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DAN O’BRIEN
The Dear Boy
2.
(Scarecrow thin, strawhaired and redbearded, bespectacled—his beard is much too neat; an Oxford-style, pinstriped shirt beneath maroon or red suspenders; his hands are small and childlike; when he speaks he belies the softest Southern drawl, his keen gray eyes in the audience almost always, ranging, merciless:)
RICHARD (shaking his head)
. . . Whatever were you thinking, James?
FLANAGAN (somewhere else entirely)
. . .
(A party at a bar in the city, a few hours later.
Music and conversation, though we can’t hear it.
A table behind the two standing men.)
 |
| Daniel Gerroll as Flanagan, T. Scott Cunningham as
Richard, Susan Pourfar as Elise |
Photo by Richard Termine
|
RICHARD
. . . James?
FLANAGAN
. . . ?
RICHARD
Whatever could you possibly have been thinking . . . ?
FLANAGAN (tall glass of water with a large lemon slice)
About what, Richard?
RICHARD (gin and tonic, drinking liberally, one in each hand)
Charles.
FLANAGAN
What about Charles / exactly?
RICHARD
Couldn’t you tell when you hired him he’s a drug addict?
FLANAGAN (a hesitation)
He hasn’t had a problem in years, he’s a very gifted teacher—
RICHARD
Well he’s coked up tonight—that’s all I’m saying. Have you seen . . . ? Diane’s doing damage control like it’s 1978—hi there, Diane! Happy Chanukah, dear! —Love those shoes!
FLANAGAN (one hand in his suit jacket pocket; he lifts his glass to)
Diane.
RICHARD
It’s embarrassing; that’s all I’m saying . . .
FLANAGAN
I haven’t noticed anything / amiss—
RICHARD
He’s trapped; he can’t see it now but that’s how it is: suicide—a form of it, addiction. —You look faboo, Charles! —Sha-zah!
FLANAGAN (raises his glass; a nod to)
Chuck . . .
RICHARD (smiling through it all)
. . . I feel sorry for him . . . That’s all I’m saying . . .
FLANAGAN
. . .
RICHARD
—I feel sorry for all of them.
FLANAGAN
Whom, Richard . . . ?
RICHARD
The new ones, mainly . . . Elise . . . They have no idea what they’re really in for.
FLANAGAN
Who’s Elise?
RICHARD
You know Elise.
FLANAGAN
No, I don’t think / I do.
RICHARD
You hired her, James.
FLANAGAN
Did I . . . ?
Well that doesn’t mean I know her, does it?
(A pretense of a chuckle.)
You don’t mean Ms. Sanger, do / you . . . ?
RICHARD
Where is she? She promised me she’d be here . . .
(His eyes survey the room; he sips from one of his two drinks.)
FLANAGAN
. . . Richard, I’d like to tell you something: something—happened to me / today—
RICHARD
Have you heard about Fritz . . . ?
FLANAGAN
Fritz.
RICHARD
DeLong. —Isn’t that the most perfect name . . . ? Liz says he used to be an underwear model.
(Smiles.)
Who knows, maybe I’ve bought his brand before; maybe I’m wearing him right now. —Evening, Fritz! Happy holidays, ’hon . . .
(His gaze follows wherever Fritz goes . . . )
FLANAGAN (the glass, the nod to)
Fritz.
RICHARD (smiling still)
. . . It’s so damned hypocritical, that’s all I’m saying . . .
FLANAGAN
Modeling underwear?
RICHARD (missing this)
We see each other every day, every God damned day for nine months out of every twelve, but we only ever really talk to each other—really talk to one another—honestly, out of school, like this, at a bar, in the city, like normal human people—what, once a year . . . ? Maybe? Tonight . . . ?
FLANAGAN
I suppose it’s somewhat hypocritical, Richard; that depends on your definition of hypocrisy—
RICHARD
Nobody cares! That’s all I’m saying: nobody ever really gives one good God damn shit about anyone else—not really—no matter how long we’ve worked together—nobody here really likes each other . . .
That’s a problem . . .
Don’t you think?
(He drinks.)
