The offices of J.J. Connelley & Sons. Dominic Carlucci, Mailroom Attendant, has been making his rounds. He’s taking a short break with Marty Greene, Accounts Payable. A young man, Lyle Cheever is seated at another desk. He continues silently working throughout this scene.
DOM
Lookit that weirdo. He’s lucky he’s got a fuckin job.
MARTY
Dom—
DOM
I remember he come in here—
MARTY
I told you—
DOM
I thought, “Who the hell hired this geek?”
MARTY
Only Connelley. They hired us.
DOM
This company’ll hire anyone, long as they can fuck ‘em.
MARTY
Dom. I’m sorry. This is the third time—
DOM
What?
MARTY
You know how I feel about such language.
DOM
Oh. Yeah.
MARTY
Could you watch it?
DOM
Yeah. I forget sometimes. Jerkoff’s got me all—
MARTY
Try to remember.
DOM
I will.
MARTY
Cause it really bothers me.
DOM
Yeah.
MARTY
That language.
DOM
I won’t fuckin talk shit like that—
MARTY
Dom!
DOM
—just kiddin! Come on! Hey Marty, I forgot. Waddaya want from me?
MARTY
I want you to respect my choice and try—
DOM
When I get angry I can’t find the words.
MARTY
I’m sure if you put on your thinking cap, you’ll find a word.
DOM
I gotta tell ya, this is tough gettin used to, Marty, I gotta say, and I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but I liked you a lot better before you found God.
MARTY
Oh Dom.
DOM
You’re a different person. I can’t talk about nothin no more.
MARTY
I’m still the same old Marty.
DOM
No you’re not! You’re a fuckin brown-nose!
MARTY
Dom! Please!
DOM
You used to kick ass! You didn’t take no shit from nobody! Look at ya now, with the bowtie!
MARTY
What’s wrong with a bowtie?
DOM
And you’re no fun anymore! The Pussycat Lounge, The Dream Boat, remember?
MARTY
Vaguely.
DOM
I want the old Marty back! Come on!
MARTY
Dom, the only difference between the old Marty and the new, is I’m Saved.
DOM
It looks like you. It sounds like you. But it ain’t you.
MARTY
Let Jesus in Your Heart. It’s not too late.
DOM
I’m too far gone for that.
MARTY
Well, don’t come to Him when you’re on your Deathbed and you want to be forgiven. He sees right through alla that last minute please forgive me stuff. It’ll really be too late then. No Eternal Life For You. “Dominic Carlucci? Elevator Going Down.”
DOM
At least I’ll be in good company.
(Noticing Lyle.)
Lookit’im over there. Hey! Come up for air!
MARTY
Dom!
DOM
I don’t like that psycho upsettin the applecart. Makin us all look bad—
MARTY
—when we do it perfectly well on our own.
DOM
You see the work he’s been handin in lately?
MARTY
No.
DOM
Well, since the scumbag—
MARTY
Dom.
DOM
What’s wrong with “scumbag?” They say it on TV!
MARTY
Let’s not use TV as our moral barometer.
DOM
Since the skoong decided he’s too good for everyone, he’s doin about three times the work that he used to do and he used to do more than anyone else to begin with.
MARTY
How do you know that?
DOM
I make it my business to know. Every day his pile gets bigger and bigger. He used to get about three pieces a day. Not bad, a little higher than average. Then he starts gettin five, now he’s up to about nine pieces and there’s no sign of it lettin up.
MARTY
So?
DOM
So?! If that geek can produce like that, why can’t you? Or me? Or everyone! The whole company! He’s settin a standard that we’re all gonna hafta meet!
MARTY
Dom, look around you. There are no standards.
DOM
You wish! I used to have a good fifteen minutes after my morning run for a cup of coffee and a danish. Found a nice spot by the freight elevator. I got a little TV there. Some reading material. A nice setup. Now, with that weirdo doin all that work, not only don’t I get no break, I gotta bust my ass to get done on time. And don’t think that that’s gone unnoticed. Words’ve been said to the effect that I’m gettin slow in my old age. Callin me Dashin Dom. I turn sixty day after tomorrow.
MARTY
Happy Birthday.
DOM
Thanks. In this company, you gotta be sixty before you can collect. If they’re makin comments now, you think they’re gonna keep me around for ten more years?
MARTY
They’re not going to let you go! You’re a fixture here! Who can even imagine J.J. Connelley & Sons without Dominic Carlucci scratchin his behind!
DOM
Look at this.
