by Debra Oswald
THERESE: The flame-haired goddess.
LEO: Yes. Now we’re getting somewhere. No children with her. Or with Maria—couldn’t get it up by then.
THERESE: So you’ve got four kids?
LEO: No. More. Eight that I know of.
THERESE: Four kids still unaccounted for.
LEO: I’m hungry. That’s why I can’t think. I missed out a wife.
LEO peers at the family tree, grunting with frustration.
THERESE: Leave a gap and you can fill them in later, eh.
LEO: They’re all monsters, anyway. All my children turned out to be monsters.
THERESE: I’ll scrounge us some lunch.
THERESE rummages around in the mess of the kitchen area.
LEO: I’m Australia’s greatest living artist!
THERESE: What was that, mate?
LEO: I’m a national living treasure!
THERESE: Yeah? Bit of boaster, aren’cha Leo?
LEO: I never had one painting lesson. My father—this is in New Guinea—my father thought painting was only for bored ex-pat wives.
THERESE: You grew up in New Guinea?
LEO: Shoosh! I’m talking. My father laughed at my paintings. I had to paint on bits of old masonite. Now they’re worth thousands of bloody dollars!
THERESE: Woo-hoo! There’s a tin of sardines.
LEO: Shut up! Don’t talk about sardines when I’m trying to tell you something.
THERESE: Fancy sardines for lunch?
LEO: I’m explaining something and you keep talking about sardines!
THERESE: I don’t keep talking about sardines. I only said the word twice. Well, now I’ve said it three times but only because you—
LEO: Who are you? Why would anyone want this job? You must be a loser, a no-hoper. I can see why. Look at you. A grubby, ignorant, gauche nobody.
THERESE fixes him with a fierce look.
THERESE: You know what, Leo? If you wanna have a slagging match with me, I reckon I’d wipe the floor with you. So I wouldn’t recommend trying it, all right? If you wanna ring your daughter and get me sacked right now, then fuck you.
LEO shrinks away from THERESE, afraid of her.
LEO: Did she do the list of things that are wrong with me?
THERESE: Yes. I’m going to have a proper study of the doctors’ notes later.
LEO: I’m going to die.
THERESE: Nah—I won’t let that happen. If you die, I’m out of a job and homeless.
She can see that LEO is very panicky.
Are you feeling crook right now? Probably hungry mostly. I’ll—
LEO: Every day more bits of my body start rotting. I can feel my lungs crumbling away like a perished sponge. I’m not even dead yet and the rotting’s started.
THERESE: Well, it’s my job to keep you alive.
LEO grabs her hand like a lifeline. THERESE is startled but lets him hang on.
LEO: Can you stop my body falling apart? No. You can’t.
THERESE: Hey. Hey. Leo. Don’t panic, mate.
LEO whimpers, clinging to THERESE’s hand.
It’s okay, Leo. You’re not dying right now, I don’t reckon.
LEO pulls away from her and shuffles out.
SCENE TWO
LEO, wearing pyjama pants and a dirty singlet, stumbles around the room looking for something.
THERESE shouts from the top of the stairs, carrying a towel, clean clothes and a pair of shoes.
THERESE: You little dickhead—get in that bathroom and have a shower!
LEO: Where is it?
THERESE: If you’re looking for the scotch, it’s upstairs.
LEO: Go and get it.
THERESE: No way. Get it yourself if you want more.
LEO: Mean-spirited bitch.
THERESE: Let’s get you washed. You stink.
LEO: Keep your hands off me. No shower. I don’t want to get wet.
THERESE: Put on clean clothes at least. Let’s get that festy singlet off you.
LEO: You know nothing! I’ve had books written about me. Thousands of words!
THERESE tries to get his singlet off him. LEO fights her off, whacking her in the eye. She hisses with pain and yanks him round by the shoulder.
THERESE: That’s enough.
LEO: Are you going to hit me?
THERESE realises she’s got her hand raised, about to hit him. She drops her hand.
THERESE: No. You shut up now and let me—
LEO: Your fingers are hurting me. Digging into my skin.
THERESE drops away the hand that’s holding his shoulder.
