Our Lady of 121st Street
Page 17
(VALDEZ enters.)
VALDEZ: Cruz!
ANGEL: I am so sorry, I am so so sorry—
VALDEZ: Let’s go, Cruz.
ANGEL: I am a man, God! I am a man that is sorry.
VALDEZ: Cruz!
ANGEL: I am a man and I am so, so sorry.
VALDEZ: Cruz! Time!
ANGEL: Really, God, I’m … I … Valdez … Valdez, I’m sorry—
VALDEZ: Step away from the cage.
ANGEL: I’m, I’m sorry, ya know, Valdez. Valdez, I’m sorry.
VALDEZ: Quite all right.
ANGEL: I—
VALDEZ: Yes … yes … away from the cage.
(ANGEL assumes the position. VALDEZ enters, cuffs ANGEL, and leads him out of his cage.)
(End of play)
IN ARABIA, WE’D ALL BE KINGS
In Arabia, We’d All Be Kings was originally produced by LAByrinth Theater Company, Eric DeArmon, Jill DeArmon, and David Deblinger at Center Stage, NY on July 8, 1999. It was directed by Phillip Seymour Hoffman; assistant directed by Stephen Adly Guirgis; sets were designed by Max DeArmon; costumes by Mimi O’Donnell; lights by Sarah Sidman; sound design by Eric DeArmon; and original music by Daniel Hartnett.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Greer Russell G. Jones
Skank Trevor Long
Lenny David Zayas
Daisy Portia Johnson
Demaris Ana Ortiz
Chicky Tiprin Mandalay
Charlie Sal Inzerillo
Jake Richard Petrocelli
Sammy Mark Hammer
Vic/Carroll Felix Solis
Holy Roller Chris McGarry
Miss Reyes Begonya Plaza
SETTING
The Hell’s Kitchen/Times Square neighborhood of the mid 1990s New York City.
CHARACTERS
Lenny, late thirties, Latino, just out of prison
Daisy, thirties, African-American, Lenny’s girl
Skank, twenties, white, a junkie
Sammy, late sixties to seventies, white, a drunk, almost dead
Miss Reyes, forties, Latina
Demaris, seventeen, Latina, Miss Reyes’s daughter
Jake, late forties, Italian-American, bar owner
Vic, a credit-card company entrepreneur
Chickie, twenties, white, a crackhead
Charlie, thirty, Italian-American, bartender
Greer, thirties, African-American
Holy Roller, a John
Cop, undercover vice squad
ACT 1
Scene 1: Monday. 3 a.m. The bar.
LENNY: (To SKANK) There’s two kinds a people in this world: those who annoy the shit outta me, but not enough for me to actually beat them, and those that are so fuckin’ annoying that even after I beat them, I still doan feel no satisfaction ’cuz I can still feel them inside a me, like when you eat some bad shit, like some crazy Indian food, and it just stays in there! You can’t even shit it out ’cuz it … it lingers! You hear what I’m sayin’: linger!
DAISY: I want my money, Lenny!
LENNY: (To SKANK) Put it this way: If I was the mayor, I’d make a law that stated that all people such as yourself, if you kill them, all you get is like a summons!
SKANK: Listen, man—
LENNY: One more thing: Get your hand out the peanuts!
SKANK: Hey, big guy man, I have a right—
LENNY: You have a right? You have no rights! I’m a put it like this—
DAISY: Lenny—
LENNY: (To DAISY) Stick a clam in it!
DAISY: You stick a clam in it!
LENNY: I should stick a clam in it?! Lemme tell you this—(To SKANK) Hey! You think I’m playin? Eat a peanut! Go ahead, eat a peanut! Please eat a peanut with those filthy hands so I could decapitate them right off your wrists like a lawn mower. I’ll go “Whaa-chump”! You’ll be handless!
DAISY: Lenny—
LENNY: And you too! I’ll “Whaa-chump” you, you’ll be lipless! You’ll be talkin shit, people be saying; “What Daisy talkin’ about?” and they’ll be like: “I doan know, bitch ain’t got no lips”!
DAISY: Gimme my money, Lenny!
LENNY: Money? Whatchyoo talkin’, money? (To SKANK) Where you going?
SKANK: Jukebox.
