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Paris
Before The Crash
By
Paul Ledoux
&
John Roby
Michael Petrasek Kensington Literary Representation
54 Wolseley Street, Toronto, ON, Canada, M5T 1A5
416.979.0187 kensingtonlit@rogers.com
Characters:
Kay Boyle (26) A desperate, whippet-thin beauty in the process of meltdown. Fiercely ambitious,
insecure, volatile, flirtatious and self-destructive. Still recovering from the loss of her lover, the editor
and poet Ernest Walsh, who left Kay nothing but a baby daughter. Suffering from an unrequited love for
Robert McAlmon, she is in despair.
Sharron (Bobby) Walsh Kay‟s young daughter, a precocious girl who‟s grown up on the streets of
Paris. Playful, funny and overly protective of her mother.
Robert McAlmon (31) A destructive force devoted to doing good. Slight, angular with icy blue eyes and
complete disdain for all of humanity. A renowned avant-garde publisher. Homosexual, alcoholic,
exploding with restless energy, at the center of everything. Quick-witted, cynical, hates himself, is
ruthlessly honest. Loves Kay but can‟t return her affection.
Buffy Glassco (20) Wayward son of a wealthy Montreal family. Bisexual, narcissistic, witty. Barely
surviving as a male prostitute and pornographer. A fearless desire to experience all that life has to offer.
Buffy has had an unrequited crush on Kay ever since they met. McAlmon has been his great supporter –
a father figure and mentor on one level and an ardent suitor on another.
Bricktop (mid-30‟s) Bricktop is the narrator. She‟s a wise, humorous, cigar-smoking, blues singer who
acts as a den mother to our characters. The best known of the black club owners in Paris during the
Twenties. Gregarious, charming and, when called for, tough as nails, Bricktop holds a special place in
her heart for McAlmon. And Fitzgerald.
Morley Callaghan (26) An up-and-coming novelist from Toronto. Short, pudgy and sporting a pencil
thin moustache that does little to hide his boyish appearance. Terribly serious about life and art. Terribly
thin-skinned. Very concerned about what it means to be a man. Hero worships his mentor Hemingway.
He‟s also a skillful, college-level amateur boxer.
The Dayang Muda (Princess) of Sarawack (late 40‟s) The ex-wife of the improbable white Raja of
Sarawack (in New Guinea) she is obsessed with fame. With Kay and Buffy‟s help, she creates a fictitious
version of her life that earns her a syndicated gossip column. She is by turns snobbish and silly but when
the chips are down, she‟s a fiercely loyal friend.
Raymond Duncan (late 50‟s) A charismatic eccentric who has exploited the fame of his sister Isadora to
create the cult-like „Duncan Colony.” Thin, his long silver hair tied in a braided crown. wears a toga and
espouses Spartan Greek values. Drinks only milk. Runs a shop in Paris that sells bogus „classic‟ Greek
garments to gullible American fans of his sister.
Scott Fitzgerald (33) A talented writer. Handsome, generous and charming, he was pegged as „the voice
of his generation‟ and it ruined him. He‟s cracking up. Alcoholism is catching up with him. Subject to
rapid mood swings and self-destructive actions. Terribly insecure. His relationship with Hemingway is
on the rocks and his wife has begun a tragic descent into madness.
Zelda Fitzgerald (29) A beautiful, headstrong Southern belle caught up in a struggle to escape from the
shadow of her famous husband. A decent writer and painter, she has recently decided to become a
ballerina. Passionate, wild, intense and driven, Zelda is extremely flirtatious. She has become convinced
she is a lesbian and Scott is gay.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 1
Scene One. Le Bar Select. Spring 1929
Tight spot on Bricktop, a glamorous Afro-American
singer.
BRICKTOP: (Spoken) In another country.
In another time.
One last good year.
Paris Before The Crash
Footnotes - shadows - ghosts.
Bricktop sings Lost in The Shadows.
There, lost in the shadows
You know they are les gens perdu
There, always in shadows
The crazy years les années fou
A restless man
An angry girl
A handsome boy
They dance and whirl
Did they once laugh
Do you recall
Could be that they were never
Here at all.
The music goes uptempo. Lights up. A group of girls enter
followed by a band of strolling musicians playing The
Montparnasse Strut.
BRICKTOP & Co: The year is 1929
You know the party is going fine
The war is over
Nobody‟s sober
And drinking cheap bubbly wine
In Gay Paree
In France a dollar it goes so far
No Prohibition and lots of bars
And all the artists
Declare; My heart is
In Paris – that‟s where the work is
Avant-garde
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TRIO: So new
GUY & GAL: Jazz Age - Flappers
TRIO: So bright
GUY & GAL: Poets - scrappers
TRIO: In Paree
GUY & GAL: Life is free and so easy
ALL: Yeah
GUY & GAL: So easy
TRIO: So new
GUY & GAL: It‟s so crazy
TRIO: So bright
GUY & GAL: Kinda hazy
TRIO: In Paree
GUY & GAL: Life is always hoppin‟
To a hot quintet
A group of earnest young men enter, among them MORLEY
CALLAGHAN (26) a young, slightly overweight novelist.
MEN: In the Quarter find a place to stay
Fresh from Kansas learnin‟ “qu‟est-que c‟est”
Maybe my room‟s got no plumbing
I‟m still writing that‟s not slumming
„Specially when there‟ll come a day
When the whole wide world will say
“His book is so sublime
It‟s altered fiction for all time.”
Morley sits and hauls out a phrase book as KAY BOYLE (26)
enters with daughter BOBBY (8) in tow. Kay wears a flamboyant
blue cape. Bobby is dressed in a shabby dress. They carry a stack
of handbills. Kay posts one on a kiosk.
BRICKTOP: That‟s Kay Boyle, nobody outside the Quarter has heard of her yet, but they will.
Just ask her.
KAY: Bobby, ask Madame Select if we can post these in the pissoires.
BOBBY: Oui ,mama. (exits into bar)
BRICKTOP Enter Bob McAlmon, avant-garde publisher and his friend, Buffy.
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MCALMON is a razor sharp, slight man in an impeccable gray suit
with a fedora pulled down, shielding his eyes. BUFFY is a
beautiful young man in baggy pants and a polo shirt.
MCALMON: Same old stinkin‟ scene.
KAY: Bob, where have you been?
MCALMON: Luxembourg.
KAY: The Gardens?
BUFFY: The country.
KAY: How horrifying.
MCALMON: Not at all; fine beer, Platish verse.
BUFFY: Everyone running around dressed like they‟ve just escaped from the cast of a light
opera.
MCALMON: A perfect antidote to this mortuary moderne.
KAY: Robert! We‟re building a brave new world.
MCALMON: From what?
KAY: The songs of our souls.
MCALMON: Rats!!!
TRIO: So new
GUY & GAL: Big time talkers
TRIO: So bright
GUY & GAL: Café gawkers
TRIO: In Paree
GUY & GAL: Life is free and so easy
ALL: Yeah
GUY & GAL: So easy
TRIO: So new
MCALMON: Poseurs – fakers
TRIO: So bright
KAY &BUFFY: Epoch makers
TRIO: In Paree
GUY & GAL: The joint keeps on jumpin‟
„Til the sun comes up
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WOMEN: Oh what sweet music
Oh what sweet romance
Oh what sweet lovin‟
We‟ll go all night
Makin‟ love and sweet delight
Until daylight
Along the streets of Montparnasse
BUFFY: (pointing at the handbill) What‟s that about?
KAY: Who are you by the way?
MCALMON: Buffy, this is Kay. Buffy‟s a writer of juvenile memoirs. Published by This
Quarter no less. And Kay will be a great writer of fiction after the dust settles.
KAY: This Quarter. I‟m soliciting submissions for a new literary anthology. Living
Poetry.
MCALMON: Can‟t ever seem to escape „the new”, can we?
KAY: Will you fund it?
MCALMON: Not unless the work is of a truly superior quality.
KAY: It will be.
MCALMON: Really, many submissions?
BUFFY: (flirtatious) I‟m a firm believer in submission.
KAY: (ignoring him) Just one so far.
She hauls a crumpled piece of foolscap out of a cape pocket and
hands it to McAlmon. He reads it.
BUFFY: Who wrote that?
MCALMON: Kay Boyle
KAY: It‟s brilliant.
MCALMON: What are you drinking, Buffy?
BUFFY: Whatever you‟re buying.
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MCALMON: (signals the waiter) Still no money from home?
BUFFY: Nothing but a letter from Father full of the most loathsome bourgeois filth. He
insists I return to Montreal and take up a position with the firm.
MCALMON: (to the waiter) Pernod.
KAY: Your publication in This Quarter did not impress?
BUFFY: No, like most Canadians, insurance policies are the only writing he respects.
MCALMON: Buffy hates his native land. I love that in a boy.
BUFFY: Canada is far too insipid to hate. To despise is sufficient.
