Reunion and Dark Pony (3 page)

“Don't let it get you down.”

CAROL
: He's not such a great lover, anyway.

BERNIE
: He seems like a nice enough guy.

CAROL
: He's a lousy fuck.

BERNIE
: That doesn't mean he isn't a nice guy, Carol.

CAROL
: What do you know about it?

BERNIE
: Speaking as your father and as a guy with quite an experience of the world . . .

CAROL
: . . . whatever . . .

BERNIE
: . . . not a hell of a lot. But I'll tell you, he's genuinely fond of you. . . .

That's got to count for something . . .

Right?

Scene VIII

CAROL
: You know—when I was young they used to talk about Broken Homes.

Today, nothing. Everyone's divorced. Every kid on the block's got three sets of parents.

But . . .

It's got to have affected my marriage. . . .

I came from a Broken Home.

The most important institution in America.

BERNIE
: Life goes on. Your mother and me . . .

CAROL
: . . . Oh, yeah, life goes on. And no matter how much of an asshole you may be, or may have been, life goes on.

Gerry's like that.

BERNIE
: I'm not going to lie to you. I felt guilt and remorse and every other goddamn thing. I missed you.

What the hell.

I was mad. I was mad at your mother. I was mad at you.

I was mad at the fucking government that never treated me like anything but a little kid. . . . saving their ass with daylight precision bombing. . . .

Everybody hates the VA.

I mean, understand: I'm not asking you to understand me, Carol, because we've both been through enough.

Am I right?

Pause.

CAROL
: Gerry was in Korea.

BERNIE
: Yes? And what does he have to say about it?

CAROL
: Nothing.

Scene IX

BERNIE
: Let me tell you a story.

One time—this was strange—when I'm working for the Phone Company. I'm out on the Cape. Lineman.

Repairs, on the street. I'm making out okay, what with that and my disability.

Bought myself a new Buick.

Beautiful sonofabitch. Used to drive into Boston and go out to Wonderland with Alex.

He loved that car. I think he was secretly envious.

And so I'm working out on the Cape. It's December thirtieth.

I get invited to a New Year's party in Provincetown. I'm supposed to be working.

So I call in sick. What the hell, I had a good work record.

And it's New Year's Eve day and I'm getting ready to drive to Provincetown.

Put a hundred bucks in my wallet and I go to Mitchell's—that's the tavern in Falmouth I used to hang out at—and there's this Italian kid shooting pool. About twenty. I don't know . . . Steve, something like that.

So I offer him twenty bucks to drive out to Provincetown with me, stay in the car, and drive me home New Year's Day.

So fine. We get up to Provincetown, I go over to Kenny's house . . . Kenny Hill. You would of liked him I think. He would have liked you, I can tell you that. Had an eye for younger women. Who could blame him.

And so we had a hell of a party.

That's one thing Kenny knew how to do is throw a party.

But the point is not the party but the next morning.

So the next morning I get up off the couch or wherever I was and put on my coat and go out to the car to invite this kid Steve in for a cup of coffee or something.

So there's the Buick but the kid is gone. Nowhere to be found. Vanished. Along with my flashlight, which I don't find out til I rack the car up near Truro.
(Pause.)
But hold on. (
He thinks for a moment.
)

I think he took my flashlight. . . . (
Pause.
)

So I go back in the house. Get myself together, and
I figure I'd better start back to Falmouth. I'm hung over as a sonofabitch. I say good-bye to my friends, grab a bottle, and into the car.

It's snowing up a storm. I can hardly see anyway. I'm weaving all over the road. Next thing I know I'm asleep. And the following thing I'm wrapped around a telephone pole.

So I get out. Knocked the pole clean over; the hood of the Buick is wrenched to shit. I go to get out the flashlight to try to get a look at the engine, and the flashlight's gone.

There's no help for it, so I get back in and go to sleep.

Next thing I know here comes a Black and White. The cop wakes me up, I happen to know him from around Falmouth, and I convince him that it's all an accident, and I give him a drink and he drives me home and promises to call the garage. So you should be careful who you're calling a pig.

Any case, I no sooner get in bed than ten seconds later, Wham! The telephone rings and it's Jim Daugherty, the supervisor for the Cape.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Like a big piece of cow shit,” I tell him.

“You gotta come in today,” he says.

“Jim,” I tell him, “I'm sick, it's New Year's, get someone else.”

“Everybody else is drunk,” he says. “I'm the only one here, and some asshole knocked down a pole near Truro.”

. . . So I tell him my car won't start. He says he's coming over in the truck to get me.

So I make some coffee and he comes and we go over to Truro to fix the pole.

He's cursing the whole way:

“Jagoff” this and “Asshole” that . . .

And what with the overtime and holiday pay and the twenty Jim slipped me for coming along I made about ninety bucks for one afternoon. And Jim was so mad, he did most of the work himself and I spent most of the time in the cab drinking.

Scene X

BERNIE
: But I can't work for the Phone Company anymore.

When they finally pulled my license, that was it. I hit a cop car. Actually it sounds more exciting than it was. It was an unmarked car. He was parked anyway. Only time I ever got a ticket in Boston. A heartbreaker.

Anyway, I lost my license and that was it. I got fired and they meant it.

Jim Daugherty went down to Boston to talk to ‘em.

No Dice.

He even wrote a letter to the Board of Trustees for me.

The Board of Trustees of the Phone Company.

No good.

He said if I got fired he was going to quit, too.

. . . He didn't, though. . . .

