Renaissance Men Ii 6d2q4y

RENAISSANCE MEN 2 SIX PLAYS

By LAURENCE HOLDER Edited by Richard Gaffield-Knight With an Introduction by Rome Neal

RENAISSANCE ANTHOLOGY SERIES

Five volumes of plays by Laurence Holder

Edited by Richard Gaffield-Knight

Volume 4: Renaissance Men 2:

© 2001 by Laurence Holder. All rights reserved

With an Introduction by Rome Neal

This book is a work of fiction. Places, events, and situations in this story are purely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Juba: © 1995 by Laurence Holder. All rights reserved

Scott Joplin: © 1986, 1987 by Laurence Holder. All rights reserved Hot Lips 2: © 1990 by Laurence Holder. All rights reserved

VSOP:MONKnBUD: © 1995 by Laurence Holder. All rights reserved MONKnBUD: © 1991, 1994 by Laurence Holder. All rights reserved Swee’Pea and the Duke: © 1996 by Laurence Holder.

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4033-1741-4 (ebook)

1stbooks.rev. 03/19/02

For

my wife ANDREA

my 3 children CHRIS DORI and LAURA

And

John Vaccaro Alvin Alexis Marmara McKinney Tony Jackson Randy Frazier Rosetta LeNoire

RENAISSANCE ANTHOLOGY SERIES All plays by Laurence Holder

Series edited by Richard Gaffield-Knight

Volume 1—Renaissance Women—Ethel Waters, Hot Snow (Valaida Snow); They Were All Gardenias (Billie Holiday); Zora Neale Hurston; M: The Mandela Saga (Winifred Mandela)

Volume 2—Renaissance Men 1—When The Chickens Came Home To Roost (Malcolm X and Elijah Muhammad); Red Channels (Paul Robeson, W.E.B. Dubois, Richard Nixon, Joseph McCarthy); Bussa (Bussa, Nanny Grigg, Thomas Jefferson, Phyllis Wheatley, William Wilberforce)

Volume 3—Renaissance Solos—Bird (Charlie Parker); Monk (Thelonious Monk); The Gospel According To Max Roach (Max Roach); Sugar Ray (Sugar Ray Robinson); Langston (Langston Hughes); Hot Fingers (Jelly Roll Morton); Hot Lips (Valaida Snow); The Last Dust Track; Zora (Zora Neale Hurston); Man

(Contemporary Man); Woman (Contemporary Woman); The Fighter

Volume 4—Renaissance Men 2—Juba; Scott Joplin; Hotfingers 2 (Jelly Roll Morton); VSOP:MONKnBUD; MONKnBUD (Thelonious Monk, Bud Powell); Swee’pea And The Duke (Duke Ellington, Lena Horne, Billy Strayhorn)

Volume 5—Renaissance Collection—Ruby And Pearl: A Class Act; Nelson’n’Simone (Nelson Algren, Simone Debeauvoir); Dream Rooms; Fagen (A Buffalo Soldier); F: The Fringe Candidate (Lenora Fulani); Zora And Langston (Zora Neale Hurston And Langston Hughes); Zora:Whu (Zora Neale Hurston, Fred Whu)

For production rights information Author’s representative:

Donald Sutton, Global Artists Management

Email: [email protected]

Telephone: (732) 605-0911, or Fax: (732) 605-0944

Renaissance Anthology Series information: http://www.laurenceholder.com

Laurence Holder, 626 Riverside Drive 10-J New York, NY 10031 (212) 690-7787

Table of Contents

Author’s Foreword

Introduction

JUBA

SCOTT JOPLIN

HOT FINGERS 2

VSOP:MONKnBUD

MONKnBUD

SWEE’PEA AND THE DUKE

About the Author

Author’s Foreword

The plays chosen for this volume of the series are basically the musicals—about musicians, dancers, and singers. There is a certain history being presented, a kind of linear movement.

The musical play, JUBA, takes place during the 1840s in New York City’s tenderloin district¹—then called Five Points and now called Wall Street. It tells the story of the great but little- known Freedman from Providence, RI, who became the King of All Dancers via a series of theatrical challenge matches with Jack Diamond, the reigning King.

JUBA was produced by Ellen Stewart of LaMama ETC, where in 1978 our country briefly ed theater artists under the rubric of the Comprehensive Training and Employment Act (CETA). This rewarding opportunity lasted only one year. JUBA was my first professional production and the first time I’d written lyrics. I was nominated for an Audience Development Committee Award for Excellence (AUDELCO) as Musical Creator. I think my nomination was mostly due to the magnificent direction and mentoring by John Vaccaro, world famous director, and to Christine Campbell, an AUDELCO award-winning actress, singer and dancer, who had the perspicacity to get the script to Mr. Vaccaro. I later rewrote the musical and called it “Five Points,” a version which may come out in a future Renaissance series volume.

SCOTT JOPLIN is about the great ragtime player who bequeathed us a style of music still craved today. The show illustrates his rise to fame in the 1890s and his catastrophic fall in the early 1900s. When I was in Phoenix, AZ, teaching English and Creative Writing at South Mountain Community College, the Black Theatre Troupe produced this musical play about one of America’s treasures and I directed. We got quite nice reviews

HOT FINGERS 2 is available for it’s world premiere production. This two-actor play tells the Jelly Roll Morton story. As the man who “invented” jazz, he takes us from his early days in the 1880s to his final appearance in the late 1930s. My one character version, HOT FINGERS, published in Renaissance Solos was produced in 1984 at Virgil Atkins’ Vital Arts Center in New York City. HOT FINGERS 2 includes female characters who influenced Mr. Morten’s life.

VSOP:MONKnBUD and MONKnBUD are about the redoubtable tandem of Thelonious Monk and Bud Powell. Hellacious friends, composers and musicians, they composed and performed the most fantastic Jazz of the 1940s, 50s and 60s. VSOP:MONKnBUD is a two-character play that centers on their relationship around the time of the police beating and arrest of Bud Powell. MONKnBUD, a three-character version that takes place in a cell and includes Monk’s wife, Nellie, was produced initially by Theatre for the New City, and then again by The Nuyorican Poets Caf6. We were nominated for three AUDELCO awards, including Best Ensemble, 1994. Overseas it was produced at The Edinburgh Theatre Festival Fringe, and it has toured the USA.

Originally titled “Swee’Pea and The Beast” this play is a three character love story involving Duke Ellington, Billy Strayhorn, his composer-arranger, and Lena Horne. The plot deals with the trials and tribulations of creating and performing their music while keeping their friendship strong during the late 1930s—until Mr. Strayhorn’s death in 1967. It was produced during the Spring of 2001 as SWEE’PEA AND THE DUKE at Theatre for the New City. The show was directed by Randy Frazier, starring Robert McKay as Mr. Ellington, Juan Loney as Mr. Strayhorn and Denise Du’Maine as Ms. Horne.

to secure the musical and publication rights to use the songs in productions.

Laurence Holder, Winter 2002 New York, New York

Introduction A Playwright Who Writes Plays I Like to Direct By Rome Neal

Before I knew Laurence Holder I knew of his work, When The Chickens Came Home To Roost (SEE Holder’s Renaissance Men 1). At that time it wasn’t the play or even the fact that Denzel Washington was in the cast, it was the other actor, Kirk Kirksey, who sparked my interest. I had seen Kirk’s work and was amazed at his acting skills. He could take any part to a level other actors just dreamed of taking it. Produced at the Henry Street Settlement by Woodie King, Jr. of the New Federal Theatre, I knew this had to be a classy piece of Black Theatre. As an aspiring theatre professional, it was my goal to stage works of this magnitude.

Many plays and years later I was asked to do a reading of a play by Laurence Holder titled MONKnBUD. This version was a two-character play in which the actor Tony McGowan played Bud Powell and the role of Thelonious Monk became my introduction to an extraordinary musician and composer. As written this character captivated me and made me feel full as an actor. I could relate to this character. His words and speeches flowed from my heart like they were mine—and the story had a jazzy laid-back feeling. I mean it was me! Tony felt the same about the Bud Powell character. The chemistry between us was magic. It was a unique experience and something we talked about each time we met years later.

Subsequently, MONKnBUD was cast for production at Theatre for the New City (TNC) with two good friends of mine in the title roles: Tony Jackson as Bud Powell and Alvin Alexis as Thelonious Sphere Monk. The script had been reworked and Monk’s wife, Nellie, was added and played by Marmara McKinney, my friend from street theatre days at TNC. Tony called me and

invited me to help with the costumes, so I became the costume designer. MONKnBUD was given a fine production at TNC with sharp stylistic direction by Jasper McGruder. Alvin and Tony’s performances were intense—in a zone— and captivated their audiences. Alvin and Tony owned that production. The type of “own” I mean is knowing you have carte blanche with a play. The playwright trusts you with his words and stays out of the way. This was something about Laurence Holder I would learn to respect and love—how secure he was with his words—and trusting—only stepping in to help when asked.

This MONKnBUD cast played on stages from the Nuyorican to TNC, twice to the North Carolina Black Theatre Festival, to it’s international staging at the Edinburgh Festival in Scotland and it toured throughout different parts of the States. Though I enjoyed the new script, I also felt a sense of loss. A feeling of knowing my Monk had come alive in Alvin and he wasn’t giving up on it.

Somehow I expressed my infatuation with Monk to Laurence and before I knew it, he had written a play for me entitled, VSOP:MONKnBUD, which was a twocharacter play. We tested the piece with a reading at the Sunday Jazz Parlor, headed by Marge Elliot, accompanied by live piano. VSOP was well received and headed for a showcase performance until I had a falling out with my co-star and began to talk to the playwright about a solo version.

In the meantime I directed two plays by Laurence at TNC. Red Channels (SEE Holder’s Renaissance Men 1) is a play dealing with some of the key figures of Joseph McCarthy’s House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC), and how of the Black Talented Tenth, such as W.E.B. Dubois and Paul Robeson, were harassed by them. It was a wonderful opportunity to work with a play of such epic proportions. The show was well received by the critics and went on to be nominated for five AUDELCO Awards, including one for myself as director and Laurence for Playwriting.

When you pigeon-hole him into one type of writing, he comes up with a gem

like Ruby And Pearl: A Class Act (SEE his Renaissance Collection) about two women in a dying burlesque business. It was a “hot” show in the middle of one of the worst winters I .

Oh, ! Be careful what you ask for you may get it. I got my very own Monk, (SEE Renaissance Solos) in which I get the chance to be Monk—and as this character, talk about my life as a musician, my youth, my family and my relationship with other musicians. This Monk solo was unique. Laurence and I worked side-by-side as Co- producer/Director of this particular play. I needed him as an outside eye while he shared with me his massive knowledge of the world of jazz.

The first staged reading was on Monk’s birthday, October 10th. It brought out an interesting audience of theatre folk and musicians who played with Monk or knew him back in the days. The reading ran almost two hours. In fact, one gentleman who came in about forty-five minutes late thought it was too long. Others said, “we are just so happy to learn so much about Monk.” However, the house manager Julio said it was too long for a play at The Nuyorican Poets Cafe, a space with a rotating schedule of events on any given evening.

Another benefit from that evening was news that people really liked my Monk. Two women who didn’t say anything during the segment came up to me at the end of the evening. They were Thelonius Monk’s nieces. They told me the resemblance was so profound it was scary. They did have problems with some of the stories and I assured them that we would address those issues they mentioned—and we did. One of them gave us some wonderful insights on their Uncle Monk, the family man. She gave me his son’s telephone number and we sent him a script. It was a thrill for the Cafe audience to have the son, T. S. Monk, sharing the evening with us at the final staged reading. Afterward he told Laurence and I some other things he knew about his father, which were added to the final rewrite. We left all hugging and truly happy we had the family’s blessings.

Each staged reading gave us an opportunity to set blocking and helped me to design my own lights for the show. It must have been nerve-wracking for Laurence to see his lead actor run up and down a twenty foot ladder, fixing lights for a performance, sometimes ten minutes before curtain. The assignment editor for The New York Times Drama Department, Carol Coburn, asked me if I wanted the show to be reviewed on opening night. After dreaming about doing this role for all those years, I was ready—definitely.

The creative mind hit me half way though the performance and said, “What the hell are you doing inviting the Times to your first performance? The critical mind told me, you’re slipping, pick up the pace, stay focused.” Our first reviews were positive. One critic even compared our Monk to the Broadway play, Side Man, by Warren Leight, which won a Tony Award for Best Play 1999, saying ours was a better play. And I have two great personal acknowledgements of our work with Monk. One came from the great Max Roach who said “I knew Monk for many years, I played with him and the portrayal and the writing—it was Monk. The acting was superb.” Laurence received an AUDELCO nomination for Playwright and I an AUDELCO for solo performance.

Working with Laurence so closely on Monk made me realize that he is a one-ofa-kind playwright that comes along ever so often and should be treasured for the work he has penned. Plays that don’t stereotype black people but show us in our greatness—and the trials and tribulations it takes to get to that greatness.

He writes plays that I like to direct—plays that preach, teach and above all entertain.

Rome Neal, Artistic Theatre Director The Nuyorican Poets Cafe

Renaissance Men 2 SIX PLAYS

About eight great men and women of American music: William Henry Lane aka Juba (1825-1862), Scott Joplin (1868-1916), Thelonius Monk (1917-1982), Bud Powell (1924-1966), Lena Horne (1917- ), Duke Ellington (1899-1974) and Billy Strayhorn (1915-1967)

JUBA Book and lyrics by Laurence Holder

Cast: Juba (the Challenger), Arnabelle, Milford, Two Fingers Jefferson, Pete Williams, Pat Harris, Walker Motley, Ethel Myrr, Jack Diamond (King of all Dancers), Lena O’Leary, Johnnie Night, Johnnie’s Man, Reverend, Policeman, Boz (Charles Dickens), Waiters, Waitresses, Patrons

PROLOGUE/OVERTURE

(JACK DIAMOND STEPS OUT ONTO BARE APRON WITH MIST AND HEAT SWIRLING)

JACK DIAMOND: Reaching through this present

To get to the glorious past We come to a particular present Which will eternally last It was a moment long ago and yet Not all that long When glorious feats of song and dance Were accomplished in one step

We’re at that time and place now When music knows to swelter Cause in the early days of jazz Things were always jumping The place is

Five Points

(OPEN CURTAIN AND REVEAL THE FIVE POINTS’ SLUM OF TENEMENTS, STORES, CABARETS, AND FISH MARTS IS TEEMING WITH LATE AFTERNOON ACTIVITY. EVERYTHING IS CLOSING DOWN SAVE FOR THE CABARETS AND STORES, AND THE SOUNDS OF DRUMS AND SINGING ARE HEARD. THE LAUNDRY IS PULLED-IN. THE CHILDREN JUMP AND SHOUT AS PARENTS RETURN HOME FROM WORK)

SONG: “Day Is Over” sung by JACK DIAMOND

DAY IS OVER—THIS DAY IS OVER THE FISH IS CAUGHT AND THE CORN IS PLUCKED THE SUN IS DOWN—LET’S REST FOR NOW NO MORE WORK FOR AWHILE

DAY IS OVER—THIS DAY IS OVER BACK IS TIRED

AND FEET IS SOBBIN’ THE SUN IS DOWN—LET’S REST FOR NOW NO MORE WORK FOR AWHILE

WHERE IS THAT PROMISED LAND WHERE FOLK CAN HAVE THEIR FREEDOM? HERE IN FIVE POINTS ON THEIR WAY TO HEAVEN

DAY IS OVER—THIS DAY IS OVER SCRUBBED THESE FLOORS DONE THE WASH INDOORS THE SUN IS DOWN—LET’S REST FOR NOW NO MORE WORK FOR AWHILE

DAY IS OVER—THIS DAY IS OVER HEAD IS ACHIN’ ARMS ARE BREAKIN’ THE SUN IS DOWN—LET’S REST FOR NOW NO MORE WORK FOR AWHILE

WHERE IS THAT PROMISED LAND

WHERE FOLK CAN HAVE THEIR FREEDOM? HERE IN FIVE POINTS ON THEIR WAY TO HEAVEN

DAY IS OVER—THIS DAY IS OVER CHILDREN FED BEEN PUT TO BED THE SUN IS DOWN—LET’S REST FOR NOW NO MORE WORK FOR AWHILE

DAY IS OVER—THIS DAY IS OVER WOMEN HERE

MEN FEEL NO FEAR THE SUN IS DOWN—LET’S REST FOR NOW NO MORE WORK FOR AWHILE NO MORE WORK FOR AWHILE NO MORE WORK DAY IS OVER

(INTO THIS ENERGY WALKS A YOUNG BLACK MAN, ABOUT FIFTEEN YEARS OLD, BUT LOOKING MUCH OLDER. HE STARES AT THE FRIVOLITY FOR A MOMENT AND IS SWEPT-UP BY THE ENERGY AND

DANCES WITH ABANDON. TWO FINGERS, THE YOUNG MAN WITH THE BANJO IS REALLY IMPRESSED WITH THE NEWCOMER, JUBA, AS WAS THE SINGING, DANCING YOUNG WOMAN, ARNABELLE, WHO RUSHES OFF TO WORK. THE DANCING WOMAN, LENA, SISTER TO TWO FINGERS, STANDS-OFF TO THE SIDE TALKING WITH HER IRERS. TWO FINGERS APPROACHES THE NEWCOMER)

TWO FINGERS: You sure know how to kick man. Where’d you learn all that?

JUBA: Where I come from.

TWO FINGERS: That ain’t friendly atall. My name’s Two Fingers. And most folks around here think I play toluble. I guess they really modest.

JUBA: You do play goooood. I calls myself Juba. And I from Providence, Rhode Island.

TWO FINGERS: Providence? Well, I guess I heard of it. But they got cullud folks over that way?

JUBA: More’n a handful. Actually they got a whole lot. And a couple of churches.

TWO FINGERS: Well, they sure done taughtcha how ta dance good.

JUBA: I can play that there banjo, too.

(TWO FINGERS COVERS-UP HIS BANJO PROTECTIVELY, BUT SMILES A MIRTHFUL GRIN WHICH DOUBLES THEM BOTH IN LAUGHTER. JUBA’S LAUGH IS LOUD AND POWERFUL. TWO FINGERS IS AWED)

Say, who was that singing and dancing girl?

TWO FINGERS: That was Arnabelle.

JUBA: Arnabelle. (THE LOVE INTEREST)

TWO FINGERS: Yeah, Arnabelle Milford. She sings over at the Five Points. The dancing girl is my sister, Lena. Hey Lena, come on over.

JUBA: Hey, you ain’t gotta do that.

LENA: Two Fingers, can’t you see I’m busy. Don’t bother me now with any of your stuff.

JUBA: I wouldn’t even know what to say to her.

TWO FINGERS: You could say she was good. That would get you over right

away. But she’s a stiff for Jack Diamond.

JUBA: Who’s that?

TWO FINGERS: I’ve heard of Providence, and you don’t know who Jack Diamond is?

JUBA: You sure do talk a lot. Who is he?

TWO FINGERS: They say he’s the greatest dancer in the world.

JUBA: You believe that? (LENA AND HER FRIENDS LEAVE)

TWO FINGERS: Well, whatcha gonna do here in Five Points?

(THE STREETS ARE EMPTY AND THE TWO BOY/MEN TALK AS THE SUN SETS. IT IS ALMOST RELIGIOUS)

JUBA: I done heard of this place they call the Five Points Saloon. Takes its name from the area.

TWO FINGERS: Don’t call it that. They ain’t gonna like you much if you call it a saloon. Call it the Five Points Cabaret.

JUBA: The Five Points Cabaret

(THEY BECOME THOUGHTFUL)

Say, do you know where this place is, Two Fingers?

TWO FINGERS: Of course I do. I know where everything is. Even the things you don’t want to see. But I’m trying to think of how to get us in the place.

JUBA: If they got a door, that’s good enough for me.

TWO FINGERS: You just can’t go in the door. Don’t you wanna sneak in or something? They bound to throw you outta there cause of your age.

JUBA: You just lead me to it. Say, is that why you don’t work there? This age thing?

TWO FINGERS: That’s what they keeps tellin’ me. But one of these days.

SONG: “One of These Days” sung by JUBA AND T.F

ONE OF THESE DAYS

WE’RE GONNA LIFT UP OFF THE GROUND WE’LL CIRCLE AROUND SEE THE WORLD UPSIDE DOWN WHAT’S OLD WILL BE YOUNG WHAT’S OUT WILL BE IN ONE OF THESE DAYS

ONE OF THESE DAYS WE’RE GONNA RISE UP IN THE AIR RIDE RAINCLOUDS ON HIGH WE’RE FLYING WITHOUT A CARE WHAT’S OLD WILL BE YOUNG WHAT’S OUT WILL BE IN ONE OF THESE DAYS

AIN’T SCARED OF NOTHIN’ BUT MY FOOLISH LITTLE FEARS AIN’T SCARED OF NOTHIN’ BUT THE MAN UPSTAIRS

ONE OF THESE DAYS WE’RE GONNA DANCE THE WORLD INSIDE OUT HOLD ON TO YOUR HATS CAUSE THAT’S WHAT WE’RE ALL ABOUT WHAT’S OLD WILL BE YOUNG WHAT’S OUT WILL BE IN ONE OF THESE DAYS ONE OF THESE DAYS

(JUBA AND TWO FINGERS FIND THEMSELVES IN FRONT OF AND SNEAK INTO THE FIVE POINTS CABARET WHERE A REHEARSAL IS GOING ON. PAT HARRIS IS REHEARSING ARNABELLE AND THE WAITRESSES ON A CHARLESTON DANCE)

(WHILE HARRIS IS REHEARSING THE DANCERS, MOTLEY IS REHEARSING THE BAND. THERE IS TREMENDOUS CONFUSION IN THE COORDINATON)

HARRIS: Well, Motley, do you think you can control the band long enough for the dancers to learn the dance?

MOTLEY: Harris, if we played it the same way for a thousand years, you still couldn’t teach your dancers how to dance to it. Our music is special.

HARRIS: I see. Well, since the music is special and the dancers don’t have a

chance, I mean, maybe they aren’t the best, your musicians are gonna have to give in a little.

MOTLEY: Why? We get paid.

HARRIS: And we get the pain. All right! A-one and a two, three. (CHARLESTON)

ARNABELLE: That’s not how we rehearsed it yesterday.

HARRIS: Yeah, Motley, I thought the rehearsal was for the dancers.

MOTLEY: It’s for the musicians.

ARNABELLE: It’s for your duet. Really!

MOTELY: No lip now.

(ARNABELLE SHRUGS AND GETS READY TO DANCE)

HARRIS: One-two-three.

ARNABELLE: That’s not how we rehearsed it yesterday.

HARRIS: We’ve changed it.

ARNABELLE: Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve prepared.

HARRIS: Next time we work out a new routine, we’ll make sure we call you. Even if it’s at three in the morning. Now can we get on with it.

ARNABELLE: Now Pat Harris—I’m from Poughkeepsie. And in Poughkeepsie we’ve learned pleasanter ways to say unpleasant things.

HARRIS: And this is Five Points and we’ve forgotten all that. (ARNABELLE HITCHES UP HER SKIRT AND STARTS THE REHEARSAL DANCE AGAIN. SHE BARELY SEES JUBA AND TWO FINGERS WHO SIT DOWN)

JUBA: Do they know what the dance is about?

TWO FINGERS: I think it’s just one of them chorus numbers. That there is Pat Harris with all the gesticulations. The quiet one over there is Walker Motley. They celebs. Been writing plays and the like for years down here.

JUBA: Them musicians sure look like they could use a good banjo player. Who does the hiring?

TWO FINGERS: Pete do. Pete Williams. He’s a mean one, that’s Pete. He’s always having me thrown outta here.

JUBA: Well, there ain’t no time like the present to start.

TWO FINGERS: What’re ya fixin’ to do?

(JUBA STANDS AND FLEXES HIS LEG MUSCLES. ALMOST EVERYTHING COMES TO A STOP. ARNABELLE, HARRIS AND MOTLEY WATCH. PETE WILLIAMS WALKS INTO HIS CLUB AND IS FLABBERGASTED BY WHAT HE SEES. JUBA BEGINS TO DANCE. T.F. BEGINS TO STRUM HIS BANJO AND JUBA LETS OUT A WHOOP AND GIVES A VIRTUOSO PERFORMANCE. WHEN IT IS OVER THE AUDENCE OF MUSICIANS, DANCERS AND PETE WILIAMS APPLAUDS. PETE WALKS OVER TO HARRIS AND MOTLEY)

PETE: Who does he think he is? Jack Diamond?

MOTLEY: He’s better than Jack Diamond.

(PETE GLARES AND THEN WALKS OVER TO TWO FINGERS AND JUBA)

PETE: Ain’t you the little dude I keeps throwing out of here?

TWO FINGERS: No, that’s not me, sir. I came in here looking for a job.

PETE: Hmm. And what’s your name, boy? Ain’t never seen no colored boy dance like you.

JUBA: Juba.

PETE: Juba? Is that the name your mamma gave you?

JUBA: No, my real name is William Henry Lane.

PETE: And you speak proper too.

(JUBA LOOKS AT ARNABELLE ADORINGLY. SHE RESPONDS IN KIND)

JUBA: Sometimes.

PETE: Well, what do you want? (A WOMAN’S VOICE IS HEARD FROM THE BALCONY)

ETHEL: He wants a job.

PETE: I-I-I know what he wants Ethel. I just wanted to hear it from him.

ETHEL: You’re wasting time, Pete. (EVERYONE WATCHES HER FADE AWAY)

JUBA: Well, she got that one right. I am looking for a job. I’ve been dancing all over the country. And no one here has ever heard of me? I’m the Master Dancer.

PETE: I got the Master Dancer and his name is Jack Diamond. He’s white and he’s the best in the world.

MOTLEY: This Juba’s better’n him.

PETE: I ain’t askin’ you Walker. No, I’m sorry. We already got one and he’s white. That brings the people in here faster than the speed of light. (JUBA IS DISAPPOINTED AND SITS DOWN. HIS EYES REMAIN KEEN. ARNABELLE WALKS OVER TO HIM. PETE LOOKS AT T.F) My orchestra —

MOTLEY: It’s my orchestra, Pete.

PETE: The orchestra needs a real banjo player. You got a job. Meals and a place to sleep.

TWO FINGERS: Uh—I got a place to sleep. How about some cash?

PETE: All right, then. Just meals. (PETE TURNS TO GO)

TWO FINGERS: I’ll take the place to sleep in too.

PETE: Good. Harris and Motley. We got to talk about something. Something important.

(THE THREE MEN GO TO A CORNER WHERE THEY TALK QUIETLY)

We just don’t need another dancer now. That’s all.

MOTLEY: Juba’s better.

PETE: Dammit. I know he’s better—but we already got the best.

HARRIS: You won’t have the best if he goes out the door.

ARNABELLE (CONSOLING JUBA): They got plenty clubs in this here area. I know you could get a job in one of them. You got talent to offer.

(PETE OVERHEARS AND CHOMPS CIGAR)

JUBA: Thank you. But this is the place I’m gonna work in. This is the famous one. People go off to bigger and better things from here. Maybe Europe.

T.F. and ARNABELLE: They do?

ARNABELLE: Ethel toured all over in one of them Motley/Harris specials. She just didn’t like the way they treated her in some parts of the country, so she come back home where they knows a great lady as soon as they see one.

JUBA: Well, all I got to do is beat out Jack Diamond. And I ain’t white.

ARNABELLE: Well, don’t worry about none of that stuff. This here is Five Points. And as for Jack Diamond—they found him in a distillery—but he’s funny. Don’t like no womens except maybe Lena and pretty much sticks to hisself. (SHE BEGINS HUMMING THE TUNE OF A LOVE SONG) Look, I got to make ready for the show. Should be startin’ soon. See ya later?

(JUBA NODS HIS HEAD AND WATCHES ARNABELLE RUSH OFF)

TWO FINGERS: I got a place for you to stay.

JUBA: That’s your place.

TWO FINGERS: Yeah, I know that. But if it wasn’t for you Idda probably not got the job. You know he wuz impressed with yuh dancing. He’s just stubborn. I told you he was a mean one.

JUBA: Who was the other lady?

TWO FINGERS: Ethel Myrr. She’s the big star around here.

HARRIS: Say you—no, no, no—banjo player—

PETE: Yeah. You with half a hand. Come on over here.

(JUBA LOOKS AT T.F.’S HAND AND IS REALLY SURPRISED. T.F. HAS ONLY TWO FINGERS ON HIS LEFT HAND)

TWO FINGERS: Slaughterhouse—three years ago—took up the banjo, then.

(T.F. WALKS OVER TO PETE WILLIAMS, JUBA IS LEFT ALONE. HE SINGS)

SONG: “Friendship Song” (fragment)

NOW THERE’S A PAL A MAN WHO’D HELP YOU IN A JAM A GUY WHO REALLY KNOWS THE SCORE A MAN WHO’S WITH YOU AT THE END THAT’S WHAT FRIENDS ARE FOR.

NOW THERE’S A PAL A MAN WHO’D BACK YOU IN A SCRAP A GUY WHO’S ALWAYS THERE AT BAT THAT’S WHAT FRIENDS ARE FOR.

HARRIS: How does he know our song?

MOTLEY: It’s in the wind, that’s all.

TWO FINGERS: Yes, sir—

PETE: I just got this great idea to make some money. What’s your name?

TWO FINGERS: Two Fingers. Really it’s Theophilus. Theophilus Jefferson.

PETE: Part Greek?

TWO FINGERS: Don’t really know sir. I never asked my mother. She poor and working so hard in the laundry, she didn’t have time to talk to me about nothin’.

HARRIS: You see, Motley. Another example of commerce.

MOTLEY: What’s the money maker?

PETE: We’ll his hand.

HARRIS: A freak show. What a great idea?

(MOTLEY GLARES AT HARRIS AND SHAKES HIS HEAD)

MOTLEY: That don’t bring no class to what we doing here. Ahm gone, go set up for the show.

PETE: What’s wrong with a freak show?

MOTLEY: Ain’t nothin’ wrong if the freaks is on show. But you gonna put real folk up there who just tryin’ to make out with a deformity. And you gonna make all the money and give them just some beer and eels for they pay. That ain’t

right. (MOTLEY MOVES AWAY)

PETE (FUMING AND WAVING T.F. AWAY): Who that Walker Motley think he is anyhow? Don’t he know I owes some money to Johnnie Night? I know he knows who Johnnie Night is. And don’t he think I got to be payin’ off them spongin’ Police who be down here anytime drinkin’ and carousin’ and not payin’. All so’s he can have a place to do his music.

HARRIS: I’ve never seen him talk as much as he did just then. Do you know what that means?

PETE: Of course I know what it means. It means I can’t meet my obligations. It means I’m in the middle.

JUBA: Maybe I could help. I need the work.

HARRIS: Everyone wants to work!

(THE DOORS OPEN SUDDENLY AND A CROWD SAUNTERS IN. HARRIS DASHES OFF. THE DOCKERS, PIMPS, AND GAMBLERS, EVEN AN OCCASIONAL SOCIETY PERSON OR TWO HELP MAKE THE MOOD BOISTEROUS. AFTER THEY ARE IN, PETE KEEPS LOOKING AT THE DOOR, AND THEN AT JUBA. T.F. HAS GONE TO THE MUSICIANS ON THE BANDSTAND)

PETE: When the goddamned star gonna show for this show to start? Does

anybody know where Jack is?

(THE DOORS OPEN AND A DRUNKEN JACK DIAMOND, LED BY LENA, STROLLS IN. HE COLLAPSES AT JUBA’S TABLE. LENA RUSHES TO THE BACK AND RETURNS WITH A WAITRESS’ APRON ON)

JACK: You called.

PETE: Yeah. Get yourself ready for the show.

JACK: I need a pick me up. Something strong. Whaddaya say?

PETE (SCOWLING AND CALLING LENA OVER): Get him a beer quick.

(PETE WALKS AWAY SHAKING HIS HEAD)

JUBA: Can I help you?

JACK (LOOKING UP AND SMILING): There’s no way you help ole Jack Diamond. No way. Instead you should be thinking of a way to get out of here yourself. What do you do?

JUBA: I can dance.

JACK: Right. You can dance. Anyone can dance. Can you dance like me, that is the question? Can you?

JUBA: I don’ know.

JACK: Well, don’t let it upset you. The chances are you can’t. Not many people dance as good as me. I learned from cullud folks. They liked me. Took me in when I didn’t have no place to stay. I was a youngster. Ain’t many folks got that kind of spirit. No siree. All this slavery on all of us. Ain’t no good. God’s gon kick a fit soon as He finds out.

JUBA: You don’t think God knows what’s goin’ on?

JACK (STRUGGLING TO HIS FEET): Got to go now. An’— oh, yeah—God— if’n He knew He’d change everything. Somebody’s violatin’ somewhere. And it can’t be God. He’s good. You know what I mean?

(SUDDENLY THE DOORS OPEN AND A YOUNG WHITE WOMAN STANDS AND LOOKS ABOUT EXCITEDLY. ALL THE ACTIVITY STOPS. PETE WALKS OVER TO HER FLIRTATIOUSLY)

PETE: You came in here like a ball of fire and now you’re meeker than a dead mouse. What do you want here, girl?

CELINE: You’re Mr. Pete Williams?

PETE (Suspiciously): Yeah—

CELINE: I’m looking for Mr. Johnnie Night. I got to see him.

PETE: I expects him to be around here later on tonight. Come back then.

CELINE: I can’t. My father will catch up to me by that time.

PETE: Your daddy. (HE TAKES HER BY THE SIDE) I definitely don’t want—

(THE DOORS OPEN AND FIVE EVIL LOOKING IMMIGRANTS WALK IN. THEY SCAN THE ROOM AND THEN MARCH ANGRILY TO CELINE)

MAN: This here the one, huh?

PETE: Yeah! I’m the one minding his own business. I ain’t never seen this girl before today.

MAN: You lyin. And to prove it, I’m going to bust up this place you got here.

PETE: Tell him!

CELINE: It ain’t him, Pa. It ain’t. He ain’t the one.

MAN: You sure he ain’t here?

(CELINE LOOKS AROUND THE CLUB. JACK SLINKS INTO THE SHADOWS. FINALLY, SHE SHAKES HER HEAD)

You tell what’s-his-name that I’ll be back.

(HE STARTS TO LEAVE WITH THE REST OF HIS BROOD)

PETE: I recognize that you all got a problem—

(MAN INTERRUPTS HIM)

MAN: No funny talk now. I know the Reverend would like to shut you down. Like a drum. Tight.

PETE: But it didn’t start here and I don’t want anything to end here.

JUBA: I second the motion.

ARNABELLE: Shhssshh, Juba.

MAN: Well, somebody raped my girl here and she says his name is Johnnie Night.

(A MURMUR GOES THROUGH THE GROUP)

That’s who I’m after.

(MAN SLAMS DOOR ON HIS EXIT)

PETE: Johnnie’s getting me into more trouble than he’s worth.

(JACK STARES AT JUBA INTENTLY THEN MOVES OFF TO GET READY FOR THE SHOW. JUBA STARES BACK AS HE SITS AT A TABLE. LENA GRABS A BEER AND BRINGS IT TO HIM)

JUBA: I can’t pay for it.

LENA: Miss Arnabelle says you should have something. I think she’s taking a liking to your dancing.

(JUBA LOOKS AT ARNABELLE WHO HAS A BIG GOOFY GRIN FOR HIM)

JUBA: Thank you, Miss Lena. And that was really nice dancing before.

LENA: Thank you.

JUBA: You like the big fella?

LENA: God’s gift.

(SHE GIGGLES AT HIM AND RUSHES OFF. HARRIS WALKS TO THE CENTER OF THE CLUB AND BOWS TO THE AUDIENCE TO SCATTERED APPLAUSE)

HARRIS: Ladies and Gentlemeen: the show you are about to see is in 3 scenes. It is a love story of course, about a boy and who else a girl trying to make it in the big city.

(HE MOVES AWAY AS ARNABELLE SWIMS ONTO THE STAGE SINGING)

SONG: “He’s Gone Away” sung by ARNABELLE

IT’S BEEN SUCH A LONG TIME THE MOONS HAVE COME AND GONE MY HEART HAS BEEN SILENT I WISH I’D NEVER BEEN BORN

IT’S BEEN SUCH A LONG TIME THE RAIN’S HAVE COME AND GONE YET THE ONLY SOUNDS I HEAR ARE THE PITTER PAT OF MY HEART SO STRONG

HE’S GONE AWAY AND LEFT ME HIGH AND DRY HE’S GONE AWAY HE NEVER SAID GOODBYE

I’M LEFT BEHIND HE THINKS I’M FINE AS SAFE AS PIE THAT’S WHY I FEEL I’D LIKE TO DIE—WHY?

WE DANCED THE WALTZ AND THROUGHOUT THE SPRING WE TOUCHED EACH OTHER WITH EACH SONG WE’D SING

WE LOVED AND LAUGHED THE SUN SHONE EVERY DAY IT BREAKS MY HEART TO KNOW HE’S GONE AWAY

LOVE ME, DARLING—FROM A DISTANCE DO LOVE ME, DARLING—I WAIT FOR YOU

HE’S GONE AWAY AND LEFT ME HIGH AND DRY HE’S GONE AWAY HE NEVER SAID GOODBYE

I LOOK IN THE MORNING WHEN THE SUN GETS HIGH AND I CAN’T BELIEVE

WE’VE SAID OUR LAST GOODBYE I CAN’T BELIEVE WE’VE SAID OUR LAST GOODBYE

(SUDDENLY HARRIS AND WALKER COME ONSTAGE JUST ABOUT PUSH HER ASIDE TO SING ABOUT THEIR FRIENDSHIP)

SONG: ”Friendship Song” sung by HARRIS AND MOTLEY

NOW THERE’S A PAL A MAN WHO’D HELP YOU IN A JAM A GUY WHO REALLY KNOWS THE SCORE A MAN WHO’S WITH YOU AT THE END THAT’S WHAT FRIENDS ARE FOR

NOW THERE’S A PAL A MAN WHO’D BACK YOU IN A SCRAP A GUY WHO REALLY KNOWS THE TRAPS A MAN WHO’S ALWAYS THERE AT BAT THAT’S WHAT FRIENDS ARE FOR

WHEN NO ONE’S HOME WE FIGHT AND SCRATCH LIKE GREEKS AND TURKS BUT LET SOME TWO-BIT TART TRY TO PULL US APART THEN YOU’LL SEE OUR FRIENDSHIP WORK

AND IF HE WAS EVER IN THE COLD LOST AND WITHOUT A HOME YOU’D KNOW AND SEND TO HIM ACROSS THE WORLD A SECRET MESSAGE AND GET BLOOD FROM A STONE THAT’S WHAT A FRIEND WHO’S TRUE AND BLUE CAN DO FOR YOU AND YOU AND YOU

NOW THERE’S A PAL A MAN WHO’D HELP YOU IN A JAM A GUY WHO REALLY KNOWS THE SCORE A MAN WHO’S WITH YOU AT THE END THAT’S WHAT FRIENDS ARE FOR

(THE TWO FRIENDS FOCUS ON ARNABELLE AND TRY PLAYING UP

TO HER BUT WIND UP FIGHTING WITH EACH OTHER)

HARRIS: I saw her first. Say, Miss, you sure a fine stepper. I could dance with you a whole lot.

ARNABELLE: Well, then, come back tomorrow night. We can do it again.

(HARRIS IS SPURNED AND TURNS OFF)

HARRIS: All right, you do it.

MOTLEY: I will. Say, Miss. My name is Walker. You sho is pretty—like a flower.

ARNABELLE: Thank you.

MOTLEY: I ain’t got too many city ways about me just yet. I could use some assistance like which way is the hotel from here.

ARNABELLE: I’d walk that way with you, but I’m waiting for somebody. I’m sorry.

(BOTH MEN WALK AWAY DEJECTED, WRAPPING THEIR ARMS

AROUND EACH OTHER. ARNABELLE FINISHES HER SONG)

I LOOK IN THE MORNING WHEN THE SUN IS HIGH I CAN’T BELIEVE WE SAID OUR LAST GOODBYE I CAN’T BELIEVE WE SAID OUR LAST GOODBYE

(THE APPLAUSE IS DEAFENING. AS PETE WALKS TO THE CENTER STAGE WE HEAR HARRIS, MOTLEY AND ARNABELLE ARGUING)

ARNABELLE: You got to do something with that script, man. It’s terrible. It’s not even a story.

HARRIS: Whaddayatalkin’ about? Do you hear the people?

ARNABELLE: If I was writing the script I would have gone with Walker.

(MOTLEY GRUNTS. HARRIS OUTRAGED. THE AUDIENCE LAUGHS)

PETE: And now we give you the finest dancer in this whole great country of ours and quite possibly the world. Fresh from a recent tour of Europe, Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. King of all dancers himself, Mr. Jack “jig ‘em to death” Diamond.

(JACK COMES ONSTAGE NOTICEABLY WOBBLY. JUBA WATCHES HIM DANCE A FEW STEPS, JACK SEEMS TO WARM UP AND GET BETTER. LENA S HIM ON STAGE. ARNABELLE S JUBA AT HIS TABLE)

DIAMOND DANCE : A PIECE OF DANCE RIBALDRY

JACK: Didn’t I see you last night in the card game?

LENA: Who me? No, sir, I don’t play the 52s.

JACK: If I didn’t see you last night then I ain’t the Jack of Diamonds.

LENA: No, you’re the King!

(JACK DANCES WITH LENA THEN LEADS HER OUT AND CONTINUES TO DANCE SOLO. AT THAT PRECISE MOMENT JUBA LEAPS FROM HIS TABLE ON TO THE STAGE. EVERYONE IS THUNDERSTRUCK AS THEY WATCH EXCEPT FOR TWO FINGERS WHO KEEPS UP A THUNDEROUS MELODY. JACK STEPS BACK FOR A MOMENT AND IRES JUBA WHO THEN STEPS BACK AND ALLOWS JACK TO DANCE. THEY TRADE THIS WAY WITH THE STEPS BECOMING MORE AND MORE INTRICATE. THEN THE TWO DANCE TOGETHER TO THUNDEROUS APPLAUSE. SUDDENLY JACK STOPS AND CALLS JUBA OVER. THE CROWD HUSHES)

JACK: Say, boy, where’d you learn to dance like that?

JUBA: My uncle Jim taught me a lot.

JACK: Now was he that famous Jim, Uncle Jim Lowe?

JUBA: I believe he is one and the same. I know you never knew him though.

JACK: How could you know that?

JUBA: You’d be a better dancer than what you are.

(AUDIENCE HOWLS)

JACK: That was a pretty funny crack you just made.

JUBA: Ah’m a very funny man.

(AUDIENCE LAUGHS LOUDER. JUBA IS GETTING THE BETTER OF THE KING WHO DOESN’T LIKE THIS AT ALL)

JACK: Say, man, where are you from?

JUBA: Rhode Island.

JACK: And how do you spell it?

JUBA: R—O—D—E

(HE IS DANCING IT OUT WHEN JACK GRABS A HOLD OF HIM)

Why’d you do that?

JACK: I’m taking you back to school so you can learn how to spell it.

(THE AUDIENCE JUST BREAKS UP THEN AND THE 2 OF THEM SLIP AWAY TO TRMENDOUS APPLAUSE. WE HEAR THEM ARGUE TOO)

JUBA: Shouldn’ta grabbed me like that.

JACK: You were making a fool out of me. I had to do something. After all, I’m the King.

(JUBA GRUNTS. THE CROWD LAUGHS SOME MORE. PETE GOES CENTER)

PETE: We’ll just take a break from the dance for a moment and er wet the whistle with some of that good grog we got and then we’ll bring on the one the only the redoubtable the magnificent Ethel Myrr.

(AUDIENCE HOWLS. JUST THEN JOHNNIE NIGHT WALKS IN WITH HIS ENTOURAGE. HE IS SMOOTH. HE IS SILKY. HE NODS TO PETE AND THEN SITS AT THE BEST TABLE IN THE HOUSE. HIS MAN, HIS FOIL, IS SLOVENLY IN COMPARISON. PETE SITS QUICKLY THEN WITH ARNABELLE)

Oh, Lord, he wants his money. I can tell.

ARNABELLE: Oh, Johnnie’s all right, Pete. Now Juba. Juba is something else. Isn’t he wonderful?

PETE: Yeah, he knows how to dance.

(LENA COMES UP TO PETE)

LENA: Pete, can I sing a song tonight?

PETE: You don’t sing.

LENA: Yes, I do. And you know what, Pete?

PETE: Now, now, Lena, don’t get upset.

LENA: You are stunting my career. You are keeping me from blossoming.

(HARRIS AND MOTLEY SEE JOHNNIE NIGHT AND RUSH EXCITEDLY TO PETE. THEY POINT, GESTICULATE IN JOHNNIE’S DIRECTION BUT NO WORDS COME FORTH)

PETE: I know boys. Don’t hurt yourselves.

(JOHNNIE LEANS OVER TO HIS MAN AND WHISPERS SOMETHING TO HIM)

Go on over there and offer them anything, Lena. Scoot.

(LENA WALKS LUXURIOUSLY TO JOHNNIE, ING HIS MAN ON HIS WAY TO PETE’S TABLE)

LENA: Mr. Williams said that anything you want is on the house.

(LENA TRIES TO PLAY ON HIM BUT HE WILL HAVE NOTHING OF IT)

JOHNNIE’S MAN: Johnny wants his money. He laid out for you when you needed. Now he needs.

PETE: You tell Johnnie that the loan is appreciated. He’ll get the money back.

JOHNNIE’S MAN: The Police are all over Johnnie for this trumped up charge.

PETE: It’s trumped up?

JOHNNIE’S MAN: Did you see her? She’s a dog. Why would Johnnie rape that?

PETE: I got your point. Tell Johnnie I’m working on getting the money. I am. But the entire government is on me. And

that church keeps calling for reforms, clean up the neighborhood stuff.

JOHNNIE’S MAN: Ok, ok, I’ll tell him. But do you think he’s gonna like it?

PETE: I don’t know.

(JOHNNIE’S MAN ARISES AND STARTS THE LONG TORTUROUS WALK BACK TO JOHNNIE)

LENA: That’s all you want, a bottle and some glasses.

