Sweat

by Lynn Nottage

  JESSIE: What you did wasn’t right!

  TRACEY: They didn’t even give us a fucking choice! After all of those years.

  CYNTHIA: I just delivered the news, babe. I didn’t make the policy.

  JESSIE (Shouts): You’re supposed to be on our side!

  CYNTHIA (Shouts back): I am!

  TRACEY: Do you know what it felt like to walk up to that plant, and be told after all them years I can’t go in? I can’t even go into my locker and get my stuff. I have photos of my husband in there. I have my grandfather’s toolbox.

  CYNTHIA: I’ll get it for you, babe.

  TRACEY: I don’t want you to touch anything in that locker! They didn’t even have the decency to let us clear out with dignity. A note taped to the door, what is that? And then to see you just standing there. I thought I was gonna lose my shit.

  CYNTHIA: I tried to warn you. I hated it.

  TRACEY: I looked for your eyes. Just gimme something, Cynth. A little look, to let me know it’s okay, but you wouldn’t even fucking look at me.

  CYNTHIA: I’m in a tough-ass position, babe. I got enough attitude from folks to give me a heart attack. I’m trying to hold things together as best as I can.

  TRACEY: What the fuck am I supposed to do? Huh? You coulda called me. Given me a heads-up. I mean come on. What am I supposed to do? Who’s gonna hire me?

  CYNTHIA: I know it hurts, babe. Take the deal.

  TRACEY: NO! You hear yourself?

  JESSIE: Can I have a beer, Stan?

  STAN: Sure.

  TRACEY: The other day, I walked over to the union office. Do you know what they offered me? A bag of groceries and some vouchers to the supermarket. They asked us to hold out, they’re gonna help. Yeah, pay my fucking bills, that’s how you can help. But, you know how many people were there for handouts? I looked for your eyes. Gimme something, Cynth. It was fucking humiliating.

  CYNTHIA: Look, I’m sorry.

  TRACEY: What am I supposed to do with that? Huh? What do you want me to do with that? You know what? This is my first time outta my house in one solid week. Do you know what it’s like to get up and have no place to go? I ain’t had the feeling ever. I’m a worker. I have worked since I could count money. That’s me. And I’m thinking I’m not gonna go out, you know why? Because I don’t wanna spend money, because when my unemployment runs out I’ll have nothing. So, I don’t go anywhere. And if Jessie hadn’t called me, I’d still be sitting on my couch feeling sorry for myself, picking at my fucking cuticles. Why’d you come in here? Huh? What do you want?

  CYNTHIA: It’s my birthday. And this is where we’ve always celebrated.

  (A moment. Tracey lights a cigarette.)

  TRACEY: Do you remember that time we went to Atlantic City for your twenty-fifth?

  CYNTHIA: Yeah, it was before Hank got sick.

  TRACEY: The boys, Jason and Chris, were little. It was the four of us. You, Brucie, me and Hank. We splurged, got a suite.

  CYNTHIA: Of course I remember … It was for the fight. Larry Holmes.

  TRACEY: That’s right. Hank had a friend, a high roller, and after the fight he invited us to one of those back-room clubs, you know very fancy. Champagne, buffet, seafood fountain, everything, really classy stuff.

  CYNTHIA: Why are you bringing this up, Tracey?

  TRACEY: Brucie was at the craps table rolling like a pro. Drenched in luck. It was just dripping off of him. The chips were leaping into his hands. And if I recall, he was also looking sorta fine that evening.

  CYNTHIA: Yes, he was.

  TRACEY: And then this chick.

  CYNTHIA: C’mon, stop—

  TRACEY: Yes. This chick. Legs, ass, boobs, weave. She was giving a full-service vibe, “walks” up and settles in next to Brucie—

  JESSIE: “Settles”?

  TRACEY: Her breasts were enormous, epic. Her dress, barely visible. I’m not a lesbian, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of her boobs.

  CYNTHIA: Why are you telling this story?

  TRACEY: This chick was in heat, and she ever so gently places her hand on Brucie’s shoulder, like this. I look over at Cynthia—

  CYNTHIA: Don’t—

  TRACEY: And—

  CYNTHIA: No—

  TRACEY: She—

  CYNTHIA: Lord, help me—

  TRACEY: Is wearing the look: Stone Age. Prehistoric. T-rex. And I know what it means, Brucie knows what it means, but this bitch doesn’t. Boobs leans over and whispers something into Brucie’s ear. That’s it. You just grab this chick’s tits, and dig your fingernails in as hard as you can.

