Beauty’s Daughter had its New York premiere at the American Place Theatre, Wynn Handman, Artistic Director, January 25 through February 26, 1995.
DIANE: I’ve always done the slide. Like you never, never show your heart! (She smiles) I mean you can kiss and fuck, but your heart? Naw! A love thing? That’s TV and records and books but there’s always somebody looking for it, right? And I have seen some tough-assed broads go down on account of it but they say, man, that you haven’t lived until you felt it. (Pause) It’s more than just they say a grind / groin thing and me? Well, me, I could never see me doin’ that—goin’ down like that.
That’s what I thought but then right? I’m in a car and I see him—this man—and he’s six-three with long black hair and blue eyes and a mouth like a girl’s—a pretty girl mouth—and he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen and as I watch him walk, I’m wondering how his voice sounds. I wanna hear how his voice sounds, what kind of sounds come from your sweet mouth? I wanna say (she pauses) I hate feeling this way! (she smiles) but I love it! (Beat) I can’t be a punk-assed bitch going soft over a love thing? What’s that—love! (She stops) It feels so nice. (Beat)
This one night I’m across town and I’m in this bar and there’s some woman on her last legs trying to pick up young boys and she’s singing along to Van Morrison and she’s slurring—a terminal blues right? And he walks in and she wants to talk to him, wants to hold him tight, but he’s in his head and doesn’t want her, and I say to the woman, “You can’t do that. Can’t suck someone’s youth and try to make it your own.” And she laughs and walks to another part of the bar and him—Cal—he looks at me and smiles and I’m excited, right? Fidgeting in my seat—like Elvis. See, when I’m mad or excited I begin to move—right leg, right hand move like half anarchistic boogie, half Elvis and I feel “the King.” The king is reaching for me now, ’cause I’m excited, right? Elvis is rippin’ through me now or is it Bessie Smith comin’ down in double time screaming a ball ’n’ chain chant. And Cal sits next to me and he’s got a Celtic / mystic eye and he says soft ’n’ slow, “I’m from Dublin, you?” “Harlem,” I say. And when he makes a point he touches my leg and cocks his head to the side and the vodka and beer is slidin’ down our throats and somebody called “Closing time” but I swear I didn’t hear them, didn’t want to hear them.
I walk the streets and I see him, could be two in the morning, could be two in the afternoon—it doesn’t matter ’cause Harlem and Dublin are rolled up into one. (Beat) We had dinner in my house and I read him some of my poetry—
I could have given birth at sixteen
But I was too busy dodging bullets
I was harnessed in rhythm
Muscles taut
Thighs bent
Blocking blows
Praying for kisses
And he calls me a powerhouse. I fuckin’ loved it—being called a powerhouse! ’Cause it’s a boy thing, a ballsy dick thing, boy thing, man, and we just keep trading black / Celtic / rock ’n’ roll dreams and happy dancin’ to spastic operas of our own design. James Brown. Sam the Sham. Catch us if you can! (Sheepishly) I don’t sound like a punk bitch! Shit! I really hate this. (She smiles broadly) Bullshit, I love it.
Me and Cal walk Dublin’s streets full of music and noise. There’s no difference between Grafton Street and 125th Street and Lenox Avenue. It’s a Mick / Nigger blues. People trying to hustle you the same way they do in Harlem. Chicks with babies trying to cop some change. (She pauses) This kid comes up to me and said, “I need some fookin’ money. Yer rich, yer American, I’ll take yours.” (She pauses and smiles slightly) I looked at him and said, “Now, boy, if you try and I do mean try to take my money, as God is my witness, I’ll snatch you out of your pants and disconnect you from your asshole.” Powerhouse!! (She laughs)
We go to Francis Street to check on a friend who was on the dole.———We drink Harlem / Black Guinness in Grogan’s pub and one night we sleep together. Don’t make love. Just sleep together and he rubs my stomach and between my breasts and I don’t move because I can’t go down like that. It wouldn’t have been right like that had I done it—had I loved him that night. I just knew it’d be incomplete, going down like that. Cal looks at me and smiles and strokes my face. I run my hands through his hair. Touching, we’re always touching. We’re surrounded by people in pubs. When I make that decision—I say, “I love you.” ’Cause I do. This one night the thought police invade his brain and he’s had a lotta vodka and ale and he’s slack-jawed and talking loud, judging himself, judging others and he thinks everything becomes crystal clear through muddy Guinness. He talks about people he no longer wants in his life and how he wants to get rid of them or shoot them down to the ground and I say, “What about me?” And he looks through me, blue eyes glassy, and says, “I don’t love you. Don’t even know you.” And here comes the King, I can feel the King coming. He’s ripping through me now. So I get up and walk out, walk cool—a cool take no shit Harlem walk through Dublin but there’s something crashing inside me / crashing to the ground. I’m on the floor crying like a bitch, like the punk-ass bitch I swear I’d never be. He’s got my back now. I’m doing the slide.
So there’s this little boy
& he’s got merengue &
a little desperation in his
move & and bops &
drops to the side
both to be cool & to
avoid his Father’s blows &
in his walk when he
dips to the Ground-
talkin’ streettalk / walkin’ talkin’ Spanish,
this boy, Papo, man
Got
Salsa Shoes
Got Mambo Blues
bop, he dreams of things
like fine desks & open
spaces where voices don’t echo
like in Housing Project bathroom
walls & there’s gotta be
a place where ideas are
written on luxurious white sheets
of paper &
ain’t it a bitch
when cuchifrito grease hits you
in the nose?
& Mommy got a black eye
& Mommy, she got a black eye again
& Latin boys wanna be Latin Kings
& Latin boys wanna be Spanish Kings
& When Latin boys don’t get shot
they get lost
Goin’ Down
Goin’ Down the block
Goin’ Down the block
again
(Age seventeen, Puerto Rican male from Lower East Side. He has come to Diane’s house pleading with her to do his term paper, which is due in two days.)
