by Lynn Nottage
STAN: You keeping yourself busy?
TRACEY: Trying. Been walking the line in the mornings. Working the phones in the afternoon. Nothing yet. Union’s offering money for folks to go back to school, but I never liked school, so I’m taking what little support they give until I can find something to pay the bills.
STAN: Almost three months. Fuck.
TRACEY: Who woulda thought.
STAN: I still think the way everything went down—
TRACEY: Don’t. Stop it. Everyone is treating us like we lost a limb. I’m fine. And the good news is, my back pain is gone.
STAN: Glad to hear it.
TRACEY: Thanks. Put my drink on the tab.
STAN: I can’t. Gotta run your card.
TRACEY: Since when?
STAN: Howard. That’s what he wants.
TRACEY: Stan! C’mon.
STAN: Sorry.
TRACEY: I don’t have a credit card.
STAN: Sorry. Too many folks not paying. Howard’s cracking down.
TRACEY: Stan! It’s me.
STAN: Can’t.
TRACEY (Pointing to Jessie): How’s she paying?
STAN: She pays.
TRACEY: She’s crashing with her sister, betcha she goes into her purse at night.
(Tracey downs the drink. Then digs into her pocket. She makes a show of counting out loose change on the bar.)
STAN: Oh, for God’s sake. Really?
TRACEY: You changed the rules, not me.
(Tracey continues to make a show of counting her coins.)
Fucking Howard. Jesus, I just came down here to get outta the house to relax.
STAN: Awright, awright. You’re so dramatic. Today it’s on me, but now you know.
TRACEY: I know. I know. God, I know, already. Thank you. I love you.
STAN: Do you?
TRACEY: Not going there.
STAN: I’m just saying. Life might be a little easier if you did.
TRACEY: I’m not sure whether you’re being really romantic or a little bit sleazy.
STAN: Whatever turns you on. You know where I stand.
(Oscar reenters and looks at Tracey, sheepishly.)
TRACEY: Well, I ain’t that desperate. (To Oscar) What are you looking at?
OSCAR: Is that how you say hello?
TRACEY: Yeah, to a fuck-face scab like you. You’re a piece of shit.
STAN: Hey, c’mon. None of that.
OSCAR: If you wasn’t a woman I’d slap you in your mouth. You’re lucky I was raised good.
TRACEY: Well, I wasn’t.
STAN: Hey, hey hey!
(Tracey charges toward Oscar. Stan intercepts, and holds her back. Oscar laughs.)
OSCAR: What are you gonna do?
STAN: Oscar! Take a break.
TRACEY: Let’s see if you talk // to me that way when my son is here.
OSCAR: I have no problem with you. This ain’t personal.
TRACEY: You better believe it’s personal … for me.
SCENE 6
November 3, 2000
Outside it’s 66°F.
In the news: It’s four days before the U.S. election and George Bush and Al Gore are running neck and neck in the polls. The Mayor of Reading proposes a budget to increase earned income tax. Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies” is slowly creeping up the U.S. Billboard music charts.
Bar. Chris and Jason burst in, adrenaline pumping. Jessie sits at a table, shit-faced but content.
CHRIS: They better not come at me again! // Cuz—
JASON: I’m ready! I’m ready for whatever they got!
STAN: What the hell’s going on?
JASON (Amped up): Aw, some of the guys got into a scrape with the scabs. McManus got cut, he’s gonna need ten stitches on the side of his face.
STAN: Yeah?
JASON: Some of the guys feel we shouldn’t make it so easy to cross the line.
STAN: Don’t like the sound of that.
CHRIS: Some shit, huh?
STAN: Seen it before. It’s not gonna help your cause.
(Jason sneaks a drink from a small bottle of whiskey tucked in his pocket.)
CHRIS: Same shit, nobody’s budging. The workers coming in ain’t feeling so temporary.
STAN: Tough. Whatcha gonna do?
JASON: Who the fuck knows? There’s a few guys, Stubbs, Godski, talking about taking the deal, but I don’t know, seems like a big waste of time if we give in now. They’ll break us, and there’s no going back. I figure I can hold out another three months. Push comes to shove, I’ll sell the bike. But me, honestly, I think we teach some of those guys a lesson, what do you think?
STAN: Hell, why are you asking me? I dunno. You’re young, I mean there are a lotta things you could do. Maybe it’s time to move on, this place ain’t what it used to be.
