Etiquette and Vitriol (8 page)

SERGE:
No.

OTTO:
He had a completely obsessive personality—pathetic. So he was in the hospital, clinging to life by his nicotine-yellow fingernails. And he's going on and on at me about my weight and being “light-in-the-loafers,” which was the darling euphemism he used for “fairy.” And his breathing was very labored—he had emphysema, or something. I can't remember. I never paid much attention. So he's on this iron lung, and his last words to me, the very last words he ever spoke: he reached out, red in the face, panic in his heart—he reached out and shrieked, “Otto! Otto! Please, no! Don't touch that plug!!”

SERGE:
Oh my God!!

OTTO:
But it was too late.

SERGE:
You unplugged his iron lung?!

OTTO:
His television! What's wrong with you?

SERGE:
I thought—

OTTO:
You thought I killed my father? You're insane, that's your problem. I unplugged his television. I went to visit him, I took time out of my busy schedule, which was completely empty as it happened, but he didn't know that! I went out of my way to visit that old gasbag and he has the nerve to lie there watching TV! He was the rudest person I ever knew. It was a football game, or something. I don't know. The one with the orange ball and hoops with nets. It was giving me a headache, so I unplugged it. And then he was angry—wouldn't say a word. He just lay there, like a corpse. It wasn't until later that I learned he had died.

(The phone rings.)

SERGE
(Weary)
: Go ahead.

OTTO
(Into the phone)
: Hello? . . . Oh hello. . . . No, we're not back together yet!! . . . Yes, I realize that I'm a fat, ugly, lonely failure with nothing and no one in my life and that no one will shed a single tear when I die. . . . I'll talk to you later.
(He hangs up)
It was my mother.

SERGE:
I assumed.

OTTO:
Let's pretend we just met. Okay? Let's pretend you picked me up in one of those bars you go to. I hate those places. Let's pretend. You be . . . you! And I'll be me. Okay? It'll be fun.

SERGE:
I don't want to.

OTTO:
You never want to have any fun, THAT'S your problem.

SERGE:
Look! I'VE EXPLAINED TO YOU—

OTTO:
I remember the first moment I saw you. How long ago was that? I can't remember now. Was it six months? Eight months?

SERGE:
It was FOUR years ago!

OTTO:
Was it? Was it really? Time stands still when I'm without you. Four years? How much did I weigh then?

SERGE:
Considerably less than you do now!

OTTO:
You're full of hate, baby! Hate just oozes out of you. Hate is gushing out of your skin. You wear hate the way the salesgirls in Bloomingdale's wear makeup. In heavy layers.

SERGE:
YOU'RE DRIVING ME CRAZY!

OTTO:
Did I mention that I tattooed your name on my buttocks? I did! It was extremely painful. It hurt like hell, but I did it! You know I have a neurotic fear of needles, but I tattooed your name on my rear-end, in letters THREE feet tall!

SERGE:
Listen—

OTTO:
NOW I SIT ON YOU ALL THE TIME!

SERGE:
I HAVE TOLD YOU—

OTTO:
I know, I know. You're expecting someone!! Well, where is this mystery date? I don't see him. Let him come. I'll kill him! Then you, then myself—or any order you want. But you see, I don't think there is anyone coming over. I think you're lonely and bitter. I think every day since we split up has been as torturous for you as it has for me!

SERGE:
I'VE BEEN VERY HAPPY!

OTTO:
OH HIDE YOUR MISERY WITH LAUGHTER! YOU CAN'T FOOL ME. YOU'RE GRIEF STRICKEN TO THE POINT OF HYSTERIA, ONLY YOU HIDE IT WITH UNCOMMON PANACHE. I KNOW HOW BROKEN YOU'VE BEEN, BECAUSE I'VE BEEN THE SAME! THE DAYS ARE LONG, BUT THE NIGHTS ARE LONGER! ADMIT YOU WANT ME BACK! DON'T LET STUPID PRIDE STAND IN YOUR WAY. WHAT'S THAT? SO SOONER THAN LATER YOU'LL BE A ONCE-BEAUTIFUL, FADED, MALE-INGENUE TYPE, WIZENED AND WITHERED ALONE WITH YOUR PRIDE. WELL, LET ME TELL YOU, PRIDE IS A COLD COMPANION ON A BITTER WINTER'S NIGHT! I KNOW PRIDE! I KNOW WHAT PRIDE IS! I have none myself, of course, BUT I'VE
SEEN IT IN OTHERS. FORGET YOUR PRIDE, LOVE ME!!

SERGE:
For the last time, YOU HAVE GOT TO GET ON WITH YOUR LIFE! Look at what you're doing to yourself! You're killing yourself!

OTTO:
That'd make you happy, wouldn't it?

SERGE:
NO! No, Otto, it wouldn't. You can think what you want. But I do not hate you. I don't. God knows why, but I don't.

OTTO:
Is it hot in here? I'm having a sugar drop.
(He sits on the floor and dumps out the remaining contents of his grocery bag)

SERGE:
I look at you and I remember what you used to be.

OTTO:
Before you destroyed me?

SERGE:
Before you ate yourself into this state!

OTTO:
Have I put on weight? Is that what you're saying? I try not to get on the scale.

SERGE:
You were attractive.

OTTO:
I get vertigo from watching the dial spin, and spin, and spin.

SERGE:
You were SANE! You were funny—

OTTO:
God, I'm hot.

SERGE:
I do not accept responsibility for you! I AM NOT TO BLAME!

(Otto eats Oreos rabidly, unscrewing them, scraping out the middle and throwing the cookie over his shoulder.)

