JACKIE: That’s fuckin’ — I mean — “A day at a time” means something, but it don’t mean fuckin’ that!
RALPH D: Jackie —
JACKIE: If I beat the fuck out of you right now until you fuckin’ die — which, by the way, if I have a plan here, that’s the fuckin’ plan —
RALPH D: — Not a good plan, man —
JACKIE: Oh, I think it’s a excellent plan — but the point is, if I do that shit, and then, I go before the judge and say, “Um, yeah, I plead one day at a time, Your Honor” — how you think he gonna react to that bullshit?
RALPH D: You’re not my judge, man. And I respect your anger, but I think it’s misdirected —
JACKIE: Ain’t nothing misdirected here, bro —
RALPH D: You just threatened me in my own home, motherfucker, so, yeah, I’d say there’s some misdirection going on here. You’re angry at me — fine. You’re upset that me and Veronica fell in love, I don’t blame you. But if you can’t see your side of the street in all this, then you must be fuckin blind ’cuz if you didn’t want this shit to happen, then you should’ve gotten a real job instead of dealing weed and blow out of your fuckin’ apartment and getting caught, and leaving her alone for fuckin’ wolves like me.
JACKIE: She don’t love you, motherfucker. We both know who she love!
RALPH D: Yeah, she loves you so much I used to fuck her in the ass till my dick fell off and then she’d bring it back to life with her fucking tongue — that’s how much she fuckin’ loves you! (JACKIE picks up a chair and hurls it towards RALPH as he advances and tackles him to the ground. RALPH gets on top and punches JACKIE in the eye. JACKIE gets back on top, picks up an end table and smashes it over RALPH’s forehead. RALPH retrieves the gun and pistol whips JACKIE once, twice — ) You had enough?!
JACKIE: Fuck you!
RALPH D: You had enough?!
JACKIE: Fuck you! (JACKIE starts to cry. RALPH gets up off him and collapses into a corner. Both look like they’ve had more than enough.)
RALPH D: Too old for this shit … Shit’s all fucked up … Messin’ up my shit … You okay? … Hey … You alright? … Bro? … Bro? … I mean … Shit … She … She … She’s an addict, man. She’s a fuckin’ addict. She may love you more than she loves me, she may not love me at all, she actually doesn’t love me at all, she doesn’t even fuckin’ like me, but she’s an addict, man, so she can never really fuckin’ love you either until she makes a choice to. And they ain’t never gonna really happen till she puts down those substances — and that’s a fuckin’ fact. I’m not saying I did you a favor, but I kind of did you a favor … She ain’t for you, man.
JACKIE: You don’t know shit. Me and Veronica been “Me and Veronica” off and on from since the eighth grade.
RALPH D: Yeah, and you been running around on her since the eighth grade too. You fucked that fuckin’ dumb AA sponsor bitch last month! Why would you do that?
JACKIE: … I don’t know. I, I —
RALPH D: I’ll tell you why. Because it doesn’t really fuckin’ matter. You got a thing, she had a hole, and so you rubbed up on each other for a couple of hours because IT FELT GOOD! Who the fuck cares, and why should anyone — anyone — have to live by some stupid rules that make no sense because the fact is we’re all gonna die anyway. I mean, who the fuck really cares? I fuckin’ love my wife — I think she’s fuckin’ great — you wanna fuck her? Please. Do me a fuckin’ favor. Just keep it to yourself. And leave when I get home ’cuz I like hanging out with her. I like that time we have together. I mean, you were in prison looking at a photo, I was in a Motel 6 looking at the real thing, and the fact is that in that moment, we were both happy. I was happy. You were happy. Fact. So, in a world of heartache and confusion — what’s so wrong with that?
JACKIE: You don’t really believe that.
RALPH D: Don’t tell me what I believe or don’t believe — what the hell do you know anyway?
JACKIE: I know that’s a lot of bullshit. I know that ain’t no way to live.
RALPH D: Well, show me another way that don’t hurt like a motherfucker, and I’ll follow you to Nirvana with some chicken curry in my back pocket and a lotus leaf up my ass crack! I’m a grown man making my way in the world the best I can, and you are too — so wipe the peach fuzz off your face and start acting like it!
