Daylight Saving

by Nick Enright

TOM: This guy… sorry, Josh, is it? Josh doesn’t have to pick up the pieces after you.

  JASON: I’d still like to hear from him.

  JOSH: Well, I think you could modify his public profile.

  TOM: I’d rather modify his turns on court.

  JOSH: Like?

  TOM: Like Monte Carlo.

  JASON & JOSH: [together] That was a bad line-call!

  JASON: [to josh] Thanks, Joss.

  JOSH: Josh. As in Joshua. I fought the Battle of Jericho.

  JASON: Yeah? When was that?

  TOM: Josh, I’m not sure you should be encouraging Jason to think he’s—

  JOSH: Encouraging him to think. That’s exactly what I’m doing. I say it’s time he did some thinking for himself. And time you got some historical perspective.

  JASON: Yes it is.

  JOSH: Monte Carlo was an assertion of self. His identity was being questioned and he fought back.

  TOM: A call went against him and he staged a tantrum. It’s that simple.

  JOSH: Simple? Mozart spent his first twenty years doing what Daddy wanted, Tom. Being a good boy. Playing by the rules. But he had to break out. And he gave the world The Magic Flute.

  TOM: The Magic Flute? Well, Jason gave the world twenty-four hours of magic news photos, and I spent the next week mopping up. And that’s not on. There’s got to be some changes, Jason.

  JASON: Says who?

  TOM: Says me. Says Heidi.

  JASON: Heidi doesn’t know everything.

  FLICK and STEPHANIE enter with food.

  TOM: Heidi knows enough.

  FLICK: Not enough to change the name.

  JOSH: Look, Tom, nobody says to Mozart—

  TOM: No more Mozart, okay?

  JOSH: Okay, to Michelangelo, to Walt Whitman, make nice with the umpire. We’re talking history, we’re talking—

  JASON: Poetry.

  JOSH: Exactly. He’s on the frontier, doing things the rest of us only dream about.

  TOM: Like getting himself bucketed by every commentator on the circuit?

  JASON’s food is cleared off the table. STEPHANIE clears the yearbook and Nyngan, handing the latter to JASON, who looks at it. STEPHANIE starts to browse through the yearbook.

  JOSH: That’s a failure of imagination. Sports stars are our present day avatars. In international competition, they purge the frustrations of contemporary society.

  STEPHANIE: Is that what he was doing at Monte Carlo?

  JASON & JOSH: [together] That was a bad line-call!

  TOM: Bullshit.

  JASON: Let’s settle this right now.

  FLICK: Let’s eat!

  JASON goes out of the room.

  STEPHANIE: Oh, will you look at these cheerleaders?

  FLICK and JOSH exchange a glance of consternation.

  FLICK: Come and eat, Steph.

  STEPHANIE: [to JOSH] And this is you! Winning the public speaking competition. Oh, Fliss, look at his hair!

  TOM: That’s your old school?

  JOSH: Yes, I brought it in to show the girls.

  JOSH holds out his hand.

  I guess I’ll take it back now.

  STEPHANIE: Not yet you won’t. Get the hair!

  JASON returns.

  JASON: Finno, what’s happened to the Monte Carlo tape?

  TOM: I don’t much care tonight, Jason.

  FLICK: [trying to take the yearbook] Steph, let’s put this away. You’re embarrassing your friend.

  STEPHANIE: No man who’s worn his hair like this can ever be embarrassed. Oh! Here’s Fliss! You look so young! In the school play!

  TOM: In the school play? In that book?

  JASON: Here it is. In the VCR.

  TOM: What’s going on here?

  JASON starts the video.

  FLICK: [on TV] Look, what do you mean by fidelity? I think people can let one another down in lots of ways.

  JASON: This isn’t Monte Carlo.

  FLICK: Turn it off.

  JASON does so.

  Thank you.

  TOM: What’s this school play, Flix?

  JASON: Mrs Finn, I don’t want to accuse you of anything, but did you wipe Monte Carlo?

  TOM: I wiped it before I left. What was this play?

  JASON: Why did you wipe it?

  STEPHANIE: Can I see some more? It sounds wonderful. And I think the Herald sucks.

  STEPHANIE happily eats the lobster.

  TOM: What did they say, Flix?

  FLICK: Nothing.

  JASON: Why, Finno?

  TOM: Shut up! What did they say?

  FLICK: Nothing.