(AND THEN THE LIGHTS DIM AND HE LOOKS UP AND EMERGING FROM THE UPSTAIRS IS ETHEL MYRR. HE STANDS. SHE SMILES)

Ethel is ready.

JOHNNIE: And some quiet. I am contemplating a masterful piece of art.

(PETE MOVES TO THE CENTER OF THE STAGE)

PETE: And now direct from her sensational tour about which I have already told you, I am pleased, proud, and prickly. Here is the great Ethel Myrr.

(THE AUDIENCE APPLAUDS MADLY. ETHEL IS THE REAL HEADLINER FOR THEM AND SHE MOVES DOWN THE STEPS IN SCANTIES SINGING DIRECTLY TO JOHNNIE)

SONG: “Vanity Song” sung by ETHEL MYRR

MY LIPS ARE LUSCIOUS, AREN’T THEY? MY HIPS ARE GORGEOUS, AREN’T THEY? I KNOW I MAKE YOU WEAK IN THE KNEES BUT DARLING, IT IT, YOU’RE EASY TO PLEASE

I KNOW YOU LOVE ME MADLY BUT I MUST TELL YOU SADLY IT AIN’T NO BIG THING THIS THING BETWEEN YOU AND ME

MY EYES ARE DREAMY, AREN’T THEY? MY THIGHS ARE CREAMY, AREN’T THEY I KNOW YOU’RE STEAMY UNDER THE BELT BUT, DARLING, THIS ICEBERG AIN’T GONNA MELT

I KNOW THAT SOMETHING’S BREWING BUT AFTER ALL THIS COOING STILL AIN’T NO BIG THING THIS THING BETWEEN YOU AND ME

YOU’RE SUCH A BASHFUL CASANOVA YOU KEEP ME UP TO THE DAWN AND BY THE TIME YOU GET THE URGE ALL I CAN DO IS (YAWN)

I KNOW THAT SOMETHING’S BREWING BUT AFTER ALL THIS COOING STILL AIN’T NO BIG THING THIS THING BETWEEN YOU AND ME

(THE AUDIENCE GOES MAD, APPLAUDING WILDLY AS ETHEL S PETE ALL THE TIME LOOKING DIRECTLY AT JOHNNIE NIGHT. BUT NOW JOHNNIE IS STARING AT PETE WHO JUMPS UP AND HURRIES OVER TO JOHNNIE. THE WAITERS AND WAITRESSES ARE HURRYING PEOPLE OUT OF THE CLUB)

LENA: Come on. It’s time to go. Don’t want them Police down here and throwing me in jail, do you? Curfew! Curfew!

(THE AUDIENCE BREAKS INTO SONG AS THEY EXIT ONTO THE STREET)

SONG: “Evening Is Over” sung by THE GROUP

EVENING’S OVER EVENING IS OVER MOON’S UP HIGH AND THE CLOUDS ARE BRIGHT

THE SUN IS DOWN LET’S REST FOR NOW NO MORE WORK FOR A WHILE

EVENING’S OVER EVENING IS OVER STARS ARE BRIGHTER THE AIR’S MUCH LIGHTER

THE SUN IS DOWN LET’S REST FOR NOW NO MORE WORK FOR A WHILE

(THE SOUNDS OF THE CHURCH CHOIR OVERCOME EVERYTHING AND THE PATRONS EXIT SWIFTLY)

LENA: They must be rehearsing late.

PETE: God is on their side. It’s never too late for them

JOHNNIE: It is moving on. Now about the money.

(HARRIS AND WALKER, ARNABELLE AND JUBA SIT ON THE EDGE OF THEIR SEATS. LENA LEANS AGAINST BAR PRAYING

PETE: I just don’t got it for you now, Pete, I mean, Johnnie.

JOHNNIE: How you going to get it and when?

PETE: That’s the only way Johnnie.

JOHNNIE (TURNING TO THE OTHERS AND SMILING): And what’s the name of the play? This new musical you all have thought up.

MOTLEY: Ain’t no name for it yet. Just working out some of the numbers.

(HARRIS LEAPS TO HIS FEET)

HARRIS: We’re going to have this play. A new musical with Ethel and Arnabelle. We really are. It’ll be great. What’s the name again, Walker?

(ETHEL LAUGHS LOUDLY)

Don’t laugh, Ethel. It’s true. Pete, we were thinking about the young man, here, Juba. He’d make a great attraction. And with Arnabelle, there’d be the perfect love interest.

(JUBA STARTS AND SMILES AT ARNABELLE)

JOHNNIE: How long before the show?

HARRIS: Not long. A couple of days—weeks.

ETHEL: Stop! If you want to make money off the boy, you ought to be thinking about a dance contest between him and Mister Jack.

JOHNNIE (SMILING AND LIGHTING CIGAR): Pete, you are a good friend. And these are all good people. And that is some honey of a woman. But the time for payback has ed. And all this empty talk is simply gas. Now you all know I like a good show, so you put out for me like I put out for you. My lady here has a damn good idea. We’ll have the dance contest right here!

PETE: Hey, that’s a fabulous idea. (T.F. COMES OVER TO JUBA) We can work it up in a minute. What’s say Juba? Want a job?

JUBA: Thanks. But it don’t look like it’s gonna be so much of a contest.

ETHEL: That’s true. But watch Show Business make it something else. It’s about the money. Add Jack Diamond and you gon be the craziest dance team ever. You won’t be able to beat him all the time.

JUBA: I ain’t ever gon lose.

ETHEL: Mr. Jack is gonna have to win some of the contests.

PETE: If’n you want the job you gonna have to lose sometimes.

JUBA: That’s the only way?

JOHNNIE: You’ll make more money.

(JUBA NODS HIS HEAD UNHAPPILY)

HARRIS: In the meantime we’ll go to work on the play.

ETHEL: Well, you all don’t be needin’ me no more. I’m goin’ to sleep. See you in the morning, Pete. Goodnight, Mr. Night.

JOHNNIE: Charmed. But wouldn’t you want to take a walk in the night air. It’d cool your lovely face.

ETHEL: I feel fine Johnnie Night. Come back tomorrow.

JOHNNIE: I may be on business.

PETE: Why don’t you Ethel? It don’t hurt none to be sociable to friends of the club.

ETHEL: It’s because I sing here that you got a club, Pete. You deal with Mr. Night anyway you want to. We’ve got our understanding. Goodnight.

JOHNNIE: That’s a real woman! O.K. Pete. One of the boys will be looking in on you from time to time. Treat him nice.

(HE AND MAN EXIT)

HARRIS: That was a brilliant idea. Come on. Let’s start rehearsals.

ARNABELLE: Crazy!

LENA: Will I get a part?

MOTLEY: You got them nice legs.

HARRIS: What! Come over here!

JUBA: I’m ready if you are.

TWO FINGERS: Congrats.

JUBA: Scratch me.

PETE: Take a break. We got to talk to Jack first. Where is Jack?

ARNABELLE: I’m so happy.

(LENA, T.F. AND ARNABELLA AND JUBA EXIT HAPPILY)

HARRIS: Since when do you make eyes with the women?

MOTLEY: Back up Harris and write plays.

HARRIS: Yeah, well Poughkeepsie!

PETE: You two flap outta here, too.

(A RELUCTANT HARRIS AND MOTLEY LEAVE THE CLUB ONLY TO BE BACKED-UP BY T.F. AND COMPANY CARRYING A DEAD DRUNK JACK DIAMOND)

Just my luck if he’s dead.

JUBA: Naw! He ain’t dead. Found himself staggering in the alley dead drunk.

JACK (OPENING HIS EYES): Is this heaven, Mary?

PETE: Jack, can you hear me?

JACK: Of course I can, I ain’t deaf.

PETE: I’m gon change the show around a bit. We’re gon have some dancing contests between you and the young man here, maybe add a couple of other dancers to make it legitimate.

JACK: How much the winner get?

PETE: The actual winner gets—er —500.

JACK: 500 what?

PETE: I thought you said he was drunk.

JACK: You are talking about my Art Form, man. I will always wake up for that.

PETE: Dollars, Jack.

JACK: And the loser?

PETE: What?

JACK: I was just asking.

(JACK NODS HIS HEAD AND STARTS TO WALK THROUGH THE DOOR FOLLOWED BY LENA)

PETE: Well, everybody, let’s get ready for the dance contest. You too, Jack.

SONG: “Spirit Scat”

(THE COMPANY SINGS THE SPIRIT SCAT. THERE IS FEVERISH ACTIVITY AS PETE AND THE REST OF THE FIVE POINTS STAFF MAKE PREPARATIONS FOR THE DANCE CONTEST. THEY HANG STREAMERS. MEANWHILE HARRIS AND MOTLEY ARE REHEARSING ARNABELLE, JUBA, LENA AND JACK)

HARRIS: O.K. I want you all to stand here. When the curtain goes up they’ll see Juba pining for his love. Arnabelle, you begin to come down the stairs singing that love song, again.

ARNABELLE: Don’t you have any other songs? Why does it always have to be a love story?

LENA: Why can’t I sing one?

ARNABELLE: Can’t we be friends trying to make it in the big city without all this love?

LENA: Why can’t I sing one?

HARRIS: No! the public demands a love story.

LENA: Why can’t I sing one?

HARRIS: Besides, it’ll be great for your careers.

LENA: How? If I’m not singing.

ETHEL: Where have I heard that before!

PETE: I’ve been around a long time, Ethel, and these two boys have got the most energy I’ve ever seen.

ETHEL: If it weren’t for Motley they wouldn’t have nothing.

PETE: I know. Harris got the brains and Motley got the soul.

(HARRIS TURNS AND GLARES AT ETHEL)

ETHEL: Don’t roll your eyes at me, Harris

MOTLEY (WALKING OVER TO JUBA): When you see her you supposed to jump and carry on for joy. Give us a good kick and then—well, you know—

(A REVEREND FROM THE CHURCH COMES INTO THE CLUB AND IS VERY DEMEANING OF THE WHOLE THING AND SINGLES OUT PETE)

LENA: Look out, Pete.

REVEREND: What’re ya doin’ now, man? A dance contest? That can’t be. Ya got to have yerself a license.

PETE: Father Reverend. Is it really any business of yours at all?

REVEREND: It is. Especially since ya continue to destroy the moral fiber of the community. There’s no telling how many of the children have been led to the devil’s pit with your handiwork. None atall.

PETE: All right, Reverend.

REVEREND: And yer not really a part of the neighborhood otherwise you would have known that we need the street for our festival.

PETE: After the contest yer ken have it all. Looks awfully crowded to me anyway. Why don’t you try another street?

REVEREND: You can’t send the Lord a packing like this Pete Williams. And

besides we’ve always had it here.

ETHEL: Reverend, why don’t you bring your flock over here to see the show? I’m sure they’d love it.

REVEREND: That’s wonderful of you to invite us. You never did that Pete Williams. But I can’t accept.

ETHEL: Why not?

REVEREND: I can’t submit the flock to the temptation. Some might succumb.

PETE: Why don’t you come?!?!

REVEREND: Mr. Williams, your immodesty is indecent!

PETE: Is that a threat? Me crackin’ some of them choir coconuts would give me common pleasure.

REVEREND: Pleasure. Pleasure. Sin then. Sin. Sin. Sin! (EXITS)

PETE: Now we got church blessings.

JUBA: I been feeling funny over this whole past week.

ARNABELLE: How so? Whutchumeanin?

JUBA: I got these feelings and there ain’t no words.

ARNABELLE: Let me hear it.

JUBA: It goes something like this—

SONG: “Slo Vay Yu” sung by JUBA AND ARNABELLE

SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY Y SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU

SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU

SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU

HARRIS: Amazing! Did you hear that? We’ve got to put it in the play.

MOTLEY: We’ve got the five tunes we want in the play.

HARRIS: I want to add another.

MOTLEY: Go on then.

ETHEL: Pete—I’m going upstairs to rest.

PETE: That was beautiful. I mean we got some very talented people in this company.

ETHEL: Some.

(ALL TURN AND LOOK AT LENA)

LENA (GOING TO JACK): Jack. How come you don’t sing to me like that?

JACK: I don’t sing for you. I don’t sing for me. I just dance and don’t really know why. I don’t have any money and I ain’t getting no younger. And it don’t seem to make no great big difference to you, me, nor nobody else.

LENA: But you know how I care for you.

JACK: I know that you pick me off the street when I fall down. And that you stuff some of that fish in my throat when I’m empty. But it’s the dance that makes the world go round, Lena. The dance ain’t a woman and it ain’t no man. It’s something else in the air cause without it we’d all die.

LENA: I love you.

JACK: What I told you is what I know—and as for what I think I know I’d soon as belch.

HARRIS: I’ve got it! We’ll have a Carnival Scene and a Religious Scene, a Church Scene.

MOTLEY: All right! Now you thinkin’. when we wuz in New Orleans last year? That pretty little number with the Brazilian girl?

HARRIS: Of course I do.

(SAMBA DANCE)

Pete, we need money for the costumes.

PETE: Like everything else, it’ll wait a minute.

JUBA: That’s an alright dance you got there. But it ain’t natural yet. If we substitute authentic rhythms.

(BIG SAMBA NUMBER)

TWO FINGERS: Yeah. How about this one, too?

(PULLS IN ORIENTAL SOUNDS AND LENA DANCES, A MODERN EXPERIMENT)

JUBA: That’s it. I like that. It’s what we been talking about. Getting away from all the patterns in sound and dance. And your sister dances man.

LENA: I sing too!

(A POLICEMAN WALKS INTO THE CLUB)

POLICEMAN: A Dance Contest between Mr. Jack Diamond, the King of All Dancers and other Challengers. That’s a nice idea. But you know you need a permit for it.

PETE: I guess you haven’t checked it out with the higher authorities.

POLICEMAN: Sure we have. But there are all levels of permits. I’m concerned about the street level. You see, there’s a feast being held by the church. It’s almost a high holy day. And this thing you’ve got kind of interferes with what they were planning.

PETE: How much does it interfere?

POLICEMAN: Well, it’s more complicated than that. The church figures you to be doing the devil’s work. And they’re trying to get an injunction to stop you.

PETE: The devil’s work. We got an ad in the paper.

POLICEMAN: It’s going to cost something. And it’s a good thing you’re not advertising the boy over there. I kind of know he’s the ringer you got.

PETE: How much?

POLICEMAN: It’s gonna cost something.

(PETE NODS HIS HEAD AND LEADS HIM TO A TABLE)

HARRIS: It’s difficult trying to run a class shop.

MOTLEY: It’s more difficult if you got talent and everyone is afraid of it.

(MOTLEY LOOKS AT JUBA WHO NODS HIS HEAD) JUBA: That’s why I can’t just go out and win. ARNABELLE: Don’t get down on yourself.

HARRIS: Let’s take a break.

(JUBA AND ARNABELLE GO OUTSIDE) SONG: “Slo Vay Yu” (REPRISE)

SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU

JUBA: Ain’t this city pretty?

ARNABELLE: You’re crazy, Juba. It ain’t pretty. You’re feeling all this pressure just like me.

JUBA: We’re doing what we want to do. And that’s nice.

(HE MOVES CLOSER)

ARNABELLE: Yes, but suppose they close us down?

JUBA: They close us down, we’ll open up again. Somewhere else, new name. They can’t stop us. Nothing can, except our own will.

ARNABELLE: You inspire all of us, Juba. I ‘m glad you like it here.

JUBA: Well, I’m glad of that. You aren’t still upset about last night?

ARNABELLE: No, but afterwards I was thinking—you really do want to go to Europe, don’t you?

JUBA: Sure, I do. More than anything.

ARNABELLE: And all those things you said last night, about love?

JUBA: I meant everything I said to you, Arnabelle. But these dance contests with Jack—they’re like a red carpet to fame and fortune.

ARNABELLE: Just don’t get colorblind.

JUBA: What?

(ARNABELLE DIRECTS JUBA TO LOOK AT JOHNNIE NIGHT APPROACHING)

JOHNNIE (WALKING INTO THE CLUB): Where’s—

(SEES PETE WITH POLICEMAN)

PETE: Then we can’t have the contest. Cause I ain’t got that kind of money for you or anybody else.

POLICEMAN: I’m sorry about that. You all just keep having your little shows. Don’t try and go bigtime.

JOHNNIE: What are you all talking on?

POLICEMAN: Hello, Johnnie.

PETE: We can’t have the Dance Contest.

(JOHNNIE LOOKS FROM PETE TO THE POLICEMAN, PUTS HIS ARM AROUND THE POLICEMAN AND LEADS HIM TO ANOTHER TABLE)

JOHNNIE: Bring us something to drink.

(LENA WINKS UNDERSTANDING. PETE GOES OVER TO JOHNNIE’S TABLE WITH THE DRINK. OUTSIDE THE CHILDREN PLAY AND SING A REFRAIN)

(FOOL’S VERSE SUNG BY ARNABELLE AND PAT AND MOTLEY)

AESOP WANTS A MAGAZINE BARNUM WANTS A FLOAT CRYSTAL MOON IS JUST A DREAM AND JUBA IS A DOPE ARNABELLE’S A SILLY FOOL AND T.F. IS A FOP

BUT LENA IS A LITTLE DREAM AND JOHNNIE NIGHT’S JUST COOL ETHEL IS A FOAMING BERG AND PETER IS A JERK

BUT HARRIS IS A LITTLE BITCH AND MOTLEY IS THE STERN

(IN THE CLUB JOHNNIE IS TAKING CARE OF THE POLICEMAN WHO CONKS OUT)

JOHNNIE: Find a comfortable place for him. Let him sleep it off. By tomorrow he’ll be a famous man.

(HARRIS AND MOTLEY CARRY THE POLICEMAN UP THE STAIRS)

ETHEL (DESCENDING THE STAIRS): Well, Pete, the place looks nice.

(WATCHING THEM CARRY THE POLICEMAN UPSTAIRS)

What’s that all about?

JOHNNIE (SMILING): Just a drunk cop. How’re you today?

ETHEL: Fine and dandy. You?

JOHNNIE: All right.

PETE (MOVING AWAY): I’ll see they get dinner ready for us.

ETHEL: Where else you spend your time at?

JOHNNIE: So now you are interested.

ETHEL: Did the father of the pregnant girl ever catch up to you, Johnnie?

JOHNNIE: What pregnant girl?

ETHEL: The one who came in here screaming that you were the father of the child. I don’t suppose you do .

JOHNNIE: Beats me, Miss Ethel.

ETHEL: You hungry, Mr. Night?

JOHNNIE: Mister? What’s the problem, Ethel?

ETHEL: A pregnant girl is the problem.

JOHNNIE: But things like that don’t have to get in the way of us. And besides— I don’t go around making girls pregnant. No style.

ETHEL: Let’s just say maybe I believe you.

(ARNABELLE AND JUBA ENTER SINGING)

SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY Y SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU—SLO VAY YU

Arnabelle Milford, you all be careful with them love emotions. You got jobs to do.

ARNABELLE: I will, Ethel. It’s Juba got to be careful. He’s saying the most powerful things to me.

(JUBA LAUGHS)

HARRIS: I wondered where the two of you went.

MOTLEY: Leave em alone, Harris, and listen to this dischord.

(HARRIS RES MOTLEY AND TWO FINGERS)

JOHNNIE: Well, I got to go. See you later?

(JOHNNIE AND ETHEL SMILE WITH EACH OTHER. HE EXITS)

PETE: What’s that all about?

ETHEL: Romeo and Juliet are getting ready to do something with each other.

PETE: Not on my time they don’t.

ETHEL: That’s the problem with you, Pete. You have a hard heart.

PETE: You think that’s true?

(HE LEANS TOWARDS HER. SHE PULLS BACK)

ETHEL: Maybe it isn’t true, but you have such force about you. People get scared.

PETE: It ain’t easy running a club, Ethel. Not when they’re lynching people in the woods and the niggers is all scared. And them that ain’t, hardly got a chance to make anything out of themselves. It ain’t easy.

ETHEL: I know.

PETE: You talk to Johnnie? You know I’m still crazy about you.

(ETHEL NODS HER HEAD AND SMILES. SHE PATS HIM ON THE LEG. PETE REALIZES THAT ETHEL’S GIVEN HER HEART TO JOHNNIE)

ETHEL: Cool down and relax. The show’s gon start soon.

PETE (LOOKS AT ETHEL AND SMILES. DRINKS SOME BEER): You know, Ethel, we been here now almost five years. Workin’ like some kind of dog or somethin’.

ETHEL: I know. And now we’re getting ready to make some money.

PETE: Hopefully. The Police was here and Johnnie got him drunk so’s he wouldn’t stop the contest tonight.

ETHEL: That’s what that was.

PETE: Johnnie’s as involved as we are.

ETHEL: Don’t forget he stands to make some money.

PETE (DISCARDING HER COMMENT): Everything is ready. Everything.

ETHEL (WIPES HER MOUTH AND PUSHES THE PLATE AWAY): Where’d you get the fish from?

PETE: Ain’t go good?

ETHEL: It’s very good. And you don’t usually do nothin’ like that.

HARRIS (RUSHING FROM THE KITCHEN): It’s time for the show.

(FOLLOWED MORE LEISURELY BY THE OTHERS)

PETE: What’re you acting like so hysterical?

HARRIS: Look at the time!

PETE (CHECKING THE TIME): Damn! But there’s no one here.

ETHEL: Get the show rolling anyway.

(SHE GOES UPSTAIRS)

PETE: O.K. But where’s Diamond?

(THE DOOR BURSTS OPEN AND IN WALKS A SMILING, CLEANED-UP JACK DIAMOND. EVERYONE IS SURPRISED)

PETE: All right, Jack. You look good.

JACK: That’s surprising since I’ve been battered around all my life by— unorthodox—shall I say Promoters. Ever been taken for a ride, kid?

PETE: Enough of all this. Damn!

HARRIS: Will everyone take their places? Jack—You and Juba must stay out of

sight until you hear your names. Where’s Ethel?

MOTLEY: She don’t work today.

PETE: What’re you talking about? I was just talking to her. She didn’t say a thing to me.

MOTLEY: You gave her the day off. Every fourth Thursday.

PETE: Yes, but today is special. She can have tomorrow off. I’ll get her.

ETHEL (FROM THE TOP OF THE STAIRS): You must be kidding Pete Williams. Today is my day off and I’m going to watch the show in peace. Up here in my room.

(PETE STARTS TO SAY SOMETHING BUT CHANGES HIS MIND)

HARRIS: I’ll talk to her.

ETHEL: You’d do better to send Johnnie Night than you— playwright.

HARRIS: We wrote this song for you.

ETHEL: And I’ve sung it every day for two weeks now. But today is something special. And that’s that.

(PATRONS BEGIN TO COME INTO THE CLUB. THEY ARE A MIXTURE OF THE SLUM AND THE WELL-TO- DO. THE CHINESE AND THE BLACK. JUBA AND JACK SLIP AWAY INTO A CORNER WHILE EVERYONE ELSE TAKES THEIR PLACE)

JUBA: Where did Arnabelle go?

JACK: She’s supposed to make her entrance from the kitchen, ain’t she?

JUBA: How would you know?

JACK: That’s what a professional is supposed to know. (JUBA EYES JACK WITH RESPECT) Hmm. The newspapers are here. That’s Boz from London there with the derby. We’re gonna get some coverage. Make the best of this Juba. This might be your last chance. And thanks, kid, for beefing up the pot. You were a godsend.

PETE (CENTER STAGE): Ladies and Gentlemen: Tonight we present to you the first part of the sensational new play by Harris and Motley: NIGHTBIRDS.

(JUBA RISES IMMEDIATELY AND DANCES GRACEFULLY TO THE CENTER OF THE STAGE)

This is the hero. He is in love with the wonderful dancer from the South.

(ARNABELLE RUSHES FROM THE KITCHEN AND STANDS PRETTILY NEXT TO JUBA, EYEING HIM WITH STRANGE WARMTH AND PROVOCATION)

The hero’s best friend.

(TWO FINGERS TIPS HIS HAT)

And two of the slickest, oiliest characters ever invented. (HARRIS AND MOTLEY RISE FROM THE CORNERS OF THE STAGE. EACH LOOKING MORE INCONGRUOUS THAN THE OTHER)

Ladies and Gentlemen: Let us begin.

(THE MUSIC STARTS. JUBA DANCES A LOVELY SOLO ATTEMPTING TO SEDUCE THE PRIM AND PROPER ARNABELLE. RELUCTANTLY IMPRESSED BY HIS WONDERFUL DANCING, SHE S HIM AND THEY DANCE A DUET WHICH PLEDGES THEIR LOVE TO EACH OTHER. TWO FINGERS MOVES FROM THE BANDSTAND AND POINTSOUT THE SLICK GANGSTERS. THEY ENCIRCLE JUBA AND ARNABELLE WHO DANCE FROM FLOOR TO CEILING TRYING TO ESCAPE THEM. HARRIS AND MOTLEY MOVE CLOSER AND CLOSER UNTIL THEY ENSNARE THE TWO AND DRAG THEM OFF THE STAGE. THE AUDIENCE APPLAUDS LOUDLY)

PETE: NOW what evil fate can befall them? The lovers are separated. And in separate camps they dance for their masters.

(PETE MOVES OFF STAGE. IN EITHER CORNER ARNABELLE AND JUBA DANCE THEIR HEARTS OUT LONGING FOR EACH OTHER. AUDIENCE APPLAUDS)

Can anyone save them? Can worse horrors affect these young lovers?

(TWO FINGERS LEAPS-IN AND FREES JUBA. THERE IS A CHASE SCENE BETWEEN TWO FINGERS, JUBA AND HARRIS. TWO FINGERS SUBDUES HARRIS)

And that’s the end of the first part. We’ll take a brief intermission and when we come back there’ll be the remainder of the Motley/Harris Special plus the dance contest between the King and Juba. Thank-you.

BOZ: Pete, this is wonderful. It’s better than it was in Poughkeepsie.

PETE: Thanks, Boz. Welcome back to our country.

BOZ: I want to leave as soon as possible with that remarkable man. I will make of him an international star.

PETE: That’s wonderful. Just wonderful.

LENA: Juba, he wants you.

JUBA: Me? The great entrepreneur Boz wants me to be in his Mad Minstrel Circus?

ARNABELLE: That’s wonderful.

PETE: He promises money, fame, women. Is there anything else?

ARNABELLE: You just bubbling over, aren’t you?

JUBA: Arnabelle, what are you talking about? Going to Europe is gonna give me a chance to work-out dance things we haven’t begun to deal with.

ARNABELLE: But what about me? Us?

PETE: Come on, Lena. (DRAGS HER AWAY)

JUBA: What do you want me to do?

ARNABELLE: Take me with you.

JUBA: I can’t be worried about no wife and then kids. I need rest, too. Just let me alone for awhile.

ARNABELLE: All right, Juba. I didn’t know everything with us was bothering you so much. I know what being famous is all about, too, you know.

JUBA: You do? Tell me then!

ARNABELLE: You is the greatest dancer in the world, Juba. But you can’t love.

JUBA: Whatcha mean?

ARNABELLE: I mean ya makes love to me like I’m a new dance step ya trying to get a hold of. But I’m a woman. I am. I’m flesh and blood, not a dance school. But ya can’t see that. You always did have Europe in your mind. But I’m not playing second string with ya. I’m gonna get me some life, Mister—ya hear me.

SONG: “Gonna Get Me Some Life” sung by ARNABELLE.

NO MORE DRINKING AND ONE NIGHT STANDS NO MORE CRYING WITH LOVELESS BANDS

NO MORE WAITING IN FOREIGN LANDS I’M GONNA GET ME SOME LIFE

NO MORE WAITING IN WINTER STORMS NO MORE LOOKING FOR SOMETHING WARM NO MORE WONDERING WHERE LOVE HAS GONE I’M GONNA GET ME SOME LIFE

I’VE WAITED AND WONDERED LOOKED FOR SOME SIGN BUT YOU IN YOUR CUPS AND YOUR EYES RED AS WINE I’VE WASTED ALL OF MY TIME I’VE WASTED ALL OF MY TIME

NO MORE DREAMING WON’T WAIT FOR YOU NO MORE HOPING YOU’LL FIND YOUR MIND NO MORE LOVING UNTIL YOU DO I’M GONNA GET ME SOME LIFE

NO MORE WISHING I’M GONNA PLAY

NO MORE WAITING I KNOW THE GAMES NO MORE WONDERING I’VE FOUND MY WAY I’M GONNA GET ME SOME LIFE I’M GONNA GET ME SOME LIFE I’M GONNA GET SOME LIFE

(THE DOORS OPEN AND IN WALK CELINE WITH A BABY IN HER ARMS AND HER CRAZY FATHER AT HER SIDE. THEY ARE ACCOMPANIED BY THE OTHER STRANGE LOOKING IMMIGRANT MEN WHO HELP TO MAKE UP THEIR FAMILY. THEY ARE ANGRY)

CELINE: That’s him.

(SHE POINTS TO JOHNNIE NIGHT WHO IS SITTING AT A TABLE WITH ETHEL. ETHEL MOVES AWAY AT JOHNNIE’S URGING)

PETE: Hold on a minute. What are you talking about?

MAN: Come to get restitution for my daughter that was knocked-up by the flashy-one over there.

(THE MEN WALK OVER AND SURROUND JOHNNIE MENACINGLY)

JOHNNIE: I heard about all that talk awhile ago. But I thought it was dead.

MAN: I know you sure must have. But we waited to see what the baby would look like. We are convinced it was you now. Show him.

(CELINE SHOWS A DUSTY LOOKING BLACK CHILD. JOHNNIE SCOWLS)

My family is proud.

(JACK WALKS UP SHEEPISHLY AND LOOKS AT JOHNNIE, THEN CELINE)

JACK: Well, your family can’t be too proud if it makes a goddamn tragic mistake like it’s going to.

MAN: No it wouldn’t.

(EVERYONE NODS THEIR ASSENT)

PETE: You know something about all this, Jack?

JACK (NODS HIS HEAD): In the dark I could for a darky. And besides, I

used to use blackface when I danced in the South.

PETE: Jack!

MAN: You gotta be out of your mind. Can’t you see this here child is half and half.

(EVERYONE COMES AND LOOKS AT THE BABY AND THEN AT JACK)

PETE: It’s true, Jack?

JOHNNIE: If you know something, boy, you’d better speak-up now.

JACK: I hears you, Johnnie. And I’m talking.

(ETHEL COMES BACK TO HER JOHNNIE)

Your name used to be Celine. You change it?

CELINE: No.

JACK: And we used to meet every night.

LENA: Jack?

CELINE: Always.

JACK: Well, I was the man you was meeting.

CELINE: But you told me your name was Johnnie Night. And you’re white.

MAN (SEEING HE’S GOT A SCAPEGOAT): You did that?

JACK: Did it and I’m silly to have done it. I’m glad you found out about me.

MAN: Gonna explain the half and half bit?

JACK: Well, my mother was a West Indian girl just like Juba’s momma. My dad was a sailor.

PETE: I’ll be.

ETHEL (BEGINS LAUGHING): That’s why you would come in here looking like tar. Oh, Jack—

CELINE: Well, now you got a family.

LENA: What about me, Jack? (JACK SHRUGS HIS SHOULDERS) You men!

ETHEL: I bet you glad they found-out the truth.

(ARNABELLE GLANCES STRONGLY AT JUBA)

I bet you, you’re glad they found out the culprit.

JOHNNIE: You got that one right, dear heart.

(THE MEN MOVE AWAY FROM JOHNNIE AND ETHEL THEN CIRCLE JACK AND CELINE)

HARRIS: Wait! They want to take the play uptown. Me and Motley just signed the papers. They want the whole cast.

ARNABELLE: Well, sure’n they do. But the star’s going to Europe—fame, money—and women. One is too much.

HARRIS: Europe!?

JUBA: I think so, Pat.

HARRIS: You taking Arnabelle?

JUBA: No—

HARRIS: Well, catch a lucky star.

PETE: Ladies and Gentlemen: And now the conclusion of the play by Motley and Harris: NIGHTBIRDS. Let me introduce the principals. The hero: Juba. The heroine:

Arnabelle. The friend: Two Fingers. The villains: Harris and Motley. And the Good Reverend: Ethel Myrr.

(THE AUDIENCE APPLAUDS FOR EACH OF THEM)

Let me bring you up to date on the progress of the play. The two lovers were captured and separated by the villains. The friend rescued Juba and together they made their escape from Harris. They looked high and low for Juba’s beloved Arnabelle, but were unable to find her. Then they discovered the Good Reverend

praying alongside the road.

(JUBA AND TWO FINGERS DANCE UP TO THE GOOD REVEREND. AND WITH HER REFERENCE TO LOOKING OVER THE MOUNTAIN, JOBA IS FILLED WITH INSPIRATION)

Over the mountain Arnabelle is still captive and dancing for her Master.

(ARNABELLE DANCES AND MOTLEY IS LASCIVIOUS IN HIS IRATION)

PETE: Now Juba and Two Fingers slip onto the campsite. Two Fingers must restrain Juba who goes mad with rage.

(JUBA GOES BERSERK IN DANCE. AND ONLY THE DANCE IMPORTUNATION BY TWO FINGERS KEEPS HIM FROM WALKING INTO A TRAP. MOTLEY IS VERY SUSPICIOUS OF EVERYTHING)

How will the friends save the young girl? Will she take poison and rid herself of this knave?

(ARNABELLE MOVES TOWARDS THE POISON THEN CHANGES HER MIND)

No, she’ll wait for her lover to come. And here he comes now.

(JUBA JUMPS OVER THE VILLAIN AND EMBRACES HIS LOVE. ARNABELLE CLASPS HIM TIGHTLY)

But the villain sneaks-up on Juba and—

(THE VILLAIN SNEAKS-UP AND SMASHES JUBA WHO ROLLS DOWN. THE TWO FACE EACH OTHER AS TWO FINGERS TAKES ARNABELLE TO SAFETY. THE OTHER VILLAIN SHOWS UP)

What’s this? Two against one! Will our hero come out unharmed?

(IN A BRILLIANT DANCE SEQUENCE JUBA FIGHTS THE TWO MEN. WHEN, SUDDENLY, THE GOOD REVEREND SHOWS-UP WITH HER FLOCK SINGING GOSPEL “A La Praise House.” THE FIGHTING STOPS AND THE TWO VILLAINS GET SOME SPIRIT. THE LOVERS ARE REUNITED IN PEACE AND HARMONY. THE PLAY ENDS AMIDST THE WILD APPLAUSE OF THE AUDIENCE AND THE SOUTHERN SOUNDS OF CHURCH REVERLRY)

SONG: “Clear As The Day Is High”

WHEN YOU FEEL LOW LONELY AND BLUE WHEN YOU FEEL DOWN

IT’S COMING DOWN ON YOU YOU GOT TO RAISE YOUR HEAD LOOK UP TO THE SKY AND SEE YOUR MAKER CLEAR AS THE DAY I S HIGH

WHEN LOVE IS GONE SATAN’S TAKEN YOUR DOVE WHEN LIFE’S FORLORN THERE’S HELP FROM ABOVE YOU GOT TO RAISE YOUR HEAD LOOK UP TO THE SKY AND SEE YOUR MAKER CLEAR AS THE DAY IS HIGH

HE’S THERE WHEN THE SUN COMES-UP TO GIVE YOU A CHANCE HE’S THERE WHEN THE SUN GOES DOWN TO GIVE YOU A DANCE HE’S UP AND DOWN AND ALL AROUND. HE’S THE SUN AND THE MOON AND THE STARS

HE’S LOVE HE’S TRUST HE’S THE LIGHT AND THE NIGHT HE’S THE MAKER OF IT ALL

WHEN YOU FEEL LOST SEPARATED FROM GOD WHEN YOUR HEART’S TOSSED THERE’S HELP FROM THE LORD YOU GOT TO RAISE YOUR HEAD LOOK UP TO THE SKY AND SEE YOUR MAKER CLEAR AS THE DAY IS HIGH

PETE: And now Ladies and Gentlemen, the thrilling climax of the evening—the Great Juba and the King, Jack Diamond.

(THE TWO MEN GO ON STAGE AMIDST COMPLETE SILENCE, EVERYONE STARES INTENTLY. TWO FINGERS STARTS HIS FAMOUS STRUMMING ON THE BANJO. JACK AND JUBA BEGIN THEIR DANCING. SLOWLY AT FIRST. THEY SIZE EACH OTHER UP AND PICK UP THEIR STEPS. BECOMING FASTER AND FASTER. JUBA JUMPS HIGHER THAN JACK. HIS MOVEMENTS ARE MORE INTRICATE AND TECHNICALLY MORE PROFICIENT. LONG AFTER JACK HAS CEASED DANCING, JUBA CONTINUES TO DANCE. THE PATRONS MOVE AWAY IN SLOW MOTION. EVERYTHING STOPS)

AUDIENCE: JUBA JUBA JUBA JUBA JUBA JUBA JUBA JUBA JUBA JUBA JUBA

(BOZ CALLS JUBA OVER, SHOWS HIM A CONTRACT)

BOZ: Juba, I give you Europe.

HARRIS: Well, we’ll get Jack Diamond for the play since Juba’s going to Europe.

JACK: Well, Juba’s better’n me. We all knew it from the start, that very first night. Why we had to make believe—

ETHEL: Is Show Business. Well, Pete, it’s been a long trip from Poughkeepsie.

PETE: It has been hard, my love.

(JOHNNIE NIGHT COMES UP AND TAKES ETHEL. PETE WAVES GOODBYE)

TWO FINGERS: Now there’s a pal—a man who’s with you at the end.

JUBA (DROPS PEN AND LEAVES BOZ): You’re right, Two Fingers. I’m not leaving Five Points. Not home. Not the people I love.

JACK: Juba. Juba. Juba. Congrats, kid.

JUBA: Thanks, Jack.

(JUBA TURNS TO ARNABELLE WHO TURNS AWAY)

Arnabelle—

SONG: “I’ve Made Mistakes” sung by JUBA

I’VE MADE MISTAKES I’VE WASTED TIME WON’T GET ME DOWN IT ISN’T A CRIME JUST TO LOVE YOU

NOW HERE’S A SMILE ON MY FACE I’M GOING TO STAY HERE

AND LIVE IN OUR SPACE

WHAT WOULD I DO IF I COULDN’T DANCE WHAT GOOD’S A MAN WHO WON’T TAKE A CHANCE

YOU’VE GOT TO BE STRONG IF YOU WANT TO GO FAR YOU’VE GOT TO BE FREE TO REACH FOR YOUR STAR

I’VE MADE MISTAKES I’VE MISSED SOME CUES BUT NOW IS THE TIME THAT I’VE GOT TO CHOOSE

BUT THAT OLD DEVIL FREDDOM I LOVE YOU—I LOVE YOU DEEP INSIDE LOVE’S KINGDOM

I WILL CHANGE I PROMISE I WILL I WILL CHANGE I PROMISE I WILL

ONE STEP AT A TIME ONE STEP AT A TIME

PETE: You know Harris/Motley, no one knows it, but the fifth point of Five Points is love.

HARRIS: Yeah.

JUBA: Let me show you this dream dance I’ve been having.

(FOLLOWIING JUBA’S LEAD THE DANCE COMPANY RENDERS A HISTORICAL CHRONOLOGY OF DANCE)

JACK: Well, that’s pretty much the true story of Five Points and Juba. Of course Juba didn’t stay around too long. He went to Europe I hear tell. He wowed the King and Queen somewhere and became an extraordinary clown. Got married but don’t tell Arnabelle. Juba did all that and then ed of overwork. He did it it all before he was 29.

SONG: Reprise “One Of These Days” sung by THE COMPANY

ONE OF THESE DAYS WE’RE GONNA LIFT UP OFF THE GROUND WE’LL CIRCLE AROUND SEE THE WORLD UPSIDE DOWN

WHAT’S OLD WILL BE YOUNG WHAT’S OUT WILL BE IN ONE OF THESE DAYS

ONE OF THESE DAYS WE’RE GONNA RISE UP IN THE AIR RIDE RAINCLOUDS ON HIGH WE’RE FLYING WITHOUT A CARE

WHAT’S OLD WILL BE YOUNG WHAT’S OUT WILL BE IN ONE OF THESE DAYS

ONE OF THESE DAYS WE’RE GONNA DANCE THE WORLD INSIDE OUT HOLD ONTO YOUR HATS CAUSE THAT’S WHAT WE’RE ALL ABOUT

WHAT’S OLD WILL BE YOUNG WHAT’S OUT WILL BE IN ONE OF THESE DAYS ONE OF THESE DAYS

(LIGHTS OUT)

END

SCOTT JOPLIN King of Ragtime By Laurence Holder

Cast:

SCOTT JOPLIN—is the resident genius of the Maple Leaf Club, sought after by all the women, but he has eyes only for Belle. Friend of Otis, Stark, Turpin, and LuLu who can sing his music.

JOHN STARK—is the friend and music publisher of Scott Joplin as well as other ragtime musicians. Has an affair with the young LuLu.

LOTTIE JOPLIN—second wife who helps him present his opera “Treemonisha” when he finally got to New York.

LOVEY—is the big woman on the street and in the club. She is the “witch” who has a crush on Joplin and no one crosses her.

BELLE HAYDEN-JOPLIN—the first wife of Scott—beautiful, classy, icy, insulated.

OTIS SAUNDERS—is the friend and rival of Scott Joplin who has affair with

Ruby.

HONEST JOHN TURPIN—is the owner and manager of the Maple Leaf Club, an establishment for gambling and prostitution: and the music.

RUBY—one of the club-women of the Maple Leaf Club who has a crush and then will marry Otis Saunders. She is an experienced lady of the night with a heart.

LULU—the ingenue clubwoman who establishes a relationship with John Stark. She is unsure of her role until he comes into her life.

GILES JOPLIN—the octogenarian father of Scott who helps rejuvenate his son on the farm.

The Set: SL is the Maple Leaf Club with entrance/exit DSL: SR are the apartments and the Music stores: CS is the piano for the clubs, the apartments, the stores DR to DL is the Street area

The Music: Scott’s theme is “Solace,” Lovey’s theme is “Solace,” Belle’s theme is “A Picture Of Her Face,” Clubwomen’s theme is “Bethena.” Transition music is “The Augustan Club Waltz” and is used as an interval piece, down end or start up for any given scene, unless otherwise indicated.

The Drama: Much of the drama outside of the written word occurs in the Maple Leaf Club and includes Stark and LuLu, Ruby and Otis, Lovey and

the fear she inspires with her voodoo

The Choreography: This should include the great dances of the time: the Waltz, the Dahomey Cakewalk, the Second Step, the Castle Walk, beginnings of Tap as well as—

(MAD DANCE SCENE TO AUGUSTAN CLUB WALTZ BY THE ENTIRE CAST. THEN SCOTT JOPLIN SUDDENLY PUSHES AWAY FROM THE PIANO AND MOVES SPASTICALLY TO THE EDITORIALIZING CORNER. THE DANCERS FREEZE)

SCOTT: Momma!

(HOLDING UP HIS “Tremonisha” MUSIC SHEETS)

I got it done, Momma.

(FOLLOWING HIS SIGHT LINE TO “HEAVEN”)

The opera—people even saw it—but not John Stark.

(SPOT MOVES TO JOHN STARK)

He didn’t come.

(SPOT BACK ON SCOTT)

But Lottie, Momma, Lottie came—

(SPOT ON LOTTIE)

She’s a good one, that one, Momma.

(SPOT BACK TO SCOTT)

Lovey.

(SPOT ON LOVEY)

Left me. Left me there alone. But it don’t make no difference.

(SPOT BACK ON SCOTT)

And then there was Belle.

(SPOT ON BELLE)

We didn’t do everything together. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but I loved you, Belle.

(SPOT BACK ON SCOTT)

I loved you all.

(LAUGHTER)

But especially my music—yeah—especially my music. And Otis.

(SPOT ON OTIS)

My good friend. We did everything together. And there was Honest John Turpin (SPOT ON HONEST JOHN) who owned all the important clubs we ever played in. And all the club women.

(SPOT TO CANDY, RUBY, AND THE OTHER GIRLS OF THE NIGHT)

Loved them all.

(LAUGHTER)

They helped me to make the music.

(SOUND OF CARDS BEING SHUFFLED, GRABBING EAR OF SCOTT. SPOT ON JAMES SCOTT AT THE TABLE SHUFFLING HIS DECK)

And all the sports and piano players.

(SPOT BACK ON SCOTT)

But they kept us in the bordellos. Try as hard as we could, Momma, they wouldn’t let us out of them clubs. Red light! Red light! Red light! Can’t go. Don’t move. Stay put. Shut down. Not be free. Not—nothing—

(CAN’T BREATH. GRABS THROAT. COLLAPSES SLOWLY. QUIET GURGLING SOUNDS BEING DROWNED BY THE OVERLAY OF THE FIRST RAG, THE AUGUSTAN CLUB WALTZ. SCOTT JOPLIN DIES. LIGHTS GO DOWN, THE PALL BEARERS: JAMES SCOTT, HONEST JOHN TURPIN, JOHN STARK, AND OTIS SAUNDERS LEAD A SOBBING LOTTIE JOPLIN TO THE POTTERS’ FIELD. SHE GENTLY PUSHES THEM AWAY. LIGHT INTENSIFIES ON LOTTIE AND HER PAIN. THEN THE PALL BEARERS PICK UP AND TAKE HIM AWAY)

LOTTIE (BRAVE, LOOKING FOR A LITTLE HUMOR): My husband was a strange and driven man. All the musicians who came by the house called him that. People like John Stark, a white music publisher, him and others got to like my Scott real well. Got taught for nothing too. Scott Joplin was like that. Jelly Roll Morton used to come by, and Eubie Blake too. James Scott also. We had a rooming house, you see, to make the ends meet. Scott, my Scott, was writing this opera, and he didn’t want to write anything else, and he didn’t want to teach. He only worked on the opera, (TEAR) he called “Treemonisha.” It was the only thing that mattered. Spent his money, didn’t eat, didn’t sleep. He just stayed over there, at that piano, writing and muttering and grinning when something went right But this America wasn’t ready for what Scott Joplin had in mind. The man was a revolutionary. He wanted to change the whole world with his music.

(DREAM SEQUENCE: SCOTT APPEARS WITH THE OTHERS. HE APPEARS TIRED, BUT JUBILANT)

He was a wonderful man. Full of life. Fun. But the times—

SCOTT: I just finished the first act. I am out of my mind with joy.

