SCENE 1
Kitchen Table. Saturday Morning.
Pops eats pie, sips whiskey and drinks tea. He sits in his deceased wife’s old wheelchair. The small kitchen table is beat up, but the fork is polished silver and his plate and teacup are fine china. Pops tries very hard to ignore Oswaldo, who loudly chews almonds throughout—
OSWALDO: How’s your pie? Good?
POPS: Fine.
OSWALDO: Yeah but—wanna try some of these fresh organic raw almonds from Whole Foods instead? Because my caseworker over at the place, he a real ball breaker like how I told you, but ever since I took his suggestion and switched my breakfast to almonds and health water instead of, you know—Ring Dings with bologna and Fanta Grape—
POPS: Oswaldo—
OSWALDO: See: the Ring Dings and bologna and Fanta Grape, it turns out, that’s what doctors and People magazine call “emotional eating” on my part—on account of I only ate that shit because those foods made me feel “safe and taken care of” back when I was a kid who was never “safe or taken care of.” But now, I’m a adult, right? So I don’t gotta eat like that no more, and I can take care of myself by getting all fit and diesel like how I’m doing from eating these almonds and making other healthful choices like I been making. And so, I’m not trying to get all up in your business, but maybe that’s also the reason you always be eating pie—because of, like, you got emotionalisms—ya know?
POPS: Emotionalisms.
OSWALDO: I know—it sounded funny at first to me too—but emotionalisms is real, and pie—don’t take this wrong—but they say pie is like poison.
POPS: Pie ain’t like poison, Oswaldo—pie is like pie!
OSWALDO: I know, but they said—
POPS: Oh yeah, “They said”! “They” always saying something. Then later, they’ll go and say something else that’s inevitably completely ass-backwards from what they originally said! Happens all the time. For example, them almonds. Don’t be surprised if we learn in the future that almonds cause cancer.
OSWALDO: Nah, they’re good for you—
POPS: Yeah, “they” say that now—wait a while, see what “they” gonna say then. Now grab me that Cool Whip from out the fridge—Nestor didn’t finish all my Cool Whip, did he?
OSWALDO: I’ll check.
POPS: Motherfucker thinks I’m here to keep him in Cool Whip.
(Lulu enters. She’s wearing very little.)
LULU: Morning, Dad.
(Lulu kisses Pops’s cheek, her body rubs up on him a little.)
POPS: Morning, Lulu.
LULU: Morning, Oswaldo . . . You got something on your face.
OSWALDO: What, where?
(Lulu rubs it off Oswaldo’s face.)
LULU: There. It’s off.
POPS: Lulu, you don’t get cold, dressed like that?
LULU: Oh I’m very warm-blooded—I can’t even sleep with a sheet.
POPS: How about a little robe then, something?
LULU: In the summertime?!
OSWALDO: Cool Whip’s gone—
LULU: Oh, was that yours, Dad?!
(Lulu bends over the fridge exposing herself further as she searches—)
POPS: Oh good Lord, “Full moon rising!” Lulu, mind your hindquarters—please!
(Lulu retrieves some pudding.)
LULU: Butterscotch swirl! Did you say something, Dad?
POPS: Nah, never mind. You walk the dog, Oswaldo?
LULU: Oh—I can go walk him right now, Dad!
POPS: Good. Thank you. Put some pants on though.
LULU: Oh I wouldn’t go out like this, Dad! You want something from the store?
POPS: Just some cookies and juice for when that damn church lady come. Why she don’t get the hint nobody wants her around here?
LULU: Dad! . . . Oh, wait—Dad? I just realized I can’t actually go to the store right now—when’s the church lady coming?
POPS: Ah, don’t worry about it. Just be home on time for supper. We having shrimps and my special veal you like.
LULU: Oh my God for real, Dad?!
POPS: Yes, now please, go walk the damn dog.
LULU: Oh—I’ll walk him right now! Shrimps and veal!
(Lulu kisses Pops on the cheek, rubs up against him a little, and exits.)
POPS: . . . Oswaldo?
OSWALDO: Yeah, Dad?
POPS: Why she call me “Dad” all the time? I ain’t her dad.
OSWALDO: It’s like, you know, she very fond of you. Like a term of respect. You ain’t my dad either, but I still call you Dad.
POPS: She ain’t right that girl.
OSWALDO: She a nice girl, Dad.
POPS: She may be nice, and she look good, but I fear the girl is retarded.
OSWALDO: . . . Oh snap, hold up. This guy in the Post, I know him!
POPS: Let me see that . . . Umm-hmm, just what I thought!
OSWALDO: What?
POPS: Oswaldo, three mornings out of five, you start up with, “Oh I know this dude in the paper”—
OSWALDO: But I know a lot of peoples—
POPS: Yeah, but do you know any people who ain’t criminals, Oswaldo?! Cuz it’s never the guy who rescued the puppy that you know. Or the brother saved a baby from a burnin’ building. But any motherfucker perpetrates a felony and ends up in the New York Post—that’s always the motherfucker you know!
OSWALDO: I’m trying to meet new peoples, Dad. I joined the Facebook . . . Matchbox.com—you heard of them? From the computer?
POPS: Just don’t bring none of your old compadres around here is all’s I’m saying.
OSWALDO: You’re right, no doubt. And, I mean—thank you—because I really appreciate you let me stay here, Dad. And I’m gonna start paying rent real soon—
POPS: You my son’s friend and a guest in my home. Guests don’t pay no rent.
OSWALDO: I just wanna help—
POPS: I don’t need no help! Guests don’t pay no rent—ya hear?! You a guest. Period.
OSWALDO: Yeah, I feel you on that, and thank you—but also, um, I mean, I been feeling something else for a while now, but not, like, revealing it? But I feel it, ya know? It’s like, a feeling?
POPS: What feeling?
OSWALDO: Well. I mean truthfully: these morning times with you, in the kitchen here, just chilling, you and me, it’s like most definitely my favorite part of the day.
POPS: Cuz you a morning person.
OSWALDO: Nah, but I ain’t, that’s the thing. Mornings and me, we don’t agree—I mean historically. Even when I was locked up, they knew, don’t communicate with me till after lunch. But here—I like mornings here—cuz, you know, cuz I enjoy spending time with you.
POPS: Well, me too—
OSWALDO: Yeah but see, my feeling I was referring to before—is maybe you’re just being nice to me cuz you feel like you got no choice, cuz, like, you know, you a gentleman—but, maybe in reality, you wish I wasn’t here because I annoy you sometimes, which is why, like, you always just refer to me as, you know, a guest, and actually, my caseworker, he think I prolly annoy you all the times—and if that’s the truth, I could leave like today, for real, cuz I respect you too much, Dad, to be annoying you in this your place of residence—I ain’t down with dat, you know? So I wanna know whatchu think about that, I mean—if that’s okay, I wanna know if my feelings about your feelings are the actual feelings that’s happening, and also whatchu think about that, like, honestly, so—like—whatchu think about that?—
POPS: Hold up! You hear that?!
OSWALDO: What?
POPS: That scratching on some tin sound! That’s the fuckin’ dog messin’ with some takeout again!
