SCOTTY: Not at all, Mom, don’t / worry
JULIE: I worry— Is Ilana / coming?
SCOTTY: Probably not—we should start without her
JULIE (Disappointed): Oh . . . I so wanted her to . . . Next year?
SCOTTY: Sure.
(Julie returns to fussing with the food.
About Scotty in this scene: He has a social manner; it’s not at all fake—it’s disarmingly natural—but it is practiced and it lends him a quality both more solid and more starry than other young men.)
FAYE: Scotty!
SCOTTY: Aunt Faye.
FAYE: We haven’t seen / you
SCOTTY: I’m sorry I’ve been so scarce.
FAYE (Hugging him): Don’t apologize. Would I be with us if I had another option?
SCOTTY (Laughs): Auntie, you’re hilarious. / You look great
BEN: Mort, rye bread’s on the table straight from the freezer just the way you like it
MORT (Reaches for it): Very good, very good
FAYE (Slaps it out of his hand): You can wait.
SCOTTY: Hey, Uncle Mort
(Seeing Scotty, Ben is stricken.)
MORT: What’s news, what’s news?
SCOTTY (Hugs Mort): Good to / see you
BEN (Wants to stop the hug): Scott?
SCOTTY: Yeah, Dad?
BEN: . . . How are you?
SCOTTY: Good. How are you?
BEN: . . . Good. Fine.
(Shelley wanders in.)
SHELLEY: Hi!
SCOTTY: Shelley. (He hugs her) You look amazing
JULIE: Everybody take whatever seats you want; we’re anarchists this year, no place cards
FAYE (Overlaps): Shelley! Where were you?
SHELLEY: I don’t know where I was—too many rooms in this house!
MORT: Shelley, sit down.
(Shelley sits.)
FAYE: So, Scotty? I heard you toured the Malaria Route.
SCOTTY: It was pretty rugged.
JULIE: I’m going to do one last inspection of the kitchen—you always think you’ve put out everything then it turns out you’ve forgotten the most expensive thing in the oven and you don’t remember until it’s a rancid odor
FAYE: I’ll look with you, Julie.
BEN: No! I will!
FAYE: Forgive me for / living
BEN: You tame your family; kidding—
(Julie and Ben go to the kitchen. Julie does a look-round. Ben hangs back, looking at her.
Jeff enters the dining room. He’s wearing a suit. Scotty sees him, bursts out laughing. Jeff blushes.)
JEFF: I . . .
SCOTTY: I didn’t think you’d take me seriously.
(Jeff smiles crookedly.)
No, it’s good, really.
You look adorable
. . . You’ll get dates.
(People seat themselves, sort themselves out, Mort takes bread. Jeff looks wounded.
In the kitchen:)
JULIE: I think I actually got everything out there. First time!
Isn’t that unpreceden . . . Except the gravy spoon. (She sees Ben looking at her)
What are you looking at?
BEN: You.
JULIE: Have I come undone?
BEN: No. I still can’t understand it
(Beat.)
JULIE: What?
BEN: Why you chose me
JULIE: Oh, are we in an abstracted and self-dramatizing mood and at the least convenient possible / time?
BEN: I mean it.
JULIE: My God, you had so much money!
(Beat.)
BEN: Except I didn’t.
Not then.
JULIE: You’re fishing.
BEN: I’m not.
I’m bewildered . . .
Sometimes I feel . . .
JULIE: . . . And sometimes you / don’t
BEN: Nonexistent?
JULIE: I know.
BEN: You know?
You’ve sensed this in me?
JULIE: It’s in Gail Sheehy.
BEN: You’re mocking / me.
JULIE: I’m not mocking you, I’m dismissing you.
There’s dinner.
(Beat.)
BEN: Listen, I have to tell you something.
(She listens. But he doesn’t say anything.)
JULIE: Possibly . . . later . . .? If . . . there’s a . . . This isn’t real, is it?
BEN: . . . I
JULIE: Is there . . . something . . . specific?
(Beat.)
BEN: There are no specifics.
(Beat.)
JULIE: Because if there should be any . . .
I won’t mind.
(Beat.)
BEN: That director, he heard your laugh, right? And he said to himself: I must have questa ragazza for my next masterpiece di chinaymahtiko—
JULIE: Oh doll, fairy tales? / Now?
BEN: But this is true.
JULIE: Sometimes they are; still . . .
The goose will fly away if we / don’t
BEN: You were at the automat.
JULIE: Twenty-One.
BEN: Your automat.
JULIE: You find ways to be right even if you’re absolutely / wrong
BEN: And De Sica
JULIE: Not De Sica—can you at least, if you’re going to gum up the works, get the names / right?
BEN: He heard you laugh before he even saw you— What were you laughing at?
JULIE: I don’t re / member
BEN: . . . I saw you first. Cupid’s dart
JULIE: Sweetie, you’re making that up. I was famous.
The first time you saw me I was eighteen feet tall. (He still stares at her)
There are young men and Rappaports waiting for us; if we don’t feed them, they’ll start gnawing on each other . . . Later, maybe.
BEN: I’m going to go to the hospital later. See Mom.
