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Our Lady of 121st Street
Jesus Hopped the A Train and in Arabia, We'd All Be Kings
By Stephen Adly Guirgis Faber and Faber, Inc.
Copyright © 2003 Stephen Adly Guirgis
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-2170-1
CHAPTER 1
ACT I: LATE MORNING
Scene 1: Ortiz Funeral Home. Main viewing room. Balthazar and Vic stand in front of an empty casket.
VIC: What kinda fuckin' world is this?!
BALTHAZAR: Mmm.
VIC: I mean, am I alone here?!
BALTHAZAR: "Alone," "not alone" —
VIC: What did she ever do anyway, huh?! What did Rose ever do till the day she died but be a fuckin' living saint on this earth to deserve this ... this sacrilege!
BALTHAZAR: Sister Rose was a good woman.
VIC: There are limits — I don't give a shit! Maybe you grew up in a godless jungle, but I remember when the world was not this! And this? This is not the world!
BALTHAZAR: Okay.
VIC: Her fuckin' father, he should rot in hell! That's first off! Demons should shit in his mouth daily, the Irish punk! Don't take much guts to beat on a woman, ya get me?
BALTHAZAR: I wasn't aware of her history —
VIC: Why you think she became a nun anyway, beautiful girl like that? All this "needle exchange," "alcoholic drunk tank" she had runnin' up here? "Gangs" this, "stop the violence" that? All that thankless shit she did? Was it because she was a good person? Sure. But if ya look underneath it all, it's two things: she donned the habit because she was terrified of intimacy, and all them programs was a way to atone for the sins of her fuckin' piece-of-dirt Shanty-Irish Mick-fuck father!
BALTHAZAR: Hey, what's your name?
VIC: My name?
BALTHAZAR: Yeah, friend, tell me your name.
VIC: It's Victor. Why?
BALTHAZAR: You wanna drink, Vic? A little nip? Take the edge off?
VIC: I prefer to keep my edge on, pal.
(BALTHAZAR drinks from a half-pint bottle.)
BALTHAZAR: Gotta ask you about your pants, Vic.
VIC: My pants?
BALTHAZAR: You are aware that you're not wearing pants?
VIC: Of course I'm aware — they stole 'em!
BALTHAZAR: Where'd you sleep last night, Vic?
VIC: I slept here last night, and my name is Victor, not Vic.
BALTHAZAR: That's quite uncommon, isn't it? A mourner sleeping over at a wake?
VIC: What are you, a cop?
BALTHAZAR: No, Vic, I'm a farmer. I came here to sell some eggs.
VIC: You accusing me of something?!
BALTHAZAR: I'm sorry. I'm not accusing, sir, just, I get a call, I come here, there's a man ranting in his underwear, a missing corpse, no sign of forced entry — and it's not the corpse of Ned the Wino or Bobo the Clown that's been stolen, it's our Sister Rose, sir. Sister Rose.
VIC: Look, I came over in the mornin' yesterday, it was a fuckin' mad house in here, okay?! Crackhead junkies, politicians, reporters, screaming babies, I had ta leave. I came back at closin', tossed the funeral guy a couple hundred bucks ... I wanted, I needed a little time, all right?!
BALTHAZAR: Okay.
VIC: I knew her my whole life since we were six, for Christ's sake.
BALTHAZAR: I understand.
VIC: These fuckin' people, yesterday? Some of them showin' up in dirty jeans and T-shirts?! Eating pizza?! Little kids with video games makin' loud electrical noises?! I mean, "What goes on here," no?! ... I saw one mothahfuckah kneelin' in front of Rose's casket, he's prayin', then his fuckin' cell phone goes off and he ... he fuckin' answers it!! Has a goddamn conversation in Spanish, and not a short one ... Talkin' loud too — "Mira, mira, mira" — kneelin' over her fuckin' casket!! I mean, what the fuck is that, mister?! Can you tell me?! Cuz I'm at a loss over here —
BALTHAZAR: Grief takes different forms.
VIC: That ain't grief! I don't know what the fuck that is, but it ain't grief!
BALTHAZAR: I once knew a guy — hey now, listen ta me.
VIC: I'm here.