OSWALDO: I’ll go get him.
POPS: That ain’t the point! The point is: Lulu, she juss said she gonna take the fuckin’ dog with her, right?!
OSWALDO: Yeah?
POPS: Then the fool leaves without the dog! What kinda sense is that?!
OSWALDO: I’ll go see what the dog be up to.
POPS: Nah. Fuck that dog. Let him choke on a chicken wing. I don’t know what Junior was thinking bringing that little sonuvabitch here.
OSWALDO: I think it’s cuz someone told him to get you a dog.
POPS: For what?
OSWALDO: Cuz I mean after your wife passed.
POPS: Shit—I ain’t a child need to be occupied by no dog. Especially that dog. You ever notice the way he look at you, that dog? He a little bad-intent motherfucker is what he is.
OSWALDO: He cute though.
POPS: Oh, he think he cute—vain little motherfucker. Now, do me a favor, check the fridge, I think I got me a sticky bun back behind the Heinz ketchup there.
(Junior enters, dragging in a very large box and holding a large manila envelope.)
Well, look who the mule kicked in!
JUNIOR: This was posted on the door, from the landlord again.
POPS: Where you been at all night, Junior?
JUNIOR: I was here all night, just got in late and left early.
POPS: If you gonna be out all night, call.
JUNIOR: I wasn’t out all night, Pop.
POPS: And how I’m supposed to know that if you don’t call?
JUNIOR: But I wasn’t out all night.
POPS: So you say.
JUNIOR: Oswaldo, did I come home last night and we played knock rummy and ordered Pay-Per-View with Lulu—or not?
OSWALDO: It’s true, Dad. We ordered that Denzel movie that looks like it’s good but it ain’t?
POPS: Hope you left five-ninety-five plus tax on the cable box, Junior—“Pay-Per-View” don’t mean I pay and you view.
JUNIOR: It’s ten A.M., Pops, why you drinking?
POPS: Oswaldo wanted a drink, so I had one with him.
JUNIOR: Oswaldo’s clean and sober, Pop—and why you using Mama’s good china and the sterling silver—that’s worth money!
POPS: Hear that, Oswaldo? He got the whole joint cased, appraised, and ready to move the moment I expire. Doncha?!
JUNIOR: Oswaldo, I thought you was heading up to the Bronx this morning?
OSWALDO: I was yeah, but then I thought maybe I’d maybe hold off on dat awhile if dass okay?
JUNIOR: Right—so the phrase: “Easy Does It—But Do It”—that means what to you?
OSWALDO: . . . Means I should go to the Bronx and face my shit?
JUNIOR: So—go do that then—right, brother?
POPS: Yeah, yeah—never mind all that—now what’s this big box you bringing into my house?
JUNIOR: Stuff.
POPS: From where?
JUNIOR: A friend.
POPS: You think I’m stupid? What kind of hot merchandise you got up inside that box today? He think I gone senile, Oswaldo.
JUNIOR: How many drinks you had this morning, Pops? How many he had, Oswaldo?
POPS: Just go walk that damn dog, Junior, okay?! Your girl was supposed to walk him, but then, air entered the space between her ears and she forgot. How long she staying here anyway?
JUNIOR: She’s my girl, Pop, she’ll stay as long as she want to.
POPS: Oswaldo say she retarded—
OSWALDO: I didn’t—
POPS: What she do for a living anyway?
JUNIOR: She a student, Pop.
POPS: Oh c’mon now: I walked the beat for thirty years, Son—
JUNIOR: She go to City College, Pop! She studies!
POPS: Studies what?
JUNIOR: Accounting.
POPS: Accounting?
JUNIOR: Dass right!
POPS: Son: that girl, she a nice girl, but she don’t study no accounting. Her lips move when she read the horoscope—that ain’t the mark of a future accountant!
JUNIOR: Pop—
POPS: I ain’t saying don’t be with the girl, she a nice enough girl, but teach her a trade. She don’t know how to do nothin’ but walk around with her booty all out—
JUNIOR: Hey now, look at the time, I gotta go.
POPS: Go? But you just got here.
JUNIOR: Yeah, and you ain’t stopped harassing me.
POPS: “Harassing”?! That what you call conversation these days?
JUNIOR: We could talk later.
POPS: How we gonna talk later with you leaving to Baltimore for the weekend?
JUNIOR: I’m not going to Baltimore. I’m canceling. And I’m fine with not going, okay?—
POPS: You hear that, Oswaldo? Hypertension run in our family—and he been hyper-tensing like a motherfucker from the moment he moved back here—and now he tryin’ to front like he Superman and don’t need no weekend getaway in Baltimore when clearly what he need is a damn Baltimore weekend getaway!
JUNIOR: If I go to Baltimore, you just gonna give me shit about something happened here and I wasn’t here cuz I was in Baltimore. And how am I supposed to feel comfortable going anywhere anyway with you drinking all day, climbing on ladders, doing all type of recklessness—
POPS: Hey! I spent good goddamn cash money so you could catch a little breather away from me, eat yourself a soft shell crab, and go see damn Earth, Wind & Fuckin’ Fire—so here’s how it’s going down: Audrey and her fiancé coming over for dinner ’round eight—
JUNIOR: Audrey’s coming here?!
POPS: Dass right. So wear a clean shirt, be sociable and then excuse yourself promptly after dessert—and be goddamn sure that you’re on that 11:55 Greyhound so you can take yourself a nice break and get your damn mind right! You hearin’ me?!
OSWALDO: Don’t worry, bro—me and Lulu will watch him close.
JUNIOR: Okay, Pop. Fine. But could you please do me one favor in return now and please take Mom’s ol’ wheelchair out the kitchen like you said you would back in January?
POPS: It’s comfortable seating. Oh and by the way, I had a very nice talk with your ex-wife this morning.
JUNIOR: You did what?!—
POPS: Told her how you was enrolled in the City College now—
JUNIOR: Please don’t tell Yolanda my business, Pop.
POPS: She ain’t remarried yet is all I’m saying.
JUNIOR: And I pray that changes soon! Now whatchu want me to do with this envelope from the landlord?
POPS: Let the dog clean his ass with it! I’m a ex-cop, war veteran, senior citizen with a legal rent-control lease from 1978 and I never pay late—I wish they would try to fuck with me.
JUNIOR: Alright then, I’m out—
POPS: Hey—drop off my check to Lubenthal and Lubenthal on your way, it’s on my dresser . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . What?!
JUNIOR: I didn’t say nothing—you hear me say something?!
POPS: Yeah but you thinking something—with that little angry prune head “pee-pee poo-poo” face like how you do.
JUNIOR: Look man, if you wanna keep paying them Lubenthal and Lubenthal shyster lawyers—even when everybody knows you shoulda settled no-fault with the city years ago—that’s your business, not mine.
POPS: Number one: you don’t know shit. Number two: if you had any integrity, you’d know that an honorable man can’t be bought off—an honorable man doesn’t just settle a lawsuit “no-fault” and lend his silence to hypocrisy and racism and the grievous violation of all our civil rights.
