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DAN O'BRIEN | Key West
Act One: North
BRIGID
Hi. Sorry to bother you, but I seem to have lost my keys.
(She’s at the door, wet from the rain; storm outside.
He’s playing a game with cards.)
BRIGID (cont’d.)
Excuse me:
NIALL
What are the chances?
BRIGID
I beg your pardon?
NIALL
Coming to Key West and two straight days of rain?
BRIGID
—Three actually.
NIALL
—Has it been three already?
BRIGID
This is the third day.
NIALL
Gets so you lose count around here. —I live here, I have to live here, but a person like you—
(He turns and looks her up and down.)
NIALL (cont’d.)
. . . .
BRIGID
. . . Yes. . . . Well, you see, my keys—
NIALL
(his cards)
—We’re closed, by the way.
BRIGID
The sign says open.
NIALL
Does it?
BRIGID
Yes.
NIALL
Flip it around—
BRIGID
It’s not even eleven o’clock—
NIALL
It’s half eleven, the weather’s Biblical—flip the God damned—!
(She does.)
NIALL (cont’d.)
Thank you. Now:
BRIGID
—You’re welcome.
NIALL
What’s wrong with you?
BRIGID
. . . I told you: I have lost the keys to my car and—
NIALL
Did you now?
BRIGID
—Yes. —And I have reason to believe they might be here.
NIALL
Did you know that the human body is over 80% water?
BRIGID
. . . Yes, I think I read that somewhere.
NIALL
Doesn’t make much sense, now does it? I mean, that can’t be true: If you tried to touch someone they’d just slip right through your fingers. . . .
BRIGID
. . . .
NIALL
—Where’d you lose them?
BRIGID
Who?
NIALL
Your keys, my girl, your keys—
BRIGID
—If I knew that I wouldn’t be here now would I?
NIALL
—There’s no reason to shout, my dear!
BRIGID
Sorry. . . . Sorry.
NIALL
(getting up)
No, I’m sorry. I’m the one
who should be sorry:
Please, do, sit:
(She does.)
NIALL (cont’d)
Close your eyes.
BRIGID
—Why?
NIALL
—Close them! there: Now I want you to think.
BRIGID
. . . About?
NIALL
—Backwards, think back in time. We’re
going to find your lost keys. —You can remember anything if you
just think long enough for it. . . .
. . . Now, where
were you before you came in here?
BRIGID
Outside. In the rain.
NIALL
And before that?
BRIGID
On the road, walking. . . .
NIALL
And before:
BRIGID
In the water.
NIALL
—You went swimming out in this?
BRIGID
—I was asleep—I was dreaming of swimming—
NIALL
Oh, well that’s an entirely different matter altogether. . . .
BRIGID
—And I woke up just now and it was dark—
NIALL
—Late night last night was it?
BRIGID
I was here.
NIALL
. . . No you weren’t.
BRIGID
Yes, I was.
NIALL
(takes a step or two back)
. . . .
BRIGID
—It was crowded—
NIALL
I remember faces. . . . I would’ve remembered your face in particular. . . .
BRIGID
. . . Can I open my ("eyes now")?
NIALL
Not yet no:
BRIGID
. . . I sat in the corner, had too much to drink. —I got sick in the bathroom and walked home in the rain. . . .
NIALL
—Home?
BRIGID
Mirage, where I’m staying. Know it?
NIALL
Sure, Jean Coyle: friend of mine.
BRIGID
Sure she is, but it’s not Jean Coyle runs Mirage.
NIALL
Maybe it’s not Mirage you’re staying.
BRIGID
It is, and Billy Reilly runs Mirage.
NIALL
I don’t know no Billy Reilly.
BRIGID
—Well he knows you.
(She opens her eyes; he lets her.)
NIALL
. . . Does he now?
(He moves behind the bar.)
NIALL (cont’d.)
—Well they’re not here.
BRIGID
Who?
NIALL
Your keys, my girl, your keys!
BRIGID
—Are you sure? I mean—have you looked?
NIALL
Of course I haven’t looked for your God damned keys. . . .
BRIGID
—Then how can you know for sure?
Maybe they’re
on the floor, or underneath something. —There’s so much
shit in here—
NIALL
Hey!
BRIGID
—they could be anywhere. —All I mean is how do you know if you won’t even look?
—Can I? look?
NIALL
Suit yourself. . . .
(She does.)
NIALL (cont’d.)
—But leave everything as you found it, understand?
BRIGID
. . . Jesus, do you dust?
NIALL
I can’t: I’m allergic.
BRIGID
What about health code?
NIALL
Do I look like a man who cares about health code?
BRIGID
You don’t get many customers in here, do you . . . ?
NIALL
You tell me, you were here last night. . . .
BRIGID
. . . It’s like a museum, or a mausoleum.
NIALL
I call it my Memory Palace: "Memory Palace in Decay." That’s from a poem by Keith Waldrop. I don’t suppose you’re familiar with his work.
BRIGID
(she’s not)
. . . .
NIALL
Didn’t think so.
BRIGID
(still looking)
. . . It can’t be good for you.
NIALL
Of course poetry isn’t good for you. . . .
BRIGID
No, all this—what is this—?
NIALL
Careful—!
BRIGID
—asbestos?
NIALL
It’s only dangerous if you—
(She does:)
NIALL (cont’d.)
—touch it. . . .
BRIGID
Sorry. —Sorry. . . .
NIALL
It’s all right: just don’t breathe.
(She lifts a mortar and pestle off a shelf; offers it up to him:)
NIALL
A friend of mine’s a pharmacist.
BRIGID
I bet he is. . . .
(She returns it.
A plunger now:)
NIALL
—Put that back, please—
BRIGID
I’m not going to break it.
NIALL
Put it back, I said—!
BRIGID
—Why do you keep a plunger on your wall?
NIALL
It was my father’s. . . .
BRIGID
I take it he was a plumber . . . ?
NIALL
No, he was full of shite.
BRIGID
Oh: ha ha.
NIALL
Yes, ha ha—now put it back.
BRIGID
(doing so)
—What’s this?
NIALL
What does it look like?
Open it:
BRIGID
(she does)
It’s a compass. . . .
It’s beautiful.
NIALL
—Now put it back.
(She does so.)
BRIGID
There seems to be a nautical theme here. —Are you fond of the ocean?
NIALL
No, but living on an island: there it is.
(She’s at the bar, near him now; she sits.)
NIALL (cont’d.)
