[The sound of a guitar fades in faintly.]
BEAU: Excuse interruption: will you shuddup? I wanta ask you a question, I wanta know if you expected me to share this double bed with you?
VIEUX: Oh dear, yes, it’s a double and I had wired for twins.
BEAU: I thought it was understood I would have a separate single.
VIEUX: Son, you know the hotel situation during Wimbledon, don’t you?
BEAU: Ain’t this New York and Wimbledon in—?
VIEUX: —Right! —When I’m so exhausted, could be anywhere and not know it. But obviously something must be going on here.
BEAU: That’s right, something’s going on here that’s not connected with tennis.
VIEUX: Political convention or candidate’s visit, that’s it!
BEAU: That is not it for me.
VIEUX: You know we’re lucky to have four walls under a roof here. Oh! The wine, room service till midnight. [He lifts the bedside phone, changing glasses to peer at the dial. He dials.] —Bell-captain, no, no, a mistake, thought I had dialed room service.
BEAU: Dial the desk for my single.
VIEUX: Hello, room service, good night. I would like a bottle of good California Burgundy or the white that’s called Eye of the Swan, a Pinot Noir called Swan’s Eye, Sebastiani. No? Then Salapurata by Corvo.
BEAU: I said the desk for my separate single.
VIEUX [to Beau]: My favorite wine while working, a strong-bodied wine is like a strong-bodied boy while I’m working. No more than three glasses of it or I strike the wrong keys. Oh, God, portable! —Oh, the other two pieces are not up yet.
BEAU: Mine’s on my back till I’ve got my separate single, tell ’em you’re with a strong-bodied boy that must have a single with bath or there is going to be trouble.
VIEUX [slight pause]: Trouble, what trouble?
BEAU: Very loud trouble in lobby. Want me to tell ’em about the Dallas misunderstanding and the one on the plane from Dallas when you spread that goddamn blanket over us both?
VIEUX: Cold as it was in that plane, I—
BEAU: I didn’t feel cold, I felt your hand on me here! [He slaps his upper thigh.] Creeping higher! Want me to talk about that, downstairs at the desk, loud and plain, having been twice molested by a dirty ole man, huh?
VIEUX [seriously]: This is not any way for you to behave or talk to me, Beau. Misunderstanding, there’s been no misunderstandings. Have you forgotten the night I made your acquaintance at that gay bar, The Wild Mission, in San Francisco when you sat at my table, I couldn’t have been more outspoken about my little requirements of a traveling companion, and you understood and you expressed no objections.
BEAU: You were pissed, you were drunk, talkin’ loud like an old whore so everyone at the bar was entertained by it and if that bar was gay, it was not to my knowledge.
VIEUX: Beau, you’re amusing, a card.
[The phone rings.]
VIEUX: Oh, sorry. [Into phone.] What wine? All right, then a Corvo Bianco, but iced, iced, please, two glasses and two salads, green, with a plate of cold meats for two. [He cradles the phone.] Now.
[Slowly, majestically, Vieux pivots to face the youth. His sovereign expression does not intimidate Beau.]
VIEUX: —Beau? Why don’t you put down that dirty sack still on your shoulders, have yourself a shower and we will watch an old movie, Bette Davis or Crawford on TV, there’s usually one of them showing.
BEAU [crossing to phone]: You watch those fag hags, not me.
VIEUX: What are you—
BEAU: Gimme the desk, the reception, to correct a serious misunderstanding in room twelve-o-six. [He pops a Quaalude in his mouth as he waits.] —Desk, it looks like there’s been a mix-up about the accommodations we’ve got here, not at all as expected, need two separate rooms. —None? Shit. Then how about twin beds with a barbed wire fence between, you know what I mean, I don’t share a bed with nobody except my chick, I am this ole man’s traveling companion, just that, nothing else but. Come off it. Essex, Essex, what Essex, no diff’rent to me than a bench in Union Square. Want me to come downstairs, straighten things out in the lobby? No? Then call me back when another room is ready and make it quick. Hey. Ain’t you the one on the desk when we checked in just now? I place your soprano. And my advice to you is to get yourself a new wig, not carrot-colored so you look like you come out of Ringling Brothers, the circus. [He slams the phone down. Vieux is shaking his head, aghast.]