  CYNTHIA: Yes, I did.

  STAN: Whoa.

  CYNTHIA: I’d had a couple tequilas. I wanted to deflate those fake tits. Puncture them with my fingernails.

  TRACEY: Next thing I know, Cynthia’s on the floor rolling around. Two grown women. It was sick. You put up a fight like a pro wrestler.

  STAN: Jesus. Atlantic City. That’s why I avoid it.

  TRACEY: But, I remember thinking: that’s my friend. She’s tough as hell. Don’t mess with her. She’ll fight for what she loves, even if it means getting scrappy and looking ugly. That’s my friend, and I miss the Cynthia who understood that.

  CYNTHIA: What do you want from me, Tracey?

  TRACEY: Walk out with us.

  JESSIE: Walk with us. C’mon.

  CYNTHIA: I can’t.

  JESSIE: C’mon.

  CYNTHIA: I’ve stood on that line, same line since I was nineteen. I’ve taken orders from idiots who were dangerous, or even worse, racist. But I stood on line, patiently waiting for a break. I don’t think you get it, but if I walk away, I’m giving up more than a job, I’m giving up all that time I spent standing on line waiting for one damn opportunity.

  TRACEY: You want us to feel sorry for you?

  CYNTHIA: … I didn’t expect you to understand, babe. You don’t know what it’s been like to walk in my shoes. I’ve absorbed a lotta shit over the years, but I worked hard to get off that floor. Call me selfish, I don’t care, call me whatever you need to call me, but remember, one of us has to be left standing to fight.

  SCENE 4

  September 28, 2000

  Outside it’s 63°F.

  In the news: First Lady Hillary Rodham Clinton posts strong polling numbers in her New York Senate race against Rick Lazio. Americans Venus and Serena Williams win a gold medal in women’s doubles tennis at the Sydney Summer Olympics. Three Mexican migrant farmworkers are killed when their car crashes into trees in Reading.

  Bar. Brucie sits at a table, Stan is at the bar. Brucie is slightly disheveled, strung out. Chris and Jason stumbled in, all energy.

  JASON: I don’t wanna hear it. I don’t care what anybody has to say, rhythmic gymnastics is not a sport!

  CHRIS: You try catching a ball with your toes, and then tell me it’s not a sport.

  STAN: Chris.

  (Stan gestures to Brucie slumped at the table.)

  CHRIS (Relieved): Jesus. Look atcha. Where’ve you been? I mean, I’ve been calling everyone. Goddamnit, where’ve you been?

  BRUCIE: Chill. I’m here. Whassup?

  CHRIS: Yo, J. Order me a beer.

  JASON: Okay. (Concern) What’s up, Brucie? You all right?

  BRUCIE: Why wouldn’t I be all right?

  CHRIS: // Shit.

  BRUCIE: You guys hanging tough?

  JASON: You know. Miss the grind. Feeling the pinch. But Lester says it’ll all work out.

  BRUCIE: I’ve heard that before.

  (Jason moves toward Brucie.)

  JASON: Yo, everyone’s been—

  BRUCIE: I’m fine. Take a step back.

  JASON: All right. All right.

  (Jason moves to the bar.)

  CHRIS: You can’t do that. Disappear? Look at me. Where’ve you been?

  BRUCIE: Around.

  CHRIS: Mom won’t say it, but she’s worried as hell.

  BRUCIE: Well, she has a damn funny way of showing it.

  CHRIS: Nobody
’s seen you in a month. What’s going on? What the hell? You stopped walking the line?

  BRUCIE: … Yeah.

  CHRIS: Dad! I’m talking to you! Where’ve you been?!!

  BRUCIE: Um, crashing at your Uncle Cliff’s crib, for now.

  CHRIS: You need to pull yourself together! This bullshit’s got to stop.

  BRUCIE: I’m trying. Hey, don’t give me that look. I’m trying. Okay?

  CHRIS: …

  BRUCIE: I’m trying.

  CHRIS: You high?

  BRUCIE: I’m a grown-ass man, I don’t gots to report to nobody. Especially you, boy! So step off.

  CHRIS: That’s all you got for me? Then go be a zombie, I don’t give a shit.

  (Chris goes to sit at the bar.)

  JASON: Leave it.

  (A moment.)

  BRUCIE: C’mon. Chris. I didn’t come down here for this. C’mon.