MORLEY: Hey, Canada isn‟t so bad.
BUFFY: Bob – there‟s an insane person talking to us.
MORLEY: Sorry to butt in like that, but – (Morley crosses to them) You‟re Bob McAlmon,
aren‟t you?
MCALMON: Maybe.
MORLEY: (offers hand) Callaghan, Morley Callaghan.
MCALMON: Callaghan? Of course. Buffy – a fellow Canadian. In New York they‟re calling
him the next Hemingway.
KAY: As if one wasn‟t enough.
BUFFY: I‟m not sure the Quarter can stand another literary genius.
KAY: I could.
BUFFY: One day the whole neighborhood will capsize like a dory overloaded with literary
squid.
MCALMON: Manners. Kay, Buffy. Morley Calamari. Sit. Sit.
The people in the bar hover over the table.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 6
COMPANY: A new face
On the Rue St. Jacques BRICKTOP There, lost in the shadows
His first time at the Bar Select
Hey what ya thinkin‟ You know we are les gens perdu
Hey what ya drinkin‟
MORLEY: I‟m thinkin‟- let‟s have a round
of cheap Pernod
COMPANY He‟s the talk of Harry‟s Bar
He‟s a hero, a brand new star There, always in shadows
He‟ll win the Nobel
He‟s writing so well
MCALMON: Oh hell – Let‟s have un autra, s‟il The crazy years les année fou
vous plaît
GUY & GAL: Big time spenders
GUY & GAL: All night benders
GUY & GAL: Our sweet land of plenty
The last roar of the roaring
Twenties
TRIO: So new
GUY & GAL: Big time talkers BRICKTOP: A restless man
TRIO: So bright An angry girl
GUY & GAL: Café gawkers A handsome boy
TRIO: In Paree They dance and whirl
GUY & GAL: Love is free Did they once laugh
And so easy Do you recall
GUY & GAL: Easy come and go Could be that they were never
Here at all…
MEN: TRIO:
Hello summer nineteen twenty nine Oh what sweet music
All the tourists come to „have a time‟ Oh what sweet romance
Though that sight might send you running Oh what sweet lovin‟
Spring is sweet and summer‟s coming
Order some wine and raise a glass We‟d go all night
To crazy times and red hot jazz Making love and sweet delight
Watchin‟ the people as they pass Until daylight
Bobby runs on, still holding handbills.
ALL: Along the streets of Paris
Along the streets of Paris
Along the streets of Montparnasse
BOBBY: Bricktop! Madame Select gave me pain au chocolat!
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BRICKTOP: That‟s nice, honey.
BUFFY: That‟s not nice. That‟s a miracle.
KAY: But she wouldn‟t let you put up the handbills?
BOBBY: I‟m sorry, mama.
KAY: Don‟t be silly, pooch. The woman is a spotty-bottomed philistine. Now you
hurry along with Bricktop and be a good girl.
Bobby hugs Kay.
KAY: And, you‟ll see, I‟ll find a place for both of us before you know it.
Bricktop crosses and takes Bobby‟s hand.
KAY: I can‟t thank you enough, Brickie.
BRICKTOP: That‟s true. (laughs) Are you kidding me? Having this little angel around
illuminates my life. Come on, honey. Pigalle calls. I need to get the place set up
for tonight. We going to see you, Bob?
MCALMON: Bricktop‟s is the pulsating golden heart of this tired old poule called Paree. How
could I stay away?
BRICKTOP: Keep out of trouble ‟till then, you hear?
Bricktop and Bobby exit hand in hand. Kay blows her daughter a
kiss.
KAY: Isn‟t Bobby wonderful. Looking more like her father every day.
MCALMOM: Looking like Walsh? Poor little girl.
KAY: Walsh was the most beautiful man in Paris and we both know it.
MCALMON: A bit too American Modern/French troubadour for my tastes, but a lovely guy.
BUFFY: She lives with Bricktop?
KAY: Temporarily, I can‟t find a place for the two of us. Oh hell, I‟m practically living
on the street myself. But I need to write.
BUFFY: You could join me beneath the Pont Neuf. Inspirational views, sports fishing
optional.
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KAY: It‟s not funny. You don‟t know what it‟s like – farming your daughter out to
friends. She‟s all that‟s left of Walsh and she should be living with me.
MCALMON: I‟m sure she should and I‟m equally sure that, brilliant as Walsh was, a great poet,
editor and drunken dancer of he-land flings, that it is time to make your peace
with his spirit and move on. Fall in love. Or something.
BUFFY: Love?
MCALMON: Sweet love. Tender love. Love like a pair of humping rhinos lost in the dust of
the veldt.
Morley, who has been ignored and listening to all this decadent
chatter, casually pulls a small notebook out of his pocket and starts
taking notes.
KAY: Love!
MCALMON: Well, humping at least.
KAY: There‟s only one other man I could ever fall in love with, Bob.
MCALMON: (looks away) I‟m happily married.
KAY: To a woman living in Switzerland with a mannish poet of uncertain scansion?
MCALMON: Exactly. How much happier could I be? Still working on your autobiography,
Buffy?
BUFFY: No time. I‟m turning out illustrated pamphlets for a specialty publisher. At the
moment my subject is historical…and Greek.
KAY: And is this your sole source of income?
BUFFY: If I can ever get him to pay. I spent the better part of the winter in the employ of
Madame Halles – screwing old ladies and even more elderly gentlemen.
KAY: How awful.
BUFFY: Yes. Came down with a frightful dose of clap.
MCALMON: I‟ve had to take him under my wing.
KAY: He‟s cured?
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MCALMON: He better be.
BUFFY: Bob, lend me a sou. I seek the pissoire.
McAlmon flips him a coin. Buffy exits.
MCALMON: So Kay, you are the talk of the town.
KAY: Am I?
MCALMON: You are. In every bar from here to the Magots I have been told by worried
patrons that the girl with the fascinating eyes has been immolating her candle.
KAY: I prefer to burn brightly. Do you object?
MCALMON: Just don‟t spatter hot wax all over the place. How do you like Buffy?
KAY: He looks better than the average seaman.
MCALMON: What is it about you and seamen?
KAY: If I can‟t have you –
MCALMON: You know that‟s impossible.
KAY: I want him.
MCALMON: Then I must protect him.
KAY: I‟ll have him before the week‟s out.
MCALMON: I doubt that.
KAY: A wager then?
MCALMON: Indeed! And the prize, other than the young man himself?
KAY: I want your typewriter.
MCALMON: I can understand why – that monstrosity you carry about is no better than a slab of
stone and a chisel. Done.
KAY: And if you win?
MCALMON: You will let me fix this poem before it‟s published.
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KAY: There‟s nothing wrong with that poem.
MCALMON: It is an abominably sentimental bucket of tripe.
KAY: Then why should I publish it in the first place?
MCALMON: Because your tripe is better than most people‟s prime rib. I win, I get to edit.
Agreed?
KAY: Agreed. Did you get all of that, Morley?
They both beam at Morley.
MORLEY: I wasn‟t – Sorry – that was rude. I‟m deep into a novel. Not going well, but I
can‟t keep off of it. (puts away book) Say, Bob, you haven‟t seen Hem about,
have you? I worked with him at home – on the Star.
MCALMON: You could ask Sylvia at Shakespeare and Company. They‟re still speaking.
MORLEY: I was just there. That woman cut me something awful. I even showed her that
piece of mine they published in transition. Didn‟t do me a lick of good.
KAY: Don‟t worry about Sylvia. She‟s a Beach. And as for Hemingway, he‟ll stumble
by eventually – everyone does.
MCALMON: You just have to sit here for the requisite period of eternity.
MORLEY: I have Fitzgerald‟s address. Max Perkins – Scribner‟s published my first novel –
he said I should just drop by, but that‟s kind of pushy, don‟t you think? I mean,
the guy‟s got a new book on the go and when I‟m working nothing drives me
round the bend faster than somebody just showin‟ up.
MCALMON: Not to worry, Scott‟s round the bend already. How is Perkins these days?
MORLEY: Great. He‟s got Hem‟s new draft of Farewell To Arms – says it‟s a big book. He
felt as bad as I did about all that nonsense in the press.
KAY: Yes, well, there‟s so much nonsense in the press. Which steaming nugget are we
about to discuss?
MORLEY: Ah, you know, all that guff about me being the next Hemingway. I guess Ernie
wasn‟t too impressed either. You know what they‟re like, though.
KAY: Who?
MORLEY: Publishers. They‟ll make up any kind of trash to sell a book.
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MCALMON: Ridiculous. I‟m a publisher and make up tons of trash on a daily basis. It‟s a
waste of time. I have never sold a book - ever.
MORLEY: I don‟t get you.
MCALMON: All my publications are either stolen by the authors and given away for free -
BUFFY: A la Gertrude Stein.
KAY: Or confiscated by US customs.