VIEUX: —You can take the boy off the streets but not the streets off the boy. Do you realize how you talked?
BEAU: Fuck it. This Essex-on-the-Park’s a refugee camp for fags, what it is. ’Sno wonder you come here.
VIEUX: —That Quaalude you took with your straight double rums on the plane has made you as crazy as Tyler before West Virginia. . . . [With a dramatically prolonged sigh, Vieux automatically sits down. He rises slowly, and turns on invisible TV, switching channels till he comes to a late movie.] My God! That’s Jimmy Dean with Rock Hudson in Giant!
[The invisible set is soundless. Beau goes to a window and opens it, staring out.]
VIEUX: —What do you see out the window so fascinating at midnight? —Why don’t you take a warm shower to cool you off?
BEAU: I won’t be cool till I get a separate room.
VIEUX [rising and approaching the youth at the deep purple window]: Now, Beau, I told you in San Francisco I have to have somebody near me at night.
BEAU: A trained nurse would do better.
[Vieux grabs Beau’s shoulders.]
BEAU: PAWS OFF ME!
[There is a knock at the door.]
VIEUX: Shh. —Room-service, I hope, come in.
[A discreetly dead-pan waiter pushes a rolling-table into the room and sets two straight chairs at it. Vieux produces a bill from his pocket, tosses it onto the table as he signs his check. The waiter nods dreamily and retires from lighted area. Vieux pours himself a bit of wine and tastes it tolerantly. He then fills his glass to overflowing. A siren is heard on the street below and Vieux’s face turns somber.]
VIEUX: —Ambulance rushing, so many emergency nights. —Always a terror when alone in a city, why I must have with me a sympathetic young traveling companion everywhere that I go. Sit down and have some wine.
[Beau ignores the invitation and remains at the window.]
VIEUX: Beau? Are you a jumper?
BEAU [in a drugged drawl]: What’s a jumper?
[The guitar is heard: lyrical, sad.]
VIEUX: “Jumpers” is what they are called in San Francisco. Jump out of windows at night or off the Golden Gate bridge. Usually young, but on drugs. The rate’s as high as ten jumpers a week now. Look, Beau. I’m fully aware of the difference in our ages and attractions. [He lifts his hands.] All that I still desire is the finger touch, fingertips on the bare skin, light and caressing, that only: the Bangkok massage which I learned there. Come away from that window, sit down and drink wine, the cold roast beef is rare with horseradish, the salmon is fresh with capers, delicious, ahhh.
[There is a knock at door. The porter brings in portable Val-pack, is tipped, and grins as he goes out.]
BEAU: I wouldn’t have took this job if I’d known what you want.
VIEUX: Young companionship, privilege of light caresses, I told you, you said okay.
BEAU: In your morbid imagination. Anyway, must fly back to meet Paul.
VIEUX: Paul. Oh, yes, Paul. But you said that Paul’s on a fishing boat in Alaska.
BEAU: Was once but is now in San Francisco, arrived there tonight and Paul can’t hack it without me.
[Beau goes to the table and sits on bottom of bed. He drinks wine from the bottle; some of it trickles down his throat.]
VIEUX: In that case, why did you leave?
BEAU: No money, no room except at—Escort Service. . . .
VIEUX: My God, that’s an alarming confession. You come out of Escort Service?
BEAU: Naw, naw, done with it, they cheat you, would rather hustle the bars. But Paul’s got that as my address and is hooked on horse. Terrible situation.
VIEUX: —Yes . . . not enviable.
BEAU: We quit high school together six years ago and been on the road ever since. [Picks meat off platter with hands and stuffs it in his mouth.] —Long attachments between ush. So. Now I done the job I was hired for, delivered you here. All I ask now is severance pay and return ticket back, so don’t irritate me, I can be difficult too.
VIEUX [seizing bottle as Beau reaches for it]: —There’s cutlery and wine glasses on the table, and as for your plane ticket back to San Francisco, I travel on credit cards only and midnight’s too late to use it.
