Brooklyn Boy Read online

  ERIC: Uh-huh.

  TYLER: Miguel gave me this really radical buzz cut? The minute I saw myself in the mirror, it was like, “Yeah! All right! Now I get it.”

  ERIC: Uh-huh.

  TYLER: And don’t worry. (To Melanie) He looks so worried! (To Eric) I won’t be so buff, I promise. I had to be really ripped for this movie—abs, chest, arms—I bulked up big time. Killed myself, I was like on zero fat for six months.

  MELANIE: Oh my God.

  TYLER: I was starving.

  MELANIE: Poor thing!

  TYLER (Continuous): Now I’m working with a trainer and a nutritionist to lose all the muscle mass I killed myself to put on? ’Cause Kenny’s got to be soft. You know? He’s gotta be. Not flabby, but soft. Like a typical Jewish boy.

  ERIC: Uh-huh.

  TYLER: I’m working with this awesome dialect coach on my Brooklyn accent?

  MELANIE: Oh, isn’t that fabulous!

  TYLER (Deliberately bad accent): I wanna sound fuckin’ aut’entic, like Tony Manero in Saturday Night Fever.

  (Melanie laughs; Eric doesn’t.)

  I’m kidding! (To Melanie) He’s so serious! (To Eric) I had my assistant order me all these books on being Jewish? Jewish history—like a huge box of them. I love research! I love it! I’d love to hang out with you sometime.

  ERIC: With me?

  TYLER: Yeah. To you know, pick up your mannerisms and stuff?

  MELANIE: What a great idea!

  TYLER: The way you put your hand on your mouth and stuff? (Imitates Eric’s gestures)

  MELANIE (Laughing): That’s hysterical!

  ERIC (Annoyed): Okay, okay.

  MELANIE: He’s just having fun.

  TYLER (Over “. . . having fun.”): Sorry, man. No offense. It’s just, I want to do you proud. You know? I want to get everything right, like down to the smallest detail. I mean, it’s your story, right? Isn’t he supposed to be you?

  ERIC: Who.

  TYLER: Kenny Fleeshman.

  ERIC: Fleischman.

  TYLER: Oh, right. I thought he was supposed to be you.

  ERIC (Pointedly): No. There is no Kenny Fleischman. He doesn’t exist. He never existed. I created him.

  MELANIE (Seeing he’s losing his cool; gently): Darlin’ . . .

  TYLER: Hey, look, man, I just want to do you proud. You know? It’s such a great part, I want to do it justice. I want you to be happy.

  ERIC (Surprised): You do?

  TYLER: Yeah. Of course.

  ERIC: You want my approval?

  TYLER: Yes!

  ERIC: That’s . . . really quite endearing, Tyler; thank you. But it doesn’t really matter what I think; I’m only the writer.

  MELANIE: Eric . . .

  ERIC: This reminds me of the joke about the Polish starlet in Hollywood—you know that one? She slept with the writer.

  (Eric laughs manically.)

  TYLER: Look. Sir. Maybe I’m not what you saw in your head when you wrote your book. But I “get” this kid. I can play him. I can become him. I’ll show you; I’ve been working with my coach . . . (Takes a scrawled-upon script from his satchel)

  ERIC: What are you doing?

  TYLER: I’ll read for you.

  ERIC: You really don’t have to . . .

  MELANIE: Would you? I would love it!

  TYLER: I have no problem reading for you . . . (Finds a scene)

  ERIC: You’ve already proved how passionate you are about it.

  MELANIE (To Eric; over “. . . about it.”): Let him. I think it would be great to hear him read it.

  TYLER: How about the scene with the father in the barbershop right before Kenny leaves for college?

  MELANIE: Oooh, yes! Good choice! I love that scene!

  TYLER: Page 128.

  MELANIE: 128? (Finds the page in her script)

  TYLER (To Eric): You mind reading with me?

  ERIC: Me?

  MELANIE: Oh, that is a brilliant idea.

  ERIC: Oh no no no.

  TYLER Oh, man, it would be so cool!

  ERIC: I’d rather not.

  MELANIE: Oh, come on . . .

  ERIC: No, I really don’t feel comfortable doing it.

  MELANIE: You read in front of large groups of people all the time!

  ERIC: This isn’t the same.

  MELANIE: Don’t even think about it, just do it!

  TYLER (Reads dialogue from the script, as “Kenny”): “Dad?”