—Give up?
BRIGID
. . . Are we playing a game?
NIALL
Your keys, my girl—!
BRIGID
No, I haven’t given up. . . . (She smiles.) I’ve just started.
NIALL
Well we’ll have to keep an eye out for you:
Lost things have a habit of turning up here.
Drink?
BRIGID
I don’t, thanks—drink.
NIALL
And last night was what, shore leave . . . ?
BRIGID
(flirting)
A special occasion—celebration. . . .
NIALL
Oh, ah . . .
BRIGID
It was, yes. (Smiles again.)
NIALL
—Celebration of what, may I ask?
BRIGID
My freedom; my—liberation, you could say. —Can I have a glass of water, please?
NIALL
Of course you may, my girl. . . .
(He pours it for her from the tap; brings it to her.)
NIALL (cont’d.)
Here y’are, my girl. One hundred
percent Key West tap water: at least 80% water.
Lead is a very underrated
mineral, I’ll have you know. . . .
BRIGID
Thank you, sir. (Takes a sip:) Delish.
(He sits or leans near her.)
NIALL
. . . Now I suppose you expect me to talk to you. . . .
BRIGID
And what is it we’ve just been doing?
NIALL
Chit-chat, repartee. —I was right in the middle of a very good game of solitaire, I’ll have you know.
BRIGID
By all means don’t let me stop you playing with yourself.
NIALL
—You have a wonderful way of talking.
BRIGID
. . . .
NIALL
You realize that . . . ?
BRIGID
Do I?
NIALL
Do you talk that way to everyone? or just to strangers? —Have we met before?
BRIGID
That’s an old line.
NIALL
I’m an old man. . . .
BRIGID
Not that old. . . .
NIALL
—Where you from?
BRIGID
Here and there . . .
NIALL
—Are you serious?
BRIGID
Yes, I’m completely serious!
NIALL
Well there’s no here here, my girl.
BRIGID
. . . I don’t understand.
NIALL
Just misquoting my good friend Gertrude Stein. . . . She’s a writer, you know.
BRIGID
Oh.
NIALL
(taking the piss)
Ah.
BRIGID
(making fun of his taking the piss)
Ah. . . .
NIALL
Yes, she is.
BRIGID
—Does she come here often?
NIALL
Not as often as you might think: she’s dead.
BRIGID
. . . Oh . . . I’m sorry.
NIALL
Don’t be. She wasn’t. Ms. Stein was
what you might call an unrepentant lesbian.
What do you make
of unrepentant lesbians?
BRIGID
I don’t. Make much of them. —Listen, nothing against your friend Miss Stern—
NIALL
"Stein."
BRIGID
—right, but I need to find my keys and get the hell out of Dodge, so if you don’t mind—
NIALL
Why?
BRIGID
What?
NIALL
Why leave so soon? sit down—where’s the rush? don’t you like it here in Paradise?
BRIGID
I don’t. As a matter of fact, no. I hate it here.
NIALL
You "hate" it here?
BRIGID
—I loathe it here!
NIALL
Please don’t spare my feelings—
BRIGID
—This has been the most miserable week of my entire fucking life!
NIALL
. . . And why is that, do you think?
BRIGID
You know . . . ? I honestly do not know.
— I have my
theories, though.
NIALL
Tell me:
BRIGID
It’s stupid really—
NIALL
I would consider it a rare opportunity for, I don’t know—
BRIGID
—Mustaches.
NIALL
I beg your pardon?
BRIGID
There are too many men with mustaches here. It’s like Iraq.
NIALL
That’s the reason you "loathe" Key West: mustaches?
BRIGID
Yesterday I was out walking, in the rain, and this
guy—with a mustache—drives by in a pickup truck
and flicks a cigarette at me.
Lit.
It’s not a
high-class environment, let’s just put it that way. . . .
. . . I sound like
a snob.
NIALL
You do, but—
BRIGID
I’m sorry—
NIALL
—takes all kinds.
BRIGID
(smiles at this)
. . . .
NIALL
. . . You know what I think:
BRIGID
Tell me:
NIALL
You’re bored.
BRIGID
No, I’m not—
NIALL
Stands to reason: Beautiful young woman without a young man. . . .
BRIGID
What makes you think I don’t have a young man?
NIALL
Do you?
BRIGID
. . . .
NIALL
. . . Or young woman, then?—this is Key West, after all.
BRIGID
I don’t think I know you well enough—
NIALL
How long’ve you been down here so?
BRIGID
Three days. I told you: —Long as it’s been raining. . . . Rain doesn’t bother me, though; I prefer rain to sun any day.
NIALL
You do.
BRIGID
("Yes.")
NIALL
Let me understand something:
BRIGID
What:
NIALL
You’ve come to Key West and you don’t like the sun?
BRIGID
Rain either, truth be told. —I don’t like "weather," as a rule, as a topic of conversation. —I prefer rooms.
NIALL
(snaps fingers)
New York.
BRIGID
. . . ?
NIALL
That’s where you’re from: New York City—am I right?
BRIGID
(laughing)
Is it that obvious?
NIALL
It’s your ("face")—
BRIGID
Oh, God—!
NIALL
A person gets to have a kind of face on account
of where she lives. And your face says "New York City."
Sorry. (Studies
her longer:) —The Bronx.
BRIGID
(laughs)
—Well fuck you too!
NIALL
(laughing, too)
The Bronx was once quite beautiful, my girl! Dutch
farmland, the Iroquois
nation . . .
BRIGID
—And you’re wrong: I’m from New Haven.
NIALL
. . . Oh my, it’s worse than I thought.
BRIGID
But I grew up in New York. So that’s very astute of you, very—perceptive.
NIALL
. . . .
BRIGID
In the Bronx.
NIALL
—You don’t say!
BRIGID
—I do, I do say!
NIALL
You’re not just telling me what you think I want to hear, now are you?
BRIGID
I don’t know, I don’t know you—what is it you want to hear?
NIALL
. . . Where in the Bronx did you say?
BRIGID
Are you familiar with the Bronx?
NIALL
I grew up in "the Brahnx."
BRIGID
—You don’t say!
NIALL
I do so say!
BRIGID
Zerega.
NIALL
—Zerega, I know Zerega.
I used to run through Zerega every morning in m football uniform on
my way to school because this gang of Italians used to chase me and
beat me just for being Irish.
Are you Italian
so?
BRIGID
No.
NIALL
You look Italian—a little: the hair . . .
