WRITER’S BLOC

To Patricia Gough
—eternal thanks

Writer’s Bloc (formerly entitled East Village Writer’s Bloc) was produced at Nada in New York City on May 6, 1993.

Reggie	Michael Giannini
Miles	Thomas Boykin
Waldo	Robert Tierney
Lenny	John Patrick Clerkin
Samantha	Cynthia Newman
Lucy	Rachel Jolley
Director	Mark Farnsworth
Stage Manager	James West

The author would like to thank Patricia Gough for her kind permission in revising her short story, “Muscle Test,” into Lucy’s story.

ACT ONE

Scene One				Reggie’s living room—present
Scene Two				Reggie’s living room—one week later
Scene Three				Reggie’s bedroom—past
Scene Four				Reggie’s living room—present
Scene Five				Sam’s apartment—past
Scene Six				Reggie’s living room—present
Scene Seven				Reggie’s bedroom—past
Scene Eight				Reggie’s living room—present
Scene Nine				Waldo’s apartment—past
Scene Ten				Reggie’s living room—present
Scene Eleven				Reggie’s bedroom—past
Scene Twelve				Reggie’s living room—present

ACT TWO

Reggie’s living room—present

ACT ONE

SCENE 1

Reggie’s living room—an old couch, a coffee table, some chairs, a desk off to one side with a computer on it. The apartment is littered with dirty clothes and garbage on the floor. Everything is casually arranged. An old shotgun is leaning against a wall. A varied display of books, beer bottles, and other junk are scattered around, including some still-unopened bottles of hard alcohol. Just offstage is Reggie’s bathroom and kitchenette. When the play begins, Lucy is sleeping in the bed upstage. Reggie and Lenny are in the middle of reading a play on the computer screen.

REGGIE I’ve been made a liar by my craft.

LENNY Pray tell, why, good Euripedes?

REGGIE Because that’s what writing is.

LENNY Ah yes, the great manipulation. Feel thy loss. Woe! Or—

REGGIE Come on, Lenny, read it with more feeling.

LENNY (Overdoing it)—Feel thy loss. Woe! Or, tickle and strum them like a lyre.

LUCY I got to go to work in three hours! (They stop reading)

LENNY Despite the misconception that ancient Greeks spoke in Old English, I am happy you’ve finally finished something.

REGGIE Let’s finish reading it.

LENNY Lucy’s right, it’s late. How does it end?

REGGIE Do you know what happened to Euripides in real life?

LENNY A surprise sex change?

REGGIE He was torn apart by hunting dogs. I used actual historical material to shape the drama.

LENNY It seems to build toward something. But—

REGGIE But what?

LENNY Well, this is a one-act historical drama.

REGGIE So?

LENNY So, for the past six years you’ve been describing Message from a Bottle.

REGGIE You mean A Messenger from Valhalla?

LENNY Yeah. For the past six years you’ve been telling everyone what scene you’re on, and what you’re doing with certain characters—

REGGIE Yeah, so?

LENNY Yeah, well, you got me excited. You’ve made it sound like Long Day’s Journey into Angels in a Hot Tin Salesman—

REGGIE And the messenger shall arrive.

LENNY When? The last time we spoke, you said you’d show me some of it.

REGGIE Hey, I’m showing this to you.

LENNY Look, I’ve been waiting for this messenger since the ’80s. How much of it have you done?

REGGIE Most, but I’m not ready to show it.

LENNY Well, for your sake, I hope you’re not showing this thing at the next workshop. I mean, expectations are running high.

REGGIE (Pauses) Shit, you’re right. Do me a favor and consider this thing our secret, okay?

LENNY It’s nothing to be ashamed of, get rid of some the thous and thines, but we’re all waiting for, what did you call it, your “fuck-you-to-Frederick-of-Hollywood” play?

REGGIE (Frustrated) Okay, okay, even though it’s not ready, I’ll show some of the messenger play this week. Happy?!

LENNY Yes. Look at this. Not a word from you in years and bang, all this new stuff—

LUCY (Grumbling from the bed) Goddamn, Reggie, I got to go to work soon!

LENNY (Looking at Lucy, he mutters) Did I tell you Herbie dumped me?

REGGIE Oh, Len, I’m sorry.

LENNY Said he didn’t want to see me anymore. Well, I don’t either, but I can’t break up with me.

REGGIE That’s why you’re here this late. And I made you read my awful play, I’m sorry. So what happened?

LENNY I don’t know. I mean, we went out for a nice dinner, I gave him his present, and—

REGGIE You gave him that Valentine’s Day card, didn’t you? That poem.

LENNY He gave it back. (Hands Reggie the card)

REGGIE (Reads the poetic inscription aloud) I know you’re beautiful and younger/but you’re also geeky and dumber./It’s still better to be always hard/and never come./Then after three strokes blurt,/“Sorry, Lenny, I’m done.” (Turns card over) And look, a pretty picture of a limp penis. Putting his premature ejaculation problems in a card probably had nothing to do with his suddenly leaving you.

LENNY (Ignoring him) You sure you can’t let me read just a little of your messenger play now? It’ll really raise my spirits.

REGGIE Oh sure, maybe you can turn my inadequacies as a writer into a funny poem.

LENNY (Takes back the card) Whose house are we meeting at this week?

REGGIE Here.

LUCY (Grumbles) I have to go to work in three fucking hours!

LENNY (Whispers) So when is Sleeping Beauty gracing us with her presence again?

REGGIE Lucy decided to call it quits.

LENNY Really? Wow. And unlike the rest of us, she really was talented. Samantha the witch probably scared her off. Is Waldo going to be here?

REGGIE I don’t know. He hasn’t called. I think he’s still in Washington, seeing the Wall.

LENNY The Vietnam memorial?! That’s not like him. I hope he’s okay.

REGGIE Like you care. You just want to nail him. But you never will because he’s not gay.

LENNY (Putting on his coat) Then the only thing I have to look forward to is your great play. See you next week. (Exits, blackout)

SCENE 2

Reggie’s living room, a week later. Reggie is watching a portable TV. He is wearing a dirty T-shirt and boxers and drinking beer. After a moment he hears voices in the outer hall. Quickly, he turns off the TV, and stowing it, he rushes to toss around articles of Lucy’s clothes. Hiding the beer he’s drinking, he pulls out an old coffee mug, which he places next to the computer and begins frantically typing.

MILES (Opening the door, but remaining outside) Hey, super, when do we get some heat?

REGGIE (Still typing) Hey, look who’s harmonizing in my hall. Get in here. What are you two, together again?

SAM (As she and Miles enter) None of your goddamned business.

REGGIE Yeah, stick up for your rights. Show people where you stand.

SAM (Sniffs) Don’t clean this apartment and people will know where you stand.

REGGIE (Pointing to her knapsack) So, did you bring your O’Henry Prize—winning story?

SAM Yup. (Opens it, takes out a box of 5” floppy diskettes) And Lenny tells us we’re finally going to get a preview of this season’s Waiting for Godot.

REGGIE (Fumbling through his own box of diskettes) It’s on one of these.

SAM (Continues searching through her bag) Shit!

MILES So you finally woke up and bought a computer.

SAM No, Waldo woke up and bought one. (Pulls out a separate box of diskettes) These are his.

MILES (Examining them) Is he writing?

REGGIE Sure, Waldo writes and Lenny is into chicks. Is Waldo on drugs or something?

MILES No, why?

REGGIE He calls me up a couple nights ago at 4 a.m. for a cup of coffee at the Kiev.

MILES Classic shell-shock case.

SAM Leave the boy alone.

MILES It’s no longer any of my business, but what are you doing with Waldo’s diskettes? (Sam sighs)

REGGIE Uh oh. Last year’s melodrama. (Exits to the bathroom upstage)SAM You’re right. It isn’t any of your business.

MILES (Whispers) You can have sex with Great Danes, for all I care, but under the circumstances I feel a little sensitive about him.

SAM He left his knapsack at my house last week after the workshop. He asked me to bring it tonight. I stuck my story in here, or thought I did. (She intensifies her search through his knapsack) Shit! And I must’ve left my story home.

MILES Read it next week. We’ve got enough here.

SAM I live three blocks away. I’ll be back in a moment. (She exits, blackout)

SCENE 3

Reggie’s bedroom, flashback. Lucy and Reggie are in bed under the blankets. Reggie is on top of Lucy, reading over her shoulder, occasionally fondling her, subtly trying to distract her for sex.

LUCY (Reading) This is what Reggie said to me—

REGGIE (Muttering) Oh great, more of the Reggie story.

LUCY—“You have to shape your life. Make it your own, or else the tides of circumstance take you where they want. You’ll be cast out to the farthest seas, and believe me, it’s hard to swim back, sharks and all.” He liked larger-than-life metaphor. The more grandstanding, the better. “Wrest control of the Wheel of Life from those who would tell you where to go. Just break stride and don’t look back.”

He was Poet, Seer, Man, Lover, Svengali-in-Training. She was The Girlfriend, Poet-When-She-Felt-Like-It, Muse-in-Training. They had only been together six months. Quickly they acquired full-blown roles, clearly delineated, no questions, ifs, ands, buts. “You must take control! Do it for yourself. No one else does it for you.”

He looked terrible, face aged lumpily by nights writing until 3 or 4 a.m., bad Polish coffee shop food, and a strenuous life philosophy. She, on the other hand, looked dewily youthful, eyes bright, possibly dazed by all the art, she saw going a mile a minute, flying out of mouths, manuscripts, Manhattan.

“Fail to plan, plan to fail,” he said. “I don’t like to expound a cliché, but it’s true. You have to look at your life as if it matters, as if you have a plan. It’s pretending to the throne, really. Can you pretend?” I pretend that I’m not hearing this all the time, she thought, but didn’t say it. Instead she shrugged her thin, slightly stooped shoulders—a perpetually bad back made shrugging her preferred form of exercise. Green to you might mean red to me, she wanted to say, but the words settled in comfortable territory—they remained right where they were.

“I just want you to be happy. I’m most critical of people I care about. You can learn from me. I’ve been in your position before. I know what it’s like to watch from the grandstands, rooting for the team. Believe me, I get it.”

REGGIE If that guy is supposed to be me—

LUCY Let me finish!

REGGIE By all means.

LUCY “Yes, but do you love me?” she asked. That was the issue, as all inquiring female minds need to know. (Reggie groans, then slowly massages Lucy’s breasts) She would do anything for him. And he took her time, because she would give it, willingly handed it over to him, gift-wrapped with a pretty pink bow, let him be her main source for company, sex, he was her solitude too, because she gave that as well. She knew it was easier to give than receive, a peculiarly female thing as she saw it. She too wrote during the squeezed-out time when she was guiltily reminded why she’d held nighttime wordprocessing jobs for three years, since coming to the City, why she’d refused Respectability-and-Comfortable-Living, fully embracing the Suffering-Artist-in-the-City-Who-Refused-a-Bourgeois-Lifestyle-in-Pursuit-of-a-Higher-Artistic-Purpose.
(Lucy pushes Reggie’s hands off her breasts, then he moves his arms around her waist and slips his fingers in her panties) Only then, with guilt, a stinging sensation lodging in her lower reaches, would she belly-up to the unfriendly computer screen—the form of the work was rarely longer than a poem—

Finally aroused by Reggie, Lucy turns to kiss him. They start having sex. Blackout.