JASON: And go where?
STAN: Anywhere. Sometimes I think we forget that we’re meant to pick up and go when the well runs dry. Our ancestors knew that. You stay put for too long, you get weighed down by things, things you don’t need. It’s true. Then your life becomes this pathetic accumulation of stuff. Emotional and physical junk. You gotta ask yourself what you’re hanging on to, huh? I knew your dad, he was a good enough guy, but that place took him young. Sure he made decent money, but jacking’s hard—
CHRIS: Word.
JASON: Well, if things get too real, I got a buddy who works on a rig in the Gulf, says he can get me something in the spring.
STAN: Yeah? I hear you can make like a grand a week. Work half the year, and then do whatever.
JASON: Yeah. Just gotta get the card, and get down there.
STAN: Why the hell not? Me, if I was thirty years younger, I’d already be down there. Nothing but mildew lingering in these cracks. This place is for shit. Sure, it used to be something. But nostalgia’s a disease, I’m not gonna be one of those guys that surrenders to it. What do you get?
CHRIS: I don’t wanna think about it. My jaw’s tired of the damn chatter. Just wanna get drunk, smoke a blunt and chill for a little while.
JASON: That’s an excellent plan.
CHRIS: You know … I see my dad and—
STAN: He’s going through a rough patch.
CHRIS: That’s very polite. Not me, I’ll probably ride out unemployment, maybe pick up some heavy lifting, day stuff, then start college next September. The union’s offering some financial aid.
JASON: I can tell ya what they’re gonna say: “Fuck you, fuck you and—”
(Jason playfully jumps on Chris’s back.)
CHRIS AND JASON: “Fuck you!”
STAN: All right, all right. Break it up before it gets too kinky.
CHRIS: Whatcha got on tap?
STAN: The usual! C’mon, why do ya gotta ask me that every single time?
CHRIS: Keep hoping for a surprise.
STAN: You’re in the fucking wrong town for that. (Laughs) How’s your girl? I haven’t seen her around.
CHRIS: It didn’t work out.
JASON: She couldn’t fit his big dick in her mouth.
CHRIS: Shut up!
JASON: She was—
CHRIS: Shut up!
JASON: She—
CHRIS: Was sweating me.
STAN: Yeah? How long wuz you together?
CHRIS: Just under a year. She was pushing for more. But, I wasn’t feeling it, whatever holds people together, that thing. I didn’t feel it. So I guess, it’s for the best. No?
STAN: Good for you.
CHRIS: I told my girl that things were gonna be tight for a little while. And she’s all like, “What does that mean for us?” I break it down. It’s gonna get real. And she’s like, “Well, you need to find another job, playa.” I tell her that’s what I’m trying to do. But she got that old-school mentality, she wants what she wants in the moment, and can’t be thinking about tomorrow. Yo, she was too much work for a man outta work. She was plenty happy when I was a paycheck, numbers and pretty things, but the minute I ask her to borrow twenty dollars to put a little ga
s in the car she treats me like I’ve broken into her crib. What’s that about?
STAN: I remain unattached for those very reasons.
CHRIS: Now is the moment. You’re right, Stan. Maybe we should move on. We can complain until kingdom come. Bla, bla, bla. That shit gets old real fast. I’m out there on the picket lines every morning. I shout “fuck you” at a bunch of pathetic hungry guys. I feel good and superior about it all, for like five minutes, and then reality hits. They’re inside. And then I think about my pops. Who wants that shit?
JASON: Yo, if I was—
CHRIS: Hey, yo, shut up, man! Don’t say nothing, Jason, because I swear I will punch you out. And just let me finish! Okay? I used to worry about what people would think if I didn’t want to work in the factory. Now they got us fighting for scraps. But, Stan said it, the writing’s on the wall, and we’re still out here pretending like we can’t read.
JASON: Women cost money. All the shit they want these days, it’s too much. You gotta sew your pockets shut.
CHRIS: Wow, really, that’s your takeaway from what I just said?
(Jessie, suddenly:)
JESSIE: No. You’re a cheap-ass bastard.
CHRIS: Go to rehab!
JASON: But, seriously—
(Tracey comes out of the bathroom.)
TRACEY: Why don’t you ever have paper towels?
STAN: Doing our little bit for the environment.
TRACEY: Hey Jason, buy your mom a drink.
