Nothing But a Star

by Jeremy Reed

  Dorian: Eighteen to be precise.

  Jane: Don’t worry, hun, I’m not jealous. We live our own separate lives.

  Dorian: I’m sure that’s for the best, from what he’s told me.

  Jane: If you don’t mind me saying, you’re very different from his usual type.

  Dorian: Perhaps it’s because I’m more intelligent than your average rent.

  Jane: No, that’s not it. It’s more that I feel your looks might prevent me from ever knowing you. Attractiveness sometimes shuts people out.

  Dorian: Or in. I hope I’m not that self-regarding am I?

  Jane: Anyhow, if I was to tell you about my own messed up life…

  (The door opens and Henry walks in with a Christie’s carrier.)

  Henry: I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Dorian. I needed to pick up a few interesting books I’d won at auction, and got delayed.

  Jane: I’m off. It was nice to talk at last, Dorian, and please don’t take offence at what I said. See you.

  Henry: Talk about what?

  Jane: Why should you care? The look, of course: Dorian’s look. He’s actually colder than his photos; that’s all. I’m going. Have fun, you two.

  Dorian: Bitch. I haven’t told you yet, Henry, and it may come as a shock, but we both have a woman in our lives.

  Henry: What do you mean; that we’re cheating on each other?

  Dorian: You’re married, and, well, I haven’t had the courage to tell you yet, about Sibyl Vane.

  Henry: What sort of name is that?

  Dorian: She’s a ham actress, Henry. I met her doing fringe Shakespeare in Dalston. It was her voice got to me, despite the fact that she’s trashy, pretentious and without looks.

  Henry: Go on, tell me more. I like the trashy aspect.

  Dorian: That’s it largely. I wasn’t in the slightest bit sexually interested; it really was her voice that took me backstage. It hit me somewhere I hadn’t been aware of before.

  Henry: How serious is your involvement?

  Dorian: It’s become a family thing on her part, because I got drunk, took some Viagra and fucked her. They believe I’m rich and a soft touch. I don’t know what to do. Sibyl threatens to kill herself if I leave her, and her brother’s trying to squeeze me.

  Henry: Ideally, we need a society in which all women are lesbians, and all men are straight. It’s one way of stopping opposites attracting.

  Dorian: She tells me she only likes feminine men.

  Henry: We’ve all heard that one. What she really means is that she wishes she was a gay man to make both of you happy.

  Dorian: It’s worse. She’s pregnant, claims it’s mine, and all of this because I got stuck on her voice.

  Henry: You can love somebody for their voice, that’s why pop exists, but what do you do when the person gets laryngitis?

  Dorian: I’m serious, Henry; I’ve got myself in a mess. Her brother Jim’s a merchant seaman, and he’ll do me over. His texts have already put the frighteners on me.

  Henry: Don’t react, that’s my advice. We have to do wrong to learn how to do right.

  Dorian: Your knowledge is dangerous, but I need it to get out of this scrape.

  Henry: Is the DNA testing conclusive?

  Dorian: Yes, but it’s worse than that. The painting that Basil gave me, it’s started to age, and looks like how I would imagine myself to be in ten years, if I’m still alive. It started the day after I met Sibyl.

  Henry: How are the two related? I don’t really see the connection.

  Dorian: Nor do I, except the painting seems to have developed a life of its own, and to be hacking into my system, somehow.

  Henry: I need to see it for myself. As I’ve never known anything normal, this may be my first opportunity to encounter something genuinely weird.

  Dorian: I’m not joking, Henry. It’s like the picture has downloaded my genes, and rapidly accelerated the ageing process.

  Henry: But physically you haven’t changed at all. If anything, you look younger.

  Dorian: I don’t know what’s happening to me. Basil warned me very clearly that if I attempted to destroy the painting I’d die.

  Henry: And do you seriously believe that?

  Dorian: I’ve come unquestioningly to accept it as a fact.

  Henry: But facts can be real, or imagined. True reality probably exists somewhere between.

  Dorian: Everything’s gone totally wrong since Basil dumped that unsigned portrait on me. It’s like the painting soaks up all my negativity.

  Henry: You’re probably imagining it, but our inner state is invariably our reality. I’ll come over and look at the painting, if it helps.

