Dale Andersen 27702 Crown Valley Pkwy

Suite 117, D-4Ladera Ranch, CA 92694andersen.dale@gmail.com

562-508-5820

THE HUNDRED MILLION DOLLAR SON

Genre: Drama Format: One-Act

Character Breakdown

Dad – American, 55, a billionaire oil man

Son – American, 17 (tomorrow he will be 18)

Waiter – Russian, 30

Synopsis

When in Rome, you do as the Romans, but what do you do if the “Rome” you're in happens to be Uzbekistan?

1

(At rise. Interior of a dingy restaurant, not a soul in sight. On wall, weathered mapsand pictures of Rome and Italy. There’s a bar and three tables, one at the window, onein the center of the room, one far away fromthe window. Big clock on wall says 2:46. DADenters with holstered pistol and laptop bag)

DAD:(Calls out the door)

You coming in or staying out?

SON’S VOICE:Coming in, I guess.

(DAD sets laptop bag on bar)

DAD:Need a good meal. Hello! Anybody in here?!

(SON enters, glass of wine in hand)

DAD:Good meal steadies the nerves.

SON:Sure.

DAD:Focuses the mind, too.

(SON sniffs the air, makes a face)

DAD:Hello! Hello! Anybody?

(They listen. Not a sound)

SON:No one’s back there.

DAD:Relax. Go with the flow. It’s not like we got to be somewhere in an hour.

SON:This is crazy. Italian food in Uzbekistan? The fact that this place is empty tells you it can’t be good.

DAD:Where’s your sense of adventure?

SON:Outside with the crew. Say, I got an idea. How about you wait here and you order for us while I go back out to the Rover, hook up to the dish and check my emails.

(SON reaches for the laptop bag. DAD puts hand on bag)

2

SON:Come on, man. Give me the laptop.

DAD:I just decided on a new rule. No more Internet.

SON:What?

DAD:No more Internet until we’re out of here. That’s two days. Don’t tell me you can’t do without for forty-eight hours.

SON:Are you including yourself in this?

DAD:Goes without saying. You know me. I walk the walk.

(SON shakes his head, takes a sip from his glass of wine)

DAD:And don’t go pissy drunk on me again.

SON:Just getting a buzz. Might as well. Nothing else going on here.

DAD:Look. If you going to get one, how about doing it with somegenuine firewater for a change? Instead of that merlot and cabernet that your - -

SON:That my mother drinks?

DAD:Yeah, there’s that.

SON:Just so happens, I like red wine. Juice of the grape. Fruit of the vine. Nothing wrong with that.

DAD:Matter of perspective. Coming from a mama’s boy - -

SON:You leave her out of this!

DAD:Touched a nerve there, did I? Suddenly you’re angry. I like it when you’re angry. It’s the only time I see you come alive. And regarding your mother, you seem to have picked up any number of bad habits from her.

SON:I mean it. Leave her out of this.

3

(Sudden sound of creaking floorboards. Someone’s walking somewhere. They both fall silent. Then...)

DAD:Make you a deal. I’ll leave her out if you leave her out.

SON:I’m not making deals. I’m just warning you.

(DAD flashes SON an “I’m so scared” face, then blows him a contemptuous air kiss. Theyboth turn to look at the service door as WAITER, unkempt & unshaven, enters, donning a dirty apron. On seeing them, he pushes button on tapedeck. A Patsy Cline song playsat low volume. WAITER smiles, bows)

WAITER:(Speaks English with a Russian accent)

Welcome to Palmiro’s. Welcome. Welcome.

DAD:Saw your sign and we said, “Italian food in Uzbekistan? We must give it a try.”

SON:He said. I didn’t.

WAITER:Palmiro’s is best Italian in all Uzbekistan.

DAD:Got no doubt it is.

WAITER:You are Americans. I can tell. Uzbek people love Americans. Especially we love Dixie Chicks. You are here to see our beautiful country?

DAD:Part of it. We’re on our way to the Ferghana Valley.

WAITER:Ferghana? That is dangerous place. Many bad people there. Uzbek tribes run wild. You need protection. I get you reliable security person. My uncle Dmitri. He is very reasonable.

DAD:Look out the window.

(The song ends. WAITER, not quite comprehending, doesn’t move)

DAD:Well, go on. Look on out there.

(WAITER goes to window, looks through glass)

4

DAD:See out there? Uzbek tribesmen. Hired and paid for. Just to let you know I don’t go to restaurants in search of security.

WAITER:Forgive me, Sir. Let me show you to window table.

SON:Oh yes. Thanks.

DAD:Victor! No.

(To WAITER)Table away from the window’d be more - -

SON:No, Dad. Window table! We can watch the camels pass by.

DAD:My boy. Never listens, never pays attention.

WAITER:Ah! You are father and son. Yes. Now I see resemblance.

DAD:(Bemused)

Do you.

WAITER:You are traveling together?

DAD:On vacation, seeing interesting, off-the-beaten-path places.Been to the Galapagos Islands.

WAITER:(Pretends he knows where that is)

Ah!

DAD:To Pitcairn Island. You know, Mutiny on the Bounty, FletcherChristian and all that.

WAITER:(Does a bad hula dance)

Ah, yes! Islands! Dancing girls!

DAD:To New Guinea, to Sikkim, and now here. Now let’s get that table.

(DAD gives SON a meaningful look)Away from the window.

WAITER:Yes, Sir. As you wish.

(WAITER seats them)

5

WAITER:Special today, pasta primavera. Palmiro’s has by far the best Italian cuisine. You can go to Tashkent, you can go to Dushambe, go all the way to Kabul or Katmandu, you will findno better Italian than - -

DAD:Excuse me.

WAITER:Yes, Sir?

DAD:What did you say your name was?

WAITER:My name?

DAD:Yeah. Your name.

WAITER:(Fumbles for something in his pocket)

My name. My name.

SON:(Through gritted teeth)

Dad, can’t you see you’re embarrassing him?

WAITER:(Produces small card. Reads it aloud)

Ah! Marco! My name is Marco.

(WAITER triumphantly pins card to jacket pocket like a name tag)

DAD:Thank you, Marco. We’ll study the menu. We’ll call you.

WAITER:I bring vodka?

DAD:Vodka goes with Italian?

WAITER:It is excellent vodka. Very good brand. From Korea.

DAD:No chianti? No merlot? No cabernet?

(Another meaningful look at SON)No red table wine?

WAITER:Red wine? No. Sorry. All out. Vodka only.

DAD:I guess vodka it is. Bring it on, Marco.

6

(WAITER looks perplexed, does not move)

DAD:(A little louder)

Bring it on, Marco.

WAITER:Oh! Marco! Of course, my name. Marco.

(Points to his “name tag”)What you need, you ask for Marco. Marco is on the mark.

(WAITER exits through service door. Silence. SON gives DAD the silent treatment. Finally………)

DAD:What?

SON:You always make me look like a fool in front of people.

DAD:Do I?

SON:The window table.

DAD:What about the window table?

SON:I want to know what was wrong with sitting at the window.

DAD:Got a hair up your ass about that?

SON:Every time I make a decision, you countermand it. It’s likenothing I do is right.

DAD:Wrong.

SON:You do.

DAD:I do not.

SON:You fucking enjoy it.

DAD:Don’t say fuck to me. I step in when you’re wrong. You don’tsee that?