(Tracey drapes herself around Jason’s shoulders and gives him a kiss.)
JASON: Really? C’mon. That means I won’t be able to have another one.
TRACEY: Poor baby, what ever happened to the notion of sacrifice?
STAN: Jason, c’mon.
CHRIS: I got you, Mrs. T.
TRACEY: Is it your mother’s money?
CHRIS: … No.
TRACEY: Then okay. Stan. Pour!
(Jessie rouses.)
JESSIE: Hey, gimme one while the bottle’s open.
(Stan pours Jessie and Tracey drinks.)
JASON: Jesus, Chris, you’re making me look bad.
CHRIS: Don’t have to try very hard.
TRACEY: Okay, I got a story for you guys—
JASON: Oh no.
TRACEY: Shut up, you gotta hear it, you guys know Ronnie Golmolka, well he got caught—
(Oscar walks in. Tracey sees him and stops talking. It’s too late for Oscar to retreat.)
OSCAR: Hey Stan.
STAN: Oscar.
OSCAR: I came to pick up the rest of my stuff. But, if now ain’t such a good time … I thought …
(Jason and Chris stare down Oscar. Stan breaks the tension.)
STAN: It’s in the back. You want me to get it?
OSCAR: Nah, I’ll get it.
JESSIE (Shouts): Fucking scab!
(Oscar goes to the back. Jason stands up.)
STAN: Don’t!
JASON: Don’t what?
STAN: You know what. Sit down.
JASON: That fucking spic.
STAN: Hey, hey, c’mon. None of that in here. Oscar’s a good guy. Let him get his stuff, okay?
JASON: I don’t give a fuck.
TRACEY: Amen. That piece of shit knows what he’s doing. I don’t care about his sorry story. So what he’s got an apartment filled with seventeen relatives that gotta eat. I’m tired of their shit. I worked that line for over twenty years and he thinks he can push in.
STAN: Enough, c’mon. This is neutral territory.
JASON: She’s got a point. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let that fucker walk over my toes. It ain’t gonna happen.
CHRIS: J, sit the fuck down, you don’t got a beef with him. Not here. He’s just—
JASON: What?
CHRIS: Trying to make a dollar. Okay? The same as you or me.
JASON: Nah, it ain’t the same. We got history here. Us! Me, you, him, her! What the fuck does he have, huh? A green card that gives him the right to shit on everything we worked for?
STAN: Why don’t you take a walk around the block?
CHRIS: Yeah, let’s go.
(Chris tries to pull Jason out. Jason wrenches himself away.)
JASON: Do you hear yourself? I’m the problem? I should sit the fuck down? No way.
CHRIS: Let it alone. Fuck ’em. Now, ain’t the moment. That muthafucka ain’t worth it. Okay?
TRACEY: Did you see the way he looked at you guys? He’s eating your dinner, your steak and potatoes, your fucking dessert.
JESSIE: Yum! Yum!
(Jessie laughs.)
STAN: Shut up!
TRACEY: I’m not shutting up!
JESSIE: Tell ’em.
STAN (To Jason): You heard, it ain’t worth it. Why do you need trouble?
JASON: Just gonna set him straight. Simple talk.
STAN: Don’t be an asshole.
JASON: I’m an asshole? What I done? Eleven dollars an hour? No thank you. They’ll work us down to nothing if we let ’em. “Jacking ain’t for softies!” But they know they can always find somebody willing to get their hands sweaty. And they’re right. There will always be someone who’ll step in, unless we say NO!
STAN: Look. Olstead is a prick. If he was here I wouldn’t stop you. In fact I’d hold him down for you to give him a proper beating, but Oscar … he’s another story. He’s gonna walk outta here, and you, you’re gonna keep your mouth shut or I—
JASON: What?! All I’m saying is that he needs to understand the price of that dinner he’s putting on his table.
STAN (Shouts): What the fuck do you want him to do? Huh? It ain’t his fault. Talk to Olstead, his cronies. Fucking Wall Street. Oscar ain’t getting rich off your misery.
CHRIS: Jason, he’s right. He’s hustling. We’re all hustling.
JASON: Chris, what’s wrong with you? He ain’t with us otherwise he’d be walking the line. Am I the only one seeing this clearly?
TRACEY: No, you’re not wrong. He’s breaking the rules, not us!