BALTHAZAR: True Story: I once knew a guy, a coupla detectives went to his apartment to inform him that his son had been raped and murdered in the playground up on a hundred thirty-seventh —
VIC: Jesus ...
BALTHAZAR: You know what his reaction was? And keep in mind this is a man who loved his son dearly, okay? His reaction was: He wouldn't leave the house to I.D. the body until after the Knicks game was over ... It was "the playoffs," he said. They watched the whole fourth quarter together in silence. He served them ham sandwiches with warm beer. And this is a man who lived ... for his son.
(BALTHAZAR takes another swig from his bottle.)
BALTHAZAR: I am going to close this casket now. You are going to go outside and speak to my partner. He will secure you a new pair of pants. Where you live, Vic? Brooklyn? Queens?
VIC: Staten Island.
BALTHAZAR: We'll have a squad car drive you home.
VIC: I'm here for the duration.
BALTHAZAR: Okay. Crime Scene needs to work through this room now, Vic. When they're done, the room will be open again. Okay?
VIC: Fine.
BALTHAZAR: My partner's outside in front of a black-and-gray Ford. Ya can't miss him, he's Chinese and he walks with a pronounced limp.
VIC: For the record, I had nuthin' to do with this.
BALTHAZAR: I don't think that you did.
VIC: Just make sure you catch the mothahfuckah.
BALTHAZAR: Sister Rose was my teacher. I liked her very much.
VIC: Ya know, if Rudy were still in office, this woulda never happened — I'm sure of it. He wouldn't of took this lyin' down for two seconds.
BALTHAZAR: My partner — he's right outside.
VIC: Right ... Say ... Did they ever catch that guy?
BALTHAZAR: What guy?
VIC: The guy who murdered the kid.
BALTHAZAR: No ... No, not yet.
VIC: What, uh, what ever happened to the guy with the ham sandwiches?
BALTHAZAR: The guy with the ham sandwiches?
VIC: Yeah ...
BALTHAZAR: Why? You want one?
VIC: One what?
BALTHAZAR: A ham sandwich.
VIC: Do I ...?
BALTHAZAR: It's a joke, Vic. I'm joking.
VIC: Not funny. Not funny at all.
Scene 2: The church. Walter "Rooftop" Desmond confesses.
ROOFTOP: Bless me, Father, for I have sinned ... (pause) ... a lot, know what I'm sayin? ... Yes, sir ... Um ... Are you there, Father?
FATHER LUX: Yes.
ROOFTOP: All right, juss checkin' ... That you, Father Martin?
FATHER LUX: Uh, no.
ROOFTOP: Father Cunningham?
FATHER LUX: No.
ROOFTOP: Oh ... Where Father Cunningham at?
FATHER LUX: Excuse me?
ROOFTOP: I say, where Father Cunningham at?
FATHER LUX: Father Cunningham?
ROOFTOP: Yeah.
FATHER LUX: He's — no longer with us.
ROOFTOP: Father C, you talkin' 'bout?
FATHER LUX: Yes.
ROOFTOP: "No longer with us," huh?
FATHER LUX: Yes.
ROOFTOP: Father C?
FATHER LUX: Correct.
ROOFTOP: He didn't do something "bad," did he?
FATHER LUX: He's dead.
ROOFTOP: Dead?!
FATHER LUX: With God, yes.
ROOFTOP: Well, pardon me, but — why didn't you just say that then?
FATHER LUX: What?
ROOFTOP: I'm sayin', if the man's dead, juss say he dead.
FATHER LUX: I did.
ROOFTOP: Nah, you said "no longer with us" — like ... like a "scandal" or something.
FATHER LUX: Are you here to make confession, sir?
ROOFTOP: Yes, I am, but Father C was a close, personal friend of mine, and I can't really appreciate —
FATHER LUX: Father Cunningham has been dead for fifteen years, sir, okay?!
(Pause)
ROOFTOP: Oh ... Okay ... Sorry ...
FATHER LUX: ... So how long since your last confession?
ROOFTOP: My last confession?
FATHER LUX: Yes.
ROOFTOP: The last one?
FATHER LUX: Yes.
