ACT TWO

The same empty stage. In the far left corner, THE DIRECTOR and THE ACTOR lie asleep, huddled together under a single blanket. Centre stage, the folding chair.

Enter THE IMPRESARIO. He looks into the auditorium, then sits on the folding chair. After a while, he snaps his fingers.

Enter THE SON.

The ImpresarioPerform something.
The SonThe fandango?
The ImpresarioSomething new.
The SonThe jig?
The ImpresarioSomething exciting.
The SonGangnam style?
The ImpresarioSomething never seen before.
The SonThe Crimson?
The ImpresarioDo the Crimson.

THE IMPRESARIO snaps his fingers. THE SON does not move.

The ImpresarioThe Crimson!

THE SON stands motionless.

The Impresario(sotto voce) The Crimson. Now.

A pause.

The SonI want to go to Harvard.
The ImpresarioAnd I want the Crimson.
The SonI want a PhD.
The ImpresarioThe Crimson.
The SonFrom Harvard.
The ImpresarioI only have money for the Crimson.
The SonYou are rich.
The ImpresarioI don't even have money for a trumpet.
The SonYou have a house in Peckham.
The ImpresarioIt's mortgaged.
The SonYou have a house in Fulham.
The ImpresarioIt's a wreck.
The SonYou have a house in Clapham.
The ImpresarioIt's sold.
The SonYou have the Maserati.
The ImpresarioIt's my body.
The SonYou have the Ducati.
The ImpresarioIt's my mind.
The SonYou have the Bugatti.
The ImpresarioIt's my soul.
The SonYou have shares in Apple.
The ImpresarioFood.
The SonYou have shares in Astra.
The ImpresarioWine.
The SonYou have shares in Alphabet.
The ImpresarioThought.
The SonThought is for free.
The ImpresarioThen give me yours.

A pause.

The ImpresarioAbout this show.
The SonIt's an economics opera.

THE DIRECTOR wakes and looks up.

The DirectorDid I hear opera? Did you bring my trumpet and my cymbal?
The SonI have been accepted.

THE ACTOR wakes.

The ActorI am rarely accepted.
The DirectorYou are.
The Impresario(turning to The Son) You are?
The ActorAm I?
The SonI am.
The ImpresarioHe will give us the Crimson.
The SonI shall bring you a copy.
The ImpresarioI want the original.
The DirectorWe will have an original.
The ImpresarioAn original Crimson?
The DirectorAn original score.
The Impresario(gesturing towards The Actor) To which he will dance the Crimson?
The DirectorHe will.
The ActorI won't.
The DirectorHe would stumble.
The ActorI would.
The DirectorBut he will sing.
The ActorI will.
The DirectorHis voice will be drowned, of course.
The ActorIt must be.

THE DIRECTOR and THE ACTOR stand.

The DirectorWhere's my trumpet?
The ImpresarioThere was no trumpet yesterday. There is no trumpet today. There will be no trumpet tomorrow.
The DirectorThere is one in my thoughts.
The ImpresarioThat's cheap enough.
The ActorCan I go?
The ImpresarioFirst you must dance the Crimson.

THE IMPRESARIO snaps his fingers.

The Impresario(looking at The Son) Show him.

THE SON awkwardly performs a made-up dance.

The DirectorAh…

THE ACTOR claps.

The ActorLet me tie my laces.
The DirectorYou can't.
The ActorWhy?
The Director(dangling the laces) I have them.
The ActorGive them to me.
The DirectorNo.
The ImpresarioGive them to him.
The DirectorNo.
The ActorI can do it barefoot.
The DirectorNo.
The ImpresarioLet him.
The DirectorNo.
The ImpresarioWhy?
The DirectorYou wouldn't like the stink.
The ImpresarioOne is not always master of one's nose.
The ActorI take offense.
The DirectorYou don't.
The SonHe looks as if he does.
The DirectorLooks fool.
The ImpresarioThat's why we have the theatre.

A pause.

The ImpresarioMaybe we should have some fools rush in if he fears to dance.
The DirectorThey could be the chorus.
The SonThe consumers.
The ActorThe cuckolds.
The ImpresarioThe critics.
The ActorThe clowns.
The SonThe creditors.
The DirectorThe chorus.

A pause.

The DirectorThe composer will like this.
The ActorHe's famous.
The DirectorHe's a Harvard graduate.
The ImpresarioThat sounds expensive.
The SonThey have awarded me a stipend.
The ActorBravo.
The SonThank you.
The ActorI had once a stipend.
The DirectorYou didn't.
The ActorI did.
The DirectorYou didn't.
The ActorIt was from my mum.
The SonLucky you.
The Impresario(looking at The Son) You are lucky.
The SonI am not.

THE IMPRESARIO snaps his fingers.

The ImpresarioSay you are happy.
The SonI'm not sure I am.
The ActorYou don't know if you're unhappy or not?
The SonNo, sir.

THE IMPRESARIO snaps his fingers again.

The ImpresarioSmile.

THE SON smiles.

The ActorBravo. Can I go now?
The ImpresarioHe is repeating himself.
The DirectorThat's what makes him such a good actor.
The ActorI can even sing.
The DirectorAnd dance.
The ActorWith my shoes on.

A group of fools rushes in. Each mimics THE SON's dance in their own way. They rush out again.

The DirectorMy chorus!
The ActorA silent bunch, they are, but they certainly know their Crimson.
The ImpresarioThey do, but I cannot afford them.
The DirectorEvery opera needs a chorus.
The ActorEvery chorus needs an opera.
The DirectorThe composer agrees.

A short pause. Enter THE STAGE MANAGER.

The Stage ManagerI'm afraid the composer had to cancel. But he will be here tomorrow.

Curtain.

Act Two