by Jake Wizner
Olivia nodded sympathetically. “It must have been so hard to get that news. I can’t even imagine.”
He looked away, then stared at a spot on the coffee table. “I’m sorry about your musical,” he said. “It was fun working on it.”
“It’s okay,” Olivia said.
“I’m sure you can get someone else in my class to finish the music.”
Olivia nodded. “I’ll figure something out.”
Zeke studied the walnuts in the bowl before selecting another one and cracking it open. “If you want, you can e-mail me the lyrics, and I’ll work on them from here.”
Olivia looked at him. “Really?”
Zeke nodded. “I need something to do, or I’ll be climbing the walls.”
“Why don’t you come back to New Haven, then?” Max said.
Zeke made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a grunt.
“Seriously,” Max said. “Who am I supposed to get high with if you don’t come back?”
“I’ve had enough.” His voice was tired, but firm and unwavering.
Everyone sat there looking at each other.
“There’s nothing we can say to convince you?” Max asked.
Zeke shook his head.
“Well,” Max said after a pause, “if this is really the last time we’re going to see you, let’s at least hang out tonight.” He looked at Trish. “Are you still okay with leaving in the morning?”
“Okay with me,” Trish said.
“I’m going to crash early tonight,” Zeke said. “It’s been a long couple of days.”
“Yeah, maybe we should head back,” Olivia said. “I need to get an early start working tomorrow.”
“Come on,” Max said. “What if we all go back to Trish’s house and work on your play tonight? Trish’s parents are away,” he said to Zeke. “We can have an all-night jam session and knock this thing out.”
“I’m not staying up all night,” Trish said. “Not if we’re driving back in the morning.”
“So you’ll turn in early, or we’ll all share the drive back. Come on, it will be awesome. Haven’t you ever pulled an all-nighter for school?”
“No,” Olivia said.
“We almost did to finish our Bible musical,” Trish said. “I could barely keep my eyes open the next day.”
“We’ll load up on caffeine.” He turned to Zeke. “Hey, do you think you can get your hands on some speed?”
“No way,” Trish said. “You’re not turning my parents’ house into a drug den.”
“Speed?” Olivia looked at Max and shook her head. “Who are you?”
Max laughed. “Well, I’ve never actually done it, but I’ve heard that when people have to go without sleep for a couple of days it keeps them wired and going.”
“Tell me again why we’re not sleeping,” Olivia said.
“We’re going to finish your play tonight. Think about how psyched you’ll be.” He fixed Zeke with a gaze. “What do you say? You feel like coming out for a little while?”
He shrugged. “A little while would be okay, I guess.”
Olivia looked skeptical. “It’s kind of hard to work with so many people on one script.”
“You can bounce ideas off us. Trust me. With all of us putting our heads together, we’ll come up with the best ending ever.”
She turned to Zeke. “Do you think if we write another song or two, you’ll be able to put them to music?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Depends how late it is.”
“So let’s get started,” Max said. “Get your guitar and change.”
Zeke’s mother came back in the room. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “I just wanted to know if you all want to stay for dinner.”
“We’re going to Trish’s house,” Zeke said, and walked off to his room.
A few minutes later, they were on the road, the girls in Trish’s car, the guys in Zeke’s, all of them heading off to a night shimmering with dramatic possibility.
Midnight. An open pizza box with an uneaten slice of pepperoni, the cheese hard and congealed, sits on the dining room table. A bottle of pinot noir, almost empty, stands uncorked next to a wine-stained glass. Olivia, in borrowed sweats and a T-shirt, types on the computer on the third floor, while Max, still wearing his chinos and button-down shirt from the funeral, makes coffee in the kitchen. Zeke is in the living room with his guitar, figuring out the music for the new song Olivia has finished, and Trish is asleep on the couch.
Max comes in, sees Trish sleeping, and smiles at Zeke. “How’s it coming?”
He puts down his guitar, stands, and stretches. “Okay. How about you?”
“Just making some coffee for Olivia. You want some?”
Zeke shakes his head and yawns. “I’m probably gonna take off soon.”
“Make sure you come up and say goodbye before you go.”
Zeke nods, and Max heads back to the kitchen.
When Zeke hears Max go back upstairs, he begins to play something else and to sing very quietly. Trish wakes up and watches him through half-opened eyes before he notices her and stops playing.
“Don’t stop.” She sits up on the couch and rubs her eyes. “How long have I been sleeping?”
“About an hour.”
She yawns. “Wow, I passed out.” She blinks a few times, still not fully awake, and pulls her knees up to her chest and hugs them. “What’s that you were playing just now?”
He looks down at his guitar. “Just something I wrote on the bus coming home yesterday,” he says.
“Can I hear?”
He begins to fingerpick absently without looking up. “It’s kind of personal.”
She watches him until he looks up and meets her eyes, and she smiles at him. “Kind of feels like déjà vu, huh? Sitting here in the middle of the night working on a musical.”