JULIE (Everything explained): Of course. I’ll come with you.
BEN: No. I want to go alone.
JULIE: . . . Yes. That’s best.
I’m so glad.
(She touches his face, kisses him. He smiles uncomfortably.)
Come.
(They return to the dining room. She looks at the table.)
Salt and pepper.
After all that self-congratulation, I forgot the salt and
JEFF: I’ll get it with you!
JULIE (Notices Jeff): Oh look at you!
Aren’t you gorgeous!
You put the rest of us to shame!
Yes. Come help.
MORT: She needs help getting salt and pepper?
FAYE: Hush.
JULIE: How are your parents?
JEFF: Good. They say hi. (Once they are in the kitchen, with some urgency) He’s not going to marry her.
JULIE (Momentarily baffled): Sweetie?
JEFF: Scotty. He’s not going to marry Ilana. In fact, they may be breaking up.
JULIE: Oh!
JEFF: But he doesn’t want to go to Harvard next year. He thinks he may want to be a teacher. I’m trying to change his mind. Please don’t tell him I told you these things!
JULIE: No . . . no.
JEFF (Nods): Should I take the salt or the pepper?
JULIE: . . . The salt, I’d think.
(He takes it, returns to the dining room. She looks at him thoughtfully, then follows.
In the dining room there is a pleasant hubbub.)
Yes. Hello. Yes.
Everyone, it will delay eating even further, but I want to say something.
(They give her their attention.)
It’s so lovely to be here
with all of you
with people I love and people I will love.
And mindful of people we love who are absent and in poor condition tonight—
well maybe not love . . . exactly . . .
But who are our own.
There are no real protocols here
but there’s no reason not to make some up.
How I love formalisms. I’ve always thought God was bogus—do you like that, Scotty? “Bogus” like your generation
SCOTTY: Proud of you, Mom
JULIE: Anyway:
God is bogus and religion a scourge.
Still
I believe in something. Though I’m not sure what.
And I rather like prayer.
Prayer is
I think
yearning set to music!
And nothing is more human than to yearn.
Don’t you agree, Jeff?
JEFF: Uh
JULIE: I know you do.
So lovely Christmas.
It’s a pity, I guess, Ilana isn’t here to
sort of legitimize us, though from what I understand
she’s more pagan than Christian.
And anyway, it’s a much purer matter of decor this
way, isn’t it?
The holiness of shiny surfaces.
And you all look so shiny—
particularly the young ones!
All mystery—what will be? What will become of you?
But perhaps I’m digressing.
Oh I did want this to have some sort of structure.
Oh well, I suppose it’s time to pass the platters and
oh! wait!
I thought of one other thing I like
and, yes, I think this will round out the toast
or prayer
or whatever this is
nicely.
I like
very much
the word “amen.”
Does everybody know what that means?
It means:
I am in agreement.
Isn’t that a lovely thought?
There are times I want to say amen to everybody—
the doormen and the greengrocer and even to Ben.
So I would love it if we would all just say it now
because I feel it’s the case here among us all
and then we can eat.
All right? Count of three?
One—two—three—
ALL (Generally, and some ambivalent): Amen.
JULIE: And now we can eat!
Act Two
Christmas Day, 2000
The living room. It’s gone slightly shabby. Jeff is on the house phone.
JEFF: Yes I know it’s Christmas but the bathtub or the sink
or the God forbid toilet in 15D does—
Uh-huh. Well, in addition this apartment itself is leaking from . . . I see.
Well what about young Mr. Figueroa? Diego?
Carlos.
Right.
Right.
I’m sure, Mrs. Bascov would be happy to pay a Nativity . . . surcharge, if that . . .
Uh-huh—well—if you’d ask, I’d—
Thank you.
Feliz Navi—yeah. (He hangs up)
Julie?
JULIE (Off): Yes?
JEFF: Maybe I can look under the sink.
Do you have a flashlight? Because the overhead / light is
JULIE (Enters): I think the Y2K flashlight is in the escritoire.
JEFF: Okay.
JULIE: It’s still in shrink-wrap so you’ll have to tug.
JEFF: Oh—I’m never able to get those out.
Maybe I can see without seeing.
JULIE: Sweetie, I certainly didn’t mean for you to become a janitor—
JEFF: No no, it’s just the immediacy of a leak—
No plaster is falling at least
JULIE: Let it leak / then
JEFF: It’s leaking at least into a basin
JULIE (Simultaneous with above): It’s leaking into a sink—I suppose we
JEFF: Damnable how no one will help simply because it’s Christ / mas
JULIE: We always had to call the super for everything—Ben died still not knowing how to change a light bulb . . . I suppose I ought to find a pail or something and collect the water, what with scarcity scarcity everywhere
JEFF: Sure but— What would you do with the harvested wat—
JULIE: Flush the toilet with it? Isn’t that what you do with harvested / water
JEFF: I think that’s . . . hurricanes?