  MELANIE (Reads stage direction from the script): “Arnie, seated in a barber chair, looks up from his newspaper and sees Kenny.” (Shows Eric the place in the script. Prompting him) “Well, look who’s here.”

  (Eric resists, she eggs him on, he acquiesces. Tyler proves himself surprisingly effective.)

  ERIC (As “Arnie”): “Well, look who’s here.”

  TYLER: “Hi.”

  ERIC: “I thought you already left.”

  TYLER: “Not yet. My ride should be here any minute.”

  ERIC: “Who’s taking you?”

  TYLER: “Car service.”

  ERIC: “If I didn’t have these trims coming in . . .”

  TYLER: “I know; that’s okay.” (A beat)

  ERIC: “So? What can I do for you?”

  TYLER: “I wanted to see you before I left.”

  ERIC: “You wanted to see me?”

  TYLER: “Yes.”

  ERIC: “What for?”

  TYLER: “To say good-bye.”

  ERIC: “You mean you’re talking to me?”

  TYLER: “Of course I’m talking to you. Why wouldn’t I be talking to you?”

  ERIC: “I don’t know, the way you yelled at me last night . . .”

  TYLER: “That wasn’t yelling.”

  ERIC: “It wasn’t? It sure sounded like yelling to me . . .”

  TYLER: “I’m sorry if that’s how it sounded. I was frustrated. I was trying to get you to understand. Dad? . . . I know you’re upset about my going away.”

  ERIC: “Who says I’m upset?”

  TYLER: “I can tell.”

  ERIC: “You think you know everything? Well, you’re wrong. I don’t care what you do, you can do whatever the hell you want.”

  MELANIE: “Outside, a car horn honks. Kenny opens the door and shouts.”

  TYLER (Shouts): “I’ll be right there!”

  ERIC: “Go. You don’t want to hit traffic.”

  TYLER: “Dad, wish me good luck.”

  ERIC: “There was just a thing in the paper, the potholes on the Van Wyck are unbelievable. Tell the guy who’s driving to take it easy.”

  TYLER: “I will.”

  ERIC: “You hit a pothole at eighty miles an hour, that’s all it takes.”

  TYLER: “Dad? Wish me luck. Just say it. That’s all I want to hear.”

  ERIC: “What do you need me wishing you luck for?”

  TYLER: “I need to know you wish me well.”

  ERIC: “All of a sudden you care what I think?”

  MELANIE: “The driver hits the horn.”

  ERIC: “You’d better go.”

  TYLER: “Dad. Please. Just say it.”

  MELANIE: “The horn blares again.”

  TYLER (Shouts): “Christ! I said I’d be right there!”

  ERIC: “Go. You don’t want to make him mad; it’ll affect his driving.”

  TYLER: “Dad? . . .”

  MELANIE: “Arnie takes out his wallet.”

  ERIC: “How much cash you got?”

  TYLER: “I’ve got.”

  ERIC: “Here, take some more.”

  TYLER: “I don’t need it.”

  ERIC: “Take, dammit!”

  MELANIE: “Arnie shoves the cash into Kenny’s hand.”

  TYLER: “Thanks. (A beat) I’ll be back winter break.”

  ERIC: “No you won’t.”

  TYLER: “I will.”

  ERIC: “Don’t make any promises. Winter’s a long way away.”

  (Eric breaks down. Tyler and Melanie are perplexed.)

&
nbsp; MELANIE: Eric? Eric, darlin’, you okay?

  ERIC (Shakes his head, through tears): Sorry.

  (Eric, sobbing, leaves, as Melanie and Tyler watch him go.)

  TYLER (Softly): Wow.

  SCENE 6

  Ocean Avenue

  The evening of the following day. A middle-class, prewar Brooklyn apartment, decorated with a woman’s touch that faded long ago. Cluttered, neglected. A scratchy Sinatra LP plays on the hifi. Eric is drinking whiskey and sorting through tchotchkes; packing some, discarding others into a trash bag. He has uncovered several Christmas-wrapped bottles of liquor. The doorbell rings.

  ERIC (Calls): Who is it?

  ZIMMER (Off): Ira.

  (Eric turns down the volume.)

  ERIC: Who?

  ZIMMER (Off): Zimmer.

  ERIC (Winces, then calls): One second!

  (He braces himself before admitting Zimmer, who enters holding a bakery box.)

  Ira. Hello.

  ZIMMER (Over “Hello.”): Hope you don’t mind my coming over.

  ERIC (Over “. . . my coming over.”): No no.

  ZIMMER: You feel like company, yes or no?