FLANAGAN
I like you, Richard.
RICHARD
Do you? That’s good.
FLANAGAN (slyly, kindly)
On occasion.
RICHARD
. . . Well thank you, James . . . Thank you.
(He looks at him.)
That surely means the world to me . . .
(He drinks some more. And starts in upon his second glass.)
FLANAGAN
Will you go to Sewanee for Christmas . . . ?
RICHARD
Can’t face it—the South, of course, but my parents in particular. —I know I should be grateful they’re still here, but . . .
FLANAGAN
. . .
RICHARD
—You know: they don’t even look at me with pity, or fear, like everyone else. They don’t even look at me . . .
They used to call him my “friend” . . . “How’s your friend’s health?” . . . I think they’re relieved they don’t have to ask anymore . . .
(He smiles; drinks.)
FLANAGAN (his water)
. . .
RICHARD
. . . And they’re both so God damned old it’s sick . . .
FLANAGAN
Will you be alone, then . . . ?
RICHARD (darkly)
Don’t worry about me, James, I’ll survive.
(Drinks.)
FLANAGAN
Because you can come to my place, if you’d like. For Christmas Day.
RICHARD (astonished)
. . .
FLANAGAN
Would you like that?
RICHARD
James . . .
FLANAGAN
. . . ?
RICHARD
You’ve never invited me to your place / before . . .
FLANAGAN
—I know, but—
RICHARD
I didn’t even think you had a “place.” —Or if you did have a place I just sort of assumed you kept some kind of dark, oleaginous secret locked away in
there . . .
FLANAGAN
I don’t think I even know what that word means, “oleaginous” . . .
RICHARD
James! I’m surprised: it’s “oily”—slimy, to you. And don’t try changing the subject on me:
I’m flattered . . .
FLANAGAN
Just think about it, that’s all . . .
RICHARD
—Why?
Why this sudden, random act of kindness . . . ?
FLANAGAN
It’s a depressing time of year for everyone, Richard. —Why just this afternoon I had an experience with a student of mine—
RICHARD
James Doyle: I saw him go into your office . . .
FLANAGAN (continuing)
Yes; and—
RICHARD
Cute kid—very tortured look: just my type . . .
(He drinks.)
FLANAGAN
Yes. Well; I wouldn’t know anything about that but—he did something / quite shocking—
RICHARD (spilling some)
—I’m just so God damned sick of it all! —That’s all I’m saying, James . . .
FLANAGAN (alarmed)
Sick of what, Richard . . . ?
RICHARD
—I want something to happen!
—You know?
—Ker-pow!
FLANAGAN
Like what . . . ?
RICHARD
Who cares!
(Drinks.)
. . . Somebody could do something besides get drunk and impersonate Truman Capote. Again. Mea culpa . . . That’d be a start . . .
FLANAGAN (his water)
. . .
RICHARD
—Somebody could start a fight—a real fight, with fisticuffs—over love . . .
FLANAGAN (frightened)
That would be / exciting . . .
RICHARD
Somebody could vomit.
FLANAGAN (alarmed, again)
—Vomit?, why?
RICHARD
Vomit’s always exciting at a faculty party; I don’t know why, but there it is . . .
FLANAGAN
Why would you want someone to vomit, Richard?
RICHARD (nastily)
—I was joking, James! —Christ you’re dense sometimes . . .
(Drinks.)
FLANAGAN (sips his water)
. . .
RICHARD
You’re in a very strange mood tonight . . .
FLANAGAN
I’m in a strange / mood . . . ?
RICHARD
I’ve been trying to provoke a response from you the past fifteen minutes.
FLANAGAN
Have you?
RICHARD
Yes; you don’t think I was talking just to hear myself talk, do you?
FLANAGAN
The thought had crossed my mind . . .
RICHARD (stung)
James—.