BEAU: Just gimme the cash an’ I’ll get it myself. You break my balls.
VIEUX [smiling a little sadly]: Tu rompe me balle is an Italian expression.
BEAU: I know, I known Italians.
VIEUX: Then I would say you have lived.
BEAU: So would I say so. —More wine.
VIEUX [pouring him a glass]: —Is that another Quaalude you took from your pocket?
BEAU: What if it is to you?
VIEUX: How about splitting it with me?
BEAU [washing the Quaalude down with wine]: —Too late. ’Slife for you, Vieux.
[Beau stumbles over to the bedside phone and lifts it from the cradle.]
VIEUX: Calling someone?
BEAU: Yeh. Paul.
VIEUX: To call long-distance you have to dial eight first and then the number.
BEAU: —Operator? —Gotta call San Francisco. Dial? No, can’t dial but can give you the number. Hold on a minute, I’ll find it.
VIEUX: Want me to make the call for you?
[Ignoring the offer, Beau removes several slips from his pockets before he finds the right one. Vieux shakes his head in sorrow and bewilderment.]
BEAU: Operator, I got it, the San Francisco number is Escort Service. —Sorry. No. I mean it’s area code four-one-five and number is eight-one-six-four-two-one-nine. —Number of room here?
VIEUX: Room number is twelve-o-six.
BEAU: Twelve-o-shix. —What time’s it in San Francisco?
VIEUX: Three hours difference.
BEAU: Later?
VIEUX: Earlier, being West Coast.
BEAU: —Ringing. —’Sthat you, Hank? —Me, Beau. —Awright, awright, jush wanta know if my buddy Paul’s arrived there or not. Had to give him your address. —Yeah, that’s him, that’s Paul, can you get him to the phone? —Unconscious where? —Aw, your room, huh? I know what that means, Hank, God damn you, you don’t like me no more than I do you, but LEAVE MY BUDDY ALONE! I—listen! —take advantage of Paul and I’ll expose you and your disgusting house there, everything, all, am in position to do! —Don’t talk about syndicate to me, I’m traveling with a writer, can give him all facts to write up for national exposure. SYNDICATE—IS NOT—GOD! —Shun of bitch hung up! —Gahhh! —Can’t leave Paul alone in a strange place with jumpers. My age, same age, but I got to protect him. Here is picture of Paul, Polaroid in color, taken Palm Springs las’ summer.
VIEUX [looking at photo]: Ah, yes, lovely—looks blind. . . .
BEAU: Drugged.
VIEUX: But sometimes travels without you, you said to Alaska?
BEAU: Was took there some way by someone and put on this fishing boat and molested by the skipper an’ others in crew. Managed—escape to San Francisco. Waitin’ at Escort Service , unconscious in Hank’s room. Now look. Turn off that TV—sound of it. —All this has worn me out. Gotta sleep till separate—single’s—ready. . . .
[Beau falls back onto the bed, draws a snoring breath. Vieux looks at him, then sadly into space. The stage is dimmed out.]
SCENE TWO
Slightly later.
VIEUX: In China they used to give an old man an opium pipe. —I suppose now they just shoot him. [With a soft, mirthless laugh, he looks down again at the apparently sleeping youth; says dreamily to himself.] “Cypress woods are demon dark—boys are fox-teeth in the heart.” Pathetic fallacy, that . . . [After a moment, he slowly and warily sits down on the bottom edge of the bed and takes off him shoes, stealthily, as if the act would incriminate him. Looks again at the youth, who makes soft snoring sounds. Suddenly jumps up to remove the bedside phone from its cradle. Returns stealthily to his seated position at the foot of the bed. Removes socks and sniffs them with dissatisfaction.] A good traveling companion sends the laundry out at nine A.M. for one-day service or says “You’d better buy a new pair of socks in a shop at the airport.” New traveling companions reflect the indifferent times we live in, neglect everything but themselves and their own concerns. Got the “give-me’s.” Give me, give me, give me. But the give-me’s don’t always get. Unquestionably there is some intellectual as well as moral delinquency in your new type of traveling companion. You can bet your life that the next conscious remark is a request for something, whether direct or implied. [He looks a bit resentfully at the youth on his bed.]