BRIGID
I thought you said I looked New York.
NIALL
The two aren’t mutually exclusive, my dear.
BRIGID
Well I’m not. —I’m a little Italian. My mother’s mother was Italian, I think, but I’m Irish all the way.
NIALL
. . . Ah.
BRIGID
. . . Oh.
NIALL
. . . Yes, well . . . you don’t sound very Oirish.
BRIGID
Well that’s because I’m not. —I’m American.
NIALL
—But you’re also Irish.
BRIGID
Irish-American. You know what I mean.
NIALL
As long as we’ve got all the hyphens in place. . . .
(He looks at her closely, deeply, for too long.)
NIALL (cont’d.)
You’d have to be Black-Irish, that’s what you’d have to be . . . with your hair. . . .
BRIGID
(she turns away)
. . . .
NIALL
—Irish-American, you don’t say.
BRIGID
—80% Irish. American, yes.
NIALL
That’s a curious figure, "80"—how do you figure that figure?
BRIGID
Three out of four grandparents were Irish. And one of them was fat.
NIALL
That’s not very funny, you know.
BRIGID
"But seriously folks, I’ll be here all week."
NIALL
You were setting me up for that one? Were you setting me up?
BRIGID
No—
NIALL
(flash of anger)
—Don’t you dare set me up, girl!
BRIGID
. . . .
NIALL
. . . Because you’re dealing with a world-class
bullshitter here, and you can’t bullshit a bullshitter. (Smiles:)
Did you never hear
that one before?
BRIGID
Sure . . . ancient Irish proverb. —Can I have some more water please?
NIALL
You’ve not finished with that one yet.
(She drinks the rest of her water down.
He takes her empty glass.)
NIALL
(whilst filling it)
What do you do up there in sunny New Haven?
BRIGID
I attend Divinity School.
(He brings it to her, sets it down.)
NIALL
(sits or leans)
I’m sorry: I thought you just said "Divinity School."
BRIGID
I did.
NIALL
Well.
BRIGID
Yes.
NIALL
—You don’t say. . . .
BRIGID
Well, I did actually. —Twice—say.
NIALL
—"Divinity School" . . . what are you studying to be, better than the rest of us?
BRIGID
—A priest.
NIALL
Priestess?
BRIGID
Priest is fine.
NIALL
Or "priestperson," would you prefer? I know how you young women are these days—
BRIGID
Priest is fine, thanks.
NIALL
And what religion would it be that allows a beautiful young woman like yourself to become a dirty old priest?
BRIGID
The Episcopal Church.
NIALL
(strikes bar)
—I might have known!
BRIGID
—What have you got against the Episcopal Church?
NIALL
Oh now look, I’ve got nothing against Episcopals—they’ve a right to exist. Alls I’m saying is it rubs me the wrong way to see an 80% Black-Irish-American-Girl turning her back on the Holy Mother Church of Rome.
BRIGID
The Catholic Church won’t ordain female
priests; they condemn abortion, birth control;
—they insist upon the Virgin
birth—
NIALL
—You don’t believe in the Virgin birth?
BRIGID
Not literally, no—
NIALL
—You believe in what, the gist of it?
BRIGID
I believe in the metaphor of the virgin birth.
NIALL
I believe that makes you an atheist, my girl.
BRIGID
(excitedly, sits forward, lit up and impassioned)
The virgin birth is just a metaphor by way
of the Greeks: Leda and the Swan, Persephone and the Serpent—they
all have virgin births. The only Gospel—only one of the four
sanctioned Gospels—that mentions a Virgin birth is Luke, written
by a Greek for a Greek audience.
There are virgin
births all over the ancient world, but you don’t see people killing abortion
doctors in the name of Zeus.
NIALL
Not anymore, anyway.
BRIGID
Not anymore. . . . You’re very funny. —Or
at least you think you are. . . .
Are
you a believer?
NIALL
(backs off)
. . . .
BRIGID
—I don’t mean to freak you out.
NIALL
No—
BRIGID
I’m curious, that’s all—
NIALL
Some of my best friends are believers!
BRIGID
—We’re not that different, you know, Catholic and Protestant, Episcopal, once you get out of Northern Ireland. We believe in the same God. It’s just that the Episcopal God is much more—
NIALL
Metaphorical.
BRIGID
I was going to say "personal," but—
NIALL
A "fuzzy" God.
BRIGID
You can sit down and have a conversation with
Him.
That’s what
I mean.
NIALL
Don’t you miss it though?—confession, like?
BRIGID
We have confession, you just have to make an appointment first. —I can arrange one for you, if you’d like.
NIALL
. . . I know what you mean about the Catholics.
BRIGID
What do I mean about the Catholics—?
NIALL
I was raised Catholic, and they committed all sorts
of atrocities on me.
It was the nuns
primarily.
BRIGID
It would have to be.
NIALL
I was born left-handed, you see, and every
day at school they’d tie the thing behind my back and make me
write with my right. "Write with your right!" they’d
shriek—the crows, the banshees.
I
used to think, Is it because “right” is the same as right, you know,
as in a moral correctness? and if that’s the case and being left-handed
is a sin like, then how come “left” is not a homonym for evil?
I
suppose it is if you’re Republican. . . .
The
point is: all this fuss about left-handedness because in the Book of Revelations
God sets the goats to his left, and the sheep to his right, and it’s the
goats he casts down at the End of Days.
I
spent my entire childhood feeling like a goat.
Some
metaphor in a two-thousand year-old book and I’ve got Satan’s hand
at the end of my arm. . . .
BRIGID
. . . You see? the trouble literal-mindedness gets you into?
NIALL
I’ve another if you have a minute:
BRIGID
Well . . .
NIALL
Sitting in class, daydreaming, twelve like,
hunched over one of those inexplicable adolescent erections. It was
a burgeoning bright tumescent spring day, and who should come patrolling
the aisle but Sister Mary Frigidquim slapping her twelve-inch ruler
like it were a baton. . . . She glances down at the conspicuous if
I do say so myself bulge in my trousers—and she presses it—with
her ruler! The bitch depresses the part of my pants that appears to
harbor an erection—like it were nothing—like she were testing
the firmness of a cake. . . .
Now,
an older man might’ve seen it for what it was. But I was a boy, and I near
died of shame that day. All the blood rushed to my face—and away from a
certain part of my anatomy thank you God. She looked at me, not even the slightest
bit embarrassed, and she said, "You keep your eyes in the book, you."—Can
you imagine? "In the book"!
