ROOFTOP: I’m not ready for God.
FATHER LUX: Or a therapist. Or the Jesuits—they’re smart. I’m just, well … I hear confessions, okay?
ROOFTOP: Okay … But it’s … it’s pretty hopeless, right? Right?
FATHER LUX: They say despair is the absence of hope. Are you despairing?
ROOFTOP: I am.
FATHER LUX: You know what despair is?
ROOFTOP: The absence of hope, right?
FATHER LUX: Besides that.
ROOFTOP: Oh.
FATHER LUX: Despair is marked by the termination or the cessation of action. For example: A man is stuck in a well—
ROOFTOP: Stuck in a whale?
FATHER LUX: Not a “whale,” a well.
ROOFTOP: What’s a “well”?
FATHER LUX: A well! You know, you get water from it?
ROOFTOP: Oh, you talkin’ about a “well,” like, you go wit your pail to the well?
FATHER LUX: Yes, a “well.”
ROOFTOP: I’m sorry, Father, I thought you said “whale.”
FATHER LUX: That’s okay. So—
ROOFTOP: ’Cuz there’s a story about a man stuck up in a whale, right?
FATHER LUX: That’s Jonah.
ROOFTOP: Who?
FATHER LUX: Jo-nah.
ROOFTOP: Yeah, “Jonah,” dass right—“Jonah and the Whale.”
FATHER LUX: Yes, so—
ROOFTOP: Sister Rose, she useta tell us that story all the time.
FATHER LUX: It’s a nice story—
ROOFTOP: I useta go home and have nightmares ’bout gettin’ stuck up inside a whale—my pops useta beat my ass wit’ a slipper talkin’ ’bout “Ain’t no whales in Harlem, fool, go back ta sleep, this is a workin’ family!” Yeah …
FATHER LUX: Anyway—
ROOFTOP: Say, you remember them pajamas wit’ the feet on ’em? You ever had a pair?
FATHER LUX: No.
ROOFTOP: Dass too bad, they was snug. An I always useta like those little glove clips they would put on your coat, with the long string runnin’ through your sleeves, so your gloves was always hangin’ there when ya needed them? I mean, I can’t tell you how many pairs of nice leather gloves I useta lose every winter—I mean, this is before I moved out to Los Angeles—
FATHER LUX: Sir?
ROOFTOP: I once lost a pair of genuine Mink-lined Italian Leather gloves—
FATHER LUX: Sir?
ROOFTOP: Yes, Father?
FATHER LUX: Confessional! Not “Conversational”! Remember?!
ROOFTOP: Right, right.
FATHER LUX: There may be others waiting.
ROOFTOP: Waiting for what?
FATHER LUX: Waiting.
ROOFTOP: Others?
FATHER LUX: Others. Yes.
ROOFTOP: You tryin’ ta get rid of me, Father?
FATHER LUX: No.
ROOFTOP: You got a little egg timer back there or sumpthin’?
FATHER LUX: No egg timer, no.
ROOFTOP: ’Cuz maybe you didn’t hear me when I said I ain’t made a confession for thirty years.
FATHER LUX: I heard you.
ROOFTOP: You have any idea how hard it is to walk into a church after thirty years, Father?
FATHER LUX: The important thing is that you came back.
ROOFTOP: Dass right I came back—and it’s not like y‘all got the most alluring marketing campaign going on these days either, Father. You feelin’ me?
FATHER LUX: I feel you.
ROOFTOP: And, ya know, forgive me, Father, but it ain’t like y’all the only game in town anymore either! They got all kinda new churches, religions, spiritual growth joints where you can do whatever you want, say whatever you want—
FATHER LUX: But you came here.
ROOFTOP: That’s exactly my point! I came here. So I would think, that after thirty years in the wind, Father, that if a fallen sheep comes limpin’ back into the manger, that the stable master should just turn off the damn meter and let the sheep say what he need to say in the time he need to say it.
FATHER LUX: In other words, you’re more important than those others who may be waiting.
ROOFTOP: What?!
FATHER LUX: I said—
ROOFTOP: Oh, see? Dass trickery! Trickery, Father!
FATHER LUX: I don’t understand—
ROOFTOP: I came here to feel better, and you tryin’ ta send me off feelin’ worse!
FATHER LUX: That’s not my intention.
ROOFTOP: Them other churches? They don’t try ta make a man feel guilty for speakin’ his truth. They don’t cash their checks off a guilt.
