{"product_id":"three-oneact-plays-isbn-9780812972443","title":"Three One-Act Plays","description":"Three delightful one-act plays set in and around New York, in which sophisticated characters confound one another in ways only Woody Allen could imagine\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWoody Allen’s first dramatic writing published in years, “Riverside Drive,” “Old Saybrook,” and “Central Park West” are humorous, insightful, and unusually readable plays about infidelity. The characters, archetypal New Yorkers all, start out talking innocently enough, but soon the most unexpected things arise—and the reader enjoys every minute of it (though not all the characters do).\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThese plays (successfully produced on the New York stage and in regional theaters on the East Coast) dramatize Allen’s continuing preoccupation with people who rationalize their actions, hide what they’re doing, and inevitably slip into sexual deception—all of it revealed in Allen’s quintessentially pell-mell dialogue.\u003cb\u003eWoody Allen\u003c\/b\u003e writes and directs. He lives in New York.\u003cb\u003eChapter 1\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCurtain rises on a gray day in New York. There might even be some hint of fog. The setting suggests a secluded spot by the embankment of the Hudson River where one can lean over the rail, watch the boats and see the New Jersey shoreline. Probably the West Seventies or Eighties.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJim Swain, a writer, somewhere between forty and fifty, is waiting nervously, checking his watch, pacing, trying a number on his cellular phone to no response. He’s obviously waiting to meet someone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe rubs his hands together, checks for some drizzle and perhaps pulls his jacket up a bit as he feels at least a damp mist.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePresently, a large, homeless man, unshaven, a street dweller of approximately Jim’s age, drifts on with a kind of eye on Jim. His name is Fred.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFred eventually drifts closer to Jim, who has become increasingly aware of his presence and, while not exactly afraid, is wary of being in a desolate area with a large, unsavory type. Add to this that Jim wants his rendezvous with whomever he is waiting for to be very private. Finally, Fred engages him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRainy day.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e(Jim nods, agreeing but not wanting to encourage conversation.)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA drizzle.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e(Jim nods with a wan smile.)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOr should I say mizzle—mist and drizzle.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUm.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e(pause)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLook at how fast the current’s moving. You throw your cap into the river it’ll be out in the open sea in twenty minutes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e(begrudging but polite)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUh-huh . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e(pause)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe Hudson River travels three hundred and fifteen miles beginning in the Adirondacks and emptying finally into the vast Atlantic Ocean.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eInteresting.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo it’s not. Ever wonder what it’d be like if the current ran in the opposite direction?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI haven’t actually.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eChaos—the world would be out of sync. You throw your cap in it’d get carried up to Poughkeepsie rather than out to sea.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYes . . . well . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEver been to Poughkeepsie?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEver been to Poughkeepsie?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMe?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e(looks around; they’re alone)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWho else?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhy do you ask?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s a simple question.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIf I was in Poughkeepsie?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWere you?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e(considers the question, decides he’ll answer)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo, I haven’t. OK?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo if you haven’t, why are you so guilty?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLook, I’m a little preoccupied.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou don’t come here often, do you?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhy?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eInteresting.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat do you want? Are you going to hit me up for a touch? Here, here’s a buck.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHey—I only asked if you came here often.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e(getting impatient)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo. I’m meeting someone. I have a lot on my mind.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat a day you picked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI didn’t know it would be this nasty.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDon’t you watch the weather on TV? Christ, it seems that all they talk about is the goddamn weather. You really care on Riverside Drive if there are gusty winds in the Appalachian Valley? I mean, Jesus, gimme a break.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWell, it was nice talking to you.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLook—you can hardly see Jersey—there’s such a fog.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s OK. It’s a blessing . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRight. I don’t like it any better than you do.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eActually I’m joking—I’m being\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrivolous? . . . Flippant?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMildly sarcastic.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s understandable.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt is?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eKnowing how I feel about Montclair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHow would I know how you feel about Montclair?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI won’t even bother to comment on that.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEr—yeah—well—I’d like to get back to my thoughts.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e(Looks at watch.)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat time you expect her?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat are you talking about? Please leave me alone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s a free country. I can stay here and stare at New Jersey if I want.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFine. But don’t talk to me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDon’t answer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e(takes out cell phone)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHey look, do you want me to call the police?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd tell them what?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat you’re harassing me—aggressive panhandling.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSuppose I took that cell phone and tossed it right into the river. Twenty minutes it’d be carried off into the Atlantic. Of course, if the current ran the other way it’d wind up in Poughkeepsie. Do I mean Poughkeepsie or Tarrytown?