. Don't do this to me. You know I need you. Come on baby. I'll be a lady. I promise. Please.
Hooman: Don't grovel whore. You are a whore.
Madonna: I'm anything you want me to be. I'll do anything for you.
Hooman: Bitch stop lying. Damn baseheads'd kill their own mother for a hit.
Madonna: Oh come on baby. Don't be so cold. I'll do anything for you.
Hooman: We'll if you want a hit you're gonna have to get your knees dirty.
Madonna: Right here? Oh come on baby. You know I don't like to do that. Anything else.
Hooman. Well then fuck off bitch. Who the fuck do you think you are? You think you're special. I'll tell you something. I got two just like you.
Madonna: I'm Madonna Louise Ciccone for your information buster. Just in case you didn't recognize me. So go fuck yourself! I'm not your property.
Hooman: What the fuck. The bitch turned butch. I don't believe what I'm hearin'. Stupid fuckin' hooker ain't nothin but a dyke. (He slaps her) Go find your rock somewhere else, bitch. [Hooman exits. Madonna begins to cry.]
Madonna: Bastard. I hate you! I fucking hate you! Slut blood. All I got is slut blood. Fuckin' slut blood. (She removes a razor and slashes her right wrist) Look, Slut blood. Do you see. I got slut blood. (She sucks on her wrist) Do you see it. Salty red slut blood.
[Yolanda enters]
You see
it's slut blood.
Yolanda: Hey. What's wrong with you. (She taps her.)
Madonna: Slut blood...
Yolanda: You poor thing. What are you trying to do?
Madonna: (holding out her bloody wrist) Do you see...
Yolanda: Come here. (She rips off a piece of her clothing and binds it around Madonna's wrist. Madonna is crying and shivering again.) Poor thing. You cold honey? (She puts her coat over Madonna) You need anything?
Madonna: (crying) I need a hit.
Yolanda: Well who the fuck do you think I am girl. The Easter bunny? I'm saving your life here and all you got to do is beg for dope.
Madonna: (Sobbing) I'm sorry.
Yolanda: I ain't makin' this a habit. [She removes a pipe and vial, puts a rock into the pipe and hands it to Madonna. Madonna sits up and smokes it. She passes it to Yolanda who takes a hit. They sit for a while.]
Yolanda: Did he hit you?
Madonna: Who?
Yolanda: Your boyfriend.
Madonna: Yeah.
Yolanda: You deserve it?
Madonna: Yeah, I mean no.
Yolanda: You sure?
Madonna: Yeah.
Yolanda: So why the dramatics?
Madonna: I don't know.
Yolanda: You're so young. So beautiful.
Madonna: You think so?
Yolanda: Yes.
Madonna: You're not queer?
Yolanda: Everyone's queer sweetheart, as soon as you learn that, you'll have it all figured out. Listen honey, I've seen everything twice in my life and over again. It's all the same mixed up mess in the end. I never tried to make any sense out of it, I just lived it. You just got to live, and living is making a living. Money is what life's about and I ain't never had enough. Yeah, people will tell you all sorts of shit about love and trust and all sorts of things but I'll give it to you straight and spare you all the pain. Life ain't nothing but sex and money. That's all it comes down to. That's the God's honest truth. All that other shit well you can save that for the next life �cause it don't happen around here. And between you and me, as women, I'll tell you a secret. Men carry all their money tied around their dicks. So you got to approach them the right way if you want to get at it. Ain't nothin' that turns a girl on more than money. I'm sure you're aware of that. And girls know how to put money to good use. Give me some money and I tell you what I'd do. I'd buy a house. A house for women, for me and my girls. That's what I want, that's what I dream about. It's yellow with a white picket fence. Ain't that stupid. It ain't ever gonna happen, but I tell you, it keeps me going. Everyone has to have a dream. You're dead without a dream. Men, that's easy. They're just an inferior species, you'll learn that too if you haven't already. They're just big babies all of them. Easy to figure out. I got two little babies of my own. The labor of my life. Ain't it grand bein' a woman. Well they are girls of course, I don't make no boys. And they are the most beautiful girls you ever seen. Don't look nothing like my ugly ass. They come right from God. Little angels, that's what they are. And I'll tell you a secret. I'd be dead without them. A house for my girls. It's crazy what money can buy.
Madonna: Yeah?
Yolanda: Yeah.
Madonna: I'll pay you back.
Yolanda: Sure.
Madonna: No I will. I keep to my word.
Yolanda: The years have softened my old heart. You remind me of someone I used to know.
Madonna: Yeah who? You?
Yolanda: No. A friend.
Madonna: Yeah. Well I'm sure if you get to know me you'd realize that I'm not like anyone else. I'm Madonna.
Yolanda: Which one?
Madonna: Madonna Madonna, who else? You might not have heard of me yet. But you will. I'm going to be famous.
Yolanda: Madonnas always want to be famous. Some are, some aren't, some just think they are. Don't get your heart set on it, honey.
Madonna: It's already set.
Yolanda: You poor thing. Life ain't gonna do nothing but let you down.
Earl: (suddenly) �Get up! Get on up-ah! Get up! Get on up-ah!...'
Yolanda: Earl, can't you control yourself for once.
Earl: Yolanda, my Momma!
Yolanda: I ain't your Momma!
Earl: It's 10 pm. Do you know where your children are?
Yolanda: Ain't you got nothin' original to say?
Madonna: I do.
Yolanda: You ain't never said something I ain't heard before.
Earl: That's �cause you already heard everything, Momma. But you ain't seen how this girl can dance. [Sex Machine plays. They dance, Yolanda exits.]
Earl: Damn. You're better than the real thing.
Yolanda: The real thing?
Earl: Better than Madonna.
Madonna: Hey, I am Madonna, silly. I'm confused.
Earl: Then you are a wise woman. Everybody else think they got it all figured out.
Madonna: Fuckin' smart asses. I hate �em. I think with my body.
Earl: You are a wonderful dancer. Pretty funky for a little white girl. You sure you ain't black.
Madonna: 100% Italian, baby.
Earl: If you weren't so pale, I'd think you was lyin'.
Madonna: I never ever lie. It's a sin to lie, ya know. I just tell people God's honest truth. And if they can't take it, fuck �em. Get with reality. So people say I'm blunt, well fuck �em too. I speak my mind.
Earl: So what you gotta say.
Madonna: What d'you mean?
Earl: Tell me God's honest truth.
Madonna: No..
Earl: Oh, Come on. I won't be offended. Come on.
Madonna: It's not like that. I speak when I want to. I ain't got nothing to say.
Earl: Don't think. Just say things. Just let it come out your mouth.
Madonna: What?
Earl: Close your eyes. Go on, close em. (She does) Now roll your eyes to the back of your head. Now take a breath. Yeah, big deep breath. Now make a sound. Just let it come out your throat. Like this...ahhhhh (Earl starts throaty moans)
Madonna: Ahhhhh...
Earl: Just let the words come.
Madonna: (as if in a trance) Ahhhh....lovvvve......yoooouuuuu........Eaaarrrrllll........ (She suddenly breaks out of her �trance' and stops.) Ican't do it.
Earl: You were doin' fine.
Madonna: I ain't said a word. I can't do it.
Earl: You said plenty.
Madonna: I did?
Earl: Yes you did.
Madonna: I don't remember. What'd I say? Was it blunt? Oh come on. Tell me what I said. Please, Please, Please!
Earl: You said �I love you Earl.'
Madonna: (Flirting) Love is what makes the world go �round.
Earl: Yeah, love.
Madonna: And dancing.
Earl: Dancin' is everything. Just keep dancin' that's what I learned.
[Earl dances around and sings sex machine. Madonna laughs along. Suddenly he breaks out and lunges to the the ground.]
They're here. They're all around us. The spies and traitors. They're coming, and they're gonna get us. They're here. In our very midst. Get down. Stay low. Don't let �em see you or you a dead duck. We're all dead. Just watch your head. Quiet....Shhhh.....
Madonna: Earl....What's wrong....
Earl: Quiet....Shhh....you have to be very quiet. Stalk like an animal. They're all around us. Do you see them?
Madonna: No.
Earl: There. There they are. They're all around us. Spies and traitors. (He screams. Frantic whisper) No! Don't shoot! I don't want to die. I want peace. Peace, motherfuckers peace! (He runs around the stage and then stops suddenly.)
Madonna: Oh Earl, don't be so silly.
Earl: I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me.
Madonna: You're a silly old man.
Earl: I ain't no silly rabbit. �Silly rabbit, tricks are for kids.'
Madonna: You're a clown. You clown around and put on airs and make me laugh.
Earl: What you talkin, lady? You don't know me.
Madonna: Oh yes I do. I know you Earl. ( She embraces him and kisses him on the cheek.) I know what you're made of. I know what you're all about. You're like me.
Earl: A whore.
Madonna: No you're not.
Earl: A whore.
Madonna: An artist, Earl! You're an artist.
Earl: I'm crazy motherfucker.
Madonna: You come with me and be famous.
Earl: I already am.
Madonna: You're not.
Earl: Yes I am. You ask anyone. Say: �You seen that crazy motherfucker singin' songs and all that stuff on the street. And they say yeah. I know that guy. I listened to him singin. I seen him dancin.'
Madonna: But how do you know that's really you.
Earl: The real Earl. It ain't. No one knows the real Earl. Yeah, that's the price of fame. It's a curse. You're soul without a name.
Madonna: They don't even pay. You should charge them. Make them pay to see you.
Earl: No one wants to see me. I ain't pretty like you.
Madonna: Earl, I think you're beautiful. (She embraces him.)
Earl: Blessings from God.
Madonna: But I can't live on blessings alone, Earl. Girls like money. (Madonna suddenly breaks the embrace.) Oh Earl, I forgot. It's so late. I've got to go. (She runs off) See ya. (Exit) [Yolanda enters with Waifs.]
Yolanda: (into the audience) Could you spare a bit of change for the children? Please, sir. Could you spare a little? Nicole. Come over here. What have you got? Give it to me. 50 cents. You'll have to do better than that young lady if you expect to eat. I'll not have you dreaming the day away. Come here my little princess. I'll have you know, your mother's a whore. Whoring night and day to feed your hungry little holes. Cybelle. You're such a good girl. So hungry and poor, my beautiful little waif. Just like your mother. Such a good girl. You'll do far better than little miss 50 cents Cinderella.
Nicole: Who's Cinderella?
Yolanda: That's you darling. That's the name I gave you.
Nicole: No it's not, it's Nicole.
Yolanda: It's Cinderella, you heard me. You're Cinderella whether you like it or not. You better shape up or ship out, missy.
Cybelle: Who am I, mommy?
Yolanda: Why you're my little darling, my angel Cybelle. What a silly thing to ask. Now listen here girls. We need money, We need to eat. Mommy's sick. We have to get more medicine. Now how does it work? We get money. How do we get money? We beg for it, we steal it, we take it. I don' t care how we get it. Get it?
Nicole: Got it, Mom.
Cybelle: Yeah.