FATHER LUX: You’re right.
ROOFTOP: Whaddya mean, “I’m right”?
FATHER LUX: And yet, my question remains: Do you think you’re more important than those others who may be waiting?
ROOFTOP: Well, obviously, you think the answer to that question is no!
FATHER LUX: I didn’t say that.
ROOFTOP: Well then, what the hell are you saying?! I mean, shit—when the Prodigal Son came home, his pops killed the fattest calf and had a mothahfuckin’ banquet! And Noah, Father? Noah gathered up all the animals two by two—he didn’t say, “Nah, fuck them chiba smokin’ zebra’s, they takin’ too long—
FATHER LUX: Sir—
ROOFTOP: The real question here ain’t “Do I think I’m more important?” The actual fuckin’ question is, “Do you think I’m important enough?”
FATHER LUX: Can you provide me a single, compelling reason why I should?
ROOFTOP: How ‘bout ’cuz you’re a priest and it’s your goddamned job?! Shit, what are you—some kinda rookie?!
FATHER LUX: I’ve been a priest for forty-six years, sir.
ROOFTOP: Well, whatchu been doin’ the past half century—playin’ pinochle?! Can’t you tell when a man is coming to you afraid?
FATHER LUX: Afraid of what?
ROOFTOP: Goddamnit, Father, I’m afraid a everything! Is that what ya wanna hear? Afraid I’m never gonna be the person I thought I’d be, back when I thought I had all the time in the world to get there! I’m afraid to go next door ta pay my respects to ol’ Sister Rose ’cuz my goddamn ex-wife Inez, she’s prolly right next door over there at the wake! She don’t like me! I don’t like me! And I’m afraid that the person I’ll like least wherever I go will always be me!! … Okay, mothahfuckah?! You happy?!
(Beat)
FATHER LUX: My name is Father Lux.
ROOFTOP: Yeah, so what?
FATHER LUX: I’m sorry.
(Beat)
ROOFTOP: Lux, huh? You mean, like—
FATHER LUX: Like the soap, yes.
ROOFTOP: I was gonna say Lux as in the Latin, meaning “light.”
FATHER LUX: That’s impressive. Most people say the soap.
ROOFTOP: Well, I’m not most people.
FATHER LUX: No disputing that.
ROOFTOP: I’m twelve years Catholic school educated—I know my Latin. Rident stolidi de verba latina—ain’t that right, Father?
FATHER LUX: Yes. Yes it is … Listen, why don’t you tell me what brought you to confession today.
ROOFTOP: You mean, like, specifically?
FATHER LUX: Specifically, yes.
ROOFTOP: Uh …
(There is a loud insistent knocking on the confessional door.)
FATHER LUX: (To ROOFTOP) Hold on a sec, I’ll get rid of him …
(To the knocker) Please wait your turn, I’m in the middle of a confession.
BALTHAZAR: Father: This is the New York City Police Department. I’m afraid I must ask the gentleman in the confessional to step out, hands up, and vacate the booth.
FATHER LUX: (To ROOFTOP) This has never happened to me before.
BALTHAZAR: I repeat: Gentleman in confessional, step out—now.
ROOFTOP: I got weed on me, Father, could you help a brother out?
BALTHAZAR: Gentleman in the confessional, I am drawing my weapon—
ROOFTOP: Don’t shoot! Don’t
shoot!
(ROOFTOP exits the confessional.)
ROOFTOP: Balthazar?!
BALTHAZAR: Rooftop! What’s up, my man?!!!
ROOFTOP: Mothahfuckah, what the fuck you think you doin’! You scared hell outta me!?!
BALTHAZAR: Come on, brother, I’m with Flip at the bar? I’ll buy you a beer.
ROOFTOP: A beer?! Balthazar—I’m conductin’ some serious business in there with the Father—what I want with a damn beer?
BALTHAZAR: Yo, Rooftop, what’s the matter, man? Can’t you take a little joke?
ROOFTOP: Joke?! I’m holding a bag of weed and a eight-ball of blow on me, brother—cops bangin’ down the door on me ain’t no joke!
BALTHAZAR: I’m sorry.
ROOFTOP: Jokes like that send mothahfuckahs into intensive care units for fuckin’ heart attacks, man!
BALTHAZAR: (To ROOFTOP) Look, I saw your limo out front. I got excited. I’m sorry. (To priest) I’m sorry, Father.