JACKIE: I coulda fucked your wife the other night!
RALPH D: Shit, I coulda fucked your girl the other day — and I did! Don’t cry to me like you some kinda evolved motherfucker. You don’t want someone running up on your girl, start treating her like a queen — not the court jester. Get a job.
JACKIE: I got a job!
RALPH D: Get a second one then. Go to meetings. Get a mortgage. Do something with your life. Buy your girl a refrigerator that makes crushed ice. Grow the fuck up! I know this shit’s hard, I know I fucked your girl, but this is good knowledge I’m giving you here, make use of it, make it work for you, no point killing the messenger if you’re not even gonna absorb the fuckin’ message —
JACKIE: I’m feeling, um, I’m feeling an incredible urge to fuckin’ kill you now, so, uh, uh, uh — I’m a go.
RALPH D: I’m sorry I fucked your girl. Okay? I’m really sorry. It was — it was something that I should have avoided.
JACKIE: Avoided?
RALPH D: Yeah.
JACKIE: Then why would you do it?
RALPH D: Why? … Because I could. Okay?
JACKIE: Meaning what?
RALPH D: Meaning because I thought you would never know. And meaning because I truly believe that at the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter. That’s why. Okay. And because she’s fuckin’ hot. I tip my hat. Your girl is fucking fierce. In every way. I had to play it close to the vest as your sponsor, but as a man, shit — I could see why you shot that motherfucker’s hat — even though it was me. And my hat. But for real, Jackie, it’s just something that happened for a while, and I thought you’d never know.
JACKIE: Nah … Hah … I don’t think someone fucks their friend’s girl ’cuz they don’t want them to know. I was your friend. You wanted me to know.
RALPH D: Jackie, let me tell you this one true thing and we could go our separate ways, and I’m gonna be conservative about this right here: Anybody you meet before the age of, say, 25? That’s your friend. Anyone after that? That’s just an associate. Someone to pass the time. Someone who meets maybe one or two specific needs. But friend? Shit. Friends are at the playground. And adult life, sober life, real life — it’s nothing like a playground. And if that sounds tough, that’s because it is. It’s called the real world. And it largely fucking sucks. So if you got one friend when you die, then you got something most people never have.
JACKIE: Yeah, man, I thought I had one.
RALPH D: It’s not too late. I mean, I don’t think I should sponsor you anymore, but friends? I mean, we could try? Like after some time passes. I’d like that. Actually, fuck it, bro, I would like that very much. I like you. Other than my wife, ain’t no one I’m closer with in my life than you. I like you. And I’m sorry. You know?
JACKIE: Yeah. Um, I, uh, I actually do believe you’re sorry.
RALPH D: Plus with my sponsor passing away, I mean it’s been rough.
JACKIE: He passed away two years ago, bro —
RALPH D: Yeah but, it’s just, a lot a shit in my past. You know? Old stuff? Trust stuff? You know. I’m doing another sixth step on it right now, I mean, just on my own — anyway, you know how that goes. But this shit between us — sometimes the truth is ugly, but what the fuck can we do? We gotta face it, deal with it, so we can turn the page. Shit happens, right?
JACKIE: Yeah bro. Right.
RALPH D: So … So we cool? I mean, in the future, after a while. We cool?
JACKIE: Your — whaddyacallit — your world view? It ain’t mine. And the day it is, that’s the day I shoot myself in the head. I didn’t get clean to live like that. I don’t pass on the Heinekens and eightballs and th
e hydro so I can live some empty shit like that. That’s you. It ain’t me.
RALPH D: ’Cuz you’re naive —
JACKIE: Nah, man, ’cuz I’m me. Your baggage ain’t my problem, bro. Share about it at a meeting, I might lissen. Cry about it to me right now? It’s a fuckin’ joke.
