Etiquette and Vitriol by Nicky Silver (classic fiction .txt) 📗

very sensitive. (She is near tears) And he wants to get away, but he knows this will just . . . kill her. The wife. This will destroy her, for reasons that are absolutely not his fault. But that’s the way it is. And she simply wants to kill him.

(He moves towards her.)

But instead, she just looks at him. (She moves towards him) And she touches his face. (She does this, sweetly) And she runs her fingers along his lips. (She does this) And she looks in his eyes . . . because she loves him. And she takes him in her hand. (She places her hand on his crotch) And she strokes him.

(She massages his genitalia through his trousers. His breathing deepens.)

And she kisses him.

(They kiss. It is very passionate and sexual. Lights fade out.)

SCENE 2

OTTO

The middle of the night. The lights come up on the chic studio apartment of Serge Stubin, a handsome, trim man of thirty. There is a Soloflex, a huge closet and a large bed. Serge is lounging on the bed, listening to music, wearing trendy, bike-short style underpants. After a moment, there is a knock at the door. Serge rises, turns off the CD and goes to the door.

SERGE: Who is it?

OTTO (Offstage): It’s me.

SERGE (Disappointed, irritated): Me who?

OTTO (Offstage): Me, the one true love of your life.

SERGE (Returning to the bed): Go away, Otto.

OTTO (Offstage): Let me in!

SERGE: It’s the middle of the night.

OTTO (Offstage): Serge! I’m being followed!

SERGE: Consider it flattery.

OTTO (Offstage): Let me in!

SERGE: Go home!

OTTO (Offstage): Today’s my birthday. I’m thirty-four years old today.

SERGE: Today is not your birthday.

OTTO (Offstage): Yesterday was my birthday?

SERGE: Go away. Go.

OTTO (Offstage): Let me in, or I’ll kill myself! I mean it. I’ll do it right here on the doorstep! How’ll that look? How’d you like that? Well? I mean it! I’ll do it! (Pause) LET ME IN!!

(Serge goes wearily to the door and opens it, revealing Otto, a wildly overweight man carrying a bag of groceries.)

SERGE: What do you want?

OTTO: I got fired.

SERGE: I’m sorry.

OTTO: I want to see you.

SERGE: You can’t come in. I’m expecting someone.

OTTO: I won’t stay long. I promise.

(Otto forces his way in. He makes himself at home, quickly unpacking groceries, starting with doughnuts. He eats as he talks.)

OTTO: It’s unbelievably hot in here! Is the air conditioning broken? I’m sweating already. You look well, but then you always look well. How’ve you been? I saw a picture of someone who looked just like you in a magazine. It was Honcho. I cut the penis out of the picture.

SERGE: What are you doing here?!

OTTO: I got fired—

SERGE: So you said.

OTTO: That job was everything to me! I have nothing! I am nothing! I’m a fat, middle-aged man with nothing to look forward to but the embrace of death.

SERGE: You’re thirty-three.

OTTO: Please! With my cholesterol and my blood sugar, I’ll never make sixty. This is the twilight of my life. I’m alone and jobless in my declining years.

SERGE: What happened?

OTTO: They said I wasn’t funny anymore. How funny do you have to be to introduce a bunch of no-talents? They said I’d lost my joie de vivre! Of course, I’ve lost my joie de vivre— I’m fat, I’m lonely, I have a new pimple, I’m thirty-six—

SERGE: You’re thirty-three!

OTTO: And I’m still getting pimples! Who could be funny under the circumstances?

SERGE: You’re getting crumbs on the bed!

OTTO: Isn’t that cute? Isn’t that sweet? It’s just like the old days. Remember how you used to scream at me when I ate in the bed? You’d scream with such rage, you turned purple. I was so happy. It can be like that again.

SERGE: It will be, if you don’t—

OTTO: Do you want one?

SERGE: No.

OTTO: They’re delicious!—It’s hot as a pizza house in here. Are you growing pot or something?

SERGE: I like it warm.

OTTO: I’m just going to turn this up. (He adjusts the thermostat) Who needs them anyway?!! I survived before that crummy little nightclub and I’ll survive without it! I’m not a comic. I’m an actor! I did Chekhov and Inge! It was only college, true, but I have training! I have technique!—That was the best job I ever had! Steady work, a steady paycheck, four nights a week and I could live off it! And it was so easy! What am I going to do?

SERGE: You’ll get another job.

OTTO: Oh you don’t care!! You never cared! You only care about you! You’re self-centered, that’s your problem—Are those Calvin Klein? They’re cute.—You know what this means, don’t you? It’s back to the notions counter for me!

SERGE: You worked at Barneys in European suits.

OTTO: I just want to die!

SERGE: Well you can’t die here. Not tonight.

OTTO: Do you think I made it too cold? Can I stay? Can I stay over? Can I sleep here tonight?

SERGE: Of course not.

OTTO: Please?

SERGE: I told you, someone’s coming over.

OTTO: I don’t believe you. I think you’re lying. Who’d come over at this hour? Only an insane person, present company excluded, of course. I think you’re lying. You lie with every breath. You’re a liar, that’s your problem.

SERGE: Go home. Get some sleep.

OTTO (Lying): I can’t. My house burned down.

SERGE: What are you talking about?

OTTO: It did. It burned to the ground. It’s a miracle no one was killed. I think someone set it. That’s what I think. I think the management company did it for the insurance. That sounds possible, doesn’t it?

SERGE: No.

OTTO: You’re too cynical, that’s your problem.

(The phone rings. As Serge answers it, Otto removes a package of pretzel rods from his sack. He takes one and stacks donuts on it. He then eats this creation as if it were an ear of corn.)

SERGE (Into the phone): Hello. . . . Oh, yes, I’m fine. . . . No, it’s not too late. . . . Oh. . . . Oh. . . . Oh. That is too bad. (He extends the phone to Otto) It’s for you.

OTTO (Taking the phone): Oh.