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Joey, Jack, and Jim

Time: 1970

Place: A gay bar in Boston

Characters:
Jack – age 50; was crippled in Air Force accident
Joey – age 32; a poet and playwright
Jim – age 25; an artist

JACK: Three queens.

JOEY: Four, Jack. I spotted them before you. I win the bet.

JACK: Here's a five spot. You know I was thinking, why do we come out to the bars?

JOEY: It beats going to the baths.

JACK: I'm tired of it all. But it didn't stop me from carrying my equipment with muscle-bound Jim.

JOEY: Being with Jim is ever particularly Jamesian.

JACK: Well, he has the equipment. He's late tonight.

JOEY: He had an arrangement.

JACK: Now what's that supposed to mean?

JOEY: A date, an important one with some guy running for mayor.

JACK: Not another blackmail scene. Last year it was cheesecake…before that, cameos.

JOEY: He's not like us, Jack. He's a mover.

JACK: Speak for yourself.

JOEY: I was always a bashful boy.

JACK: I remember the first night you came out here, you were shaking, as if the angels had kicked you out of the choir loft.

JOEY: You said I looked like a fallen angel.

JACK: All blue-eyed and curly blonde, I said to myself, he must have been the darling of the choirmaster.

JOEY: I was an altar boy.

JACK: Saint Joe of the Flowers.

JOEY: Well, I tried my hand at gardening.

JACK: You were a pure poet, through and through. I knew you'd become well-known.

JOEY: I used to send out my poems on vellum.

JACK: When you couldn't find a paper bag. That's when I got my settlement from the Air Force and I started to support you. I knew you had that fine arts stuff.

JOEY: How so?

JACK: Stuffy, snotty, snobby snobbery, and I didn't half wonder why you stuck with me. You were laughing all the way to my bank. It was highway robbery.

JOEY: Well, you robbed the cradle.

JACK: You couldn't even find a kleenex after you came with me.

JOEY: I swallowed up everything you gave me. You are right—I was a baby.

JACK: But my baby. Just what the Air Force psychiatrist said I needed—a lover.

JOEY: Oh, not those stories of the big bombers you loved to capture…how you used to be straight and the girls went wild over you on V-E Day.

JACK: Better than the days with you at the V.D. clinics when you couldn't even pee, and you asked me to hold if for you and to check it out.

JOEY: I used to be a clean-cut kid.

JACK: I'm uncut, because my mother couldn't afford the five bucks to circumcise me. But I became the kind of guy you needed, anyway. You'll always be the same—between a boy man and a man boy—my manchild. But tell me, do you dye your hair?

JOEY: No, it's still naturally blonde. Dirty blonde, like Marilyn, who you said you dated.

JACK: I told you I was in New York at the ballgame, and Marilyn Monroe was looking for Joe DiMaggio and felt stood up, and she had a drink with me.

JOEY: Tell me another and get me a glass of Vermouth.

JACK: Shut your mouth or you'll have to swallow more than my old wives' tales. But I did date Marilyn and I was married for a short time.

JOEY: What, a blind dated marriage?

JACK: It only lasted a month.

JOEY: But how did it taste?

JACK: You have to drink the dregs.

(Enter Jimmy.)

JOEY: There's Jimmy.

JACK: Our artiste in residence. How did it go with the mayor?

JIM: Well, he promised if he got in I'd be his liaison with the arts community.

JACK: But did he get in tonight?

JIM: Don't rub it in, boys, not tonight. I'd like some of that rum cake.

JACK: First tell us—was he a piece of cake?

JIM: Well, I showed him my cheesecake photos and he ate it all up.

JACK: And you besides.

JIM: Does he have to be so graphic?

JOEY: You know three-club Jack—nice guy Jack when you meet him; good guy Jack when he supports you; Jack the Ripper when he loves you.

JIM: Well, at least he's been loyal.

JOEY: And I haven't been his good boy all these moons. I had my reservations, believe me, when I met him.

JACK: Indian giver…

JOEY: I knew he wasn't like us, James, the artsy crows, but Jack didn't ask for much…just my soul, and I was a struggling writer…

JIM: I guess Karl Marx was right in some things.

JOEY: But I got used to Jack…he was reliable, responsible, always there for me.

JIM: And willing to unbutton himself to you, pour out his heart for art.