SCENE 4

Reggie’s living room, present. Reggie is still offstage in the bathroom. Miles is nervously trying to keep busy waiting for him to return.

MILES (To Reggie offstage) Sam wasn’t at Waldo’s house or anything.

REGGIE (From offstage) I don’t care.

MILES Sam said Waldo left his diskettes at her place last week during the workshop.

REGGIE (Returns with a beer) Why are you telling me this?

MILES Right, it’s just that … when she cheated on me with Waldo, well, you heard about it on both sides. I still have this cuckold complex. (Pauses) Even though we’re not even together or anything.

REGGIE Get over it, pal.

Reggie opens Waldo’s knapsack and takes out his diskettes. He slips one into his computer. Miles notices a rifle on Reggie’s shelf and takes it down.

MILES Wow. I haven’t touched a rifle since the Gulf War. Won the war but left the dictator in power. (Inspecting it) Firing pin is broken.

REGGIE (Looking at Waldo’s text on the screen) I found it at my ma’s house and thought it would make a nice conversation piece.

MILES (Still inspecting the rifle) For a killer maybe. God, I wish the NYPD let us carry rifles. It looks like a model 908, discontinued in the early ’60s. Not much wear on the block. You can still scare your tenants off with it. How’d the hammer break?

REGGIE It just broke.

MILES (Stretching) God, my arms are achy. Didn’t make it to the gym today. (Puts down the gun, takes off his shirt, and does some push-ups, then checks his watch) I have ten after. Where are they? (Reggie is silently reading) Been walking much?

REGGIE If that’s your roundabout way of asking whether I’ve been writing, the answer is yes to both. I am sick of the constant skepticism.

MILES That’s Lenny, not me. I just want you to make Fred regret that he ever went to Hollywood.

REGGIE With the money they waved at him, who can blame him? I just resent the way he dumped the rest of us.

MILES If tonight’s play is any good, and I’m sure it will be, you should send him a copy. (Reggie ignores him, reading) Where did you pick up the habit of walking and writing? You know, Thomas Wolfe used to walk a lot and then write in longhand.

REGGIE Looks like Waldo’s walked a couple blocks too.

MILES How many blocks?

REGGIE Not many. He just wrote a couple pages. (Flipping through the other diskettes) These look like some software program. Why does the name Ricky Marvel ring a bell?

MILES (Reading over Reggie’s shoulder) Richard Marvelli.

REGGIE Right, the AIDS casualty. Waldo could’ve read this to us last week.

MILES I’m glad he didn’t. I like Waldo, but who wants to hear him drone on about dying?

REGGIE That’s not the point. (Flips off the computer and puts Waldo’s diskettes away in his knapsack)

MILES What’s the point?

REGGIE He hasn’t read anything in six months. If everyone was as encouraging to him as they were doubtful of me, maybe he’d read something.

MILES (Opening a beer) I think it was Hart Crane—

LENNY (Enters, completing Miles’s remark)—who, by the by, was gay. Hey, super, any crummy, cramped, over-priced apartments available?

REGGIE Not to any bitchy, predatory queens, there aren’t.

LENNY (Combing his hair) Puss ’N Boots here?

REGGIE Not yet, loverboy.

MILES Or was it Fitzgerald who said that he could tell from the writing if the writer was drunk?

LENNY I can tell when a writer is hungry, and this writer is famished!

REGGIE Pizza time! (Starts dialing the phone)

LENNY But not Dominos, they give to Operation Resuce.

MILES Pizza, I can definitely get behind that.

LENNY (Lustfully) Oh, let me! (Pauses) You’re calling the place over here. (Points east) The only one in the city that doesn’t deliver.

MILES I’ll go for it. I need some air.

LENNY (Holding his nose) I can use a bottle of that, Reg. You don’t even have a lite beer.

REGGIE (Ignoring him, on the phone) Two Boots? An extra large with—topping?

LENNY (Hollers) Everything! Absolutely everything, unexpurgated, unabashed, unedited, shameless, mylar-wrapped—

REGGIE (On the phone) Your special.

Lenny and Miles put their coats on.

MILES A nebula of a pizza coming up.

REGGIE (On the phone) A Gulf War veteran will be there to pick it up. Thank you. (Hangs up) Where are you going?

LENNY The corner for some lite beer and heavy air. Back in a jiff.

Miles and Lenny exit, blackout.

SCENE 5

Sam’s place. There are three short blackouts as Sam is reading her story alternately to Waldo and Miles. Each one can wait in the dark background while the other is in the lit foreground. Sam should read her story without changing pace, only pausing briefly during the blackouts. Where Waldo responds supportively, Miles should demonstrate impatience, critically taking notes. The scene begins first with Waldo listening.

SAM—The next morning Lorna looked again into the wall of her apartment to see what had crawled inside. The eyes staring back at her were tiny, leading Lorna to wonder if it could be a bat. Checking again that afternoon, she was almost positive that she could see the outline of a large tree frog, the kind that lives in a hollow. Inspecting yet again, she decided it might be a lungfish in dormancy. Pressing her ear against the rotting wall, she heard what was perhaps a purring or an extended rattle. Although it continued living there for months, Lorna adjusted and ignored it. Late one winter night, she was dead asleep when the clanging from the frigid radiator revived her. Lorna was so cold her body was numb. Rolling toward the wall she felt a radiant warmth. The thing in the wall glowed steadily like a single nugget of charcoal. The next day she purchased a flashlight and again looked into the hole in her wall. From flashes and glimpses, Lorna realized that it either had a severe case of mange or it was some rare red python. She dreamed about cleaning it up, making it pretty, tying a bow around its sad little skull.

Blackout. The lights come back up and Miles is taking notes, making expressions of critical discontent. Waldo is gone.

SAM—Lorna put out more food and some water. This time she waited all night to see it, but it didn’t emerge. When she went to work the next day, though, it digested everything, and left a putrid discharge on her bed. She wasn’t certain if it was defecation or regurgitation. While Lorna was out of the apartment she felt anxious about the thing’s health. She wished it would trust her and climb out of the crumbling wall. Then she could bathe and fluff it and make it into a pet. Perhaps she’d teach it some trick. She decided she would name it either Frances or Terry. Finally, all out of patience, Lorna borrowed a power drill hoping to free the animal. She looked long and hard into the hole. When she saw movement she quickly drilled a hole. But as soon as the drill bit sunk into the wall, Lorna heard a bloodcurdling screech. She yanked out the drill only to find blood and sinew spaghettied around the tip. She heard the thing moaning behind the wall and felt spasmodic vibrations. Soon there was only silence and stillness. That Sunday Lorna confessed the macabre occurrence to a priest.

“You didn’t even know what it was,” he muttered, not even offering her the act of contrition.

She tossed a flower into a hole in the wall and muttered a prayer. Then she packed and moved out. She found a boxy studio on the the Upper West Side and got a telephone line installed. She also adopted a small sickly mutt.

Blackout, and Waldo is again listening. Miles is gone.

WALDO (Applauding, excited) It’s great how first Lorna has uncertainty, but then she’s curious, and finally she comes to love the thing in her wall, yet just like love when you try to embrace it—you kill it.

SAM (Sitting happily) It makes me feel great hearing you describe it like that. You totally get me.

WALDO (Pauses a moment) I think you’re a wonderful writer, I really do.

Blackout, and Miles is standing there, looking discouraged. Waldo is gone.

MILES I mean, what can I say? You don’t want to hear it.

SAM Just tell me what you think.

MILES It’s derivative. Part of the long line of Kafka mutations that simply surrealize sexual neurosis. (He picks up a glass, about to drink) This glass looks spotty. (Puts it down)

SAM So you didn’t like it?

MILES It typically deals with your frustrations as a writer, which I think is self-indulgent and lazy. In a word, and I might be saying this because I love you, I know you’re capable of so much better. (Blackout)

SCENE 6

Reggie’s living room, present. Lenny returns, taking his coat off, filled with an air of anticipation.

LENNY Reggie, do you know what’s going on out front?

REGGIE Yeah, it’s a mess. I’ll clean it when I take out the garbage later.

LENNY I wasn’t talking about that. I was talking about the spotlights searching the sky, celebs walking the red carpet, flashbulbs bursting, you take a box seat, house lights dim, stage lights rise, and it is time for the premier of A Messenger from Valhalla.

REGGIE That was just a working title.

LENNY Come on, now. I skipped dinner to hear this. I’m never early.

REGGIE Relax.

LENNY Let me take a peak now. I deliberately left with Miles so that no one would know we were alone together.

REGGIE Don’t be so eager. I showed you my other play.

LENNY The thee-thou play that for some strange reason I can’t tell anyone about. That’s why I’m so eager to see this one.

REGGIE It’s on diskette. Let’s wait till everyone gets here. (Goes to the kitchen) Want another beer?

LENNY Yeah, but not your Coors. (Hollering to Reggie in the kitchen) That guy supports fascist causes! And if there’s any chocolate to munch on—except Hershey’s, they kill babies in India. (Looks through Reggie’s diskettes and finds the one that says “Big Play,” puts it in the computer, and types) Shit!

REGGIE (Enters, sees that Lenny is looking at his play) I didn’t want to show it now!

LENNY (Taking out the diskette) Well, I’m not looking at it, am I? It’s not on this diskette.

REGGIE It’s not?! (Looks at the screen, then puts another diskette into the computer) Wait a sec. (Looks through his box of diskettes) Oh shit! Lucy erased it! (Lenny smirks as Reggie screams) HOLY SHIT! NO! THAT BITCH! (Still checking the directory of his computer) SHE ERASED MY PLAY!

LENNY You can stop now.

REGGIE (Looking at Lenny) What?

LENNY Look, Reggie, if you want everyone else to think that she erased your play, fine, I’ll keep your little secret. But spare me the bullshit, okay?

REGGIE (Angrily) WHAT?

LENNY I figured it out last week. You didn’t write a play, and Lucy didn’t erase one. That’s what.

REGGIE Fuck you!

LENNY Years ago you and Fred cowrote two plays that had some off-Broadway success. He grabbed a Hollywood offer and you became a super in a basement studio.

REGGIE Oh yeah, asshole, how about the Euripides play?

LENNY That’s the first thing I’ve seen you do in ten years.

REGGIE How about the one-act I did last year?

LENNY Now that was horrid.

REGGIE That’s not what everyone said a year ago!

LENNY Work on it, everyone said. Remember? That’s how friends tell friends their plays are dreck. (Pauses) It wasn’t dreck. I’m just saying—

REGGIE It’s pretty clear what you’re saying.

LENNY I’m saying I’m your friend, and I’m telling you this all alone because I am your friend. I’m saying that for whatever the reason, since Fred left to TV land you have had a great deal of trouble trying to write. It’s been visibly eating you up. And—

REGGIE (Enraged) You don’t know shit! You’re a lonely fag. You’re bitter and petty and spend your time pissing on everyone’s parade because you can’t make your own. But I only say that out of love. How does that feel, friend?