MCALMON: A la Bob McAlmon. Which provides me with some solace. (to a street musician)
Maestro, an intro s‟il vous plaît
Band does intro. McAlmon sings The Publisher Of Paris sans
self-pity and chock full of comic irony.
MCALMON: I‟m the publisher of Paris
I‟m known in all the bars
I live life to the fullest
Turn scribblers into stars
So many friends around me
Deserve a life that‟s better
I give them all the help I can
We‟re geniuses together
Have you heard the sad tale of my wife
It‟s funny to this day
I married her for money
That‟s what the gossips say
But I loved her and that‟s the truth
Though both of us were fey
I didn‟t know she had so much dough
When I married her that day
Of course I am an innocent
She went lesbo all the way
Just Rob McAlimony
As Hemingway would say
I published him just the same
Though he loathes me to this day
We drink our fill and when we get the bill
McAlmon always pays
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I‟m the publisher of Paris
I‟m known in all the bars
I live life to the fullest
Turn scribblers into stars
So many friends around me
Deserve a life that‟s better
I give them all the help I can
We‟re geniuses together
A publisher in Paris
Could there be a stranger fate
Courted and seduced
For the price of a printer‟s plate
I spend my money as I please
Publish whom I chose
But somehow it all comes out the same
I‟m always being used
You‟d think I‟d have the blues
Instead I‟m quite amused
It‟s hard to be a genius
There‟s so many of us here
I write down everything I see
And live life without fear
But I hear the laughter when I pass
And find my work ignored
So please excuse this mild abuse
It happens when I‟m bored
ALL: He‟s the publisher of Paris
MCALMON: I‟m known in all the bars
ALL: He‟s the publisher of Paris
MCALMON: I‟ll turn you into stars
ALL: So many friends around him
Deserve a life that‟s better
He gives us all the help he can
MCALMON: I give them all the help I can
ALL: He gives us all the help he can
We‟re geniuses together
The Café Crowd applauds. McAlmon takes a bow and sits down
again with Buffy and Kay.
KAY: The hell with them all, Bob, you‟re as good a writer as any of them.
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Buffy returns.
MCALMON: That‟s low praise. But it doesn‟t matter. As long as my wife‟s mother sends the
cheques, I‟ll continue in my vocation. Seeking out the newest talent, giving them
a boost. Buffy, for instance. He‟s only published one chapter of his
autobiography and that was more than a year ago. If he ever finishes I‟ll publish
it, of course. But these days his output is confined to the celebration of lace,
leather and frivolous footwear. He doesn‟t write anything serious at all.
BUFFY: I want to, of course, but living a literary life is so much more engaging than
actually being literary.
MCALMON: Nonsense. All you need is time and a place to write. My new studio has lots of
room and I‟ve just received another cheque. We could hole up together and work
on it.
BUFFY: A tempting offer.
KAY: Well then, Bob, if there‟s room for two –
MCALMON: Not a chance. Having a devastatingly beautiful, breathtakingly talented novelist
swanning about the place half-naked would cause no end of distraction for both of
us.
KAY: You‟d leave me in the cold?
MCALMON: Now, Kay, you‟ve never had any trouble keeping warm. So, what do you say,
Buffy?
BUFFY: Well, I guess I don‟t have an alternative.
MCALMON: Round One to the publisher. By the by, Callaghan, did Perkins say anything
about my novel?
MORLEY: Ah…yeah, it did come up.
MCALMON: The last time I was in New York he was making encouraging noises.
MORLEY: Yeah. (beat) Look Bob, this is rough, but I make it a policy to always shoot from
the hip and you asked so…
KAY: So?
MORLEY: I guess you said some stuff to him about Hemingway.
MCALMON: His name may have come up.
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MORLEY: Yeah, well he didn‟t say what it was about, but he was plenty steamed.
MCALMON: Oh dear.
MORLEY: Said he‟ll burn in hell before he prints your stuff.
MCALMON: Ah well, just so long as he had a good read before Ernie‟s “big book” landed on
his desk with a ponderous thunk.
KAY: What did you say that got Max Perkins so miffed?
MCALMON: We talked of many things, but most particularly of one steaming night in
Pamplona when far too much wine had been consumed.
KAY: Hemingway. You‟re twice the writer of that big beery fake.
MORLEY: Hey, Hem‟s the real thing.
KAY: Hemingway is a little boy caught in a big boy‟s body and he spends all his time
trying to get out.
MORLEY: OK, listen, I don‟t know what you guys got against Hem, but he‟s my friend.
Hell, he even sent my stuff to Perkins.
KAY: So?
MORLEY: So, a man doesn‟t listen to a pal‟s name getting dragged around, right?
KAY: How amusing. Is that how the game is played in literary Toronto?
MORLEY: I‟m just saying, a fella‟s got to have some standards and a pal‟s a pal.
KAY: I couldn‟t agree more. Although your dear friend Ernie seems to go through pals
faster than he goes through wives.
MCALMON: Kay. There is absolutely no need to start a brawl with Morley! Yet. He‟s a
stranger in a strange land, unaccustomed to our savage ways. Give him a chance
to acclimatize before you start shredding his tender sensibilities.
BUFFY: If you people persist in talking art I, alas, will be forced to depart.
MCALMON: Rats! The night‟s entertainment. (to Buffy) What shall we do?
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BUFFY: Well, I had planned to wander from bar to bar bumming drinks until I was
sufficiently relaxed to catch a hundred winks under the Pont Neuf, but given my
new circumstances...
MCALMON: Too true. I‟m flush. Callaghan is newly arrived and I‟m taking you all out on a
tear.
KAY: Excellent. Where shall we go?
MCALMON: Where is our new friend most likely to meet Mr. Fitzgerald?
BUFFY: Bricktop‟s.
MCALMON: Exactly.
MORLEY: What‟s Bricktop‟s? A club?
BUFFY: Sort of a club. Or maybe a brothel.
Music: Reprise of The Montparnasse Strut bridges transition to:
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Scene Two. Bricktop’s.
Bricktop‟s, a fabulous club presided over by the
lady herself and featuring a very hot jazz combo a la
Django Reindhart. As Bricktop sings The
Montparnasse Strut, patrons enter, including
ZELDA and SCOTT FITZGERALD, a glamorous,
slightly over-dressed couple in their early 30‟s.
BRICKTOP & CHORUS: Hello suckers you all come on in
Bricktop‟s gonna take you for a spin
The midnight hour is advancing
Le Jazz Hot has got you dancin‟
I insist this round‟s on me
After that then nothin‟s free
Raise a glass mes belles amies
CHORUS: You‟re gonna have a good time
BRICKTOP: (spoken) Enter Scott Fitzgerald the most famous author in America
CHORUS: You‟re gonna go quite crazy
BRICKTOP: (spoken) And Zelda his fabled jazz age queen
CHORUS: Hey welcome to The Place Pigalle!
SCOTT: Brickie!
BRICKTOP: How are you tonight, Scott?
SCOTT: I did 557 words today. My best day in a month. Which calls for a celebration.
BRICKTOP: That‟s good, honey, but you take it easy, alright?
SCOTT: Never fear.
He leads Zelda to the bar where they order drinks, knock them
back at a go and get a second round. Kay, McAlmon, Morley and
Buffy enter. Kay grabs Buffy and they begin to dance to the band
who have picked up another tune. McAlmon and Callaghan cross
to the bar.
MCALMON: Fitzgerald! I bring a young genius to fawn at your feet!
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MORLEY: (whispers) Easy there, Bob. (offers his hand to Scott) Morley Callaghan. Max
told me I should look you up.
SCOTT: Morley. This is swell. Zelda, look who it is - Morley!
ZELDA: Lesley?
SCOTT: Morley Callaghan! You remember that fellow from Canada. Scribner‟s
published his book!
ZELA: Gee, that‟s swell. Can I get another drink?
SCOTT: Are you sure you want to –
ZELDA: Of course I‟m sure. You‟re the drunk, not me. Remember?
SCOTT: Two more and – what are you gents having?
MORLEY: Beer.
MCALMON: Scotch.
ZELDA: Who‟s the sylph dancing with the pretty boy, Bob?
MCALMON: Kay Boyle. A hell of a writer that kid.
ZELDA: She‟s a writer?
MCALMON: Very hot.
ZELDA: I agree. Excuse me.
SCOTT: See here, Zelda, don‟t you think…
Zelda crosses to Buffy and Kay.
ZELDA: Mind if I cut in?
KAY: Sure.
Kay steps back expecting Zelda to start dancing with Buffy.
Instead Zelda sweeps her up in her arms. They spin off together.
Zelda is a very good dancer. Buffy laughs and crosses to the bar.
BUFFY: I‟ve been cut out.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 18
SCOTT: Never mind Zelda. She always wants to shock. I swear I‟ve been in and out of
every low life bar in Pigalle just trying to keep her out of trouble.
BUFFY: Interesting. I‟ve been in and out of the very same establishments devoting myself
to the opposite outcome.
