LORD HUNTINGTON: Be careful!
VASHYA: Careful? I’ve never been careful. Why should I be careful with you? I could grind you under my heel! But why do I let myself get worked up like this over your little bunch of pedigreed fleas? I don’t know. Sometimes I remember how it was twenty, thirty years ago—then I feel like I want to spit in your faces! All of you! This is my time—not yours! I am dealing out the cards now!
LORD HUNTINGTON [quietly]: Not now—not any longer, Vashya.
VASHYA: No?
LORD HUNTINGTON: No, Vashya, your hand is played out.
VASHYA: Played out is it? Since when!
LORD HUNTINGTON: Quite recently. I’ve gotten some information about your—your secret activities.
VASHYA: You’ll explain at once or apologize!
LORD HUNTINGTON: Don’t get excited. I’ve come here to talk things over quietly.
VASHYA: I won’t mince words with you. Huntington, the government you represent is under my thumb. You can’t afford to be insolent to me. D’you know who I am?
LORD HUNTINGTON: Yes. You’re beginning to be pretty widely known, Vashya, as the International Butcher.
VASHYA [striking him]: You say that to me!?
LORD HUNTINGTON: I say it to your face, Vashya, and hope that you like it.
VASHYA: That’s how I like it! [Laughing.] I slapped you! You’ve got the red mark of my hand on your face! I did it, I slapped you, the Prime Minister! Once you aristocrats spit in my face. Now I slap yours. Me, the common dung-heap peasant, Vashya Shontine, slap you, Lord Huntington, the Prime Minister. You’ve got the red marks of my fingers across your elegant lavender-scented cheek—the fingers that used to hold a pitchfork! What do you think of that, eh?
LORD HUNTINGTON [with a slight pause]: I think it was the act of a swine, but it didn’t surprise me. And now that we’ve vented our little personal rage, suppose we—suppose we sit down and talk business.
VASHYA: You take it coolly, don’t you! Yeah, because you’ve got to. You know who’s the ringmaster now! Me, Vashya, the peasant.
LORD HUNTINGTON [quietly]: You’ve lost your mind.
VASHYA [breathing heavily]: No. That’s over now. [He laughs.] I keep forgetting to be a gentleman. I ate too much black bread when I was a boy. But just the same—That was the most satisfactory moment of all my life, the moment when I felt my fingers stinging against your cheek. It was the act of a swine, but I liked it. Have a drink.
LORD HUNTINGTON: No, thanks. I thought I’d made it plain this wasn’t a social call.
VASHYA: Isn’t it?
LORD HUNTINGTON: No. And now you’ve had your amusement and we can get down to business.
VASHYA: What business?
LORD HUNTINGTON: You have it in your power, as I said before, to put a stop to the war.
VASHYA: I have it in my power—yes!
LORD HUNTINGTON: If you’ll do it, I—in exchange—will keep my secret!
VASHYA: About—?
LORD HUNTINGTON: Your dual personality, Vashya!
VASHYA: My dual personality?
LORD HUNTINGTON: Yes. I have in my possession papers that prove you have been supplying our enemies with ammunition as well as ourselves. Yes—from the very beginning of the war to this present date! Here are the papers!
VASHYA: Forgeries! Do you think I would be such a fool?
LORD HUNTINGTON: The code was difficult. We worked on it over two years before we found the slightest clue. But now we’ve worked it out in full, ready to turn over to whoever might be interested, Vashya, in your secret communications with governments!
VASHYA: I repeat they’re forgeries of the most absurd kind. —But even if they weren’t—what could you do about it? Have you forgotten the powers that I control?
LORD HUNTINGTON: No. That’s why I haven’t come here to arrest you. That’s why I’ve come here to strike a bargain with you. That’s why I even let you slap me—which wasn’t the easiest thing I’ve done in my life. If you’ll stop this carnage, if you’ll put an end to the war—and I know you can do it! —These papers will be destroyed or returned to your possession. You’ll go down in history, perhaps, as the man who saved his country. Nobody will be the wiser.
VASHYA: And I—I reject your proposition! I reject it completely. I know my position. I am the one who makes bargains. Me, Vashya, not you. And I—I defy you to expose me. Go on! Do it if you dare! If you do, the powers I represent will stop supplying your country with arms. You’ll be defenseless. You’ll be at your enemy’s mercy. The great warships will hum over your capitol, dropping bombs, gases, annihilating you, blasting you to bits! You won’t have an ounce of gunpowder to fire back. And it will be me, Vashya, that you’ll have to thank for it. I’ll take you and I’ll— [The sound of a bottle breaking is heard.] I’ll smash you like that! [Then, more quietly.] You see, Lord Huntington, this war will end when and HOW I choose! You have my answer—now GO! [Screaming.] Go! Go! Take your hat and get out of my house, before I—! [Pause.]