LENNY I came to terms with my shortcomings long ago, princess. I’ve surrendered myself to it.

REGGIE Well, I haven’t. And I don’t need you chopping me down. I wrote a play and—

LENNY Fine, you wrote a play. I’ll play along.

REGGIE Lenny, I’d like you to leave.

Lenny picks up an old magazine and reads it, ignoring him. Reggie stays at the computer, reading something. The two ignore each other until Waldo staggers in dizzily and flops facedown on the sofa, exhausted.

LENNY Hello, love boat. We’ve been awaiting you. (To Reggie, quietly) Lighten the load. (Waldo dozes as Reggie angrily continues reading) This is a regular bash we’re having.

WALDO (Finally stirs) Do you smell something weird?

LENNY I smell everything weird. And this place—

WALDO No, I think I smell a gas leak.

LENNY Well, it’s not me.

REGGIE (Checks the oven in the kitchen) No leak in here.

WALDO Strange how Con Ed keeps having those accidents. (Pauses) Is it Monday or Tuesday?

REGGIE Thursday. (Rises, and Waldo lies on the couch)

LENNY And you’re on the first leg of your East Village tour.

WALDO Is what’s-his-name here?

LENNY I most certainly am. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.

WALDO (Out of it) No, the—the cop, what’s his name?

REGGIE Did you sleep last night or what?

LENNY (Goes to the kitchen and returns with a can of lite beer) He woke up in some squatter’s boudoir on Avenue C and doesn’t even want to think about what he did last night. Right, Waldo?

WALDO I got fired. Did I tell you that the last time I saw you?

REGGIE You got fired? From the men’s shelter at Third and 3rd? Fired?

LENNY For smelling worse than the clientele?

WALDO The boss said I exasperated him.

LENNY (Sexually) What in heaven’s name could he mean? (Waldo shrugs)

REGGIE By the way, Waldo, since 1982 I stopped going for coffees at 4:00 in the morning.

WALDO I’m sorry. I’m just a little out of it. (Starts singing softly) Laaa, laa, laa, laaa.

REGGIE And your sublet ends next week, doesn’t it?

WALDO A bathtub of sleep, a night of coffee, I’ll be fine.

REGGIE I’m worried about you, Waldo. Last week you blow your savings on this impulse to go to Washington to see the Wall. This week you’re fired and homeless.

WALDO It was the AIDS Quilts Memorial. And Christ, was that last week? It seems like ages ago. Did you ever see the Quilts?

LENNY I missed it when it was here. But I did write a song of social protest which I’m prepared to read here tonight.

WALDO Oh! This is the writer’s workshop.

REGGIE Where did you think you were?

WALDO I don’t know, an AA meeting at the community center.
(Sniffs) Maybe the Stuyvesant clinic. (Closes his eyes sleepily)

LENNY (Holding Waldo’s head softly) Look at him. Did you ever see someone so much in need? He really brings out the mother in me. (Rubbing Waldo’s head) What’s wrong with my little Puss ’N Boots?

REGGIE Maybe he has feline leukemia.

WALDO I’m so tired. So what’s with Lucy?

REGGIE She doesn’t come anymore, remember? Why don’t you sleep a little till the others get here?

LENNY Yeah, take a little nap, hon.

Waldo lays back down, Lenny rubs his back. Blackout.

SCENE 7

Reggie’s bedroom, flashback. A continuation of Scene 3. Lucy is in bed with Reggie again. Reggie is sitting in his underpants, looking dejected, unable to preform.

REGGIE (Embarassed) Sorry about that. I thought—

LUCY (Picks up her story and resumes reading) The two went for a walk through Midtown one cold day, and as they walked they talked.

“The problem is,” Reggie explained, “most people look at their lives as something to get through with the least amount of effort, the path of least resistance: They’re born. They get married. Reproduce. Have jobs they hate. Then they die. There’s no attempt at lifting the heavy curtain, taking a peak at what lies behind. Possibilities never considered. Paths never taken—” His voice wavered into silence at the thought of life’s mass incoherence.

“Surely not I, Lord!” she shouted. No, she was one of the art-making. She’d stepped out from life’s routine conventions. But she wasn’t ready to take a bow. Not just yet.

“Of course, the probem with being a creator is that you’re also a destroyer. And I’m a monster, you know!” he said, pulling her across the street into Tompkins Square Park, squeezing her hand steadily. “I’ll unintentionally use honesty and love as a means of creating havoc. The woman has to provide the controls.”

“I’m all control,” she said passively.

“Good, then it’s time for the Control Test!”

He liked to perform the Control Test on her periodically. This consisted of taking her hand firmly in his own, then squeezing it with varying degrees of intensity. With each press he’d ask her how strong the pain was on a scale from one to ten. She never liked it too much, as her hand was the delicate instrument upon which his pain was inflicted, all in the name of—who knows? And today, with the subfreezing cold, her metacarpals, having become ungloved in the fracas, were now a frozen row of icicles. His large hand grabbed for the small collection of bones, ready to crunch them like walnuts.

“Don’t hurt, this is one of only two hands I have.” She tried to pull it away, but he held on, determined.

“Pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin.” Her hand was aching from his grip.

“Why don’t I ever get to do the test?” she asked naïvely.

“Because,” he whispered into her ear, “I’m the minister of pain around here.”

Suddenly the squeezing commenced. She closed her eyes, feeling the waves of pressure coursing through her knuckles.

“Gauge the feeling numerically!” he shouted.

“That’s a four. Now a six. Ow, that’s definitely an eight. That’s a four. Now a six. Ow, that’s a solid nine!”

As the pressure intensified, colors flew behind her eyelids. Sparks of greens, purples, reds. She squeezed her eyes tight, thinking that was the key to preventing any possible leakages. The pressure of her tightly clasped eyelids kept her from focusing on the thing at hand—her hand. But the agony pushed out, dribbling over her face. Teardrops cascaded down her cheeks. (Lucy flips though several pages) Where the hell’s the next page?

REGGIE (Disturbed) You know, I got to say something—

LUCY It wasn’t meant to be hostile.

REGGIE After all the time and help I’ve given you—

LUCY Here’s the last page. Just hear it entirely, and then we’ll talk.
(She picks up the page and just before she continues reading, blackout)

SCENE 8

Reggie’s living room, present. Waldo is dozing. Lenny is rubbing his back gently. Reggie is reading. Miles suddenly enters with a pizza.

MILES What’s this, a slumber party? Hi, Len. (To Waldo) Hey, slacker, I’ve got your truffles.

LENNY Whatcha got for me?

MILES A sexually confused pizza pie.

LENNY I’m famished! (Gets plates, Miles opens the pizza box)

WALDO (Discreetly) Reg, I need to talk to you.

REGGIE Later. I’m hungry.

All gather around the pizza.

LENNY Where’s the satanic Samantha?

MILES She ran home to get her story. Waldo, you left your diskettes at her apartment last week. (Gives Waldo both his knapsack and truffles)

WALDO (Opens the knapsack) Oh! My WordPerfect, I was looking for it. I’m freshening up for a word-processing job.

LENNY (To Waldo) So, truffles. Why didn’t I get any?

WALDO Miles was in Vermont this weekend so I had him get me a box of truffles from Gershorns, the chocolate people.

LENNY You saw the chocolate people and you couldn’t take a little initiative and get me some? (Miles shrugs)

WALDO Today’s the unveiling for someone’s great play.

LENNY May I try a sample from the chocolate people? I always wanted to meet them, greet them, and eat them.

WALDO I can’t, they’re not for me. Let’s hear this politically correct bullshit you wrote.

LENNY (Picking up a piece of paper, as if reading from it) There once was a writer named Sam/Who had no trouble getting a man/But when they’d say, “Stay!”/She was off and away—

MILES (Jokingly grabs Reggie’s broken rifle) Finish the sentence and bam!

WALDO Tonight’s Reggie’s big night. For—what’s the name of it again, Messages from Hell?

REGGIE A Messenger from Valhalla. Lucy erased it.

LENNY (Feigning surprise) Erased? Are you kidding?!

REGGIE Cut it out, asshole.

WALDO Cut what out?

MILES Lucy wouldn’t be that cruel. Would she?

LENNY Hurricane Lucy strikes again.

MILES You were almost finished with it. You know, you do nothing but complain about her.

LENNY (Picking up her clothes from the sofa) And she’s become an utter pig

REGGIE Take it easy.

WALDO Why do you—

REGGIE Everyone just shut up about it!

WALDO I want you to answer one question first, and then not another word.

REGGIE (Sighs) Okay, one last question.

WALDO Why do you stay with her?

REGGIE It’s a weakness. I feel sorry for her. Now, what’s on tonight’s menu?

WALDO I wrote an epic masterpiece, but I’m not ready to show it.

MILES Samantha is getting her short story—

LENNY I worked on my poem, but it’s not really a finished draft.

REGGIE And Miles has something for us.

They all look at Miles, surprised.

MILES What?

LENNY Nothing. I never get enough of your hard-boiled-egg memoir.

WALDO You’re usually the rambling rhetorician.

LENNY Innovator that I am, I’m experimenting with minimalism.

MILES Doesn’t look like we’re on another juice diet.

LENNY Why don’t you try an innovation and hush up?

Sam suddenly enters, takes off her coat.

MILES You’re not going to guess what happened.

WALDO Hi, Sam.

SAM Hi.

LENNY Gay CIA agents shot JFK and erased Reg’s play.

REGGIE (Solemnly) Keep it up, Ollie Stone.

SAM You’re kidding?

MILES Lucy did it.

SAM You didn’t print out a hard copy, make a backup?

REGGIE I never owned a printer. I was just going to read it off the screen. (Pauses) I can’t believe she’d do this.

MILES Where is she? (Reggie shrugs, still in shock)

LENNY The elusive Lucy. When away, she sleeps. When here, she destroys great works of art.

MILES What a ball-breaker!

LENNY She’s probably at the Ukrainian National Home throwing a castration party: Everyone’s chewing prairie oysters, roasting nuts, taking blind whacks at a testicle-shaped piñata.

SAM This place is such a mess.

MILES I’ve seen girlfriends fall out of love before, but a clean person is usually clean to the end.

SAM The last time she came to a group was—when? The ’80s, I think.

LENNY I miss the ’80s.

REGGIE Go back there. They’re waiting for you.

Sam exits to the kitchen.

LENNY Waldo, are there any nuts in those truffles? (Waldo shakes his head no)

MILES Actually, they have hazelnuts with a brandy crème center.
(Lenny swoons)

REGGIE Give the guy a break, Len.

LENNY Are you sure Lucy didn’t leave you, Reggie?

REGGIE God, I wish she would.

LENNY That’s what they all say when they kill the lover.

REGGIE Goddamn it, Lenny—

WALDO (To Lenny) I saw her driving her Honda up First Avenue.

REGGIE (Bewildered) She didn’t—you didn’t stop, or talk?

WALDO Just waved and drove.

REGGIE Well, there you go. She’s not buried in the basement.

LENNY Just your play is.

WALDO Hey, what is that? Listen. (They all listen)

REGGIE Probably me, I’ve been having indigestion.