PAPO: Yo, Diane—how you doin’, sis? Yo, I know it’s late, y’ know but like yo, I needed to see you—know what I’m sayin’. (Beat) (He looks around) Boy, you got a dope house, man. Look it all this shit. Yo, Diane, look at this chair—this is fly! It’s gotta be an antique, right? See, I know good quality when I see it! Also before I forget, you look exceptionally beautiful tonight. (Beat) Oh shit, that’s a picture of Rimbaud. (Beat) See, I remember what he looks like from his picture on the Illuminations cover. “I alone have the key to this savage sideshow.” See, I remember. (Beat) Yo, Diane, like I know it’s late y’ know but like I gotta ask a favor, Diane? I really feel bad y’ know showin’ up at your house like this and it bein’ late and what not, but (his voice trails off. Beat. Suddenly) Diane, you wanna make some money? Yo, I know you said that when you were performin’ you worked in an art gallery, right? Man, that ain’t no real money—so check this out okay? I got a proposition for you to think about, okay? I really (he takes a deep breath) Okay. I’ll pay you ten dollars a page if you write my term paper for me. (Slight pause) Don’t say no yet! (Beat) See, my paper, right? It’s due in two days, sis! Two days, man. I can’t do the paper in two days. Porqué? Porqué it’s just impossible! See, y’ know I had to hustle four days this week right? ’Cause you know like the bills were comin’ in real fast right? And yo, Diane (crosses himself) I swear, my Pop is drinkin’ all the time now, right? And that’s where the money is right? ’Cause you know like the bills were comin’ in real fast right? And yo, Diane (crosses himself) I swear, my pop is drinkin’ all the time now, right? And that’s where the money is goin’ and shit and—now, Diane, think about it, it’s not like I’m dealin’ blow or heroin. It’s only weed right, and I know it ain’t right but yo, I gotta look out for my moms and sisters—you gotta understand. I ain’t tryin’ to cop a plea, but yo, I need money! (Beat) Anyway, this paper, right? It’s for English Lit College Prep Course and the teacher—yo, man, she ain’t no joke! Her name is Mrs. Marks—Mrs. Naomi Marks—and she’s real strict. (Beat) Diane—I had told you about her. She’s the one that helped me get into Bowling Green State College, remember? Check this out, the thing is, even though I’m technically accepted, I still gotta have a certain amount of credits, right and yo, I’m only three credits short, sis, so c’mon now! (Beat) It’s not like I’m stupid—you read my stories! You know the story about what it’s like growing up on Avenue D? You said it was good remember? (Beat) Know what Mrs. Marks said? She said, “Papo, you have the potential to be a great novelist. You’ve got light, you got perception.” I wouldn’t make that shit up. That’s what she said, Diane, and she sent my stories to the head of the English Department at Bowling Green College and he wrote back personally to say I was accepted. (Slight pause) What? (Sheepish) Well, I had three months to do the paper. (Beat) Diane, check this out though. I keep tellin’ you that things are bad at home now—see you oughta know ’cause your mother drinks too, right? So I know you understand. Also, it’s not like I smoke reefer all the time. I smoke maybe twice a week. And shit! Like I sell it, but yo, I’m about takin’ care of my moms and shit. Yo, I gotta make that money, yo. (Beat) Maybe you don’t understand ’cause you’re a female. Man it’s hard bein’ a guy—specially if you’re Spanish or black ’cause y’ know, it’s a double thing of sex and race. Know what I’m sayin’. Oh shit! Okay, okay! Women got it rougher than men—I’m sorry, Diane—I was wrong—Damn! Don’t kill me! (Beat) In fact that’s what my paper is about. The effect of black and Hispanic male writers on American literature. I chose Piri Thomas and James Baldwin but I can’t read two or three books in one day. (Sheepish) I didn’t get a chance to get my books yet. (Beat) Man, see I was gonna get them but, like anytime I go to Barnes & Noble right? That there’s this homo who works there, but he’s nasty to me, right? I checked out his name and it’s Allan. I call him Allan the Butthole. So right, like the last time I was in there, he was all snotty and shit. (Beat) See, I had to do this book report on Les Misérables for Mrs. Marks right? And I went to ask him for the book but I fucked up the pronunciation and said Lez Misérables, right? So him, he’s behind the cash register and this faggot, man, don’t even look at me, man (imitates him), “First of all, it’s pronounced Les Misérables and it’s in the classical section but of course you wouldn’t know that.” (He shifts, cocky) Now I had to be chill right? ’Cause yo, Diane, I wanted to hit this three-dollar bitch homo and I told him, yo, anytime I walk in here you’re scopin’ like I’m stealin’ somethin’ and I know it’s ’cause I’m Puerto Rican. Well understand this. I’m Puerto Rican, not a spic. Treat me like a Puerto Rican the same way I’ll treat you like a gay man and not like a faggot. Then I walked out. Hells naw, I wasn’t goin’ back for the books. (Beat) See, Diane, I let that motherfucker know I ain’t no punk porqué yo soy Boricua. See what I’m saying? The double thing about being Puerto Rican and a guy. See, if you were there maybe he wouldn’t have done that to you. (Beat) Tell you what, the next time I have a term paper I have to do, yo, I’ll bring you in there with me well in advance and you can check this homo out and if he says bullshit to me you tell the motherfucker off, that’s dope right? Diane—mommy, please, please you gotta write my paper for me. (Beat) Listen I told you what Mrs. Marks said. Yo. You wouldn’t want to ruin the potential of a future genius. (Beat) See, I know you can write that shit and hook it up, so it’ll be real dope. (Beat) What you writin’ here—let me see. Check it out. (Bends over as if reading something on her desk) I touched the shoes of Mary Magdalene on Avenue D. Yo, Diane, that shit is fly—See—c’mon, mommy, write my paper for me. See if you bring that kinda poetic justice, yo, my shit will be hooked up, and I promise, yo, not to do this shit again ’cause I know the only person I’m cheatin’ is myself. (Beat) See, next time, I’ll hook it up, so that I have saved enough loot and I can quit scramblin’ and just do my schoolwork. ’Cause yo, I care about my future. (Beat) See, let me tell you what I plan on doin’—check this out, I’ll attend college in about a year, a year and a half, no later. See after I graduate high school ’cause even though I wanna cut back on dealin’, yo, I gotta be realistic, yo, I gotta scramble like twice a week ’cause like I said, my pops is buggin’ out on Bacardi all the time now! And also before I go away I gotta make sure he don’t hit my moms and sisters no more. See I can’t be selfish, y’ know. (Pause) Sometimes, right, like even though somethin’ may be wrong—Like I know dealing weed is wrong—Like you gotta realize that the money I make is helpin’ out, y’know? See, Diane, sometimes you gotta do certain things ’cause you know eventually it may pay off and help someone in the long run, right? (Beat) Like you doin’ my paper—yo, like that right? I mean how many times can I tell you, that although I fucked up—unintentionally—that my future is in your hands. Say what? I know you ain’t callin’ me a punk. (Pause) Diane, de qué? Lissen, Diane—I don’t let nobody call me that. Know what I’m saying? Yo, I don’t like that shit. (Pause) I’m a punk ’cause I can’t leave? That’s my my family. Yo, I can’t turn my back on my family like that. (Pause) Yo, no matter how bad they are, they’re still my blood—you don’t turn your back on your own, man. Yo, I’m not you. I can’t do that! The last time he beat her, man, he kicked her like she was a dog. I grabbed that motherfucker and said, “Hit her again, and I’ll ram my shank up your ass.” Diane, man, I’m beggin’ you please, yo please. Yo, I’ll never ask you to do this again. (Crosses his heart) I swear to God! Diane, remember, what did you say to me? You said, “Papo, you got to make your life better and ain’t nobody gonna give you shit. If you don’t create a life for yourself, on your own terms, your life is not gonna amount to anything.” (Pause) Huh? You’re disappointed in me? Yo, you disappointed in me? Well, I’m pretty disappointed in you too! Like you and me supposed to be friends and yo, you give me back when I need you. How do you think that makes me feel? Well, dat’s what I’m trying to do, Diane—mommy, please. So what do you say? I fucked up? Lissen you know what? I’m leavin’ your house. Yo, I already know I can’t be all that anyway—writing books? Yo, that’s bullshit—I’m leavin’ okay? Sorry to bother you. Fuck it, I’m gone. (He exits)
I am Thirteen ’N’ Bleeding
’N’ there are bloodstains in
Panties
And the Catholic school
Uniform itches my skin and I’m
Told that I gotta watch
Myself now
’Cause
I gotta get my hair
Pressed ’N’ curled ’cause I’m
A girl now
And
If I wanna go to Randalls
Island to shoot dice and
Play stickball with a gang
Of boys, I can’t
’Cause I’m a girl now
And
If I dream of
Touching boys differently it’s
Because I’m becoming
A young woman now and
If I dream of lipstick
Traces, it’s because
I’m becoming a young woman
Now … but I think
“What about my leather jacket
And how I wanna wear it
With one earring, with the
Bold / cold air of a
Reinvented female.”
