Bare stage.
There are invisible doors and traps in the walk and floor.
Lights up.
The seven actors are singing “Beautiful Dreamer” by Stephen Foster to a piano accompaniment.
GREGORYturns out and addresses us.
GREGORY: Um. I love my. Um. House. Everybody does. I like to fill it with my friends. Um. And walk around the grounds at night and watch them. Um. Through the lighted windows. It makes me happy to see them inside. Um. Our home. Mine. Um. And Bobby’s. Um. I’m sorry. Um. I don’t do this. Um. On purpose. Um.
ARTHUR: It’s okay, Gregory.
GREGORY: It was built in 1915 and still has most of the. Um. Original roof. The wallpaper in the dining room. Um. Is original, too. So is. Um. A lot of the cabinet work. You’d have to be a fool. Um. To change it. This sofa is my pride. Um. And joy. It came with the house. It’s genuine. Um. Horsehair. It’s itchy but I don’t care. I love it.
PERRY : Tell them about the sled.
GREGORY: Jerome Robbins gave me this sled.
PERRY: Mutual admiration, he said. One master choreographer to another.
GREGORY: It’s flat here, I said. No hills. Um. What am I going to do with a sled? It’s not a sled, Gregory, he told me. It’s an antique.
JOHN: It’s not an antique, Gregory. It’s a piece of junk.
GREGORY: I hope you. Um. Appreciate detail. That. Um. Wainscoting there. This finial here. The main stairs. Um. Have a very gentle rise. Everyone comments how easy it is to. Um. Climb them.
BUZZ: I love your stairs, Gregory. They’re so easy.
ARTHUR: Don’t tease him like that.
BUZZ: Who’s teasing? I wasn’t teasing!
GREGORY: They don’t build houses like this anymore. Um. The golden age. Um. Of American house building.
BUZZ: If this is going to be Pick On Buzz weekend...!
GREGORY: Not architecture, mind you, but house building. This house. Um. Was meant. Um. To stand. Welcome. Make yourself at home. [As the men begin to break apart, and drift to their various bedrooms, we see that two of them are kissing furiously: BOBBY and RAMON.]
BOBBY: No. No. No. [They continue. Now it is PERRY who turns to us.]
PERRY: Anyway. Bobby had gone downstairs for cookies, Pepperidge Farm Brussels, and a glass of milk. Whether Ramon had followed him or was waiting for him quiet like a cat, bare feet cold on the bare wood floors, I don’t know. I was upstairs, asleep with my Arthur.
BUZZ: I was upstairs, asleep with myself. All this I heard later that summer—when everything changed, for good and bad but forever—but I wouldn’t have been surprised.
BOBBY: Don’t. Stop. Please. [They contine.]
PERRY: Anyway. I prefer the latter: the waiting. It implies certainty. That Bobby would wake up and steal from Gregory’s bed and make his way down to their country kitchen—
BUZZ: Which actually was in the country. You’re in Dutchess County, two hours north of the city.
PERRY:—and feel unfamiliar arms surround his bare chest from behind, raking his nipples, and in his surprise drop the milk bottle and break it—[Sound of a bottle of milk breaking.]
GREGORY: Bobby?
PERRY:—splattering milk and shards of glass everywhere—[A pool of spilt milk is forming around them.]
ARTHUR: What was that?
PERRY:—pinning them to that spot where they found themselves in the dull light of the still-open Frigidaire door. [JOHN sits up in bed.]
JOHN: Ramon?
BOBBY: Just tell me, who is this? [RAMON whispers in his ear.]
PERRY:What name did Ramon whisper in Bobby’s ear that first night? His? One of the others’? Mine? [One by one the other four men resume singing.] Anyway. They stood like this for quite some time and achieved some sort of satisfaction. After he’d come, Ramon whispered more words of love and passion into Bobby’s ear, and stole quietly back up the stairs and into the bed he was sharing with John.
JOHN: Where were you?
RAMON: I couldn’t sleep.
PERRY: Bobby cleaned up the mess on the kitchen floor, the whole time wondering what an episode like this meant, if, indeed, it meant anything at all. [ARTHUR has come into the kitchen area.]
ARTHUR: What happened?
BOBBY: Perry?
PERRY: That’s me.
ARTHUR: It’s Arthur.
PERRY: Arthur’s my lover. We’re often—
ARTHUR: What happened?
PERRY: It’s very annoying.
BOBBY: Be careful. There might be broken glass.
ARTHUR: I’m okay, I’m wearing slippers.
PERRY: Arthur is always wearing slippers.
BOBBY: I think I got it all. Did I?
ARTHUR: I can’t tell.
PERRY: Bobby is blind.
ARTHUR: Do you mind if I turn the light on? I’m sorry.
BOBBY: It’s all right.
PERRY: People are always saying things like that to him. Me, too, and I’ve known him since he and Gregory got together. Bobby doesn’t seem to mind. He has a remarkably loving nature.
ARTHUR: You know the refrigerator door is open?
BOBBY: Thanks. I was just going up. That’s all we needed: a refrigerator filled with spoiled food and a house full of guests.
PERRY: See what I mean? Never puts himself first. I don’t understand people like that.
ARTHUR: You’re not going anywhere. Sit.
BOBBY: What’s the matter?
ARTHUR: You cut yourself. Hang on, I’ll be right back.
BOBBY: I’m fine.
ARTHUR: Sit [ARTHUR turns his back to BOBBY. We hear running water and the sound of a piece of cloth being torn to make a bandage.] I read an article that said most blind people hated to be helped.
BOBBY: We love to be helped. We hate to be patronized. It’s people assuming we want help that pisses us off. I’m standing at a corner waiting for the light to change and some jerk grabs my elbow and says, “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” It happens all the time. People think blindness is the most awful thing that can happen to a person. Hey, I’ve got news for everybody: it’s not.
PERRY: I’m not in this conversation. I’m upstairs sleeping in the spoon position with my Arthur. Well, thinking I’m sleeping in the spoon position with my Arthur. Arthur’s down in the kitchen expressing his remarkably loving nature to Bobby. [PERRY goes to his and ARTHUR bed. He hugs a pillow and tries to sleep.]
BOBBY: “Really, I’m fine,” I said.
PERRY: I would have taken him at his word. When someone tells me he’s fine, I believe him. But now we’re getting Arthur’s Mother Teresa.
GREGORY: Don’t make yourself sound so cynical, Perry.
PERRY: That’s Gregory expressing his remarkably loving nature. Shut up and go back to sleep. It was nothing. [GREGORY rolls over.]
JOHN: Americans confuse sentimentality with love.
PERRY: That’s John, expressing his fundamentally hateful one. [JOHN is standing with his back to us. We hear the sound of him relieving himself as he turns over his shoulder and addresses PERRY, who is trying to sleep.]
JOHN: It’s true, duck. [ARTHUR turns around.]
ARTHUR: I’ll try not to hurt. [He kneels and begins to dress BOBBY’S foot. ARTHUR is attracted to BOBBY.]
BOBBY: Ow!
ARTHUR: Sorry.
PERRY: John is sour. He wrote a musical once. No one liked it. There or here. I don’t know why they brought it over.
JOHN: Retaliation for losing the War of Independence. [He follows RAMON.]
PERRY: He’s usually funnier than that.
JOHN: I missed you. I said I missed you.
RAMON: I heard you. Ssshh. Go back to sleep.
JOHN: Te quiero, Ramon Fomos. Te quiero.
PERRY: Does everyone know what that means? “I love you, Ramon Fornos. I love you.” Anyway, the show closed, John stayed.
JOHN: Some people liked it. Some people rather liked it a lot, in fact. Not many, but some. The good people.
RAMON: Hey, c’mon, it’s late!
PERRY: He’s Gregory’s rehearsal pianist now. When he’s not pounding out The Rite of Spring for Gregory’s dancers, he’s working on a new musical-theater project for himself.
JOHN: The life of Houdini. It’s got endless possibilities. I’ve written thirteen songs.
PERRY: John is always working on a new musical-theater project, I should hasten to add.
JOHN: What do you mean, you “should hasten to add”? Is that a crack?
RAMON: I’m going to find another bed if you keep this up.