SON:No.

7

DAD:Let me ask you. Why would a window table be a bad idea? Give up? Makes you a target.

SON:Target? For what? For whom?

DAD:Man a lot wiser than me once said, “Let me tell you about the very rich. They’re different.” He was talking about you. And me.

SON:I don’t feel different.

DAD:But you are. And that means you’re being watched twenty-four hours a day.

SON:Watched? By whom?

DAD:People.

SON:What kind of people?

DAD:All kinds of people. Smart people. Stupid people. Crazy people. People people. All keeping an eye on you.

SON:Guess there's no law against watching.

DAD:Except some have more than watching on their minds. They’rethe ones you have to guard against. They’re the reason you don’t sit by windows.

(WAITER enters with vodka bottle and two glasses. FATHER signals SON to be silent)

DAD:So this is the famous Korean vodka.

WAITER:Sorry. No Korean. All out. This is Mongolian. My best customers say this much better vodka. And I’m so sure of you, I made bet with myself that you’ll like it.

DAD:I’ll go along with the bet.

(Indicates posters on wall)I always say, when in Rome, do as the Romans. I believe we’ll have the pasta primavera.

8

WAITER:(Pours a glass for each, filling them to thebrim, Russian-style)

Very good choice, Sir. You will love it. And you be sure to tell all your American friends about Palmiro’s.

(WAITER exits, leaving the bottle on the table. DAD takes sip, licks his lips, nods,signals SON to drink. SON sniffs at the glass, makes a face, sets glass down)

DAD:Sooner or later, you’re going to have to learn to drink the hard stuff. And you’re going to have to learn to hold your liquor like - -

SON:Like my mother? She told me how you knew she couldn’t handle liquor and - -

(DAD holds up hand for silence)

DAD:And I was about to say! You might as well start now. Startbuilding up a tolerance for - -

SON:She said you poured it down her throat until she was helpless and didn’t know what she was doing. Then you - -

(DAD slams fist down on the table. Suddenly,dead silence. A long moment. Then…)

DAD:Do you believe everything that woman says?

SON:She’s been there for me. You haven’t. And she’s been good to me.

DAD:Oh, yes, good. Good for goodness. Goodness, kindness and charity. Her three favorite words. Bible words. Jesus words. Too bad they’re not commodities with value in the marketplace. You can’t buy oil with goodness. Did you knowthat?

(Silence. DAD drums fingers)

DAD:Come on, boy. Down the hatch. Try the vodka.

(Silence, resistance. Drumming gets louder. Then abruptly it stops)

DAD:Go on, Victor. Try it. Please. I’m saying please.

9

(SON takes the glass with a shaky hand, raises it slowly to his lips. Blackout. Sound of clock chiming, signaling time marching on. Lights up. SON sits alone, but now he’s sitting at the table by the window.His vodka glass is down a bit from the brim.Big clock on the wall says 4:16)

SON:(Sings, a little drunk)

AN’ I’M NO ONE SPECIALI’M JUST LIKE YOU YEAH, I’M NO ONE SPECIALJUST A LONE BUCKAROODOO-DOO-DOO

(SON hums tune, slaps hand on table to mark the beat. He takes a sip of vodka, laughs tohimself)

SON:Yee-haw! Lone buckaroo.

(SON gets up, goes over to the bar, picks upthe laptop bag, turns it upside down. EMPTY)

SON:Fuck!

(SON goes to window, looks out just as WAITER enters through service door with two heaping plates of pasta primavera)

WAITER:Ah!

(WAITER screeches to a halt, looks around)But your father’s not here.

SON:He’s somewhere outside ordering the bodyguards around. He’sgot this fantasy he’s a Texas trail boss in a movie.

(SON sits back down as WAITER starts to set plates down away from window)

SON:What do you think you’re doing?

WAITER:Serving pasta, Sir.

SON:But I’m sitting over here.

WAITER:Forgive me, Sir, but your father was very strict about serving table far away from win - -

10

(SON slams his fist down. WAITER jumps)

SON:Is my father here? Do you see that man anywhere in this room?

WAITER:Please, Sir. I’m just a little person. I don’t want - -

SON:Don’t worry, little person, you won’t get in trouble.

(SON takes a sip of vodka, smacks lips) Mongolian’s pretty good.

(WAITER sets plates down at window table)

WAITER:Very strong, Sir. You must be careful.

SON:(SON smacks his lips)

Oh I’m careful. Careful’s my middle name. Victor Careful Tyler. Yee-haw. That’s me.

WAITER:Pasta primavera will soon be cold.

SON:Guess I better dig right in then.

(SON starts eating) This is good. Why don’t you sit down and join me, Marco.

WAITER:No no. Marco must stand, Sir.

SON:Suit yourself. Doesn’t seem fair, though.

WAITER:It is rule. It would be big shame for waiter to sit with customer.

SON:You know what my Dad’s going to do, don’t you? He’s going to raise holy hell about his pasta being cold and make you take it back and do it again. It’s just his way.

WAITER:That is his right, Sir. Customer is always - -

SON:Key is don’t take it personally. He treats everyone the same, me, my mother, the paper boy, the neighbor’s cat, you name it. To him, everyone’s an object, a bit player in the movie of his life. And there’s no upside for loyalty. So if I were you, I’d go for the gusto, grab anything not nailed down while the grabbing’s good. I’d play it to the hilt.

(Raises glass to punctuate his point) If I were you.

11

(SON takes another sip as WAITER edges up tothe chair, as if getting his courage up)

SON:Go on. Have a seat. Take a load off.

WAITER:You. You promise you take my side if your father - -

SON:Sure thing, Marco. I got your back. Ten thousand per cent.

(WAITER gingerly sits, as if intruding on forbidden territory, settles in by degrees)

WAITER:Good, feels good, feels very good.

SON:There you go. Spend your life taking orders, cleaning up after people, emptying ashtrays. Feels good for once to sit at the head of the table. Here, let me fill your glass.

(SON reaches for bottle. WAITER, sudden panic on his face, reaches for it as well)

WAITER:Oh no, no, no, Sir. Let Marco pour.

(SON slaps WAITER’s hand away)

SON:What you got to learn is, when someone offers to pour, let them. Hold the glass out and say, “Fill it, motherfucker.”

(WAITER looks shocked)

SON:Go on, say it.

WAITER:Fill it. Ah. I can’t say that, Sir. It’s - -

(SON holds bottle, ready to pour)

SON:Fill it, motherfucker!

WAITER:Fill it. Mother. Ah. Fucker.

SON:Say it like you’re saying it to someone you hate.

WAITER:My uncle Dmitri! Fill it, you motherfucker!

(SON pours WAITER a tall one)

12

SON:Felt good, didn’t it?

WAITER:To say truth, it would feel best with Uncle Dmitri in room. I know it is sin to say fucker, but he is such bad man, priest would forgive me. Fill it up, motherfucker!

(WAITER laughs, takes a big gulp, belches. SON’s demeanor suddenly changes)

SON:So what’s your real name?

WAITER:(Points to “name tag”)

It is Marco. You see here? Marco is on the mark.

SON:No Marco ever had an Uncle Dmitri.

