by Nicky Silver
BRIAN: The market. You must know what’s happening out there. It’s a bloodbath. A year ago you could sell a lean-to on the FDR for a million-five. Now everyone expects a bargain. Don’t you watch the news?
CURTIS: It depresses me.
BRIAN: Well, it can be grim.
CURTIS: Not the news, per se, although you’re right that can be grim, but the people who read it—they depress me. “The newscasters.”
BRIAN: Oh?
CURTIS: They’re all so pretty, you know? It’s like they have perfect teeth, and perfect hair—and perfect lives. Like giant Ken dolls spitting out tragedy.
BRIAN: What do you do again?
CURTIS: I write.
BRIAN: Not the news, I take it.
CURTIS: No, no. Short stories.
BRIAN: . . . You know they’re asking six-fifty?
CURTIS: I have other income.
BRIAN: I didn’t mean to imply—
CURTIS: It’s fine. You’re exactly right. Writing short stories in this day and age is like making Victrolas. People might think they’re beautiful, or fascinating, and they look good in a room—but no one has any real interest. It’s a losing proposition.
BRIAN: Still, it must be exciting.
CURTIS: Why is that?
BRIAN: I don’t know. Being creative. It must be exciting to start with nothing, just a blank piece of paper and create a whole world.
CURTIS: You’d be surprised how uncreative I can be. And there’s no paper anymore.
BRIAN: Right.
CURTIS: It’s computers now.
BRIAN: I know. —But, still metaphorically.
CURTIS: “Metaphorically”? You went to college, I see.
BRIAN: Is that a big word?
CURTIS: Everything is relative.
BRIAN: I went to SUNY, at Purchase.
CURTIS: Really? What was your major? I mean what does one study to prepare for the fast-paced and cut-throat world of glamorous Manhattan real estate?
BRIAN: Acting.
CURTIS: Of course.
BRIAN: Yes, I’m one of the ten million people in this city who call themselves an actor.
CURTIS: Could I have seen you in something?
BRIAN: I doubt it.
CURTIS: Try me. You might be surprised. I’m an avid follower of the arts. Have you been in something?
BRIAN: Just an evening of one-acts at EST.
CURTIS: I’ve been there!
BRIAN: Really?
CURTIS: Lots of stairs and the smell of urine?
BRIAN: That’s right! But respected. I mean people respect it. I was in last year’s marathon series, Night B. The third play.
CURTIS: I only saw Night A.
BRIAN: Oh. Well, it was a crappy part.
CURTIS: I’m sure you were great.
BRIAN: I don’t know about that. I mean my senior year at Purchase I was doing Happy in Salesman, and five years later I’m a waiter in a one-act. Not exactly a staggering trajectory.
CURTIS: Maybe you’re not very talented.
BRIAN (Light-hearted): Fuck you.
CURTIS: I didn’t say you weren’t. I’ve never seen you. For all I know you’re Olivier with biceps.
BRIAN: It’s not easy, you know? A lot of it’s luck. And the right agent.
CURTIS: Of course.
BRIAN: I had an agent who really believed in me. She was fantastic—
CURTIS: What happened?
BRIAN: Alcohol poisoning.
CURTIS: I see.
BRIAN: And since then . . . well.
CURTIS: Thus the real estate.
BRIAN: Exactly. Thus.
CURTIS: It must be frustrating.
BRIAN: Something’ll turn up. It’s important to run your own race. And I go on meetings, auditions. I send out my photo.
CURTIS: The one on the website?
BRIAN: What website?
CURTIS: The real-estate website. The agency.
BRIAN: Oh, yeah—right. That’s my headshot. Commercial. I have something much more serious for theater.
CURTIS: It doesn’t really look like you.
BRIAN: I didn’t think so either!
CURTIS: You’re a lot better looking in person. I hope that’s okay—
(Beat.)
BRIAN: Did I tell you the maintenance?
CURTIS: Maintenance?
BRIAN: On the apartment.
CURTIS: Oh. Eight-something.
BRIAN: Eight-twenty-five.
CURTIS: That seems a little high.
BRIAN: It’s average. Really. For the neighborhood. Did you notice the height of the ceilings? And we’re only a block from the subway. I expect this one to go pretty fast, even in the current market.
CURTIS: You know, I’m at CAA—
BRIAN: What?