LADY SHONTINE: The men have come for you, Vashya.
VASHYA [hoarsely]: Get back to your room!
LADY SHONTINE: No, I will not. The men have come for you again. They’re tired of waiting for you, Vashya. You’ve got to go back with them this time.
LORD HUNTINGTON [to himself]: She’s got a revolver!
VASHYA [noticing the gun]: Lillian! Where is the Doctor? Doctor Frelich!
LADY SHONTINE: The Doctor is in there with the men, Vashya. He gave me this.
VASHYA: Doctor! Dr. Frelich!
LADY SHONTINE: He said that I’d have to MAKE you go with the men, Vashya. He said that otherwise you’d never have the courage to go. So he gave me this and he told me to send you with them. Don’t you see them, Vashya? They’re all coming into this room. They’re standing around you now. They’re waiting for you to go with them.
VASHYA: Put down that gun!
LADY SHONTINE: No, I will not!
VASHYA [cringing]: Lord Huntington! Lord Huntington!
LADY SHONTINE: It’s no use, Vashya. The men won’t take “no” for an answer this time. You sent them to the front. And now it’s your time to go with them.
VASHYA: Stop her! She’s getting ready to fire! Stop her! She’s gone mad! The woman is out of her mind!
LADY SHONTINE: Goodbye, Vashya.
VASHYA [panic-stricken]: No, no, for God’s sake! Don’t fire! Doctor, Doctor! Don’t let her kill me! You—Lord Huntington! This is MURDER! You wouldn’t—please—I beg of you, please, please! You can’t kill me, Lillian! I won’t die! I won’t! I’ve got to live a little while longer!
LADY SHONTINE: Goodbye, Vashya.
VASHYA: Wait! Wait just one minute! I can’t die now!
[Lady Shontine shoots. Vashya falls.]
VASHYA [hoarsely]: Princess! Little Princess! Remember me! I’ll be good to you! So good to you, Princess! [Sobbing.] We’ll be happy again, my dear! We’ll go back to the lake where we spent those first nights—you remember? The nightingales singing and—STOP! STOP!
[Lady Shontine shoots again.]
DR. FRELICH: He’s dead.
LORD HUNTINGTON: Quite?
DR. FRELICH: Yes.
LORD HUNTINGTON: Lady Shontine shot him in self-defense.
DR. FRELICH: Yes, of course.
LORD HUNTINGTON: And the revolver?
DR. FRELICH: Mine. I gave it to her. It was in the medical kit.
LORD HUNTINGTON: That part can be overlooked.
PHILLIP: Sir—Sir Vashya!
LADY SHONTINE: Yes, he’s gone! He’s gone with the others! You can tell them all that Vashya’s gone to the front!
LORD HUNTINGTON [almost inaudibly]: Extraordinary!
CURTAIN
CURTAINS FOR THE GENTLEMAN
(A ONE-ACT PLAY)
CHARACTERS
GENTLEMAN GEORGE
FLOSSIE
MIKE, a café owner
A BUM
MAC, a cop
THE PATCH
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The action takes place on a street corner in the downtown slum district of a large city. It is a bitter cold night in mid-December. In the background is a cheap dive called the Gay Life Cafe, front door facing stage front. On the corner is a fire plug and a lamppost. As the curtains open two figures are discovered standing on the corner, a man and a woman. The man is young and debonair, handsomely dressed for the evening. He is known among his associates as Gentleman George. The woman’s finery is of a cheaper, less meticulous sort. Her name is Flossie. She is the Gentleman’s current flame. As the curtains open she is trying to persuade the gentleman to enter the cafe for another drink. She is pretty well lit.
FLOSSIE: C’mon, Georgie. Jush one more. Warm you up. C’mon. Be good boy.
THE GENTLEMAN: Go on inside, Flossie. Order a couple more. A martini for me. The Patch’ll show up any minute now. I’ll be right in.
FLOSSIE: Honey, I wish you’d come in. You’ll catch cold out here.
THE GENTLEMAN: I ain’t afraid of catching cold.
FLOSSIE: Are you afraid of catching something else?
THE GENTLEMAN: Hell, no. Get on inside, now. Everything’s gonna be okay. I can straighten things out with the Patch. Don’t you worry ’bout that!
FLOSSIE [going into the cafe]: Okay, Georgie. I’ll order a couple more drinks.