(Long silence. WAITER slowly unpins “name tag,” tosses it, takes gulp of vodka)

WAITER:You are right. Name is Yuri. I am Russian. I am not Communist, but my father was big Communist shot. He admired famous Communist from Italy, Palmiro Togliatti. He opened restaurant, called it Palmiro’s. When I was small, Palmiro’s was very busy, very profitable. Now, with Uzbeks and jihad, sometimes I am. How do you say? Down in dumps.

SON:I hear you. Sometimes I’m down in the dumps, too, Yuri. What with my father and all his BS, but you know what I say?Forget about it. Just fuck it!

WAITER:Yes. Yes! You see everything. You are right! Fuck it!

SON:Fuck my father!

WAITER:Fuck jihad, fuck Uzbeks!

(His demeanor quickly changes to sadness)I must tell you, my father is dead.

SON:I’m sorry.

WAITER:After Gorbachev and, ah - -

(He struggles to find the words)And the, ah, glastnost and the, ah, troubles, the mujahideencame and killed him and three other Russians.

SON:I’m sorry.

13

WAITER:I miss him. He was small man, but very funny. Very tough. First he was merchant, buying from Uzbeks, selling to Russians in Tashkent. Very few Russians out here. Most live in big houses in city. When Communists come, they said to him stop being merchant and we make you Commissar. He said okay. Then he opened Palmiro’s. Uzbek mafia sent man to command him to use Uzbek pinballs. Huge man, seven feet tall. Smelled of garlic and camel rectum. Said he would killfamily and rape my mother if father refused. He smiled, picked up club and smashed it on Uzbek’s knee. The man bent over. My father broke his nose and jaw, beat him bloody. Then he poured hot fat from fryer on him, dragged him to street. He picked up phone, called Commissars in Tashkent tosend garbage truck to move shit off the road.

SON:Oh man! Sounds like he was a great guy.

WAITER:(Tears well up in his eye)

He was atheist. But his heart was good. He loved people. Imiss him. This is my secret. I never say it to anyone but you.

SON:Now let me tell you a secret about me.

WAITER:Okay. How do you Amercans say it? Shoot!

SON:If my father was walking to that door and had a heart attackand died, I would not feel a thing.

WAITER:That is terrible. It is big sin. He is your father. Is one thing to say you don’t like him, but to feel nothing - -

SON:It’s true. If someone shot him dead, I wouldn’t care.

WAITER:I will say prayer for you.

(Makes Russian sign of cross) It is exact opposite for me. I have names of ones who killed my father. One day when the Russian army returns, they will pay. God will punish them.

SON:You can’t go through life trying to bring back the dead. Drive you crazy. Like I say, fuck it.

WAITER:No no no. It is a thing I cannot forget. Some things - -

(Glances out window, sudden panicked look) Oh! Your father is coming.

(WAITER stands. In a sudden whirl of activity, he begins clearing table)

14

SON:Hey! I thought we were backing each other up. Didn’t you say - -

WAITER:I am sorry, Sir. It is a thing I cannot do.

SON:But we’re compadres. Paisanos. What happened to fuck it?

WAITER:It is impossible. I am sorry. Very sorry, Sir.

(WAITER leaves the bottle and glass on table. Sound of footsteps on walkway outside. SON gives Waiter a contemptuous glare, props feet on table and, glass in hand, leans back, nonchalant-wise. WAITER exits through back as DAD enters through front. DAD has laptop in his hand. He goes to bar, slides laptop into bag as SON sings)

SON:AN’ I’M NO ONE SPECIALI’M JUST LIKE YOU YEAH, I’M NO ONE SPECIALJUST A LONE BUCKAROO DOO-DOO-DOO

(SON hums to himself, keeping the beat by lightly tapping his thigh. DAD glares at SON, silently mouths “Oh Jesus Christ!” He paces, clenching and unclenching his fists. SON pretends to be oblivious to this but watches out of the corner of his eye)

SON:Took your time out there, didn’t you? Put the fear of God into all the bodyguard dudes, did you? And I guess you checked all your emails, too, Mister Walk The Walk.

DAD:We’ve never had a heart-to-heart, have we?

SON:That’s a big yup uh-huh yup. Pretty damn accurate.

(DAD takes bottle from table, sets it on floor)

DAD:Not drunk, are you?

SON:Man, nothing gets by you.

(SON emits a big noisy belch)

DAD:Just as well if you are. Some things are best heard drunk.

15

(DAD takes a package from his inside coat pocket, hands it to SON)

DAD:Happy birthday. Happy eighteenth.

SON:What is it?

(DAD takes a chair, slides it up to the window table, props his feet up and leans back, just like SON. He watches as SON openspackage and takes out a pistol. He holds it up, aims it at objects on wall, clicks the trigger)

DAD:I’ll say it straight out. There were a number of the years gone by when I thought you weren’t my son.

(This gets SON’s attention. He stops pointing and clicking)

SON:What?

DAD:I thought there’d been a switch.

SON:Switch? How?

DAD:You were small. There was a man with means and opportunity. And it made sense to me he would. But science came along and I was able to run some DNA tests to confirm - -

SON:Oh Jesus Christ!

DAD:Confirm you were the real deal.

SON:Hip-hip-hooray for science.

DAD:You were a year old. I had made the Fortune 500 for the first time. Suddenly I was somebody, somebody people were starting to keep an eye on. Week after your birthday party, a man appeared at my door. Introduced himself as Anthony Gervolino. Very polite, very deferential. He said, “I haveyour son. I am here to collect one hundred million dollars cash for his safe return. The amount is not negotiable. I believe I’ll wait here at your home until the money is collected.” Talk about balls!

(An admiring smile)‘Course I paid. And you were promptly returned. And I mustsay it was a pleasure dealing with Mr. Gervolino. He was

16

DAD (Cont):witty, knowledgeble, well-read, treated the servants with respect. I liked him. Very cool under pressure.

(Shakes his head)Under any other circumstances, I would have hired him.

SON:Why did you think he’d do a switch?

DAD:He was daring, imaginative, fearless. Men like that seem to always have one more trick up their sleeve, one more ace in the hole. Tell you true, he was a lot like. Well. Me.

SON:So you’re thinking you would have done that to him?

DAD:Had our roles had been reversed? I might have.

SON:I could have been killed.

DAD:Nothing’s guaranteed. Nothing’s dead solid perfect. Even so, I’m glad you weren’t.

SON:Were you really.

DAD:Can’t do serious business out here without a son. Those menout there? Their tribe controls the land on which a lot of oil and gas sits. They only do business with men. And you’re not a real man unless you have a son.

SON:Well gosh. So this is what it feels like having a “heart-to-heart” with dear old dad. So what comes next?

DAD:Next depends on you.

(SON waits for the other shoe to drop)

DAD:You know how it is with primitive tribes, like what we saw in New Guinea? There’s a magic day when a boy’s initiated into manhood. Boy performs a specified feat. Then there’s a ritual blessing, or maybe the elders mark the boy with a tattoo or a knife cut. Whatever, purpose is to signify passage. He’s a man now. Can’t go back to being a boy. The off ramp to Never Never Land is blocked.

SON:Wherever we’re going with this, if I have a choice, no knifecuts.

17

DAD:Deal. No cuts.

SON:But there’s a catch. With you, always a catch.

DAD:Stop being so wound up. I want you calm and relaxed.

