by James Reston
MIKE: We appreciate that fact, sir. It was the first thing we noticed.
COOTIE: I sure appreciate it. I think I can speak for Norman and Shelly, and if any of the other guys were here they’d appreciate it a lot.
MIKE: I mean it’s not as if we underestimate the life of a cop. For chrissakes, I mean, our uncle’s a cop. His father’s a cop. A lot of us around here are pretty close to the world of cops.
BREAM: You got cops in the family?
EFFING: Hey, Bream, look at this heater.
BREAM: Yeah.
MIKE: It’s not like we don’t know what you guys have to put up with. It can be a pretty crappy job.
BREAM: I don’t know . . .
MIKE: I’m not saying it doesn’t have its rewards. My uncle’s life is full of rewards. His father’s life is very meaningful.
BREAM: Yeah, that’s what I mean.
COOTIE gets up and starts to leave the room.
EFFING: Hey, Bream, the kid’s leaving the room.
COOTIE: I got a call from nature.
BREAM: That’s legit. You go ahead, kid.
COOTIE goes out the front door.
EFFING: Hey, Bream, the kid says he’s going to the euphemism and what if he’s got some stuff on him or something. He can flush it down and come back clean.
BREAM: He’s O.K.
EFFING: Jesus, Bream. Sir.
BREAM: The guy’s new on the job. He don’t know the score yet.
MIKE: You know how some people exaggerate. I mean, look what they say in the papers about you guys. Maybe, like after a shower we’ll come in here to get an anchovy snack or chocolate milk or something, and we forget to put something on . . .
EFFING: Look at that, Bream, the girl keeps sitting under there . . .
BREAM: Goddammit, Effing, who’s in charge around here?
EFFING: But she’s sitting under there . . .
BREAM: Did we come here to investigate a complaint about a girl sitting under the table?
EFFING: No, sir, but . . .
BREAM: The girl happens to be well within her rights as a taxpaying citizen of the community to sit under any table she wants, and until we get complaints about her sitting under there, we leave her alone. Understand?
EFFING: Yeah, yeah, yeah . . .
SHELLY: Thanks.
BREAM: That’s O.K., lady. The kid’s a rookie. They give us pros a bad name. Now let me tell you something about the people complaining about you. They look in here and see you guys bare-assed and they’re complaining because they’re so sick of looking at each other they gotta go spying on you. We know about them people. They’re strict Roman Catholics. Twelve kids in four rooms. The old man can’t keep it in his pants for ten minutes running. So they got troubles, right, and everyone that’s got troubles wants to give troubles to someone else. So they make a complaint, and that’s well within their rights as law-abiding citizens of this community. I got enough troubles without their goddamn complaints. I got enough to do watching the Vietnam freaks and the niggers and the loonies going up on buildings with high-power rifles picking off everyone down below. Let me give you some good advice. Get curtains. They got some fiberglass curtains at Woolworth’s, you can’t tell them from real cotton. Twelve dollars and fifty cents a pair and they come in eight colors, plain and patterned. You get some curtain rods for a dollar sixty-nine apiece and for a total of twenty-eight dollars and thirty-eight cents you save yourself from a lot of crazy neighbors. If you can’t afford twenty-eight dollars and thirty-eight cents, get some gingham, thirty-nine cents a yard at Penney’s. Measure your windows and allow a foot extra at each end. All you gotta do is take up a three-inch hem at each end, fold it over once, and hand-stitch. A couple of curtain rings and you’re in business. Can you remember that, or d’you want me to write it down?
SHELLY: Hey, yeah, would you do that?
BREAM takes out a notebook and starts to write. EFFING is nervous.
EFFING: The kid’s been gone a long time.
BREAM: I got eyes, Effing.
EFFING: Yeah, yeah, yeah, O.K.
BREAM (Writing): So, what are you kids gonna do with yourselves? (Pause) Am I being nosy or something?
MIKE: No, I mean, there’s a lot of opportunities all over the place. We’re not jumping into anything without we’ve looked the whole thing over.
BREAM: Smart kids. Boy, that’s really something. Cop sending his kid to college. They must pay him pretty good, huh?
NORMAN: I guess so.
BREAM: Yeah, what’s he a sergeant . . . lieutenant or something?
NORMAN: He’s Chief of Police for Erie County.
