Nothing But a Star

by Jeremy Reed

Henry: All right, but remember Basil will be reported missing at some stage, and there’ll be CCTV footage of his last movements.

  Dorian: Basil demanded too much and gave too little in return. He was a typical loner, only ever thinking of his work.

  Henry: I knew him for a long time. We used to go to the Quebec together to try and feel young in the company of the old.

  Dorian: He was too possessive to be around for long. If he painted you he really believed he owned you.

  Henry: His commitment to his work was total. He was a closet case who couldn’t find the vacuum cleaner.

  Dorian: And viral. What with this infected painting he’s left me. I don’t want to be his carrier.

  Henry: I don’t credit Basil with that sort of shape-shifting power. He was basic mad English; and I tell you, I’ll miss him.

  Dorian: Shut up, please, or I’ll start to think I really do look like the painting.

  Henry: I fry my bacon in the morning thinking of Frank and honestly I don’t quite need a second helping. I’ll think about what to do with the painting, as it so distresses you.

  Scene Eleven

  Dorian Gray and Lord Henry sit in the living room of Henry’s Mayfair house, arms around each other, on a black velvet sofa, a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and two full glasses standing on the book-littered table.

  Henry: That party last night’s wiped my brain. I’ve no short-term memory left. Where was it, you’ll have to remind me?

  Dorian: In a dungeon in Earl’s Court, full of slaves in drag, as I remember, and I passed out, too, at one stage, in my Dior dress.

  Henry: But I knew there was something I had to tell you. Basil’s been reported missing in the Evening Standard and there’s a helpline. We both may be visited at some stage, if there’s an investigation.

  Dorian: That’s a bit soon. Maybe it’s his gallery, or someone in Paris where he’s supposed to be, or Alan Campbell? I don’t like it.

  Henry: I personally have Alan Campbell’s criminal record. Anyone in the force looking for promotion would pay serious money for it. You can rule him out.

  Dorian: It’s a bit sticky, though. I’ll get the flat professionally cleaned in case they track his movements on CCTV.

  Henry: The thing about crime is that it sticks to you if you stick to it. Get out and party and forget.

  Dorian: That reminds me, that book you made me read, Against Nature by Huysmans, it’s so saturated in excess, I’ve made it into my avatar.

  Henry: It’s the Lonely Planet guide to decadence that only my lifestyle updates.

  Dorian: I’ll take it on, but it’s hard to compete with a character who themes every action, including dying his food black for a party, and having a tortoise with a jewel-studded shell for a pet.

  Henry: I’ll open doorways in this city for you where everyone in the room is a murderer and they all work for the government.

  Dorian: I’d rather you didn’t; it’s too close to home.

  Henry: Look, in Basil’s case, unlike Sibyl’s, there’s no body. Basil’s kidneys, liver, heart etc., will be inside individuals in Saudi, Moscow or Ecuador. The police aren’t going to have surgeons cut open people to do an organ check.

  Dorian: But they’ll have him on footage visiting my apartment. Even without a corpse, there’ll be traces.

  Henry: The guilty always assume they’re that to others, rather than just themselves. It’s gross conceit.

  Dorian: There are facts though, and footage will show Basil entering my apartment but not coming out.

  Henry: There’s absolutely no reason why you should be suspected. But tell me, out of curiosity, how does it feel to be a murderer? It’s a distinction that few achieve, but which we curiously share.

  Dorian: It’s too early to know. I’m still in shock. For now I feel shattered and sick, and I can’t get rid of the brain snapshot of Basil choking on his own blood. Why do you ask these things? You know it was an accident.

  Henry: Only you know that, Dorian; I don’t. But stay with the conviction, or you’ll start to show signs of guilt that will attract attention.

  Dorian: But you’ve got to believe me. I hated Basil for his insane possessiveness, what he did to the painting for revenge, but I never intended to kill him, like we did Sibyl.

  Henry: And despite it all, you look even younger. It’s amazing, even after partying all night. You should start a new skincare brand: Crime Firms Up Wrinkles.

  Dorian: I’d leave the country, but there’s us, and anyhow it might lead to suspicion.