JUNIOR: Yeah, that’s a nice story, but the fact is that if you had settled your case back when you were supposed to, then at least Mom coulda had a private nurse in her last days—
POPS: Your mother had me, she didn’t need no nurse—
JUNIOR: When you got shot, Pop—you had a private nurse, didn’t you?!
POPS: When I got shot, your mother needed help with me—help you were unavailable to provide from your various jail cells at Rikers and Attica, okay?!
JUNIOR: Lubenthal and Lubenthal is a fuckin’ joke, Pop—they taking your money for nothing and they ain’t doing shit!
POPS: Whatchu know about Lubenthal and Lubenthal? We wouldn’t still have this apartment if it weren’t for Lubenthal and Lubenthal! Your mother worked for Lubenthal and Lubenthal for thirty-eight years! Uncle Fred got himself a cottage, a boat, and a piece of a fine race horse down there in Montgomery—all on account of the efforts of Lubenthal and Lubenthal!
JUNIOR: Yeah, and that was when—1983? Shit—some of the best young black attorneys in this city weren’t even born then—and any one of them could do you far better with the city then them ancient crooked dinosaurs Lubenthal and Lubenthal! How old is Mo Lubenthal now anyway—ninety?
POPS: Old Mo’s still spry—he ain’t lost a thing.
JUNIOR: Yeah, except for your money! Mom told me all about it: how you was always overly impressed and kissing that Lubenthal ass because you such an ignorant Old Head you think the only good lawyers gotta be Jews.
POPS: Your mother never said that—
JUNIOR: Oh yes she did. And that ain’t all she said. Moms told me everything. About everything. So if you really wanna go all into it, I’ll go in. Just say the word!
(Pause.)
Yeah, I didn’t think so.
(Pause. Pops sips, grows glassy-eyed.)
Pop? . . . Pop? . . . I’m sorry, Pop. I didn’t mean it like that.
I’m sorry, okay?
POPS: Yeah, well, I’ll tell you what: I’m fixin’ to drop dead real soon—believe that—and when I go, you can throw yourself a fuckin’ Shanghai Fiesta, and hire all the goddamn “1-800-BROTHER IN A SUIT” black attorneys that you want to—
JUNIOR: I said I was sorry—
POPS: Hurry up and become a fuckin’ man already, Son—so I can break a hip and drop dead in peace.
JUNIOR: . . . I’ll drop off the check. Don’t mess with my box.
(Junior exits.)
POPS: . . . Oswaldo, gimme that damn butter knife from out the sink.
OSWALDO: For what? Not to open that box, right?
POPS: No. Not to open that box.
OSWALDO: So why you need the butter knife for?
POPS: Just go to the store, okay? Get that food for that always-hungry-heffer-church-lady before she get here and I got nothing to offer her, and then all she gonna do is talk the last good hearing out my ears with her boring heffer church lady talk . . . And bring me some Ritz crackers too—
OSWALDO: The low sodium kind, right?
POPS: Who say low sodium? Low sodium my ass! High sodium! The highest possible sodium. Get me the most extra-strength Ritz crackers the law allow, plus my Lotto tickets—and get the damn church lady’s cookies and juice too—I don’t wanna get caught empty-handed come Sunday.
OSWALDO: Okay, but I’m supposed to go to the Bronx now, could I bring it when I get back tonight?
POPS: What’s in the Bronx?
OSWALDO: I visit people in the hospital, for like—amends and shit? Plus, I need to get my birth certificate for my job application, and it’s up there at my father’s place by Gun Hill Road.
POPS: Okay then.
OSWALDO: Plus, I mean the real reason is I need to go see my father. For like, to clear the air.
POPS: Just don’t be late for supper. Invite your father if you want to.
OSWALDO: Nah, we don’t got that type of relationship. He not like you. He old-school.
POPS: Who say I ain’t old-school?
OSWALDO: You old-school yeah, but, you know, you different. He didn’t never visit me when I was upstate, he didn’t never even come to court. He, you know, he old-school. Like John Wayne—but Boriqua.
POPS: Well, when you go over there, bring him a little gift, like a coffee cake or something.
OSWALDO: I bought him a brand-new bad-ass Black Rhino twenty-eight-ounce framing hammer with the ergonomic grip from Home Depot. Also, I’m gonna give him my ninety-day NA chip. I told you I got my ninety-day NA chip?
POPS: You did. You making good progress, Oswaldo. I’m proud of you.
OSWALDO: Thanks, Dad.
POPS: And hey—what you was saying before about your caseworker saying that I get annoyed by you? He don’t know shit.
OSWALDO: For real?
POPS: We breakfast buddies—ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.
(Pops stares at Junior’s box.)
OSWALDO: Yes sir. Okay. Well, I’ll see ya at dinner then. Love you, Dad.
POPS: Okay. Now, on your way out—hand me that damn butter knife.
SCENE 2
The Roof. The Same Day.
Lulu and Pops smoke pot.
POPS: Junior don’t have to know nothing about this here chiba, right? I don’t wanna set a bad example for his sobriety.
LULU: Junior’s not sober. Oswaldo’s sober. And I’m sober.
POPS: You smoking weed, Lulu—by definition, that means you ain’t sober.
LULU: No but, me and my higher power, we have an understanding. Besides I only smoke with you—and with Junior every once in awhile.
POPS: Junior don’t smoke no weed. And I only smoke for that glaucoma.
LULU: Okay . . . . . . . . .
POPS: . . . . . . Say, I was just wondering: you ever think about getting a trade, Lulu?
LULU: You mean like a job? But I’m a student, Dad.
POPS: . . . A student, yes. When you graduating?
LULU: Not for like, not for, but, like soon, or soon-ish . . . . . . . . . It’s so pretty out this time of the day, isn’t it?
POPS: . . . It is.
LULU: It reminds me of, like, a foreign land . . .
POPS: . . . What kinda foreign land?
LULU: I don’t know . . . Like, Game of Thrones or something?? . . . I really appreciate you taking me in, Dad.
POPS: You family, Lulu. Ain’t a thing.
LULU: I’m pregnant. Junior says I can do what I want and he’ll support the decision, but I can really tell he doesn’t want me to have it.
POPS: . . . What?
LULU: What do you think? Do you think I should have it?
POPS: I’m a take you to the doctor, okay? Make sure you’re okay.
LULU: Oh I’m fine.
POPS: Nah. I mean an obstetrician. A baby doctor. We got one in the building—Doctor Shaw. He’s a good man. We’ll go see him later today.
LULU: But I don’t think Junior wants the baby.
POPS: Oh he wants the baby! And if he don’t want it—I’ll take it. Raise it I mean. Whatever you need. I mean, the baby—it’s Junior’s, right?
LULU: . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dad?!
POPS: . . . Hey hey, no no, don’t be upset, I apologize—that was a real insensitive remark—of course the baby’s Junior’s. Right?
LULU: I may look how I look—but that don’t mean I am how I look!
POPS: I know.
LULU: I’m gonna be a accountant some day!
POPS: And a mother. And I’m tickled pink, Lulu.
LULU: . . . So you’ll talk to Junior for me when the time comes?
POPS: Oh hell yes, I’ll talk to Junior tonight.