  CHRIS: What’s going on with you? Earl and Saunders, both of ’em called me.

  BRUCIE: I dunno. Can I tell you something that happened a couple of weeks ago?

  CHRIS: You know what, I don’t wanna // hear your bullshit—

  BRUCIE: Chris … please! Chris!

  (Chris walks over to Brucie.)

  CHRIS: What?

  BRUCIE: I was doing my rotation on the line, same as always. And it began to rain, all at once a downpour, folks fled, but I … I just stood there … couldn’t move. I got soaked through to my skin. I still couldn’t move. And … and finally someone pulled me into the tent to get dry, but my whole body was shaking, wouldn’t stop. It was scary. And I hadn’t had that feeling of being outta control since my mother died.

  CHRIS: You okay? Don’t let ’em do this to you.

  BRUCIE: …

  CHRIS: You hear me?

  BRUCIE: Yeah. Yeah. I’m okay. Will you buy me a drink?

  CHRIS: … Sure.

  BRUCIE: Thank you. Thank you.

  (Chris crosses to the bar. Stan pours a beer.)

  And you … you guys awright?

  CHRIS: It’s been rough. Man, they’re testing us. Folks are getting real hot.

  JASON: Tell me about it!

  CHRIS: I see those dudes heading into the plant and I wanna smack ’em—

  JASON (Clenching his fist): Fucking pricks!

  BRUCIE: I hear that. But whassup? You start school?

  CHRIS: Nah, I didn’t enroll this semester.

  BRUCIE: Why? What’s your mom think about that?

  CHRIS: Things have been a little strained between us. So—

  BRUCIE: You need to tell her.

  CHRIS: Why? I know what she’s gonna say. But, you feel me, right?

  BRUCIE: …

  CHRIS: Right? And with the shit that’s going down I didn’t make tuition. Things are tight. I was counting on those double shifts this summer.

  BRUCIE: Look, Chris, I can’t help you // I’m—

  CHRIS: I’m not looking for your help. Okay? My head’s not in it right now.

  BRUCIE: You need to get your head in it. I’ve been out here, and shit’s real. You sure this is a good idea?

  CHRIS: It’s what it is! And you’re the one that’s always saying—

  BRUCIE: Never mind // what—

  CHRIS: You taught me how to throw a rock. I remember the first time you walked the line.

  BRUCIE: Yeah, we were out almost two months. What about it?

  CHRIS: There was this one night you had a big meeting at the house.

  BRUCIE: // Yeah—

  CHRIS: Like ten–fifteen guys. It was loud, like a street brawl. I was hiding in the doorway, I had no idea what you guys were talking about, but it felt like it was gonna get ugly—

  BRUCIE: It was when Bobby Holden lost his hand in the mill.

  CHRIS: And you were all shouting about how you were gonna vote if they didn’t meet your demands.

  BRUCIE: That’s right.

  CHRIS: And suddenly you stood up, and for like a second you looked like another man, bigger, like a Transformer, and when you spoke everyone got real calm and began nodding. You said, um … “We … we will not continue to bare our backs for them to strike us down.”

  BRUCIE: Is that really what I said?

  CHRIS: Or something like that. I dunno. But, I remember the fire in your voice and how it made me feel. And after school, me and my friends rode our bikes to the mill and watched you guys picketing. You looked like warriors, arms linked, standing together.

  BRUCIE: Fuckin’ Bobby Holden—

  CHRIS: And you know, yesterday as I was walking the line, and listening to Lester tell us about what we’d have to sacrifice to keep the plant running, all I could think about was your words that evening. You! What it means to stand strong.

  BRUCIE: It’s tough for me to say, I’m union to the end, but this don’t have to be your fight. // You—

  CHRIS: But it is. I’m not gonna be a punk-ass bitch! That’s what they want.

  JASON: That’s right!

  CHRIS: I don’t care what anybody gots to say, we’re gonna stand together. And they’re not gonna break us!

  JASON: Hell, yes!

  BRUCIE: You think they give a damn about your black ass?! Let me tell you something, they don’t even see you!

  CHRIS: I’m gonna make ’em see me.

  BRUCIE: You think so?! After that storm hits, and all the dust clears, who’s gonna pick you up? Huh?

  CHRIS: …

  BRUCIE: You got options that I didn’t. School always scared me, that’s the honest-to-God truth. That’s all I’m saying.

  (A moment.)

  You really wanna know where I been?

  CHRIS: … No.