I
was reading Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians, mind you: "He
who marries does well. He who refrains does better."
Are
you celibate yourself so?
BRIGID
. . . .
NIALL
You don’t mind me asking—?
BRIGID
—No, I’m not. Are you?
NIALL
What?—celibate? Go on!
I
thought about becoming a priest, though. . . .
BRIGID
Even after what happened with the erection?
NIALL
Even after!—you could say because of
what happened with the erection—and it was the celibacy thing
that kept me straight.
I
mean why do that to yourself?
BRIGID
I don’t know—
NIALL
It’s lunacy—
BRIGID
It’s contrary to human nature—
NIALL
It’s self-hatred is what it is—
BRIGID
It’s a Papal ruling based on medieval West-European economics.
NIALL
—Is it now?
BRIGID
There’s no call for it anywhere in the Gospels.
NIALL
Isn’t there though?
BRIGID
None whatsoever.
NIALL
Well now . . . !
How
about that . . . !
—The
cheek of them dirty old Popes!
BRIGID
Mind if I smoke? (Rummages in bag for
cigarettes, lighter.)
The
point is, any positive reference to sexuality in the gospels has
been excised.
NIALL
And why is that, do you think?
BRIGID
It’s complicated really. . . .
NIALL
It would have to be.
BRIGID
—It’s the body-soul dichotomy: People who hate the body are perceived as holier than those who love it. —I should know: I’m anorexic—or I used to be, anyway.—The body is the vessel that carries the soul on its journey through the world. No more the real person than the map of a country is the actual country. The body is not the soul. The body most often obscures the soul. —Since the dawn of time people have been trying to strip away the body—through abstinence, mortification—to get at who we really are. . . . Burn the map, the thinking goes, find the country.
(She lights her cigarette.)
NIALL
You really are a divinity student, aren’t you?
BRIGID
You think I’m what, a nerd?
NIALL
A what?
BRIGID
I don’t know—a "nerd"?
NIALL
Ha!
BRIGID
I don’t have my degree yet. . . .
NIALL
Well you should have it! You should have that
by now, I think . . . !
.
. . I do disagree with you on one point, however: I think, if you
get rid of the concrete, you know, the flesh and blood, that which
you can see and touch and feel: what’s left? Nothing but water
and smoke. . . .
BRIGID
. . . .
NIALL
—God, I know I know you.
BRIGID
I don’t think so.
NIALL
The way you argue with me, the way you smoke that cigarette—
BRIGID
I’m a lesbian, by the way.
NIALL
. . . .
BRIGID
. . . .
NIALL
. . . You don’t say.
BRIGID
I did. Actually. Say. —You realize you say "you don’t say" quite a lot?
NIALL
Well that’s because you keep saying things that surprise me. —Why do you keep doing that?
BRIGID
(shrugs and smokes)
. . . .
NIALL
. . . May I ask you a question so?
BRIGID
Shoot:
NIALL
Did you walk through that door a lesbian? or was it something I said?
BRIGID
—Don’t be cute!
NIALL
It’s an honest question—!
BRIGID
I used to date men—I’ve loved men but—
NIALL
—You’ve changed—
BRIGID
People change—!
NIALL
I’ve heard of that happening. . . .
BRIGID
Can I have another glass ("of water") ?
NIALL
(taking glass)
Of course you may, my girl. . . .
Are
you a recovering alcoholic, then? in addition to being an anorexic
lesbian? —Sorry, it’s just the way you take your water.
BRIGID
I’m not a lesb—I am a lesbian. I’m not an alcoholic. Now you’ve got me all mixed up.
NIALL
(laughing softly, filling water)
. . . .
BRIGID
You ask a lot of questions for a man whose bar is closed.
NIALL
How else do you get to know people, I think?
BRIGID
Do you know a lot of people . . . ?
I
mean, you seem kind of—hermetic.
NIALL
That’s because I don’t like people very much.
BRIGID
You’ve been very kind to me.
NIALL
That’s only because I don’t know
you yet.
Do
I.
(He brings her the water.)
BRIGID
—Bridge.
(She offers her hand.)
NIALL
Sorry?
BRIGID
That’s my name. It’s short for Brigid.
(He takes her hand.)
NIALL
Pleased to meet you, Bridge. —I can’t call you "Bridge," it’s far too pedestrian.
BRIGID
Oh ha ha—
NIALL
I could call you Biddy or Bridie, or the Latinate "Brigitta"—or in Irish, the hard G:
Brigg-id. (Still holding her hand.) .
. . Or maybe I should call you Saint Brigid. —Would you like
that? Patron Saint of Poets. . . .
You seem like a Saint
Brigid, the more I get to know you.
BRIGID
Brigid is fine.
NIALL
A good 80% Irish-American name, Brigid.
And
you may call me Niall.
BRIGID
(pulls her hand back; he lets her)
Pleased to meet you, Niall. . . .
And—
NIALL
Yes:
BRIGID
I think I will have that drink now.
NIALL
What! —A flesh-and-blood drink?
BRIGID
I’m not a fucking fish, Niall!
NIALL
Wine, then? —Wine? A finger of filthy Chardonnay?
BRIGID
Whiskey please, Mr. O’Neill: my throat’s a little sore from—
NIALL
Oh you poor girl—
BRIGID
—all that singing last night and—
NIALL
One hot toddy coming up—with lemon?
BRIGID
Yes please, thank you, Niall.
NIALL
(as he fixes her drink)
. . . May I ask you another question so, Brigid?
BRIGID
. . . ?
NIALL
How is it you’ve come to know my last name?
BRIGID
. . . Do I?
NIALL
You said it just a second ago.
BRIGID
I must’ve read the sign.
NIALL
Which sign?
BRIGID
The sign outside.
NIALL
Oh no, dear: That sign says "The Second Coming."
BRIGID
Does it?
NIALL
It used to light up.
BRIGID
Sounds like a gay bar.
NIALL
—Who told you my name, Bridge?
BRIGID
I must’ve heard it somewhere.
Billy—
NIALL
"Billy Reilly"—
BRIGID
I was looking for a place last night, a quiet place
to drink, and Billy Reilly mentioned your bar: Looks like a house from
the road but inside you’ll find a pub, he said. He must’ve
said your name, "Niall O’Neill," and it stuck with me
because that’s my name too.
O’Neill.
NIALL
. . . .
BRIGID
. . . .