Yolanda: All right. You've gotten me $2.50 today. And I've gotten 10 bucks all by myself. You're gonna have to start pulling your end. I want to have at least gotten 5 bucks by lunchtime. (She takes a lollipop from Nicole's mouth) None of that. I don't want none of that Sesame Street stuff. We're hungry and poor. We're desperate. I want some money out of you, Nicole.
Nicole: Name's Cinderella, Mom.
Yolanda: You shut your fresh mouth before I put my fist in it.
Cybelle: Yeah, Nicole.
Yolanda: You shut up too, young lady. I haven't the patience today. I'll tell you now. Don't test me. Mommy hasn't the patience. So you two be best to just shut up and do as you're told. I want some respectable begging out of you two.
Cybelle: (to audience) Excuse me. Excuse me mister. Can I have some money for food? (Man gives her some money) Thanks! Hey Mom! He gave me two dollars. Two whole dollars!
Yolanda: Give it here. Thank you. That's very good. That's what I like to see. You're a good girl. Do you see? Do you see, Nicole? Someone around here likes to eat. Someone around here knows what it's like to be hungry and go to sleep with an empty stomach and wake up cold and wet in the morning. This world ain't gonna give you nothin unless you take it. But if hunger suits you, well that's just fine. You can stand around like Cinderella while me and your sister eat. And you can just stand there and watch us eat, as you seem so fond of doing. Just stand there and we'll eat, but we won't give any to you, cause you like to be hungry. We'll let you smell it, we'll let you see it. We might even let you taste it. But we won't let you eat it. Not one goddamned crumb. You'd like that, wouldn't you?
Nicole: No.
Yolanda: Be quiet, stupid. That was a rhetorical question.
Nicole: Why did you ask a question if you don't want an answer?
Yolanda: I told you stupid, because it's rhetorical.
Nicole: Oh.
Yolanda: Now no more questions. You're making me tired and aggravated. So shut up for once.
Nicole: Mom. Can I make a rhetorical question? Mom. Why are you such a mean witch? It was a rhetorical question! You can't answer it!
[Nicole runs offstage]
Yolanda: I'm gonna kill you, you little brat! If I ever catch you, I'm gonna rip your sweet little face into shreads and eat you up. Eat you alive. You don't know how hungry..... You don't know how hungry I am. I'll eat you up with ketchup and mustard. Your sister and me.
Cybelle: Mom, that's gross.
Yolanda: Shut up, you. Mommy needs more medicine. Mommy doesn't feel too good. Mommy's sick.
Cybelle: I'm sorry, mommy. (She hugs her)
Yolanda. (pushing her away) Get off of me and beg!
[They exit. Madonna comes running in, carrying a shopping bag]
Madonna: Earl, Earl guess what! You won't believe what just happened to me. You won't believe who I just met! (Earl is silent) Guess who? I met this big time A&R man from Warner Brothers. Big time. No joke. He said he's interested in me! Can you believe it, me! I told you I'm gonna be famous.
Earl: So what's his name?
Madonna: Colin. His name is Colin. He said he wants to meet with me and my agent.
Earl: Who's your agent?
Madonna: You are.
Earl: Me?
Madonna: Well I was thinkin' you're like good at acting and so maybe you could pretend to be my agent.
Earl: I've been all sorts of things, but never no pimp.
Madonna: I said agent.
Earl: What about your boyfriend?
Madonna: He's a prick. You know that. We're finished. So what do you say? You gonna do it? Please...Oh Earl please.... If you help me get this deal. I'll do anything for you. I'll love you forever. Pleease...
Earl: How do you expect him to believe that I'm your agent. I don't look like an agent.
Madonna: Oh, that's easy. I've got some clothes right here you. They should fit. (She gives him the bag) Try �em on.
Earl: You're all prepared.
Madonna: Have to. He's coming in 5 minutes.
Earl: Five minutes?
Madonna: Oh, don't worry Earl. You'll be fabulous. You're a natural.
Earl: Five minutes? Right here, Right now? Damn, you don't give me much time. All right. All right.
[He goes behind the bench and starts changing his clothes. Madonna primps and puts on lipstick.]
Madonna: How do I look, Earl?
Earl: Like a virgin.
Madonna: Oh, don't be absurd, Earl.
Earl: I ain't.
Madonna: You're full of shit.
Earl: I am?
Madonna: You are. Are you ready? He should be here any minute.
Earl: Watch out ladies, �cause here he comes. The shit, the man, the incredible bad ass motherfucking king of the industry, the largest mother on the scene: Daddy Mack, baby. (He emerges from behind the bench wearing a purple suit, loafers and sunglasses)
Madonna: Oh Earl. You look great. I think it's gonna work.
Earl: What do you want me to say, then?
Madonna: Just improvise as you go. The normal stuff. I'm fantastic, the world won't be the same with out me. Tell �im we've been talking to Atlantic and MCA and we ain't gonna go for no half-ass shit. Tell �im we want total artistic control, you know. But don't come on too strong. You know what to do.
[Colin enters. Slick executive.]
Colin: Good to see you again, Madonna. ( He kisses her hand.) And you are...
Earl: Mack. I'm her agent, you know what I mean?
Colin: Ah yes. Right. Colin Powell... Good to meet you, Mr. Mack. (They shake hands.)
Earl: Have a seat, my man, Colin.
Colin: Yes. It's Colin. (pronounced Coh-lin.)
[Colin sits on end of bench. Earl sits down on other end of bench]
Colin: So I've heard a lot about your little spunky thing here. Heard she can really dance.
Earl: That's right. An that ain't all she can do. She can sing better �n Diana Ross, an act better �n Betty Davis. She's a multi-media conglomeration of talent. She can do it all. And sell it. Can't ya honey?
Madonna: Uh huh.
Earl: She's got the sex appeal of Marilyn Monroe, I tell you she's just one right marketable prospect.
Colin: I see.
Earl: But you ain't seen nothin' yet. She's everything America needs. She's a sweet little Catholic girl, who ain't afraid of goin' to hell. She's white, but she can dance like the best of us. She's a woman, but she's got the confidence and presence of a man. Don't you baby?
Madonna: Uh huh.
Earl: I tell you you can't go wrong with her. She's one hot prospect to trot for. And, well to be right honest with you we've been talkin' to some people at Atlantic and MCA who have given us some offers. The market's boomin' for something exciting and new like her. But I thought we'd let you in on things. It's only fair. And you can give me some idea of what Warner Brothers is willing to put up.
Colin: I see.
Madonna: You wanna see me dance?
Colin: Yes. Yes. That would be helpful.
[Madonna dances to a raunchy slow version of Like a Virgin. She does a strip tease for the two men, and at the end she is sitting on the bench between them.]
Madonna: So boys, what do ya think?
Colin: I must admit, There's something solid in it.
Madonna: Like what?
Colin: Well I think it could be quite marketable.
Madonna: You think? You think I could be on MTV?
Colin: I think that is a possibility.
Madonna: Oh really! Oh Colin!! (She embraces him and jumps on his lap)
Colin: Perhaps we could further discuss the nuances of your future relationship with Warner Brothers over a drink. Somewhere more... personal.
Madonna: Okay.
Earl: Yeah. Sounds good Colin. We could sort out some of the minor details on the business end.
Colin: Actually, I was thinking more in terms of an artistic conference. Just Madonna and myself.
Madonna: That sounds great, Colin.
Colin: Shall we?
Madonna: Yeah. (They exit. Andrew enters.)
Earl: Lucky dog. (To Andrew) What ya doin' boy?
Andrew: Hey, don't do that. You scared me.
Earl: Poachin' in my forest are you?
Andrew: Yo man, can you help me score?
Earl: Who you talkin' to, boy?
Andrew: You dude, who do you think?
Earl: Boy, what do I look like, the Dope man?
Andrew: Can't you hook me up? I know you can. Have you seen anything?
Earl: I ain't seen shit.
Andrew: Come on man. I'll pay you good.
Earl: Boy, you lost your mind too young. You a stupid kid.
[Hooman enters with Nicole]
Hooman: Freeze motherfucker! Freeze! (He pulls a gun and points it at Andrew.) Get down on the ground! (Andrew obeys. He puts the gun to Andrew's head)
Nicole: Don't.
Hooman: Shut your face bitch. You're just a dirty ho like your mother. Ain't no difference. Young beaver, old beaver. They all just stinkin' beaver. But you, you little white ass motherfucker. You know there's nothing more enjoyable to me than killin' cheap Jewish motherfuckers like you. Did you know that? I take pleasure in your pitiful death. Do you know why? Because no one...no one fucks with me.
Andrew: I know man. I'm sorry man. It was stupid. I'm sorry. I'll pay you back whatever....
Hooman: (Stepping on his head.) Shut up, Jew boy. I ain't finished. You see no one fucks with me and gets away with it. It ain't about money. That's got nothin' to do with it. It's honor man. And not just that. Unlike some people around here I've got some amount of self-respect that I have to maintain. And I can't go around letting assholes like you rip me off. I wouldn't be able to like myself if I did that. You understand?
Andrew: I'll give you anything man. I'm serious. I got a brand new Jeep man. I'll give it to you.
Hooman: Yo man. You really don't get it do you. You a stupid motherfucker. Yo man who the fuck do you think I am? You think I can be bought? For money? Well you're wrong. Haven't you ever heard of honor, man? I guess not. Well fuck you. You don't deserve to live. (He is about to fire.)
Earl: Stop it kid.
Hooman: You're next, old man.
[Enter Yolanda with Cybelle. Hooman grabs Nicole.]
Yolanda: Get your stinkin' hands off my child!
Hooman: Get your stinkin' cunt out my face!
Yolanda: Fuck off. (She approaches him)
Hooman: Move one more step, Momma whore and I blow your little piglet's head in too.
Yolanda: You can't kill us all, Hooman.
Hooman: No? Like fuck I can't. Step to me. Come on bitch.
Nicole: Mom, I'm okay.
Yolanda: Give me my child!
Earl: Come on man. Cool it. (He approaches.)
Hooman: Fuck off, Earl.
Earl: (Puts his hands up and slowly approaches) Give me the gun.
Hooman: (laughs) What kind of idiot do you think I am? Move one step and she dies.
Earl: You're only a boy. You can't shoot that thing.
[Across the stage enter Colin and Madonna. Colin (dressed as cop) has a gun drawn.]
Madonna: There he is!
Hooman: (Pointing at Colin) Freeze, motherfucker! (Earl knocks the gun from behind him. The gun goes off. Everyone falls to the ground. Earl pins him down. Nicole runs to her mother. Andrew runs off. Colin enters and takes Hooman's gun. Earl stands up. Hooman is on the ground, under Colin's gun.]
Yolanda: My baby. (She embraces Nicole)
Nicole: It's all right, Mom.
Yolanda: (approaching Hooman) Kill him. (She spits on him.) Motherfucker. (She exits with both waifs.)
Colin: All right, it's all over.
Hooman: I didn't do nothin man. Please man. Please.
Colin: Don't worry I won't hurt you.
Hooman: What the fuck? What did I do? I didn't say shit.
Colin: I'm not going to hurt you, son.
Hooman: You're not?
Colin: You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law...(Colin drags him across the stage)
Hooman: Fuck.
Colin: You have the right to attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you by the court. (Colin drags him away. Colin's partner (Cop #2) enters during this and takes hold of Hooman.)