(DAD reaches back, picks up bottle from floor, tops off SON’s glass)

DAD:Ferghana Valley’s our last stop before home. It’s all tribal, all about who you know, whose palm you grease. You’re going to meet some people. They’ll be watching you, keeping an eye on you, judging you, taking mental notes. Because you’re special. Very special. You’re the rich man’s son, heir to the throne. Someday, when I’m gone, you’ll be the one they’ll be dealing with. You need to act the part.

SON:How should I act?

DAD:Like a man, of course.

(DAD stands, stretches. He makes ready as if to leave, starts walking toward the door.At the last minute, he stops and turns)

DAD:Almost forgot, we’ll be seeing Mister Gervolino out there.

SON:The kidnapper? What’s he doing there?

DAD:Doing? He’s not doing anything. He’s not there by choice.

(A long moment as SON absorbs this. An “oh shit!” look crosses his face. He springs up)

SON:Oh mother fuck! Oh fucking shit! So that’s what this wholething is about! You. You’re going to kill him!

DAD:No. You’re going to kill him.

(DAD exits. SON hurls vodka glass at door. It smashes. He aims pistol at door, pulls trigger. It goes click click click click. Blackout. Sound of a clock chiming, signaling time marching on. Lights up. At the window table: a broken chair, a smashed bottle, the laptop with its monitor cracked.DAD sits at center table, playing solitaire,his vodka glass half full. Big clock on the

18

wall says 5:56. WAITER enters from service door with wiping cloth, broom and trash can.He silently pads by DAD, begins cleaning themess. Sound of gunshot from outside. WAITERglances out window. DAD doesn’t react)

DAD:Do you have any sons?

WAITER:God has not yet blessed me with wife and child, sir.

DAD:Good for God. My advice? Adopt.

WAITER:Yes sir.

(More silence. WAITER picks up broken laptop, inspects it, shakes head, tosses it in trash can, continues cleaning. Sound of another gunshot)

WAITER:Shall I bring pasta, sir?

DAD:Hold off a while.

(More silence. Then…) Let me ask you. You’re kind of an expert on human nature.

WAITER:Oh no no no, sir. I am not expert.

(DAD sets cards down, gives WAITER his full attention)

DAD:Well, I think you are. Waiters and bartenders seem to have their finger on the pulse of things. That’s my view, at least. My son. It’s his 18th birthday tomorrow. What do you think of him?

(Another gunshot. WAITER glances out window)

WAITER:Your son?

DAD:Yes.

WAITER:I see he rebels. I see he has conflict. And anger.

(Sound of a five shot burst: BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM)

DAD:Anger. Conflict. You see that?

19

WAITER:I see you are trying to make him respect you.

DAD:Yes. Exactly!

WAITER:And I see you want him to obey you.

DAD:Well, that goes without saying.

(WAITER sits down across from DAD without being invited)

WAITER:You are being father. It is natural. You want respect and obedience. But you are trying to. How do you say? Push it down his throat.

DAD:Well, I don’t know about that.

(Sound of another gunshot)

WAITER:Let me tell you, in old Russia before Communists came and destroyed family, father was king. Father had power of lifeand death. He was like Abraham or David or Solomon. And like David, father gave oldest son maximum freedom. It is how son learns. It is how father learns about son.

DAD:David’s son tried to kill him.

WAITER:Nothing is a guarantee. Nothing is one hundred per cent.

DAD:I was right. You are very wise.

WAITER:Oh no no no. It is only what I am.

DAD:No, really. You’re very, very wise.

WAITER:And you are very kind.

(The door to the outside opens, SON enters. He’s dressed in traditional Uzbek robe and turban. He does a twirl like a model. He poses, arms outstretched)

SON:Do you like it?

20

DAD:I don’t know. It’s going to take some getting used to.

SON:It’s called a caftan.

DAD:I know what it’s called. I’ve only been doing business here for twenty years.

SON:I’ve been having an awesome time. They made me a blood brother. I’m one of them now.

DAD:You’re not one of them, Victor.

SON:They opened up, showed me their world. It’s like a movie. With warriors, courage, journeys and quests. They don’t have kings or rulers because each man is a king. Each man is free to define himself. And there’s a code they live by which transcends money or power or sex. It’s all about harmony with the environment, with each other, with the rhythms of life and the Earth and. And stuff like that.

DAD:There’s no harmony. There’s no rhythm. No stuff like that.

(WAITER shakes his head in disbelief)

WAITER:Excuse me. There is very much garbage in this room. I musttake it outside. I will leave you for now.

(WAITER exits through service door dragging the trash can behind him and mumbling to himself. DAD waits until WAITER is gone)

DAD:All that’s happening is, those guys outside are taking us totheir tribal leaders who are in the business of selling gas and oil leases to the highest bidder. Wake up and smell thecoffee, Victor.

SON:I am no longer Victor. My blood brothers gave me a new name. Malik.

DAD:Victor, listen to me. You are - -

(SON draws Bukharan Sabre from under his robe, points it menacingly at DAD's throat)

SON:My name is Malik! You will call me Malik!

21

(A long moment. Then SON, with a flourish, returns sword to its scabbard and exits thrudoor to outside. Blackout. Sound of a clock chiming, signaling time marching on. Lights up. SON sits alone at the table furthest from window, still in his Uzbek tribal garb. He has the pistol broken down into parts. He’s in the process of cleaningand oiling it. WAITER gazes forelornly out window. Big clock on the wall says 7:05)

WAITER:Ah! It is too bad! No customers today. Except for you andyour father. Tourist season is terrible. Worse than terrible. Uzbek jihad scares all good people away.

(Eyes SON in his Uzbek garb) Excuse me. I forgot that you are now great Uzbek warrior. Please forgive me for insult.

(SON ignores him)

WAITER:It was not like this when the Russians were here. None of this jihad foolishness. But now Russia is punished because Communist leaders were atheists. But we are repenting. And soon we will be strong again.

(WAITER walks over to where SON sits)

WAITER:You are clever with guns. Take apart, put together. Did your father teach you?

SON:I’ve learned nothing from that man.

WAITER:Then even better. You taught yourself, yes?

(SON begins reassembling the pistol)

SON:Wrong again. It was my mother.

WAITER:Your mother?

SON:When she was at college, studying ballet, she was walking home one day and - -

WAITER:Your mother was ballet dancer? We Russians love ballet.

SON:One day she was walking home and a man pointed a gun at her and robbed her. She swore never again. She bought a gun.

22

WAITER:But it does not sound like what ballerina does. Ballerinas are not violent people.

SON:Nevertheless. She has the tiniest hands with long, beautiful fingers. She would have made a wonderful surgeon.She does very fine needlework, wonderful miniature pencil drawings. The pistol she bought was a small one, twenty-five caliber. She was curious how it worked. She got out her sewing machine tools and took it apart. Then she forgotwhat went where, so I put it back together for her. That’s how I learned.

WAITER:But this is wonderful! You should tell your father!

SON:No. He’d hate her all the more. Me along with her.

WAITER:But that does not make sense. It is not logical.

SON:Nothing about that man is logical.

(SON holds up pistol, now reassembled. He points it at the window, pulls the trigger. A big loud CLICK! just as DAD enters throughoutside door. SON & WAITER look away. DAD gives them an “I smell a conspiracy” glare. He goes to window table, turns chair around,sits, straddling it, cowboy style)

DAD:I’ll bet Victor thinks all that shooting is about, is pulling a trigger and bang-bang-bang. But there’s more. There’s skill, training, knowledge. Care and feeding of the instrument. And safety. Careful where you point it, eh?