OTIS: You always been out of your mind. Let’s hear it.

STARK: I have to leave, Scott. Maybe another time.

SCOTT: Please, John, just have a seat, it will only take a moment.

(THEY ALL SIT WATCHING SCOTT AT THE PIANO. HE STRIKES THE KEYS UNEVENLY. HIS VOICE IS RAGGED. HE CANNOT FINISH THE PIECE)

SONG: “A Slow Drag” sung by SCOTT.

(AT THE CONCLUSION STARK WALKS OVER TO LOTTIE. THEY TALK. OTIS AND SCOTT SHAKE)

SCOTT (JOVIAL): Now what do you think?

OTIS: Man, you fine, but what you doing for that voice of yours.

(THEY LAUGH)

STARK (MORE SOBERLY): He looks like he needs a doctor, Lottie. His eyes are yellow.

LOTTIE: He won’t go nowhere except to the kitchen for some water and then back to them keys. He won’t even let me touch him no more.

SCOTT (LEANING ON OTIS AS THEY APPROACH STARK): Don’t need no doctor. John Stark, my old friend, who has visited me because of old times. It’s good to see you.

(STARK SMILES)

What did you think?

(STARK STARTS TO OPEN HIS MOUTH, BUT SCOTT CUTS HIM OFF)

Nevermind, John. I don’t have the energy to fight with you. But you see this thing drives me, John, like it has a mind of its own. Even when I was writing my best rags I never felt the pull on my soul like I feel it with this. It’s almost like my mother is behind me, pushing me into the piano room to take lessons, way back when.

(SCOTT SITS DOWN EXHAUSTED. OTIS PICKS UP HIS HAT)

OTIS: I guess I’ll go now, Scott, Lottie. You need some rest, man. Maybe you should see someone. You know? A root man or something.

(SCOTT LAUGHS UPROARIOUSLY)

You shouldn’t laugh about no root man, Scott. You Lovey now, don’t you?

SCOTT: Lovey—yeah I her. Put a curse on me, didn’t she? But I

don’t believe—

STARK: I have to leave also. If you need anything, Lottie, anything, I’ll be in St. Louis. Please. So long, Scott.

OTIS: Scott, you see you when you get there.

SCOTT: So long, friends.

(THEY EXIT. LOTTIE LEADS HIM TO AN EASY CHAIR)

Couldn’t he tell that we need some royalties from some of those songs he’s published?

(LAUGHS)

Don’t he see that we need the money?

(MORE LAUGHTER)

Can’t believe that Otis either, Lottie. Still thinking about voodoo and hoodoo like we’re dust bunnies or something, but we’re in the twentieth century, Lottie. We’re flesh and blood and we got minds.

(HE DRAGS HIMSELF OVER TO THE PIANO AND STRIKES SOME OF THE KEYS, BUT IT IS UNEVEN, IRREGULAR, ENHARMONIC. HE SOBS. LOTTIE COMES OVER TO HIM AND HELPS HIM AS THE LIGHTS BEGIN TO GO DOWN)

SCOTT: I used to be able to play this thing. Real fine, too.

(CHUCKLES)

I want you to promise me something, Lottie.

LOTTIE: What’s that, husband?

SCOTT: Promise me, when I’m dead, that you’ll have them play “Maple Leaf Rag”. They got to play that one, Lottie. That was the first one that really got me on the map. You didn’t know me in them days. Honey, I was grand. The times was grand, like a new springtime. Paul Laurence Dunbar was writing his poetry. We were giving up blackface. And—

LOTTIE (COMING ON HIM SUDDENLY AND TOUCHING HIS BROW): You got to rest now, Scott. Don’t talk so much. I’m going to get the doctor, Lord, your fever is scalding my hand.

SCOTT: Oh, woman, (THE ENERGY REALLY GONE FROM HIM NOW) you know all the doctor can do is put me in the charity ward at the hospital. We ain’t

got no money.

LOTTIE: I can sell the house.

SCOTT: Girl, don’t go backwards, and be out on the street? No, don’t do that, darling wife. Just get me a cup of soup or something light—

LOTTIE: You need real food, Scott—

SCOTT: A cup of soup would be just fine. You do that while I dream about how this whole thing started. Go on.

(PATS HER ON THE FANNY.SHE SMILES AND MOVES OFF)

Really hit the big time back there in 1893 or 4, can’t even that well.

(LIGHTS BLACK AND THEN UP ON HONEST JOHN TURPIN AS HE ENTERS DSR, GUILTILY DROPS AND LITTERS THE STREET WITH A NEWSPAPER AND X’S STAGE FOLLOWED BY THE CLUBWOMEN, LULU AND RUBY AND CLOTHILE AND THEN LOVEY, THE BIG STAR AROUND THERE. THEY ENTER THE MAPLE LEAF CLUB AND THEN SET THE CHAIRS AND TABLES UP. OTIS AND SCOTT ENTER DSR WITH OTIS PICKING UP THE PAPER)

SCOTT: What does it say?

OTIS: Got here a speech by Frederick Douglas, looks like. I-I-I

(SCOTT TRIES SNATCHING UNSUCCESSFULLY THE PAPER FROM OTIS)

I-I-I, got that word right.

SCOTT: Let’s see that thing. You can’t read.

OTIS: Just cause you can don’t mean you can snatch. Besides I read music.

SCOTT: Sorry, Otis. Where is it?

(THEY SIT DOWN ON THE BENCH. OTIS IRES THE WOMEN WALKING BY. SUDDENLY SCOTT FINDS IT AND BEGINS A SPEECH ON THE CORNER. THE WOMEN STOP AND IRE HIS SPEAKING VOICE)

I did not come here to entertain, but to be entertained. I have been finely entertained since coming here. And I am entirely unused to making after-dinner speeches. I am almost unused to dinners anyway.

(LAUGHTER)

I am certainly unused to such dinners as we have had a specimen of this evening. I believe it is usual on occasions of this kind to make short speeches. I am glad this is so.

(BELLE THEN JOHN STARK CROSS DS)

But I never made a short speech in my life with which I was well satisfied, and I never made a long speech with which anyone else was very well satisfied.

(LAUGHTER)

(OTIS AND SCOTT ARE TAKEN IN WITH THE CLASSIC LOOKS AND STYLE OF BELLE WHO EXITS DSR)

If this sin-cursed world of ours is blessed with peace, with brotherly love, with fraternity, with minimal affection, we may well claim for this result the participation of the World’s Columbian Exposition.

CROWD: HEAR! HEAR!

It has brought together all nations, countries, and peoples. It has shown to us that while the types of mankind differ like the waves of the sea, they are together, one like the sea itself: that a common humanity runs through us all. These World’s Fairs are instrumental in bringing together the children of men, removing mountains of prejudice, envy, of ill-feeling, and bringing us into the

common brotherhood. It is this aspect of the Columbian Exposition which is the most precious to my heart, most consonant with the life that I have lived and the cause to which I have devoted what little energy and ability I possess.

(APPLAUSE)

Let the games begin.

OTIS: What?

SCOTT: I mean the music.

(SCOTT AND OTIS WALK INTO THE MAPLE LEAF CLUB. THEY ARE SUDDENLY APPROACHED BY THE LADIES OF THE NIGHT. RUBY IS ALL OVER AN EXASPERATED OTIS. LULU, THE NEW GIRL IS CAUGHT IN THE CRUSH FOR SCOTT AND IS CONTINUALLY CHASED AWAY BY LOVEY WHO SETS HER SIGHTS ON SCOTT)

SCOTT: I liked that speech by Mr. Douglass, Otis. The world needs to hear ideas like that.

OTIS: Yeah, but, you ought to listen to this, Scott.

(HE PLAYS A DAZZLING LINE WITH HIS RIGHT HAND. SCOTT LAUGHS AND THEN DUPLICATES THE LINE WITH HIS LEFT HAND)

You just pulled that out the air, Scott.

SCOTT: Heard all these things before, Otis. On the railroads, in the towns, at the ts when the men got off from work. Can play all of it, Otis, but there’s something else to just playing the bits and pieces.

(HE FINALY SITS DOWN AT THE PIANO AND BEGINS TO PLAY “Maple Leaf Rag”)

OTIS: Man, what was that? Where did that come from?

(LOVEY WALKS OVER TO HIM, SWANKING)

LOVEY: I know you be Scott Joplin.

OTIS: The one and only. I’m Otis Saunders.

LOVEY: I’m talking to him.

OTIS: ‘Scuse me—

(WALKING OFF)

LOVEY: You gonna say something to me, man? I’m Lovey. I’m the one around here.

SCOTT: You are, huh.

(SMILING)

LOVEY: I got root friends, man. I practice a little myself. I can make you famous, man. Don’t forget the name. Lovey.

(SHE MOVES AWAY AS STARK COMES UP TO SCOTT)

STARK: What do you call that?

SCOTT: It’s got a lot of names. I haven’t settled on one just yet.

STARK: Is it written down.

SCOTT: Written down.

(STARK NODS HIS HEAD)

(LOVEY CHEWS ROOT AND WATCHES THE ACTIVITY WITH SCOTT AND STARK)

OTIS: What does it mean if it’s written down?

STARK: Might be could publish it.

SCOTT: They don’t publish much things written by Negroes.

STARK (PUTTING HIS HAT BACK ON): Might be.

(HE TIPS HIS HAT AND HANDS A CARD TO LOVEY AS HE EXITS)

OTIS: You gonna write it down.

SCOTT: You believe him, Otis.

OTIS: Why he gonna come here and then lie about it?

SCOTT: Didn’t see him leave no business card.

(LOVEY COMES SWANKING OVER TO THEM. SHE’S GOT A CARD IN HER HAND)

LOVEY: (DRAWLING OUT HER WORDS) Man say to give you this here card, Mr. Joplin.

SCOTT: Give it here then.

LOVEY: What you gonna give me?

SCOTT: The time of day. Give it over, Lovey.

(SHE LAUGHS AND HANDS IT OVER WITH A KISS)

LOVEY: What do it say?

SCOTT: Mr. John Stark, Publishers of Music, Sedalia, Missouri. Hmm.

LOVEY (WALKING AWAY FLIRTATIOUSLY): Oh? And what do that mean? You oughtta write one about me.

(SCOTT BEGINS NOODLING AT THE PIANO AGAIN. OTIS COMES CLOSE TO HIM)

OTIS: They all about you, Lovey. You know how to write it down, Scott. So what you gonna do?

SONG: “When Your Hair Is Like The Snow” sung by LULU.

(JOHN STARK WALKS INTO THE MAPLE LEAF CLUB HEARING LULU SING AND FROM THEN ON HE AND LULU HAVE A THING, JUST AS OTIS AND RUBY DO, EXCEPT STARK AND LULU ARE CONTROLLED AND DIGNIFIED, WHEREAS OTIS AND RUBY ARE ALWAYS FIGHTING, WHAT WITH RUBY BEING SO POSSESSIVE)

SCOTT: We got to go where he is.

LOVEY: You gonna take me with you.

SCOTT: Naw! I ain’t got no money to be taking care of a high priced woman like you, Lovey. You got rich blood, and by the time you finished with me I ain’t be having no blood.

(THEY ALL LAUGH. THE WOMEN COME SWEEPING UP AROUND THEM, FLIRTATIOUS. ALL THE TIME THE RAG MUSIC SWIRLS AROUND THEM, OVER THEM, CAPTIVATING THEM. UP MUSIC)

OTIS: What we call this music, Scott? It’s got so many times and all, you know? Can’t just sit on it and call it one thing because then it’s changed on you.

(A WOMAN WALKS INTO THE CLUB. SHE IS DEFINITELY HIGH CLASS. SHE SITS DOWN AND LOOKS ABOUT)

SCOTT: I don’t know what you want to call it. I think it’s got so many parts to it too, but this is one high class woman I got to talk to.

(AS HE MOVES OVER TO THE WOMAN, OTIS LAUGHS AND KEEPS TINKLING. THE WOMAN LOOKS UP AT SCOTT AS HE SITS DOWN. LOVEY IS ON EDGE)

BELLE: Yes, I do not like men to take liberties with me. What can I do for you?

SCOTT (LIFTING HIMSELF OFF THE SEAT): I, er, thought you wanted some company. I’m sorry. I was just so taken with your looks, your class. I, er, listen, I’m terribly sorry. I’ll leave.

BELLE (IGNORING LOVEY): Wait! Perhaps you can help me.

(SCOTT STOPS AND NODS HIS HEAD)

SCOTT: Anything.

(LOVEY SCOFFS AT HIM)

LOVEY: Don’t lose your head, man. I’m warning you.

BELLE: I am looking for the famous musician, Scott Joplin.

LOVEY: He ain’t here.

(GLARES AT SCOTT AND THEN WALKS AWAY)

SCOTT: Him. (SCOTT TURNS AROUND AND APPEARS TO LOOK FOR HIM) What do you want him for.

LOVEY: Yeah, what for?

BELLE (IGNORING HER): Word around town is that you’re the best of the rag players. And I want to learn from the best. I play the violin.

SCOTT: Do you know what the rag music is?

LOVEY (STRIDING AWAY): Looks like a rag doll to me.

BELLE: Not really.

SCOTT: I see. Well, if I couldn’t find him would someone else do.

LOVEY (CALLING OUT TO HIM): I’m warning you, man.

BELLE: Is he as good as this Mr. Joplin?

SCOTT: Not if you say that Joplin’s the best. No, I would say no. Wouldn’t you.

BELLE: Whom do I have the pleasure of talking with?

(THE MAPLE LEAF CLUB OFFERS POLITE APPLAUSE)

SCOTT: My name is Scott Joplin.

BELLE: I see, Mr. Joplin. Well, my name is Belle Hayden.

(SHE GETS UP AND EXTENDS HER ARM WHICH SCOTT TAKES. THEY

BEGIN TO WALTZ, APPRECIATIVELY APPLAUDED BY THE CLUB)

SCOTT: You related to the piano player, Scott Hayden.

BELLE: By marriage, but my husband’s long gone, sir.

(THEY SMILE)

SCOTT: Well one certainly doesn’t see a beautiful woman come into places like these. It’s almost like being in heaven.

BELLE: I see. You have a way with words, Mr. Joplin, that I do find—pleasing. Is your music as entertaining.

SCOTT: I could play the music of the spheres for you for the rest of my life.

BELLE: And you are educated.

SCOTT: I went to college, Smith College, for composition and theory. I read literature.

BELLE: Why would you want to study music when you play so well?

SCOTT: I want to—I almost don’t know how to say this—but I just don’t want to be another dumb musician out here— and I want the music to do something, for the people. Am I clear?

BELLE: It seems to do something for me. But what about those other women? That Lovey, for instance.

SCOTT: I want the world to wake up and bring in all the love I felt when I first saw you. And as for Lovey—she don’t do nothing like you do.

(HE KISSES HER AND THEY EMBRACE IONATELY)

BELLE: We are talking marriage, Scott, aren’t we?

(SCOTT NODS HIS HEAD. OTIS GETS A BROOM AND DROPS IT ON THE CLUB FLOOR)

OTIS: JUMP OVER THE BROOM. JUMP OVER THE BROOM. THEN YOU GET TO A ROOM. AFTER THAT YOU BEGIN TO BLOOM, BEGIN TO BLOOM, BUT WHAT YOU GOTTA DO IS

JUMP OVER THE BROOM.

JUMP OVER THE BROOM. JUMP OVER THE BROOM. THEN YOU RUN TO A ROOM, RUN TO A ROOM, SO YOU CAN BLOOM, BLOOM.

(THEY ALL BEGIN TO DANCE, REPEATING THE LYRIC. EXCEPT FOR LOVEY WHO SPRINKLES POTION ON THE BROOM. THE RAG MUSIC BUILDS UP INTO A CELEBRATION AS SCOTT AND BELLE ARE MARRIED)

SONG: “A Picture of Her Face” played by SCOTT, sung by LULU.

(THE CHORUS DANCES THEM RIGHT INTO THEIR LITTLE ABODE)

BELLE: Well, we’re together alone at last.

SCOTT: We’ll be together for the rest of our lives, Belle. You coming to the club tonight.

BELLE: The club? Why? We just got married, man.

SCOTT: They’re having a contest. Want to see me win? Piano contest. Best Rag player.

BELLE: Why don’t you forget about contests, Scott. You should just teach music. You could make a lot of money taking on students and we could be comfortable. With each other—make a family.

SCOTT: Be a teacher, Belle.

BELLE: It’s an idea.

SCOTT: Yeah, but, I mean, the way you heard about me was through my playing at the clubs. That’s the way people hear about you. Playing. And even though I don’t like them kind of places, still that’s where the people hear about you. In them bordellos. I need you to come on down, Belle. Need you, woman.

(COMES ON HER AGAIN—THEY KISS. HE STARTS ION. SHE PUSHES HIM BACK)

BELLE: You could try publishing. Why old Tom Turpin got his “Harlem Rag” published and he doesn’t write half as well as you do.

SCOTT: Well, that’s a thought too. I’ll think about that.

(HE STARTS TO LEAVE)

BELLE: Stay, please. You said you would teach me, Scott. When are you going to do that?

(SCOTT MOVES TOWARDS THE DOOR)

SCOTT: I sure wish you would come down there with me, Belle. Be good for my confidence. Besides, keep them women off my neck seeing you there.

BELLE: You don’t need any help, Scott. And since you need to go there, keep them off you yourself. Especially that Lovey. (OTIS IS AT THE PIANO. JOHN STARK STANDS IN A CORNER LISTENING TO THE PLAYERS. THEN HE MOVES AWAY FROM THE CENTER OF THE PLAYING AREA TO TALK TO THE AUDIENCE. AS HE BEGINS SCOTT ENTERS THE CLUB. THERE IS A CHEER AS HE IS DRAGGED TO THE PIANO)

STARK: The second time I saw Scott Joplin he was more polished than ever, his music that is. His clothes were still on the somewhat bohemian side which surprised me because I thought he had married. But that was hardly important since he played with more ease and accomplishment than any of his contemporaries. It was easy to see why they were calling this the Scott Joplin school. He influenced all of the players with his mastery.

SONG: “Please Say You Will” danced by THE CHORUS.

(STARK WALKS OVER TO SCOTT WHO IS HAVING A DRINK WITH LOVEY)

me.

SCOTT: I can’t—wait a minute, you’re John Stark, the new music publisher.

STARK: Not so new. I’ve been publishing things for a few years now. The music is starting to get a name for itself.

You could be in the front of the name, but you’re going to have to start publishing.

SCOTT (PUTTING DOWN HIS DRINK): I’d like to do that. You publish all kinds of music.

STARK: If it’s good.

(OTIS WALKS OVER TO THEM AND LISTENS)

SCOTT: Well, I have had a few ideas I can’t even talk to my friends about.

OTIS: What can’t you say to me?

SCOTT: Listen. I’ve had this idea for an opera, Mr. Stark.

Had it for a long time.

THE ENTIRE CLUB: OPERA!

OTIS: Don’t no Negro write no operas, Scott.

STARK: Why don’t we stick to the Rag music, for the time being.

OTIS: Does it sell?

STARK: It will.

SCOTT: Well, Ragtime is all right. And I do like it, but I want you to I got these other ideas to publish to.

STARK: First things first. Please bring your things down to me at my office. Do you still have my card.

SCOTT: I save everything, Mr. Stark. Everything.

STARK: Fine. Looks like they’re getting ready for the competition.

OTIS: Come on, Scott. Let’s see what you got tonight.

(THE TWO MEN SIT DOWN AT THE PIANO AND BEGIN TO FEED OFF EACH OTHER AS THEY BUILD AN INCREDIBLE SENSUOUS AND RHYTHMIC RAG.)

SONG: “The Entertainer” played by SCOTT, sung by HONEST JOHN.

(THERE IS FANTASTIC APPLAUSE AS THE CHORUS AND OTIS LAUD SCOTT)

OTIS: You got to take all them pieces of paper, man. You’d better hurry up too.

(MOVES AWAY AS LOVEY COMES SWANKING UP TO SCOTT)

LOVEY: You still the best, Scott.

SCOTT: Still—I’m always gonna be the best, Lovey. Always.

LOVEY: Don’t let it go to your head, man. You still spending time with that woman?

SCOTT: Why do you ask?

LOVEY: Cause she sure don’t take good care of you, not like I would.

(COMES ON TO HIM)

Clothes need a little mending, a little stitching. Wonder what else needs stitching. I bet she don’t even dust your piano.

(BELLE ENTERS CLUB UNNOTICED BY SCOTT)

SCOTT: I gotta go, Lovey.

LOVEY: With me, right?

SCOTT: I’m going home, Lovey.

(SEES BELLE AND STARTS TOWARDS A FRANTIC EXITING BELLE)

LOVEY: You gonna get sick of her, man. It ain’t never gonna be as good with her as it would be with me.

(SCOTT STARTS TO LEAVE)

You hear me, Scott Joplin. I’m the one.

OTIS: Come on, Lovey. He’s married.

(SCOTT LEAVES. OTIS CUTS LOVEY OFF AT THE DOOR)

LOVEY: Oh, shut up, Otis. Find yourself a pickle barrel. (FOLLOWS SCOTT TO THE DOOR AND SHOUTS OUT) Them kind of women ain’t for you, man. You for me. (SCOTT ENTERS THE APARTMENT ON THE HEELS OF BELLE)

BELLE: Don’t touch me, Scott Joplin. Don’t put a hand on me. So is this the way it’s going to be for us? Huh?

SCOTT: What do you mean, Belle? I was always a musician.

BELLE: You in those houses at night and me here alone at home waiting for you.

SCOTT: Hey, Belle, I want you to come with me.

BELLE: And watch those women look at you and you are my husband? Not on your life.

SCOTT: Belle, what are we going to do, fight? I don’t want that. You don’t want that. So why are you setting up for that? Huh? I’m tired, I’m hungry. And I want a little love from the woman I adore. So what’s the problem. I’m here, ain’t I?

(HE THROWS HIS JACKET ON A CHAIR AND PICKS UP A SHEET OF MUSIC AND SITS DOWN AT THE PIANO)

BELLE: What are you doing?

SCOTT: Writing down the music. This way when people play it they’ll know just what I wanted them to play.

BELLE: I thought we were talking.

SCOTT: About what, Belle? What is there to talk about? You’ve got to get used to the idea that this is what my life is all about. I don’t want it like this, but the bordellos are the only place where they let Ragtime be played. I’d like a concert hall or an outdoor shell where they let people like Sousa play, but this is America and they haven’t caught up to their own constitution yet. I can’t do it all, Belle. But what I can do I’m doing. Now are you going to help me or not?

(HE DOESN’T WAIT FOR AN ANSWER BUT TURNS BACK TO THE

WRITING)

BELLE: Would it make a difference anyway?

(SCOTT REMAINS SILENT AND WRITES THE MUSIC)

I think we’re going to have a baby. That is to say I’m pregnant.

(SCOTT STOPS WRITING AND SMILES. HE NODS HIS HEAD)

SCOTT: That’s quite a note, Belle.

BELLE: Well, does that mean you’re happy.

SONG: “Maple Leaf Rag.” played by SCOTT (MORE ADVANCED BETTER ARRANGED)

SCOTT: What do you think?

BELLE: I think that you might be.

(LIGHTS GO DOWN AND COME UP ON STARK’S OFFICES AS JOPLIN WALKS IN. PIANO PLAYER WALKS INTO BELLE’S. SHE MAKES HIM COMFORTABLE. LIGHTS GO OUT ON THEM)

STARK: Well, you made it. Is that them?

SCOTT (CARRYING MANUSCRIPTS): It is. It’s also the beginning of the opera, a couple of the songs.

STARK: What do you call the opera, Scott? May I call you Scott?

SCOTT: You certainly can.

(PUTS THE SHEET MUSIC DOWN AND THEN BEGINS TO TALK HURRIEDLY TO STARK, WHO REMAINS IMIVE AS HE LOOKS OVER THE MUSIC)

You see, Mr. Stark-

STARK: You can call me, John, Scott. We’re friends, aren’t we.

SCOTT: We sure are. You see, Mr. Stark, this opera is about minstrelsy—I mean we don’t need to wear black face, we’re already black.

STARK: There are certain realities here, Scott, and I guess the most important one is that things have to sell, and that means you have to know your public, who you are selling to.

SCOTT: People will buy what’s there if it’s good. They’ve got taste and they know what feels right—

STARK: Is that why we had to fight a war over slavery, Scott?

(THAT STOPS SCOTT RIGHT IN MID WORD)

You see we live in this real world and we try to sell our dreams, our imaginations to people. Sometimes we’re lucky. Sometimes we’re not, Scott. But I think there’s a definite market for this Ragtime music. And you just happen to be the very best there is at it. Now, you’ve got a wife and soon you’re going to have a child or two or three, you don’t know. But you’ve got to be able to feed and clothe and house them, man. That’s the beginning and the end of the whole thing. Because what good are your ideas if they don’t tend to you?

SCOTT (TAKING BACK SOME OF THE SHEET MUSIC): Well, I’ve brought you a couple of things you might want to publish. What kind of arrangement are we discussing.

STARK: I’ll give you a penny on every one I sell. That means that your family will collect if anything happens to you. What do you think of that?

SCOTT: How much are you going to sell them for?

(THAT STOPS STARK WHO SHAKES HIS HEAD)

STARK: I don’t know. All I do know is that I won’t steal from you. Is that a shake?

(SCOTT AND STARK SHAKE HANDS)

SCOTT: By the way, suppose I want to publish with someone else?

(STARK GRUNTS)

One or two, not much.

STARK: Well. If that’s the case I’d better draw up a contract with you so that I’m the only one who does publish you.

(STARK BEGINS LOOKING AT ONE SHEET OF MUSIC)

Is this that “Maple Leaf Rag” I first heard you play, Scott?

SCOTT: Yes. This is the one I played the other night.

STARK: Yes. Yes. Yes. Well, I’ll get the contract together for you.

(WATCHES SCOTT LEAVE. THEN HE TURNS AND EDITORIALIZES ALOUD)

It was always difficult for Scott to appreciate what the business end was all about. But he was the whole group of musicians they called: The Maple Leaf Club. There was Arthur Marshall and Scott Hayden, the cousin of Scott’s own wife, and Tom Turpin and Honest John Turpin who always had a club running so that the men would have a place to stay and a place to play. But none of them could be considered in a class with the piano man we published the Maple Leaf Rag and it made us all a bundle of money. It was, and probable still is, the most popular thing of his that was ever published. It isn’t the best, but at the time it put the whole industry on air and brought people from Europe just to see who was this black man who could play music that some people thought, especially Scott Joplin himself, that it was just as good as anything ever written by Mozart.

(AUDIENCE SETS UP FOR A CONCERT)

SONG: “A Ragtime Dance” sung and played by SCOTT

(IN THE AUDIENCE IS JOHN STARK AND THE CHORUS DANCES TO THIS BALLET)

LET ME SEE YOU DO THE RAGTIME DANCE TURN LEFT AND DO THE CAKE WALK PRANCE TURN THE OTHER WAY AND DO THE SLOW DRAG NOW TAKE YOUR LADY TO THE WORLD’S FAIR AND DO THE RAGTIME DANCE LET ME SEE YOU DO THE CLEAN UP DANCE NOW YOU DO THE JENNIE COOLER DANCE TURN THE OTHER WAY AND DO THE SLOW DRAG

NOW TAKE YOUR LADY TO THE WORLD’S FAIR AND DO THE RAGTIME DANCE

(GREAT FUN FOR THE DANCERS AND AUDIENCE. SCOTT ES BY STARK AND TAKES BELLE’S ARM)

OTIS (IN THE EDITORIAL PLACE): Great fun. Great fun. He was what the man called a genius. I think it was Freud or someone like that. But we were beginning to do other things with the music. Could see that Scott wasn’t always happy with it either. He began to stay away from the clubs. I was one of the big guns. Me and Louis Chauvin and Scott Hayden, Belle’s cousin by marriage, and James Scott. Even had a white man by the name of Scott Campbell come around a lot too. Scott taught all of us. And then we took it some place else, but he didn’t like it. Stark might not have liked it either but he had to make the money. Funny thing about genius. It don’t like being stopped for something small like money. Now me, I likes money. Lots of it too.

(STARK LOOKS AT SCOTT AND BELLE FROM ACROSS THE CLUB, WHILE OTIS SPEAKS. THERE IS A HEAVINESS IN SCOTT’S BEARING. HE HITCHES HIMSELF UP)

SCOTT: Come on, Belle. Got to hear what Otis says about the music.

BELLE: He’ll love it. Hello, Otis.

OTIS: Evening, Miss Belle. Scott. When the two of you going to have me over for dinner? Ain’t seen the two of you for a long time now.

SCOTT: You got to stop playing the music fast, Otis. Can’t no one hear themselves or the music when it goes fast. Rag is sweet, like Mozart.

OTIS: Times is changing, Scott. Musicians too.

(RUBY COMFORTS OTIS. SCOTT WAVES OFF OTIS AND GOES RIGHT OVER TOWARDS STARK. LOVEY GETS IN HIS WAY. HONEST JOHN IS PLAYING FOR STARK)

LOVEY: Ain’t been seeing you around for a while now, Mr. Joplin. You done got too famous for your friends all of a sudden.

(SHE GLARES AT BELLE AS THEY )

BELLE: The nerve of her. And she frightens me, Scott. What you gonna do about her.

SCOTT: She’s all right, Belle. Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark?

(STARK IS LISTENING TO ANOTHER PLAYER PLAYING THE NEW STYLE, FAST, HOT “The Pot Boiler.” STARK HOLDS UP HIS HAND TO FINISH LISTENING. PATS HONEST JOHN ON THE BACK AT THE END. THEN TURNS TO JOPLIN. THE MAPLE LEAF CLUB APPLAUDS)

STARK: Scott, how are you? Mrs. Joplin.

(SCOTT MOVES TO STARK WITH BELLE ON HIS ARM. BELLE CURTISIES)

SCOTT: We’re fine. It’s a folk ballet. The first Rag folk ballet. What do you think?

STARK: I think the music is sublime, Scott.

SCOTT: Will you publish it.

STARK: Well, we’ve got to check a few things out first. But we’ll see.

SCOTT: Oh, OK. We’ll see. Come on, Belle. I know what they’re doing over here. Let’s go home.

(STARK GOES OVER TO EDITORIALIZE)

STARK: I could see that the whirlwind life they were leading was not suited to Belle’s temperament. Shucks! It wasn’t suited to Scott’s but he was caught up in it now. See, The Rag I’d printed was the really good one. And it was the one that gave him all the fame. He would always be known for it. But it had given him some ambition, more ambition. He began to talk about an opera again.

(STARK MOVES AWAY AND LIGHTS UP IN THE JOPLIN APARTMENT. SCOTT STRIDES ANGRILY INTO APARTMENT FOLLOWED BY BELLE)

SCOTT: Yeah, yeah, we’ll see about it. Can you imagine that, Belle? We’ll see about it.

BELLE: I don’t know what you’re talking about, Scott.

SCOTT: That’s why you have babies I guess.

BELLE: Oh, Scott, if only you knew how silly you look. And how silly you sound.

SCOTT: What’s that mean?

BELLE: I mean the man has given you a chance to make a lot of money and instead all you can think is an opera.

SCOTT: That’s not all I can think about. But it’s important. To me. The whole world.

BELLE: But you are so ungrateful, after all he has done for you.

SCOTT: Would you stick to your own business, Belle? What has he done for me? Would he have done it if my work wasn’t what it was? Would he help the others if my imprint wasn’t on them? That’s what you forget. You want me to bow and scrape, but I’m an artist, Belle. An artist. Without me there would be no him.

BELLE: But he published the Ragtime Dance and it didn’t make any money. Now you want to do an opera. He knows there’s no market for it. He can’t sell it. Can’t you get that through your thick head?

SCOTT: There are a lot of things that are going through my thick head, Belle. Lots of them.

BELLE: Well, we need to make some more money.

SCOTT: Yeah, I know. I’ve stopped playing out there, but I’m composing now.

BELLE: That’s not the only reason.

SCOTT (RAISING HIS HEAD AND LOOKING AT HER): What do you mean?

BELLE: I’m saying that this writing isn’t the only reason you’re not out there.

SCOTT: Go on.

BELLE: Your friends tell me.

SCOTT: Tell you what? What friends are they, going behind my back?

(HE RISES AND REACHES FOR HIS COAT)

BELLE: They tell me there are better players than you out there now.

SCOTT: Is that what they say?

(HE SLOWLY MOVES TOWARDS THE DOOR)

BELLE: He says they are faster and younger and got more energy and the crowd loves them.

SCOTT: He says. Who he?

BELLE: I’m not telling.

(SCOTT CLOSES-IN ON HER THEN STRIKES HER)

SCOTT: You seeing someone behind my back? You think that’s why I married you? You’re crazy. I coulda stayed with someone like Lovey if that’s what I wanted.

BELLE: You hit me. You shouldn’t have done that, Scott.

SCOTT: And you shouldn’t be seeing my friend neither.

BELLE: I got to talk to someone. The only time you’re home is when you want to sit at the piano. If you ain’t there you in the streets, wandering, looking for something that ain’t real.

SCOTT: How you know what’s real or not? You ain’t me. You don’t know what I need to hear or see. Don’t no one know what an artist needs. Damn you, Belle.

Damn you.

(REACHES FOR HIS COAT)

And as far as my friend goes, Belle, God will take care of him.

BELLE: Yeah, you’d better get on out of here before I call the Police on the great failure, Scott Joplin. Can’t make no money and losing his fame faster than a gambler does his money. You get on our of here. You can’t keep your promises about nothing, Scott Joplin. So you get on out of here. And stay out. I need someone that is going to be around for me. Take care of me. Out. Stay with that Lovey.

(SCOTT LEAVES, GRABBING UP SOME MANUSCRIPTS. LIGHTS DOWN ON BELLE HOLDING PREGNANT BELLY. UP ON THE CLUB WHERE SCOTT WALKS IN AND SEES OTIS PLAYING A POTBOILER. HE SITS DOWN AND GETS A DRINK)

(BELLE’S BIRTH SCENE: OFF-STAGE IN BLACKNESS/CLUB BARELY ILLUMINATED, WE CAN SEE SCOTT JOPLIN AND LOVEY AMONG THE OTHERS SITTING AND RESTING, CALMLY DRINKING. IN THE DARKNESS OF THE APARTMENT WE HEAR BELLE SCREAM AS SHE BIRTHS THE BABY)

BELLE: What’s wrong with my baby? Look at this creature. Scott, where are you? What did you do to me?

(SHE WALKS OUT ONTO THE STAGE. THE LIGHT ILLUMINATING HER AS SHE TAKES HER STEPS OUT OF THE APARTMENT. SHE ES JOHN STARK WHO STANDS LIGHTING HIS PIPE ON THE STAGE RIGHT CORNER. SHE DOES NOT SEE HIM BUT CROSSES STAGE TO STAGE LEFT WHERE SHE SEES SCOTT AND LOVEY THROUGH THE CLUB WINDOW. SCOTT LOOKS UP AND MOVES OUT OF THE CLUB AND FOLLOWS BELLE WHO RETREATS FROM HIM. HE CATCHES UP TO HER STAGE CENTER. SHE SHOWS HIM THE BABY HE IS THUNDERSTRUCK. THEY DO NOT SAY A WORD, AND THEN THEY PART. SCOTT BACKS UP INTO THE CLUB AND BELLE BACKS UP INTO STARK, BUT DOES NOT RECOGNIZE HIM. STARK SEES THE BABY AND IS HORRIFIED. BELLE REENTERS THE APARTMENT AND THEN EXITS UPSTAGE RIGHT. LOVEY COMES CLOSE TO SCOTT. SHE GIVES HIM A DEEP KISS. OTIS WATCHES THEM THEN MOVES OFFSTAGE. STARK COMES OUT AND EDITORIALIZES)

STARK: Things became more and more strained for the Joplins. The baby was born malformed and died, Scott spent less time than ever at home, and finally they decided to split up. In Negro quarters, all you had to do was say it and it was done. Getting married was a little more complicated. Negroes still had to “jump over the broom”, records being what they were, it didn’t seem worthwhile to go before a justice-of-the-peace, all the time. But the separation didn’t stop Scott Joplin from creating. And one day he got me alone in front of a fire at his home, his piano. But I could tell he was depressed, despondent, almost lost.

(SCOTT TAKES THE HAND OF STARK AND PULLS HIM INSIDE. LOVEY, THE WOMAN OF THE CLUB, MOVES BACK INTO THE SHADOWS)

STARK: Aren’t you going to introduce me to the new woman, Scott?

SCOTT: It don’t make no sense to, Mr. Stark. Really, it don’t. She don’t want to

make your acquaintance. But she’s kind to me, so I put up with some of her ways, and that’s all I want to say about that. But I have finished the opera. I call it the “Guest of Honor.” It’s the first Ragtime Opera, Mr. Stark. And I wanted you to hear it because over the years, you’ve helped me and been kind of me. Belle was always making me aware of that. Without you, there would be no Scott Joplin, not as we know him anyway.

STARK: You have to understand that an opera is more than just music, Scott. It is a story that has to be weaved together and it has to hold the audience in the same way. It is a difficult job. Perhaps a collaborator would help you. It’s that an opera by a black man just isn’t going to sell, and I have to be a business man. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. You should stick to the rags, at least for a little while longer.

(STARK EXITS. LEAVING JOPLIN ALONE AT THE PIANO. HE BEGINS TO PLAY SOFTLY AS THE LIGHTS GO DOWN)

SONG: SCOTT’S THEME “Solace” played by SCOTT

END ACT I

ACT II

(SCOTT LOOKS AT LOVEY AND SHAKES HIS HEAD. SHE IS GETTING READY TO GO OUT. HONEST JOHN, WITH NO CUSTOMERS, CLOSES DOWN THE MAPLE LEAF CLUB)

SCOTT: Where to this time?

LOVEY: The same place, Scott. You don’t be expecting me to stay here in the house all the time with you, do you? What’s happened to you? Don’t no one come by the house anymore. Not none of your friends and certainly not any students, which would be a good game because we need some money. And you know me. I’m where the money is. And I can’t understand why you placed your name as a laborer in the . I know you must be sick. You got something?

SCOTT: Lovey, what time are you coming back?

LOVEY: What difference does it make to you, Scott Joplin? You don’t do no business with me. You just sit there and stare at that there piano like it coming to life as soon as someone step out the room, and that someone be me.

(HE SAYS NOTHING AS SHE EXITS)

LOVEY: And I ain’t coming back neither. Maybe you should get you a shovel or something. Dig some ditches, man.

(THE DOOR SLAMS SHUT. SCOTT LOOKS AT THE CEILING MUSING FOR A MOMENT AND THEN HE BEGINS NOODLING THE PIANO)

SCOTT: Wait, Lovey.

(LAUGHING)

Don’t leave me now. I know things ain’t been perfect, but—

LOVEY: Your head ain’t perfect. You should see a root man. He’d fix you. Ain’t nothing I can do for you.

SCOTT: All right—Honey bunch. (CHUCKLES) All right— (LOVEY EXITS) Mama—

(OTIS SUDDENLY WALKS IN. THEY EMBRACE)

SCOTT: Hey, Otis.

OTIS: Man, what’s going on with you? And what’s going on here? Don’t that woman use a broom?

SCOTT: Lovey just ain’t like Belle, Otis.

OTIS: Huh uh—Well, ain’t seen you or nothing. Ain’t even heard about you. Yeah, well, I been doing a lot of drinking myself lately.

(SCOTT LAUGHS)

SCOTT: Nothing wrong with a little hooch.

(THEY BOTH LAUGH)

OTIS: Say, didja hear what happened to ole Louis Chauvin.

(THEY BEGIN TO SHARE A BOTTLE. SCOTT SHAKES HIS HEAD)

OTIS: He done died some terrible death, Scott. Opium and the curse.

SCOTT: The curse too, huh.

OTIS: Seems like it be a thing that comes with the job of playing the piano in these here clubs.

SCOTT: That’s one of the reasons why I don’t come to the club. The music needs a better venue.

OTIS: I knows you went to college, Scott, but don’t throw around words like that.

SCOTT: A concert. But, of course, they want to keep us in the jungle without us really being there.

OTIS: You talking way over my head, Scott. You ain’t gonna be no race man, are you?

(THEY BOTH LAUGH)

A W.E.B. DuBois or somebody like that.

(THEY LAUGH AGAIN)

SCOTT: I’m thinking about getting outta here, outta St. Louis, Sedalia, all of it. Thinking about going home to my Mother and Father. Ain’t seen them in a long time.

OTIS: Man, you got to stay where the people are.

SCOTT: Nah! The people want music that I don’t write and I don’t play.

OTIS: I don’t believe this man. You are the King of Ragtime, Scott Joplin. You are famous.

SCOTT: And I feel old. Got a woman who don’t respect me. Had another one who didn’t ire me, and had a whole lot of woman who didn’t even know me. So, I need something, Otis. And I ain’t getting it here, you know that feeling. We used to get it all the time when we were young.

(LOVEY WALKS THE STREET)

OTIS: But, Scott, we ain’t old.

SCOTT: I’m punching 37 in the nose. Got younger men out there who are getting sold and me, I ain’t.

OTIS: You spoken to Stark lately.

SCOTT: No, and I don’t want to either. The man thinks I got to write to an audience with no brains. There’s people out there that want my work. Some of them are in Europe OTIS: Europe? What they want with Ragtime in Europe, Scott? I think you’re making a mistake.

SCOTT: The mistake is thinking that I can make anything more out of here, Otis. Times have changed. I got to change with them or go someplace else where people want what I got.

OTIS: All right! I got to go, but I’ll see you when I get back.

(PACKS UP BOTTLE. LAUGHTER)

SCOTT: Where you going?

OTIS: On a tour.

SCOTT: That’s good, Otis. Make that money.

OTIS: Man, you too low.

SCOTT: Wrote a ballet, but ain’t no one interested. My publisher publishes it, with Coon covers. Who wants some coon cover sitting in their parlor room with some Negro staring out at them with bulging eyes? Huh? So don’t call me a race man. They’re the race men.

SCOTT: And if that ain’t bad enough, Otis, then I go and write an opera. Oh man, why did I do that? He ain’t even interested. And to make things bad, really bad, Otis, I can’t find no copies of the damned thing. They’re all missing.

OTIS: Missing.

SCOTT: Or stolen. One or the other. Lovey maybe. She be playing with me so much now. Anyway, the whole thing makes Stark feel like he’s a genius. The only thing I write that sells is the rags and that’s because they make the folks feel good. But anything else makes them feel out of shape. So, I got to go. Got to go,

man, away from here. From them.

OTIS: Maybe you weren’t supposed to write an opera, man.

(SCOTT GRUNTS AND THEN LAUGHS)

I hear Stark has gone to New York.

SCOTT: What’s he doing there?

OTIS: Selling music. Some of yours too. Getting any royalties SCOTT: Royalties.

(HE SHAKES HIS HEAD)

OTIS: I see. Is that why I saw in the directory that you were selling yourself out as a laborer, Scott? Man, why.

SCOTT: You saw that? Things are going worse than I can tell you, Otis.

OTIS: What you mean?

SCOTT: I guess all the living has caught up with me.

OTIS: You ain’t saying that you got something.

SCOTT: I don’t know what it is. The doctors don’t know either. I just, sometimes I get so sad, Otis, so sad, man, that I could cry. I mean I think about all that we could be and all that we ain’t and I just want to cry. Some of the doctors call it depression. Others ain’t saying, but they keep thinking about me being in the bordellos, so they think they got a handle on it, and so they just shrug their shoulders. And me, I keep thinking what difference does old Scott Joplin make in this world. Might as well be a laborer. It was my father’s trade. Good enough for him, good enough for me. But, man, I can’t even get a job digging ditches.

(LAUGHTER)

OTIS: Don’t treat yourself like this. Look, I gotta go. And if I was you, I’d go to New York and catch up to Stark again. He likes you, man. Loves your music. Look, I just stopped by to say hello. See you when you get there.

SCOTT: Goodbye, Otis.

(THE TWO MEN EMBRACE)

OTIS: Listen, you can’t believe them doctors. They don’t know everything. Get to a root man, Scott.

(SCOTT LAUGHS)

No, man, don’t laugh. That crazy woman done witched you and you gotta get the thing off’n you. Then go to New York and start over. Need some money.

SCOTT: Always.

OTIS: I ain’t got none.

(THEY LAUGH, EMBRACE, OTIS LEAVES. SCOTT MOVES TO THE PIANO)

SONG: “Wall Street Rag” played by SCOTT.

(OTIS SEES LOVEY AND TRIES TO PICK HER UP BUT IS SAVED BY RUBY WHO LEADS HIM RELUCTANTLY AWAY)

(THIS IS A TREMENDOUS TRANSITION PIECE ALLOWING FOR A CHANGE IN SCENERY AS SCOTT MOVES TO TEXARKANA AND SEES HIS FATHER, AN AILING OLD MAN)

SCOTT: Giles Joplin.

(THE OLD MAN NODS HIS HEAD, AT THE SAME TIME, ROCKING IN HIS ROCKINGCHAIR)

GILES: Yep, it’s me. Who are you?

SCOTT: Scott. Scott Joplin.

(THE OLD MAN STOPS ROCKING AND LOOKS AHEAD OF THEM, OUT AT THE SKY)

GILES: You old Florence’s boy, ain’t you?

SCOTT: Yours too.

GILES: She dead, you know.

SCOTT: I didn’t know.

GILES: Well, you know what it be like. We like to move around a lot and so the word don’t always catch up to us when it should.

SCOTT: When she die?

GILES: Been six or seven years, Scott, she been dead. Me and her ain’t even had a word with each other for more than what say thirty some odd years. Left you when you was little more than a little boy. So what brings you down this way.

(SCOTT DOESN’T ANSWER. HE SITS AT THE FOOT OF HIS FATHER, TRYING TO GET SOME WORDS TOGETHER)

SCOTT: It’s hard.

GILES: I knows it, son. I knows it. Whenever I think of them years of us being together. Me taking you with your brother on little trips, trying to show you the world of men, the world where they break you down and leave you for dead. I know. Think about you a lot.

SCOTT: Do you, Daddy?

GILES: The way a cat be looking out for his litter. Do Toms run alleys.

(LAUGHTER)

So you come back to the root, huh? This is where it all started. Me meeting your mother and the two of us being taken in with each other. We both thought we had a chance, you know? A chance to do something right. Get away from the wrath

of slavery and all.