STAN: Don’t let her get into your head. She’s drunk.
TRACEY: So what? It don’t change the truth.
JESSIE: // That’s for sure.
STAN: You can either sit back down or you can leave. I’m dead serious. But, you’re not starting trouble in here. Not with Oscar!
JASON: Oh, I see how this is gonna be.
(Stan slams a bat onto the bar.)
STAN: SIT DOWN!
(Jason reluctantly sits, the boy inside prevails.)
CHRIS: Yo, let’s finish up, and drive over to see what Gibney’s up to.
JASON (Moping): Yeah, maybe.
CHRIS: Play some cards. Win some money off of him. Two drinks and he’s sloppy and he’ll open up his wallet.
JASON (Smiling): Yeah.
CHRIS: Hit up a club in Philly.
JASON: Sounds good.
CHRIS: Cool?
JASON: Cool. I’m all right. I was just, you know—
CHRIS: Okay—
JASON: Whatever. I’m fine.
TRACEY (To Jason): That’s the problem. We all just roll over, and offer up our assholes for anyone who wants to fuck us. We will be fucked. Chris, they fucked your father, and Jason, if your father was here, I’d tell you what he’d do, he’d—
(Jason balls up his fist.)
STAN (To Tracey): Shut up!
JASON: Hey, watch your mouth. Don’t talk to her that way.
(Oscar reenters with a backpack slung over his shoulder.)
STAN: Take care.
OSCAR: Thanks for everything.
STAN: And tell your ma, thank you for the aripa.
OSCAR: Arepas. Will do.
STAN: Don’t be a stranger.
(They shake hands. Oscar heads for the door.)
TRACEY: Hey Jason, he’s heading out to cash your check.
STAN: Oh shit.
(Before Oscar can get to the door Jason pops up and blocks his path.
They stand face to face, eye to eye. A game of Chicken.)
OSCAR: Excuse me.
(Jason doesn’t move.)
I said, excuse me.
(Jason still doesn’t move. Oscar goes to walk around him. Again Jason blocks his path.)
STAN: Let him pass, Jason.
(Jason provokes Oscar.)
OSCAR: I don’t have no problem with you.
JASON: Too late for that
(Chris stands up.)
CHRIS: Yo J, let’s get up from outta here, okay?
(Stan moves from behind the bar.)
JASON: I can’t. I don’t know why, but I can’t let him walk outta here.
STAN: Sure you can! Nobody here is gonna think any less of you.
OSCAR: Move!
JASON: Or?
(A stare-down. Jason shoves Oscar.
Stan intervenes, grabbing Jason’s arm. Jason shoves him away violently. Stan loses his balance and tumbles to the ground.
Oscar goes to aid Stan, but Jason grabs him first.)
JESSIE: Oh shit!
(A loud and untidy fight ensues. It tumbles across the bar. Oscar manages to hold his own against Jason. Oscar breaks free, and runs for the door.)
OSCAR: Fuck you!
(Jason grabs Oscar. They tussle. Tracey picks up a glass to throw. Chris grabs her. Then Jason grabs Oscar. The fight continues. Chris tries to break it up. Oscar head-butts Chris, bloodying his nose.)
Bitch!
JESSIE: Don’t let him go.
(Chris’s anger has been ignited. He puts Oscar in a headlock and punches him several times in the stomach. Oscar drops to his knees.)
CHRIS: Motherfucker!
(Chris kicks him in the ribs. Oscar writhes in pain. Jason grabs the bat from the bar.)
JASON: Hold him!
(Chris grabs Oscar and yanks him to his feet. Tracey watches the battle, her face contorted with rage.)
STAN: Let him go!
(Stan manages to get to his feet, but it’s too late. Jason hits Oscar in the stomach with the bat. Oscar crumples to the ground. Jason hits him again. As Jason winds up for another swing, Stan tries to intervene, but the bat hits him hard in the head. Stan falls back, hitting his head on the bar—blood. He slumps to the ground. Jessie gasps. Jason, and then Chris, recognizes the weight of what they’ve done. They flee.)
TRACEY: Stan?!
Transition
September 24, 2008
In the news: President Bush prepares to present a very dire warning to the American people. He will suggest that unless Congress approves a $700,000,000,000 bailout for Wall Street, and it is approved within a matter of only a few day, there will be ominous consequences for the entire U.S. economy and for millions of Americans.