(Makes a pistol with his finger, points it at SON’s head)

Right, Victor?

SON:Right.

DAD:Victor doesn’t want to talk right now.

SON:You’re the talker. You’re the man with the plan.

DAD:(To WAITER)

Gun’s a birthday present. His mother wouldn’t approve.

SON:Leave her out of this!

23

DAD:Victor’s childhood was. Strange, to say the least. His mother had unorthodox ideas on raising a boy. Did you know she was a prima ballerina?

WAITER:Yes yes. He told me.

DAD:Was. She’s past forty now. Still has her perfect ballerinabody. But you know how age plays havoc with one’s athleticism. These days, she teaches.

SON:Don’t forget to tell him about - -

(DAD holds up hand for silence)

DAD:I was about to say! She receives a sizeable check each month from me.

WAITER:

Oh. I see. You and his mother are. (Makes a kaput gesture with his hands)

That is sad. I am sorry.

DAD:I’m not. We ended up agreeing to disagree about. About things. About just about. Everything.

SON:Oh Jesus, listen to him! He makes it sound like it was civilized! He makes it sould like it was - -

DAD:She got it into Victor’s head that he was. Sensitive! Delicate! Had the soul of an artist. Or some such rot.

SON:She taught me to be my own person, to be me and not you!

DAD:And I admit I wasn’t thinking. My own stupidity. I saw that perfect body and I thought to myself, it must come witha matching perfect mind. How could it be otherwise?

SON:(To WAITER)

Ask yourself, why is he telling you this? What is his point? Why is he making this your business?

DAD:From the very start, she made it her business to set the boyagainst me. She put unsound notions in his head. Notions about “opening up,” about “expressing” one’s self.

SON:Yes, she did! She taught me truth! She taught me beauty!

24

DAD:About being “free.”

SON:There’s no truth or beauty without being free! Her words.

DAD:Whatever “free” means.

(SON stands up, goes to wall, presses head against wall)

DAD:What else is there to say? It’s my punishment. My burdon. My cross. I advise you to adopt.

SON:WHY DO YOU HATE ME?

(DAD stands, goes to SON, pats his shoulder)

DAD:I don’t. There are too many other things to hate. No room left for the likes of you.

(DAD exits through door to outside. Blackout. Sound of a clock chiming, signaling time marching on. Lights up. SON, in his Uzbek tribal garb, sits alone at the window table, eating from a plate of spaghetti and meatballs. DAD sits at the table furthest from window, also eating spaghetti. WAITER sits at middle table silently reading from a large, heavy book. Big clock on the wall says 7:55)

DAD:That’s an impressive book. Must weigh a ton.

WAITER:It was my mother’s.

DAD:It does look old.

(SON looks up, watches & listens as DAD and WAITER converse)

WAITER:Is from time of Czars. My mother got it from her mother. And her mother from her mother. It is Bible. In time of Lenin, if Chekas caught you with Bible, you would be shot.

DAD:(A side glance at SON)

And now it’s the jihadis.

WAITER:I do not know which is worse, the Chekas or the mujahideen. At least with Chekas, you were speaking to Russians.

25

DAD:But you were just as dead.

WAITER:It is. How do you say? Big paradox.

DAD:So, how do you Russians read your Bible? Do you start at the beginning and work your way through it to the end?

WAITER:Oh no no no. A true Russian closes eyes.

(He demonstrates) And opens book to random page, puts finger on page and THEN.Then he opens eyes. God shows him the words.

DAD:Where did you open it to?

WAITER:Let me see. I must translate Russian to English.

(Reads haltingly) And he came to. To place which God showed to him. Where Abraham built altar with stone. Then he bound Isaac his sonwith rope. Then he took sword to sacrifice son.

DAD:Yes, I know this story. Hey Victor, this one’s about us! But he doesn’t kill the son, does he?

WAITER:No no. God says for him to stop. At last minute.

DAD:Yes, that’s right. I remember. And I always wondered, whatif he hadn’t stopped? What if he had killed him anyway? What was the boy’s name again?

SON:Isaac! His name was Isaac!

DAD:Isaac. Thank you, Victor. Your mother taught you well. Whatif Abraham had taken his sword and killed Isaac, just snuffed the little bugger out? He could’ve done it, could’ve told God to jam it. He had free will.

SON:That’s just crazy. It’s a crackpot idea.

DAD:Is it?

SON:The story is about God’s covenant. The covenant goes from Abraham to Isaac to Jacob and on through David to Jesus. Without Isaac, there’d be no covenant. It would be cut off.It would stop.

26

DAD:Wrong!

SON:Wrong? Wrong, how?

DAD:It wouldn’t stop. It’d just go through somebody else. It’d be like football. Player gets injured, it’s next man up.

SON:Oh Jesus! You are so - -

DAD:Are you saying God’s plan is so fragile, so tenuous, it would come screeching to a halt if one man fell off the bus?

(DAD draws pistol, points it at SON)If you get killed, do you think all my money would dry up and blow away? No. All that would happen is, someone else would get it instead of you.

SON:Who?

DAD:I don’t know. Someone. If you’re dead, why would you care?

(Grins, points gun up, blows on muzzle ) Would that bother you? Someone else cashing your checks?

SON:No.

DAD:Oh please. You’ve been sitting there knowing that someday, you’re going to be the man. You don’t even have to be nice about it. It’s going to happen. It’s automatic.

SON:I’m not like you. I don’t think about it.

DAD:All that money. All those lawyers and accountants and bankers cowtowing to you. And all that prime pussy. All you have to do is snap your fingers.

SON:I said, I’m not like you.

(SON turns his back to DAD)

DAD:The pussy’s real, you know. And it comes at you from every angle. If you’re not careful, it can play hell with your mind. Those women will say and do all kinds of things for your benefit. And somewhere deep within, you know it’s a setup, but you don’t want it to stop.

(Long silence. Then DAD grins and...)It was that way with your mother.

27

(SON stiffens. His hands grip the table tight. If he were an animal, the hair on his back would be standing on end)

DAD:(To WAITER)

It was a by-invitation-only reception for major donors following a performance. She knew I’d be there. She knew whoI was and how much I was worth. And she came at me with everything she had.

SON:(To WAITER)

She couldn’t hold alcohol. He could see that right away. Hegot her into a side room, poured booze into her until she couldn’t stand up. Then he and some of his friends - -

DAD:She had no business going there. If you can’t stand the heat, stay out of the - -

SON:She was twenty, for God’s sake! She was a dancer. All she cared about was her art. All she knew how to do was dance!

DAD:And she got to dance! Your problem is, you think she’s somekind of Virgin Mary in a tutu. So isn’t it hard when you find out she’s just like all the rest?

(SON springs to feet, pistol pointed at DAD)

SON:I should kill you right now!

(DAD points pistol at SON. Suddenly, it’s aMexican standoff)

DAD:Put that away.

(SON moves along wall, pistol pointed at DAD. DAD keeps his pistol trained on SON)

DAD:I mean it, Victor. Put it away.

SON:No.

DAD:Listen to me. Look at me. Don’t. It’s not worth it.