ROOFTOP: You mean in a church?
FATHER LUX: In a church, yes.
ROOFTOP: Right. Well ... last one been ...
FATHER LUX: Yes.
ROOFTOP: Well ... well, it's been ... Know what I'm sayin'? It's been been. Definitely been been.
FATHER LUX: Okay.
ROOFTOP: Put it like this: my first confession?, that was my last time checkin' in with y'all, so, yeah, been a while ... been ... well ...
FATHER LUX: Got it. Proceed.
ROOFTOP: Cuz I mean, ya know, my moms raised me right, went to school right upstairs, listened ta the nuns, Sister Rose and all, still ... Shit! Is Father C really dead?!
FATHER LUX: What?
ROOFTOP: Cuz I was hopin' ta get Father C.
FATHER LUX: Sir —
ROOFTOP: Guess everybody got ta go, right?
FATHER LUX: Yes.
ROOFTOP: Still, how's a man gonna up and die with no warning?
FATHER LUX: Sir —
ROOFTOP: Send a telegram, sumpthin': "Might die soon. FYI."
FATHER LUX: Perhaps you ought to collect yourself and come back later.
ROOFTOP: Hey Father, did you know that Father C one time got hit by a Mack truck but he was okay?
FATHER LUX: Sir —
ROOFTOP: See, us kids, we was playin' Booties Up on the wall across from here, but we was all standin' in the street like fools do, and —
FATHER LUX: Stop.
ROOFTOP: What, I can't relate a little anecdote?
FATHER LUX: What you can do, sir, is confess.
ROOFTOP: Confess, huh?
FATHER LUX: Confess your sins. Yes.
ROOFTOP: Dag, you all business, ain't cha, Father?
FATHER LUX: Sir —
ROOFTOP: No prelude nuthin' — just spit it out.
FATHER LUX: Sir —
ROOFTOP: — "Early birds eat apples and worms," I gotcha — got no argument wit' that.
FATHER LUX: Okay then.
ROOFTOP: You got a forthright nature, Father — no nonsense — I respect that in a man.
FATHER LUX: Oh. Well —
ROOFTOP: Still, even Hank Aaron hit a few off the practice tee before he stepped up to the rock — gotta marinate before ya grill, right?
FATHER LUX: This is not a "cook-out," sir.
ROOFTOP: No, it's not —
FATHER LUX: No charcoal, no anecdotes, no franks and beans —
ROOFTOP: True dat —
FATHER LUX: This is, in fact, a Confessional, sir. A Confessional — not a "Conversational." Do you understand that distinction?
ROOFTOP: I'll keep it moving.
FATHER LUX: Thank you.
ROOFTOP: Ok ... right: So ... So, yeah — I mean, whaddyacallit? The interVenal Sins?
FATHER LUX: Venal.
ROOFTOP: What?
FATHER LUX: Venal.
ROOFTOP: Venal yeah — mucho venal. Venal Sins. Dass daily, daily occurrence. Prolly racked up a dozen since I walked up in here ... And, uh, Mortal Sins? Mortal Sins, Father? I mean, "pick a Commandment, any Commandment," know what I'm sayin'?
FATHER LUX: How 'bout you pick one?
ROOFTOP: Oh ... okay ... uh ... Dag, Father, I'm juss, I'm juss a bad man, Father. Lyin', cheatin', stealin', and humpin' — Dag. Freebasing ... See, I'm the kind a guy — one time I ... well, there was this girl once ... Say Father, I can't smoke in here, right?
Scene 3: Flip and Gail by the bathroom — midstream
FLIP: Do not act like a faggot!
GAIL: Excuse you?
FLIP: Put your collar down!
GAIL: My collar?
FLIP: Where'd that scarf come from?! You were not wearing that scarf when we left the hotel, Gail!
GAIL: You said we were coming here as a couple, Robert!
FLIP: And I changed my mind! And you know that I changed my mind because I been tellin' you all fuckin' morning, Gail, that I changed my fuckin' mind — so just lose the scarf, do not act like a faggot, and stop calling me fuckin' "Robert"!
GAIL: What should I call you? Penelope?
