by David Mamet
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You go, fly with the poor people, and I’ll see you at the . . . The green card? No, I told you, there’s no . . . What would it have to do with your green card?
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Well, that’s why we’re going back to Lon . . . There is no problem with your green . . . No, hold on. Let me finish. Baby, you’re just tired. Of course you are.
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Just like the “Tired and Poor.” Well, ain’t you well read. And I thought you were just a pretty face, and “rich girl shoulders.” And that baby-doll porcelain skin . . . You want the whole list? . . . I got it written down.
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I love you ttt . . . there’s . . . Francine: there’s no immigration problem. Did you get off the pl . . . Did you get off the plane?
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Then there’s no . . . Listen: you got spooked. And, you’re over-tired . . . Because you get this way when you’re tired. You got the heebie-jeebies. Now your mind’s racing. Take a sl . . . Oh, okay then. What woke you up? You . . . What are you worried ab . . . (He looks at his watch) The paper? Baby—since when do you read the ppp . . .
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You saw it on . . . ?
(He gestures to Carson to pull it up on a tablet. Carson does so.)
(Into phone) What were you doing online? Shopping? . . . Bet you were shopping, what’d you buy?
(Carson shows him the item on the tablet.)
(Into phone) Hold, Frankie, hold on. (Pause. He reads) “After an unscheduled st . . . continued to Toronto. On board, a young woman who claimed to be Mr. Ross’s fiancée . . .”
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“Who claimed to be his fiancée.”
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Uh-huh. No. That is not polite.
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No. I agree with you. It’s unwarranted and insulting. No. You’re not overstating it. Look, look: you and I. Wherever we go. Are going to arouse. A certain amount of envy. It’s inevit . . .
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Frank, Frankie, go look in the mirror.
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Who would not envy you? Or me for your companionship?
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Yes, they’re striking at me, through you. That’s absolutely right.
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Well, one has to learn some philosophy. We’ll sit on a beach and study it. What do you say? . . .
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France, what are you concerned about?
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“You lied.”
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When did you “lie”?
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When you said you didn’t get off the plane. Okay. Don’t worrr . . . If it constitutes reentry, we’ll set the clock back and stay out of the country for six months. Is that it?
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Then what is it?
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Well, you have to tell me, and you’re going to tell me, so, whatever it is . . .
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What do you mean “They took you off the plane”? Who took you off the plane?
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“And then . . .”?
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I know there’s “and then,” because I hear it in your voice. What is it?
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No.
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Oh no.
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No. They didn’t.
(Pause. He gestures to Carson for a pad and a pen. Carson passes them to him.)
(Pause. Into phone) Can you tell me what uniforms they wore?
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Because I need to know who they were.
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That “you did something wrong”? My God. Frankie. Oh my God.
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I have to call you back.
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Because I need to find out who did this to you.
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Uh-huh . . . Well, you let that be my business. Can you do that?
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Good. You just let me take care of it. I love you, baby. And I’ll call you back.
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Francie? I’m so very sorry. I’m so sorry.
(He hangs up the phone.)
Get me Mr. Rubenstein.
(Carson dials the phone.)
And then get back to Aerstar. Thank them. And I will accept their offer of the loaner plane. And get me out of here.
CARSON (Into phone): Mr. Ross, for Mr. Rubenstein.
MICKEY: Toronto and then London, with Ms. Pierson.
CARSON: Now?
MICKEY: Give me the phone.
CARSON (Into phone): One moment, please, for Mr. Ross . . .
MICKEY (To himself): . . . This sick little punk . . .
(He takes the phone.)
(Into phone) Dave. Okay, I been around a long time. As have you. But this fuckin’ Kid. Are you kiddin’ me?
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What? My friend . . . Ms. Pierson. Was detained. At the airport. By your people, who . . . “How do I know that they’re your people?” I’ll tell you how I know, as, we find . . . (Reading from his tablet) “Who claimed to be his fiancée . . .” Where and to whom was that said, Dave? So that it’s leaked in the newspapers? To whom was it said? To your people . . . At the airport. Uh-huh. Well. Look into this. My fiancée, a young woman, is taken from the plane, TAKEN OFF THE PLANE, and strip-searched, and strip-searched, by some fucking “matron” in a room, and is vio . . . Hold on, and is violated . . . physically violated . . . By, what is it? A “cavity” search. Why? Looking for what, Dave? That’s my question. Because, hold the fuck on, because she fit some “profile”? No. Because She Was Associated With Me. “How” do I know? Because the same people, who, essentially raped her, went and leaked the story to the press. Upon whose orders, Dave? Who would that be? The feds have no horse in this race. It’s this fuckin’ Kid, who thinks his shit don’t stink. What did I do to him?
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I didn’t and I don’t support him.
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’Cause he’s a fool.
Is that a crime now? Because I don’t vote for this “Man of the People.” Was he always this . . . DON’T TELL ME HE’S NOT DOING IT. Because he is. Was he always this sly, Dave? Where did he learn this? In the ivy-covered halls? I thought, all he learned there, was to make scented candles. What does he think, politics, is one of his charming Native crafts? He’s going to teach us to weave? Because I’m in the opposition? Look, look, I bounced him on my knee, he went the other way, and you went with him. That’s fine. I get it. But might you explain to him, I’m not his enemy. I’m just on the other side, and if there is no other sss—there is no ballg . . .