PERRY: Anyway!
BUZZ: [stirring] Did somebody say something about musicals? I distinctly heard something about musicals. Somebody somewhere is talking about musicals! [He sits up with a start. PERRY holds him.] I was having a musical comedy nightmare. They were going to revive The King and I for Tommy Tune and Elaine Stritch. We’ve got to stop them!
PERRY: Buzz liked John’s musical.
BUZZ: It had a lot of good things in it.
PERRY: Buzz likes musicals, period.
BUZZ: I’m just a Gershwin with a Romberg rising in the house of Kern.
PERRY: [to us] He’s off.
BUZZ: I was conceived after a performance of Wildcat with Lucille Ball. I don’t just love Lucy, I owe my very existence to her. For those of you who care but don’t know, Wildcat was a musical by Cy Coleman and Carolyn Leigh with a book by N. Richard Nash. It opened December 16, 1960, at the Alvin Theatre and played for 172 performances. Two of its most-remembered songs are “Hey, Look Me Over!” and “Give a Little Whistle.” For those of you who care but know all that, I’m sorry. For those of you who don’t know and don’t care, I’m really sorry. You’re going to have a lot of trouble with me. So what’s up, doc?
PERRY: Buzz, you weren’t awake for this.
BUZZ: If I was, I don’t remember it.
PERRY: You weren’t.
BUZZ: Okay. [He rolls over and goes back to sleep.]
PERRY: If it isn’t about musicals, Buzz has the attention span of a very small moth. That wasn’t fair. Buzz isn’t well. He makes costumes for Gregory’s company and does volunteer work at an AIDS clinic in Chelsea. He says he’s going to find the cure for this disease all by himself and save the world for love and laughter.
BUZZ: It sounds ridiculous when you say it like that.
PERRY: I know. I’m sorry. [He kisses Buzz on the head, goes back to his own bed, picks up a pillow, and hugs it close to him.] None of us were awake for this. [Gentle snoring begins—or humming, maybe. ARTHUR has stopped bandaging BOBBY’S foot. He is just looking at him now. His hand goes out and would touch BOBBY’s bare chest or arms or legs, but doesn’t.]
BOBBY: What are you doing?
ARTHUR: I guess you should know: there’s a rather obvious stain on your pajamas.
BOBBY: Thanks.
ARTHUR: I didn’t know I could still blush at my age.
BOBBY: That’s okay. Your secret is safe with me.
ARTHUR: So is yours.
BOBBY: I’m the one who should be blushing, only blind men don’t blush.
ARTHUR: That sounds like the title of one of Perry’s detective novels.
BOBBY: I had sort of an accident.
ARTHUR: What you had was a mortal sin. I hope you both did. You know what we used to call them back in Catholic boys’ school? Nocturnal emissions. It’s so much nicer than “wet dream.” It always made me think of Chopin. Nocturnal Emission in C-sharp Minor.
BOBBY: I don’t want Greg to know.
ARTHUR: I swear to God, I only came down here for a glass of milk.
BOBBY: I swear to God, I did, too.
ARTHUR: We don’t have to have this conversation at three A.M. We don’t have to have this conversation ever.
BOBBY: Okay.
ARTHUR: We can talk about you and Greg. We can talk about me and Perry. We can talk about John and his new friend. We could even go back to bed.
BOBBY: It was Ramon.
ARTHUR: I figured.
BOBBY: Why?
ARTHUR: Who else would it be?
BOBBY: I shouldn’t have. I’m not very strong that way.
ARTHUR: Most people aren’t. [They start walking up the stairs to their bedrooms.]
BOBBY: Is he attractive?
ARTHUR: I’m not supposed to notice things like that. I’m in a relationship. BOBBY: So am I. Is he?
ARTHUR: I think the word is “hot,” Bobby. Okay? I love these stairs. They’re so easy.
BOBBY: Everyone says that. Have you ever...? On Perry...?
ARTHUR: Yes. I don’t recommend it.
BOBBY: Did he find out?
ARTHUR: No, I told him and it’s never been the same. It’s terrific, but it’s not the same. Here we are. End of the line. [He looks at BOBBY.] Don’t fuck up. You are so... [He hugs BOBBY.] He’s not that hot, Bobby. No one is.
BOBBY: I know. Thanks. Goodnight. [He goes into GREGORY’s room. GREGORY is awake. ARTHUR joins PERRY in their room. PERRY is still clutching his pillow. ]
GREGORY: Are you all right?
BOBBY: Ssshh. Go to sleep.
ARTHUR: Sorry. [He lies next to PERRY.]
GREGORY: Where were you?
ARTHUR: Bobby cut himself.
BOBBY : Downstairs.
ARTHUR: He dropped a milk bottle.
BOBBY: I cut myself.
ARTHUR: Remember milk bottles?
BOBBY: I dropped a milk bottle. [He lies next to GREGORY.]
ARTHUR: Only Gregory would have milk bottles.
GREGORY: Are you—?
BOBBY: I’m fine. Arthur took care of me. Go to sleep.
ARTHUR: Are you awake?
GREGORY: I missed you. [BOBBY snuggles against GREGORY.]
BOBBY: Ssshh. [ARTHUR rolls over, his back to PERRY now!. Buzz and RAMON are snoring.]
ARTHUR: He is so young, Perry!
GREGORY: I had a dream. We were in Aspen. The company. We were doing Wesendonck Lieder.
ARTHUR: I wanted to hold him.
GREGORY: The record got stuck during “Der Engel.” [Music starts.] I had to do it over and over and over.
ARTHUR: Desire is a terrible thing. I’m sorry we’re not young anymore. [GREGORY begins to sing: very softly, not well, and never fully awake.]
GREGORY: In der Kindheit frühen Tagen
Hört’ich oft von Engeln sagen, [JOHN sits up, while RAMON sleeps beside him, and listens. GREGORY is beginning to drift off. At the same time we will hear a soprano singing the same words, her voice gently accompanying his.]
die des Himmels hehre Wonne, tauschen mit der Erdensonne... [GREGORY sleeps. He and BOBBY roll over in each other’s arms. JOHN has left RAMON and come out of their room. The soprano continues. All the men are snoring now.]
JOHN: I am that merry wanderer of the night. Curiosity, a strange house, an unfaithful bedfellow drive me. Oh, there are other distractions, too, of course. A dog barking in the distance. Bed springs creaking; perhaps love is being made on the premises. The drip of the toilet on the third floor. Can they not hear it? But it’s mainly the curiosity. I am obsessed with who people really are. They don’t tell us, so I must know their secrets. [Buzz moans in his sleep.] I see things I shouldn’t: Buzz is sleeping in a pool of sweat. They’ve increased his medication again. And for what? He’s dead. [He puts his hand on Buzz’s shoulder, then moves to where PERRY and ARTHUR are sleeping.] Arthur has begun to sleep with his back to Perry, who clutches a pillow instead. I overhear what was better left unsaid: Arthur’s sad confession of inappropriate desire. I read words I often wish were never written. Words that other eyes were never meant to see. [He moves to where GREGORY and BOBBY are sleeping, takes up a journal, and reads.] “Memorial Day Weekend. Manderley. Out here alone to work on the new piece. We’ve invited a full house and they’re predicting rain. We’ll see if Fred Avens has fixed that leak on the north side porch this time. Thought he would never get around to taking down the storm windows and putting up the screens. The garden is late. Only the cukes will be ready. Everything else will have to come from the A&P.” This isn’t quite what I had in mind. [Buzz appears. He is carrying a knapsack.]
BUZZ: Where is everybody?
JOHN: Did you know Gregory has only three places he feels safe? His work, in Bobby’s arms, and in his journal.
BUZZ:That’s disgusting.
JOHN: What is? The weather? Or the startling unoriginality of naming your house Manderley, after a kitsch-classic movie?
BUZZ: Reading someone’s journal.
JOHN: Did you just get here?
BUZZ: Yes. Where’s Gregory?
JOHN: Down by the lake. Are you alone?
BUZZ: No, I have Michael J. Fox in here. Are you?
JOHN: No. “I’ve rounded up. Um. The usual suspects. Um.”