  Henry: You’ve got to go about your normal life. Just being you attracts attention, and that’s the best defence in itself. The weird are excused for being just that, which helps me in my profession.

  Dorian: I suppose you’re right. If I started acting normal I’d quickly be a suspect.

  Henry: That’s why bankers, MPs and financiers get caught. The police are attracted to the normal because they recognise them as similar sorts of criminals.

  Dorian: I feel totally wrecked. I need some fizz to wake me up.

  Henry: I’ve got a client to visit at the Garrick later for tea. He’s been a bit naughty with expenses, and it’s lucrative. Why don’t we have drinks somewhere at 7.00?

  Dorian: I’m frightened of being alone. I keep thinking that Basil’s going to come and find me and kill me.

  Henry: You mean the dead physically killing the living? That would shock me, if nothing else can.

  Dorian: You asked me earlier how I felt, if I was changed by the experience, and that’s what’s happened. I genuinely fear that Basil will hunt me down and murder me in my flat.

  Henry: The revenge of the dead. But I’m sure Basil’s going through very different processes to the ones we imagine. He’s in departures not arrivals.

  Dorian: It doesn’t take away my fear he’ll be back.

  Henry: Killers, unlike me, get the blues, and you don’t want to look the part.

  Dorian: I’m not a killer. I’m the victim of a man who set about psychologically destroying me. The painting’s the evidence.

  Henry: Just cool it, and join me later. I’ve got lucrative work to do—you forget I’m an emotional code-breaker—I crack senior ministers—and this one’s ready to come all over me.

  Scene Twelve

  Lord Henry Wotton’s living room. Dorian and Henry sit in chairs, pretending to be waiting for Sibyl, while Jane touches up her makeup on the sofa, apparently oblivious to both men.

  Dorian: Sibyl should be here soon. I told you, didn’t I, that she was rushed to A&E a few nights ago, after deliberately overdosing. I don’t know what to do. (Jane gets up and leaves.)

  Henry: And I’ve news for you. Jane and I are divorcing. Her partner Marilyn doesn’t like the fact she supports me when I’m not on top of my game.

  Dorian: I never think of you as married, and I doubt you ever do, so it’s probably the awareness that you are that’s troubling.

  Henry: Don’t ever marry. It’s the equivalent of making black toast to pretend you’re not a racist.

  Dorian: I’m too narcissistic to marry anyone but myself.

  Henry: And I haven’t told you, Alan committed suicide two days ago. His friend Adrian called me. There’s to be an inquest.

  Dorian: You mean Alan Campbell, who came over to dispose of Basil?

  Henry: Yes, the biotech body snatcher. The one who we hope sold Basil’s kidneys on to a Russian oligarch.

  Dorian: The idea of Basil’s parts still living in different bodies freaks me out.

  Henry: Don’t worry, his brain’s dead. Just don’t mix with Moscow billionaires.

  (The buzzer sounds.)

  Dorian: Who’s that? Are you expecting someone?

  (Henry Wotton goes automatically to the door.)

  Henry: James Vane? You’re Sibyl’s brother? Why don’t you come in?

  Dorian: James, I thought you were at sea, and gone for months.

  James: I thought I’d surprise you, mate, and see how you’ve been treating
my sister. I look out for her, see. I’m her watcher. She hasn’t been home for a few days, is she at yours?

  Henry: What can I offer you to drink, James?

  James: A cold beer, mate, and make it fast. I’ve got to make tracks.

  Henry: I’m afraid it’s a spirits and champagne bar only.

  James: Poofs’ drinks only, is it, mister? Giz a Scotch.

  (To Dorian): It’s only six weeks to the child, Dorian. Where are you and Sib going to live?

  Dorian: I don’t know. My flat’s not suitable. I’ll need to look at the property market.

  James: You’d better start thinking quick, mate. Sis needs a place. How’s your mate Basil?

  Dorian: Basil who? I don’t know anyone called Basil.

  James: Really? Sib told me he’d done your portrait and you won’t let anyone see it.

  Dorian: Oh that Basil. He went off to Paris some time ago to see about a show there.

  James: Hallward, wasn’t it? Easy name to remember. He’s missing, I read. I used to see him around, like.