LULU: Not tonight though, okay? He’ll be mad if he knows I told you before, like, well, we just found out, ya know?
POPS: You just tell me when you need me to step in. But really? Once the idea settles inside of Junior, he’ll come around. He loves kids—and kids—they gravitate to him naturally. Kids and pets. You should see him at a barbecue . . .
LULU: Also, I’ll go to the doctor when you start taking your glaucoma and diabetes medicines. And your heart and blood pressure pills too . . . . . . And I watch you take them.
POPS: A grandchild . . . I hope it’s a baby girl, but I bet it’s gonna be a boy. Us Washingtons, we don’t fire to the left, we straight-shooting men—we make sons.
LULU: Um so—we got a deal then, Dad?
POPS: Let’s shake on it. We got a deal.
LULU: I love you, Dad!
POPS: Dass cuz I’m lovable.
LULU: I’ll walk the dog before dinner.
POPS: Okay then.
LULU: Oh—you want the rest of this?
POPS: Hell no. And neither do you—we having a baby!
SCENE 3
Living Room. That Evening.
A dead Christmas tree is fully lit. Pops, Lulu, Junior, Detective O’Connor and her fiancé, Lieutenant Caro, drink beverages in the living room after dinner. Midstream:
LIEUTENANT CARO: . . . Okay, so, gorilla walks into a bar, orders a banana daiquiri—
LULU: That’s funny!!!
LIEUTENANT CARO: Hold on, there’s more. So: gorilla walks into a bar, orders a banana daiquiri, bartender gives him the banana daiquiri, says: “That’ll be twenty-five dollars.” Gorilla pays him, takes a sip of his drink. Bartender says: “Hey, not for nothing, but we don’t get a lot of gorillas in here.” Gorilla says: “At these prices I’m not surprised!!”
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: “At these prices!!”
LIEUTENANT CARO: And Mr. Washington—the perp who told me that one? My hand to God—he was completely naked and cuffed at the time—we had just nabbed him for public indecency!
POPS: Oh I believe it. Shoot, we had one guy—musta popped him a dozen times for whacking off in public—what’d we use to call him, Audrey?
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: “Whacky-Whacky.”
POPS: “Whacky-Whacky,” thass right! Oriental fellow, very polite—just couldn’t keep his pants on—
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Multiple trips to the psych ward, Dave—the guy just keeps repeat offending. Till one day, Walter here takes the guy aside, has a few words with him, then takes out his business card, writes a little note on it, sticks it in Whacky-Whacky’s pocket—and after that—no more whacky-whacky.
LIEUTENANT CARO: What’d the note say, Mr. Washington?
POPS: Aw, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.
LULU: Tell us, Dad!
POPS: Well. Note said: “Home? Whacky-whacky. Not home? No whacky-whacky.” I told him keep that note in his pocket 24/7 and refer to it at all times. And I guess it worked. He even got the shit laminated, remember Audrey?
LIEUTENANT CARO: You hear that Audrey—he got the note laminated! Laminated! Did you hear that, honey?
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: I heard it, Dave—I was there, remember?
LIEUTENANT CARO: That’s true—that’s very true—
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: How much wine did you have with dinner, sweetie?
POPS: Aw leave the man alone, Audrey!
LIEUTENANT CARO: Thank you, Mr. Washington! And speaking of thank-yous—that meal you cooked this evening, Mr. Washington—I mean, you really are one helluva incredible gourmet chef!
POPS: Well, ’bout a week after marrying my late wife, it became clear either I was gonna cook, or we was gonna starve—ain’t that right, Audrey?
JUNIOR: Oh c’mon—Moms could cook a little!
POPS: Your mother was my superior in every area, Son, with the notable exception of the kitchen—
JUNIOR: C’mon, Pops, what about those things she made?! Whaddya call them tasty things—croquettes, bouquets—like fried fish all delicious with that sauce?
POPS: You mean fish sticks?
JUNIOR: They wasn’t no fish sticks, these was handmade!
POPS: They was fish sticks with the fisherman right on the box!
JUNIOR: My moms could cook, Lulu.
LULU: I believe you.
JUNIOR: And that’s on top of keeping house, and doing the parenting—and everything else she did with the church and the kids—
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Your father’s just having fun, Junior—
JUNIOR: And she worked full-time just like you—and at a higher salary too.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Well, all I know, Junior, is that your mother is looking down on you right now so proud for moving back in here and taking care of your father.
POPS: Taking care of me? He get free rent, all he can eat, cable-TV, internet computer, ’round-the-clock electricity, got all his friends flopping here like it’s Section-8 housing, this ain’t no kind of burden on him, this here is damn Shangri-la!
JUNIOR: Shangri-what?
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: It’s okay Junior, I get it.
LIEUTENANT CARO: Mr. Washington. Tell us that story Audrey always tells me ’bout when you were first partners—
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Oh God! Not Lawrence Taylor at the China Club!
LIEUTENANT CARO: No No! Mr. Washington—the knife guy—you know—Hell’s Kitchen, the knife?!
POPS: Oh that ain’t a nice story.
LULU: Tell it, Dad—please! Here, I’ll pour you another drink.
LIEUTENANT CARO: Give the man a drink—yes! In fact, let me do the honors, I’ll join you.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Dave—
LIEUTENANT CARO: What—I’m gonna let him drink alone? Salud, Mr. Washington! Now, the story, please.
POPS: Aw I don’t hardly even remember. Audrey was a rookie—
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: My first week—
POPS: In other words, a danger to herself and others.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: It’s true.
POPS: So, yeah—we rolled up, 45th and 10th, there’s a damn brawl in the street—so I called in for backup—but Rocky Balboa here had other ideas—
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: My blood was flowing, the adrenaline, some guy brushed me—
LIEUTENANT CARO: Oh she’s the same today—you should see her at the checkout line at Trader Joe’s—
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: So I grabbed the guy good, but then he gets leverage, and starts swinging on me. So Walter came over beat the guy down.
POPS: I subdued him.
LIEUTENANT CARO: “Subdued”—absolutely!
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: So Walter’s subduing him, but then all of the sudden, I scream!—
LULU: Cuz why?
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Cuz the guy Walter’s subduing—has got a knife in his head!
LIEUTENANT CARO: “Knife in his head!” —I fuckin’ love this story!!
LULU: Like in his actual head?
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Yes. So I’m like: “Walter, knife in head. Knife in head!” Walter sees the knife in this guy’s head, puts him in the squad car, tells him we’re taking him to the ER—of course the guy’s drunk out of his mind, and has no idea he’s got a knife in his head.
LULU: Like, a real knife?
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Yes.
LULU: You heard that, baby? A knife.
JUNIOR: Uh-huh.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: So we get him in the car, Walter’s driving, the siren—
POPS: Guy asks me for a cigarette. So I tell Audrey, reach into my pocket, give him one of my Kools.
LULU: With a knife in his head?!
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: And I’m freaking out—because Walter, he actually slows the car down so I could light the guy’s cigarette.
POPS: Then the motherfucker asks can we stop and grab him a Pepsi.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Not Pepsi, beer! Drunk, bleeding out, blood everywhere, knife in his head, he wants a beer—
LIEUTENANT CARO: “Irish First Aid”—why not?!