(SON keeps moving slowly along the wall toward the door to the outside, his gun handstarting to shake. He steadies his aim by gripping his wrist with his free hand. Abruptly, WAITER stands, moves between DAD &SON, blocking the line of fire)

28

WAITER:Stop this! Leave him, sir.

DAD:Get out of the way.

WAITER:No, sir. I will not.

DAD:Damn it, man! Sit down! He has to learn!

WAITER:I will not!

(SON reaches door and screened by WAITER, exits. The door slams. DAD lowers pistol)

DAD:Damn you!

WAITER:That was very bad thing, sir. Very bad. I will pray for you. And for Victor as well.

(DAD sits, slumps down in chair)

DAD:Yeah. You do that. You go pray.

(WAITER gets tray, silently begins clearing tables. DAD and WAITER avoid eye contact)

WAITER:Will there be anything else, sir?

(DAD shakes head. WAITER bows, exits throughservice door with tray full of with dirty dishes. Blackout. Sound of clock chiming. Sound of drumming and men whooping it up somewhere outside. Lights up. DAD stands, staring out window. WAITER stands behind bar, Bible open. Big clock says 9:05)

WAITER:(Reads haltingly, translating from Russian)

Go to lost sheep. Preach and say to them. Kingdom of heaven is near. Heal sick.

(Makes a heal the sick hand movement) Cleanse lepers.

(Makes a cleanse the lepers hand movement) Raise dead.

(Makes a raise the dead hand movement) Cast out devils.

(Makes a cast out devils hand movement) Amen.

29

DAD:Sounds like they’re casting out a trainload of devils out there tonight.

WAITER:When I was small, when we hear Uzbek drums, my mother would lock door, pull curtains down, hide us under bed.

DAD:Uzbeks aren’t so bad. You just have to get to know them.

WAITER:I know Uzbeks. I say nothing more about Uzbeks.

(Sound of men cheering as drumming builds toa crescendo. Then silence)

WAITER:He is out there with them.

DAD:Yes.

WAITER:Is that good idea?

(Another cheer. More drumming. Then silence again)

DAD:I don’t know. Guess he prefers the company of his “blood brothers” to ours.

WAITER:He is young. He must learn about people, both good people and these bad ones. Sir, again I wish to apologize for - -

(DAD turns aways from window)

DAD:No need. You did the right thing. I had no business pointing the gun at Victor. Got to admit, you have balls.

WAITER:Balls?

DAD:(Gestures to his crotch)

Courage. Balls. More balls than Victor.

WAITER:Ah! Yes. Thank you. You are very kind.

(Long silence. WAITER putters around. More drumming and cheering. Then silence again)

DAD:You know, nothing ever turns out the way you plan.

30

WAITER:Sometimes God has his own plans.

DAD:Guess that’s right. I have one son who hates me. I spent one hundred million dollars on him and he doesn’t care. Justsits on his butt waiting for me to die. Years ago, I was young and on the make. I planned to have five sons. Five! Inmy mind, I had each son’s education and career goals outlined. They were going to be my champions, my heroes. I visualized my business rivals pointing them out and envying me. Then a child arrived. A girl. Then a second girl. Then athird girl. Then...well, you get the picture.

WAITER:These daughters. What are their ages?

DAD:My four range from twenty-two to twenty-eight. When girls grow up, they’re nothing but trouble. When you have children, you’ll see. Remember what I told you. Adopt.

WAITER:Yes. Again thank you for this tip.

DAD:The woman was giving me nothing but girls, so I made a change. And you have to hurry on these things. Can’t wait forever. Only so many rounds in the clip. So I married theballerina and I got my son. But you know what they say about getting what you ask for. I have a son who does the opposite of whatever I ask. Daughters, of course, don’t count. You can have twenty girls and it doesn’t mean a thing. I’m being punished. For what, I have no idea.

WAITER:This story is making me very sad. I am just a little man with a little brain, but I am thinking if Victor is not making you happy, why not let the daughters - -

DAD:Why not let the daughters? Why not let the daughters? If this was back in the States and I was running a Silicon Valley dot com enterprise or a fast food empire, that would work. Back there, you have all these break-through-the-glass-ceiling pinheads and they cream in their jeans when a female takes over a boardroom. You follow me?

WAITER:Exactly! Is like in Russia! Greatest czar was woman who - -

DAD:But this isn’t the States. It’s not Russia, either. I do my business in the oil and gas fields of Myanmar, Khazakstan and here, where things haven’t much changed since the days of Genghis Khan. I deal with men who kidnap their wives, forGod’s sake. It’s true. When it’s time for a man to get married, he mounts his horse and goes and gets himself a woman at gunpoint. You can only imagine my daughters - -

31

WAITER:Uzbeks! It is insult to animals to call them animals.

(WAITER spits on floor. A shot rings out. A window pane is smashed. Blackout. Sound of lock chiming. Lights up. Ominous drumming. Center table and window table have been turned on their sides, table tops facing door. DAD crouches behind tables, pistol in hand. Big clock on the wall says 11:05)

WAITER:It is like this once, maybe twice, every year, Sir. Uzbeks are very unstable people. Anything sets them off. The government should send them to live in caves.

DAD:But will they attack?

WAITER:Who can say? The Uzbek brain is. What is the word? You cannot foretell.

DAD:Unpredictable?

WAITER:Yes. That is the word. They are like box of chocolates. You never know what you get.

DAD:Can we call for help?

WAITER:If we had computer and dish, we could, yes. But you broke computer to punish your son and the dish is outside with Uzbeks. As for me. I am very poor. When I must call Tashkent, I go to Uncle Dmitri’s house and use his phone.

DAD:So we’re fucked.

WAITER:That is very bad word.

DAD:Why are you so cool about this?

WAITER:I am Russian. Russians believe, if you ignore bad news, maybe it goes away.

(Another shot. Another pane in the window issmashed)

DAD:(A despondent tone)

My own son!

32

WAITER:But you don’t like him.

DAD:He didn’t not like me first!

WAITER:But he must have liked you when he was very small. Children like everyone.

DAD:Children don’t count. But children grow up and then - -

(Gestures toward the window) The little bastard! He’s out there, getting those guys ready to kill me. Whipping them up with war dances and firewater.

WAITER:Uzbeks are hypocrites. All week, they drink like the fishesbut on Friday they go to mullah to beg him to say sorry to allah. No Russian ever said sorry for vodka. It would be sacrilege. Vodka is gift from God.

(Silence as WAITER slides bar across floor and positions it in front of door as a barricade. More silence. Then DAD emits a loud sigh of self-pity)

DAD:Maybe I should kill myself.

WAITER:What is it you said?

(Puts pistol to head, but carefully watches WAITER’s reaction out of corner of eye)

DAD:Kill myself. End it all. I don’t see any way out. And it would be a lot less messy for everyone concerned. And thoseguys probably wouldn’t burn down Palmiro’s. You’d get to keep your restaurant. It’s win-win. You see that, don’t you?

WAITER:You are crazy. You - -

DAD:Plus! Plus, you could cash in. Nothing wrong with cashing in as long as it’s tasteful and you’re taking the high road.You could advertise this is the place where the noted billionaire and philanthopist, Willard Randall Tyler, killedhimself. You could even do a chalk outline right here on the floor. You build it, people will come.

WAITER:Put the gun down. Please put gun down.

33

DAD:It’s a no-brainer. He’s going to kill me anyway. Signs areunmistakable. You know what they say: when you gotta go, you gotta go.