CURTIS: As a writer. They represent me.
BRIAN: Really?
CURTIS: Maybe I could talk to someone.
BRIAN: About what?
CURTIS: About you.
BRIAN: What do you mean?
CURTIS: Well, I can’t promise anything. But I could talk to someone, make an inquiry—
BRIAN (Excited): You mean an agent? Talk to an agent? About me?
CURTIS: I’m not making a promise.
BRIAN: That would be amazing!
CURTIS: I don’t actually know anyone on that end.
BRIAN: But you think you could—
CURTIS: My agent must know them.
BRIAN: I would die!
CURTIS: Don’t do that.
BRIAN: I mean it! I would die!
CURTIS: I could talk to him, my agent. See what he can do.
BRIAN: That would be fantastic!
CURTIS: Well, we’ll see. I said, I can’t make any promises. We haven’t been getting along lately. My agent and me.
BRIAN: Oh?
CURTIS: We had a disagreement and he said some terrible things. But listen, I’ll do it. I’ll swallow my pride and give him a call.
BRIAN: That would be great!
CURTIS: I’ll do it Monday.
BRIAN: God. Really, thank you.
(Beat.)
CURTIS: Has this been on the market long?
BRIAN: Why would you do that?
CURTIS: Do what?
BRIAN: Call your agent—I mean, about me. Why would you do that? I’m just curious.
CURTIS: Why wouldn’t I?
BRIAN: You don’t even know me. You don’t know if I’m any good. I could be completely without talent. I’m not by the way. But I could be.
CURTIS: No one is completely without talent.
BRIAN: You know what I mean.
CURTIS: I have a sixth sense. I knew the minute I looked at you—
BRIAN: I don’t understand why you would do it—extend yourself for me, really. I’m a stranger. We just met.
CURTIS: Can’t I be generous?
BRIAN: You think I can get them to drop the price, don’t you? That’s it, isn’t it?
CURTIS: I can’t believe . . .
BRIAN: You think I can get you a better price. Is that why? I already told you the seller was motivated. I can only do so much. They’re asking six-fifty—I think they’ll take six. But I can’t do more than that. So I mean, if you think that dangling an agent in front of me is going to get you some kind of fantastic—
CURTIS: You’re very cynical.
BRIAN: I’m just asking.
CURTIS: You’re accusing.
BRIAN: You think I’ll waive my commission, then. Is that the angle?
CURTIS: No.
BRIAN: Admit it.
CURTIS: I was just being friendly!
BRIAN: I can’t waive my commission. First of all I need it to live and secondly I work for an agency. They won’t just let me waive a commission.
CURTIS: Why do you assume I have an angle?
BRIAN: Because I’m not stupid.
CURTIS: No, I know that. You went to Purchase.
BRIAN: Is it sex? Am I supposed to suck your dick or something?
BRIAN: You have to admit it’s odd, I mean it’s unexpected that a total stranger would just—
CURTIS: I made an offer, a friendly offer! What does it cost me to make a phone call? Nothing! I make a gesture of kindness toward you and you turn around and ascribe to it the most vile motives, disgusting motives.
BRIAN: Okay—
CURTIS: I don’t want anything! I didn’t expect anything. I was being generous!
BRIAN: I’m sorry—
CURTIS: It may be hard to believe, and maybe you don’t recognize it in today’s world, but I was being friendly! That’s all! That’s it! . . . Christ.
BRIAN: I’m sorry.
CURTIS: You have a dyspeptic view of mankind.
BRIAN (Apologetic): I guess.
CURTIS: God.
BRIAN: I’m sorry. Really.
CURTIS: All right fine. Let’s—let’s just forget it.
(Beat.)
BRIAN: I’m an idiot. A fucking idiot. Fuck me. Fuck me!
CURTIS: It’s over now.
BRIAN: You do something nice and I—I am terrible at reading people. That’s probably why I’m so bad at this, this real-estate thing. I have like the lowest sales numbers at the branch. You know, I started at the same time as this girl, we trained together. She has a lazy eye and she’s not very pretty, and believe it or not, she has zoomed past me. I tell myself it’s luck, but it’s not. She’s good. She can read people. She can size them up. She would never’ve insulted you the way I did.
CURTIS: You didn’t insult me.
BRIAN: I basically accused you of blackmail.
CURTIS: I overreacted.