POPS: You know it! So I pull over at the bodega, I say: “Audrey, go get this man a beer—in fact, get me one too.”
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: So what could I do—I got the beers.
POPS: Löwenbräu! They was nice and cold too.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Anyway, finally—precious minutes lost—we pull up to the ER, tires squealing—but now the guy doesn’t wanna leave his new best friend Walter! He’s talking to Walter about horse racing, current events. And I’m, like: “Hey, come on, let’s go!”
POPS: I told Audrey, let the man finish his beer.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Again—what could I do? So he finishes the beer, we carry him in, hand him off to triage, but now I’m ready to go back to the precinct and report Walter to my captain—seconds were precious and he was wasting time giving the guy cigarettes and beer.
POPS: “One for the road”—know what I’m sayin’, Dave?
LULU: Wait, I don’t get it.
POPS: See, the man, Lulu, he was in shock from his injury—and the second they pulled that knife out from his head, he was only gonna just hemorrhage and be immediately dead. Couldn’t happen any other way. That’s just the luck of the draw when you got a big knife in your head—or any foreign object embedded that deep for that matter. So I had a beer with him. The man was gonna die alone—I figured he didn’t have to drink alone too. Ya know?
LIEUTENANT CARO: See, that’s what we used to call: “Doing the wrong thing to do the right thing”—not like that no more, Mr. Washington, and it’s a goddamn shame. Salud!
POPS: Salud.
LULU: But, wait—couldn’t they just leave the knife in his head?
POPS: Um, no Lulu. I’m afraid they couldn’t.
LIEUTENANT CARO: Your father, Junior, I never did have the pleasure to work with him, but everything Audrey tells me is nothing but he was one of the great ones—and I don’t just hear that from Audrey. And by the way—your comment before about your father’s take-home pay? You oughta keep in mind that when your father came up in the force in the late ’70s—being a black guy didn’t exactly put him on the fast track for career advancement, yet he served with distinction and valor. And to that I say once more: “Salud, Mr. Washington!”
POPS: Call me Walter.
LIEUTENANT CARO: I’d be honored to.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: You know I’m behind a desk now, Walter—Detective Specialist? And Dave here is a lieutenant, so—
POPS: Yep—I can see the brass.
LIEUTENANT CARO: I miss the action though, Walter. I’m a glorified paper shuffler now. Audrey had to put me on that Paleo Diet—all this inactivity, I mean I’m a guy who likes taking his shirt off when I wash the car or mow the lawn—you know what I mean?
POPS: Feel the sun on you.
LIEUTENANT CARO: Exactly. See honey, he knows.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: I miss you Walter. I miss those days coming up with you in the ’90s. Granted it wasn’t much fun to be a cop back then—
POPS: Fuckin’ Giuliani—
LIEUTENANT CARO: Oh amen to that, Walter! You know, we had dinner with that miserable Giuliani cocksucker last week me and Audrey—a departmental brass thing—some crappy French place costs ten dollars for a Diet Coke. And do you know what that pretentious guinea windbag ordered? A fuckin’ pigeon! A pigeon, Walter—like his shit don’t stink! Like: “Ooo la la, bring me zee pigeon”—like he ain’t the son of a two-bit Sing Sing ex-con from East Flatbush. I wanted to spit in his “foie gras” or whatever the fuck they call that overpriced duck grease they’re slinging over there.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Okay, Dave—
LIEUTENANT CARO: I mean we got a photo with him—but strictly for appearances, believe me.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Anyway, what I was trying to say—Giuliani aside—
LIEUTENANT CARO: I’m sorry. Just hearing his name—it causes my rear end to do that sudden jabbing-startling what-the-fuck-just-happened-maybe-I-got-cancer sneak-attack assflinch thing. You know the one?
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Are you done? . . .
LIEUTENANT CARO: I’m done. And please forgive my profanity. And I won’t even get into him sitting in the Yankee dugout. The audacity, wearing the friggin’ uniform like he’s Joe Pepitone with a toupee—the jerk. Okay. I’m done now. God Bless Al Sharpton and Let’s Go Mets.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Anyway, my point, Walter, all kidding aside, I miss working with you, ya know? Those were good days.
POPS: Didn’t turn out so good for me in the end though, now did it?
LIEUTENANT CARO: You caught a terrible break, Walter.
POPS: Shit. Fuck the NYPD—present company excluded.
JUNIOR: Okay then. Audrey, it was real nice seeing you again. I gotta catch a bus.
LIEUTENANT CARO: Very nice meeting you, Junior. Here, take my card, you know, like if you get stopped for a red light.
JUNIOR: I don’t drive . . . Lulu, wanna walk me to the train?
LULU: Sure, baby.
JUNIOR: You gonna be alright, Pop, with Oswaldo and Lulu looking over things for a few days? Cuz I don’t have to go—not at all.
POPS: Get your ass on that bus, Junior—hold up. Here.
JUNIOR: I got money.
POPS: Well now you got some more.
JUNIOR: I love you, Pop.
POPS: Don’t get locked up.
LULU: Bye, Dad.
(Junior and Lulu exit.)
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: She calls you “Dad,” Walter?
POPS: They all call me that and I’ve given up objecting . . . So now, Audrey, Dave: what’s this about you two getting married?
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: You like the ring?
POPS: Yowza! Helluva rock—that musta set you back plenty, Dave.
LIEUTENANT CARO: Can’t put a price tag on happiness, Walter.
POPS: That’s what I like to hear. Still, I’m no jeweler, but this looks like some serious Audrey Hepburn–Cartier–Kim Kardashian–shit right here. You didn’t rob a bank to make the down payment, did you?
LIEUTENANT CARO: Actually, I paid cash.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Tell him, Dave.
LIEUTENANT CARO: I play a little poker, Walter.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Don’t be modest.
LIEUTENANT CARO: Okay, I play a lot of poker. Well, I used to. Audrey and I attended a charity tournament—one of those things you can’t get out of?
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Well Dave got out of there—with over thirty thousand dollars.
LIEUTENANT CARO: There was a game after the game, I beat a major “A-list” Hollywood celebrity for thirty large.
POPS: Who was it?
LIEUTENANT CARO: His only stipulation was that I could never tell.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: It was Ben Affleck!
POPS: Who’s that?
LIEUTENANT CARO: He’s a guy, Walter. That’s the thing, they’re all just guys. Anyway, the next morning, I took Audrey directly to Tiffany’s, told the gal behind the counter; “I got thirty grand to spend and I don’t want a penny change.”
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: And he hasn’t played poker since.
LIEUTENANT CARO: That she knows of. Just kidding. No really, I’m kidding.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: I mean it’s just a ring, but, I adore it—and it will be a good story some day for the grandkids.
POPS: Funny you should mention that. I got some news too. Seems I’m gonna be a grandfather.
LIEUTENANT CARO: Hey, congratulations!
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Oh Walter! Walter, Oh my God! A grandfather! Finally! And Junior, he didn’t even say a word!
POPS: We just found out today actually, so, you know—
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Of course! Oh Walter! Walter!
POPS: Not bad, huh?