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Who knew the girl was on the plane, Dave? Who knew the girl was on the plane? Okay. He needs to make a show about my taxes, that’s fine. Here’s the thing, how was he brought up? To bring in a woman, who happens to be my fiancée. But if she were not . . . some innocent girl. Who further is under my protection? Does this mean nothing to him? Where’d he get it? From that fucking “man” he married, who . . . No, go ahead and tell him . . . Who, for all her commie bullshit is living off both the wealth and the influence her husband inherited. And thrilled to get it. And the nice fieldstone house on the Vineyard, and the pied-à-terre in town, and the unions in the family pouch, for sixty years. Now he’s the long-lost motherfucker come down to walk among us. My question? Where did all this money come from? To buy him this “enlightenment,” to “lead the oppressed,” and he . . .
(He picks up the newspaper.)
(Reads) “. . . parked cars and carried groceries throughout his teenage years.” He did? The little cocksucker. Two terms of his share the wealth, and then I want to see him fly commercial. This hypocrite.
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You and me stole some horses, Dave. The Old Man died, you went with the Kid. Whoever complained of that? But his father would of called me. If he had to make a show. “I’m fair game”? All right. But my
fiancée is not. His actions are disgraceful, and he wants to fuck with me—there’s gonna be a twister in a trailer park . . . Tell me you’re kidding. “How?” “How is he fucking with me?”
(He picks up the newspaper again.)
(Into phone; reads) To oppose “malefactors of great and unearned wealth” . . . Who would that be? “I, like my father, have devoted my life to public service.” Well, but how did they get rich, then? How does that work? With their summer house. Where Steven is raising . . . (Reads) “Little Sam and Lisa. To sail four-meter boats, and ride horses in the evening surf”? How did they get that money, Ruby? Anybody care? ’Cause I see in his ads . . .
(He unfolds the newspaper.)
(Into phone) . . . the happy family, ’round the rustic hearth. Whose stones, I recall, came from England, at the suggestion of, I believe, some decorator. Who, oh wait, also redid the statehouse. Oh, that was “put to rest”? Wait, I remember that stone fireplace. No. All right. No, not because of how it was paid for, but for what it was used for. Autumn nights, burned a lot of beautiful wood there. Maple . . . Applewood . . . What else did we burn there? Ruby? When the Old Man begged me? When he held. The hem of my coat.
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What did we burn there?
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I hope that it burned thoroughly, as I hate to leave things lying about.
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You still there? You ever clean out your desk? Something? Back in there, a piece of paper . . . “What is that?” You throw it out. Next week? Invariably. You find that you need it.
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“I’m playing with fire”? What is he going to do to me? I’m cashing out. “And go where?” Wherever I want. You see. And sit around with my wife, whom you thought good to physically abuse.
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What does the Kid want, the end of the day?
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He “doesn’t want anything”? Don’t tell me that. ’Cause if he don’t want something from me, he wants to do something to me. And, I can’t let him do that.
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Well, I want something from him. I want him to leave me and my friend the fuck alone.
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“Or what?” Or I will put an asterisk next to his name, in the record books. That small pointed star. You know what it means? It means disgrace. And I will shame this little pimp so badly his children will change their names. Good talking to you.
(He hangs up.)
(To Carson) Go down to the office. In the safe. I need you to fetch me some files.
TWO
The apartment. Morning.
Coffee service on a tray on the table. An overnight bag, open, sits next to it. Mickey enters from a room off to the side. He is carrying a Dopp kit, and puts it into the bag. He opens a newspaper, which is sitting next to the breakfast tray, and reads.
There is a knock on the door.
MICKEY: Yes, come in.
(Carson enters carrying some files.)
Well, I had a vision. An old man. His obligations are met. He takes a young wife. And retires. To a new life. This new life, you might say, is just the ultimate fantasy of wealth: that success, can buy simplicity. But. It is not a fantasy, this new life. One may have it. But one must abandon the old. In which process I was involved. During which I went and acted like a fool. And dragged myself back. When all I had to do was walk away. No. I don’t need the files.
CARSON: What would you like me to do with them?
MICKEY: Would you please get me Ms. Pierson?
(Carson dials a phone.)
(Looks at his watch) Have her picked up, at the Choate Hotel, and taken to Flight Services, in Toronto.
CARSON (Into phone): Ms. Ann Black. Hello?
MICKEY: Call Aerstar. I’ll take their plane with thanks. It’s not their fault.
CARSON (To Mickey): Right away, sir. (He hands him the phone)
MICKEY (Into phone): Hello? (To Carson) Thank you. (Into phone) Hello. Frankie? How are you this morning? You see the Queen up there? She out today? Well, she goes there sometimes. And the Mounties? Yeah. They Always Get Their Man.
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Just like you. That’s right. Thank God.
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No. No. Don’t worry about anything.
