Angels in America: A Gay Fantasia on National Themes: Revised and Complete Edition (9 page)

LOUIS
: You should.
(He takes one from his coat pocket)
Here.

MAN
: I don’t use them.

LOUIS
: Forget it, then.
(He starts to leave)

MAN
: No, wait.

     
Put it on me. Boy.

LOUIS
: Forget it, I have to get back. Home. I must be going crazy.

MAN
: Oh come on please he won’t find out.

LOUIS
: It’s cold. Too cold.

MAN
: It’s never too cold, let me warm you up. Please?

(Louis puts the condom on the Man
’
s cock, and they begin to fuck.)

MAN
: Relax.

LOUIS
(A grim, small laugh)
: Not a chance.

(More fucking. It gets rough. Louis falls on his hands and knees. Then the Man stops.)

MAN
: It . . .

LOUIS
: What?

MAN
: I think it must’ve . . . It broke, or slipped off, you didn’t put it on right, or— You want me to keep going?

     
Pull out? Should I—

LOUIS
: Keep going.

     
Infect me.

     
I don’t care. I don’t care.

(The Man pulls out.)

MAN
: I . . . um, look, I’m sorry, but I think I want to go.

LOUIS
: Yeah.

     
Give my best to Mom and Dad.

(The Man slaps him.)

LOUIS
: Ow!

(They stare at each other.)

LOUIS
: It was a joke.

(The Man leaves.)

ROY
: How long have we known each other?

JOE
: Since 1980.

ROY
: Right. A long time. I feel close to you, Joe. Do I advise you well?

JOE
: You’ve been an incredible friend, Roy, I’m—

ROY
: I want to be family.
Famiglia
, as my Italian friends call it.
La Famiglia
. A lovely word. It’s important for me to help you, like I was helped.

JOE
: I owe practically everything to you, Roy.

ROY
: I’m dying, Joe. Cancer.

JOE
: Oh my God.

ROY
: Please. Let me finish.

     
Few people know this and I’m telling you this only because . . . I’m not afraid of death. What can death bring that I haven’t faced? I’ve lived; life is the worst.
(Gently mocking himself)
Listen to me, I’m a philosopher.

     
Joe. You must do this. You must must must. Love; that’s a trap. Responsibility; that’s a trap, too. Like a father to a son I tell you this: Life is full of horror; nobody escapes, nobody; save yourself. Whatever pulls on you, whatever needs from you, threatens you. Don’t be afraid; people are so afraid; don’t be afraid to live in the raw wind, naked, alone . . . Learn at least this: What you are capable of. Let nothing stand in your way.

Scene 5

Several days later. Prior and Belize in Prior’s hospital room. Prior is very sick but improving. Belize has just arrived, stopping on his way to work to check up on Prior, with little time to spare
.

PRIOR
: Miss Thing.

BELIZE
: Ma cherie bichette.

PRIOR
: Stella.

BELIZE
: Stella for star. Let me see.
(Scrutinizing Prior)
You look like shit, why yes indeed you do, comme la merde!

PRIOR
: Merci.

BELIZE
: Not to despair, Belle Reeve. Lookie!

     
(Taking a little plastic bottle from his bag)

     
Magic goop!

(Belize hands the bottle to Prior, who opens it and sniffs it suspiciously, as Belize looks over the IV bags feeding meds to Prior.)

PRIOR
(Reacting to the smell from the bottle with alarm)
: Pooh! What kinda crap is that?

BELIZE
: Beats me. Let’s rub it on your poor blistered body and see what it does.

PRIOR
: This is not Western medicine, this bottle . . .

BELIZE
: Voodoo cream. From the botanica ’round the block.

PRIOR
: And you a registered nurse.

(Belize takes the bottle back and sniffs it.)

BELIZE
: Beeswax and cheap perfume. Cut with Jergen’s lotion. Full of good vibes and love from some little black Cubana witch in Miami.

(He pours some in his hands, ready to give Prior a backrub.)

PRIOR
(Frightened)
: Get that trash away from me, I am immune-suppressed.

BELIZE
(Firm, slightly offended)
: I
am
a health professional. I
know
what I’m doing.

(Prior hesitates, then reluctantly offers his back to be rubbed. Belize gets on the bed and rubs, gently.)

PRIOR
: It stinks.

     
Any word from Louis?

(Little pause; Belize rubs Prior’s back.)

PRIOR
: Gone.

BELIZE
: He’ll be back. I know the type. Likes to keep a girl on edge.

PRIOR
: It’s been . . .

(Pause.)

BELIZE
(Trying to jog Prior’s memory)
: How long?

PRIOR
: I don’t remember.

BELIZE
: How long have you been here?

PRIOR
(Suddenly upset)
: I don’t remember, I don’t give a fuck. I want Louis. I want my fucking boyfriend, where the fuck is he? I’m dying, I’m dying, where’s Louis?

(Prior is crying, hard. Belize cradles him.)

BELIZE
: Ssssh, sssh . . .

PRIOR
: This is a very strange drug, this drug. Emotional lability, for starters.

