by Tommy Murphy
BARTENDER. What can I get you girls?
JOHN. Us? Oh. Beer?
BARTENDER. Drinks at the other bar. We do toasted sandwiches and coffee.
JOHN. Oh.
A second QUEEN drifts by.
QUEEN TWO. Grab a hot buttered man on toast, sweets.
JOHN. A what?
BARTENDER. Fresh out, lovey.
DOOR-BITCH. Oh. Story of my life.
BARTENDER. Ooh ah. Barbra Streisand, Babs Babs.
JOHN (to TIM). What are they talking about?
QUEEN TWO. Babs Babs, darling. A Star is Born. Such a sellout. Quack quack darling la la, Ducky.
TIM (to JOHN). I don’t know.
BARTENDER (to QUEEN TWO). Oh, I know. Mmwa, mmwa, tee hee ha ha Babs Babs Judy Judy vagina.
JOHN (to TIM). Should we dance?
QUEEN TWO. Rock-Hudson-dizzy-bitch-fist.
TIM (to JOHN). People will stare. Fuck it, okay, I’ll stay, let’s go to your place.
Sixteen
Caleo home. JOHN is with TIM. LOIS is heard approaching.
LOIS. Paul, bring in the blue bag, please.
JOHN. Shit. Mum.
TIM. They’ve come home early?
JOHN. Shit. Put your clothes in the cupboard.
LOIS. The blue bag in the boot, please.
JOHN. Get in the cupboard too.
TIM hides. Enter LOIS.
Mum.
LOIS. Hello dear. Will you help your brother get the things in, please?
JOHN. Mum. Tim’s here.
LOIS. John…
JOHN. Is Dad here?
LOIS. Probably on his way in. He went to put the bins out.
JOHN. Sorry.
LOIS. Look, you’d jolly well better get Tim out. Not very happy about this.
JOHN. Don’t tell Dad. Please, Mum.
LOIS. Honestly, I think the whole thing’s absurd but don’t disobey your father.
JOHN. We are in love.
LOIS. I don’t judge you, John. I’m just afraid. I’ll go busy your father with something or other.
JOHN. Thanks.
Seventeen
The Fifth National Australian Homosexual Conference. TIM is wearing a Uranium protest T-shirt. He has a brochure for the conference.
TIM (aside). We climbed the stairs toward the Universal Workshop foyer at Monash University. You took my hand as we entered The Fifth National Annual Australian Homosexual Conference. (To JOHN.) Now don’t mention Peter to Woody.
JOHN. Why?
TIM. They broke up.
JOHN. No?
TIM. Keep up, our friends are sluts. Peter’s seeing some gorgeous intern.
JOHN. We’re playing tennis with Peter next weekend.
TIM. Don’t mention that to Woody. We want to stay unaligned in the break-up. Best live vicariously through two reports of fabulous rebound sex.
JOHN. Tim?
TIM (referring to the brochure). Now, we want to avoid self-loathing nannas lecturing us on taking freedom for granted. Woody recommended ‘A Practical Forum On Being Young and Gay in 1980’; I think it’ll be full of spunks.
JOHN. Tim, are you trying to hurt my feelings?
TIM. How is that hurting your feelings?
JOHN. You say too much.
TIM. I do not say too much, John. I just worry sometimes, sometimes I worry that we’re missing out on what people in our generation are supposed to be experiencing. They all go on about it: Screech Beach changing sheds, saunas, trade –
JOHN. That’s saying too much.
TIM. No, I mean, well, I’m nearly twenty-one and you know, I feel sexually inexperienced. Don’t you feel that? You’ve only had sex with me.
JOHN. I don’t want to have sex with other people.
TIM. Okay. But would you allow me to?
JOHN. I don’t know why you’d want to. Is it something about me?
TIM. ‘I don’t believe it’s fair to expect our lovers to fulfil all our needs.’
JOHN. Where d’you read that?
TIM. An open relationship isn’t a sin, John.
JOHN. I don’t want to talk about this. Not here in public.
JOHN exits.
TIM (aside). I think that was a no…
Eighteen
TIM (continued).
…In my search for adventure, however, I did start trolling.
A party. Enter HARRY.
HARRY. Do you have the time?
TIM. It’s eleven.
HARRY. Are you a poofter?
