play THE IDOL by Robert Patrick

 for Charles Terrell

c 2006 Robert Patrick #211 1837 N. Alexandria L.A. CA 90027 tel: (323) 360-1469 rbrtptrck@aol.com IM: rbrtptrck

SETTING: An alcove at The Idol disco in New York. 1976.

CAST:

CHARLES, lean, in his thirties. HE wears a brown bomber jacket, a plaid lumberjack shirt, tight jeans, paratrooper boots, one earring, aviators’ sunglasses. HE has a trimmed mustache and short—cropped hair. In other words, what was called a “clone.”

BOB chubby and middle-aged, wearing overalls, a T-shirt, sandals, and long hair, HE could not look less seventies.

CLAUDE, a radiant youth, but dressed from Sears-Roebuck, short-sleeved plaid shirt, loose jeans, loafers

 (An alcove at The Idol disco in New York. 1976. If there is scenery, it would be a sort of elbow-height shelf covered with indoor-outdoor carpet, suitable for sitting on, lying on, or just leaning on while one watches the glittering crowd offstage. The acoustics in The Idol are fabulous; although the music is blaring from dozens of giant speakers, here in this alcove it is little more than a faint hard throbbing. The flashing banks of colored lights offstage luridly bathe anyone just entering this little space.)

(Onstage is CHARLES, lean, in his thirties. HE wears a brown bomber jacket, a plaid lumberjack shirt, tight jeans, paratrooper boots, one earring, aviators’ sunglasses. HE has a trimmed mustache and short—cropped hair. In other words, what was called a “clone.” HE is pulling on a joint and making no effort to conceal that fact.)

(BOB enters, chubby and middle-aged, wearing overalls, a T-shirt, sandals, and long hair, HE could not look less seventies. HE is followed by CLAUDE, a radiant youth, but dressed from Sears-Roebuck, short-sleeved plaid shirt, loose jeans, loafers, CLAUDE has hair longer than Lyndon Johnson’s but shorter than Jim Morrison’s; in other words, the small–town equivalent of “long hippie hair.” THEY both carry plastic glasses of juice.)

BOB: Oh, thank God, an underwater cavern where even the disco din can’t reach! I think my tomato juice has mutated. I feel thoroughly woofered and tweetered. How are you?

CLAUDE: All night I’ve been waiting to say, “Thank you.”

BOB: Well, and I thought you were just gasping for air in all the pot-smoke. But at last I can hear you. I still see strobes but at least I can hear you. Are you sure thanks are in order for getting you into this controlled catastrophe?

CLAUDE: I always thought New York would be magical. And one day here, and I meet a famous playwright and we go to his show and to the opening of the biggest disco in the world!

BOB: Well, happy nineteen-seventy-nine. My old roommate built the thing. He was this bright kid killing himself with drugs. I dragged him off the streets and into theater. Turned out to be a whiz at learning any construction technique. He used to build scenery for my plays. God, all I could ever give him was fifty bucks and my own inept assistance. They must have given him a million to erect this.

CHARLES: Two million. And all the boys I could eat. Hello, Bob.

BOB: Charles, my god! You’re so fashionable I didn’t recognize you! I’ve been looking for you all night. Thank you for the invitation! This place is magnificent.

CHARLES: I know. Who’s your young friend?

BOB: Claude, this is Charles, the man I was telling you about. He designed and built this place!

CLAUDE: Boy, two famous guys in one night.

CHARLES: I’m not famous. I don’t want to be. We’re not even allowing photographers in here, and we’re never going to advertise.

CLAUDE: But it’s such a wonderful place. Don’t you want people to know about it?

CHARLES: Everyone who matters knows about it.

CLAUDE: But why wouldn’t you want to be famous? What do you want?

CHARLES: Money and power. You must be new in town.

CLAUDE: I got here tonight. I went right down to La Drama to see the revival of “Chuck’s Luck.” And I met Mister-

BOB: Bob.

CLAUDE: Mister Bob, and I told him I’d read “Chuck’s Luck” a hundred times, that all the gay kids at school passed a secret copy around in the dorm, it was like a Bible! And he said if I wanted to meet the real Chuck – Oh, God, that’s you!

CHARLES: No. That’s somebody Bob made up. I’m Charles. Bob. Did you have any trouble getting in?

BOB: No, I just showed them the invitation.

CHARLES: Yes. I told them to let you in in spite of your clothes. Ordered them to, actually. Claude. Is that what you wore on the bus?

CLAUDE: Yes, I didn’t have time to change my clothes.

CHARLES: That’s all right. I keep a lot of things here. Come here to the door and stand by me. (CLAUDE does.) Now look out there. Can you see two million dollars there?

CLAUDE: Well, yes, sure, I guess so. It’s beautiful.

CHARLES: And how did that theater you went to tonight look?

CLAUDE: Oh, it was wonderful. I’d read about it all my -

CHARLES: How did it LOOK?

CLAUDE: Well, it was just a little dumpy building on a side street.

CHARLES: Was it clean?

CLAUDE: Well, I don’t know, I didn’t -

CHARLES: Was it CLEAN?

CLAUDE: …Not really.

 CHARLES: And how many people were there?

CLAUDE: Oh, it was full, there were -

CHARLES: How MANY?

CLAUDE: …I don’t know. It was full.

CHARLES: Was it the first floor or the second floor theater?

CLAUDE: The first floor.

CHARLES: Ninety-nine people. One hundred and ten if they illegally add another pathetic row of folding chairs. I know. I did lots of shows there with Bob.

CLAUDE: I know! I read “Chuck’s Luck!”

CHARLES: I know. Secretly. In the dark. Look out there! That’s two thousand people! And who was there at La Drama tonight?

CLAUDE: All kinds of people. I don’t know. Bob – ?

CHARLES: LOOK OUT THERE! That’s the editor of “Interview” Magazine. You must have seen “Interview” Magazine.

CLAUDE: Yes. sure.

CHARLES: They didn’t have to pass that around in secret in the dorm in the dark, did they? You must have seen a lot of these faces in it. And look over there. Do you recognize that movie star?

CLAUDE: Yes.

CHARLES: I invited him. And that rock singer?

CLAUDE: Where? Oh! yes!

CHARLES: I paid her to come. A fortune. And there’s Andy Warhol! You’ve seen him on talk shows and magazine covers!

CLAUDE: Is that really him?

CHARLES: And do you know who that is with him?

CLAUDE: No, I don’t. Who is it?

CHARLES: You don’t know? You’re a stupid, ignorant boy. I’m not sure I should take any trouble with you.

BOB: Come on, Claude, I’ll take you out of here.

CHARLES: Do you want to leave, Claude?

CLAUDE: Are y’all fighting? I don’t understand.

CHARLES: What ‘s there to fight about? You’re having a good time, aren’t you, Claude? You can go on out there and get lost in the crowd. Unless you’d like to stay here with the designer and owner of the hottest new spot in New York City.

CLAUDE: Oh, I’m having a wonderful time. I guess I just don’t understand anything.

CHARLES: Do you want to order him to leave, Bob?

BOB: I would never order anyone to do anything.

CHARLES: I know. Absolute freedom. Peace and love. We must have you in if we ever do a ‘sixties revival. Claude. A lot of people believed in that “peace and love” stuff. And they all found themselves starving in slums. With nothing but a great sense of humor. You must have seen people like that back home.

CLAUDE: Yes. My cousin had a hippy stepfather. He had to come back home and wash dishes in a diner.

CHARLES: Yes, Wasn’t that sad? They had such belief. They tore down the past. They just didn’t build anything. You wouldn’t ever want people to think you were a hippie, would you, Claude, some kind of leftover hippie?

CLAUDE: …I don’t know.

CHARLES: Believe me, you wouldn’t. I know. You get that kind of reputation and it locks you out of everything wonderful, everything exciting, everything big and shiny and new. And it’s easy to get fooled by it. Really easy. You can waste years.

CLAUDE: …I guess that’s right.

CHARLES: Don’t guess. Ask me. I know. Why do you wear those clothes, Claude?

CLAUDE: Well, I was traveling.

CHARLES: I think those are awful clothes. I wouldn’t be caught dead in those clothes.

CLAUDE: I’m sorry.

CHARLES: You know what kind of clothes I like, Claude?

CLAUDE: No, what?

CHARLES: What I have on, you asshole. Why would I be wearing these if I didn’t like them? Why would I wear anything but what I like best? Are you stupid?

CLAUDE: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to -

CHARLES: So when I see you wearing what you’re wearing, Claude, I assume it’s what you like to wear. I assume you’re sending out the message you like to send. Do you know what message you’re sending?

CLAUDE: No.

CHARLES: You’re sending out the message, “I’m a wimp, I’m a softy. I’m disorganized, I’m soft, I’m silly, I’m like a little girl, I let my mother dress me, I don’t have shit for brains, I don’t have any mind of my own.” Did you know that?

CLAUDE: No. I didn’t know.

CHARLES: Well, of course Bob wouldn’t tell you. He doesn’t judge people by their clothes. And if he did, he’s too kind too tell you something like that. What does what I’m wearing say to you, Claude?

CLAUDE: It looks great, like construction people.

CHARLES: I didn’t ask you how it LOOKS! I asked you what it SAYS! Does it say “Together” or “disorganized,” Claude?