And I’m Thirteen ’N’ Bleeding
Bleeding—a girl / woman
Now with blood
Gushing from between
My legs, for the
Next forty years
And
Emulate is standing
Before me caught up in
Some inebriated spent
Perception
And
I can’t believe I sucked
Milk from those defeated
Breasts or
Whispered childhood secrets
In those withered ears and
I don’t want to have babies
Give life from red—gore—
Red gore
Blood.
I’m thirteen ’N’ bleeding
In a Harlem living room
Left to flick switchblades
In the dark
(Heroin addict, aged mid to late fifties. He is junk sick and in need of a fix. He shines shoes for a living, but today business is extremely slow. Louie is desperately waiting for Diane so he can go cop. Music that comes up is Gil Scott-Heron’s “The Bottle.”)
BLIND LOUIE: (Listening real close) (He tries to steady himself) Oh, goddamn, goddamn! (He jumps as he listens to approaching footsteps) Who’s this? Naw, naw, man. (Beat) (He begins to shuffle back and forth playfully as he senses Diane coming) Okay, I know it’s you now! Yeah, the walk, man—that steel, slick walk, man that Cadillac walk. Oh, yeah! Oh, Yeah! (He stops)
Hey, Diane, or should I say Lady Di? How you doin’, baby? I know you fine. (Rapidly) Yeah, babe, know how I can tell one person from another? By the walk, man, definitely by the walk, man. Y’ know? Like the person that jus’ pass me by jus’ now, man—was a dude, y’ know ’cause like his shoes scratched the ground. (To the man) Hey man, pick up your feet! You walkin’ like you dancin’ a slow drag. Hey, Diane, I hope that cat got much bank. He’s hard on his shoes. With women, man, y’ know women wear heels these days, click-edy click boom, click-edy click boom, know what I’m saying? That’s music. (Calls out) Now these two dudes who are walking up this way now they’re wearing sneakers. (He yells to them) Hey, my brothers! Dig this, one oyall is wearing Air Jordans—in fact, the brother on the right is wearing Air Jordans—’cause you got a glide in your walk, man, ’cause them sneakers glide like a Cadillac, you dig. And my brother on the left, well you brother-man, I’m sorry, you got on Pro-Keds. See, Pro-Keds make a squishy sound, man. (Pause) Say what? How’d I know? Shit! You be surprised what a blind man can see! Take care, brothers! (Beat)
(He sniffs the air) Diane, what’s that perfume you wearin’—Wait!—Don’t tell me! it’s Wrappings by Clinique. See workin’ outside o’ Macy’s is all kinds of smells. Women wear perfume, men cologne. See, Aramis, now that shit got a real heavy smell. And like Escape is really for the summer. That damned Polo is for faggots. But Wrappings is all year round and it suits you, Diane. It really does. (Beat)
God, business is so bad today, Diane—you wouldn’t believe it, y’ know? (He wipes his nose with the back of his hand) (Beat) See, ain’t nobody on the streets which means they ain’t no walkin’ shoes, which mean ain’t no shoes for me to shine which means they ain’t no money. (Beat) Remember how I useta have money, Diane? Man, I was sharp—sharp, man. (Beat) When I played with Howlin’ Wolf, dat’s the most money I evah made, man. Did you know that? When I first started giggin’. I was makin’ ’bout forty, fifty bucks a night then Wolf heard me play and he give me a big raise ’cause he said I played guitar like honey drippin’ from my fingers. And then I was makin’ two, three a night! Shit, I was boss, man! (Beat) See, dat’s when I bought that red Cadillac and you called it a “choo choo train.” (He sniffles) And I bought you a buncha dresses and toy trucks, ’member? Any time I came off the road giggin’, man, I made sure, man, I gave money to Beauty for you. I’d always say, “Beauty, put this money in the bank for Diane.” (Beat) You always knew when I was comin’, man, you jump outta bed like you wuz looking for my Caddie headlights, yellin’, “Daddy two, Daddy two! Play something for me!” And man that thing got to me. Before I did anything, man, didn’t care how beat I was, man, my ass could be draggin’, man, I didn’t care ’cause my baby girl wanted to hear the blues. (Shakes his head) Hot damn! My baby girl. You know you’ll always be my baby, Diane. (Beat) And you callin’ me “Daddy two, Daddy two”—Shucks, didn’t bother me one bit. I understood it, man—’cause although I made you, Arthur raised you. And Beauty would rather forget about me, man, and I can dig that. (Beat) Shit, I’d rather forget—about me too. Beauty told me it’s thirty-one years today. Hot damn! Ain’t that a bitch. I remember him sayin’, “Louie, now you got to look for Diane and Beauty ’cause I’m not gonna be around much longer.” (Beat) It’s like he knew he was gonna die, y’ know? Arthur was a good cat, a nine to five, stone cold, steady Freddie, home at six cat. I couldn’t do that, Diane. I am what I am. Diane, I tried to look after you the best I could. You know that don’cha? (Beat) Yeah, I was always buying you stuff, all that money I made, man, y’ know. I took care of everybody but here I am out here now y’ know and ain’t nobody givin’ me the time o’day. ’Cept you, baby, and I know you don’t want to be here but, I appreciate it, I really do.