THERESE: Stink all fucking day if you want.
LEO makes a big show of putting on the shoes.
How can you be this drunk this early in the day? Atchally, don’t answer that.
LEO: I can dress myself, you stupid cow.
LEO throws the towel in her face with a triumphant hoot. THERESE steels herself not to react.
THERESE: How about I make us a cup of tea, yeah?
LEO grunts.
Are you going to sulk now? I hate sulking.
LEO: And I hate bossy bossy-boots.
THERESE: I have to be bossy. Otherwise you’d lie up there in bed all day getting smashed, never eat and never wash.
LEO mimics her nagging tone. There’s a knock on the door. THERESE opens the door to a chirpy, smoothy guy, carrying a portfolio and a bottle of scotch. GAVIN.
GAVIN: Hi! Gavin.
THERESE: Uh—hello—
GAVIN: Is Leo up and about? Figured I’d swing by for a surprise visit. Hope that’s okay.
LEO: You making tea or not?
THERESE: Cheer up. You got a visitor. It’s Gavin.
LEO: Who?
GAVIN slaps LEO on the back with affectionate familiarity.
GAVIN: Leo mate, how you going? [To THERESE] Me and Leo are old mates. [To LEO] Brought some pictures to show you—plus a little something.
LEO’s eyes fix on the scotch that GAVIN puts down nearby.
LEO: Me and Gavin are old mates. Aren’t we, mate?
LEO throws an arm around GAVIN.
GAVIN: Abso-bloody-lutely, Leo.
THERESE: I was just about to make a cup of tea.
GAVIN: Aww, wouldn’t say no.
As THERESE goes to make tea, she moves the scotch out of LEO’s reach.
THERESE: You’re our first real visitor. Other than the guys who deliver groceries and the liquor shop stuff. Oh, I’m Therese, by the way.
GAVIN: You’re new here, Therese.
THERESE: This is my sixth week.
LEO: They never last long, Gavin mate.
THERESE: I’m going to. You watch me.
LEO: She’s a bossy-boots, this one.
GAVIN: [to THERESE] How is he today? Has he been—uh—?
GAVIN mimes guzzling booze.
THERESE: Yeah. I try to get him to cut it back—
She shrugs—it’s hopeless.
GAVIN: Oh well… he’s a naughty boy, sometimes, aren’t you Leo?
LEO: Yep. Yep. I’m a naughty boy, mate.
GAVIN: Just as well you’re so special.
LEO: [to THERESE] Hear that, bossy-boots? I’m special!
THERESE heads to the kitchen.
GAVIN: Few pencil drawings I wanted to show you—get your expert opinion on—Oh, before I get those out, do you wanna just sign a few of these for me, Leo mate?
LEO: Sure, mate. Got a pen?
GAVIN: I most surely do.
GAVIN pulls out blank pieces of thick paper and balances them so LEO can sign the bottom.
LEO: You know what, Miss Bossy? My signature is worth thousands of dollars. Salvador Dali did this, you know. [To GAVIN] She’s stupid. Doesn’t understand anything. [He waves the hand holding the pen.] This bit of me is worth a hundred thousand times more than the rest of my body put together.
Gavin’s pager beeps. He reads the display.
GAVIN: Oh, what? Wouldn’t you bloody know it. Listen, Leo mate, I h
ave to dash off. But I’ll make some time to come back and show you those drawings.
LEO: No worries, mate. [To THERESE] Gavin’s a busy bloke.
GAVIN: [to THERESE, with a charming grin] Unfortunately true. Thanks for making the tea, Therese—even if I can’t stay to enjoy it. Catch you both soon.
GAVIN is out the door in smooth quick time.
LEO: Gavin left his pen.
THERESE: Was he getting you to sign blank pieces of paper?
LEO: That wasn’t paper. It was 600 gsm Arches.
THERESE: Whatever. Do you really know that bloke?
LEO: He was here once before. These pants are prickling me. You put the prickles in the washing machine.
THERESE: I don’t and you know it. Was Gavin getting you to sign blank paper the other time he came?
LEO: Yeah.
