Dialog
(a one-act by Bob Zolnerzak)
DYE A LOG
[A dialog in one act]
SETTING: A comfortable living room: sofa in center fronted by a coffee table on which are four bottles of wine, two white and two red; two easy chairs, one on each side of the sofa. New Age music plays softly in the background.
CHARACTERS: ALEX, an attractive older man, dressed casually, sits in the center of the sofa with a glass of white wine in his hand. KID, a very attractive younger man, showing as much muscular flesh as possible, perches with a glass of red wine on the easy chair stage right of the sofa.
KID. You're right: this red is more mellow than the other one.
ALEX. Unless your taste buds have been numbed by the acidity of the first one.
KID. No, I think my taster's still tasting discriminately.
ALEX. (to himself) Wouldn't do---to have an indiscriminate taster. (to KID) What year would you think it was?
KID. (uncomfortable) You know I'm not good at that sort of thing.
ALEX. All right then, what sign do you think it might be?
KID. Sign? Wines don't have signs.
ALEX. Why not? Humans spring from the womb and are imprinted with the planetary influences you know so well.
KID. (reluctant) Yes?
ALEX. So wine springs from the grape and would be imprinted with the very same influences!
KID. (reaching over to pick up a wine bottle and turning it in his hands) Funny, I don't see a "Wine Springs from Grape" date on this label anywhere.
ALEX. Oh, but I thought you could tell. Let's see if I remember what you've taught me: the fire signs are hot and tempestuous, but they have to watch out for the water signs---that might quench the fire. Earth signs are heavy and slow-moving---rather like that Merlot you're sipping?
KID. Well, it went to my head rather quickly.
ALEX. No, that was the Chablis, the first white: there's almost no taste, so you drink it fast and---POW!---you're snockered.
KID. Snockered?
ALEX. Well, pilvicated, if you prefer.
KID. So many old-fashioned terms for drunk.
ALEX. (reaching to refill KID’s glass) Just because you haven't heard them, doesn't mean they're old-fashioned.
KID. But you---
ALEX. And just because I use them, that doesn't mean they're old-fashioned.
KID. That's not what I was going to say.
ALEX. What were you going to say?
KID. (pause) I forget.
ALEX. My point exactly.
KID. (laughing) I like the way you can make a point when---there wasn't even a point---on the point of being made.
ALEX. I like you when you're drunk: you don't censor yourself so much.
KID. I don't censor myself.
ALEX. You absolutely do. You do absolutely. Absolutely you do.
KID. Absolutely---I---absolutely---do---absolutely---not.
ALEX. Do absolutely not---what?
KID. (proudly) Censor myself. I still have my wits about me. You haven't gotten me that drunk---yet.
ALEX. And you don't want me to.
KID. I told you before: it's not up to you. It's up to me, and I know I won't get that drunk.
ALEX. So anyone who'd like me would have to be (very drunk in tone) "that drunk"?
KID. (patiently) No, they wouldn't have to be "that drunk" to like you---
ALEX. But they'd have to be (even more so) "that drunk" to want to go to bed with me.
KID. (uncomfortable) We have been through all this, and I told you I don't like repeating things.
ALEX. But the reason I asked you over tonight---(pause)
KID. Yes?
ALEX. Do you remember that conjoint chart I asked you to do for me and my new friend, Francis?
KID. The one whose Saturn was conjunct with your moon and with your Jupiters exactly square?
ALEX. You don't expect me to remember all that; I did remember "There's mutual independence, but it's very energizing."
KID. Yes: your Plutos form an exact trine.
ALEX. Well, you didn't tell me that he was very---ah---loud.
KID. He was loud in the restaurant when you had brunch?
ALEX. (teasing) No, not in the restaurant.
KID. You've been to bed?!
ALEX. It has been done, actually quite often---at least during the Dark Ages. Well, no, that's wrong. In the Light Ages that came before the Dark Ages.
KID. How was he?
ALEX. Surprisingly muscular.
KID. (self-consciously) I know how much you like muscles.
ALEX. And surprisingly tender.
KID. (genuinely pleased) That's great! You've actually started something---a relationship?
ALEX. Ah, there's the rub.
KID. He doesn't want a relationship.
ALEX. No, he says he actually wants a relationship.
KID. So? You've been wanting a relationship for---years.
ALEX. Thank you for not saying---decades. (pauses, sips wine) He's HIV positive.
KID. Oh, I'm sorry. (They both sip wine.) How's---his health?
ALEX. Very good. He was diagnosed five years ago. T cells below 200 right at the start. But the drugs are working very well for him---no side effects.
KID. That's good.