SCOTT: So, Morley – when did you get to town?
MORLEY: Just this morning. Hem told me I had to come. Said a writer needs to know Paris.
SCOTT: You‟ve seen Ernest?
MORLEY: Not so far.
SCOTT: I‟ve been looking for him ever since we got back in town. He sent me the carbons
on his new book and wants to talk about it. But no one seems to know where he‟s
living. (watches Zelda dance by) Tell me, do you think a woman likes a man‟s
private parts large or small?
MORLEY: Huh?
SCOTT: Zelda and I slept together before we were married and I think that may really be
the root of the whole problem.
MORLEY: Problem?
SCOTT: Of course we were desperately in love. At least I was and required proof and I
hope she was, because she gave me the proof I needed, but one can never truly
know, can one?
MORLEY: Know what?
SCOTT: About the size of the privates. If you‟ve only slept with one man. Which, of
course, fills me with despair. How could she know? Unless she‟s lying about
that French fly-boy last February in Nice. And if my suspicions are true, then
what of love?
MCALMON: Love‟s an illusion driven by innate narcissistic tendencies. It doesn‟t exist,
although it is frequently the launching point for the much more viable physicality
of lust.
BUFFY: And size does matter.
MCALMON: That‟s absurd.
BUFFY: Who‟s buying?
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 19
Scott signals for the waiter.
SCOTT: Interesting. Morley? What do you think?
MORLEY: Ah…I…ah…love‟s a peach. A man‟s got to have somebody or something to
love.
Music stops. Applause. Music picks up again.
KAY: Well, Mrs. Fitzgerald. You dance with grace.
ZELDA: I practice eight hours a day.
KAY: Really. I was under the impression you spent most of your time swimming in
fountains or drinking champagne from slippers.
ZELDA: Why is it necessary for you to make assumptions about me?
KAY: Well, given the public nature of your existence, it‟s rather hard to avoid.
ZELDA: Yes, well now I assume you‟ll assume I‟m a lesbian. Do you?
KAY: Are you?
ZELDA: I certainly hope not, but I think I‟m in love with Egorova – my dancing mistress,
so I‟d like to find out.
KAY: If you‟re in love with her?
ZELDA: If I‟m a lesbian. Because then, of course, it would be unnatural, but natural, if
you see what I mean. What do you think?
KAY: I think you are… what did they say in The Times? “The epitome of the jazz age.”
ZELDA: I am, aren‟t I? With my brilliant young husband? My charmed life. The toast of
the town. Or its laughing stock? Of course one follows the other, that‟s how it
works. I‟m a writer, did you know that?
KAY: I didn‟t.
ZELDA: It‟s true. This year I had six stories published: five in College Life and one in The
Post.
KAY: The Post! Poaching on your husband‟s territory.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 20
ZELDA: Yes, but that escaped most people‟s attention as it was published under Scott‟s
name.
KAY: Well that stinks.
ZELDA: It all stinks, but my lessons are $300 a month and I‟m determined to pay for them
myself.
KAY: So you started writing.
ZELDA: No, I resumed writing. And I wrote them all on my own even if College Life
insisted they be credited to Scott and Zelda. I should have refused, but I needed
the money. They‟re all girl stories: The Follies Girl, The Southern Girl, The Girl
Princes Liked, The Girl With Talent, The Poor Working Girl.
KAY: This fascination with girls would seem to be a recurring theme.
ZELDA: You see why I‟m concerned. In any case, A Millionaire’s Girl was the last straw.
Scott said I was plundering our shared experiences and that he could write stories
on the same themes and sell them to The Post for four grand a pop. By his
calculation we were losing thirty-four hundred dollars every time I wrote a story.
So, I told him to put his name on it and give me the money.
KAY: And he did it. That‟s –
ZELDA: Business. But you love literature, I suppose.
KAY: Of course.
ZELDA: Then hate fame.
KAY: I don‟t think it‟s necessary to hate fame – obviously it has its uses.
ZELDA: It‟s a taloned goddess that eats its young. And everyone around her.
KAY: Like yourself?
ZELDA: Too true.
BRICKTOP: (to audience) Mrs. Fitzgerald sings a song of deep resentment. Un Petit Peu
Dérangé.
Zelda begins to sing Un Petit Peu Dérangé, singing to the tune the
band is playing. At first it‟s directed just to Kay, but as the song
progresses she turns it into a number she‟s sharing with the whole
bar.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 21
ZELDA: I am a shimmering vision
I am a modern queen
The gorgeous diamond
Big as the Ritz
I‟m every flapper‟s dream
I live a life of glamour
There‟s no reason to be sad
They say my hubby‟s a genius
And yet I‟m rather mad
I‟m a dancer but I told you
That I practice every day
I will be a ballerina
I have mastered my jeté
I‟m Scott‟s muse, he always says so
As he orders more champagne
And he toasts me to the far stars
And like a vulture picks my brain
I‟m mad, well just a little
Un petit peu dérangé
Crazy, well just a smidgeon
Or so they love to say
But what they see is an illusion
I create from day to day
In a world of such confusion
It‟s much easier that way
To be mad
Well just a little
Un petit peu dérangé
The latest book he‟s building
Charts a woman‟s fall from grace
Her noble husband looks on
While her spirit comes unlaced
But now he‟s stuck I know it
And he knows just who to blame
My inspiration‟s left me
My wife won‟t go insane
She jumps up with the band.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 22
But never mind that, where‟s the party
Let‟s order some fresh champagne
Later on I will go swimming
In the fountain near St. Germain
And Scott you know will join me
Another scandal on his name
We‟ll go dancing through this nightmare
„Til I truly am insane
I‟m mad, well just a little
Un petit peu dérangé
Crazy, well just a smidgeon
Or so they love to say
But what they see is an illusion
I create from day to day
In a world of such confusion
It‟s much easier that way
To be mad
Well just a little
Un petit peu dérangé
The song ends. Zelda takes a bow and taking Kay‟s hand, heads
for the bar where Scott has pulled a dog-eared manuscript out of
his coat.
ZELDA: What are you drinking?
KAY: These days I‟m drinking alphabetically. Absinthe, Amaretto, Anisette, Aquavit
and so on into oblivion.
Morley gets out a little currency converter and starts translating the
cost of the drinks into Canadian dollars. The PRINCESS of
SARAWACK enters.
BRICKTOP: All bow to the Dayang Muda, Gladys, Princess of Sarawack.
PRINCESS: Kay! Kay. I knew you‟d be here! We need to talk.
She gestures for Kay to join her at another table. Kay does so.
KAY: How are you, Princess?
PRINCESS: Ecstatic! My publisher. He‟s set a date. Our book. Relations and
Complications. My biography. They will be publishing. This fall. I think. I
think he said this fall.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 23
KAY: Congratulations.
PRINCESS: Yes. I can‟t wait until my husband the Tuan Muda reads it. He‟ll have a…what
is the proper expression. Some sort of bird. He‟ll have a chicken?
KAY: A bird.
PRINCESS: He‟ll have a bird.
KAY: It‟s one of those colloquiums where generality supersedes the particular.
PRINCESS: How peculiar.
KAY: Yes, your highness.
PRINCESS: Oh, well, never-the-less. I shall be avenged. The truth shall out. Serves me right
for marrying into the royal family of a state in Borneo.
KAY: Don‟t be foolish, your highness. There must be some distinction, surreal though it
may be, in becoming the princess of the only white Raj in all of Southeast Asia.
PRINCESS: Yes, well I thought so at the time, I‟m certain. But – the man was a cad.
KAY: A total cad.
PRINCESS: Certainly, certainly. I‟ve missed the point. Rewrites.
KAY: Rewrites?
PRINCESS: Proofs.
KAY: Proofs.
PRINCESS: The publisher. He wants revisions. Additions. He has questions about certain
events. He requires clarification. Well, since I could barely remember the events
in the first place further clarifications are quite impossible.
KAY: Unreasonable of him to suggest it, really.
PRINCESS: But he does, Kay, he does and since you remembered most of the juicier bits for
me, well, I need you back.
KAY: To do the rewrites.
PRINCESS: He won‟t publish without and we must publish or that miserable wretch will get
off Scot-free.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 24
KAY: I blanche at the thought.
PRINCESSS: As do we all. When can we start. Tomorrow?
KAY: I‟m not sure.
PRINCESS: Good. I‟m never sure of anything myself and it always adds to the immediacy of
events, don‟t you agree?
KAY: Certainly.
PRINCESS: Then I‟ll ask you again tomorrow.
The Princess extracts a little book hung on a golden chain about
her neck. She removes the small pen clipped to the book.
PRINCESS: What: Meeting. Who: Kay. Where?
KAY: Your place?
PRINCESS: When?
KAY: Breakfast. Say three o‟clock.
PRINCESS: Perfect. How: I‟ll take a carriage. (pause) Something‟s amiss there.
KAY: We‟re meeting at your place.
