Etiquette and Vitriol (7 page)

SERGE:
You've got to go.

OTTO:
She thinks I'm going to kill myself or something. She thinks I'm taking this job thing too hard. My analyst says I was overly involved in my work. My analyst says I've been looking for the wrong kind of fulfillment. My analyst makes me sick. Do you want a pretzel?

SERGE:
No.

OTTO:
Do you think you could ever love me again?

SERGE:
No.

OTTO:
Don't toy with me. Don't tease me along.

SERGE:
I said no.

OTTO:
Just tell me the truth. Just lay it on the line. I'm a grownup. I can take it. Be honest. You shilly-shally,
that's
your problem.

SERGE:
I'm in love with someone else.

OTTO:
I remember the first time I saw you. In Barneys. You were spectacular looking, to me at any rate. Not that you're not good-looking, I don't mean that. But some people don't think you're as good-looking as me. I mean as I do. Everyone things you're better looking than I am. Even
my mother
thinks you're better looking than me. Did you know she shows your picture to people? People ask her if she has a son and she shows them your picture. You've made her very proud.

SERGE:
Is there no way to stop you?

OTTO:
I certainly hope not. Obviously you're good-looking.
You're a model. You have to be good-looking to be a model. But then again, you only do runway. You're not good-looking enough for print, are you? Is it chilly in here now? You could love me again, if I were thin.

SERGE:
I doubt that.

OTTO:
Oh, you may not think so, but I know it. I'm sure of it. I'm on a diet. I've lost eighty-five pounds. Can you tell? Do I look thinner?

SERGE:
No.

OTTO:
Well, actually, I gained four pounds. But I don't think four pounds really shows up. I know in the past, when I've lost four pounds, it didn't show. When was that? As I was saying, before I was so
rudely
interrupted, I'm on a new diet. I have a Slim-Fast shake with every meal. Have you tried Slim-Fast?

SERGE:
Of course not.

OTTO:
You're afraid to try new things,
that's
your problem. I like you're hair. Are you combing it differently, or at all? Slim-Fast is delicious! It goes fabulously with pretzels!
(He pulls a can of Slim-Fast out of his bag)
I'm not thirsty yet. Maybe later.—You'd love me again, if I was thinner. I told my analyst that I was going to come and see you, and you know what she did? She laughed! She burst into gales of laughter! She told me she was crying. She cries all the time. I don't think she's happy. I think she's got serious problems. Would you love me again if I weighed a hundred pounds? Would you love me if I weighed fifty pounds? Would you love me if I looked like one of those living corpses in the photographs from the liberation of Auschwitz?

SERGE:
I can't say I'd love you. I might prefer you.

OTTO:
So tell me, what've you been doing with yourself lately? I'm fascinated.

SERGE:
I did the Gaultier show and Anna Sui menswear.

OTTO:
Runway modeling must be soooo stimulating. Such a challenge.

SERGE:
It's fine. It's easy.

OTTO:
Tell me, do you ever worry that you'll fall off the ramp? D'you ever worry that you'll swagger, blindly, off the runway and into the lap of the editor from
GQ
?

SERGE:
No!

OTTO:
D'you ever worry that you'll put the clothes on upside down? D'you ever traipse down the catwalk with your arms in the leg holes and the pants wrapped around your back, like a bolero jacket?

SERGE:
I like what I do! The money is good. The people are nice.

OTTO:
I bet they are. Why shouldn't they be?—It is definitely freezing in here now.
(He adjusts the thermostat)
What have they got to be bitter about? All those stunning young boys with perfect chests and perfect hair. They all have squares on their stomachs and perfect little geometric rear ends. I'm a total failure! I'm washed up at thirty-eight!

SERGE:
You're thirty-three!!

OTTO:
Must you be correct all the time? What is this neurotic compulsion you have to be correct? You have a fetish,
that's
your problem.

SERGE:
I don't want to hurt your feelings—

OTTO
(Pulling a pack of Yodels from his bag)
Do you like Yodels? Probably not. I've always loved Yodels. When I was a kid I used to unroll them and eat them like a piece of pizza. It made them seem like more. My analyst says my parents never paid enough attention to me, so I have a neurotic fear of there never being enough of anything. I don't know what she's talking about most of the time.
(He shoves a whole Yodel into his mouth)

SERGE:
How often are you seeing her?

(Otto chews, savoring his food for a moment. Then, cheerfully:)

OTTO:
Twice a day. Remember how happy we were?

SERGE:
I don't remember that we were particularly happy.

OTTO:
You reinvent history,
that's
your problem. We were in an advanced state of bliss! My living here with you was the happiest two years of my life.

SERGE:
Two years?!

OTTO:
Did I say two years? I meant four years. It just flew by in half the time.

SERGE:
You never lived here!

OTTO:
Time flies when you're in love.

SERGE:
We dated for a couple of weeks!

OTTO:
You must've had it awful bad.

SERGE:
GET OUT!!

OTTO
(Sprawling on the bed)
: I loved this bed! I adored it! It was ecstasy like death! You know that Jacques Brel song? “My death waits in a double bed—” The contortions, the experiments, the complete savage abandon!! If this bed could talk, the stories it could tell!—Is this the same bed? It smells different. Did you get a new bed?

SERGE:
I'm asking you nicely. I've tried to be direct. I've tried to be blunt. Now, I'm asking you as a friend—

OTTO:
We are friends, aren't we?

SERGE:
I suppose.

OTTO:
Then tell me, as a friend, what's wrong with me?