BUZZ: That’s not funny. You’re a guest in his home.
JOHN: “I think I’ll make my special ginger soy vegetable loaf Sunday night.” You see why I do this? Gregory’s cooking. There’s still time to buy steaks.
BUZZ: If I thought you’d ever read anything I wrote when we were together, I’d kill you. I mean it.
JOHN: “I’m stuck on the new piece. Maybe the Webern was a bad choice of music.”
BUZZ: I hate what you’re doing. [He grabs the journal from JOHN.]
JOHN: I’m puzzled. What kind of statement about his work do you think a choreographer is making by living with a blind person?
BUZZ: I don’t know and I don’t care. It’s not a statement. It’s a relationship. Remember them?
JOHN: Nevertheless, the one can’t see what the other does. Gregory’s work is the deepest expression of who he is—or so one would hope—and Bobby’s never seen it.
BUZZ: That’s their business. At least they’ve got someone.
JOHN: Speak for yourself.
Buzz: So you got lucky this weekend. Don’t rub it in. Who is he? Anyone I know?
JOHN: I doubt it.
BUZZ: Is he cute?
JOHN: Yes.
Buzz: I hate you. I really hate you. What does he do?
JOHN: He’s a dancer.
BUZZ: How long have you been seeing him?
JOHN: Three weeks.
Buzz: Is it serious?
JOHN: In three weeks?
Buzz: I get serious in about three seconds. People say “What’s your rush?” I say, “What’s your delay?”
JOHN: What happened to you and—?
BUZZ: I got too intense for him. That’s my problem with people. I’m too intense for them. I need someone like Dennis Hopper. A cute, young, gay Dennis Hopper. In the meantime, I’m through with love and all it meant to me.
JOHN: Are you going to be holding that when they come back? [Buzz hasn’t resisted stealing a glance at GREGORY’s journal.]
BUZZ: Perry’s work for Greg is pro bono?
JOHN: Arts advocacy is very in.
Buzz: He does the clinic, too.
JOHN: So is AIDS. I’m sorry.
BUZZ: That’s five dollars. Anyone who mentions AIDS this summer, it’ll cost them.
JOHN: Who made this rule up?
BUZZ: I did. It’s for the kitty. Cough it up. [JOHN holds his hand out for the journal.]
Buzz: Did you?
JOHN: Did I what?
Buzz: Ever read anything I wrote?
JOHN: I don’t know. Probably. I don’t remember. If you left it out, yes.
BUZZ: I would hardly call a journal left on someone’s desk in their own room in their own home while they took the other guests swimming “out.” [He returns the journal.]
JOHN: People who keep journals—thank you—expect them to be read by people like me. They just pretend they don’t. Freud was on to them like that! [He snaps his fingers while continuing to skim the pages of the journal. We hear thunder. It will increase.]
BUZZ: Shit, it’s going to rain.
JOHN: Here’s something about you.
Buzz: I don’t want to hear it.
JOHN: “It’s Buzz’s birthday. We got him an out-of-print recording of an obscure musical called Seventeen.”
BUZZ: I have Seventeen.
JOHN: “They assured us he wouldn’t have it.”
Buzz: Don’t worry, I’ll act surprised.
JOHN: “It cost seventy-five dollars.” You better act more than surprised.
Buzz: I just paid a hundred and a quarter for it. They said it was the last copy.
JOHN: Calm down.You can exchange it.
BUZZ: For what? Call Me Madam? I mean, how many copies of a forgotten musical that opened in 1951 and ran 182 performances at the Broadhurst Theatre are they going to sell in one week? Do you know what the odds are against this sort of thing? This is like the time Tim Sheahan and Claude Meade both got me Whoop-Up! [JOHN has resumed reading in the journal, but Buzz continues, speaking to us.]
You may wonder why I fill my head with such trivial-seeming information. First of all, it isn’t trivial to me, and second, I can contain the world of the Broadway musical. Get my hands around it, so to speak. Be the master of one little universe. Besides, when I’m alone, it gives me great pleasure to sing and dance around the apartment. I especially like “Big Spender” from Sweet Charity and “I’m Going Back Where I Can Be Me” from Bells Are Ringing. I could never do this with anyone watching, of course. Even a boyfriend, if I had one, which I don’t. I’d be too inhibited.
So, when I’m not at the clinic thinking I am single-handedly going to find the cure for this fucking scourge (it doesn’t sound ridiculous when I say it, not to me!), I am to be found at my place in Chelsea doing “Rose’s Turn” from Gypsy. I can’t think of the last time I didn’t cry myself to sleep. Hey, it’s no skin off your nose. I think that is so loathsome of you, John. [GREGORY and RAMON return from swimming.]
GREGORY: Hello! We’re back! Where is. Um. Everybody?
JOHN: I’d better return this.
BUZZ: We’re up here.
GREGORY: John?
JOHN: Coming.
GREGORY: You don’t know. Um. What you’re missing. The lake is. Um. Wonderful.
RAMON: Don’t believe him. It’s freezing! [He drops his towel.] ¡Ay! ¡Coño! ¡Madre de Dios!
GREGORY: Did. Um. The others get here?
JOHN: Just Buzz!
BUZZ: Hello.
GREGORY: Buzz!
RAMON: My nuts. Where are they? I have no nuts. They’re gone.
GREGORY: They’re not gone. Um. They’re just. Um. Hiding. [JOHN and Buzz have returned.]
RAMON: I had enormous nuts. I was famous for my nuts. Where are my fabulous nuts?
JOHN: I warned you, sweetheart. They got so cold in Gregory’s lake they fell off and one of those goddamn snapping turtles is eating them as we speak.
GREGORY: My turtles don’t. Um. Snap, Ramon. This is Buzz.
RAMON: Hi, Buzz. I had balls. He doesn’t believe me. Tell him about my balls, John.
JOHN: Ramon had legendary balls up until twenty minutes ago.
BUZZ: I know. I’ve been following them for the last two seasons. From a tiny performance space in the East Village all the way to the Opera House at BAM. The three of you have come a long way, baby.
JOHN: Do you believe this man and I were an item?
BUZZ: A wee item, Ramon.
JOHN: You don’t want to go there, Buzz.
BUZZ: But seriously (and don’t you hate people who begin sentences “But seriously”?), are you guys going to be back at the Joyce? That last piece was sensational.
GREGORY: You mean Verklärte Nacht?
Buzz: Speak English! The man can barely get a whole sentence out and then he hits us with Verklärte Nacht! [Then to RAMON] I don’t suppose you want to get married?
RAMON: No, but thank you.
Buzz: Just thought I’d get it out there. Anyway, Verklärte Schmatta, whatever it is, was a thrilling piece. It blew me away. And you were fantastic.
RAMON: Thank you.
BUZZ: Your balls weren’t bad, either. I stood.
GREGORY: It was wonderful work. Wonderful. Um. Energy.
RAMON: You saw us, Mr. Mitchell?
GREGORY: I wanted to know. Um. What all the. Um. Shouting was about.
RAMON: I would have freaked if I’d known you were out there, Mr. Mitchell.
GREGORY: It’s Gregory, please. You’re making me feel. Um. Like. Um. An old man with “Mr. Mitchell.” It was great. You reminded me. Um. Of me. Um. At your age.
BUZZ: “So what’s next for you guys?” he asked in a casual, bantering voice, though his heart was beating so hard he was sure everyone could hear it.
RAMON: Right now we’re all just hoping there will be a next season. We’re broke.
GREGORY: Every company is, Ramon.
RAMON: Not yours, surely.
BUZZ: It’s “Gregory.” He doesn’t like “Shirley.” I’m sorry. Ignore me.
JOHN: He is.
Buzz: What you people need is a Diaghilev.
RAMON: What’s a Diaghilev?
Buzz: A rich older man who in return for certain favors funds an entire ballet company.
RAMON: Where is this rich older dude? I’m all his.
JOHN: Don’t you want to know what these favors are first?
RAMON: I’m a big boy. I have a pretty good idea.
GREGORY: I’m in line first for him, Ramon.
BUZZ: Gregory, your dancers love you. We all do. We’d work for you for free.