CLAUDE: Together. It says, together.

CHARLES: And does it say “rich and successful” or does it say, “poor and afraid,” Claude?

CLAUDE: It looks rich – It says rich and successful.

CHARLES: AND does it say, “Butch and aggressive” or does it say, “Weak and passive,” CLAUDE?

CLAUDE: It says male. It’s very male.

CHARLES: DO you for some reason want to say, “I’m weak and soft and sissy,” Claude?

CLAUDE: No, no, I don’t.

CHARLES: So I don’t see why you want to wear what you’re wearing. Claude. It’s offensive. It offends me. It says you want to offend me.

CLAUDE: I don’t mean anything by it. I never thought about it.

CHARLES: You don’t mean ANYTHING. You never THOUGHT about anything. You’re saying you’re better than I am, that you don’t have to worry about what you wear in front of me, aren’t you?

CLAUDE: No, I never said that.

CHARLES: NO? That’s what I’M saying. I’m saying to every man that meets me, “I’m together, I’m tough, I’m successful, I’m superior, I’m smart, I’m where it’s at, I am the best, I am better than you are.” I’m telling you I’m better than you. And you know what?

CLAUDE: No, what?

CHARLES: You’re listening. You believe it. You know it. Am I being nice and friendly to you, am I being nice and friendly to a new kid in town?….AM I?

CLAUDE: No. No you’re not.

CHARLES: No, I’m not. Because I don’t feel friendly. I despise you. I feel sorry for you. You’re nothing. I don’t know why you wear clothes at all. You don’t know what they mean. You don’t care what they say. You might as well be naked, shouldn’t you? SHOULDN’T YOU?

CLAUDE: I – I guess so. (CHARLES glares.) Yes. Yes.

CHARLES: Well, then, I’d like to see you naked, Mister. I’d like to see you naked right now. Go on. Take off those stupid clothes. YOU HEAR ME? TAKE OFF THOSE CLOTHES!

CLAUDE: I – I can’t – we’re in public – this is public.

CHARLES: No, it’s not. This is private. This is mine. I own it. I designed it. I built it. I own it. You’re here by my permission. I own this. Everything here is mine.

CLAUDE: I – I guess it’s all right. (HE starts to disrobe.)

BOB: Claude, you. don’t have to do this.

CHARLES: No one has to do anything he doesn’t want to. We choose our lives. You hear that, Claude? We choose our lives. All of us. All three of us.

CLAUDE: No, it’s all right. (He continues disrobing. When HE is down to just his shorts.) I’m not very big.

CHARLES: That’s all right. It isn’t going to matter.

CLAUDE: All right. Just so you. know. (HE drops his shorts.)

CHARLES: Well, that’s a little better. Not much. Now, don’t you think you ought to kneel? (CLAUDE does.) That’s better. You don’t look so bad, kneeling. You ought to learn to do that. Now, I’m going to put a leash around your neck.

BOB: Charles!

CHARLES (There is no actual leash): There, now, ignore that man. I’m putting a leash on you. Can you feel it?

CLAUDE: Yes.

CHARLES: I’m tightening the leash. Can you feel that?

CLAUDE: Yes.

CHARLES: Now, I’m pulling on the leash and it hurts. Feel that?

CLAUDE: Yes.

CHARLES: Now, listen to me. We don’t like little weak, stupid, effeminate boys in here. That’s old-fashioned. That’s dry shit. We like men in here, Big, strong, decisive, powerful, important men who aren’t fooled by anybody, men who know that everybody’s really out for number one, men who tell a boy what to do to survive in a terrible world, men that don’t fool a boy or mislead him, men that keep a boy on a leash where a boy likes to be kept, and lead him, men that look and dress and talk and sound and act like men. Do you hear me? I’m pulling that leash. Do you HEAR ME?

CLAUDE: Ungh. Oh! Yes. Yes, I hear you.

CHARLES: Now. Look down at the floor, at my feet. Now, if I let you speak, are you going to talk like a man?

CLAUDE: Yes.

CHARLES: If I let you stand up, are you going to walk like a man?

CLAUDE: Yes.

CHARLES: If I let you dress, are you going to dress like a man?

CLAUDE: Yes.

CHARLES: All right. Stand UP. (CLAUDE stands.) Now. If I let you live, are you going to live like a man?

CLAUDE: Yes. Yessir

CHARLES: All right. Now, go and stand by the door where everybody can see you. (CLAUDE hesitates.) I’m tugging that leash, Claude.

CLAUDE: Yessir. (HE goes to the door, HE is bathed in colored lights.)

CHARLES: Now, look over the heads of all those famous people, squint your eyes against the glare of a million dollars worth of flashing lights, look up there and you’ll see a little office window with some stairs leading UP to it. Do you see it?

CLAUDE: Yessir.

CHARLES: Now, I’m going to let you walk through all those people and up those stairs and wait for me in that office. Do you hear me?

CLAUDE: Yessir.

CHARLES: My leash stretches. You will be on my leash all the way.

CLAUDE: Yessir.

CHARLES: DON’T answer until I ask you a question! Now, along the way you’ll pass a lot of people on the dance floor. And on that stairway you’ll pass through a lot of dark carpeted levels where there’ll be a lot of men. And you are to do anything which anyone on that floor or in that darkness tells you to, do you hear me?

CLAUDE: Yes sir.

CHARLES: All right. And then tomorrow we’ll get you some decent clothes and a haircut and you can start trying to grow a mustache. And then after a while we’ll see whether you’re worth saving. So ahead. (CLAUDE exits.)

CHARLES: Thanks, Bob. You were always very good at discovering new talent.

BOB: You’ve turned into a monster.

CHARLES: “Monster” means one of a kind. Bob, There are two thousand like me. Look out on that floor. How many are there, do you suppose, left like you?

BOB: I’m going to get him out of here.

CHARLES: Oh, he’ll do what you tell him to. Bob. I told him to. But he’ll come back here to that office like I told him to. Eventually.

BOB: You’re crazy.

CHARLES: No, I’m just a great construction man.

BOB: I ‘m sorry I saved you from drugs. (BOB exits.)

CHARLES: That makes two of us. No. That makes two thousand and two of us. (HE exits.)

(LIGHTS FADE.)

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

scene TENNESSEE by Robert Patrick

SEE and HEAR  this monologue acted  >>> HERE.<<<

 

Below is that call as I remember it.

Ed Ramage in the 1990 La Mama production. Photo by Becket Logan

TENNESSEE

Robert Patrick

1837 N. Alexandria Ave.

#211

L.A. CA 90027

rbrtptrck@aol.com

323-360-1469

IM: rbrtptrck

(from “Hello, Bob” by Robert Patrick.

Performed in 1990 at Circle Repertory Theatre, directed by Claris Nelson, and at La Mama, directed by the author.)

(The SETTING is a hotel room in New York. The TIME is early afternoon of a day in November, 1975. TENNESSEE is discovered on the telephone. HE is a mature man with a profound and gentle Southern accent and twinkling eyes, wearing an expensive bathrobe and brandishing a cigarette holder. Warm and gracious to the point of affectation, HE is likely to laugh sharply at his own jokes.)

Robert? Is that you now? This is Tennessee!

Who is that baritone that answers your very own phone? I don’t recall anyone so reverberatory at your openin’ night party.

Well, why is he travelin’ with a playwright if he doesn’t like parties? We should involve ourselves exclusively with social bein’s. But never mind; I am spectacularly unqualified to give advice on personal matters, but speakin’ purely professionally–Child, what have you done to the media? I have been attempting to extol your enchantin’ play to every press-person that materializes before me, and I have been universally admonished. You are, to put it mildly, anathema to the jackals.

Well, think, you must have done somethin’. I am, as you know, here in New York to peddle my past–that is, to publicize my memoirs–so I have been much amongst the jackals, and they have to a person been forbidden to–as they so pungently put it—”plug” you.

Well, never mind, then. It will pass, oh, it will pass. I, for convenient example, after a decade of their disdain, am currently so sought-after that I am in danger of oversubscribin’ my dance card! (laughs) Which brings us to the subject at hand. Did you and/or your baritone get up, or stay up, in time to hear “U.S.A.M.” or whatever it is called, that chillin’ly cheerful mornin’ show? That’s “mornin’” with an “r” as in “early in the day,” not “mournin’” with a “u” as in “lamentation.”

I had a premonition you had not. I am sorry you did not hear it, for I employed a quaint device on your behalf. I am, as you know, visitin’ this depressin’ burg in the company of my famously deranged sister, Rose, whom they all want with me in hope she will perform some newsworthy abomination. Well, today on the aforementioned talk-show, which, wonder of wonders, happened to be “live,” the delectable announcer, or “host” as they are commonly denominated, asked whether sister Rose was enjoyin’ her stay in the Apple. I, although his Liz Taylor lashes were moist with anticipation of some scandal, betrayed his beauty to reply, “Why, yes, my sister Rose has had the time of her life in New York, especially at the greatest play of the decade–” whereupon I proceeded to drop both your name and that of your enviable achievement! He stared aghast at my cruelty, like a young sailor who has spent his first night in a whorehouse–and just found out they charge! But what could he do? There is nothin’ they can do to you as long as you are live! (laughs)

Oh, don’t thank me, darlin’. It is the least, and, alas, the most that I can do. More to the subject, how are we gettin’ together? That

vociferous lady at Sardi’s who insisted on detailin’ the similarities

between her great aunts and my great characters did interrupt our

proliferatin ‘ rapport.

