JULIE: What?
TIM: And like avowed agnostics so they won’t interfere with
JULIE: But that’s
TIM: On the other hand awful I know ’cause it’s like:
What is this, a roundup?
Are the trains waiting?
But maybe it’s
inflammatory
to make that kind of comparison
JULIE: Sweetie?
TIM: Yeah Mom?
JULIE: The restaurant’s closed today.
(Beat.)
TIM: . . . Did somebody just call?
JULIE: No, sweetie, I know how things like scheduling are not your forte so I checked it out
TIM: You
JULIE: Checked it out
TIM: Holy
JULIE: yesterday
TIM: shit, holy shit
JULIE: just to make extra special sure we’d have you
TIM: This is
JULIE: and they told me they’re closed
TIM: espionage?
JULIE: No—darling—
TIM: Jesus—you’re like Stasi.
JULIE: Sweetie—
TIM: It’s like the symphony conductor ratting out the viola section—
JULIE: I’m your mom.
(Beat.)
TIM: Oh oh—oh:
To the public.
JULIE: Um?
TIM: You must have asked . . .
Did you ask
like
for a reservation?
(Jeff reenters quietly, hangs back.)
JULIE: I just asked: Are you open on Christmas?
TIM: Well, there you are, that was your mistake.
This is a private party.
(Beat.)
JULIE: Is it?
TIM: A family function—
“La famiglia.”
And of course I tried to get out of it
but
I need this job
and
I’m
Jewish.
So.
JULIE: . . . I see.
(Pause. The pause lengthens.)
TIM: I can . . . take long breaks and shit.
JULIE: Can you?
TIM: I . . .
yeah . . .
it’s Christmas.
What are they gonna do: Fire me?
JULIE: I’d say not.
(The doorbell rings.)
Faye! That must be—
JEFF: I’ll get it for you—
JULIE: Nononono.
I’m strong
(And she’s off. A moment. Tim just stands there. Jeff approaches.)
JEFF: Look, it’s not my place but you’ve got to cut this shit.
TIM: What shit?
There’s no shit to
JEFF: Your mother.
You have to be here.
TIM: . . . I’m
here,
I—
What do you mean?
JEFF: Tim.
(Pause.)
TIM: Okay.
Like: first:
We don’t know she’s
JEFF: We do.
(Beat.)
TIM: This is a complicated time in my
JEFF: All times are complicated
TIM: This is more?
JEFF: It doesn’t matter.
TIM: . . . Molly is, like
JEFF: It makes no difference
TIM: Jeff man, whoa, okay?
There are competing imperatives involved—
JEFF: Oh guess what: The competition has ended, your mom has won.
(Faye and Julie enter. Faye with bags.)
FAYE: Hello Hello Hello Hello!
(From the boys: ad-lib greetings.)
Jeff, so nice to see you. You look wonderful. You’ve gained a little gravitas.
(Jeff goes to her. She kisses him.)
JEFF: And you, Faye.
FAYE (Referring to Tim): Uh!
Heart-stopper!
Come here.
(Tim goes to her. A little shyly; he likes her. She smooches him.)
Look at you—look at you!
TIM: Merry Christmas, Aunt / Faye—damn! I didn’t get you any
FAYE (Staring at his face): It’s uncanny.
Julie, it’s uncanny—
You’d think over time it would lessen . . .
(Awkward pause.)
JULIE (Brightening): What have you brought?
FAYE: I’m late because Pathmark didn’t have a babka.
Do you believe it?
JULIE: No babka!
FAYE: I know: This day, sans babka. I am persona non grata—Finally, I found a simulacrum at a Korean deli. I won’t vouch for it but at least it’s a gesture in the direction. And I brought those curtains / I told you about
JULIE: All the way from / Roslyn?
FAYE: I shlepped them on the LIRR, it was good, I didn’t have to sit next to anybody. I’m dying to see if they work in the bedroom, we can just hold them up, we don’t have to / hang them
JULIE: Let’s go then
FAYE: First I need to visit the bathroom—
JULIE: Main one’s kaput. You’ll need to use the one in the sitting room— I’ll take you there, you’ll never / find it.
FAYE: After all these years . . . it’s true.
JULIE: Hilarious—oh! All these glamorous entrances and exits—I’ve missed them!
(Julie and Faye head off. Jeff and Tim are left with their conversation.)
JEFF: I don’t mean to overstep.
TIM: Jeff man—I just don’t want you to be burdened, okay?
JEFF: I’m not.
TIM: I really appreciate how you’ve always like
maintained this presence in my life.
JEFF: I only
TIM: Like always remembering my birthday and presents
and the letters, that was really nice and I’m so contrite that I forgot to get you / anything
JEFF: That’s not a
TIM (Continuous): And I know that you were kind of like trying to be this ersatz big brother to me. Like to kind of substitute for Scotty and all?
JEFF: I would never presume to do that.
I know I could never . . . play that role.