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Delores would have already built the crib by hand and wallpapered the baby’s room.
POPS: Yeah, she woulda. She up there smiling though.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Yes she is. Wow. Oh my God. That is the best news I’ve heard in—wow . . . And hey, you know what? I think on that joyous note—
LIEUTENANT CARO: Say, I could use a bit more coffee, Walter, if you can spare it.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Um, I think we really should let Walter get some rest, Dave.
LIEUTENANT CARO: Long drive back to the Island, honey. Walter, you mind if Audrey here gets me a refill on the coffee before we take off?
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: It’s late, Dave, I really think—
POPS: Audrey. It’s okay. I’d like a coffee too if you don’t mind. With a shot of cognac. You want a shot of cognac, Dave?
LIEUTENANT CARO: Just the coffee. And, um—maybe just one more of those apple fritters? It’s okay I eat another fritter?
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: It’s time to go, honey.
LIEUTENANT CARO: Audrey—
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: I said it’s time to go.
POPS: Hey hey, no bickering on my account. Dave: why don’t you just say whatever it is you’ve obviously come here to say, and then, you can take all the coffee and fritters you want to go on your way back to Long Island—how’s that sound?
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Oh God—we came here to help you, I came here to help you, I would never—
POPS: It’s all good, Audrey. Let your man say what he need to say.
LIEUTENANT CARO: Do I really need to say it? . . . . . . Okay. You gotta drop this civil suit and settle, Walter. It’s an election year. And the mayor’s office is already catching enough flack off of this bogus Williams shooting.
POPS: Yeah, I read about that one. Seems the department hasn’t gotten any better at not shooting at innocent black men.
LIEUTENANT CARO: Hey, I hear you, Walter, don’t think I don’t, but I mean, if I may, what are you holding out for after how many—eight—years already? Eight years, Walter—I mean, your lawyers, what? The phrase “strike while the iron’s hot,” that’s like—an old wives’ tale to them?
POPS: My lawyers act on my instructions.
LIEUTENANT CARO: You’re a proud man, I get it. And eight years ago, when you were in the newspapers every day, public opinion running high, the outrage, the call for justice—then absolutely, hold out for all you can get off those bastards—but now? The truth is nobody cares about your case anymore except you—and maybe the Village Voice. And Walter, who the fuck reads the Village Voice these days?! Look, do yourself a favor. Sign the nondisclosure. Cash a check with a little weight to it. Live your life a happy man instead of—
POPS: Instead of what?
LIEUTENANT CARO: C’mon. You’re gonna lose this apartment first off, that’s number one.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Walter, you’ve been served with multiple subpoenas already, from your landlord, no?
POPS: How you know about that?
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: They’ll toss you out of here, Walter. You’re paying fifteen hundred a month for a palatial mansion on Riverside Drive worth ten times that—you don’t think they want you out of here?
POPS: I got a lease and it’s legal—
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Walter, I read the affidavits. When Delores was alive, you had a clean and upstanding home and you had leverage with the city because they had nothing on you. But since she’s passed, Walter, you’ve brought undo attention to yourself with unsavory characters, pot-smoking complaints, bottles thrown out windows, vandalism, weird strangeness, criminal allegations—all violations to the terms of your lease. The city takes notice of these things, Walter, and now they’re the ones with the leverage, they need your case to go away, and unfortunately, you gave them their opening.
LIEUTENANT CARO: But they can’t do shit and won’t do shit if they receive the right call from downtown. Come on, Walter—you think we like landlords?! Who likes landlords?! Fuck landlords!! We’re on your side!
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: You need to settle. Trust me. And trust Dave: he’s only here trying to help me look out for you.
POPS: “Trust Dave,” huh?
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Walter, please, we’re here to help—
LIEUTENANT CARO: No, Audrey, Walter’s absolutely right. But the thing is, Walter—the city means business here—and we both know that no one beats City Hall, however, there’s a way to handle this where everybody wins and it doesn’t have to get ugly—
POPS: How’s it gonna get ugly?
LIEUTENANT CARO: C’mon, Walter—I think you know the answer to that question.
POPS: Get the fuck out my house, motherfucker—how’s that for an answer?!
LIEUTENANT CARO: Okay. First of all—and believe me I would never do this—but we both know I could lock you up right now as an accessory to grand larceny for the little “discount store” your son is running out of his bedroom—second room on the left, right? No disrespect, Walter—but what’s the chances I go into that room right now and don’t find a bunch of electronical items without the proper receipts?
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: He gets the point, Dave—
LIEUTENANT CARO: Or how about I go into the next room by the bathroom—where the other convicted felon lives? Or how about I make an inquiry into your son’s girlfriend, Walter—because I’ll eat my hat if she ain’t a pro and for all we know Junior is her pimp—
POPS: I was a highly decorated cop—
LIEUTENANT CARO: You weren’t. I’m sorry. You weren’t a highly decorated cop. You were an okay cop. Better than some, no worse than some others. No shame in that. Be smart. Take the money. Eight years ago, you caught a bad break—
POPS: “Bad break”?! When’s the last time a black cop shot a fuckin’ white cop six times “accidentally”—and they chalked it up as a “bad break”?!
LIEUTENANT CARO: There was a hearing, Walter, you were present, the officer was disciplined to the severest degree short of termination—
POPS: Yeah, and my black ass is still chock-full of the bullet holes his white rookie–ass plugged up in me, now isn’t it?!
LIEUTENANT CARO: Yes, Walter. He’s white. You’re black.
POPS: Goddamn right I’m black!
LIEUTENANT CARO: No one’s saying you aren’t black. Who’s saying you’re not black? No one’s saying anything about anything—except to offer you a settlement you should’ve taken eight years ago. We’re all cops here, Walter, right? No black, no white—just blue.
POPS: This ain’t about no black, white or blue—this is about the green, Jack—and if I was white, they woulda given me my five million years ago!
LIEUTENANT CARO: Forgive me, Walter, but you’re dreaming.
POPS: Was I dreaming when that boy called me “nigger” before he shot me full of holes?
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: That’s an unsubstantiated allegation, Walter.
POPS: Oh so now I’m some liar crying “nigger” for a payday?!
LIEUTENANT CARO: Hey, man, calm down. Believe me, we came here as a courtesy.
POPS: I know full well why you came here—any opportunity to curry favor with the bosses! Bet it went something like this: “Yes, sir, Boss: my fiancée was his partner. So I can get that Old Bitter Monkey-Ass Nigger to sign that nondisclosure, cuz I’m like the Horse Whisperer of Getting Niggers to Sign Shit!
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Wow.
LIEUTENANT CARO: Nah, hey, I get it, and I get you, Walter—more than you think. And I take no offense. And personally, I would love to be able to agree with you completely. Because if not for the fact that you happen to be totally wrong, you’d probably be right. And I mean that. And that being said, I’m certain that you’ll also have to agree with me that—whether we like it or not—the simple fact is that not everything in this world, Walter, is about being fuckin’ black!
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: David!
POPS: It’s okay, Audrey, I been dealing with these folks all my life.
LIEUTENANT CARO: “These folks,” right, of course, exactly—
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Walter, do you honestly believe I could ever be engaged to a man who would ever think like you described—much less speak like that?