  Dorian: I can’t bear anyone to see it. And I fear the consequences of showing it to anyone, including you.

  Henry: I told you, Dorian, I’m still waiting to be shocked out of my world into the normal, so it’s no stress to me.

  Dorian: The painting seems to know my status, but do I tell Sibyl the truth?

  Henry: We’ll deal with that, if and when we come to it. Push for a termination. The trouble with single parenting is that children deprived of rows grow up unable to argue.

  Dorian: You’re impossible. And what about your own marriage?

  Henry: It’s a sham and one of convenience. I married for money and a house in Mayfair, and got both.

  Dorian: I’m worried about my inheritance from the Kelso side. I’ve got a small trust from my mother’s estate, but the really big money is still tied up, and I’m awaiting its release. I don’t want word of this reaching the lawyers.

  Henry: Don’t worry, I’ve got influential friends, and things can be done.

  Dorian: I’ve already promised to marry Sibyl, what do I do?

  Henry: Tell her you’re gay, and that she’s acting homophobic, and insulting you.

  Dorian: The family’s got it all worked out; my job’s simply to provide the money.

  Henry: Leave it to me. I’ll speak to Sibyl for you, provided I’m sure you’re not emotionally involved.

  Dorian: Don’t rip into her, Henry. She’s a teen wannabe that’s all, and far too sensitive for her upbringing.

  Henry: It’s a fundamental error to assume women are attracted to their opposites. She’ll like me, because basically we’re the same.

  Dorian: Of course, that’s why straight men are so jealous; women settle for them as second best.

  Henry: Don’t under any circumstances tell Basil about your involvement with Sibyl, that’s all I ask.

  Dorian: Why is that?

  Henry: Because he would be insanely jealous.

  Dorian: And that’s why the portrait’s sticky of course. It’s Basil that’s in there, accelerating my look into premature age.

  Henry: I can’t answer for that; but he has a history of jealousy that would make even a poisonous frog look insufficiently green.

  Dorian: I get you, so I’ll be careful.

  Henry: Let’s go out. I feel like I’ve outread this library, and want a sniff of the real instead. Let’s go to the Green Carnation for drinks, and take it from there.

  Scene Five

  Lord Henry Wotton and Basil Hallward sit drinking in a London club, the plummy burgundy interior retrofitted with tasselled lamps and red Chesterfield armchairs and sofas. They are alone in the room, and Basil stands up and confronts Henry.

  Basil: I can’t believe it, Henry. You’re telling me that little rat Dorian is getting married.

  Henry: That’s what I’ve heard, and I realise now I shouldn’t have let slip. Dorian should be here soon. So you can ask him yourself; but don’t say I told you.

  Basil: But he’s mine. All of those hours spent recreating him in every aspect through paint. I stole his character in the process, and I won’t give it back.

  Henry: You’re not the only one, Basil. It seems that half of London, including myself, has investments.

  Basil: The portrait’s toxic, if you can understand. By extracting Dorian’s personality, I gave the pai
nting bad karma. I did it like voodoo, mixing infected blood into the pigment.

  Henry: That sounds unlikely, but, Basil, the only way to sustain a relationship is never to ask questions about your partner’s private life.

  Basil: I can’t pretend I’m not eaten up with jealousy, but the painting will get him.

  Henry: Yes, Dorian told me the improbable story that the painting’s started to look older, while he appears younger. But let me tell you, play with rats and you get bitten.

  Basil: Who is the bitch he’s taken up with? He can’t be serious. My revenge will be the painting, you wait and see. What’s she got that I haven’t?

  (Dorian comes into the room quickly, wearing a grey fedora, a sharply tailored suit, and a splashy patterned silk tie.)

  Dorian: I’m sorry I’m late. The traffic’s madness, and I’ve been stuck in a cab for an hour. You did get my text?

  Henry: It’s rare that anyone dares to be later than me, so I take it as a compliment.

  Dorian: Hi, Basil, are you all right? You look like you’ve had some sort of shock.

  Basil: Too right. I am in shock, and I’m sure you know why.

  Dorian: You mean Sibyl? If I’m brutally cold with you, I need to clean up my lifestyle, so as to get access to the trust; but I’m not without feelings for the girl, and I mean it.