TIM: Right: You can’t
JEFF: Yes, I realize
TIM: ’Cause I don’t remember him . . .
I don’t remember the guy.
He’s like: The Family Myth.
(Beat.)
So you shouldn’t feel like you need to re-create something . . .
’Cause there’s nothing. Okay?
You can be, like, Trusty Family Friend Jeff Who’s Always There For Us And Of Whom We’re Fond.
(Beat.)
Which should prove less burdensome to you
JEFF: You don’t remember him?
TIM: I think
he was . . . nice.
He was nice, right?
JEFF: Yes.
TIM: I remember someone being nice to me
. . .
I mean
they tried but my mom is not one of your more factual people.
She’d just say, “Oh Scotty,” or some shit like that and she’d get this look.
And my dad, he was like,
“Oh Scott Scott,” and there’d be all these tales of derring-do
and prognostications of what would have been
and what the world had lost and I’d listen and be like: Okay, this is not people.
But I guess it was nice for him to think so?
. . .
And you know once Scotty got bad-sick they wouldn’t
let me near him?
Like they were afraid I’d catch it?
Or, I think, he looked bad.
JEFF: Yes.
TIM: Yeah, I think he looked really, really bad.
They didn’t want to scare me
And I was only five or something prenatal like
that so really what do you expect?
(Beat.)
JEFF: In that case, with my authority as th
e trusty family friend on whom you can rely, I tell you, you must hang around here.
All the time, Tim.
(Beat.)
TIM: It’s not like I don’t love my / mom— Jeez—
JEFF: No one is saying / that
TIM: Molly kinda needs me around, too—
JEFF: Bring her here.
TIM: I can’t
JEFF: There are plenty of rooms—drafty and with leaks, and you’ll get chilblains / but
TIM: I can’t bring her here.
JEFF: You can.
You will.
TIM: Right. (Beat) Okay. (Beat) Right.
The thing is
(Pause. Big decision.)
Molly is, like . . . in a vague way . . . knocked up?
(Beat.)
JEFF: Shit. (Beat) You don’t use a
TIM: Not that time, no
JEFF: The point is to use it every / time
TIM: Nobody uses it every time when they’re going out with / one
JEFF: I beg to differ
TIM: Maybe you do. But then, you’ve always struck me as
an exceptionally ruly sort of fellow, Jeff.
But other than you, no.
JEFF: —Well, I’m not going to comment on that chipper bit of sociology.
So. Jesus!
Is she going to have it?
Is she going to have this preventable white child?
TIM: We can’t, like, decide?
We’ve been pretty feckless about it, to be completely truthful.
Truthfully, we’ve been inordinately feckless. We just go back and forth.
JEFF: May I put in my two cents?
TIM: I’d very much appreciate them.
JEFF: You’re extremely young.
You don’t have prospects.
You barely have a job.
Who knows if this relationship has a future? A baby will yoke you forever.
Looked at common-sensically . . . it’s a bad idea, Tim.
TIM (Nods): I appreciate that, Jeff.
That strikes me as very lucid thinking. As I would only expect from you
. . .
The only thing is? She’s in her eighth month?
JEFF: Oh fuck.
TIM: So I mean . . . like . . .
that decides it, right?
’Cause the alternative is . . . gruesome
. . .
So, I mean, she can’t be here.
’Cause my mom will not fail to note and correctly interpret the obstetric mass
JEFF: Tim, eventually your mom is going to
TIM: Well . . . not necessarily.
Right?
(Beat.)
Like I think, in the far reaches of the night, my mom derives great comfort from saying to herself, Well, at least he hasn’t impregnated anyone. And I don’t want to take that away from her.
JEFF: You’re not a fuck-up.
TIM: I’m pretty feckless, Jeff, I’m pretty goddamn feck—
JEFF: You’re young.
TIM: I’m not that / young.
JEFF: Christ, of course / you
TIM: You just like to think people are young so that you can still be young but: I’m not that young
JEFF: . . . How do you intend to support this child?
TIM: Shit if I know.
Sell my body?
JEFF: Tim.
TIM: I don’t mean it, Jeff . . .
That’s totally a last resort.
JEFF: Oy. This secrecy—it isn’t a plausible strategy
TIM: Jeff man, you gotta keep this to yourself, you promised.
JEFF: When was that?
TIM: Come on.
Really.
(Beat.)
You’re like a brother to me—
(Julie enters with a platter.)
JULIE: The quest for the babka has outflanked Faye; she’s lying down. You’re still here!
TIM: I’m going.
JULIE (Setting down the platter): I’ve brought gougères (Going to liquor cart)
The curtains look very promising by the—
What are we drinking?
TIM: I’m gonna see you later, Mom.
JULIE: Will you?
TIM (Unconvincing): Yeah.
JEFF (Jovial): Of course you will.
(Undertone, blackmail) You’ll want to be checking up on me.
(Tim’s eyes widen.)
TIM: Later, Mom
JULIE: Yes . . . yes.