BRIAN: You had every right.
CURTIS: Let’s just forget it, all right. It never happened. We’ll start from scratch.
BRIAN: Really?
CURTIS: Please.
BRIAN: So . . . we’re cool?
CURTIS: While, I’m not a person who uses the word “cool,” except to mean the chilly side of temperate—I would say yes. We’re cool.
BRIAN: Good. (Beat, then sheepish) So, you’ll make the call?
CURTIS (Very amused): Well, now I feel swindled.
BRIAN: Okay, okay, forget it.
CURTIS: No, it’s fine.
BRIAN: Don’t call him. I don’t want you to.
CURTIS: I’m going to call him.
BRIAN: You will?
CURTIS: Yes.
BRIAN: Don’t.
CURTIS: I’m going to.
BRIAN: Really?
CURTIS: Yes.
BRIAN: Thank you. And again, I apologize.
(A moment passes.)
CURTIS (Looking around): So, what do they want down?
BRIAN: Y’know, actually, I could talk to my boss. If things work out maybe I could cut the commission by like five points or something.
CURTIS: Suit yourself. —Is the floor oak or—or what is it?
BRIAN (Offering): You want a piece of gum?
CURTIS: No thank you.
BRIAN: Do you mind if I . . . ?
CURTIS: Of course not.
BRIAN (Putting a piece of gum in his mouth): We’re not supposed to chew gum, when we show apartments. They say it’s unprofessional. They’re very strict, they’re bullies. They tell us what to wear, what to say—and sometimes they send out spies. People who pretend to look at apartments, but really they’re just supposed to trap us in some kind of “unprofessional behavior.”
CURTIS: Really?
BRIAN: A guy got fired last week ’cause he used the word motherfucker when he was showing an apartment.
CURTIS: In what context?
BRIAN: He slammed a door on his hand.
CURTIS: Oh. Well, it seems called for.
BRIAN: So, why’re you moving anyway?
CURTIS: I’ve been renting and it’s time to buy. I have to say I like this place. For me.
BRIAN: It’s okay.
CURTIS: It’s right for now, but what happens if I meet someone? I mean, it’s okay for me, but I can’t imagine two people—
BRIAN: You could trade up.
CURTIS: With two people you need rooms. Actual rooms.
BRIAN: Tell me about it. I live with my girlfriend—we’re in a studio, and it is not easy. Let me tell you —
CURTIS: Oh?
BRIAN (Shrugging): But it’s what we can afford.
(Curtis moves away from him. Beat.)
You know what, if you buy this place or even if you don’t, I think this is it. I think this is my farewell to real estate.
CURTIS: Really?
BRIAN: I can’t do it. I can’t keep doing this.
CURTIS: You’re not happy?
BRIAN: Who could be happy? I mean it’s basically immoral. Like my offer to trim the commission. I don’t have to talk to my boss. We’re supposed to cut our commissions. The market’s as dry as the Amazon.
CURTIS: You mean the Mojave?
BRIAN: And I happen to know that there’s a leak. In that corner. They didn’t fix it. They just painted over the water stains!
CURTIS: It’s looking less and less like a bargain.
BRIAN: It’s not a big leak. You could fix it. But they didn’t. That’s the point. My girlfriend thought I’d be good at this. She said, “You’re an actor, sell real estate. It should be easy.” What it is, is a nightmare. And I’m not good at it and that’s the fact. —Success breeds success and I got shit.
CURTIS: What’s her name?
BRIAN: Who?
CURTIS: Your girlfriend. It’s just—You’ve mentioned her twice now, in as many minutes.
BRIAN: Dawn.
CURTIS: Oh, that’s a beautiful name.
BRIAN: Yeah.
CURTIS: What does she do?
BRIAN: She’s an actress.
CURTIS: Is it serious?
BRIAN (Hedging): Well, I don’t—
CURTIS: I’m just curious.
BRIAN: I think so. I think it is. Maybe it is.
CURTIS: Do you love her?
BRIAN: What?
CURTIS: Do you love her?
BRIAN: Well, I mean, that’s sort of personal, don’t you—
CURTIS: I’m sorry. I am. I’m a writer. I guess I’m just naturally curious. I try to find out about people.
BRIAN: Right.
CURTIS: Do you? Love her?
(Beat.)
BRIAN: I do. I think. I think I love her.