FLANAGAN
I’ve had a rather difficult day today, Richard . . . You see / that boy—
RICHARD
Is Charles guilting you? Is he putting pressure on you? —Christ Jesus, everything has to be a martyrdom with that man. —I’m the better teacher; I love to teach; I love children. He wants to be a novelist or some such bullshit . . . but—I’m committed, I give of myself, day in, day out—I’m the supervisor on five extracurricular activities this year—five!—including our nationally award-winning literary magazine, Idée Fixe, thank you very much. While he assists—assists, mind you—girls J.V. field hockey, and I think we both know where that’s all going to end up—.
FLANAGAN (sips)
. . .
RICHARD (some composure now)
. . . I’ve given my whole life to this school . . .
FLANAGAN
I know that, Richard . . .
RICHARD (looks at him)
—Do you?
FLANAGAN
. . .
RICHARD
That’s good . . .
(He drinks. Quieter:)
. . . It’s his wife, anyhow: she’s the one with the Ferdinand-and-Isabella Complex: Chair in English and a Chair in Spanish, push out all the Jews and Moors. —Well, she’s Jewish, but you know what I’m saying . . .
(His eyes:)
See those shoes?, red leather high-tops . . . ? Really? . . . She must’ve bought them special for the occasion. They make her look like a diabetic elf . . .
FLANAGAN
A what?
RICHARD
Well look at her . . . !
FLANAGAN (he sips his water some more)
. . .
RICHARD (breathes heavily: a sigh)
. . .
FLANAGAN
. . . You’ve got nothing to worry about, Richard.
RICHARD (won’t look at him)
. . .
FLANAGAN
I’ve made my decision . . .
RICHARD
Have you? That’s good . . .
FLANAGAN
You know how I feel about the situation.
RICHARD
So it’s a “situation” now . . . ?
FLANAGAN
I don’t like to keep secrets from you—
RICHARD
—And I’m grateful for that, James. —Grateful, for our many confidences over the years—
FLANAGAN
But I can’t announce anything until I’ve received approval from the Board.
RICHARD
. . . “The Board.”
FLANAGAN
The Board of / Education—
RICHARD
I know who the fucking “Board” is, James . . .
FLANAGAN
. . .
RICHARD
—You said it was a done deal: you said it was your / call entirely—
FLANAGAN
It is a done deal, but I don’t want to step on any toes—
RICHARD
—For Christ’s sake James step on a few toes!—for once in your careful little life!
(Recovers:)
Hi Liz, happy Kwanza. Is she Pakistani . . . ?
FLANAGAN
. . . I don’t see why you’re so angry / with me . . .
RICHARD
I’m not angry, James. I’m not. —Do I seem angry to you?
FLANAGAN
. . .
RICHARD
You’re leaving . . . You’re leaving this—graveyard behind—
FLANAGAN (put off)
You think / our school is like a graveyard . . . ?
RICHARD (continuing)
—who cares what anybody thinks?
FLANAGAN (sips his water)
. . .
RICHARD
Make a statement of some kind . . . !
FLANAGAN (short)
Yes; I certainly should . . .
(He puts his hand in his suit jacket pocket . . . )
RICHARD (drinks)
. . .
FLANAGAN (his pocket)
Do you really find me too careful?
RICHARD (sighs)
. . . James—
FLANAGAN
Is that what you—? You said: I don’t step on any / toes—
RICHARD
I’m sorry I said anything about you—I can’t handle this / right now—
FLANAGAN
—You think I’ve been too careful—in my life—. You’ve always thought that about me—
RICHARD
—Let’s not talk about what I may or may not have always thought about you. —
Okay? —
Not everything’s about you, James . . .
Let’s just forget everything I said . . .
FLANAGAN (his water)
. . .
(Enter ELISE: young, petite, kinetic; a pretty round face and long black hair; a Jewess-hippie-intellectual in a shortish skirt, sexy high heels; some make-up, dramatic eyes, lightly perfumed; she carries a Manhattan in her small white hand:)
ELISE (an apology)
I’m late.
RICHARD
Does the father know?
ELISE (a joke?)
. . . ?
RICHARD
I’m joking: about your period.
ELISE
You’re just jealous I get them.
RICHARD (pleasantly)
Cow.
ELISE
Queen. —What time did you get here?
RICHARD
Darling, I’m always here . . .
(He drinks.)