NIALL
. . . It’s a common enough name, O’Neill.
Half your Irish diaspora’s got it: "On horseback, camel-back,
ass-back they came." (Brings her the whiskey.)
. . . But I’ll tell
you, Bridge: I was here last night, I’m here every night, and no matter
how hard I try I can’t remember your face.
BRIGID
I remember yours.
(A flash of lightning.)
BRIGID (Cont’d.)
—Jesus!
NIALL
Calm down—
BRIGID
It’s close!
(Thunder.)
NIALL
(shutting the windows)
—Lightning won’t come through the window, my girl—
BRIGID
—How do you know?
NIALL
We’re in a flood zone—we ought to be afraid of drowning!
(A long pause; the rain and wind is heavy; she calms a bit.)
BRIGID
. . . I’m sorry.
NIALL
. . . It’s all right.
BRIGID
I just have this fear . . .
NIALL
. . . It’s far away now, over Cuba. —It
always rains harder over Cuba. And do you know why? Because they’re
Communists, that’s why. . . . (Another flash of lightning,
thunder.)
You’re safe here
with me, my girl.
(They sit together, quietly.
Then:)
NIALL
(crossing himself)
"North south east west."
Repeat
after me:
BRIGID
(hesitates)
But I’m Episcopal—
NIALL
Come on, you might learn something: "North south:
BRIGID
"North south east west."
NIALL
"Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews"
BRIGID
"Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews"
NIALL
"from a sudden and unprovided for death"
BRIGID
"from a sudden and unprovided for death"
NIALL
"deliver us, O Lord."
BRIGID
"deliver us, O Lord."
NIALL
Amen.
BRIGID
(almost together)
Amen.
NIALL
. . . There. Feel better?
BRIGID
I thought you said you weren’t religious.
NIALL
I’m not—I’m Catholic.
(More lightning, thunder. —She reacts, but calmer now.
A very long pause.)
BRIGID
. . . When I was a girl, I wouldn’t go to the bathroom during thunderstorms.
NIALL
. . . Would you not?
BRIGID
I thought: if lightning can strike the reservoir, and the reservoir is connected through the pipes all the way to my house, and to my toilet . . . and the water in the toilet is connected to my body, well, when I—when I "pee" . . . then all it takes is one bolt of lightning in the Catskills and pphhhhttt, I’m toast.
NIALL
This was a very real fear of yours?
BRIGID
Yes.
NIALL
And did someone ever give you the impression that electrocution via the Catskills whilst peeing was even a remote possibility?
BRIGID
I don’t think so . . .
NIALL
You just thought—
BRIGID
(laughing)
It could happen!
NIALL
(overlapping, laughing too)
It could happen—!
BRIGID
—Yes, why not?
NIALL
Why not you?—you could be the exception to the rule?
BRIGID
Hey, lightning strikes—
NIALL
Aye, sometimes twice. . . .
BRIGID
. . . You think I’m what, weird?
NIALL
I would never call another human being "weird." . . . Much less an anorexic lesbian priest afeared of pissing in storms.
BRIGID
That’s not very funny.
NIALL
Well I thought it was—
BRIGID
—And I’m not an anorexic anymore.
NIALL
Now you’re just splitting hairs—
BRIGID
And I’ve heard a few stories about you, "Niall O’Neill."
NIALL
. . . From who?
BRIGID
My father.
NIALL
. . . Who’s your father?
BRIGID
Your brother.
NIALL
. . . .
BRIGID
. . . .
NIALL
How old are you?
BRIGID
Twenty-three.
NIALL
I’m having—.
I’m sorry, I’m
having trouble—.
BRIGID
It was a long time ago—when I saw you
last. I was a girl. I was playing on the floor by the front door, in
the morning, and you came into the apartment when the rest of the family
was asleep. You had a key, why did you have a key?
You
had a long, black beard—you were a hippie—and you bent down with
that long, black beard and you handed me a children’s picture Bible. .
. .
"Don’t
tell Mommy or Daddy I was here." And then you turned around and left.
I
had no idea who you were. I thought you were God.
NIALL
. . . I don’t remember that—
BRIGID
It happened—
NIALL
I’m not saying it didn’t—
BRIGID
It happened, I’m telling you—
NIALL
It might have happened. I’m just saying—!
I don’t—.
You’re going to have to give me a minute
on this one. . . .
I
don’t remember a lot of things, much less things that happened
twenty, twenty-four years ago.
I’m
not—. I’m surprised, that’s all.
Look,
I don’t know what your father told you, but for a long time
I was what you might call clinically depressed. In fact, I was
mildly schizophrenic in the opinion of several doctors. I had black-outs
where I did all sorts of God knows what and woke up in strange
places. I hallucinated, had extreme paranoia—
BRIGID
My father said you were a pathological liar.
NIALL
. . . Did he now?
BRIGID
He said you were in the witness protection program.
NIALL
—Ah right: Harold would say that. . . .
BRIGID
He said you killed someone—something
involving drugs—do you deal drugs?—or smuggle?
— My
mother liked to say you were hiding from the Black Panthers.
NIALL
Well that’s very exotic. . . .
BRIGID
You were dating Huey Newton’s girlfriend
and the Panthers wanted you dead, so you stole your mother’s
collection of early-American coins and her Buick Century and headed
out west. —Or Key West. —Or San Francisco, or
Alaska—nobody ever really knew for sure where you were. . . .
Harold’s dead, by the
way.
NIALL
. . . .
All
right—.
How?
BRIGID
Stroke. Two years ago.
NIALL
He was—. He was younger than me—.
Why didn’t anyone—?
BRIGID
We didn’t know where you were—
NIALL
You could’ve hired someone—
BRIGID
We did—no one could find you: no bank accounts, no credit cards, no tax records—you don’t exist, Niall.
NIALL
How did you find me, then?
BRIGID
—Aren’t you upset? I just told you your brother’s dead—
NIALL
Of course I’m "upset"—!
BRIGID
Did you two have a falling out? over what?
NIALL
Nothing—
BRIGID
Then why did you leave like that? why you did sneak into the house? why did you talk to me and only me and give me that Bible?
NIALL
—Look, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Brigid, but there’s no secret here: I was dating a black girl. Joyce wasn’t Huey Newton’s girlfriend, but she was black, which was bad enough for the Bronx Irish—and she’s the one who stole your grandmother’s car.
BRIGID
And the coins?
NIALL
Forty bucks at a pawnshop bought me bus fare to Chicago.
