JAKE: You people got some surprises in store. Peaches, get me a little more club soda, eh?
DAISY: Jake, you hurt him.
JAKE: And what? You didn’t? Fuck this noise.
(JAKE exits.)
DAISY: Jake! (To LENNY) You mess up everything.
(DAISY runs out calling for JAKE. A beat.)
SAMMY: They put an “X” wit’ the chalk, juss like that, Gladdis … . “X.”
Scene 3: Tuesday night. Eighth Avenue. Demaris, alone and wasted.
DEMARIS: Who wanna buy some pussy up in this mothahfuckah? Who wanna work my middle tonight? Y’all a bunch a punk-ass bitches! (A man walks by) ’Scuse me, sir. Sir! You wanna blaze my ass? How ‘bout I suck your little tiny pinga (Man hurries off.) Faggot! Little punk! Shit. (A woman walks by.) ’Scuse me, bitch, you a lesbian? You want a little choacha? (Woman hurries off.) S’matter, bitch? You know you want it! (A man walks by.) The fuck you lookin’ at, nigga? You nevah saw no ’ho before? Go home ta your mama, bitch!
(DEMARIS starts singing the Boys 2 Men song “Mama.” A beat. A man approaches.)
CARROLL: You got a nice voice.
DEMARIS: Shut up, I’m singin’.
(DEMARIS sings a bit more, then stops abruptly.)
DEMARIS: Dat was Boys 2 Men.
CARROLL: That was great.
DEMARIS: Hi.
CARROLL: Hi.
DEMARIS: Um, hi.
CARROLL: Whaddya doin’?
DEMARIS: Um, nothin’, but, um … I’m smilin’, I wish Chickie could see, I’m smilin’, right?
CARROLL: Yes you are.
DEMARIS: I got criticized earlier, for not smilin’, but now I’m smilin,’ right?
CARROLL: Hey, you got me smilin’ now.
DEMARIS: I got a good smile, right? Does it look like I know a secret or some shit?
CARROLL: It looks pretty.
DEMARIS: Thank you, thass a nice compliment, uh …
CARROLL: So, whaddya up to?
DEMARIS: Um, yeah, like, you cute and shit.
CARROLL: Thank you.
DEMARIS: So, like, you wanna party?
CARROLL: What kinda party?
DEMARIS: You know, like, rucking?
CARROLL: Hey, you cut right to the chase, don’t you?
DEMARIS: Yeah, I’m like that. So, you wanna fuck me?
CARROLL: For free?
DEMARIS: No stupid, not for free. Sorry, I didn’t mean “stupid” like that, I juss meant not the “for free” part. You know what I’m sayin’? ’Cuz like, I tell you right now, I could fuck like a mothahfucker, wear a nigga out, know I’m sayin? You cute, though. I like the way you, yeah …
CARROLL: So, how much?
DEMARIS: How much you wanna spend?
CARROLL: I’m flexible.
DEMARIS: You bettah be flexible, ‘cuz, I’ll wear your ass out wit’ like positions and shit—
CARROLL: Name your price.
DEMARIS: Ah-aight … How ’bout a “G”? Thousand dollars, you could have this ass, plus … plus … look! I got some crack. You smoke crack? And also I got a blunt somewhere, where it go? Here it is! It’s good too, chronic! One “G,” I’ll get ya high and fuck ya dry … thass a rhyme! Look at my ass! Thass a ass right there! Thousand dollahs, you can have it! Whaddya say? You got a light?
CARROLL: Sorry, sweetie.
DEMARIS: The fuck you doin’? Get ya hands off me, nigga!
CARROLL: Hit me, it gets ugly quick.
DEMARIS: Fuck you, bitch! Ow, nigga! That hurts!
CARROLL: Let’s go.
DEMARIS: Lemme get my cigarette.
CARROLL: I’ll get you another in the precinct, how’s that?
DEMARIS: Precinct?
CARROLL: What are you doin’ out on a school night anyway?
DEMARIS: Please don’t take me to no precinct, mistah.
CARROLL: Better I should leave you out here so you could end up like that girl we found in the Dumpster?
DEMARIS: But they gonna take my baby if you bust me.
CARROLL: Maybe they should.
DEMARIS: Dat ain’t right what you said, mister! Dat ain’t right!
CARROLL: C’mon, kid, this is like going to the doctor; we give ya a lollipop when it’s all over.
