THE BOSS’S DAUGHTER
BY JOSH MCILVAIN
MARTIN is telling his friend (really the audience) about a recent amorous adventure with an old high-school chum and MARTIN s’ boss’s daughter.
SCENE
The apartment of a friend
TIME
The present
MARTIN: Remember my old high school buddy Miles? Anyway, we keep in touch. Not the best of friends over the years but we keep in touch. He knows June, my boss’s daughter, from college, and I’m not sure what their relationship was then but they’ve gone out for the past couple of years. He’s a lawyer now for an entertainment firm. He’s a rich kid. His father invented the dimmer switch. So Miles, June, and I get together in Hanesville where Miles lives and go to this cheesy suburban night club called Sergio’s. Loud music, girls with lots of shit in their hair, expensive drinks. We’re doing shots of Jagermeister which I haven’t done since sophomore year in college but June likes it. Makes her crazy and as the night goes on, I keep feeling her foot rubbing against my leg. At first I think she’s mistaking my leg for Miles’s or maybe it’s a joke but I don’t want to say anything because maybe it isn’t. June goes off to the bathroom and Miles starts talking about how June’s turned on by me and how he has this fantasy about watching her have sex with another man. So he makes this proposition . . . that if I’m willing, he’d like to watch me have sex with June. Well, I, what do you say to something like that? I said that’s pretty crazy. He said not to worry, it’s O.K. with him, he’s into June exploring her sexual impulsiveness. I tell him I don’t know I’ll have to think about it. June comes back. We have some more drinks and I’m thinking this is wild, probably a real bad idea but honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve had sex. My job gives me no time for a relationship. And June’s got a real nice, firm body. So we leave. The plan was to go back to Miles’s place and smoke some pot. But we start smoking in the car. I’m driving, June’s in the passenger’s seat and Miles is in the back. Well, I’m driving along, we’re laughing, and she starts rubbing my leg and we’re all joking about her rubbing my leg. For some reason it’s hysterical. Then she works her way up and starts rubbing my crotch and I’m like “Whoa-ho-ho!” and Miles starts yelling, “Work it! Work it!” and she works it! Then she takes my hand and puts it between her legs. My hand goes up her skirt and she’s got no underwear on. So I’m fingering her and I’m totally turned on but I’m also thinking, “This is nuts! This is nuts! I’ve got my hand in the boss’s daughter!” Things get heavier, we start to quiet down and I hear this flapping sound from the back seat. I realize it’s Miles jerking off. He starts yelling, “Pull over! Pull over!” So I turn off this road and go down to this boat ramp and park. June jumps on top of me. I still have my seat belt on and she’s fucking me. Miles is laughing, hollering, and June’s screaming. She’s a screamer. But I’m looking at her face and it’s dark and I can barely see it but what I do see looks just like her father so I say, “June! June! You’ve got to put a bag over your head!” She says, “Why?” and I say, “Because I work for your father and you look just like him and it’s bothering the hell out of me!” Then Miles shoves a plastic bag forward from the back seat, saying, “Put it on! Put it on!” He’s all into it. So she puts it on and we start fucking again and Miles is flapping away and June’s got this plastic Rite-Aid bag over her head which she has me pulling down so it’s tight on her face. Oh, it was sick. It was great too but it was sick, and I haven’t hung out with them since. But anyway, I get to work on Monday and I see my boss and the first thing I see is the resemblance he has with his daughter, and from that day forward, I became a lot less afraid of him, and I’m doing a lot better at work now.
BURNING THE OLD MAN
BY KELLY MCALLISTER
Two brothers, Marty and BOBBY, are on their way to the Burning Man Festival an annual desert gathering based on radical self-expression, to bury their father’s ashes. BOBBY, the younger, smokes weed in the back seat and sets their mother’s car on fire. It then blows up. BOBBY is on the phone to his mother.