FLIP: Flip, Goddamnit! For the fifty-eighth time, they call me Flip!
GAIL: Flip what? Flip a pancake? Flip a flappy Flip Flop?
FLIP: Gail —
GAIL: Maybe I should have a special name too, like ... "Rocky."
FLIP: Stop it —
GAIL: I could be "Hercules," grow a beard.
FLIP: Look! You're an "actor," right? So juss act like you're not a faggot for a few fuckin' hours if that's not fuckin' beneath you, okay?!
GAIL: Cursing.
FLIP: I will not have this today, Gail! Do you hear me? Will not have it!
GAIL: Will not have what, Robert? A relationship? A partner? The respect of the man who lies beside you at night?
FLIP: You know who I am, and you know how I feel about you!
GAIL: Do I?
FLIP: Don't do this today, Gail.
GAIL: My friends embraced you, Robert! My parents took you in!
FLIP: Your friends are all gay, Gail, and your parents trumpet my race and sexuality with unconcealed glee 'cuz it makes them feel like better liberals!
GAIL: I'm going to tell them you said that!
FLIP: Good. Why don't you hop on the next plane and tell them in person.
GAIL: Do you really mean that? Do you?
FLIP: You know what? I ain't even tryin' ta have this conversation!
GAIL: "Ain't even tryin'"?!
FLIP: Dass what I said!
GAIL: Right, "Assimilation." Going back ta the "'hood," can't be you, gotta be someone you never were.
FLIP: Careful now —
GAIL: No, Robert, you're the one who should be careful! Didn't you ever see "The Death of Sunny" with Shelley Winters?
FLIP: Gail —
GAIL: Sunny Waldman denied her Jewishness before a Nazi tribunal to avoid the death camps — and what happened to Sunny? She became a morphine-addicted harlot who ended up wandering into the forests of Bavaria to be consumed by wolves and jackals — that's what! Denial's like a pair of Prada silk pajamas, Robert — the price is just too high!
FLIP: Look, Drama Empress: Just turn it down a few notches and be here for me. Quiet and dignified. Can you do that, yes or no?!
GAIL: "Turn it down a few notches"?
FLIP: Yes or no, Gail!
GAIL: I am not a drama Empress!
FLIP: I am begging you, okay? Begging.
GAIL: On my worst day, I'm more masculine than you.
FLIP: Gail —
GAIL: I'm like a young Al Pacino: intense, soulful —
FLIP: Oh, you aren't a "young" anything, Gail! And you certainly, certainly, ain't no Al Pacino!
(INEZ exits bathroom.)
INEZ: Flip Johnson, shit!! Is that really you??!!
FLIP: Inez Smith?! Dag, girl, you're lookin' too fine! Oh, Jesus — how long it's been?
INEZ: Nevah mind all that. You look so good, Flip! How come you look so good?
FLIP: 'Cuz I'm lookin' at you, Inez Smith!
INEZ: Aw, Flip! Flip! Who's this man, Flip?
FLIP: Ah, Inez, I'd like you to meet my colleague, this is —
GAIL: Goliath. Goliath Muscleton.
INEZ: Goliath, huh?
FLIP: Goliath is one of my partners at the firm.
INEZ: Oh, well, that's nice.
FLIP: Yeah, it is.
INEZ: I guess things must be pretty progressive out there in Wisconsin. Maybe I should move there.
GAIL: What do you mean?
INEZ: I mean, a black man and a gay man, partners in the same firm —
FLIP: I'm not gay, Inez.
INEZ: I'm not talkin' 'bout you, honey, I'm talkin' 'bout Goliath here. (To GAIL) Now you stay away from my man now, girl —
FLIP: Say. How's Rooftop doin'?
INEZ: Oh, Me and Walter divorced fifteen years now, baby. I hope the bastard's got leukemia.
GAIL: (To INEZ) So I look gay to you, but "Flip" doesn't? I wonder why that is?
FLIP: Maybe 'cuz you homosexual, and I'm not. (To INEZ) Now how's that for a theory?
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Our Lady of 121st Street by Stephen Adly Guirgis. Copyright © 2003 Stephen Adly Guirgis. Excerpted by permission of Faber and Faber, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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