DEMARIS: Hold up a minute!
CARROLL: Pop Tarts and Apple Jacks at the station house, let’s go.
ACT 3
Scene 1: The bar. Wednesday morning
DAISY: Hey, Charlie, how you doin’?
CHARLIE: Good.
DAISY: I could get a Bacardi?
CHARLIE: Nah.
DAISY: Charlie, I wasn’t axing it like a question. Gimme a Bacardi.
CHARLIE: I can’t.
DAISY: Why not?
CHARLIE: It ain’t twelve.
DAISY: C’mon.
CHARLIE: You know I can’t serve before twelve.
DAISY: What about Sammy there, he got a drink.
CHARLIE: Yeah, but he’s old.
DAISY: So?
CHARLIE: So, he’s old. He could drop any minute, like this, he won’t go thirsty.
DAISY: Gimme a Bacardi in a coffee cup then.
CHARLIE: You make my job hard, Daisy.
DAISY: Yeah, well, it’s a hard world.
(CHARLIE pours her a drink.)
CHARLIE: Three dollars.
DAISY: You could put it on a tab?
CHARLIE: No more tabs, Jake said.
DAISY: Why not?
CHARLIE: ’Cuz he said it.
DAISY: But why?
CHARLIE: I ain’t tellin’.
DAISY: Tellin’ what?
CHARLIE: The thing I ain’t tellin’.
DAISY: Lemme get another!
CHARLIE: You ain’t paid for the first one.
DAISY: I bet if Chickie wanted one, you’d give her the whole bottle.
CHARLIE: No.
DAISY: ’Cuz you like her.
CHARLIE: No.
DAISY: I’m gonna tell her!
CHARLIE: C’mon, Daisy.
DAISY: Lemme get a double then.
(CHARLIE pours a double.)
CHARLIE: I like you a lot better when you ain’t like this.
DAISY: You seen Lenny?
CHARLIE: Nah.
DAISY: He didn’t come home lass night.
CHARLIE: Maybe he got caught up.
DAISY: I guess. How ’bout Jake? You seen him?
CHARLIE: Not yet … Nine dollars.
DAISY: Charlie …
CHARLIE: C’mon, Daisy: Three drinks, nine dollars.
DAISY: So, if I had three drinks, then where my free one at?
CHARLIE: You gotta pay for three to get one free.
DAISY: So lemme pay you in the back.
CHARLIE: Nah.
DAISY: You doan wanna touch my titties?
CHARLIE: C’mon, Daisy.
DAISY: Wha? You doan like my titties no more?
CHARLIE: Nah, Daisy. It ain’t nuttin’ against your titties.
DAISY: So, what is it?
CHARLIE: It’s things. Things is changin’.
DAISY: What things?
CHARLIE: Besides that, it ain’t right. It ain’t right for … you know, it ain’t right.
DAISY: You sayin’ you better than me?
CHARLIE: Nah, Daisy. I ain’t better than you and those people out there, they ain’t better than us. Probably, I’ll miss your titties. I like ’em.
DAISY: Why you gonna miss ’em—they ain’t goin’ nowhere?
CHARLIE: Forget it, Daisy. I’ll juss put the money in the register myself.
DAISY: You don’t got a pay for me! I pay my own way!
CHARLIE: So, then … ah, forget it.
DAISY: Here.
CHARLIE: What’s this?
DAISY: It’s a toaster.
CHARLIE: Where’d you get it?
DAISY: My friend gave it to me.
CHARLIE: What’s it do?
DAISY: It makes toast, the fuck you think it doe
s?!
CHARLIE: I get my toast from the deli, Daisy.
DAISY: What’s goin’ on ’round here, Charlie?
CHARLIE: Nuttin’.
DAISY: You ain’t my friend no more!
CHARLIE: I am too, Daisy.
DAISY: No you ain’t.
CHARLIE: I am too!
DAISY: Fuckin’ Lenny, fuckin’ Jake, fuckin’ you. Thass okay, though. I know who my friends is.
(Pause)
SAMMY: Gladdis!
CHARLIE: Yeah, Sammy?
SAMMY: More tea!
CHARLIE: You want beer tea or whiskey tea, Sammy? Sammy?
SAMMY: I’m talkin’ about the day they moved the Dodgers outta Brooklyn …
CHARLIE: Talkin’ to who?