  ERIC: Sure. Come in.

  ZIMMER (Kisses the mezuzah on the doorway as he enters): I heard.

  (Eric nods.)

  Went to the hospital to see my mom? Dropped by your dad’s room, just to, you know, say hello, see how he was doing? Some other guy was in his bed. An old Chinese guy. The minute I saw that . . . (A beat) I brought you some rugelach.

  ERIC: Oh. Thanks.

  ZIMMER: The door’s supposed to be left open at a shiva house.

  ERIC: I know. I’m not sitting shiva. My aunt is. Up in Riverdale.

  ZIMMER (Nods, then): So what happened? At the end.

  ERIC: Sepsis. Apparently he went very fast.

  ZIMMER: Well, that’s a blessing, isn’t it? Could’ve been a lot worse. Were you there?

  ERIC (Shakes his head): California.

  ZIMMER: Oh, right. Today was the funeral?

  ERIC (Nods): Two o’clock.

  ZIMMER: Gee, if I’d known . . . I could’ve been there . . .

  ERIC (Over “I could’ve . . .”): That’s all right.

  ZIMMER (A beat): Really sorry, Ricky.

  ERIC (Over “. . . Ricky.”): I know.

  ZIMMER: Your dad was a real character.

  ERIC: Yeah. He was. (A beat) Want some? (Meaning Canadian Club)

  ZIMMER: You drink that stuff?

  ERIC: No. But it’s here. And drinking seems to be in order.

  ZIMMER: Yeah, I’ll have a little with you, why not. This much.

  (Eric hands him a glass; Zimmer toasts.)

  L’chaim.

  ERIC: L’chaim.

  (They drink.)

  You see all this? All this hard liquor? The joke is: The man didn’t drink. At all. Grape juice at Passover. He just liked to collect gifts from customers. There must be thirty years of booze stacked up in the closet, still in Christmas boxes. Help yourself.

  ZIMMER: Nah.

  ERIC: Take. However many you like.

  ZIMMER: Seriously? I’m not a shikka, either.

  ERIC: What am I gonna do with all this?

  ZIMMER: Okay. Sure, I’ll take some off your hands. Thanks. (A beat) You mind if I . . .? (Meaning open the pastry box)

  ERIC: Go ahead.

  ZIMMER (Eating): These are really good. (Looks around the cluttered room) Look at all this stuff.

  ERIC: I’ve been at it for hours and I haven’t made a dent. The stuff he accumulated since my mother died! The guy was a QVC addict. Who knew?

  ZIMMER: What are you trying to do?

  ERIC: I’ve got to pack this place up.

  ZIMMER: Now? What are you in such a hurry for?

  ERIC: It has to be done, eventually.

  ZIMMER: Give yourself a break. You shouldn’t be doing this now.

  ERIC: I don’t know what to do with myself. I need to do something. I certainly didn’t want to go up to Riverdale—that would’ve been a different kind of hell. And the prospect of going home to an empty apartment . . .

  ZIMMER: Why empty? Where’s your wife?

  ERIC: What wife?

  ZIMMER: What do you mean, “What wife?”

  ERIC: I got my own place. She wants a divorce.

  ZIMMER: Since when?

  (Eric gestures, “Don’t ask.”)

  So on top of everything, you’re alone?

  (Eric nods.)

  Ya know? Shiva’s been practiced for thousands of years for a very good reason. If there’s one thing Jews are good at, it’s grief. You’re supposed to let friends comfort you, bring you food, help you heal.

  ERIC: Thank you, rabbi.

  ZIMMER (A beat): Ricky. The other day. At the hospital. I’m sorry we had a fight.

  ERIC: We didn’t have a fight.

  ZIMMER: Yes we did. I hate fighting with my friends. Ask Mindy. I’ve been eating my kishkes out, waking up in the middle of the night. Seeing you again? After so long? All this dreck came backing up. My father and stuff? My life? Little things like that.

  ERIC: I know what you mean.

  ZIMMER: Yeah?

  (Eric nods. Pause. Zimmer looks around the room.)

  I remember watching TV here. Your mother sitting there smoking.

  ERIC: Like a chimney.

  ZIMMER: Eating over. I first had Mott’s apple-cranberry sauce at your house.

  ERIC: Is that a fact.

  ZIMMER: You don’t forget a thing like that. I thought that was the coolest thing in the world. Who would’ve thought of mixing the two together? I made my mother get it.

  ERIC: Do they still make it?

  ZIMMER: I don’t know.