SCOTT: They don’t let you do that though. They always remind you.

GILES: If you got a short memory you got what your mother used to call high spirit, you can get away from that and make your own world. It’s what you got in here (POINTING TO HEAD) and here (HEART) that makes the difference. You got it. I know that.

SCOTT: How do you know?

GILES: Because your mother gave it to you. Gave a little of it to all of us. Even me. She was something that Florence. Yes, she surely was.

SCOTT: A lot has happened.

GILES: We heard some of it. Got famous playing the piano, didn’t you?

SCOTT: Yes.

GILES: Was your mother wanted you to play, you know? I didn’t want that for you. You be hanging in them saloons and all, don’t know what kind of disease you come on out of there with; you could be like some dog trying to a persimmon pit. You know what I’m talking about, boy.

SCOTT: Yes.

GILES: But she insisted. She kept on saying that it was a way for her boy to get out of the laborer business. Don’t want her boy working for someone except himself. She kept on saying it. Well, she was born free, you know. Not like me. I had to work for my freedom. I was what you called a freedman. Not as good as her, not in her eyes. Lord knows I worked myself silly though, providing.

(HE BEGINS TO SMILE AS HE ROCKS. HIS EYES CLOSE AND HE SEEMS TO SLEEP BUT HE BEGINS HUMMING RIGHT INTO NEXT SONG)

SCOTT: Goodnight, sir.

(BUT THE OLD MAN DOESN’T ANSWER)

TRANSITION MUSIC: SCOTT GETTING TO NEW YORK AND STARK’S MUSIC STORE

(SCOTT ENTERS WITH LULU INTO THE STORE)

How’d you get here?

(LULU POINTS TO STARK)

LULU: He was always interested in me and so I went to school, gave up that other thing.

SCOTT: Wonderful.

SONG: “The Sacred Tree” played by SCOTT, sung by LULU

(SCOTT CROSSES OVER TO STARK AS LULU BLOWS HIM A KISS)

I wrote it for my Father, John. What do you think?

STARK: I think the piece is wonderful.

(LOTTIE, A WOMAN IN STARK’S STORE NODS HER HEAD APPRECIATIVELY. SCOTT SMILES AT HER)

SCOTT: It’s a part of something that I’m working on.

STARK: Oh, really, I’m still trying to get the money back on the Ragtime Dance.

SCOTT: Yeah, well, are you interested.

STARK: I’m interested in anything you do, Scott. Anything. I’m your friend, but this New York has a couple of twists that I hadn’t figured on.

SCOTT: What do you mean?

(THE WOMAN COMES CLOSER)

STARK: I mean they got a thing here called Tim Pan Alley, Scott, and they sell the music. They sell it the best way they can, but they’re the ones who do the selling. And we’re not making too much headway here. And my wife is sick.

SCOTT: I’m sorry to hear that, John.

STARK: I’ve been thinking about going back to St. Louis.

SCOTT: I just about ran out of there.

(THE WOMAN BEGINS NODDING HER HEAD AT EVERYTHING SCOTT SAYS)

STARK: Look, maybe I can work out something but I need your help.

SCOTT: Talk, John.

STARK: Instead of me giving you royalties, why don’t I give you a flat fee? This way I’ll be able to publish everything you’ve got and I won’t lose money on the deal.

SCOTT: And I won’t make any.

STARK: Don’t be an ingrate.

SCOTT: Do you say that every time you think about where your wife is staying, in that mansion, the one that comes with “Maple Leaf Rag”?

STARK: If it wasn’t for me there wouldn’t be any “Maple Leaf Rag” and there wouldn’t be any Scott Joplin.

SCOTT: There would always be a Scott Joplin, but there wouldn’t be a John Stark and Sons. And if you had half the mind God gave you, you would know that we should mount a campaign that would drive the whole world wild. We could sell everything that was ever written. But you don’t believe that. You never really believed in me.

STARK: Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. You just never had a business sense. If you did then you would know what the public wants from you. You can write the other things but they have to wait for another time. Damn you, Scott Joplin!

If you used your sense then you would know.

SCOTT: I don’t know why I stay with you Stark. You don’t understand.

STARK: And neither do you.

(SCOTT AND STARK LOOK AT EACH OTHER FOR A MOMENT AND THEN SCOTT STORMS OUT OF THE STORE, THE WOMAN FOLLOWS)

STARK: I’ll never publish a thing of yours, Scott Joplin. Not one thing. Never again.

SCOTT: That’ll be too soon for me.

(HE STARTS TO WALK AWAY WHEN THE WOMAN CALLS OUT)

LOTTIE: So, you’re the famous Scott Joplin.

SCOTT: Famous? Down and out, but Scott Joplin. Yes, that’s me.

LOTTIE: Working on an opera.

SCOTT: I call it “Treemonisha.” I’m writing it. I’ll produce it with my own money if I have to.

(LAUGHTER)

I’m going to change how the world looks at us, Maam. That’s what it’s going to do.

(MORE LAUGHTER)

LOTTIE: Scott? May I call you that?

SCOTT: Sure. Call me anything.

LOTTIE: Don’t be so hard on yourself.

SCOTT: What’s your name?

LOTTIE: Lottie. I have a house down the street here. We can stop off and have a cup of tea or something if you’re thirsty.

SCOTT: I’m thirsty, I am tired and I just don’t know where to turn. I’ve got the music and the libretto all written. The one thing I do is write, you know? The

one thing. And all they want is the first form. The primitive from me. That’s all they want. I feel like a laborer. I feel just like they want me to feel.

LOTTIE: Well, as long as you don’t want to feel that way you won’t, after awhile. Come upstairs with me.

(AS THEY ENTER THE APARTMENT IN THE HOUSE, SCOTT SEES A PIANO. HE GOES OVER TO IT)

SCOTT: They don’t know what it feels like to see a piano and not play it. Bring it to life. To look at it and say it is mine.

SONG: “We Ought To Have A Leader” SUNG BY LOTTIE AND SCOTT, WHO ALSO PLAYS)

LOTTIE: If the opera is all finished then maybe we can take it to the Lafayette Theatre. It’s in Harlem.

SCOTT (LAUGHTER): A real theatre.

LOTTIE: I saw it in the paper, Scott. And they’ll look at new scripts too. There’s hope. Everyone knows who you are.

(GOES TO THE STOVE AND STARTS ON THE TEA)

I’m sure they would be honored. They’ll want to produce it.

SCOTT (LAUGHTER): And then if they heard it, they would know and then it would be done. Of course.

(HE GOES TO THE PIANO AND BEGINS PLAYING. SHE GOES TO HIS BAG, TAKES OUT THE SHEET MUSIC AND SMILES)

LOTTIE: I’ll take it to them. You rest awhile.

SCOTT: Really.

(HE YAWNS AND PUTS HIS FEET UP, THEN STRETCHES OUT ON THE SOFA)

LOTTIE: Really?

(THERE IS A TRANSITION OF LIGHT, LOWERING SLOWLY, THE CHORUS COMES OUT ON STAGE. SCOTT SLIPS AWAY TO THE PIANO AND BEGINS PLAYING)

STARK (EDITORIALIZING): Scott and I never did talk to each other again, but I heard about him from the other musicians. About how he married that Lottie

woman and how she was the best thing that ever happened to him Wrote a lot of music but the only thing I did was release those things I had already paid for. Meantime the Lafayette didn’t produce the play. Scott just didn’t have enough money for it, and his health was suddenly gone from him. Began to act miserable. I think it all just caught up to him at the same time. But one day he did manage to get it together: this “Treemonisha” that was eating up his mind.

(COMPANY COMES OUT AND FLANKS LOTTIE)

SONG: “A Slow Drag” sung by LOTTIE

LOTTIE (IN THE EDITORIALIZING CORNER): My husband was definitely sick. He’d taken the last of his money and invested it in his dream, this Treemonisha of his, about some mythical tree and some magical girl, leading us all to the promised land. Scott Joplin had tried to sell his dream to the world. The world just was looking the other way. And still his sickness kept pulling him lower and lower. All the doctors could say was that he had a terminal disease, something he’d picked up on the road to greatness, like a lot of people. When they got a destiny they got to pay the piper for their song. That’s how I thought about it. That’s how I want it to be ed. About the only thing I didn’t do was have the band play that there “Maple Leaf Rag.” But I hope he’ll understand. We didn’t even have enough to pay for a headstone.

SONG: “Spiritual” sung by LOTTIE

(SEGUE INTO)

SONG/DANCE: “Maple Leaf Rag,” “Solace,” “Entertainer” by CHORUS

END

HOT FINGERS 2 By Laurence Holder

Cast: (played by 1 actor and 1 actress): Jelly Roll Morton, The VooDoo Lady/The Lady Club Owner/Mabel Bertrand/Assassin

(JELLY ROLL MORTON LIMPS ONTO THE STAGE WITH A CANE. HE SITS IN HIS ROCKING CHAIR, WHICH FACES A GRAND PIANO, WHICH IS IN FRONT OF A WINDOW, WHICH LOOKS OUT OVER WATER. HE MAKES HIMSELF COMFORTABLE, BEGINNING TO SPERAK AS IF THERE’S NO ONE THERE, BUT SHORTLY AS IF AWARE OF AN AUDIENCE)

JELLY ROLL: Let’s get comfortable here, Jelly Lord. Let’s get right now. When’s the last time you sat down and just rested? Hardly . And when’s the last time you stroked the ivories? Hardly that either. when you had to see The King of Ragtime, old what’s his name? Oh, don’t be crude, Jelly. Scott Joplin was his name. And playing piano was his ticket to fame and for a fast moment some riches too. Yeah, that was an interesting trip thinking that someone could help me with my thoughts about playing. And you wasn’t no spring chicken when you made that rip neither, Nope, sure weren’t. And that was already after you had discovered Jazz. Yep, afterwards already.

There is nothing like the picture of a piano to bring back old memories. I am, of course, a piano player. I like to sit here and reminisce about all the old times. Well, you’re a fool. You been that Folks ain’t going to be interested in anything like that. Who you kidding?

(HE LAUGHS BROADLY AND THEN FOCUSES IN ON AUDIENCE)

I was born in 1885 in the great city of New Orleans in Louisiana in these United States of America. Yeah, that’s where I was born, but it ain’t like it is now, I can tell you that right off the bat.

No siree, when I was growing up people worked and saved and owned property, sent their children to private schools, held offices, could speak all kinds of foreign languages, and were into all the trades. Colored folks in New Orleans controlled the way the city was run, in short. I mean even the poorest person living in New Orleans had something he could do. There wasn’t no unemployment. That comes with progress and development.

Every different kind of person was represented in New Orleans too. We had French and Spanish and West Indian and we had American too. We had Indians but I never did like to call them that since it wasn’t what they called themselves. I myself was French, even though I didn’t look like Napoleon, I knew I came from Paris, the most sophisticated city in the world. And was the first major European country to establish itself coming out of the dark ages. Look it up, you’ll see I ain’t lying. We had every kind of person and we had every kind of smell and for every different kind of smell, there was a different kind of sound. And music is the thing that everybody re New Orleans. Music. But in them olden days we weren’t thinking about being ed or anything as simple as that because we working and living and being. And when you’re doing it you think it’ll last forever. Well, now I know there’s only one place where things last forever. (HE CIRCLES HIS HANDS AROUND IN THE AIR) Heaven.

When we were living and we were definitely living, we used to take a walk and you couldn’t help but see all the different colors that were a part of the people.

There was the hot red of the ladies of the night. Now I mean hot red.

(SUDDENLY A HOT RED LADY OF THE NIGHT STRUTS PAST THE STAGE)

Like that, not like those things you see with their tongues hanging to the ground and their backsides looking like the other side of the mountain. I’m talking about good looking women waiting for a good looking man with a certain style and a certain amount of money to be spent. We had beautiful octoroons walking about looking for husbands.

(SHE WINKS AT HIM AND THEN SLIDES OFFSTAGE)

And we had all kinds of men: gamblers, sailors, longshoremen. Don’t forget New Orleans was a sea town, right on the coast. If you needed to get away from the authorities, it was the only way to get out of town quick.

We had old people going to church. Religion was a big business in New Orleans. The dispensation of the soul and the spirit occupied the thought of every colored person in town. God was a favorite past time, and all his manifestations? I was born a catholic. All my folks were Frenchies. (LAUGHS LOUDLY) Well, almost all of them. I know the issue is going to come up from your just looking at me. And there have been a few bugs in the soup but it is still good tasting stew, if you know what I mean.

Anyway out of all of this grew something really special. I guess I was almost fifteen years old and I had been fooling around with a lot of different instruments, seeing as how people recognized the need to give their children a

chance to learn and master an instrument. Everybody knew that music soothed the savage beast. And you couldn’t be from New Orleans and not learn to play something. It went right along with being a bricklayer or a plasterer or an iron worker, working on them gates and windows and all. You know that grate work was created by us down here, don’t you? Do now! Well, then, you learned to play and then you learned to play with someone. That’s just the way it was with us Creoles, you know. We were educated all the way. And we were proud. Had to be proud to educate your children all the way. Took an active interest in everything. It was our town. Sure was.

Now some of you might want to know why if I’m a Frenchman why my name is Morton, which is what it is, so I’ll tell you. I changed it for business reasons. When I first started to travel I didn’t want to be known as Frenchy and when people saw me I wanted them to see something so special they would me forever. And I thought with a name like Frenchy it would cheapen my image. And in those days people were concerned with things like images. Sure were. But I don’t think anyone was more concerned than me.

I would be taking music lessons from someone and then she would be showing me the new music but it would sound just like the old music. I’d look at those little dots and markings and shake my head. I could see they belonged higher up or lower down in the range of pitches and I would say to myself, “Hey, I don’t need to spend this little bit of money on the wrong lessons. Mess up my image.” Sure would.

And so I would change up until I could find someone who knew more than me about the music. And as it was I didn’t like school all that much anyhow and I was dropping out early because I wasn’t getting any sleep because I was playing with a group at night in the district and making money. Sure was.

And that was the main thing in my life. I mean I had a ion for the money. If I could have made money as a plasterer I would have done that, but as it was

music was to become my main thing because I could make money at it. Now, that’s not to say I was only a musician. I played pool too because I could make money at it. Or I could play cards and make money.

Now you would think a good Creole boy like myself would have had a lot of supervision and wouldn’t be allowed out at night, and certainly not to go to the district and make money playing for the crowds, and you’d probably be right except for one little thing. It was said by the gentry and the audiences who heard me that I was a nat’ral. And because of that no one wanted to bother me. No one except for my grandmother. Just her.

Now right from the beginning, even though I was a young man, I was one of the best junior players around. My folks kept me well dressed. That’s why you see me this way. Good training. Good habits. Naturally being raised that way made me precocious and I soon wanted to dress myself and with that I even worked as a dishwasher so I would have the money when it was time to go out there and sport.

You see when you a player and the girls all loved a player you had to have the right clothes and the ones my family were putting on me were not the same as the ones I would buy with my money. Certainly were not. And I soon developed a reputation with the girls because of my image. I told you about that. It was therefore impossible to keep me away from there. For many different reasons.

One day while I was living with my Godmother I saw my Great, yep, my Great Grandmother coming at me like I was a rusty gate that needed to be thrown away and had been weighing on her mind all night. Now I was dressed in my new clothes. Mine. I looked like a sporting man. She looked at me like I was a billboard sign needed burning up. She walks right up to me, her eyes burning, and wants to know something.

(THE GREAT GRANDMOTHER SHOWS UP AND STARES ON JELLY ROLL)

GRANDMOTHER: How old you really be, Boy?

JELLY ROLL: Fifteen, sixteen, I don’t really . Sure can’t with you looking at me like I took the last of the peach cobbler.

GRANDMOTHER: And you dressin’ like you makin’ good money, huh.

JELLY ROLL: I’m making out all right, Grandmother. Making more money every night than lots of grown men do in a month.

Well, she looks at me so hard I begin to feel like some dog in the night howling for some dirty water so’s I can get cleaned up.

GRANDMOTHER: You knows your Momma dead.

JELLY ROLL: I knows it.

GRANDMOTHER: How you think she’s going to feel with you ain’t even in school anymore and you walking around here like you a sportin’ man and you ain’t even reached no majority yet. Your momma dead and you ain’t got no respect, but you know what?

JELLY ROLL: What.

GRANDMOTHER: You gon get some of that.

JELLY ROLL: What you meanin’, Grandmother. Now I’m startin’ to get itchy because the woman is powerful.

GRANDMOTHER: You gon give up bein a musician.

JELLY ROLL: Why I’m gonna do that?

GRANDMOTHER: Cause them places where you play ain’t nothing but a bunch of bums down there and your sisters, you you got some?

JELLY ROLL: Yes, ma’am.

GRANDMOTHER: I don’t want them girls associating with no damned bum and that’s what you’re becoming, a bum.

JELLY ROLL: But I aint.

GRANDMOTHER: You so big.

JELLY ROLL: Yes, ma’am.

GRANDMOTHER: Then I don’t won’t you living in this house anymore.

(SHE STARTS WALKING INTO THE HOUSE)

JELLY ROLL: But, Grandmother—

GRANDMOTHER: Don’t Grandmother me. Don’t try no sweet talking. You made up your mind. I’ve made up mine. There is no room for you here. (WALKS OFF STAGE) And if I see your little dumb ass hanging around here I’ll get my gun and shoot your ass. Am I clear?

(DOOR SLAMS)

JELLY ROLL: Since there wasn’t any room for me there and since I had declared my freedom, then by all that was holy, I had to be free. We didn’t mince words in New Orleans either. I mean when you said something you backed it up with action. Wasn’t about no pussyfootin around this here town. Just as soon fight as talk. Kill as soon as arbitrate. Used to get into many a fight too, just followin’ parades.

One group get to feuding with another group and it wouldn’t be nothin’ for

someone to pull out a knife and start stickin’ and walk away as though nothin’ happened. New Orleans was a tough town getting tougher because all of a sudden the laws begin a changin’. Let me bring you up to date on that too.

New Orleans once called its own constitutional convention. Now can you imagine a convention being called by colored folks all over the city of New Orleans? Huh? Well, maybe you can’t. But you see like I’ve been saying we were running our own lives and not waiting for anyone to tell us how to do that.

Of course, it also didn’t last very long. The white majority gradually whittled down the walking space of the Creole to almost nothing. Then he whittled down the walking space of the dark colored and then pushed the two of us into the same corner. Now there were a lot of results. Fighting, miscegenation, mixing the races and the like. But the only one we can talk about fondly is what happened to the music. The hot music.

Buddy Bolden on the trumpet. Everybody wants to give Louis Armstrong the credit for being the trumpet player of the ages, but as I see it, he was maybe only the third or fourth best at that game. There was Keppard who could play the roof off the cathedral at Notre Dame. But there was black Buddy Bolden.

You see what we had here was the classic composition of the Creole and the fierce hot playing of the Black, and then once we got all mixed up with each other, by and by we wound up creating a new thing, this new music. And in 1902 I called it “Jazz.”

Now you can go to a lot of sources and find out a whole lot of things like Bix Beiderbeck was this and that and Paul Whiteman was the King of some other thing, but let’s face it, if you want the truth , you got to go to the horse’s mouth to get it. That’s coming to me, you know? I was the one. Period.

I was the first one to write the things down. I was also the first one to insist that my men play it the way I wrote it. Of course Ragtime was Ragtime. I played that, of course. All the musicians played it. And I need to give due to Scott Joplin, the King of Ragtime. I even want to let you all in on a secret. I even went to Scott to study. I figured since he wasn’t all that far away from me maybe there was something I could learn from him, something he could teach me.

He was a pretty handsome man and his fame hadn’t gotten to his head. But he soon saw that there was little he could teach me because I was already ahead of him. He liked that but he was kind of fixed on the idea of writing an opera. I told him I’d help him but like all good composers he wanted to do it himself, so I pretty much left him alone and then left.

You see this new music combined the Rag energy with all the heat we: were feeling inside us. And I just have to take the credit for that. Put all your gold and jewelry on Mr. Jelly Roll, please. I will bring you back your investment and more. There were other players of the new music.

Tony Jackson who was a good friend of mine could play too. And sometimes I thought he could play better than me and that says something about me, being able to even make a statement like that.

But there were those times when we’d square off in one of the houses of ill repute which my grandmother didn’t like, where there was a good piano. Just me and Tony and the girls whose hearts were bigger than God’s would just sit and listen to us for hours.

By the time we finished the girls would be panting and me and Tony would have

our pockets bulging with heavy money. We’d leave there and go somewhere else and play until it was noon. Then we’d go to some woman’s house, a pretty woman, and sleep until it was nine at night and then we’d head out and do the same thing all over again until we proved who really was the best.

After a while it got so that I was always the best player so whenever I’d walk in a club the owner would ask his regular player to set aside so the keys could rest up. And then, so there’d be no argument, he’d come over after awhile and ask me to sit in. And I would. And I’d make them keys weep for joy, I played so good. So hot. So me. Yep, those were the good old days.

And I was so good at a lot of things I did. I wasn’t sure still if piano was the way because I could make some money playing pool. And once I left Alabama thinking maybe I could make more money on the pool than on the keys. I mean I had beaten the most meanest pool player of the day, the most vicious known to man. You got to ask the folks about me and mean old Aaron Harris. I betcha they still . Got some folks with some mean old memories too.

Not only was this sucker mean, he was bowlegged, dressed real sporty, and was uglier than them ten thousand year old Negro mummies hanging in the British Museum.

When I first looked up and saw him coming at me, I didn’t know who he was, you know. He came in walking and then stopped and just watched me cleaning up. I was burning, baby. Well, finally, his turn came and he and me start playing. I’m not thinking too much. I’m still unconscious with my play, but after awhile I can feel the folks starting to go distant on me, not feeling any of their energy, you know, and so I really open my eyes and see that there is a scar on this man’s cheek. That was my first clue. And all of a sudden I can feel cold running right through my blood.

Every man, woman, and child knows about the man with the scar on his face and how he got it too. Started me to thinking too. I mean he got the scar because he was playing someone who was beating him at his game, pool. And Aaron got so mad he broke a mirror on the man’s head, killing him instantly, but the flying glass cut him.

Well, the feet start to tinglin’, and the legs start to shakin’, but I can’t seem to stop from winnin’. I push in the last ball and he looks at me real strange like.

“You the piano player?” He asks. And I nod my head because if I talk I’m afraid to throw up all on him and cinch my case for sure “Let’s hear you play,” He commands me.

We all turn and see that there ain’t no piano in there. So we file out of the pool hall and walk a whole block to a club where there is an excellent piano. It could just as easily have been a parade except I’m thinking old Aaron wants a public display for his next kill: Me.

It ain’t no more than a minute ed and I’m seated at the keys now trying to figure out what the next move is going to be. Aaron’s got his arm on my shoulder so I ain’t running nowhere, that’s for sure. And on top of that I can smell him and I’m getting sick on that as well. In those days some people didn’t bathe as often as they should have, certainly Aaron didn’t.

“Play.” And I start playing. And for the next three hours I play and sing like I ain’t never played and sung before I had the people rocking. I was supposed to have them rocking. I was playing for my life. After the time ed, Aaron comes up to the piano and I’m thinking all the time I seen him get up from his table and by the steps he’s taking as he’s approaching me that this is it. This is it. I ain’t never going to play no pool again, that’s for sure and it looks like I ain’t

never playing no piano again neither. Aaron looks like he don’t like piano playing at all, and he looks like he especially don’t like me.

All of a sudden Aaron hoists his glass up and says: “Here’s to Ferdinand Joseph Morton, Doctor Jazz.” Well, everybody drinks up, but as thirsty as I am, I am more scared than anyone can imagine. I go to the bathroom. I can hear him cheering me on. But when I comes out he’s gone, but he done left me a hundred dollars with a note.

“Here’s one hundred you can’t win off me. I give it to the better player this day.” It wasn’t long after that when I heard that someone done shot Aaron in the back. That was the only way to get him too. I just wished they’d a done it before I met him. Coulda saved me some worryin’ time. Well, I figure I’m still young. There’s still some things I ain’t tried yet and there’s this old boy couldn’t been more than a couple of weeks older than me saying there’s some town out yonder where a man can make a heap of money. That’s for me. Need to get out of this town anyway. Close calls always teach me a lesson and one of them is to get the hell out while the gettin’ is good. He says we can get out by hoppin’ the rails and I say let’s hop. We cut to the rail yard and sure enough there’s a train heading out. And so me and him start on some travelin. While we’re travelin he explains how the game is going to go. I’m always keen on games so I listen up real well.

I play the piano. So far so good. I can do that I says. He plays the cards. The piano keeps their minds off the cards which is good since he’s going to be playing with hot cards,

that is, palm some cards, and win every hand. I’ll get fifty percent of his winnings. Now that’s all right with me. Money’s the name of the game. And I’m also thinking who’s going to know or make a connection with the playing and the cards. I’m in the clear the whole way. I tells him I like the plan.

But just as we hop off the train up pop the train cops and they arrest us for ridin’ the rails and we get a hundred days on the chain gang. And all of a sudden as we walk towards the jail I realize that I am facing one major problem. In a hundred days working on a chain gang I ain’t going to have no fingers to do anything with, much less hands. I got to get out of there.

We’re marching to the jail getting ready to start serving the sentence when my boy gets another bright idea. And we start running to get the hell on out of there. Found these gals who liked to hide us from inquiring eyes. In them old days a girl was really a girl, you know. They got new clothes for us so we could leave like gentlemen and there weren’t any strings attached either. You know? We weren’t leaving no broken hearts behind. There wasn’t rancor. They liked a good time and could see that when it was over, that was it.

Nowadays it’s different. People don’t care a whit about other people. It’s just what can you do for me. But in them old days a girl just wanted a couple of moments so she could have something to dream about. That’s what it was for all of us. We were just hoping for a few moments rest so we could dream a little and take away some of the unrest that was lodged right here in our hearts.

I mean there was an awful little to cheer about being a colored person in this country. That’s why we sang the blues, that’s why we made music, and that’s why we gave it that edge, that little bit of iron, that little bit of joy.

The act of singing kind of brings a smile to your face anyway, you know. Well, by this time I knew that music was going to be the key for me. No more running rails and playing pool or cards, you know. I was going to take my own fate in my own hands finally and just play for life, communicate my simplicities and complexities right on into my music. So I left ‘Bama and went west, young man. And that’s where I met the first woman.

(ENTER STAGE LEFT AN ATTRACTIVE WOMAN)

Some old crazy beautiful thing that gave me fits in and out of the bed.

(THEY DANCE AND SHE MIMES THE FOLLOWING DESCRIPTION OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP)

But we had the sweetest little thing going. She owned a club. I played in the club. And we both made a lot of money.

I mean the Hollywood set was finally hearing about this Dixieland thing, that was the name they gave to the music finally, and what they didn’t know was that they had the originator right therewith them. I corrected that notion as time went on. And as time went on my word started to be believed too. Simply because no one, and I mean no one, played as well as I did. We would still be there too, making money, if this damned woman didn’t like to move around so much. And then the competition was always trying to undercut us, playing for less money and such. But I followed this old witch around for years until I just got tired of it.

I got to tell you something else about me. The most important thing in my life is me.

(THE WOMAN GLARES AT HIM AND EXITS)

And once I understood that music was the most important thing to me and then came clothes and then came food and then came a good woman. In that order

too.

I ain’t going to defend it. It just is. I am a pretty colored man.

(THE WOMAN REAPPEARS AND TRIES TO SMASH HIM WITH HER UMBRELLA WHICH CAUSES HIM FITS OF LAUGHTER. THEN SHE EXITS)

A pretty colored man who plays prettier than most people look, so I knew about me. Anyway this woman pretty much upset my whole outlook on life and that’s why I had to get away from her.

Take all my money, all my music and sell it to the first man who come around, if I let her., which is what I wasn’t going to do. But Lord knows I was crazy about that woman. Followed her all over the cold north.

Now you might want to know why does a man as smart as Ferdinand Joseph Jelly Roll Morton want to do something as dumb as that.

(THE WOMAN REAPPEARS GIVING HIM THE COLD SHOULDER)

Yeah, sometimes I wanted to know that one when what I shoulda been doing was going some place where I could be comfortable and create my music. Well, something it took a little time to find out was that if a person ain’t got nothing to fight against, then he ain’t creative. Now some folks need to have an ugly woman behind him. Some others need to have something to hate, and others

need something to fear. Whatever it is, I needed something that was going to make me sweat so’s I could reach inside here (POINTS TO HIS GUT) for that something extra, you know what I mean. If you can’t reach for that something extra, don’t give me yesterday’s music or yesterday’s news. I want the new thing.

(THE WOMAN SMILES AT HIM AND BEGINS RUBBING HIS NECK)

Well that’s what this woman helped me to understand.

She also helped me understand something else, about my family, about one member of my family, my Godmother, the witch. That’s right, the witch.

(THE LIGHTING CHANGES TO AN EERIE GREEN AND THE WIND WHISTLES GENTLY AS THOUGH COMMENTING)

The one who practiced the voodoo with Marie LeVeau. Oh, man, it gives me chills just talking about them. I know she made a pact with the devil for me. I just know it.

It was her who used to carry me around with her when my mother was busy working herself to death. Laura was her name. She carried me right into jail with her when I was just six months old, just six months. But she was what you had to say was crazy. I would never say that to her face. Because I seen her do things that would make a person walk on air.

I know you can’t believe that. I don’t expect you to believe everything I say. But since you got to listen to me try and believe it. This woman would make a dish out of cow’s brains called cowein.

No! That ain’t what cowein is made out of. It’s turtle’s heart. Can you imagine eating that? Turtle’s heart.

She would have little glasses of water all around her house and I have heard voices coming out of them. Now you got to get the picture, a typical one, of some little old wizened woman whispering to herself and wandering the streets out of your head.

Laura wasn’t that kind of a person. She was one of us. She was beautiful. She was intelligent. And she was soft spoken was Laura. And because of that there were some very prominent people who came to the house too. She had plenty of money sometimes. Although taxes was always eating away at her savings. And little by little they take away everything that people live for, you know what I mean I don’t want to spend too much time on it, except that you got to understand we had had the city of our won, New Orleans. White people came to us for everything: education, training, music, and spiritual matters. And one of the people they came to was my Godmother, Laura. Only thing is they called her (HE LOOKS OVER BOTH SHOULDERS) Eulalie Echo. With a name like that you learn to respect what you don’t understand.

And I mean I saw a lot of things. One day I was running home to beat the curfew, this was a time before I left of course, and as I was running I saw this man sitting on a fence blowing smoke through his head like there were holes there in it. But he was blowing them right at me. Blew my mind. I wasn’t right for days. I tried talking to Laura about it but she wasn’t having none of that. Just patted me on the head and laughed one of her strange disted laughs that sent chills right through me.

Shucks! At night I could hear the dishes rattling in the kitchen and there was no one there. Sometimes could see the sewing machine running itself. I had to learn to live with that kind of energy. I was attached to it. I had to learn to control it. And this little old woman: I loved helped me to do that.

She helped me understand that if I got up in the middle of the night it wasn’t because I was scared. It was so I could write my thoughts down. Funny thing is all my thoughts were musical. And in a way I was writing down my sensations of my Godmother, the one who loved me but had scared me out of my wits.

I mean there ain’t nothing to do but to stare it down or go out of your mind. I learned to stare it down and then to write it down. Had some very interesting stare downs for some of them mornings, especially in the beginning until I got the hang of what it was all about. I can tell you that.

I thought it was good the help she gave me, but the other things she did just drove me away and one day, that’s just what happened. I just went away.

Her name was Nita and living with her mother was probably the dumbest thing to do, but I had done it. Anytime a woman and her mother can get a Jelly Roll to do the pot washing then you know he’s a goner.

Anyway all the time I spent away from the real musicians was spent out of heaven, if you know what I mean. They had been playing and creating all over New Orleans, and the heart of the t was in Storyville, that’s about where it all started and ended, when they closed it down in 1917. Just closed it down, wiping out an important part of American history. Just said it will not be. Just like they been saying since we had that convention and that was way back in 1868. That’s

a whole lot of years for colored folks to be carrying on. But can you believe that? That’s the same amount of time they been trying to suffocate a people, a music, a class, a life style.

I can’t, but they did it and now it’s gone. Just like I had to do with Nita. GO!

(NITA LOOKS AT HIM AND THEN SMILES AND EXITS)

What a loss! I mean I loved Nita. I loved New Orleans. I loved life but it seemed like the one thing a colored person ain’t supposed to do is love life because then it’s a certainty it’s going to be taken away from him, at least here in this country. But I was fighter and even though I thought I’d die without her and maybe the music felt that way also but we was both going to survive because that’s something else these white folks don’t seem to realize yet. We survive. We endure. We create.

In order for me to do all that I had to go to the Windy City. I followed the people who were going North. For me I had to move East. But we wound up in the same places: Factories where the jobs were where the folks had the money to come out on a Saturday and hear the finest music in the world.

You the lifestyle and what it used to be. And you knew that life had upped its pain quotient another notch. But we can handle that just so long as there is some space to play a card game, listen to the music, have a chance to see some beautiful women, and take a drink to forget about the rest of the week. And we ain’t nothing if we don’t have some spiritual nourishment.

I must have sensed all that because by the time I hit the Windy City I had gotten

into one of the greatest fetishes every man, woman, and child should get into. Diamonds. Yep! I was wearing diamonds on my hands, had three for my fingers. They looked real good, sparkling while I played. I had some for my clothes, including my suspenders, both for my pants and my socks, and I even had a couple hidden in my underwears, just in case. But the most noticeable one I had was in my mouth, right here between these two teeth. I know you can see it. Beautiful, Huh? Yeah, the right to adorn, baby, that’s what we did, and I did it the most of all the men you ever did see It was one of the few things the little white kids didn’t imitate, but all the ones I saw in Chicago did everything else we did include playing our music. They did all right too, but it wasn’t the same. You got to hear it to hear what I mean.

People like Bix and Krupa and Benny Goodman hung around all night, night after night, and sponged up everything we did, everything people like me and Bechet and Keppard did. Everything Johnny St. Cyr and Baby Dodds did. And that was a whole lot. So even if they couldn’t get it all they got enough to launch themselves into the money.

I seeing Eddie Condon there too. They were all there, watchin’, listenin’, and then imitatin’, and then— And Eddie Cantor was there watching Louis Armstrong who was also there. And Paul Whiteman was there too. They were all there. I couldn’t believe that what was happening was happening though.

They were playing most of what we had been playing but they weren’t paying anything for it. They just took it for free and then when times got bad for the Black musician they kept us from playing in their bands, these same guys who had copied their hearts out.

Can you imagine that? Just like taking the country forcibly from the Native American. You take it from him, forget you killed him to do it, and then it belonged to you all the time. I don’t imagine it has changed all that much either,

but anyway, when I got there I guess the single biggest thing that really hurt me was that I couldn’t lead a band there.

Yeah! I couldn’t get a major group together and play in any of the big clubs, and they had some nice ones too. The thing that saved the day was that I was one of the few people who could write the music down and that’s what I did. I sold my compositions. That one little bit of early training really saved me. And people bought my songs, my tunes, my compositions.

And at each store where they were being sold I would stand out and let the people know just whose music they were buying.

“Hey! You all know whose music you buying? You all know who I am? I’m the one who originated this music. I originated the Jazz. I’m Jelly Roll Morton, Doctor Jazz.” (LAUGHS LOUDLY, BREATHES DEEPLY)

The people stopped traffic trying to see me, and I learned most important thing because I made more money from writing the music and publishing it than I did to play it. Isn’t that interesting? I mean I like the little black dots and lines and all but they were just that, little black dots and all, they ain’t the music and they surely weren’t the musician, the creator of the whole thing. I still can’t get used to that as a concept for living but I do not have any trouble spending the money, I can tell you that with much finality. But that was the way it was with the Melrose Brothers, the group I hooked up with. They sure hooked up me. We made a lot of money. They made the most, but I got some.

And maybe more important was the fact that I did get a recording contract with RCA. You might not know RCA but they were the ones that had a logo that had a little dog staring at a victrola with his head cocked; you know how dogs are when they hear something they’re not familiar with. Well, that was their logo. It

became very popular; probably lots of that had to do with the music people found themselves listening to, my music.

I had formed a group, finally. We played the best music of the day. Period. Wasn’t no one playing any better music than Jelly Roll Morton and his Hot Peppers. I mean we played all kinds of tunes like: Doctor Jazz, Sidewalk Blues, Granpa’s Spells, Turtle Twist, Black Bottom Stomp, big hits, and one of them things that Benny Goodman used as his theme song, King Porter Stomp. Yep! That one was mine too.

And further what was so special was that RCA treated me just like who I was, the originator of the whole thing. Now I know that that exalted position did not make it any easier on any of the other musicians who resented my ego. I know that. But there certainly wasn’t any one else telling the truth, so I had to do it.

A side benefit of their treating me so well was that the musicians I played with understood who I was, respected that, and played the music just the way I wanted them to. Yep! They played the black dots just the way I wanted them played. I believe and I guess all producers, all good producers, that is, know this, that if you got a star you got to let him gleam or you ain’t got nothing but a blow out.

Don’t want that on a record. Want music, and Jelly Roll just gave people the best there was and the basis for everything that come afterwards. Just check out the records, you’ll see exactly what I mean. From rhythm to melodies to harmonies. Old Jelly Roll mapped it out so a seeing eye dog could follow.

Of course I was getting older. And I didn’t have a close immediate family anymore. Had just about lost track of Nita and I would’ve had a hard time with her anyway if I was to take her back. No, the only consolation I had in life was

the fact that I was making money from my music, My band was touring all the colleges and the suburbs of Chicago, and all the people knew who I was. But I was lonely. I knew it.

(A LOVELY WOMAN COMES ON STAGE AND SMILES AT HIM AS IN A DREAM)

I guess she knew it but she sure did give me a hard way to go.

(THEY BEGIN A MATING DANCE IN A NIGHT CLUB WHICH EXTENDS UNTIL THEY CONVERSE BACKSTAGE ONE NIGHT)

JELLY ROLL VO: I went walking into this club one night for a quickie and a short one. I look up on the stage and I see the prettiest little thing I could ever want to see and she almost didn’t have anything on either. I wanted to take off my coat and wrap her up and take her on home with me. And I tried, but Mabel Bertrand just wasn’t that kind of a woman. Out goes the thoughts for a quickie. I keep leaving messages for her at the club, at her home, and she keeps giving me the stiff upper lip routine but I can now and then see a smile crossing her face as I turn my back and I could never forget that first smile I saw on her face when I first walked into the club. I am in love.

So one day I put away my shyness, I know you can’t believe that the great one could be shy, but this Mabel is something else. Well, one day I put away the shyness and I go on backstage and give her my best smile, the one with the twinkling little diamond, and she finally smiles back.

JELLY ROLL: Mabel, ain’t you been getting any of my messages I been leaving

for you?

MABEL: No. (KEEPS FLUFFING)

JELLY ROLL: Do you want to know?

(SHE TURNS AND LOOKS DIRECTLY AT HIM, SMILING, AND SHAKES HER HEAD)

MABEL: You got a reputation, Mr. Morton, for being a ladies’ man, meaning more than one lady.

JELLY ROLL (PROTESTING): Mabel, I been tellin’ you I would take you out of here.

MABEL: That’s good for you, but what does that mean to me?

JELLY ROLL: I’d kidnap you. Right now.

MABEL: That’s what I mean, Mr. Morton. How could I possibly feel about that?

JELLY ROLL: Well, it means that I’m in love with you, Mabel. That’s what it means to me. What does that fact mean to you?

(MABEL STOPS SMILING. PUTS DOWN HER FLUFFERS)

MABEL: You just might want to know a couple of things about me before you continue, Ferdinand.

JELLY ROLL: Ferdinand.

MABEL: That is your name.

JELLY ROLL: I don’t use it all that much.

MABEL: I know all about you because I’m from New Orleans too.

JELLY ROLL: No.

MABEL: Yes! (MIMICKING HIM)

JELLY ROLL: Hmm.

MABEL: You know what that means?

JELLY ROLL: I know.

MABEL: Let me remind you. It means I’m from home, Jelly. Home. Where you come from. We might even got some common relatives between us, so I ain’t about to go flipping all around the ocean because some diamond in the mouth fish done showed up flashing grins and money all over, just so’s he can kidnap me.

JELLY ROLL: Darlin’, I ain’t ready to get married yet.

MABEL: Too busy.

JELLY ROLL: Yeah, that’s it. I’m too busy, darling.

MABEL: But you ain’t too busy to be sitting here in my dressing room while I’m trying to get dressed, is you.

JELLY ROLL: When you say it like that it don’t even begin to sound right.

MABEL: And that’s because you still ain’t sure of your intentions. But I know who I am, Jelly Roll Morton. I know who I am.

JELLY ROLL: I only really got time for my music, to play it and to compose it.

MABEL: That’s honest, Jelly, and there’s the door. Goodbye.

JELLY ROLL (GETS UP AND LEAVES MABEL): And that was that. The girl turned out the lights on me, Jelly Roll Morton. Lord Jelly Roll. King Jelly Roll. And when she did it, she must have known something. Because when she comes out of the dressing room.

(MABEL COMES OUT FULLY DRESSED)

I’m still here, Mabel. Waiting for you right here.

MABEL: I can see that. Well—

JELLY ROLL: Well, what do you say?

MABEL: You got to do the talking here, Sir. I have said my piece. I ain’t no little man crazy girl waiting to be swept off her feet. Not by you or any man.

JELLY ROLL: Mabel, there ain’t no use of me going on like I been going. Ain’t no use in any woman applying for any of the jobs I need to have done for me. I see you and the world has stopped spinning. I want you.

MABEL: I know you do, Jelly, and I want you.

(THEY DANCE RIGHT ON THROUGH TO THE WEDDING, RIGHT THROUGH THE VOICE OVER)

JELLY ROLL VOICE OVER: I had who I needed for the first time in my life. I knew it was right. She knew it right. There wasn’t anything for us to do but to tie the knot, jump over the broom, get married. She made sure of that. My reputation really had frightened her and as she was fond of telling me after we got married—

MABEL VOICE OVER: If we had gone together, Jelly, before we got married, there wouldn’t be an us today.

(MABEL EXITS LEAVING JELLY ROLL ON STAGE)

JELLY ROLL: The woman knew her man. Period. And that’s good when a man knows the woman knows who he is because then he can’t hide, he can’t lie, and he definitely can’t cheat. I was better off for the whole thing.

But I was a jealous sonuvadog. Jealous like when someone goes too near your bowl, I was a snarling sonuvadog. And I had taken to carrying a gun, for protection. So the word was out. Don’t mess with Jelly. Don’t mess with his woman, Mabel. Period Of course I needed the gun to get paid too. You see sometimes the entrepreneur didn’t always feel up to paying his musicians, the black ones anyway. So the leader had to be ready to sport the deal. Otherwise, the musicians ain’t going to be playing for someone who can’t even pay their way. You do see the predicament. So I carried the gun.

And sure enough, one night we’re kicking out of the club and this little weasel of a club owner comes up to me pleading broke. I look at him and smile. That’s the way you start off these things, a little smile and then a fierce grin. Then some boisterous talk. Usually. But this night I was in a hurry to get to Mabel. We had had a little argument and I didn’t feel so good about it and I wanted to get back to her to make up. You know that making up is the best part of the argument. And here is this thing preventing me from doing that.

Ain’t nothing I can do for you. I got five musicians outside waiting for their money. The club was packed. You sold the booze. You got the money.

“But that’s just it, Mr. Morton. You saw those top coats walk into the club towards the end.” I nods my head. The top coats is a little slang word for the crooks who extort money from the businesses. Could have been—”They were Al Capone’s mob. What could I do?” Now Al Capone had a bigger name back then than he does now. He was alive back then and he had much power, much more than Jelly Roll Morton. But I wasn’t one to back down, not right away.

Look, you made the money. We helped you. You owe us. Pay. You got them to deal with. You got me to deal with. If you ain’t got enough money to go around then get out of the business, but before you do, you pay me.

Now this little turkey backed up a little bit and I could see his thought flying across his face as he thought them. The usual like how dare this little darky even consider talking to me like that. And how he could get to his gun behind the shelf he’d just chase me out of there. But as he starts to move away, muttering now, I pull out my gun.

You see this.

And he turns and looks at me and then the little pistol I got and nods his head.

You make any funny business with me and it’s your head. Do you understand.

“Sure, I understand. I understand I’m in the wrong business. I should have gone into tailoring or something like that. Then the mob and you musicians don’t bother me.” I let him think that thought. And when he puts the money on the table, I smile and put up my gun and reach for the money. And that’s when it gets tricky because all of a sudden he’s got his gun out.

“You think I’m stupid, Morton, huh? If you can pull a gun on me then I can pull one on you. Neither of us are killers.” Just then Mabel walks into the club.

(MABEL WALKS IN FULLY CLOTHED)

MABEL: What’s taking you so long, Jelly? Oh, I thought you had some new woman, but I can see you are discussing business. You get paid yet.

JELLY ROLL: Got the money right here in my fist, honey.

MABEL: Well, don’t lose it, Jelly. We got to put a down payment on the house I’ll wait outside for you.

JELLY ROLL: Be right there. (MABEL EXITS) So I’m going now. You pull that trigger and everyone is going to know it was you who killed me, and my wife ain’t going to rest until your ass is mud. He puts up the gun and I exit, grinning as hard as I could. That Mabel is sure a good kid. She probably didn’t even see the gun in his hand and I sure ain’t going to mention it to her because then she wouldn’t let me work there anymore.

Another good thing about Mabel was that she was knowledgeable about herbs. The same ones my Laura used to use, and probably had used on me. (LAUGHS BROADLY)

Now I don’t want you thinking that my woman was just a dance chorine and untalented at that because it just wasn’t true. She was in Blackbirds with Florence Mills just to give you a little idea about who she was. And if I it right she was in—

(MABEL ENTERS)

MABEL: I was in Shuffle Along. I was in Dixie to Broadway. And I ain’t no amateur act running after the great one here. And right now I have the best job in the best house in the city.

(SHE GIVES HIM A KISS ON THE CHEEK)

I’m going shopping now. So behave and don’t bore the people with all this biographical nonsense.

JELLY ROLL: I won’t, Mabel.