BREAM (Whistles): Whew! Pretty good. That shut me up O.K. Chief of Police. Oh, boy, that’s really something.
NORMAN: It’s just his job, you know.
BREAM: Look, ah, here’s your instructions. I want them up by Wednesday. Any complaints after that and all of you guys’ll be in court, father or no father, you understand me? This ain’t Erie County.
MIKE: Yes, sir,
NORMAN: O.K.
COOTIE (Returns and stands in the door. There’s a pause): That’s better.
Scene 5
RUTH is scraping some cat food into a bowl. A cat comes in and eats. RUTH keeps glancing at her watch.
RUTH: Kitty-kitty-kitty-kitty-kitty. Chomp, chomp. Good girl. Make a lot of milk for the kitties.
KATHY comes in from the hall and throws herself down on a chair.
KATHY: Oh, Jesus, Ruth, how am I ever gonna tell him?
RUTH: Who?
KATHY: Bob, for chrissakes. Who else?
RUTH: Well, how should I know?
KATHY: I never slept with Dick. I know you got the idea I did, but it’s not true. He never got all the way
RUTH: . . . O.K. . . .
KATHY: . . . Yet. (Pause) I’m not saying I wouldn’t like to.
RUTH: So go ahead.
KATHY: Well, don’t try to pretend it doesn’t mean anything to you. You know as well as I do it’ll kill Bob if he ever finds out I’m even thinking of sleeping with Dick.
RUTH: That’s how it goes.
KATHY: Ruthie, look, we’ve know each other since freshman year. I can tell when you’re thinking something. This is really a big decision I’ve gotta make. What am I gonna do about Bob? I mean, it feels like maybe we’re you know, finished, but I like the guy. I really like him a lot and I respect his music. But I know he could never relate to me as a friend. It’s gotta be tied up with sex. I mean, Richard really seems to dig me, but I don’t know. He’s pretty together. He’s not the kind of guy you could really do something big for. Not like Bob.
RUTH: Oh, for shit’s sake, Kathy, Dick is a fucking parasite.
KATHY: That’s not fair, Ruth.
RUTH: Fair! Do you know what that guy’s doing to get into graduate school? You ever heard of Professor Roper in the Eastern Studies department?
KATHY: He’s Dick’s adviser.
RUTH: Yeah, and he also happens to be queer as a three-dollar bill, and Dick is fucking his wife to keep her quiet so good old Roper can suck cock with all those graduate students from Thailand or Malaya, or whatever the hell they are.
KATHY: Who said?
RUTH: Who said? For chrissakes, Kathy, the whole goddam school knows about it “Dirty Dicky.”
KATHY: That’s why?
RUTH: Yeah, what else? I mean, the guy washes eight times a day.
KATHY: Oh, man, how long have you guys known about this? I mean, why didn’t anyone ever tell me? You can’t just let him screw up his future like that. Hasn’t anyone tried to do anything about it?
RUTH: Like tell him Mrs. Roper’s got clap?
KATHY: Ruthie, the guy must be really suffering.
RUTH: Oh, shit, Kathy, let’s not have the big savior thing.
KATHY: That’s not very funny.
RUTH: Look, we’re all gonna graduate pretty soon, and we’re all gonna go away, and probably we’ll never see each other again except maybe like at
Christmas or something. So why don’t you worry about yourself and never mind about Dick and Bob. They’ll be O.K.
KATHY: Boy, you sure have changed, Ruth. I don’t know. You sure have changed.
BOB comes through front door carrying books.
BOB: I don’t believe it. It’s incredible. You know what happened today in counterpoint class? Remember I was telling you about Eric Shatz?
RUTH: . . . Three armpits . . .?
BOB: The very one.
KATHY (Nicely): Bob . . .
BOB, who has gone to the icebox to steal some of DICK’s hamburgers, stops short in whatever gesture HE is holding, only for a moment though, just long enough to cut KATHY. When HE resumes his story, HE is talking only to RUTH, who is wrapping a Christmas present.