SAMMY: Spit shine. I got my first spit shine with the old man, spit shine, shot a whiskey, Roy Campanella … Campy …
CHARLIE: Thass good, Sam.
SAMMY: Mickey Owen come on my bus, I wouldn’t let him on.
CHARLIE: Yeah?
SAMMY: I says, “You think about what you done, Mick, you think about it.”
DAISY: Charlie, please, stop talkin’ to that fool.
SAMMY: (To DAISY) Huh?
DAISY: Ah, fuck … Hi, Sam.
SAMMY: Marisol?
DAISY: Marisol?
SAMMY: (To CHARLIE) My wife here?
CHARLIE: Nah, Sammy.
SAMMY: If my wife was to come in here now, oh boy! Oh, boy!
CHARLIE: I got ya covered, Sammy.
SAMMY: Ya do?
CHARLIE: I got lookouts on both sides a Forty-third Street.
SAMMY: You look beautiful, Marisol.
DAISY: Thank you.
SAMMY: You look even more beautiful than I remember. How’d ya get so beautiful?
DAISY: I don’t know, Sam.
SAMMY: “It’s better to light one up than to curse the darkness.” Remember that, Marisol?
DAISY: Okay.
SAMMY: You gotta nice shape, Marisol.
DAISY: Thank you.
SAMMY: Don’t tell my wife.
CHARLIE: We won’t, Sam.
SAMMY: You seen my wife?
CHARLIE: I think she’s at the A & P.
(Pause)
SAMMY: She’s not at the A & P, Charlie. (To DAISY) I’m gonna light a candle for ya, Marisol.
DAISY: Okay.
SAMMY: I gotta light a candle for Gladdis first, but then I’m gonna light one for you ’cuz you’re more beautiful than I remembered.
DAISY: Thanks, Sam.
SAMMY: And what I remembered was pretty good. Beautiful … beautiful … I wish we lived in Arabia.
DAISY: What?
SAMMY: Arabia … (He drifts off.)
DAISY: Charlie?
CHARLIE: Here, Daisy—one on me.
(GREER enters with a fashionable-looking gentleman.)
GREER: (Talking to his friend) See the bar? It’s genuine antique oak from 1937, feel how sturdy, smooth? But fuck it, I want it out a here. The fixtures are for shit, but look at the moldings. Nice, right? They can stay, maybe. This wall’s coming down and that—what do you call that thing? Anyway, garbage! Oh, and they got a great bathroom in the back … Okay, the walls: Lime! I want everything Lime! You wanna drink? (To CHARLIE) Barman! Two Herrendura frozen margaritas, light salt, heavy lime, make it with Cointreau. (To his friend) That’s French, you know.
CHARLIE: Uh, we doan make that, we ain’t got it.
GREER: (To his friend) See what I mean? (To CHARLIE) Fine, fine. Two beers. Cold. You got cold beer?
CHARLIE: Yeah.
GREER: Good. And take down that soccer poster, whatever it is, it’s hurting my eyes.
SAMMY: In Arabia, you can have two wives. (To CHARLIE) One for you and one for me. (To DAISY) And one for you, Marisol. Beautiful.
GREER: (To his friend) I’m thinkin’ about keepin’ the ol’ man. Put him in a tux, you know, for atmosphere?
SAMMY: In Arabia … we’d all be kings!
Scene 2; Wednesday night. A park bench near the Westside Highway. Skank is nodding. Charlie enters holding a bag with a Darth Vader mask in it.
CHARLIE: Wake up, fuckin’ junkie! Wake up, skell!
SKANK: Huh?
CHARLIE: You shoulda been there for her. You shoulda protected her!
SKANK: Huh?
CHARLIE: They got her on a fuckin’ table all cut and naked, I was there. Where the fuck were you?! You were being a fuckin’ lowlife piece-a-shit junkie, thass where you was!
SKANK: Wha?
CHARLIE: You ain’t gonna live another day, thass for sure. Thass the least I could do, you fuckin’ bastid!
(CHARLIE attacks SKANK.)
CHARLIE: You think it’s funny? You think this is a friggin’ joke? I brung her shrimps! Dey wouldn’t let me leave them wit’ her, but at least I brung ’em! What did you bring? You didn’t even bring your stinkin’ junkie self!
Our Lady of 121st Street Page 23