SCENE
The lobby of a run-down motel
TIME
Summer
BOBBY: Hi, Mom. How’s it going? I’m fine. Yeah, really. Totally fine. Well, we’re still on the road. Listen, there was a little mishap with the car. Well, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. We were driving along, me and Marty, and I was sitting in the back because Marty was going on and on about how evil women are for like the thousandth time, you know how he does, and I didn’t feel like listening to that crap, so I got in the back and had a—well, I admit, I was smoking a cigarette—what? No, a regular cigarette. Well, he’s lying. Mom, I don’t smoke pot. Come on, what is this, high school? Honest, I was just smoking a regular old cancer stick. I know. I will quit. I don’t know. It’s been a rough time. I know he had it. But that’s not what he died of. I’ve been looking at his ashes for two days straight, contemplating cigarettes and bullets, and, you know, stuff. So, anyway, I was looking out the window at all that nothingness—you should see the desert. It’s beautiful. Open land, huge skies like the ceiling in that cathedral in Germany, I think it’s in Cologne—you know, that one I sent you the postcard from when I went there in high school—just awesome. I think I forgot how important it is to look at the sky, you know? Seems like all I do these days is forget things I shouldn’t. So, I was looking at all this unspoiled beauty, and I got so wrapped up—I think I saw a coyote—that I forgot I had a burning cig in my hand, and it burnt down to my fingers and burnt me, and I dropped the cig out of reflex, and I swear to God it was out, but I guess it wasn’t. And that’s what happened. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to burn your car up. I was just thinking about Dad, and how I’ll never get to tell him about the desert, or anything, ever again, and I guess I got distracted. I know it’s okay to be upset. Not too bad, more charred than burned, really. Oh, Marty’s Marty, you know? I think he wants to go home, get his nose back to his grindstone, which is fine with me. Yeah, of course I’m still going. I don’t know what he’s going to do, and I don’t care. You never know with him. I’m taking a cab from here. I don’t know. Hold on. (To Jo.) How far is it to the Burning Man?
[Jo: That’s just past Reno. About a hundred miles.]
BOBBY: I see. (Back to the phone.) Kind of far. Yeah, I think I have enough. What, the Visa? Yeah, of course I still have it. I was keeping that for an emergency. Yeah, I guess it is. Okay. Thanks, Mom. Okay. I love you too. I won’t. Ciao. (Hangs up phone.) Now, Miss, would you please call me a cab? One that takes credit cards?
CATCH & RELEASE
BY STACI SWEDEN
In an effort to convince his new girlfriend to join him on a fishing trip, MICHAEL CECONI, 30, tells her the story about the first time HE went fishing with his father. HE possesses a seductive, bad-boy energy.
SCENE
East Village, New York City
TIME
The present
MICHAEL: All right, so you never been out before, no big deal. You know what they say about your first time? You always remember it. My first time—I don’t think I can do it justice. My old man—it was what he lived for. He was a real piece of work. He was what you’d call “craggy”—face full of scars, a cigarette hanging off his lower lip—but he loved to have a good time. I wish you could have met him. When I was growing up he’d talk about when he was a boy just learning the ropes and how he was gonna take me some day. I’d beg him to take me but he’d say no, he had his hands full with my older brothers. So off they’d go, leaving me home to raise holy hell with my mother. And when they got back, I’d make them go over every detail. He’d take me in the back yard to practice. I learned so much listening to him talk about how great a sport it is—but there are two things you gotta have. Technique and instinct. Amazing how much of life boils down to technique and instinct. And there are a lot of guys who think it should come easy, be a piece of cake, guys who’ve only seen the movies and think that all
you got to do is dangle the bait. There are guys who never had anyone like my old man show them the right way, who don’t understand about the skill involved, who insist on daylight when it’s better in the dark. But hey, we all got to find our own way in life, right? That’s what my dad always said. Michael, he said, you gotta project confidence. You gotta learn how to listen. You gotta be able to concentrate, figure out your position. Position is key. But also keep it simple, stupid. Don’t get too concerned about the bumps and the groans in the night cause once you figure out your approach, your method, you’re more than halfway home.
I was waiting for the day, man, I was waiting for the day.
The summer I turned 8, the old man decided I was finally old enough so he took me on this fishing trip that was unlike anything you’ve ever seen. See, at a certain time of year the salmon are swimming back up the river to spawn, and the state—the state would rather have you be able to take the fish out anyway, they’re gonna die after they spawn, so you might as well take them out of the river and eat them. So at certain spots along the river, say in front of a dam or something, when the salmon have gone up as far as they can go—you’ll have guys lined up practically shoulder to shoulder with this kind of snagging hook—a big three-pronged hook that’s usually illegal—you have to use a different kind of line, too, not a lightweight sport fishing line but a heavyweight one in case you snag a rock you can pull it loose and not snap your line. So my dad and I went, it was getting dark and you have all these guys lined up, shoulder to shoulder, doing some of the most—aggressive fishing you’ve ever seen—throwing in, snagging, pulling out, throwing in—and hooks are flying everywhere, people just throwing and throwing. Sometimes a hook will land on someone—you know it when all of a sudden the guy next to you goes stiff—like this—cause if a hook hits you in the chest, say, if you hold still it’ll most often just bounce off—or rip your shirt, but not catch the flesh. There are times, though, that—because everyone is just throwing and throwing—a hook will snag someone in the face, in the cheek, say—and if you move, or if the guy that snagged you pulls his line, you’re hooked. And that’s exactly what happened to my dad. He flinched—just a little—and then said to me, Michael, in my bag—get the clippers. I could see that the hook was through him, through his face and my heart started racing, but he kept real cool, real calm and said—bring those clippers over to me. So I did, my hand shaking. He pulled that fish hook out through his cheek, took that little clipper and clipped the end of the hook off. Then he told me to pull it through. And that’s when I looked at his face and—got it. All those scars. And I looked around and saw all these guys surrounding us, guys who’ve been snagged—but they come back year after year. Like my dad. Like me. That’s why I want to take you. You’ll see. It’s a great sport.