WALDO (Solemnly) No! I hear someone screaming or crying. (All listen attentively)

MILES It’s New York. You’re supposed to ignore it.

WALDO Probably just the pipes. Anyway, Reggie, I was really looking forward to hearing this play.

LENNY I was dying to cut it to pieces.

SAM We heard so much about it. Developments each week. Innovations at every turn.

REGGIE Wait a second! (To Miles) You read some of it last week?

MILES You had some of it on the computer.

REGGIE (To Lenny) Ah ha! (To Miles) Tell asshole. Tell him!

MILES Well, I just saw the format, really. I didn’t get to read any of it.

LENNY Ah ha!

REGGIE I offered to let you.

MILES That’s true. I had to get to the gym.

SAM (Looking at Waldo) So who has what to read?

WALDO I don’t have anything ready.

SAM (Muttering) Christ, Waldo! How long has it been?

REGGIE Okay, Len, let’s hear your miserable minimal poem.

LENNY (Takes a piece of paper out of an envelope, pauses a beat, reads it slowly) You don’t leave a bed/Where the test-positive sleeps/Without wondering, is that my fate?/As the incubus spreads and reaps,/Sweat through the anxious days/Of bitterness and malaise,/Life becomes a wait/That gradually entails/Re-seeing death as great,/Since test-life always fails.

Silence, then Waldo rises and dashes into the bathroom. We hear him throw up.

REGGIE There’s some constructive feeback. (Blackout)

SCENE 9

Waldo’s apartment, flashback. He is alone, speaking on the telephone, sitting before an old typewriter with paper in it.

WALDO (Visibly rattled) I know I was supposed to see him, but I can’t this week. How is Rich? (Pauses, listening) Well, I’m in the middle of something and next week I’m supposed to travel, so—(Pauses, listening) Tell him I’ll visit him as soon as I can. Love to him.

Waldo hangs up. He starts trying to work, punching the typewriter keys. Finally, he rips the page out and tears it up. Blackout.

SCENE 10

Back to the present, Reggie’s living room. Waldo returns to his seat.

WALDO Sorry. My stomach’s doing somersaults.

SAM It’s a concise poem, Len. (Barbed toward Miles) Least, it didn’t put me to sleep.

MILES (Murmuring) Or deal with feminism.

WALDO (Facetiously) But still quite topical. You can probably get it published in The Native or NYQ.

LENNY It’s a treacherous time to be gay.

REGGIE (Yiddish accent

REGGIE accent) No picnic being straight either, let me tell you.

MILES It was short, to the point, no loose ends—

WALDO (Suddenly furious) That’s the fucking trouble with it! You take a vital subject and make it glib with this “since test-life always fails” shit.

REGGIE Take it easy.

WALDO No! I’m sick of watching healthy people waste life, taking the attitude, “We’re all going to die anyways, so shut up and die quietly!”

LENNY Uh oh! An ACT UP rally.

WALDO When someone says to you, “Lenny, you are going to die,” you are not going to say, “Oh well, life always fails.” You think (Starts panting), “ Shit! That was it? I’m really dying? That was it and now it’s over.” When you die, it’s like … the whole world dies.

LENNY Cry and you cry alone.

WALDO Go ahead make a fucking joke about it.

SAM Relax, Waldo.

LENNY Freak out, if you like. But it just hasn’t been that hot for me. I’ve hit rerun row. I’ve suffered this evening before, I’ve had that beer and pizza before, I’ve heard your bullshit before. It’s all just one big snooze.

WALDO Then you fucked up. It’s your job to make life important. Period.

MILES Not in a compromising mood tonight, are we?

LENNY Got any suggestions for me, big boy?

WALDO For what?

LENNY Making life scrump-deli-icious?

WALDO (Solemnly) In a letter from Augustine to Petrarch, Augustine advocated that Petrarch should break all fetters of the world by perpetual meditation on death.

LENNY Excuse me while I hang myself. (Waldo exits for a beer)

REGGIE Petrarch, huh? I remember when I used to read irrelevant literary books. (Waldo returns)

SAM I just don’t know what to look for. There’s not that much to critique.

LENNY Not much to critique? Please, Waldo, don’t kill her. She’s not been herself lately.

WALDO Sorry if I got a little wacky. I think I had a glucose rush.

MILES So what do you look for in a poem, Waldo?

WALDO (Starts slowly and builds up) I don’t know. Something that exalts and humbles me both at once, that I’d feel embarrassed to read aloud, but obliged to tell others about. Urgent, living, that burns to the touch, that reduces me to a mere message bearer—

REGGIE (Sings) Climb every mountain, ford every stream—

WALDO (Lenny is staring at him) What are you looking at?

LENNY You know what you just described to a tee?

WALDO No.

LENNY (Sexually) I think you do.

WALDO (Joking) Oh, a long piss after downing a six-pack?

LENNY I’ll give you a six-pack. (Pauses) Of tall boys.

REGGIE (Interrupting) Actually, it wasn’t a bad little limmerick, Lenny.

MILES Let me ask you something that’s none of my business and has nothing to do with the poem.

LENNY I don’t want to hear anything that’s none of your business and has nothing to do with—

MILES Did you take the test?

LENNY Sure did, and I have a chauffeur’s license to prove it. (To Waldo) Did you test?

WALDO I didn’t get the results yet.

MILES (To Waldo) Why did you take the test?

WALDO I just did. (Abruptly) Is there any more beer in the fridge?
(Reggie nods yes)

LENNY (Staring at Waldo as he exits) Who said a homosexual lies deep inside of every hetero?

SAM Or would like to?

LENNY I’m not the one that slept with half the male population here. (Sees Miles gulping beer) Miles, isn’t that my beer?

MILES (Spits the beer out) Is this yours? (Waldo returns with another beer)

SAM Gays are convinced that every male from Christ to Clinton was a closet queen, and I’m bored of it.

LENNY Look who’s talking. The she-wolf who thinks that every man from Christ to Clinton is a rapist—

SAM I never—

MILES (To Waldo) Was this your beer?

WALDO No.

LENNY I stand corrected. We’re all sexually inadequate. (To Reggie) What was the last piece she read?

REGGIE The Junk Male, m-a-l-e.

MILES Lenny, is this your beer?

SAM The Junk Male? You loved it!

WALDO The sexual inadequacy of all your past lovers.

MILES Lenny! Is this your beer or mine?

LENNY Beats me. Drink it. I won’t ask for it back.

MILES Was your bottle near empty or near full?

LENNY Let’s see, am I an optimist or pessimist?

MILES I just had a cold sore and I don’t want anyone getting infected.

LENNY Drink both bottles.

Miles drop both bottles, pretending it’s an accident.

REGGIE Shit!

Lenny laughs and everyone helps to mop up beer.

WALDO I’m sorry for getting worked up over your poem, Len. I know your heart’s in the right place.

LENNY It’s okay, cupcake.

WALDO I guess I was hoping for something with more, I don’t know, guilt or anxiety maybe.

SAM Guilt and anxiety have become very passé, Wald.

WALDO Well, maybe they’ll come back into style. Do you know anyone who died of AIDS lately?

SAM I knew people—

MILES (Emphatically) I know a girl who slept with a guy who had it.

REGGIE Christ, everyone in this fucking country slept with someone who slept with someone with AIDS.

MILES God! Do you think so?

LENNY Creeks flow into brooks which flow into streams—

REGGIE (Not pausing)—trickling down hill and dale—into rivers.

LENNY Gays and straight, blacks and whites—

WALDO Our whole country is just glued together with sperm.

SAM—the rich and the homeless.

MILES (Muttering to himself) Symptom-free for years, riding on the libido. You can take away guns, but not an urge. AIDS is an amazing weapon, moving rapidly, invisibly.

WALDO What a scary thought!

MILES What is?

WALDO (To Sam) Pick anybody. Sexy, ugly, famous. Pick a card.

SAM The guy who plays the professor on Nanny and the Professor.

WALDO Okay, I’ll bet you had sex with someone who had sex with someone, etcetera, who eventually made it with him.

SAM I’ve had sex with less than (Quietly counting) fift—twent—thirty different guys. And I didn’t screw anyone in academia.

MILES That many!

WALDO (Dogmatically) But you screwed someone who screwed someone, and so on, who screwed this guy.

MILES Still, Samantha didn’t make it with anyone who could’ve made it with Nanny and the Professor.

WALDO I’ll bet you! Fifty bucks! Right now!

MILES You got it!

WALDO Great, I need the money. (They shake hands)

REGGIE (All eyes are on Waldo) The burden of proof is on you, Wald.

WALDO No it isn’t!

MILES (Tensely) Yes it is! You got to show some proof. No proof, you owe me fifty, and I ain’t letting you off.

WALDO (Angrily) Fine!

MILES So let’s see this fucking proof.

WALDO They’re both going to die of AIDS. How’s that for proof?

SAM What?!

WALDO I got no proof. And I have—(He empties his pockets, finds a container of pills, washes one down with beer, then counts out his change) a dollar thirteen to my name. So you can beat me up if you want, Miles. (Puts the pill container away)

LENNY You okay, twinkles?

WALDO A headache.

REGGIE Bet’s canceled, chemical imbalance.

LENNY I made it with the professor on Gilligan’s Island. So if you and I—(Makes a gesture indicating sex) then you win the bet, ’cause you and Sam—(Repeats the sex gesture)

WALDO Better yet, why don’t you—(Makes a gesture indicating he should hang himself, then exits)

MILES (To Sam) I’ve never seen him like this.

REGGIE He lost his job and next week he’s out of his apartment.

SAM It’s those quilts. He’s been like this since he returned from Washington. (Waldo returns)

LENNY I’ve got a quick job for you if you need one, Waldo. (Waldo shakes his head no) Can’t I have one truffle?

WALDO Look, I’m saving them for Mother’s Day. My mom loves the shit.

SAM You told me you didn’t like your mother.

LENNY And they call me a faggot. Read your tale of woe and humiliation, Sam. (Exits into the kitchen and quickly returns with a beer)

MILES Wait a second. Waldo. (Gives him the fifty dollars) Here, you won.

WALDO No proof.

MILES Well, hold onto it until you get a job. (Waldo takes the money, baffled, and puts it into his pocket) I got something to add to your poem.

LENNY Yeah, beer.

MILES I took notes. (Opens his note pad, reads) There’s no leaving a bed, “There’s,” unstressed, “no,” stressed, “leav,” stressed, “-ing,” unstressed.

LENNY I have enough stress in my life, thank you.

MILES The beats are off and you have this crazy hexameter—

LENNY I’m going to beat you crazy with a hexameter.

Waldo suddenly stomps on a shirt lying on the floor.

REGGIE Why did you just kill my shirt?

WALDO I thought I saw something else.

REGGIE Are you sick?

LENNY What’s the matter, Waldo?

WALDO Sleep, I just need a lot of sleep.

SAM (To Waldo) When do you intend to read something?

WALDO I’m on sick leave for a while.

SAM You’ve been on it for months now. In fact, I don’t remember the last time I heard you read. What are you here for, beer and insults?