SERGE:
You're insane.

OTTO:
I'm forty years old and I have no one in my life!!

SERGE:
You are THIRTY-THREE!!

OTTO:
You have a terrible temper. You know that? I'm forty-one and you're twenty-eight, but with your temper and too much exercise, we'll be the same age in six months.

(The phone rings. Serge answers it.)

SERGE:
Hello?. . . . Yes. . . . yes . . . yes . . . yes.
(He extends the phone to Otto)
It's for you.

OTTO
(Singing)
: I'm Mr. Popular!
(He takes the phone)
Hello? . . . Obviously, I'm still here. . . . No, we're NOT back together yet! . . . No, no, I'm not making a fool of
myself. . . . Yes, I saw her today. . . . She laughed. . . . Fifty dollars. . . . I have to go. . . . I'm hanging up!
(He hangs up)
It was my mother.

SERGE:
Please leave.

OTTO:
She's lonely. She threw out her back. She's in traction.

SERGE:
We all have our problems.

OTTO
(Sarcastic)
: Oh you are so sympathetic. You're a saint! When you look up sympathy in the dictionary, it says, “see Serge Stubin.” You're too good, that's your problem.

SERGE:
I'm sorry.

OTTO:
Oh, no. What do you care? The poor woman is stuck in a hospital bed somewhere, out in the night, her limbs hanging like a Calder mobile. Her son's out of work, wandering the streets, a forty-four year old nebbish with no future, and not much of past to speak of.

SERGE:
How did it happen?

OTTO:
Who cares! Who cares how it happened. I HATE HER! SHE RUINED MY LIFE. THAT BITCH CONDEMNED ME TO AN ETERNITY OF SELF-LOATHING. Did you know I have a neurotic fear of being upside down? My analyst says I need to experience my rage. She doodles while I talk to her. She pretends to take notes, but I caught her one day. She was drawing the Lincoln Memorial on a cocktail napkin! It was very good, but I told her it stunk—I'm not giving her any satisfaction—

(He pulls a box of Snowcaps from his bag)
I LOVE SNOWCAPS!! Most people only eat them at the movies, but you know they're good anytime.

SERGE:
Don't eat any more.

OTTO
(Eating Snowcaps)
: I'M STARVING! Did I mention that I lie in bed at night and pretend you're there next to me? I do. Did I mention that I hung your picture in my bathroom? I taped it on the medicine chest, over the mirror. Now when I wake up and I look at myself—I'm you!! I thought it would make me like myself more. It didn't. It made me like you more—and I cut myself shaving continually.

SERGE:
You have got to move on with your life.

OTTO:
I put two candles in the bathroom. One on either side of your picture. It's like a shrine. Well it's not like a shrine, it IS a shrine! I sacrifice small animals to you. I use the sink. It's not as messy as you might imagine. I do mice, and squirrels. Last week I did a baby goat.

SERGE:
Oh my God.

OTTO:
I'm lying. Or kidding. I don't know which—about the goat.

SERGE:
Still.

OTTO:
And the mice. I killed a mosquito once. But it had nothing to do with you. Do you remember how terrified you were of bugs?

SERGE:
You're afraid of bugs.

OTTO:
You project, that's your problem. You always had a neurotic fear of insects. I love them! I adore bugs. I keep roaches as pets.

SERGE
(Pointing to a spot on the floor)
: Good. Then you can have that one, there.

OTTO
(In terror)
: WHERE!? WHERE!? KILL IT! KILL IT NOW!!

SERGE:
I'm lying. Or kidding. I don't know which.

OTTO:
I knew that. You are a complete sadist. You get pleasure from my abject misery. Maybe that's why I love you so much. You could love me again if I were blond. I could be blond. All those boys you work with are blond, aren't they? Except for the brunets and the redheads. I could be blond! I could bleach my hair. I'd look repulsive. I'd look hideous. You'd like that. You'd like it if I were freakishly ugly.—Is it unbelievably hot in here again?
(He goes to the thermostat)

SERGE:
You're going to break that!

OTTO:
OH WHAT DO YOU CARE? YOU CAN ALWAYS BUY ANOTHER. You can buy anything you want. You have all the money in the world and I am not speaking hyperbolically. I think you do. I think you've used it all up. That's why I can't ever seem to get any: YOU HAVE IT ALL!!!

(Otto throws open Serge's closet, which is lined with
mirrors. Upon seeing himself, he shrieks in horror and slams the doors shut)

I love your apartment! It's so
put together
. Do you remember my apartment? It's pathetic. Everything is old, and broken and chipped, from the Salvation Army. I'm
forty-five years old
and I still have bookcases made from cinder blocks like a college dormitory.

SERGE:
You
have
money.

OTTO:
BLOOD MONEY! Money my father left me. I hated him. He was a loathsome human being. Did I ever tell you that I went to his funeral dressed as Bloody Mary?—The character from
South Pacific
, not the cocktail.—I wore a giant mumu, a lei around my neck and a frozen daiquiri paper umbrella in my hair. I just did it to embarrass him. But then no one came anyway. His was the most ill-attended funeral I've ever seen. And I've seen quite a few. Lately I go to funerals just for the pick-me-up.

SERGE:
Why don't you take some of that money and go on a trip?

OTTO:
I swore to myself I'd never spend one cent of the filthy lucre that miserable old fart left me! He hated me! He drank more than any two people I've ever known. The last time I saw my father, you know what he said to me? Do you? He was in the hospital. He was on an iron lung. He was dying. Frito?