GREGORY: I won’t let you. Artists should be paid.
RAMON: Right on. The only thing an artist should do for free is make love.
JOHN: Now you tell me. Now he tells me! This is getting entirely too artsy-fartsy/idealistic/intellectual for me. Can we go upstairs and fuck?
GREGORY: I’m going to start. Um. Dinner. They should be here soon. I thought. Um. I’d make my special. Um. Penne Primavera. [He goes.]
Buzz: I brought those sketches you wanted. I’ve got. everyone in Lycra. Lots and lots of Lycra. I’m entering my Lycra period. You still know how to clear a room, John. [He goes.]
RAMON: I didn’t appreciate that fucking remark in front of your friends.
JOHN: I don’t appreciate you flapping your dick in everybody’s face, okay? Are you coming upstairs?
RAMON: Maybe. [JOHN heads upstairs. GREGORY looks at his watch and begins to chop onions. Buzz covers his eyes with some computer printouts and rests. JOHN waits upstairs while RAMON sits downstairs. ARTHUR, PERRY, and BOBBY come into view. They are driving in heavy traffic.]
PERRY: Cunt! Goddamn cunt. Fuck you and your ultimate driving machine!
ARTHUR: Perry!
PERRY: Well, they are when they drive like that.
ARTHUR: Don’t use that word.
PERRY: Men are cunts when they drive like that. Did you see how she just cut right in front of me?
BOBBY: Are you talking to me? Sorry, I was reading the life of Ray Charles. What happened?
PERRY: Some asshole-whore-cunt-bitch-dyke with New Jersey license plates and Republican candidates on her bumper practically took my fender off at seventy miles an hour.
BOBBY: It sounds like an extremely cunt-like maneuver, Batman.
PERRY: You see? Boy Wonder agrees with Bruce.
ARTHUR: I think you’re both disgusting. If I had any convictions I’d ask you to let me out right here.
PERRY: You have too many convictions. That’s your trouble.
ARTHUR: Maybe you have too few and that’s yours.
PERRY: They’re just words. They don’t mean anything.
ARTHUR: Can I quote him, Batboy?
PERRY: I was mad. Words only mean something if you say them when you’re not mad and mean them. I agree: “Nancy Reagan is a cunt” is an offensive remark.
BOBBY: I wouldn’t go that far, Bruce.
PERRY: But “Cunt!” when she grabs a cab in front of you after you’ve been waiting twenty minutes on a rainy night and she just pops out from Lutèce is a justifiable emotional response to an enormous social injustice.
BOBBY: You’re right. He’s right. Let’s all kill ourselves.
ARTHUR: All I’m saying is, it’s never right to use words to hurt another person.
PERRY: How did I hurt her? She didn’t hear me. She’s halfway to Poughkeepsie by now, the bitch. Don’t get me started again. I was just calming down.
ARTHUR: We hurt ourselves when we use them. We’re all diminished.
PERRY: You’re right. I don’t agree with you, but you’re right.
ARTHUR: Of course I’m right, you big fairy. And what are you laughing at back there, you visual gimp? There’s no really good insulting word for a blind person, is there?
BOBBY: I think you people decided nature had done enough to us and declared a moratorium.
PERRY: Do you ever wonder what Gregory looks like?
ARTHUR: Perry!
BOBBY: It’s all right. I don’t mind. I know what he looks like.
PERRY: No, I mean, what he really looks like.
BOBBY: I know what he really looks like. He’s handsome. His eyes shine. He has wonderful blond hair.
PERRY: But you’ve never seen blond hair. You have no concept of it.
BOBBY: In my mind’s eye, I do, Horatio.
ARTHUR: That shut you up.
BOBBY: That wasn’t my intention. In my mind’s eye, I see very clearly the same things you and Perry take for granted. Gregory’s heart is beautiful.
PERRY: What do we look like?
ARTHUR: Perry!
BOBBY: Like bookends.
PERRY: Is that a compliment?
BOBBY: I think you’ve come to look more and more like each other over the years.
PERRY: You haven’t known us that long.
ARTHUR: That’s not what he’s saying.
BOBBY: I think you love each other very much. I think you’ll stick it out, whatever. I think right now you’re holding hands—that when Perry has to take his hand from yours, Arthur, to steer in traffic, he puts it back in yours as soon as he can. I think this is how you always drive. I think this is how you go through life.
ARTHUR: Don’t stop.
BOBBY: I think you’re both wearing light blue Calvin Klein shirts and chinos.
PERRY: Wrong!
ARTHUR: Look out for that car—!
PERRY: I see it, I see it! What color is my hair?
BOBBY: What hair? You’re totally bald.
PERRY: Wrong again. What color?
BOBBY: I wanted to be wrong. I don’t like this game. It’s making me afraid.
RAMON: Okay. [He stands up.]
JOHN: He’s coming. [RAMON starts up to JOHN’s room.]
PERRY: I’m sorry. I didn’t... [They drive in silence. RAMON comes into the bedroom. JOHN is sitting on the bed.]
JOHN: Hello.
RAMON: Hi.
JOHN: I’m sorry.
RAMON: Look, I’m sort of out of my element this weekend. He’s Gregory Mitchell, for Christ’s sake. Do you know what that means? You’re all old friends. You work together. You have a company. I’m just somebody you brought with you. I’d appreciate a little more respect, okay? I’m being honest.
JOHN: Okay.
RAMON: Thank you. What’s wrong with your neck?
JOHN: Would you be an angel and massage my shoulders?
RAMON: Sure. Just show me where. [RAMON works on JOHN.]
BOBBY: Now it’s my turn. I want you to tell me what someone looks like.
PERRY: Don’t tell me, let me guess:Tom Cruise, Willard Scott. I give up, who?
BOBBY: John.
ARTHUR: John Jeckyll?
BOBBY: What does he look like? Describe him. After all this time, I still can’t get a picture.
PERRY: Can you visualize Satan, Bobby?
ARTHUR: Don’t start.
PERRY: Do you have a concept of evil?
BOBBY: A very good one, actually.
ARTHUR: Not everyone shares your opinion, Perry. Perry has a problem with John, Bobby.
PERRY: I don’t have a problem with him. I can’t stand him and I wish he were dead.
JOHN: Don’t stop.
PERRY: Beware him, Bobby. People like you are too good for this world, so people like John Jeckyll have to destroy them.
ARTHUR: You can’t say these things, Perry.
PERRY: Yes, I can. He doesn’t have to believe them.
BOBBY: I’m not so good. If anything, this world is too good for us.
PERRY: What do you care what John Jeckyll looks like anyway?
BOBBY: I just wondered. People like that intrigue me.
PERRY: What? Shits?
ARTHUR: It’s going to be a wonderful weekend.
PERRY: What does that mean?
ARTHUR: John had nowhere to go, so Gregory invited him.
BOBBY: Didn’t Gregory tell you?
PERRY: No, he did not. Probably because he knew I wouldn’t come if he did. Shit! Why would Greg do this to me?
ARTHUR: He didn’t. He told me. I elected not to tell you.
PERRY: Why?
ARTHUR: “Why?”!
PERRY: I assume he’s coming alone.
ARTHUR: Why would you assume that?
PERRY: Who would willingly spend Memorial Day weekend at a wonderful big house in the country on a gorgeous lake with John Jeckyll when they could be suffocating in the city all by themselves?
BOBBY: He’s bringing someone.
ARTHUR: A new boyfriend?
PERRY: One of the Menendez brothers.
BOBBY: A dancer.
ARTHUR: Someone from the company?
BOBBY: No. I think Greg said his name was Ramon. Ramon Something.
ARTHUR: Sounds Latino.
PERRY: “Something” sounds Latino? Since when?
BOBBY: He’s Puerto Rican.
PERRY: A Third World boyfriend. So John Jeckyll has gone PC.
ARTHUR: I don’t think Puerto Rico qualifies as Third World.
PERRY: This is like Adolf Hitler shtupping Anne Frank.
ARTHUR: You are really over the top this afternoon!
PERRY: Wait till the weekend’s over! Here’s the driveway.
You’re home, Bobby. [Sounds of the car approaching. Everyone in the house reacts to the sound of it.]