BEAU: —I left my guitar in San Francisco.
[Soft guitar music is resumed.]
VIEUX: I didn’t know you had a guitar.
BEAU: Don’t now anymore.
VIEUX: What happened to your guitar?
BEAU: Nothing happened to it except it moved into a hock shop and last week was being displayed in the hock shop window and maybe it’s now disappeared from the window having been bought by some poor sucker like me.
VIEUX: If you’d mentioned this before we left San Francisco I would have been happy to redeem your guitar.
BEAU: You woulda redeemed it for me?
VIEUX: Why, yes, of course I would have.
BEAU: But you didn’t’s the point.
VIEUX: How could I since I didn’t know of its existence?
BEAU: I guess it’s slipped your mind that you insisted on flying out at ten o’clock in the morning, which meant getting up at eight and catchin’ a cab to the airport before the hock shop opened.
VIEUX: A traveling schedule has to be followed strictly. [He lies down slowly.]
BEAU: Now what’re you doing for Chrissake?
VIEUX: I have to get some rest, too, after a long plane flight. Rest is more important as you get older. Young people require it less than older ones do.
BEAU: What I require is that separate single. They ain’t called back about it?
VIEUX: You would’ve heard the phone if they’d called back.
BEAU: I can sleep through a phone call, but nobody on a bed with me.
VIEUX [extinguishing bedside lamp]: There was not any phone call about your separate single or double with twins or about anything else, nothing at all.
BEAU: Then call the desk and remind ’em.
[There is a pause. The room remains lighted—yellow now turned to blue.]
BEAU: Didja hear me or have you gone deaf?
VIEUX: Don’t you raise your voice at me, Beau, I have some dignity left and I am your employer and do not accept orders from you.
BEAU: Just get your ass off the bed or I’ll phone downstairs to the house dick and say I’m bein’ molested by an old pervert.
VIEUX: I suspect you were brought up badly to address an older gentleman in a coarse manner like that.
BEAU: Jesus, what a laugh.
VIEUX: Apparently, Jesus is not amused, nor am I.
BEAU: Jesus.
VIEUX [sitting up]: You’re speaking to the wrong party. I’m afraid that Jesus is oblivious to you as I am not. Repeat, I am not. I delivered you from the lion’s den of that bar in San Francisco. You know, when I noticed you there was a disgusting old middle-aged queen beside you with his hand on your ass.
BEAU: I’
d told him twice to remove it or pay me one hundred in cash with which I’d redeem my guitar.
VIEUX: One hundred dollars for a guitar? It must have been an electric.
BEAU: Can’t play electric guitars in Union Square, San Francisco.
VIEUX: Then there must be a great inflation in string guitars as in traveling companions.
BEAU: Christ.
VIEUX: Still no response from the alleged Redeemer, Son.
BEAU: Fucking atheist, are you? I was brung up a believer.
VIEUX: In what beside yourself and your hocked guitar and your Paul?
BEAU: In Jesus and his mother, and the Ghost, in all Three.
VIEUX: I hope they were “brung up” to believe in you, too.
BEAU: Don’t get wise-ass with me. You got mistaken ideas. You think you can just walk into another person’s life. I am another person. You see I’m another person. What I’m saying. I’m saying you can’t just walk in a place and take over another person’s life and take him away like you bought something at a market.
VIEUX: Please stop talking a moment so I can think. You’ve presented a problem that I’ve got to think out. I thought it was all understood, but you tell me it wasn’t, it isn’t, so this presents me with a dilemma. Being unable to go on alone and having no way to go back to—where would I go back to? To me as difficult as reversing the way the earth turns, if that’s—more wine—whew! —comprehensible to you.
BEAU: All right, now you stop talking. I stopped talking to let you talk and you said nothing but words and I got something to say so let me talk now you be still.
VIEUX: Please. —Do. —Talk. —Intelligibly if able.
[There is a knock at door.]
VIEUX: Come in, come in, not locked!
The Traveling Companion & Other Plays Page 26