(SHE EXITS)

Quite a woman, huh? Yeah, I’m a lucky guy. Anyway, the pressures they started to put on the musician began to affect the level of playing. Yep! You put pressure on the men who create it and then soon enough that pressure starts to backfire, just where you don’t want it to. As soon as they start to messin’ with your money, then everyone got to have the problems. And with me they weren’t letting me play in the better clubs anyway, so that was strike one. And with the money deal, that was strike two, and then if you can’t afford the musicians you want then it’s strike three and we’re outta here. All the good stuff went, like a line drive over the fence, to the white groups. It was as simple as that. They stole the music, had the clubs, got the money, and the best musicians they could afford and there wasn’t anything left for people like me. That’s what they did in Chicago, pretty much the same as they did in New Orleans.

One thing people need to understand is that a rich person don’t ever get poor and as a result he doesn’t know a thing about life and can’t really play from experience. He can buy his way out but he can’t play his way out because he ain’t got a sense of value. Don’t got no balance, and ain’t even interested in the concept because it involves heavy work.

So me and Mabel went to Harlem, New York. We carried the compositions and the arrangements with us and it was really the only thing that kept us going. We could always get money for that, but the whole world is starting to change on us. That’s what happens when you start getting older too. You think everything is going to stay the same. You always going to have your power, your straight back, your creativity. But if you were black in them days you had to get back. You had to give way to the white thing that was sweeping all across who and what you were And then, BOOM! Depression. No one’s got extra dimes for anything, much less entertainment. Things got so bad that Mabel actually got me

into the Catholic Church. Me hoping that God will smile some more fortune on me, and her hoping that I would get some more religion and finally really settle down, though I know she knows there ain’t another woman in sight of me for at least a thousand miles.

And I guess the thing that really hurt me the most was watching those guys take our thing away from us. I watched Benny Goodman take Billie Holiday upstate with him but he couldn’t take her into the downtown clubs with him.

And I hated to think on things like that because it takes so much out of you, too much really. But the truth, everybody got to know as much of the truth as possible. When I did play in Harlem, all the musicians was reacting to the prejudice, getting drunk, not showing up for work much less rehearsals, but when they did, they weren’t able to play the notes, the written notes. And so things drifted. And when RCA discovered they weren’t selling as many records as they once did they quietly showed me the back door.

So it was just me and Mabel, with our backs to the wall because the bills still wanted paying, the clothes still wanted cleaning, and the stomachs were addicted to eating, still. And the food prices were outrageous. With the money stopped we had to attack the savings and that’s when I went back to my roots.

Yeah! The Catholic Church wasn’t doing anything for me, so I went to this hoodoo lady in Brooklyn to get some good luck

(IN TINY BROOKLYN APARTMENT WITH THE HOODOO LADY. LIGHTS ARE EERIE GREEN)

JELLY ROLL: All I need is a little luck, something to get started. I still got this music inside me and it still wants to come out. Help me.

HOODOO LADY: I will help you. Were you really a relative of Eulalie Echo?

JELLY ROLL: Yes, Ma’am.

HOODOO LADY: Good.

(THE HOODOO LADY GETS UP AND SPRINKLES SOME POWDER ALL AROUND JELLY ROLL)

HOODOO LADY: You take this and sprinkle it on your office and in your house. You see. Your luck will change.

(SHE EXITS)

JELLY ROLL: I tried it too. More than once. But it didn’t change a thing. As a matter of fact things got worse. I had had a little business selling the work and I thought I could use some help so I had gotten this West Indian fellow to help me. What I didn’t know was that he was a little trickster and was trying to steal my business from right under me and he had gotten a hoodoo lady to come to the office and sprinkle some of her herbs all over and so there I was finding out that the guy is selling my work for peanuts so you know I had to let his ass go. And I could have gotten big bucks for them too.

And I started out after the guy too. I was going to cut him up into little pieces and then shoot his ass. But the Superintendent of the office building helps the guy get away. And his little hoodoo lady must have left some strong stuff in the air because my secretary got sick but I mean how can they justify stealing someone’s life work? How?

I tried to fight back by finding some other lady but Brooklyn was a tough place for me to fight in and I wasn’t doing my heart any good either.

Finally I went to the Library of Congress in Washington, DC to record the music for posterity. I even got a little paycheck for that too. Anyway I played into the recorder and even told some stories about the good old days. Like what I’m doing now. Told them the whole story of Jazz, I did, only way the inventor of the music could too, you know?

Mabel stayed on in New York while I did that. As usual I found a club, run by a woman, and I could play there. She wanted me. I wanted to play, do something with myself. Woman thought I could bring the people back to their roots.

(WOMAN CLUB OWNER APPEARS ON STAGE AS JELLY ROLL IS GETTING READY TO GO ON)

CLUB OWNER: They’ll come on back, Jelly Roll Morton. You’ll see.

JELLY ROLL: I’ll believe that when I see it. But you know you ain’t even done no advertising for this engagement.

CLUB OWNER: Ain’t got no money, Jelly.

JELLY ROLL: And you ain’t making any either. You ever run a club before.

CLUB OWNER: I put the booze out there and I got the right entertainment.

JELLY ROLL: If that was all you’d be a millionaire. But you got to do more than that. You got to go out there and bring in the people. If talent was all you needed we’d live in a world of peace.

CLUB OWNER (LAUGHS): Well, you play, and we’ll do the best we can.

JELLY ROLL Used to work for a woman in California, but one thing she didn’t do that you do do is let your friends in for nothing. That ain’t smart. This ain’t a hangout for your friends or is it.

CLUB OWNER: You know, Jelly, you complain all the time. Just play the music please and stop worrying about anything else.

JELLY ROLL: I’m playing for a percentage.

CLUB OWNER: I’m giving you some cash.

JELLY ROLL: But I can’t even send money home. Everything I make is just enough to keep me living in that little hole in wall hotel. I can’t even get to a steak twice a week.

CLUB OWNER: You know what, Jelly?

JELLY ROLL: No, what?

CLUB OWNER: You are a pain in the rump.

JELLY ROLL: I’m playing my butt off and you ain’t doing what you’re supposed to be doing. You know? (SHE EXITS) What the hell am I doing here?

(WE SEE THE FOLLOWING OCCUR ON STAGE)

JELLY ROLL VOICE OVER: One day I’m at the piano playing my ass off and all of a sudden this crazy dude lumbers onto the stage behind me and he takes out this knife while I’m playing. Now I don’t see the guy but I hear him muttering so I stop and turn to look and the knife in his hand goes into my head and he pulls it out of my head and stabs me again in the chest and then he runs out of there. And there I am, the famous Jelly Roll Morton, famous all over the world as the King of Jazz, lying there on the floor bleeding to death. And no one wants to touch me.

(JELLY ROLL GETS UP. DUSTS HIMSELF OFF)

JELLY ROLL: People can definitely make you sick. Thank God the Library of Congress job is completed. There’s something there for posterity. Mabel has to come down to DC and she tries to fix me up. But me and Mabel ain’t the same couple we once were. And I’m more stubborn than a mule, going through that life crisis, you know. You think it’s all over but there’s one more gamble to make and then you’re over. You know?

(MABEL STANDS THERE SOFTLY SOBBING)

MABEL: You’re just going back to that woman.

JELLY ROLL: Ain’t just going back to no woman. I’m going to California because I hit it big there once and maybe I can do it again.

MABEL: But I don’t want you to go. You don’t have your strength yet.

JELLY ROLL: Woman, why you want to tear me down like this? The world ain’t done enough to me yet.

MABEL: I’m not tearing you down. You’re my husband.

JELLY ROLL: As long as you that. You got the savings books. I’ll take the cars. That’ll give me some collateral when I get there. I’ll be able to make it until I get a job and then I’ll send for you.

MABEL: Don’t go.

JELLY ROLL: Mabel, what good can come from the rest of my life if I don’t play the music? Huh, Sweet Cakes?

MABEL: Don’t talk to me like that.

JELLY ROLL: You know what I mean.

MABEL: Jelly, You got a hole in your lung. The doctor has told you you need to rest it up until you are strong.

JELLY ROLL: Honey, I get to the warm country and then I’ll get strong. And that’s where I’ll be. I do this one thing really well, Mabel. If you take it away from me, what do I become, huh? I ain’t going to win any popularity contests with the world, Mabel. Ain’t got no friends ready to come and care for me. You’re it, but I don’t want to drag you into something I ain’t sure about yet. The only thing I got working for me is the work.

MABEL: You’ll write.

JELLY ROLL: Of course. And I’ll send for you too.

(SHE GIVES HIM A KISS AND EXITS)

JELLY ROLL: What I hadn’t told her was that I had received a letter from California that my Godmother had finally died and that explained why all of a sudden I was subject to all the pain. Her power was gone. I was truly alone in the world. And now the devil was free to try and get me because Eulalie Echo couldn’t hold him back anymore. It’s funny about voodoo and all. If you believe in it and I do then you got to respect it and I do.

Another reason I was making it to California was that my last relative, Laura’s husband, was there and he was blind, and he didn’t have anyone to help him. So for the first time Jelly Roll Morton is going out there to an errand of mercy. I kind of liked the thought too.

Even though I was in much discomfort from my own injuries I hitched up my two cars and started the journey. It’s the middle of the winter and I’m traveling fast to get to the warm weather. Naturally, I lose one car in the snow, right off the cliff. I was lucky I could unhitch the other car otherwise it would have been curtains for me too.

And all the time I’m wheezing and blowing real hard because the heart is bothering me too. You see that knife really messed me up. But when I get to California I can see I made a great mistake because there ain’t nothing there for me. Nothing.

Hollywood, that once had called out for me and had helped make me famous, wasn’t interested in me right now. They had Stepin Fetchit and Willie Best and their own idea of what a Negro is supposed to be like. Well, you know I ain’t like those fellows.

And that was too bad because I had a hankering to send Mabel back to her folks in New Orleans. Who does she know in New York? But I ain’t got the money. Isn’t that funny? All my life getting to the money wasn’t all that hard. I had a talent, but now the world was telling me once more that talent was not enough.

You need to have your health too and mine was failing. Just getting there took all I had. And as for my uncle he was past it all. I used what diamonds I had to get buried. It hate me to my heart to see me getting buried and that bright grin I had held onto all my life was gone. And all the musicians who were in town and just didn’t come to the funeral, that kind of hurt me too. In death what could I do to them? But I forgave them. What am I going to hold a grudge for, here? Please!

Nowadays I just sit out here and watch the sun rise and the sun set and I don’t feel any pain. Mabel comes sometimes and spends a few moments of her time with me too.

(MABEL COMES AND PUTS HER ARM AROUND HIS NECK SITTING IN HIS LAP)

Sometimes I make believe I’m young again too.

(THEY BOTH LAUGH)

Yep! I thank God for having given me the fingers and the mind to play the music. As for the diamonds, and the women, and the cards, and the pool, and the fights and the parades, they’re all memories now and fading fast I might add.

That’s why I decided to come on out and speak to you.

(GETS UP AND STRETCHES THEN HUGS MABEL)

So now you know what to answer when they ask you who was the first, the fairest, and really, the finest piano player of jazz. You just tell them, Doctor Jazz, King Jelly, Jelly Lord, Ferdinand Joseph, Jelly Roll Morton.

(LAUGHS. THEY EXIT)

END

VSOP:MONKnBUD The PreQuel By Laurence Holder

Cast of Characters: Thelonius Monk, Bud Powell

Time: 1951

Place: Subway, club with pianos, back room, street corner.

(BUD POWELL DRESSED IN BLACK WALKS ONTO 52ND STREET AND EIGHTH AVENUE BEGINS PACING WAITING FOR THELONIOUS MONK STRAINS OF BUD’S VERSION OF BODY AND SOUL. BUD SCATS A MOMENT UNTIL MONK APPEARS)

BUD: What took you so long, man. I ain’t got no time to waste here now. I got something important to do. You’re always holding me up, you know.

MONK: Well, if you’re in such a damned haste, my man, move along. Onward I say. Get thee to a flophouse.

BUD: Oh-ho! Look what’s gotten into l’enfant terrible this morning?

MONK: You, you windbag. What’s this I read in Downbeat you talking about me. What do you know?

BUD: The interview is what’s got you so upset? That’s what’s got you walking slow? Late for appointments?

MONK: Look, Bud, you do 2 things real well. You play piano. You get high. Those are the only things you got expertise in. Just them. You don’t know how fast I should be walking or anything else for that matter.

BUD: You are very shortsided, Monk.

(MONK HOLDS UP PALMS)

MONK: Let’s go inside. It’s starting to rain.

BUD: I don’t feel no rain.

MONK: I’m telling you it’s gonna rain. Let’s go inside.

BUD: All right, Monk. Whatever you say. But why you want to come in here? Smith’s?

MONK: Maybe you want to stand in the rain, but I don’t.

(THEY MOVE INSIDE SMITH’S)

BUD: , there’s a song about singin’ or runnin’ in the rain. ?

MONK: No, I don’t. But it wouldn’t matter if I did. No one else gives a crap if you or not.

BUD: Man, you are one sick pup. You hear me? It’s your music no one gives a crap about. That’s why you’re acting so damned high-minded. Got to cover-up.

MONK: Is that what it is?

BUD: Get a goddamned job and your ass ain’t half bad. But stay out of work too long and your shit definitely stinks, Monk.

MONK: You too much, Bud. You really too much. You play yourself into traps and then you just press a spring or something and you get free.

BUD: What do you mean? What traps? What springs?

MONK: I was getting ready to take your damned head off. I sure don’t need an arrogant puffed up sonuvabitch telling me my music’s crap.

BUD: Oh.

MONK: It’s just like your music.

BUD: Don’t be talking about my music, Monk.

MONK: Yep, I think I will. You know I write my shit and you can play it, so I know how weird your ass is, Bud.

BUD: Weird.

MONK: Yep, weird. I also noticed some other things.

BUD: Like what? What other thing?

(MONK SUDDENLY SPINS TO HIS LEFT AS HE LAUGHS. BUD IS DEFINITELY PISSED)

MONK: What other thing?

BUD: I’m talking to you; don’t go spinning off the planet. You hear me, Monk?

MONK: I hear you.

BUD: Well, talk, dammit. Tell me why I’m weird.

MONK: It’s about this tendency you been developing lately?

BUD: What tendency? What are you ranting about?

MONK: I ain’t ranting, Bud. So keep your cool.

BUD: Keep my cool. I‘ll keep my cool as soon as you talk.

MONK: You got something to smoke?

BUD: Yeah. Always got something to get high. But I ain’t sharing shit with you, you fucking malcontent.

MONK: Got to get your mouth occupied. You shoulda been a singer. That’s the problem. You shoulda been a singer.

BUD: Can you imagine me being a crooner? Bud Sinatra—no, no—Frankie Bud. I like that. Or Mr. B. Billy Eckstein.

(BEGINS TO SING EVERYTHING I HAVE IS YOURS)

MONK: All right, man, light up the t.

BUD: Here? In Smith’s. That’s novel, Monk. That’s really good.

MONK: Yeah, light up the goddamn thing. I want to get high. They’re so busy they won’t even notice two black guys sitting at a table. Not in this dump. You look around.

(BUD LOOKS AND NODS)

BUD: I’m not interested in spending the night in jail. Not alone. Not with you. Not nothing. Already spent time in there. ?

MONK: You always go back to that, Bud.

BUD: Wonder why? So here’s the t. But I ain’t smoking.

(MONK BEGINS LAUGHING)

MONK: You full of shit, Bud. You know that. Give me the fucking t.

(HE TAKES IT FROM BUD AND LIGHTS UP)

BUD: I’ll keep an eye out for you.

MONK: You do that.

BUD: You ever wonder why, Monk?

MONK: No, I don’t want to think about it. I don’t ever want to think about what happened to you.

(HE GRINS AND HANDS T BACK)

BUD: Good shit, ain’t it?

MONK: Yeah, where you get it from?

BUD: You always want to know my connections.

MONK: People don’t always do right by you, Bud. You’re so fucking naive and young.

BUD: All right. I don’t want no lecture, especially from you. You ain’t no goddamned saint, you know.

MONK: Yeah, you got that right.

BUD: There’s this pilot I ran into last night. He flew it in from Mexico. Says it grows like grass over there. It is grass. (BUD HOWLS)

MONK: Yeah, it’s nice. But you ain’t got to be so loud. Shit is good. Creeps up on you, makes you want to play something. (LOOKS AROUND) But there’s nothing to play. We got to go where there’s a piano.

BUD: So what’s the tendency?

MONK: What?

BUD: Look, motherfucker, you said that I was developing a tendency and then you broke it off. So what was it?

MONK: Just that. You start something and then you break it off. You ain’t finishing the lines like you used to.

BUD: You noticed.

MONK: I noticed.

BUD: I’m working on a new concept, Monk.

MONK: Oh.

BUD: I’m working a concept. You working on a new piece?

MONK: I’m working on all of them. The new and the old. Sometimes I be walking down the street, Bud, and all of a sudden I get a flash on “Round Midnight.” Now, mind you, Bud, I did that one in the forties. This here is 1951, man.

BUD: And you are still working on it. That’s all fine and good, Monk. For you. But me, I got problems. Man, I got problems the Pope couldn’t stand to hear.

MONK: What’s the matter?

BUD: I’m telling you that I got problems. That’s all.

MONK: Well you going to tell me about them or what? Come on. Let’s get out of here.

(HE GETS UP AND GRABS BUD BY THE COLLAR DRAGGING HIM FROM THE BAR ONTO THE STREET)

BUD: Are you completely out of your mind, Monk? What the hell was that all about? I’m a man. You got to respect me. How come you don’t what happened to me?

MONK: We got to find a piano. Now. And listen to me.

BUD: What?

MONK: It ain’t that I don’t what happened. I was there. But there wasn’t nothing I could do. Them cops had made up their mind about you.

(THEY LOOK UP DOWN)

BUD: The world got their mind made up about me, Monk. I am just a sorry assed motherfucker.

(THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHER)

MONK: Let’s get to a piano, Bud.

BUD: Well, which club do you want to go into? We know them all.

MONK: I dunno. Damn.

(HE HUNCHES SHOULDERS AND MOVES AWAY BUD FOLLOWS HIM)

BUD: I thought you wanted to play a piano. I gave mine away last week.

MONK: Why’d you do that?

BUD: I needed money.

MONK: So you gave up your piano.

BUD: It was all that was left.

MONK: Whachudowidall your money?

BUD: I got this new thing I been doing.

MONK: What new thing?

BUD: Well, you’re right, it ain’t new.

MONK: Still talking in circles.

BUD: I been shooting.

MONK: Ho ho. You been lying too.

BUD: I’m going crazy again anyway. So what the hell, you know what I mean.

MONK: That ain’t no excuse for all the pain you going to cause. You got to keep your head on.

BUD: You never did understand, Monk.

MONK: Oh.

BUD: Yeah, man, my head is off. Been off a long time now.

MONK: You goin’ back to that again?

BUD: Where I’m supposed to be, huh, Monk? It all starts right there for me. Right there. First job on the road. The baddest motherfucker on the keys, the new Messiah. I can’t be stopped. , I done won all the challenge matches. All the jam sessions. I am the baddest thing since bathing suits.

(MONK BEGINS LAUGHING AS THEY SEE A CLUB EMANON. THEY GO INSIDE SHAKE OFF THE RAIN)

BUD: Yeah, man, and so I was bad so I got a little high. Everybody in this country gets high on something. Most of it’s legal. But like some people on the edge the razor’s edge some of us got to try the new things. Bird’s like that.

MONK: Saw him the other day.

BUD: He told me. Said you were working on a new tune.

MONK: Yeah. He’s looking a little beat up widdatshit.

BUD: He shouldn’t be either. I mean he’s the one making the records the people

like. Making all the money.

MONK: You don’t know what his contract is.

BUD: Yeah, you’re right about that. Bird’s liable to sign anything just to show he’s tough.

MONK: Yeah. You like his strings stuff.

BUD: It’s all right. But it really ain’t Bird, you know what I mean. The best Bird is 1947 well 44 to 47. When I played with him. We had a good group.

MONK: Yeah. It was good, Bud. But he’s living hard, Bud.

BUD: I hear you, Monk, but we’re all living hard. Ain’t no one paying no good money for what we bringing to them And then you turn around and be watching some asshole TV variety show and all of a sudden you’re hearing your licks. Your shit that you kept your head in a toilet bowl for years to master and then some stinkass TV band just comes along and rips off your stuff.

MONK: They ain’t ripping off nothing of mine.

BUD: Most folk don’t know your behind is even here.

MONK: Yeah, but, it doesn’t mean anything.

(GOES OVER TO PIANO. NODDLES RHYTHM CHANGES. BUD S HIM)

BUD: So there I am again, Monk. Seeing you in mean disagreement with two cops right in front of the goddamned club of your employment, right there where you were playing or maybe it was a train station. I think it was that, but I don’t that well yet. And there was that time I was just sitting and minding my own business smoking a t and the Police are staring at my feet on the seat if you get my drift. I that.

MONK: I got it.

BUD: “Got to keep everyone in line,” he says to me. “Feet off the wood. What’reya stupid or something? No smoking marihuana. Let’s go downtown.” Wait a minute, man. “Oh, you’re a wiseguy now, is that it?” And suddenly they’re all over me. Beating the living shit out of me and I ain’t taking my hands outta my pockets and I ain’t taking my foot off the goddamned wooden seat. And I ain’t said a word. Nothing. Just lookin’ at them makes them feel stupid, ya know. Makes them feel like molehills. Antholes.

MONK: You like telling these lies.

BUD: Ain’t no lie. But you my man, Monk. You know if you ever need something I’m your man. I’ll be there, Monk. For you. You know that.

MONK: You embellish this story each time you tell it.

BUD: I have a greater memory of it, Monk. There’s more of it that comes to me. Each time I play it back I hear and something else. And I enhance it.

MONK: Like a tune.

BUD: Yeah. Like a tune. Them cops didn’t like me telling them off, did they, Monk? They just didn’t like my tune. Yeah, that’s it.

MONK: No, Bud. They didn’t. And when they went to hit you there wasn’t nothin’ for me to do.

BUD: Why, Monk? Why didn’t you help me?

MONK: Someone grabbed me from behind. Hit me on the head. And the next thing I know your momma done come and got to drive you home and your head is nuttier than a fruit cake.

BUD: It’s a tune with an abrupt ending, Monk. I don’t like the pain, but you know something, Monk?

MONK: What?

BUD: You can get used to that, man.

(MONK NOODLES “Misterioso”)

MONK: I more each time I go out. Enhance it. I like that, Bud. I do. It’s what happens when you play a tune.

BUD: That’s why you like me.

MONK: I don’t know if I like you, man. I mean my wife shudders every time she hears your name, man. I don’t know if I like that.

BUD: Now you’re talking about your wife, not me. She’s the problem here.

MONK: Yeah. Maybe so.

BUD: Yeah, maybe so. Maybe you should leave her ass.

(MONK STOPS PLAYING SUDDENLY STARES AT BUD)

MONK: Where’d you get that idea from?

BUD: Well, you ain’t gonna stop seeing me because of her.

MONK: Well, no—I ain’t going to do that.

BUD: So you might as well leave her.

MONK: You sick.

BUD: She ain’t no use to you. She bray, but she don’t play.

MONK: A woman don’t have to play. Where does it say anywhere that a woman has to play? Most of the time women didn’t play because men were so badassed about it all the time. But there were some good players. Some good singers.

BUD: Where the hell did you go, Monk? This is 19 hundred and fifty fucking one.

MONK: I’m just saying I ain’t getting rid of my woman just because she can’t play no instrument. Bud, you crazy. You really are. But you can’t go to no more institutions cause they make you worse.

(BEGINS LAUGHING)

BUD: I don’t see what you’re laughing at. You’re the one with the problem.

MONK: What fucking problem I got?

BUD: You and your woman.

MONK: You off base there, Bud.

BUD: Well, you want to avoid the issue here, that’s your business of course. But as your advisor, I advise you to give up the bitch.

(MONK LUNGES AT BUD JUST MISSING HIM. BUD AND HE SQUARE OFF)

MONK: I need to kick your ass.

BUD: And then you get goddamn violent like it don’t make no difference if you leave blood in your wake. You fucking High Priest of BeBop. Composer of “Round Midnight” and other great originals.

MONK: When I get you in my hands

(SOUND OF BUD’S “So Sorry Please”)

BUD: You should give up this emotional side of yourself and give in to the pleasures of opiates and hallucinogens.

MONK: So I can walk around sideways like you.

(MONK LAUGHS AND TURNS AWAY)

Woman’s right about some things though.

BUD: And what’s that?

MONK: She says you bring out the beast in me. It’s your music, gets me excited, she says. She ought to know. She’s lives up there in that apartment with me.

BUD: Well there wasn’t anyone sitting there on that bench and there wasn’t anyone wanting to sit there so why did they just start beating up on me, Monk? Why did the Army have horns for Lester and fuck with him and his tenor saxophone? Why were the Police fucking with you outside your place of employment? And there ain’t no good answer here. You know that.

MONK: Man, there’s this hate thing. I don’t know. I don’t want to get started. You know. It’s better playing the piano.

BUD: It’s allowed sometimes somehow. For us. Blow off steam. Ah! What time is it? Do I need something yet?

MONK: Hey, man, don’t start in with that dance, huh? Shiverin’ and shakin’ and all like that. You give musicians a bad name.

(MONKnBUD REALLY HOWL)

BUD: Well, I guess I ain’t no credit to the fuckin’ race then, huh? Not till I get cleaned up at any rate.

MONK: Something like that.

BUD: I ain’t cleaning up today. Understand?

MONK: Look, Bud, you’re a goddamned man now. Do what you: got to do. But I tell you this much I saw Stitt last week.

BUD: Don’t tell me about him. He can’t even get out of bed he’s so sick. This the third time the fool has tried to cold turkey it.

MONK: If you know all that then why you doing it?

BUD: Goddamn it, you sanctimonious motherfucking titsucking pariah. Stop actin’ like you ain’t never shot up a shot glass full of junk up that right arm of yours.

MONK: I don’t want no one connecting me to shit. To nothin’.

BUD: You a funny one all right, Monk. You definitely funny. You don’t see that woman interfering in your life?

MONK: That is my woman, Bud. What the fuck is wrong with you. If I fucking think like her it’s because I agree with her.

BUD: Well, that means you don’t like me.

MONK: I dun already told you that.

BUD: You did. When?

MONK: When we were outside.

BUD: Sounds like a title.

MONK: It does. But whose?

BUD: When we were outside.

MONK: Errol Garner.

BUD: That cat is fantastic.

MONK: He the one don’t read music.

BUD: Yeah.

MONK: Now how can he write such pretty shit without being able to read? That’s genius.

BUD: Yeah. You writing anything new, man?

MONK: I answered that one too, man?

BUD: Well, why are you so irritable? You got a jones?

MONK: What?

BUD: You heard me. You got some great big motherfucking secret you just can’t tell no one not even your best motherfucking friend?

MONK: When you say you’re meeting your man?

(BUD BEGINS SMILING)

BUD: I knew it.

MONK: What?

BUD: Your edge.

MONK: It ain’t nothin’.

BUD: Why you want to talk to me like I’m some kind of a kid or something that ain’t responsible or something?

MONK: Because you go crazy, that’s why. You wind up in mental asylums. For months at a time. Sometimes don’t nobody know where your ass is for half the time. And then you get some fucked up motherfuckers to adopt your ass because you can’t or won’t handle your own affairs. That’s why.

BUD: So why is it so hard for you to tell me you like me?

MONK: Look, Bud, I don’t like you don’t mean I don’t love you. So there.

(BUD’S “Dusk At Saudi’s”)

BUD: They are two different things. I don’t give two shits about no man loving me. Like me or get out my way. Ain’t you got a gig tonight?

MONK: Yeah.

BUD: So you got to get your hit pretty soon or it won’t be nothing for you.

MONK: It ain’t nothin’ like that.

BUD: What? You so full of shit now, I don’t want to smell your breath.

MONK: All right, Bud. You hit the bull’ s eye.

BUD: I don’t like my honesty being impugned.

(MONK CHUCKLES)

MONK: Impugned? What the fuck is that?

BUD: Like it.

MONK: The name of a tune.

BUD: A movie. Like “Indiscreet.”

MONK: Impugned! A woman scorned by her society.

BUD: Tortured by secrets only a woman can understand.

MONK: See it at the local theatre. I’m getting a chill, Bud.

BUD: Yeah. I can see it coming down on you.

MONK: Monkey on my back.

BUD: Monk’s monkey.

MONK: Yeah. Another tune.

(HE EASES AWAY FROM THE PIANO. THEY SIT AT A TABLE)

BUD: Will you still make the gig?

MONK: Hey, if I don’t you make it for me, you tell them you’re me.

BUD: I’m you.

MONK: Yeah. That’s it. You’re me.

BUD: I like that. I’m Monk. Get me some respect then.

MONK: You just walk in and set up. You know how to do that.

BUD: Yeah. What do I do when they pay me?

MONK: They’ll pay after the run.

BUD: How does that help me? You’ll be back then.

MONK: I’ll square up with you.

BUD: Oh yeah, and you being a junkie and all I’m supposed to believe that.

MONK: Yeah, you’re my friend aincha?

BUD: Yeah. But you don’t like me. How’ my getting my money?

MONK: Bud, I’m startin’ to fall apart.

BUD: You want to go some place more private where you can throw your guts up and no one will mind because that’s what everyone else is doing?

MONK: That’s the place. Where’s it at?

BUD: Right through that door. The Emanon toilet.

MONK: Toilet.

BUD: Well, we could go over to Gil Evans’ place. He ain’t far from here.

MONK: Sure he won’t mind?

BUD: He’s taking a needle out of his own or someone else’s arm right now. I’m telling you. It’s the rage the scourge of our time or haven’t you heard the dire warnings, the predictions of civilization damned and lost? All due to Jazz. Monk, maybe that’s why they’re beating the shit out of us.

MONK: I don’t read that shit anymore.

BUD: That’s a good reason though.

MONK: Wherever there’s a fire you know how many arms are missing and how many babies died. Who needs to know that? Who needs to know, knowing there ain’t a damned thing you can do about it? You can’t do nothing about your own goddamned life. Except stand up for what’s right and get beaten down, day in and day out.

BUD: I ain’t never heard you so bleak sounding before.

MONK: You said let it out, let go, release the pain, the frustration, the fuckin’ anger.

BUD: Yes, but we never appreciate the magnitude of the volcano until after the explosion. You are explosive.

MONK: I ain’t exploded yet.

BUD: No, Monk, you ain’t. Yet.

MONK: Got a woman who don’t understand me. She tolerates me. That’s my problem. At the root of it all she wants to be a goddamned tourist in life instead of an Empress like I see her.

BUD: I told you your woman got to be a player.

MONK: Will you shut the fuck up? You make as much sense sometimes as some sick cockroach crawling the cracks.

BUD: You’re so rough, Monk. You got to put some fur on her, Monk; then she’ll get the message.

MONK: Sometimes we ain’t got money for milk, man.

BUD: You gonna hafta get a job.

MONK: You sound like her.

BUD: Yeah. Well, Monk, get a job, pack groceries, turn gas, or get rid of her. We keep coming up with the same answers for the same problems—all the fucking time.

MONK: Same answers all the time. Everytime.

BUD: Yeah. That’s the problem with women. Once you let them inside then they become tame square uncool and they make you like them. That’s what they do.

MONK: Women are like violins though, Bud.

BUD: Monk.

MONK: What?

BUD: What’s your instrument?

MONK: Hmm. I can’t get rid of her, man. I think of what it would be like and suddenly I’m standing on the ledge of some window getting ready to fall into the concrete. But I’m so high up all I see are clouds below me.

BUD: You got a real problem.

MONK: Besides which I love the woman. She makes me laugh.

BUD: What does she do tell dirty jokes?

MONK: What?

BUD: I said that’s when you want to be feeling human.

MONK: Human.

BUD: And that ain’t all the time.

MONK: No it ain’t all the time. When I sit at the piano she stays away doesn’t bother brings me hot chocolate or Kool- Aid, whatever the weather.

BUD: Yeah, she’s a good woman.

MONK: She is, Bud.

BUD: I know she’s a good woman. But what’s she like in bed?

MONK: What?

(DRAGS SELF UP FOR BUD)

BUD: Now you got to take it easy in your condition. I wasn’t being— IMPUDENT—the story of a Jazz great gone bad—

MONK: Shut up, Bud.

BUD: All right, Monk.

(MONK and BUD LOOK AT EACH OTHER)

Monk, you ever see yourself famous?

MONK: No.

BUD: I see myself famous.

MONK: You’re already famous.

BUD: Same people know me know you.

MONK: Yeah, well, I don’t think of things like that.

BUD: What the fuck do you think about? Most people think you don’t even talk.

MONK: Ain’t I been talking to your ass all afternoon?

BUD: So they just started wailing on me but I jumped up and said a few things like how dare they abridge the rights of an American citizen. They laughed.

MONK: What’d you do then?

BUD: I smacked him.

MONK: Sometimes it pays to just shut up and dance if you have to.

BUD: I ain’t no minstrel, Thelonious Monk, you High Priest of BeBop.

MONK: Just what the fuck do you think you are really if you ain’t a fucking minstrel playing for motherfuckers who can’t hear your goddamn ass because they’re laughing so hard at how your fucking grandmother was laying six inches from his grandfather’s d-d-dick and loving every fucking minute of it.

BUD: Now wait just a fucking minute here, Monk.

MONK: I don’t want to wait a fucking minute. I want to yell and scream. I want them to know that they ain’t shit even if they do pay the freight. Which ain’t all that much when I see who keeps doing the work. I’m the motherfucker sitting up there all day and all night beating my brains for a few notes to write on a piece of notation paper. Jesus, I’m getting cold.

BUD: Well, you ain’t showing that much. You have amazing control.

(MONK SHIVERS FOR THE FIRST TIME)

MONK: You got a drink?

BUD: Man, I am the drug store.

(PULLS OUT A BOTTLE WHICH MONK EMPTIES IN ONE SWIG)

Amazing what powers you has.

MONK: It helps.

BUD: Well, I suppose I should go on out and find a connection for you.

MONK: We can go together. Uptown.

BUD: Or to Gil’s.

(SOUND OF “Parisian Thorofare.” THEY GET UP AND EXIT TO SUBWAY)

Always reminds me of Paris. So fast efficient modern Clean, crisp, cool, collected.

MONK: FEM.

BUD: FEM.

MONK: Fast Efficient Modern.

BUD: 4 Cs. One stop to 125th.

MONK: Small’s. I know someone there. We can shoot too.

BUD: Well, now you talking my language.

(LIGHTS OUT. LIGHTS UP AS THEY SETTLE ONTO COUCH OF SOME ROOM IN SMALL’S BREAKING OUT WORKS AND PREPARING THE DOPE)

BUD: This guy’s shit is reliable. And here don’t nobody be taking your name like they do downtown.

MONK: I appreciate anonymity.

(THEY EXPOSE ARMS TIE UP)

This is the amazing part, Bud. This part right here.

BUD: What do you mean?

MONK: The exhilaration of stepping off the edge of the windowsill. The blood pounding. The adrenaline I think they call it running right through me. Nose wide open, crisp air funneling through. Heart pounding.

BUD: Shut up, Monk. Does the shit get you high is what matters. Does it get you smooth. Does it fill in all the rough spots. Does it make me nice and small and unnoticed?

MONK: Is the shit right? Will it kill?

BUD: Jesus, you like a wild ride.

(THEY PLUNGE NEEDLES IN, EACH RESPONDING DIFFERENTLY)

MONK: Going up, Bud.

BUD: Quite, Monk. You got the time?

MONK: No. Not right now, Bud.

BUD: Feeling good, aincha?

MONK: Don’t feel nothing. Yet. Wait. Yeah. Warm again. Boss! I guess I can go play.

BUD: So I ain’t got the job. Again.

(THEY SPRAWL AS THEY TALK GOING NOWHERE BUT BECOMING ANIMATED WHEN INDICATED)

MONK: My gig.

BUD: Yeah.

MONK: I can make it.

BUD: Anyway a man got to stand up for his rights.

MONK: Not no tap dancer like you.

BUD: That’s all the more reason to stand up and fight for the right, Monk. Can’t let them think them badges and guns are for use against you. You the Public. They for your protection not violation. I had to say something.

MONK I saw what they did, Bud. And you were just speaking up for me. But they weren’t interested in listening to an erudite man speak his peace.

BUD: I know, Monk. They just hit me and then hit me some more. Knocked me

unconscious. They wanted to spread my brains all over the sidewalk. And you know what, man?

MONK: What, man?

BUD: I wanted them too. So I could kick their asses. Right properly. In the American way. Self defense.

MONK: Still ain’t no reason to fight, Bud. They got the guns.

BUD: That ain’t no reason not to fight.

MONK: No.

BUD: Not for you maybe, but it is for me. How come it ain’t for you?

MONK: You know what I am, Bud?

BUD: No, what are you?

MONK: A confirmed conscientious coward.

(THEY BOTH LAUGH)

I am a man the instrument of creative power in one hand and the needle of death in the other. I am the Yang and the Yin.

BUD: Yin and Yang.

MONK: Whatever.

BUD: Progressions.

MONK: Can’t always go by progressions. You been listening to Sonny Rollins lately?

BUD: My man. What’s he up to? More personal problems as they like to say.

MONK: Aside from that, Bud, he’s been breaking away from structure.

BUD: Has he?

MONK: Yeah. He’s playing for me.

BUD: I like him too. Good player. Strong. Long. Different

Edgy. Rough. Coarse sometimes.

MONK: Yeah. Raw.

BUD: But it don’t do no good. I’m just a darky like you said braying at the moon. Them Police take their time getting

me to a hospital and the damage is done by then anyway. I’m a goddamned lunatic. (LAUGHS)

MUSIC: “Hallucinations”

BUD (cont.): Shit takes away the pain, Monk. They don’t tell the people that’s why it’s taken. There’s a reason why there’s so many addicts.

MONK: Yeah, but what a price to pay.

BUD: Because those buzzards won’t make it legal like booze. I don’t know why. Like cigarettes or aspirin.

MONK: Yeah—I been watching this baseball season, Bud.

BUD: Yeah, a good year for Sport. Willie and Mickey. Mickey and Willie. The Mick and Say Hey.

MONK: Which one you think is better?

BUD: The Duke.

(THEY BOTH LAUGH)

Why you think that’s important?

MONK: I don’t. It’s just that the papers make you think of it.

BUD: I thought you didn’t read the papers anymore. Too sickening and all like that.

MONK: The Sports pages, Bud, ain’t the paper.

BUD: The politics is everywhere, especially in Sports Jackie Robinson’s the real revolutionary, I think.

MONK: I’m watching them boys begin to show how good they are.

BUD: Same as us, Monk. We the first ones getting through. The real money ain’t gonna be there for us though.

MONK: I’m talking Baseball, Fool.

BUD: All right. All right. Well, Mick is golden, man. He runs, He throws. He hits with power.

MONK: The same thing with Willie.

BUD: Yeah, but now you got to find intangibles to rate one over the other.

MONK: Right.

BUD: So where do you find it?

MONK: In his religion, his nationality.

BUD: His fucking color, Monk.

MONK: Hmmm. So we’re fucking giants.

BUD: Trailblazers. Pathfinders. Pointpersons.

MONK: Pointpersons.

BUD: Have you ever thought about so many things being blahman, Ombudsman, Policeman. But what about women?

MONK: Pointpersons. Cool, Bud. That’s cool.

(THEY BOTH CHUCKLE)

BUD: We’re truly bad, Monk.

MONK: And mad.

BUD: That’s the only way we could do it. It’s the only way it’s ever been done. Look at Coleridge, Poe, the Poets, the novelists, the alkies, the opium eaters, the laudenum drinkers.

MONK: But so many of us, man.

BUD: Not all. Say, Monk, do you the time when I was playing like you?

MONK: No. No, I don’t.

BUD: Sometimes I’d fall asleep at the keys rhapsizing with your music and I’d wake up calling your name to tell you how beautiful the music is but you couldn’t hear me because I was you and of course I couldn’t talk back to myself —‘you know that’s not allowed’—because I was you, so it’s a quandry, Monk, a labyrinth and the hedges are the black and the white keys—always trying to enhance though—you understand me, man.

MONK: No one understands you, man.

BUD: Yeah, I know. You come close though.

MONK: Yeah, but in outer space that’s a miss.

BUD (TAKES OUT GUN): That’s why I got this, Monk.

(MONK LOOKS)

MONK: What’s that.

BUD: A gun, Silly. Don’t no one take me seriously.

MONK: The setup, Bud. Whatchudoinwith the gun?

BUD: I could hurt myself.

MONK: And make work for me?

BUD: Work for you.

MONK: Yeah, I got to make calls, sign forms, make out the obituary, identify your dead ass.

BUD: Isn’t that what a friend does?

MONK: Accidents. Catastrophes. I can’t think of anything else.

BUD: You’re cold, Monk.

MONK: That’s what they say.

BUD: So if I put the gun to my head say and pulled the trigger—

(MONK PAUSES)

MONK: I ain’t doing a thing. I didn’t see it. Who’s Bud? You understand.

BUD: Who’s Bud? You sonuvabitch.

(BUD GOES TO SWING/REALIZES IT’S MONK/GETS FRUSTRATED/LIGHTS T)

MONK: Glad you thought better of it.

BUD: Me too. But nobody cares, man, and when that happens it’s time to check out?

MONK: Whyn’t you travel, Bud? Go to Europe. they love you there.

BUD: Yeah, they do, don’t they? They eat my shit if I give them half a chance.

MONK: So.

BUD: Maybe I’ll go but what am I going to do now?

MONK: Put it away, Bud—before I get mad.

BUD: Mad about what?

MONK: How you do with your time. Get a woman.

BUD: Did that.

MONK: Get a hobby then.

BUD: What? Knitting. Crochet.

MONK: What’s wrong with them?

(THEY BEGIN LAUGHING BUD PUTS AWAY GUN THEY GO INTO NOD)

MONK: If you were going to take over the world, Bud what three things would you do?

BUD: This is one of them hypothetical games of yours.

MONK: Yeah—what if—you know what I mean?

BUD: I would repeal all the amendments and change the Constitution. I would shoot all the rich. All of them. And then I guess I would take over their spreads.

MONK: Predictable.

BUD: What’s that mean?

MONK: It’s the name of the same old tune. It means that you want what others have.

BUD: Isn’t that how you know you ain’t got it?

MONK: Yes, but suppose you weren’t concerned with what someone else had? Suppose you were raised to think that the things that are inviolable and the things that have the highest value are those virtues in you. Suppose virtue was the highest art?

BUD: Fuck you and Virtue. Shit. It don’t put nothing in the pot, the arm, or the head.

MONK: Think differently, Bud. If the only thing that matters is how much bread you got then you ain’t got nothing.

BUD: Ain’t that what Bird said?

MONK: Bread is your only friend, that’s what he said. But he didn’t really mean it like it sounds.

BUD: Yes, he did. I know what he meant. Every word of it.

MONK: Yeah, well, he’s getting a little bitter. They don’t want to pay him what he’s worth.

BUD: You think he’s worth Stravinsky?

MONK: He’s worth it but he ain’t ever going to get it he ain’t ever going to get recognition not what he should get. And we know what he should get. And he certainly ain’t going to get no money.

BUD: What should he get?

MONK: The music comes from down here, Bud. There are resonances from diaphragm to base of skull, internal and external. And if you don’t hear all the

chambers of resonance it sounds like it. And Bird’s was perfect in all keys all tunes instantaneously.

BUD: He is the Father of us all. I heard that. What does that make me?

MONK: The greatest piano player of the era, the original, the impactor.

BUD: Where are you then?

MONK: The High Priest. You said it yourself.

BUD: Yeah—A place for everyone. Where’s Max?

MONK: Bird’s man?

BUD: And Blakey?

MONK: Extraordinaire.

BUD: I love it, Monk.

MONK: Everyone gets a name, a place in the sun, a place in the pantheon. It’s a perfect world.

BUD: I don’t believe that shit.

MONK: I know that.

BUD: You know the saxophonists discovered Bird was reading Stravinsky everyone gone out their heads on him trying to fit “Firebird Suite” into their solos.

MONK: People do things, man.

BUD: Yeah. What if you were to do three things to change the world, what would you do?

MONK: I wouldn’t do nothin’. Nothin’ at all. I’d just sit in this flophouse and wait till the high gets spent and then go back home to my woman.

BUD: Always back to her.

MONK: You got too many problems for me sometimes, you know? And right now I want to relax and listen to the rhythm in my mind.

(“Monk’s Mood”)

BUD: I got some of my own shit to hear.

(THEY LISTEN TO A MEDLEY OF “Mediocre,” “Just One Of Those Things,” “You Go To My Head” THEN MONK STANDS REFRESHED. BUD STANDS LOOKING ALL RESTED)

Now I can go on down there and listen to your ass without getting too jealous.

MONK: Yeah. Although—well, it don’t matter.

BUD: What don’t matter?

MONK: Nothing. It’s nothing. Come on, let’s get out of here.

(BUD BLOCKS THE EXIT)

BUD: Tell me what you were going to say?

MONK: I wasn’t going to say nothin’.

BUD: You were going to say somethin’.

MONK: Well I ain’t sayin’ it now. Let’s go.

BUD: We ain’t goin’ nowhere.

MONK: You know, Bud, some friends fight over women. Others fight over politics. But us we got to fight over words.

BUD: Look, motherfucker, I’d just as soon shoot your ass so just tell me.

MONK: Tell you what?

BUD: You know what.

MONK: What what, motherfucker?

BUD: Gotdammit, Monk. Why you make it so hard to like your ass?

MONK: Why you always got to see things so small all the time? You act like the world owes your ass something.

BUD: Don’t it?

MONK: No, it don’t.

BUD: Yes, it do.

(BUD PULLS OUT THE GUN)

MONK: How?

BUD: I play.

MONK: That entitles you to some air some water some food if you can afford it.

BUD: It entitles me to better treatment, more money, respect, iration, devotion, idolatry.

MONK: You entitled to some fucked up version on how to split the creative pie.

BUD: This gun’ll get me something.

MONK: Get you a split head without one. Just what you think you’ll get with a gun?

BUD: I’ll be Cagney on the top of the world. Look at me.