GREGORY: They’re here! Buzz, John! They’re here! I hear the car!
PERRY: Any other surprises for us, Bobby?
JOHN: I guess they’re here. Perry and Arthur are lovers. Bobby is Greg’s.
RAMON: I’m terrible with names.
GREGORY: Buzz, wake up, they’re here!
BUZZ: I was dreaming about a vacuum cleaner. I need to get laid. [GREGORY, BUZZ, JOHN and RAMON go to greet the others, who are carrying bags.]
GREGORY: I was beginning to. Um. Worry. How was the. Um. Traffic?
PERRY: Terrible. Especially before Hawthorne Circle.
ARTHUR: I told him to take the Thruway, but no!
Buzz: The train was horrendous. I should have waited for you. But guess who I saw? Tony Leigh and Kyle. Together again. A handshake? What is this shit? I want a hug, Martha.
GREGORY: Where’s my. Um. Angel?
BOBBY: Hi. Have you been working?
GREGORY: I didn’t leave. Um. The studio. Um. All week.
BOBBY: How did it go?
GREGORY: Great. Don’t ask. Terrible. [They embrace and withdraw a little.]
JOHN: Hello, Perry. Arthur. You both look terrific. Don’t you two put on weight? Ever? Anywhere?
ARTHUR: Look who’s talking! I’d love to see the portrait in his closet.
JOHN: No, you wouldn’t. Ramon, Arthur and Perry.
PERRY: He’s Arthur, I’m Perry. He’s nice, I’m not. Hi.
ARTHUR: We’re both nice. Don’t listen to him.
BUZZ: So what are you driving now, boys? A Ford Taurus?
PERRY: What do you care, you big fruit? I don’t know. I just get in, turn the key, and go. When they stop, I get a new one.
JOHN: You should see the wreck we rented.
ARTHUR: It’s a Mazda 626, Buzz.
PERRY: He’s so butch.
ARTHUR: Someone had to do it. That’s why he married me. Can you change a tire?
PERRY: No.
ARTHUR: Neither can I.
BUZZ: That’s from Annie Get Your Gun. “Can you bake a pie?” “No.” “Neither can I.” Ethel Merman was gay, you know. So was Irving Berlin. I don’t think English is Ramon’s first language.
GREGORY: I missed you.
BOBBY: It’s so good to be here. The city is awful.You can’t breathe. They still haven’t fixed the dryer. Flor was in hysterics. Here. I’ve got your mail in my backpack.
GREGORY: What’s this?
BOBBY: The CDS you wanted. And I got your sheet music from Patelson’s.
GREGORY: You didn’t have to.
BOBBY: I wanted to.
GREGORY: John, look, the Elliott Carter!
RAMON: [to BOBBY.] Hi, I’m Ramon.
GREGORY: I’m sorry! [RAMON puts his hand out to BOBBY.] Bobby doesn’t. Um. See, Ramon.
RAMON: I’m sorry. I didn’t—
BOBBY: Don’t be sorry. Just come here! [He hugs RAMON.] Welcome. Ramon, is it?
RAMON: Right.
BOBBY: Latino?
RAMON: Yes.
BOBBY: Mi casa es su casa. I bet you were wishing I wasn’t going to say that.
BUZZ: We all were, Bobby.
PERRY, ARTHUR and Buzz: We all were!
RAMON: Listen, that’s about as much Spanish as I speak.
BOBBY: You’re kidding.
RAMON: Sorry to disappoint you. The Commonwealth of Puerto Rico is a territory of U.S. imperialism.
JOHN: No speeches, please, Ramon. No one’s interested.
RAMON: We speak American. We think American. We dress American. The only thing we don’t do is move or make love American.
BOBBY: I’ve been like this since birth, Ramon. Gregory and I have been together four years. I get around fine. It’ll surprise you. Any more questions?
RAMON: [Off guard.] No. [They separate.]
GREGORY: Let me. Um. Show you. Um.To your room.
ARTHUR: After all these years, I think we know, Gregory. If those walls could talk!
BUZZ: They don’t have to. We’ve all heard you.
ARTHUR: What room are you in?
Buzz: That little horror under the eaves. I call it the Patty Hearst Memorial Closet.
ARTHUR: Give me a hand with these, will you, Perry?
PERRY: I told you not to take so much.
ARTHUR: It’s my hair dryer.
PERRY: You don’t have enough hair to justify an appliance that size.
ARTHUR: Has it ever occurred to you that I stopped listening to you at least ten years ago?
RAMON: Here, let me.
ARTHUR: Thank you. [They will start moving to the house.]
GREGORY: We’re having. Um. Salade Nicoise. Um. For lunch.
BUZZ: You know I’m allergic to anchovies.
GREGORY: We just. Um. Swam the float out. Me. Um. And Ramon.
BUZZ: He knows I’m allergic to anchovies.
PERRY: I’m not going in that lake until you get it heated.
GREGORY: I hope you brought. Um. Your swimsuits.
ARTHUR: No one is wearing swimsuits. We’re all going skinny-dipping after lunch. What are we? Men or wimps?
BUZZ: You just want to see everyone’s dick.
ARTHUR: I’ve seen everyone’s dick. Answer the question.
Buzz: Sometimes we’re men and sometimes we’re wimps. You haven’t seen Ramon’s dick.
ARTHUR: You’re a troublemaker.
BUZZ: I’m not a troublemaker. I’m an imp. A gay imp. [He goes. The new arrivals are beginning to settle in. PERRY and JOHN remain for the following until indicated.]
PERRY: Anyway. Gregory knew he’d left Bobby downstairs and outside the house.
GREGORY: Does everyone. Um. Have towels?
PERRY: It was their ritual. Whenever they arrived at the house from the city, Bobby liked to be alone outside for a while, even in winter. Gregory never asked what he did.
BOBBY: Hello, house.
ARTHUR: Greg! We need some towels.
PERRY: No, we don’t. We brought our own. Remember?
BOBBY: Hello, trees.
ARTHUR: Never mind! That’s right, we hate his towels.
BOBBY: Hello, lake.
GREGORY: Who said they needed towels?
PERRY: Greg’s house is very large.
ARTHUR: Too large. I get sick of shouting. We’re fine! Forget the towels!
BOBBY: I bless you all.
PERRY: None of us saw Ramon when he returned to the driveway, the parked cars, and Bobby. Arthur and I were settling in. [RAMON has returned to where BOBBY is standing. He watches him.]
JOHN: I was on the phone to London with my brother, James.
PERRY: I didn’t know you had a brother.
JOHN : A twin brother. We’re like that. [He opens his arms wide.] He’s not well.
PERRY: I’m sorry.
JOHN:This is about them. [He nods toward BOBBY and RAMON.]
PERRY: Minutes passed. Gregory fussed. Buzz washed salad greens in his hosts’ pricey balsamic vinegar. He’s very diligent about germs. He has to be. Ramon looked at Bobby.
BOBBY: Thank you. God.
RAMON: Excuse me?
BOBBY: Who’s that?
RAMON: I’m sorry.
BOBBY: You startled me.
RAMON: It’s Ramon. I’m sorry. I thought you said something.
BOBBY: I was thanking God for all this. The trees, the lake, the sweet, sweet air. For being here. For all of us together in Gregory’s house.
RAMON: I didn’t mean to interrupt or anything.
BOBBY: I’m not crazy. I’m happy.
RAMON: I understand.
GREGORY: Here are the towels you asked for.
ARTHUR: Thank you.
GREGORY: Anything else?
ARTHUR: We’re fine.
GREGORY: Perry?
PERRY: We’re fine.
GREGORY: Um. I’m glad. Um.You’re both here.
RAMON: Do you need a hand with anything?
BOBBY: No, thanks.
BUZZ: Pssst! Gregory!
GREGORY: What?
BUZZ: John is on the phone to his brother in London. I didn’t hear him use a credit card or reverse the charges.
GREGORY: Um. I’m sure he’ll. Um. Tell me.
BUZZ: Don’t you ever believe the worst about anyone?
GREGORY: No. [RAMON hasn’t moved. He scarcely breathes. He has not taken his eyes off BOBBY.]