PRINCESS: Then you must take a carriage. I‟ve left something out, haven‟t I? Who, What,
Where, When, How….Why! Why are we meeting, Kay?
KAY: The book.
PRINCESS: Splendid. My work here is done.
She air kisses Kay and hurries off. Kay rejoins McAlmon and the
gang.
KAY: Buffy, have you moved in with McAlmon yet?
MCALMON: Tonight.
KAY: (flirtatiously) Poor boy.
BUFFY: Alas, I have no alternative.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 25
KAY: But you do have an alternative.
BUFFY: I do?
KAY: That was The Princess of Sarawack.
MCALMON: Kay‟s former employer and source of fashionable gowns! She‟s not nearly as
hideous as her prose would lead you to believe.
KAY: She wants me to revise her autobiography. We‟ll tell her I need help. She lives in
a huge mansion. Plenty of room for you to stay – and me to visit.
BUFFY: But if there‟s room – couldn‟t you and your daughter –
KAY: She loves Bobby to distraction, but she can‟t have her around the house.
BUFFY: Why not.
MCALMON: She becomes suicidal.
KAY: She lost her own children you see – in her divorce. And Bobby reminds her of the
loss.
BUFFY: You think she‟ll have me?
MCALMON: If she gets a chance. But odds are you‟ll die of boredom long before she abuses
your young flesh.
KAY: Nonsense – I‟ll be there to both protect and entertain you.
BUFFY: Yes, well when you put it like that. Lead on.
KAY: Round Two?
MCALMON: Rats.
SCOTT: Here we are. A Farewell To Arms, page 141. “The world breaks everyone. And
afterwards many are strong in the broken places. But those that will not break it
kills.” Isn‟t that beautiful?
MORLEY: Yes, but perhaps a bit too…
SCOTT: A bit too what?
MORLEY: Written? I mean, it would seem to break the flow of the narrative. A bit –
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 26
SCOTT: It doesn‟t impress you?
MORLEY: It‟s not that. I think Hem is a great writer, but -
SCOTT: I can see nothing really impresses you.
MCALMON: Oh for God‟s sake, Scott. It‟s preachy - a set piece and a damn silly one too.
„The world will never break me. I will die first.‟ The story has been set on the
sideboard while the great man pontificates.
SCOTT: (ignoring McAlmon) How about this? Does this impress you, Morley?
Scott tries to stand on his head. Zelda cheers him on as he topples
over a table.
MCALMON: Now that‟s more like it.
BRICKTOP: (approaches) Now, Scott, honey, you aren‟t gonna get into trouble again tonight,
are you?
SCOTT: Certainly not – I‟m just trying to impress my friend Morley.
MORLEY: Look, you don‟t have to impress me. I was just talkin‟ style, the way a man
might.
MCALMON: Death. „Hem‟s‟ in love with it. I remember that first time I took him down to
Pamplona and he got all tangled up with the bulls. There was this dead dog lying
in a ditch and he had to start in on how beautiful it was. I mean, for God‟s sake
its putrefied brains were running out its ears – I told him sometimes death wasn‟t
beautiful; it was just stinking, flies-screw-on-it death. He never forgave me.
BRICKTOP: That guy gives me the willies.
MORLEY: Come on, now, I may not agree with Hem about everything, but his is a big talent.
Look at us all talking about his ideas.
ZELDA: You‟re not really talking about his ideas. You‟re talking about him. Of course,
Scott‟s always talking about him, aren‟t you, darling? Sometimes he talks about
Hemingway in his sleep. You know what he says?
SCOTT: Zelda – it‟s time for you to go home.
ZELDA: Sugar, things are just beginning to get interesting.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 27
SCOTT: I said it‟s time for you to go. I can tell you‟re tired and you have class very early
tomorrow.
ZELDA: But darling -
SCOTT: Brickie, will you call her a taxi?
BRICKTOP: Sure, honey.
ZELDA: Scott –
SCOTT: You know Madame Egorova can tell when you‟ve been up too late. Come on, I‟ll
get your wrap – excuse us.
ZELDA: See you all.
Scott and Zelda exit.
MORLEY: Gee! That couple‟s… Well, gee.
MCALMON: All this fixation on death – it‟s a device really. You set up the biggest boogieman
you can find, spit in its face and feel heroic.
MORLEY: I mean, one minute he‟s the perfect gentlemen and the next he‟s asking me
questions no decent fella would care to contemplate.
MCALMON: A man‟s “private parts”. (chuckles) Manly. He loves Hemingway‟s prose because
he needs to feel manly.
MORLEY: I don‟t get you.
MCALMON: Given the way Zelda takes him to pieces, Scott‟s half convinced he‟s a fairy.
MORLEY: Ah, come on.
MCALMON: Who knows, it‟s so fashionable these day. Everyone is either converting to
Catholicism or becoming a fairy. Not that the two are incompatible. Bricktop?
Two doubles. (a hint of flirtation) You‟re a Catholic, aren‟t you, Morley?
MORLEY: (nervously) Ah, thanks, but I‟ve had enough for one night. Got to be at the
typewriter by seven-thirty.
MCALMON: In the morning?
MORLEY: Doesn‟t matter what a man does, he‟s got to do the job. See ya.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 28
Morley exits. The band begins to play again.
MCALMON: Rats.
Bricktop puts down the drinks. McAlmon knocks one back and
nurses the second.
KAY: Tell me, Buffy, why have we never slept together?
BUFFY: Hard to understand. We‟ve known each other for hours and hours. I did try to
seduce you this afternoon.
KAY: No you didn‟t. You made a couple of schoolboy passes. Beneath contempt,
really.
BUFFY: Alas. One must either seduce or be seduced and I am much better at the later than
the former.
KAY: Clever boy.
Kay sings Seduction.
KAY: What is the nature of seduction?
Is it passion, obsession or just greed
Is it lust for life that really drives you
Or some primal, nameless aching need
What is the nature of seduction?
The smile, a fleeting glance, a passing touch
Something in his spirit that is calling
Something and you fear it has you falling
Why do you need the boy so much
What is the nature of seduction?
The drop of perspiration as your pulse begins to hum
The sweet anticipation of his taste upon your tongue
The wild preoccupation with the dance that‟s just begun
Begin the passion play
The hunter and the prey
As your bodies start to sway
To the dance
To the dance
We call seduction
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 29
Close your eyes and realize
This has to be
Don‟t deny you polarize
A pull in me
Now‟s the time for you to have
Your full of me
Why not just give in
Our hearts are driven
Life is for livin‟ free
The feeling of abandon as it slowly draws you in
The feeling of his hands on you awakening your skin
Knowing that you can‟t undo the spin he has you in
Begin the passion play
The hunter and the prey
As your bodies start to sway
To the dance
To the dance
We call seduction
We call seduction
We call seduction
BUFFY: Shall we?
They exit holding hands.
MCALMON: (sees them go) Oh rats!!!
Scene Three. The Terrace of Le Select.
Around noon. Bricktop enters and takes a seat. She
sings Hangover Café. McAlmon enters, looking
green.
MCALMON: Have mercy.
BRICKTOP: Ah-nother mornin‟
The Ba-ar Select
Noon time‟s a coming
See „em stagger in wrecked
The wages of sin to pay
All hung over today
ALL: Hung over
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 30
MCALMON: Oh great tears of Christ
Will I ever learn
Asked a sailor for a light
And got my fingers burned
My life is just a sad cliché
And I‟m hung over today
ALL: At the hangover café
Morley enters spinning boxing gloves over his head.
MORLEY: Bob! You‟ll never guess! I‟ve been boxing Hemingway!
MCALMON: Amazing. A wonder you‟re not dead.
MORLEY: I cut his lip!
MCALMON: Sit. Softly and tell me your tale in modulated tones, if you please. You and
Hemingway had a brawl?
MORLEY: No, no of course not. He got my address from Sylvia and lo and behold turned up
at my door this morning, a big grin on his face and two sets of boxing gloves
slung over his shoulder.
MCALMON: He wanted to fight?
MORLEY: Spar. He works out at this little American gym down on rue de Vaugirard.
MCALMON: Thank you, Pierre. (Waiter exits, McAlmon pounds back his brandy) Where were
we? Hemingway. Big padded lace-up mittens... My God. The man‟s got six
inches on you.
MORLEY: True, but I did a little university boxing, so –
MCALMON: They say one night he got tight, climbed into the ring with the Heavyweight
Champion of France and knocked him into the front row.
MORLEY: Yeah, I heard that one too, so I was expecting to get my block knocked off.
(begins shadow boxing) So I went into a tight crouch and kept moving until I
realized Ernest is big and enthusiastic, but he‟s an amateur, just like me. He‟s got
the reach, but I‟m fast. He can‟t stop my jab. So, I just kept slipping his hook
and tagging him on the lip.
MCALMON: This is marvelous.