ALEX. (measured tones) He says he's on some triple or quadruple therapy. He says his viral load is undetectable. He says his T cells have just gone up another 100.
KID. (leaning forward) "He says---he says." Do you believe him?
ALEX. Oh, I believe him. (sips wine) I don't know if I want to get into this.
KID. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.
ALEX. No, you don't understand: I want to talk about it because I don't know if I want to get into this relationship!
KID. Oh. (He moves to chair on opposite side of sofa. Sits and sips his wine. Pause.) So talk about it.
ALEX. (uncomfortable): I'll sound like an asshole.
KID. What's new?
ALEX. Thanks. I knew I could rely on you. (pause) I'm afraid.
KID. Of?
ALEX. (nastily) Of falling in love. What else would I be afraid of? (pause; quietly) You're not going to play?
KID. I'm waiting.
ALEX. (pause) I'm afraid of getting AIDS.
KID. (pouring himself some more wine) You know what's safe and what's not.
ALEX. Safer.
KID. OK, safer.
ALEX. I don't like safer! I want safe.
KID. You've had safe; I thought you didn't like it.
ALEX. What's my chart say about my dying?
KID. I told you before: that's not part of anyone's chart.
ALEX. You tell me if there are good or bad days to fly, for example.
KID. That doesn't say your plane would crash; there are just better and worse days for flying. If you have a choice, you pick a better day rather than a worse day. Nothing's certain.
ALEX. Only death---(He glances morosely at his belly.)---and fat.
KID. Fat's not certain, it's only if you're lazy.
ALEX. Spoken like a genuine teenager.
KID. (quietly) I've passed 30 and you know it.
ALEX. You're still twenty-something in French. They count, like, twenty-ten, twenty-eleven, twenty-twelve, until they get to 40.
KID. As I remember it, that happens between 80 and 100: four twenties and ten, four twenties and eleven---for 90 and 91.
ALEX. (staring at KID, astounded to have made a mistake) Watch it, you know I can't stand anyone who knows more than I do.
KID. (meanly) Then you're improving: I thought you couldn't stand anyone, period. (sips wine) Except me. (sips wine) So you're afraid of safer sex?
ALEX. (embarrassed) It's not the sex itself that worries me.
KID. Oh?
ALEX. No. (KID sips, watching him) It's the kissing. (KID sips, watching him) This is worse than undressing! (KID sips, watching him) I have little canker sores in my mouth, practically all the time. (KID slowly gets out of his chair and returns to his original chair.) You're not going to help me on this at all, are you.
KID. What do you want me to do?
ALEX. Tell me I'm paranoid, tell me I'm looking for an excuse to worry. (pause) Tell me you don't like my wine.
KID. (impersonally) The wine's pretty good. I don't like your attitude.
ALEX. What attitude?
KID. The old "Angels in America" syndrome: (bitchily) "I'm going to feel so awful deserting him when he gets sick."
ALEX. (sits forward in anger, mouth open; then slumps back onto sofa) That's one way of putting it.
KID. You said his viral load's undetectable. You're not drinking his blood. You can gargle with sulfuric acid after you kiss him! You're not worried about what might happen to him, you're worried about what might happen to you if you do fall in love with him and he dies on you. You, you, you! Not much here for him!
ALEX. There is so! He likes me! He likes being with me! He said he thought we'd never get to go to bed together.
KID. Why would he think that?
ALEX. He said he tried bringing it up once and I changed the subject.
KID. Did you?
ALEX. That's the awful part of it: I don't remember.
KID. But you believe you did that.
ALEX. Yes, I'm sure I did. He wouldn't make it up. But I was so panicked that I put the entire conversation out of my mind. It---it sounds so like me.
KID. Glad to hear you say that.
ALEX. (turning his whole body to look at KID) You two are very much the same: you manage to make me feel that---despite all my attempts to really fuck things up, there's something worthwhile inside me struggling to get out.
KID. (turning his body away from ALEX) Don't flatter yourself.
ALEX. That's what I'm saying: I do not flatter myself, but both you and he manage to---say halfway decent things about me!
KID. Once you know where to look. (picking up a bottle of white wine and pouring some into his red wine) I think I'll switch to rosé.
ALEX. That's disgusting!
KID. Yes, picking up the various rocks under which you hide can be disgusting. But you haven't told me everything yet.
ALEX. What do you mean?
KID. (patiently) Talking to you is like squeezing pimples. You start out with one big spurt, but most of the gunk is still underneath, waiting to be poked out. You know lots of lovers kiss and remain negative with positive partners. That's just a one-bottle topic. You've got four bottles here. Start spilling---
(ALEX jumps from the sofa, grabs a red-wine bottle, and, after a self-conscious pause, grabs at one of the KID's massive upper arms, pulling him out of his chair in an awkward embrace, using a pretend-threat at dowsing him with wine as an excuse for physical contact.)