ROOFTOP: You okay, Father?
FATHER LUX: I’m fine.
ROOFTOP: Where your legs at, Father?
FATHER LUX: Korea.
(Pause)
BALTHAZAR: I’ll, uh, we’ll catch up later, right?
ROOFTOP: Hey—someone punch you in yo eye, Balthazar?
BALTHAZAR: Bad day. I’m fine. I’m gonna go. Bye, Roof. Father.
(BALTHAZAR crosses to leave.)
FATHER LUX: (Re: the confessional) Shall we?
ROOFTOP: Yeah, uh … (To BALTHAZAR) Where you gonna be at? The bar?
BALTHAZAR: Yeah.
ROOFTOP: The bar at the corner?
BALTHAZAR: Yeah.
ROOFTOP: With Flip Johnson, you said?
BALTHAZAR: “Me, Flip, an’ a potato chip.”
ROOFTOP: Inez ain’t down there, is she?
BALTHAZAR: Nah.
ROOFTOP: Y’all havin’ a little drink, huh?
PRIEST: Uh—
BALTHAZAR: You wanna come?
ROOFTOP: I mean, a little drink is soothin’, ain’t no one tryin’ ta deny that.
(PINKY enters with grocery bag.)
PINKY: Rooftop!!
ROOFTOP: Oh, shit! Wassup, Governor?
BALTHAZAR: Pinky, my man, que pasa?
PINKY: Hi Rooftop.
ROOFTOP: You doin’ okay, Governor?
PINKY: Yes.
ROOFTOP: Well, all right!
PINKY: I’m going to confession. Then, I’m going to bring these Yodels and milk to Edwin so we can eat them.
BALTHAZAR: Man with a plan.
PINKY: Yes. Then, I’m going to find Norca.
ROOFTOP: Well, I won’t keep ya then. (Proffering a bill) Say, Guv, you got change for this fiddy?
PINKY: No.
ROOFTOP: (With a wink) Then I guess you gonna haveta hang on to it then.
PINKY: Oh. Okay.
ROOFTOP: (Re: the confessional) Go on, handle your business now.
PINKY: Yes.
ROOFTOP: (Turning to exit) Nice rappin’ with ya, Padre.
FATHER LUX: (To ROOFTOP) Sir?
PINKY: I’m ready to confess, Father.
FATHER LUX: (To ROOFTOP) Sir! Wait! (To PINKY) Ya know what, Pinky? Confession is over.
PINKY: But it’s not noon, Father.
FATHER LUX: Yeah, but still, it’s over.
PINKY: But it’s not noon.
FATHER LUX: I know it’s not noon.
PINKY: Thass ’cuz it’s not noon.
ROOFTOP: Later, fellas.
(ROOFTOP exits.)
FATHER LUX: Wait!
PINKY: How could it be noon when it’s not noon?
FATHER LUX: Sir!—
PINKY: If it’s not noon, then it’s not noon. ’Cuz if it wasn’t noon, but it was noon, then it’d be noon. But I don’t think it’s noon, Father.
(FATHER LUX turns back to PINKY.)
FATHER LUX: What?
(Beat)
PINKY: I brought you some mixed nuts.
FATHER LUX: Oh … thanks.
PINKY: Yes. Planter’s.
FATHER LUX: Great.
(PINKY pecks FATHER LUX’s cheek.)
FATHER LUX: Don’t do that, Pinky!
PINKY: You looked sad.
FATHER LUX: Don’t do that ever.
PINKY: Oh … Why?
FATHER LUX: Why? … Just don’t do it!
(Beat)
(PINKY pauses, hoping for a reaction from FATHER LUX, doesn’t get one. Hands FATHER LUX the peanuts, exits.)
(Blackout)
ACT II: NIGHT
Scene 1: Bar and Grill, 10 p.m.
ROOFTOP: Man, you can’t juss sneak me in there for a minute, Balthazar? Flash your badge? Lemme take care of my business, pay my respects?
BALTHAZAR: Pay your respects to who? There’s nothing in there but an empty casket.
ROOFTOP: But there’s, like, a photo of her in there, right?
BALTHAZAR: They stole it.
ROOFTOP: Stole the photo? Well, how ‘bout a mass card then? Sumpthin’. ’Cuz I’m tryin’ ta catch the midnight flight out of La Guardia, brother.
Our Lady of 121st Street Page 5