MORLEY: Just two men doing what men do. Testing themselves.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 31
MCALMON: Let‟s get to the blood.
MORLEY: Nothing serious - just a cut on the lip. Happens all the time.
MCALMON: Not to Mr. Hemingway. Garcon!
Buffy and Kay enter, wrapped around each other. Happy.
Exhausted. They sit.
BUFFY: Oh what paradise
Oh earthly delight
KAY: Now I can barely walk
What a hell of a night
Just got to pay the price
So hungover today
ALL: At the hangover café.
MCALMON: Blue morning of sweet regret.
BUFFY: A night of love that I won‟t soon forget
MCALMON: Don‟t remind me, I lost the bet
KAY: You never had a chance
MCALMON: Round Three to the girl in the blue cape?
KAY: Good morning, Robert.
MCALMON: Good morning, Kay. You‟ll never guess. Morley‟s been corking Hemingway on
the noggin!
BRICKTOP: Good.
BUFFY: Excellent.
KAY: Why not?
MORLEY: Bob! That‟s not how it was and besides – it‟s between Hem and me. Afterwards
Hem took me to meet Jimmy The Barman and told him; “As long as Morley can
cut my lip we‟re going to be pals.”
Scott enters, takes a drink off the tray of a passing waiter.
SCOTT: Mercy. Mercy. Merci.
SCOTT: Oh God, I‟m so poorly bred
Morley did I cut you dead?
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 32
BRICKTOP: (spoken) You weren‟t kind
SCOTT: Oh don‟t tell me that I stood on my head
BRICKTOP (spoken) Well just the once
SCOTT: Just shoot me right now
ALL : Oh …..I feel so bad
What can I say
I‟m such a low down cad
Get in the gutter to play
I guess I got drunk last night
So hung over today
ALL: At the hangover café
SCOTT: Morley, I‟m just devastated by my goings on last night.
MCALMON: Oh balderdash.
SCOTT: No, Bob, I was ungentlemanly on all counts and Morley is new in town – a fine
writer. A man I respect enough to send his stories to Max Perkins.
MORLEY: You sent him the stories? I thought Hem –
SCOTT: He showed them to me and they were too good to ignore. For that reason alone I
should have the common decency not to humiliate you in front of our whole set.
MCALMON: Consider yourself lucky he didn‟t knock you through the front door.
SCOTT: Really? (to Morley) Hemingway told me you know nothing about the fight game.
MORLEY: He did?
SCOTT: From reading your boxing story. He said you should stick to things you know.
MCALMON: (laughs) He may want to recant.
SCOTT: I don‟t know, Bob. Hem knows the sport inside-out. He knocked out the
heavyweight –
MCALMON: Champion of France. Balderdash, right, Morley?
MORLEY: How‟s a story like that get started?
MCALMON: Another example of Mr. Hemingway‟s special talent for attracting mythological
confabulation.
SCOTT: But it‟s the truth, everybody says so.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 33
MORLEY: It‟s impossible. Hem‟s a fine amateur fighter, but he‟s no pro. I‟m sure he‟d tell
you the same.
SCOTT: That‟s alright, Morley. You just don‟t know – I‟m sure once you see him fight -
MCALMON: Rats. Morley‟s been sparring with The Darling Boy of The Michigan Woods all
morning.
SCOTT: You have? Well, that‟s something I‟d like to see. When did Ernest get back?
MORLEY: Ah…I‟m not sure. He just looked me up this morning.
SCOTT: Do you think he‟d mind if I came along the next time you go at it?
MORLEY: It‟s no big deal, just a couple of guys working up a sweat in anticipation of a beer.
SCOTT: I‟ll ask him. Where‟s he staying?
MORLEY: Ah… It didn‟t come up and…
SCOTT: Never mind – Sylvia will know – I‟ll grab a taxi down to the store and find out for
both of us. It will be good to see the big lunk.
Zelda enters, swinging ballet slippers over her head.
ZELDA: I‟m alive. I‟m alive. I‟m alive!
Kisses Scott on the cheek.
SCOTT: Good morning, darling.
ZELDA: Afternoon if the truth be told.
SCOTT: Oh, let‟s not start in on the truth until I‟ve got something solid in my stomach.
How was class?
ZELDA: Delicious. I‟m in agony. Muscles torn, bruised, battered and dancing better than
any twenty-nine year old has a right to. Egorova is a genius. (noticing Kay)
You‟re that girl from last night aren‟t you? The writer?
KAY: That‟s right.
ZELDA: Did I make a fool of myself over you?
KAY: Not at all.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 34
ZELDA: I‟m so glad. You really are a superb dancer.
SCOTT: Well, come on darling – we must be off.
ZELDA: I thought you wanted something to eat.
SCOTT: No time now. Hem‟s in town. We‟re off to track him down.
ZELDA: Must we?
SCOTT: I‟ve got the manuscript, my notes. Oh, and Morley, to make up for our horrible
behavior last night? I want to take you to meet Gertrude Stein.
KAY: Gertrude Stein?
SCOTT: Of course. She‟s having one of her little fetes next Saturday and she loves young
writers.
MCALMON: On a spit.
KAY: I‟ve wanted to meet Gertrude Stein forever.
ZELDA: Then you‟ll have to come with us.
MCALMON: You‟ll be disappointed.
SCOTT: Of course. You should all come.
MCALMON: A bore is a bore is a bore.
BUFFY: Well, if she won‟t mind.
SCOTT: I‟m sure she won‟t. Now – Hemingway.
ZELDA: Excuse me. I have to go help my husband find his boyfriend. (exit)
SCOTT: Don‟t start in on that muck again, Zelda – I warn you. (exiting) Taxi!
MORLEY: Damn!
MCALMON: What?
MORLEY: Ernest made me promise not to tell Scott that he was in town.
MCALMON: Why‟s that?
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 35
MORLEY: All he said was, “The man doesn‟t know how to behave.”
BUFFY: What better reason to see a friend?
MORLEY: Damn. I better go warn him.
MCALMON: So, you do know where he‟s staying?
MORLEY: Rue Ferou, he doesn‟t want Scott coming around, drunk, when he‟s trying to
write. Please, Bob. Don‟t go talking up this boxing thing. It‟s no big deal. We
both want it to stay that way. (exits)
KAY: Toodles. Bricktop.
BRICKTOP: Ah-nother mornin‟
Same old day after crowd
“My head will surely burst”
“Let‟s not talk it‟s too loud”
Oh yes they got drunk last night
BRICKTOP: C‟est la vie as they say
ALL: At the hangover café
Scene Four. The Parlor of The Princess.
A rich woman‟s salon. Outside it‟s raining. In one
corner a small table with a wind-up gramophone
plays classical music. The Princess sits serving tea
to a tall handsome man in his fifties. His long silver
hair is braided and worn wrapped around his head
and he is dressed in a Grecian chiton, a toga- like
garment. Sandals on his feet. At his feet sit an
entourage of similarly dressed individuals, some of
them carrying ancient Greek instruments.
RAYMOND: … not only because we wish to increase, or conserve, our energies so that all parts
of our body will work in harmony with each other, but because we wish to be in
harmony with the movements of our soul, which is itself in contact with divine
movement, so that we might truly feel, truly understand and truly fulfill our role
in the Universe.
PRINCESS: Of course – I‟ve always felt like that – I think. Another petit four?
RAYMOND: Thank you.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 36
Kay, Bobby and Buffy enter shaking off an umbrella.
KAY: Princess, I‟ve…
RAYMOND: (seeing Kay) Who is this? That face. The poise – you are the epitome of beauty,
the paragon of grace.
BUFFY: Why thank you.
Raymond ignores Buffy, goes to Kay and begins to circle her.
RAYMOND: There‟s something about her that reminds me of Isadora. Isadora in her youth.
Young, untrammeled grace. Who are you, my dear?
KAY: Oh, just something the cat dragged it.
RAYMOND: (laughs) More like you were borne here on gossamer wings by the servants of
Aphrodite. And you little squirrel, what is your name?
BOBBY: Sharron Walsh, and I‟m not to talk to madmen.
KAY: Madmen on the street, my love. It is quite acceptable in an elegant salon.
BUFFY: Unavoidable, in fact.
BOBBY: What‟s the difference?
KAY: What on the street may be most justifiably seen as lunacy in an elegant salon
must, by „raison practicum‟ be assumed to be a manifestation of the highest order
of artistic artifice.
RAYMOND: Extraordinary, we have just met and already you see into the depths of my soul. I
am Duncan, Raymond Duncan.
PRINCESS: Isadora‟s brother. She was so dear to me during the period of my loss. She too
had her children taken from her, you see, and we shared that pain.
RAYMOND: Do you dance?
KAY: Certainly. But two cocktails are required.
RAYMOND: Will you dance for me?
KAY: Now?
Raymond pulls out a flute.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 37
RAYMOND: I must see how you move. Please bless me, just slowly turn to the music.