Hooman: What's the charge? (Colin's partner drags him offstage) This is bullshit man. What's the charge!? I want justice! Justice!
Madonna: Eat me, asshole.
Colin: All right, all right folks. This ain't no show. Move on out. Come on!
Earl: Ain't no one left, officer.
Colin: Come on, move it. I'm talking to you. This park is closed.
Earl: Hey, don't I know you?
Colin: No you don't.
Earl: Come on, what's yout name. I know you.
Colin: I'm the police. That's my name.
Earl: No, no. I know you. Nam man, you were in Nam with me.
Colin: Come on, guy. That's enough.
Earl: Yeah. I know you. You're Colin Powell, that's who you are. Come on Colin, it's me. Earl. Don't you remember?
Colin: What's this guy raving about?
Earl: Don't you remember, Nam man. Vietnam. We did Nam together.
Colin: The man's insane.
Earl: You ain't kidding.
Colin: Never went to Vietnam, I'm proud to say. What a complete fiasco. A disgrace.
Earl: What happened to your head, man. It's me. Me. Earl. You can't forget all that.
Colin: All right Captain America. I'm taking your ass to jail. (He grabs Earl)
Earl: I can't leave here. I live here.
Colin: This park is closed. You're under arrest.
Earl: For what?
Colin: You have the right to remain silent.
Earl: Fuck that shit. I ain't remainin' silent. That's just what you want me to do right? Shut the hell up. Right?
Colin: Anything you say can and will be said against you in a court of law.
Earl: Come on Colin. This is bullshit.
Colin: You wouldn't know bullshit if it hit you in the face. (Putting handcuffs on Earl.)
Madonna: Hurry up Colin. Our reservations are for 8.
Colin: I'll be right there baby. Go wait in the car.( She exits. Earl whips back and hits Colin, knocking him to the ground.)
Earl: You always been slow Colin. I was always saving your ass. You remember me now, motherfucker? (He lets him go and faces upstage) (Colin takes out his gun and points it a Earl)
Earl: Don't worry about me. I got eyes in the back of my head. Peace brother. Peace be with you.
Colin: Peace, Earl. That's what we need. Why do we fight? We fight for peace. For rest, for salvation. Why do we live? To fight. Cause there ain't no such thing as salvation and you know it.
(Earl starts singing Amazing Grace )
Colin: You can forget it Earl. Ain't nothing here for you. This is the material world. And salvation is drugs, sex, money and power. You're a sad kind of fool Earl. Never did quite get with reality, did you? Nam was a long time ago. You've got to live in the present, my friend, not the past. That's how you get old. Times have changed and you got to change with them. Look at you. You're a fucking lunatic. Do you realize that? You really don't belong here. You're out of place, Earl. Bad for business anyway. People don't want to look at you. I've got orders to clear you outta here, so that's what I gotta do.
Earl: I live here!
Colin: No you don't. You live in never-never land. You're a ghost. What are you doing here? You haunt these people, these decent hard working people. They can't understand you. And you never let them alone. You can't harass people like that, Earl. It's against the law.
Earl: They're all confused.
Colin: This world is confused.
Earl: We're on the same side, Colin. The same side.
Colin: No. There's no sides. Just one thing. We all gotta live for one thing.
Earl: Apostacy.
Colin: You have to keep moving with the world Earl. There's no rest stops.
Earl: Apostacy.
Colin: You're saying the same things you said 25 years ago. Where'd you learn that word Earl?
Earl: (Whispers)The traitors....
Colin: Earl, I'm a business man.
Earl: And the spies...
Colin: Gotta make a living, Earl.
Earl: (starts to turn) Colin.
Colin: Gotta move on.
Earl: (sings) �I don't wanna grow up...'
Colin: I'm not playing, Earl.
Earl: �...I'm a Toys �R' Us kid. A million toys for girls and boys will really flip your lid...'
[Colin shoots him 3 times. Blackout.]
[Enter Andrew. He approaches the corpse. He goes through Earls pockets, and finds nothing. He removes a pipe from his jacket and smokes. He exits. Enter Yolanda and waifs.]
Nicole: Mother, It's all right. It's only Earl.
Cybelle: He's dead.
Yolanda: We are all going to die. Death is the end of time.
Nicole: We are with you, mother.
Yolanda: My daughters you will make me immortal.
Cybelle: I love you mother.
Nicole: Are you hungry, mother?
Yolanda: Hungry and tired.
Cybelle: Rest Mother. Let us eat the food which men have prepared.
Nicole: I love you mother.
[Blackout. Enter Madonna and Colin in military uniform.]
Madonna: He's beautiful. Looks like he's just sleeping. If you can look through it all, right to his soul, what we're really seeing is something beautiful, ya know. Death should always be violent. I want to waste away. I want to go out with a bang.
Colin: It's a sight for weak-hearted America. We need strength, power, supremacy if we are going to survive. We've got to string up all the Arabs who will keep us from it.
Madonna: Strength, power, supremacy. I got it all babe and I'll sell it to ya cheap. I'll sell good don't you think, Colin? When I get famous, d'ya think everyone will want a little piece of me?
Colin: You're just what America needs, sweetheart.
[Blackout. On stage: Hooman, Andrew, Yolanda and waifs, Earl. Earl is reading a newspaper. Newspaper reads in boldface: HOMELESS MAN MURDERED!]
Andrew: Yo man, you got some rock?
Hooman: Yeah man. What you need? (They move to SR to complete their transaction.)
Nicole: Mommy, what's a sex machine?
Yolanda: Where do you girls get these questions? Why don't you shut your trap for once you little cunt and make some money.
Nicole: Like Madonna. Her cunt makes lots of money.
Yolanda: That's because she's marketable. She'll make more money than you'll ever dream of.
Nicole: What's wrong with my cunt? Isn't it marketable?
Cybelle: What's marketable mean?
Nicole: It means horrible.
Cybelle: Yeah Mom, why?
Yolanda: Why do you two prattle on incessantly about Madonna?
Nicole: We love her.
Cybelle: She's the greatest.
Earl: What a dancer!
[Blackout. Blaring Material Girl is played.]
by Paul Knag
Characters:
Earl: A black homeless man in his late 40s.
Yolanda: A homeless woman in her 30s.
Cybelle: A young girl.
Nicole: A young girl.
Hooman: A man in his late teens/early 20s.
Andrew/Cop #2: A man in his late teens/early 20s.
Madonna: A woman in her late teens/early 20s.
Colin : A man in his late 40s.
[A park in New York City. To the right there is a large park bench. To the left there is a swing set, with two swings. Both are on an angle facing the center stage. There is a small black and white TV next to the bench which is constantly on. The play takes place in time towards the end of the century. Earl, a large black homeless man wearing a purple turban on his head, is asleep on a bench. Colin, a policeman enters with his silent white partner (Cop #2). He has his night stick in hand.]
Colin: Hey, move it buddy. Ya gotta move. You can't stay here.
Earl: Excuse me officer. I live here.
Colin: Come on, don't gimme no shit. Move it.
Earl: Hey, don't I know you?
Colin: Come on, Come on!
Earl: I swear I know you. Damn I can't remember where.
Colin: I'm the police that's who I am. I seen your ugly face around before and I don't want to see it again. So move it, buddy. Come on out! Out! (Earl doesn't move. Colin hits him with the stick. Ya deaf? Did you hear me ya fuckin nigger? I'll drag your ass right down to jail if that's what you want. (Colin turns his back. Earl stands.) So he ain't gonna move. God damn lazy nigger. (Colin turns around. Earl is right in front of him) Holy shit! (Colin starts beating him with his night stick) Holy fucking shit! (His partner joins in as they flail Earl who has dropped to the ground) Look at that, assaulting a police officer. Fuck you ya scumbag.
Earl: Please, officer. I'm a Vietnam veteran. I served my country...
Colin: Come on, Come on. I don't wanna hear it. (To his partner) Everyone's got a God damned story to tell. Move your ass or we'll really fuck you next time Jimbo. I don't want to see your ugly face around here again. And this ain't coming from me, I'd like to make that very clear. This is department policy. Department policy, ya hear? All scumbags out of the parks. Orders from the Chief.
Cop #2: Yeah the Chief.
Colin: You heard it. Better run if I see your black ass again.
[They exit.]
Earl: It's cold. So freezing cold in the morning. Ain't it a blessing I ain't freezed to death. Damn cops up early this morning. Don't matter. It's gonna be a fine day today. Maybe I'll get me some money today. Money Money Money. If I got me five dollars you know what I'd do? I'd go to the store and get me a chicken. One of those ones that are all cooked an everything. I'd go to the store and get me one of them. If I get five dollars. I hope today ain't another sorry day. I don't need no sorry days. Another sorry day for another sorry world. The United States of America. Yeah, everyone's sorry these days. �Sorry, I ain't got no dime. Sorry I ain't got no time. Sorry, I ain't got no..' ...bullshit! Man. I'm tellin' you. No one's gonna do nothin' for ya these days. Sorry people-- they not sorry, they sorry! I listen to them everyday, dishin out their sympathy with their hands in their pockets. Sorry. Why don't they just say no. Yeah that's what they should say. Just say no. �Say no to drugs.' Yeah. �Take a bite out of crime.' �Drink milk, it does a body good.' �Lucky dog, I'm a luck, lucky dog.' No I ain't. I don't want no luck. The devil brings luck. Lucky dog. The devil's dog's a lucky dog. It's blessin's man! Blessings from God! God bless you! God bless America! The sun is risin'! Hallelujah! If I get five dollars's I'm gonna get me a chicken. It would be a blessed day! God send us a blessed day! The Lord said, �Ask and you shall receive! Ask and you shall receive!' A blessed day for America! For all of us. I ask you God! For America! Everyone's who's an American. We who believe in the colours: the red the white and the blue-- the yellow, the brown and the black, all part of America. Crumbling! America is everybody's junk. What is an American? I am an American. We are Americans. Killers! What is an American? A hero! I am an American. We are Americans: African, Asian, Chicano, Mexicano, Bohemian, Armenian, Yugoslavian, Antartican, American. An American is helpful, friendly, curious, kind, cheerful, obedient, brave, cruel and irreverent. I'm proud to be an American. A soldier. I fight for your rights, for your right, your Goddamned self righteous right to fight. And we always win because we are Heroes. We always win because we are the best. So turn on the T.V. Turn it on baby. Television's got everything! Damn Sam, I'm a hungry man. Got some chicken? I want some chicken. Fried chicken, fried, fried chicken makes me want that finger licken' good good tasty tasty chicken, funky deep fat fried fried chicken. Chicken for a lucky dog, chicken for a funky frog Chicken, chicken, funky fried chicken...I ain't never starved, cause I have faith. Faith in the Lord. Halleluja! I believe! Do you believe? I don't never worry. Ask and you shall receive, said the Lord. Never never worry do I, not one second, worrying's a waste of my time, time precious time! The Lord is my shepherd and I shall not want. ( Hooman enters SL. ) Good morning, man. God bless you. Could you spare some change? God bless you. Funky chicken makes me sing, chicken chicken ding a ling. Hey man, how bout some change for a disabled veteran? Come on, I'm a Vietnam veteran. I risked my life for your freedom. God bless you. Have a nice day. Vietnam. Vietnam. Do you know what happened in Vietnam? I tell you a story. We got fucked that's what we did. Them yellow heads fucked us up. Damn gooks. I'm a gook killer, I am Sam. Invisible yellow monsters. Creeping, crawling they creep in and then BANG! You're dead. They must die. It's our job. Cause Uncle Sam-- Uncle Sam-- Uncle Sam-- says I am! And theres one thing you can't never forget. Just one thing: the traitors, and the spies. They got eyes. Eyes and ears. All around. You can't see them, until you die. And they're comin! For you. For me. For all us us, everyone who lives free. They keep us down, like a ball and chain, cause we're all killers and we're all slaves. For the US of A, Lady Liberty and Uncle Sam. For God. In God we trust, ain't that right? In God we trust. Ain't no one else. Cause we all need money. Money, money, money! Excuse me please my friend, could you please help out a disabled veteran? Please, I'm destitute. I just need two dollars.