THERESE: But apart from that you don’t know him? Why did you say—? Oh, Leo!
LEO: Don’t yell at me.
THERESE: I’m not yelling at you. I’m yelling at that bloke who’s ripping you off!
LEO: What bloke? There’s no bloke here.
THERESE: The bloke who was here a minute ago. Gavin.
LEO: I don’t know any Gavin.
LEO shrinks away from THERESE.
THERESE: You said he was an old mate but he’s just some rip-off merchant! Bloody hell… He’s ripping you off, Leo!
LEO: You’re yelling at me. Stop yelling.
THERESE: I’m not yelling! I’m just—Oh…
LEO escapes out the door towards the bathroom. There’s a knock on the front door.
Quiet as a grave for six weeks and now it’s like fucking Pitt Street.
She opens the door to MARGO.
Oh. Hi. Leo! Margo’s here to visit you!
MARGO: Don’t bother. He hides if I turn up here. Looks like you’re coping okay.
THERESE: No, no, pretty much okay.
MARGO: Has the carpenter arrived?
THERESE: No. But a tradesman’s what we need. Whole wall fell off the bathroom the other day.
MARGO: The carpenter’s coming to quote on a job. We’re removing this panel. There’s a mural underneath the layers of muck.
THERESE: Well, no carpenter’s turned up.
THERESE darts across to look towards the bathroom for a sign of LEO. MARGO notices how frazzled THERESE looks.
MARGO: Is something wrong?
THERESE: No—well—no.
MARGO: I realise this job must be stressful sometimes.
THERESE: Well, yeah.
MARGO: But since I hadn’t heard, I assumed you were coping with things. Is there anything you want to—?
THERESE: Atchally I wanted to ask you about the liquor shop deliveries.
MARGO: Is there a problem? The account comes to my office and as far as I know—
THERESE: No problem with the paying. It’s just—well, a whole box of booze delivered to the door every week…
MARGO: Leo orders it.
THERESE: But shouldn’t someone try to—?
MARGO: I have tried to get him off it. Several times. It’s hopeless. And in the end, it’s his choice.
THERESE: I guess so… Have you told Leo about the wall? I mean, if you rip out part of his house, he’ll go ballistic.
MARGO: I know. I’m sorry about that. But we don’t have many options. His financial situation is very tight.
THERESE: Fair enough. I guess we’ll manage. But aren’t his paintings worth, like, megabucks?
MARGO: A Bailey reached a new record at auction last month.
THERESE: Yeah, so if he needs money, can’t you just sell one?
MARGO: Leo doesn’t own the paintings—well, very few now.
THERESE: So where did they all go?
MARGO: Squandered by him. Given away to buy love.
THERESE: So when a painting gets big money at the auction, it goes to—
MARGO: Whichever clever investor owns a valuable Bailey.
THERESE: There’s one picture he goes on and on about.
MARGO: ‘The Laughing Girl’.
THERESE: That’s it.
MARGO: Much-loved, considered one of his best. It disappeared from the market years ago.
THERESE: Leo reckons it’s been stolen.
MARGO: My theory is that some investor is holding ‘The Laughing Girl’ until Leo dies. It’ll be worth considerably more when he’s dead.
THERESE: I guess that must be it.
MARGO: Look, other members of the family might have stolen paintings over the years. But I think any money they’ve got is fair compensation for putting up with him.
THERESE: What about you?
MARGO: I don’t touch his money and I don’t subsidise him with one cent of mine.
THERESE: So—what—you manage his bank stuff?
MARGO: My task is to calculate the value of his remaining assets and divide that by the estimated number of months he’ll live. If he lives longer than the medical projections, he can’t afford to stay in this house.
THERESE: Shit… how can you talk about him like that? So fucking cold. I mean, I know Leo’s hard work but he is your dad.
MARGO: Yes he is.
THERESE: He can’t help it if he’s cranky and mental and gives people the shits. That’s what happens when you get old and sick.
MARGO: Don’t you ever wonder why no friends or family come around here?
THERESE: I guess most people can’t handle how gross old blokes can get.