  (Silence.)

  So, all the moms and dads’ll be gone soon, huh, Ricky.

  ERIC: Yup. All of ’em.

  ZIMMER: Yup. (Pause) So how was L.A.?

  ERIC: Not so great.

  ZIMMER: Why? What happened?

  ERIC: I’m off the movie.

  ZIMMER: What does that mean?

  ERIC: I asked to be taken off the movie. They’re replacing me. Hiring another screenwriter.

  ZIMMER: On your own book?! Can they do that?

  ERIC: Yes.

  ZIMMER: But it’s your book!

  ERIC: Yes, but I sold them the rights.

  ZIMMER: Can’t you take it back or something?

  ERIC: No. It’s theirs now. They paid me for it.

  ZIMMER: What if you gave them their money back?

  ERIC: I can’t. It’s already spent. It went toward the down payment on my new apartment.

  ZIMMER: So, this doesn’t mean the movie’s not gonna get made, does it?

  ERIC: No.

  ZIMMER: Good!

  ERIC: It just means that if it does get made, I won’t have anything to do with it.

  ZIMMER: Aren’t you upset? It’s your baby!

  ERIC: To tell you the truth, I’m actually relieved. (A beat) Lately I feel as if I’ve been trying on a whole new wardrobe, none of which feels . . . authentic. (A confession) The other night in L.A.? After my book signing?

  ZIMMER: Yeah . . .?

  ERIC: I took a girl back to my hotel with me.

  ZIMMER: You did?

  (Eric nods.)

  A girl?

  (Eric nods. A beat.)

  How old?

  ERIC: You don’t want to know.

  ZIMMER: Yes I do.

  ERIC: Well, I’m not telling you.

  ZIMMER: That young? Uy uy uy. (A beat) Is that why your wife is leaving you? Because of this girl?

  ERIC (Over “Because . . .”): No, no; we’ve been in trouble for a long time. I’d never done anything like that in my life. The situation presented itself and I thought I’d try it on, like a new coat. (A beat) I’d just gotten the call about my dad and the truth is I didn’t want to be alone.

  (Pause.)

  ZIMMER: Ricky. I want to help you.

  ERIC: What do you mean, “help”
me?

  ZIMMER: You’re suffering. I see you suffering like this . . .

  ERIC: My father just died.

  ZIMMER: I don’t mean just now. The other day, when I ran into you. There was something in your eyes—a sadness.

  ERIC: “A sadness.”

  ZIMMER: Yeah. A light is gone from your eyes, Ricky. You can’t hide it from me. I know the real you. I know you longer than anybody. I’m your oldest friend.

  ERIC: Ira, we were friends a long time ago. There’s been a gap of twenty-five years. Quarter of a century, Ira. That’s not the same as being my oldest friend.

  (Zimmer reaches into his pocket and takes out a yarmulke.)

  ZIMMER: Say Kaddish with me.

  ERIC: No.

  ZIMMER: I’ll say it with you. (Takes a piece of paper from his pocket) I wrote it out phonetically for you.

  ERIC: Stop trying to convert me! Jesus, you’re like one of those mitzvah-mobile guys!

  ZIMMER: What is the big deal? You say a prayer for the dead, what do you think’ll happen to you?

  ERIC: I’m not interested.

  ZIMMER: It might actually make you feel better. Don’t you want to feel better?

  ERIC: Judaism has never helped me feel better. I’ve always found it sorrowful, guilt-provoking. There was never any comfort. Not for me.

  ZIMMER: I know that’s how it seemed when we were in Hebrew school, but not anymore. We have this wonderful congregation now, this terrific young rabbi . . .

  ERIC: Good.

  ZIMMER (Continuous): I’d love to take you to talk to him.

  ERIC: Look. Ira. Whatever works for you. I wouldn’t presume to impose my beliefs—not on you, not on anybody.

  ZIMMER (Over “. . . not on anybody.”): What are your beliefs? Huh? What do you believe in?

  ERIC: What do I believe in? I believe in survival. Organisms make choices in order to survive. I chose to escape from all this; you chose to stay. Fine!

  ZIMMER (Over “Fine!”): You talk about escape from Brooklyn like it’s Treblinka or something! It’s not the worst place in the world!

  ERIC: I’m not saying it is.

  ZIMMER (Continuous): I live here! It’s my home!

  ERIC: I know! But this is my Brooklyn. This apartment. Whatever’s left for me of Brooklyn is right here. And it’ll be shipped off to Goodwill soon enough.