Hooman: Sorry, Man.
Earl: Sorry, Sorry people. God bless you sorry people. Sorry I can't give you nothin I'm sorry cause I'm doin' somethin more important. Something crucial to this society. An you just a God damn bum. That right? Get a job, ain't that right? Yeah. Hey, what's wrong with you, boy?
Hooman: Man, what's up with the heat. You seen �em?
Earl: Hey nothin' but cold around here. I've been freezing to death.
Hooman: Man, they been sweating me all night.
Earl: Ain't it great to be a kid. An play all night long.
Hooman: I ain't playing, man.
Earl: (Sings) �I don't wanna grow up, I'm a Toys �R' Us kid, a million toys for girls and boys will really flip your lid, I don't wanna grow up �cause baby if I did, I wouldn't be a Toys �R' Us kid, more games, more toys oh boy!'
Hooman: Man, Shut up!
Earl: (finishing) � ...I wanna be a Toys �R' Us kid.'
Hooman: What's up with that shit?
Earl: Ain't you got some change for a Vietnam veteran. I'm out on the street now. I just want to get me something to eat.
Hooman: Who the fuck do you think I am, the salvation army? You fuck with me, you'll be lucky if I didn't whip your ass right now.
Earl: I'm a Vietnam veteran.
Hooman: Vietnam. Man, fuck Vietnam. That's worn out news, yesterday's news, last fucking decade's news. This ain't the sixties, it's the now. That's all you sorry old bastards ever talk about.
Earl: (sings) �I don't wanna grow up, I'm a Toys �R' Us kid...'
Hooman: Shut it! (pushes him) Shut the fuck up.
Earl: Hey! Easy now. I'm old. I'm an old man. Please, ain't you got any change? Every bit helps.(He sits down on the bench)
Hooman: You make me sick. Get a fucking job.
Earl: I'm a disabled veteran. Just a little change, please. You look like such a nice young man.
Hooman: Man, where do you get this shit? I ain't your nice young man, you obviously ain't got too good eyes. You're damn lucky I don't fuck you up right now. I was in the Army, you know and I know how to kill a man. And I'll tell you right now I killed myself lots of A-rabs when I was there. And you know what, you look like an A-rab to me, towel-head. Vietnam, what an embarrassment. This is America. We don't fucking lose! I won my war. We kicked some ass.
Earl: I don't believe you. You ain't no soldier boy. You're a punk.
Hooman: Like fuck I'm not.
Earl: You got any scars?
Hooman: Scars? Fuck no.
Earl: You ain't got no scars. I'll tell you something. You know why I wear this around my head?
Hooman: Because you want to be an A-rab.
Earl: Because it keeps my head together. When I was in Vietnam, boy, I got fucked up bad. They broke my head open. You don't know what the Viet-Cong did to American soldier-boys. They tied them up. Crucified to stakes, and then cut them very slowly with little blades in the blazing heat and they left them there. And then at night wild animals would come and lick my wounds and chew on my oozing flesh and I had to scream and yell to show that I was still alive, that I wasn't carrion yet. They cut me and burnt me. I don't think you know what pain is, boy? What cruelty is? What horror is? You feel it, yeah. And you suffer. And you ask why. Why? I'll tell you why. Because your Uncle Sam told you so. You'd do anything for Uncle Sam, wouldn't ya? You're a Yankee Doodle Dandy. No, I didn't think so. Well he don't care about you neither. (Earl hits him. Hooman falls down. Hooman pulls a handgun.)
Hooman: I swear I'll blow you away, you fucking lunatic. (Earl starts to laugh) I'll kill you nigger.
Earl: Nigger Nigger Nigger Nigger NIGGER!! I'm a blind nigger. But shit, I can hear them. (Hits the ground) Damn! They're coming in fast now like yellow jackets. They're everywhere. Cover me! I'm goin' in! Fuckers! They're everywhere!
Hooman: Don't move or I'll blow you away. I'll do it man. Way the fuck away. To oblivion. To death. Yeah. Death, dead as a doornail. C'mon you fuckin bum, fuckin slave. (He walks up to Earl.) Kneel! (Earl is already on his knees. He looks up at him. Suddenly Earl wrestles him down by the legs and gets him by the throat.)
Earl: Don't call me nigger.
Hooman: OK.
Earl: You know, I should kill you. Now shouldn't I?
Hooman: No.
Earl: And why not? What do I have to lose? Huh?
Hooman: Please man, please. I just got out of control man. I don't like to be hit man. But it's cool. It's cool. I'm sorry.
Earl: Oh soldier boy. Don't grovel. It's so humiliating, and I thought you don't like that.
Hooman: I don't like to be killed, man.
Earl: You don't like to be killed? But ain't that what soldier-boy thrives on? Ain't that what gets him going. What gives him that fucking thrill. That threat. That danger. Don't you like danger?
Hooman: No. No, I hate danger, man. I'm sorry man. It's cool man. I'm sorry.
Earl: Oh sorry, sorry people. Sorry boy, sorry Goddamned world. (He lets Hooman go.) You call yourself a soldier. You're just a dope dealer.(He gets up and walks away, always facing the other direction. ) A pill peddler. You call yourself a Hero. A Hero of the United States of America. An American soldier? You're nothing. I'm nothing. We're all nothing. Nothing's nothing anymore.
Hooman: Fuck man, I can't deal with this shit. I'm making a living and if you got a problem with that well fuck you. What the hell is the problem here? I'm an entrepreneur. This is America right, home of the free and the brave? Man, what you want me to do. I done my time. There was another war since you all last woke up and I was in it. It was against a bunch of sandy-assed A-rabs and we kicked their brown camel dung asses real bad. You see there was this lunatic named Saddam Insane who thought he was all bad and shit and he could take us on. What a fucking joke! We're American fuckin' Heroes. That's what we are, not the hippy freak Vietnam fags that got their asses wipped. We won. And we came home and we were honored. All of us. Stormin' Norman and Colin Powell leadin' the way. And what the fuck. I get home and here I am. There's nothin for me. Nothin except for a couple of flags and shit. Man, I need money, I gotta make a living. That's the name of the game. M-O-N-E-Y. All I do is meet the demand, you know. It's just simple economics. Supply and demand. I don't tell no kids to smoke base. They come to me on their own. People got it all backwards. It ain't the dope man who's fucked up, he's the one who keeps his head. It's the junkies, man. Rock heads-- fuck �em. You got to be out for yourself or they'll fuck you right up the ass, man. Who do I trust? Me. That's who I trust. Ain't no one else in this world. Anything else and you'd be dreaming. You gotta live in reality. Man, that's the problem in this world. Everyone's out in dreamy land. You start sleeping and someone be stabbing you in the back. So you don't sleep man, if you want to live right. Business. It's what makes this world go round. I ain't on no welfare, none of that shit. I got some pride. That's the difference between you and me. I got my pride and you ain't got shit beggin' around in the dirt like a bitch. You gotta get some pride and stop letting people fuck with you. You gotta know who's number one. And that's the only way to be. And let me tell you something. We ain't at Sesame Street and I ain't Big fuckin' Bird. I'm the dope man, and if you can't deal with it, well fuck you, I'll pump you full of lead and you'll be a dead motherfucker. Yo, I can either be you or I can be me. Don't sound like no choice to me. They've already made me my choice. The goddamned American Dream! [Hooman takes the gun.]
Earl: Don't worry about me boy. I've got eyes in the back of my head. Peace brother. Peace be with you. My name is Earl.
Hooman: How long you lived here Earl?
Earl: Since before you were born.
Hooman: You're strong for an old man.
[Hooman exits]
Earl: Yes, I'm an old man. Let me sit down. Let me catch my breath. (He sits.) [Hooman exits SL, Madonna enters SR.]
Earl: Good mornin' miss.
Madonna: Ya ain't seen anybody around?
Earl: Who ya lookin' for?
Madonna: My boyfriend.
Earl: I ain't seen shit.
Madonna: Well that helps.
Earl: Ain't nobody been around.
Madonna: Well fuck. That's just like him, blowin' me off again. Bastard.
Earl: Not very considerate.
Madonna: Not at all. He treats me like I'm some bimbo. Why do I put up with it? Why?
Earl: He's your pimp?
Madonna: What? Hey, what do you think I am? He's my boyfriend. Didn't you hear me? I don't got no pimp. I'm self- employed.
Earl: Self-employed? You ain't gonna get anywhere if you don't get an agent. You can't promote yourself. It don't work that way.
Madonna: I works fine for me.
Earl: All right.
Madonna: Why does he always keep me waiting?
Earl: �Cause he's the dope man. A cocky little thug.
Madonna: You know him?
Earl: No.
Madonna: Well shut up then.
Earl: I apologize, miss. So are you a whore by profession or just an amateur?
Madonna: Neither actually. (With pride!) I'm a dancer by profession. I fuck on the side.
Earl: Part time.
Madonna: You could call it that.
Earl: So why are you a whore?
Madonna: Hey, what is this? Twenty questions?
Earl: To buy your rock?
Madonna: What?
Earl: You whore to buy your rock.
Madonna: No I don't. My boyfriend gives it to me free, for your information. I've got my own reasons.
Earl: You gonna tell me?
Madonna: Why should I? It's my own private reason and it's none of your affair. Earl: You're right.
Madonna: And besides, you wouldn't understand. It's girl stuff.
Earl: I apologize, miss. I didn't mean to pry. Are you in love?
Madonna: What?
Earl: Do you love your boyfriend?
Madonna: Look. There ain't nothing wrong with sex. Why are you on my case? Sex doesn't mean love, there ain't no such thing as love. OK. Well that's just my opinion, and I guess maybe I'm cynical, but you ain't had my life. I believed in love a long time ago when I was a holy little virgin. But since I've started fucking I knew it wasn't true. It's a lie. OK. So that's why I whore. You got a problem with it? Hey, it's my body and I can do with it whatever I want. I don't got no pimp. And that's how it's gonna be. I'm self- employed. I'm the only one telling me what to do. Me. I'm the one in charge. You got it? So what else do you wanna know? My phone number, my bra size?
Earl: I used to be a whore.
Madonna: I bet.
