Angels in America: A Gay Fantasia on National Themes: Revised and Complete Edition (5 page)

HARPER
: Where do
you
go? When you walk.

     
(Pause, then very angry)
And I DO NOT have emotional problems.

JOE
: I’m sorry.

HARPER
: And if I do have emotional problems it’s from living with you. Or—

JOE
: I’m sorry, buddy, I didn’t mean to—

HARPER
: Or if you do think I do then you should never have married me. You have all these secrets and lies.

JOE
: I want to be married to you, Harper.

HARPER
: You shouldn’t. You never should.

     
(Pause)

     
Hey, buddy. Hey, buddy.

JOE
: Buddy kiss.

(They kiss.)

HARPER
: I heard on the radio how to give a blowjob.

JOE
: What?

HARPER
: You want to try?

JOE
: You really shouldn’t listen to stuff like that.

HARPER
: Mormons can give blowjobs.

JOE
:
Harper
.

HARPER
(Imitating his tone): Joe
.

     
It was a little Jewish lady with a German accent. This is a good time. For me to make a baby.

(Little pause. Joe turns away from her, then leaves the living room.)

HARPER
: Then they went on to a program about holes in the ozone layer. Over Antarctica. Skin burns, birds go blind, icebergs melt. The world’s coming to an end.

Scene 6

First week of November. In the men’s room of the offices of the Brooklyn Federal Court of Appeals. Louis is crying over the sink; Joe enters
.

JOE
: Oh, um . . . Morning.

LOUIS
: Good morning, Counselor.

JOE
(He watches Louis cry)
: Sorry, I . . . I don’t know your name.

LOUIS
: Don’t bother. Word processor. The lowest of the low.

JOE
(Holding out his hand)
: Joe Pitt. I’m with Justice Wilson.

LOUIS
: Oh, I know that. Counselor Pitt. Chief Clerk.

JOE
: Were you . . . Are you OK?

LOUIS
: Oh, yeah. Thanks. What a nice man.

JOE
: Not so nice.

LOUIS
: What?

JOE
: Not so nice. Nothing. You sure you’re—

LOUIS
: Life sucks shit. Life . . . just sucks shit.

JOE
: What’s wrong?

LOUIS
: Run in my nylons.

JOE
: Sorry . . .?

LOUIS
: Forget it. Look, thanks for asking.

JOE
: Well . . .

LOUIS
: I mean it really is nice of you.

     
(He starts crying again)

     
Sorry, sorry. Sick friend . . .

JOE
: Oh, I’m sorry.

LOUIS
: Yeah, yeah, well, that’s sweet.

     
Three of your colleagues have preceded you to this baleful sight and you’re the first one to ask. The others just opened the door, saw me, and fled. I hope they had to pee real bad.

JOE
(Handing him a wad of toilet paper)
: They just didn’t want to intrude.

LOUIS
: Hah. Reaganite heartless macho asshole lawyers.

JOE
: Oh, that’s unfair.

LOUIS
: What is? Heartless? Macho? Reaganite? Lawyer?

JOE
: I voted for Reagan.

LOUIS
: You did?

JOE
: Twice.

LOUIS
: Twice? Well, oh boy. A Gay Republican.

JOE
: Excuse me?

LOUIS
: Nothing.

JOE
: I’m not—

     
Forget it.

LOUIS
: Republican? Not Republican? Or . . .

JOE
: What?

LOUIS
: What?

JOE
: Not gay. I’m not gay.

LOUIS
: Oh. Sorry.

     
(Blows his nose loudly)
It’s just—

JOE
: Yes?

LOUIS
: Well, sometimes you can tell from the way a person sounds, that—I mean you
sound
like a—

JOE
: No I don’t.

     
Like what?

LOUIS
: Like a Republican.

(Little pause. Joe knows he’s being teased; Louis knows he knows. Joe decides to be a little brave.)

JOE
: Do I? Sound like a . . .?

LOUIS
: What? Like a . . .? Republican, or . . .?

     
Do I?

JOE
: Do you what?

LOUIS
: Sound like a . . .?

JOE
: Like a . . .?

     
I’m . . . confused.

LOUIS
: Yes.

     
My name is Louis. But all my friends call me Louise. I work in Word Processing. Thanks for the toilet paper.

(Louis offers Joe his hand. Joe reaches, Louis feints and pecks Joe on the cheek, then exits.)

Scene 7

A week later. Mutual dream scene. Prior is dreaming that he’s at a fantastic makeup table, applying his face. Harper is having a pill-induced hallucination. She has these from time to time. For some reason, Prior has appeared in this one. Or Harper has appeared in Prior’s dream. It is bewildering
.

PRIOR
(His makeup complete, he examines its perfection in the mirror; then he turns to the audience)
: I’m ready for my closeup, Mr. DeMille.