KID. (continuing) I'd suggest the white. It'll go better with your carpet. (They freeze in awkward tableau.) I'd rather you let me go.
ALEX. (trying for a joke) You're---just mean!
KID. You're just hungry---for what you know you can't have. (pause, looking at crestfallen ALEX) You can have my ear, but you can't have my arm, or any other part of my body. (ALEX drops his grip on KID's arm) Why don't we sit back down. (KID sits promptly, ALEX more slowly) And tell me more---about your non-relationship.
ALEX. (pouring himself more wine) He's had---rectal cancer. He's got a large---bruise-like spot at the base of his butt, where they took out some---rather large tumor. He's got great legs---he works on them and runs a lot---but he has no ass at all. He says he likes my body, but probably only in comparison with his.
KID. (quietly) I can do without your trying to second-guess him.
ALEX. His calves are enormous; he told me someone even asked him if he'd had implants. And he shaves his legs, so that the muscles and veins really stand out.
KID. Tanned?
ALEX. Yes---it's so crazy.
KID. Skin cancer is probably not one of his prime concerns.
ALEX. Is that what it is? His HIV makes everything else second-rate? His smoking---
KID. Why wouldn't I have known that he smokes, too.
ALEX. Yeah, he says he runs for hours, gets home feeling utterly cleansed and worn out---and lights up a cigarette! It's so sick!
KID. That's not the sickness.
ALEX. But he takes care of his health: he's lost a lot of weight, he works out at the gym, he watches his diet and sugar and drinking. He takes vitamins and---well.
KID. And---well???
ALEX. (almost in a whisper) And Viagra.
KID. Viagra?
ALEX. He says---that the radiation for the rectal carcinoma---did something to his genitals---he has problems getting it up.
KID. Jesus!
ALEX. At first I thought it was a joke. He popped a pill after we got out of the shower, I asked him what it was, and he said "Viagra." "Are you joking?" I asked, not sure how to take it. And then he explained it to me. After all his talk about how sexy I was, and how good I made him feel, he---he---
KID. Couldn't get it up without a pill.
ALEX. He could, though. He came up in the shower, before he took the pill. But it didn't last.
KID. Oh.
ALEX. He was shaved, down there, too.
KID. Uh-huh.
ALEX. And he'd gotten his back waxed, just for me, he said, a couple days before.
KID. No self-image questions here.
ALEX. And he's going to get a second operation, tomorrow actually, on his eyes.
KID. A second operation on his eyes?
ALEX. Just before I met him he'd had the bags removed from under his eyes, and tomorrow he's going back to get the excess flesh removed from above his eyes.
KID. Oh.
ALEX. Strange?
KID. I---I can't tell.
ALEX. He kept saying, “It's what I want to do; it doesn't hurt anyone, and I can see the difference when I look into the mirror. That's what's important to me.”
KID. I guess.
ALEX. I don't know.
KID. I can see why---why you're---
ALEX. Puzzled?
KID. (angry) If you'd said concerned I might have felt sympathetic toward you. But it's you who are puzzled, you who think you have a problem. You're not even thinking about him!
ALEX. I am thinking about him! I wouldn't have any problems if I weren't thinking about him! If I were thinking only about myself I'd run far away from all this and hide my head somewhere until it was all over! Christ, Kid, give me some credit!
KID. (still angry) Not very goddam much! You're still worried about what you are going to get out of it, what you are going to put into it, what you are worried about and what might happen to you. Oh, Alex; it's not like this is news to me. You were happy when Dennis's dad was around so that he could spend every day in the hospital during that awful year it took Dennis to die. You went in maybe once a month. That's okay. You don't have to give your life to someone who's dying. The father wanted to do it, so he did it, even though it drove Dennis, and everyone else, up the walls.
ALEX. (weakly) It's not like we were still lovers; we'd broken up years before, when Dennis wanted to go off with Jerry-----
KID. But Jerry didn't end up being his best friend, you did!
ALEX. He didn't have much choice, with his dementia before his father arrived from California---
KID. You weren't the greatest with Alice, either, but she had Joe, who went in two or three times a week.
ALEX. He didn't have to----
KID. Believe it or not, some people like looking after their friends.
ALEX. (matter-of-factly) Some people do, and all my friends know that I don't. I don't have the patience, or the time, or the---
KID. Love?