POPS: I don’t know, Audrey, it’s been awhile . . . And you wrong, Dave: it is about being black. Always has been, always will be—and who the fuck are you to try and tell a black man otherwise?
LIEUTENANT CARO: I apologize. But Walter, I’m telling you: don’t be the Old Black Man in the New White World. It’s a decent settlement. Cut your losses and take it. Let’s go, Audrey.
POPS: Hey, Caro: you’re gonna go home and jump into bed with my old partner here tonight, right?
LIEUTENANT CARO: I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything—
POPS: And if you got any pep left in your step, you gonna make love before you roll over and go to sleep and dream about being promoted up the damn “Alpo dog food” police chain, now aren’t you?
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Walter—
POPS: You still get it up, don’t ya, Lieutenant?
LIEUTENANT CARO: I’m a man, Walter—of course I get it up.
POPS: Well I don’t! The last eight years of my wife’s life—after the shooting—I couldn’t do nothing with her ’cept drink tea and play Scrabble if you get my meaning—and that ain’t the half of it.
LIEUTENANT CARO: I’m very sorry for that Walter.
POPS: Not as sorry as me and my wife, motherfucker—believe that!!!
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: And whose fault is that really, Walter?
POPS: . . . Excuse me, Audrey?
LIEUTENANT CARO: You’re about to lose your apartment and believe me, a whole lot more if they decide to unleash forensic accountants on every financial transaction you’ve ever made—not to mention what they could do to your three-quarter pension if they put every arrest you ever filed in thirty years under a microscope.
POPS: I wanna know what you meant before, Audrey, when you said: “Whose fault is that really, Walter?”
LIEUTENANT CARO: Hey—they will arrest your son, that’s definite—they might even try to arrest you. Why let them do that? For what? Because you’re “right”? Sign the nondisclosure. Cash a check. Take a trip to Acapulco, the Poconos—your veal it was impeccable, maybe open up a little place, or not—
POPS: Audrey! What did you mean by: “Whose fault is that really?”!
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: I’m on your side, Walter. But there are many people—black and white—who don’t see this case the way that you do.
POPS: And are you one of those people?
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: I wasn’t there.
POPS: So some incompetent white-rookie–Justin Bieber motherfucker shoots me six times—empties his gun inside of me—and him doing that is my fault?!
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: I misspoke, Walter, I’m sorry—
LIEUTENANT CARO: She misspoke, man—
POPS: You need to back up what you said, Audrey.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: . . . Or what?
POPS: Oh—so it’s like that now?
(Lieutenant Caro advances toward Pops.)
LIEUTENANT CARO: Walter, c’mon—
POPS: Hey! Don’t you come up on me!
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: The night you got shot, Walter—you were off duty, you never ID’d yourself as a police officer, and your blood alcohol level was one for the record books!
POPS: So I got good and stinkin’ drunk on my own dime, on my own time, and then the white rookie comes, opens fire on me—and that’s my fault?!
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: In an after-hours bar at six in the morning, populated with hookers, pimps and violent felons—a bar that was flagged by our precinct as a no-fly zone for cops—
POPS: You think I was associating? You think those criminals were my friends?
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: I have no doubt whatsoever that there wasn’t a person in that club that you didn’t hold in complete contempt—including yourself, Walter.
POPS: The person I hold in contempt is you, Audrey—you and Lieutenant Ass Lick over there—so save the Dr. Phil “I don’t like myself” bullshit for somebody else. “I don’t like myself”?! Show me one cop who actually does his job, sees what we see, becomes what the streets make us become—show me one cop who did what I did for thirty years who “likes” himself!
LIEUTENANT CARO: Okay now, emotions are running high—
POPS: Everybody hates fuckin’ cops—even cops hate cops. And everybody especially don’t like black cops! White cops were never comfortable with us, black civilians think we Uncle Tom, white civilians think we uppity, and everybody damn else sees we’re black and thinks we’re somehow not entirely qualified to carry a badge and a gun—
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Walter—
POPS: “Do I like myself”? Hell no! Do I drink? Hell yes! Thirty years, I gave everything to the job, and you got the nerve to come at me with: “Whose fault is that really, Walter?” That white rookie opened fire on me, Audrey! And he called me “nigger” while he did it. Six shots—N.I.G.G.E.R.—that’s what that was! He shot everything black in the whole joint and somehow didn’t hit anything white. Now how the fuck is that possible—and don’t I have the same right as anybody else to sip on a damn margarita and not get shot the fuck up in the process?
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: It’s not your fault that he shot you, Walter. It’s your fault that you were there. You clocked out at nine P.M. that night. Bars close at four. Seven hours wasn’t enough for you?
POPS: I drink sometimes. And I pay my own way when I do.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: And you paid an awful lot for those last few drinks that night, didn’t you? “Whose fault was it?” It was the rookie’s. “Whose fault was it really?” I can’t answer that. But I know Delores, your wife, had an opinion on that subject. Because if you didn’t have to be at an after-hours bar at six A.M., this never would’ve happened. But you did have to be there, didn’t you? And, Walter, if I walk outta here right now and a safe falls on my head, it’s not my fault. But if a safe falls on my head when I’m dead drunk at six in the morning, hanging out in a location where safes are known to sometimes drop on heads—
LIEUTENANT CARO: Walter, just, if I may: about the settlement—
POPS: Fuck your settlement, Caro!
LIEUTENANT CARO: Walter, please: this is all my fault and this is not how this evening was supposed to go. And you’re right, I am a department suck-up—I got my eye on a much higher pay-grade and I’ll choke on brass cock to get there. Whatever it takes. But the thing is, I’m in love with this woman here. I love her Walter—and all I know is she wants you to walk her down that aisle on our wedding day, which means I want that too. Think this through. Please . . . Look, my father was a patrolman just like you. He wasn’t black, obviously, but he was like you. He was a lot like you. Not the best, not the worst. Just the salt of the earth, ya know? And the job ends up killing us one way or the other. Often literally. My dad—he ate his gun, okay? You woulda liked him. And him you. So even though I don’t know, I know a little. Sign the nondisclosure. Don’t be a martyr. Be a grandfather. They’ll need your answer by five P.M. Monday, Walter.
DETECTIVE O’CONNOR: Please, Walter.
POPS: I got an answer right now: Fuck all a y’all. They wanna hang me from a cross—hang me. Ten dollars, ten million dollars—I don’t give a fuck. Just make sure you tell whoever sent you that Walter Washington is a man. They ain’t crucifying some supernatural Jesus!
(They exit.)
Walter Washington’s a flesh-and-blood, pee-standing-up, registered Republican—
(Pops coughs, then staggers, steadies himself, then collapses—and drinks. Pops is dimly lit throughout the following:)
SCENE 4
The Roof. Immediately After Dinner.
Lulu and Junior smoke a joint. Junior has a suitcase by his side.
LULU: . . . It really is so pretty up here this time of night.
JUNIOR: I gotta go, Lulu.
LULU: . . . Hey, remember when we fucked on that water tower and I almost fell off?
JUNIOR: Yeah.
LULU: Let’s do it again.