ELISE
I had some trouble getting here.
(Smiles; eyes dart to FLANAGAN, and away.)
I always have trouble getting places. On time. —I took the wrong subway—
RICHARD
Don’t you know the subways by now?
ELISE
Yes . . .
—I mean, I know the subway to Grand Central like the back of my—fist, but—
RICHARD
Hand.
ELISE
Sorry?, excuse me?, what?
RICHARD
The cliché involves the hand, my dear.
ELISE (for Flanagan; without looking)
—We have this thing; it’s a game: he says I use clichéd expressions too much . . .
RICHARD
You do.
ELISE
I meant—the “back of my fist” is not a cliché!
RICHARD
No, but you meant to say “hand.”
ELISE (he’s right)
Anyway, I ended up in Harlem.
RICHARD
—My God; when?
ELISE
Just now. Tonight.
RICHARD
O no dear you don’t want to end up there . . .
ELISE
They were really very helpful, though.
RICHARD
Who was, dear?
ELISE
. . . ?
RICHARD
Who was really very helpful to you?
ELISE
The African-Americans.
RICHARD
I know, it’s a mouthful to say, isn’t it . . .
ELISE
And this really very elderly African-American woman turned me right around on the platform and put me back on the downtown express:
“This ain’t yo’ stop,” she said.
Isn’t that amazing . . . ?
FLANAGAN
Quite.
ELISE
—In this day and age . . . ?
RICHARD
They’re just as afraid of you as you are of them, the African-Americans. Small Jewish-American girls frighten them most . . .
(She smiles briefly at FLANAGAN.)
RICHARD (cont’d.)
You two know each other, don’t you? . . .
No?
Elise, this is James / Flanagan—
ELISE
We know each other, Richard . . .
RICHARD
Are you certain . . . ?
FLANAGAN
—Yes; I believe I hired Ms. Sanger nearly six months ago.
ELISE
—Has it been that long . . . ?
RICHARD
—I know, doesn’t time just slay you?
FLANAGAN (gallant & stiff, he offers her his hand)
How do you do, Ms. Sanger?
(She takes it. With her other hand, she waves away his formality:)
ELISE
You can just call me “Elise.”
FLANAGAN (his hearing, perhaps)
. . . ?
ELISE
Elise! —I’m only twenty-nine . . .
FLANAGAN
Are you? Congratulations!
ELISE
What for . . . ?
RICHARD
—That’s her age, James: she’s saying she’s too young for “Ms.”
FLANAGAN
O . . . Well you don’t look very much like a “Ms.” anyway, Ms. Sanger. —You’re much too fetching in that skirt!
(He laughs, lips tight.)
ELISE
Thank you—.
(To Richard:)
I think . . .
FLANAGAN (sips water, lifts eyebrows at his own humor)
. . . !
ELISE
. . . Where’s your tie, Mr. Flanagan?
FLANAGAN (hand to neck; another joke?)
O—my—? —It’s gone!
ELISE (smiling, charitably)
I’ve never seen you without one before . . .
FLANAGAN
I know, but you see: I took it off. I suppose you could say I felt like a change tonight—a change of—wardrobe!
RICHARD (drinks deeply; says softly)
. . . Good Christ . . .
ELISE
Well you look very handsome tonight without it, Mr. Flanagan.
FLANAGAN
—There’s no very good reason not to call me “James,” Ms. Sanger, is there?
ELISE
Okay:
(she smiles)
“James.” —And you can—call me Elise.
FLANAGAN
I know.
ELISE
—What do you know . . . ?
FLANAGAN
You’ve already instructed me as such, haven’t you—to call you “Elise,” Elise.
ELISE
Have I? —“instructed” you . . . ?
You’re very funny . . .
FLANAGAN
. . . Does that surprise you?
ELISE
Yes. It does.
RICHARD
. . . This is really very sweet, Elise: you’ve drawn him out of his shell.
ELISE
—Cliché.
RICHARD
Touché. —I was testing you / anyway . . .