BOB: Today Shatz turned in this perfect, spodess, clean counterpoint exercise. I mean, for someone as filthy as Shatz, that’s a miracle. They say his high-school yearbook voted him “The Most Likely to Attract Infectious Disease.” (HE has the hamburgers out by now. KATHY, being all nice, takes the hamburgers from him indicating that SHE’ll cook. HE goes away from her and sits with RUTH) He picks his nose and squeezes his pimples right there in class, and his counterpoint exercises have to be seen to be believed. He writes them in pencil, and if he makes a mistake or something, he spits on his eraser and rubs the paper about a hundred times . . . per note, so by the time he hands it to Professor Bolin, it’s just this gray sludge with lots of little black things swimming around on it. Anyway, about a week ago, when Shatz handed over his work, Professor Bolin put on a pair of gloves before he’d take it, so Shatz must’ve got the message and this week when Bolin called for homework, Shatz set this beautiful, clean exercise down on the piano. We couldn’t believe it. Boilin just sat there staring at it, and we all sat staring at Bolin, and after about ten minutes, no shit, it took that long, Bolin turned to us and said, “Free will is an illusion.” Isn’t that too much?
KATHY: Bob, can I talk to you . . .?
BOB (Ignores her): The thing is, Bolin’s got a Ph.D. He’s also written two books and a couple of hundred symphonies and string quartets and they say he taught himself twenty-two languages in four hours or something . . .
KATHY: Please, Bob, I want to talk to you . . .
BOB: And another thing, Bolin’s wife got drunk at a faculty party for the music department last year and she yelled, “Fuck Schönbeig, I wanna dance,” and then she went and laid the only black professor in the school, which all goes to show that when Bolin tells you free will is an illusion . . . you better believe it.
KATHY (Pointed): Bob, I would like to talk to you . . .
BOB: Hey, Ruth, did I ever tell you the one about the guy that died and came back to life as Job?
KATHY: Oh, don’t start that shit again.
BOB: Again? It started over a month ago. I mean, even Bolin caught on after two lessons. Of course, he still makes me walk around the music building every time I put down parallel fifths, but that’s how it goes, life is trying at the best of times, every cloud has a silver lining, a stitch in time saves nine . . .
RUTH (Looks at her watch): I’ve gotta go.
BOB: Did I say something?
RUTH: No. Kathy wants to talk to you about sleeping with Dick.
KATHY: Ruth . . . bitch!
RUTH goes out the front door, grabbing her coat on the way.
BOB (Pause): Meanwhile, back at the ranch. . . . You’ll never believe this, but when I came in just now, I didn’t expect that. Bedbugs, maybe. Thermonuclear war . . .
KATHY: She had no right.
BOB: I’m trying to think of something appropriate to say, like “Name the first one after me.” That’s Job. J-O-B. Job.
KATHY: Please, Bob, can I say something . . .?
BOB: Do you have trouble pronouncing the name Job?
KATHY: Jesus Christ, you’re impossible.
BOB: Ah, yes, but I exist, nonetheless.
KATHY: You’ve just cut me right out. You’re not even trying to relate to me anymore. (Pause) Well, you’re not.
BOB: No, Kathy. The fact is, I like you a lot. I, um, sort of love you, if you know what I mean.
KATHY: I don’t really want to sleep with Dick.
BOB: Then don’t.
KATHY: It’s just, he tried to get me that night after the demonstration,
BOB: I know. He told me.
KATHY: That shit.
BOB: I thought it was pretty good of him.
KATHY: He never got into me, you know.
BOB: That’s nice.
KATHY: Oh, Bob. I’m sorry.
BOB: If Bob were around I’m sure he’d forgive you.
KATHY: What’ll we do?
BOB: What do you mean? Like study or something?
KATHY: Bob, how does it stand? Is it . . . it’s over, isn’t it?
BOB: Between us, you mean?
KATHY: Yes.
BOB: If that’s what you want.
KATHY: Of course I don’t want it. I love you a lot.
BOB: O.K., so let’s study for Phil 720.
KATHY: Oh, for chrissakes, show some emotion. I don’t know where I’m at with you half the time.
BOB: Look, what’s the big hang-up? If you want to stay with me, O.K. If you want to move into Dick’s room, go ahead. If you don’t know for sure, stay one night with me and one night with him till you start feeling a definite preference for one of us . . .
KATHY: Jesus Christ, Bob, what’s the matter with you?
BOB: I’m Job. Bob’s dead.
KATHY (Is in a furious slow burn. SHE stands and goes toward the hall door): All right . . . all right . . .
Before KATHY can exit a knock on the door stops her. A game. Who’s going to open the door? BOB picks up a book and starts reading. Another knock. KATHY sighs. SHE’S above these silly games. SHE opens the door on a middle-aged man in well-cut coat. A businessman from head to foot. This is MURRAY, BOB’s uncle.
