characters
poe – a black actor, late 20s
red – a white playwright, two years younger
scene one
“In the Theatre”
setting
A gay porn movie theatre near Times Square, early November 1991. The stage is set up to look like the auditorium (the audience is the movie screen); a blue flicker lights the stage. Upstage, two red exit signs over doors left and right. Between them and higher up, a single movie projector eye shoots a flickering round white light downstage. Silhouettes of men in pairs and singles are randomly dispersed in the onstage theatre seats. The front row is empty.
at rise
poe, a handsome black man, his hair in a loose afro, sits in the middle seat of the second row, pulling up and zipping his pants. red, a shorter, average white man – except for his shock of disheveled red hair – sits next to him, grinning up at the “Screen.”
poe: Wow.
red: Wow…
poe: What’s your name?
red: Randy.
poe: I’ve seen you here before.
red: Mm-hm, a couple of times.
poe: I’m Poe.
red: Poe?
poe: Poe Callahan. (Pause.) You remind me of somebody.
red: Really.
poe: Somebody I used to know.
red: Was his name Randy?
poe: We used to mess around when we were kids.
red: Did we?
poe: No, he and I.
red: That’s funny.
poe: Every time I see you I want to call you Don.
red: Don’t.
poe: I’ll try not to. But it’s uncanny. I mean, even in this light. You’re like his doppelganger or something!
red: I love that word.
(Pause.)
poe: You’re a great cocksucker.
red: Thanks. I pride myself in my ability to suck cock.
poe: I bet you do.
red: I do.
poe: That’s what I said.
red: I know…
poe: You want to go outside and get high?
red: Oh, no, pot makes me stupid.
poe: So?
(Pause.)
red: I can’t. Not tonight.
poe: Okay. Well, I’m going.
red: Okay. (Pause.) Are you?
poe: I was thinking; can I get your number?
red: My phone number?
poe: Do you have other numbers?
red: Oh! Too many! My social security number; my computer password number; my credit card number; my driver’s license number—
poe: I’d liked to see you outside of here.
red: Really?
poe: Uh-huh.
red: So you can see if I really look like your friend—what was his name?
poe: Don.
red: Don… So you can see if I really look like Don?
poe: Maybe. –Yeah, that too.
red: That, too?!
poe: Are you messing with me?
red: A little bit.
poe: Hm.
red: Did Don have red hair?
poe: He looked exactly like you. He was about your height and he had red hair and green eyes and freckles all over.
red: Oh, well, I only have freckles on my back and ass.
poe: That sounds hot.
red: You think?
poe: Yeah.
red: And to think I’ve been hanging out in dark places so nobody would see my freckled ass.
poe: You’ve got a great ass.
red: So I’ve been told.
poe: It is. You’ve got a bubble butt, like a brother!
red: An albino brother!
poe: Yeah! (Pause.) Don didn’t have much of an ass at all.
red: He must’ve been a good cocksucker, though.
poe: Not even. He was young. We were young.
red: Right. I know all about it. (Pause.) He’s probably a good cocksucker now, having cut his teeth on yours, so to speak.
poe: No, Don was straight.
red: Have you talked to him recently? Maybe he’s come around.
poe: He died.
red: If you tell me it was on his honeymoon, I’ll freak out.
poe: Why?
red: I just will.
poe: You’re safe. He died in Vietnam.
red: How old are you?
poe: Twenty-nine. –It wasn’t the Vietnam War! He was in a hiking accident. He fell off a mountain.
red: I’m afraid of heights.
poe: So was he. He was trying to overcome it.
red: That sucks!
poe: Yeah. But he was facing his fears, so I think he died happy.
red: Do you really believe that?
poe: Yeah. (Pause.) You look so much like him. It’s crazy.
red: Well, please don’t call me Don.
poe: Are you superstitious?
red: No, I just hate that name.
poe: Why?
red: It makes me think of Christmas.
poe: Christmas?
red sings: “Don we now our gay apparel, fa-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la.”
poe: Ha-ha! That’s funny.
red: I hate Christmas carols. They get under your skin. Already they’re playing them all over the place. I hate it!
poe: Maybe I should call you Carol.
red: You better not!
poe: Maybe just when you’re mad.
red: That’s no way to get my phone number.
poe: –Come walk around the block with me while I get high.
red sings: “But, baby, it’s cold outside.”
poe: Come walk me to work and I’ll let you wear my overcoat.
red: Where do you work?
poe: Fifty-third and Broadway.
red: I’ll freeze on the way home.
poe sings: Baby, it ain’t that cold outside!
red: I don’t have an undercoat. Not with me. This is my Adonis outfit. I lost two coats here so I just stopped wearing them.
poe: You’re committed.
red: Or maybe I should be…
poe: I’ll let you wear my coat home. You can bring it to me in the morning.
red: How do you know I will?
poe: Because Don would.
red: I’m not Don!
poe: How about I call you Red?
red: I’ve been called worse. –And I have been called that.
poe: You don’t look anything like a Randy to me. No offense.
red: None taken. I hate my name. Randy Reardon.
poe: That’s not so bad. It has a nice ring to it, a cadence.
red: Kids used to call me Pansy Rear-end.
poe: Ouch! I’m sorry.
red: You weren’t one of them, as far as I can tell.