[Enter Andrew, SR]
Earl: You know you're pretty for a whore.
Madonna: I told you, I'm a dancer. [To Andrew] Hey baby. You want some sex? Hey baby.
Andrew: What?
Madonna: Ya wanna fuck me?
Andrew: I don't got much time.
Madonna: A quickie. 50 bucks.
Andrew: Come on.
[They exit SL. Enter Yolanda and waifs SR]
Nicole: I swear I just saw her. She was here. Standing right here. It was her.
Cybelle: Really?
Nicole: Oh. She's soooo pretty. She looks like a goddess. I wish I was like her.
Yolanda: I ain't seen no one. You girls dreamin' again.
Nicole: She's real mom. She's really pretty and really cool and I think she's a professional dancer.
Yolanda: Well then she's probably rich as sin so next time you see her girls, I don't want no fawning. Pull some money out her ass.
Nicole: Oh Mom. That's all you think about.
Yolanda: Well then, miss sassy ass. You can dream the day away. And I'll eat.
Earl: (To Yolanda) Excuse me, miss. Could you spare some change for a disabled veteran? (Waifs go to swing on the swing set.)
Yolanda: Shut it Earl. I ain't got time for your games today.
Earl: Oh lady, I do insist. Come here, my Guinivere, I require just a kiss.
Yolanda: You ain't gettin' nothin' from me for free.
Earl: I've got yout warm and friendly company. And how are my beautiful little waifs, today?
Yolanda: Starving and sick and cold. An they're mine.
Earl: You never can tell. You know I can see myself sometimes in their eyes.
Yolanda: Don't flatter yourself, Earl.
[Enter Andrew, SR. Walks around back. Smoking, etc.]
Earl: There ain't nothin' more beautiful than little girls.
Yolanda: You better shut your stinkin' mouth before I put my foot in it. You don't know nothin' about girls. Them two little brats are a constant pain in my ass. All they do is whine and complain and give me gray hairs. Why Why Why they ask all day long. Never shut up them two. Spoiled little brats. That's what they are.
Earl: You got two beautiful little girls.
Yolanda: I got two hungry little mouths to feed other than my own.
Earl: Children are God's greatest blessin'.
Yolanda: Listen to the men speak! They's a woman's greatest curse. You want �em. You can have �em. They make'n me go hungry.
Earl: You don't know what you have. You've got a family.
Yolanda: Oh give me a fuckin' break.
Earl: You're a mother. There ain't no job more important.
Yolanda: You're full of shit. Fuck off.
[Enter Hooman, SL. He eyes the girls on the swing set. ]
Earl: It's true. You all don't understand, �cause you had it all your life. It's about love, trust, family. If you ain't got it you alone in the forest. An there's some sly and evil things out there. The whores and the generals. I tell you a story. Come here girls. Uncle Earl gonna tell you a story: Once upon a time there was a hunter. He was a fine hunter and one day he went into the forest and found an old human skull.
Nicole: Oooh, gross.
Earl: So the hunter goes, �What happened?� and then the skull says to him: �Talking brought me here.� So the hunter he was amazed an all that and so he ran off to tell the king about this talking skull.
Cybelle: Skulls don't talk.
Earl: Yeah, the king, he couldn't believe it either and decided to send guards out with the hunter to see if he had told the truth. The king ordered the hunter killed if he had lied. When they reached the place where the skull was, the hunter tried to get the skull to talk again but it wouldn't. As much as he tried, the skull just stared back at him. When the guards realized the skull could not speak, they killed the hunter and left the forest. The skull then asked: �What happened?� and the hunter's head said, �Talking brought me here.
Nicole: What's it mean?
Earl: It means watch out for the traitors, and the spies.
Nicole. Oh.
Yolanda: No it don't. It means know when to shut your mouth. You see girls, if you keep on whining you gonna die too, cause you gonna starve to death. Now lets go. I've had just enough of this old bum and his damn folk tales.
[Exit: Yolanda and Waifs. Andrew wanders over and to Hooman.]
Andrew: Hey man. Hey man, what's up?
Hooman: What's up?
Andrew: You got the shit man.
Hooman: Chill man. Ears and eyes man. Ears and eyes everywhere. All around us man. So chill.
Andrew: It's cool, man. It's cool.
Hooman: All right man. So it is. All right. What you need tonight? Some base?
Andrew: No man. Coke. Straight up.
Hooman: Coke? All right. Now you know I usually set you up cool. But I got like just a little problem today, you know. Just a small one.
Andrew: Oh Shit.
Hooman: You see my supply is kinda short, these days for that shit. I can't meet the demand, you know what I'm saying? So prices goin' up a little bit. You understand.
Andrew: Oh, shit man.
Hooman: Economics, my friend, simple economics, don't they teach you that shit in college?
Andrew: Man, I only got 100 dollars.
Hooman: That's all right homes. That's cool. I'll set you up strait. Listen, have I ever done you wrong? We do business. I don't fuck around with business. So stop fussin. What I do got is some high quality product. You know what I'm sayin?
Andrew: High quality bullshit.
Hooman: Yo man. Who you the fuck you think you're talkin to? Man, I don't got time for your lip. Now you want it, or you can just get the fuck out my face.
Andrew: Sorry, I'm cool.
Hooman: All right. Here's the scoop. I just gotta short you a little. Now this is high quality, uncut Colombian shit man. Straight from the source. This amount will do you as good as a whole gram of the regular street shit. Freeze it man.
Andrew: Tasty.
Hooman: No dope man. Clean high quality product.
Andrew: All right.
Earl: (Sings) �Get up! Get on up ah! Get up! Get on up ah! Stay on the scene, like a sex machine. Get up! Get on up ah!'
Hooman: Shut up!
Earl: Boy, you should respect your elders.
Hooman: (Approaches him.) Man, you can suck my dick. (Andrew runs off.)
Earl: I can?
Hooman: Yeah. You should know not to go messin' with my business. Can't you see I'm conducting business?
Earl: A Business man.
Hooman: That's what I am.
Earl: (Sings) Business man- That's what I am.
Hooman: (Turns to Earl) Man, shut up. (Andrew slinks away and exits.)
Earl: (Sings) �The way I like it- The way it is-'
Hooman: You're a crazy man.
Earl: (Sings) You got it. Gonna get some funky chicken. You know it. Kentucky's finger lickin'.
Hooman: You should get your head checked. (He notices Andrew is gone) Fucker! (He exits.)
[Earl continues to sing Sex Machine. Andrew enters]
Earl: You better watch your ass boy. They's bad men a-lookin for you.
Andrew: Hey, mind your own business.
Earl: Just lookin' out for your sorry ass.
Andrew: Shut up you damn bum.
Earl: You watch it boy. You should respect your elders. I've been pullin' shit since before yo daddy knew how to jerk off.
Andrew: You're just a bum, hasn't anyone ever told you that? You're a leech on society and I'm sick of hearing your ravings. Well where is she?
Earl: Who?
Andrew: Yolanda, she's late.
Earl: Why do waste your money on that dirty old ho?
Andrew: None of your business. But just since you wanted to know the woman knows how to suck. Experience man. It's experience I like. Someone who's been around the block once or twice. Someone who's got a clue. A woman who knows how to suck dick. Not some priss bag princess from Connecticut.
Earl: I'll take the princess.
Andrew: Man. That's the problem with all you poor people. You're all hung up on us rich people. You think about us more than we think about ourselves. Spending all day sitting around wishing you were me. Well it ain't that great being rich. We're no different. We're people too, we're no happier. We just got money and all the problems that go with it. You ain't no better when you got money. You're just richer. That's all. And poor people got more character. Man, a rich girl will whine and cry and give you hell, but a poor girl. No. She'll get down on the floor and suck your dick good and hard and nasty like she's supposed to, no fuss. Nothing. She just does what she's supposed to. It's her job, and she knows it, so she doesn't spend all day long trying to fool herself into believing that she's anything else. No pouting and crying. You just give her your cash and she's gone. No fuss, no problems, no daddies. It's efficient, like it should be. No fucking let's go back to preschool and feel our feeling and get in touch with our sexual identity bullshit. Girls around here know what's up and what to do with it. They understand reality. Back home, they don't know anything but Bennetton and Beemers. I'm not with all that pretentious shit. Atound here I can be myself. I spend my money here where people appreciate the value of a dollar. And if I get a girl pregnant, it isn't any fiasco. I like that. Black people are strange, but some of them are cool, you got to admit it.
Earl: Some of �em, yeah. Yolanda. Now that's my girl. A good mother. I love her ass. I do. Even if its a ho ass. Never a harder working honest ho like her. She keeps her children fed. Beautiful girls. God bless her.
Andrew: So where is she man, you seen her?
Earl: Seen her? Oh no man. I ain't seen shit. Man I never see shit. You should know that. I'm blind, man. I can't see. Blind as a bat. (Sings) �You got the right one baby, uh-huh!'
Andrew: Oh, come on man. I saw her just a little while a go right here with you. I just want to give her some business. I'm not gonna fuck with her. Man, come on. Five bucks.
Earl: Ah, shit man. I ain't no snitch.
Andrew: Come on man. Just tell me where she is.
Earl: Go. Go on boy. Get your ass outta here. Run. Before you get yourself shot. [Andrew exits. Hooman enters.]
Hooman: You seen him? You seen him Earl? I'm gonna hang him by his dick!
Earl: I ain't seen shit. Man, I never see shit. You should know that. Blind as a bat. (Sings) �You got the right one baby, uh-huh!'
Hooman: Come on man. Don't give me that shit.
Earl: I ain't seen shit. You deaf?
Hooman: As deaf as you are blind.
Earl: Can you read lips?
Hooman: Man, shut up. I'm gonna find that skinny fucker. The police are gonna have to come and peel me off his bloody ass. Man, no one fucks with me.
Earl: Well ain't you one bad ass motherfucker.
Hooman: Don't you ever forget it. When you gonna realize that I just don't care?
Earl: Ain't you a tough white boy.
Hooman: Yo man, I ain't white.
Earl: Looks it to me.
Hooman: I ain't white. But I ain't no nigger either. Yo, man. You tryin' to start something again? Man you pissin me off.
[Enter Yolanda and Waifs]
Yolanda: All right, Cinderella. I've had just about enough of your sassy mouth. Stop aggravating me. We ain't made enough money yet.
Earl: Well look who's here. How's it goin', moms?
Yolanda: Earl. Oh, Earl. I need a fix Earl. I really need it. I need some money. I need to work, Earl. Can you set me up? Oh Earl. [To Hooman] I'll give you a blow job for 10 bucks.
Hooman: 50 cents.
Yolanda: Fuck you.
Hooman: No, fuck you, bitch. Dumb ass hooker. I ain't payin' for your junk. I hate you fuckin' drug addicts. A fucking disease. That's what you are. Fuckin' junkies. I ain't payin' for your AIDS mouth to suck on my dick.
Yolanda: You're a fucking prick.
Hooman: But she'll do... (motioning to the girls) both of them. (He caresses one of them)
Yolanda: I'm gonna kill you you motherfucker. Get your hands off my child. You bastard. I'm gonna rip your dick off and feed it to you.