WAITER:That is not about dying. That is about bodily function. Completely different thing. Please. Put it down. Let me go out and talk to your son.

(With a sigh, DAD lowers pistol)

DAD:You’re going to go out there?

WAITER:He will talk to me.

DAD:I don’t know if he will. Don’t forget, he’s an Uzbek blood brother now. And you don’t like Uzbeks.

WAITER:He will talk to me. I am sure of it.

DAD:Maybe it would be better if he came in here instead of you going out there.

WAITER:When you two are in same room, there is anger and fight. Last time you pointed guns and I had to step in middle to keep you from pulling trigger.

DAD:Yeah okay, no argument there. Good point. Okay, yes. You go on out there and you talk to Victor.

WAITER:One last thing. I don’t want to go out, talk to son and come back and find you

(Points finger gun at head) dead from gunshot. It would be. How do you say? Beating the horse to death. So please. Give me the gun.

DAD:You don’t trust me?

WAITER:I trust God and Mother Russia.

(DAD shrugs, hands WAITER his pistol. WAITER pockets it, goes to door to the outside, crosses himself and exits. Blackout. Long silence. A single sickening WHUMPPP sound. More silence. Then sound offunereal drumming. Lights up. The three tables have been pushed together in the center of room. WAITER enters carrying bodyof SON, wrapped for burial in the linens and

34

bindings of a Warrior of the Steppes. He lays him reverently on the table and steps back. Big clock on the wall says 12 midnight. DAD enters through service door. Long silence as he regards the body)

DAD:So he’s dead.

WAITER:Yes.

DAD:A tragedy.

WAITER:The death of one so young is tragic. It was like that in Russia when Alexander Nevsky died. A man asks, “Why?”

DAD:What about Victor’s blood brothers? Where were they?

WAITER:Drunk. All drunk. I had to wake the drummer.

(Long silence. Then...)

DAD:Hard to believe, but he was aiming to kill me.

WAITER:Oh no no no, Sir. No. He would not do that.

DAD:I tell you, he would. When he pointed the blade at me, I saw pure, unadulterated hate. I must say, it frightened me.

WAITER:Again I must disagree, Sir. This boy was gentle. He had the soul of an artist in him. His mother was a - -

(DAD pounds fist on table. WAITER jumps)

DAD:I KNOW WHAT SHE WAS! SHE WAS MY WIFE! REMEMBER? Why do you persist in contradicting me?

WAITER:It is not contradiction, Sir. I only say how I see him.

DAD:You saw how he wanted you to see him! As for having the

(Makes air quotes)“soul” of an artist. He had the shell, the façade, but not the soul. He was a cunning actor. He fooled you, had you eating from his hand. But he was all pride. And ambition. And he failed, failed me in the one thing that mattered.

(Rounds on WAITER, grasps him by collar)Don’t you fail me.

35

WAITER:(Suddenly very frightened)

No, Sir. I won’t fail you.

(Blackout. Sound of horses galloping. Lights up. The room is deserted. Near the door, two suitcases. Big clock on the wall says 9 am. Enter WAITER in traveling clothes. He looks around, as if saying goodbye to the room)

WAITER:Ah, Palmiro’s. I shall miss you. It was an experiment. But with Uzbeks, it is like throwing rich pearls to pigs.

(Enter DAD)

DAD:Ah! You are ready. Good.

WAITER:(Indicates suitcases)

I have not much to take. My life is. How do you say?(Points to brain)

All up here.

DAD:Travelling light. I like that! Nothing weighing you down. Footloose and fancy free. My kind of guy.

(Suddenly turns serious)Regarding Victor, all is in order?

WAITER:Yes, Sir. Two tribesmen are taking him to place in high mountain. There is Uzbek name for it. In English, it is Eagle Nest.

DAD:Eagle Nest.

WAITER:It is old tradition from time of Genghis Khan. A warrior, when he dies, they take him to Eagle Nest and lay the corpseon a mat on high poles. Eagles come down from sky and tear skin from bone. They say it is how warrior becomes eagle. Itis disgusting to see, but old Uzbek custom.

DAD:Hunh! So Victor’s turning into an eagle.

WAITER:Yes, Sir.

(WAITER picks up suitcases. They start toward door. DAD suddenly stops)

DAD:There’ll be a report that’ll have to be filed. There’s always a report. We never actually fleshed out the details about Victor, about what happened.

36

WAITER:It was a train. His men were drunk and asleep in tents and Victor was wide awake but his soul was much troubled. He walked to the railroad track and sat there. The train hit him. That is how he died. I have seen others die that way.

DAD:But the closest train track is fifty miles away.

WAITER:That is true. I misspoke. Victor died in another way. He was overcome by grief and guilt. He climbed to top of tall tree to confess to God face-to-face and his foot slipped andhe fell to Earth. I have seen others die in just that way.

DAD:Problem is, how to broach it to the people back home.

WAITER:Yes. It is a difficult thing to be bearer of sad tidings. To be cause of much weeping and wailing and. How do you sayit? Gnashing of teeth?

DAD:If only it were that simple. You know I’m rich. Which makes me a target and fair game for every news hack and paparazzo in the country. And they’ll do their damnedest toplay judge and jury and convict me in the media. Years back, when I changed my woman, they literally tarred and feathered me. Count on it that they will discover somethingto find fault with in Victor’s death.

WAITER:In Russia, we cut their throats!

DAD:But in America, you can’t even sue the press. It will be like this. If we say it was a train, they will ask, who pushed him? If we say it was a tree, they will ask, who gave him drugs to disorient him and make him fall?

WAITER:But these are lies! This is not truth. This is evil - -

DAD:Truth means nothing to them. The way I see it, simplest is best. Victor killed himself.

WAITER:But that is not exactly how - -

DAD:Hear me out! All the pieces of the puzzle are there. He was drinking, becoming increasingly moody and unstable. He began fantasizing about being an Uzbek warrior.

WAITER:But that was a game. It was not serious. It is like boy playing. How do you say? Cowboy and Indian.

37

DAD:The key was when his fantasy crossed over and invaded his reality. Suddenly there he was, standing in warrior dress, sword pointed at my throat, commanding me to call him Malik.In his mind, it was all flesh-and-blood real.

WAITER:No no, It was the drink. Sometimes when I drink vodka, I think I’m the Czar of - -

DAD:And I think it wasn’t a drunken interlude! I think he was planning to kill! The drumming, the shots, the broken windows. These weren’t acts of a boy under the influence. Believe it, he was preparing an assault on us both.

WAITER:On us both? On me? No no no. He would not kill me! Why would he kill me?

DAD:You would’ve been an inconvenient witness. In his state, he’d have killed even his best friend. I’m convinced of it. But at the last minute, when his blood brothers deserted him, he was suddenly alone and he chose to end it all.

(Long moment. WAITER shivers in fear. Then a big nod as if finally coming to a conclusion)

WAITER:Yes. One thing I now recall. He told me secret about himself. He said, “If my father dies, I would feel nothing.” Nothing! I said it was big sin to feel nothing.

DAD:Nothing. Words of a cold-blooded killer. I’m not surprisedhe said it. At that point, Victor was operating without anymoral restraint. Totally beyond the pale of any acceptable human conduct. Of course, we can’t say any of this. People wouldn’t understand.