Lissen I’m a be straight up with you, Diane, I need money, as much as you can spare—now—see, I’m puttin’ my shit out heah—’cause I’m sick, man, real sick—I gotta go cop—I’m sorry to be like this but I can lie and say I need it for somethin’ else y’ know stand here, and try and cop a plea and perpetrate a fraud. I’m not doin’ that, Diane. I’m a junkie. It ain’t about being shiftless. I need it. (Pause) No you don’t understand!! I need it. (Beat) You don’t understand how hard it is for me! I was a musician! I played with some of the greatest blues cats in the world. I had it all, Diane, and then I git struck blind like this. I mean, what the fuck did I do to deserve this, man? Why the fuck did God punish me? I ain’t never hurt nobody. (Defensively) Yeah, so motherfuckin’, right? Now I shoot dope. Don’t tell me nothin’ about tryin’ to git help and all that shit ’cause it ain’t gonna bring my sight back. (Beat) (He pauses as he hears Diane walking away) Don’t you walk away from me, Diane! I’ll be Goddamned! You walking away from me? After all I did for you? Goddamn! Ain’t that a bitch? Ain’t that a motherfuckin’ bitch! (Beat) I need money, Diane, can’t you see I’m sick? (Beat) Look at all the money I gave you! Man, each time and I do mean each time I came off the road, I always gave you somethin’. (Beat) Goddamn, I’m so sick. I’m about to shit myself! (Beat) Don’t think ’cause you moved downtown you better than anybody else, heah. You still from Harlem, no matter where you live. (He stops suddenly, totally changing his attitude) Say what? Oh, in my pocket? (He feels for it) Oh, shit! I’ll be damned! You sure did. (Beat) Lissen, baby, I don’t mean to be hard but you see how raggedy my shit is now y’ know and the thing is, Diane, people got to look out for each other. ’Specially you and me. I’m your Daddy two. (Beat) Diane, come here, come here. God, I feel so bad doin’ this—but if you can come by once a week, say, ’round this time and drop off what you can—I’d ’preciate it, okay? (Beat) Hey, and the shoeshine is on me! Lissen, I know you gotta go. You keep writin’ that poetry, heah. (As she walks off) Hey, one day I’m coming to one of your shows. (Beat) Lissen, don’t forget about next week, heah? I love you. (He exits quickly)
The retarded girl that rang the bell in Mt. Morris Park every midnight was found murdered
on the hill that year—that year in ’63 when cancer ransacked your guts but you tried to turn your back and pour a drink and light another Cuban cigar
and how many times did you grit your teeth when you watched your wife rub asses with
nameless men who got their kicks from aging party girls
Too jaded for even a B movie screen did you really think when I came crashing
through embryonic fluid and blood that it would put an end to her shake dance and you
never did live to see the stance I took
Like walking backwards from mirrors, afterbirth still entangled in my hands or the knife I
learned to wield through pent-up fingers
While learning dances like “Monkey” and later the
“Fencewalk”
Sometimes crying for you—Hallmark / Father’s Day Card–like tears—those kind of tears
usually reserved for little white girls or nice-looking colored girls on a 1960s TV program
where parents called their daughters “dear”
I was way past that
learning to scrawl the names of future legends
(gangsters and would-be gangsters and
whores) on the labels of old forty-fives (like you, they’re no longer alive).
Where I was told that hustlers were really Tango dancers in Blackface.
Lately though, sometimes in a rock ’n’ roll / jazz / blues haze while talking to somebody in
hip / hop / bop time
or maybe cutting loose yet another lover I’ve come to hate, I whisper your name
“Poppy / Daddy / Poppa.”
The heat runs fluid thru Sylacauga, Alabama’s
Red clay dirt where Mother Mary played
Where black girls swam in deep rivers oblivious to snakes
And climbed high trees that held many lynchings.
Little Mother Mary sang
Sang sad grown-up music by people like Mamie or Bessie Smith
And people would wonder where a child so young could get that stuff from.
When Little Mary’s mother parted her legs and Mary bore her head
Her mother turned away and went to lay on the backs of men whose wives beg them to stay
But they were determined to lay with Mary’s momma light skinned
Some say satin to the touch
Mary’s daddy lived crosstown and hard
Knife scars rippled from his coal black face
And he drove a Cadillac and listened to the Blues
And on his deathbed he called Mary’s name
And she stared straight ahead aged fifteen stoic ’n’ proud giving no reply
She spoke about the whippings women get irate no-good husbands
Who beat the gowns off their wedding wives
And would later laugh high ’n’proud ’n’ she vowed it would never happen to her
In New York
Or maybe Oklahoma or Sylacauga
There’d be a man who’d hold her tight
Remove cloth from bone
Her virgin cries reaching far into the night
Or maybe it was God who layed Blessed hands
Beyond fragile cradle screams
Beyond muffled baby cries way into her fading arms
Y’ know, Bit, I played Jimmy Reed for Diane when she was five years old and you know what she did, she closed her eyes and rocked back and forth like she understood it. Really felt it, you know. (Beat) That’s what the blues is anyway—feelin’. You got to feel things. (Beat) Lord, I wonder where she is, it’s gettin’ so late. Lord, it feels good to get rid of this stuff, you know, Bit, I got a lot of stuff.—Ain’t it funny, Lord. Oh hell this dress here. This dress is the dress I made special for our first date, Bit. You remember? Lord, I went crazy goin’ through all them—Spiegel catalogs tryin’ to find this pattern. I was so happy I almost hit the ceiling. Diane’s goin’ to like this—it should fit her nice. (Picks up photos out of box) Oh Lord. Look here, oh Lord. Bit, here’s a picture of Charlie in front of the Tip Top Club. Lord, my brother Charlie was smart. (Looks at another photo) Oh my, Bit, here’s a picture of you and me in front of your mama’s house. Oh Jesus, Diane’s not going to believe this. Know what Diane said ’bout old pictures? She says it keeps folks alive. Like if you look at a picture a long time, you feel like you right with the person and that the people is talkin’ to you. (She smiles) Lawd, that chile. But you know I don’t feel no need to have it no more. All these things. All they are is things, you know. (Beat. She pulls a sweater around her) Lord, it’s gettin’ a little chilly. (Beat) I can’t wait to see the look on Diane’s face when I give her these records. Lawd, that chile may go through the roof. (Picks up seventy-eights one by one) Lawd, Ma Rainey’s “Love Sick Blues.” (Picks up another) Oh my, Bessie Smith’s “Sugar in My Bowl.” (Picks up another) Robert Johnson’s (sings “Love in Vain”) Hot damn! (Another) Memphis Minnie’s “Memphis Blues.” That woman could play hard like a man.