LENNY Leave him alone, you bully. I’ll protect you, bundles.

WALDO Look, Sam, I’m trying.

SAM How? (Lenny exits to the kitchen for beer)

WALDO I finally dumped my typewriter and got a used computer.

SAM Good, now just sit at the keyboard and wiggle your fingers. We’re not even asking that it make sense.

WALDO (Starts hyperventilating) Sam! Please, I can’t handle it right now!

MILES Okay, cool it, Sam.

SAM You cool it! This is a writer’s group. I want a vote taken on this point. Either he brings something next week or he can’t participate.

REGGIE Hold it! There is no voting in my house.

WALDO Sam, if you want, I’ll quit the group. Okay?

SAM I think being a writer means writing, and if this is a support group then we’re supposed to help each other. I’m trying to help!

WALDO I really am stressed out right now.

REGGIE (Gestapo accent) Ve have vays of making you write.

MILES (Seriously) During the Korean War, the Communists tortured prisoners by inserting a thin glass rod into the penis and cracking it so that—

REGGIE All right, let’s try a different tactic. Waldo, have you written anything lately that you might want to share? It doesn’t have to be fiction.

WALDO Sorry, but I haven’t written anything in a while.

SAM What do you mean, it doesn’t have to be fiction? What is he supposed to read—“Dear Abbey”? (Miles signals for Sam to be silent) Why are you doing that?

MILES I give up. Samantha, while you were out we looked at Waldo’s diskettes and saw something.

REGGIE I put it up on the screen. I’m sorry, Waldo.

WALDO What? (Calmly) Oh, my memoir of Richard.

SAM Richard Marvelli?

WALDO Yeah. In fact, I just wrote about the first time you met him.
(Pauses) Remember, you thought he was making a move on you?

SAM Yeah, it turned out he was making a move on you.

WALDO He probably was.

SAM (Pauses) So you wrote something?

WALDO It was just an account of our friendship.

MILES (Nervously) So who made a move on who?

WALDO Richard was omni-sexual. He moved on everything.

LENNY (Returns, handing Miles a beer bottle) I brought you a beer. Drink up, Miles.

MILES (Murmuring) It’s open. (Doesn’t drink it)

LENNY Hold it. Richard died last fall? Now when exactly did you and Sam—

MILES (Concerned) We broke up in September, why?

LENNY (To Sam) Forget it. I just thought you and Waldo went to the funeral.

MILES Waldo and Samantha were dating by then?

REGGIE (Pauses, then mutters) I took an AIDS test.

LENNY Me too.

SAM So I brought a new short story—

MILES (To Reggie) Why’d you take it?

REGGIE Better safe than sorry.

WALDO A lot more people still die of car accidents and cancer.

SAM My point though, Waldo, is if you want to write fiction you shouldn’t have an excuse. You should still submit something. I’m sorry about bringing it to a vote—

WALDO I’m just going through a lot right now, Sue.

SAM My name is Samantha. Remember?

REGGIE (Joking) He had something written all along. If you want a vote, it should be whether or not we read his work.

MILES (Puts his hand in the air) I vote we look at it.

LENNY I propose we just examine the dirty parts.

WALDO You’re voting to look at my private memoir?!

SAM All we’re saying is either shit or get off the pot. But stop deluding yourself and thinking that coming to this circus once a week makes you a writer. Write something!

LENNY I’m not saying that. I also propose we eat his truffles.

MILES Read your story, Sam.

REGGIE Okay, Sam, let’s hear what some guy did to you this time.

SAM Fuck you. (Takes out a short story and starts reading) Amateur Night; An Open Mike. Why were they applauding, she wondered, as she told the series of automatic jokes. “I’m the only comic that impersonates a clitoris.” With this, she stuck her tongue tip out just a bit at the right side of her wet, sealed lips, then tilted the left side of her face down so that her mouth was vertical. (Lenny demonstrates)

A staunch silence suddenly collapsed with a single giggle, which permitted an onslaught of male laughter and footstomping.

“What’s so funny about that?” she finally asked into the mike. All laughed again.

“Look,” she finally admitted, “I’m not a comedian, I’m just a housewife.” Guys were choking on laughter.

“What’s wrong with that?” What’s wrong with that? she asked herself. It was where life had led her.

“After graduating high school, my mother threw me out of the house. I took an awful job as a cashier. I never was good in school and my roommate was a big bitch, so I’d just sit on my front steps drinking beer, smoking ciggys. One day I met him on the checkout line. He was a cabdriver, a nice guy. He wasn’t too selfish during sex. Within a week I moved into his place. (Reggie points at Waldo during this line, but then points at Miles)

Six months later we got married, but neither of us wanted kids. That was six years ago. Now we don’t talk much anymore.

We don’t have any intimacy. He goes to the garage early and comes back late, but he pays the bills. And lately, more frequently, I pretend I’m other people. I fantasized that I was a comedian and sometimes an actor, glamorous types, but now I’m forty-two with no family, and my figure’s all but gone, and Tony doesn’t even notice anymore—”

The shrieks of laughter from the audience made her realize that she had unintentionally spoken all her most intimate thoughts aloud. She froze, and her eyes melted with tears.

The comedienne whined, “They’ve no business! That’s my life they’re laughing at!” The manager climbed up to the stage and said, “Nothing personal, hon. The boys just want a good time.” The laughs now were like waves nearing high tide. They receded only to hit back harder. By the manner in which she stood at the edge of the stage, she might as well have been standing on some desolate bridge. With final resolution, she let go, collapsing into the dark pool of audience before her. Hitting her head against a table’s edge, she lay as flat as a squashed cockroach.

“It’s only theater blood,” she vaguely heard one spectator assuring another. Hands suddenly reached out of the darkness.

“Give her air,” the manager said, inspecting her forehead.

With a hop, she pushed the manager aside, took to her feet, and rushed out the door. Several boyish fans pursued.

They seemed to be pressing her down. Looking up Sixth Avenue, the manager could see the middle-aged woman holding her bloody scalp and running, screaming, “They’re laughing at me! They’re laughing at me!” Red drops trailed behind the wounded comic. The manager returned inside to introduce the next performer. (Pauses)

WALDO I like the setting but I wish you developed the character more. Your characters all come off a little one-dimensional.

REGGIE Unfortunately, it isn’t bad.

LENNY (Pauses) It would be good if it didn’t have this forced thesis that presents: (Does the quote, unquote fingers sign) “The wounded female” who we’re supposed to be sympathetic to. And the: (Does the quote sign again) “The angry male audience”

who we’re directed to hate.

REGGIE (Waldo raises his hand) Toilet’s that way, Waldo.

MILES When you said “male laughter,” what did you mean? Was that supposed to be an indictment on our patriarchal society for making a woman’s life laughable and empty?

SAM (Facetiously) Precisely.

LENNY Really, Sam, the one-note thesis is getting a bit lame. You’ve got a potentially cute story here that you’re going to sink with all the sexual judgement.

WALDO Regarding sex in a sexually paranoid age—

REGGIE Uh oh, the AIDS interpretation.

LENNY The comic is a virus and it enters the body of this comedy club, but they purge it with laughter—

WALDO I wanted to ask how it felt being the only female in this group.

LENNY Yeah, do you feel awkward being the only sexually inconsistent member here?

SAM No, do you? (Lenny shakes his head no)

MILES I miss Lucy.

WALDO Yeah.

REGGIE Well, let’s not talk about it.

MILES I wonder why she quit.

REGGIE Don’t blame me.

SAM (Muttering) She’d dress like a slut.

LENNY Ah ha!

SAM Ah ha what?

LENNY It’s the strongest form of bigotry. Gays who hate gays, blacks who hate blacks, and (Points to Sam accusingly) a woman who hates women.

SAM What are you talking about?

WALDO She’s a flaming feminist.

LENNY She hates other females. She loves being the only female here.

WALDO Lucy wasn’t bad either. You used to come down hard on her. (Muttering) Which was probably why she quit.

SAM What?!

REGGIE Give it a break, Len.

LENNY It’s true. You critiqued her work like an Iraqi terrorist with a Silkworm missile.

MILES You were hard on her.

SAM I was, I’ll admit it. I thought she was an excellent writer. But just like the tight miniskirts and low-cut blouses she wore, she sold herself short. She lacked confidence. Every time there was a choice between a challenge or some stupid little pleaser, she’d do the cute thing. Well, it was our job to be ambitious for her.

WALDO Is humiliation a practical form of criticism?

SAM You’re not one to talk. All you wanted to do was fuck her.

REGGIE (To Sam) Yeah, once Lucy quit, you went off and la-deedah behind Miles’s back with Whimsical Waldo over here. (Miles moans)

WALDO (Angrily) Hey, what does that mean?

REGGIE Nothing, sorry.

WALDO No! What exactly are you saying?

REGGIE You’re jobless and homeless. Life’s a whimsy.

WALDO You take that back! That’s just not true!

REGGIE Okay, I’m sorry.

Lenny begins to rub Waldo’s back.

WALDO Don’t touch me! Please.

SAM (Quietly to Waldo) You okay, hon?

WALDO (Muttering angrily) Calling me fucking whimsical.

MILES You are in a bad way tonight, pal.

LENNY See, that’s why I asked when you and Sam broke up. ’Cause I remember hearing that Waldo’s friend died when (To Sam) you were cheating on Miles with bubble-ass over here. Amazing how the mind links distasteful events.

SAM For Christ sake.

MILES Wait a second! Are you saying that you two had sex that long ago?

SAM Let’s not go into this, please. I told you all about it.

LENNY Who’s reading next?

WALDO Miles, he’s the last. Then I got to get some sleep.

SAM What, are you sick? (Feels Waldo’s forehead)

LENNY You’ve got a weird rash there. (Points to Waldo’s forehead)

WALDO I’m just running a sleep debt, with all my other debts.

MILES You should see a doctor. Run some tests.

WALDO I’m okay.

REGGIE Do some exercise. It’ll build up your muscles.

LENNY Join the Marines. It’ll build your character.

WALDO I slipped a disk or something a couple months ago. It gets real painful. (Stretches with a grimace)

LENNY What a pansy! Want a back rub, dove? (Waldo consents with a nod, and drinks his beer) I defend him from menacing women, verbose writers, rub his aching back, and I can’t even get his little brown truffle.

REGGIE Miles, time’s passing. Better start your engines.

MILES (Reads proudly and slowly, all listen with interest) This is a part of my ongoing cop memoir that you’ve all been hearing since I’ve known you, by New York Police Officer Miles Gallo, entitled, Gallo Humor, dedicated to twelve honorable years of Republican presidency—

LENNY No political acceptance speeches!

MILES Gallo Humor, copyright 1993.

LENNY No one will steal it. Just read.

MILES Then shut up and let me read it. Gallo Humor.

LENNY (Softly) We’ve memorized the title. Gay Low Humor.

SAM We’re never going to leave here unless you let him read it.

LENNY I’m just saying we remember the title.