  TOM: What did they say?

  FLICK: [suddenly very loud] That I’m spiky and tense and surprisingly unsettled!

  There is a shocked silence.

  I can’t think why.

  TOM: Can I see the yearbook, please?

  JOSH: No.

  FLICK: [handing it over] Yes.

  TOM: What is this?

  FLICK: It’s a churchyard. She’s Lily. He’s Amos. He’s going off to war. It’s an American national classic.

  JASON: Finno, why did you wipe my tape?

  TOM looks at the yearbook.

  STEPHANIE: The lobster’s fantastic, Fliss.

  JASON: It’s part of our archive, man. Where’s your historical… what?

  JOSH: Perspective.

  JASON: Yeah, where is it?

  TOM: [absorbed in the book] I’m working on it.

  JASON: Mrs Finn, do you have any distilled water?

  FLICK: No!

  JASON: Boiled will do.

  FLICK: Then go and boil some.

  JASON: I can feel my system becoming totally unbalanced. That isn’t good for Tokyo.

  He goes into the kitchen.

  TOM: Was it a good play?

  FLICK: I thought so at the time.

  TOM: Had you forgotten you were in it?

  FLICK: I’d forgotten most of the lines. Can we talk about this in private?

  JOSH: No, let’s talk it out here.

  FLICK: I’d like to be left alone with Tom!

  There is a knock on the door. FLICK throws up her hands and moves towards it.

  Well, who could this be? Dougal and Jean-Luc? The Jehova’s Witnesses?

  She opens it. BUNTY comes in.

  Bunty.

  BUNTY: Mission accomplished.

  She looks around. STEPHANIE is eating at the table. JOSH and TOM are standing. TOM still has the yearbook.

  Tom! You’re back! But you missed the last twilight. Still you’ve met Joshua, isn’t that nice? And you’ve heard all about Felicity’s torrid adolescence. They were like that.

  She crosses her fingers.

  FLICK: Mother—

  BUNTY: All three of them. Felicity and Joshua and Holly.

  TOM: Holly?

  BUNTY: Joshua’s wife.

  TOM: His wife.

  JOSH: Ex.

  STEPHANIE: Wife? Oh, no. He’s gay.

  BUNTY: Stephanie, a little sensitivity, please. He’s going back to Holly tomorrow.

  JOSH opens his mouth to protest.

  Yes, you are, dear. And be strong. Whatever you’re going through is just a little phase, and I hope tonight’s sorted a few things out for you.

  BUNTY sees TOM with the yearbook.

  She’s gorgeous, isn’t she, Tom? Holly, I mean. Laid low by food poisoning tonight, and what a pity. It’s turning into quite a party.

  She looks at STEPHANIE who is still eating the lobster.

  Stephanie dear, I hope you’re going to leave some of that for the others. Felicity’s never too lavish in the portion department as it is. I know she wins all those awards, but what for? A snow pea and a Julienne carrot in a wasteland of white porcelain.

  FLICK: How are the boys, mother?

  BUNTY: They’re fine. It was just one of those little flatmates’ tiffs. And it soon sorted itself out. Dougal ate an entire tin of Walnut Surprise. Now they’ve asked me to bring down the yearbook.


  TOM: I’m still looking at it, Bunty.

  BUNTY: Give it here, you wicked thing. We can’t all be married to a cheerleader.

  JASON comes out of the kitchen, holding his hand.

  JASON: I scalded my hand on the kettle!

  BUNTY: Hello, Jason. What a cross little face. You looked just like that at Monte Carlo.

  JASON & JOSH: [together] That was a bad line-call!

  BUNTY: Nonsense, dear, it was sheer bad temper. All the girls at tennis thought so.

  BUNTY takes the yearbook from TOM.

  Thank you, Tom. Those boys are dying to see what you were like at seventeen, darling. We’re going to dangle our feet off the jetty and look at the pictures. It’s a lovely night out there. A moon on the water, and a whole extra hour for dreaming. Why don’t you all go out and enjoy it?

  She waves and goes out the door.

  FLICK: Yes, why don’t you? Why don’t you all go away while I speak to my husband? Alone.

  JASON: We have to talk first, Finno. You sneak back into the country—

  TOM: I never sneak.

  JASON: You walk out on a major dinner—

  TOM: With your contract in my pocket.

  JASON: You wipe a tape from my archive.