(Pause.)
poe: You could always change your name if you hate it so much.
red: What’s the big deal with everybody changing their names? I know two—no, three people who changed their names. It’s weird. To me, it’s weird. I hate my mom and where I came from and all of that, but I wouldn’t ever change my name. It’s who I am. I don’t think I could get used to being somebody else. I haven’t even gotten used to being who I am yet!
poe: Don’t let me try to convince you otherwise!
red: Well, if it’s such a great idea, why don’t you change your name, Poe Callahan?
poe: Ha-ha, you’re funny.
red: We’re arguing like an old married couple.
poe: I’ve had an erection for the last three minutes.
red: Would you like me to take care of that for you?
poe: No. –I mean, yes, I would, but if I don’t leave right now, I’m going to have to run all the way to work and I won’t have time to get high.
red: You’re getting high before work?
poe: Absolutely.
red: Can you work stoned?
poe: I can’t work not stoned.
red: What are you, a security guard or something?
poe: No, I’m a cleaning lady.
red: Really?
poe: No, fool! I’m a copyeditor.
red: Really? For a newspaper?
poe: No, a law firm.
red: So, what, you copyedit contracts and stuff?
poe: That’s what I do.
red: That sounds exciting.
poe: It pays the bills. Really, I’m an actor.
red: Really?
poe: Really.
red: That’s cool; I’m a playwright.
poe: No shit! That’s fantastic. Have you written any parts for a handsome, well-hung black man?
red: Of course I have.
poe: We definitely have to exchange numbers. Come with me.
red: Go. I’m right behind you.
Black out.
scene two
“In the Apartment”
setting
The bedroom of a tenement apartment building in Hell’s Kitchen, a week later.
at rise
We see red’s freckled back. He is sitting up in the middle of the bed, on top of poe, who we don’t see until red rolls off of him and onto the pillow next to him. They prop up on their elbows facing each other, smiling in that just-fucked way, not speaking for a long time.
poe: Wow!
red: Wow… (Pause.) If you had a mole on your nose right there, you would look just like Rich.
poe: Who’s Rich.
red: Your doppelganger.
poe: Hm.
red: Rich was my Don.
poe: Hm.
red: I didn’t tell you about him at the Adonis because it was just too weird.
poe: Yeah?
red: I would never have talked to you if you didn’t talk to me first.
poe: Why not?
red: Because I was afraid it would ruin the fantasy.
poe: Right. People always ruin it when they talk.
red: Usually.
poe: Do I still look like him?
red: If you had the mole, I’d think you were him.
poe: Maybe I got the mole removed.
red: Why? It was sexy.
poe: People get moles removed. People change their names.
red: That’s dumb, too.
poe: Do you think Poe Callahan is my given name?
red: Isn’t it?
poe: No.
red: You’re kidding!
poe: No I’m not.
red: What’s your real name?
poe: Poe is, now. I had it changed legally.
red: Wow… What was your given name?
poe: I’m not going to tell you.
red: That bad?
poe: No, it wasn’t bad, it just didn’t suit me.
red: What was it?
poe: I’m not going to tell you!
red: Why not?!
poe: Because Poe is my name now.
red: That’s weird.
(Pause.)
poe: My given name was too close to another actor’s name. I had to change it for my career.
red: Was it Denzel Washington?
poe: No.
red: Sidney Poitier?
poe: No.
red: Morgan Freeman?
poe: I’m not going to tell you, Red.
red: It was Morgan Freeman.
poe: No it wasn’t. Drop it.
red: Wow, you’re sensitive. (Pause.) I’m gonna start calling you White.
poe: Because I call you Red?
red: No. That wouldn’t make any sense. Under those rules, I would have to call you Black.
poe: What rules? –Brown, maybe, but not black.
red: Your hair’s not brown.
poe: But my skin is.
red: You don’t get it.
poe: Huh?
red: My skin’s not red.
poe: What?
red: Never mind.