[Hooman exits, laughing]
Asshole. Doesn't he have one ounce of decency. Children, for christsake! Oh, child, I'm sorry.
Cybelle: It's all right mommy. I'd fuck him. It's OK. We need the money.
Yolanda: Oh honey. Don't say that. Don't ever say that.
Nicole: It's all right mom. We understand.
(They Exit.) (Madonna enters alone. Burning up is playing in the background.)
Madonna: Goddamn prick. Who the hell does he think I am? I'm not just any dirty old piece of ass you know. I'm a dancer, for your information. That's my profession. Ain't nothin' wrong with putting a little spirit into your profession. Shit, it's essential. I'm an artist, and ya gotta put your soul into art or else it's nothing. Its garbage. Ya see sex is just like dancing. If you don't wiggle your ass and show �em your stuff they're not gonna get off. There's nothin in the world I love more the dancing. Its real art you know. Real organic, spiritual ya know. An expression of the soul and all that. Its just that most people don't express their souls. They hide everything inside, all strapped up tight. That's why they can't dance-- these white people-- most white people I know. Ya see dancing is basic, kinda animal like. You got to strip away all that shit that keeps you from being the honky ass suit and tie big shit that you are. You can't dance with a suit and tie on. My God. And those big old dresses. Its just silly. Dancing is the expression of the soul through the body. To express yourself you got to show yourself. Nobody's really danced until they've danced bare-assed naked. Let's face it. Animals don't wear clothes. You got to let it all hang out and wiggle and throb. Express yourself! Clothes just burden you down. You see that's why it's like sex-- The people who can really do it are dancers. They dance with each other. And that's why I'm such a good fuck. �Cause I'm a dancer. I'm a professional. So what do you think? You think I'm good enough? You want me? (she approaches an audience member) Excuse me. Do you want some sex? Excuse me. Do you wanna fuck me? I wanna be your whore. You want me baby? You wanna see my stuff? [Music comes up louder.]
You want me. Come and get me. [Madonna dances. The music stops abruptly. She stops dancing] Hey! You ain't paid me yet! What about the goddamned money! You pricks! Fuckers! I hate men! Fuck �em. I don't need �em. I never a good man in my life. All they know how to do is fuck. Well girls can fuck too. You'll see. I'll be rich one day. I'll be a star. And everyone will know who I am and wish they were me. Oh yeah I'll get paid. I'm gonna get paid back and paid well and then I'll never need them. I ain't afraid of anything. Nothing! There ain't no man who can step in my way. They think I'm stupid. (Laughs) A bimbo. I got them by the balls. I only give them what they want, it's so easy. And I'm gonna fuck them. For all the times they fucked me! A rich whore. Queen whore. A fuck goddess! And when I've got them all with their pants down, I'll laugh. I'll laugh at them! Hahahahaha! I promise you! The girls are gonna have some fun! [Earl rises from the bench]
Earl: Hey you. Stop talkin' to yourself. You're much better at dancin' than at talkin.
Madonna: You like dancing?
Earl: Baby, I'm the funkiest thing since James Brown.
Madonna: That's all old stuff. C'mon, I'll show you.
[Madonna gets Earl up and starts dancing. Burning up is playing. Earl slowly gets into it. He lets himself be mastered by her in dance. He is her slave on the dance stage. Hooman arrives on stage towards the end of the song. He watches them, and the music stops suddenly as he steps forward]
Hooman: Goddamn it bitch ain't you got any shame?
Madonna: We was only dancin'
Hooman: Dancin'? You were humpin that old bum like a God damned whore.
[ Earl retreats back to the bench and watches his television.]
Madonna: You saying I'm a whore?
Hooman: No you're not. You're a dancer.
Madonna: But I fuck for money.
Hooman: On the side.
Madonna: From behind, on top, upside down, anyway you want it baby.
Hooman: Shut up bitch. You know I hate it when you talk like that. You sound like a cheap slut. Can't you be a fuckin' lady for once. Get some class.
Madonna: (Teasing) How can I get any class if all I am is a part time hooker. I want to be a call girl. You know and do senators in Limousines.
Hooman: You know you're a sad case. Ya got slut blood.
Madonna: Damn, you're touchy-touchy today. What's the matter? That time of the month?
Hooman: What the fuck are you trying to say, bitch? I don't like your implication, bitch.
Madonna: Don't you call me a bitch no more! Who do you think I am? I'm not just some-- slut on the street. I'm a person, I've got feelings too. And I'm gonna be famous! I promise you.
Hooman: I've never heard anything so goddamned trite in my whole life.
Madonna: Fuck off. (Hooman hits her)
Hooman: You watch your mouth bitch. I know what you been up to. I've noticed you little tricks, stealin' a little here and there, and you think I didn't notice. We'll I did, but it was cool. I let you get away with it �cause you're so goddamned pitiful. But not anymore. I don't give a shit about you bitch, I ain't a sucker. You baseheads are a bad lot. If it wasn't for the money, I'd never sell the shit. So fuck it. Go get your crack rock from someone else. �Cause I ain't your fuckin' daddy.
Madonna: No. No baby. I'm sorry. I know I've been a real bitch lately. I'm sorry, I really am. I'll make it up to you I swear. Anything you want. Please, please baby. Don't do this to me. You know I need you. Come on baby. I'll be a lady. I promise. Please.
Hooman: Don't grovel whore. You are a whore.
Madonna: I'm anything you want me to be. I'll do anything for you.
Hooman: Bitch stop lying. Damn baseheads'd kill their own mother for a hit.
Madonna: Oh come on baby. Don't be so cold. I'll do anything for you.
Hooman: We'll if you want a hit you're gonna have to get your knees dirty.
Madonna: Right here? Oh come on baby. You know I don't like to do that. Anything else.
Hooman. Well then fuck off bitch. Who the fuck do you think you are? You think you're special. I'll tell you something. I got two just like you.
Madonna: I'm Madonna Louise Ciccone for your information buster. Just in case you didn't recognize me. So go fuck yourself! I'm not your property.
Hooman: What the fuck. The bitch turned butch. I don't believe what I'm hearin'. Stupid fuckin' hooker ain't nothin but a dyke. (He slaps her) Go find your rock somewhere else, bitch. [Hooman exits. Madonna begins to cry.]
Madonna: Bastard. I hate you! I fucking hate you! Slut blood. All I got is slut blood. Fuckin' slut blood. (She removes a razor and slashes her right wrist) Look, Slut blood. Do you see. I got slut blood. (She sucks on her wrist) Do you see it. Salty red slut blood.
[Yolanda enters]
You see
it's slut blood.
Yolanda: Hey. What's wrong with you. (She taps her.)
Madonna: Slut blood...
Yolanda: You poor thing. What are you trying to do?
Madonna: (holding out her bloody wrist) Do you see...
Yolanda: Come here. (She rips off a piece of her clothing and binds it around Madonna's wrist. Madonna is crying and shivering again.) Poor thing. You cold honey? (She puts her coat over Madonna) You need anything?
Madonna: (crying) I need a hit.
Yolanda: Well who the fuck do you think I am girl. The Easter bunny? I'm saving your life here and all you got to do is beg for dope.
Madonna: (Sobbing) I'm sorry.
Yolanda: I ain't makin' this a habit. [She removes a pipe and vial, puts a rock into the pipe and hands it to Madonna. Madonna sits up and smokes it. She passes it to Yolanda who takes a hit. They sit for a while.]
Yolanda: Did he hit you?
Madonna: Who?
Yolanda: Your boyfriend.
Madonna: Yeah.
Yolanda: You deserve it?
Madonna: Yeah, I mean no.
Yolanda: You sure?
Madonna: Yeah.
Yolanda: So why the dramatics?
Madonna: I don't know.
Yolanda: You're so young. So beautiful.
Madonna: You think so?
Yolanda: Yes.
Madonna: You're not queer?
Yolanda: Everyone's queer sweetheart, as soon as you learn that, you'll have it all figured out. Listen honey, I've seen everything twice in my life and over again. It's all the same mixed up mess in the end. I never tried to make any sense out of it, I just lived it. You just got to live, and living is making a living. Money is what life's about and I ain't never had enough. Yeah, people will tell you all sorts of shit about love and trust and all sorts of things but I'll give it to you straight and spare you all the pain. Life ain't nothing but sex and money. That's all it comes down to. That's the God's honest truth. All that other shit well you can save that for the next life �cause it don't happen around here. And between you and me, as women, I'll tell you a secret. Men carry all their money tied around their dicks. So you got to approach them the right way if you want to get at it. Ain't nothin' that turns a girl on more than money. I'm sure you're aware of that. And girls know how to put money to good use. Give me some money and I tell you what I'd do. I'd buy a house. A house for women, for me and my girls. That's what I want, that's what I dream about. It's yellow with a white picket fence. Ain't that stupid. It ain't ever gonna happen, but I tell you, it keeps me going. Everyone has to have a dream. You're dead without a dream. Men, that's easy. They're just an inferior species, you'll learn that too if you haven't already. They're just big babies all of them. Easy to figure out. I got two little babies of my own. The labor of my life. Ain't it grand bein' a woman. Well they are girls of course, I don't make no boys. And they are the most beautiful girls you ever seen. Don't look nothing like my ugly ass. They come right from God. Little angels, that's what they are. And I'll tell you a secret. I'd be dead without them. A house for my girls. It's crazy what money can buy.
Madonna: Yeah?
Yolanda: Yeah.
Madonna: I'll pay you back.
Yolanda: Sure.
Madonna: No I will. I keep to my word.
Yolanda: The years have softened my old heart. You remind me of someone I used to know.
Madonna: Yeah who? You?
Yolanda: No. A friend.
Madonna: Yeah. Well I'm sure if you get to know me you'd realize that I'm not like anyone else. I'm Madonna.
Yolanda: Which one?
Madonna: Madonna Madonna, who else? You might not have heard of me yet. But you will. I'm going to be famous.
Yolanda: Madonnas always want to be famous. Some are, some aren't, some just think they are. Don't get your heart set on it, honey.
Madonna: It's already set.
Yolanda: You poor thing. Life ain't gonna do nothing but let you down.
Earl: (suddenly) �Get up! Get on up-ah! Get up! Get on up-ah!...'
Yolanda: Earl, can't you control yourself for once.
Earl: Yolanda, my Momma!
Yolanda: I ain't your Momma!
Earl: It's 10 pm. Do you know where your children are?
Yolanda: Ain't you got nothin' original to say?
Madonna: I do.
Yolanda: You ain't never said something I ain't heard before.
Earl: That's �cause you already heard everything, Momma. But you ain't seen how this girl can dance. [Sex Machine plays. They dance, Yolanda exits.]
Earl: Damn. You're better than the real thing.
Yolanda: The real thing?
Earl: Better than Madonna.
Madonna: Hey, I am Madonna, silly. I'm confused.
Earl: Then you are a wise woman. Everybody else think they got it all figured out.
Madonna: Fuckin' smart asses. I hate �em. I think with my body.
Earl: You are a wonderful dancer. Pretty funky for a little white girl. You sure you ain't black.
Madonna: 100% Italian, baby.
Earl: If you weren't so pale, I'd think you was lyin'.