One thing I really want to give her—oh God where is it? (She rummages through a box) Oh, Jesus—here it is! (She pulls out a necklace) Lord, Bit, I remember the night you gimme dis and told me you loved me. How long ago was dat? (She pauses as if to figure) Sixty years ago. (She pulls on necklace)
I would wear this necklace and float down da street. Float and mens would alway wanna talk to me, too. (Beat) It seemed any time I wore it, I would jus. I glow. Didn’t matter what kinda dress I had on, honey, it could be the ugliest dress in the world—this necklace made me look like new money. Made me feel like—new money. (Beat) I really want Diane to have it. (Beat) Bit, when I tell her you gimme dis, she’s gonna hit da ceiling. (Beat) Lawd, dat girl is somethin’, really somethin’. Just as sweet as she can be. Dat momma o’ hers makes me sick. She said, “Dat necklace ain’t worth nothin’ and neither are dem old-time records.” (Her face hardens) She jus’ said dat to make me mad ’cause me and Diane are close and always have been close. (Beat) Old drunken, pissy bitch—how Diane was born to her I’ll never know. (Beat) Diane told me and her she wanted to play blues guitar and y’ know what her momma said? She said, “It ain’t feminine!” Shit! I almost hit the ceiling! I said, “Diane, girl, you learn them blues, hear? Don’t let nobody tell you a woman can’t play. Girl, if you feel it you can play it. I gotta whole bunch of Memphis Minnie records that I’m gonna give you.” Remember how we used to go see Memphis Minnie, Bit? (She sits heavily)
I always feel ya ’round me, Bit. I always do. (Beat) Da otha day when Diane called and she was talkin’ about fallin’ in love, you know with a little white boy but don’t matter, love is love. Anyway, she was feelin’ kind of skittish and she said she wasn’t goin’ to get involved with anybody no more. She said, “Mary, I have tried—God! I have tried. I can’t keep gettin’ up just to get knocked down again and again. Besides you, Mary, I hate peoples—Peoples always want something from you. Wanna suck you dry. Mary, you—you’re the only one—the only one I can hold on to, you’re family.” (Beat) Man, Bit, that thing upset me so bad—’cause y’ know that’s a horrible way to live. Y’ know but God, I understand it.—I really do, ’cause that goddamn Beauty (beat)—’scuse me, Lawd—did a job on that chile and Lawd knows that damned Louie use ta could play the blues, but without a guitar wasn’t worth a shit. And I told her, “Baby, give it a chance and if it don’t work out you know one monkey didn’t spoil no show. You can’t cheat yourself out of love. You gotta keep feeling things to stay alive you know and you gotta find someone special to talk to ’cause y’ know, baby, I’m not gonna be here forever y’ know.” Then she asked me when I have a problem who do I talk to and I said, “Bit,” and she said, “But he’s dead, Mary,” and I said, “Oh, no he ain’t, baby, and not only do I talk to him, he answers me. And guess what else? We sometimes dance together.” (She plays “I’m in the Mood” by John Lee Hooker. Lights change as if Mary were a young girl. She dances as if Bit were dancing with her) You hold me close, Bit, and I feel my back straighten and I rub my hands down your back. Your strong back and I’m fifteen again wearing my flowery dress and necklace. My rosewater perfume mingles with your sweat and my head is on your shoulder, and we dance, we just dance. And they ain’t no such thing as New York tenements or crowded up subways. It’s you and me and blues music down South and it’s warm, it’s always warm down South. (Beat) (She goes back to being an old lady) Yeah, I can’t wait to give this to Diane (looking at the necklace) but I sure hope she comes soon. (Beat) Y’ know, Bit, when I tole Diane that I talks to you regla, she said, “Oh, Mary, dead people don’t talk,” and I said, “Sure they do. Just you can’t see somethin’ don’t mean it ain’t there. You can’t be afraid to feel things.” (Beat) (She goes to window) Lord, the temperature’s droppin’, it’s gettin’ chilly. Hope she comes before it gets too dark.
I could have given birth at sixteen … but I was too busy dodging bullets
I was harnessed in rhythm
Muscles taut
Thighs bent
Blocking blows
Praying for kisses
Watching from forbidden windows
Black & latin boys who stayed
High on Saturday nights &
Did “the Grind.” Their
Auras crystallized in magenta
With voices splattered on urine-
Stained walls, they rode
With Christ like posses against the
Bodies of unready young girls
Frightened little boys
Seasoned in penetration
Volatile little boys
Coming like the pulse of New Cities
It’s 5:30 p.m., and Anthony is semidressed up after work. He’s in the Radio Bar and it’s happy hour! He’s a regular and he comes in every day after work. (The music that plays is Charlie Parker’s “Billie’s Bounce.”)
ANTHONY: (Enters yelling to various people in the bar) Hey, Gerry, how ya doin’! Hey, Lorraine, ya lookin’ good, honey! (To bartender) Hey, Lenny, how’s it goin’, babe? (He rubs his hands) Awright, Johnnie Black—nectar of the Gods. (He shudders slightly) I tell ya, Len, today was shit, y’ know? Yeah I know every day is shit but today was really shit. (He sips from other shot) So fuckin’ busy and y’ know I’m always ruinin’ my fuckin’ clothes. Everybody I know that works in the fish market, their clothes are always fucking ruined. (Beat)
I just fuckin’ can’t stand the thought of goin’ home right now! I just can’t! (Pause) Therese’s gettin’ fatter and fatter and it ain’t ’cause she’s pregnant ’cause I don’t touch the bitch! (Pause) I’m cold for sayin’ that? Listen, Lenny, I like big women but not fat women and wife or not, the bitch is fat! (Beat) Look, Lenny, let me explain somethin’ to you. I’m thirty-one years old, right? I’m married twelve years—twelve fuckin’ years! I’m trapped, right? I got two kids—ten and eleven years old. Lenny, I’m still a young man, and I’m fuckin’ trapped! (Beat)
Tee Tee is the laziest bitch in the world. She don’t clean the house right. She hasn’t learned to cook and here she is twenty-eight years old, lookin’ fifty! (He leans forward)
Lenny, I work twelve–thirteen hours a day so she don’t have to. There’s no excuse why this bitch can’t cook or keep herself in shape. (Pause) The problem is I married too quick. When me and Tee Tee were kids together, we thought we were so much in love, right, and my cousin Jimmy says to me, “Anthony, listen, youse two are young. Don’t get married so quick. Go out get laid, have a pisser.” (He smiles wryly) But of course I don’t listen, right? so this is where I am today.
Lenny, I met this girl right, y’ know? and she’s a black chick right? (He shakes his head) A tough motherfucka! She was at my friend Mano’s wedding (Pause) yeah, right you remember him … sure you do—he came in here with me a few times—Anthony Mancuso—we call him Mano because my name’s Anthony too.