FLANAGAN (butting in)
—Yes!, it certainly is silly, how “careful” I’ve been, always wearing my tie . . . around my neck . . . But have no fear, it’s not far off, my tie:
(he pats it)
—it’s right here in my suit jacket pocket . . . !
And I’ve still got my brown suit!
(Another joke?)
RICHARD (sighs; drinks)
. . .
ELISE (smiles, but looks to Richard again for help)
I’m sorry . . . I—don’t think I get that.
FLANAGAN
—I am still wearing my brown-on-brown
(a la the French:)
ensemble!
RICHARD
—He’s feeling very sorry for himself, that’s all . . .
FLANAGAN
I’m feeling very funny tonight, that’s all it is, Richard!—strange and funny and—anything could happen!
(Imagining castanets in his hands:)
—Cha-cha!
RICHARD (ignoring him; to Elise:)
You look sluttish tonight . . .
ELISE
And you look depressed; as usual . . .
RICHARD
It’s true . . . You know I’ve lost five pounds this month?
ELISE
. . .
RICHARD
It’s the stress . . .
ELISE (relieved)
—O; I know—all those papers: why do we make them write so much?
RICHARD
I don’t mind that; I like grading: it makes me feel smart. No, it’s the pressure—you know, change, in the department . . . I don’t handle change well . . .
FLANAGAN
Yes, but he does like vomit!
RICHARD
. . .
ELISE (looks between them, almost laughing)
. . . Have I missed something between you / two?
FLANAGAN
He likes to see high school teachers vomit! —Cha-cha!
RICHARD
At parties . . .
FLANAGAN
—Yes, at parties!
RICHARD
. . . He’s angry with me about something, I don’t / know what—
FLANAGAN
I’m not angry, Dick! I’m really not!
ELISE
You’re not going to lose your job, Richard, if that’s what you’re worried about. Is that what you’re worried about?
RICHARD
I don’t know—what do you think I’m worried about, Elise?
ELISE
You’re tenured; you’re here for life.
—Isn’t that right, James?
FLANAGAN
Right-o, Elise . . . !
ELISE
And besides, James isn’t retiring for another six months—
RICHARD
—Yes. But change must be in place . . . And as you well know, Elise, there are rumors floating about that the Chair of English may very well go to Charles. To Chuck. To Chaz. Because he is a married man. Because “the Board” likes their men hitched. —Or confirmed in their bachelorhood at least—right, James?
FLANAGAN (sips water)
. . .
ELISE
. . .
RICHARD (his second drink is empty now)
—Who’s ready for more?, I am . . .
ELISE
I’ll go—
RICHARD
No no I’m going—
(he takes her glass)
—you see?, I’m gone . . .
(He turns back:)
What are you having?
ELISE
Manhattan, please.
RICHARD
Of course you are—cliché!
(He’s gone.
A moment here of “What to say . . . ?”)
FLANAGAN (smiles; hides teeth)
. . .
ELISE
. . . Are you sure you don’t want a drink?
FLANAGAN
No thank you: I’m an alcoholic.
ELISE
. . . O.
FLANAGAN
Thank you, though.
(Smiles; teeth.)
ELISE
Sorry.
FLANAGAN
—Why . . . ?
ELISE
I should’ve guessed.
FLANAGAN
Could you have . . . ?
ELISE
. . . ?
FLANAGAN
Could you have guessed that about me? That I’m alcoholic?
ELISE
. . . Well; you’re not drinking; you’re drinking a very large glass of water, with a rather large slice of lemon. I noticed. —I’m drunk myself—
(she laughs)
—a little, drunk—. —I had this party I had to go to, out in Brooklyn? It’s the last night of Chanukah / and—
FLANAGAN (interested)
Is it?
ELISE
Yes.
FLANAGAN (with great sincerity)
How wonderful for you!
ELISE (smiles)
. . . Really? You think so . . . ?
FLANAGAN
And what happens on this the very last night of Chanukah, Ms. Sanger?
ELISE
. . . I’m not sure I understand what you’re / asking me—
FLANAGAN
Is there something very special that’s meant to occur on this, the very last night of Chanukah, the Festival of Lights?