JUNIOR: I gotta catch my bus now.
LULU: I don’t know why I can’t go to Baltimore with you, Junior.
JUNIOR: I just need a coupla days alone.
LULU: Yeah, but I could go with you and you could still be alone.
JUNIOR: Yeah but I’ll be more alone if I’m actually alone.
LULU: But why you have to be alone?
JUNIOR: Don’t you ever like to be alone?
LULU: No.
JUNIOR: When I met you, you were alone.
LULU: I wasn’t alone then. You thought I was alone, but I wasn’t.
JUNIOR: Okay, but I like to be alone sometimes. Especially now with my Pops and all. Lulu, I gotta go, baby. I’m gonna miss the bus. I’ll miss you. Believe me. I’ll miss you a lot.
LULU: No you won’t.
JUNIOR: I will too . . . Lulu? . . . Oh okay, c’mon—let’s make love before we go to Broadway, okay?
LULU: You don’t really wanna.
JUNIOR: Of course I wanna.
LULU: Well, I don’t wanna.
JUNIOR: Why not?
LULU: Cuz before.
JUNIOR: Cuz before what?
LULU: Cuz before, I said to you that: “You thought I was alone, but I wasn’t really alone,” and you didn’t react or nothing, you just said you wanted to be alone, like you weren’t jealous or nothing!
JUNIOR: That’s not true. I heard what you said, and I made a mental note to fuck with you about it later, but for right now I just want us to be cool before I get on the bus.
LULU: Six months ago, you woulda been mad jealous. Six months ago you woulda never got on that bus. But now I’m pregnant and all you want is that I should get an abortion and kill our baby.
JUNIOR: I never said that. What I said was the decision was yours.
LULU: But your meaning was very clear! I bet you got some bitch in Baltimore anyway, don’t you? I wish you did have a bitch over there, because I would cut a bitch and not even blink—even in my pregnant condition, which, you don’t even care about that anyway.
JUNIOR: Lulu.
LULU: You said you was different, Junior! And I believed you! But thass okay, I know that’s just what old men say to get young-girl pussy.
JUNIOR: Look, just be sure to walk the dog while I’m away, okay?
LULU: “Walk the dog”?! Are you fuckin’ serious?
JUNIOR: Lulu—
LULU: “Lulu walk the dog,” “Lulu fix me eggs,” “Lulu get me weed,” “Lulu suck on my dick”—
JUNIOR: Okay, calm yourself—
LULU: I been with drug dealers and murderers treated me better than you! I been with crackhead-homeless in Van Cortlandt Park half naked in a blizzard who showed me more love!
JUNIOR: Well go be with them then! I’m already taking care of one impossible goddamn child, Lulu—my father—and I ain’t leaving him all alone even if it fuckin’ kills me, but I got no space to take care of two!
LULU: I’m not killing our baby!
JUNIOR: I’m not talking about the baby, I’m talking about you!
LULU: . . . Do you love me—yes or no?!
JUNIOR: See this is exactly what I’m talking about—
LULU: Yes or no?!
JUNIOR: Yes!
LULU: “In love”—or just “love”?
JUNIOR: Both!
LULU: No you don’t. This is over. We’re through!
JUNIOR: . . . Hey, hey. C’mon. C’mon, Lulu. You know what? I’m fuckin’ retarded.
LULU: Clearly.
JUNIOR: No, I mean—you wanna go to Baltimore, let’s just go to Baltimore, okay? . . . Let’s just go to Baltimore—c’mon, I’m serious. Let’s go. But we gotta leave right now.
LULU: I don’t wanna anymore.
JUNIOR: Okay, please? . . . Will you please go to Baltimore with me, baby? . . . Please? . . . I’m begging you, baby, I’m so stupid, I’m high on reefer I wouldn’t even be smoking if my Pops wasn’t so damn difficult, and let’s just—would you please go to Baltimore with me—please? It won’t be the same without you . . . Okay? Please?
LULU: . . . No.
JUNIOR: Okay, don’t go.
LULU: Oh, okay, I guess I’ll go. Let me just go downstairs and get my bag.
JUNIOR: You don’t have time to pack—
LULU: Oh, I’m packed.
JUNIOR: You’re what?
LULU: I love you so much, Junior. I love you so much, it makes me break out like I don’t know—like I got chlamydia or something!
JUNIOR: You’re fuckin’ crazy, you know that, right?
LULU: Uh-huh. Kiss me. Kiss me now.
(They kiss.)
SCENE 5
Pops Is in the Same Position as Before, Drinking Heavily.
A record like the Chi-Lites’ “Have You Seen Her” plays on the old record player. Pops drunkenly attempts to sing along.
Oswaldo enters, he is drunk.
OSWALDO: Hey, Dad, I missed dinner—but I brought you, where is that shit, I brought you, you gonna like it a lot—oh, I think I left it on the bus—
POPS: Is that you, Oswaldo?
OSWALDO: Yeah, it’s—uh-oh—
(Oswaldo throws up on the floor.)
Oh man. Sorry about that. Fuck. That’s disgraceful. I’m sorry, Dad.
POPS: You eat something bad, Oswaldo? Some bad fish maybe?
OSWALDO: I seen my father tonight, my real father. In the Bronx. I told you that before, right? It didn’t go well.
POPS: It didn’t?
OSWALDO: He told me I was no good. He told me I was a arrogant, petty fuck. He told me I was a bad fuckin’ person, a scumbag. He told me I was a weak addict just circling the drain, then he told me get the fuck out and don’t ever come back—can you believe that, Dad? He hit me in my face—see? He told me I was a First-Class Piece of Shit of the Highest Order. I don’t think that was right—do you, Dad?
POPS: Nah, Oswaldo—that ain’t right at all.
OSWALDO: Then he took my Black Rhino claw hammer with the ergonomics an’ shit that I gave him—and I mean, I don’t even know—I just fuckin’ ran—you know? Anyway. As a result of this, I’m thinking about calling an escort service now, Dad—whatchu think about that?
POPS: . . . Oswaldo? Oswaldo—are you drunk, Oswaldo?
OSWALDO: They got these services now, you can get cocaine and a woman, like both, you know? Like one-stop shopping? I just need a few hundred bucks—I could borrow that from you, right, Dad?
POPS: Oswaldo, what’s got into you?!
OSWALDO: Lemme just hold your credit card for a minute.
POPS: Hey! Now you sit your ass down.
OSWALDO: Your credit card. Lemme get it.
POPS: Hey now! I ain’t gonna tell you again—
OSWALDO: You hit me!
POPS: I’m just backing you off—
OSWALDO: But you hit me, Dad.
POPS: Oswaldo—
OSWALDO: Why you hit me for? Why you being like that?
POPS: I’m, I’m sorry—
OSWALDO: No you ain’t!
POPS: Oswaldo—
OSWALDO: Nah, Dad—just gimme your fuckin’ credit card!
POPS: Hey now calm down.
OSWALDO: Credit card!
POPS: But it’s me, Oswaldo—
OSWALDO: Why you acting like this for?! Credit card, Dad! Credit card! Credit card! Credit card! Credit—Or debit!
(Blackout.)