Oh , are you?

To Hollywood? Why? Wouldn’t you just as soon be boiled in oil?

Well, I hope you are not goin’ out there to write the film of your own play. As Mister Arthur Miller would put it, “They have boys to do that.” You should restrict yourself to lyin’ on the sand soakin’ up surfers. Unless, of course, your resident resonant baritone objects not only to parties, but to third parties?

You’re wise not to tell love’s secrets–until you have nothin’ but your life left to sell. My best to you, angel, until we meet in some more civilized settin’, wherever on this poor, tired, tortured globe an ambience deservin’ of that appellation might exist. I suspect I can intuit from ancient experience somethin’ of what you might be goin’ through. All I can offer for support is that sage old Southern advice: follow your muse, whatever form he may take, never let the bastards pull your teeth, and remember: there is nothin’ they can do to you as long as you are live!

(HE laughs gloriously as the LIGHTS FADE.)

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

MY MILITARY EXPERIENCE by Robert Patrick (from “Film Moi or Narcissus in the Dark”)

Me in the Air Force, 1961

Buy FILM MOI or NARCISSUS IN THE DARK on CD HERE.

*x*
Society is a maze, complex in its connections. Mama once solved a murder, and got me kicked out of the Air Force. I was in basic training at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas, and loving it. Parts of a man’s body were found scattered between Roswell and Carlsbad, New Mexico. Mama, secretary to the Roswell coroner, saw x-rays of the man’s skull. From years in restaurants, she identified certain indentations as being from the worm-gear of an institutional potato-mashing machine. The killer turned out to be the cook at a Roswell hotel. His victim had threatened to reveal their gay liaison. Mama’s admirer, Police Chief Tommy Thompson, told her, “Jo, you broke the case!” His investigation disclosed that the men’s room at the hotel was a gay rendezvous. Airmen from the local base were then entrapped there. One had a love-poem from me folded in his wallet.
At Lackland, I was ordered to report to a curiously isolated hut. An intelligent, embarrassed captain named Coffee tried to pump me for info on Roswell’s homosexual “ring.” I denied that I or anyone he named was gay. He told me we’d all be thrown out anyway–suspicion was enough. I didn’t want out. Because of my high scores on aptitude tests, the Air Force planned to send me to Syracuse University to learn Russian and Chinese so I could become a translator (for which I substituted “glamorous spy”).
I reasoned with Coffee. The official excuse for expelling homosexuals was that we were subject to blackmail. I offered to use his phone to call my mother, the President, anybody, and tell them I was gay. He sagged at his desk. If he let me remain in, he said, mothers nationwide would write their congressmen to protest their boys being intimate with inverts. That, he confessed, was the only real reason for boycotting us. He showed me a file-cabinet, too stuffed to close–the records of the hapless gays he was discharging that month alone. He said he knew we were no threat; the military was full of gays, for whom it offered ideal career conditions. But there was nothing to be done.
I grinned at the irony of it all. I had enlisted only to be in the same branch of the service as the boy who’d kept my poem when he ditched me for a captain with a Cadillac.
I was sent back to my barracks, where I was the star trainee, with the fewest demerits. Everyone asked why I had been called in. I flippantly said that I was to be the first man on the moon. The resultant rumor spread for weeks. The next day, I was taken to a big, busy office where some officer grilled me in a style copied from TV cops. When I realized what he was getting at, I told him that I’d done this yesterday. “Damn!” he cried dramatically, striking his desk with his palm, “Take this man away! Coffee’s already broken the case!” I grinned to be considered a desirable “break” for someone’s career.
I was sent to the far edge of the base, where ramshackle barracks lined two sides of a neglected lawn. On one side of the gray grass, five barracks were chock-full of less-disgraceful dischargees–the underage, the incapable, the bed-wetters. On my side of the sward, all barracks were empty but one. On its upper floor, I and several other gay rejects had cots spaced ten feet apart and raised on blocks to keep us from conjoining. No danger of that. The others were scared teenagers (I was already twenty-three). Two were straight. One had claimed to be gay to get out, and was terrified to be housed with us. The other had been blown once by a businessman back home, had in fact joined the service to evade the man’s subsequent attentions. The bitter businessman had informed the authorities that they had a queer in the corps. That boy wept after “lights out.”
Actually we had no “lights out.” Bulbs were kept burning night and day, and a guard was posted to ensure we didn’t tiptoe to each other’s tulips. The guards were “untrainables” from the floor below us, guys with criminal records, and goons too violent or too stupid to be subordinate. Every night when their lights went out, we’d lie listening to them fight below. At dawn, broken beds and bodies were carried out.
My discharge took eight weeks. There was no rush on pansies’ paperwork. In a central hut, bored clerks with rubber stamps labored to spew losers from the other side of the sward back into the system. We perverts were allowed no contact with anyone besides each other and the hateful guards who marched us to and from meals–at times when there was no one else in the mess-hall to be tainted.
We had no duties, and no recreation. I mistakenly assumed that all gay men were bright and sophisticated, and jokingly told my dorm-buddies that I was really an agent of the O.S.I. (the dread “Office of Special Investigations” whose duties included queer-catching), sent to drain information from them about the worldwide homosexual network. The poor things believed me, even though I frantically explained that it was a joke. They wouldn’t talk to me, or to each other in my hearing.
I asked to see the sagging sergeant who ran “Headquarters Squadron” or “Hedron” (as the establishment was named to prevent other trainees from learning what it was and raiding it to dismember perverts). I told him that I felt wasted, and begged to clerk for him. With threats that if I told anyone he was allowing me to mingle with real men, he’d, he’d, well, he’d do something, he allowed me to speed up his procedures. I think he had heard the rumor that I had been meant to be the first man on the moon, and was somewhat awed.
Soon he was letting me out on my “own recognizance” to go to base movies such as SONS AND LOVERS, MIDNIGHT LACE, and THE CROWDED SKY (in which everyone but Rhonda Fleming seemed to be wearing blue contact lenses to make their eyes flash like those of then-new-and-hot Paul Newman). I also got to go to the post library, where I immersed myself in the pristine, precious poems of Elinor Wylie. (“The world is untroubled/And purely designed./Its beauty is doubled/By a noble mind.”) One co-worker was an educated man, being thrown out as a “fraudulent enlistee.” He was married, which flyboys were not supposed to be. He had to stay with the animalistic untrainables beneath us homosexuals. Every night when the lights went out, he pulled his bed to the wall and hid behind it while his floormates threw theirs at each other. He tried to condescend to me with remarks like, “Many homosexuals are intelligent and well-read.” I trounced him with quotes and cross-references when he tried to one-up me with his Ivy League literacy. That didn’t keep me from making the mistake of later falling for a Yalie in New York, but that’s another story.
A Lesbian painter whom I’d met in San Antonio came to visit me on the base, to which she had access because her unsuspecting husband was a corporal stationed there. She was an extremely ugly woman, but did herself up with bleached bouffant hair, copious make-up, skin-tight Capri pants, and striped sweaters stretched by falsies to make herself look much as Ann-Margret later looked. My fellow clerks were wowed. They suggested I sue for a hearing to be allowed to remain in the service, with “that beautiful woman” testifying for me. I told her they thought she was gorgeous, and she said, “Men can’t see past make-up.” They were equally entranced by her red convertible, which seemed part and parcel of their fantasies about her. Unfortunately, she decided to be in love with me, and I had to ask her to stop dropping by. Alas, she had already told her hick husband “everything,” which resulted only in breaking his simple heart and leading him by some personal logic to become a fag-basher.
Eventually, I was let go, regretting nothing much but the novel I’d been writing about Tab Hunter (“Kip Savage” in the book) being drafted, which the Air Police confiscated from my foot-locker and never returned, despite a year of letters from me begging for it. I was told they needed it for “evidence.” I had to grin. After being mustered out, I went into San Antonio to the Novarro Bar to find a drag-queen I’d slept with on my weekend furloughs before my dismissal process began. He/she didn’t want anything to do with me; it had been the uniform. I had to grin again. When I returned to Roswell and learned that Mama had been the instrument of my deliverance/disgrace (which she never knew), and that it was part of a triumph for her, I settled into a permanent rigorous grin, full to overflowing with wry, ironic, hard-won knowledge, like the anti-hero at the beginning of any film noir.
*x*

play – SIT-COM by Robert Patrick

above: Michael Martin’s 2001 Chicago production.

SIT-COM
a one-act play
by Robert Patrick
for They-Know-Who
c 1994
Robert Patrick
#211
1837 N. Alexandria Ave.
L.A. CA 90027
tel: (323) 360-1469
rbrtptrck@aol.com
IML rbrtptrck

SETTING: The living-room of a posh big-city apartment in a big American city other than Chicago. Doors to: a bedroom, a kitchen, a hallway. Outside the hallway are two elevators. A long sofa faces the audience downstage. Downstage of it is an even longer coffee-table. It is important that there be some sort of front on the coffee table so that the characters’ feet cannot be seen.