BRIGID
Did you kill anyone?
NIALL
At that point no.
BRIGID
So how do you think a story like that gets started?
NIALL
Your father was the pathological liar—it’s true: He lied all the time. Our mother lied. They all lied, the whole fucking clan did—it was what they did for conversation. They never thought they were lying, which is why they were so good at it—which is what the Irish do: They’re too frightened, or maybe just too sinister, to know people. You know? Actually get to know them. So they make up all sorts of charming lies to cover up their appalling lack of knowledge.
BRIGID
Do you ever lie?
NIALL
God, you look so much like her. . . .
BRIGID
. . . .
NIALL
It’s startling: the hair. . . .
The
way you stood in the doorway, all wet—I thought, "My God,
it’s Judgment Day at last." . . .
Does
she know you’re here?
BRIGID
No.
NIALL
Do you talk to her?
BRIGID
—Not if I can help it.
NIALL
You should talk to her. If you were my daughter,
I’d want to know where you were.
Is it because you’re lesbian?
BRIGID
Don’t say "lesbian" like that, it sounds like a nationality—
NIALL
Gay then, "gay"—
BRIGID
You know there was a theory there for a while
that you were gay. My dad met someone at a company picnic once who
said he’d seen you in Nashville singing country’n’western
songs with a guy named Ray. —Ray ate grass, apparently—some
kind of fruitcake vegetarian.
. . . My dad’s friend
said it took two minutes watching you and Ray perform in an airport bar before
he realized what you were.
NIALL
. . . And what did your father say?
BRIGID
"Nah, Niall’s too tall to be queer."
NIALL
Too tall!
BRIGID
That’s what he said. —So how about it: you and Ray?
NIALL
What do you want, Bridge?
BRIGID
. . . What do you mean?
NIALL
This is all what, a coincidence?
BRIGID
I don’t want anything from you—
NIALL
Lightning struck twice?
BRIGID
I didn’t come here looking for you, if that’s what you mean—I haven’t thought about you in years—
NIALL
Then how did you find me?
BRIGID
I told you: I left my keys here last night and—
NIALL
We’re closed.
BRIGID
. . . I know—
NIALL
No you’re not listening: The bar’s been closed over a year now. I don’t run it anymore. —I’m retired. —This is where I live. So you couldn’t have been here last night.
BRIGID
. . . .
NIALL
So tell me the truth this time, Bridge: Why are you here?
BRIGID
I stole a car.
NIALL
. . . .
BRIGID
Yeah—
NIALL
Oh. Well—
BRIGID
It’s not a big deal.
NIALL
—How is it not a big deal? It’s a big fucking deal to steal a car!
BRIGID
I know, but it’s not—I mean, I know whose car it is—
NIALL
Knowing the person doesn’t make it any less of a crime, my girl!
BRIGID
It wasn’t a "crime." It was stupid. —I know the person I stole it from—
NIALL
—So those aren’t your keys?
BRIGID
—What?
NIALL
The keys you’re looking for—they’re not even your keys.
BRIGID
. . . I’m sorry, Niall. I don’t mean to dump this on you—.
NIALL
Take a bus, then—back to New York. —New Haven. Wherever you’re from. If you hate it here—if you lost your stolen keys: why not take a bus?
BRIGID
I have to bring the car back, don’t I?
NIALL
Do you?
BRIGID
I can’t just leave it here—
NIALL
Call AA, then.
BRIGID
What are they going to do, give me a twelve-step program for hot-wiring a car?
NIALL
—Triple-A, you know what I mean.
BRIGID
I don’t have triple-A, and I can’t ask the police. —Can you hot-wire a car?
NIALL
Sure.
BRIGID
Really?
NIALL
Yeah, what kind of car is she?
BRIGID
I don’t know.
NIALL
—You stole a car and you don’t know what she is?
BRIGID
I wanted to drive it, not sell it.
NIALL
You may be a lesbian, my girl, but you’re still very much a woman. . . .
BRIGID
It’s domestic. I think.
NIALL
Oh, I don’t do domestic. . . .
BRIGID
—What kind of car do you drive?
NIALL
I’m not letting you near my car, my girl—
BRIGID
I don’t want your car—I want to find my keys and go home!
NIALL
—You go home with that car you’ll get arrested. You can’t "borrow" a car without permission then chalk it all up to a misunderstanding.
BRIGID
Unless it’s your mother’s car. (Smiles.)
NIALL
. . . .
BRIGID
Yeah.
NIALL
Well that changes everything. That’s
not stealing, that’s adolescence.
—Though
in your case I’d say it’s a somewhat protracted adolescence.
BRIGID
—She doesn’t know I stole it. —She knows it’s gone, I’m sure, but she doesn’t know it was me.
NIALL
Why’d you steal it?
BRIGID
We had a fight.
NIALL
About what:
BRIGID
Doesn’t matter.
NIALL
—What was the fight about?
BRIGID
I told you it doesn’t matter.
NIALL
So stealing the car was an act of vengeance?
Are you a vengeful girl?
BRIGID
. . . .
NIALL
Dump it then. Leave it here. I know some people who’ll take it, give you some cash. —Go back to Divinity School without the car and you know nothing. You had an "identity crisis" and left New Haven for a little R & R and you’re feeling “much better now.” . . . Nobody will suspect you, an Episcopal priestperson.
BRIGID
I don’t know if I can do that.
NIALL
Why not?
BRIGID
I’m a terrible liar.
NIALL
I bet you are.
BRIGID
—I don’t think I could live with myself is what I mean.
NIALL
You can forget almost anything if you just put your mind to it, my girl.
BRIGID
Is it that easy?
NIALL
. . . .
(He pours himself a drink, knocks it back
He has another.)
NIALL (cont’d.)
. . . Would you care for one?
(He pours it for her.
His hands shake noticeably as he brings it to her.)
BRIGID
Are you okay?
NIALL
It’s a medication I’m on for a virus. It makes my hands shake.
(He waits at the bar with her.)
BRIGID
. . . How’d you get your name?
NIALL
What?
BRIGID
It’s kind of—redundant, isn’t it?
NIALL
. . . It is redundant. That’s precisely
what it is.
In
Irish, "Neil" is the possessive of "Niall," so
when you say Niall O’Neill what you’re really saying
is "Niall of the family of Niall." . . . It’s mad.
Incestuous, really, like a whale eating its own tail.
As
a child, the children were ruthless: Nile O Nile O Nile O Nile,
round and round neverending.