  BRUCIE: I didn’t think so. Don’t back away from what you want. That line is gonna thin out, and then what? That’s what I’m trying to figure out—and then what?!

  SCENE 5

  October 26, 2000

  Outside it’s 72°F.

  In the news: After yet another gun incident at a school, Attorney General Janet Reno reassures the public that “American schools are safe places.” 200 people camp overnight at a Reading electronics superstore hoping to be the first to buy the $350 Sony PlayStation 2.

  Bar. Television screen. Jessie sits slumped at a table. Stan is checking inventory.

  Oscar enters. A moment.

  STAN: So, when were you gonna tell me?

  OSCAR: What?

  STAN: … You crossed the line.

  OSCAR: Who told you?

  STAN: Nelson.

  OSCAR: They were hiring part-time temps to replace some of the locked-out workers. I can pick up a couple of hours in the mornings, and maybe get a full shift.

  STAN: Be careful.

  OSCAR: Why?

  STAN: Why?! Emotions are running high. That’s why.

  OSCAR: Yeah, well, they’re offering eleven dollars an hour.

  STAN: I know. Looks good from where you’re standing, but that eleven dollars is gonna come outta the pockets of a lot of good people. And they ain’t gonna like it.

  OSCAR: Well, I’m sorry about that. But it ain’t my problem. I been trying to get into that shop for two years. And each time I asked any of ’em, I get nothing but pushback. So now, I’m willing to be a little flexible and they ain’t.

  STAN: You want my opinion?

  OSCAR: Do I have a choice?

  STAN: Don’t do it.

  OSCAR: That’s your opinion. You gonna give me a raise? Huh?

  STAN: It’s not up to me, it’s Howard’s call. I just put the money in the till, I ain’t responsible for taking it out. But, let me ask him.

  OSCAR: They’re offering me three dollars more per hour than I make here. Three dollars. What they’re offering is better than anything I’ve touched since I got outta high school. So yo, I ain’t afraid to cross the line. Let ’em puff up their chest, but it don’t scare me no more than walking through my ’hood. I know rough. I ain’t afraid to roll in the dirt.

  STAN: Fine, tough guy. But, trust me you’re go
nna make some real enemies. Couple of folks you know.

  OSCAR: They ain’t my friends. They don’t come into my house and water my plants.

  STAN: Okay. But for the record, I think it’s seriously fucked up. Six months, watch, they’re gonna get another set of guys like you who’ll cross the line, and guess what? They’ll offer them ten dollars. Watch. Then you’ll be outta a job, wanting someone to stand by you. But ain’t nobody gonna do it. And, let me tell you something. My ol’ man—

  OSCAR: Yeah, yeah—

  STAN: Don’t you “yeah, yeah” me. My dad put forty-two years into building that plant, those benefits, those wages, that vacation time you’re so hungry for, guess what? He fought for ’em when the going wasn’t so great. That’s right. And you think you’re gonna walk in and tear it all down in a day. There are folks out there that won’t go down easy.

  OSCAR: Why are you coming at me that way? I’m not disrespectin’ you. I’m just trying to get paid, that’s all. For three years I’ve been carrying nothing but crates. I’ve got twenty-dollar bills taped to my wall, and a drawer full of motivational tapes. Got a jar of buena suerte from the botanica, and a candle that I keep lit 24/7. I keep asking for some good fortune. That’s it. A little bit of money. That’s it. My father, he swept up the floor in a factory like Olstead’s—those fuckas wouldn’t even give him a union card. But he woke up every morning at four A.M. because he wanted a job in the steel factory, it was the American way, so he swept fucking floors thinking, “One day they’ll let me in.” I know how he feels, people come in here every day. They brush by me without seeing me. No: “Hello, Oscar.” If they don’t see me, I don’t need to see them.

  STAN: I hear ya. But, c’mon, really? Look elsewhere, not Olstead’s. You don’t wanna do this.

  OSCAR: You know what I don’t wanna do? This.

  (Oscar makes a show of putting on his apron. He then lifts and carries a crate of beers into the back.

  Tracey stumbles in, untidy. She goes to the end of the bar.)

  TRACEY: Hey, Stan.

  STAN: Look who it is. I been holding a spot, you want me to put you down for fifty dollars for the Series’ pool?

  TRACEY: Nah. Not this time.

  STAN: You sure? You won two years ago.

  TRACEY: Not this time. Um, can I have a double vodka on the rocks?

  (Stan pours a drink.)