TIME: Evening, the sexy 1970s.

THE CHARACTERS:
EZRA is a handsome hunky hustler in appropriate garb. EZRA loves men, loves sex, loves love, and has found hustling a convenient way to combine vocation and avocation. While he can act tough and rugged to please the man of the moment, he is essentially affectionate, sympathetic, sweet, and randy.
RON is an uptight young businessman. he has all the characteristics of a loving, but philandering husband. He loves Doug and will do anything to keep him, but needs other men as well. he is actually quite henpecked.
DOUG is a young businessman, in public relations. His marriage to Ron means more to him than anything else in the world. He is very much a game-player, experimenter, manipulator, and dramatist, but at rock bottom is his love for Ron, and his need for the security of their life together.

(At RISE, articles of clothing lie about the stage. RON’S are yuppy-chic, EZRA’S street-tough. RON’S clothes are nearer the bedroom door. )

(EZRA enters, happy, from bedroom, dresses, lights a Marlboro with a conspicuous lighter from his pocket, leaves cigarette
in ashtray and lighter on table. He rubs his stomach hungrily and exits to the kitchen.)

(While EZRA dresses, RON’s hand from bedroom door gropes for his clothes. As EZRA exits, RON appears, dressed, but shoe less, from bedroom, looks about for EZRA, sighs.)

RON: Thank God he left. And without my even paying him. I wonder if that’s some kind of compliment?

EZRA: (Enters with sandwich on a saucer) So you can still walk, huh? I must be losing my touch.

(EZRA sits on sofa to unwrap sandwich. RON zooms past him, grabbing sandwich and plate as He exits into kitchen.)

RON: Thanks a lot. I had a really good time. You can go now. (Re-enters) Oh, you’re still here.

EZRA: I had fun, too. For another 50 I’ll stay and have it again.

RON: Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. Thanks, really like to, but I have an appointment. (Of EZRA’S cigarette) What brand do you smoke?

EZRA: Marlboros, of course. Want one?

RON: (Stubs out butt, empties ashtray into his pocket) No, thanks. You didn’t leave any butts about, did you? (He starts wiping out ashtray with sleeve)

EZRA: Naw, first rule of my trade. You have to clean up now? Couldn’t you do it when you come back?

RON: Back from where?

EZRA: Your appointment?

RON: Oh My appointment’s here.

EZRA: You got another guy coming over? You’re a beast. Hey, why pay full price when you can get a re-run for half?

RON: Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. No, my lover’s coming back.

EZRA: Awwwww. You had a fight?

RON: No. From a business trip.

EZRA: Oh, where?

RON: Why do you want to know?

EZRA: Just asking. What business?

RON: None of yours.

EZRA: Forget it.

RON: I’m sorry. Chicago. He’s in publicity.

EZRA: Oh. Well, I guess I’ll be leaving now.

RON: Good. I mean. Good time, I had a good time.

EZRA: Thanks.

RON: (Because EZRA is lingering) Well?

EZRA: You haven’t paid me.

RON: Oh, yes, God. Wait here. (RON exits to bedroom. EZRA sits and leafs through a magazine)

EZRA: (Yells) I’ll do it with both of you for another hundred.

RON: (Off) Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. (ENTERS with money) Thanks, but no thanks. Here’s your hundred.

EZRA: In cash?

RON: Why not?

EZRA: Nothin’. I’d take a check. I’m trustful.

RON: (Taking magazine, giving money) Oh, no, that wouldn’t do at all.

EZRA: Awwwwwww. He reads your stubs!

RON: (Straightening magazines, emptying ashtrays again) It’s a joint account.

EZRA: Gosh, you two are serious, aren’t you?

RON: Well, yes, sure.

EZRA: Why don’t cha give ‘im a welcome home present?

RON: What do you mean, exactly?

EZRA: Well, you must be pretty worn-out.

RON: Yes, I am.

EZRA: Well, why not take him into the bedroom, and there I’ll be, all spread out.

RON: Oh, no thank you.

EZRA: Prone or supine, as he likes it.

RON: That’s very kind, but I don’t think so.

EZRA: Well, you ain’t in no shape to do much for him.

RON: We don’t do it this late on Wednesday.

EZRA: You gotta schedule?

RON: Well, not a schedule, exactly.

EZRA: Sounds like one.

RON: It’s just – on Wednesdays, earlier, we usually watch Barney Miller.

EZRA: Yeah?

RON: And we both have the hots for Wojo and that usually ends in bed. .

EZRA: At what time?

RON: At about the time you and I were doing it. It’s habit, I guess -but not a schedule.

EZRA: (No sign of leaving) Yeah? I used to have a boyfriend was hot for Lou Grant. I could never understand it, but I reaped the benefits of it, if you know what I mean.

RON: Oh, God, I didn’t watch Barney tonight.

EZRA: You had me.

RON: Yes, but he’ll want me to tell him what happened.

EZRA: I’ll stay and show him?

RON: No, I mean on Barney.

EZRA: Make it up.

RON: No, his friends at the office will be talking about it tomorrow.

EZRA: You got a whole subculture of Wojo freaks? (EZRA takes out his cigarettes and lighter. RON snatches them away and lays them on table.)

RON: Can you please go now?

EZRA: (As RON shoves him out) Okay. Call me again sometime. You were good.

RON: So were you.

EZRA: I’m supposed to be. Oh, you should check the position of your Vaseline jar. I’m left-handed.

RON: (Starts for bedroom) Oh, God!

EZRA: (Stops him) It’s okay. I put it back the right way. Don’t be nervous. I’ll see ya. Here’s my card.

RON: (As if it were poison) No, thanks.

EZRA: What’s the matter? Awwwwwww.. He goes through your pockets!

RON: No, he does most of the housework and I never know where he’s going to be looking.

EZRA: Well, he’s a lucky guy. ‘Bye. (Steps out, pops back) Call me? (HE barely escapes getting caught as RON slams door)

RON: Whew! (HE hastily finishes dressing while looking up a number in the phone book. Caution: He DOES NOT PUT ON SHOES) Let’s see, what is Clint’s number? God, I’m lucky I didn’t get raped and murdered. Well, murdered. Ah, here. (Finds number, dials it.) Hello? Clint? Ron. Did you and Tex watch Wojo tonight?…Well, they have a TV room at the baths…You were on top of it most of the time. Okay. Did Tex watch it? Tex was on top of you, right. See you both Sunday. Oh, is it your turn to bring the Crisco? ‘Bye. (Hangs up, dials again immediately) Hello? Oh shit. God I hate cute answering machine message: . La-de-da-de-da-dee – Gert? It’s Ron. If you watched Wo jo tonight, call me. Be sure it’s me. Don’t talk to Doug. (Hangs up. Dials again at once.) Fred? Ron. Did you watch Barney Miller tonight? What happened? On the show, I mean….Well, I’m sorry to interrupt you all, but it’s imperative I know. Well, tell him he can use something besides your mouth for a minute; tell me the goddamned plot. (Grabs pencil and notepad) Uh-huh (Scribbles notes) Uh-huh. Barney made Wojo dress in drag – uh-huh -and Wojo looked real good, fine – and Fish came in and thought Wojo was a woman – okay -and Fish took his right shoe off and stuck it up Wojo’s – Oh, thanks a lot, Fred. Eat the phone! (Hangs up) Whole goddamned city’s getting laid!

DOUG: (Off) Honey, I’m home!

RON: (Drops notepad) Doug, dumpling! (DOUG enters. HE is a little younger than RON, dressed in a business suit. They embrace.)
Did you have a good trip?

(DOUG in a whirlwind of energy breaks the embrace, takes off his tie and coat and hangs them on a coat-tree, lays his briefcase on the sofa, kicks his shoes off, and winds up back in an embrace with RON.)

DOUG: She gave five interviews and appeared at the Theatregoer’s Club Luncheon. Her first costume stopped the show. The whole audience left at intermission but they’re sold out for the entire month so who gives a fuck? Poseidon Adventure is playing around the corner so they wouldn’t care if she came on stage and dropped her colostomy bag, they love her. I hate Chicago. I love you. Do you love me?

RON: I love you more than all the men in the world put together.

DOUG: If you really loved me, you’d make me a sandwich and rub my back.

RON: Oh, I don’t know if I love you that much.

DOUG: Okay, I’ll make myself a sandwich and tomorrow morning I’ll lace your Chocolate Crunchies with Ex-Lax. Sit down on the couch. When I come back I want to hear all about Barney. (Exits to kitchen)

RON: (Terrified) Barney who?

DOUG: (Off) Barney Google with the goo-goo-googley eyes, who do you think, you inconsiderate son-of-a-bitch?

(DOUG re-enters with a plate on which there is a sandwich) •- .. Oh, honey. You made me a sandwich.

RON: (Eying sandwich) Son of a bitch! I

DOUG: Sits, starts on sandwich) Hm?

RON: I mean, sure I made you a sandwich. I’d make you prom queen if I could, but (Points at sandwich) that’s my best shot.

DOUG: Oh, honey, when I’m with you I feel like the prom queen and a pin-up girl and the girl most likely to succeed and the Marlboro Man.

RON: Why the Marlboro Man?

DOUG: All right; Miss Rheingold. Teach-me my place.