Madonna: I never ever lie. It's a sin to lie, ya know. I just tell people God's honest truth. And if they can't take it, fuck �em. Get with reality. So people say I'm blunt, well fuck �em too. I speak my mind.
Earl: So what you gotta say.
Madonna: What d'you mean?
Earl: Tell me God's honest truth.
Madonna: No..
Earl: Oh, Come on. I won't be offended. Come on.
Madonna: It's not like that. I speak when I want to. I ain't got nothing to say.
Earl: Don't think. Just say things. Just let it come out your mouth.
Madonna: What?
Earl: Close your eyes. Go on, close em. (She does) Now roll your eyes to the back of your head. Now take a breath. Yeah, big deep breath. Now make a sound. Just let it come out your throat. Like this...ahhhhh (Earl starts throaty moans)
Madonna: Ahhhhh...
Earl: Just let the words come.
Madonna: (as if in a trance) Ahhhh....lovvvve......yoooouuuuu........Eaaarrrrllll........ (She suddenly breaks out of her �trance' and stops.) Ican't do it.
Earl: You were doin' fine.
Madonna: I ain't said a word. I can't do it.
Earl: You said plenty.
Madonna: I did?
Earl: Yes you did.
Madonna: I don't remember. What'd I say? Was it blunt? Oh come on. Tell me what I said. Please, Please, Please!
Earl: You said �I love you Earl.'
Madonna: (Flirting) Love is what makes the world go �round.
Earl: Yeah, love.
Madonna: And dancing.
Earl: Dancin' is everything. Just keep dancin' that's what I learned.
[Earl dances around and sings sex machine. Madonna laughs along. Suddenly he breaks out and lunges to the the ground.]
They're here. They're all around us. The spies and traitors. They're coming, and they're gonna get us. They're here. In our very midst. Get down. Stay low. Don't let �em see you or you a dead duck. We're all dead. Just watch your head. Quiet....Shhhh.....
Madonna: Earl....What's wrong....
Earl: Quiet....Shhh....you have to be very quiet. Stalk like an animal. They're all around us. Do you see them?
Madonna: No.
Earl: There. There they are. They're all around us. Spies and traitors. (He screams. Frantic whisper) No! Don't shoot! I don't want to die. I want peace. Peace, motherfuckers peace! (He runs around the stage and then stops suddenly.)
Madonna: Oh Earl, don't be so silly.
Earl: I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me.
Madonna: You're a silly old man.
Earl: I ain't no silly rabbit. �Silly rabbit, tricks are for kids.'
Madonna: You're a clown. You clown around and put on airs and make me laugh.
Earl: What you talkin, lady? You don't know me.
Madonna: Oh yes I do. I know you Earl. ( She embraces him and kisses him on the cheek.) I know what you're made of. I know what you're all about. You're like me.
Earl: A whore.
Madonna: No you're not.
Earl: A whore.
Madonna: An artist, Earl! You're an artist.
Earl: I'm crazy motherfucker.
Madonna: You come with me and be famous.
Earl: I already am.
Madonna: You're not.
Earl: Yes I am. You ask anyone. Say: �You seen that crazy motherfucker singin' songs and all that stuff on the street. And they say yeah. I know that guy. I listened to him singin. I seen him dancin.'
Madonna: But how do you know that's really you.
Earl: The real Earl. It ain't. No one knows the real Earl. Yeah, that's the price of fame. It's a curse. You're soul without a name.
Madonna: They don't even pay. You should charge them. Make them pay to see you.
Earl: No one wants to see me. I ain't pretty like you.
Madonna: Earl, I think you're beautiful. (She embraces him.)
Earl: Blessings from God.
Madonna: But I can't live on blessings alone, Earl. Girls like money. (Madonna suddenly breaks the embrace.) Oh Earl, I forgot. It's so late. I've got to go. (She runs off) See ya. (Exit) [Yolanda enters with Waifs.]
Yolanda: (into the audience) Could you spare a bit of change for the children? Please, sir. Could you spare a little? Nicole. Come over here. What have you got? Give it to me. 50 cents. You'll have to do better than that young lady if you expect to eat. I'll not have you dreaming the day away. Come here my little princess. I'll have you know, your mother's a whore. Whoring night and day to feed your hungry little holes. Cybelle. You're such a good girl. So hungry and poor, my beautiful little waif. Just like your mother. Such a good girl. You'll do far better than little miss 50 cents Cinderella.
Nicole: Who's Cinderella?
Yolanda: That's you darling. That's the name I gave you.
Nicole: No it's not, it's Nicole.
Yolanda: It's Cinderella, you heard me. You're Cinderella whether you like it or not. You better shape up or ship out, missy.
Cybelle: Who am I, mommy?
Yolanda: Why you're my little darling, my angel Cybelle. What a silly thing to ask. Now listen here girls. We need money, We need to eat. Mommy's sick. We have to get more medicine. Now how does it work? We get money. How do we get money? We beg for it, we steal it, we take it. I don' t care how we get it. Get it?
Nicole: Got it, Mom.
Cybelle: Yeah.
Yolanda: All right. You've gotten me $2.50 today. And I've gotten 10 bucks all by myself. You're gonna have to start pulling your end. I want to have at least gotten 5 bucks by lunchtime. (She takes a lollipop from Nicole's mouth) None of that. I don't want none of that Sesame Street stuff. We're hungry and poor. We're desperate. I want some money out of you, Nicole.
Nicole: Name's Cinderella, Mom.
Yolanda: You shut your fresh mouth before I put my fist in it.
Cybelle: Yeah, Nicole.
Yolanda: You shut up too, young lady. I haven't the patience today. I'll tell you now. Don't test me. Mommy hasn't the patience. So you two be best to just shut up and do as you're told. I want some respectable begging out of you two.
Cybelle: (to audience) Excuse me. Excuse me mister. Can I have some money for food? (Man gives her some money) Thanks! Hey Mom! He gave me two dollars. Two whole dollars!
Yolanda: Give it here. Thank you. That's very good. That's what I like to see. You're a good girl. Do you see? Do you see, Nicole? Someone around here likes to eat. Someone around here knows what it's like to be hungry and go to sleep with an empty stomach and wake up cold and wet in the morning. This world ain't gonna give you nothin unless you take it. But if hunger suits you, well that's just fine. You can stand around like Cinderella while me and your sister eat. And you can just stand there and watch us eat, as you seem so fond of doing. Just stand there and we'll eat, but we won't give any to you, cause you like to be hungry. We'll let you smell it, we'll let you see it. We might even let you taste it. But we won't let you eat it. Not one goddamned crumb. You'd like that, wouldn't you?
Nicole: No.
Yolanda: Be quiet, stupid. That was a rhetorical question.
Nicole: Why did you ask a question if you don't want an answer?
Yolanda: I told you stupid, because it's rhetorical.
Nicole: Oh.
Yolanda: Now no more questions. You're making me tired and aggravated. So shut up for once.
Nicole: Mom. Can I make a rhetorical question? Mom. Why are you such a mean witch? It was a rhetorical question! You can't answer it!
[Nicole runs offstage]
Yolanda: I'm gonna kill you, you little brat! If I ever catch you, I'm gonna rip your sweet little face into shreads and eat you up. Eat you alive. You don't know how hungry..... You don't know how hungry I am. I'll eat you up with ketchup and mustard. Your sister and me.
Cybelle: Mom, that's gross.
Yolanda: Shut up, you. Mommy needs more medicine. Mommy doesn't feel too good. Mommy's sick.
Cybelle: I'm sorry, mommy. (She hugs her)
Yolanda. (pushing her away) Get off of me and beg!
[They exit. Madonna comes running in, carrying a shopping bag]
Madonna: Earl, Earl guess what! You won't believe what just happened to me. You won't believe who I just met! (Earl is silent) Guess who? I met this big time A&R man from Warner Brothers. Big time. No joke. He said he's interested in me! Can you believe it, me! I told you I'm gonna be famous.
Earl: So what's his name?
Madonna: Colin. His name is Colin. He said he wants to meet with me and my agent.
Earl: Who's your agent?
Madonna: You are.
Earl: Me?
Madonna: Well I was thinkin' you're like good at acting and so maybe you could pretend to be my agent.
Earl: I've been all sorts of things, but never no pimp.
Madonna: I said agent.
Earl: What about your boyfriend?
Madonna: He's a prick. You know that. We're finished. So what do you say? You gonna do it? Please...Oh Earl please.... If you help me get this deal. I'll do anything for you. I'll love you forever. Pleease...
Earl: How do you expect him to believe that I'm your agent. I don't look like an agent.
Madonna: Oh, that's easy. I've got some clothes right here you. They should fit. (She gives him the bag) Try �em on.
Earl: You're all prepared.
Madonna: Have to. He's coming in 5 minutes.
Earl: Five minutes?
Madonna: Oh, don't worry Earl. You'll be fabulous. You're a natural.
Earl: Five minutes? Right here, Right now? Damn, you don't give me much time. All right. All right.
[He goes behind the bench and starts changing his clothes. Madonna primps and puts on lipstick.]
Madonna: How do I look, Earl?
Earl: Like a virgin.
Madonna: Oh, don't be absurd, Earl.
Earl: I ain't.
Madonna: You're full of shit.
Earl: I am?
Madonna: You are. Are you ready? He should be here any minute.
Earl: Watch out ladies, �cause here he comes. The shit, the man, the incredible bad ass motherfucking king of the industry, the largest mother on the scene: Daddy Mack, baby. (He emerges from behind the bench wearing a purple suit, loafers and sunglasses)
Madonna: Oh Earl. You look great. I think it's gonna work.
Earl: What do you want me to say, then?
Madonna: Just improvise as you go. The normal stuff. I'm fantastic, the world won't be the same with out me. Tell �im we've been talking to Atlantic and MCA and we ain't gonna go for no half-ass shit. Tell �im we want total artistic control, you know. But don't come on too strong. You know what to do.
[Colin enters. Slick executive.]
Colin: Good to see you again, Madonna. ( He kisses her hand.) And you are...
Earl: Mack. I'm her agent, you know what I mean?
Colin: Ah yes. Right. Colin Powell... Good to meet you, Mr. Mack. (They shake hands.)
Earl: Have a seat, my man, Colin.
Colin: Yes. It's Colin. (pronounced Coh-lin.)
[Colin sits on end of bench. Earl sits down on other end of bench]
Colin: So I've heard a lot about your little spunky thing here. Heard she can really dance.
Earl: That's right. An that ain't all she can do. She can sing better �n Diana Ross, an act better �n Betty Davis. She's a multi-media conglomeration of talent. She can do it all. And sell it. Can't ya honey?
Madonna: Uh huh.
Earl: She's got the sex appeal of Marilyn Monroe, I tell you she's just one right marketable prospect.
Colin: I see.
Earl: But you ain't seen nothin' yet. She's everything America needs. She's a sweet little Catholic girl, who ain't afraid of goin' to hell. She's white, but she can dance like the best of us. She's a woman, but she's got the confidence and presence of a man. Don't you baby?
Madonna: Uh huh.