He begins to play the flute. Kay doesn‟t know what to think, but
does an awkward little turn.
RAYMOND: Exquisite. (to Bobby) Little cherub, prance! Prance about this goddess in joy for
she is beauty and you are youth.
He plays again. Bobby happily dances with her mother.
RAYMOND: Stop now, before my heart breaks in the presence of such ephemeral grace.
Gladys, who is the sylph?
PRINCESS: Kay Boyle, of course. She‟s been helping me with my book.
RAYMOND: The author? Kay Boyle, from transitions.
KAY: They‟ve published some of my stuff.
RAYMOND: “How radiant the light that dashes from the river
As on other mornings it came dashing from your eyes
The blue shimmering of your pain for that one moment
Set aside in joy.”
That was Walsh, was it not?
KAY: It was.
RAYMOND: Yes, I could hear his laugh the moment I read it. Such a loss.
KAY: Yes.
RAYMOND: My sister died that same spring you know, on that same Mediterranean shore.
Now it falls to me to carry on in her stead.
KAY: You teach the dance?
RAYMOND: Oh, Isadora never taught dance. She taught life. I have always done the same.
(gesturing at his chiton) Simplicity of form. Simplicity of action. Princess, you
must bring them both, Mother and child, to see.
PRINCESS: I most certainly will. You won‟t believe it, Kay, a beehive – that‟s what it most
resembles. Everyone happily working to realize the Duncan dream – to create…
RAYMOND: Arcadia.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 38
BOBBY: What‟s Arcadia?
RAYMOND: A kind of heaven here on earth. Arcadia
Raymond plays his pipe and sings Arcadia. His followers quickly
turn themselves into a backing combo.
RAYMOND: A long long time ago
In the hilly Pelopenese
There was a land where les enfants
Could do just as they please
Oh the sun always shone
The whole year long
Across the wine dark sea
In Arcadia
In Arcadia
Up on a hill a shepherd played
Upon the pipes of Pan
And all around him kids and nannies
Danced across the sand
Nymphs and naiads friends and fauns
Come prancing with the rising dawn
And the children sing a laughing song
In Arcadia
In Arcadia
Dance dance
Join in the parade
Get a banner to wave
Dance dance
Where the children all run
And laugh in the sun
Dance dance
It‟s a magical world
With the boys and the girls
In Arcadia
Argus with the hundred eyes
The Calydonian Boar
The Chimera with its fiery breath
Oh need I tell you more
BOBBY: Is a chimera like a dragon?
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 39
RAYMOND: Half a lion half a snake
But he makes the dancers shake
When he‟s blowing on his sacred horn
In Arcadia
In Arcadia
Dance dance
Join in the parade
Get a banner to wave
Dance dance
Where the children all run
And laugh in the sun
Dance dance
It‟s a magical world
With the boys and the girls
In Arcadia
Sad time it passes quickly
And those ancient days are gone
But there‟s a place near Paris
Where the spirit lingers on
Where the children dance and play
And sing their songs all through the day
Living life the ancient Grecian way
The Duncan Colony
Is paradise you‟ll see
Dance dance
Join in the parade
Get a banner to wave
Dance dance
Where the children all run
And laugh in the sun
Dance dance
It‟s a magical world
With the boys and the girls
The Duncan Colony
Is paradise you‟ll see
It‟s Arcadia
BOBBY: Arcadia. Mommy, can‟t we go there? Can we?
PRINCESS: You‟ll love it I‟m sure. Everyone is so full of joy, doing simple tasks as they
must have been done two thousand years ago in ancient Greece.
RAYMOND: We make our own clothes on homespun looms, decorating the fabric by hand.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 40
PRINCESS: Oh the grounds - colorful swaths of cloth among the trees – and all the children in
their togas dancing.
BOBBY: Children? Children dancing and prancing.
PRINCESS: Dozens of them dancing and laughing out loud. And the sound of the goat bells
ringing through the gardens as they are brought in for their evening milking.
RAYMOND: (to Bobby) Have you ever tasted goat‟s milk fresh from the udder?
BOBBY: What‟s an udder?
RAYMOND: A mama goat‟s teat. Come and I will teach you how to milk. It‟s ever so much
fun. (to Kay) There is nothing more wholesome than fresh goat milk. Our
children are never sick you know. The food they eat is so fresh and pure, their
lives so full of play and joy. They move freely and without fear because they are
constantly cared for by us all. And loved.
BOBBY: Can we go and play with the children and the goats, Mama?
Raymond takes Kay‟s hand.
RAYMOND: Please come. It would be an honor for us. Since we lost our dear Isadora it‟s
been nearly impossible to move among the young artists so crucial to our cause.
Those who find courage and faith in the creation of something new. They fuel the
great soul of the Universe. Come. And now I must go.
Raymond drapes his cloak around his body in a single graceful
movement, bows and begins to exit, followed by his entourage,
then stops.
RAYMOND: Oh, and of course we have a press. A beautiful hand press. It is perfect for
printing poetry. (exits).
PRINCESS: Wait Raymond, I‟ll walk you to the door! (follows Raymond off)
BUFFY: Well, that is the most ridiculous fake I have seen in years.
BOBBY: He has goats.
KAY: Yes, he does dear. And a press. And I am trying to publish an anthology of
verse.
PRINCESS: (enters) Isn‟t he splendid! Yes, you know I think he really must be in my book. I
believe he‟d fit, don‟t you?
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 41
KAY: An admirable addition, no doubt.
PRINCESS: Because we do have to expand the text. The publisher is quite clear on that. He
wants it right up-to-date. Right up to what I did yesterday.
KAY: Then it will be.
PRINCESS: Yes, and it will be so much easier to remember what happened yesterday than it
was to remember what happened when I was fifteen, don‟t you think?
KAY: I‟m sure of it.
PRINCESS: Splendid.
BOBBY: How did you meet Mr. Duncan, Mrs. Princess?
PRINCESS: Oh, well. It was in Nice…I suppose. I think that‟s where I met Isadora…Maybe.
So it would make sense that…oh well.
BUFFY: I‟m sure it was charming from the very first time.
PRINCESS: Absolutely. You are a sensitive boy aren‟t you. To be so observant.
BUFFY: Charm is a specialty of sorts.
PRINCESS: Oh… How frightful. I‟m sure we met so I didn‟t introduce myself, but now that I
think of it, I‟m not so sure at all.
BUFFY: John Glassco, your highness.
PRINCESS: Hello. And you most certainly don‟t need to call me „your highness‟.
BUFFY: Well that‟s a relief. I mean, it seems so formal after all and you seem like such a
friendly sort of person.
PRINCESS: I am. You can call me Dayang Muda – that‟s my proper title and then later if we
get to know each other better you can call me Princess.
BUFFY: How very kind.
KAY: I brought Buffy with me today because –
PRINCESS: Buffy?
BOBBY: It‟s his pet name.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 42
PRINCESS: How lovely. I do so love pets – Buffy. You may call me Princess.
BUFFY: So soon. I‟m flattered.
KAY: I brought Buffy with me today because I think we‟re going to need his help.
PRINCESS: With what?
KAY: The manuscript. This has come upon us so suddenly and I‟m sure the publisher is
in a terrible hurry and I‟m in the middle of editing my new anthology of poetry
and Buffy –
BUFFY: Will type for food.
PRINCESS: You‟re hired.
KAY: And a place to stay.
PRINCESS: There‟s room in the servant‟s quarters.
BUFFY: And some small amount to cover my living expenses.
PRINCESS: How much?
BUFFY: One hundred and fifty francs a week?
PRINCESS: A hundred.
BUFFY: Done. Where do we begin?
PRINCESS: Well, I suppose we should get you up to date on what we‟ve written so far. We
began with…well…It‟s my life. All of it…from…
KAY: A joyful youth among the great families of Edwardian England. Lords, Ladies
and the crème de la crème of English arts.
PRINCESS: Yes. Uncle Oscar and all that.
BUFFY: Wilde?
PRINCESS: Yes, and of course dear Ellen Terry and…well everyone. To tell the truth I don‟t
remember much of anything at all. Except for my beastly husband and his beastly
kingdom and how, after I left him, he had me declared unfit and stole my children
away. Never to be seen again.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 43
They sing The Princess of Sarawack
PRINCESS: (intro) It‟s true I can‟t remember
That‟s my problem plain to see
To recall so few fine episodes
From a life spent sipping tea
Of all the many marvelous things
Born silver-spooned and such
Summers spent with queens and kings
I can‟t recall that much
Song goes up-tempo.
KAY: Tragically the truth, once more
Is a story that won‟t pay
So I‟ve made a few things up
A little more outré
For instance little Gladys
Sat on the lap of Oscar Wilde
He must have whispered something
In the ears of that sweet child.
PRINCESS: But all I can remember is
That Oskie was quite tall
And once when I was seven
He stole my favorite doll.