THE GENTLEMAN: Make it three. The Patch’ll be thirsty.
[Flossie goes on inside the cafe. Wind whistles sharply around the block. The Gentleman turns up the velvet collar of his chesterfield coat. He lights another cigarette. The cafe door opens and the proprietor, Mike, comes out in a white apron, clapping his hands against the cold.]
MIKE: How’s the gent tonight?
THE GENTLEMAN: Swell.
MIKE: Your girl’s inside. Better come in.
THE GENTLEMAN: Can’t. Gotta date with the Patch. Said to meet him outside. What time is it, Mike?
MIKE: Twelve-twenty.
THE GENTLEMAN: That’s funny. The Patch said he’d be here twelve sharp.
MIKE: Better wait inside.
THE GENTLEMAN: When The Patch says wait outside he means outside. Say, Mike. You an’ the Patch are in pretty thick, aintcha?
MIKE: He’s a good friend of mine. Always has been.
THE GENTLEMAN: You know any trouble?
MIKE: What you mean, trouble?
THE GENTLEMAN: Anything . . . I mean . . . Could he be sore at me about something?
MIKE [slapping the Gentleman’s back]: Aw, hell, no! The Patch thinks the world and all of you, Gent! [Skipping back toward the door.] Better come in and have a hot toddy!
THE GENTLEMAN: Thanks. I’ll be in later. Soon as the Patch shows up.
[Mike goes in. The Gentleman whistles and stamps his cold feet. A bum comes up, shuffling and whining.]
THE GENTLEMAN: What’s that?
BUM: I says could you let me have a jitney, Mister. Honesta Gawd. . . .
THE GENTLEMAN: Here’s a half-buck. Go get yerself a bed somewhere.
BUM: Thanks! Thanks, Mister! Yer a real gentleman if ever I seen one.
THE GENTLEMAN: Sure I’m a gentleman. Everybody knows that! [The bum shuffles off.] Even the bums on the street know a gentleman when they see one! [A cop strolls up, swinging a stick.] Hi, there, Mac.
MAC: How’s the Gentleman tonight?
THE GENTLEMAN: Cold.
MAC: Better come inside with me and have a drink.
THE GENTLEMAN: Sorry. Gotta wait for someone.
MAC: Who you waitin’ for? The Patch?
THE GENTLEMAN: Naw.
MAC: If you see him, tell him for me his mob had better lay low. Things are gettin pretty hot up at headquarters. I may be forced to run some of you boys in.
THE GENTLEMAN: What’s the matter?
MAC: Somebody snitched. Sold out for a couple of grand.
THE GENTLEMAN [lighting a cigarette]: Got any idea who done it?
MAC: Maybe. I ain’t sure. Nice coat you got on there, Gent. Is it new?
THE GENTLEMAN: Brand new.
MAC: I like them white neckties. They give a guy lotsa class.
THE GENTLEMAN: A gentleman should always wear a white tie on formal occasions.
MAC: What’s so formal about this?
THE GENTLEMAN [laughing]: Nothing about this. But I’ve been out in society tonight. Supper and dancing at the Ritz. Some swell dame holdin’ the torch for me, Mac. Worth couple of million.
MAC: Oh, yeah? Thought I seen you with Flossie tonight! Since when did she come into two million?
THE GENTLEMAN: Aw, I just bum around with Flossie. She ain’t my style.
MAC: Stepping high these days, huh? Well—watch your step! We don’t want no more trouble round here. [He starts off down the block.]
THE GENTLEMAN: Say, Mac! What time is it?
MAC: Twelve-thirty-five.
THE GENTLEMAN: What the hell does he think I am. He said twelve sharp.
MAC: Maybe he meant sharp in the guts.
THE GENTLEMAN [quickly]: What you mean?
MAC: Figure it out for yourself. [He continues down and walks offstage.]
THE GENTLEMAN: Hey, Mac! What you mean . . . oh, hell! [He lights another cigarette. Flossie comes to door.]
FLOSSIE: Say, honey. You better come on in. You’ll catch cold out there. If the Patch was gonna come he’d have shown up by now.
THE GENTLEMAN: The Patch never breaks a date. I’m working for the Patch. If he says meet him here I gotta be here, that’s all. Flossie . . .
FLOSSIE: Yeah?
THE GENTLEMAN: Chum up a little with Mike. See if you can’t get something out of him. I think he knows something.
FLOSSIE [coming down a step and taking the Gent’s arm, huddling against him]: Knows something ’bout what? George—nothing’s wrong, is it?