I
used to think I’d been named after the Nile River in Egypt,
and despite all the teasing I felt quite proud. And then I learned
how to spell. And someone told me "Niall" was just Irish
for “Cloud,” and I went out of the river and into the
sky.
BRIGID
What does my name mean in Irish?
NIALL
Don’t know. . . . We’ll have to look it up, won’t we . . . ?
BRIGID
Are you rich?
NIALL
. . . "Rich"?
BRIGID
My dad used to say you had a lot of money. —From the drugs, or something. He said you drove a Rolls Royce.
NIALL
—Jaguar, actually.
That’s
the kind of car I drive: a black jaguar.
BRIGID
I know: I just didn’t understand the word you used.
NIALL
—"Jaguar"
BRIGID
—You mean "jaguar"
NIALL
That’s what I said: Jaguar.
BRIGID
Expensive car, the Jag-u-ar.
NIALL
—Not the one I’ve got: I got mine on the cheap.
BRIGID
How?
NIALL
You know those police auctions where they
sell off the cars they’ve confiscated?
Well
this is one of them: The Black Jag-u-ar.
BRIGID
Why’d they confiscate it?
NIALL
—The fuck does it matter why’d they confiscate it?
BRIGID
It matters a lot. I mean, aren’t you curious?—who owned it before, why the police had it?
NIALL
I know why the police had it, and I’m saying it doesn’t matter.
BRIGID
—To you.
NIALL
To me.
BRIGID
So tell me: it matters to me:
NIALL
("No.")
BRIGID
Why not?
NIALL
You’d be—
BRIGID
What?
NIALL
I don’t know—"disturbed."
BRIGID
(claps her hands)
. . . Oh God please you have to tell me now! !
NIALL
They didn’t so much confiscate as retrieve
it. . . .
From
the water. —The gulf side, pitched off Route 1, heading south
through the Keys.
And
a man was in it.
BRIGID
Jesus . . .
NIALL
Yes . . .
BRIGID
—Was it an accident?
NIALL
Not unless he’d been accidentally shot
in the back of the head.
Twice.
BRIGID
God . . .
NIALL
I cleaned it up—interior was soaked all to hell. But other than that, she’s a steal.
BRIGID
Where is she?—it?
NIALL
Round the back, under a tarp. I don’t drive it.
BRIGID
Why not?
NIALL
It’s haunted.
BRIGID
Oh come on—
NIALL
It’s very real to me.
.
. . Sometimes, when I’d be driving, there’d be this kind
of—movement, you know?—in the mirror, over my
shoulder: a blur . . .
BRIGID
. . . .
NIALL
I take it you don’t believe in ghosts.
BRIGID
Not really, no.
NIALL
You believe in souls but not in ghosts?
BRIGID
I believe in ghosts in the metaphorical sense—
NIALL
If it’s a metaphor then it’s not a ghost, my girl! —You’re trying to have it both ways.
BRIGID
—I think you can only be haunted by what you know, by what you’ve done. So unless you were the one who killed the man in his car, you’ve got nothing to worry about.
NIALL
. . . .
BRIGID
. . . .
NIALL
—Mind-reading:
BRIGID
. . . ?
NIALL
Does it happen—yes or no.
BRIGID
No.
NIALL
ESP?
BRIGID
I think people are more perceptive than they realize.
NIALL
—This is exactly what’s wrong with your generation! You never take a stand on anything. Say what you will about the ’60’s—
BRIGID
Was I saying anything about the ’60’s?
NIALL
At least we believed in things. We had faith, passion. We got our hands dirty—
BRIGID
And look where that got you.
NIALL
. . . .
BRIGID
I said "you" but I meant your generation. . . .
NIALL
. . . Stigmata?
BRIGID
No way. . . .
NIALL
Spontaneous combustion—
BRIGID
Nope.
NIALL
—I think it’s beautiful: Flesh—poor mudmade flesh—bursting into flames. Doesn’t it just, I don’t know—wake you right up?
BRIGID
Has it occurred to you—?
NIALL
What:
BRIGID
—that spontaneous combustion is a scientific impossibility considering the fact that our bodies are 80% water?
NIALL
Oh well, you can make statistics say just about anything. . . .
BRIGID
(smiles)
. . . .
NIALL
Do you think I’m loony?
BRIGID
No—
NIALL
Because I have been institutionalized. More than once. —But so was Sylvia Plath, and she was a right-on woman. Not to mention our friend James Joyce. . . .
BRIGID
Was he institutionalized?
NIALL
No, but his daughter was. It’s hereditary, nuttiness: so look out.
BRIGID
. . . .
NIALL
—Alls I’m saying is there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your theology, Brigid. —And there’s proof.
BRIGID
Where?
NIALL
The people themselves.
BRIGID
But you’re forgetting—
NIALL
What:
BRIGID
People lie: For instance, I’m not in Divinity School. I made that up.
NIALL
. . . .
BRIGID
. . . .
NIALL
. . . Why?
BRIGID
(shrugs)
I was scared.
NIALL
—Of me?
BRIGID
I don’t know—I don’t know you—but I’m telling you the truth now—
NIALL
Why would you be scared of me?
BRIGID
I say things when I’m nervous, I exaggerate—
NIALL
—Is it pathological?
BRIGID
They’re not lies. They’re—embellishments—like what you said about my family—our family: We can’t help it. Whatever’s happened, we always think of something better.
NIALL
Better than what?
BRIGID
. . . .
NIALL
So you didn’t steal your mother’s car?
BRIGID
Oh no, I did do that—
NIALL
Well thank God something’s true.
BRIGID
—And I did lose her keys—on the beach, I think—in the sand. . . . —And I want to be a priest—one day: I don’t want kids. I don’t want breasts. I want to fall in love, for once—and find out the truth—what’s real—you know?—in life: what’s really going on?
NIALL
. . . .
BRIGID
. . . Can I ask you a big question?
NIALL
. . . .
BRIGID
Do you believe in God?
NIALL
Oh, Christ—
BRIGID
I’m serious—
NIALL
Are you asking me—?
BRIGID
Why not?
NIALL
—Do you know how much I detest that fucking question?
BRIGID
I don’t see why you need to get abusive about it—
NIALL
It all depends on what you believe: I say yes to your question and I say yes to your God.
BRIGID
—So who’s your God?
NIALL
Tennessee Williams. . . .