CHAUCER IN ROME
BY JOHN GUARE
In Rome to find his son and also on a pilgrimage for the millennium, RON believes HE is confessing his sins to a priest and nun, impersonated by Matt and Sarah, friends of RON‘s son, Pete. They are videotaping RON as part of an art project. All three are present for the confession.
SCENE
The American Academy in Rome
TIME
July 2000
RON: That murder is like the facts of life. Would you teach sex to a kid? Kids learn sex on the streets. That’s what the streets are for. To learn the brutal—if I may call them that—realities of life. Kids are cruel. I’m sure kids told him about the murder which happened the day the Pope came to New York back in 1965 to pray for peace. Lot of good that did. Pope Paul was the Pope then. That’s thirty-five years ago. Does Pete know? Sure. He must know. But he never heard it from me. If he does remember it, he’s forgotten it. I don’t even remember it. It’s the good part of being a kid. You forget. . . .
I visited my father in the prison farm where they put him. I brought Pete out. My father sat at the prison piano and played
“Deep in the Heart of Texas.” “Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” The men who wrote those songs only wrote that one song and they lived like rajahs in the Taj Mahal forever. My father asked me who I was. “I’m your son.” My father said, “You can’t be my son. You’re an old man. This is my son.” And he kissed Pete over and over. This little boy—my son—Pete started crying. “Don’t cry, boy. I’m writing you songs that’ll make you rich.” My father looked at me. “Are you an agent?” I said, “No, Dad, I’m not an agent.” He turned away. “Thank you for coming.” He kissed Pete, who he thought was me, over and over. “I’m going to write you one hit song that’ll make you immortal and rich.” And I pulled Pete away and we went back home to our apartment.
[RON is quiet. Behind the screen, Sarah whispers to Pete.
SARAH: Do you want me to stop him?
MATT: No.
PETE: No no—go on.]
RON: I look at that spot in the apartment where my father killed my mother. And I look at my wife who I hate and there is an undertow in Sunnyside and pretty soon I know I will do the same to her as my father did to my mother. Which is why I would like to have her sins forgiven before I do it because it’s in my bloodstream—like me being an artist. My father wrote songs. I’m a painter—even if it’s just signs. Pete—well, he’ll be an artist. I know he’s got it in him. It’s in the genes. Like killing my wife. I need to know how my father felt. I know one day I’m going to put my feet in his footprints and do it.
Or maybe I’ll write a hit song like “Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”
CHAUCER IN ROME
BY JOHN GUARE
As an artistic endeavor, PETE urges friends Matt and Sarah to videotape his father’s confession by pretending to be a priest and a nun. The confession is broadcast worldwide and results in PETE’s parents’ murderlsuicide. HE flees to an isolated island off of the coast of Sicily, has given up his profession as an art historian, and is a waiter in a restaurant, where the now-famous Matt and Sarah, who remain guilt-free, show up on their honeymoon. PETE refuses to acknowledge them, but does reflect on his own guilt over the episode.
SCENE
A dive restaurant off the coast of Sicily
TIME
Summer 2001
PETE: When I was young—well, not so young—but young—school young—Iloved my research. I loved being in the library, going off to museums, staring at paintings, wondering about the history behind each painting—not how it was made but where it fit into history—what had come before it and what came after. And I knew what I wanted to do with my life.
There was a young woman in my class who intrigued me because she also worked as a model for a life study class to support herself. She was very funny and told me about the poses she had to strike during the day and how she loved being looked at while she was nude, senza veli—feeling all these pencils taking her shadow She was not a very good scholar, but she was attractive beyond any experience I had ever had and she liked me—why? I don’t know—perhaps she thought I could help her with a paper. The point is we met at the library one night and I walked her back to her apartment and she asked me in. Her one room was filled with charcoal drawings students had made of her body and then given her in token. I told her I did not have my pencil with me but would like to see what—to see how—well, we ended up in her pull-out—her bed. She lit candles. Her skin was even more luminescent than—do you know the paintings of De la Tour? Not important if you don’t—
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