MONK: Why would someone want to look at you?

(BUD PAUSES. LOOKS AT MONK)

BUD: You’re always putting me down lately. How come?

MONK: You’re a worker. A serf. A drone. Like me. Some other people plan how and what to do with our work. They get the lion’s share of the pie it produces because they sell it. They make it sellable. You get something. But you, you’d be better off without money. Look what you do with it.

BUD: Oh, now you done gone off the deep end. I thought you had some economic panacea you gleaned from some vibrating piano board but I see it’s just your fucked up version of this is the best of all possible worlds. Again

MONK: At least I don’t stay fucked up all the time. And are you getting out of my way now?

(BUD STEPS ASIDE AND THEY MOVE TOWARDS THE SUBWAY AGAIN)

BUD: I’m going to play tonight. I got some inspiration. It’s always good seeing you, Monk.

MONK: Yeah, Bud. It’s cool.

(“Round Midnight”)

BUD: Say, Monk.

MONK: What?

BUD: Do you think—do you think you going to tell me what you were going to tell me before?

MONK: You are too much.

BUD: Now that you’re cooler tell me.

MONK: All I was going to say was that do you think a man and a woman are supposed to live together all the time.

BUD: What was so hard about that?

MONK: I thought about who I was asking and changed my mind.

(THEY BOTH LAUGH)

I’mma play my ass off tonight too, Bud.

BUD: People don’t know what we go through to bring the shit on down to them, man.

MONK: No, man, they don’t.

BUD: People don’t know a lot of shit.

MONK: I saw somewhere where some critic said that we were playing junkie music.

BUD: That ain’t it at all.

MONK: Nope.

BUD: Motherfuckers ought to try and create and then sell. They sit up there in them towers of theirs and all they friends is publishers or managers or agents. I mean the shit is all hooked up for them. That’s why we’re minstrels. We’re the entertainment. The art.

MONK: Yeah.

BUD: Well, I’m getting off here.

MONK: Me too.

BUD: I forgot. You’re playing tonight. Which club?

MONK: Deuces.

BUD: Deuces? That’s where I’m playing.

MONK: What do you mean that’s where you’re playing?

BUD: That’s where I’m playing. Bird’s supposed to be coming.

MONK: And Dexter Gordon.

BUD: Well, they don’t need both of us.

MONK: What the fuck are you saying, motherfucker? This is my gig.

BUD: I told you everybody’s on something. What the fuck you on?

MONK: OK, Bud. I’mma kick your ass now. Can’t be wasting any more time with you.

BUD: I’m serious.

MONK: I’m playing with Dexter and Bird.

BUD: Me too, motherfucker.

(THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHER THEN LAUGH AND TURN INTO THE CLUB MONK GOES TO THE PIANO AS BUD GOES TO THE MICROPHONE AND ANNOUNCES)

BUD: Ladies and Gentlemen, this evening it is the privilege of the management to present to you The High Priest of BeBop, the mysterious one, Svengali, Thelonious Monk.

MONK: Ain’t love grand?

BUD: And the ubiquitous sophisticate, the Jesse Owens of the keys—

MONK: Bud.

(BUD HOLDS UP HIS HANDS)

BUD: Let me finish—The Dalai Lama of Jazz, the one, the only, the great Bud Powell. Now it’s grand.

(THEY LAUGH AND SIT AT PIANO AND PLAY “Little Rootie Tootie.” LIGHTS OUT)

END

MONKnBUD By Laurence Holder

Cast of Characters: Thelonius Monk, Bud Powell, and Nellie Monk

Note: On a hot summer evening in 1951 Thelonious Monk and Bud Powell, two jazz musicians, were arrested on a street corner near what would become Lincoln Center. This is a fictionalized ing of that incident. —Author

(ON A BLACKENED NATURAL STAGE A LONELY SPOT FIXES ON THE FACE OF THE VOICE THAT TALKS ANIMATEDLY, FRANTICALLY)

BUD: Well, it was a warm summer evening, really warm.

(MONK’S MISTERIOSO, PIANO SOLO BEHIND THE PALAVER)

Hot like hell, really hot, and then suddenly cool, yeah, real cool breezes blowing in my head, then cold-blasting cold, cold! Yeah! It was really a cold night, dark too, couldn’t always make out everyone in the street, especially this great big lug nut who suddenly throws himself in my way. He was like Mack Truck storming a highway.

(SPOT ON MONK DANCING)

And dancing too. Yeah, Outside this club Minton’s, where we used to jam after hours—where we put the music together, you know. The streets were full of people sitting on stoops, walking to and from the store holding onto their iceies and ice cream sandwich bars. I love those things, the ice cream sandwiches, you know, and the things people do when it is really hot out, you know. Yeah, it was really a summer night to . Say, man—

(TALKING TO THE SPINNING MONK WHO IS HUMMING HIS TUNE ALOUD NOW)

I’ll bet you don’t what it is to make mad ionate music. I’ll bet you don’t. Most people don’t.

(MONK IS DISINTERESTED AS HIS TUNE ENDS)

And only a musician knows how deep this thing really runs, this thing to play. To play! Do you play, man? Of course the owner of the face is always supposed to smile at you and shake the head sadly, wishing they could “polay” and oblige me a “yeah, I play.” You know? Magic words. “Yeah, I play.”

(BUD’S BODY AND SOUL STABBING THROUGH THE NIGHT)

You know depending on what you’re high and yeah there was always that. Needed to after Philadelphia. Gets me shaking, man, just thinking about Philly.

(SPOT ON MONK FREEZING BUD)

MONK: When I was young I decided to play the piano. That was that. Now I am a man and I play the piano. I am what you have to call a piano player. I also write songs. But if you didn’t know I did you would just think I did that, play the keys. But you see these fingers of mine are small, tiny, and to get up and down the scales—because of that. In order to play this thing, these sounds, I compose for myself, building tunes around my needs, my hands, create my musical language, around my fingers, I am what you have to call a real player of the piano. I am not in one of those store bought items you get from music stores. I am not like some of my friends who are all skill and get all the jobs too. They all mannekins. Except one. There is this one guy who can play but I don’t his name.

(BUD DANCES TO HIS TEA FOR TWO)

BUD: I’m Bud Powell.

MONK: Thelonious Sphere Monk.

BUD: I’ve got other names too. I’mma call you Buddha because you look like a damned bear.

MONK: You’d better call me Monk and know me better before you start into name calling.

BUD: I play.

MONK: I heard.

BUD: You play too, buildings, angles, things fall in and get caught, nothing gets away with you. You are thorough. Got humor too. You like to laugh.

MONK: Water wet.

BUD: Belly flopping humor. Serious too though, lots of pain, can see the tars and the feathers, bodies banging each other into trees, hoses hosing down, chained into a frieze, scalloped out of the nightmares of embraces, running off into the underground sunsets. You been a slave too. You ever been on an airplane?

MONK: Not yet.

BUD I been up there. I’ve seen the coming of the Lord. And you know what, Monk?

MONK: What?

BUD: It’s words. The second coming is more words.

(SOUNDS OF BUD’S “Hallelujah”)

The Lord still ain’t got it right. Should be music. Let us play all over the world for the people. And we would all be happy. But he wants the Tower of Babel. It says it there in the Bible. You know?

MONK: Cabaret card.

BUD: You up to elaborating.

MONK: Cabaret card. Tower of Babel.

BUD: Meanin’?

MONK: Need one to play the music.

BUD: Explain.

MONK: We should maybe play together on the same stage.

BUD: Yeah, that’d be hip. You, me, and two big grands on stage. But explain.

MONK: We need the cabaret card to play. Before we can play we have to be the Police lackeys. We have to look them in the face when they frisk us up and down, doing their little dance for drugs. As if it really mattered. That’s Babel.

BUD: Everybody dances to one tune or another. Everybody’s on some drug or another.

MONK: Yeah, but our tunes too difficult for them to regulate, so they bust us and keep us out of clubs. I just lost the gig. I think. Bein’ with you—it don’t really matter.

BUD: Don’t nothing really matter except—where you playing?

MONK: The house that Bird built.

BUD: Yeah, I play there sometimes.

MONK: And I just got my card back, man. I just got it. Man had to soil some skins, pay some pipers, outpuke the porkers. Took him years, Bud. Minton’s be the only place I play because it’s uptown. There’s not that much money lying around up here to be noticed, not off the music yet; the drugs is another thing. Always surrounded by drugs, Bud. Look around you.

(BUD LOOKS SEES NOTHING MONK PULLS OUT CHEAP BOTTLE OF WINE AND SWIGS DEEPLY. SOUND OF MONK’S BLUE MONK. THEY DANCE)

BUD: What do you do when you’ve nothing to say? The ideas frozen into tomorrow.

MONK: Stop it.

BUD: Yeah, that’s simple, Monk. Stop thinking the one thing you got to think about, man. When do the ideas stop? Today? Tomorrow?

MONK: Shut up.

BUD: Me? I never stop. The ideas just keep flowing, blasting off the skull like planes from carriers, bees from hives, bats from caves, leaves from limbs. I’m just warming up, man. But I think about that.

MONK: I don’t want to think about that. Won’t be nothing then if there’s no sounds. Nothing.

BUD: Yeah, well, I got a gig tonight. I’m on my way too, but I got to cop. You know the deal.

MONK: I know the deal.

BUD: And, Monk, that is why on this expansive summer evening I have decided

to lay on you some of the baddest—

MONK: I ain’t interested. Give me some muscatel and leave me alone with them drugs.

BUD: I am waiting for the man to arrive this moment, my man. If you could extirpate yourself from your more mundane thoughts for but a moment I will explain to you the secret of the nobility of the Powell family.

MONK: I’m not interested. I am in the mood for a classic.

(SOUND OF MONK’S “Just A Gigolo”)

BUD: Music! Always music. It’s nothing if it ain’t music! Yeah To translate the sounds of an instant into a melody or harmonic line which lasts for one moment only—and then for it to disappear in space, until called forth from memory, and always a trifle changed, a trifle ted, rhythmically split but audially intact, unless the listener—

MONK: —is a player. And even then you can’t be sure you even heard it because it’s ed. So you try to repeat it and then sometimes you find it but more importantly you discover other things, including yourself.

BUD: Yourself! You’re eerie, Monk. Cut out that discovery stuff.

MONK: It’s true, Bud. Sometimes I’m sitting there, lurking in my own piano, waiting to be released. I am not inside my body, man. Not anymore. I am inside the keyboard vibrating, quivering like a note, building an empire of sounds. Getting ready to explode when suddenly my hands touch the keys.

(BUD’S “Strictly Confidential”)

Them keys, man, the black, the white. And then there’s music.

BUD: When did this thing happen to you.

MONK: On one of those first tours I took through the south. They scared me out of my mind with the way they look at you, man. You know. Them hard ass peckerwood stares and at you—cause you doing something bad that no one understands—and you—

BUD: —black—

MONK: Yeah. You come into some town in the middle of the night just looking for a place to put your damned head down and they’re there waiting for you telling you the best thing you can do is to keep right on going. Get the motherfuck out of town. Keep on Truckin? I used to call out. And we’d keep right on truckin until sometimes we had to sleep on the side of the road— couldn’t keep our eyes open any longer.

BUD: “Nobody knows the troubles I’ve seen.”

MONK: What was amazing was that we could play so sharp sometimes after going through crap like that. Of course we could find some house where folk would put us up, you know.

BUD: Yeah, good food. Safe sleep.

MONK: And if we were in North Carolina then we had it good. Down south folk would come to us sometimes if we were in deep trouble and they’d lead us in to the promised land. Still can’t believe we got people looking at other people and not liking the way they look and making that a reason for living, for killing. That’s amazing too, I guess.

(MONK BEGINS HUMMING “Evidence”)

BUD: Got horror stories all over, Monk.

MONK: The stuff of dreams, Bud. The stuff of music, man. Music.

(MONK BEGINS DANCING)

BUD: You got a woman.

MONK: Of course. I got Nellie.

BUD: Nellie Monk. That her name? Huh.

MONK: Something like that. One of my tunes is named after her. I means she is the inspiration.

(“Crepescule With Nellie” IS HEARD)

She is my woman. She has the babies and I play the piano. BUD: That’s simple.

MONK: It ain’t about making necessity complex unless you’re perverted.

BUD: I can’t exactly say I’m perverted but I go through women like the U.S. Agriculture Department goes through timber.

MONK: How’s that?

BUD: Like fire. I am fire. Fire, man. You understand.

MONK: They don’t want me to play my music, man, still! Yet they’re into my music, man. But they want me to “tone things down”. I’m too raw for them, too jagged, too searing, too piercing, too hot, too mad—makes them see things they’ve done, things they’d rather not .

BUD: What are you jabbering about? They never ask me anything. They just rush me to the recording studio, feed me a little, wine me a little, and then I play for the meal, the wine, the attention, the applause, so to speak. Is that control?

MONK: That is control.

BUD: They don’t want me with certain of their women, the white ones. And those are the ones throwing themselves at me. They can’t control them, but they —

MONK: Control you.

BUD: Yeah! Is that control?

MONK: That is control.

BUD: Then they don’t want me to drink too much, leave the blow alone, stay pure and fresh, so they can what’s the word—

MONK: Control.

BUD: Yes, control. Now is that control?

MONK: That is control.

BUD: Like that cabaret card.

MONK: Now that’s control.

BUD: There are always these people following me around to make sure I don’t get in trouble. They literally follow me where ever I go. Is that control?

MONK: Control.

BUD: You figure they would get tired of it, but they must enjoy themselves following me.

MONK: Who’s following who?

(MONK LOOKS UP AND DOWN)

BUD: Who’s following me? What do you mean by that?

MONK: Ain’t no one following you.

BUD: They’re close then. Because if you can’t see them, they’re right behind you.

(BUD DANCES TO HIS “Parisian Thoroughfare”)

MONK: You ain’t playing with the whole deck again, huh.

BUD: It’s control.

MONK: Control.

BUD: Huh huh. Control.

MONK: Control.

BUD: Control.

MONK: That’s tight, Bud.

BUD: What you want from them makes them feel tight. They think you walking into the promised land. They know that their richness is heaven on earth. Where

else can you lie on the beach at Cannes in southern and fly for dinner to Paris that evening and see the Follies? Oh, man, they know. They know. But you can’t feel a part of it. You can’t feel like it’s yours. Why not?

MONK: Control.

BUD: Control! I don’t know what else to say to you. You getting ready to rise into the ether and they will know you, Monk. They’ll know that you are special, even with your noise toned down. They already know that, but they will make you pay for the privilege of making them know that you’re special.

MONK: Noise! You making noise.

BUD: I’m serious. The slights will be so slight, but so many of them and they will add up to a filibuster and keep you away from the time of your life You can only escape. They’ll let you do that. That’s what Bird’s had to do.

MONK: Bird again.

BUD: He don’t do nothing now except play, you know? He don’t have sex no more. You know that.

MONK: How the hell would I know that?

BUD: I thought it was common knowledge.

MONK: Common—leave sex out of this.

BUD: Leave sex out of this?

MONK: Yes, goddamn it.

BUD: Nevernomind! You can see it in his eyes, man. He ain’t got no soul anymore. He’s playing on guts and memory. He don’t have no new ideas, Monk. He’s a fucking statue getting swamped with the birdshit of sycophants.

(SEGUE INTO BUD’S “Oblivion”)

MONK: You are a cruel sonuvabitch, Earl. Messin’ with sex. That’s private.

BUD: Ain’t nothing private to them, Monk.

MONK: Sex and music go together like ham and eggs.

BUD: Biscuits and gravy.

MONK: Butterbeans and cornbread.

BUD: Collards and ham hocks.

BUD: Just how long do you think this—this Euphoria is going to last, this musical thrust into the voids? You think I’m making this up? Nothing lasts forever. Wake up.

MONK: Shut up! I ain’t thinking things like that.

BUD: You got to.

MONK: I ain’t got to.

BUD: You do.

MONK: No, I ain’t. I ain’t got to think shit. I ain’t going to. I’ma go blank.

BUD: Yeah. Yeah, you better, you think too much as it is. What fool sits and stares at a window for hours and hours on end and not be thinking? Huh.

MONK: Shut up.

BUD: And I seen you do it, so you can’t deny it. It is all about music and sex. They know that.

(MONK BELLOWS)

MONK: I ain’t got to do a thing with you, Earl, except kill you. That’s what I got to do with you. You’re a bad nerve that needs taking out. You hear me?

BUD: Is this how you are with Nellie?

MONK: What business is it of yours?

BUD: Look at it like this, Monk. If you a small little black woman living on the edge of a cliff with someone like you, I think that’s intimidating.

MONK: I’m going to write a tune called intimidation.

BUD: Knowing you you will.

MONK: I’m gonna write it in your blood.

BUD: You’re mad. You still have sex with her?

MONK: You’re fucking crazy.

(THEY LAUGH AND BOTH SOFT SHOE TO BUD’S “Dusk At Saudi’s”)

MONK: Went into Blue Note last month.

BUD: Recorded.

MONK: Yeah. “Straight No Chaser.”

BUD: That’s a new one.

MONK: You just don’t , Earl. Listen to it.

(THEY DANCE INTO A BLAST OF “Straight No Chaser,” THEN RIPPING INTO “Criss Cross,” “Beronel,” AND “Willow Weep For Me.” MONK DANCES RIGHT INTO NELLIE WHO SINGS THE SONG)

NELLIE: WILLOW WEEP FOR ME. WILLOW WEEP FOR ME.

(SHE IS STIFF AND UNCOMFORTABLE CONSTANTLY

CASTING HER EVIL EYE ON EARL BUD POWELL FINALLY THE MUSIC STOPS)

NELLIE: Thank you for the dance. What’re you doing down here?

MONK: Talking with Earl.

NELLIE: About what you ain’t already talked to him about? You can’t find no time to talk to your own kid but you can find it to talk to him, him that—

MONK: Nellie, it ain’t right for you to be talking to me this way out here.

NELLIE: —broken down nut shell.

MONK: Am I making myself clear?

NELLIE: Oh, you are.

MONK: Good. Now me and Earl are talking about a lot of things.

BUD: Nice title: Makin Myself Clear.

NELLIE: I done heard it all.

MONK: It’s new things. He’s recording again. Got two labels, right, Earl.

BUD: It’s the latest thing. Got to have two otherwise you lame. And Bud Powell —ain’t lame.

NELLIE: —aint lame.

BUD: Yeah, that’s right. How’d you know.

NELLIE: I told you I’ve heard it all before. He ain’t got nothing new to say, Thelonious.

MONK: Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.

NELLIE: Why not? It’s true.

MONK: I’m a kill you too. Both of you. Standing here like witches and warlocks and stuff proclaiming doom everywhere. Who wants to hear all that? What if a man loses his tongue, the sounds with his voice? What then? Does his mind

stop? Is he a derelict on time’s roads? A husk? Is he lost? Huh, Bud? Do his fingers stop moving? Neither of you don’t even understand what you say when you say it. Sounds define everything. And to name everything is to be free. To be there before anyone else and to name it. What is a man if he can’t contemplate anything he wants to and also express it too? Huh? Answer me that.

BUD: That’s easy, Monk.

NELLIE: Well, you two dead heads can sit up here all night and spoon at the moon for all I care, but Monk you have to come upstairs now.

MONK: I can’t believe my obedient, dutiful, faithful—

NELLIE: I heard this one too, Monk. Now it’s you and me right here now this minute or you go upstairs.

MONK: Baby—

BUD: Who’s Lenore, Monk?

(MONK BEGINS LAUGHING)

MONK: Be quiet, Bud.

BUD: No man, who’s Lenore? You wrote this tune “Eronel” and backwards that spells—

NELLIE:—Lenore—What you laughing at, you old mutton chop?

MONK: You and me suddenly going to blows after dancing a fast minute ago. You tickle me, Nellie. You raise the cockles on my spine and you cook just the right amount.

You don’t eat much, just look at you. And you don’t like lipstick, although that’s hard to believe. You are a woman.

NELLIE: You could make life simple, Monk. You could. It don’t have to be as hard as you make it. You start to make some money and then all of a sudden, every time it starts to look up for you, along comes this man and then everything falls out the window.

BUD: Why do you think that is?

NELLIE: I ain’t married to you. I could brain you and it wouldn’t mean a thing to me.

BUD: A subtle invitation to shut up.

NELLIE: You think too slow. A subtle invitation to blow.

BUD: I see. A friend in need cast aside again by woman. Lord, when will this torture cease? When will the weaker sex stop lying to itself and it it is steronger, dominant, and certainly more willful than man.

NELLIE: We know all this. Now, Monk, I don’t want to fool with your friend. I want you upstairs in a minute. Period.

MONK: That’s all.

NELLIE: You don’t have to show off in front of your friend.

BUD: If not then, when?

NELLIE: He’s getting close, Monk. You hear what I’m saying?

MONK: All right, Nellie. I’ll be up in a minute.

NELLIE: I got those butterbeans soft the way you like them, man.

BUD: I’m going to write a tune about collard greens.

NELLIE: You did that already. I have to go, Monk. This man ain’t my speed. I’d rather have the quiet of the screaming kids to this, to him.

BUD: I don’t think you like me.

NELLIE: I like you well enough. But when my husband gets around you he goes crazy. Loses his bearings. A car going off the road unexplained.

MONK: Don’t no one know how deep this thing goes with you and me, Earl.

NELLIE: Ughh! I’ll wait for you.

(SHE KISSES HIM AND WALKS OFF)

MONK: Good woman. Lots of fun.

(BUD’S “Just One Of Those Things”)

BUD: She a cow, a crazy skinny cow.

MONK: Cow.

BUD: She just stares at you, saying the same thing over and over again, knowing you going to cock her one. But she ain’t afraid. She just keeps her nose up in the air and her tongue pointed straight at you.

MONK: Or what? Me? My mind is on some shit. Some chord, some vamp. It ain’t on her. She’s my woman. She is me.

BUD: That’s beautiful. For as long as it lasts. You sure you having sex with her?

MONK: Doom! Doom and doom again? You got to die.

BUD: You’re strong, Monk. Much stronger than me. And you got your woman waiting for you. I ain’t got no one.

MONK: You missing the point. She will always be me. Got it? She makes me strong.

BUD: I ain’t accepting none of this. But I’ll tell you this. I’m gonna make sure you get the brass ring, Monk, even if I have to come back from the dead.

MONK: You still make them promises and they ain’t true.

BUD: And I ain’t dead yet either. So don’t take it all so immediate. I am still the top dog around here, the resident bow wow. But when I start to fade, then I’ma make sure they you.

(MONK BEGINS CHUCKLING)

MONK: Who to get for the gig, that’s the question.

BUD: Don’t forget Sonny.

MONK: Rollins? Who the hell could forget him? I can always get Sonny. And I mean to have him with me if possible. But you know how these things go.

BUD: Stitt. I’m talking about Stitt.

MONK: Yeah, I like Stitt. You don’t like Rollins.

BUD: I didn’t say that. Damn! He played with me on my Blue Note records. Who you want on drums?

MONK: Blakey, man. Or Roach. I like him too. You know Stitt don’t want to play with me.

BUD: You goofing.

MONK: You goof, Bud, all right. No, Stitt don’t like the irregularity of it. He wants control. Too many angles, even though he plays right through everything anyway.

(BUD’S “Get Happy”)

BUD: Yeah, I like Stitt, he’s my man.

MONK: I heard that. You were flying, both of you.

BUD: Yeah, we were bad. His gig! Called it “Bud’s Blues.” After me of course.

MONK: No shit! Well, I got to go upstairs.

BUD: What?

MONK: You heard me.

BUD: What for? I thought you handled the thing masterfully, Monk, but now you’re going upstairs? That doesn’t make sense.

MONK: Always been something wrong with your ears.

(HE RISES TO GO, DANCES TO “Monk’s Mood”)

Yeah, nice evening. Good to talk and relax.

BUD: Be nicer with some heavy dose of something.

MONK: Well, you cop when your man arrives.

BUD: That’s what I was telling you before, man. when them cops came up they beat me all over the head, man. I was only what 16-17 years old. My first gig on the road. I’m sitting in the railroad station waiting for a bus or a train, I forget exactly which, but I was minding my own business when all of a sudden those hoses, man. And I wasn’t doing anything, man. I was just sitting there thinking about some music. What else would a musician be doing in a bus terminal, you know?

MONK: Mistake.

BUD: A mistake! A mistake you call it.

MONK: That’s what I said. Mistake.

(MONK’S “I Mean You”)

BUD: That isn’t what it was.

MONK: That is what it was. They didn’t know what they were doing and they did it on you. It’s a bitch, but it happened. I don’t love you less for it, but I can’t carry that baggage around with me, Bud. You like a child wringing my neck when I need to breathe some clean air without snot all over it.

BUD: You hate me because I’m a child. A grown man still in swaddling clothes.

MONK: You belittle this thing .

BUD: You call me baggage and say that.

MONK: What did you do when they hosed you down and beat you all over the head?

BUD: I bled. See the scar.

MONK: Yes. What else?

BUD: And then I plead with them to leave me alone. I write music to prove to them I am a musician and that they are looking for the wrong man. But they say they got the right man and it’s me. So they beat me some more where it don’t

show like over here behind here the kidneys. I can’t shit for a week and when it come out there’s blood for two, Monk. They had fucked me up, man. Sweet. Short. Simple.

MONK: They let you out then.

BUD: No, man. Thirty days for observation and to fucking heal. That’s what happened. I don’t like them places, man. I don’t. But ever since that first time—

(BUD’S “So Sorry Please”) —there is this thing I picked up. It’s like I have to have it and I don’t feel good unless I spend some time having it, being observed, man. It’s eerie, Monk.

MONK: What’s that all about?

BUD: Funny, Monk, funny. I’ve gotten used to being punished and then healing. Healing is good, but I don’t like the place where healing takes place. Man, I am discombobulated, completely fucked up.

MONK: I see that.

BUD: I can’t go back, Monk. Not so soon after getting out of one. I’d be thinking about staying there. I’d be scared they’d want to keep me permanently —you know—but I ain’t that bad yet. I can still function. I can still play.

(MONK DOES NOT RESPOND INSTEAD HE BEGINS HAMMERING ON IMAGINARY PIANO, BUD’S “Cherokee”)

Yeah, man, I can still play, but I’m getting tired, man. Tired running without oxygen. Everywhere I go it there’s no air to breathe, man. I’m imploding, man. I’m shriveling up before my eyes. So I need something to slow me down. Something. Period.

MONK: “Shaw nuff.” Nuff said.

BUD: When I do sleep I always wake up with this cop sitting on my chest with his nightstick smashing me into Negroland.

MONK: Eccentric genius. Crazy motherfucker. Sitting in the station staring at something for hours. You know how you get when you stop talking, man. You stay for days in it. You depress, dude, when you get down, Earl. Let’s face it.

BUD: Sounds like one of your tunes, Monk.

MONK: And then again you show off your most proper speech to make them cops feel colder’n penguin piss, more feeble than frog grog.

BUD: What do you want me to do? I play the piano. Other people play the piano who act up like you call it and they get new jobs. I mean look at all the money them white boys get, Monk.

MONK: I’m looking at all the money you put up your arm, up your nose, down your throat. You ain’t taking care of yourself. And you the only one can do it.

BUD: I need a job.

MONK: You need a closer look at life, Bud. Look where we are, right now. You can’t see it.

BUD: Why are you acting like you never get high?

MONK: Don’t get loud.

BUD: Who you kidding?

MONK: I don’t need this, Earl. Look where the hell we are.

BUD: And you don’t even want to hear me. I can see it in your face.

MONK: I listen to you but you don’t make sense, not even to me. And I still the first time you walked in, Bud. The very first time. You were a scared kid. Way out there already.

BUD: I came in.

(MONK’S “In Walked Bud”)

MONK: Halfway, a foot maybe—but you never really came inside, ed life. You were always fighting, overcoming obstacles—Man, you had your people putting phone books on the piano stools when you seven eight years old, just so.

BUD: I could play.

MONK: Yeah, but what could you know?

BUD: Don’t matter! I still see you in my dreams, Monk.

MONK: Yep. Must have been about one.

BUD: No, man, Midnight. Damn, why you always deny it? It was “Round Midnight.” You wrote it for me. Whynchu let the people know that.

MONK: Then all I’d hear is how you inspired me to write it.

BUD: And—?

MONK: Listen, Earl, just cool one, huh.

BUD: Another one of your tunes. I don’t understand why you won’t up and tell the truth. Why do you do that? Hide from it, I mean.

MONK: I ain’t hiding, man, but I don’t want to explain myself all the time and if you’re in the picture then that’s what’s gonna happen.

BUD: I am not the Invisible fucking Man, Monk.

MONK: And I ain’t the motherfucking Answer Man.

BUD: Amen!

(THEY CHUCKLE SOFTLY AND IRE THE WARM EVENING. BUD’S “Yesterdays”)

MONK: Beautiful evening.

BUD: Great night. Jesus, those folks are taking a long time.

MONK: It just seems like that, Earl.

BUD: So talk about the gig then while we’re waiting.

MONK: Downtown.

BUD: Money.

MONK: Birdland.

BUD: You a crier in the night, an ass braying at the moon, a coyote howling at the desert skies. Yet no one knows you. Not really. The baddest of the bad. You are too fucking much, Monk.

MONK: You are too much. You got Cootie Williams to play the music?

BUD: Got him to give you the job on the keys.

MONK: You are too much.

BUD: And then we recorded them.

MONK: 1944.

BUD: My first gig.

MONK: You talked; people listened.

BUD: Well, Monk, then I guess I ain’t talking so good anymore.

MONK: Why you say that?

BUD: I been kicked out of the apartment.

MONK: What?

BUD: Yeah, out in the cold. Should write that one.

MONK: How much you need?

BUD: I need the piano. They took that last week.

MONK: Where are all the saviors when you need them?

BUD: I need a job not no saviors. Oscar Goldstein wants to adopt me, man.

MONK: What?

BUD: Yeah, the man who owns Birdland wants to adopt me, a grown man as his son. He likes my playing.

MONK: But you ain’t. Why ain’t you playing, Bud? You got to do that, man. That’s the woman in the dreams, man. Playing.

BUD: I’m still too nervous, man. I’m a little neurotic. A little—you know—on the edge.

MONK: Where’s Audrey?

BUD: She gone too.

MONK: What?

BUD: About the only thing anyone is going to about this year is gonna be the way the Giants caught up to the Dodgers.

MONK: Yeah, the Dodgers losing their rhythm and their timing. And Mays,

Irvin and Rhodes—

BUD:—Fuck it! I don’t want a piano right now and I can’t use a woman either. I’m shot man. I need a lease. Some time. I have to get away from all this. Last week I almost jumped out of the window. I thought there was another room behind the window, you know? I looked and looked and saw this gray room and I wanted to go into it, but it was really just the sky. Sky gray.

MONK: Look, Earl. We ain’t going nowhere. Look around you. You see what I see?

BUD: Hey, man, it’s a nice night. We’re waiting for some friends of mine. They’re close. I know it.

MONK: That’s what you see, huh?

BUD: That’s what I see. Speaking of seeing I saw Bird the other day, that lowlife snake in the grass.

MONK: Why don’t you leave him alone? Forget about him.

(AS HE TALKS HE PLAYS WITH MATCHES. MONK’S “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes”)

BUD: Forget about him? This man I gave the chord links to Donna Lee, his

baddest tune? That’s the one that got Miles all pissed at him because it’s really Miles’. You can hear it if it wasn’t for the beast in Bird. He ignores everyone.

MONK: Why fight with him? You should take pity on his ass. Bird can hardly walk a straight line, Bud.

BUD: This is the mad to whom I gave Buzzy. You hear me on Buzzy? You hear them chords—them class A classy chords? Man! And the man ignores me. He eats us up alive and the Press they feed on him like ants on picnic scraps. And keep all of us fighting with each other.

MONK: I know you ain’t jealous of him; you ain’t no model of consistency yourself.

BUD: Me! I’m the one the most like him. And he don’t even pay no attention to me.

MONK: Be my guest and talk about him. If that’s your claim to fame. Right now we got nothing else but time.

BUD: You are a pessimist. We shall get out of this just like I get out of everything. I got out of that recording contract hassle with Emarcy and Blue Note.

MONK: How?

BUD: Alfred Lion releases first.

MONK: How?

BUD: They did it, Monk. I don’t have control. I just play. Oscar, I guess. He’s in charge.

MONK: You always got friends.

BUD: Like the ones I’m waiting for. But maybe they ain’t really that, huh.

MONK: So why wait on them, Bud? Come upstairs and eat with us.

(BUD’S “Sweet Georgia Brown”)

BUD: Upstairs? Nellie.

MONK: Yeah, Nellie.

BUD: She don’t really like me, man.

MONK: She likes you. Especially upstairs.

BUD: I’d better wait on these friends. They got what I need.

MONK: Yeah, well you’d better take a better look at things.

BUD: You know what I hope, Monk.

MONK: No, what?

BUD: I hope that when you start working for Oscar Goldstein that he’ll be able to stay with you.

MONK: You got another evil story, don’t you?

BUD: It’s true.

MONK: What?

(BUD’S “April In Paris”)

BUD: You know what he did to Bird, don’t you?

MONK: Poor Bird. He don’t deserve all this.

BUD: He’s in the Public Eye so he gets all he deserves.

MONK: Tell me the story, Earl.

BUD: Well, Oscar names the club after Bird, right?

MONK: Right! And Oscar gonna get the short end of the stick again, ain’t he?

BUD: Fuck him! Anyway, right away the BirdGod terrible is flattered.

MONK: Right.

BUD: But when he comes to the club Oscar makes him sign the guest list.

MONK: Evil. Bird refused of course.

BUD: At first, yeah! But then when Bird finally does it Oscar won’t let him play

because he doesn’t have, you guessed it, a card.

MONK: Can’t play unless you got it and they don’t give it to you unless you pay for it. And it ain’t only money they want.

BUD: Bird doesn’t have his card. So he can’t play.

MONK: Oh, no.

BUD: Oh, yes.

MONK: Bird must’ve gone off on a bender.

BUD: Yeah. Walked out of there—dead drunk—missed his gigs—messed up his already messed up reputation.

(MONK’S “Epistrophy”)

MONK: He’s been doing that, but I can’t let it stop me, man. I can’t. I got destiny staring me down now.

BUD: Oh, man, what stops you? You are the Rock of Gibraltar, the atomic bomb, the milky way—

MONK:—and you guys who got the whole thing all at once in the beginning have sure taught me a couple of things.

BUD: Like what?

MONK: Don’t trail baggage.

BUD: What’s that mean?

MONK: Think about it.

BUD: Explain it to me.

MONK: You can’t handle your life because you get others do it for you and when they mess up, when they turn their backs on you for a second—and you can’t wait for them to let you alone—you’re shot. You fuck up. They clean it up, after all you are the money makers, the cash boxes.

BUD: Very nasty, friend.

MONK: Play music and leave playacting to the players of plays.

BUD: Don’t start on me, man. As a matter of fact just leave me alone. I just want a little respect, you know. Just a little. A little concern, I’m like Bird that way.

MONK: You don’t get any?

BUD: None, man. That’s why I need the stuff, man. I wish I had a wife like yours, just so I could stay home, but once I get them then I abuse them. I must because they aren’t with me, none of them. They’re always thinking I’m doing the wrong thing. Their way is the only way. And if I don’t do it their way, then I’m a sucker. A woman talk that way to a man she needs popping.

But I don’t want to be poppin no woman. I just want peace, man. Love, man.

MONK: Bud, I just want to play the music with the people who make the best music: Coleman Hawkins, Sonny Rollins, Art Blakey, Max Roach, Bags. Bird, Dizzy, Fats—

BUD: —Fats is dead, man.

MONK: Fats is what?

BUD: Yeah. Last year. TB.

MONK: Shit! Oh, well—I don’t know why I think it will work for me, Bud. It’s —I just know the resolutions.

BUD: Wait here a minute, Monk. I think I see them. I’ll be right back.

MONK: All right, Bud.

(WE HEAR BUD’S “Round Midnight” AND SEE MONK TALK TO NELLIE WHO EMERGES FROM THE SHADOWS)

Bud couldn’t see life with bifocals. He’s too close to the furnace. He’s gone. Way too close. But he’s my friend, he knows, that’s all, you know? You want a friend who knows, who you don’t have to explain a thing to, someone who feels the pain, just the way you do. He knows the resolutions to the phrase friendship.

NELLIE: You know what he’s gone and done, don’t you?

MONK: Who, Nellie?

NELLIE: Your friend, your one and only.

MONK: What’s he gone and done?

NELLIE: He’s met with those connections.

MONK: That’s his business.

NELLIE: It’s my business when he comes around here and gets you upset.

MONK: He ain’t getting me upset.

NELLIE: Yes, he is.

MONK: He ain’t.

NELLIE: Then why ain’t you upstairs and practicing on the piano.

MONK: Because I’m downstairs taking in the early evening air, waiting for my friend to come back from a quick run. And since when are you making any of this your business. You supposed to be upstairs minding them kids, cooking some food, or sleeping.

NELLIE: You old goat. Is that what you think I’m all about?

MONK: Well, if you ain’t you sure been fooling me, what with how you been spending all these years with me.

NELLIE: You don’t see me as a for you, helping you to stay alive so you

can create this music? You don’t see that?

MONK: I don’t see why we having this conversation except you seeing red because Bud is out.

NELLIE: The man steal jobs from you. He lies saying he’s you and of course he ain’t. He ain’t hardly got no mind of his own anymore and you still putting up with all of his shit.

MONK: Where you get all this information about Bud?

NELLIE: Nevernomind! I got it and that’s enough for me.

MONK: I want to tell you a thing or two about Bud, that maybe you don’t know.

NELLIE: I’m not going to listen to that old goat story of how he got your work recorded by Cootie Williams. He almost was ing it off as his own.

MONK: He had to do that so they would first listen to the music.

NELLIE: Why he can’t tell the truth, Monk? Why he allowed to lie through his teeth and you got to stand there like a statue and be virtue itself? Huh? Why?

MONK: Nellie—

NELLIE: Don’t give me any of that Nellie stuff. I’m tired of it. Been carrying your garbage bags since apes come out of trees and I’m tired. A woman works for some rewards. I’m entitled.

MONK: You entitled when you make the music. That gives you that. Don’t be up here sticking your face in mine and making believe that you got something for me I can’t get from nowhere else cause as God is the creator that ain’t true.

NELLIE: What you say? What? You cruel sonuvabitch. Why you talk like this to me? Huh?

MONK: Nellie, please—

NELLIE: No, you cruel shortfingered sonuvabitch.

MONK: Don’t act like this, Nellie.

NELLIE: You stinking smelly garbage bag fart patch! How you want me to act when you say cruel things like that to me? I want to see the woman who put up with all your shit that I’m putting up with. I want to see her. Where is she, Monk? Where’s the evil bitch that carrying your kids? Huh? Where she be? I’ma cut her heart out and then yours. Where is she? You hear me, man? Monk, I’m talking to you.

MONK: There ain’t no other woman. You know that.

NELLIE: Yes, there is. You know it. I know it. Treble clef, bass clef, staff lines, keys, black and white bitch. That’s the woman. Sounds. But why all the nasty talk to me? Huh? Talk to me before I poison your sloppy black ass.

MONK: I’m tellin’ you you out of your place, that’s what. You down here in the street making a stink and there’s no reason for that. I can take care of myself.

NELLIE: I want your big butt upstairs. I want it upstairs before that rat gets you into trouble. You got a big gig coming up. This is the one we been waiting for. You lose that green card, Monk, you can’t work again. And they looking to frame you bop boys. They can’t stand the music and if they keep you in jail then they can sell that pale shit they always want to sell. Always.

MONK: Leave off all this color shit, Nellie.

NELLIE: I can’t. They keep Billie Holiday from working. They keep you from working the good clubs. They keep all the great musicians on junk and out of work. Even that skinny ass friend of yours has to keep getting bailed out by all his friends. But they don’t stop Getz from working though, do they?

MONK: Nellie, you got to keep that stuff outta your head or you’ll go crazy.

NELLIE: It’s already in my head. And it ain’t getting out until they change this world they put together.

MONK: I just play the piano, Nellie.

NELLIE: That’s what you tell the public, Monk. But I know better. I know you play the blues for all the dead and all the living and for all them still to come I know your heart, man. I know it. And Bud Powell knows it too. And he uses it cause that’s all there’s left for him. He ain’t got no life. You hear me, Monk? You listen to me, man.

(SHE EXITS. BUD RETURNS GRINNING SOUND OF MONK’S “Round Midnight”)

MONK: What’s so funny?

BUD: I got the stuff, Monk. I got it. You sure you don’t want to do it?

MONK: Hey, man, take it easy. I can’t mess with this shit. I can’t.

BUD: Forget about Nellie.

(HANDS MONK A PINT OF WINE—SWIGS)

MONK: I ain’t thinkin’ about Nellie, Bud. I’m thinkin’ about me. About me waiting all these years for a chance to play. Waitin for a card that’s green or

yellow or whatever the hell color is in fashion. Now’s the time for me to come on out, Bud. Now. I can’t take the chance of messing it up fooling around with no smack. Not again.

BUD: Never stopped me from doing it, Monk. Don’t matter what they say, where you play. All that matters is playing, man.

MONK: That ain’t true.

BUD: What you mean, it ain’t true?

MONK: T’aint.

BUD: So you’re definitely calling me a liar.

MONK: I’m not saying one way or the other on that.

BUD: Just what are you saying?

MONK: I am saying that I ain’t messing with no drugs no more.

BUD: I said all that matters is playing. Now agree to that. You can’t think I’m going along with what you been saying?

MONK: I don’t care what you think, Bud, or what you want to think, or what you ain’t thinkin’.

BUD: I thought I was your friend.

MONK: Man, you puttin your head in front of a Mack truck, you know. I ain’t said a damned thing about none of that. It’s them drugs make you so crazy.

BUD: Oh, man, they do. They do. It’s definitely the drugs. They make me cover up too, you know. Sometimes I feel so warm inside it doesn’t make sense to be doing anything else but the drugs. I could even leave the piano alone but then I would have nothing. Can’t live with nothing. Not even me. So I keep this and that.

MONK: Yeah, well, I promised Nellie—

BUD: See this woman got your mind locked up. Control! That’s why you can’t play. You castrated.

MONK: Castrated! Get laid, Bud.

BUD: I’m serious, man. I read it in a magazine.

(MONK’S “Well You Needn’t”)

MONK: You read that I’m castrated?

BUD: “Give up your masculinity, let yourself be castrated and you’ll be rewarded, accepted into the fraternity which shares the mystery of impotence with you, a mystery revealed at the moment of the initiation rite.” So we’re not fags even, Monk. At least they got sex. We got nothing, Monk. We don’t screw nothing. And if we do we don’t even feel it. Sex is a mystery to us as playing isn’t. What do you think?

MONK: Who wrote that?

BUD: Some German guy.

MONK: When did he write it?

BUD: 1936.

MONK: Oh.

BUD: Oh.

MONK: Yeah. Oh!

BUD: What’s Oh mean?

MONK: Them Nazis were in charge then. Jews couldn’t run in the Olympics. And Jesse Owens was burning up the tracks in Munich, man. They were all pissed.

BUD: Man, they call us performers of our own ecstasy. We ain’t nothing but reflexes of someone else’s ideas. Someone else’s tune.

MONK: Forget that stuff. Eat you up crazy. I want to perform for the world, man. I would like to go to Paris some day. . You hear me? Even . But you can’t believe all this talk they put down. Man, ain’t you crazy enough already?

BUD: What does it mean anyway? I got this junk and whether you want it or not I’m taking it.

(BUD SNIFFS THE POWDER AND BEGINS THE DRUG REFLEX DANCES TO HIS SOUND OF HIS “Thelonious”)

BUD: No, I couldn’t let people decide for me what to do. No way, Monk But that’s my problem, man. I think all the time. I never rest. I’m always burning. I thought I’d told you that.

MONK: Maybe you did mention it once or twice, but soon that stuff is going to overtake you and then that’s it.

BUD: Oh, you think so? You really think so?

(STRUGGLES TO GAIN CONTROL OF HIMSELF. DANCES TO “Sometimes I’m Happy”)

MONK: It doesn’t matter to me. Most of the time I don’t listen to you anyway.

BUD: I knew it. I knew it all the time. You don’t listen to anyone but yourself.

MONK: I didn’t say that.

BUD: When they ask me who influenced you I shall say— (GAINING MOMENTARY CONTROL) —Monk was influenced by no man. His anima was pure ether. It came in a bottle and he ingested it twenty times a day. Also explains why he talks so funny if he does talk.

MONK: Got me down to a tee, ain’t you? Think you’re hot stuff because you’re so close to the furnace.

BUD: Yeah. I am one of the eternal fountains of jazz. I never stop spewing. But you don’t say a word to anyone. They all think you quiet. I know you’re fucking mad, insane.

MONK: Why don’t you that?

BUD: I know it.

MONK: Then act like it.

(BUD LOSES CONTROL AND LEANS AGAINST THE BENCH AS WE LISTEN TO “Hallucinations”)

BUD: I can’t.

MONK: I know.

BUD: Do you think—

MONK: I no longer think.

BUD: Hear me out.

MONK: What is it.

BUD: Do you think the Giants have a chance?

(MONK BEGINS LAUGHING)

MONK: Baseball? The American Pastime? The New York Giants?

BUD: Yeah, the New York Giants. I got them in a pool, man, to win the pennant. What do you say to that?

MONK: Yeah, you got a chance. A good one because Irvin is still hungry, man. Like I’m hungry, see, Bud, that’s why I can’t play in your briar patch. I may look like some kind of a bear but I ain’t no silly ass Winnie the Pooh. You listening to me still?

BUD: I hear you but it’s nicer upside down, you know?

(THEY CHUCKLE)

MONK: Can’t take a chance. Hate that.

(MONK GETS UP BEGINS DANCING SLOWLY TO HIS “Little Rootie Tootie”)

BUD: Thing that saves you is you’re a genius, another fountain father; otherwise, you wouldn’t be doodoo.

MONK: You starting to sound like doodoo. Things going unfinished and stuff. Ideas start and then disappear, vanish. You’re killing yourself, Damn it.

BUD: You don’t have to get so loud about it, motherf—I’m trying new things. Call it unfinished business. Don’t start sounding like all them critics. Listen you have a blow and this whole thing will be just a little bang.