RALPH D: Okay … She ain’t comin’ back though, bro, that much I know. That ship has sailed. And it ain’t ’cuz of me, it’s ’cuz of you. You fucked around on her, not me. You comported yourself around her like a fuckin’ child, got yourself locked up, and proved to her time and time again that you couldn’t be counted on as a man. You did that. Not me. The truth is you’re just as fucked up as me and then some — the only difference is that I can handle my business and you can’t. So make no mistake: You’re fucked up and wrong and weak and you live like a little sewer rat. And that’s just the truth. And, now, what I’m trying to say —
JACKIE: Nah, man. This is what I’m trying to say: Don’t take the fact that I didn’t kill you today as evidence that I won’t do it sometime in the future. And that ain’t me talkin’ shit. That’s me being me. You think you know me? Nobody knows nobody and you definitely don’t know me at all. So you better hope I stay clean. Okay? 449 that … You were a good sponsor. “Keep Coming Back.”
JACKIE spits on the carpet. Exits.
SCENE 9
JACKIE and VERONICA’s apartment. The following evening. JACKIE enters the apartment.
JACKIE: Oh … you’re here.
VERONICA: I was just leaving.
JACKIE: Want me to come back when you’re gone?
VERONICA: No. Dass okay.
JACKIE: I just came to get —
VERONICA: — Your box of shit. I know. It’s over here.
JACKIE: Oh. (JACKIE goes and retrieves the box.) … Okay then.
VERONICA: … Okay then.
JACKIE: … I’ll see you later.
VERONICA: No you won’t.
JACKIE: … Right. I guess I won’t.
VERONICA: What do you mean “you guess?
JACKIE: … Just talking.
VERONICA: Oh … Good luck with your ass then.
JACKIE: Yeah. You too.
VERONICA: … Okay then.
JACKIE: I’ll be at Julio’s if, like, bills an’ shit.
VERONICA: I thought you were staying with Ralph.
JACKIE: Nah. Not no more.
VERONICA: Why? What happened.
JACKIE: … Nothing. I didn’t like the couch.
VERONICA: … Okay.
JACKIE: You look so good I think I’m gonna cry, Veronica.
VERONICA: How’d your court case go?
JACKIE: Oh, the thing with the hat an’ shit — it went okay. I pleaded down. Got forty-five days.
VERONICA: Suspended sentence?
JACKIE: No. I gotta go back upstate next week. They dropped the gun shit, but with the parole violation, I’ll prolly do, like, three months.
VERONICA: Oh. Well. Good luck with that.
JACKIE: I ain’t worried.
VERONICA: Good.
JACKIE: I don’t sleep at night. Like at all. Do you sleep?
VERONICA: … Not so much, but I got pills for that.
JACKIE: Oh … But when you take the pills, do you sleep then?
VERONICA: I don’t care if I ever sleep again, okay?
JACKIE: Me neither.
VERONICA: … I gotta go.
JACKIE: Stay.
VERONICA: For what?
JACKIE: I been listening to The Commodores, like all the time, Veronica.
VERONICA: So?
JACKIE: I brought the cassette. You remember?
VERONICA: I really gotta go.
JACKIE: Remember how your stepfather, he didn’t allow no black music in the house, so your sister Mylene, she would put The Commodores record in the Tony Orlando sleeve, so when he heard it, he thought The Commodores were Puerto Ricans?
VERONICA: I think he knew but was just frontin’.
JACKIE: Oh, ’cuz I thought he really didn’t know.
VERONICA: Anyway. Bye. I gotta go.
JACKIE: … Yeah?
VERONICA: Yeah. Like right now. I gotta go right now.
JACKIE: … Okay.
VERONICA: So, you wanna get out so I can get out?
JACKIE: … Yeah. Yeah sure.
VERONICA: Take care of yourself upstate.
JACKIE: Maybe I’ll see you when I get back.
VERONICA: I’m moving.
JACKIE: To where?
VERONICA: A undisclosed location.
JACKIE: … Oh … Well, maybe I’ll see you anyway.
VERONICA: See me how?
JACKIE: If I wanna see you, I’m gonna see you.
VERONICA: Oh yeah?
JACKIE: Most definitely. Dass right.
VERONICA: … I’m taking my mom to rehab.
JACKIE: You goin’ to rehab?
VERONICA: My mom is. And I’ll, like, stay across the street — do family day. Bring her Bustelo and Twinkies an’ shit. The motel, they got a pool.
JACKIE: That sounds nice. (Beat.)
VERONICA: … Look in the box.
JACKIE: What’s in there?
VERONICA: When you get home. When you get home, look in it. (Pause. She kisses him. They kiss. She moves away. Beat.)