  Basil: And what about my feelings? Don’t they count? I’m shattered by the news. Why didn’t you tell me?

  Henry: Basil, there are levels of involvement without commitment, that I call attachments. It seems to me you’re attached to Dorian, but involved with the painting.

  Basil: You always intellectualise feelings into something cool, like you’re chilling Prosecco.

  Dorian: Come on; let’s have a drink to living wild and partying. What you’ve taught me, Henry, is to live so fully in the moment that I chase the next one to try and recreate the pleasure.

  Basil: I knew it wouldn’t take long for Henry to corrupt you. I made you and you dumped me for him, and now for this bitch.

  Dorian: That’s the risk of making a masterpiece, Basil. When it goes out in the world, it’s no longer yours. Let’s hit the champagne, as Henry’s paying. I want you both to come and see Sibyl at the Garage tonight. She’s support to a Pete and the Pirates gig. I’m talking her out of acting and into singing.

  Henry: I’ll come with you, but I warn you I’m bored before I start, and if you stretch that out like chewing gum, imagine how bored I’ll be by the finish.

  Basil: I really don’t think I should be here. I’ve got work to do, and need to get back to the studio.

  Dorian: Don’t be so selfish, Basil. All you think of is yourself. Try and be a mirror ball to others, we need you to sparkle a bit.

  Henry: I do sympathise with Basil. We live at a time when everything’s available, but nothing’s of any use. It’s like trying to have sex on the Moon.

  Dorian: But you’ve almost taught me how to do that, anyway, by dangerous living.

  Basil: Why am I always left out of everything? You two seem to have a system from which I’m totally excluded, and it was me who introduced you.

  Dorian: Come on, Basil, I gave you hours of my time modelling for that portrait, and it just happened that Henry came by when I was there, to see it. That’s how we all met. I want to get wrecked tonight, and you’re coming with us, Basil.

  Basil: And when you get home, Dorian, take a look at the painting and it will tell you what you’ve done. And I warn you, if you try to deface or destroy it, it will get you. It has a life of its own. Or your own, I should say.

  Henry: That’s got to be a new sensation, looking at a painting in which the subject tells you last night’s story.

  Dorian: It’s not funny, Henry, it’s downright spooky, and I still don’t want to believe it’s happening when I see it. Let’s go over to the Garage—it’s Highbury Islington.

  Henry: Basil, don’t go, please, you’re coming with us. Basil, come back…

  Dorian: It’s unbelievable that he’s just walked out like that.

  Henry: I’m not going after him, it’s pointless. Give him a few days, and, if he’s not drunk, he’ll come round to the fact there’s a woman in your life. Give me a few years, and I still won’t, but the slow ones tend to forgive.

  Dorian: I’m worried about Basil; I’ve never seen him like this before. You don’t think he’ll try and top himself do you?

  Henry: No, he values his creativity too much to do that. Don’t worry; I’ll go and see him tomorrow at the studio. He’ll be all right.

  Scene Six

  The interior of the blacked out low-lit Garage: music rocks the venue as Dorian and Henry make their way to the bar. As they do so, a hand falls on Dorian’s shoulder, and he swings round to look in the face of a block-built man with gelled hair, wearing a Jewish skullcap.

  Isaacs: Look, mate, you better stop messing with my girl’s career. I’m her agent, right, and she owes me five grand. I want her acting not singing, you ponce.

  Dorian: I’m afraid I don’t know who you are.

  Isaacs: Bill Isaacs, and you’re Ben, aren’t you, Ben Walker. I want five grand from you, mate, and pronto.

  Henry: My friend’s called Dorian Gray, and he’s not used to being manhandled by a greaser.

  Isaacs: You better shut up, too, or I’ll slap you.

  Henry: You’ll regret that.

  Isaacs: Look, Ben, I want five grand cash by Saturday, or your girl’s in trouble, right.

  Henry: Mr Isaacs, you keep on repeating yourself. I wish you’d expand on your theme.

  Isaacs: You, Ben, will give the cash to Sibyl by Saturday, otherwise I’ll come find you. I know where you live in Chelsea.