(DOUG nuzzles RON meaningfully)

RON: What are you so affectionate for? One (checks sandwich) salami sandwich?

DOUG: No. They showed “Eyewitness” on the plane. I’m in love with Bill Hurt. (Puts sandwich aside and embraces RON) Do you want it?

RON: You must be exhausted.

DOUG: No, I’m all worked up. You can’t jerk off in a seat-belt; kills your rhythm. Make love to me.

RON: Right Now?

DOUG: All right. I’ll make love to you. Tell me about Barney – and tell it dirty. What did Wojo wear?

RON: Grabs DOUG) Yes, do let’s make love. Wild, passionate silent love.

DOUG: (Joking) Whoosh. I love you when you’re gentle like this.

RON: (Not up to this) That’s a great idea. Let’s be gentle. Put your head in my lap.

DOUG: No, let’s be wild. Put your lap in my head.

RON: (Firmly) Put your head in my lap. (DOUG dives face first into RON’s crotch.) No, the other way around.

DOUG: (Enthusiastically) Okay! (Puts his head under RON, forcing RON to put his feet on the coffee-table. We see that RON has on one red and one green sock.)

RON: No, you retard!
(HE Pulls DOUG out from under him) Now, lie there like a good boy and eat your sandwich.

DOUG: Okay. It’ll give me gas and later I’ll give you such a burp-job. Oh, honey, you just go to pieces when I’m not here, don’t you?

RON: What makes you say that?

DOUG: Well, you used all those towels and just threw them behind the bathroom door -

RON: (Mutters to himself) Behind the bathroom door -

DOUG: Uh-huh. And you’re wearing mismatched socks. I’m so glad you need me. (Pulls RON down to kiss HIM)

RON: (Staring at his own feet) OH, my God.

DOUG: Thank you. And that was just for beginners. Wait til I build my strength up with this sandwich. Hand me my briefcase.

RON: Hands it to DOUG) Oh, sure, uh -’wasn’t that funny about my socks?

DOUG: (Riffling through briefcase) Yes. I’m going to kill somebody.

RON: Who, for instance?

DOUG: I’m going to kill that goddmaned laundryman. Sending you somebody’s red socks. Didn’t you even notice it when you balled them?

RON: Balled who?

DOUG: The socks. Ah, here it is. (Pulls TV Guide from briefcase)

RON: As if it were a gun) What’s that?

DOUG: TV Guide.

RON: What are you doing with a TV Guide?

DOUG: She was on a talk show in Chicago; you know I save clippings for my scrapbook. (Rips out a page and stuffs it in briefcase, riffles through Guide) Now let’s see, Wednesday -

RON: (Throws himself in DOUG’s arms) Oh, who cares about Barney? Make love to me.

DOUG: Wow, it must have been hot tonight. Let me see -

RON: (Hugging DOUG tightly) To Hell with Wojo. Let me kiss your eyes.

DOUG: (Shakes RON off) No, I have my contacts in. (Gasps) “To Hell with Wojo?” Listen, Mister, I’m broadminded and all that, but there are some things we don’t make jokes about in this house: We don’t joke about Barbra Streisand’s profile, or Jerry Falwell’s philosophy, we don’t joke about the evening we did all those Quaaludes and walked into the P.T.A. meeting, and above all, we don’t make disparaging remarks about Wojo. I believe those were our marriage vows?

RON: Yes, sweetheart. I know. I’m sorry. Come let me make it up to you -somehow or other. Anyhow or other.

DOUG: No, I’m mad. I want to read the summary of Barney.

RON: Doug, this is ridiculous. You’re becoming fetishistic about that fat actor.

DOUG: Wojo is not fat; he’s humpy! And if I’m fetishistic about him, how about you and those opera hose?

RON: Doug!

DOUG: (Finds page he wants) Ah, here it is. (Reads briefly) Okay. (Throws TV Guide aside, grabs RON) Okay, matey; let’s you and me go punish that Beautyrest.

RON: (Relieved) Certainly, dumpling. Ronnie’s sorry he yelled at you.

DOUG: (Very seductively) You know what Dougie wants tonight?

RON: No, funny-buns, what?

DOUG: Doug wants you to put on your leather harness -

RON: Sigh. Certainly, cookie-cock.

DOUG: And he wants you to get out the rubber sheet.

RON: Whatever you say, sugar-shorts.

DOUG: And he wants you to turn on the strobe, and activate the big dildo -

RON: Oh, good, love-lumps, yes, go on -

DOUG: And he wants you to spread yourself out on the sheet with the dildo in your fur jockstrap -

RON: Mmmm-hmmm, motor mouth.

DOUG: And he wants you to chew on your Erik Estrada T-shirt -

RON: And then what do you want, tiny tits?

DOUG: And then once you’re lying there looking like a goddamned idiot, I want you to tell me why you didn’t watch Barney Miller tonight!

RON: Huh?

DOUG: You big louse! There wasn’t any Barney Miller tonight! It was pre-empted! Joanne Woodward and Paul Newman did a special on Angel Dust!

RON: I thought she was Wojo in drag?

DOUG: And don’t tell me they didn’t have it here; it was network!

RON: I had Tex and Clint over! We forgot to watch!

DOUG: Tex and Clint never missed a Wednesday night at the baths in their lives! It’s what holds their marriage together!

RON: I knew that, too.

DOUG: Honestly, honey. I really am almost mad. (DOUG pulls the astonished RON back to the sofa, puts his head on RON’S lap)

RON: Almost?

DOUG: Well, sure. It’s the only thing I ever ask you to do for me, is watch Wojo if I’m out of town.
RON’
I’m sorry. Believe me, I will never, ever miss it again.

DOUG: I mean, I don’t think one thing is too much to ask.

RON: I would do anything for you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

DOUG: It’s okay. I forgive you. I love you. (Long, peaceful pause) So, what did you do?

RON: Hm?

DOUG: What did you do tonight? And it better be good. (HE’s only teasing)

RON: Do?

DOUG: Tonight. What did you do?

RON: I – went to bed early.

DOUG: You? Mister tight schedule? Are you okay?

RON: I’m fine, I’m fine. I was-.just a little tired.

DOUG: Oooooh. Let me get you some chicken soup. And while you eat it, I’ll take your temperature.
(DOUG hops up and is taking sandwich plate to kitchen)

RON: No, really, I’m fine.

DOUG: You don’t want Dougy to take our temperature? He can take it orally -while you eat the chicken soup. (Exits)

RON: (resigned) Oh, well.

DOUG: (Re-enters) You know, Ron, I just realized something.

RON: What, dumpling?

DOUG: I just realized you lied to me.

RON: I did?

DOUG: You lied to me when you said you had Tex and Clint over here. And you didn’t.

RON: Did I say that somewhere along the way?

DOUG: You’ve never lied to me in five years we’ve been together. I’m surprised at you.

RON: Possibly I dreamed it?

DOUG: (Icily calm) Suddenly it all comes clear. You had Tex and Clint over here and you made it with them.

RON: Doug, I -

DOUG: I don t mind your making it with Tex and Clint. God knows we’ve done it often enough. I don’t even mind your making it with them without me. But – (Begins to boil) – here? In our home? Without me?

RON: Dumpling -

DOUG: You know we swore that no matter how many men we might make it with separately, we would never ever ever bring any of them here.

RON: Dougy – please let me explain.

DOUG: I don’t want you to explain; I want you to die. (Lifts phone)

RON: (Ducks) Doug, what are you going to do with that phone?

DOUG: I’m going to call Clint and ask him. And don’t try to stop me.

RON: Doug, please don’t do that.

DOUG: (Starting to dial) Why shouldn’t I?

RON: Because, because, because – (idea) – if you won’t do that, I’ll get out the hammock and put on my dirty 501′s.

DOUG: (Hand poised over the dial) You hate the dirty 501′s.

RON: I’ll do it, though.

DOUG: (Mightily tempted) No! Not even for the dirty 501′s. (Starts to dial)

RON: (last ditch) I’ll let you do the thing with the vacuum cleaner.

DOUG: (Hangs torn for a moment – then) No, no, no, no, no – (Finishes dialing) – Yes, Tex, Hi, Doug! Is Clint there?…Could I speak with him, please?…Thank you. (Waits, his eyes riveted to RON) You wouldn’t really have let me do the thing with the vacuum cleaner, anyway; you’d just talk about it until I got so excited I forgave you, so I don’t care. (Into phone) Clint? Doug..Yes, just now. Clint, I’m going to ask you something and I want you to tell me the truth. My and Ron’s relationship depends on it. Clint, did you and Tex come over here tonight and make it with Ron like he says you did?….I see….Yes…Yes…-Okay…Yes, I see….Really?… Well, that clears everything up. See you Sunday. It’s our turn to supply the licorice whips. (Hangs up) Okay.

RON: What did he say.

DOUG: He says yes, he and Tex came over on their way to the baths, and you all got carried away and made it, and he knows it’s against our rules and he’s sorry and wants me to come over without you some night and make it there to make up for it.

RON: Ah. Oh. Um. Well, there, you see now?

DOUG: And do you know what else he said?

RON: No, what, puppy-fuzz?