But he would've. . . .

Broke him up, too. Best goddamn lineman on the Cape.

Eight years, best record.

We were very close. . . .

Canned. Like that. Pension, benefits, seniority.

Shot. . . .

It was probably for the best.

But I'll be goddamned if I can see how.

I used to drink a bit on the job. But who didn't?

Jim knew that. Nobody cared.

If it hadn't showed up in the accident report, I'd be working today.

What the hell.

CAROL
: How long till you can get your license back?

BERNIE
: Supposedly never, but, actually, in about a year.

They review it.

They told me about it at the A.A. The guys there go up with you.

Their opinion is very respected.

CAROL
: I was a teacher for a while.

BERNIE
: You were? Where?

CAROL
: In Newton. I taught sixth grade.

BERNIE
: How about that! Where.

CAROL
: At the Horace Mann School.

BERNIE
: You were at the Horace Mann School?

CAROL
: For a year and a half.

BERNIE
: And I was right across the street?

CAROL
: Where?

BERNIE
: At the Garage.

The Company Garage is right across the street. I was out there all the time.

We used to eat at Mike's. Did you ever go in there?

CAROL
: No. I went in for cigarettes once in a while.

BERNIE
: I used to go in there all the time. I was there—easily—twice a week.

For years.

Goddamn.

When were you there?

CAROL
: 1969.

BERNIE
: . . . I haven't worked for the phone company since ‘55.

You want some tea?

CAROL
: You have any coffee?

BERNIE
: Yeah, sure. Instant.

CAROL
: That's fine.

BERNIE
: But I bet I saw you around. Boston, Boylston Street . . .

CAROL
: We must've seen each other . . . in the Common . . .

A hundred times.

Scene XI

BERNIE
: I remember the day you turned twenty-one.

February fourth, 1968.

Your birthday.

I was going to call you up.

You probably don't believe it.

It's not important.

The actions are important.

The present is important.

I spent a couple of days in jail once.

What it taught me, you've gotta be where you are.

. . . While you're there.

Or you're nowhere.

Do you know what I mean?

As it pertains to you and me?

Because I think it's very important. . . .

Does this make any sense to you?

CAROL
: I want to get to know you.

BERNIE
: And I want to get to know you. But that's not going to magically wipe out twenty years. . . .

In which you were growing up, which you had to do anyway, and I was drunk. . . .

I don't mean to get stupid about it.

But let's get up, go out, do this, go look at the
locomotive if they've still got it there, something . . . you know?

Because, all kidding aside, what's between us isn't going nowhere, and the rest of it doesn't exist.

Scene XII

BERNIE
: So let me ask you something—you don't mind if I get personal for a second, do you?

CAROL
: What?
(Pause.)

BERNIE
: What I want to know is why all of a sudden you come looking for me. And it's not that I'm criticizing you.

CAROL
: Why should I think you were criticizing me?
Pause.

BERNIE
: I mean, I could of come looking for
you
after you were twenty-one. Not that I was sure how you'd feel about seeing me . . . but you must of felt the same way? No.

I mean, it must of been . . . I'm guessing . . . some kind of decision to get you to all of a sudden come looking for me.

How did you find me?

CAROL
: Through the A.A.

BERNIE
: And you just kind of decided and sent Gerry over to meet me?

CAROL
: Yes.

BERNIE
: And why now?

CAROL
: I felt lonely.

BERNIE
: . . . Oh. (
Pause.
)

CAROL
: You're my father.

Scene XIII

CAROL
: I feel lonely.

Pause.

BERNIE
: Who doesn't?

CAROL
: Do you?

BERNIE
: Sometimes.

CAROL
: I feel cheated.

And, do you know what? I never had a father.

BERNIE
: Carol . . .

CAROL
: And I don't want to be pals and buddies; I want you to be my father.

(
Pause.
)

And to hear your goddamn war stories and the whole thing.

And that's why now because that's how I feel.

(
Pause.
)

I'm entitled to it.

Am I?

Am I?

BERNIE
: Yes.

CAROL
: I am. You're goddamn right.

BERNIE
: You know what the important thing is?

CAROL
: What?

BERNIE
: To be together.

What's past is in the past . . . it's gone.

You're a grown woman . . . I'm on the wagon, your mother's remarried, I got a good job, and there's no reason . . .

I can't make it up to you.

CAROL
: Do you have to go to work tonight?

BERNIE
: I don't work on Sundays. But Sandy got sick so I was supposed to come in but I called Frank and he told me he'd get someone else to cover so I don't have to go in tonight.

You want to do something?

CAROL
: Gerry was . . . he said he'd like it if we went out to dinner.

Would you like that?

BERNIE
: Yeah. I'd like that.

CAROL
: We could go out by ourselves if you want.

BERNIE
: No. It's a good idea I think.

And it's no big thing in any case, right?

CAROL
: . . . We could go out, just the two of us.

BERNIE
: Whatever you want. What you want, Carol.

That's what we'll do.

Scene XIV

BERNIE
: I got you something. Sit down. I'll give it to you.

CAROL
: What is it?

BERNIE
: I don't know. I found it on the bus.

CAROL
: . . . It's beautiful.

BERNIE
: Yeah.

CAROL
(
reading inscription
): “To Carol from her Father. March eighth, 1973.”

BERNIE
: It's my fault. It's not their fault. My threes look like eights.

It's only five days off.

It's the thought that counts. . . .

Ruth told me that you should never give anyone jewelry because then they'll always think they have to wear it when you're around. . . .