LENNY: I’ll allow you to play A7, E4, and … (To DAISY) Baby, what’s that other one I like by that rock guy wit the—
DAISY: Gimme my money!
LENNY: (To SKANK) A7, E4, you play anything I doan like, I’ll beat you.
SKANK: Okay.
DAISY: Lenny—
LENNY: (To SKANK) And wipe down the buttons after you press them. (To DAISY) He prolly got the herps, right baby? Where’s the beer taker? (Shouts) Yo, beer! (To himself) Irish mothahfuckahs, they’re either standing over you like vultures waiting for you to fuck up, or they’re disappearin’ to the bathroom like ghosts. (To DAISY) Did he bring the paper with him?
SKANK: Uh, dude? You got any, like, a coupla quarters?
LENNY: What?
SKANK: It’s juss that … never mind.
(SKANK goes to jukebox.)
LENNY: Goddamn right, “never mind”! This ain’t no Banco Popular, mothahfuckah! (To DAISY) Man thinks I’m a ATM! (To SKANK) I ain’t no ATM!
DAISY: I coulda told him that.
LENNY: Whatchu mean by that?
DAISY: Lissen—
LENNY: Whatchu tryin’ to instigate? Huh?
DAISY: You need to check yourself, Lenny!
LENNY: I need to check myself?
DAISY: You need to check your ass.
LENNY: Check my ass?
DAISY: Don’t talk to me.
LENNY: You need to check your ass! You better check your ass, or your ass’ll be checked for you!
DAISY: Please.
LENNY: You’ll be checking your ass into St. Claire’s after I beat that ass, with your lip talkin’ to me like that.
DAISY: You wanna try me?
LENNY: I’m the man. You not the man. I’m the man. Respect the man.
DAISY: Respect the man.
LENNY: Dass right. “Respect the man, you respect yourself.”
DAISY: Don’t talk that jail talk.
LENNY: Respect the man!
DAISY: You still locked up?
LENNY: Respect the man.
DAISY: Respect the man?
LENNY: Juss like that.
DAISY: “Respect the man.”
LENNY: End of story.
DAISY: Respect the fat, unemployed, lives-wit’-his-momma man!
LENNY: You’re crossing the border, baby!
DAISY: Why doan you cross the border, get your ass a job, stop leechin’?!
LENNY: You know what a leech is? A leech is a vermin. Point blank: You think I’m a species of vermin?
DAISY: I’m going to the Chinese—
LENNY: How you going to Chinese without me?!
DAISY: One time! Gimme my money or I’ll call your P.O. right now; “Lenny’s in a bar, he hit me, he got the crack in his pocket.”
LENNY: Call him!
DAISY: Fine.
LENNY: Wait! C’mon, let’s go Chinese together, be friends.
DAISY: I doan think you wanna test me.
LENNY: I’m hungry.
DAISY: Lenny!
LENNY: Okay, okay. Here, take the money, bring me back a Kung Foo Platter, some ribs, coupla spring rolls—
DAISY: Later for you.
LENNY: Yo, what kinda welcome home is this?
DAISY: Welcome home? I been welcoming your crusty ass home all week! You been welcomed. You want some more welcoming?
LENNY: I’m juss sayin’—
DAISY: You are welcome to buy your own cigarettes! You are welcome to pay for your own drinks—
LENNY: You got a short memory ’cuz—
DAISY: You are welcome to buy the fuckin’ paper and look for a damn job!
LENNY: Fine! Fine! You wanna steak dinner? C’mon, less go. I’m gonna buy you a steak dinner with a bott
le a wine and a friggin’ pecan pie with the pistachio ice cream. C’mon, less go.
DAISY: You ain’t buyin’ shit.
LENNY: I’ll buy it. Whaddya want? A yacht? ‘Cuz I’ll buy you a yacht. You know why? ’Cuz I love you—
DAISY: Pssssssssss!
LENNY: Doan you walk away from me! Hey!
DAISY: What?
(Pause)
LENNY: Save me a coupla chicken wings.
(DAISY turns away, goes to exit.)
LENNY: I’ll see you when you come back … (she exits) Daisy! (beat) Heartless! She a heartless individual. Sammy! Sammy, your wife fuck wit’ you like dat?
(SAMMY, a very old drunk, stirs.)
SAMMY: My wife?
LENNY: Yeah.
SAMMY: She here?