MILES (Pauses) Gallo Humor, Chapter 14. Being a cop didn’t always mean being a prick. Frequently it meant staring into mysteries that would never be explained. One steamy night last summer, I was heading home after a long day in Neighborhood Stabilization. Off-duty, I was walking up Houston when I heard the shrieks of a man who said that his neighbor had just been condo-jacked. Two people had just taken over his apartment. Best as I could tell, a crazy-looking older guy and his cutie-pie chick had literally broken in and dug a hole in the middle of a yuppie’s living room floor. Problem was, the apparent vic, Mr. McYup, who was naked except for his boxers, kept insisting the probable perps were his friends and that no crime had occurred. Without a plaintiff, or any real evidence, a charge simply couldn’t be filed. My own instincts told me that the cutie-pie was a hooker. The perverted property owner probably did it with her in the hole. Who the hell knows why? Later, when the yupster refused to pay, the geriatric pimp showed up. (Lights begin to fade) These situations had become a dime a dozen, half-baked no-plaintiff cases that would never float in court, but the type of bilge water that swamps a beat cop’s day—

Blackout. Moments later the lights rise as he is reading another section. The group is bored or restless, looking at their watches, reading magazines, whispering amongst themselves.

MILES—So I was stuck in Quality of Life, a pretty phrase for a scummy, thankless assignment. Basically, I became a babysitter for the local homeless. This was their routine: They spend the nights canvassing through the garbage cans in the area. The more desperate of them burgle or steal from the local merchants, or just smash and grab from parked cars. By rush hour, they collect along Astor Place, where they put their crap on display to convert their spoils into street drugs. I don’t like playing the heavy, but when you warn these people over and over, what choices are you left with? Morality fades. After a while brutality becomes the common language, and abuse hides in the gray area of intent. How hard do you have to hit to get the job done? How much force is just enough? The law covers only the black and white, so cops are stuck doing the black and blue work—bruising and scaring the scarred and beaten. (Lights slowly fade) If the homeless are society’s unsympathetic victims, we are made into society’s unwilling bullies. Loathed and looked at as eroders of constitutional rights, but let’s see them operate without us—

Blackout.

SCENE 11

Reggie’s bedroom, flashback, a continuation of Scene 7. Lucy has just finished reading her story. Throughout the scene she is slowly dressing.

REGGIE Did I ever treat you like that?

LUCY It was just a story.

REGGIE It was cute and all, but did I ever squeeze your hand?

LUCY You squeeze other things. Don’t worry about it. (Pauses) I know this is a stupid question, but do you think I’m better than Sam?

REGGIE Sure, I never even copped a feel off of her.

LUCY I mean as a writer!

REGGIE (Amused) I know. Sure, sure.

LUCY Why?

REGGIE I don’t know, she’s into surreal feminist crap.

LUCY Oh God! You’re just placating me.

REGGIE Actually, I’ll tell you what I do like. Remember that batch of juvenile writing you did in college?

LUCY (Sarcastically) Sure, my batch of juvenile writing. I have it here somewhere. (Points to a box)

REGGIE You had a curtain-riser with some kind of dumb title like, Some Rot, Others Die.

LUCY (Sighs) I wrote that in a summer writing workshop. You would like that. It’s the most maudlin, pretentious—

REGGIE (Angrily) Well, I’m fucking sorry, but I liked it. And I really thought it could be developed into something.

LUCY About a great writer who can’t write. You probably see yourself as the great writer, don’t you? Here. (She locates it and drops it in front of him, he doesn’t pick it up) It’s yours.

REGGIE (Pissed) All right, you want my opinion? I really think you come incredibly close, but ultimately I don’t believe you have the commitment. You’re not willing to make the sacrifices to be a serious writer.

LUCY (Checks her wristwatch) I got to get going.

REGGIE Hold on a sec. I’m sorry.

LUCY Save it for your next protégé.

REGGIE (Facetiously) All right, you’re the exciting voice of your dull generation. Is that what you need to hear?

LUCY I don’t need anything from you.

REGGIE What an ingrate! Here in the middle of the night, trying to suck reassurance from me when you need it. But when you hear something that’s uncomfortably honest, albeit a little impolite, you bail out.

LUCY You’re half right—I am a hypocrite. But what I really get from you isn’t reassurance. In fact, it’s the opposite, it’s the strength to quit this writing bullshit altogether.

REGGIE What does that mean?

LUCY It means I hate writing. And for the record, all you can do is tear people down because the simple fact is—you can’t write.

REGGIE Hey, hon, I would’ve been writing right now if you didn’t bribe me with sex to hear your whiny prose.

LUCY You know, that’s the only thing you ever really need a woman for—blame for your goddamned inabilities. From now on, you’ll have all the time you need to write, and you can go fuck yourself. (She exits, blackout)

SCENE 12

Reggie’s living room, present. Before the lights go up, we can hear Miles still reading his short story. As the lights rise, we see Reggie staring off sadly. Lenny, who has headphones on, is giving shirtless Waldo a back rub. Sam is sleeping.

MILES—Had I gone nuts? Did I really permit some crazy Dr. Mengele—type scientist to perpetrate his insane mind-control experiment, designed to microwave a criminal into a model citizen? Yes, he claimed the man had murdered his wife, and for some reason I believed it. Weeks later, I inspected his behavioral results. I walked into Frankenstein’s castle on Avenue C and heard screams coming from the basement. The scientist’s body had grown in strange proportions. His arms had blown up to the size of oak trees. His massive granite hand had the poor criminal by the neck. He was choking the life out of his human guinea pig. As I struggled to loosen the monster’s steely fingers, the lunatic grabbed me with his free hand and, clamping it like a bear trap around my neck, he proceeded to strangle me as well. I could feel the blood constricted in my arteries and oxygen blocked in my throat. Slowly, feeling my consciousness literally dissipating from my body, I struggled to reach for my service revolver. It was the first time I had ever drawn the gun in the line of duty. Not even sure if I was actually doing it, or only dreaming I was, I pointed my .38. It seemed to take forever and required all my strength to pull that little metal trigger, finally—BANG!

WALDO (Suddenly bolts up from his sleep, covered with sweat, fighting with Lenny above him) HELP! Don’t! STOP!

LENNY Stop?

WALDO Sorry, I dreamed something awful happened.

REGGIE Were you shot by a verbose cop?

WALDO No, I—I got to take a leak.

LENNY (Sensitively) Waldo, may I just have one truffle?

WALDO No! For the last time—no! What the hell’s wrong with you? (Exits to the bathroom)

LENNY Asshole! He’s not peeing. He’s abusing himself wickedly in there.

SAM I wish someone would abuse you wickedly.

LENNY I rubbed his pimply back. He used me! Now he owes me a truffle. (Opens Waldo’s knapsack)

MILES That’s his mom’s, Len. I don’t think—

LENNY What have we here? (Takes out some diskettes)

REGGIE That’s the memoir he wrote. It’s only a couple pages.

SAM Leave the poor boy’s stuff alone.

MILES (Awkwardly to Reggie) There was nothing in that memoir that might’ve suggested—Well, they didn’t share the same razors or lovers—

LENNY Or drink from the same bottle?

MILES Yeah, that sort of thing.

LENNY That rash on his forehead troubles me.

MILES Why?

LENNY What are these diskettes? (Reads the label on one) WordPerfect?

REGGIE (Half asleep) It’s just a software package.

SAM It’s his private diary. Put them away.

LENNY (Puts a diskette into the computer) Don’t worry, Sam, I’m sure it doesn’t say anything about your little indiscretion.

REGGIE He’s going to be out in a minute. (Lenny is reading the screen intently)

SAM (Yawns) What’s that sound?

MILES Sounds hydraulic. Like a garbage truck.

SAM No, I hear someone crying.

REGGIE (Alarmed) Oh shit! The cans!

MILES What cans?

REGGIE (Pulling on his shoes) The building’s garbage cans. I’m supposed to pull them out front. Help me, quick!

LENNY No way. This is my good shirt.

MILES I’m in the middle of my story!

REGGIE We’ll be back before Pee Wee’s out of the john.

MILES (Irate) Goddamn it! (Miles and Reggie dash out)

LENNY (Holding up a diskette) This is the only WordPerfect diskette.
(Keeps reading) Hey! He really did write a lot of pages here.
(Takes the diskette out of the computer) This file says Novel Number One.

SAM What?!

LENNY It’s a fucking novel!

SAM (Rises) You’re kidding. (She chuckles)

LENNY (Counts the diskettes in the box) He’s got eight, nine, ten diskettes filled up.

SAM What does that mean?

LENNY (Slips another diskette into the computer) There’s writing on each of them. There are over a thousand pages here!

SAM Over a thousand pages? But why hasn’t—

LENNY He’s done a sequel to Valley of the fucking Dolls.

SAM And I yelled at him for not writing.

LENNY This is too much. Wait till Reggie sees this.

SAM Lenny, do me a favor and keep a lid on this.

LENNY Why?

SAM I know how Waldo works, he’ll freeze up if he finds out we know. He shouldn’t be forced. He’ll read when he’s good and ready.

LENNY Gosh, imagine if he’s really written something.

SAM Just imagine.

LENNY (Reading the screen) I don’t want to pry, but did you and Waldo—(With difficulty) What I’m trying to say is, were you cautious?

SAM Please, I get my share with Miles the hysteric.

LENNY Why is Miles such a germ phobe?

SAM Remember when he said, “I knew a girl who slept with a guy who had AIDS”? (Lenny nods yes) That was his sister. So far she’s tested negative. Also, his mother died of a virus. She was a nurse, always fastidious about sterilizing and sanitizing. So Miles has become obsessive.

LENNY (While reading the computer) I really didn’t mean anything. The reason I asked is that this memoir goes into a certain intimacy between him and Ricky Marvel.

SAM (Takes the diskette out of the drive, puts it back in Waldo’s bag, and turns the computer off) You can play that crap with the others, Len, but please don’t try it with me.

LENNY What the hell are you talking about?

Miles and Reggie return, Miles is pressing a napkin to a bloody gash on his hand.

SAM (Sternly) About Waldo, not a word.

REGGIE About Waldo, not a word about what?

SAM I was just telling Lenny that I haven’t heard Waldo read a word in the past year.

MILES I don’t think pressuring him is helpful, Sam.

REGGIE I’ll get a bandage for you, Miles.

MILES It’s just a scratch and it wasn’t rusty.

SAM What happened?

REGGIE Miles cut himself on an old garbage can.

MILES I’m all right. Does Waldo seem okay to you?

LENNY I think he’s taking drugs. I really do.

SAM That’s not his style.

MILES Has he been in the bathroom this entire time?

SAM (Goes to the bathroom door) Waldo, you still alive? (Knocks) Waldo! You okay?

LENNY He’s not answering!

MILES (Banging on the door) WALDO, OPEN UP OR I’M GOING TO BREAK DOWN THIS DOOR!

WALDO (Emerges from the bathroom, his eyes wet) I’m sorry, I just fell alseep.

LENNY You look misty-eyed.

REGGIE You fell asleep on the toilet? (Waldo shrugs)

MILES That’s where Elvis died.

REGGIE And Lenny Bruce.

WALDO That’s great—me, Elvis, and Lenny Bruce finally have something in common. Finish your story, Miles.

SAM I’m sorry for yelling at you about not writing, Waldo. All right, Miles, finish your story.