Anyway at the reception, right? Tee Tee’s there and she and the—rest of the cuchinettes they’re talking to Mano’s wife, Gail, who’s no prize. Lenny, I wouldn’t fuck her with your dick. And a few guys I haven’t seen in years from my old neighborhood in Red Hook—they’re there too right? and to tell you the truth, I really don’t wanna be there, but Mano’s a friend, y’ know?
So anyways—this black chick—Diane’s her name, is sitting off to the side by herself. I look over at her and smile. ’Cause I never made it with a black chick before, right? And I always wanted to see if they were any better than white broads. Y’ know alotta white guys wanna do it. Y’ know what they say? They say once you did black there ain’t no going back. So anyway, she smiles back and I notice, y’ know, that she’s big but not fat. Big. In proportion. The way Tee Tee used to be. So I go over and say, “You know I think you’re good lookin’ and they need to get rid of words like nigger and guinea. Know why? ’cause I wanna put my tongue in your mouth.” So she gets mad and says, “Let me tell you one thing; the only reason why you came over here is because I’m the only black person at this wedding! Guess what? I don’t have a problem with that but you do so do yourself a favor ’n’ get out of my face before I hurt you!”
Now, I’m standing there fuckin’ slammed right? So I say to her, “Listen, I don’t care how fuckin’ big you are. Woman or not, you hit me, you’re dead!”
So, then she says, “First of all, my being a woman isn’t the issue ’cause I’m more man than you’ll ever be and more woman than you’ll ever know. Second, I know I’m a big woman but you’re still a man so technically I—can’t whip you, but I’ll give you such a fight, you’d wish to God you stayed home today. In other words my name is Pain and I will inflict. Now do you really wanna fuck with me?” (He pauses) So now, I’m quiet right? And I’m also scared out of my mind. Part of me wants to give her a smack, and another part is in love, right? Lenny! This chick is tough! So check this out, I say, “Hey, Diane, c’mere, Rocky!—I’m sorry, baby, I apologize. Come wit me to the bar to get a drink!”
So we go to the bar right? and I say, “Diane, let me order you a rum ’n’ Coke ’cause I know blacks and Ricans like that.” So then she gets mad again and says, “Order me a Stol on the rocks, lime garnish and stop being an asshole.” (He smiles) So now I know I’m in love right? And we’re hangin’ out at the bar and we’re talking and stuff and the DJ starts playin’ Sinatra, Jerry Vale right? Of course every Guinea wedding there’s Sinatra and Jerry Vale and since all of us are in our thirties—the DJ started playin’ disco. I ask Diane if she’d like to dance and she says that she hates disco and likes rock, old blues, and some jazz, and I say, “You like jazz?” (He crosses himself) Lenny, for the next two hours, we’re talking jazz. (Beat)
A woman is Jazz,
a tight, taut woman in a red dress,
or a sleek catlike woman
standing long and cool throwing glances and she can stick you hard and long,
or short and sweet jazz
and you are dyin’ to hold her tight
and play her play her all night long,
fingers goin’ down her back and up her sides
and down again, jazz.
The foxiest, sexiest fuck you will ever come across,
the kind of woman that will break your heart,
jazz pure fuckin’ jazz is,
that is what jazz is,
a woman,
a lady,
a bitch,
jazz.
(Beat)
All of a sudden I feel like cryin’, right? I mean I’m talkin’ to her and fighting back tears. (Pause) See, Lenny, Jazz, it’s so a part of me but I can’t touch it anymore y’ know? I can’t touch it. (Beat) Diane was really listening, y’ know? Like the way I wished Tee Tee could listen which of course she can’t. (Beat) Diane’s a poet and I never knew a poet before. Y’ know I guess her being creative, she’s gonna understand where I’m coming from, y’ know? (Beat) So now Diane is smilin’ now as we’re talkin’ right? And she’s warming up, y’ know? And she suggests that maybe, y’ know, I could pick up my horn again right? And that she could write lyrics and I excited right and God, Lenny, she’s really beautiful, man. See, Lenny, I never had a woman say to me, “Anthony, you got beauty in you so you must be talented.” She said that, Lenny. (Beat)
She also called me a pain in the ass. (He laughs) But she said when I talked music, my face became beautiful. (Beat) Jeezus, I sound like a queer right! (Beat)
Y’ know, Lenny, Diane’s outta Harlem y’ know and she grew up tough like we did but c’mon, you can’t compare Red Hook with that fuckin’ place! (Beat) Y’ know, she just fuckin’ saved her money right? And left there ’cause she said she had to be a poet at any cost even if it meant leaving everybody behind. (He shakes his head) Can you imagine? Just walkin’ off like that! That takes balls—like you, Lenny—you leavin’ Brooklyn the way you did—shit! Fuckin’ balls, man! (Beat) She told me that I could pick up my horn and just do it. I said, Whaddaya mean?—just do it? and she said, “Anthony, if you’re lookin’ for guarantees, there aren’t any. But one thing I can guarantee is if you don’t pursue your music, you will be miserable the rest of your life.” (Pause) I got so scared that I just wanted her to hold me, y’ know, Lenny, ’cause this woman—if I was with this woman—nothin’ and I do mean nothin’ could hold me back. I mean other broads talk, y’ know this one—she does—right? (Beat) After a while I just kept thinkin’, God, this woman is incredible. I kept saying that to myself over and over.
After a while, we went outside ’cause it’s really hot and I’m dyin’ to ask for her phone number and like seconds later, Tee Tee walks out and yells, “Anthony, me and the kids are ready to go home now!” (He shakes his head) Diane looks at me like I’m fucking crazy right? and Tee Tee’s standing there lookin’ like a fuckin’ whale. So what can I do? Bada bing bada boom, I introduce them to each other, right? And Diane says, Nice to meet ya. I’m outta here, babe. I’m doing the slide. I take Tee Tee home. (Beat) Lenny, that night I go down to the basement and for the first time in five years, I pick up my sax. It feels so good just to hold it and finally I put it to my mouth, man, and with each note I can taste feel Diane. That woman, that bitch. She’s all over that fuckin’ horn and my dick’s gettin’ hard and I close my eyes real tight and I’m up there with Miles / Parker / prez and Diane is just sittin’ there’ smilin’, smilin’, smilin’. And, Lenny, man, I’m making love to this horn—fuckin’ this horn and then I hear, “Anthony, what’s all that noise down there? I need my beauty sleep.” My life hits me in the face. Dead in my fuckin’ face. (Pause) I ain’t goin’ nowhere. (Beat) (He pauses and smiles sadly) But I can always do a shot—of Johnnie Black, right, babe? (Beat) Oh no, don’t worry about me. I won’t get drunk—I can’t—I gotta work tomorrow. But (he inhales deeply) I just can’t take goin’ home right now, y’know? (He exhales) I’ll be okay. I’ll go in a little while. (Lights and music fade)
(Late fifties to early sixties. Alcoholic. Mother of Diane. Beauty is speaking loudly to annoy Diane as she hears her going up and down the stairs.)