He nods and looks back down at his guitar.
“You know, that was the best part of last year for me.”
He continues to look at his fingers as they dance across the strings.
Trish watches him for a moment, and then stands. “You want something from the kitchen?” she asks.
“No, thanks.”
She walks out and comes back sipping from a can of Diet Coke. “Play something,” she says, plopping down on the couch.
He starts to play his new song again, running through the chords, and then finally beginning to sing. His eyes are downcast, his voice quiet, a haunted expression shrouding his face.
Got a call the other day
Jamie told me that you’d passed away
You’d started rehab back in May
I thought you’d be all right
Your life had spiraled in the last two years
Each time I saw you, you were shifting gears
But you seemed hopeful; you allayed my fears
Or I convinced myself
Never cared about convention
You made life your own invention
I know you had such good intentions
Devin
Always warm and always kind
Sense of humor, that creative mind
So much goodness left behind
Devin
All those stories that you told
The ones that left me feeling sad and cold
I wanted you to get a hold
You kept on giving in
I know that even when you lied
You were fighting; you really tried
What were you feeling deep inside?
Did you think you would live?
I look back and it is true
It was with you
When I would do
Those things I can’t believe I did
But even so, those times we shared
Don’t compare
To places where
You, in solitude, had slid
Got a call the other day
Jamie told me that you’d passed away
All those things I d
idn’t say
I wish I’d said them now
He stops playing, but continues to stare down at his hand on the guitar. When at last he looks up, Trish’s eyes are wet with tears.
“Wow,” she says.
“I just talked to him a few days ago,” he says quietly.
She comes to him, takes the guitar from his hands, leans down, and hugs him.
“I knew,” he says, his voice choked. “I knew, and I didn’t do anything.”
“Shhh.” She holds him tighter, and he buries his face in her shoulder and begins to sob.
She holds him even after he stops crying, until at last she feels him pulling away. He wipes his hand across his face. “I’m sorry about that,” he says, avoiding her eyes.
“Don’t be sorry,” she says gently, and goes back to the couch.
He puts his guitar in the case and zips it up, trying to will his hands to stop shaking. “I should go say goodbye,” he says.
“Come sit with me for a little.”
“It’s really late,” he says, still not looking at her.
“Just for a minute.”
He finishes zipping his guitar case, then sits on the couch and stares down at his legs.
“How are you doing?” Trish asks.
“I’m okay,” he says. “I’m okay.”
She takes his hand and squeezes it, and he squeezes her hand back.
“Take a minute for yourself,” she says, getting up. “I’ll go get them to come say goodbye.”
He watches her go and then checks himself in the mirror and looks for his keys. When they come down, he is smiling, and he returns their hugs and promises to stay in touch. “I’m almost done with the new song,” he tells Olivia. “I never realized there were so many ways to call someone drunk.”
“There are a lot more than that if you Google it,” Max says.
Olivia looks at Zeke and smiles. “Who knew he was such a good lyricist?”
“Get him to sing you his vampire song,” Zeke says.
Olivia turns to Max and raises her eyebrows.
“Some other time,” he says.
“I’m going to send you the rest of the play when I finish,” she says. “Do you think you’ll be up for writing any more music?”
“I’ll do my best,” he says.
They walk him outside to his car and stand in the driveway beneath a moon that is almost full, saying goodbye once more and waving as he drives off. Even after the car disappears from sight, they stand there, until Trish shivers and says she’s ready to go to bed.
1:08 a.m. Trish has gone to sleep in her bedroom. Max and Olivia clean up from dinner and then plop down in the living room, Olivia on the couch, Max across from her in the recliner.
“I’m exhausted,” she says.
“Should we drink some more coffee and try to get a little more done on the play?” His voice is tired and lacks conviction.
“I can barely keep my eyes open.”
He yawns. “I know what you mean. We did a lot, though.”
“We did,” she says.
He looks at her and she looks at him, and he smiles at her in a way that says, “Isn’t this nice?” and she smiles at him in a way that says, “It’s very nice.”
“Do you want a blanket?” he asks.
“Come sit with me,” she says.
He gets up and moves next to her on the couch. They look at each other and smile some more.
“What are you thinking?” she asks.
He reaches over and brushes a strand of red hair out of her eye. “I wish I wasn’t so tired.”
She laughs and snuggles into him, and he puts his arm around her and gently strokes her hair.
“Mmm, that feels good.” Her voice is far away.
They stay like that until he feels himself starting to doze off. He kisses the top of her head. “Come on,” he whispers. “Let’s find a bed.”
She allows him to pull her up and lead her by the hand into the room they were in hours earlier. He takes off his shirt, and they lie down and begin to kiss, and there is something dreamlike about it. They drift off in each other’s arms, wake together and kiss some more. He feels her hand slide down and squeeze him through his chinos, and he unbuttons his pants and guides her hand beneath his boxers.