JACK: And I was rich…

JOEY: And you were richly rewarded, too. I loved you more than any woman. You told me that. You said I was more beautiful than Marilyn and once I heard you moaning "Monroe" in your sleep after we made love.

JIM: Oh, spare me the details.

JACK: So you two must have had your intrigues on me. Who cares, my young shavers.

JIM: At least we ain't just three dull blades.

JACK: Threesome musketeers with Muscatel. Try to rhyme that, Joey.

JOEY: You know I'm a free spirit and write free verse only.

JACK: You make it seem I tied you down. You could have left me any old time.

JOEY: For what?

JACK: You were too lazy. I was your daddy-o and sugar daddy, admit it. Jim knows the score.

JOEY: I don't deny it. But living with an alcoholic is a drag too, dragging you home at 2:00 AM when the neighbors heard you with your familiar rattle.

JACK: Oh, babe…poor baby. I feel so sorry for you. You've lived high on the hog all these years. You went to Paris, France…

JOEY: That was on a grant.

JACK: I gave you money to enter for the grant.

JOEY: Granted. Jack of clubs, you're my savior, okay, man?

JACK: You were gone over in Paris for over two years and never sent me a postcard, as if I never existed. Oh, don't start in…you were finding yourself.

JOEY: I was finding my voice. That's how I won the literary prize.

JIM: You two are always cock fighting until it really hurts.

JOEY: And then in a Jamesian moment, Jim comes in and saves us.

JIM: Don't make me just a bit player in your drama. I'm human, remember; maybe not a gutsy guy like Jack here, maybe a guy who has to earn his keep.

JACK: Oh, Mary's little helper. I helped you out when you needed it with that lawyer after you got into that porno racket, or was that before the pimp I paid off for you?

JIM: Jack off. I made it with you while you're Pal Joey was away.

JACK: When my Pal Joey was away, little Mary came out to play.

JIM: You didn't object to my objet d'art.

JOEY: Jack can't even spell it.

JACK: I could find it when you were away in Gay Paree. I found that letter from Dear John.

JOEY: Jean.

JACK: I know you met with him on three occasions for cocktails in New York.

JOEY: Yes, Jack, I ate the apple…in his bare cupboard.

JACK: You're rotten to the core, Joey, but I love you anyway.

JIM: Who can help it?

JOEY: Thanks, James, I needed that.

JIM: I always aim to please.

JOEY: Well, spill it out. What's with the mayoral candidate?

JIM: He's a closet case. But he's sincere.

JACK: I never heard that word from your lips before.

JIM: I mean it.

JACK: I thought "sincere" in love starts with "sin."

JIM: I'm not an ex-Jesuit confessional like you, Jack. I didn't go to Boys' Town.

JACK: Nor did I, Jim. Boston College High—B.C. High.

JIM: Before Christ or after?

JACK: Leave Got out of it. He never did you no harm.

JIM: But look at what God did to you.

JACK: What's that?

JIM: For all your monogamy, if you can spell it, Jack, you're still walking around with the scarlet letter. You don't understand anything about liberation or the pink triangle.

JACK: I don't hide behind my palette like you. I paid for your art show at the gallery, didn't I?

JIM: Listen, if you were a nice guy, Jack, you wouldn't boast about what you did for Joey or I. I thought a Christian doesn't know what the right hand does from his left, as regards to charity.

JACK: I am the head of Charity Anonymous.

JOEY: Such caritas anonymous isn't our Jack of hearts.

JACK: I've saved you both from dirt.

JIM: Oh, the diamond in the rough Jack…rough and ready to help any fag so he can get a free blow job.

JACK: That's all you think I am. Maybe I believed in you guys. I may not understand modern art or modern poetry but I've supported you in every way I could.

JOEY: Bless Saint Jack, the ace of spades.

JACK: All you guys do is make fun of an old do-gooder.

JIM: You have your reward every night in us.

JOEY: I used to wonder, James, if God directs our aesthetic life as he does our religious life.

JIM: The other former altar boy has spoken ex-cathedra…

JOEY: Seriously, Jim. You know about the buried talents…

JIM: Spare me. Religious trips are one-way tickets I won't buy.

JOEY: I can't blame you.

JIM: Look what it did to Jack. He's always repentant after he gives it to me. I remember when you were away, I watched him putting holy water all over himself. but it couldn't hide the way he came out of the water closet.