(Tim goes. She has a faltering moment.)
Scotch?
I have this lovely scotch, it’s very peaty, very smoky, it will remind you of your favorite day in fall, you’ll drink it neat.
JEFF: Yes, thank you.
(She brings drinks, sits.)
JULIE: I frighten him.
JEFF: I don’t think it’s that
JULIE: He thinks of me as a sort of special effect from a horror movie. Fast-forward, the flesh falls off and nothing left but the howling skeleton, something like that.
You don’t want to terrify your child.
JEFF: I’m sure that isn’t
JULIE: He runs away.
He won’t look at me. He never looks at me.
(Jeff can’t speak to this.)
He’s so unfinished.
I still have so much to do to him.
I don’t know if . . .
(She lives in this a moment, shakes it off. Brightly:)
I’ll get to it when I get to it and it will be fine!
Let’s be a drinks party, you and I. I’m so happy to have you back.
JEFF: I’m so happy to / be here
JULIE: I never realized how much I’d counted on being able to see you until you were gone.
Oh! And thank you for having a look into my finances such as they / are.
JEFF: Not at all
JULIE: Things have got a little out of hand what with one thing and / another
JEFF: I’m glad I can / help
JULIE: We need to talk about / payment
JEFF: I won’t hear of it
JULIE: But
JEFF: Shut up.
Shut up.
(A moment.)
JULIE: Five years in Chicago!— What could you have been thinking?
Have a gougère, by the— (He takes one)
Did you love it?
The Midwest!
Did you make tons of money?
JEFF: Yes.
To the money.
This gougère is
JULIE: Oh good!
I like to imagine a great flock of money dive-bombing you like a Hitchcock scene.
But how could you stand it?
JEFF: Well
JULIE: And why did you go?
I’ll pause so you can answer.
JEFF: . . .
Chicago seemed . . . plausible.
It’s a city, there are Jews, the office was exciting,
the deal I negotiated staggering.
They wanted me.
And New York had been . . . for a while . . .
JULIE: Did you like it there?
JEFF: For a time, yes.
Very much.
I did well
. . .
There was a case, it was sort of thorny—we had to decide whether to litigate or settle.
The decision was up to me.
The thing was, the award was potentially gigantic but a misstep would have been disastrous.
I had a number of meetings with the head of the department, many I suppose.
The discussions were quite sane, I thought, quite precise, it was even exhilarating in a way, Socratic.
Then out of the blue, he screamed at me, “Fucker, you say ‘on the one hand’ one more time, you’re only gonna have one hand.”
. . .
That sort of signaled that my time there had drawn to a close.
JULIE: I see
. . .
And what about the woman?
JEFF: Woman?
JULIE: Wasn’t there a woman?
JEFF: No
. . .
Not really, no
. . .
She was married and . . . I respect people’s vows
. . .
I would sort of gawk at her? I think?
. . .
I took to asking her weirdly neutral questions.
She’d say things like: “How would I know the proportion of water to rice? I can’t cook toast.”
. . .
Eventually, she darted into rooms whenever I’d . . . pass
. . .
Sort of hilarious, if you think about it.
I’ve tried very hard . . . to do the right thing.
To be . . . fair? Even?
Apparently, that’s an outrage, people blame you for it.
It’s tiring. Rather: “World Without Amen, End,” do you know?
So . . . I decided it was time for a break.
And I came back.
Home.
JULIE: But you’re staying at one of those awful corporate high / rises
JEFF: Just for the time being.
Anyway, I have this place.
(A moment. It gets itchy.)
So boeuf bourguignon and . . .?
JULIE: Oh!
It’s a mad menu, you’ll go crazy for it!
We start with clear soup
JEFF: Clear soup, like / the old plays
JULIE: Then quenelles Escoffier.
Then the stew.
And with the stew I’m making popovers
JEFF: I love pop / overs
JULIE: Sort of a Yorkshire pudding idea.
And petits pois. And lyonnaise potatoes
JEFF: Wow
JULIE: I know: Insane, yes?
For four people, two of them old ladies good for a forkful a piece.
. . .
I hope four people.
JEFF: It will be.
JULIE: He prefers . . . the company of others, these days.
His girlfriend
JEFF: Do you know her?
JULIE: I met her once.
JEFF: And is
JULIE: Lovely, oh, lovely!
She looked as if she’d chosen her clothes in 1978 and never put them up for review—
this floor-length kind of peasant burlap thing—it was touching.
And there was a recorder sticking out of her backpack—I was terrified there was going to be an outbreak of “Greensleeves” but . . . there wasn’t.
She’s . . . timeless, I think.
He likes her.
He has a way of . . . no longer showing up here.
He passes through.
He doesn’t even visit, he . . . tithes to his conscience.
If he would just give me . . . one whole evening.
JEFF: He will tonight.
JULIE: Will he?
You guarantee it?
JEFF: I do: Scotty will be back.
JULIE: Scotty?
The Assembled Parties Page 6
