Act II
Beverly: He didn't want anything from you.
Mark: But before he went, I lifted his wallet.
Beverly: I always warned him not to talk to strangers.
Mark: It doesn't matter, because the next day I returned it. I don't know why. I just did. And that's how I got to know him. I got interested in what he was doing... which as it turns out was nothing. But he was doing it so well. He gave me a room. I could use it whenever I wanted. I started reading again... I thought to myself, my God, I could really do something. Salvation! We talked and talked endlessly... word equals idea equals action equals change equals time equals freedom equals... well, who knows? But the point is... I don't know what the point is. What am I talking about?
Beverly: Dead people.
Mark: Exactly! I mean, exactly!
Beverly: Exactly what?
Mark: I mean it's not enough! Ten thousand pages of paragraphed garbage... it's just words. We are dying here, lady. That's what it's about. Brian looks at me and I can see it in his eyes. One stone slab smack in the face, the rug is coming out from under, the light is going out. You can do the pills and the syringes and the "let's play games" with the cotton swabs and x-rays, but it's not going to change it. You can wipe up the mucous and the blood and the piss and the excrement, you can burn the sheets and boil his clothes, but it's still there. You can smell it on him. You can smell it on me. It soaks into your hands when you touch him. It gets in your blood. It doesn't go away. It stays with you. Inside every word, every touch, every move, every day, every night, it lies down with you and gets in between you. It's sick and putrid and soft and rotten and it is killing me.
Beverly: It's killing him, too.
Mark: That's right, lady. And some of us have to watch it. Some of us have to live with it and clean up after it. I mean, you can waltz in and out of here like a freakin Christmas tree if you want to, but some of us are staying. Some of us are here for the duration. And it is not easy.
Beverly: And some of us wouldn't mind changing places with you at all.
Mark: And some of us just don't care anymore.
Beverly: What?
Mark: Some of us just don't care.
Beverly: You're cute, Mark. But next to me, you are the most selfish son of a bitch, I've ever met.
Mark: Oh, wonderful! That's what I needed. Yes, sir. That's just what I needed.
Beverly: You're welcome.
Mark: Look, don't you think it's time you picked up all your little screwing trophies and went home?
Beverly: Past time... Way past time. The sign goes up and I can see 'useless' printed all over it. Let me tell you something, as one whore to another- what you do with your ass is your business. You can drag it through every gutter from here to Morocco. You can run it up a flagpole, paint it blue or cut it off if you feel like it. I don't care. I'll even show you the best way to do it. That's the kind of person I am. But Brian is different. Because Brian is stupid. Because Brian is blind. Because Brian doesn't know where you come from or who you come from or why or how or even what you are coming to. Because Brian happens to need you. And if that is not enough for you, then you get yourself out of his life- fast. You take your delicate sensibilities and your fears and your disgust, if that's all you feel, and you pack up and you get out.
Mark: That simple, huh?
Beverly: Yes. That simple. A postcard at Christmas, a telegram for his birthday, and maybe a phone call every few years... if he lives. But only when it gets really bad. When the money and the time and the people are all running out faster than you care to count, and the reasons don't sound as good as they used to and you don't remember anymore why... why you walked out on the one person who said yes, you do what you have to because I love you. And you can't remember anymore what it was you thought you had to do or who the hell you thought you were that was so damn important that you couldn't hang around long enough to say goodbye or to find out what you were saying goodbye to... Then you phone, because you need to know that somewhere, for no good reason, there is one poor stupid deluded human being who smells and rots and dies and still believes in you. One human being who cares. My God, why isn't that ever enough?
Mark: You want an answer to that?
Beverly: No. I want you to get yourself together or get yourself away from him.
Mark: Just leave?
Beverly: Yes.
Mark: I can't.
Beverly: Why not?
Mark: He's dying.
Beverly: He doesn't need you for that. He can do it all by himself. You're young, intelligent, not bad looking... probably good trade on slow market. Why hang around?
Mark: I can't leave him.
Beverly: Why not?
Mark: I owe him.
Beverly: What? Pity?
Mark: No.
Beverly: Then what? What?! You don't make sense, Mark. I mean, what's in it for you?
Mark: Nothing's in it for me.
Beverly: You said it yourself. He's just a tired, sick old man...
Mark: I didn't say that.
Beverly: ... A tired old trick with some phony ideas that don't hold piss, let alone water...
Mark: What?
Beverly: A broken down sewer, that's all he is.
Mark: I didn't say that...
Beverly: Yes, you did. Garbage. You don't need that. You don't need to dirty your hands with that kind of rotten, putrid filth. Unless of course you need the money. What does he do- pay you by the month? Or does it depend on how much you put out?
(Mark suddenly hits her in the face. Beverly quickly slaps him back- hard. Mark is stunned. Beverly hits him again. Mark still doesn't move. Almost as if he didn't feel anything. Beverly continues to slap his face until he connects with the pain. He lets out a pure cry and breaks down.)
Mark: I don't want him to die. I don't... Please... (Beverly puts her arms around him.) I don't want him to die.
Beverly: It's alright.
It's alright.
It's alright. It's alright.
(Gently.) Hopes, baby. That's what you got. A bad case of the hopes. They sneaked up on you when you weren't looking. You think maybe it's not gonna happen. You think maybe you'll find someway out. Some word that's still alive, some word that will make it all different... Maybe, maybe, maybe...
Please, baby. Just one favor you owe him. Don't hurt him. Don't hurt him with your hope. (Mark pulls away from Beverly) He needs somebody. (Mark doesn't answer) Yeah. That was my answer, too. (She gathers her things.) 'Bye, baby.
Mark: Wait...
Beverly: No, no. Another two minutes and I'll be dancing you all over the floor.
Mark: I might not mind.
Beverly: Might not mind? You'd love it.
Mark: All right. I'd love it.
Beverly: Tell Brian goodbye for me.
Mark: Don't you want to see him?
Beverly: No. I've got a plane to catch. I want to get to Hawaii before the hangover hits me. (She stops and turns to look at Mark) It's funny, he always makes the same mistake. He always cares about the wrong people.