(Smiles tightly; waits for her answer:)
ELISE
. . . No. Not really.
FLANAGAN
Ah.
ELISE
—We light a candle. The last candle—of eight. —We can spin a dreidel if we want—are you making fun of me?
FLANAGAN
—No!
ELISE
I’m—. Okay. —You’re not making fun of me just a / little bit?
FLANAGAN
—God, no! —I adore the Jewish people!
ELISE
. . .
(Another terrifically awkward moment passes here . . . )
FLANAGAN
Have you seen Diane’s sneakers? Diabetic elf.
ELISE (laughs—too loudly)
—Excuse me?
FLANAGAN
She looks like a pixie with diabetes. Don’t you think? Because she’s heavy.
ELISE
—That’s terrible!
FLANAGAN
Terrible but true . . .
ELISE
. . . I had no idea you were funny, Mr. Flanagan . . .
(He smiles painfully, lips tight.)
ELISE (she smiles back at him)
. . .
FLANAGAN (his eyebrows, again; sips his water)
. . .
ELISE
Would you like to sit / down?
FLANAGAN
—No.
ELISE
O—
FLANAGAN
—I’d rather not, you see.
ELISE
That’s / fine . . .
FLANAGAN
—I’ve been sitting all day, you see . . .
ELISE
I see.
FLANAGAN
—But you may, of course—sit—if you’d prefer . . .
ELISE
. . . I do prefer. Thanks.
(She sits. A moment; then:)
FLANAGAN
And now, I think I will join you . . .
(He sits too.)
(She smiles a bit confusedly at him.)
(He smiles and hides his teeth.)
(She kicks off one of her heels, absentmindedly; begins jangling her foot beneath the table . . . )
ELISE
I wasn’t going to come tonight . . .
FLANAGAN
—Why on earth not?
ELISE
Didn’t think I’d have much “fun,” I guess. I mean—can I tell you this? I don’t think that I really belong here . . . with these people. You know? And none of them really like me very much. They resent me somehow. I don’t know why . . . Even Richard doesn’t like me—he likes to make fun of me. He’s my friend, but—.
Look at them all . . . They’re all such incredible losers . . . And I mean that in the kindest way possible . . . Trying to talk, drinking a lot—some of them even think they can dance; which they can’t . . . Poor souls . . . It’s all so unbearably sad . . .
. . They all have that rusty, dusty, musty-dirty-earth-thing going on—don’t they?—that look they get . . . ? I don’t know what—“geraniums”—that’s what they’re like . . . yeah . . .
(She smiles to herself.)
. . . Teachers are like really very old geraniums . . . —And it’s not so much that whole dirt-thing because that would be far too “outside,” far too healthy a connotation, but—: Teachers are like plants that have not been watered in a very long time . . . —And you know how they get, these house plants, that have not been watered: they slowly, inexorably, die. —They desiccate and they die. —But for a long time they still look alive. Until you touch them, and then
(a crumbling sound)
—ffssssssssst . . .
FLANAGAN (he waters himself: i.e., sips)
. . .
ELISE
I wasn’t talking about you, you know.
FLANAGAN (as if with nonchalance)
. . . Do you know that a student tried to shoot me today?
(She puts her shoe back on.)
ELISE
You’re joking.
FLANAGAN
No: a student tried to shoot me, with a handgun. —He wanted to anyway: he didn’t fire the gun / obviously.
ELISE
O my God—
(laughs, covers mouth)
—I’m sorry.
FLANAGAN
—Yes, it’s surprising, isn’t it?—at our school . . .
`ELISE
—Did you call the police?
FLANAGAN
Of course not.
ELISE
Why not?
FLANAGAN
—I don’t want to get him in trouble, I suppose—.
ELISE
He had a gun, James—he brought a gun to school—
FLANAGAN
In his rucksack, yes.
ELISE
In his what?
FLANAGAN
Rucksack.
ELISE
Did he take it out of this “rucksack” of his?
FLANAGAN
Of course he did; that’s how I knew he / had it.
ELISE
—And he pointed it at you.
FLANAGAN
He placed it on the table between us . . .
He was testing me somehow . . .