JULIE: Useless! I’m useless! I’m a dab hand at absolutely nothing! Comes the revolution I’m going to be thrown against a wall and shot down in my overcoat like the Ceauşescus—
JEFF: Surely / not
JULIE: It’s the overcoats that break your heart, isn’t it—even for the Ceauşescus who were despots—but, I mean, the dailiness of it, the trivial provision for comfort when you’re going to be marched before a firing squad, it’s piercing—
JEFF: Uh-huh, yeah.
Do you need help with dinner?
JULIE: No, dinner is perking away nicely on its own; boeuf bourguignon, how’s that for a throwback?
JEFF: Because if you need any help don’t be shy or—
JULIE: No no—you’re being a dream—but I am strong.
JEFF: Then, I think I’ll have at the valve—
JULIE: That’s an excellent / idea
(Tim enters.)
TIM: Hey.
JULIE: Timothy! You’re here!
Did we leave the front door unlocked? That’s a / terribly careless thing to
TIM: No, I used my key.
JULIE: You haven’t lost your key!
Oh, this really does feel like Christmas!
TIM (Sees Jeff): Oh shit. Jeff man. Shit.
I didn’t bring you a present
JEFF: That’s completely not a / problem
TIM: But I brought my mom a present, I should have brought you
JEFF: That’s very thoughtful of you / to bring your mom
TIM (Thrusts a wrapped package at her): Here.
JULIE (Hugs him): What gorgeous wrapping—let’s put it under the tree. And I can spend all night trying to guess what it is.
That’s my favorite part, the anticipation and the / specu
TIM (To please her): It’s a cookbook.
(Beat.)
JULIE: But there are scads of cuisines and I can sort of dream which / this might be and
TIM (To please her some more): It’s Mexican.
(Beat.)
JULIE: Thank you so much, sweetie, I’m
TIM: I’m really sorry, Jeff man, my mind is like all fractal geometry these days, I should have remem / bered
JEFF (Goes to shake his hand): Tim, it’s great to see you
TIM (Hugs him): Yeah, you too, man. (They nod)
JEFF: I need to stem a leak; I’ll see you / in a couple of minutes
TIM: Um, okay
JULIE: Come sit with me, sweetie
(Jeff exits.)
TIM: Um, yeah. Well . . . okay
(She leads him and they sit.)
JULIE: Baby?
TIM: Yes?
JULIE: You’ll never guess whom I ran into last week.
TIM: Whom?
JULIE: Robman Glaspiegl.
TIM: Who’s that?
JULIE: Well he’s the president, darling.
TIM: Of the United States?
JULIE: Baby, of your college!
(Beat.)
TIM: Um I don’t go to college?
JULIE: No but you did. For three and a half not entirely quixotic years. And last year, he took over the presidency. Anyway, we got to talking.
TIM: How?
JULIE: One does at these things.
TIM: What kind of thing / was it?
JULIE: It was a charity function—
TIM: Oh. What charity?
JULIE: I don’t remember.
TIM: You don’t remember?
Isn’t that like the most important part?
JULIE: Something worthy.
All right?
Something worthy and wrenching and urgent and you get to dress up.
And anyway we got to talking—
TIM: How?
JULIE: We found each other.
We were in proxim
ity.
And we know each other.
TIM: How do you know / each other?
JULIE: We dated, all right?
TIM: You dated the president of my
JULIE: When we were fifteen. Don’t be grossed out.
We didn’t sleep together.
Anyway:
I acquainted him with your case
TIM: I don’t have a case, Mom
JULIE: You are a—
Yes:
You have a case.
And Robman told me it would be in no way exceptional for a student in your posi
TIM: I’m not a / student
JULIE: Former student in your present position to complete his degree off-campus simply by writing his thesis while in consultation with an appropriate faculty member.
Not in any way exceptional.
You could make in-person office visits once or twice a semester. Which is not a hardship given that it’s barely more than an hour away by train.
TIM: It’s not like—what? Did you tell him I was an English major or something?
JULIE: They’re people, / too
TIM: “Write your thesis on anthropogenic contaminants from the comfort of your home. Win cash prizes.”
It doesn’t work that way, Mom—
JULIE: I told him what your field is; he said it could all be managed—isn’t that great?
(Tim looks fretful.)
TIM: I’ve got to go.
JULIE: Timothy.
TIM: I’ve got to go
JULIE: We can’t keep skirting this, dear. You’re simply not allowed to remain eternally amorphous. You’re of too fine material for
TIM: I’ve got to / go
JULIE: Timothy
TIM: I’ve got to / go
JULIE: You mustn’t be daunted, darling; there’s nothing to be daunted by. According to the standardized tests, you’re the brightest of any of us. If things were different, I might say all right, wealthy eccentric, glad tidings go.
But.
TIM: I’m very, like, promised forth?
JULIE: Where?
TIM: . . . Like everywhere?
JULIE: I don’t accept that, sweetie.
“Everywhere” doesn’t cut the mustard these days.
TIM: No it’s—I have to work.
JULIE: Today?
TIM: Yeah.
JULIE: On Christmas?
TIM: I know.
JULIE: At the restaurant?
TIM: Yeah yeah I know—
It’s . . .
Well, in a way it’s enlightened because they, um, mostly it’s Jews who are working
The Assembled Parties Page 5