  Henry: Who is that obnoxious thug? Rough without looks—doesn’t even deserve to be called trade.

  Dorian: Sibyl’s agent; and something tells me he’d pull a gun rather than argue.

  Henry: That he’s incapable of dialogue is very apparent.

  (There’s an obligatory riffle of applause as Sibyl comes onstage to sing an electro-noir cover of the classic ‘Tainted Love’ with backing tapes and a single shocking pink spotlight directed on the stage.)

  Dorian: That certainly needs to be worked on; it’s got nothing on the original, but that’s impossible.

  Henry: It doesn’t feel tainted at all, just bleached of meaning.

  Dorian: The sound’s not right either. I hope this isn’t going to be a disaster, that’s all she needs.

  Henry: I can see Isaacs over there, looking at us. Why did he call you Ben? He must be confusing you with someone else?

  Dorian: I don’t know, he’s got the wrong person, and he’s probably smashed.

  Henry: What’s happening? It looks like she’s gone off and isn’t coming back.

  Dorian: The audience really don’t like her. And she sounded great doing the sound-check earlier. She’d prepared a short twenty minute set.

  Henry: Shouldn’t you go backstage and find out?

  Dorian: I’m frightened of Isaacs putting one of the minders on me.

  Henry: Come on. We’ll go together. There’s not going to be any blood spilled on my clothes.

  (The two are admitted backstage by a quizzical minder and knock on the door of Sibyl’s tiny dressing room.)

  Dorian: Are you all right, Sib, can we come in? What happened?

  Sibyl: I don’t know. It didn’t feel right, and I just snapped. Maybe it was because Isaacs was out there leering at me.

  Dorian: He threatened me straight away, and said if I didn’t pay off your debt by Saturday, he’d put the heavies on me.

  Sibyl: I’m in a right mess. It’s money he advanced me. I thought I’d earn it back, but I haven’t.

  Henry: Isaacs should be in prison, by which I mean working in a bank, where you’ll find the real criminals, out on parole at six each day.

  Sibyl: Can you find the cash, Dorian? I’ll pay it back in time.

  Dorian: I’ll see; I fundamentally object to being
threatened in this way by a thug.

  Henry: A greaser more like. Men with guns don’t usually have much to say; the bullets do the talking.

  Dorian: I think we should all get out of here fast. There’s got to be a back exit.

  Sibyl: Yes, the stage door will get us out to the street. Let’s go. I won’t get paid for cancelling, but who cares.

  Henry: Let’s get a cab and go back to the West End for rent. I’m sorry, Sibyl, I forgot you were here.

  Sibyl: Don’t mind me; I’m sure you two do it all the time.

  Dorian: Rent’s just Henry’s private word for slumming, that’s all.

  Sibyl: Like fuck, I wasn’t born dumb you know. Let’s just get out of here fast before Isaacs comes knocking.

  (Outside in the street.)

  Henry: One of us is a third party here, and I’m not quite sure who.

  Sibyl: It’s got to be me, but I’m not going. I’m with Dorian, mate.

  Henry: So am I, but we’ll make the best of it.

  Sibyl: I wish you’d leave us alone to get on with our lives.

  Henry: And I think the same, so let’s not make it an issue. I’ll drop you both off wherever you’re going—his or yours, it’s all the same to me.

  Dorian: I need to talk to Sibyl about this financial issue. I’m sorry, Henry, that the evening’s ended like this.

  Sibyl: How romantic, talk to me about finance, to save face with your friend.

  Henry: There’s a taxi, let’s go for it.

  Scene Seven

  The interior of Dorian’s Chelsea apartment: he lies on the sofa, ear-buds to his iPod in, laptop on, when the entryphone sounds.

  Dorian: Who’s that? Basil? I wasn’t expecting you. Come on in.

  Basil: I’m sorry. I was just passing, and thought I’d try you. I had to visit someone at World’s End who wants to commission a portrait.

  Dorian: Will you have a drink? Gin, isn’t it, with ice and slice?

  Basil: Thanks. Why have you put a drape over my painting, or I assume it’s mine?

  Dorian: Because I don’t like looking at it too often, and you should know why.

  Basil: I suppose it reminds you of things about yourself you’d rather forget?