ELISE
And then what happened?
FLANAGAN
He told me—he said he thought I hated him. —That I hated all my students. —Which is of course patently untrue . . .
ELISE
. . .
FLANAGAN
And then he looked as if he might cry . . .
—And then he left.
ELISE
My God . . .
FLANAGAN
Indeed.
ELISE
Why doesn’t stuff like that happen to me?
FLANAGAN
—I beg your pardon?
ELISE
You know?
FLANAGAN (an offended tone)
Ms. Sanger:
ELISE
I know, but you know what I’m / saying . . .
FLANAGAN
—I hardly think / you should—
ELISE
I know but—it’s exciting, right?
—Who is it?
FLANAGAN
I don’t think I should be telling you / this . . .
ELISE
—What if I have him in one of my classes?
FLANAGAN
He’s a senior.
ELISE
So?
FLANAGAN
If you don’t have him now you won’t have / him ever—
ELISE
—How do I know I don’t have / him now?
FLANAGAN
—You can’t have him now because he’s mine!
ELISE
. . .
FLANAGAN
—He’s my student . . .
ELISE
. . . You can’t let him get away with it . . . It’s a call for—a cry—. I mean, he could shoot someone else. He could shoot himself.
FLANAGAN
O no he won’t do that.
ELISE
—Why not?
FLANAGAN
Because I have the gun.
(He smiles, a bit wildly, shows teeth.)
(She smiles too.)
(He leans in conspiratorially:)
FLANAGAN (cont’d.)
. . . With me, right now; right here in my suit jacket pocket . . .
(He pats his pocket proudly; whispers:)
. . . wrapped inside my tie.
ELISE
. . .
(She reaches her hand out slowly, touches the gun through his suit jacket pocket . . .
A moment, then:)
ELISE (cont’d.)
. . . How old are you, Mr. Flanagan?
FLANAGAN
Fifty-nine.
(She smiles; continues to watch him closely; brazenly.
He meets her gaze, her smile; he obstructs her view of his mouth.)
ELISE
Do you want to go someplace else with me?
(RICHARD returns.)
RICHARD
Manhattan for the Manhattanite—
ELISE (getting up)
You can keep it: I’m going—
RICHARD
You just got here—
ELISE
I know.
RICHARD
—Are you going too?
FLANAGAN (standing also; bewildered)
It looks that way, now doesn’t it . . . ?
—Is everything all right with you?
RICHARD
Of course . . . Why wouldn’t everything be all right, James? Is there a reason why something should be not all right / with me. . . ?
FLANAGAN
—We’ll talk on Monday, okay?
RICHARD
Monday’s Christmas Eve, James.
FLANAGAN
We’ll talk after Christmas—we’ll talk in the new / year.
RICHARD (quieter; pulling him aside)
I wanted to talk to you tonight. —I needed to talk to you—.
ELISE
I’m going to go get my coat . . .
(She’s gone.)
RICHARD
She’s a slut. She’s my friend but—her boyfriend dumped her last summer. He was sleeping with a friend of theirs, and ever since she’s been on some kind of rampage.
FLANAGAN
Richard—
RICHARD
She fucked Charles and Fritz—not at the same time but both in the very first month of school. It’s pathetic. —I’m not your fairy godmother, James, but if I were you I’d wear a condom. —Assuming you get that far.
FLANAGAN
(quietly)
For Christ’s sake / Richard—
RICHARD
You surprise me, James . . . really, you do; I wouldn’t think she’d be your
type . . .
FLANAGAN
—Is this about Charles? About the / Chair?
RICHARD (explodes)
—I don’t know yes maybe it is about the fucking Chair—!
FLANAGAN
All right / calm down—
RICHARD
—You can tell me, James. I’m not a child: everyone’s talking. —I just heard Diane at the bar telling Liz they’ve been talking to Charles. Is that true?
FLANAGAN
. . .
RICHARD
We don’t have to dance around it all night; we can tell each other what’s really going on: if they don’t want me they don’t want me—they don’t want me, do they?
FLANAGAN
No.
RICHARD
. . .