Reggie goes back to sleep. Sam stares at Waldo. Lenny resumes massaging Waldo’s back. Miles stands before them with his manuscript.

MILES Let’s see, going directly to Chapter 28. (Flips through some pages and resumes reading, lights slowly dim) What they don’t tell you at the Academy is that most copwork is paperwork. Paperwork is tedium, and tedium is the interconnective tissue of life …

Blackout.

ACT TWO

Reggie’s living room, Miles is still reading his story. Sam, Waldo, and Reggie have dozed off to sleep, snoring softly. Lenny, who has headphones on, has managed to get Waldo’s shirt off and is softly stroking his back.

MILES—So, after twenty years on the force, with a half-salary pension and full benefits, not to mention Social Security and Disability—(Looks up for a moment and no one is even pretending to listen, so he goes over to Sam, who is sleeping, and gently whispers) Sam, can you hear me? I’m sorry for—

WALDO HEY! (Leaps to his feet)

REGGIE (Awakens) Excellent. That was wonderful, mellifluous—

LENNY (To Waldo) Just relax.

SAM (To Waldo) What happened?

WALDO He knows damned well what happened!

LENNY Miles, did you shoot another innocent bystander?

WALDO He didn’t do anything. You did!

LENNY Methinks he doth protest too fucking much.

SAM I’ll protect you, Waldo. Sit next to me. (He does)

REGGIE (Returns to his supine position) Continue reading, Miles.

LENNY I didn’t do anything. Little homophobe.

MILES Where was I? (Searches for his spot in the memoir)

WALDO Am not. Someone sure as hell touched me. And I wouldn’t let a woman stick her fingers up there either.

SAM Good for you. (To Lenny) He’s tired. Read, Miles, read miles and miles.

Reggie and Sam lie down again. Waldo rises and returns to the bathroom. Miles waits, Reggie opens his eyes and sees him waiting.

REGGIE Finish the damned story, Miles.

Lenny moves over to Waldo’s knapsack.

MILES Waldo is back in the bathroom. And what the hell are you doing?

LENNY Mind your own boring business. (Gobbles down another one of Waldo’s truffles)

SAM Len! Waldo is clearly having serious problems.

LENNY Yeah, they were caused by my eating his truffles. (Muttering) I didn’t even touch him.

MILES They’re for his mom. I don’t think—

LENNY (Searching through Waldo’s knapsack) I just took one.

MILES Bullshit, you’ve already had three truffles—

SAM Lenny! Cut it out! (Grabs the box of truffles from him)

LENNY Hey!

SAM Why don’t you grow up?

MILES Calm down, Sam.

SAM He’s past forty and still acting like a baby.

LENNY Fuck you.

SAM If any other person here acted the way you’re acting—

LENNY Wait a second. What exactly are you implying?

SAM I’m saying what I’m saying.

LENNY No you are not. You’re referring to my sexuality.

SAM Oh, give me a break.

REGGIE Hey guys, just chill.

LENNY You can only imply and keep secrets because you’re a hostile little bitch.

SAM I think you got me beat there.

MILES Guys, I’d like to finish my story—

LENNY She asked me to keep a secret from you guys.

SAM Oh God!

REGGIE Lenny, let this blow over, please.

LENNY Fine, but I just want to get off my chest that Waldo has written a blockbuster that looks like Remembrance of Dirty Things Past. (Sam sighs)

MILES What are you talking about?

REGGIE I already checked. It’s only a couple pages long.

SAM Len, I apologize. And for the record, I’m sure that you did not squeeze Waldo’s butt. Now, can we please move on?

LENNY Sam, I accept your apology and I bare no grudge, but I simply cannot deceive my friends.

REGGIE What are you talking about?

SAM Lenny’s just teasing. (Impatiently) Miles, to hell with Waldo, finish your fucking story.

LENNY Waldo has written a hot tell-all memoir. Look for yourselves.
(Slips one of Waldo’s diskettes into the computer)

SAM (Gets up and tries to turn the computer off) It’s his private memoir. Put it back!

Lenny blocks her for a moment as Miles reads the screen. Reggie remains seated and amused.

REGGIE Relax, Sam, we’re writers. We have great insight and compassion. What does it say?

MILES (Reading) This sure ain’t a WordPerfect program.

LENNY See! See! (Eats another truffle)

SAM Reggie, will you help me here?

REGGIE Okay, boys, put the toys away. He’s probably wiping as we speak.

MILES (Holding up a diskette) This is the one WordPerfect diskette. Lenny’s not kidding. (Takes the diskette out of the computer and looks at it) This file says Novel Number One.

REGGIE What?!

MILES (Still reading) Memoir, shit! This has chapters. That’s a scene.

REGGIE (Shoving in) A scene?

MILES And characters. It looks like a novel.

SAM Lenny, how can you live with yourself?

LENNY By not lying to friends. You should try it.

REGGIE (Reading) What I saw was just a couple of pages.

MILES Will you guys be quiet? I’m trying to read. Sam, when did you first do it with Waldo?

SAM None of your goddamned business.

LENNY Sleeping with Waldo makes it Miles’s business.

MILES Sam, listen, he refers to a “burden that is engulfing him.” Read this.

REGGIE I got a critical disk error once when I had a hundred and twenty pages on a diskette.

MILES (To Sam) If he did it, and caught something, I want to know if he was able to transmit by the time—(Toilet flushes)

SAM He’s coming!

Miles puts the diskette back in Waldo’s knapsack, Reggie turns off the computer. Everyone returns to their former positions. Waldo enters and lies back down.

WALDO Go ahead, finish your story.

LENNY When drinking beer, piss is clear. Clear as the nose on your face.

REGGIE (Solemnly) I’ve got to pee.

LENNY I’m getting some ice cream. (To Miles) I got to cool myself down. (Heads to the kitchen)

MILES Waldo, I have to ask you a difficult question.

WALDO Cross my heart, hope to die, I didn’t drink your beer.

MILES Did you ever do anything sexual with this Ricky guy? (Waldo is surprised)

SAM Miles!

MILES (Anxiously whispering) I’m entitled! (To Sam) The last time we did it was last August. You’re at risk just as much as I am, Sam. More so. More so!

SAM (To Waldo) Did you do anything?

WALDO (Torturously) I didn’t do enough. Not nearly enough.

LENNY (Returns with a glass of ice cream) Cherry Garcia, with brandy.

REGGIE (Returns with a bottle of tequila, from which he takes a deep gulp) I feel crappy.

WALDO You shouldn’t drink like that, Reggie.

REGGIE You shouldn’t give me a reason to.

SAM He’s pissed about Lucy erasing his play.

WALDO You have to call Lucy. She’ll talk to you. Trust me.

REGGIE You wrote the Yellow Pages!

MILES Waldo, please—

WALDO What the fuck is going on here?!

SAM They had a preview of your memoir.

WALDO (Angrily) What? I already told you! That’s a personal account of my friendship with Richard.

REGGIE (Accusingly) Then why is it structured in chapters? (Waldo is dumbfounded)

MILES He’s asking a reasonable question, Waldo.

WALDO I find it distances me. Okay? Like it didn’t happen to me. It’s not for public scrutiny.

SAM I’m sorry.

REGGIE I suppose I am too. I just feel like—

WALDO You’re just pissed about what Lucy did, but she—

LENNY Oh, right, she erased the poor boy’s play.

REGGIE Yeah, yeah. Getting back to Miles’s story. Does anyone want to comment?

LENNY You’re going to lose the sympathy of some readers for shooting an unarmed civilian.

MILES (Frantic) What I wrote about was fear of death. (Bewildered, Lenny silently pronounces the word “death”) Once you’re introduced to it, you never forget it. Waldo, please!

SAM You’re not finished, Miles. Keep reading.

MILES It’s over. I need to know. (Waldo shakes his head no)

LENNY Our little love boat’s walking on water.

SAM I think Miles’s cop memoir is a little tedious.

MILES (To Sam) You goddamned hypocrite!

REGGIE That’s a rather violent response to criticism.

MILES Miss Hillary Clinton. But when she was alone with this whacko (Points to Waldo), she was on her back with her legs in the air. (Lenny giggles)

WALDO Leave her alone.

MILES Fuck you, it’s your fault!

REGGIE Slug it out!

WALDO You have nothing to worry about. Nothing.

LENNY Are they talking about literature?

WALDO No, Miles’s autobiography. He’s not finished, but it does seem a little long.

LENNY (To Waldo) Coming from you—

REGGIE (Rapidly questioning Waldo) Yeah! How’d you like Miles’s characterizations? Or his prose style? How about his plot structure? What’d you think of his plot structure?

LENNY There was a plot?

WALDO (To Reggie) I’ll criticize your plot structure.

REGGIE (Angrily) Take some notes, Miles, ’cause this man is a fucking expert. He’s written and he knows.

WALDO Hey, Reggie, I know your little problem, your little secret—

REGGIE Lenny, have you and Waldo been talking?

LENNY (Slightly nervous) Waldo wouldn’t talk with me if I begged him.

WALDO I just don’t need the prostate test—

LENNY I didn’t touch you! Christ, I feel like Clarence Thomas.

SAM Lighten up, both of you.

LENNY (To Reggie) Do you have more lite beer? Or do I have to board another boat.

REGGIE I have some tequila. (Offers the bottle)

LENNY Tequila? I’m not twenty anymore. I can only drink polite aperitifs and lite beer.

SAM We’re out of beer.

LENNY Oh, right. Miles finished all the beer, and he didn’t even drink any. Some trick, Mr. Safe Sex.

MILES So go out and buy some. You never invite people over to your hovel for a group.

WALDO This place is getting a little stuffy. I’m going out for a beer run. (Moves over and collects his diskettes)

REGGIE What the—? Oh, looky here, he’s taking his toys with him.

MILES (Disbelief) You’re packing up your diskettes? That is a little insulting.

WALDO You looked at them before.

SAM Everyone’s just blowing off steam. I’ll take care of them, Waldo. It won’t happen again.

REGGIE (Sets the tequila bottle on his groin) Yeah, she’ll take good care of me. I’m next.

MILES Fuck you, asshole!

LENNY Reggie, do you have any more lite beer or not?

WALDO Be patient with him. Reggie’s going through a hard time.

REGGIE I am? All right, I am. Waldo, will you help someone going through a hard time?

WALDO Just ask, Reggie.

SAM (Takes cash out) Let me give you some money, Waldo.

MILES I just gave him fifty. He’s getting it from both of us.

LENNY (Muttering) That’s what I’ve been saying all along.

REGGIE (Suddenly flares) I mean—I’ve organized this group for years. I’ve given honest advice, tried to be encouraging, tried to be sensitive. I gave what I had!

WALDO What the fuck are you talking about?

REGGIE Beer.

SAM Maybe we’ve all had a little too much already.

MILES I don’t want any more.

REGGIE YES YOU DO! And so does Lenny and so do I. You owe us!

WALDO All right, I’ll get some beer. (Exits quickly)

LENNY I never thought he’d leave—

Miles grabs Waldo’s knapsack and tosses it to Lenny, who is at the computer, then Miles blocks Sam.