ALEX. Love! Love, honor, and obey---in sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow---crazy, wacko marriage words. I heard them all over again on Saturday, up at Riverside Church---the day before my new friend and I were supposed to get together. Believe me, I would rather have been swinging with the Dominicans outside Grant's Tomb across the street. I astounded Carolyn, who invited me, by saying this was only about the third wedding I'd ever attended: my sister's, that of a couple who'd lived together eight years before they got married and busted up eight months after they got married, and this one. At least they’d made some improvements in the years I'd been away.
KID. Improvements?
ALEX. Yeah, the priestess----boy, was Carolyn pissed by my insistence on calling "The Reverend Doctor" a priestess. I said, "Well, at least it's better than "Doctor-etta" or "Reverend-ina!" Anyway, the priestess said that the family was important in a wedding, too, so she asked the bride's family to stand, and about twelve people stood up on the left side---and the groom's family to stand, and about twelve people stood up on the right side, and she went through something about "supporting and giving a hand and helping out when needed," and then they all said, "We will," and she let them off the hook. I was impressed. Anyway, the reception at Bridgewater's at the Fulton Pier was a real blast: I ate and drank entirely too much and woke up with a hangover on Sunday---I almost called to say that this was not the best day for our first assault on the sheets.
KID. But, ever thinking of your friend-----
ALEX. Yes! I knew he was looking forward to it and I figured I could excuse myself in the middle if I really felt crappy. Brunch didn't help, either. Both of us had cases of flaming farts---oh, that was another gem he threw at me: with all his pelvic problems, he couldn't really tell if he was getting ready to fart or to---uh---start something more serious, so I shouldn't be surprised if he jumped out of bed without any warning anytime. (noticing a changed expression on KID's face) What's wrong?
KID. (solemnly) He trusts you.
ALEX. Huh?
KID. (seriously) He trusts you enough to tell you all these awful things about himself, knowing that---knowing that---
ALEX. That I won't kick him out?
KID. (shaking his head) That you'll embrace him all the same.
ALEX. He couldn't know that.
KID. Before this conversation, I couldn't know that, but you told me you had talked before----
ALEX. Yes, at our very first brunch he told me about his rectal carcinoma, about his brother's dying, about his mother's illnesses---
KID. And you listened and stayed with him.
ALEX. The next brunch was about his ex-lover's running off after his radiation treatments---though he didn't tell me then what the effects had been. And the problems he had coming out to his Jewish New Jersey family---
KID. And you sat, and listened, and nodded---
ALEX. Of course I had my own stories: the thing with my father, and with my mother, and Dennis---and John---and other lovers---
KID. (taking a big gulp of wine) What did you guys do for uppers?
ALEX. Lots of good stuff: we love to travel, he loves to cook---amazing how most of my lovers have been great cooks---he's more involved with his family than I am, but they're all scattered about New Jersey, so he doesn't have very far to go.
KID. So you shared all this.
ALEX. And I got his birth date so that you could do your conjoint-chart thing, so you've got your hands in all this, too.
KID. You wouldn't believe all the puzzling aspects and conjunctions that have become clear to me during this evening. It's almost scary.
ALEX. But the charts don't predict anything specific.
KID. You've always known it's completely up to you. It's what you do with what you're given, not what you do despite what you're given.
ALEX. I've complimented you before in rephrasing "conflicts" and "negative aspects" in terms of "challenges" and "opportunities to grow." Sometimes I think I've been given too many chances to grow.
KID. (reflectively) I've quoted your Gibran quote to my clients, probably more than you've used it yourself.
ALEX. Gibran quote?
KID. "The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain."
ALEX. You've messed THAT up: isn't it more like, "Your heart can hold as much pleasure, as pain has hollowed it out?"
KID. No, when I think of you, I always think of "He who knows, does not speak; he who speaks, does not know."
ALEX. Thanks a lot! I'd give you a head-rub, but I'm not allowed to touch.
KID. But you touched him.
ALEX. (quietly) Yeah. And he loved it.
KID. Maybe he hasn't been getting his Minimum Daily Requirement of touching.
ALEX. Who the fuck does?
KID. I don't do so badly.
ALEX. Yeah, you've always got your best friend. (makes jerk-off motions with his right fist)
KID. Don't you wish you knew.
ALEX. Oh, I know! I just don't talk about it.
KID. Very funny.
ALEX. You haven't had enough wine yet.
KID. More than enough.
ALEX. (holding up a bottle of white) Over half a bottle left.
KID. I never drink white after I drink red.
ALEX. (getting up off sofa) You'll have some of this ice-wine I got for dessert.
KID. Dessert! We haven't had any food yet.
ALEX. Food for thought!
KID. Slim pickings, around here.
ALEX. I thought you liked these evenings, when I don't touch.
KID. I've had more fun at certain funerals.
END OF PLAY