DOUG: (With mounting fury) He says what got you all so carried away was it was hot in the police station and Wojo took his plaid shirt off! I hate you, I hate you, I despise you, you lied and lied to me, and Tex and Clint lied to me, and I don’t have any real friends and I want to kill you!

RON: (resigned) What do you want me to wear while you kill me?
-
DOUG: Oh, don’t talk to me. Don’t try to talk to me ever, ever again. I don’t know what to do. I work so hard and I trust you and I keep house for you and you treat me like some goddamned simple-minded woman!

RON: That was a sexist remark!

DOUG: Well, wait until you hear how I feel about men! What did you really do tonight?

RON: I brought a hustler here and made love with him – on our bed!

DOUG: (dressing ferociously) That’s a lie! I’ll never be able to believe you again. I’m going out and get laid all over town. I’ll show you.

RON: Have fun.

DOUG: I won’t and you can’t make me! I’m going to crawl on my knees through every back room in this burg. I’m going to cork and get corked by total absolute strangers and I’m going to hate every minute of it! And then I’m going to come home and force-fuck you on our collectible chenille cowboy-star bedspread so hard you get up with “Hopalong Cassidy” written backwards across your belly and you won’t be able to take your clothes off with anyone else for a week. (Exits)

RON: Doug, honey, come back.

DOUG: (Returns) You don’t call me “Honey!” I call you “Honey!” You call me “Dumpling!” (Exits)

RON: Dumpling, come back!

DOUG: (Re-enters) Oh, I am! And once I come back, I’m never going to go out again! I’m just going to stay here in this expensive condominium I was stupid enough to buy with you, and hate for the rest of your unnatural life! (Exits for real)

RON: (Trying to find shoes) Honey – I mean, dumpling. Wait. I can explain everything. Wait for me to get into my shoes! Hold that elevator. Please, Dump, hold it! Oh, damn, where’s my shoes? Dumpling, where do I always leave my shoes? Oh, here they are. Damned socks. Goddamit to fucking hell, why do I do these things. What am I talking about? I never did anything like this before. Why? Why did I? Why didn’t I? Why did I now? (Shoes are on) Okay, here I come. (HE starts out. PHONE rings.) Dear God. (Answers) Yes? Gert?…Huh? Oh, I know: Joanne, Paul, Angel Dust,yes, that’s how they hold their marriage together. Thanks, later, ‘bye. (Hangs up) Dumpling, daddy’s coming! (Exits to hall.)
(We HEAR an elevator arrive, doers open and close, elevator descends. Then we HEAR the bell as another elevator arrives on the floor.)

DOUG: (Enters) Okay, you dumb dreary liar, I thought of something better to do! Hey, where are you? Come out here and face me! Oh, where the hell are you, you creep!

EZRA: (Enters) Huh? I thought you liked me.

DOUG: Oh. I do. But I don’t know what to do with you now.

EZRA: Well, what you were yelling in the elevator sounded good to me.

DOUG: Well, I know, but we’re all alone.

EZRA: (Notices apartment) Hey, is this your place?

DOUG: Yes, mine and a complete drip’s.

EZRA: He’s out?

DOUG: Yes, he must have gone out to look for me.

EZRA: (Sits, picks up magazine) Boy, this is a busy building. I tricked here earlier this evening, then I met a guy in the lobby and we went back up to his place, and then I meet you in the elevator. I should hang out here more often.

DOUG: You – you made it with two guys already this evening?

EZRA: (Absorbed in magazine) Two guys in this building.

DOUG: (Relieved) Well, then you must be out of commission anyway.

EZRA: Not me. You see, I have this little problem.

DOUG: What’s that?

EZRA: Consitutional satyriasis. I can make it twenty times a day.

DOUG: No one ever satisfies you?

EZRA: They all do. That’s why I do it so much.

DOUG: Oh. That’s what I wanted to do with you.

EZRA: Yeah, I kinda figured that from what you said in the elevator. (Drops magazine.) So, the other guy’s not here?

DOUG: No, so I guess that makes it pointless.

EZRA: You don’t like me?

DOUG: Oh, I don :t like anybody but him. I’m sorry, I mean -

EZRA: Sigh. I know what you mean. You’re his lover?

DOUG: Yes. He’s very lucky.

DOUG: He lied to me.

EZRA: I’m sure.

DOUG: What do you mean?

EZRA: (Covering his slip) Oh, well, they all do. Men are pigs.

DOUG: I’m not.

EZRA: How not?

DOUG: I never make it with anybody else but him. Well, I never make it with anybody unless he’s there. I tell him I do. I tell him I go out and make like a milking machine all over town. But I never really have.

EZRA: For how long?

DOUG: He does. He makes it up one side and down the other. And he tells me he doesn’t. I don’t mind. But he did it here with some low scummy sleaze-pig and that’s what I can’t take. That’s why I wanted you! I wanted to use you to hurt him.

EZRA: (Very interested) How bad did you want to hurt him?

DOUG: Bad enough to bring you into our home. Oh, I’m sorry -

EZRA: That’s all right. Wow. You really love him, huh?

DOUG: Oh, I have a fetish for him.

EZRA: You’re so lucky to have someone to love and to have a permanent relationship. Me, I can never turn anybody down, on any terms. I just like men. Young men, old men, tall men, short, fat, skinny, weak, strong, loving, hating, anyway they like it. I wish I could be like you.

DOUG: I wish I could be like you. I don’t even have one type. Just Ron.

EZRA: Oh, I have a type.

DOUG: You do?

EZRA: Right now I do.

DOUG: Like – what?

EZRA: Oooooh, slick black hair, high intelligent forehead, thin black brows, winsome smile, turned-up nose, and the most beautiful eyelashes in the entire world – (Change to match actor playing DOUG)

DOUG: Oh. You mean..me?

EZRA: I do, I really do.

DOUG: I bet you say that to all the fellas.

EZRA: I do, I really do.

DOUG: I haven’t had anyone but Ron for five years. I mean – alone.

EZRA: Call me “Ron.”

DOUG: I don’t call him “Ron.”

EZRA: What do you call him?

DOUG: I can’t tell you.

EZRA: Sure you can. You can do anything with me.

DOUG: I can’t….Can I?

EZRA: Anything at all. Tell me what you call him. Whisper it in my ear.

DOUG: (Leans close and whispers) “Honey.”

EZRA: Ooooh, that’s nice. Now whisper it in my other ear.

DOUG: (Into other ear) “Honey”.

EZRA: Now, whisper it into my neck.

DOUG: (Into EZRA’S neck) “Honey.”

EZRA: Now into my right cheek. (DOUG does) My left cheek (DOUG does) . Now, whisper it into my mouth. {THEY kiss, looooong, sloooow, and building.) Now, you give me your hand and follow me into that bedroom, and whisper it everywhere (DOUG is reluctant) . You just come on in and whisper it wherever you want to – and don-’t you worry – you just whisper it – and no one will hear.

(EZRA gently leads DOUG off into the bedroom. The stage is empty for a moment.)

RON: (Re-enters) Dumpling? Dumpling? Double dumpling daddy’s darling Doug? Ah, shit. He really means it. He’s always saying he makes it with other people, but he never really does. And now tonight I’ve driven him to it. Finally driven him to really do it. I am a card-carrying son-of-a-bitch. Where can he be? Where would he go? (Starts to light cigarette with EZRA’S lighter /from table, sees printing on it.) The Swishbuckler? That’s impossible. He’d never go there. Well, tonight he might, but he certainly hasn’t had time to go there and get back. And besides, he doesn’t smoke. Smoke! This must belong to that terrible Marlboro Man. Jesus Christ, he’ll come back for it! I’ve got to stay here and wait for him. Oh, well, I’d never find Doug anyway. And I wouldn’t really want to. Find Doug under some scummy sleaze bag, doing some dreadful thing. Without me. I’ll just wait here. (HE lies on sofa. A VACUUM CLEANER is heard offstage) Jesus Christ, who’s vacuuming at this hour? (Lies down. Suddenly sits up, looks toward bedroom.) Naw, it couldn’t possibly be. (Lies back down, drowsy.) Oh, sweet Dougy-poo loves his vacuum-cleaner. I always fall asleep Saturday afternoon while darling dumpling dougy-pants vacuums our home. (HE falls asleep.)

(The VACUUM CLEANER continues for a bit, then sighs to a stop. RON snores. The bedroom door opens and E2RA backs out, not seeing RON. EZRA speaks to DOUG, offstage.)

EZRA: ‘Bye. It was great…Jesus, you’re asleep already. Well, I’m not surprised. I never knew that was possible for two adults. (Closes door, turns, and sees RON) Oh, Jesus!

RON: (Pops up awake) Huh? What? Oh! Thank God you’re here.

EZRA: Really?

RON: Yes.

EZRA: Oh, good.

RON: Yes. You’ve got to get out.

EZRA: I agree.

RON: Here’s your lighter. You go.

EZRA: You’re being swell.

RON: Yes, go, before my lover comes in.

EZRA: Ah…You didn’t see him?

RON: He was here and left. But he’ll be back. Raring to fight.

EZRA: I doubt that.

RON: Oh, you don t know him. So you’ll just leave, okay?

EZRA: 0h – yeah – sure – uh – say, where did he go, do you think?

RON: Out whoring. We had a fight.