  TOM: Because I watched it back and I was disgusted. What do you want, Jason?

  JASON: A want a bit of historical… what?

  JOSH: Perspective. This is great, Jason. You’re thinking for yourself.

  He goes into the kitchen.

  JASON: Yeah. I mean, look at the way they treated Mozart. And he never won at Wimbledon.

  TOM: I don’t want to hear any more about Mozart. Or you. I want to talk to my wife.

  JASON: Heidi said you and me need to talk.

  FLICK: There’s that name again.

  TOM: Later.

  JASON: So we’re going to talk.

  TOM: Not tonight!

  JASON: Oh, Tommy. I’m hurting inside. You know the pain, man. Nobody else understands. I’m really down.

  JOSH returns with whisky.

  And I’ve been down since Monte Carlo.

  TOM & JOSH: [together] Well, that was a bad—

  TOM: [silencing JOSH with a look] That was a bad mistake, mate.

  JASON begins to gasp slightly.

  JASON: But when you’re out there on your own, it gets really tough…

  JOSH: Are you okay?

  JASON: It’s alright, I’m just deeply depressed.

  TOM: Calm down, Jase.

  JOSH: You want some whisky?

  TOM: Jason doesn’t drink.

  JASON: Just a glass of water. Boiled.

  TOM: Sure. Flix?

  FLICK: No.

  TOM: The boy’s upset.

  FLICK: And the rest of us are just fine.

  TOM: Well, the high school reunion seemed to be in full swing when I walked in—

  FLICK: You didn’t walk in. You were let in. Without your keys—

  TOM: Yes.

  FLICK: And your reading glasses. Straight from Heidi’s poolside. Does she have a hot tub as well?

  JASON: She has a rainwater tank.

  FLICK: Shut up!

  JASON: Do you have a rainwater tank?

  TOM: Shut up!

  JASON: Mineral water?

  FLICK: Go home, Jason!

  JASON: Give me a break, I only want—

  FLICK: You only want. Exactly.

  TOM: Leave the kid alone.

  FLICK: The kid. The kid. What about this kid?

  TOM: Oh, great. You get angry, you get righteous. You’re the one who’s had a dirty weekend.

  STEPHANIE: With Jason?

  JASON: With me? She’s old enough to be my—

  FLICK: Finish that sentence and you’ll never live to see Wimbledon again.

  JOSH: Jason, Stephanie, would you give us a bit of space here?

  TOM: Us? Us! What’s the story, Flix? Come on.

  FLICK: Oh, Tom, don’t play the disappointed coach. Nothing happened. But, oh, I was looking forward to it.

  TOM: To what?

  FLICK: To spending an evening with—

  TOM: A night.

  FLICK: Yes, all right, a night. A night with someone who didn’t have to phone Dallas or take Jason to the naturopath. This was my night.

  JOSH: Our night.

  FLICK: You shut up, too. This was my night, Tom. No-one was supposed to be here. Not Bunty. Not Steph. Not the White City Amadeus. Just me and my old flame. I’m sorry I lied, but I’m sorrier that I had to. And I’m sorriest I didn’t have any of it. Not the dinner, not the dancing, not the moon on the water. Nothing.

  She goes out the front door in distress. JOSH starts to follow her. TOM stands in his way.

  TOM: No way.

  JOSH: See? She’s thinking for herself too. Flicka!

  He makes for the door.

  STEPHANIE: [stepping between them] What do either of you care? Men are such bastards. Fliss?

  She runs out after FLICK.

  TOM: Oh, Christ. Flix?

  He too pursues FLICK out the door.

  Jason, I’ll call you tomorrow.

  JASON: Where’s my water?

  TOM: I haven’t got time.

  JOSH: [offering the whisky bottle] Take a hit of scotch.

  TOM: Jason doesn’t drink.

  JASON: [grabbing it] What do you care?

  JOSH: Right on, Jason. Personal liberation. [To TOM] You know something, pal? You don’t deserve Jason Strutt—

  TOM: You might be right there. Give it to me, Jason.

  JOSH: Like you don’t deserve Flicka. Because you don’t understand them!

  JASON: Yeah! What was that battle you fought in?

  JOSH: You know why I’m here tonight?

  TOM: I’ve made a fair guess.

  JOSH: Same reason he’s here. Personal liberation. This is the twilight of empire. Drink it, Jason, if that’s what you want.

