Written Feb-Mar 2007
Amended April 2012
(An OLD MAN dodders onto the stage. He is dressed in an overused tweed jacket, blown-out corduroy pants, and a porkpie hat. About halfway to CENTER STAGE he sees and acknowledges the crowd, a smile blooms on his face. He begins to ham it up, does a simple soft-shoe routine that looks well-rehearsed, and ends in a big flourish. Whatever the audience's reaction, he continues:)
OLD MAN: Ahhh... If this was 50 years ago, you'd be rollin' in the aisles! Bah!...
(He moves over to a chair at CENTER STAGE and sits down.)
OLD MAN: Oh, that was a long time ago. I can still remember like it was yesterday. I've played bars, nightclubs, subways, Vegas resorts. First show I did was like the first woman I ever made love to. But better. Nothing more intoxicating than that. Beloved Fortuna, as the Medievals called her. The love of the crowd. Oh, but she's a harsh mistress. Worst of the bunch. Chew you up and spit you out, she will. But you love every minute of it.
Started out as a song-and-dance man. Worked the burlesque circuit. Gin joints and dive bars all around Chicago. Dancing girls and rowdy crowds, smoky rooms. Played the violin. Other guy danced a jig, took a couple of girlies and galloped around the stage. Stood in a corner and played Stravinsky, a little soft shoe. Did that two shows a night, three nights a week. Fun life. (He laughs.) Yeah. First couple months. Do a hundred shows of the same crap, see how you feel. Got fed up. One night in Berwyn, had my fill. Old guy's foppin' around the barroom floor. Lookin' like Harold Lloyd in drag. Idiot. Stopped playin' the Stravinsky. Called him a bastard. Dances like a frilly litle monkey in heat. Audience roared. And I saw her. Fortuna! That's when Fortuna came into my life. After that show, people came up by the bushel. Gig after gig, people offerin' me jobs. Put down the violin and talked. I became a bona-fide star!
Fortuna came in and seduced my life. Moved up from working gin joints to hotels and night clubs. People loved sittin' around listenin' to me talk about crap. Fortuna, she plucked me out like an orphan from a rainstorm. Placed me in the public eye. Got a job playing vaudeville houses. Professional heckler. Show would come on the stage, two guys juggling fire or a woman with an elephant or some whatnot. I'd come in, sit down near the stage. Start throwin' things at 'em. Call 'em crap. Boo 'em, hiss 'em. Ushers try to grab me, I'd get outta their way. Cross aisles. Put on some other guy's hat. Lead 'em on a chase in and ou of the theater. Like that Scooby-Doo nonsense. Did that the whole show. End up on stage. Spotlight would hit me. Emcee says, “Ladies and gentlemen, The Heckler!” Standing ovations. Every time. Every town. Toured the Midwest circuit, Chitlin circuit, Appalacian circuit, every stinkin' circuit they had. Fortuna with me every step of the way. Every show. I played more and more gigs. Met more people. Wined and dined. I remember one year, Kansas City, my birthday. Fortuna treated me like a king. After shows were over, she escorted me to a casino. Played the slots all night. Gourmet dinner. Then saw this blues musician on stage. Fabulous show. Great time. Didn't cost me a dime. Then there was the Dells. Played one a' them huge resorts in the Wisconsin Dells. Packed house, thousands of people. Afterwards, escorted to my room by the seductive Ms. Fortuna. That night, was sittin' in one a' them hot spring pools outside. Cold January night, snow was sprinklin' off the roofs. Water was nice, beautiful and warm. Glass of champagne in my hand. Looked up at that glistenin' sky, raised my foggy glass. Knew at that point, was livin' the life made for kings and fakers. This was Shangri-la. And I owed it all to my beloved Fortuna.
Kept performin' that way, 10 years. All around the country. Canada, too. Same theaters, same crowds, same act. Killed 'em every time. But that Fortuna... ooh, she got ornery. Tryin' to tell me to move on. Get a new racket. Feh. Square peg inna round hole. I'm a heckler. I heckle. Damn good at it, too. Ain't broke, don't fix it. Damn bitch got on my nerves. Naggin' little voice in my head. “You're gonna burn out.” “One-trick pony.” “Has-been.” Pah. She never done show business. Thinks she's queen 'cause she's popular. Bullcrap. Don't need her. Don't need her fancy resorts and casino passes. Don't need nothin'. Can do it on my own. Got myself up here, I can take off from here. Screw her. Screw everyone.
So I kept doin' it. Ten years. Did my biggest show in fronta Kennedy. Twenty thousand people at the Lincoln Memorial, and I call ol' Honest Abe a nutbag. Heh. Audience roared. Kennedy, kid called me a National Treasure. Then, poor man got shot. Johnson didn't care. Nixon didn't care. Soon, nobody care. Years later, could hardly pack a room. Had people yankin' my coat in the crowd, pushin' me in the seats. Hecklin' me. Heh. Hecklin' the heckler. Copycats started sproutin' up. Workin' a dead show in Memphis, some guy stealin' my act in Minnesota. I'm dyin' in Houston, some heckler's killin' in Charlotte. In Cleveland. Chicago. Some bastard in Chicago's getting' bigger laughs with my act. My hometown. Bullcrap.
So I went back. Had to start all over again. Dirty jokes 'n too much gin. Had some doozies, too. Feh. Gin joints get tough audiences. Rough. Throwin' stuff at me. Bottles. Chairs. Tore lamps off the roof 'n threw them. Stopped doin' shows. Couldn't play a street corner. Everywhere I go, somebody gotta be funny. Rip my sleeve. Steal my hat. Knock me down 'n call me names. Buncha savages in this town.
Gin joints, heh. Took the gin part home with me. Went home, found a bottle, crawled inside, twenty years. No calls. No visits. Nothin'. For performer, loneliest sound in the world is a phone that never rings. Like that tree fallin' in the forest. You got talent 'n no one's interested, does it matter? Heh. Still waitin' for the answer.
Every day that goes by, still think about her. Can't stop. She was the greatest part of my life. Exciting. Passionate. 'Course, she's the biggest bitch in my life. Bossy. Manipulative. (laughs.) Yep. She's a firecracker. Amazing. Still remember that first time I saw her. Fortuna. I'm on stage takin' the piss outta my partner. And I see her. Walkin' down the main aisle. Sleek, smooth, voluptuous vixen, slinkin' through the seats. Skin pale and delicate as cigarette smoke. Hair, velvety 'n aromatic as whiskey spirits. She was magnetic, intoxicating. She was a vision, a goddess as she floated all the way from the back of the house to the orchestra pit. All eyes were on her. Her eyes were on me. Then she bounded over 'n join me up on stage, stood in my spot. Then, all eyes were on me. (Beat.) Oh, if I could just have one last day with her. Just one hour. Just to talk. Swear I'll never leave again. You were right. You were right. (looks at the audience.) You were right. Had my best interests at heart. Love you, baby. Need you, baby. Come back to me. Swear I'll treat you good this time, swear I'll treat you good.
(Beat. Another Beat. OLD MAN looks off into the audience, and a smile reblooms across his face. He gets up from his chair, starts to do another soft-shoe routine, ends with another big flourish. Whatever the response from the audience, he then pulls a flask out from his jacket and takes a big swig.)
OLD MAN: Bastards.
(The OLD MAN exits Stage Right. Lights fade out.)
