Angels in America: A Gay Fantasia on National Themes: Revised and Complete Edition (10 page)

JOE
: I can’t wait to meet him.

MARTIN
: Too bad, Joe, he’s been dead for sixty years!

(There is a little awkwardness. Joe doesn’t respond.)

MARTIN
: Teddy Roosevelt. You said you wanted to . . . Little joke. It reminds me of the story about the—

ROY
(Smiling, but nasty)
: Aw shut the fuck up, Martin.

     
(To Joe)
You see that? Mr. Heller here is one of the mighty, Joseph, in D.C., he sitteth on the right hand of the man who sitteth on the right hand of The Man. And yet I can say “shut the fuck up” and he will take no offense. Loyalty.

MARTIN
: This man, Joe, is a Saint of the Right.

JOE
: I know, Mr. Heller, I—

ROY
: And you see what I mean, Martin? He’s special, right?

MARTIN
: Don’t embarrass him, Roy.

ROY
: Gravity, decency, smarts! His strength is as the strength of ten because his heart is pure!
And
he’s a Royboy, one hundred percent.

MARTIN
: We’re on the move, Joe. On the move.

JOE
: Mr. Heller, I—

MARTIN
: We can’t wait any longer for an answer.

(Little pause.)

JOE
: Oh. Um, I—

ROY
: Joe’s a married man, Martin.

MARTIN
: Aha.

ROY
: With a wife. She doesn’t care to go to D.C., and so Joe cannot go. And keeps us dangling. We’ve seen that kind of thing before, haven’t we? These men and their wives.

MARTIN
: Oh yes. Beware.

JOE
: I really can’t discuss this under—

MARTIN
: Then
don’t
discuss. Say yes, Joe.

ROY
: Now.

MARTIN
: Say yes I will.

ROY
: Now.

     
Now. I’ll hold my breath till you do, I’m turning blue waiting . . .

     
(Too loud) Now, goddamnit!

MARTIN
(Looking around)
: Roy, calm down, it’s not—

ROY
: Aw, fuck it.

(Roy takes a letter from his jacket pocket, hands it to Joe.)

ROY
: Read. Came today.

(Joe removes the letter from its envelope and reads. Then he looks up at Roy.)

JOE
: Roy. This is . . . Roy, this is terrible.

ROY
: You’re telling me.

     
A letter from the New York State Bar Association, Martin.

     
They’re gonna try and disbar me.

MARTIN
: Oh my.

JOE
: Why?

ROY
: Why, Martin?

MARTIN
: Revenge.

ROY
: The whole Establishment. Their little rules. Because I know no rules. Because I don’t see the Law as a dead and arbitrary collection of antiquated dictums, thou shall, thou shalt not, because, because I know the Law’s a pliable, breathing, sweating . . .
organ
, because, because—

MARTIN
: Because he borrowed half a million from one of his clients.

ROY
: Yeah, well, there’s that.

MARTIN
:
And
he forgot to
return
it.

JOE
: Roy, that’s . . . You borrowed money from a client?

ROY
: I’m deeply ashamed.

(Little pause.)

JOE
: Roy, you know how much I admire you. Well I mean I know you have unorthodox ways, but I’m sure you only did what you thought at the time you needed to do. And I have faith that—

ROY
: Not so damp, please. I’ll deny it was a loan. She’s got no paperwork. Can’t prove a fucking thing.

(Little pause. Martin studies the menu
.

     
Joe puts the letter back in its envelope and hands it to Roy.)

JOE
(A little stiff, formal)
: Roy I really appreciate your telling me this, and I’ll do whatever I can to help.

ROY
(Holding up a hand, then, carefully)
: I’ll tell you what you can do.

     
I’m about to be tried, Joe, by a jury that is not a jury of my peers. The disbarment committee: genteel gentlemen Brahmin lawyers, country-club men. I offend them, to these men I’m what, Martin? Some sort of filthy little Jewish troll?

MARTIN
(With an embarrassed laugh)
: Oh well, I wouldn’t go so far as—

ROY
(Imitating the laugh)
: Oh well I would.

     
Very fancy lawyers, these disbarment committee lawyers, fancy lawyers with fancy corporate clients and complicated cases. Antitrust suits. Deregulation. Environmental control. Complex cases like these need Justice Department cooperation like flowers need the sun. Wouldn’t you say that’s an accurate assessment, Martin?

MARTIN
: I’m not here, Roy. I’m not hearing any of this.

ROY
: No. Of course not.

     
Without the light of the sun, Joe, these cases, and the fancy lawyers who represent them, will wither and die.

     
A well-placed friend, someone in the Justice Department, say, can turn off the sun. Cast a deep shadow on my behalf. Make them shiver in the cold. If they overstep. They would fear that.

(Pause.)

JOE
: Roy. I don’t understand.

ROY
: You do.

(Pause.)

JOE
: You’re not asking me to—

ROY
: Sssshhhh. Careful.

JOE
(A beat, then)
: Even if I said yes to the job, it would be illegal to interfere. With the hearings. It’s unethical. No. I can’t.

ROY
: Un-ethical.