LENNY: Nah, Sam.
SAMMY: Good.
LENNY: Gladdis fucks with you?
SAMMY: Gladdis?
LENNY: Your wife!
SAMMY: My wife? You mean Gladdis?
LENNY: Yeah. She fucks with you, right?
SAMMY: Fifty years.
LENNY: Long time.
SAMMY: Fifty-one years next month.
LENNY: But you love her, right? Sammy? Sammy?
SAMMY: Huh?
LENNY: You love your wife?
SAMMY: My wife?
LENNY: Yeah.
SAMMY: My wife? Fuck my wife!
LENNY: Okay.
(Pause)
SAMMY: She here?
LENNY: No, Sammy.
SAMMY: Good. Fuck her.
LENNY: Fuck Daisy too! Fuck them all, except my mother. Sammy, you know my mother, right?
SAMMY: Fuck your mother!
LENNY: Sammy, take it easy … I’m talkin’ about my moms. You know my moms, she come in sometimes, Marisol. You know Marisol, right Sammy? Sammy?
SAMMY: Marisol?
LENNY: Dass right.
SAMMY: I like Marisol.
LENNY: Thank you.
SAMMY: Everybody likes Marisol.
LENNY: Did she ever make you her Pernil?
SAMMY: Marisol, she’s good. I like Marisol.
LENNY: She raised me.
SAMMY: I’ll tell ya somethin’ … My wife here?
LENNY: Nah, Sammy.
SAMMY: Good. I used to know a Puerto Rican lady named Marisol, back when I was still drivin’ the bus.
LENNY: Yeah?
SAMMY: She had a big ass!
LENNY: Yeah?
SAMMY: I like that.
LENNY: Right.
SAMMY: Gladdis … is she here?
LENNY: No, Sam.
SAMMY: Gladdis got no ass to speak of. She got that Irish ass, looks like a saltine cracker.
LENNY: She gotta flat ass?
SAMMY: Gladdis’s ass and my ass, it’s the same ass, exact same, but this lady, the sefiorita Marisol, she had a big ass.
LENNY: Uh huh.
SAMMY: I like that.
(Pause)
LENNY: Yeah. The thing wit’ Daisy is, like, she says, “Why you live wit your moms,” you know, like chumpin’ me and shit, and I’m supposed ta juss take her abuse, ‘cuz thass the word for it, it’s fuckin’ abuse. But what I would like ta say to her, but I can’t ‘cuz then it’d be like World War III, is “You live wit’ my mothah too, bitch! At least I got a mothah to live wit’! You think I need you constantly reminding me that I’m past thirty-five still livin’ at home? Thing is, Sammy, like, maybe you could … Sammy? Sammy?
SAMMY: I ate a bananna in 1969, thought it was an avocado.
LENNY: Sam?
SAMMY: Avocado …
LENNY: Sammy?
(SKANK returns from jukebox.)
SKANK: Um, Lenny?
LENNY: Stop it (To SAM) Sammy? (To himself) Drunks … useless …
SKANK: Lenny—
LENNY: (To SKANK) You still here? Beat it.
SKANK: Listen, uh, Lenny—
LENNY: Don’t call me by my name, that’s my name! I get called by my name from those I choose to allow them the privilege. Get outta here! Now!
SKANK: I juss thought maybe you could pick the songs you like, man, because, uh, A7 and E4, there’s nothing there, and so, why don’t you just pick the songs?
LENNY: I should pick the songs?
SKANK: Yeah.
LENNY: I look like a deejay?
SKANK: I don’t know, but I got some selections over there, paid for, and, uh, maybe, I mean if you want, you could play E12 ’cuz uh, fuck, did I say E12? I meant B12, it’s uh, dag, what is her name? You know, she was a jazz singer, she was a junkie? Dag, man, it’s on the tip a my—
LENNY: Get the fuck out outta here now!
SKANK: You know what? We don’t have to listen to music ’cuz, uh, music … music … Fuck music! Right? Fuckin’ music fuckin’ sucks.
LENNY: Wass your name?
SKANK: My name?
LENNY: You now what? I don’t need to know your name. I’m gonna give you a name. Your name is “About to Get Your Ass Kicked Fuckin’ Skank.” You got that?
SKANK: Hey, man, that’s … I don’t like that.