WAITER:Yes, sir. Yes, I see that now. If a person was not here, that person would not see what we saw.

DAD:Exactly. So we should say that he killed himself, reasons unknown. Leave it unsolved. It’s for the best.

WAITER:Yes Sir. I can see it is for best.

DAD:Lots of young people kill themselves. Pressure of growing up is too much for them. Plus there’s the drugs and the self-absorbed parents who abandon their responsibilities.

38

WAITER:It is sad fact, Sir.

DAD:Yes. Sad.

WAITER:Yes, Sir.

DAD:So what have we learned from this?

WAITER:It is mystery, Sir. Wrapped in enigma.

(Blackout. Twenty seconds of absolute silence. Then one long BONGGG!!!! Lights up.The clock is no longer on the wall. Also, the posters are gone. The furniture is gone, except for one lone water cooler. DAD & WAITER sit on folding chairs at a rickety card table. There’s a laptop & printer & a fax machine on the table. The printer is busy kicking out page after page of printed matter. WAITER, pen in hand, nervously readsa thick document as DAD drums fingers)

WAITER:I do not understand any of this, Sir.

(The drumming stops)

DAD:To be honest, neither do I. I’m just a simple guy at heart. But my lawyers say we need this. They’re the ones getting paid to write the words, cross the t’s and dot the i’s.

WAITER:With this paper, you are adopting me. This I comprehend, because this is what you tell me. But where does it say this? I am reading pages and pages and it is confusing.

DAD:I hear you, pal. Sometimes it can seem like a foreign language. Actually, in your case, I guess it is. But hey, why not just go ahead and sign, so we can get out of here?

(The printer stops)

WAITER:I would like nothing more but to do that, but - -

DAD:But what?

WAITER:But I have serious questions about. What is the word? About full faith and credit.

39

DAD:(Suddenly very wary)

You’re saying I’m not good for it? Look at me! I’m solid gold Fortune 500. So what’s the problem?

WAITER:It is that I am a little person and you are like a king. When you leave and go back to your mansions and your stocks and bonds, maybe you forget about me. And then I will be. How shall I say? Left holding bag.

DAD:No way. Sign and you’ll be like a son to me.

WAITER:Like your last son? Like Victor?

(Whoa! This hits DAD like a brick in the face. DAD looks at WAITER with sudden admiration and amazement. A long moment)

DAD:I was right about you. You are wise.

WAITER:It is only that I am what I am.

DAD:You’re very wise. And not run-of-the-mill wise. You’re a wise man pretending to be a simp. Okay, what do you want?

WAITER:You and I. We know the thing that happened here. This thing we saw with our eyes. And we agreed to take this knowledge with us to the grave. But on the journey to the grave, you to yours and I to mine, there must be trust. For me to be a one hundred per cent committed party to this trust, there must be a link more substantial

(Gestures toward the document on the table)Than this heap of papers.

DAD:Suddenly your English got a hell of a lot better.

(WAITER smiles, shrugs)

DAD:Hey! Keep talking. Don’t stop. Got to feed the monkey.

WAITER:Permit me to cut to chase. If I were truly in your family. A true family person to you. There would be no question - -

(DAD is frowning)Of undying loyalty.

(DAD is still frowning)Until death. And beyond.

(Finally...)

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DAD:Family.

(WAITER, big smile, nods)

DAD:So you’re saying to me adoption doesn’t do it.

WAITER:It is a most generous act on your part, but it lacks the heart and soul and sinew of a tie that truly binds.

DAD:Okay. I think I get the gist. Permit me, then, to cut to the chase, as I see it. Where you’re going with this is, you want me to marry you to one of my daughters.

WAITER:You are being most blunt, Sir.

DAD:You are a fucking piece of work. You know that, don’t you?

(WAITER loses the big smile, stares down intohis lap, hoping the storm will blow past)

DAD:If this were any other time, any other place, and a turd like you came out of the sewer and asked me that, I’d feed you your dick on a plate. I’d cut you up and toss you in a tank full of sharks. But I can’t because I’m in the here and now. And you got me by the balls. So fuck it.

(DAD stands, picks up a length of two-by-fourfrom the pile of debris. He starts smashing up the water cooler, cursing as he does)

DAD:Fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck it!

(DAD does this until he’s out of breath and there’s nothing left of the water cooler)

WAITER:It is most instructive what you Americans say when you are angry. Victor taught me how to say, “Just fuck it.” It was. How do you say? Refreshing.

DAD:I’m sure it was.

(Drops two-by-four. It hits floor with a bang)

All right, you win. But I get to pick the daughter. And if you’re not happy with her, fuck it.

WAITER:It is okay, Sir. It is like that in Russia. There has never been a happy marriage in all our history. Not one. It is cross we bear. It is why we are sad. It is why we drink.

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DAD:And it’s probably why you...ahhh. I won’t even say it.

WAITER:If you were going to say Russian joke, Sir, it is okay. There are many jokes about Russians. I have heard them all.

DAD:I won’t. One thing though. Stop calling me Sir.

WAITER:What do you want me to call you?

DAD:Give it time. You’ll think of something. Ask your new wife. Got no doubt she’ll have all kinds of names to suggest.

(DAD pulls WAITER close, grins. There’s something sinister, almost evil, in this)

DAD:Welcome to the family.

(DAD takes a small package from his inside coat pocket, hands it to WAITER)

DAD:For you.

WAITER:What is it?

DAD:Open and see.

(DAD watches as WAITER opens package and takes out a pistol. WAITER closes eyes and clicks trigger once, flinches at the click)

DAD:

Like it?

WAITER:It will take, as you say, getting used to.

DAD:Don’t take too long.

(DAD takes pistol back, sits down, takes outa box of bullets, begins loading it. WAITER stands watching, waiting for the other shoe to drop. DAD talks as he loads pistol)

DAD:Victor was one year old. I had made the Fortune 500. Suddenly I was somebody people were starting to notice. Thatis not always good, for a week after Victor’s birthday party, a man appeared at my door, said he had just kidnappedVictor. It cost one hundred million dollars to get him back.

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WAITER:That is a terrible thing to - -

DAD:Thing was, boy I got back wasn’t Victor. It was a switch.

WAITER:Not Victor? Not your son? How did you know?

DAD:Some things you just know.

WAITER:Who was he then?

DAD:Someone else.

WAITER:Did you tell him?

DAD:Now what good would that do? But as for the kidnapper, I found him. Took years, and lots of money, but I found him. Now I put a question to you. What should happen to him?

WAITER:In Russia, he would be killed slowly. He would beg to die.

DAD:Yes. You had the Chekas, the NKVD, the GPU, the KGB and allthe rest. But that stuff is messy. Personally, I prefer the Chinese method.

WAITER:Chinese method.

DAD:Single bullet to the back of the head.

(DAD gives WAITER a meaningful look and hands loaded pistol back to him. WAITER stares at pistol and nods slowly. Blackout. Lights up. The pieces of the smashed water cooler still lie in a heap. Also there’s a pile of debris on the floor in the middle ofthe room. Sound of workman somewhere outsidetearing down a wall. DAD on his knees fills the backpack with laptop, fax and printer. Sound of a pistol shot. DAD smiles, begins whistling to himself as he packs. Sound of another shot. Then another. DAD finishes packing, stands, picks up backpack, waves good-bye to the room and exits through the door to the outside)

The End

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