EZRA: Well, I have a good idea, let’s us go look for him.

RON: Why? It’s hopeless.

EZRA: Mister, if there’s one thing I can do, it’s find a man. Come on. You’re a nice guy, I’ll help you.

RON: That’s very kind of you.

EZRA: Come on, come with me. What we’ll do, we’ll go down in the elevator – I mean, descend via the elevator – although the other sounds like fun – no, no, later – and at the door of your building, I’ll give you a list of places to the right, and I’ll go to the left, and we’ll meet you back here at your building in an hour, all right?

RON: Okay. Sure. But why don’t we look together?

EZRA: Faster this way.
-
RON: Right. Let’s go. You know, I don’t know why I’m so worried. He hasn’t made it on his own in five years. Why, he won’t even know how. (Laughs)

EZRA: Right. (Laughs) Well, we’ll save him. Come on.

(THEY exit. Elevator noises, and then DOUG enters from bedroom.)

DOUG: Oh, God, he’s skipped out. Did he take anything? (Checks room) God, yes, he took Ron’s new Swishbuckler lighter. Well, I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. It was wonderful. I was wonderful. I made it with another man and no help and it was fantastic. I had a tremendous time. I never had a better time in my life. I wish I was dead!

EZRA: (Enters, anxious) Ah, you’re up!

DOUG: Oh, it’s you! Why did you take Ron’s lighter?

EZRA: Huh? Oh.

DOUG: Give me back Ron’s tacky Swishbuckler lighter.

EZRA: (Hands it over) Right. Sure.

DOUG: Oh, you were just using it, probably.

EZRA: Whatever you say.

DOUG: I’m sorry I misjudged you. You better go, though. He’ll be back soon.

EZRA: I don t think so.

DOUG: Oh, he will. He’s a whiz. He’ll check the bars in no time.

EZRA: You love him a lot, don’t you?

DOUG: Sure I do – but I don’t know if marriage between two men can ever work out. No matter how you try, one sex partner just isn’t enough. A man always wants somebody else.

EZRA: You don’t.

DOUG: Yes, I do. I do now. I found that out with you. I just want any brute sex I can get.

EZRA: Maybe not.

DOUG: Yes, I do, otherwise I wouldn’t have enjoyed it with you.

EZRA: Well, maybe you like me, too. Not all other men, just me, too.

DOUG: Do you think so?

EZRA: That’s what it felt like. I’ve had brute sex, believe me, and it was very, very different with you.

DOUG: You’re sure it wasn’t just the Electrolux?

EZRA: I swear, it was you.

DOUG: Oh, my God: I love you!

EZRA: Yeah. Doesn’t that make it better?

DOUG: That’s awful! That’s even worse! I’m the marrying type. Now I have to marry you.

EZRA: You’re really real sweet, you know that? You’re as rare as I am. I want ‘em all, you just want one – or two. We should get together.

DOUG: We did.

EZRA: I mean, regular. Maybe it’s true that opposites attract. I got a feelin’ for you like I never had for anyone before.

DOUG: But how could we get together?

EZRA: You name it.

DOUG: Are you trying to take me away from Ron? You better go.

EZRA: I thought you wanted him to find me here.

DOUG: I did when you were just a vengeance fuck. Now that I like you as a person I feel ashamed.

EZRA: Yeah, I wanted to skip out when I thought I was just revenge meat. But now that we like each other I want to stay.

DOUG: No, no, no, no, no! I can’t stand all these feelings. Love. Duplicity. Anger. Lust. Rage. Revenge. Guilt.

EZRA: Baby, baby. Everyone’s got those feelings. They only hurt if you hide them.

DOUG: But feelings mess up your love life.

EZRA: Baby, there’s nowhere better to take them out than in your love-life. In there – (Points to bedroom) – there’s no feeling that can’t be transmutated into fun. Hate, worship, anger, boredom, happiness, frustration, confusion – on that little theatre called a bed, they can all play out. In a living-room we’re each of us one person -but in there we can each of us be a million different men – and that’s why love lasts.

DOUG: Love doesn’t last.

EZRA: That’s because most people don’t let it go in there, like you do. They lock themselves up into being the same person all the time.

DOUG: You mean – schedules and things? But you re right. It’s in there with all our silly games and guises that Ron and I are lovers.

EZRA: That we are lovers, you and I.

DOUG: But you – you need a million men.

EZRA: Not if I can find ‘em all in one guy.

DOUG: Like me?

EZRA: Maybe.

DOUG: But I need Ron.

EZRA: He’s a swell guy – I would imagine.

DOUG: He’s not. He’s a rat.

EZRA: Why?

DOUG: I don’t know. He did something while I was gone that he doesn’t want me to know, and I can’t stand that.

EZRA: Why? What – what did he do?

DOUG: I don’t know. And I don’t care. It’s just that he lied to me.

EZRA: Is that all?

DOUG: That’s enough.

EZRA: But you lied to him for five years.

DOUG: I didn’t.

EZRA: About making it with other guys.

DOUG: Oh, that. But that just turned him on. That’s what holds our marriage together. There’s no harm in that. No, there’s nothing Ron could do that would ever really make me mad, if he told me.

EZRA: Nothing? That’s incredible. That’s so enviable. Tell me more about that. (EZRA puts his feet up on the coffee table. HE is wearing one green and one red sock. DOUG notices and stands silent.) Well, come on; tell me: there’s nothing he could do to make you mad?

DOUG: I guess I was wrong. I guess there is one thing.

EZRA: Yeah? And if he did it?

DOUG: He did do it.

EZRA: If he did it, what would you want to do? You can tell me.

DOUG: Tell you? Oh, no, it’s too awful. I can’t tell you.

EZRA: Of course you can.

DOUG: No, I cannot tell you. (Grabs EZRA’S hand.) But I can sure as hell show you!

(DOUG drags the delighted EZRA off to bed again)

EZRA: (As THEY exit) Okay!

(Stage is bare for a moment. ELEVATOR sounds. RON enters, weary.)

RON: It doesn’t take any well-organized person and hour to check ten bars. (Dials phone) Clint? Ron…What?…Yes, I know he did…Yes, I know you did. Thank you – I suppose. Clint, I think I’m leaving Doug, tonight, before he gets back and fucks me to death…No, literally…Of course I’m afraid of him; I’m no fool….Well, yes, I am; I’ve had the best deal a man ever had, for five years I’ve had t the devotion of the sweetest swellest man in the world, and I’ve blown it in one night for the sake of a hunk that was nothing to me but a hole and a pole…Oh, he was okay, in fact he was a nice guy. But he wasn’t worth losing my Doug…-No, Doug doesn’t know, but it’s wrecked things between us, anyway. So, we won’t be having you over Sunday. In fact, what I called about was could I move in with you two for a week or two until I find a new place?…Thanks, I’ll be over right away. I just have to go down and tell our doorman not to let a certain person back in the building. Then I’ll come . back and pack and be over in a while…Thanks. Oh, listen: while I’m living there with you two, can we still ball? Thanks, Clint; that’ll help – a little. ‘Bye.
(HE hangs up and; exits wearily to the hall. Elevator sounds)

EZRA: Enters from bedroom in stocking feet) That was him.

DOUG: (Enters, in stocking feet. Coyly) How did you know?

EZRA: Uh, well, I figured it was.

DOUG: Listen. It’s okay. I know you were with him.

EZRA: How did you know?

DOUG: Your socks.

EZRA: Puzzled) Socks?

DOUG: (Very much in control) Never mind. Let’s get dressed; he’ll be right back up.

EZRA: What – what are you going to do to him?

DOUG: The worst. You’ll see. Come on. (THEY exit into bedroom)

RON: (Re-enters) Sigh. That’ll take care of that. Okay. Pack. Time to pack. What’ll I pack first? My lighter. I – oh, my God. His lighter! He left it again. No, he didn’t. I made him take it away. My God, he’s back! Oh, no, he’s insatiable. He wants me again. Oh, be serious; he must he going to blackmail me. Oh, Jesus. (Shouts toward bedroom) Come out of there! Come out of there, you s-.s eming seductress, and I’ll give you another hundred dollars. .

DOUG: (Off, astonished) A hundred dollars? (Laughs like a fool)

RON: (Recognizing the voice) Dumpling?

DOUG: (Enters, shod) A hundred dollars? Really?

RON: Dumpling you’re….here.

DOUG: Yes. Where else would I be? This is our home, isn’t it?

RON: Where did you go? I’ve been looking for you.

DOUG: I didn’t go anywhere. I’ve been here all along.

RON: What? You were in there asleep?

DOUG: I was in bed, yes.

RON: Oh, really? You – you must have been tired, not to wake up.

DOUG: Oh, I’m wide awake now. A hundred dollars, huh?

RON: I never said it. I was kidding when I said it. I was drunk?.

DOUG: You don’t drink.

RON: Why don’t I?

DOUG: (Really enjoying toying with RON) A hundred dollars? Insatiable? What were you talking about?

RON: Doug. I love you. I’ve always loved you. But I’ve got to tell you something. I’m no good.

DOUG: That’s not what I_ hear.

RON: It’s true. I’ve always cheated on you. Not just with Tex and Clint. Not just when you were around. I make it with men. Lots of men.

DOUG: (Serious and tender) Ron, do you really need that?