SAM What the hell are you two doing?

LENNY Just getting another truffle. (Eats another truffle, then shoves Waldo’s diskette into the computer)

SAM Stop it! (Miles holds her as she tries to stop Lenny) Reggie, help!

REGGIE I’m just minding my own beeswax here.

SAM (To Lenny, who is reading the screen) Christ sake, his friend died. Can’t you leave him alone?

MILES (Struggling with Sam) During that little skirmish in the Gulf, I learned that you can’t be both afraid and sympathetic of the same thing.

SAM He’s your friend, Miles.

LENNY A friend doesn’t cheat on you behind your back.

SAM I can’t believe you’re saying that, Lenny.

REGGIE A little more friendly with some than others.

MILES (Calmly, at the keyboard) Look, you should be more worried than I, because if he had intercourse with that man and caught a virus, there is a far greater chance that you have it.

LENNY Tell it like it is.

SAM Stop it!

MILES Damn it! You heard him earlier, saying that you and the professor were going to die of AIDS.

SAM He was just being weird.

MILES That fucking pill he popped wasn’t an aspirin, sweetheart. Did you see how quickly he tucked the container in his pocket?

SAM For Christ sake.

MILES And do you want me to tell you about that lesion on his forehead? What more do you want?

SAM Reggie, Waldo’s your friend. He wouldn’t let this happen to you.

REGGIE (Drinking tequila) A better man than I, Waldo Din.

SAM You’re not that drunk, so don’t bullshit me.

REGGIE He could have mentioned he was writing. As it is, he didn’t write anything. He’ll tell you that himself. So I don’t know what they’re looking at.

SAM You guys are all cowards. Cowards and bastards.

LENNY I’m just putting the word “sodomy” on search. Is that so scummy?

SAM Yes! Goddamn it, I gave him my reassurance.

REGGIE You shouldn’t have written a check that you couldn’t cover, honey.

SAM You guys are all scum.

LENNY (Reading at the computer) There’s kind of an oblique reference here—

MILES What? What do you think?

REGGIE Share it with us. You’ve written book reviews before. Does the boy got any style?

LENNY (While reading) Only style. (Pauses) It’s actually sad. A poor speller, choppy episodes, very touching, sickly sweet. Oh, here’s a potential doppelgänger emerging. Crappy syntax, unrequited love, verbs as nouns. Hello, split infinitive. An inorganic symbol, twelve o’clock high. Dangling modifiers, for shame. He doesn’t really give anything away. I can’t read anymore. (Tries to move, but Miles shoves him back into the chair)

MILES You just keep sitting there. Where’s this oblique reference?

SAM You really don’t think Waldo has any talent?

LENNY He babbles in a way that tries to hide something but completely crumbles—

MILES Hide what?

LENNY I don’t know. A self-pity or something. It lives in just a couple of words—it’s really just a bunch of cathartic shit. He tries to be commanding, but it’s too flimsy. It’s like a bad rewrite of The Runaway Soul.

MILES Screw that, get to the hard facts.

LENNY God, he wrote a lot though.

REGGIE SHIT! I studied for years how to be a writer, undergraduate, graduate, post-graduate. I mean, what’ve you go to know?

LENNY Admit it, Reggie.

REGGIE What?

LENNY You know what. What I said earlier, about your alleged fulllength play. (Reggie ignores him)

MILES (Reading) He said he didn’t do anything. Shit, he doesn’t give away a thing here.

REGGIE Right! What a liar. How can he be called anyone’s friend?

MILES I don’t mean that. I mean—

REGGIE He was the one with the writer’s block. Week after week he’d come with nothing. He wouldn’t even be holding a book, just helpless arms.

SAM Which is why I was pushing at him, while you guys were so supportive of his not writing.

MILES I can’t deal with him anymore. This is it for me.

REGGIE I don’t want to see that prick again either.

SAM This isn’t an election.

REGGIE Is this a vote, Miles?

MILES It sure is. And I vote him the hell out!

SAM What?

REGGIE Me too. He’s out of here.

SAM Wait a second!

REGGIE We need a majority. Lenny, how do you vote?

SAM You guys are all insane. Lenny, Waldo’s your friend. He’s everyone’s friend.

LENNY Just leave me out of it.

REGGIE That means you abstain.

SAM This guy is out getting us beer. What did he do?

REGGIE (To Sam) How do you vote? Expulsion or remain?

SAM Reggie! Don’t do this. Not even as a joke.

MILES That’s two for, one against, one abstention. Resolution passed: Waldo is the fuck out of here. (Takes a swig of tequila)

REGGIE This is bullshit. If he wrote a memoir, that’s one thing. But you write a novel to be read. TO BE SOLD! He was just being greedy. He used us. Punishment should fucking fit the crime. (Bolts up and exits)

LENNY (Sarcastically) The punishment? How delightful!

MILES (Frantically to Sam) That man has exposed us to a virus. He’s got details in this thing that are—We could be dead as we speak!

LENNY (With disbelief) He’s dead. I love it!

REGGIE (Reenters concealing a pair of scissors, grabs Waldo’s floppy diskette) Punishment’s going to fit the crime.

SAM What are you doing!?

REGGIE A little editing. (Starts cutting Waldo’s diskettes in half)

LENNY Scissors! (He easily grabs the scissors away from Reggie) Shit!

Miles is still reading as Waldo enters.

WALDO What’s going on?

SAM I’m sorry—

REGGIE (Jumps at him drunkenly, but Lenny intervenes) Where does a little twerp like you come off writing a novel behind our back?

WALDO What?!

LENNY (Holding Reggie) You were voted out of the group.

REGGIE Where does a pimple like you come off writing all those pages? Whenever it was your turn to read (Mocks Waldo’s voice), “ Sorry, pals, I didn’t write nothing today.”

WALDO It’s therapy, asshole.

REGGIE Making money is great therapy.

WALDO That is a private journal. My psychiatrist recommended I keep it to control my depression.

MILES (Turns from the computer as Waldo begins to collect his diskettes) Did he fuck you too?

WALDO Fuck you!

Miles punches Waldo in the face, knocking him to a sofa.

MILES Admit it! That’s why you’ve been acting so weird all night, isn’t it? (Waldo struggles, Miles pins him down) Say it! Say it! You got AIDS! (Sam tries to intervene, but Miles shoves her away)

SAM Lenny, help!

MILES So help me, Len, I’ll break your fucking arm.

REGGIE You’ve got his blood on your cut.

MILES Oh shit! (Frantically exits to the bathroom to wash out his wound)

LENNY (Finds Waldo’s pill container, which fell out of his pocket during the scuffle and reads) Prozac. (Pauses) For AIDS?

WALDO (Getting up quietly) Richie and I grew up like brothers. When he told me he was HIV-positive, I felt uncomfortable around him. (Angrily) I didn’t reject him! I just felt—strange. During most of his sickness, I couldn’t deal with him. And then, like that (Snaps his fingers), he’s dead. And it’s the oldest cliché in the world, but there’s no making peace with the dead. I mean, who do you talk to? Loose ends just stay that way, and you kick yourself until you’re just tired of kicking. So then I saw a shrink and he gave me that (Points to the capsules) and then Halcyon, and then I was taking too much. Last week, I had some electrotherapy. He said to try to find a substitute. Writing is no substitute. Writing is bullshit. (Throws the diskettes across the room) I didn’t do shit with him. Or for him.

MILES (Regretfully) Shit, Waldo—

WALDO Fine, apologies accepted. That’s the big pathetic secret, Reggie. Don’t worry, Reggie, I won’t tell about yours. (Exits)

MILES (To Sam) Go with him, please. Please. He shouldn’t be alone like that.

SAM Shit. (Exits)

REGGIE (Pauses) Lucy left me a week ago.

LENNY Good. You said it yourself, she was keeping you from working. Now you can finish your Messenger from Valhalla.

REGGIE (Quietly) She wrote that play we read. In fact, I tore it apart. I tore everything of hers apart.

MILES (Thinking about Waldo) My God. Why’d I hit him?

REGGIE We’d fuck, and then Lucy would sit there, read her stuff, and then listen to every word I uttered, like I was some kind of literary god, declaring, This is great. This is crap. (Pauses) Smart girl. Much better writer than me. Great lay too.
(Pauses) Shit, I should’ve went to law school.

LENNY So that was what Waldo was talking about when he said “your big secret.”

REGGIE How he found out about it—

MILES (Disconnected from them) I remember that day my mom came home and said, Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, Lou Gehrig’s Disease. Outlook, grave. Prognosis, a couple years. I was thirteen years old. Once you really feel—this is fucking it! No illusions. No “pray to God my soul to keep,” or harmony with nature. Just death. If you’ve ever watched someone die, you die yourself, without even the benefit of an end.

LENNY Have a beer. (Gives his beer to Miles, who chugs it down) So I was right.

REGGIE (Angrily grabs Lenny) You have a fucking gift. There was no play. There’s no writer. If you feel some sense of victory over that.

LENNY I just didn’t want you to lie about it.

MILES (Muttering sadly) How could I have hit him?

REGGIE All I ever wanted was to be a writer.

MILES Didn’t Hemingway call it a soldier loyal to the impatient imagination and the blank page?

LENNY Or the blank imagination and impatient page.

REGGIE You know what it was that got me so fucking mad? (Lenny shakes his head no) Well, Waldo seemed so—

LENNY Out of it?

REGGIE Yeah, but in that youthful, energized, enlightened way. All the illusions still in place. I was once like that. Obscure references. I used to get outraged over profound ideas. Now I’m just grumpy. And then suddenly I’m hearing he’s written volumes.

LENNY But the writing turns out to be psycho-babble and the enlightenment is battery-charged.

REGGIE Don’t say that. He’s young. Maybe, hopefully, he’ll get his shit together and write something. Lucy was right. I’ve become an asshole, an official Olympic asshole.

MILES Why didn’t I believe him when he first told me?

LENNY Got your car? (Miles nods) See you next week.

REGGIE No you won’t. This is the end of it for me.

MILES Hey, what was that thing you had on the screen last week if it wasn’t A Messenger from Valhalla?

REGGIE It was the one-act I cowrote with Fred ten years ago. Let it be remembered that that play got mixed reviews, which for me is all the immortality I’ll ever see. But it’s more than most people.

LENNY Now we need two new members.

MILES You know, some writers are late bloomers.

LENNY That’s right.

MILES Ibsen never even began writing until—

REGGIE Spare me the anecdotes. (Miles leaves) What do you think Waldo meant by “writing is bullshit”?

LENNY I have no idea, but I’ll tell you this: The only reason I write is because, well, people, parties, places, for the most part, they’ve become a screaming bore. I mean, why else would anyone spend hours upon hours of their precious life all alone? No pay, no recognition. The reason I come here is to read my stuff. Writing is a concession to the fact that life is basically blah. So if it’s of any comfort, Reg, I think being a failed writer might mean there’s still hope for you.

REGGIE Yeah.

LENNY There’s no reason to be both lonely and unproductive. Waldo said Lucy will speak to you. Give her a call.

Lenny exits. Reggie takes out the portable TV and turns it on. Fade to black.