BOBBY: You’re still there, aren’t you? What are you doing? What do you want? Don’t be afraid. Tell me. All right. Don’t. Stay there. I’ll come to you. Just tell me, should I fall (which I don’t plan to), what color are my trousers? I think I put on white. I hope so. It’s Memorial Day.
PERRY: I don’t know why, but I’m finding this very painful.
BOBBY: Children play at this and call it Blindman’s Bluff. Imagine your whole life being a children’s birthday-party game!
JOHN: Painful, erotic, and absurd.
BOBBY: I can feel you. I can hear you. I’m getting warm. I’m getting close. I like this game. I’m very good at it. I’m going to win. You haven’t got a chance.
PERRY: Bobby didn’t see the rake. [BOBBY trips and falls. He hurts himself. There will be a gash on his forehead.]
RAMON: Oh!
BOBBY: He speaks! The cat has let go his tongue. I wouldn’t say no to a hand. [RAMON goes. BOBBY calls after him.] At least tell me, what color are my trousers?
PERRY: [moved.] White. White.
BOBBY: Sometimes I get tired of behaving like a grown-up. Ow! Gregory! [At once, everyone converges on the scene and surrounds him.]
GREGORY: What happened?
BOBBY: I’m okay. Just—
GREGORY : The rake! You tripped. It’s my fault. Um.
PERRY: Take his other arm.
BOBBY: I’m fine. I want Gregory to do it.
BUZZ: Who would leave a rake out like that?
ARTHUR: Shut up, will you?
JOHN: He’s cut.
BOBBY: I’m not cut.
JOHN: His forehead.
BOBBY: What color are my trousers?
GREGORY: White.
BOBBY: Are there grass stains on them?
Buzz: Bobby, you are the only fairy in America who still wears white pants on the first holiday of summer.
BOBBY: I was hoping I was the only person in America who still wears white pants on the first holiday of summer.
PERRY: White pants were before my time even, and I’m pushing forty.
BUZZ: Not. You pushed forty when Chorus Line was still running.
PERRY: That’s not true. I was born in 19—
ARTHUR : We have an injured person here. [RAMON returns.]
BOBBY: I’m not injured.
JOHN: Where have you been?
RAMON: Down by the lake. What happened?
BOBBY: Nothing happened. Who’s that?
BUZZ: The new kid on the block.
RAMON: Is he all right?
BOBBY: I fell. Big deal. I do it all the time.
GREGORY: No, you don’t. No, he doesn’t.
BOBBY: Now everyone back off. Everyone but Gregory. I can feel you all crowding around me.
GREGORY: One!
BOBBY: What are you doing?
BUZZ: Rhett picks up Scarlett and carries her up the stairs.
GREGORY: Two!
BOBBY: No, I don’t want you to.
GREGORY: Three! [He tries to pick BOBBY up but can’t. He staggers with the weight, then sets him down. The others look away in embarrassment.] couldn’t get a good. Um. Grip.
BOBBY: It’s not you. It’s all that ice cream I’ve been eating. GREGORY:That’s never happened. Usually I—I feel so—
BOBBY: It’s okay, it’s okay. [BOBBY and GREGORY go into the house. The others hang behind somewhat sheepishly.]
BUZZ: [singing] “Just a weekend in the country.”
RAMON: Is that a joke?
BUZZ: Come on, I need you in the kitchen. I’ll explain the entire Sondheim oeuvre to you while we peel potatoes. I’m borrowing your humpy boyfriend, John. I love the way I said that. Oeuvre. I’m quite impressed. Oeuvre. Say it with me. Oeuvre. [Buzz and RAMON go.]
ARTHUR: Don’t ever try to pick me up.
PERRY: It’s lucky for you I did.
JOHN: I’d rung off from my brother feeling a rage and a desolation I didn’t know how to cope with. “Didn’t”? I never have.
ARTHUR: What’s the matter?
JOHN: My twin brother. The National Theatre seamstress. He wants to come over. He’s not well. He needs me and I don’t like him.
ARTHUR: That’s a tough order. I don’t envy you. Perry, I’m going to take a canoe out. You want to come?
PERRY: I promised Greg I’d go over some company business with him.
ARTHUR: It’s your last chance to get rid of me.
PERRY: No, it’s not. [ARTHUR goes. Only PERRY and JOHN remain.] I work with quite a few AIDS organizations.
JOHN: Thank you.
PERRY: They can help him find a doctor.
JOHN: Thank you.
PERRY: It never ends.
JOHN: NO.
PERRY: How does Buzz look to you?
JOHN: I don’t know. How does he look to you?
PERRY: I can’t tell anymore.
JOHN: He wouldn’t tell me if things were worse.
PERRY: I can’t look at him sometimes.
JOHN: Anyway.
PERRY: [pleasantly] You got that from me, you know.
JOHN: Got what?
PERRY: The “anyway.”
JOHN: It’s a word in the dictionary. Page 249. You can’t copyright the English language, duck.
PERRY: Hey, I’m trying! Fuck you. [He goes.]
JOHN: Anyway. En tout cas! The weekend had begun. Everyone was in place. Old wounds reopened. New alliances forged. For fifteen minutes, while I helped Arthur wash their car, he was my best friend in the entire world. Later that afternoon, after too much picnic, when I came upon him and Perry all cozy in a hammock on the porch, he barely gave me the time of day. The hours until dinner seemed endless. [The other men are reassembling for after-dinner after a very big meal.]
PERRY: No, Gregory. It’s out of the question. Jesus, I hope this isn’t why you invited us out here for the weekend.
GREGORY: I’ve. Um. Committed us.
PERRY: Well uncommit us!
GREGORY: It’s too late.
PERRY: Leave it to me. I’ll get you out of it.
GREGORY: No, I want to. Um. Do it. It’s for a good cause.
PERRY: I don’t care if it’s the greatest cause in the history of Western civilization, which it’s not, you are not going to find six men, nondancers all, to put on tutus and do Swan Lake for another AIDS benefit at Carnegie Hall. You’re not going to find one man!
BUZZ: Speak for yourself. Perry.
PERRY: Well, you! The love child of Judy Garland and Liberace.
ARTHUR: When is it, Greg?
GREGORY: Um. It’s. Um. Early September, right after Labor Day.
PERRY: Bobby, tell your lover he is not going to find six men to make fools of themselves like that.
BOBBY: How would they be making fools of themselves?
PERRY: By dressing like women. Men in drag turn my stomach.
RAMON: Why?
ARTHUR: Don’t start. Perry.
BUZZ: You wouldn’t be in drag. I’d have you in tulle, lots and lots of tulle. A vision of hairy legs in a tutu and toe shoes.
PERRY: This will go over big at the NEA, Gregory. That’s all we need. A picture of you looking like some flaming fairy in the Arts and Leisure section.
GREGORY: I. Um. I am a flaming fairy. I thought we all were.
PERRY: You know what. I’m talking about.
BOBBY: Don’t yell at him. It was my idea I thought it would be funny.
PERRY: What do you know about funny? I’m sorry, Bobby, but sometimes boyfriends should stay boyfriends.
GREGORY: Sometimes. Um. Lawyers should stay. Um. Lawyers.
PERRY: You’ve done enough for AIDS. We all have.
GREGORY: Nobody’s done enough. Um. For AIDS.
BOBBY: It’s okay, Gregory.
GREGORY: Never mind, Perry. I’ll ask someone else. Now who wants what?
ARTHUR: We’re all fine.
PERRY: No, we’re not.
JOHN: People are bloody sick of benefits, Gregory.
PERRY: That’s the truth.
BUZZ: Not the people they’re being given for.
GREGORY: Basta, Buzz. The subject is closed.
ARTHUR: Dinner was delicious.The mashed potatoes were fabulous, Gregory.
Buzz: The mashed potatoes were mine. [He sings from The King and Iq.] I don’t know why I’ve bothered to perfect a flawless imitation of Gertrude Lawrence when none of you cretins has even heard of her!
JOHN: We’ve heard, luv. We don’t care.
BOBBY: Who’s Gertrude Lawrence?
PERRY: A British actress.
GREGORY: She was. Um. Gay, you know.