poe: My teeth are white. Is that why? Because of my pearly whites?!
red: No! Because it was Rich’s last name.
poe: Oh! (Pause.) Rich White?
red: Uh-huh.
poe: His name was Rich White.
red: Yeah.
poe: And you’re going to call me Poe White?
red: –Oh, ha! I didn’t think of that. –Why didn’t I think of that?! That’s great.
poe: You call me Poe White and I’ll call you Pansy Rear-end, or whatever!
red: If the shoe fits, Poe!
poe: Yeah, I guess you’re right, about the po’ part anyway. I’m one po’ actor! Maybe I’ll change my name to Poe Black Actor.
red: That’ll help you get work!
poe: –Hey, tell me about your plays.
red: My what?
poe: Your plays. You said last week you were a playwright.
red: Oh, right. Well, they’re more like performance art pieces than actual plays, most of what I’ve written lately.
poe: Like one-man show stuff?
red: Yeah, one-man shows. Or a one-man show.
poe: I would love to do a one-man show. I was working up a monologue from Othello for a while, but I really need a director to help me make a show out of it.
red: Don’t look at me!
poe: I used it for auditions for a while. Joseph Papp told me he liked me, but then he didn’t hire me, the mother-fucker.
red: Who’s that?
poe: The Public Theater.
red: Oh. –Shakespeare is hard. Othello is Shakespeare, right?
poe: Yeah.
red: I don’t understand it at all.
poe: “I kissed thee ere I killed thee, no way but this,
Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.”
red: Dark!
poe: Yeah…
red: But good.
poe: Thanks.
red: You’re good.
poe: Thanks. Are you a performer, too?
red: Oh, no. I can’t act my way out of a paper bag. (Pause.) Somebody said that to me once, and I guess it must be true because I have no idea what it means.
poe: You want me to tell you?
red: No, I like having a little bit of mystery in my life.
(Pause.)
poe: Do you write for a living?
red: Yeah, but not plays. I work at a newspaper.
poe: Oh? Which one?
red: It’s nothing, just a neighborhood rag. It’s nothing. It pays the bills. You know how that goes.
poe: Yeah, but I would love to read some of your work.
red: Tell me the name your mama gave you and I’ll tell you the name of the newspaper.
poe: Touché!
(Pause.)
red: You’re really not gonna tell me.
poe: Nope. I’m really more interested in your stage work than your newspaper articles. Do you have something maybe I could adapt?
red: No, I doubt it. I was writing for someone, for a performer named august chagrin—have you heard of him?
poe: “I guess you grin?”
red: What? No! That’s funny. It’s august chagrin.
poe: august chagrin.
red: Right.
poe: That’s his stage name.
red: Right. His given name was August Collins, but he thought it was boring or something.
poe: Uh-huh… And you wrote pieces for him.
red: Yeah. He gave me some ideas to start with and I fleshed them out, made them good, you know.
poe: Right.
red: He’s still performing, still doing the pieces I wrote. But he totally screwed me. He tells everyone he wrote all of it.
poe: You could sue him.
red: I totally could. But I don’t care. I don’t want anything to do with the asshole.
poe: Were you two lovers?
red: What makes you say that?
poe: Your anger.
red: We were “boyfriends.” I don’t know if I would say we were “lovers.” There’s a difference.
poe: There certainly is. So I guess you’re kind of sensitive about working with lovers? Or boyfriends?
red: No, not at all. My boss was my lover when I first got to New York.
(Pause.)
poe: Are you working on anything now?
red: Yeah. I’m working on you…!
poe: Oh, yeah?
red: Yeah.
poe: The playwright has all the power in the relationship.
red: Oh, yeah? You think so?
poe: I know so. It’s a fact. The playwright holds the strings. The playwright makes the puppets do whatever he wants them to do.
(Pause.)
red: How about this: You are Rich White. You faked your death because you couldn’t bear to marry a woman, even though she was your high school sweetheart, blond-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful, your ticket out of the trailerpark.
poe: I like it so far.
red: You faked your death, and killed sweet little Susanna at the same time, and you followed me to New York City, forever searching for your one true love.
poe: Pansy Rear-end!
red: Exactly! You changed your name from Rich to Poe as a way of giving over the power to me.
poe: Yes, of course.
red: You break into my apartment, sneak into my bed…
poe: Yes…?
red: …your big black cock throbbing for a reunion with your beloved Pansy Rear-end—
poe: You got that right!
red: I have been saving myself all these years for this very moment.
poe: You’re a virgin?
red: No. But you took my virginity all those many years ago, and I knew you were the one, the only one, and I waited for you. I sullied myself with no one in anticipation of your eventual return.