“Let me get these off,” he whispers.
They both wriggle out of their clothes and intertwine their legs beneath the covers. His hands run down her back, and he embraces her more tightly.
“I don’t have a condom,” he whispers.
“Let’s just go to sleep like this.”
They kiss some more, and then she flips on her other side and nestles back into him.
He wraps his arms around her and buries his face in the back of her neck. “Good night,” he whispers.
“Good night,” she says, and clutches his hands.
CASTRATION CELEBRATION
Act 5, scene 1
(The sounds of a large, raucous party come from offstage. Lola, Jesse, Carol, and Kitty stand outside.)
KITTY: Are we really going in?
JESSE: Relax, will you? What do you think’s gonna happen?
KITTY: I don’t know, but I have a bad feeling about this.
LOLA: It’s just a party.
CAROL: Yeah, at the house of the biggest homophobe in the whole school.
JESSE: That’s what makes it so good.
KITTY: I just don’t see how you’re going to be able to videotape without someone noticing.
JESSE: The camera’s tiny.
LOLA: Yeah, and everybody will probably be too drunk to notice, anyway.
KITTY: You really think nobody will notice you walking around with a video camera? No offense, Jesse, but you’re not exactly the most discreet person I know.
JESSE (holding out the camera): You want to do it instead?
KITTY: No.
JESSE: Then shut the fuck up.
CAROL: Shhh. Look. (Amber stumbles out with a cup of beer. She is wearing a very short skirt and is clearly drunk.)
LOLA: I wouldn’t mind having some footage of her.
KITTY: You pervert.
LOLA: What? You know she’s hot.
CAROL: I’d do her.
JESSE (to Lola): Go try to kiss her. I’ll film you.
LOLA: No way.
JESSE: Why not? She’s obviously wasted. She’s practically begging to be fucked.
LOLA: You think?
JESSE: Jesus, Lola, this is why you never get laid.
LOLA: Well, maybe I’ll go say hi.
CAROL: Go for it.
(Lola walks slowly toward Amber.)
CAROL: Oh my God, you’re filming this, right? (The girls move off to the side and watch the scene unfold.)
LOLA: Hey, Amber.
AMBER (drunkenly, holding out her cup): Lola Crest, Queen of the Lesbians. Are you as wasted as I am?
LOLA (laughing): I just got here.
AMBER: Well, get yourself a drink, girl, then come on back out and we’ll have a toast.
LOLA (looking around): Are you here by yourself?
AMBER: I’m waiting for Dick to show up. (starts to call out) DICK? OH, DICK? WHERE ARE YOU? (to Lola) Have you seen Dick?
LOLA: Dick Conroy? He’s not inside?
AMBER: He should be here, right? I mean, like, what the hell?
LOLA (trying to hide her disappointment): So you like Dick, huh?
(Amber bursts out laughing, and Lola, realizing the double meaning, starts to laugh, too.)
LOLA: That’s not what I meant. I just didn’t realize you and Dick were …
AMBER: What? Screwing? (She laughs.) Believe me, we’re not.
LOLA: I didn’t mean—
AMBER: It’s okay. (drinks from her beer) So what’s it like to be a dyke? Hey, that rhymed. Get it? Like, dyke?
LOLA (laughing): You’re drunk.
AMBER (putting her arm around Lola’s shoulder for balance and starting to sing):
“I Don’t Feel Any Pain
”
(Amber)
I am blasted, blitzed, and bluttered
Gatted, goosed, and guttered
Loopy in my brain
I am minced and mashed and mangled
I am sizzled, smashed, and spangled
But I don’t feel any pain
I am totaled, tanked, and tashered
Pickled, plowed, and plastered
Loopy in my brain
I am warped and wrecked and wasted
I am bladdered, bent, and basted
But I don’t feel any pain
I am drunk
Just like a skunk
All my troubles fade away
And the stink of each passing day
Another drink
(drains her cup and nearly falls over)
I feel okay
(Lola)
I think you’ve had enough to drink
Before you’re puking in the sink
Sit down in this chair
(They sit and Amber leans into Lola.)
Lay your head upon my shoulder
Take a rest until you’re sober
While I gently stroke your hair
(Lola begins to stroke Amber’s hair.)
(softly, as if soothing a baby to sleep with a lullaby)
Lay your head upon my shoulder
Take a rest until you’re sober
While I gently stroke your hair
AMBER: Mmm, that feels good.
LOLA: Your hair is so soft.
AMBER: I could fall asleep right here.
LOLA: Go ahead. (Lola continues to stroke Amber’s hair in a manner that becomes more and more sexual, and moves to her face, her shoulders, and her arms.)
(Dick walks onstage and watches the girls for a moment.)
DICK: Hey, get a room, will you?
AMBER (pulling away with a start): Dick.