The Collected Plays of Paul Rudnick by Paul Rudnick

Author:Paul Rudnick [Rudnick, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-062-00862-6
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2010-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

NAN. That’s the one.

ALEX. What’s wrong?

NAN. Nothing. Could you just—turn that off? Please?

ALEX. Why?

NAN. I know it’s just flesh, I know it’s beautifully lit and photographed … turn it off! Please!

ALEX. What’s it a picture of?

NAN. You know very well.

MUMBALI. Do you?

NAN. Of course.

ALEX. Say it.

NAN. Why?

ALEX. So I’ll know. That you can handle it.

NAN. Of course, I can handle it.

ALEX. Then what is it?

NAN. It’s … it’s a composition, in light and dark. It’s—a celebration of the human form, it’s a witty essay in erotica, it’s a penis, it’s a big, huge, black penis.

ALEX. It’s a dick! Say it!

NAN. Say what?

ALEX. Dick! Not “penis.” Dick!

NAN. What difference does it make?

ALEX. If it was a picture of a penis, no one would mind. A penis appears in a medical textbook.

NAN. I’ve seen those things! They’re perfect. They always show everything in cross-section. And everything’s all pink, or pale blue, with branchy red veins, it looks like a map of the tri-state area.

ALEX. Exactly. But I took a picture of a dick—which means it’s sexual. And disturbing. And attached to someone.

NAN. And offensive! (turning to Mumbali) To women!

MUMBALI. You know it.

NAN. And black people!

MUMBALI. Now I thought about that. But look at it—it’s a symbol of black strength. It’s a proud tower of black supremacy. You have to let Steve stay for tonight—his parents are coming.

NAN. But how can you work here?

MUMBALI. I’m a black lesbian separatist. Who else would hire me?

NAN. But—all these pictures!

MUMBALI. I like ’em.

NAN. Why?

MUMBALI. ’Cause they’re nasty. They get to you. All of you white folks tiptoe around, going—is that what I think it is? Am I allowed to stare at it? Should I just yawn and pretend I’m bored? It’s what we’re not supposed to look at.

ALEX. But what we think about all the time.

NAN. I don’t.

MUMBALI. I don’t.

NAN. That’s right!

MUMBALI. That’s right. I think about vaginas.

NAN. That’s right!

MUMBALI. That’s right.

NAN. (catching herself) No!

MUMBALI. Chickenshit.

NAN. Excuse me?

ALEX. Fascist!

NAN. I am not!

MUMBALI. Bad hostess!

NAN. (turning on Mumbali, incensed) Dick! Dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick! (she grabs the remote control from Alex and decisively turns off the slide) There! Are you happy now?

ALEX. Are you?

MUMBALI. Make her say it again.

NAN. No! And you will remove Number 15!

ALEX. But it’s just a picture!

NAN. No, it isn’t! It isn’t just a picture! It’s a photograph!

ALEX. Meaning?

NAN. It’s so there! It’s practically shaking your hand! Now if you look at a Monet you can think, what lovely water lilies. And when you look at a Jackson Pollock it’s almost the best, because you can just stand there and make lists for the weekend. But with your pictures you can’t make up a little story, it’s an assault, it’s like—pornography!

ALEX. I hope so!

NAN. You hope so?

ALEX. Nan, you don’t understand. I don’t think sex should be beautiful and sensual and free. That’s so Sixties. I like it filthy. Scary. I don’t want “erotica.” I want Triple X. A Times Square marquee. Cum-Crazy Cocksuckers. Backdoor Babes. Eat Me In St.

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