Spin

 
A Play in Thirteen Scenes

(excerpt)


 

CHARACTERS

TJ MCDONALD.    Late 30s African American homeless male. Educated in a rough but lyrical way. Closer to the edge than he'd ever imagined becoming.

D.    Mid 40s White female. Quietly elegant. Withheld, but observant in an electric way.

CHRISTINE.    Late 20s African American female. Struggling between drive and residual doubt, on the cusp of major evolution. 

INTERVIEWER.    50s White female. Authoritative, rough-edged, no bullshit. Voice only. To be played by the same actress who plays D.

LANDLADY.    Late 70s White female. Old world, wickedly caustic, wouldn't have it any other way. Never fully seen. To be played by the same actress who plays D.

WAITER / BOARDWALK PASSERSBY / MAIL BOXES CLERK / OFFICE ASSISTANT / MALE BOARD OF DIRECTORS MEMBER. 

White males. To be played by the same actor.


SETTING

The present. Los Angeles / Beachfront Venice. Boardwalk, restaurant, Mail Box rental location, apartment building, office building.


 

                                                                        ACT ONE

                                                          SCENE ONE

 

Venice. The stoop of an oceanfront restaurant. The inside of the restaurant is barely lit: tables, chairs, and patrons barely visible.  
Outside, sitting a bit down from the door: TJ.
Minimal cluster of possessions on the ground next to him.
The PACIFIC is audible nearby. Soft.
TJ is staring out at it.

 

TJ
The sea is calm tonight.  The sea is calm tonight. Where — what book, what — yes. Ohhhh yes. Sixteen years old. Bluff overlooking the ocean. Night around us, moon low, stars burning. Got it wired tonight. Airtight. Nothing — but nothing  — is gonna derail me now.

He holds up a CUP to an invisible passerby. Nothing.

TJ
Holding each other close. Smell her hair. Smells like — flowers, intoxicating floral something. Feel her bra strap underneath my hand. Jai had just taught me the power of visualization. And he knocked 'em fucking dead. So I'm visualizing. Visualizing those straps like a seagull's wings soaring off into the dark. And right here, against my side — oh yes, I can feel it, that breast pressing into me. Full, soft promise. I shift my ribs toward her. Just to move things along, in a subtle kind of way. 'Cause if I know one thing about women, one thing all those other fools never get, it's that subtlety is the key to the kingdom. She presses harder against me. Curls her fingers over my chest. Does something growly way way down in her throat. Visualize that. It's time, boys and girls. That primordial voice way down deep inside says: it.... is.... time.

Another passerby. He holds up the cup. Nothing.  

TJ
I tilt her head up. Look into her eyes. Move in, not for the kill, for the connection. That kiss is the stuff of a whole new mythology. Epics will be written about it, trust me. Then she reaches over — opens her bag — takes out — oh I know what this is gonna be, ohhhh yes I know, that small square patch of paradise — but she pulls out — what — a book? Hormones high enough to raise the dead and she wants to read? She pauses, looks into my eyes. Opens it. The sea is calm tonight. NEVER AGAIN WILL THERE BE CALM ANYWHERE IN THE UNIVERSE! She reads it again, caressing with her tongue, all I can think is we need some chop here, some motion, some undulation. She goes right on reading, and I'm staring down at the sea wondering if I should just jump now. Is there a purgatory reserved for virgins? When suddenly: Ah, love, let us be true to one another! She gets real quiet. Puts the book down. Looks at me for a long, long moment like she's making the biggest decision of her life. And there before my eyes, off comes the blouse. The bra.... a whole new era of history all by itself. And that night, that star-scorched night, I suddenly understood the greatness of poetry.


A WOMAN goes by. Bundled against the wind off the ocean. Quiet, withheld.

D.
TJ holds up the cup. She pauses.

 TJ
The sea is calm tonight. (Beat) Please. For the greatness of poetry.

She looks at him for a long moment, smiles vaguely. Enters the restaurant.

TJ
Walk into any restaurant anywhere anytime you want. Fuck the price. LEAVE FOOD ON THE PLATE! (Beat) Hunger. Like gravity. Pulling you down. Brief moments here and there of grace, release, clarity. Then the pull returns. Always it returns. (Beat) Need some chop here, some motion....

Out of his pile of possessions he pulls an oblong object, wrapped thickly in layers of varied cloths: haphazard materials, but the care in protecting the contents is clear.

TJ
.... motion, undulation....

And from the cocoon emerge a VIOLIN and BOW, old but lovingly preserved.

TJ
.... got to move, find the groove, find the essence....

He gets up, heads for the restaurant door. Light up on the restaurant as he enters. D at a table. Waiter hovering nearby.
TJ begins to play a ragged jig, which grows quickly to a desperate pitch. D watches, struck.
The Waiter makes a beeline for him. Tries to shuffle him quietly out the door. TJ sidesteps, playing even harder.
The Waiter takes hold of his arms gently to stop the playing, begins to steer him firmly toward the exit.

TJ
Please! I'm STARVING.... !

D
Wait.

The Waiter and TJ turn around.

D
Let him stay. (She gestures to the second chair)  He can join me. Bring us two specials, please. On my bill.

The Waiter hesitates.

TJ
Last time I checked, the customer was always right.

With sudden dignity, TJ frees himself from the Waiter. Crosses to the table. Eyes her warily for a moment.

D
Relax. I never bite on a first date.

He sits. Still wary. She pushes a basket of bread over to him.

D
Help yourself.

And he ploughs into it ravenously. After a moment TJ looks up.

TJ
What's this gonna cost me?

D
Lifetime supply of Rolaids?