OTTO:
I can't imagine it's a question of blame.

SERGE:
It's been four years! Four long years! We dated briefly. There was no passion. No great love! We dated briefly! We never lived together! We never planned a future! WE! DATED! BRIEFLY!

OTTO
(Offering)
: Oreo?

SERGE:
NO!!

OTTO
(Coy)
: They're double stuff.
(He drinks a Yoohoo)

SERGE:
WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!!? I thought this was over! I've held my breath! I've prayed! I've done good deeds! BUT NOTHING WORKED! YOU'RE BACK! I don't want to hurt you, but I need my peace! YOU HAVE GOT TO GET OVER ME! I'm no great catch to begin with, as you constantly remind me, while groveling, sniveling and begging me to take you back! TAKE YOU BACK!!? WE DATED BRIEFLY!!

OTTO:
Finished?
(He drinks a second Yoohoo)

SERGE:
NO I AM NOT FINISHED!!! I don't know what to do—tell me what to do. I know you have needs. I know you have problems, you have obvious problems! But this is not fair! I HAVE NEEDS AND PROBLEMS TOO! THIS ISN'T FAIR! DO YOU HEAR ME? THIS JUST IS NOT FAIR!!

(A long pause.)

OTTO
(Very small)
: I don't see what you're so worked up about. I just dropped by. I brought some doughnuts. That's all.

(The phone rings.)

SERGE:
ANSWER IT!

OTTO:
Excuse me.
(Into the phone)
Hello?. . . Oh, hello. . . . No, we are NOT back together yet!! . . . Yes, I understand that I'm a heap of human debris, that I'm not getting any younger and that everything I touch turns to shit! . . . Well, if that's what you want, I can't stop you from killing yourself. . . . No, I
don't
care that you've taken forty-five sleeping pills!! . . . If you want to die, it's your prerogative! . . . No, I'm not calling 911 for you!! . . . I DON'T CARE! . . . THEN JUST DIE! DIE! DIE AND LEAVE ME ALONE! I CAN'T GO ON LIKE THIS!
(He slams the phone down)
It was my analyst.

SERGE:
What?

OTTO:
I'm sorry if I intruded. You keep telling me to get on with
my life. For years now, you've been telling me that. “Get on with your life.” . . . But you are my life.

SERGE:
Don't be pathetic.

OTTO:
If it's pathetic, it's pathetic. If it's sick or sad or whatever it is—it is the way it is. I love you. And you will love me again. Someday . . . or you won't. But I don't intend to give up trying. I see no advantage in surrender.

SERGE
(After a moment)
: You keep telling me, I'll love you again. But I
never
loved you.

OTTO:
What?

SERGE:
But I am in love. Now. For the first time. Do you understand me? He's on his way over here right now. He went to get his things and he's coming here, to live. So you simply have to go.

(Sadly, Otto rises. The phone rings. Otto looks at Serge, who gestures that Otto should answer it.)

OTTO
(Into the phone)
: Hello? . . . It's for you.

SERGE
(Taking the phone)
: Hello? . . . Oh. . . . I see . . . well, but . . . but . . .
(He hangs up the phone)
He's not coming.

OTTO
(Simply)
: Oh.
(Pause, then with great cheer)
So? Can I stay?

(Blackout.)

The lights come up on the Dolor living room. It is morning, perhaps we hear the sounds of birds. The doorbell rings. After a moment, the person on the other side begins pounding on the door, rather violently. Finally, Amanda enters, wearing a shorty nightgown
.

AMANDA:
Coming!

(She goes to the door and opens it, revealing Serge.)

Can I help you?

SERGE:
Is this Ford Dolor's apartment?

AMANDA:
Why do you ask?

SERGE:
It is, isn't it?

AMANDA:
It's nine in the morning.

SERGE:
May I come in?

AMANDA:
No!

(Serge pushes past her. She follows.)

SERGE:
Where is he?

AMANDA:
Ford's asleep. What is this about?

SERGE:
I'd like to speak to Ford, please.

AMANDA:
Well, I'm not going to wake him. Who are you?!

SERGE:
My name is Serge. Who are you?

AMANDA:
I'm Amanda. I'm Ford's wife. Now, please leave.

SERGE:
Not until I speak to Ford.

AMANDA:
I've asked you to leave. I'd appreciate it if you'd just—

SERGE:
I'm in love with your husband.

AMANDA
(Stunned)
: What?

SERGE:
I think. If he's in love with me, that is. If not then I'm not. I'm not putting myself in
that
position.

AMANDA:
You're . . .?

SERGE:
I'm sorry. I didn't mean to blurt it out like that. I have no intention of hurting you. I have no interest in you. I didn't even make a mental note of your name.

AMANDA:
It's Amanda.

SERGE:
Would you do me a favor and get Ford? Tell him I'm here.

AMANDA:
You're a man.

SERGE:
Yes, I know that. I'm aware of that.

AMANDA:
You're saying Ford is—

SERGE:
My lover. Ford is my lover.

AMANDA
(Stricken)
: I see.

SERGE:
He never mentioned he was married.

AMANDA:
He didn't?

SERGE:
How long have you been together?

AMANDA:
Oh a long time. Several years.

SERGE:
Well, he doesn't talk much.

AMANDA:
Yes, I know.

SERGE:
He's pretty quiet.

AMANDA:
He never mentioned you, either.

SERGE:
I really didn't come here to upset you. I came to see Ford. I want to find out where we stand. I have plans to make, things to do. I have an appointment at the tanning salon at ten and I intend to know what's going—

AMANDA:
How long have you known my husband, Mr.—?