JACKIE: If I had gotten you, say, a fridge that made crushed ice — you think it could have been different?
VERONICA: No.
JACKIE: ’Cuz I could still do that.
VERONICA: I like my shit room tempature.
JACKIE: I knew that.
VERONICA: … Don’t drop the soap, okay?
JACKIE: Yeah. Okay. Veronica —
VERONICA: Not now. Not now, Jackie.
JACKIE: Veronica?
VERONICA: I’m late for work.
JACKIE: I don’t care about it.
VERONICA: About what?
JACKIE: All of it.
VERONICA: All of what?
JACKIE: All of it, Veronica. I don’t care about it. I don’t care about it.
VERONICA: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
JACKIE: I don’t care about any of it. I don’t care.
VERONICA: You’re speaking fortune cookie, Jackie.
JACKIE: I’m speakin’ my heart, Veronica. I’m saying put the blame on me.
VERONICA: Who said the blame’s not on you?
JACKIE: Veronica. I don’t care about it. I did wrong. I did weakness. I did fear. You did too. But I don’t care. None of that shit means anything. It ain’t real. This is. So, I don’t care about that — (Pause.)
VERONICA: … Well, I do.
JACKIE: Veronica —
VERONICA: It broken.
JACKIE: But Veronica.
VERONICA: It’s broke.
JACKIE: We can fix it.
VERONICA: No.
JACKIE: Please, Veronica … Anything … Anything … Anything … Anything …
VERONICA: Take care, Jackie.
JACKIE: Veronica —
VERONICA: No! … No!
(VERONICA goes to the bathroom. JACKIE is alone. After a beat, he takes out an old cassette tape from his back pocket, and puts it in the boom box on the kitchen table. A song like The Commodores’ “Still” plays. The tape is worn and scratchy and the sound is maybe a little warped or underwater-sounding. JACKIE crosses to the doorway and then exits, leaving the door ajar. Beat. VERONICA exits the bathroom, teary-eyed.)
… Jackie?
(The song plays … She is alone. The lights fade.)
End of Play.
Stephen Adly Guirgis is a member and former co-artistic director of LAByrinth Theater Company. His plays have been produced on five continents and throughout the United States. They include Our Lady of 121st Street (Drama Desk, Lucille Lortel, Outer Critics Circle Best Play Nominations), Jesus Hopped the ‘A’ Train (Edinburgh Festival Fringe First Award, Barrymore Award, Olivier Nomination for London’s Best New Play), In Arabia, We’d Al
l Be Kings (2007 LA Drama Critics Best Play, Best Writing Award), The Last Days of Judas Iscariot (10 best Time Magazine & Entertainment Weekly), and The Little Flower of East Orange (with Ellen Burstyn & Michael Shannon). All five plays were directed by Philip Seymour Hoffman and were originally produced by LAByrinth.
His most recent play, Between Riverside and Crazy, recently won the Pulitzer Prize for Drama. His 2011 play, The Motherf***er with the Hat (6 Tony nominations, including Best Play), was directed by Anna D. Shapiro and marked his third consecutive world premiere co-production with The Public Theater and LAByrinth.
In London, his plays have premiered at the Donmar Warehouse, the Almeida (dir: Rupert Goold), Hampstead Theatre (Robert Delamere), and at the Arts Theatre in the West End. Other plays include Den of Thieves (Labyrinth, HERE, HAI, Black Dahlia) and Dominica The Fat Ugly Ho (dir: Adam Rapp) for the 2006 E.S.T. Marathon. He has received the Yale Wyndham-Campbell Prize, a PEN/Laura Pels Award, a Whiting Award, a TCG fellowship, and The Steinberg Distinguished Playwright Award. He is also a New Dramatists Alumnae and a member of MCC’s Playwright’s Coalition, The Ojai Playwrights Festival, New River Dramatists, and Labyrinth Theater Company.
As an actor, he has appeared in theater, film and television, including roles in Kenneth Lonergan’s film Margaret, Todd Solondz’s Palindromes, and Brett C Leonard’s Jailbait opposite Michael Pitt.
A former violence prevention specialist and H.I.V. educator, he lives in New York City.
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The Motherf**ker with the Hat Page 6