poe: Desdemona!
red: Shh! –Here you are, your hand on my stomach, your cock in my hand. You roll me onto my stomach.
poe: Okay… Keep going.
red: You kiss each and every freckle on my back—
poe: Mm…
red: –from my shoulder blades…to the middle of my back—
poe: Mm-hm…
red: –to my lower back. Your tongue explores my ass cheeks awhile.
poe: Uh-huh.
red: Ow! You bite—but not so hard. –Ow! You nibble on my fleshy ass, and begin to work your tongue into my—crack! You spread my cheeks and…lick my waiting…rosebud.
poe: Heh-heh!
red: Shh! Lick it. Uh-huh. Dip your tongue in. –Yes, that’s right. That’s nice. Deeper.
poe: Mm…
red: Deeper. Mm… By now, your big black cock is oozing pre-cum—
poe: Mm… Mm-hm!
red: Put it in me. Tease my hole.
poe: Yeah…
red: Stick it in me. Come on, Rich, fuck me. I want you inside me.
poe: –Red, I don’t have another condom.
red: Shh… Don’t worry about that. Just put it in me. Like before.
poe: Red…
red: I’m serious. I want you to fuck me. Do it, Rich.
Black out.
scene three
“In the Parade”
setting
Fifth Avenue, seven months later. A stream of colorful floats and colorful people pass across downstage (possibly on a sheer screen). The audience is on what would be the east side of the avenue. Cutouts of people stand across center stage facing the parade and the audience.
at rise
red, looking a little older somehow than in previous scenes, stands in the middle of the cutout people center stage. He isn’t engaged in the parade passing in front of him; his is a blank stare. But suddenly he notices something, or someone, across the avenue.
red: Wow… it’s you.
Is it?
I think so—yes.
What happened? Where did you go?
I called you and you never called back. I was worried something had happened to you.
Huh! Listen to me, I sound like a girl.
(Pause.)
I guess I wasn’t the best cocksucker after all.
Did you find somebody else? Somebody better?
I doubt it.
Well, at least you could’ve returned my calls.
“Hello, this is Poe. I’m not home right now. Leave a message and I’ll call you back as soon as I can.” How many times did I hear that? Ten times? Twenty?
As soon as you can? It’s been seven months, Poe fuckin’ Callahan.
(Pause.)
The stain you left on my sheet is still there. It won’t come out.
That was weird, huh?
–But it wasn’t that weird. So what, you had a boil on your ass. Whatever. It didn’t freak me out as much as you thought it did.
I think it must have freaked you out more than it did me. Off you went running into the night, never to be heard from again.
It was a boil, right? Isn’t that what you said you thought it was? Did you get it checked out?
(Pause.)
Wait a minute. Is that a cane? Are you walking with a cane?
And who’s that guy you’re leaning on?
You can do better than that, Poe.
I know I’m not very touchy-feely, but I would’ve let you lean on me, if you needed to.
…But why would you need that?
(Pause.)
–You know, I was serious about writing a show for you.
Was that it? Did you think I was lying about being a playwright?
I would have written you a one-man show in a heartbeat. I still would, except—
Your face.
What happened to your face?
Is that a boil?
It makes you look even more like Rich, but if that’s what you’re going for, I have to say it’s a little bigger than it needs to be.
There’s a mole you might consider getting removed, heh!
(Pause.)
If I didn’t know better, I would say you look kind of…sick.
…Are you okay?
Maybe it’s just this light. Maybe you never looked anything like my fantasy.
I haven’t seen you at the Adonis lately. I figured I would see you there at least. Maybe you see me before I see you and you hide from me.
Why would you hide? I thought we had something.
–I never thought I’d hear myself say that!
I’m desperate…
(Pause.)
Well, it’s just ridiculous. You’re not Rich and you don’t look anything like him. And it never would’ve worked out anyway. I don’t do this! I don’t “care.” That’s not who I am. I don’t care about you or anybody.
You look awful, quite honestly. You look sick. Like you have a disease or something.
You’ll never get an acting job looking like that.
Well, maybe the part of a leper. But not Othello. Certainly not him.
(Pause.)
“I kissed thee ere I killed thee, no way but this,
Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.”
What does it mean?
It must mean something.
(Pause.)
…Are you looking at me?
Hi.
Wave back. Why won’t you wave back?
–No, don’t leave. Stay there. I’ll go. I’m sick of this stupid parade anyway. It means nothing to me.
Pretend you never saw me; I’ll do the same.
–Oh, but if you should happen to want me, you know where to find me, five nights a week.
Blackout.