(MONK TALKING TO NELLIE, UNSEEN BY BUD)

MONK: The man is deaf. It is his gift to make music to which I bow.

BUD: And I’m supposed to put up with this. Who you talking to, God? Is that who?

MONK: Yes, I’m talking to my God, but I’ma break your head now because you been itching for it. I know you’re a crazy masochistic pervert type. I know it.

(MONK BEGINS EDGING FOR BUD WHO STRAIGHTENS UP APPRECIATING THE AGGRESSIVE STANCE MONK TAKES. THIS IS A CHOREOGRAPHED DANCE TO BUD’S “Tempus Fugit”)

MONK And you been practicing sadism on me here too. Nellie’s right. So, you see, you been aching for me to kick your butt all over the place on the keyboards, which I been doing. But now it’s time to kick your ass all over this jail.

BUD: What? What jail?

MONK: Which I will do as soon as I get my hands on you.

BUD: Wait just a second here, Monk. What are you talking about?

MONK: I’m going to destroy you once and for all and then no one will have to worry about where is Bud Powell. They will all know that Monk killed your ass. Now come here.

BUD: No, man, do you think I am really crazy? I ain’t that crazy, you hear me, you original orangutang? That’s what they think you are, Monk. A crazy monkey that has somehow grasped a rudimentary understanding of their famed keyboard and can play something.

MONK: Another good reason to die, Bud.

BUD: You are missing the point, Monk.

MONK: How are you going to talk yourself out of this?

BUD: It doesn’t matter that I say those things. They think them.

(THIS STOPS MONK)

MONK: Do you believe them?

BUD: Yes.

MONK: Then you die.

(MONK MOVES CLOSE TO BUD)

BUD: WAIT! Monk, if you kill me then who do you kill next week?

MONK: All right, Bud, but listen to me. We’re in trouble.

BUD: What do you mean?

(BUD GETS UP AND GRASPS JAIL CELL BARS. SOUND OF MONK’S “Carolina Moon”)

MONK: Bud, we in jail. Those people who were following you were following you and they were Police. Understand?

BUD: Say it ain’t so, Monk. Say you lying to me. Not jail, man. Not that again. I can’t spend no more time in jail, man. Things are starting to crawl inside of me already, man. Monk! You hear me?

MONK: There’s nothing to say, Bud. We’re in it and there’s no escaping it. (BEGINS LAUGHING)

BUD: What’s so funny? You’re standing there laughing your damned head off.

MONK: You gonna die before your time you keep worrying like this.

BUD: Look, man, promise me we’ll stay together.

MONK: We’ll stay together.

BUD: I’m serious, Monk. No, man. I’m serious. I just got out of one institution, I couldn’t take another one now. No way. No way. Promise me. At least if we’re together—

MONK: I promise.

(MONK WALKS AWAY TO NELLIE STANDING BEFORE HIM, LEAVING BUD TALKING, FROTHING IN DARKNESS. SOUND OF MONK’S “Ruby My Dear”)

NELLIE: I told you you were sick, Monk. You need to see a doctor.

MONK: I’m not interested in any of that, Nellie. I just want you to know.

NELLIE: I knew before I left that it wasn’t going to work out. He’s bad seed for you. You were ready to explode before and then he showed up with all that flash and brilliance and everyone got taken off with that and his being young. You only 8 years older than him, Monk. He can handle things himself.

MONK: Nellie, let me tell you something. When me and him met something went between us. I can’t hardly explain it. There weren’t any words. It wasn’t like a marriage ceremony. It was more mystical than that. We were bent over the piano and it was humming to both of us. We both heard it. Vibrating. for us. You understand? We don’t talk about it. Never did. But we both heard it. And we knew. Something. We knew something, Nellie. You understand?

NELLIE: What did you know? That you were a parrot for a one armed pianist?

MONK: Nellie.

NELLIE: That’s what he is. Got a right hand and left the left for lost. He don’t

hardly ever use it any more. Was a time when he could do that, but it’s changing. You hear it. He’s running out of time.

MONK: And that’s why he can’t spend no more in sanatoriums.

NELLIE: And you think you’re saving him? Monk, you make me laugh. He is so careless he don’t care if you giving up something for him. Even if that something is you.

MONK: Bud ain’t like that. You’ll see.

NELLIE: I already know. You’re the one who can’t see. You probably can’t hear either, you just act like you do.

MONK: Nellie, I just want you to know, that’s all. I ain’t dead and I’m coming back from this too. There’s just only one Bud Powell.

NELLIE: There’s just only one Thelonious Monk. You hear that, don’t you, Monk? There’s only one Thelonious Monk. You hear me, Monk?

(SHE FADES AND BUD COMES UP ON MONK WHO STARES AT A VANISHING NELLIE)

BUD: You hear me, Monk?

MONK: What?

BUD: You stand there, man, staring out at them bars for hours now. Ain’t you been hearing anything I’ve been saying to you?

MONK: I was just seeing Nellie, talking to her—

BUD: Nellie? Shit! Whatever you were seeing, let’s look at the facts now.

MONK: What facts are you looking at?

BUD: We’re together in jail.

MONK: And?

BUD: I was saying to you that if I have to go to jail I want you to go to all the sanatoriums I been in.

MONK: What for?

BUD: To get the music, Monk.

MONK: What music?

BUD: The music I wrote on the walls when I was going through recovery, man. Got some bad shit on the walls, man. You hear me?

MONK: Yeah, I hear you.

BUD: You do it.

MONK: Do what?

BUD: Get the fucking music off them walls. man. Write the shit down. Let’s make some money. Something.

MONK: For you?

BUD: Yeah, man. For me.

MONK: Yeah, all right, man. For you.

BUD I’m going to write a tune, In Jail with MonknBud. Maybe just MonknBud

for short.

MONK: You do just that, Bud. But you know I was just explaining to Nellie just why we took to each other that first night you showed at Minton’s.

BUD: Nellie? She ain’t here.

MONK: But she is, man. I was just talking to her just a minute ago. She was right there.

BUD: Yeah, well, you’ll be all right just as soon as you can get out of here, that’s for sure.

MONK: I was telling her you could play Fats Waller, Fatha Hines, and Art Tatum. You were badder than anyone out there.

BUD: Were? Why you talking like this? Huh? You want to be a hero, huh? I can feel it. You building up to one of them concertos of yours, ain’t you?

MONK: I was talking to Nellie, man. Trying to explain to her why I’ma do what I’ma do.

BUD: But, you can’t. Listen to me. You can’t just take me out of here, you hero. That’s what you want to do. Huh? I got say so, a lot of it too. And when they come for me I’m going with them. Was my drugs.

MONK: Yeah. I got incentive to get out of here all right. I waited so long to go downtown, man. But—

BUD: And you’re going too, Monk. You’re going to kill them. Thelonious Monk, The High Priest of Be Bop. Svengali. You got a piece called Svengali, Monk? You need one. You need one real bad. I need one real bad. Magic. That’s what I need. This is it. I got to get out of here.

MONK: We got to wait.

BUD: See now you’re good at that. Waiting, I mean. You wait so you wait, you know what I mean? But me I can’t wait. I can’t wait for anything.

MONK: I can wait some more. It’s just time.

BUD: I couldn’t wait for anything, man, especially dessert. Man, they had to throw that stuff on the table first for me; otherwise I didn’t eat. I was a monster. Un enfant terrible. A bloody terror. Only time I wait I be dead.

MONK: Yeah but now they got us.

BUD If you hadn’t been so loud.

MONK: I should have nailed you on the street, you know. I should have just popped you one on the kisser.

(BEGINS FEINTING AND SHOOTING OUT JABS THAT BARELY MISS BUD WHO GETS DEFENSIVE. THEY DANCE TO MONK’S LET’S COOL ONE)

Then this time would be serving a purpose.

BUD: Yeah, but you don’t want to own up to whose fault it is.

MONK: I didn’t have no drugs on me.

BUD: I know that, but so what? You were yelling and screaming all over, Monk. All over. You wanted to kill me because I told you what the German had said.

MONK: Say it again.

BUD: You must be outta your fu—out of your mind. In this cell with you.

MONK: That’s what I need. I don’t have to chase you. You in my lap already. So say it. I need to hear it again to know why I do this thing I’m doing.

BUD: You ain’t doing nothing.

MONK: Say it.

BUD: No.

MONK: Say it, I said.

BUD: All right. Don’t get so bad with your bad self.

MONK: Say it again. Out loud. I want to hear it clearly.

BUD: It wasn’t even about you.

MONK Oh, yes, it was. It was about all of us. Bird, you, me, Miles—the living, the dead, all of us.

(MONK’S “Nutty”)

BUD: Why are you so violent these days?

MONK: I need to kill you, Bud. And you make it so possible, so plausible, so probable.

BUD: But your better sense tells you that from nowhere else will you be able to get your musical ideas if you kill the one the only genius of the piano

MONK: Say it. Damn it! Quick.

BUD: You want me to say the thing which drove you to lose your cool in the street in front of a ing squad car after all your onishments of my bad behavior? You want that?

MONK: Say it slowly, for impact, for drama.

BUD: All right, then. Virgil Thomson compared the performances of Louis Armstrong, the Ambassador of Jazz, to those of the great castrati of the 18th century.

MONK: Yeah. No balls. What does he know? No balls. Say it again.

BUD: You got angry and made too much noise and we are in here in jail far from home and far from a piano.

MONK: What do you make of that statement? You think Satch was—you know —didn’t have any nuts?

BUD: I do not interpret the statement so literally.

MONK: Really? You think Bird ain’t got balls? Miles? Max? You think that?

BUD: I thought he was saying that the music was so pure, so free from any taint of sex or the like.

MONK: How can that be music, Bud? How can that be anything but the drivel of baby snot. And how can these people make these judgments about something they don’t know nothing about? Who’s Virgil Thomson? Who the fuck is he? I want to kill his ass.

BUD: One of their musicians, I guess.

MONK: Fuck him and the fucking horse he rode in on. I don’t tell them their mistakes.

BUD: No, you don’t. You really don’t.

MONK: I don’t tell them to get their asses back to their caves, do I?

BUD: No, man. You just pretty much mind your own business and write tunes like “52 St. Theme.” Man, can you hear it? Can you hear it? Be down there soon.

Free goddamn it. Thanks to you.

(SOUND OF “52nd Street Theme” OVERDUBBED/EACH OTHER’S VERSION)

MONK: You know I can.

BUD: What can I do?

MONK: It’s out of your hands. You’re the star. I’m the understudy.

BUD: You ain’t no understudy for no one.

MONK: I know but this is doing something for me too, Bud. I want to get out of it. I want the money. The fame. Now I want to wait. Again. For the same thing. Don’t you see how sick this is to me? Look at me, man. I been playing longer than you. But you are the virtuoso. You are the first of our pianists to get to the top. And I wait in the wings. But we know how that goes.

BUD: Yeah. Like laying in the sanatorium waiting to get out so’s I can get my championship back. The Sugar Ray Robinson of the Keys. In and out. Always coming back on top. Each time a little harder though. But always fighting back. You see Sugar Ray take off LaMotta for title. Just this year. ain’t many people going to this the year this happened, but still.

(BUD ACTS LIKE A BOXER)

Sugar Ray Robinson, pound for pound, the greatest fighter in the ring, maybe forever. That’s what they’ll say about me, Monk, but they won’t ever know the truth about you. Monk.

(HOLDS MONK SOUND PLAINTIVELY)

MONK: So I waste in the wings and then my light goes on. It’s me. I’m up. Finally I stand to get up and all of a sudden out of the blue comes this skinny little kid. The same one. And he holds me up, this little kid he does.

BUD: And what happens?

MONK: I never strangle you.

BUD: Why?

MONK: You’re so skinny. If I don’t wedge for you who does?

BUD: Aw man, I can always find some guy to take the rap for me, especially a drug rap and there’s the issue of your cabaret card. You’ll probably lose that. Take time to get that back.

MONK: I know that too.

BUD: Man would sacrifice an awful lot to do that for another man who ain’t even his kinfolk. Wouldn’t you say that, Monk?

MONK: I don’t know exactly what you are talking about, Bud.

(MONK HOLDS ON REELING FROM PILLAR TO POST. WE HEAR MONK’S “Blues Five Spot”)

You see there is this hissing going on inside my head. It’s getting louder— HISSING, CRACKLING, SNAPPING. It’s my pain, Bud. It’s my head smashing to bits. I can’t listen to you right now. It’s a bad hit. You dig?

BUD: Wait! Monk! Wait! I’m supposed to feel that, man. That’s my ecstasy you’re feeling. That’s my juice, man. That’s my energy you’re sucking up on. That’s why I didn’t want you in on it in the first place. I need it to play, man I don’t want to go. I can handle it. I can handle it. I’m supposed to go to jail, not you, Monk. You can’t take my place. It’s my rightful place. That’s the peace I made with the Gods. I would play better than anybody and they would reward me by punishing me. Monk! Monk! Don’t do this for me. Please?

(BUD REPEATS THIS AGAINST MONK’S REFRAIN OVER AND OVER, BUILDING TO A CRESCENDO)

MONK:

BUD:

I-am Thelonious Sphere Monk Born in Rocky Point. That’s in North Carolina. 1920 I think It’s been a long time and I don’t Celebrate bull shit. I’m doing this because he can’t do it and you want someone for the role. You always want someone to vilify, to charge Convict, sentence, and then hang. I am Thelonius Monk. I play the Piano. That’s all

Wait! Monk! I’m supposed to feel that. That’s my ecstasy you’re feeling That’s my energy you’re sucking up on. That’s why I didn’t want you in on it in the first place. I need it to play, man. I can handle it. I’m supposed to go to Jail. Not you. That’s the deal I made With the Gods, man. I would play Better than anyone and they reward Me by punishing me. This is my Ecstasy, Man. This is my juice. This is my Reward man, I play the piano, man. That’s all

(SPOT FADES AS WE LISTEN TO MONK’S “Trinkle Trinkle”)

END

SWEE’PEA AND THE DUKE A Story of Billy Strayhorn and Duke Ellington By Laurence Holder

Cast of Characters: Billy Strayhorn, Duke Ellington,

Lena Horne

Time: 1939—1967

Place: Studio/Apartments/Restaurant/Hospital

The Tunes: “Lushlife,” “Chloe,” “Take The A Train,” ”Jack The Bear,” “Ko-Ko,“ “Across The Track Blues,“ “Tonk,“ “Warm Valley,“ “Harlem Suite,“ “Cotton Tail,“ “In A Mello Tone,“ “Just A Sittin and A Rockin,“ “Reminiscing In Tempo,“ “GiddyBug,“ “Gallop,“ “Chocolate Shake,“ “I Got It Bad And That Ain’t Good,“ “Brown Skin Gal,“ “Bli-Blip,“ “Rocks In My Bed,“ “Johnny Come Lately,“ “Solitude,“ “What Am I Here For,“ “Mood Indigo,“ “Main Stem Harlem,“ “AirShaft,“ “Something to Live For,“ “ion Flower,“ “Concerto for Cootie,” “Blood Count“

(MUSIC IS HERB JEFFRIES SINGING “You, You Darlin’.” DIM LIGHT UPSTAGE LEFT REVEALS LENA HORNE PUTTING HER TRADEMARK CAP ON HER HEAD AND STRAIGHTENING HER PEACH SUIT PREPARATORY TO TAKING A WALK SHE LOOKS UP AND SEES THEN

APPROACHES US)

LENA: Once upon a time there were these two men. One was big and the other one was just little. They were fashion wizards in their way and they were good looking men, heartbreakers. But what made them special was what they did with the banderorchestra. They made music.

(LIGHTS OUT. DARKENED STAGE LIGHTENS AND REVEALS A ROOM DECORATED TASTEFULLY, LOVE SEAT, PIANO, BED, DRESSER, HAT RACK WHERE HIS TOP HAT REGALES, HIS SCARF DRAPES A BANNISTER. HE PLUNGES TOWARDS THIN THE BOWL OF FRUIT ON AN ELEGANT TABLE. HE IS LIGHT ON HIS FEET. AS HE TAKES HIS BITE OF THE APPLE THERE IS A KNOCK AT HIS DOOR. ON THE OTHER SIDE OF WHICH WE CAN NOW SEE A SHORTER SOMEWHAT DARKER ELEGANTLY DRESSED YOUNG MAN HUNCHED CLUTCHING A SHEAF OF PAPERS. ELLINGTON APPROACHES STILL NOT HAVING TAKEN A CHEW FROM THE APPLE. HE OPENS THE DOOR AND THEN SEES BILLY STRAYHORN FOR THE FIRST TIME. ELLINGTON LOOKS HIM OVER AND THEN LAUGHS HIS SLY LAUGH AND WELCOMES THE STRANGER INTO HIS HOME, TAKING HIS CHEWS NOW)

DUKE: Hello. Did I send for you?

BILL: No—you did—yes—well, in a way -you did. You asked me to look you up

DUKE: Well, no point standing on ceremony. Come on in I probably did. I did didn’t I?

BILL: Yes.

DUKE: You like apples?

BILL: Love them.

(DUKE TOSSES HIM AN APPLE AND THEY CHEW UNISON)

DUKE: I’m on a diet.

BILL: I can tell. Listen to your bites. You are really quite hungry. (THEY CHEW)

DUKE: Really!

BILL: Really.

DUKE: What do you have there? In your mitts? I’ve been thinking baseball. It’s about time for the greats to call on the major leagues. Catching’s the most important job.

BILL: Music, some originals. Over here. Some things, Mr. Ellington.

DUKE: Anybody can pitch. Let’s see them. Give them over. Come, come. You’ll soon learn I am a demanding taskmaster. I expect the—how shall I say this?— the utmost.

(BILL GOES OVER TO THE PIANO AND SITS DOWN FACING ELLINGTON. BILL CRACKS HIS HANDS PLACES MANUSCRIPTS ON PIANO. DUKE WATCHES BILLY STYLE. HE POURS OVER THE MUSIC HUMMING)

BILL: When I first heard you I knew I had to play with your orchestra. I can’t stop thinking about it even now here, in your bedroom it seems—still dreaming it.

DUKE: My band.

BILL: Yes, Mr. Ellington, the orchestra. Yes. Man, that sound consumes me. It’s great.

DUKE: My b—orchestra.

BILL: Yes. You. It. Really you and the orchestra together you know an extension an elegant extension of the other. Can’t imagine you being a plumber either. Or a catcher. You’re a pitcher.

(DUKE LAUGHS BILL STRIKES A CHORD AND THEN GOES INTO

“Lushlife”)

I USED TO VISIT ALL THE VERY GAY PLACES THOSE COME WHAT MAY PLACES WHERE ONE RELAXES ON THE AXIS OF THE WHEEL OF LIFE TO GET THE FEEL OF LIFE FROM JAZZ AND COCKTAILS THE GIRLS I KNEW HAD SAD AND SULLEN GRAY FACES WITH DISTINGUE TRACES THAT USED TO BE THERE YOU COULD SEE WHERE THEY’D BEEN WASHED AWAY BY TOO MANY THROUGH THE DAY TWELVE O’CLOCK TALES.

THEN YOU CAME ALONG WITH YOUR SIREN SONG TO TEMPT ME TO MADNESS I THOUGHT FOR AWHILE THAT YOUR POIGNANT SMILE

WAS TINGED WITH THE SADNESS OF A GREAT LOVE FOR ME AH! YES I WAS WRONG AGAIN I WAS WRONG LIFE IS LONELY AGAIN AND ONLY LAST YEAR EVERYTHING SEEMED SO SURE NOW LIFE IS AWFUL AGAIN A TROUGHFUL OF HEARTS COULD ONLY BE A BORE A WEEK IN PARIS WILL EASE THE BITE OF IT ALL.

ALL I CARE IS TO SMILE IN SPITE OF IT I’LL FORGET YOU I WILL WHILE YET YOU ARE STILL BURNING INSIDE MY BRAIN ROMANCE IS MUSH STIFLING THOSE WHO STRIVE I’LL LIVE A LUSHLIFE IN SOME SMALL DIVE AND THERE I’LL BE WHILE I ROT WITH THE REST OF THOSE WHOSE LIVES ARE LONELY TOO.

(BILL FINISHES WITH FLOURISH)

DUKE: Wow! Uncanny!

(DUKE AND BILL EYE EACH OTHER A KIND OF MATING DANCE TO CHLOE—180 DEGREES APART WITH DUKE LAUGHING THAT SLY LAUGH OF HIS)

BILL: You’ve said nothing about my song.

DUKE: No, I haven’t. I like it though. I like you. And, you’re little.

BILL: Little.

DUKE: You are not an imposing pea, my dear fellow.

BILL: What?

DUKE: Don’t take umbrage.

BILL: Where are your seconds?

DUKE: But know this—

BILL: What kernel of wisdom rests just beyond the tip of your tongue?

DUKE: In this garden if I call you little that does not determine your breeding, intelligence or education, much less the quality of your spirit.

BILL: It is diminutive.

DUKE: Then we will make it large, in spite of itself. That is why you’ve come. and that is why I will accept you. As an apprentice.

BILL: Apprentice?

DUKE: An apprentice! You have to start somewhere.

BILL: Yes. Somewhere. The 20th century.

DUKE: Yes. Somewhere. The 20th is all right. Well, let’s look at the music now. What’s this one? Dah. De da da da da. Cute. Cute. Oh, that’s nice.

BILL: No, it goes like this. De De Dah Dah Dah Dah.

DUKE: Isn’t it the same thing?

BILL: Not really.

DUKE: What? Say, where did you say you were from?

(“Something To Live For” STOPS SUDDENLY AND LOOKS AT BILLY STRAYHORN WITH AWE, THE WAY A MAN WOULD LOOK AT HIS MUSE)

BILL: I didn’t say.

DUKE: You said you traveled a lot.

BILL: I did. Pittsburgh. New Jersey. North Carolina. Hillsboro. Spain. . (GOES BACK TO THE MUSIC)

DUKE: It doesn’t matter.

BILL: The Sorbonne in Paris.

DUKE: Hey! You enjoy writing. That’s obvious. And some of this—this is really —really rhapsodic—regal—royal.

BILL: I have to be careful, Sir.

DUKE: What do you mean? Careful.

BILL: I’d like to get credit for it. Other guys have wanted it to take credit for it. You know. I’ve done shows. I’ve done musicals. I can’t have any of that. I’m an honest man.

DUKE: Yes. So am I? No, Pea. I’ll see to that. You get credit for what you do around here. You just might not get paid. That happens sometimes. But you’ll always eat and have a roof over your head and some clothes to call your own. We have no liens here for any of us. We are family especially the banderorchestra . By the way, what’s your name, Pea? I didn’t see it on the music.

BILL: Billy Strayhorn.

(BILL BEGINS TO LIGHT A CIGARETTE)

DUKE: William.

BILL: Yes.

DUKE: Pea it is, Billy. Strays—I like that too. Evocative. Provocative. Delicious. Here, work on these. Do you always smoke?

BILL: Don’t you.

(DUKE GOES TO DRAWER PULLS OUT SOME TUNES. HANDS THEM TO BILLY)

BILL: What do you want me to do with them?

DUKE: The music needs some refined touch, some lofty thought, some crafty harmonic. Dig deep. think rich. Make magic. The cigarettes ho hum.

BILL: I—I. I—of course.

DUKE: What’s the matter now? Why are you staring? Are you spastic? Is that it?

BILL: I mean, Mr. Ellington, you haven’t asked me to sit down, take off my coat, get comfortable. Just bite the apple.

DUKE: Yes, the apple. Touch6. You see I know French. But you are right my good fellow, I am a beast. Rude, uncouth, ill mannered—uncultured. Make

yourself at home, this is home, at least here it is, hang the coat up there, before you sit, of course. Have a drink. I think I’ll have a nightcap. What else do you do? Er—where’d you go to school? Where’d you learn what you know? Ah yes, the Sorbonne in Paris. I believe. I have heard of it.

BILL: Just another school, Beast.

(BILL IS EXPANSIVE WIPES AT TEAR)

Do you speak French? Parl6z-vous Francaise?

(DUKE GOES TO BAR AND POURS SCOTCH)

DUKE: Scotch, the drink of conquerors.

BILL: I’ll start there.

DUKE: Oh, you don’t drink then.

(HANDING BILL A DRINK)

BILL: Now I do. Here’s to the future.

(BILL DOWNS THE DRINK IN ONE SWALLOW AND CANNOT COME UP FOR AIR. HE GAGS. DUKE IS SYMPATHETIC BUT DRINKS HIS IN ICY AMUSED SILENCE, WATCHING HIS YOUNG GUEST REGAINS HIS EQUILIBRIUM)

Now I know why they say it puts hair on your chest, rhythm in your step—and holes in your liver.

DUKE: As far as I’ve been able to ascertain, you sip these drinks. They are like ice cream sodas. Drink them too fast you miss them. The different layers of sweet, the syrup layer, the ice cream layer, the soda layer, those different textures ladling over your tongue. You have to sip them slowly.

BILL: I didn’t know.

DUKE: I can see that, Pea. And no, to answer your previous shout I don’t speak French. I know it. I don’t speak it. Mais un peu.

BILL: Pobrecito.

DUKE: That’s Spanish, Pea. That’s cheating too.

BILL: Yes, I know.

(BILL IS OVERWHELMED WITH MUSIC ENTRUSTED TO HIM)

One more thing Mr. Ellington.

DUKE: What is it now?

BILL: Why do you talk like that.

DUKE: Like how? Like what? Talk? What are you blithering?

BILL: Affected. Strained. Overdone. Delicious. Everything in triplets.

DUKE: Oh, that—that’s natural. Comes with the title. Ask my boyhood friends. Listen, those newspaper people are dying to ask me the same thing. “Duke,” ‘And call me Duke, Pea,’ “how do you appear to be so well bred?” Appear! Look at me. I dress better than them for a reason. I look cleaner than them for a reason. I speak better than they do for a reason. You know what my answer is to them?

BILL: No, Duke. What deft repart6 slipped from you?

DUKE: My mother raised me. That’s all. That shuts them up. Shuts them all up. It better shut up you too.

(DUKE GETS UP TAKES OFF DINNER JACKET, DRAPING IT ACROSS THE LOVE SEAT. TURNS AND SEES BILLY STRAYHORN LOOKING AT HIM)

But what do you really want to do here? Be honest. From your heart.

BILL: What do I want to do here?

DUKE: Yeah. You’re a young whipper snapper ready to shake the world by the tail. Who do you want to fuck?

BILL: Whoa! I’ll do everything you do. Fuck who you fuck.

DUKE: Everything you say?

BILL: Everything.

DUKE: Well, we’ll see about all that. That’s a tall order, as they say.

BILL: Touch6.

DUKE: Look, one of those pieces is real special. Savoy Strut. For Johnny Hodges. You know it helps to who you’re writing for because then

you can do things to make the piece the player the sound even better, depending on who’s playing of course.

BILL: Of course.

DUKE: Listen. I’ve got to go out for awhile. Be back in a couple of hours. Don’t eat all the apples. And definitely don’t drink all the booze.

(DUKE EXITS. MEETS LENA AND THEY DANCE TO BILL’S WORK ON SAVOY STRUT. LIGHTS UP AS DUKE WALKS IN. SEES BILL STILL WORKING GOES OVER TO HIM AND PICKS THEM)

BILL: Where’d you go?

DUKE: Visit to a Queen, my good man. Why?

BILL: Oh. I just wondered what could keep you away from the music.

(DUKE LAUGHS)

DUKE: You’re right about that, Strays. Not too much is gonna keep me away. Yes, I like this lots. Johnnie’s gonna love it. Yeah, you get some credit.

BILL: Some?

DUKE: I wrote the tune, Bill. Me and Rabbit.

BILL: Of course. I forgot. I’m so sensitive. I can’t believe it. The slightest breeze outside and I’m numb with cold. I don’t understand.

(DUKE GOES TO HIS SHELF AND PULLS OUT JACK THE BEAR. BILLY STRAYHORN GOBBLES IT UP LIKE CANDY FROM DUKE. DUKE IS ALREADY LOOKING AT SOMETHING ELSE)

DUKE: Listen, you need to get warm have a drink. There’s brandy there. Good stuff.

(BILL GOES TO BAR)

And while you do that, I think I’ll look at this.

BILL: What’s that?

DUKE: A thing— (BILL LOOKS OVER HIS SHOULDER)

BILL: Ko-Ko.

DUKE: Yes, Ko-Ko. For the band, really. They’re really in charge, Billy. Funny like that. It’s like Harry or Barney or Johnny or Rex or Cootie—it’s like they’re right there— (BEGINS LAUGHING POINTING TO HIS EARS AND HIS HEART)—breathing my notes right through their horns. Almost phallic. Gives me pause for thought sometimes too.

BILL: What do you think those special sometimes, Duke?

DUKE: Sometimes, Billy, I think I’m the woman.

BILL: You think that. I am that woman in the piece.

(LIGHTS BEGIN DIMMING AS DUKE AND BILL COLLABORATEAT THE PIANO. THEY DRINK AS LIGHTS DOWN. THEN COME UP ON A FULL ORCHESTRA WHITE, CARDBOARD FIGURES OF THE ORCHESTRA WITH DUKE AND BILLY BEING THE ONLY LIVE ONES. WITH BILLY STRAYHORN LEADING THE GROUP AS THE ORCHESTRA PLAYS A LITTLE “Across The Track Blues” DUKE GLIDES SLOWLY TO THE MUSIC DUKE SLOWLY COMES FORWARD ALLOWING BILLY TO PLAY THE PIANO)

DUKE: Good evening ladies and gentlemen. It is with great pleasure and an astronomical sense of history I give you what I think will be our theme song forever. Ladies and gentlemen: Billy Strayhorn’s arrangement of “Warm Valley.”

(THE BAND PLAYS A SOULFUL RENDITION. THEN HE LAUGHS THAT

SLY LAUGH OF HIS)

Ladies and gentlemen, a gentle roar for the great Billy Strayhorn.

(BILL BOWS TO THE APPLAUSE BUT LOOKS STRANGELY AT DUKE AS THOUGH WANTING TO STRANGLE HIM. THE LIGHTS DIM AND THEN BRIGHTEN AND THEY ARE ALONE ONCE MORE)

DUKE: What was that look you gave me on the bandstand? Looking down your patrician nose and at me.

BILL: You demean me. You condescend. It’s not my arrangement. I worked on it.

DUKE: Say that again slowly.

BILL: It’s not mine, Duke.

DUKE: It isn’t?

BILL: Duke, are you that tired? Don’t you me working myself silly on that tune? And being rejected? Rejected.

DUKE: No, I don’t.

BILL: Yes, you do. You do, your oiliness. You do.

DUKE: Oiliness! These are terrible accusations.

BILL: Yes, they are. And they are true. All of them.

DUKE: Bill, help me out here.

BILL: All right. We’ll play it your way. And let’s just take one, this time.

DUKE: Yes. Let’s just do one.

BILL: Do you what it means? “Warm Valley?”

(BILL MIMES A WOMAN’S PRIVATES PARTS. DUKE SUDDENLY RE)

DUKE: Of course. It refers to a woman, the portion of her anatomy, the soft part. I’m sorry.

BILL: What do I know about a woman? That’s what you say. My God, man, look at you. You don’t have a life. You live here with me half the time and I don’t have a life and so this is how you indicate, signify; no, if I wanted a woman where would I install her?

DUKE: Bill.

BILL: I need to get my own place and install my own pets. I want a real kitchen anyway. I like to cook. You wouldn’t understand. You like to eat.

DUKE: Bill, can I get a word in edgewise.

BILL: No, if it weren’t for the fact that you get the best alcohol I wouldn’t be here anymore. Ah—

DUKE: What does that mean? Are you quitting me?

BILL: Quitting you? It means that I hate you.

DUKE: Oh, that’s all.

BILL: Jihee! Jihee! That’s all, Folks. I’m going out, Duke. Without you. Without your sinuous swipes at the sidewalks. I haven’t seen daylight in days.

DUKE: All right. All right. But take those bodyguards with you. I don’t want any trouble. None from your direction, Pea. Got it.

BILL: Some of the boys are going to go hear this bass player. They say he’s pretty good. So I won’t need the guards.

DUKE: Enjoy yourself, Billy. And I apologize again for being so busy in my mind so thoughtless to have missed you— you—

BILL: It’s O.K., Duke.

DUKE:—to miss you. I’m sorry.

BILL: It’s OK, Duke. See you later.

DUKE: Yes, I think I’ll stay here and work. Take my mind off other things.

(BILLY GRABS A JACKET AND EXITS. DUKE SITS DOWN, KICKS OFF SHOES. PRAYS. LIGHTS DIM)

Mama. I think I’m really mes here with Billy, Mama. He’s the best thing that’s happened to this band er orchestra. And he’s an invaluable friend. I don’t know what I would do without him. I don’t. He’s special, Mama. We’re getting ready to go to California, and I think I’ll introduce him to somebody special. Someone whom he can talk to, someone who won’t want to do him in. He needs

a woman’s touch, a woman’s care, Mama.

(LIGHTS UP AS LENA HORNE ENTERS L.A. PARTY. DUKE AND BILL WATCH HER GRAND ENTRANCE AS SHE WALKS TO THEM)

BILL: She’s beautiful.

DUKE: Yes.

(BILL RISES TO OCCASION AND APPROACHES LENA EXTENDING HIS HAND TO HER AS SHE “STEPS” DOWN TO THEIR LEVEL)

LENA: I don’t know this man who takes my hand so smoothly. Who is he?

(BILL TAKES HER HAND AND KISSES IT)

DUKE: This is Billy Strayhorn. You met him earlier at the theatre? “Jump For Joy.”

LENA: Billy Strayhorn, Mr. Ellington, Billy Strayhorn. One of my nearest and dearest.

(SHE SHUDDERS)

Wonder what that last name really means?

BILL: Enchanted.

LENA: That’s my line. By the way, Dukie, I loved “Jump For Joy.” Kind of heavy on their heads though. I bet they miss the whole point.

DUKE: It’s still running. We’ll see. You two are hitting it off.

LENA: Maybe because he doesn’t demand anything from me, Duke.

BILL: The secret of any good relationship.

DUKE: Indeed. Well, I see someone who hasn’t seen me in awhile. I’ll leave the two of you alone a bit.

(BILL AND LENA CONTINUE TO GAZE DEEPLY. DUKE NON PLUSSED THAT NO ONE SEEMS TO CARE EXITS TO DANCE WITH A WOMAN “Concerto For Cootie”)

LENA: You like parties?

BILL: Sometimes. I oftentimes think it’s a thing of the mind. If you’re feeling good you’ll come off good And of course good food and spirits. That always helps.

LENA: But I hate to have to act. Can’t let my hair down. Can’t do anything honest at these Hollywood parties. Can’t do anything honest anywhere.

BILL: But we must not attach our hopes to gloomy clouds, Miss Horne.

LENA: Oh, no, Billy, I was serious when I said there was something with us. Call me Lena. Call me Chitlin. You can call me anything because when you speak I feel pure love. That’s what you are Billy Strayhorn. Pure love. As long as you want me, you’ve got me, Darling.

BILL: You’re embarrassing me.

LENA: I’m entitled, aren’t I?

BILL: Yes. Yes. You can call me anything, Lena. Anything at all.

LENA: I call you pure love. I am in love with pure love. Billy Strayhorn.

BILL: Well, that means—

LENA: It don’t mean a thing to me, Billy. I loves you and that’s all there is to that. Now you and me is an item for any gossip column. Anytime. Anywhere.

BILL: You are a funny woman. A strange exotic enigma of estrogen.

LENA: Howso?

BILL: You make up your mind about something awful quick.

LENA: I do, don’t I? When I’m right about something I do move on it quick. But I don’t think that’s peculiar estrogen.

BILL: Well, I think I need to explain something to you.

LENA: You don’t have to explain anything to me. I loves you and that’s that. You ain’t spoken for is you, Pea?

BILL: No. Nothing like that.

LENA: Duke told me about how the band gave you the name Swee’Pea.

BILL: With Duke always muttering Pea it’s no wonder.

LENA: I sure wish I could’ve given you that name, Billy. I’ma take credit for it if I can.

BILL: I’ll give you credit for it though I don’t like it. I give credit.

LENA: Why not?

BILL: It’s diminutive.

LENA: Oh. But it fits so sweet, Swee’Pea.

BILL: I ain’t going to argue with you. I won’t ever do that.

(SHE LAUGHS)

LENA: And we’re gonna get along just fine. We need some champagne.

BILL: Let’s get some.

(THEY STROLL TO BAR)

LENA: You’re an interesting guy, Stray.

BILL: Look at you. Everywhere you go there are eyes. Beautiful Enigmatic Talented. So much so they don’t know what to do with you. Seems that way with all of us, Lena.

LENA: Howso, Billy?

BILL: We’re all working at half speed, Lena. Duke’s got a drawfull of ideas that don’t get done because there’s no call for them. And look at you unable to get an acting job although the reason you’re here in gay LA is for that. So what do they offer you?

(LENA DOES A BRIEF MIME OF TOPSY)

LENA: I just want a cottage for sale to fill my memory.

BILL: Too talented. Too Beautiful.

LENA: I’ll make out. So will Duke? What about you?

BILL: Me.

LENA: Yes, darling. You.

BILL: They’re just squooshing me, Lena. I write things and then see his name on them on a record made in or .

LENA: Whose?

BILL: Whose? Why Duke Ellington’s. That whose. And who the hell is this Irving Mills? What’s he written?

LENA: Have you spoken to Duke about this?

BILL: Once—a little bit—once when we started working with each other.

LENA: It might be time to make the financial thing stronger, Billy. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.

BILL: It’s out of his hands, Lena. He has these managers. They hate me because I’m not really in the family.

LENA: Billy.

BILL: Legally, I mean. Mercer is Aces. And Ruth too. I mean she helped the most at first.

LENA: What did he say?

BILL: I’ll get credit. I may not get paid.

LENA: He said that?

BILL: I hardly ever get paid. What the hell though, how can I complain? They treat me like family. Things are confused over there too so. I can’t really complain, Lena.

LENA: Maybe you can and then maybe you can’t. I’ll talk about it with some friends. Let’s dance.

BILL: You’re so much taller than me.

LENA: I wish there was something I could do about that, Billy. I really do. Come on, Pea. Hold me close.

(BILL AND LENA DANCE)

Does the business get in the way of the creativity?

BILL: It must right, right? But if you’re a colored artist you don’t get treated the same way. And that’s just the way it goes.

LENA: We can get a lawyer.

BILL: A lawyer? Who’s we?

LENA: I’ve met this man, Billy. You’ve got to see him yourself. Give me the approval if you know what I mean.

BILL: Approval?

LENA: Well, seeing as how you won’t and he will although I won’t if you sayso.

BILL: Are you saying what I think you are?

LENA: You have the power, Billy. I want you to have it. I want to marry, Pea. I want a family. A mother a father and a child or two or three. I want you.

BILL: But you can’t do that. I’ve never—no you can’t do that. Do you love the guy? Is he elegant? I can’t imagine you being with anyone other than Errol

Flynn or someone like that.

LENA: I love you. Lennie fits the bill. He’s wonderful. You’ll see.

BILL: Does Duke know?

LENA: Duke? He’s so full of himself.

BILL: So he doesn’t know. It might upset him. You know how he feels about you.

LENA: I know how he feels about himself, Billy. He might have an inkling though. He knows a lot. Here he is now

(DUKE BREAKS INTO THEIR DANCE)

I was just telling Billy about Lennie.

DUKE: Why do you want to marry him?

LENA: So I can have some peace. I’d marry Billy if only he would try but he’s too afraid.

(BILL BREAKS BACK INTO DANCE)

BILL: Excuse me, but it’s my dance.

(THEY CONTINUE DANCING OBLIVIOUS TO DUKE BACKING AWAY INTO HIS APARTMENT. THEY MIX DRINKS AND HOWL AND LAUGH AS LIGHTS GO DOWN ON THEM UP ON DUKE ALONE MUSES)

DUKE: That’s pretty much how it started out for them, Mama. Peas in a pod. Ducks in a pond. Birds in flight. And to be honest with you I couldn’t have been happier. Really. They both needed something more than most people need. Some tenderness. Some love. Something where they could be real with each other. See, Mama, in this world there are hunters and there are the hunted. Billy Strayhorn didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He was fresh meat. Me? I’m different. I got to look out for Swee’Pea. I can look out for myself.

(LIGHTS OUT. BILL WALKS INTO APARTMENT)

DUKE: You know I don’t like problems.

BILL: I know that but I never speak for the band to the public. I mean to the people.

DUKE: Who’s putting these thoughts in your head? Lena?

BILL: No, it wasn’t her.

DUKE: Yes, it was. I can see her hand in this. Yes. Lena. (CHUCKLES) And now the new guy. We been together a long time now, Billy.

BILL: Yes, feels that way, that’s true.

DUKE: People’ve been hearing your music.

BILL: Some of it.

DUKE: Well, it’s enough.

BILL: You say it’s enough. But you’re the one everyone sees. You’re the image of the band.

DUKE: And I’ve cultivated this thing you call my image all my life. How could I leave it to the likes of you? You couldn’t even spell wine when you met me. Now you think you are me.

BILL: I think—

DUKE: Stop thinking.

BILL: I want to think.

DUKE: You know what kind of a world we’re living in, Pea, don’t you?

BILL: No, tell me again. And again and again.

DUKE: It’s little lamb like you, poor lost souls who have no one to talk to, and wolves who devour you without a thought. That’s what it is, Pea. And without giants like me to protect little things like you you’d be lost. Am I clear, Pea?

BILL: Of course, you’re clear. You want everything for yourself. If you could you’d lock me up. Sinatra wants me. Wants to hire me. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime. Do you hear me?

DUKE: What is it, Pea? What is it? What do you want from me? What is Sinatra next to me. Ask yourself that. You hear these new bands out here. Dizzy Gillespie and Woodie Herman—all that Afro-Cuban. What do you want from me? How can I let you go?

BILL: I want all of it. I want it. I want to feel like you do. I want to be big. I feel the tones vibrating in me. I open my mouth and a cornucopia of sound rushes forth. I am man, I am woman. I am creation itself.

DUKE: You wrote another tune.

BILL: Yes. I wrote another tune. Another tune to the excellence, the elegance, the form, the style of generations of Ellingtonians. Yes, I wrote another tune. And I want credit. All of it. Mine. I wrote it.

DUKE: Then there’s nothing to say but let’s see it, Pea. You know that strike got us to using your tunes, establishing you as a major composer of music. People know it’s you— not me.

BILL: All right, some of what you say is true, Duke. But here it is. And I warn you. This is a masterpiece.

DUKE: Another one.

(PULLS OUT SHEETS. HANDS THEM TO DUKE)

DUKE: You stay busy, Pea.

BILL: I’ve got a lot to say.

DUKE: What’s this about Sinatra?

BILL: There are other bands.

DUKE: We record more than they do. It’s more than enough for two composers. I ever shown you this? Forget about Sinatra.

(DUKE HANDS A FULL MANUSCRIPT SCORE TO BILL)

BILL: Hmm. My output pales against this. I am undone as you might say. I must work harder.

DUKE: You don’t have to work harder, just don’t compete with me, Pea? me fully. All these pages are just pages until I hear them. That’s why I keep all those doggies together, Pea. That’s why. When I want to hear the music they come together for me. And they play the music of heaven. My music. The music of Negro people, Pea. Do you hear me?

BILL: Yes, I hear you.

DUKE: Good. And you have to ration it, Pea. Just can’t give it up quick give it away. Who knows how long I’ll be alive? I’ve got to have some things for the end. They’ll not see some dodderer slobberin’ on some bib sponsored by some brewery. Yet I am sad.

(BILL IS ABSORBED BY THE MUSIC)

BILL: Sad?

DUKE: Yes, sad. Sad Sad. Are you listening to me?

BILL: Taking notes, Beast.

DUKE: Beast he calls me. Why? I pay all his bills. It’s been years since Cootie left me to go play for Benny Goodman. Lucky Benny. I even helped Cootie with the contract, got him a great one. He’ll come back. They all do. Can’t get along without the old man.

BILL: It’s always about money, Duke, but you didn’t want to pay that much for a trumpet player. You still had Rex Stewart and Ray Nance too, when it came to it. Rex could play anything Cootie could. So could Ray. There’s dozens of squealers out there hollering. Clark Terry.

DUKE: Aw, but you see that’s where you’re wrong, Pea. Like you’re wrong about a whole lot of things.

BILL: What are we talking about now? You said that. Not me.

DUKE: I said that?

BILL: Yeah.

DUKE: Well, I didn’t mean it the way you make it sound. Cootie has that under the bridge lived in country thing. That’s why I wrote that damned Concerto for him. Kept him around for a couple more years too. But finally he wanted to go. He thought it could be better. They had better inducements too, easier women, better booze, better drugs. A career move with which I must concur, Cootie. But I miss your sound.

(DUKE BOWS CEREMONIOUSLY)

You see, Pea, I have humility too.

(DUKE LAUGHS THAT SLY LAUGH)

BILL: You? Duke, you are the least humble man I know. You just hide under that wonderful exterior. You make everyone pay for the privilege of knowing you. Even now you know some woman is outside these doors waiting for you— any woman.

DUKE: Lena, Pea. She’s not any woman.

BILL: You’re going to see her?

DUKE: Every man should have a woman, Lord knows.

BILL: She’s not your woman.

DUKE: What’s wrong with wishful thinking? Why can’t I try again?

BILL: She’s my friend, that’s why. I have to protect her.

DUKE: I introduced you to her.

BILL: Why didn’t she invite me, Duke? This doesn’t sound like her at all. She always wants me.

(BEGINS DRINKING HEAVILY FROM FLASK)

DUKE: Why can’t I see her alone?

BILL: Alone? What do you have in mind?

DUKE: Don’t you have work to do?

BILL: Work! That’s all you ever think about. Well, there’s more to it than just work, Mr. Ellington. You’ll find that out.

DUKE: I only asked you a question, Friend.

BILL: There are places I go; your friends might not understand. You might come one night. She might—but no—then—just to see what it is.

DUKE: Oh, is it the kind of thing where you couldn’t bring your mother?

BILL: Inversions now. No, not Lena or my mother. The man is supple and subtle all at the same time. Go to your woman. What do you know of my pains?

DUKE: Pea, why should I want to live yours when I have my own?