TIM. Um, yeah.
HARRY. This is my first gay party. God, if my parents knew! In their country they used to stone people for being gay.
TIM. I’m pretty stoned.
HARRY. I’m just drunk on being here. I can’t believe how many good-looking guys there are. What time is it?
TIM. Twelve thirty.
HARRY. I’ve missed my train.
TIM. I live in St Kilda in a share house. I have a spare mattress.
HARRY. I have to get home before my parents wake up.
TIM. It’s two. How early do they get up?
HARRY. Six. Still two hours. Does anal sex hurt?
TIM. Only at first.
HARRY. I’m a virgin and I reckon you’d be gentle with me.
TIM. You’re sweet, but I have a boyfriend.
HARRY. He’s not here. You don’t think I’m attractive?
TIM. I’m trying to resist. Believe me.
HARRY. I’m getting ball cramp waiting all this time.
TIM (aside). I screwed this guy. He had no trouble doing what, for me, had been a painful thing. In fact he enjoyed it immensely.
HARRY cums immensely.
(To HARRY.) Have you done this before? Was this all a con-job?
HARRY. Come off it. Shit, my parents will be up in a second. Bye.
HARRY exits. And immediately…
Inflation Nightclub. Enter a NEW ROMANTIC in a powdered wig.
NEW ROMANTIC. Hi.
TIM. Hey. First time here?
NEW ROMANTIC. No.
TIM. Cool.
NEW ROMANTIC. I always come to the New Romantic nights at Inflation.
TIM. Cool.
NEW ROMANTIC. Lee told you I liked you, hey?
TIM. No.
NEW ROMANTIC. He did. I do.
TIM. Oh. (Aside.) I forget his name but he was clearly an experienced lover. He manoeuvred himself around my cock with obvious expertise. Again, I sensed that something was missing. I didn’t know what.
NEW ROMANTIC. So, do you want to go out with me?
TIM. No.
NEW ROMANTIC. Why not?
TIM. It was really nice but I don’t think we should. I couldn’t bear it if my boyfriend found out.
NEW ROMANTIC. Maybe you should have thought about that before you led me on.
TIM. I didn’t lead you on. I was honest the whole way.
NEW ROMANTIC. Cock-sucker.
NEW ROMANTIC exits. Instantly…
FRANCO’s bedroom. Enter FRANCO.
TIM. All I ever do is upset people.
FRANCO. What would your boyfriend do if he found out about our fling?
TIM. Part of me wants to share it with him.
FRANCO. Come off it. Christ, we’re gonna be early at this rate.
TIM. He’s my best friend. I’ve shared everything with him. You look good in my shirt.
FRANCO. This whole month behind his back?
TIM. I can’t. Oh, I can’t wear this.
TIM changes his shirt.
He loves me so much, everyone says that, but I feel obligated to him and I want craziness.
FRANCO. Sounds like you’ve got some issues there, mister. When my boy gets back from overseas he won’t know shit. Shit, let’s wait. I don’t want to be on time.
TIM. Knowing that this, you and me, was always going to be finite has made it so intense.
FRANCO. You wanna fuck again, hey.
TIM. Yep.
FRANCO. Me too. We’re late anyway.
/> FRANCO exits. Instantly…
A party. PETER is near TIM.
PETER. Where’s John tonight, Tim?
TIM. What’d you say, Peter?
PETER. Is John coming later?
TIM. Wanna go upstairs or something, Peter? Party’s too loud.
PETER. I’m right. So, John still not here?
TIM. Has some nerdy chiro assignment.
PETER. You’re still together?
TIM. Yeah.
PETER. Yeah.
TIM. You heard John and I had a spat at your tennis thing?
PETER. Yeah.
TIM. Yeah.
PETER. Yeah, and you seem to be coming on to me on the dance floor all night.
TIM. Yeah.
PETER. Yeah.
TIM. Thinning out now. I might go home soon. Wanna come round for a drink?
PETER. Sure, but not for sex. I couldn’t do it to John.
TIM. He doesn’t have to know. You’re not rejecting me, are you?
PETER. I wouldn’t feel right about it.
TIM. Oh. Okay. Don’t tell John. Okay?
PETER exits. And immediately…
TIM’s house in St Kilda. TIM and JOHN are in bed.