He
used to come in here, twilight years, hopped up on pills, talking up
Catholicism: "I’ve always admired the ritual."—He
had this way of talking: you know.
He
was forever on the lookout for a new secretary, but I wasn’t
his type: "Too tall," as your father would say.
BRIGID
This is a family propensity—to derail dangerous conversation with banter.
NIALL
Who derailed? You’re the one who brought up "God," for fuck’s sake—and I never banter!
BRIGID
You can’t not banter! It’s like a twitch, you’re like a boxer!
NIALL
—I pray. All right? I get down on my knees, on a more or less nightly basis, and I pray. To the real God, a flesh-and-blood God, and not for Christ’s sake a metaphorical God.
BRIGID
—Why? —Why do you pray?
NIALL
Because it feels good—it makes me feel like a child again.
BRIGID
. . . Once, when I was seven, around the side
of my house I turned the corner into sunlight and felt my head explode,
or melt away. Like someone had pulled the plug in a tub and all the
water rushed out and all the inside of me rushed out. . . . My brain
was like the leaves on a tree, my spine its trunk, my bones its branches.
. . . The whole world was made of me. And I was nothing—a cloud,
water . . .
I
was not "aware" but capable—it was within my
grasp to understand that God was in me. God was not me,
but somewhere inside all this mess of blood and bone and confusion
was a trace of Him, left over from the garden—a footprint,
a fingerprint, a clue. . . .
That’s
what everyone’s looking for, right? a clue?
.
. . I slept for days after that. The doctors said I had a seizure.
NIALL
It sounds like you did have a seizure.
BRIGID
I did have a seizure. I have seizures all the time: I’m epileptic.
NIALL
. . . Are you now?
BRIGID
Yes.
NIALL
Alcohol brings them on, you know.
BRIGID
That and strobe lights, I know. —And
cigarettes, thanks. (She lights a cigarette.)
I’m
medicated, Niall, I won’t have a seizure now. I wouldn’t
dream of imposing on you like that.
NIALL
What sort of medication?
BRIGID
Are you familiar with medication for epilepsy?
NIALL
Now listen, twenty minutes ago you were an Episcopal priest.
BRIGID
I want to be a priest, I explained that to you—
NIALL
Do you have some I.D.?
BRIGID
. . . ?
NIALL
Anything with a picture on it—name? driver’s license?
BRIGID
—As it turns out, no, I do not have a driver’s—
NIALL
You stole your mother’s car without a driver’s license?
BRIGID
If you’re going to do it, I say go all the way—!
NIALL
A student I.D. then?—library card?
BRIGID
—I don’t have any identification—not on me!
NIALL
Why not?
BRIGID
—No credit cards, no driver’s license, no fucking birth certificate! —I don’t exist, Niall—you should know what that’s like—I’m telling the truth about who I am and you’re just going to have to believe me.
NIALL
. . . You lived in an apartment building when you were a child.
BRIGID
So . . . ?
NIALL
713 Florence Ave., 8th Floor. I remember because I used to visit. I gave you that Bible—I remember it now.
BRIGID
I don’t understand—
NIALL
You said you were walking around the corner of a "house" when you had your religious experience—
BRIGID
We moved when I was eight—
NIALL
To?
BRIGID
A house—in the suburbs—
NIALL
When was this?
BRIGID
When I was eight? ’84, ’85—and
while we’re on the subject of paranoia: didn’t you have
an accent?
When
I came in here before you had a thick what-do-you-call-it—"brogue."
NIALL
This is my voice is my voice my dear—
BRIGID
Now you’re just putting it on—
NIALL
—I am putting no such thing on!
BRIGID
Two minutes ago you sounded like some guy from the Bronx!
NIALL
I am some guy from the Bronx!
BRIGID
So what’s with the phony brogue?
NIALL
—I am Irish from the Bronx!
BRIGID
You may have been born in Ireland, but you left when you were what? five? six? —How do I know you are who you say you are? You could be just some drug dealer who killed my uncle, and because he was nobody, nobody noticed he was gone. You took his car, his black "jag-u-ar," and you moved into his house. And you’re playing along with me because you don’t want me to find out.
NIALL
. . . .
BRIGID
. . . .
NIALL
That would be quite a story, now wouldn’t it. . . .
BRIGID
. . . I’m angry.
I’m
sorry. . . .
I
lose my temper. . . . —My mother loses her temper and that’s
why I fucking hate her.
NIALL
. . . .
BRIGID
Do I look like her?
NIALL
. . . Not so much look like her as act like her.
BRIGID
. . . Did you two ever have something together?
NIALL
. . . .
BRIGID
I know it’s crazy. I’m sorry.
NIALL
I’d like you to go.
BRIGID
—Why?
NIALL
I’m not mad at you, I’m—
BRIGID
—Did you love her?
NIALL
. . . . .
BRIGID
You loved her and she loved you—am I your daughter?
NIALL
(exploding)
—You’ve got quite the nerve .
. . !
Coming
into my house—!
BRIGID
It’s all right—!
NIALL
Coming into my house and digging—!
BRIGID
—I said it’s all right . . . !
I’ve
got my answer. . . .
(She’s standing near the door, a look of exhilaration and defiance on her face.)
NIALL
(he sits down again)
. . . How old are you?
BRIGID
Twenty-three.
NIALL
Could be . . .
.
. . .
You
could be—. I do not know for certain. . . .
BRIGID
. . . I’ll leave you alone—
NIALL
No—
BRIGID
I shouldn’t be here—
NIALL
Sit down—
BRIGID
I have to go—
NIALL
Where are you going? Where could you possibly have to go now?
(She begins to cry.)
NIALL (cont’d.)
Do you need some money?
BRIGID
. . . ?
NIALL
I have money, lots of it—if that’s
what you want.
Are
you in trouble?
BRIGID
I don’t want money—
NIALL
Don’t be embarrassed to ask—
BRIGID
—"your father."
NIALL
. . . .
BRIGID
. . . Do you have money?
NIALL
How much do you need?
BRIGID
Depending on what you’ve got . . .
NIALL
Five hundred? a thousand?—just say it:
BRIGID
Okay.
NIALL
Okay.
(He moves to a strongbox beneath the bar, unlocks it with a key on a chain from around his neck.
He removes a large roll of bills, counts.
He closes and locks the safe; gives her the money.)
NIALL
Here:
BRIGID
Thanks. I’ll pay you back.
NIALL
It’s a gift.
BRIGID
—No, I’ll pay you back:
I
promise. 