FLANAGAN
They do not want you, Richard. They do not want to give you the Chair.
RICHARD
Why?
FLANAGAN
You know why . . .
RICHARD
I know but I want to hear you say it.
FLANAGAN
They’re worried about the children.
RICHARD
. . .
FLANAGAN
Their concern is that / the children—
RICHARD
—I’m not contagious—
FLANAGAN
You know what it is I’m trying / to say—
RICHARD
—So I’m a pedophile now, too?
FLANAGAN
They’re worried that the children might become—confused. —That it would be an obstacle to / their learning—
RICHARD
—I don’t make a secret of it now, James—I’m teaching now—
FLANAGAN
That’s right: you have tenure.
RICHARD
. . .
FLANAGAN
. . . Richard . . . Things were different when you weren’t talking about it so much . . .
RICHARD
People were dying—people are /dying—
FLANAGAN
I understand about / all that—
RICHARD
—You’ll talk to them, right? You’ll convince them.
FLANAGAN
. . .
RICHARD
Unless you feel the same way.
(As ELISE returns with her coat:)
FLANAGAN
Let me help you on with that, Elise . . .
(He does.)
RICHARD
—Everyone!
(Clapping hands.)
—Everyone, listen up: Dick Purdy here in the Anguish Department. Mr. Flanagan and I would like to make a brief announcement. —Actually, I’m the one making the announcement, as you can see, because it’s about our dear old Mr. Flanagan: he has a few problems with me. Always has. There are certain things he does not like about me, does not approve of entirely—and I think it’s time we get this prejudice out in the open before the shit really hits the fan which it will once I sue. Which I will most certainly do. Once James—sorry, “the Board,” gives the Chair of the department to our colleague here, Charles. —You’ve got something on your nose, Chuck—there, it’s gone: —Mr. Charles Komisky, ladies and gentlemen!, our new Chair of the English Department . . . Instead of me . . . Though I have been here twice as long, and I care deeply about our students, their minds—and literature—not to mention Idée Fixe—thank you, thank you. —And why will Charles get the Chair? For no reason other than he is a straight white male and I am most emphatically not. Straight. As you all know. As some of you disapprove of. Or fear. Or claim not to “understand” . . . Which is all very hypocritical given how many of our greatest writers have been gay, straight and all flavors in between: consider Moby-Dick. —But we must protect the children! says Mr. Flanagan, our patron saint of innocence. —We must save the children!—from confusion! They are not to understand the dark, oleaginous world of men; which means “slimy”; —whereas I dissent. And this is how I will teach them next year when Mr. Flanagan is gone, even though I will not be the Chair and I don’t care if it gets me fired—there but for the grace of tenure go I—I will teach the children everything there is to know about life! Because they need to know. Whether they want to know or not. I will let them see for themselves that I, for example, am a homosexual, as they’ve long known. And I will let them know what it’s like to be a homosexual, in this day and age, to be prejudiced against, to watch your friends and your loved ones—.
And Charles here the Chair will let them know what it’s like to be addicted to a controlled substance. Namely cocaine. And married to a shrewish megalomaniac with disconcertingly boyish features. For example. —And Fritz, Fritz DeLong, wherever you are, and if that is your real name, you can tell them what it was like to be an underwear model during the halcyon days of the early- to mid-1980s. —And Liz here will clue us all in on how it feels to be racially ambiguous—right, Liz?
And Mr. Flanagan . . .
What can our dear old Mr. Flanagan teach us all about life? I know he’s leaving—right now—with Ms. Sanger—do y’all know Ms. Sanger?—say hello, Elise; now say goodbye. —But were he to stay on another year: what does Mr. Flanagan know about life? What has he learned from his sixty-five years on this earth? Well I don’t know about you but I know a thing or two about him, and I don’t know if any of you are going to believe this—it’s incredible—
(With his free hand, and from out his suit jacket, FLANAGAN has removed the gun:)
FLANAGAN
Richard:
(RICHARD turns to see the gun drawn shakily in his face.)
FLANAGAN (cont’d.)
Not another word.
(Dark.)
Contributor’s
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