BUZZ: That’s not funny. Julie Andrews made a rotten film about her.
ARTHUR: Isn’t Julie Andrews gay?
BUZZ: I don’t know. She never fucked me. Don’t interrupt. Gertrude Lawrence wasn’t an actress. She was a star. Hence, the rotten film, Star!, but don’t get me started on movies. Movies are for people who have to eat popcorn while they’re being entertained. Next question? Yes, you, at the end of the table with the lindenberry sorbet all over his face.
RAMON: Who’s Julie Andrews?
BUZZ: I should have seen that one coming. I was born in the wrong decade, that’s my problem.
RAMON: I was kidding. I saw Mary Poppins. But who’s Liberace?
BOBBY: Who’s Judy Garland? Who are any of those people? [BOBBY and RAMON laugh together.]
ARTHUR: You want me to clear up, Gregory?
BUZZ: Who’s Ethel Merman? Who’s Mary Martin? Who’s Beatrice Lillie? Who’s anybody? We’re all going to be dead and forgotten anyway.
BOBBY: Gregory’s not.
BUZZ: I’m talking about mattering!
PERRY: I just don’t want to be dead and forgotten in my own lifetime.
ARTHUR: Nattering?
Buzz: Mattering! Really mattering.
ARTHUR: Oh, I thought you said “nattering”!
JOHN: You admit people like Gertrude Lawrence don’t really matter?
ARTHUR: I thought he said “nattering.”
BUZZ: I cannot believe a subject of the U.K. could make a remark like that. Gertrude Lawrence brought pleasure to hundreds of thousands of people. You wrote a musical that ran for eleven performances.
JOHN: I have United States citizenship.
RAMON: I know who Barbra Streisand is.
Buzz: She’ll be very pleased to hear that.
BOBBY: I don’t know who most of those people are, either.
PERRY : When did you take out U.S. citizenship?
JOHN: Nine years ago. October 25.
BUZZ: Barbara Cook’s birthday. “Who’s Barbara Cook?” No one. Nobody. Forget it. Die listening to your Madonna albums. I long for the day when people ask “Who’s Madonna?” I apologize to the teenagers at the table, but the state of the American musical has me very upset.
PERRY: The state of America is what should get you upset.
Buzz: It does. It’s a metaphor, you asshole!
PERRY: Now just a minute!
BUZZ: I have a picture of a starving child in Somalia over my desk at the clinic. He’s covered in dust.
JOHN : We all know the picture.
PERRY: It doesn’t justify you calling me an asshole.
BUZZ: The child has fallen forward on his haunches, he’s so weak from hunger, he can barely lift his head.
PERRY: Buzz, we know the picture. It was in every magazine and paper.
BUZZ: Clearly, the kid is dying. He’s got what? Five minutes? Ten? Five feet away a vulture sits. Sits and waits. He’s not even looking at the kid. He’s that confident where his next meal is coming from. There’s no way this kid is going to jump up and launch into a number from Oliver! or Porgy and Bess.
PERRY: We’ve all seen the picture!
BOBBY: [quietly] I haven’t. [GREGORY takes his hind.]
PERRY: What is your point?
BUZZ: Point? I don’t have a point. Why does everything have to have a point? To make it comfortable? I look at that picture every day and I get sick to my stomach and some days I even cry a little. The newspaper has already yellowed, but the nausea and the occasional tears keep coming. But so what? So fucking what? That kid is dead meat by now.
JOHN: That’s disgusting.
BUZZ: You bet it is.
JOHN: Your language.
BUZZ: So sue me. That’s from Guys and Dolls, for you kiddies.
RAMON: Happy Memorial Day.
PERRY: I think the point is, we’re all skiing around here talking about something, pretending to care.
ARTHUR: No one’s pretending.
PERRY: Pretending to care, when the truth is there’s nothing we can do about it. It would hurt too much to really care. You wouldn’t have a stomach ache, you’d be dead from the dry heaves from throwing your guts up for the rest of your life. That kid is a picture in a newspaper who makes us feel bad for having it so good. But feed him, brush him off, and in ten years he’s just another nigger to scare the shit out of us. Apologies tendered, but that’s how I see it.
ARTHUR: Apologies not accepted.
GREGORY: Don’t, you two.
ARTHUR: I hate it when he talks like that.
PERRY: You’d rather I dissembled, sirrah? (I wasn’t an English major at Williams for nothing!)
ARTHUR: Yes. I’d rather you would. Rather the man I shared my life with and loved with all my heart, rather he dissembled than let me see the hate and bile there.
PERRY: The hate and bile aren’t for you, love.
ARTHUR: That’s not good enough, Perry. After a while, the hate and bile are for everyone. It all comes around. [He starts clearing the table.]
PERRY: Anyway.
ARTHUR: I hate that word. You use it to get yourself out of every tight corner you’ve ever found yourself in. Shall I load the washer?
GREGORY: Just rinse and stack. Thank you, Arthur.
RAMON: Do you need a hand?
ARTHUR: No, thank you. [He goes.]
PERRY: The younger generation hasn’t put in their two cents, I notice.
RAMON: As a person of color, I think you’re full of shit. As a gay man, I think—
JOHN: No one cares what you think as a gay man, duck. That wasn’t the question. What do you think as a member of the human race?
RAMON: As a gay man, I think you’re full of shit. [We hear a door slam. ARTHUR isn’t back. Everyone reacts.] I think the problem begins right here, the way we relate to one another as gay men.
JOHN: This is tired, Ramon. Very, very tired.
RAMON: I don’t think it is. We don’t love one another because we don’t love ourselves.
JOHN: Clichés! Clichés!
RAMON: Where is the love at this table? I want to see the love at this table.
BOBBY: I love Gregory.
GREGORY: I love Bobby.
PERRY: I love Arthur. I love Gregory. I love Bobby. I love Buzz. Right now I love you, your righteous anger.
BUZZ: I sure as hell don’t love anyone at this table right now. All right. Bobby and Greg. A little bit, but only because they’re our hosts.
JOHN: I love the Queen; she’s been through hell lately. My Aunt Olivia in Brighton in a pensioners’ villa—old-age home, you call them? My Welsh Corgi, Dylan, even though he’s been dead lo these eleven years (I’m surprised his name came up!). And my job.
GREGORY: Thank you.
RAMON: Everything you love is dead or old or inanimal. Don’t you love anything that’s alive and new?
JOHN: Of course I do, but I choose not to share them around a dinner table. And you mean “inanimate.”
PERRY: That’s honest.
JOHN: I thought that’s what we were all being. Otherwise, what’s the point? Are you satisfied, Ramon?
RAMON: None of you said yourself.
PERRY: Maybe it goes without saying.
JOHN: We were waiting for you, Ramon. How do you love yourself? Let us count the ways.
RAMON: I love myself. I love myself when I dance.
JOHN: That’s one.
RAMON: I love myself when I’m dancing. When I feel the music right here. When I’m moving in time and space. Gregory knows what I’m talking about.
GREGORY: Yes, yes, I do.
RAMON: When I dance I become all the best things I can be.
JOHN: Ramon loves himself when he dances. That’s still only one, Chiquita. One and counting.
RAMON: I love myself when I’m making love with a really hot man. I love myself when I’m eating really good food. I love myself when I’m swimming naked.
JOHN: That’s four.
RAMON: The rest of the time I just feel okay.
PERRY: I’m jealous. We don’t reach such an apotheosis at the law firm of Cohen, Mendelssohn and Leibowitz.
RAMON: But most of all I love myself when I’m dancing well and no one can touch me.
JOHN: Is this as a gay dancer, luv?
RAMON: Fuck you, John.
BUZZ: You tell him, sweetheart. That’s right: Fuck you, John.
JOHN: Americans use that expression entirely too often.
BUZZ: Everybody!
ALL BUT JOHN: Fuck you, John!
JOHN: In England we think it nearly as often as you do, but we don’t actually say it to someone’s face. It would be too rude. Half the people who are being knighted at the Palace every year are thinking “Fuck you” as they’re being tapped with that little sword, but they don’t come right out and say it, the way an American would, which is why we don’t knight Americans, the only reason—you’re too uncouth.