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’Cause there’s nothing to worry ab . . . (To Carson, gesturing at the coffee, offering him some) . . . They brought in some coffee.
CARSON: No thank you.
(Mickey points to the coffee service. Carson picks up the tray, and exits.)
MICKEY (Into phone): Yes. Yesterday was a bad day, and we’re going to let it go. Isn’t that what you always advise?
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Well, that’s what we’re going to do. And our trip? I’m reminded that it’s called “a honeymoon.” Zat too corny for you?
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We’ll get married in London.
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You’re shook up, of course you’re shook up.
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No. Here’s why. Because I’ve been through it. Babe, it’s just “The Old Life.” Reaching out to drag one back. We’re going to walk away.
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“How did I get so wise?” Because I’m old enough to be your father. (Pause. He laughs) . . . France? You kiss your mom with that same mouth? Where did you learn those words? Talk that way to me? I’m almost a married man . . . “Don’t worry.” It’s just some old friends down here wanted to play Ringolevio. But I ain’t playing.
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Tell you later. I’m gonna fly up there, I’ll see you in . . . (He checks his watch) Three hours.
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The green card, babe, is not an issue. Because, one: they took you off the plane, you did not leave the . . .
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“Two?” Two is: should they mess with us, we’ll take our football and go home, and you won’t need a green . . .
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Tahiti, wherever you say, Saint-Estèphe? Hold on, you know what we’ll be? “Jet-setters.” You ever hear that term? Howz that sound?
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As of now. All I wanna do’s have some fun. The “other” thing? It isn’t fun anymore.
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“Is it because of you?” Babe: everything’s because of you. I love you. You know what we’ll have in London? A roast fowl and half a bottle of mulled claret. With, what do they put in it? “Nutmeg” is that an aphrodisiac?
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I dunno either.
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“Ringolevio?” It’s a game we used to play.
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Well, you can’t learn it.
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’Cause you have to learn it in the streets. Cheer up. I’ll see you at the airport.
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You, too.
(He hangs up. Carson reenters.)
I’ll tell you what: I’m getting old. Walking away with the brass ring and the pretty girl, and I went and made a fellow mad. Ain’t that tempting fate? . . .
CARSON: Do you believe in fate?
MICKEY: Yeah, no. I don’t “believe” in it, I just seen it.
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All right, let’s mend some fences. Our friend, the young governor, what does he want? He wants to put me in the stocks.
CARSON: For what crime?
MICKEY: Oh no, no. For no “crime”—he needs an issue . . . Wants to get the cookie jar, and go save the people. How he would know “the people,” is beyond me, as the only time he ever saw them, they were waxing his car . . . Well, he always was a disappointment.
CARSON: To the Old Governor?
MICKEY: To us all.
CARSON: Is he going to win?
MICKEY: There’s a lot of foolish people out there—many of them vote.
(Mickey gestures to the files Carson brought in.)
You read the files?
CARSON: No, sir.
MICKEY: Why not?
CARSO
N: So that, if asked, I may say I didn’t read them.
MICKEY: Who would ask you?
CARSON: I don’t know. That’s why I didn’t read them.
MICKEY: Good for you. The Old Man taught “first rule.” Never look in the envelope.
CARSON: That was the first rule?
MICKEY: It was up there. F’you meet, maybe one man like that in your life . . .
CARSON: And you were his protégé.
MICKEY: Well, perhaps I was.
CARSON: Of course you were.
MICKEY: Yes, of course I was. Last night, in the midst of righteous fury, I thought, What would the Old Man advise.
CARSON: What was the answer?
MICKEY: His answer was, “Think again: a man has the right to change his mind.”
CARSON: “It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”
MICKEY: The Old Man said, “It’s anyone’s prerogative . . .” “A woman or a witness. Or a judge . . .”
CARSON: “Or” a judge? . . .
MICKEY: D’you come here to learn Business, Carson?
CARSON: Yes, sir, I did.
MICKEY: Want to know a “secret”?
CARSON: Yes, please.
MICKEY: Everyone wants something. What do they want? Money. Judge is no different than anyone else.
CARSON: The Old Governor would bribe a judge?
MICKEY: He was in bed with more judges than Miss America.
CARSON: How did he know that he could trust them?
MICKEY: He assumed that he could trust them, till they got a better offer. Just like a car. You put fuel in the tank, you assume it’s going to run. Fuel starts to run down, you better top it off.
CARSON: Can anyone be trusted?
MICKEY: That’s the question of the Sphinx—
CARSON: And what would the Sphinx say?
MICKEY: Sphinx says, You have to trust someone; who’d want to live in that world?
CARSON: . . . But sometimes you’re wrong.
MICKEY: That’s part of the cost of doing business. Point is, as the Old Man said, Keep the costs as low as possible. You would have liked him. Hard to fool. Can you imagine what it did, to him; that his son believed the crap we used to tell the voters? Sent his kid to college. Learned to despise the money his dad made to send him there. From nothing. Do you understand? His father? Went out there with nothing? . . .
CARSON: As you did.
MICKEY: Carson, I got a girl to rub my back.