     
Would you excuse us, Martin?

MARTIN
: Excuse you?

ROY
: Take a walk, Martin. For real.

(Martin hesitates, then stands. He shoots Joe a quick “you just stepped in it” look, then leaves.)

ROY
: Un-ethical. Are you trying to embarrass me in front of my friend?

JOE
: Well it is unethical, I can’t—

ROY
: Boy, you are really something, what the fuck do you think this is, Sunday school?

JOE
: No, but Roy this is—

ROY
: This is—this is gastric juices churning, this is enzymes and acids, this is intestinal is what this is, bowel movement and blood-red meat! This stinks, this
is politics
, Joe, the game of being alive. And you think you’re . . . What? Above that? Above alive is what? Dead! In the clouds! You’re on earth, goddamnit! Plant a foot, stay a while.

     
I’m sick. They smell I’m weak. They want blood this time. I must have eyes in Justice. In Justice you will protect me.

JOE
: Why can’t Mr. Heller—

ROY
: Grow up, Joe. The administration can’t get involved.

JOE
: But I’d be part of the administration. The same as him.

ROY
: Not the same. Martin’s Ed’s man. And Ed’s Reagan’s man. So Martin’s Reagan’s man.

     
And you’re mine.

     
(Little pause. He holds up the letter)

     
This will never be. Understand me?

     
(He tears up the letter)

     
I’m gonna be a lawyer, Joe, I’m gonna be a lawyer, Joe, I’m gonna be a goddamn motherfucking legally licensed member of the bar lawyer, just like my daddy was, till my last bitter day on earth, Joseph, until the day I die.

(Martin returns.)

ROY
: Ah, Martin’s back.

MARTIN
: So are we agreed?

ROY
: Joe?

(Little pause.)

JOE
: I will think about it.

     
(To Roy)
I will.

ROY
(A beat, then, contemplatively)
: Huh.

MARTIN
: It’s the fear of what comes after the doing that makes the doing hard to do.

ROY
: Amen.

MARTIN
: But you can almost always live with the consequences.

Scene 7

That afternoon. On the granite steps outside the Hall of Justice, Brooklyn. It is cold and sunny. A Sabrett wagon is selling hot dogs. Louis, in a shabby overcoat, is sitting on the steps contemplatively eating one. Joe enters with three hot dogs and a can of Coke
.

JOE
: Can I . . .?

LOUIS
: Oh sure. Sure. Crazy cold sun.

JOE
(Sitting)
: Have to make the best of it.

     
How’s your friend?

LOUIS
: My . . .? Oh. He’s worse. My friend is worse.

JOE
: I’m sorry.

LOUIS
: Yeah, well. Thanks for asking. It’s nice. You’re nice. I can’t believe you voted for Reagan.

JOE
: I hope he gets better.

LOUIS
: Reagan?

JOE
: Your friend.

LOUIS
: He won’t. Neither will Reagan.

JOE
: Let’s not talk politics, OK?

LOUIS
(Pointing to Joe’s lunch)
: You’re eating
three
of those?

JOE
: Well . . . I’m . . . hungry.

LOUIS
: They’re really terrible for you. Full of rat poo and beetle legs and wood shavings ’n’ shit.

JOE
: Huh.

LOUIS
: And . . . um . . . irridium, I think. Something toxic.

JOE
: You’re eating one.

LOUIS
: Yeah, well, the shape, I can’t help myself, plus I’m
trying
to commit suicide, what’s your excuse?

JOE
: I don’t have an excuse. I just have Pepto-Bismol.

(Joe takes a bottle of Pepto-Bismol and chugs it. Louis shudders audibly.)

JOE
: Yeah I know but then I wash it down with Coke.

(He does this. Louis mimes barfing in Joe’s lap. Joe pushes Louis’s head away.)

JOE
: Are you
always
like this?

LOUIS
: I’ve been worrying a lot about his kids.

JOE
: Whose?

LOUIS
: Reagan’s. Maureen and Mike and little orphan Patti and Miss Ron Reagan, Jr., the you-should-pardon-the-expression heterosexual.

JOE
: Ron Reagan, Jr. is
not
— You shouldn’t just make these assumptions about people. How do you know? About him? What he is? You don’t know.

LOUIS
(Doing Tallulah Bankhead)
: Well darling he never sucked
my
cock but—

JOE
: Look, if you’re going to get vulgar—

LOUIS
: No no
really
, I mean, what’s it like to be the child of the Zeitgeist? To have the American Animus as your dad? It’s not really a
family
, the Reagans, I read
People
, there aren’t any connections there, no love, they don’t ever even speak to each other except through their agents. So what’s it like to be Reagan’s kid? Enquiring minds want to know.

JOE
: You can’t believe everything you—

LOUIS
: But . . .

     
I think we all know what that’s like. Nowadays. No connections. No responsibilities. All of us . . . falling through the cracks that separate what we owe to our selves and . . . and what we owe to love.

JOE
(A beat, then)
: You just . . . Whatever you feel like saying or doing, you don’t care, you just . . . do it.

LOUIS
(Catching at something in Joe’s tone)
: Do what?