(She pours a drink and takes a sip. She reaches into a box. Pulls out a feather boa and dances around drunkenly as if doing a striptease. She suddenly stops, goes to the box, and picks up a picture of Arthur.)
God! Look at this. See this? (Loudly) This is valuable. This is a Van Der Zee photograph. This is worth somethin’ not (Loudly) them ole-timey records and bullshit and bummy dresses—damned bag lady dresses. What the fuck would somebody want with that shit. I can’t believe somebody is crazy enough to climb them stairs all day to collect junk. Fuckin’ raggedy dresses and records made before I was born. Why the fuck would somebody break their ass to get that shit? See most children would be grateful to collect valuable things from their parents like photos and jewelry—real jewelry. (Goes to box) God, Arthur’s gold cuff links—see this is worth money, real money. I guess I gave birth to an ingrateful child who’s too ignorant to know what good quality is and bad quality is. (Beat) Not to mention selfish! Thirty-one years ago today my husband, her father’s gone and this chile can’t even acknowledge me sitting here—no can’t do that. (Beat) (Goes to the box and picks up a dress) This is a real dress. I bet if I get this appraised it’s worth somethin’. Hell, when I bought this dress thirty somethin’ years ago, it cost over a hundred dollars. (Holds up dress against herself) When I wore this dress men went apeshit! Honey, I knew I was together, jazzy! I was what they called BTP—Built to Please. See if it was me, I would be grateful for what was given to me. I would look at these things and think, God, this is what family is about. I would thank God I had a mother who cared enough about me to save somethin’ of herself. (Picks up a watch) Classy, classy things. (Beat) Arthur always worked hard to take care of his family. I always appreciated what he did. (Picks up photo) Look at how handsome he is here—God that man loved me. He loved his family. Thirty-one years ago today—God has he been gone that long? (Beat) You got to admire a man like that who took you in as his own—If Arthur was alive right now, it would hurt him to know that his own child, his only child, is not treatin’ her mother right. He’d be—appalled to know that his own daughter cares more about a dead tenant than her own mother. (Beat) Why the fuck would that chile wanna go collect that cheap shit Mary left her—not to mention how much it’s gonna cost me to fix that apartment up there. If she knew she was dyin’, why didn’t she get rid of that ole ratty furniture. (Calls) Hey, Diane, if you’re so sentimental about Mary’s things why don’t you take that stick-assed furniture outta here! (Beat) You love Mary so much you probably would wanna take that cheap-assed furniture, right? You loved her so much I guess you wish I was the one dead. Well, that’s okay. You think what you want. At least I really tried to make somethin’ of my life. See you dropped out of college and you know what that makes you? A failure. How in the hell are you gonna write poetry or whatever? You gotta go to school to do that. (Beat) Let me tell you somethin’. As a black dancer I had to struggle.
I had to work stripping at private parties and before that I was in a traveling dance troupe, the Black Bottom Dancers, that was kind of risky … or may I say “risqué” … and everything. See, I couldn’t work downtown high-class places in my day not even in New York. Bitches like Gypsy Rose Lee and Ann Curio had that all sewn up. Not a black face in the crowd. (Beat) I got over ’cause I was real light-skinned and could pass for white, but it was dangerous. If a black woman was darker than a paper bag—that’s right, darker than a paper bag—and if they’d found out that I had one inch of nigger blood I’d gotten kicked dead in the ass and everything. Diane, you got it easy! I’m not one of those mothers who ran the street to have fun, honey. I didn’t have to leave the house. Mummy’s right here.
Well, here you are, thirty-five years old now and still fuckin’—up. Talkin’ about I caused you a lot of damage! (Sarcastic) Aren’t we melodramatic? Can you imagine? My husband dies and I’m a widow woman who has to raise a child alone in the world and you’re talkin’ about I caused you damage? You ruined me! I was in labor with you for thirty-six hours. You were twelve pounds and five ounces. Rough on you?
They had to give me a cesarean. (Shows scar) Feel it! I want you to know how they cut me. How they ruined my body. You stole from me. I was a dancer. I was pretty. My body was gorgeous! And you say I caused you damage? Hell! Bitch, you robbed me! (Pause) That’s right, I’m calling you a bitch. A fat bull dyke lookin’ bitch!
Problem is I spoiled you. You don’t know how hard it is out there. You had it easy but when I die you’ll see. That’s right, baby, when I’m gone you’ll say, “Oh, I wish I treated her better,” or “Oh, now I understand since I got a child now. Ma was right.” But see, it’ll be too damned late by then, see? So you want to bring up how “mean” I was. You know what I say to that? I say, “Bull! I got mine!” I did right by you and I think you’re crazy. One day you’ll need me. You watch it … one day … and me? I’ll be in my grave. It’ll be too late.
The body of the rodent was
Smashed against my only
Dress and its eyes landed
On the bathroom wall and
My mother and neighbors
Were laughing at this
Permanent fixture—laughing
Next to the acid-stained
Faces of street-fighting
Woman hungering for the
Kisses of another
Woman’s husband which was
Next to the burnt-out
Alley
Which was sealed off with
Auschwitz bobbed wire
Which at one time held
Rat-infested buildings
Which housed bitten children
Some who continue to
Stay ’N’ play stickball
Emulating
The Moviola
Innocence of suburban kids
Leaving mustaches and
In continuation of this
Rat crawl Rasta men invades
My bed in a dream
Within a dream where
Balso Snell type nightmares
Parts my legs with the
Hush consent of the urban
Bushman
and 5:00 a.m. becomes
3:00 p.m. and spasms from
Not being able to
Put a knife thru my
Gut infuriates me and
I pick up the phone
Instead
And a black girl’s volunteer
Voice tries to keep me
Alive via Ma Bell
(She’s new at this, I can tell)
And not equipped to deal
With suicide just yet.
Later with $15.00 saved
I go downtown to drink
Vodka to sleep (this is
Money saved
From my artist modeling
Job—my only job)
Where a boy / student
Calls me fat and apologizes
And
Sometimes I just wanna
I can’t make the grade,
Coming out of the
Subway, a dead man
Fighting, a permanent slumber
Dressed in raggedy
Clothes is drinking cheap wine
With
Determination and he
Stops dead in his tracks
And says to me, “Shit, girl!
You see how down ’N’ out I am!
If I can smile and try ’N’
Live, why can’t you”
I smile back Temporarily
Rejuvenated but as soon as I
Hit the street where I
Live, the stench of the
Crack pipe hits my nostrils
Smoked, by neighborhood
Boy / girl whores pretending to
Cum / Selling nothing for
Cheap
It dawns on me that the
Only thing that separates
Me from them are the books
In my room
And
When I sleep, I scream
Myself awake
And
When I sleep, I
And
When I sleep, I
Dream of my mother’s
Birth planet Uranus
Thinking it must be a cold place filled
With the upturned noses
And elastic hands of
Strangulating bitches.