JOHN. Tell me, Tim.
TIM. What?
JOHN. There’s something on your mind.
TIM. Not now.
JOHN. Just say it. There’s something –
TIM. It’s not something I want to say in bed.
JOHN. Don’t torture me, Tim.
TIM. I need some space.
JOHN. What’s that mean?
TIM. We’ve been together for five years and I’m starting to lose my identity. I’m no longer Tim but part of John and Tim.
JOHN. What’s wrong with that?
TIM. I want to go to acting school next year and there are just things, things that I want to do that wouldn’t involve you.
JOHN. You mean sex with other men.
TIM. I mean a separation. A trial separation.
JOHN. How long for?
TIM. A couple of months.
JOHN. When does this start?
TIM. Well, I don’t know.
JOHN. Now?
TIM. Well, yes, I guess it has to start now.
JOHN. I see.
TIM. Are you okay about it?
JOHN. No, why would I be? Can I still sleep here tonight?
TIM. Of course. I’m not going to kick you out of my bed.
JOHN. Well, if it’s started I can –
TIM. No, stay tonight.
JOHN. Yeah. I would prefer to stay tonight.
TIM. Yeah. Stay tonight but then tomorrow we’ll start a separation.
JOHN. Tomorrow we start?
TIM. Starts tonight but stay tonight. If you like. I don’t –
JOHN. A trial though.
TIM. Yeah, for a set time. A few months.
JOHN. No more Tim and John.
TIM. Just for a few months.
JOHN. It doesn’t mean we can’t cuddle.
TIM. I think it does.
JOHN turns his back on TIM.
(Aside.) I hoped to God you wouldn’t start crying. Later, Juliet told me he cried daily.
TIM places a hand on JOHN. He shrugs it away.
(Aside.) I lay awake for ages.
JOHN takes TIM’s hand and wraps it around himself.
Nineteen
The National Institute of Dramatic Art, an audition room. A DIRECTOR and three ACTING CANDIDATES are watching TIM.
DIRECTOR. Tim, mate, good. When you’re ready we’ll hear your monologue. You look tired, mate. When you’re ready. Don’t be nervous.
TIM. Okay. Ready?
DIRECTOR. Ready, mate.
TIM. ‘When the phone –’
DIRECTOR. Sorry mate, before you start. We saw you last year, didn’t we?
TIM. Yes. Told me to come back.
DIRECTOR. Just wanted to check. When you’re ready.
TIM recites the following as his monologue.
TIM. When the phone call came, things shook. ‘Tim, you’re in.’ I’m in. I am in. An actor friend from Anthill says, ‘That’s good, turtle, if that’s what you want.’ What I want? Is she mad? I wanted to tell everybody, the woman in the café, the old man in the street, but I also didn’t want to appear to be bragging. ‘A cappuccino, thanks, and by the way, I just got into NIDA.’ (As a friend of his MUM’s.) ‘Very proud. Mum just told me, you’ve been accepted into Narnia.’ Narnia? For fuck’s sake. It’s the school Mel Gibson went to and Judy Davis. Haven’t you heard of it? I went and got a crew cut. A new start. Regrowth.
TIM removes his wig to reveal a shaved head. The monologue becomes a duologue between JOHN and TIM at TIM’s flat. TIM mimes the kettle and the popcorn as though he is performing the scene in a rehearsal room at NIDA. The DIRECTOR and ACTORS remain onstage, observing.
JOHN (entering). I don’t know if I like your hair.
JOHN’s hair has reached its 1980s height.
TIM. Number two. I like it. Cup of tea? I’m making popcorn. Want some?
TIM starts the detailed business of making a cup of tea.
JOHN. Just tea. Please.
TIM. Kettle’s on.
TIM makes sure the kettle is on at the wall.
So dumb barely seeing you the past month. Surprised you came. Glad you came. Just busy packing and…
JOHN. I came to congratulate you. Juliet told me.
TIM. Thanks. I’m over the moon.
JOHN. We made you something. I’m not going to see you much, am I?
TIM. I’ll be coming back from Sydney for the term breaks.
JOHN. Guess so.
TIM tends to the popcorn.
So, been seeing someone.
TIM. You have?
JOHN. Yeah.
TIM. Anyone I know?
JOHN. Peter.