MURRAY: Hi. Does Bob Rettie live here?
BOB (Looks up from his book): Murray!!
MURRAY: Can I come in?
BOB: What the hell are you doing here?
MURRAY: Guy flies a couple thousand miles to see his nephew, maybe he can come in, huh?
BOB: Yeah, yeah. Come in, come in . . . sit down. . . .
MURRAY: Hey, I bet you’re surprised to see me, huh? Maybe a little happy.
BOB: Yeah, I mean I haven’t seen you for a couple thousand years or something.
MURRAY (To KATHY): It’s longer than that since he wrote.
BOB: Oh, ah, that’s Kathy. My uncle.
MURRAY: How do you do.
KATHY: Hi.
MURRAY: You drink a lot of milk, huh?
BOB: Yeah.
THEY laugh.
MURRAY: Where’d you get that goddamn icebox?
BOB: Oh, you know . . .
MURRAY: Is this the way you been living? Bobby boy, why didn’t you tell me. Write a letter, say Murray I need a little cash, I’d’ve sent you some money for a decent refrigerator.
BOB: Murray, we’re living O.K.
MURRAY: So. I’m sorry for breathing. Did I interrupt something?
BOB: No. Nothing at all.
MURRAY: Are you two . . . ah . . .
BOB: Yeah—Murray, look, sit down, take your coat off. . . .
MURRAY: Hey, Bobby, Bobby-boy. You got long hair. . . .
BOB: Yeah, it keeps growing.
MURRAY: Still proud, huh? (To KATHY) Just like his mother. . . . (HE looks at the two of them and shrugs) Well what can I say . . .?
KATHY: Look, I think I’ll . . .
BOB: How long you in town for?
MURRAY: Oh, you know. Business.
KATHY: Excuse me, I’m gonna . . .
BOB: How’s the kids?
MURRAY: Oh, fine, fine, keep asking about you.
BOB: Auntie Stella?
MURRAY: Oh. You know. We got a new house . . .
BOB: Great. Where you going, Kathy?
KATHY (Has been edging toward the door. Quietly): I’ll be in Dick’s room if you want me. (SHE exits)
MURRAY: Is she O.K.?
BOB (Flat): Yeah. It’s her time of the month, you know.
MURRAY: Say no more. You don’t have to tell me about that. Nice girl. Very nice. (Laughs) So . . .
BOB: Come through New York?
MURRAY: Yeah, you know, passed through.
BOB: You passed through New York, huh?
MURRAY (Uneasy): Yeah, sure, you know . . .
BOB: D’you see Mom?
MURRAY: Yeah, yeah, sure. She’d maybe like a letter every now and then. Your own mother.
BOB: It’s not like that, Murray. When I see her, I see her.
MURRAY (Shiver): Jesus Christ. (HE drinks)
BOB: You O.K.?
MURRAY: Sit down, Bobby-boy.
BOB: I’m O.K. like this.
MURRAY: I got something to tell you, you should maybe be sitting down when I tell you.
BOB sits. MURRAY pulls his chair close and takes BOB’s head in his hands. BOB is stiff.
MURRAY: Bobby-boy, oh, Bobby. I’d like to see more of you. Me and the family. You maybe come out and visit, huh?
BOB (Flat): What’s happened, Murray?
MURRAY: How am I supposed to tell you?
Pause.
BOB (Long pause): Cancer? (MURRAY nods) How long’s she got?
MURRAY: A week, two weeks. I don’t know. Any time now.
BOB: Those operations . . . kidney trouble. Oh, shit, why didn’t someone tell me?
MURRAY: You got your studies, we should worry you to death?
BOB (Flat): Fuck you all.
MURRAY: I thought . . . I thought maybe you and me fly to New York tonight.
BOB: Yeah, get in there quick for the payoff. That’ll be just great.
MURRAY: She doesn’t know yet.
BOB: Yeah. “Hi, Mom, I just came flying in with Murray a couple of weeks before Christmas vacation to see you for no good reason.” You think she won’t guess?
MURRAY: She doesn’t have to. We can always tell her something.
BOB: You planning to keep it from her, too? I bet it’s the first thing she thought of. Two years. She had that first operation two years ago. She’s been dying for two years and I didn’t even fucking know it.