(Diane is standing onstage with white spotlight speaking her thoughts aloud. Music opens with Suzanne Vega’s “Bad Wisdom.”)
It’s 5:00 a.m.—I’m crying / crying in the fetal position like a punk-assed bitch I said I’ll never be / and I hear “Love you? I don’t even know you.” And Mother Mary she’s at the Pearly gates / I can’t reach you at the Pearly gates / I’m not ready for that / the Pearly gates. And I need to talk to somebody ’cause I’m close to the bone / crashing. I find my friend Arlene. She’s in her Dyke bar / a twenty-four / seven / a gin-soaked bar room keep on rockin’ Dyke queen. Making Tanqueray plays for other girls who are dressed up for each other—but I don’t care ’cause Arlene’s my friend and how many times has she sat with me as I loco-motioned—about another love / lust thing. And I need to talk to her ’cause I’m feeling spent and everything is real close to the bone. And her / Arlene is asking me about wanting to kiss a girl. “Have you ever thought about girls, Diane?” she asks and me, I’m taken aback and I say, “Yeah, I have fantasized, but I really believe the love between a man and a woman can be beautiful. I’ll never get that / hold that so I’ll just be solo and do the slide.” And she’s talking about men, not being able to handle me ’cause I’m too strong. They’re afraid of your strength ’cause they’re punk-assed men / men can be so insensitive sometimes. As she slips her hand to my thigh as she’s saying this / moving her hand up and down my thigh / saying this. And she’s supposed to be my friend. I think she’s trying to rape me. She’s trying to rape me and I grab her hand and say, “You want me to fuck you, huh—that what you want? / Okay, bitch, I’ll fuck you.” I wanted to ram my fist in / hurt her / draw blood / draw the blood of this sincere rapist.
Suddenly I’m in bed with my mother, I’m thirteen years old and still made to sleep with her, her body is a mass flabby, blubbery mess and she reeks of Scotch. She wants me to hold her and she speaks in a baby voice. A fucking baby voice about how much she misses my father and how lovely she is and how she wishes her mother was alive and how she sometimes thinks of suicide. Suddenly, tits are on top of my chest, she wants me to hug her. I refuse. She punches and kicks me and rolls over. Eventually, I hear her snoring. I get up and get a large pair of scissors from the kitchen and return to the bedroom. I raise the scissors above her but I can’t do it. I can’t kill her. Like I can’t rape Arlene. I put on my jacket and break out. (Pause) I haven’t seen Arlene for months and it’s understood that we can never hang again. (She walks to center stage) “King of the New York Streets” plays and dies out)
People can’t be trusted. (Beat) Only Mary, Mary’s the only one. The rest of the human race is a mess of parasites. This fucking collective mass of parasites who use guilt to put each other down, use each other and call it love when all it is is desperation. Because they’re afraid of being alone. All that shit is bogus. (Pause) So I don’t want it at all man. (Insert poem “Senses”)
You know, I’ve walked this walk before where razor cut
glances can slice the skin of the toughest whore. I’ve heard
this rap before.
Like when you get your first kiss and hear music and the
music is gonna swell and get bigger ’n’ bigger like an Italian movie. I’ve witnessed this scene before like when
someone’s mother chain-smokes while they drink and they talk
about when they were young—’cause when they were young they
were good-lookin’ and men dug them, and they take a final
pull on their drink and the smokes comes out their nostrils
and they end the whole rap by saying, “My God, ain’t life a bitch.”
I dreamt this somewhere. I touched these shoes of Mary
Magdalene on Avenue D. Blood was flowing from her feet.
Spanish dances were hanging on shiny, aluminum
Gutted tenements echo another dark black Nigger future
(Phantasmagoria, they called it) Somebody’s popping chewing
gum or maybe it’s the click of the hooker’s shoes pacing the
pavement three o’clock in the morning.
Lovers are tongue-kissing in the doorway and the souls of
young boys are trapped underneath the hoods of stolen cars
and love is something cranked up real loud on a dilapidated
stereo for everybody in the street to hear. Or, maybe
love’s a rumble or maybe it’s Neptune putting on black
velvet gloves and dancing again.
(Diane goes to the FDR Projects to speak with Papo to reassure him that she’s still friends with him. They are sitting on the benches talking. Her morning was spent moving Mary’s things from the Harlem house to her apartment downtown. Her mood is melancholic but hopeful. Music that comes up is Lou Reed’s “Romeo and Juliet.”)
DIANE: (Shifts, uncomfortable) Papo, know what? I’m not gonna cut loose ’cause I
wanna see you dance, a Rimbaud / James Baldwin / Piri Thomas dance
Literary meringue
Wanna see you reach inside yourself and write it down on sheets of paper
beyond the housing project back staircase wall
through your bowels through your groin and I’ll be there
I swear I’ll be there
I promise not to cut you loose
I can’t cut you loose … hermano, baila, hermano.
(She smiles) (Beat) Today in Harlem, I was collecting things
things from a dead friend
meant to keep me alive and precious, sweet things. Like music and pictures
pictures of dead people screaming that still continue to talk—live—live. And I slapped
five with the ever-changing, expanding man who was proud to share his secrets and I don’t
wanna see you trading stories on Avenue D with defeated men, too old to rock and roll
too young to die
determined to keep the ditty in their bop at any cost
talkin’ about what I could have
should have been as the temperature drops and the only thing left to warm your heart with
is a swig from a bottle
I know ’cause I’ve done my time screamin’ Mommy / Mama / Daddy / Pappa
Why did you leave me through cracked Harlem plastered walls while Mommy lays limp in
a Johnnie Walker Black / Teacher’s Scotch haze at peace in her velvet prison and Daddy
croons the Boneyard Blues forever and coldly.
But I’m gonna keep Mother Mary’s precious things
her precious, sweet things and I’m gonna spread them at your feet, Papo, ’cause I wanna
see you dance, wanna see you dance.
But you can’t give me fly boy excuses about glitter and gold while rolling your eyes
skyward looking for a sign to justify a bogus plea
’cause I can tell the difference in your eyes
I can tell when they’re in a Panama red mist or shielding your father’s Bacardi / Boricua
blows or when you’ve tranquilized yourself, thinking the future becomes clear in a nickel
bag and why you can’t stand in one place ’cause you’re dodging, the gun and I’m not gonna
let you go down like that
go crashing down to the ground like that
I wanna see you take a stance
I’m gonna make you dance.
(She shifts a little) Y’ know, Papo, the temperature’s droppin’. It’s gettin’ chilly. But I’m
right here, Bro, I’m
right here. I promise you, I won’t do the slide.