BELIZE
: Save a tab or two for me.

PRIOR
: Oh no, not this drug, ce n’est pas pour la joyeux noël et la bonne année, this drug she is serious poisonous chemistry, ma pauvre bichette.

     
And not just disorienting. I hear things.

     
Voices.

BELIZE
(Covering, but alarmed)
: Voices.

PRIOR
: A voice.

BELIZE
: Saying what?

(Pause.)

PRIOR
: I’m not supposed to tell.

BELIZE
(Earnest)
: You better tell the doctor. Or I will.

PRIOR
: No no don’t. Please. I want the voice; it’s wonderful. It’s all that’s keeping me alive. I don’t want to talk to some intern about it.

     
You know what happens? When I hear it, I get hard.

BELIZE
: Oh my.

PRIOR
: Comme ça.
(He uses his arm to demonstrate)
And you know I am slow to rise.

BELIZE
: My jaw aches at the memory.

PRIOR
(Pleading)
: And would you deny me this little solace? Betray my concupiscence to Florence Nightingale’s storm troopers?

BELIZE
: Perish the thought, ma bébé.

PRIOR
: They’d change the drug just to spoil the fun.

BELIZE
: You and your boner can depend on me.

PRIOR
: Je t’adore, ma belle nègre.

BELIZE
(With an edge)
: All this girl-talk shit is politically incorrect, you know. We should have dropped it back when we gave up drag.

PRIOR
(Indignant)
: I’m sick, I get to be politically incorrect if it makes me feel better. You sound like Lou.

     
(Little pause)

     
Well, at least I have the satisfaction of knowing he’s in anguish somewhere. I loved his anguish. Watching him stick his head up his asshole and eat his guts out over some relatively minor moral conundrum—it was the best show in town. But Mother warned me: if they get overwhelmed by the little things—

BELIZE
: —they’ll be belly-up bustville when something big comes along.

PRIOR
: Mother warned me.

BELIZE
: And they do come along.

PRIOR
: But I didn’t listen.

BELIZE
: No.
(Doing Katharine Hepburn)
Men are beasts.

PRIOR
(Also Hepburn)
: The absolute lowest.

BELIZE
: I have to go. If I want to spend my whole lonely life looking after white people I can get underpaid to do it.

PRIOR
: You’re just a Christian martyr.

BELIZE
: Whatever happens, baby, I will be here for you.

PRIOR
: Je t’aime.

BELIZE
: Je t’aime. Don’t go crazy on me, girlfriend, I already got enough crazy queens for one lifetime. For two. I can’t be bothering with dementia.

PRIOR
: I promise.

BELIZE
(Touching him with his forefinger; softly, doing E.T.)
: Ouch.

PRIOR
: Ouch. Indeed.

BELIZE
: Why’d they have to pick on you?

     
And eat more, girlfriend, you really do look like shit.

(He leaves.)

PRIOR
(A beat, then)
: He’s gone.

     
Are you still—

A VOICE
: I can’t stay. I will return.

PRIOR
: Are you one of those “Follow me to the other side” voices?

A VOICE
: No. I am no nightbird. I am a messenger . . .

PRIOR
: You have a beautiful voice, it sounds . . . like a viola, like a perfectly tuned, tight string, balanced, the truth . . . Stay with me.

A VOICE
: Not now. Soon I will return, I will reveal myself to you; I am glorious, glorious; my heart, my countenance and my message. You must prepare.

PRIOR
(Afraid again)
: For what? I don’t want to—

A VOICE
: No death, no:

     
A marvelous work and a wonder we undertake, an edifice awry we sink plumb and straighten, a great Lie we abolish, a great error correct, with the rule, sword and broom of Truth!

PRIOR
: What are you talking about, I—

A VOICE
: I am on my way; when I am manifest, our Work begins:

     
Prepare for the parting of the air,

     
The breath, the ascent,

     
Glory to . . .

Scene 6

Several days later. Martin, a relentlessly upbeat official in the Reagan Administration’s Justice Department, is at a table with Roy and Joe in a fancy Manhattan restaurant
.

MARTIN
: It’s a revolution in Washington, Joe. We have a new agenda and finally a real leader. They got back the Senate but we have the courts. By the nineties the Supreme Court will be block-solid Republican appointees, and the federal bench—Republican judges like land mines, everywhere, everywhere they turn. Affirmative action? Take it to court. Boom! Land mine. And we’ll get our way on just about everything: abortion, defense, Central America, family values, a live investment climate. We have the White House locked till the year 2000. And beyond. A permanent fix on the Oval Office? It’s possible. By ’92 we’ll get the Senate back, and in ten years the South is going to give us the House. It’s really the end of Liberalism. The end of New Deal Socialism. The
end of ipso facto secular humanism. The dawning of a genuinely American political personality. Modeled on Ronald Wilson Reagan.

JOE
: It sounds great, Mr. Heller.

MARTIN
: Martin. And Justice is the hub. Especially since Ed Meese took over. He doesn’t specialize in Fine Points of the Law. He’s a flatfoot, a cop. He reminds me of Teddy Roosevelt.