  Henry: What about some pâté de foie gras or canapés, James?

  James: Don’t give me foie de arse, mate; you know where you can stick it.

  Henry: No aggro, James. Just have a drink and be on your way.

  James: You know why I have to look after Sibyl? She’s only attracted to queers or dickheads, mate, like the two of you.

  Henry: Give over, James. We live in a different world from you, that’s all.

  James: Yes, it’s all foie de arse, isn’t it? I’m splitting. You make sure you treat Sib right, mate, or I’ll be on your back, and say hello to Basil from his mate Jim. He’ll remember me.

  Dorian: See you. And say hello to Basil from me, if you see him first.

  Henry: What a relief he’s gone.

  Dorian: I don’t know why he keeps on about Basil, how can he know him?

  Henry: It’s simple. He too was painted by Basil Hallward after he met him somewhere in the East End, and clearly never forgot it. I saw the painting myself at the studio, years ago.

  Dorian: It’s probably the drugs he does that’ve turned him so dodgy. He got into them at sea, according to Sibyl.

  Henry: Let’s get out of here and clear the air. I need oysters for lube or I lose my smooth touch. I know a place in St Martin’s Court.

  Dorian: That guy’s spooky. He’s clearly onto something. I don’t like him turning up out of the blue like this.

  Scene Thirteen

  An East End crack house with addicts sitting on the floor with pipes. Dorian comes in wearing black shades and Armani, acknowledges a blonde-haired black woman at the door, pays her and goes into a back room to smoke an opium pipe with a city-type lying on a mattress.

  Dorian: Is it good stuff?

  Adrian Singleton: Really cool, man. Doris always gets good grade.

  Dorian: Pass me the pipe.

  Adrian: Don’t I know you? You’re a friend of Henry Wotton’s, aren’t you? And that painter guy who I read went missing—Basil Hallward.

  Dorian: I don’t think we’ve met have we? But yes, I know Henry Wotton. Why is that?

  Adrian: I used to hang out with his crowd, and he screwed me and my company financially. Wotton’s got a code-breaker’s mind.

  Dorian: I don’t know anything about that side of him. It’s got nothing to do with me.

  Adrian: You’re one of his boyfriends, aren’t you?

  Dorian: Did he tell you that?

  Adrian: No, I just wondered, that’s all.

  Dorian: This is good stuff. Doris is tops.

  Adrian: I sort of have an admiration for the way Wotton stitched me up. It took real skill to do it. Pass me the pipe.

  Dorian: This is cool stuff, man.

  Adrian: We had a guy at work disappear—Robbie, a hedge funder. A police tug pulled him out of the river under Vauxhall.

  Dorian: Why are you so concerned with a missing artist?

  Adrian: I don’t know. The story got into me somehow, and I’m curious. Maybe it’s seeing you, or getting stoned.

  Dorian: If that’s your BMW parked in the street, it’s going to get jacked.

  Adrian: The company will pay, just like we did with your friend Wotton.

  Dorian: This black’s real cool.

  Adrian: I had Doris over to my flat last week. She’s really hot.

  Dorian: I don’t like what I’m seeing. Is there someone else in the room? It looks like him…

  Adrian: Cool it, man. What are you seeing?

  Dorian: I can’t do it tonight. I’m going home.

  Adrian: Take care, man. Don’t go round the back of the estate or you’ll get mugged.

  (Dorian goes outside, stands shakily under a street lamp and gets jumped by James Vane.)

  James: So this is where you hang out, in crack dens. You better wake up, mister. I’ve got a lot on you, so you better explain where sis is, right. What’s happened to her, you fucker?

  Dorian: Let me go. Get your hands off me, you’re hurting.

  James: You’re crack house scum. Everyone who enters your life gets corrupted by you, Gray. Or should I call you Ben Walker, the name you rent under?

  Dorian: Get off me, or I’ll have you for assault.

  James: I’ve done my homework on you. You’re evil. You did Hallward, mate, and if you don’t take me to sis right now, I’ll strangle you.

  Dorian: Are you trying to blackmail me? It won’t work. I’ll have you done for it.

  James: Just try, mister. (He shoves him aside, and Dorian in return pulls out a handgun, empties it into James and runs off crazily.)