TJ
Simple things. Fresh-baked bread. Then a day comes out of the blue and it's a bright memory.

D
I'm glad to see your situation hasn't robbed you of a sense of the poetic.

TJ
On the contrary, my friend. On the total glorious contrary.

D
So what do I call you? Kerouac? Ginsberg?

TJ
TJ'll do.

D
Which stands for.... ?

TJ
TJ.

D
No "Thomas Jefferson"? No "Tom and Jerry"?

TJ
TJ.

She begins to laugh.

TJ
What's so funny?

D
My name's D.

TJ
Like Denise?

D
No.

TJ

Diana? Dolores? Deirdre? Debbie Does Dallas?

D
Clever. D. Not D-E-E. Just D. Minute and a half and we've already got something in common.

TJ
Hm. So.... don't wanna offend, but if you're so intent on helping the homeless brother, why'd you blow by me outside?

She looks up, catches the Waiter's eye. Gestures at the bread basket. He doesn't look happy about it.

D
I've been wondering that myself.  But all's well that ends well, no?

TJ
I keep hoping you'll say it was my astonishing musicianship.

D
Would you settle for "it was less your style than your content"?

The Waiter comes with more bread, and their meals.

D
(To TJ)  Something to drink?

TJ
Water's fine.

D
(To Waiter)  We're okay. Thanks.

The Waiter carries his distaste across the room. TJ dives into his food. D doesn't touch hers.

TJ
Softdrinks. Poison. Evil. What I really think? All a conspiracy to make us stupid. Sugar, Equal, all fucks with the brain. No mystery. I'm out there on the street. Let's not even talk meth. Some of these people, what they're putting in themselves, coffee, candy bars, coke.... quick fixes, sugar and caffeine, all death. Especially the new arrivals. They just get stupider by the day. Which is to say way less likely to find an exit. Now unless that's what you want — be out there in a fog, no idea what's going on, just crumpled up in some corner where nobody'll step on you as they go by — that's what you want? Your karma. Not for me to judge. But you actually want off the street and don't want to do it in a body bag, priority number one: you gotta keep your tips on fire. (Beat) You're not eating.

D
No appetite.

TJ
You're in a restaurant.

D
Sometimes it helps to get out among the living.

She pushes her plate towards him.

TJ
Sure?

D
All I'd do is take it home, stick it in the fridge, and watch it go bad.

TJ
Wasting good food. Now that's a sin. All that other shit, let it rot. But good food, real food....

D
I don't get it. If you're starving to death, and all you've got is junk....

TJ
Rather fast, nothing but water, and be there. See my Moment striding toward me. Cross over in my sleep? Fuck that. People living in terror of what they can't put a name to. And think about it, think about it: what are the two most profound moments in a life? When it begins and when it ends. These eyes were open when I came in and they're sure as hell gonna be open when I go out.

D
So you're an Arnold fan.

TJ
Uh-uh. More into brain than brawn.

D
Matthew Arnold.

TJ cocks his head: Who?

D
"Dover Beach"? "The sea is calm tonight."

TJ
Oh, of course....

D
Gotta keep your tips on fire.

TJ
Right.

D
I've always loved the ending. You remember it?

TJ
I remember.... certain moments. Which ones you thinking about? 

D
"Ah, love, let us be true/To one another!"

TJ
I remember that.

D
It's the rest that really gets me:
".... for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night." 

TJ
You sure you're not eating?

D
Take no prisoners.

TJ
(Digging in)  No mercy!

D
I hear people say poetry has no place in a world where there's so much hunger. That we should be working to feed people first, and enlighten them second.

TJ
I get hungry enough, I can't spell my own name.

D
You're missing the point. First of all, in western countries hunger isn't about inadequate food supplies, it's about privilege and distribution. And I don't see how anybody's going to solve that problem without spreading some serious enlightenment out there. Second, and maybe more to the point, how much do we really need poetry in a world without hunger? If everybody's got a smile on their faces, what are they going to write about? This must all sound like bullshit to you. I'll just shut up and let you eat in peace.

TJ
These days.... put food in my belly and I'll listen to anything.

D
I'm not sure how I should take that.

TJ
As the truth. Got no time for anything else.

D
Then what do you think? In a world without hunger, a world without suffering, what do you write about?

TJ
The sea.... love....

D
Been there, done that.

TJ
"The sea is calm tonight"?

D
Smartass.

TJ
What about it?

D
You're serious.

TJ
Always.

D
It's not about the sea!

TJ
Then what's it about? The sea and love. Two people about to rattle each other's bones on a bluff overlooking the water.

D
It's about the world changing. Loss of faith. It's about the utter futility of our lives. "And here we are as on a darkling plain/Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight/Where ignorant armies clash by night." Listen to that, TJ. You think it's about the sea? You think it's about love? It says life is impossible. It says nothing makes sense. It says we don't have the slightest idea why we're here and we've made a total mess of everything because of it and the only thing we can really do, the only truly meaningful gesture, is to be true to one another. Care. Trust. Even if we don't know each other. I'm amazed that you of all people don't get it.

TJ
Life not been too kind to you either?

D
You just do what you can do and count yourself lucky to do it. (Beat) So, if I can ask, what are you actually doing to get off the street?

TJ
I'm looking into some possibilities.

D
Like?

TJ
Don't like talking about shit till it's real.

D
Maybe I can help.

TJ
Help.

D
Why not?

TJ
How?

D
Meet me here tomorrow. Same time. I'll tell you over dinner.

She gets up.

TJ
And in exchange, you're expecting.... what.

D
Don't even go there, TJ. This is strictly survival. (She pauses.) I'll assume you're not interested in dessert.

She hands the Waiter cash, exits without looking back.