RON: I don’t know. I guess I do. I must, to cheat on a perfect mate like you. I guess I need variety. I’m an animal. Help me. Kill me.

DOUG: But would that be enough for you? Variety? If you could get it at home?

RON: I can’t follow that.

DOUG: It’s your home. It should have what you need in it. Maybe I’m not enough for you. Maybe it’s my fault.

RON: It’s not a fault, darling, it’s just – oh, you wouldn’t understand.

DOUG: Maybe I would. Let’s sit down and talk about it. (THEY sit on sofa.)

RON: You – how could you understand me? You’re so good and kind and faithful.

DOUG: Maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m a lowdown cheating liar.

RON: You’re not.

DOUG: I lied to you about having other guys.

RON: Oh, I knew that. You could never do anything like that. You love me too much.

DOUG: (Slightly stung) Maybe it’s time you really got to know me.

RON: What do you mean? What’s there to know?

DOUG: Kiss me and I’ll tell you.

RON: Kiss?

DOUG: Me and I’ll tell you.

(THEY kiss. DOUG makes it an involved one. HE signals EZRA to come out of the/bedroom and go out into hall while RON is blinded in his arms. Once EZRA is out, HE comes in again.

DOUG: (Breaks kiss.) Hey, who’s this?

RON: (Sees EZRA) Oh, dear God.

EZRA: Hi, Ron!

RON: What are you doing here? What do you want?

EZRA: You know what I want.

RON: You can’t find ‘it here!

EZRA: Boy, have you got a lot to learn.

RON: Doug, I can explain.

DOUG: No need. Would you like to sit down, Mister – why, I don’t know your name.

EZRA: Sure, there’s an article here I’d like to finish. (Sits and picks up magazine) And the name’s “Ezra.”

DOUG: Hm. I hear guys named “Ezra” get a lot.

EZRA: There aren’t any other guys named “Ezra.”

DOUG: Must be you I heard about.

EZRA: Must be. But if guys named “Ezra” can find real satisfaction in one place, they might be very happy there.

RON: (Sitting between the two, unbelieving) What are you two talking about?

DOUG: Honey, you’re a person who needs a little variety. Ezra’s a person who needs a lot. I’m a person who needs to love in many different ways. Does that suggest anything to you?

RON: But I hate all that trashing around! I do! It’s ridiculous for a grown-up businessman. It takes time, it takes effort, it erodes relationships.

DOUG: No one suggested running around.

RON: Will you please tell me what you’re talking about? (To EZRA) And will you please go home?

DOUG: He’s what I’m talking about. And we’re talking about his coming home.

RON: Huh?

DOUG: Here.

RON: Here?

DOUG: Here.

EZRA: Hear, hear!

RON: You’re kidding. That isn’t like you!

DOUG: You don’t know what I’m like.

RON: (Looking back and forth) The three of us?

EZRA: Stability and adventure all at once. What could be better for three grown men?

RON: (To DOUG) But honey, even if I said, “Yes,” you couldn’t do that. You know you’d never be happy with anyone but me.

DOUG: (Miffed) And you need one other thing: you need to be a little less sure of yourself. Let’s put our feet up and talk about it.

RON: (Rises) No, I’m leaving.

DOUG: (Shoves RON down) Put your feet up, Ron.

RON: No, I won’t.

DOUG: Ezra?

EZRA: Yes, Doug?

DOUG: Might I borrow your lighter?

EZRA: Hands lighter over RON) Why, certainly, Doug.

DOUG: (Puts lighter to RON’s feet) Now put your feet up, you bastard! (RON does, showing his green and red socks. DOUG hands lighter to EZRA.) Thank you, Ezra.

EZRA: You’re more than welcome, Doug.

DOUG: (Indicates coffee-table) Ezra? (EZRA puts his feet up, revealing one red sock and one yellow.) Thank you, Ezra. (DOUG puts up his feet, revealing one green sock and one yellow.)

(RON looks at the three pair of mix-and-match feet on the table, looks disbelievingly at DOUG and EZRA, who nod, grinning. RON starts to laugh. DOUG puts a foot over RON’S. EZRA puts a foot over DOUG’S. RON puts his other foot up. DOUG puts his other one up. EZRA puts his other one up. A Xmas tree of Green, red, and yellow socks towers on the coffee table as RON laughs harder and harder.)

DOUG: Honey, what are you laughing at?

EZRA: Yes, honey, what?

RON: I was just thinking -

DOUG and EZRA: What?

RON: Wait till next Sunday. Tex and Clint will shit!

(ALL burst into laughter.)

CURTAIN

play-AFTER BRUNCH by Robert Patrick

 

 (above, Michael Taylor and Randy Noojin as a very similar couple in my “Sit-Com” at the Fifth Estate Theatre, L.A., 1980.)

  (GAY and FEY, two lovers, cleaning up after brunch.)

 

FEY: Was that not the most scintillating, witty brunch since the legendary days of the M.G.M. studio cafeteria? Did I not seamlessly integrate your construction crew cronies and my rent-a-car reprobates? For this I am known as the Good Queen of Kokomo. I have made us a “Home in Indiana,” a Twentieth Century Fox film starring Jeanne Grain, June Haver, and adorable Lon MacAllister.

  

GAY: Honey?
 
FEY: Hmmm?
 
GAY: Leave the dishes? Let me read you a poem I wrote for you? (takes manuscript from pocket.)

  

FEY (hardly believing his ears): A poem? You wrote me a poem? Like Bill Travers wrote for Jennifer Jones in “The Barretts of Wimpole Street?”

  

GAY: Sigh. I guess. Listen. This is called, “The Wild Brunch,” or “Let’s Not and Say We Did.” Okay?

 

FEY (stunned and delighted, sits): Ready when you are, C.B.

 

GAY: Sigh. (Reads)
All these brunches drive me batty.
Your brunch bunch is coy and catty,
but I bet you’d like this laddy
to learn to play their games.
(FEY: If you could!)
So I’ve studied the old film section
which seems to be their predilection,
and I present for your inspection
my mastery of movie names.
(FEY: Good boy! )
It’s Bett-e Davis but Bet Midler.
Bett-e did “Eve” and Bet was in “Fiddler.”
Bet got bigger as Bett-e got littler.
How’m I doin’ , coach?
(FEY: Divine!)
It’s Rita Hayworth and Susan Hayward.
Both were redheads and both were wayward,
so which one’s better? What’s the gay word?
Butter me that brioche.
(FEY (Laughs): You fool!)
Both Kim Novak and Kim Stanley
and Kim Hunter were all manly (FEY: Bitchy-bitchy!)
but frankly, darling, they blend blandly
into a Kim-toned mass.
(FEY: Oh, dear!)
Maria Montez wore a turban. (FEY: Yes.)
The fat soprano was Deanna Durbin. (FEY: “Stout,” dear.)
Great Joan Crawford was always urban, (FEY: Good boy!)
and women named “Hepburn” have class.
(FEY: Bravo!)
Truman Capote had Errol Flynn.
Natasha Lytess had Mar-i-lyn.
Rock Hudson prob’ly had all the men
on the Universal Studios roster!
(FEY: One hopes ! )
Gina Lollobrigida was really bald.
Robert Taylor cooed when Tyrone Power called.
James Dean had a torture chamber installed.
Mae West was a male impostor.
(FEY: Just rumor!)
Greatest of all was Greta Garbo.
Greta wasn’t built like Adrienne Barbeau.
In fact, great Greta had a movie-star beau
prettier than she was.
(FEY: John Gilbert!)
Poor Lee Remick played in “The Omen.”
Sweet Jean Simmons was frequently Roman.
Tab Hunter starred in “That Kind of Woman,”
which rumor has it he was.
(FEY: Me-ow!)
The brunette’s Cher. The blond’s Madonna.
They never dated, but they’re probably gonna.
Honey, baby, I don’t wanna
play this game no more.
(FEY: But you’re good!)
Who do you think the Colts are pickin’?
Think the Braves’ll take a lickin’?
Call me a clod or call me chicken,
call me names galore,
like “Honey”
or “Baby”
or “Bunny”
or maybe
you don’t recall, Miss Lamour,
(FEY: Dear Dorothy!)
those are the names I got into this game for. (Bows)

 

FEY (contrite): Oh, honey, baby, I love you manly
like Marlon Brando playing Stanley,
so to keep your love I can leave
movie games behind.
(GAY: Please do!)
From now on, I live our love-life 
in the solid real realm of life
and abandon the above life
of film frivolity
and faggy jollity,
if my man doesn’t mind!

 

GAY (opening his arms); that’s all I ask, honey.

 

FEY (runs to embrace GAY): Oh, darling, baby, bunny, what a fool I’ve been! You’re right. I’ve been shallow and social and unfeeling. But now I’m dropping that whole superficial cinematic outlook to concentrate on a happy real life with my man.

 

GAY: Honey!

 

(THEY kiss.)

 

FEY: Just like Norma Shearer in “The Women.”

 

(Before we hear what Gay’s reaction to this might be, we FADE OUT.)

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

c 1980

Robert Patrick

1837 N. Alexandria Ave.

#211

L.A. CA 90027

(323) 360-1469

rbrtptrck@aol.com

IML rbrtptrck