(LAUGHS SLY LAUGH)

BILL: We all know about your pain. You won’t let any of us forget any of it. Your son, the bills, the band. Who’s taking what and why. Who’s fucking who where. And all the time the music is pouring out of us like water from clouds. We are the mists of the holy grail.

DUKE: That’s wonderful poetry, Swee’Pea. She loves you.

BILL: That’s not why she’s going out with you tonight.

DUKE: You are not taking her out.

BILL: I might.

DUKE: Yeah, well, Pea, you might, but right now I want to forget all my pain and not think about yours either and I go downtown to throw myself into her lap of luxury and drink at Lena’s for the remainder of the evening. She has the champagne I like to drink and the caviar I like to eat, and these are some of the things that make up life, Pea. And to make music one must drink fully of life. I go to drink.

BILL: That’s right. Leave your man alone to suffer the slings and arrows, leave him alone to fend off the seductions of the ghosts.

DUKE: What ghosts?

BILL: The same ones that nip at you.

DUKE: What is it, Billy?

(DUKE TAKES OFF HIS COAT AND UNDRAPES HIS SCARF. HE SITS AT THE PIANO AND BEGINS TO PLAY “Solitude” AS LIGHTS DIM)

BILL: I cannot go outside alone anymore. Someone is always following me.

DUKE: You’re drinking too much.

BILL: Unscrupulous person. But he makes the easy things easier and so he leeches on. And then he takes other liberties, Beast, and I don’t know what to do, what to say. He puts his arms around me and engulfs me and then I am swallowed up in him, lost in him. And sometimes I feel like I—I could drown inside of him. Do you know what I’m trying to say?

DUKE: Yes. But what about the guards I got for you.

BILL: They can’t help me, Duke. This is my ghost, Beast. God it’s so difficult. People like him ruin careers, Beast.

DUKE: Is he bothering you now?

BILL: Yes. He keeps coming to the rehearsals.

DUKE: That that—fellow.

BILL: Yes, him.

DUKE: He looks as if he can take a straight word from you, Pea.

BILL: Does he? (TAKES BIG DRINK)

DUKE: How long has he been bothering you?

BILL: About a month. Five years. Years of abuse. He hits me. But don’t say anything to him. He’ll torture me. You’ll be on the road and I’ll be working on something and then he’ll come and want to try writing music himself. He won’t even let me cook for my friends.

DUKE: Well, that explains that then.

BILL: What?

DUKE: You haven’t been going over any of the new work with the reeds.

BILL: They’ve been tired. On the road for forty weeks a year. What do you expect?

DUKE: Now you know Harry Carney is going to say something to me.

BILL: Harry is always so easy to gossip. If it ain’t Harry it’s Ray Nance.

DUKE: They don’t do that. Rabbit loves you.

BILL: Rabbit, huh.

DUKE: Now your mind’s been elsewhere. I’ll take care of this like anything else, Pea.

BILL: Yes, like everything. You’ll swallow me up too. But leave it alone. I’ll take care of it. Don’t get me in trouble, Duke.

(DUKE REACHES FOR HIS COAT AND SCARF)

DUKE: All right, Stray. And Pea, don’t choke. But I upped the ante on that tune we worked on.

BILL: Which one?

DUKE: Mainstem.

(DUKE EXITS TO SMILING BILL AS “Mainstem” INTONES. LIGHTS DIM. SPOT ON BILL)

BILL: Once I wanted to be everything. Play everything. I settled on the piano

finally. After I heard Art Tatum and Teddy Wilson. Formed my first group after Benny Goodman’s. Anything I was in my neighborhood automatically integrated it.

I want to play but there is no one with whom to play. People just wanted the glory never the work. Sometimes you hear it in people’s words. Makes you sick.

I make the notes jump on the page and the players do the rest. But when it’s all over, when the books are put away and the lamp switches off, footsteps a faint echo, the laughter only a memory, then what?

(HE BEGINS AN IMPROMPTU DANCE OF GENTILITY AND LONELINESS TO “Dusk” SEGUEING INTO “A Portrait Of Bert Williams” THAT REVEALS HIS PRIVATE SELF AND LOVE)

When I think of all the moments alone I drink. It’s that simple. And in this business getting a drink is easier than getting water. So—(DRINKS FROM FLASK)

I think I’ll write something for you, Beast. You write for everyone but yourself. Since we’ve been working together on the piano you’re not making those clinkers you used to make. I wonder if you’re bashful. I’ll have to ask.

(BEGINS HUMMING “Mood Indigo.” LIGHTS OUT ON BILLY AND UP ON DUKE ENTERING LENA’S ELEGANT “DIGS.” HE KISSES HER OUTSTRETCHED HAND)

LENA: Duke, so good of you to come.

DUKE: I wouldn’t have missed an opportunity to see you if I was in town.

LENA: But where’s Billy?

DUKE: I left him behind.

LENA: You left him behind? Didn’t you tell him I wanted to see him?

DUKE: He said he had some work to do.

LENA: He did not. You should’ve brought him. He just wants to go to those places he goes to.

DUKE: He’s entitled.

LENA: He’s killing himself is what he’s doing, Duke. He’s depressed. Have you noticed his cough?

DUKE: What cough?

LENA: I know you haven’t. And he’s drinking himself into a trough, and right in front of us. He has that sick boyfriend who’s not helping anything. We should do something. He’s so vulnerable. He’s not like you at all.

DUKE: Is this why you’ve invited me here, Lena—to discuss the state of Billy Strayhorn?

LENA: Is there another reason, Dukie?

DUKE: I thought that somewhere behind those lovely rims of yours there was a faint wish needing but a few breaths of air to ignite a fire for one whose heart yearns just like yours, and whose union would produce the loveliest children.

LENA: You’re right about that, Duke. We’d make lovely, lovely children. But what about the other things, Duke?

DUKE: What other things?

LENA: You’d want me to work, Duke.

DUKE: With the band, of course. Wouldn’t you want to?

LENA: That goes without saying. But what does deserve saying, Duke, is that I’d need a band boy a maid and a hairdresser and a wardrobe. And with all the traveling you boys do, a car. I don’t think it’s practical. I might take all your

money. You just got rid of Irving Mills, your personal manager, didn’t you?

DUKE: Well, now that you mention Irving and all that baggage I understand. But isn’t there another chord that I strike in your heart, Lena? Still?

LENA: Duke, how could it be?

DUKE: We could we would have beautiful children Beautiful children. I’d name them after me.

LENA: And what about the love of my life?

DUKE: I am awaiting you, my dear.

LENA: Duke—why be the fool?

DUKE: I don’t know, Lena. Maybe because I’m lonely.

LENA: We can’t be. You know why.

DUKE: It’s been a long time. So long. Writing. Arranging. Keeping the herd together.

LENA: Why talk like this?

DUKE: I could paint. I could. If I wanted. Be something else, you know. But then—

LENA: What stops you?

DUKE: Billy. He does. He’s got so many ideas. I show him one thing he shows me ten. Sometimes he just dribbles them all over me. Like confetti.

LENA: He’s so talented, Duke. Don’t mess with him.

DUKE: I’m not going to mess with him.

LENA: Good. I like feeling like his big sister. And I think of all of us as family, a special musical family.

DUKE: Spiritual. Romantic.

LENA: Sometimes, Duke. Oh, yes, sometimes.

DUKE: Sometimes, just sometimes, when I see you, I think, we could just run away—be alone for a few days, a week— two

LENA: I’m not an object on the table. These looks are not all I got, Duke.

DUKE: They’re not all I see, Lena.

LENA: Duke—

DUKE: You—Me—Coming together pushed apart. The Cotton Club days. Watching you dance.

LENA: Dancing for you, Duke.

DUKE: Lena.

LENA: Duke.

DUKE: I can’t get you out of my mind.

LENA: We were made for each other. Once.

DUKE: But only in someone’s mind—someone’s party— someone’s painting. We can’t come together ever.

LENA: Even in the films they do not pair us together. We are too beautiful.

DUKE: Too beautiful to be.

LENA: Too. Duke.

DUKE: It was just gleeful imagining, Lena. You’ve got a husband.

LENA: You could have any woman you wanted.

DUKE: I can’t have you.

LENA: You could have me, Duke.

DUKE: Oh, so tell me how.

LENA: You know how. You positively know how.

DUKE: I’m in the blind right now.

LENA: I need a maid—

DUKE: Ah yes, I .

TOGETHER: A maid, mind you, a chauffeur, and the whatnot to drive, as well as a place to abide. And don’t forget the wardrobe. Now if you can do that, you got a chance.

(THEY LAUGH TOGETHER)

DUKE: I have to go.

LENA: So soon?

DUKE I don’t have a head for any of this right now. I need to walk. Air out my head—Airshaft—Now that’s not bad.

LENA: A title.

DUKE: Yes. And a rearrangement. Let me get to it.

LENA: Of course. And, Duke.

DUKE: Yes, Lena.

LENA: Thanks for coming. Even if you didn’t bring Billy this time.

DUKE: Thanks, Lena. My eternal pleasure.

(HE KISSES HER OFFERED HAND)

LENA: We have to do something about meeting like this.

DUKE: What though?

LENA: I don’t know. I wish I did.

(THEN SHE EXITS LEAVING DUKE STANDING FREE)

DUKE: Mama, I am blue, Mama. Blue when I slow it down and relax, and blue when I’m faster than a speeding bullet. I am blue. I look outside of me through you Mama and Father and aunts and uncles and I see all our eyes clear and sure

staring at me at Lena at Satchmo at Hawkins, Holiday and Young and all they want is a fair shake—a chance to be Jackie Robinson Josh Gibson Satchell Paige — just one fair shot.

Here I am on top of the world the most everything colored man in the world and look at the huge struggles I have. If my royalties weren’t as high as they are I wouldn’t have the banderorchestra and everything I do gets covered by some other group. I never get close to 10% personally.

And then there’s the color issue, that peculiar institution. Hell, if it weren’t for our entertainment value we’d all be porters or so it seems. No one knows of Drew Carver Woods—inventors explorers medicine men. Randolph White DuBois Robeson—activists organizers philosophers. Hell, no one even re when we musicians didn’t read the music we just played it. And no one re when the musicians couldn’t play their instruments. People think that Johnny Hodges just woke up with that tone of his but he had Sidney Bechet teach him a thing or two. And who taught Bechet? Or Bubber Miley with that plunger mute that Cootie got together so well. And Buddy Bolden and some of the others whose names drip into obscurity by the hour. And then again maybe the people aren’t supposed to to .

No one knows the troubles. I see the greatest of us the greatest artists fall prey err and die of drugs frustrations and bitterness alcohol gambling some vice or other.

I’ve flown around the world in a plane and only here in America where the dream was born are colored people simply not to be accommodated. I lift myself through this slag by devoting myself to the music. The music is the liberation. The musicians are the liberators.

And my job is to keep writing the music playing the banderorchestra touring the world secure in the fact that everyone loves the music even if they don’t always like the musicians us me. So ain’t nothing really changed, Mama.

(LIGHTS OUT THEN UP ON BILL PACING BACK AND FORTH IN FRONT OF THE DOOR WHICH OPENS SUDDENLY AND IN COMES DUKE TAPPING OUT MELODY OF “Harlem Airshaft.” HE COMES INTO VIEW)

DUKE: I’ve got this thing in my head to help “Harlem Airshaft.” I want to rearrange it.

BILL: Of course. Have a good time.

DUKE: Yes, No, well, I don’t know.

BILL: That’s too bad.

DUKE: What’s too bad? Well, I know you got more to say than that.

BILL: I wrote a tune for you. I call it Tonk.

DUKE: I like the name. Now what was that other stuff? Too bad about what? People come to me. I go to them. If someone’s got the answer to a problem, why shouldn’t I go to them?

BILL: That’s why you come to me. I have your answers for you. At least the musical ones.

DUKE: Lo, how the small have risen. You came to me.

BILL: That was then. This is now.

DUKE: Whoa! It’s why we’re together. And by the way I need a vehicle for Herb. Or I won’t have him around too much longer.

BILL: You think Jeffries would sing my “Lushlife,” do you?

DUKE: I do not.

BILL: Why?

DUKE: The problem with your “Lushlife” is that’s it’s too difficult. Modulates madly, it seems, sometimes, not all the time. Sometimes you can’t even play it. I mean. You do know it’s a hard tune.

BILL: Billy Eckstein was by earlier. He wants to sing it.

DUKE: That’s good. That’s real good.

BILL: Nat King Cole says he’s going to sing it.

DUKE: That’s nice too. But what about the new work? The here the now.

BILL: The new work? The here The now? I get it done. I always get it all done.

DUKE: Not when all you’re doing is hanging out with the fellows and that crazy boyfriend of yours. When’s the last time you were in the studio?

BILL: You know, Duke, I don’t have anyone. That boyfriend was a bum. I’m not married. I shall never marry.

DUKE: It’d keep you out of trouble.

BILL: You would think that, Beast.

DUKE And why are you calling me Beast? It’s not very flattering. You are everything I am not, Bill. You are classically trained on the piano. I am not. You have taste breeding. I have the airs. You have the substance. We are made for each other.

BILL: Stop it, Duke. Wasn’t it you who said, “I want to bring out the Negro music.” Emphasis on Negro. I bet you someone is making you rue the day you ever said that.

DUKE: Look, Bill, there is nothing more important than the music. Music is my Mistress. Do you understand?

BILL: But you and me. Together so much of the time. People talk. I’m trying to say something to you.

DUKE: About what? You? Me? What about it? You just relax and write arrangements. You need men, women, dogs, booze, you let me know. I’ll arrange it.

BILL: You’re an animal.

DUKE: You’re not, Bill. Listen to this.

(DUKE INTONES “In A Mellotone”)

BILL: Very, very catchy. I suppose that goes to the small groups, the ones Rex or Johnny leads.

DUKE: Yes, indeed. And The Orchestra. Good tune. Should make the folk happy. Nothing like that, Bill. Making the folk happy? Nothing like it. That’s

like listening to Harry Carney’s baritone sax and jumping for joy. Let’s eat. It’s late.

BILL: It’s late so it’s time to eat.

DUKE: Funny, Bill. Very funny.

BILL: What I say is true.

DUKE: What is?

BILL: The people don’t know when Duke lets off and Bill begins.

DUKE: Do I need this tonight? That is the question. I’m hungry. Let’s eat.

BILL: You keep saying you’re on a diet. But you go off it as soon as you eat.

DUKE: Bill, do I need a lecture? I’ll get my usual and then we’ll work a few hours and then get some sleep.

BILL: Another evening with the great Duke. So I do not get an answer to the great question of the day.

DUKE: What’s that?

BILL: You and me. Who’s who?

DUKE: Who gives a damn? As long as the music soars. The people applaud. The inkwell runs deep. Who cares?

BILL: Where do you want to go?

DUKE: Somewhere where I can get some people food. Some ribs, some greens.

(BILL GETS HIS COAT AND THROWS DUKE HIS. THEY PUT ON THEIR HATS, STYLISHLY POSING ALA ONE OF THE GREAT PICTURES AND THEN THEY STROLL THROUGH THE DOORS TO THE SOUND OF “Take The A Train”)

BILL: You know I wrote that one after they opened up the D train. One day I stood at the subway at 59th Street and they were talking about this D train going to 125th Street. So I said “take the A train.”

DUKE: Just hope no one gets tired of it.

BILL: What? You crazy, Duke.

DUKE: I ain’t crazy, Bill. I’m leery. Leery of critics.

(THEY STROLL UNTIL THEY ENTER FRANK’S STEAKHOUSE A FAMOUS RESTAURANT)

BILL: No one will recognize us here.

(THEY BOTH LAUGH)

DUKE: Funny, Bill. But it’s empty and they’ve got a jukebox. I’ll look.

BILL: I’ll order.

DUKE: Yeah. Look at this. They got our “Just a Sittin’ and A Rockin’.”

(DUKE PUNCHES IN A COIN AND THE TUNE COMES OUT TO THEM)

BILL: Sounds good too. But what were you talking about when you said you were leery of the critics.

(BILL COMES BACK WITH STEAMING FOOD. SETS IT ON TABLE.

DUKE IS ROCKING WITH “Just A Sittin’ And A Rockin’.” BILL S HIM AND THE TWO OF THEM LOCK HANDS AND DO A SLOW DRAG TO THE CONCLUSION OF THE TUNE)

DUKE: Let’s eat.

(THEY RETURN TO THE TABLE) BILL: So are you going to tell me?

DUKE: It happened before your time.

BILL: What did?

DUKE: I wrote “Reminiscing in Tempo.” BILL: Oh, yeah, your mother.

DUKE: Yeah, after her death. And two of the critics really took me to task, Bill.

BILL: Who?

(HE IS BUSY MUNCHING WHILE DUKE KIND OF STARES AHEAD MUNCHING DELIBERATELY, ANGRILY. BILL LOOKS AT HIM WITH CONCERN)

DUKE: Well, John Hammond called the work formless and shallow. He just

wanted me to write the dance tunes.

BILL: Some of your stuff sounds like Stravinsky, Duke. It don’t swing.

DUKE: Maybe we should talk about this another time. We don’t always swing all the time.

BILL: It was a bad joke, Duke.

DUKE: He went on to say that I avoid both in my music and in life the troubles of my people or mankind in general.

BILL: How could he say that?

DUKE: He wasn’t finished either.

BILL: You’d better eat something before it gets cold.

(DUKE FORCES A MOUTHFUL OF FOOD) DUKE: Food’s good.

BILL: What else did he say?

DUKE: He criticized me and my orchestra for allowing ourselves to be exploited, especially by Irving Mills.

BILL: What are you supposed to do?

DUKE: Acting like we’re in charge of something. What a joke! I give that man 33% so he leaves us alone and lets us make the music. Sometimes he gets even more. This was back in 1935, Pea.

(STARTING TO COME TO HIMSELF)

BILL: Yeah, well, we got an answer for them.

(THEY START SINGING “Jump For Joy” AS THE FOOD GETS COLD)

DUKE: Yeah, Hammond didn’t think I had any guts.

BILL: We’ll show them.

DUKE: We’ve been showing them. Where’s the wine, Pea?

BILL: I thought you wanted peace and quiet.

DUKE: That was then; this is now.

BILL: Well, we could go home.

DUKE: The night is young yet.

BILL: I thought we were going to work tonight.

DUKE: We will. But right now I think I’d like some “champanya.”

BILL: Champagne gives you a headache.

DUKE: That’s tomorrow. Let’s go.

BILL: You’ve got the money.

(THEY SEARCH THEIR POCKETS)

DUKE: I didn’t bring a sous.

BILL: Neither did I.

DUKE: Well, what are we going to do?

BILL: I’m going to watch you wash dishes.

(DUKE GETS UP AND GOES TO THE BACK. BILL GOES TO THE JUKEBOX)

DUKE: My good man, we don’t have the bill d’affair. We can get it, but we don’t have it. Will you trust us?

BILL: Damned fool if he does.

DUKE: What was that?

BILL: I wouldn’t trust us. Come into the man’s place and fill up his jukebox with nickels but can’t pay for the food. I wouldn’t trust us.

DUKE: You’re supposed to be helping me here. Look, fellow, we can pay. Let me use the phone. You know, Bill, you’re supposed to be carrying the money.

BILL: I’m going to write something for the girl singer.

DUKE: You do that. You definitely do that. Hello, Harry, get down here to this restaurant with some money please. Where are we, Bill?

BILL: 125th Street and St. Nicholas. Frank’s. And, Harry, hurry up.

DUKE: You heard that, right? Yeah, I could shoot him, Harry. Thanks.

(LIGHTS DIM SOMEWHAT. BILL PUNCHES OUT A TUNE “Giddybug Gallop.” DUKE COMES OVER TO HIM AND HOLDS UP HIS HANDS. THE TWO OF THEM DO A LINDY HOP. LIGHTS OUT AT END UP BACK IN THE APARTMENT. BILL COUGHS)

BILL: Took Harry a long time to get there.

DUKE: He was sleeping when I called.

BILL: Still he took his damned time.

(THEY BOTH LAUGH)

DUKE: This is my answer to that critic. We are supremely conscious of the bed we lie in and who’s made it.

BILL: Duke, what did the other critic say?

DUKE: How’d you know it was two?

BILL: Duke meet Bill.

DUKE: The other guy was a Britisher. He called the piece a long rambling monstrosity.

(DUKE LAUGHS THAT SLY LAUGH)

BILL: What’s so funny?

DUKE: That’s not all he said.

BILL: Well—

DUKE: He said he wasn’t going to review any of my records until I realized it wasn’t smart to write this sort of stuff.

BILL: How could he say something like that?

DUKE: He has the right. He’s the critic.

BILL: Damn! So just the dance music.

DUKE: Just the dance music. But reminds me of the time when I was accused of promoting sex crimes through the dance music.

(BILL LAUGHS LOUDLY)

Now you know why I don’t like them, many of them anyway. But I have always thought that we, you and I together are—well—impeccable. And I’ve always thought that our simplicity, our sincerity, and our adhering to the traditions of our people are what keeps all of us going.

BILL: Who could argue with that? But I’ve got a question for you.

DUKE: What is it?

BILL: I want to lead the band when we go through North Carolina next time. I want my grandmother to see me in all my glory.

DUKE: Some question.

BILL: What?

DUKE: It can be arranged, arranger.

(DUKE LAUGHS HIS SLY LAUGH)

You ever hear it?

BILL: I could listen to it again. A series of chords, simple ones at that, simple melodic lines, and to keep them going without a loss of interest. Ah, Beast, you are too much. Once the longest composition in Jazz. Play it, Great One. (COUGHS)

DUKE: You should attend to that cough.

(DUKE PUTS TEMPO ON RECORD PLAYER AND THEN BEGINS TO GLIDE TO ITS MELODIES. BILL: GETS UP AND DOES HIS DANCE TO REMINISCING IN TEMPO)

DUKE: Man, music is dance.

BILL: Yeah, but it ain’t smart to write music like this.

(THEY BOTH LAUGH)

DUKE: And now for Las Vegas. The banderorchestra do call me.

BILL: Your bags went this morning.

DUKE: Then I’ll only need these. You hear from Lena?

BILL: She’s out of the country.

(TAKES SHEET MUSIC)

DUKE: You’ll be all right.

BILL: I’ll be fine. I’ve got a new boyfriend. Name’s Grove.

DUKE: All right, Strays. see you soon—

(BILL NODS AND DUKE EXITS. BILL COLLAPSES. LIGHTS OUT UP ON LENA FIXING HER AND RUSHING SUDDENLY TO THE PHONE)

LENA: Duke, pick up the phone. I know you’re in Vegas. Pick up. Please. It’s important. Important.

(IN DUKE’S HOTEL ROOM HE PICKS UP THE PHONE)

DUKE: I hope this is legitimate. You have disturbed the beauty rest of a genius.

LENA: Duke, It’s Lena.

DUKE: Whuzzup? I had a little to drink last night.

LENA: Duke, I think something’s happened to Billy.

DUKE: I just left him.

LENA: I’m making arrangements to fly in from Amsterdam, Duke. But you’re there—

DUKE: What about Strays?

LENA: He’s sick, Duke.

DUKE: What are you talking about? He just had a checkup.

LENA: Oh, Dukie. Please. Check on him.

DUKE: All right, Lena.

LENA: I had a premonition, Duke.

DUKE: OK.

(LIGHTS OUT LIGHTS UP ON LENA WALKING BILL’S HOSPITAL ROOM)

BILL: Lena? How’d you find out?

LENA: Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why didn’t you tell me?

BILL: It didn’t seem important at the time. A little this. A little that. Some discomfort. And then pain—intense pain.

LENA: And after them other operations.

BILL: How is it outside?

LENA: The flowers are coming out. The blossoms in DC are gorgeous. I just flew in Swee’Pea. If I had known I would have changed my entire schedule. Doctor Logan says you’ll be fine.

BILL: Well, I told him to say that.

LENA: You’re such a trickster. What are they feeding you?

BILL: The usual. It’s good. Has a taste. If I could only figure out what.

LENA: Which tube is it?

BILL: That one. I think. Something is attached to somewhere though. That’s for sure.

(HOLDS UP WRIST REVEALING IV UNATTACHED)

LENA: Billy—

BILL: I detached it, Lena. I’m sick of it. I’m tired of it. They got a catheter for me goes directly to my stomach. I’ll still be able to drink.

LENA: Have you spoken to him.

BILL: Who him?

LENA: You know who I’m talking about.

BILL: I don’t know about whom you’re talking. Really. I’m tired.

LENA: I’m talking about your alter ego. The Pope.

BILL: I have some vague recollection somewhere—of someone. God. But God must already know.

LENA: Why are you carrying on so, Billy?

BILL: I miss him, that’s why.

LENA: He’s around the corner, coming as fast as that band will let him.

BILL: Orchestra.

LENA: Orchestra.

BILL: I still will miss him.

LENA: Don’t talk like that, Billy. You’ll never get better then.

(SHE STARTS REARRANGING HIS COVERS, FLOWERS)

I really don’t want to make up this bed again. Do you like the flowers?

BILL: Love them. Love you. Just sit and rest for awhile. You never did tell me why you never ed the band. You were made for it.

LENA: I would have loved to sing that Ivy Anderson-Adelaide Hall stuff. I would have. But first one and then the other stayed with Duke for such a long time. He really didn’t have a chance to ask for me. At least nothing I could take seriously. And you when I did a guest appearance with you and Duke, don’t you?

BILL: There was that time, that one time when he looked at you and tried to fix the whammy. I that. I know him. He’s a beast.

LENA: He’s wonderful. And what woman wouldn’t want to sit at the foot of Duke Ellington, Billy?

BILL: Yes. He wanted you at his feet. He’s a beast, all right. An animal with the silkiest fur, the—

LENA: Now don’t go on like this. I know how you get when you’re depressed. Just prop yourself up and you relax. Think about the good times. Do you when we made that movie? Well, you did your band thing and then I did my solo thing with the band.

BILL: Yeah. That way they could cut away from us if we were not in fashion in some particular neighborhood. But I when we all came to a picnic on the East Island. Everybody was there. It was the event of the year. And I was the toast of the town. It was my big moment. Duke was gracious and even surrendered the baton to me—in public.

LENA: I don’t that.

BILL: You came late. With your husband, Lenny Hayton.

LENA: In those days I had to. Every pimp in the neighborhood would have been down my throat. I needed protection. I still do. You wouldn’t believe.

BILL: I believe. Do you the picnic?

LENA: There were a lot of picnics, Billy.

BILL: There was only one where I was the King, where I outshone all the luminaries. I was the sun and the moon.

LENA: Oh yeah, that one. I . I was wearing white for the first time. I was really on top of that glamour thing. I was the cutting edge of that theme.

BILL: And your voice mature; a woman looking out at us. Singing to us. Sexing us. It was eerie.

(LIGHTS SHIFT ON LENA WHO SINGS SOMETHING TO LIVE FOR TO BILLY)

And the band jumped out of its skin. It was stunning. The apogee of my career actually. To me.

LENA: Tell him when you see him.

BILL: I’ll never talk to him again, Lena. He’s too arrogant, Too conceited, too balloon headed, and he doesn’t even listen to me when I talk to him. He ignores me.

LENA: Yes, yes, Billy, but you have to talk to him. When’s the last time?

BILL: Last night. He called me here. He seemed surprised.

LENA: We knew you were in pain, Billy. We knew that.

BILL: But what could you do? Nothing. So I kept my mouth shut until the pain just overwhelmed me. It was something I’ve only experienced once before. That time I was walking down Riverside Drive like I do most any time. When all of a sudden I heard voices blaring at me. Trombones, Lena. I swear. Trombones. And they took all my attention. Making me listen to them lisp and growl, swirl then leap. I tranced in on the growl of the trumpets, a brassy whisper slicing through everything. And then the saxophones roiled through, Ben Webster Johnny Hodges Barney Bigard Harry Carney Sidney Bechet slaughtering all the obstacles, all the impediments, all the rules—mighty warriors, and then I fell down to the sounds of trucks, buses, and cars. For a moment though while stuck in the air sideways I held the dynamics of the orchestra right there on Riverside Drive. And smells, Lena. Fecal Foul smells. That’s when I lost consciousness, I think. Smelling the fetid lushness of life. That underbelly glueglom.

(HE LAYS BACK DOWN CHUCKLING AND FINALLY SLEEPS. LENA LOOKS AT HIM SLUMBER. SHE WALKS OUT INTO DUKE HURRYING IN)

LENA: He’s sleeping.

DUKE: Oh, good. Give me a chance to catch my breath. It’s all happening so fast.

LENA: It’s best like that.

DUKE: Leave it to Billy. Always class. Even here. Now.

LENA: He’s such a baby, Duke.

DUKE: I know. The wunderkind of this decade. Or any decade.

LENA: And no one knows.

DUKE: Yeah, well, what can I do about that? I got problems too.

LENA: He says you’re not discussing things again. Almost fighting with each other. Don’t mess with him, Duke.

DUKE: I’m not messing with him. I told you I wouldn’t. I’m not. I love the pea.

LENA: I know you do. But he thinks you are.

DUKE: I know. I know. But what difference does it make now?

LENA: None. That’s why I’m not complaining.

DUKE: How are things with Lenny?

LENA: Duke, you know I’m gonna say things are fine. Now why you ask me— again?

DUKE: I want to hear if your tone has changed any.

LENA: It won’t change. It can’t. I won’t let it.

(SHE CLOSES IN ON HIM WITH KISS WATCHES DUKE GO INTO BILL’S ROOM. SHE BREATHES DEEPLY)

LENA: Everytime I see him now I see Billy slipping away. He’s had two operations to relieve the pressure and the pain. But nothing seems to help. He gets smaller and smaller. And he was so small to begin with. Even as he is consumed, his love burns more brightly.

(LENA EXITS. LIGHTS UP ON DUKE VISITING BILL IN HOSPITAL)

DUKE: What are you doing here?

BILL: I’m getting a check up.

DUKE: Why? I go on the road for a minute and then you go to the hospital.

BILL: I was having trouble swallowing. My stomach hurts. I thought I would look into it.

DUKE: So what are they saying?

BILL: I have cancer—of the throat the esophagus to be precise.

DUKE: Well, let’s certainly be precise. We’re musicians. But what is it, esophagus?

BILL: There is something going on in my throat. Down here. It’s too difficult to explain to a layman.

DUKE: You and them cigarettes.

BILL: I try not to smoke them when you’re around.

DUKE: And the booze.

BILL: What about the booze?

DUKE: Nothing.

BILL: A man tries a drink every now and then.

DUKE: You don’t ever try nothin. You overdo. So what’s the prognosis?

BILL: Well, they say I’m going to die. Your doctor. Doctor Logan.

(BILL STARTS GIGGLING, BUT DUKE JUST LOOKS AT HIM)

DUKE: What’s so funny about that?

BILL: Well, what do you want me to do, Beast? Growl?

DUKE: Get better. What the hell do you think I want you to do?

BILL: I don’t think I can manage that.

DUKE: Why not?

(BILL LOOKS AT HIM AND CANNOT MUSTER THE STRENGTH)

BILL: I can’t.

DUKE: You write that stuff for me like I asked you to.

BILL: It’s in the drawer. Over there.

(BILL POINTS TO DRAWER. DUKE GOES OVER TO IT)

DUKE: I got it.

(DUKE LOOKS AT THEM. NODS)

Yeah, this is good, Pea. You got everything you need?

(CONCERN COMES OVER HIM)

BILL: Well, you know they don’t like gin in this place.

DUKE: We got gin.

(TAKES OUT A FLASK AND HANDS IT TO BILL WHO POURS IT INTO STOMACH)

BILL: Thanks. I needed that. Now I can get some sleep.

DUKE: Does it hurt?

(BILL LOOKS AT HIM AND VERY SLOWLY BUT NOT CONVINCINGLY NODS HIS HEAD)

BILL: I feel O.K.

DUKE: Well, if you feel OK then why are you in here.

(DUKE GETS UP ANGRILY)

BILL: I don’t need any cantankerous visitors now, Duke. I sure don’t. I’m going to get dressed just so you can feel better.

(BILL GETS UP AND BEGINS TO DRESS IN HIS TUXEDO)

DUKE: Let me help you.

(DUKE HELPS BILL DRESS)

Pea, Bill, what are we going to do?

BILL: We’re going to get through this. How’s Lena?

DUKE: The throb in my heart? She’s fine. Sends her love to you.

BILL: Sure am glad she found that Lenny guy to marry.

DUKE: Why, Pea?

BILL: So she could get off me.

DUKE: You thought she was in love with you, Pea? Being romantic?

BILL: Of course. Every which way. Acted just like my grandmother sometimes,

mothering me all the time.

DUKE: Couldn’t be that she felt protective of you.

BILL: What do I need with her protection when I got you?

DUKE: Pea, she is definitely a woman. And you know I have no such proclivities.

BILL: I love it when you go to the dictionary for your conversation.

DUKE: So Lena loved you like a son; that’s why she gave you that name.

BILL: Nice. Who told you that lie?

DUKE: You need more flowers in here.

BILL: Who told that to you?

(BILL FINISHES DRESSING. READY TO GO)

DUKE: It’s common knowledge.

BILL: It’s common knowledge Sonny Greer gave it to me. And you should know it because you were there. But you see, Duke, you spend so much time reading about yourself you’re forgetting to be yourself. And I need a piano in here too.

DUKE: I’ll see what I can do.

BILL: Somebody came in here and interviewed me for a magazine.

DUKE: What?

BILL: Well, they said they were from a magazine. Could’ve been anyone.

DUKE: What did they ask you?

BILL: About women, of course. That’s their great curiosity.

DUKE: And what did you say to her? Did you say something bad?

BILL: It was a him.

DUKE: And?

BILL: I began thusly, “My life with the Ellington Orchestra,” as you know, Duke, “is a darn hectic one.”

DUKE: I love it when you say darn.

BILL: I gave him 24 karat charm.

DUKE: That’s when I know you’re in control of yourself. It’s like listening to Cootie growl, you know?

BILL: I told him about “the fantastic schedule of concerts, dances, theatres, recording dates and club dates. Love or not I wouldn’t subject a wife to the rigors of the road.”

DUKE: Why not? Other guys do it.

BILL: “Often I work around the clock, scoring the exacting music for the Ellington band.”

DUKE: Stop talking like I’m not here. You ain’t in Heaven yet.

(DUKE SITS DOWN HEAVILY. HEAVES A HUGE SIGH ONCE)

BILL: “I’ve gone days without shaving, kept awake with coffee, cigarettes, and chewed pencil tips.” (GNAWS ON A PENCIL)

DUKE: And cognac.

BILL: “And cognac. And Duke Ellington.”

DUKE: What?

BILL: “I snarl at little children. I’m not fit company for man nor beast. The chosen Eve of my life surely has no reason to put up with me.”

DUKE: No, but I do.

BILL: “I’m an impulsive guy, what’s more. I feel no pain if say in Los Angeles, I get an urge to work at a piano in my New York apartment then spend the early morning hours with friends in a favorite bar in Greenwich Village, I’ll be on a plane bound for home asleep and content. That’s my life and I want it to stay that way.”

DUKE: You’d better.

BILL: “The pressures of a domestic routine and the patterns of responsibility are just not my dish.”

DUKE: You tell them.

(DUKE HANDS FLASK BACK TO BILL WHO DRINKS SLOWLY BUT SURELY)

BILL: There’s more? There’s more.

DUKE: Indeed. I’m sure.

BILL: This is when the photographer finally showed up and began taking pictures. That’s when I knew it was a Black magazine.

DUKE: I got it.

BILL: Back to the interview. “I like disorder. Most of my friends are absolutely mad. My apartment may get a thorough cleaning or it may not. Stan Kenton or Lena and Lennie or Marie Bryant with an Indian Maharajah may run in tonight and find their highball glasses just where they left them last week.”

DUKE: That’s a good line. Did they get personal? Were they looking to rake you

over the coals?

BILL: No, I turned the interview towards money.

DUKE: Yeah, they always want to know how much you make.

(BILL STARTS TO SING “Bli-Blip”)

BILL: I told them the truth about that.

DUKE: What did you say?

BILL: I told them you got all the money and you pay all the bills.

DUKE: What? You said that?

BILL: I said that. I said worse.

DUKE: What? You know they’re going to believe you just because it’s negative.

BILL: It’s the truth.

DUKE: It ain’t the truth.

BILL: I told him that “a practical woman would look at me and see a man with a hole in the head. What woman would want that?”

DUKE: Getting dangerous here, Pea.

BILL: I know, but strangely I didn’t say a word about me.

(STRAINS OF “Johnny Come Lately”)

“I was really impressed with unmarried women I met in Italy and .”

DUKE: You never mentioned this to me.

BILL: Beast, this was an interview. I’m making up shit. You know that.

DUKE: Yeah, yeah, what else did you say?

BILL: “Those women absolutely fascinated me. They know and use the art of making a man think he’s the most wonderful object on earth. I had to make no

apology or offer any explanation of my single status. Unlike here in America, where everyone is into your business.”

DUKE: You are a flirt.

BILL: “More than once I heard a woman say, ‘C’est la vie, Beel.’ “That means that’s life, Bill.”

DUKE: I know what it means, Pea. I know that.

BILL: So that was about it. You know, your thing, I love them madly. And this way no one feels left out. “Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against the time honored institution of wedlock.”

BILL/DUKE: Some of my nearest and dearest friends are married.

(THEY BOTH LAUGH. BUT BILL BEGINS COUGHING UP BLOOD. DUKE LEAPS TO HIS FEET)

DUKE: Pea, what’s wrong?

(BILL SHAKES HIS HEAD)

BILL: Relax, Duke, just a little blood. I been doing this for years now. I’ll be all right in a minute.

DUKE: I’ll get the Doctor.

BILL: Just sit there and rock, will you. He can’t do nothing for me. It’s way past all that, you hear me? You got to hear me, Beast, because you’re all I got. You and Lena and— (HE LOOKS FOR SOMEONE STRAINS OF “What Am I Here For.” LENA ENTERS)

BILL: Thank you, Lena.

LENA: I’ll sing you back to health, Billy.

DUKE: I got to do something.

BILL: You been doing, man. Writing the music has been the thing. Playing the band has been the thing. Duke, I ain’t scared much.

DUKE: You’re scared, Pea? Don’t be scared.

(LENA TAKES HIM IN HER ARMS)

LENA: Don’t be scared, Swee’Pea.

BILL: As long as I got you Lena and Duke.

(BILL BEGINS LAUGHING)

BILL: I’m feeling better already.

DUKE: Maybe I shouldn’t give you anything to drink.

BILL: I ever complain about you and your diet? What are you talking about? You got more give it up to me. I give up everything to you.

(THE TWO MEN LOOK AT EACH OTHER DUKE LOOKS AT LENA WHO NODS HER HEAD AND DUKE BRINGS OUT THE FLASK AGAIN)

LENA: It’s OK, Duke.

BILL: You can leave it.

DUKE: Sure.

BILL: You know I never told you why I never liked the name.

DUKE: Swee’Pea?

BILL: Yeah, that name.

DUKE: You really want to explain it to Lena.

BILL: I did once. I just never told you.

DUKE: What other secrets you got.

(BILL LAUGHS)

BILL: It was because I resembled Popeye’s baby.

(THE THREE LAUGH OUT LOUD)

DUKE: That’s why.

BILL: It was true too, Duke. I looked just like him. It doesn’t much matter now

anyway, does it? What does matter though is no one knows how much or even what work I have done. I don’t know anymore.

LENA: Don’t think about that, Billy. You’re going to get better. You need to rest.

DUKE: They’ll spend the rest of their lives trying to figure out who did what and where. You knew that. Why are you crying now for?

BILL: Crying, he says.

DUKE: Yes, crying.

BILL: Because I’m dying, Duke. That’s why.

DUKE/LENA: Don’t say that.

DUKE: I ain’t going to hear that. I’ll do something. I’ll find somebody. It ain’t over yet. Don’t your little butt get carried away. You ain’t leaving me, Pea. You ain’t. I done kept this band together all these years. I’ll keep your bones warm too.

BILL: Duke, you’re a beast, all right. How many years has it been?

DUKE: 122 years. A long time.

LENA: That’s not so long, Duke. It’s not so long at all, Billy. And what you might be losing sight of right here is how much some of us are really going to miss you.

BILL: Yeah— You know, Beast, sitting and a rockin here I started to think about my name.

DUKE: You’re always thinking about yourself.

BILL: Do you know what it means?

DUKE: No. What do it mean?

BILL: It be meaning this: Stray means wandering, a truant, a lost child.

DUKE: And horn?

BILL: A hard projection. Give you any ideas?

DUKE: Fits you to a tee. A hard wandering projection. You are a funny cat, Bill.

LENA: You men.

BILL: Yeah, Lena. Us men. You know what I want you to do, Duke, after it’s all over? Lena you make sure he does it.

LENA: All right, Billy.

DUKE: Stop talking like this.

BILL: Boy, are you getting touchy. I’m the one who’s dying.

DUKE: Yes, but you’re going to heaven. We’ll still be here.

BILL: I feel sorry for you too, Duke.

(DUKE LOOKS AT HIM AND SHAKES HIS HEAD. SOUNDS OF “Mainstem”)

DUKE: I don’t like this feeling, Pea. Got me praying all the time.

BILL: Yeah, well, we’re going through it now, so get used to it.

DUKE: What is it you want me to do?

BILL: I want you to make sure I’m cremated.

DUKE: Cremated?

BILL: Make sure you get the ashes and then sprinkle them into the Hudson River. You know how many times I’ve looked at the river and dreamed about being spread over it.

DUKE: I don’t know you at all.

BILL: Yes, you do, Duke. You know me better than any person alive. And I’m grateful for knowing you.

DUKE: You’ve got to stop talking like this.

(DUKE BEGINS DABBING AT HIS EYES)

I never thought it was going to end.

BILL: Yeah, well, now we all know better.

DUKE: Do we?

LENA: No, Billy.

BILL: You’ll get used to it. Just like you’re used to Dom Perignon now. Will you honor my last requests?

DUKE: Yes, Pea. I will.

BILL: Then I can close my eyes and rest now.

LENA No, Billy, don’t close your eyes.

DUKE: No, don’t do it.

(BILL CLOSES HIS EYES. DUKE GETS UP. MOVES AWAY. LENA KISSES HIS FOREHEAD. LIGHTS DIM ON BILL. BRIGHTER SLOWLY AND ON DUKE AND LENA AS THEY IRE FALLEN FRIEND IN CASKET. IN THE BACKGROUND THE URN WHICH HOLDS THE LAST REMAINS OF HIS DEAR FRIEND COMES INTO VIEW. BACKGROUND MUSIC IS “After All”)

DUKE: Well, here we are commemorating the greatest little human being who ever lived. A man of stupendous talent, filled with purpose, dignity, and restraint. William Thomas Strayhorn, though we never called him all of that. Most of the time, to his friends, and they were legion, we just called him Bill or Billy or Little Bill or Strays or Horn or Pea or Swee’Pea. Depended on how much love you were feeling for him at the moment. He was a well schooled musician commanding respect and iration from his fans and his foes, from the critics to the buffs. Why he almost taught me how to play the piano. I mean what can you say about the man who composed “Lushlife,” “Take The A Train” and dozens of other short pieces of music that live in the canon of our American Art form, our original American Art form. And when you realize his major contribution to the development of all the longer secular and religious pieces we have worked on since our friendship began then you know how much we have lost with his ing.

Billy Strayhorn could speak French. He could speak Spanish. And he excelled at English. He was a universal man. His spirit was patient and enduring and his only devotion was to his friends and to his music. And as such his life’s work will always be spoken of listened to and appreciated on the highest plateaus of culture. And my heart and the heart of all his friends and fans will forever be buoyed by having spent some small time in his company. Some small time in his embrace. God Bless You, Billy. God Speed You, my friend.

BILLY (STEPS FORWARD): You’re not really going to say all that about me, are you?

LENA: He has to, Billy.

DUKE: Still here? Why not?

BILL: Why not?

DUKE: Yeah, why not? Why don’t you go to sleep?

BILL: I want to lead the band.

DUKE: Here

(TEARFULLY HANDS BATON TO BILL WHO LEADS BAND TO HARLEM AIRSHAFT. DUKE AT PIANO)

DUKE: I love you madly, Billy.

(LIGHT DIMS ON DUKE AND BILL. THEY SLOWLY FADE TO BLACK. LIGHTS ON LENA)

LENA: It didn’t happen like that of course. I was out of the country when Billy died. And Duke was in Las Vegas. Billy actually died in the arms of a friend of his. But it could have happened like that. (SMILES)

And as for Duke, well, that’s a whole other story.

(LIGHTS DIM OUT AS SHE TAKES OFF HAT OUT)

MUSIC: “Take The A Train”

END

About the Author

Laurence is noted for writing historical, biographical plays such as ZORA NEALE HURSTON performed and produced at the American Place Theatre in 1998 and starring Elizabeth Van Dyke and Joseph Edwards, directed by Wyn Handman. He is also known for WHEN THE CHICKENS CAME HOME TO ROOST, starring Denzel Washington as Malcolm X and Kirk Kirksey as Elijah Muhammad, directed by Allie Woods, at the New Federal Theatre in 1981. Mr. Holder has won playwriting awards including the Audience Development Committee Award for Excellence (AUDELCO) twice for WHEN THE CHICKENS CAME HOME TO ROOST and M: THE MANDELA SAGA. For the body of his work, the National Black Theatre Festival presented him with the Garland Anderson Award and the Ren6 Castillo Theatre awarded him the first writing OTTO for Political Theatre. Mr. Holder is also noted for his experimental works, including the multilingual BIRD OF PARADISE in 1972 with Ornette Coleman and the URBAN DECALOGUE in 1974 with Jacquie Berger.

In addition to his work as a dramatist, Mr. Holder is the author of several volumes of poetry and seven novels. He has also acted in ZORA:WHU, which featured Yvonne Southerland as the famed novelist. He is the father of three children and husband to Andrea, an actress. Mr. Holder is a member of the faculty at John Jay College of Criminal Justice (CUNY) where he has taught English in the SEEK Department for the past 25 years.

The author is a native New Yorker and has watched the scene change slowly over the last 60 years. Over the last ten years he has made some astounding realizations about the nature and cause of it all, which is reflected and refracted in his work.

Footnote

1 An area of any city where there is much vice and corruption; a choice assignment for police seeking graft.