  Scene Fourteen

  The interior of Dorian Gray’s apartment. Henry Wotton sits in the semi-dark next to a drizzled lamp, checking his phone, while Dorian tentatively lifts a slat of the blackout blind.

  Dorian: It’s there again, the same blacked-out Merc parked opposite. They’re watching the flat, I know it. It’s police surveillance.

  Henry: You can’t be sure, but you’re probably better off lying low. My worry is that they’ve traced Basil through Alan Campbell. What if there were still body parts in his mortuary freezer?

  Dorian: But wouldn’t they suspect him of murdering Basil to sell his organs?

  Henry: Alan was in with mafia. We don’t know what his body parts ring may have leaked, or if he left a note.

  Dorian: You mean he may have incriminated me intentionally?

  Henry: We don’t know. There were questions asked about Alan at Guy’s relating to sex in the morgue. That was when I, strapped for cash, did some finely tuned tweaking of his account.

  Dorian: You blackmailed him over things you'd equally found in yourself.

  Henry: I wouldn’t call it blackmail; I’d call it professional sharing of the same secret.

  Dorian: It’s too late for me to leave the country, I’m being watched. What would I get for manslaughter, life? And you, the same for Sibyl?

  Henry: Why not ask the portrait, Dorian? I’m sure it’s got something to say.

  Dorian: Don’t do this to me, Henry. Are you on their side too?

  Henry: I’m just curious, that’s all. I’ve told you for a long time I’m as unshockable as a pilot’s bullet-proof door. I’m still hoping the painting will alter that.

  Dorian: You know it’s contaminated; I’ve told you. Why bring it up now?

  Henry: You know why. If you love me we’ve got to look at it together and share the experience.

  Dorian: You’re a sadist, Henry, and that’s why you blackmail people so precisely. Don’t do this to me.

  Henry: Have a Scotch, and we’ll look at it together.

  Dorian: I wish I’d never met you that day at Basil’s. You corrupt people with your ideas, and turn against them once they’re ruined.

  Henry: Like attracts like, only on different levels, yours physical, mine subtle. And not so by the way, what’s happened to Sibyl’s brother James? We haven’t heard from him lately.

  Dorian: You’ve got mans
laughter on me, and I’ve got murder on you, so where does that leave us, equals?

  Henry: There are no partners in crime, only two people with chewing gum stuck to their moral lives.

  Dorian: You know I can’t face the portrait; it’s malevolent.

  Henry: That’s why we need to do it together. It will tell us about your future, and how Basil’s directing the painting now he’s dead.

  Dorian: Haven’t I suffered enough without this?

  Henry: I’m not here to measure pain qualitatively or quantitatively, I simply want to make you aware of what you are. I can accept killing Sibyl as a perverse crime of passion.

  Dorian: And what if he’d painted you? Wouldn’t your face be like dirty money?

  Henry: But he didn’t, and that’s the mystery that separates you and me.

  Dorian: It took two seconds to squeeze the trigger, believing the gun wasn’t loaded, and that time has completely altered my life.

  Henry: I never told you, did I, that Basil made a will leaving everything to me? And it’s substantial.

  Dorian: It looks like I did you a favour. You’re sticky, and always come up winner; but wait and see.

  Henry: I was born like that, adhesive.

  Dorian (goes back to the window and cautiously lifts up a slat): The car’s gone, but they’ll be back. They’ve started phoning in the middle of the night to shake me up so I can’t sleep.

  Henry: The portrait will tell you what to do. You said it yourself: It’s your commentary.

  Dorian: Stop torturing me. I’ve got enough to live with already.

  Henry: Basil got into you because you got into him—he couldn’t forgive you his illness. Let’s see if he’s forgiven you now he’s dead.

  Dorian: I’d like to shoot the portrait.

  Henry: But that’s what you did to Basil. What about if you shot yourself? The painting might be restored to the real you.

  Dorian: You’re crazy. You’re telling me to blow my brains out? All right, I’ll look at the thing, if it’s so important to you.

  (The two go over to the covered portrait, and Henry lifts the velvet drape, while Dorian recoils in terror at what he sees.)