MARGO: If you saw lonely, sick old people in a nursing home with no visitors, you’d be sympathetic, wouldn’t you?
THERESE: Yeah, of course.
MARGO: I’d want to know what those old men and women did in their lives that made them end up alone and unloved.
THERESE: But you’ve gotta feel sorry for them.
MARGO: I feel sorry for the children who aren’t visiting their toxic parents because I bet they’ve got bloody good reasons.
THERESE: I guess.
MARGO: Among the Leo Bailey wives and children, there’s at least four nervous breakdowns, three substance abusers, two suicides and not one partridge in a fucking pear tree. All his life people made allowances because of the art.
THERESE: You mean, they let him get away with acting like a shit.
MARGO: It’s done him no favours. He never learned to treat people decently. The carpenter’s late. Can you make sure he finds this note?
MARGO leaves a note on the table and heads for the door.
THERESE: No worries. And look, I’m sorry for being a stickybeak. I really want to keep this job and it’s none of my business how—y’know…
MARGO signals goodbye and leaves. THERESE yells out to the bathroom.
Leo! You can stop hiding! The Viper’s gone! Shit, Leo… where are you?
She searches, puzzled not to find him. There’s a knock at the door. THERESE runs towards it.
Bugger you! Why did you run off? You scared the shit out of me!
She opens the door to see a guy wearing builder’s gear. KARL is around thirty, gentle, polite.
KARL: Sorry I’m late. It’s tricky to find this place.
THERESE looks around KARL to peer down the street.
Is this number twenty-eight? Margo Bailey?
THERESE: Eh? No. I mean, yes, this is number twenty-eight—Did you see a little guy running down the street?
KARL: Uh, no.
THERESE: He got out through a hole in the side fence. Ran away. He could’ve gone in any direction.
KARL: Is this your son who’s run off?
THERESE: No, no, Leo’s an old bloke. I wasn’t yelling at him but he thought I was and now he’s run away.
KARL: We could drive around in my truck and look for him if you—
THERESE: Trucks! Shit! What if he stumbles in front of some truck and gets squelched? I’m gonna get the sack.
KARL: Look—uh—could we ring someone?
THERESE: Who would you ring? He’s not microchipped like a
dog.
KARL: Police, I guess.
THERESE: No way. I’m allergic to cops. No bloody way.
KARL: Okay.
THERESE: Don’t mean to bite your head off, mate.
KARL: Nah, nah. You’re right. So you’re not Margo Bailey?
THERESE: No. I’m the paid help, to look after the old guy. Who are you?
KARL: Oh. Sorry. Karl.
He offers his hand to shake but she’s too frantic to notice.
I’m a builder—carpenter—well, odd-job guy. Ms Bailey asked me to come and quote on a small job.
THERESE: Oh, that’s right. You’re going to rip out the wall.
KARL: Well, not exactly rip it out.
THERESE bellows out the door towards the bathroom.
THERESE: Leo! Are you out hiding out there? If you’re hiding, I’m gonna—! Deadset, Leo—I’ll smack you so hard! [She feels KARL staring at her.] What?
KARL: Sorry?
THERESE: You’re giving me the hairy eyeball. Reckon I’m doing a shithouse job, do ya?
KARL: No… I’m only—
THERESE: It’s not easy looking after a guy like Leo, you know.
KARL: I’m sure it isn’t. I wasn’t—
THERESE: If you haven’t been stuck looking after the old pisshead for six weeks like I have, you can’t go around judging me, okay?
KARL: Oh, what… no… I wasn’t. I’m just wondering what I can do to—
THERESE: And don’t you say anything to her either. The daughter. About me losing him. Because I’m gonna find the little fucker.
The sound of a car honking outside. THERESE peers out the front door.
A taxi. What’s he—? Leo!
She rushes outside, leaving KARL there. He starts to organise his work gear but is distracted by the scene outside. LEO stumbles in, barefoot, bleeding from grazes on his head and hands, clutching the scotch bottle.
KARL: Hello. Mr Bailey? Are you all right?
LEO: My shoes! That bastard taxi driver is holding my shoes hostage!