ALL BUT JOHN: Fuck you.
JOHN: What do you mean when you tell another person “Fuck you”?
RAMON: Fuck you, John. And don’t you ever call me Chiquita again.
Buzz: This is good.
JOHN: I think you mean several things. Mixed signals, I believe they’re called in therapeutic circles. “I hate you. Get out of my life.” At least. “I hate you, get out of my life for the moment.”
RAMON: Fuck you.
JOHN: “I love you, but you don’t love me. I want to kill you, but I can’t so I will hurt you instead. I want to make you feel small and insignificant, the way you’ve made me feel. I want to make you feel every terrible thing my entire life right up until this moment has made me feel.” Ah, there’s the link! I knew we’d find it. The common bond uniting this limey and the Yanks. The resolution of our fraternal theme.
RAMON: I said “Fuck you.”
JOHN: But until we recognize and accept this mutual “Fuck you” in each of us, with every last fiber of my fading British being, every last ounce of my tobaccoed English breath, I say “Fuck you” right back. Fuck you, Ramon. Fuck you, Buzz. Fuck you, Perry. Fuck you, Gregory. Fuck you, Bobby. Fuck all of you. Well, I think I’ve said my piece. [He moves away from the others, Who remain at the table.] I feel like playing, Gregory. Did you have your mighty Bechstein tuned in honor of our royal visit?
GREGORY: The man. Um. Was just here.
JOHN: What would you like to hear?
PERRY: I don’t think anyone much cares.
JOHN: I’ll play very softly.
BUZZ: I don’t suppose you know Subways Are for Seeping?
JOHN: Would anyone say no to a little Chopin?
RAMON: I would.
JOHN: One of the nocturnes. [He goes into the next room.]
RAMON: I’m still saying “Fuck you,” John!
BUZZ: What brought that on?
PERRY: His brother?
BUZZ: That’s no excuse. Play something gay. We want gay music written by a gay composer.
PERRY: There’s no such thing as gay music. Buzz.
BUZZ: Well, maybe there should be. I’m sick of straight people. Tell the truth, aren’t you? There’s too goddamn many of them. I was in the bank yesterday. They were everywhere. Writing checks, making deposits. Two of them were applying for a mortgage. It was disgusting. They’re taking over. No one wants to talk about it, but it’s true. [JOHN starts playing the piano, off.]
JOHN: [off] This is for you, Buzz. It’s by Tchaikovsky. Peter Ilitch. One of us. Can’t you tell? All these dominant triads are so, so gay! Who did he think he was fooling, writing music like this? [Melancholy music fills the room. They listen.]
BUZZ: I like this. It’s not Jerry Herman, but it’s got a beat. [PERRY gets up.]
GREGORY: Where. Um... ?
PERRY: I’d better find Arthur. [He goes.]
JOHN: [off] This is depressing. How’s this, Gregory? [He starts playing the Dance of the Little Swans from Swan Lake.]
Buzz: That’s more like it.
GREGORY: That’s the. Um. Music. Swan Lake.The benefit. The Pas des Cygnes. Thank you,John. [GREGORY stands up from the table. He begins to dance the Pas des Cygnes from Swan Lake. He is an entirely different person when he moves: free, spontaneous, as physically fluent as he is verbally inhibited.]
BUZZ: What are you doing?
GREGORY: The Pas de Cygnes.
BUZZ: I don’t do Pas de Cygnes. What is it?
GREGORY: The Dance of the Swans. Come on. I can’t do it alone. Ramon!
RAMON: No, thanks.
GREGORY: Come on, Buzz!
BUZZ: Why are you holding your arms like that? [Indeed, as GREGORY dances he holds his arms crossed in front of him, each hand on its opposite side, ready to link hands with another person and form a chain.]
GREGORY: I’m waiting for you to take my hand.
JOHN: [off] What are you doing in there?
GREGORY: We’re dancing! Don’t stop! Take my hand, Buzz. [BUZZ tentatively takes his hand and will try to follow GREGORY’s Steps.]
BOBBY: What are they doing?
RAMON: Now they’re both dancing.
BOBBY: How do they look?
BUZZ: Ridiculous. What do you think?
BOBBY: You see? I knew it would be funny. [RAMON and BOBBY begin to laugh. GREGORY and Buzz continue to dance while JOHN plays the piano from another room.]
GREGORY: That’s it, Buzz, that’s it.
Buzz: My admiration for Chita Rivera has just become boundless!
RAMON: You should see this.
BOBBY: I can imagine.
JOHN: Can I stop?
THE OTHERS: No!!
GREGORY: Now you’ve got it!
Buzz: Eat your heart out. Donna McKechnie! [Their arms linked, GREGORY and Buzz dance themselves out of the house and out onto the grounds.]
BOBBY: What happened?
RAMON: They’re gone. They danced themselves right out onto the lawn. [PERRY has joined ARTHUR down by the lake.]
PERRY: Listen to them up there. We’re missing all the fun.
ARTHUR: We better talk.
PERRY: Okay. I brought you a sweater.
ARTHUR: Thank you.
PERRY: And one of their blankets. I thought we could spread it and look at the sky. The stars are incredible. Thick as ... whatever stars are thick as. “Molasses” doesn’t sound right.
ARTHUR: Thieves? No. Diamonds! Thick as diamonds on a jeweler’s black felt!
PERRY: I love you.
ARTHUR: I know. Me, too.
PERRY: I’m sorry we don’t always understand each other. I hate it when we’re not in sync. I hate what I said at the table.
ARTHUR: I hated it, too.
PERRY: I just get so frightened sometimes, so angry.
ARTHUR: It’s all right, Perry, we all do.
PERRY: Don’t give up on me.
ARTHUR: No. I thought you were coming down here with me. It’s spectacular. I can see Orion’s Belt and both Dippers.
PERRY: That’s not the Dipper. That’s the Dipper. [The piano music stops. JOHN comes back into the room where BOBBY and RAMON are.]
JOHN: Where is everyone?
BOBBY: They were last sighted heading for the boathouse. Gregory was very pleased with himself.
JOHN: You see, I’m good for something. I’m not entirely bad!
BOBBY: No one is, John.
JOHN: Thank you. I can’t tell you how good that makes me feel. I was a shit tonight and I’m not even drunk. I’m sorry, Ramon. Am I forgiven?
BOBBY: Ramon?
JOHN: “Am I forgiven?” I said.
RAMON: Yes.
JOHN: Thank you. Forgiveness is good. We all need it from time to time. It’s this business with my brother. [He goes back into the adjoining room and begins to play a Bethoven sonata.]
BOBBY: Are you still there?
RAMON: Yes.
BOBBY: What are you doing?
RAMON: Nothing.
JOHN: [off] This one is for me.
ARTHUR: He plays beautifully, the son of a bitch. The devil’s fingers.
PERRY: So many stars, so many stars! Say a prayer for Buzz.
BUZZ: Arthur and Perry lay on blankets and looked at the heavens and talked things out. Gregory danced on by a couple of times. John played a melancholy piano until the wee small hours of the morning. Bobby and Ramon sat quietly talking across the deserted dining table—empty glasses, soiled napkins between them. All in all, there was a lot of love in Gregory and Bobby’s house that first night of the first holiday weekend of the summer. It didn’t start raining till the next morning. It didn’t stop until the drive back home on Monday night. It rained all weekend.
BOBBY: It was raining when Buzz started crying in the middle of a movie on AMC and couldn’t stop.
RAMON: It was raining when Gregory sat alone in his studio for six hours listening to a piece of music and didn’t move from his chair.
Buzz: It was raining when Ramon waited for Bobby by the refrigerator and he dropped the bottle.
ARTHUR: It was raining when John wanted Ramon to fuck him the next afternoon anyway.
PERRY: Anyway! There’s that word again. And he’s wrong, this one. I don’t say “anyway” when I’m cornered. I say it when I’m overcome. I love you, Arthur Pape. [He kisses ARTHUR on the lips. GREGORY and Buzz will dance by again. They are having a wonderful time. BOBBY and RAMON remain at the dining table. JOHN is playing a Chopin nocturne. The lights fade. The music swells.]