TIM. Lucky you. He’s sweet. And very cute. I tried once but he couldn’t do it because of you. That’s what he said.
JOHN. He told me.
TIM. Have you slept together?
JOHN. A couple of times. Mostly we play tennis.
TIM. What’s he like in bed?
JOHN. You’re not even jealous.
TIM. No. I’m not. Is that why you told me?
JOHN. Maybe. I don’t know. Yes.
TIM pours the kettle into the popcorn.
TIM. I think it’s great, a chance to experience something different.
JOHN. Did you just…? You just poured the kettle into the popcorn.
TIM. Yes. I did.
JOHN. Oh. Don’t go away.
TIM completes the task of disposing of the popcorn and preparing the cups of tea. He wipes up after himself as he talks.
TIM. Come off it. What about Peter?
JOHN. Dad scared him off anyway.
TIM. Bob? Finally on my side.
TIM sips his tea – careful, it might be hot.
JOHN. I’ll miss you too much.
TIM. I’m shit-scared. I know that I’m going to rock up on the day and then they’ll go: [‘Hey…’]
DIRECTOR. ‘Hey listen, I thought Tim Conigrave was the boy with the blond curly hair, not the poof trying to look masculine in James Dean gear.’ Sorry, mate. Keep on going.
TIM. Probably, ah, maybe I just fluked my way in on the day.
JOHN. You’re such a worry-wart. We made you this.
JOHN produces a scrapbook. TIM puts down his tea and looks through it.
The scrapbook is the first real object in the scene.
This is what we made you.
TIM. What’s… ‘This is Your Life – actually only the last five years’. How did you get all this together?
JOHN. The others pitched in. Biscuit did the section on skating stacks.
TIM. Classic.
JOHN. Down the freeway ramp. Juliet had the piccies of the plays.
TIM. And Christmas Eve on the Yarra. All with commentary. Your handwriting. Thank you. Thanks, John.
JOHN. No wucker
s.
TIM. I want to make one for you.
JOHN. Like you’ll have time in the next three years.
TIM. What am I getting myself in for?
JOHN. I want to buy you something.
TIM. What?
JOHN. A ring.
TIM. A ring?
JOHN. Yeah. A ring. A kind of memento to say thanks for the last five years.
TIM. Well, I’d like to buy you one too. Most couples give each other rings at the start of the relationship, and here we are doing it when we break up.
JOHN. Are we breaking up?
TIM. Well…
JOHN. I thought we were just separating, a trial, just seeing other people.
TIM. I think NIDA’s changed that. It’ll be hard to maintain anything over such a distance. I’m sorry, John, but don’t you think the relationship was winding down? It was getting a bit stale.
JOHN. Oh well, I guess I knew it was coming. Let’s get on a tram. I don’t want to go home. We’ll go out. Let’s go to Inflation. Wednesday’s Gay Night.
Inflation Nightclub. JOHN and TIM let loose on a crowded dance floor.
TIM. It’s like we’re on our first date.
JOHN. Pardon?
TIM. Nothing.
JOHN. Hey?
TIM. I want to kiss you, but I can’t –
JOHN. I can’t hear you, Tim.
TIM. I know. Doesn’t matter. I do love you, John Caleo.
(Aside.) We bought the rings. I put mine on my wedding finger.
End of Act One.
* Mut is an Australian colloquialism, rhyming with ‘put’.
ACT TWO
One
The National Institute of Dramatic Art. ACTORS in black lycra are warming up onstage.
TEACHER. On the count of three, form a new friendship. One. Two. Three.
The ACTORS do as they are told.
Now separate. Form a new friendship. And separate. Form a new one. Good. Keep that repeating, okay, for three years.
Roll on the floor. And cry. Cry on a neighbour. Good. And totally breaking down.
Okay, shake it out. Very good. Thoughts?
AN ACTOR. Um, it’s like the friends you make here will be your friends for life.
TEACHER. Anyone else feel that?
ALL. Yes.
AN ACTOR. And it’s like, it’s like some people have a block with anger.
She death-stares the culprit.
TEACHER. Okay, good, choose an animal and just –
AN ACTOR. I’m a monkey.
AN ACTOR. I’m a monkey.
AN ACTOR. I’m a chimpanzee.
AN ACTOR. I’m a Central African fruit-gathering gibbon.