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e(a bit scared and angry)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’ve been to Tarrytown in case you were going to ask me that next.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhere’d you stay there?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePocantico Hills. I used to live there. Is that OK with you?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNow they call it Sleepy Hollow—sounds better for the tourists.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUh-huh.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCash in on all that Ichabod Crane crap. Rip Van Winkle. It’s all packaging.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLook—I was deep in thought\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHey—we’re talking literature. You’re a writer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHow do you know that?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eC’mon—it’s me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAre you going to tell me you can tell because of my costume?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou’re in costume?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s the tweed jacket and the corduroys, right?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJean-Paul Sartre said that after the age of thirty a man is responsible for his own face.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCamus said that.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSartre.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCamus. Sartre said a man assumes the traits of his occupation—a waiter will gradually walk like a waiter—a bank clerk gestures like one—because they want to become things.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut you’re not a thing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI try not to be.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBecause it’s safe to be a thing—because things don’t perish. Like The Wall—the men being executed want to become one with the wall they’re put up in front of—to lose themselves in the stone—to become solid, permanent, to endure, in other words, to live, to be alive.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e(considers him—then)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’d love to discuss this with you another time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGood, when?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRight now I’m a little busy . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWell, when? You want to have lunch, I’m free all week.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI don’t really know.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI wrote a funny thing based on Irving.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIrving who?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWashington Irving—remember? We had talked about Ichabod Crane.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI didn’t know we were back on that.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe headless horseman is doomed to ride the countryside, holding his head under his arm. He was a German soldier killed in the war.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA Hessian.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo he rides right into an all-night drugstore and the head says—I have a terrible headache—and the druggist says, here, take these two Extra Strength Excedrin—and the body pays for them and helps the head take two. And then we cut to them later in the night, riding over a bridge, and the head says, I feel great—the headache is gone—I’m a new man—and then the body begins to get sad and thinks how unlucky he is because if he gets a backache, he can’t find relief, not being attached to the head\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHow can the body think anything?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNobody’s going to ask that question.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhy not? It’s obvious.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat’s why. That’s why you’re good at construction and dialogue but you lack inspiration. That’s why you have to rely on me. Although it was a pretty sleazy thing to do.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDo what? What are you talking about?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’m talking about money—some kind of payment and a credit of some sort.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLook, I’m meeting someone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI know, I know, she’s late.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou don’t know and mind your own business.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll right—you’re meeting a broad—you want to be alone? Let’s get the business end of it out of the way and I’m off.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat business?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn a minute you’re gonna tell me this whole thing is Kafkaesque.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s worse than Kafkaesque.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eReally? Is it—postmodern?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat do you want?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA percentage and a credit on your movie. I realize it’s too late for a credit on the prints that are already in distribution, but I should have a royalty on those and a cut and my name on all subsequent prints. Not fifty percent but something fair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAre you nuts? Why should I give you anything?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBecause I gave you the idea.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou gave me?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWell—you took it from me\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI took your idea?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd you sold your first film script—and the movie seems like a success and I want what’s due me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI didn’t take your idea.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJim, let’s not play games.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLet’s not you play games and don’t call me Jim.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOK—James. Written by James L. Swain—but everyone calls you Jim.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHow do you know what everyone calls me?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI see it, I hear it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhere? What are you talking about?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJim Swain—Central Park West and Seventy-eighth—BMW—license plate JIMBO ONE—talk about vanity plates . . . Jimmy Connors is Jimbo One, not you—and I’ve seen you trying to hit a tennis ball so don’t try and con me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHave you been following me?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat mousey brunette—that’s Lola?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy wife’s hardly mousey!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOK, “mousey” was the wrong word—she’s—not rodentine exactly\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe’s a beautiful woman.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s all very subjective.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWho the hell do you think you are?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’d never say it to her face.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’m her husband and I love her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen why are you cheating?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI think I know what the other one looks like. She’s a little on the cheap side, no?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere is no other one.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen who are you meeting?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNone of your goddamn business, and if you don’t get out of here I’m going to call the police.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat’s the last thing you want if you’re having a clandestine rendezvous.