     
One wants to move through life with elegance and grace, blossoming infrequently but with exquisite taste, and perfect timing, like a rare bloom, a zebra orchid . . . One wants . . .

     
But one so seldom gets what one wants, does one?

     
No. One does not.
(Sorrow and anger well up, overwhelming the grand manner)
One gets fucked. Over. One . . . dies at thirty, robbed of . . . decades of majesty . . .

     
(Angry)
Fuck this shit. Fuck this shit.

     
(He consults the mirror, attempting to resume the pose)

     
I look like a corpse. A . . .
corpsette
!

     
(It doesn’t work. Commiserating with his reflection)

     
Oh my queen; you know you’ve hit rock-bottom when even drag is a drag.

(Harper appears. Prior is surprised!)

HARPER
: Are you . . . Who are you?

PRIOR
: Who are you?

HARPER
: What are you doing in my hallucination?

PRIOR
: I’m not in your hallucination. You’re in my dream.

HARPER
: You’re wearing makeup.

PRIOR
: So are you.

HARPER
: But you’re a man.

PRIOR
(He looks in his mirror, SCREAMS!, mimes slashing his throat with his lipstick and dies, fabulously tragic. Then)
: The hands and feet give it away.

HARPER
: There must be some mistake here. I don’t recognize you. You’re not—Are you my . . . some sort of imaginary friend?

PRIOR
: No. Aren’t you too old to have imaginary friends?

HARPER
: I have emotional problems. I took too many pills. Why are you wearing makeup?

PRIOR
: I was in the process of applying the face, trying to make myself feel better—I swiped the new fall colors at the Clinique counter at Macy’s.

(He shows her.)

HARPER
: You stole these?

PRIOR
: I was out of cash; it was an emotional emergency!

HARPER
: Joe will be so angry. I promised him. No more pills.

PRIOR
: These pills you keep alluding to?

HARPER
: Valium. I take Valium. Lots of Valium.

PRIOR
: And you’re dancing as fast as you can.

HARPER
: I’m not
addicted
. I don’t believe in addiction, and I never— Well, I
never
drink. And I
never
take drugs.

PRIOR
: Well, smell
you
, Nancy Drew.

HARPER
: Except Valium.

PRIOR
: Except Valium; in wee fistfuls.

HARPER
: It’s terrible. Mormons are not supposed to be addicted to anything. I’m a Mormon.

PRIOR
: I’m a homosexual.

HARPER
: Oh! In my church we don’t believe in homosexuals.

PRIOR
: In my church we don’t believe in Mormons.

HARPER
: What church do . . . Oh!
(She laughs)
I get it.

     
I don’t understand this. If I didn’t ever see you before and I don’t think I did, then I don’t think you should be here, in this hallucination, because in my experience the mind, which is where hallucinations come from, shouldn’t be able to make up anything that wasn’t there to start with, that didn’t enter it from experience, from the real world. Imagination can’t create anything new,
can it? It only recycles bits and pieces from the world and reassembles them into visions . . . Am I making sense right now?

PRIOR
: Given the circumstances, yes.

HARPER
: So when we think we’ve escaped the unbearable ordinariness and, well, untruthfulness of our lives, it’s really only the same old ordinariness and falseness rearranged into the appearance of novelty and truth. Nothing unknown is knowable. Don’t you think it’s depressing?

PRIOR
: The limitations of the imagination?

HARPER
: Yes.

PRIOR
: It’s something you learn after your second theme party: It’s All Been Done Before.

HARPER
: The world. Finite. Terribly, terribly . . . Well . . . This is the most depressing hallucination I’ve ever had.

PRIOR
: Apologies. I do try to be amusing.

HARPER
: Oh, well, don’t apologize, you . . . I can’t expect someone who’s really sick to entertain me.

PRIOR
: How on earth did you know . . .?

HARPER
: Oh that happens. This is the very threshold of revelation sometimes. You can see things . . . how sick you are. Do you see anything about me?

PRIOR
: Yes.

HARPER
: What?

PRIOR
: You are amazingly unhappy.

HARPER
: Oh big deal. You meet a Valium addict and you figure out she’s unhappy. That doesn’t count. Of course I . . . Something else. Something surprising.

PRIOR
: Something surprising.

HARPER
: Yes.

PRIOR
: Your husband’s a homo.

(Pause.)

HARPER
: Oh, ridiculous.

     
(Pause, then very quietly:)

     
Really?

PRIOR
(Shrugs)
: Threshold of revelation.

HARPER
: Well I don’t like your revelations. I don’t think you intuit well at all. Joe’s a very normal man, he . . .

     
Oh God. Oh God. He . . . Do homos take, like, lots of long walks?

PRIOR
(A beat, then)
: Yes. We do. In stretch pants with lavender coifs. I just looked at you, and there was . . .

HARPER
: A sort of blue streak of recognition.

PRIOR
: Yes.