JACK: You used to be a closet case too—confess it.

JIM: I refuse to admit to being a case. I never went to a sex therapist or to any confessional. I admit my sex life began in the urinal; how about yours?

JOEY: With my first date. His name was Billy. In the sixth grade.

JIM: And you, Jackie-O?

JACK: I won't admit anything except to my priest, or under contract. I've been betrayed too many times.

JIM: He thinks he's Jesus Christ.

JACK: No, I know I'm a goddamned sinner.

JIM: Oh, give him a Billy Graham cracker.

JOEY: Wrong religion.

JIM: Same medicine…no cure.

JACK: And don't I know it. All my brothers played football at Notre Dame.

JIM: And you couldn't even find a dame.

JOEY: Except for Marilyn Monroe.

JIM: So tell us about Billy.

JOEY: He was fourteen—dark hair—just beautiful. I saw him last month. He's a lawyer, uptown. He smiled at me. He's got a wife, too kids. Suburbia, the whole scene. I think he remembered me. I wish I could write him a love note sometimes, but he'd probably deny that he danced with me after the girls left Carol's house that Christmas, and that he initiated me into sex.

JACK: He'd never tell his boys that.

JOEY: Oh, no. Not William Kaiser III. But I was crushed on Billy boy. What about you, Jim?

JIM: With me it was my high school coach, Mr. Ray Lapworth. He made it with me, and he ran an extra mile for it too.

JACK: You must have been beautiful boys.

JOEY: What about you, Jack six pack?

JACK: I made it with a hockey star, a little plucky kid named Sean, who wound up as a marine. Beautiful blue eyes he had…

JOEY: When Irish eyes are smiling. How come you are weeping?

JACK: I'm a sentimental guy.

JOEY: Better than just mental. I remember when I first met you, you had tantrums if I went out.

JACK: I was afraid, Joey, of you coming out smelling like Irish Rose.

JOEY: So the first week you hounded me and kept me.

JACK: I kept you safe and sound. I never tied you up. You were free to come and go, but I knew you'd be back.

JOEY: I lived, Jack, on your hand-outs.

JACK: And I lived for your hand jobs. You never worked your ass off except on your places.

JOEY: And for you—you worked me hard when you first met me.

JACK: You were hard up.

JIM: Joey did more work on his plays and poems than you, taking the Air Force's money.

JACK: So I'm crippled and Joey's not?

JIM: I'm always hearing this big beef. Kiss and make up. Tomorrow is another night.

JOEY: Oh, James, you're so cool. If I didn't know you were hot all the time, I'd belive you.

JIM: I keep my balls inside.

JACK: That's not what I heard at the gymnasium.

JIM: You can't even make it on the ropes…sorry, Jack. I didn't mean it. I had a heavy date.

JACK: Now you're talking my kind of talk.

JIM: You get off on cock talk, don't you, and calling up guys' numbers from the tea rooms just to say what you'd want to do if you could.

JACK: I can do both of you at the same time and not bat an eyelash.

JIM: Stop your jack-off talk. But I guess that's all you have to offer. Plus your monthly offering for Joey and I.

JACK: Do you still want my offer?

JOEY: Jack gives us more than this support. He's always been there for us. Admit it, Jim. When you're in trouble you call him up as fast as a jackrabbit.

JACK: And old rabbit comes to your rescue. My two boys never have disappointed me in the long run. I know you've had other affairs with more noble and educated men but I needed you to help me out, too. You were good to me when I needed physical help and I've paid you well.

JOEY: Forgive me, Jackson. For tonight. I get bitchy sometimes.

JIM: I get worse than any bitch.

JACK: Especially when you're broke. I know your god is your art.

JOEY: Artists have things they can only express in words or symbols.

JIM: Let's drink a toast to a threesome tonight. It will never be better than we are. At least we're alive.

JACK: And kicking the pricks.

JOEY: Jack, I think you are a saint.

JACK: Me? My mother wanted her youngest to be a priest, but I had to go my way…

JIM: Not Yahweh.

JACK: Who knows who is a saint?

JOEY: I told Jack when I met him I could be or do whatever he wanted me to. I was desperate, literally hungry for everything, in a big city with talent to write but no way to have it exposed. I was ready to sell myself on the Block to the first guy who could give me a meal.

JIM: I've been there, too.

JACK: Let's go home, fellas. We're all on for tonight.

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