  JASON picks up a glass.

  TOM: No! Give it here, Jason.

  Turning, he sees that JOSH has slipped out the door.

  Oh, Christ! Put it down and go home, Jason. I can’t let you do this to yourself.

  JASON: You drink enough of it.

  TOM: I’m not playing a six-figure tournament in Tokyo on Wednesday.

  JASON: [pouring a glass] Maybe I’m not either.

  TOM: You owe me better than this, son.

  JASON: And what do you owe me? I’ve given you the best seven years of my life, and you’ve given me nothing but criticism and negativity. And now you’re wiping my archive! I want some historical prospective.

  TOM: Per.

  JASON: What?

  TOM: Perspective. And that’s not what you want, baby, you want blood.

  JASON: I want respect. I want you to stop them calling me names. ‘The Killer from Kiama.’ ‘The Bad Boy from the Blow-hole’. I know why they do it.

  TOM: Do you?

  JASON: I can think for myself. I’m not stupid.

  TOM: No. You’re a very cluey young man. Jase, I don’t know what to do with you.

  JASON: Do with me? You don’t own me. You didn’t make me.

  TOM: No. We made you together. And I don’t like the job we did of it.

  JASON: What do you mean? Don’t you like me anymore?

  TOM: I mean we’ve taken a wrong turning somewhere. And a lot of the fault is mine. Heidi’s right, Jase. I think my life needs to change direction.

  JASON: Yeah? Well, I think that battle guy was right. You don’t deserve me.

  TOM: Seven years says I do, Jase.

  JASON: I know some other people who’d be very keen to handle this career. Maybe they can give me the right public profile.

  TOM: Aren’t you a bit young for plastic surgery?

  JASON: Don’t push me any further. Heidi told me to be ready to make some big changes.

  TOM: Ditto.

  JASON: You don’t want to make me do anything rash, do you?

  TOM: You’ve been doing fine on your own
lately.

  JASON: You’re pushing me, Tom. I don’t want to do it, but if—

  TOM: Do what?

  JASON: Sack you. If I had to sack you—

  TOM: Sack me! You can’t sack me, you… well, I suppose you can. Yes, you can, Jason. And you should. Big changes. Sack me.

  JASON: What?

  TOM: You know what we say, Jase. Find a strategy and stick with it. Come on. The golden handshake. The boot. The big A.

  JASON: You can’t do this to me

  TOM: I’m not even asking for a reference.

  JASON: What is this? It’s your life.

  TOM: No. Maybe it was once. Now it’s airports and jet lag, and homicidal photographers with guava juice dripping off their lens caps.

  JASON: What about the game? What about the buzz?

  TOM: I can get all that on TV.

  JASON: All right. All right. All right. One last chance.

  TOM: Please, no.

  JASON: You can’t walk out on me like this.

  TOM: Just watch me.

  TOM makes for the door.

  JASON: Finno? I’m scared. Really scared.

  TOM: No need to be, Jase. You’re dynamite.

  He offers his hand. JASON shakes it.

  Thank you.

  JASON: Oh. You’re welcome.

  TOM goes out the front door. JASON goes to the telephone and dials an STD number.

  Hello?… Yes it’s me… No, I’m not, I’m… I’m deeply depressed… Look, can I drive down and see you?… Tonight… why not tonight, I can be there in… Yes, I do, I do love you… thanks, Mum.

  JASON hangs up. He packs his food containers, collects the Herald, and is going out when he remembers something else. He finds Nyngan The Naughty Platypus, stows it in his bag and hurries out, as the lights fade.

  SCENE TWO

  JOSH comes in via the deck. He has his shoes and socks in his hand, and his trousers rolled up. He looks round.

  JOSH: Flick?

  STEPHANIE follows him in. She also has her shoes off. She carries a large sprig of frangipanni.

  STEPHANIE: Not here either?

  JOSH: No. I was sure she’d be down by the water.

  STEPHANIE: And I know what she must be going through. She’s incredibly sensitive. We’re very alike. We both internalise all our stresses, and just present this incredibly together front. But underneath… give me those lines again, will you?

  JOSH: Walt Whitman?

  STEPHANIE: Yes, I need them to pass on to… to a man I used to know.

  JOSH: [reciting]

  I think I could turn and live with animals,

  They are so placid and self-contained,

  I stand and look at them long and long,

  They do not sweat and whine about their condition,