THE GENTLEMAN: Course not. Course not. I just—oh, hell! There’s been trouble in the mob lately. Somebody snitched, see. And I got an idea there’s somebody trying to pin it on me. Somebody talked too much. Sold out for a couple of grand.
FLOSSIE: You think the Patch . . .
THE GENTLEMAN: I dunno. You can’t tell. Course the Patch knows I’m a gentleman. I don’t see how he could think . . .
FLOSSIE: Georgie!
THE GENTLEMAN: Whatsa matter?
FLOSSIE: I’m scared! Let’s go home! Let’s go up to my place!
THE GENTLEMAN: Naw, I can’t. Not now. If I walked out on the Patch tonight, he’d think I was scared. I ain’t got nothing to be scared about, see. I ain’t done nothing. Me a stool-pigeon? Me, Gentleman George? Like hell! I’ve always played square. The Patch knows that. He knows I wouldn’t squeal. What’s he got on me? Not a damn thing. Maybe some bastard tries to frame me. It won’t work. I’ll talk to the Patch. I’ll straighten things out, all right, all right!
FLOSSIE: Georgie! You’re talking too loud!
THE GENTLEMAN: Why shouldn’t I talk out loud? Did I say anything? [He looks around.] I didn’t say anything that wasn’t right, did I?
FLOSSIE [nervously]: I don’t know. I don’t know. Georgie. . . .
THE GENTLEMAN: What?
FLOSSIE: Could we go away somewhere? I mean, just for a while, till things blow over . . .
THE GENTLEMAN: Till what blows over? I ain’t done nothing. I ain’t got nothing to be scared about. Go on inside. You broads are all alike. No guts. Want me to run out? What should I take it on the lam for? I ain’t done nothing. . . .
FLOSSIE: Honey, I wish you’d come on inside, now. It’s too cold for you to be standing out here like this. Your martini’s waiting, Honey. Come on in, now, and have your drink. Then we’ll go up to my place, Honey. It’ll be nice and warm up there. We’ll buy a bottle of gin and mix some drinks. We’ll have a swell time. We won’t worry ’bout nothing up at my place, Georgie. We’ll just forget all about the old Patch. C’mon, Honey! Aw, c’mon. . . .
THE GENTLEMAN: Flossie . . . I was just thinkin’ . . . I been in this racket about long enough. . . I saved up
some dough. . . . Yeah, some real dough . . .
FLOSSIE [exited]: Yeah? Gee, that’s swell! How much you saved up, sweetheart? Enough to buy little Flossie a nice Christmas present?
THE GENTLEMAN: More than that.
FLOSSIE [delighted]: How much, how much?
THE GENTLEMAN [after a slight pause]: A couple of grand.
FLOSSIE: A couple of grand! Gee! How did you get hold of all that dough?
THE GENTLEMAN [sharply]: Never mind about that! Are you game? There might be a little trouble, you know.
FLOSSIE: Game for what?
THE GENTLEMAN: Skipping out with me. Down to Florida. That’s where the real gentlemen go—yeah. For the winter season. Palm Beach. Or Miami. That’s where the cream of society goes this time of year, Flossie. That’s where they put on the real dog. They sit in little buggies, see, and there’s boys pulling them around, up and down the board-walk, see. . . .
FLOSSIE: The boardwalk!
THE GENTLEMAN: Yeah. And along the beach. . . .
FLOSSIE: The beach!
THE GENTLEMAN: Yeah, and dancing at night under the stars.
FLOSSIE: Under the stars!
THE GENTLEMAN: Yeah, and the ocean, Honey, the big, blue Atlantic. . . .
FLOSSIE: The ocean!
THE GENTLEMAN: Yeah, and them waves coming in! Boy, oh, boy! The sun warm as summer. We’ll lie on the beach, Honey and feel the sun on our backs warm as summer. We’ll rent the bridal suite, that’s what we’ll do.
FLOSSIE [nearly overcome with rapture]: Oh! The bridal suite! And me, Georgie, me a real bride?
THE GENTLEMAN: Sure! You a real bride. And me a bridegroom. Why not? With a couple of grand, sweetheart, we can really live. No more cheap stuff. I’m a gentleman, see. A real gent. I was born that way. I can’t help it. I was born to be a gentleman. I ain’t no cheap rat like the Patch.
FLOSSIE: Shh, honey! Mike’s in there! He might hear!
THE GENTLEMAN: Never mind about Mike. I’m through with all that mob. Say, with a little dough we can really get into something worthwhile! Get what I mean? Opportunities. Business opportunities, Honey.