Earl: I tell you you can't go wrong with her. She's one hot prospect to trot for. And, well to be right honest with you we've been talkin' to some people at Atlantic and MCA who have given us some offers. The market's boomin' for something exciting and new like her. But I thought we'd let you in on things. It's only fair. And you can give me some idea of what Warner Brothers is willing to put up.
Colin: I see.
Madonna: You wanna see me dance?
Colin: Yes. Yes. That would be helpful.
[Madonna dances to a raunchy slow version of Like a Virgin. She does a strip tease for the two men, and at the end she is sitting on the bench between them.]
Madonna: So boys, what do ya think?
Colin: I must admit, There's something solid in it.
Madonna: Like what?
Colin: Well I think it could be quite marketable.
Madonna: You think? You think I could be on MTV?
Colin: I think that is a possibility.
Madonna: Oh really! Oh Colin!! (She embraces him and jumps on his lap)
Colin: Perhaps we could further discuss the nuances of your future relationship with Warner Brothers over a drink. Somewhere more... personal.
Madonna: Okay.
Earl: Yeah. Sounds good Colin. We could sort out some of the minor details on the business end.
Colin: Actually, I was thinking more in terms of an artistic conference. Just Madonna and myself.
Madonna: That sounds great, Colin.
Colin: Shall we?
Madonna: Yeah. (They exit. Andrew enters.)
Earl: Lucky dog. (To Andrew) What ya doin' boy?
Andrew: Hey, don't do that. You scared me.
Earl: Poachin' in my forest are you?
Andrew: Yo man, can you help me score?
Earl: Who you talkin' to, boy?
Andrew: You dude, who do you think?
Earl: Boy, what do I look like, the Dope man?
Andrew: Can't you hook me up? I know you can. Have you seen anything?
Earl: I ain't seen shit.
Andrew: Come on man. I'll pay you good.
Earl: Boy, you lost your mind too young. You a stupid kid.
[Hooman enters with Nicole]
Hooman: Freeze motherfucker! Freeze! (He pulls a gun and points it at Andrew.) Get down on the ground! (Andrew obeys. He puts the gun to Andrew's head)
Nicole: Don't.
Hooman: Shut your face bitch. You're just a dirty ho like your mother. Ain't no difference. Young beaver, old beaver. They all just stinkin' beaver. But you, you little white ass motherfucker. You know there's nothing more enjoyable to me than killin' cheap Jewish motherfuckers like you. Did you know that? I take pleasure in your pitiful death. Do you know why? Because no one...no one fucks with me.
Andrew: I know man. I'm sorry man. It was stupid. I'm sorry. I'll pay you back whatever....
Hooman: (Stepping on his head.) Shut up, Jew boy. I ain't finished. You see no one fucks with me and gets away with it. It ain't about money. That's got nothin' to do with it. It's honor man. And not just that. Unlike some people around here I've got some amount of self-respect that I have to maintain. And I can't go around letting assholes like you rip me off. I wouldn't be able to like myself if I did that. You understand?
Andrew: I'll give you anything man. I'm serious. I got a brand new Jeep man. I'll give it to you.
Hooman: Yo man. You really don't get it do you. You a stupid motherfucker. Yo man who the fuck do you think I am? You think I can be bought? For money? Well you're wrong. Haven't you ever heard of honor, man? I guess not. Well fuck you. You don't deserve to live. (He is about to fire.)
Earl: Stop it kid.
Hooman: You're next, old man.
[Enter Yolanda with Cybelle. Hooman grabs Nicole.]
Yolanda: Get your stinkin' hands off my child!
Hooman: Get your stinkin' cunt out my face!
Yolanda: Fuck off. (She approaches him)
Hooman: Move one more step, Momma whore and I blow your little piglet's head in too.
Yolanda: You can't kill us all, Hooman.
Hooman: No? Like fuck I can't. Step to me. Come on bitch.
Nicole: Mom, I'm okay.
Yolanda: Give me my child!
Earl: Come on man. Cool it. (He approaches.)
Hooman: Fuck off, Earl.
Earl: (Puts his hands up and slowly approaches) Give me the gun.
Hooman: (laughs) What kind of idiot do you think I am? Move one step and she dies.
Earl: You're only a boy. You can't shoot that thing.
[Across the stage enter Colin and Madonna. Colin (dressed as cop) has a gun drawn.]
Madonna: There he is!
Hooman: (Pointing at Colin) Freeze, motherfucker! (Earl knocks the gun from behind him. The gun goes off. Everyone falls to the ground. Earl pins him down. Nicole runs to her mother. Andrew runs off. Colin enters and takes Hooman's gun. Earl stands up. Hooman is on the ground, under Colin's gun.]
Yolanda: My baby. (She embraces Nicole)
Nicole: It's all right, Mom.
Yolanda: (approaching Hooman) Kill him. (She spits on him.) Motherfucker. (She exits with both waifs.)
Colin: All right, it's all over.
Hooman: I didn't do nothin man. Please man. Please.
Colin: Don't worry I won't hurt you.
Hooman: What the fuck? What did I do? I didn't say shit.
Colin: I'm not going to hurt you, son.
Hooman: You're not?
Colin: You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law...(Colin drags him across the stage)
Hooman: Fuck.
Colin: You have the right to attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you by the court. (Colin drags him away. Colin's partner (Cop #2) enters during this and takes hold of Hooman.)
Hooman: What's the charge? (Colin's partner drags him offstage) This is bullshit man. What's the charge!? I want justice! Justice!
Madonna: Eat me, asshole.
Colin: All right, all right folks. This ain't no show. Move on out. Come on!
Earl: Ain't no one left, officer.
Colin: Come on, move it. I'm talking to you. This park is closed.
Earl: Hey, don't I know you?
Colin: No you don't.
Earl: Come on, what's yout name. I know you.
Colin: I'm the police. That's my name.
Earl: No, no. I know you. Nam man, you were in Nam with me.
Colin: Come on, guy. That's enough.
Earl: Yeah. I know you. You're Colin Powell, that's who you are. Come on Colin, it's me. Earl. Don't you remember?
Colin: What's this guy raving about?
Earl: Don't you remember, Nam man. Vietnam. We did Nam together.
Colin: The man's insane.
Earl: You ain't kidding.
Colin: Never went to Vietnam, I'm proud to say. What a complete fiasco. A disgrace.
Earl: What happened to your head, man. It's me. Me. Earl. You can't forget all that.
Colin: All right Captain America. I'm taking your ass to jail. (He grabs Earl)
Earl: I can't leave here. I live here.
Colin: This park is closed. You're under arrest.
Earl: For what?
Colin: You have the right to remain silent.
Earl: Fuck that shit. I ain't remainin' silent. That's just what you want me to do right? Shut the hell up. Right?
Colin: Anything you say can and will be said against you in a court of law.
Earl: Come on Colin. This is bullshit.
Colin: You wouldn't know bullshit if it hit you in the face. (Putting handcuffs on Earl.)
Madonna: Hurry up Colin. Our reservations are for 8.
Colin: I'll be right there baby. Go wait in the car.( She exits. Earl whips back and hits Colin, knocking him to the ground.)
Earl: You always been slow Colin. I was always saving your ass. You remember me now, motherfucker? (He lets him go and faces upstage) (Colin takes out his gun and points it a Earl)
Earl: Don't worry about me. I got eyes in the back of my head. Peace brother. Peace be with you.
Colin: Peace, Earl. That's what we need. Why do we fight? We fight for peace. For rest, for salvation. Why do we live? To fight. Cause there ain't no such thing as salvation and you know it.
(Earl starts singing Amazing Grace )
Colin: You can forget it Earl. Ain't nothing here for you. This is the material world. And salvation is drugs, sex, money and power. You're a sad kind of fool Earl. Never did quite get with reality, did you? Nam was a long time ago. You've got to live in the present, my friend, not the past. That's how you get old. Times have changed and you got to change with them. Look at you. You're a fucking lunatic. Do you realize that? You really don't belong here. You're out of place, Earl. Bad for business anyway. People don't want to look at you. I've got orders to clear you outta here, so that's what I gotta do.
Earl: I live here!
Colin: No you don't. You live in never-never land. You're a ghost. What are you doing here? You haunt these people, these decent hard working people. They can't understand you. And you never let them alone. You can't harass people like that, Earl. It's against the law.
Earl: They're all confused.
Colin: This world is confused.
Earl: We're on the same side, Colin. The same side.
Colin: No. There's no sides. Just one thing. We all gotta live for one thing.
Earl: Apostacy.
Colin: You have to keep moving with the world Earl. There's no rest stops.
Earl: Apostacy.
Colin: You're saying the same things you said 25 years ago. Where'd you learn that word Earl?
Earl: (Whispers)The traitors....
Colin: Earl, I'm a business man.
Earl: And the spies...
Colin: Gotta make a living, Earl.
Earl: (starts to turn) Colin.
Colin: Gotta move on.
Earl: (sings) �I don't wanna grow up...'
Colin: I'm not playing, Earl.
Earl: �...I'm a Toys �R' Us kid. A million toys for girls and boys will really flip your lid...'
[Colin shoots him 3 times. Blackout.]
[Enter Andrew. He approaches the corpse. He goes through Earls pockets, and finds nothing. He removes a pipe from his jacket and smokes. He exits. Enter Yolanda and waifs.]
Nicole: Mother, It's all right. It's only Earl.
Cybelle: He's dead.
Yolanda: We are all going to die. Death is the end of time.
Nicole: We are with you, mother.
Yolanda: My daughters you will make me immortal.
Cybelle: I love you mother.
Nicole: Are you hungry, mother?
Yolanda: Hungry and tired.
Cybelle: Rest Mother. Let us eat the food which men have prepared.
Nicole: I love you mother.
[Blackout. Enter Madonna and Colin in military uniform.]
Madonna: He's beautiful. Looks like he's just sleeping. If you can look through it all, right to his soul, what we're really seeing is something beautiful, ya know. Death should always be violent. I want to waste away. I want to go out with a bang.
Colin: It's a sight for weak-hearted America. We need strength, power, supremacy if we are going to survive. We've got to string up all the Arabs who will keep us from it.
Madonna: Strength, power, supremacy. I got it all babe and I'll sell it to ya cheap. I'll sell good don't you think, Colin? When I get famous, d'ya think everyone will want a little piece of me?
Colin: You're just what America needs, sweetheart.
[Blackout. On stage: Hooman, Andrew, Yolanda and waifs, Earl. Earl is reading a newspaper. Newspaper reads in boldface: HOMELESS MAN MURDERED!]
Andrew: Yo man, you got some rock?
Hooman: Yeah man. What you need? (They move to SR to complete their transaction.)
Nicole: Mommy, what's a sex machine?
Yolanda: Where do you girls get these questions? Why don't you shut your trap for once you little cunt and make some money.
Nicole: Like Madonna. Her cunt makes lots of money.
Yolanda: That's because she's marketable. She'll make more money than you'll ever dream of.
Nicole: What's wrong with my cunt? Isn't it marketable?
Cybelle: What's marketable mean?
Nicole: It means horrible.
Cybelle: Yeah Mom, why?
Yolanda: Why do you two prattle on incessantly about Madonna?
Nicole: We love her.
Cybelle: She's the greatest.
Earl: What a dancer!
[Blackout. Blaring Material Girl is played.]
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