Dom hands Marty a letter.
A schedule. Tellin me when I gotta deliver what where. Broken down. Floor by floor. Department by department. Now, why would they do that if they were satisfied?
Marty reads the letter.
MARTY
I don’t know.
DOM
See? Bastards. Ya know, I seen things fall offa the truck a million times and I never took nothin.
MARTY
I know. Your integrity is without question.
DOM
What am I gonna do? I don’t know anything useful.
MARTY
Look, if worse came to worse—
DOM
Oh Jesus. Don’t even—
MARTY
—which it won’t, but if it did, trust—
DOM
Who is gonna hire a sixty year old man?
MARTY
What do you want me to say? So go on Welfare.
DOM
Carlucci’s don’t take no charity! It’s that weirdo! Fu—, effin guy starts workin like that, showin me up. I gotta do somethin!
MARTY
You can do one of two things. You can either talk to him—
DOM
Talk to him? About what? He’s doin good. Why should he give a fuck for me? I don’t give two shits about him.
MARTY
—or, you can do an honest days work. You’re here, you might as well. That’s my philosophy.
DOM
I do my job best I could.
MARTY
Dom, we all love you and we’ve learned to accept you and your, uh, inconsistencies, but to say you do your job the best you could, well, you’re kidding yourself.
DOM
I thought you were my friend. The old Marty woulda never—
MARTY
—spoken his mind? No. I would’ve gone along with you. Now, I’m—
DOM
Remember what you used to say? “Fuck’em all! Short and tall!”
MARTY
Dom!
DOM
What?!
MARTY
Don’t ever do that to me again!
DOM
Allright!
MARTY
I've worked too hard, changing my life, to have you dredge up—
DOM
Okay! Jesus!
MARTY
—and don’t say Jesus!
DOM
Why not?
MARTY
Just don’t you say it!
(A short silence.)
DOM
(Checking his watch.)
Fuck me. I’m seven minutes behind. Shit.
(Dom prepares his cart.)
MARTY
And Dom?
DOM
What?
MARTY
Everyone knows about the freight elevator.
DOM
Oh my God! How long’ve they known?
MARTY
Look, just do the work. Give yourself over to it and stop complaining. Lyle Cheever’s production has nothing to do with you.
(Dom pushes his cart off as the lights fade on him. Up on Lyle, sitting on the corner of his desk. He talks to us.)
LYLE
One day, I thought I’d try an experiment. I wondered if I could go the whole day without talking. Being that I live alone, the morning was no problem; getting up and getting dressed and all. At the subway, I pushed six dollars through the window and the clerk gave me my Metrocard. No words exchanged. Easy. When I got to work, I nodded hello and went straight to my desk, turned on my p.c. and did some paperwork. Soon, it was almost eleven and I still had not spoken. Later, Dom from the mailroom came by, dropped off a few large brown envelopes and started talking about his exploits. I usually find him amusing, but this time I made a gesture indicating the large amount of work I had to do and he went his merry way. He started in with Marty from Accounts Payable. The same story. Same inflections even. Made me ill. I continued silently working. And I must say, I did a lot of work. I knew lunch would be easy. No one ever eats with me anyway. At the steamtable, I pointed to the meatloaf special and paid. No verbiage required. I dined alone and enjoyed my meal. The rest of the day, more paperwork. No one came by my desk. No surprise there. Finally, five arrived and I went home. Again, not a word out of me.
What a marvelous day I had!
In the past, I’d get so nervous when I had to talk, that I would shake and stammer. It never occurred to me, to, well, just stop talking. I decided to see how long I could keep this up. Quite a while. Quite a while. It was a few days when I felt my co-workers wondering “What’s with him?” They were concerned and rightly so, but it’s really none of their fucking business. And here’s the best part; as the days turned into weeks, I began to feel their fear.
“What happened to Lyle???” I had become The Silent One. The Quiet Man. Someone you might read about one day. Suddenly, I was unpredictable. Suddenly, I was strong. Heads turned when I walked in the room. Before, when I was vocal, I’d give everyone a cheery “Good Morning!” They’d grunt into their coffee or ignore me. I’d hate them. Now, I enter, and just for fun, I peruse the room a few moments before I make my way to my desk. Some say “Good morning, Lyle.” I can see they no longer expect a reply. The more stubborn ones ask “How are you today, Lyle?” I just smile. They’d like me to be vocal again, but I have no desire to do so. There is really no reason to talk to anyone anymore.
(Lights out.)
End of Excerpt