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHow did you know my wife’s name is Lola?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’ve heard you call her Lola.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHave you been stalking me?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDo I look like a stalker?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’m a writer. At least I was years ago. Till my visions overtook me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWell, your imagination is too creative for me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI know. That’s why you ripped me off.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI didn’t steal your idea.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNot just my idea. It was autobiographical. So in a way you stole my life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIf there were any similarities between my film and your life, I assure you, they’re coincidental.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’m not the kind of guy who sues. Some people are litigation-prone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e(with some suggestion of menace)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI like to settle between the parties.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHow did I take your idea?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou overheard me tell the plot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo who? Where?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCentral Park.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI heard you in Central Park?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat’s right.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo who? When?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo John.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWho?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJohn.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJohn who?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBig John.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWho?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBig John.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWho the hell is Big John?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI don’t know—he’s a homeless guy. Was. I heard he got his throat cut in a shelter.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou told some tale to a homeless man and you’re saying I overheard you?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd used it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI never saw you in my life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eChrist, I’ve been stalking you for months.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eStalking me?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd I know everything about you but you never even noticed me. And I’m not a little guy. I’m big. I could probably snap your neck in half with one hand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e(nervous)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLook—whoever you are, I promise\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe name’s Fred. Fred Savage. Good name for a writer, isn’t it? For Best Original Screenplay, the envelope please—and the winners are Frederick R. Savage and James L. Swain for The Journey.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI wrote The Journey. And it was my idea.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJim, you overheard me telling it to John Kelly. Poor John. He was walking on York Avenue and they were hoisting a piano and the rope came undone—God, it was awful . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou said he was knifed at a shelter.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFoolish consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLook, Fred—I never stole anybody’s idea. First, I don’t need to because I have my own ideas, and second, I wouldn’t even if I ran dry, OK?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut the story’s all there. My breakdown, the straitjacket, my last-minute panic—the rubber between my teeth, then the electric shocks—my God—of course I was violent\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou’re violent?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn and out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLook, I’m starting to get a little alarmed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDon’t worry, she’ll be here.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOver you, not her. OK—if you think you’re a writer\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI said years ago—before my collapse—before all that unpleasantness occurred—I wrote for an agency.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUnpleasantness?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s morbid, I don’t want to relive it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat kind of an agency?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAn ad agency. I wrote commercials. Like that idea for the Extra Strength Excedrin one. It didn’t fly. We ran it up the flagpole but it just didn’t fly. Too Cartesian.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd you became—unhinged.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNot over that. Who cares that they reject my idea? Those gray flannel philistines. No, my problem arose from other sources.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLike what?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLike small cadres of men who had banded together to form a conspiratorial network—a network dedicated to my undoing, to my humiliation, to my defeat both physical and mental. A network so vast and complex that to this day it employs undercover agents in organizations as diverse as the CIA and the Cuban underground. Forces so malevolent that they cost me my job, my marriage, and what little bank account I had left. They trailed me, tapped my phone, and communicated in code with my psychiatrist by sending electrical signals from the top of the Empire State Building, through my inner ear, directly to his rubber raft at Martha’s Vineyard. So don’t give me your goddamn sob stories and deal with me like a mensch!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’m frightened, Fred—I gotta level with you. I want to do the right thing by you\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen do it. There’s no need to be scared. I haven’t been off my medicine long enough to lose control—at least I don’t think I have\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat do you take?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA number of antipsychotic mixtures.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA cocktail.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eExcept I don’t drink it out of a stemmed glass.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut you can’t just go off those things\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’m fine, I’m fine. Don’t start accusing me like the others.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo, I’m not\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLet’s talk turkey.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI had intended to prove to you logically I couldn’t have taken your idea\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy life, my life—you stole my life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYour life—your autobiography, whatever. I think I can show you step by step\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLogic can be very deceptive. You stole my life, you stole my soul.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ejim\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI don’t need your life. I have a fine life of my own.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWho are you to say you don’t need my life?","brand":"Random House Trade Paperbacks","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304483311845,"sku":"NP9780812972443","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780812972443.jpg?v=1767742575","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/three-oneact-plays-isbn-9780812972443","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}