CURTIS: Describe her.
BRIAN: What?
CURTIS: What does she look like?
BRIAN: Um. Brown hair. Blue eyes.
CURTIS: Is she tall?
BRIAN: No.
CURTIS: Short.
BRIAN: Average.
CURTIS: Where did you meet?
BRIAN: Acting class.
CURTIS: Is she talented?
BRIAN (Considering this): Yeah. Yes, she is. She’s talented.
CURTIS: Did you love her right away?
BRIAN: I don’t remember.
CURTIS: Is she funny.
BRIAN: Sometimes.
CURTIS: Is she good in bed?
BRIAN: What?
CURTIS: Is she good in bed?
BRIAN: Wait a minute—
CURTIS (Becoming aggressive): Is she good in bed?
BRIAN: Where is this going? I mean, we’re standing around—
CURTIS (Very firm): Just answer. Answer the question. Is she?
BRIAN (Defensive): She’s fine.
CURTIS: Fine?
BRIAN: She’s great.
CURTIS: Does she love you?
BRIAN: I don’t know.
CURTIS: But you fuck her.
BRIAN: Okay, stop it.
CURTIS: You fuck her a lot.
BRIAN: Shut up!
CURTIS: How do you fuck her?
BRIAN: What is with you, man!? What the fuck is wrong with you?!
CURTIS: Are you on top?!
BRIAN: You don’t just ask that!
CURTIS: Is she on top? How do yo
u fuck her? Describe it to me!
BRIAN: Shut the fuck up!!
CURTIS (Vicious): Do you fuck her in the ass!?
BRIAN: Stop it!!
CURTIS: She lets you fuck her in the ass?!
BRIAN: What the fuck is wrong with you?!
CURTIS: Answer the question.
BRIAN: Fuck you!
CURTIS: You want me to buy this apartment?
BRIAN: I don’t care!
CURTIS: I’ll buy this apartment.
BRIAN: I don’t give a shit!!
CURTIS: Of course you do! You and your girlfriend, you and Dawn, of the medium height, of the brown hair and the blue eyes, the two of you, you and Dawn, who lets you fuck her in the ass, or doesn’t let you fuck her in the ass—the two of you jammed into that tiny room with no walls, one room! I think you need this sale! I think you really need it! I think you’d say anything! Any goddamn thing that enters your fucking little mind!
BRIAN: What the fuck is wrong with you!!?
(Curtis’s cell phone rings. They look at each other, tense. A moment passes. It rings again. Brian walks away as Curtis answers it.)
CURTIS: Hello . . . Hi . . . Oh . . . No, I don’t think so . . . Yes.
(A moment passes before Curtis closes his phone. And another before he puts it back in his pocket.
He tries to repress it, but the call has clearly affected Curtis very, very deeply.)
My father died.
BRIAN: What?
CURTIS: Just now. That was my mother. She called to tell me.
BRIAN: Holy shit.
CURTIS: It doesn’t matter. I mean it’s not a shock. It was expected.
BRIAN: Oh.
CURTIS: In fact, it was expected a week ago. I said good-bye a week ago. I sat there for two days, in that room, with my mother. And he wouldn’t die.
BRIAN: Oh.
CURTIS: Now I missed it.
BRIAN (Quiet): . . . Listen. I’m going to leave you my card—
CURTIS: What?
(Brian puts his business card on the floor.)
BRIAN: I’m gonna go. But take as long as you want. Look around. Whatever. Just shut the door when you’re finished. Okay?
(Curtis nods.)
Are you okay?
CURTIS: I’m fine.
BRIAN: Take as long as you want.
CURTIS: I’m trying to figure out why you would lie.
BRIAN: You mean, what, about the leak?
CURTIS: No. No, I don’t mean about the leak. I mean about everything.
BRIAN: I don’t understand.
CURTIS: I don’t think there is anyone named Dawn.
BRIAN: She’s my girlfriend.
CURTIS: I think I know why.
BRIAN: We live together.
CURTIS (Broken): I think you lied, I think you invented her to avoid me. I mean, you wanted the sale. You want me to call my agent, to get you an agent. And I think, you thought, if I thought you were gay, you might be expected to do things. With me. So you found a way to make all of that moot. I don’t blame you. Not really. Although it was stupid. It was pointless. Because nothing would have happened.