KAY: And so a tableau rasa
Confronts a pair of ghosts
Inventing childish versions
Of the playwright‟s published quotes
BUFFY: Childish variations
On the playwright‟s published quotes?
ALL: Childish variations
On the playwright‟s published quotes
PRINCESS: It must have been fun. And I had some great romances in my teens. I‟m sure of
that.
KAY: But then - dark clouds on the horizon.
PRINCESS: My husband.
KAY: From the playing fields of Eton
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 44
Came a legendary man
A titled Brooke of Borneo
That fabled misty land
KAY: Her father looked down at the prince
Came asking for her hand
Palmer‟s biscuits were the best
In all of England
PRINCESS: But Jimmy offered titles
A sari and a crown
BUFFY: “Be royalty in Borneo
And live a life renown”
KAY: So she forsook the mansion built
On a soda cracker‟s back
PRINCESS: And then before I know it
I‟m Princess of Sarawack
BUFFY: So then before she knew it
PRINCESS: She‟s Princess of Sarawack
ALL: So then before she knew it
She‟s Princess of Sarawack
KAY: Deep in New Guinea jungles
Our story takes a turn
For in the land of shrunken heads
Are lessons to be learned
PRINCESS: To support the last white rajah
One must never miss a trick
Empires built on character
Are built by brick by brick
KAY: But Jimmy proved a cad alas
A woman, sad but true
PRINCESS: I ran off with the children
What else could a Princess do?
PRINCESS: He said I caused a scandal
He said my mind was sick
“That is a lie.” I cried aloud
“You selfish greedy prick”
BUFFY: Selfish greedy prick.
PRINCESS: (spoken) He ran off with my cousin.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 45
BUFFY & KAY: The selfish greedy prick
PRINCESS: (spoken) Then abducted my children.
BUFFY & KAY: The selfish greedy prick
PRINCESS: (spoken) I never saw them again.
BUFFY & KAY: The selfish greedy prick
BUFFY: So that‟s the tragic tale of
The Princess of Sarawack
ALL: That‟s the tragic tale of
The Princess of Sarawack
The Princess cries. Buffy comforts her. She snuggles in.
Scene Five. Bricktop’s.
At rise Raymond and The Princess sit at a table in
Bricktop‟s. The Band is playing Tickle Me.
Bricktop is playing with Bobby.
BRICKTOP & BOBBY: Tickle me oh tickle me
Put goosebumps on my skin
Jiggle me and wiggle me
„Til my poor head spins
Hoochee me oh koochee me
Rubberize my shins
Jazza me and dazzle me
And do it all again
Bricktop tickles Bobby who squeals in joy. The door bursts open.
Morley, McAlmon, Buffy, Kay, Scott and Zelda all enter.
ALL: (ad lib) Bricktop! Brickie! Queen of The Night! etc.
BRICKTOP: Hello all! What you been up to tonight! Trouble, I bet.
MCALMON: Absurd. A thoroughly cultured soiree.
MORLEY: We‟ve been to Gertrude Stein‟s!
BUFFY: And I‟ve been barred for life.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 46
What Happened At Gertrude’s Salon
MORLEY: The Picasso on the wall was …impressive
ZELDA: In a dreary sort of way
BUFFY The massive plains on Gertrude‟s face… monumental
But rather gray
SCOTT: The Matisses are always quite cheery
The Corbet is a delight
MCALMON: But our hostess Miss Stein,
I must opine, is always an arrogant fright
ALL: What happened at Gertrude‟s salon
It was shocking, absurd and sublime
It was the best and the worst of all times
The night that Buffy took
A stand on a book
Is a story on which we shall dine
What happened at Gertrude‟s salon
It was shocking sublime and absurd
It was worse than the stories you‟ve heard
In a word, in a word, in a word
Disaster
PRINCESS: (spoken) You stood on a book?
BUFFY: (spoken) Not literally.
MORLEY: We all stumbled up
The rue de Flores
Fitzgerald he knocked on the door
It slowly swung open
We all tried to focus
For there in the doorway stood
Alice B. Toklas
MCALMON: A hideous woman
With the face of a horse
BUFFY: She frowned at McAlmon
As a matter of course
ZELDA: I gave her a hug
Scott gave her a kiss
SCOTT: I said; “ I‟ve brought friends”
Dear Alice just hissed
ALL: What happened at Gertrude‟s salon
It was shocking absurd and sublime
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 47
It was the best and the worst of all times
If you don‟t agree with Gertie
She‟s known to get quite shirty
You‟ve committed a capital crime
What happened at Gertrude‟s salon
It was shocking sublime and absurd
It was worse than the stories you‟ve heard
In a word, in a word, in a word
„Un debacle‟
KAY: For all of my youth I have wondered
What that palace of reason might hold
A room full of artistic genius
Where all of my dreams might unfold
And suddenly there she stood standing
And manfully offered her hand
I mannishly bowed then curtsied quite cowed
And Scott said: “Now isn‟t this grand.”
ZELDA: But Zelda was charming
Buffy was boyish
And Morley admired her poems
She thanked him quite grandly
And seriously said
“As a writer of course I stand quite alone”
BUFFY: Well I mentioned the prose of Jane Austen
Insulted she then cut me dead
As she turned away and went after Kay
MCALMON: The dear boy, by God – he bit off her head
ALL: What happened at Gertrude‟s salon
The action was elephantine
We all committed an artistic crime
The only literary genius who doesn‟t have a penis
That insufferable swine called Miss Stein
Who cares about Gertrude‟s salon
She is haughty, a bore and unkind
We were shocked and dismayed
At Gertrude‟s soirée
But Alice‟s brownies
Those lovely hash brownies
Ah Alice‟s brownies
Divine
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 48
Everyone laughs and heads for the bar, except for Kay who stands
looking dejected as the lights go down around her. The Princess
crosses to her, followed by Raymond.
PRINCESS: Kay. You look… well…how to say it…like…what do you look like, dear?
KAY: I have never been so mortified in my entire life.
Kay heads for the bar. The Princess and Raymond in tow.
KAY: You know what she said to me?
RAYMOND: Who?
KAY: Alice B. Toklas. She told me to never to come back - that Miss Stein thought I
was incurably middle class. Just like Hemingway.
MCALMON: What a swinish bit of blasphemy.
KAY: Is it true?
MCALMON: Of course not.
KAY: I‟ve wanted to meet that woman since the first moment I came to Paris. And I
made a fool of myself. Oh, get me a drink! (seeing Bobby) Hello darling,
shouldn‟t you be in bed?
Kay picks Bobby up, kisses her and sits her on the bar. Raymond
waves for the waiter. The band vamps softly on a slow blues.
Scott and Zelda hang amorously off each other at the bar. Morley
is with them. All three are stoned.
MORLEY: It doesn‟t matter, Scott.
SCOTT: But it does. You were my guest.
MORLEY: It‟s OK. Hem gave me the heads up on Stein, but said I should go anyway, to see
the -
SCOTT: Still, I should have known better than to let McAlmon and his crew come along.
The last time we went out together, he got in a hell of a brawl. To get us out of it
I had to give a man my hat.
MORLEY: Your hat?
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 49
SCOTT: The fellow was wearing this appalling bowler. McAlmon felt compelled to dance
on it. So I offered to trade.
MORLEY: I guess that guy came out a-head, eh?
Zelda groans. Scott laughs.
MORLEY: What‟s so funny?
ZELDA: Hat. Head. Never mind.
MORLEY: „Cause no doubt about it – you got the greatest hats in Paris.
SCOTT: You like my hats?
MORLEY: Sure, a man‟s bound to notice a really fine hat.
SCOTT: Then you must have it.
Scott puts his hat on Morley‟s head. It doesn‟t fit. The hat gets
passed back and forth as they talk.
MORLEY: Hey, I can‟t just take a really fine hat like that.
SCOTT: Why not?
MORLEY: You don‟t give away a really great hat on a whim.
SCOTT: It‟s not a whim – it‟s a hat – an expression of my gigantic respect for your talent.
MORLEY: That‟s great, but I can‟t - a man‟s got to earn a hat like that.
ZELDA: Oh for God‟s sake, Morley, it‟s just a Borsalino. Italy‟s full of „em.
A pause in the conversation while Morley considers what Zelda‟s
said. Nearby Kay, Buffy, McAlmon, The Princess and Raymond
are drinking. Raymond, of course, drinks milk.
BUFFY: I‟m sorry, Kay, but who could ever imagine a brawl of such magnitude erupting
around the sepulcher of poor old Jane Austen?
PRINCESS: What in the world did you say?
BUFFY: I was in the corner feeling like a party crasher and managing perfectly well to
avoid serious contact with the great toad. The truth is she scared the piss out of
me.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 50
MCALMON: Picture her. A rhomboid in a burlap sack surrounded by an adoring clack – like a
school of carp feeding on a slow moving whale.
BUFFY: Bob and I got to talking and Bob was on about how beneath all the fine manners
there‟s a dark sexuality in Austen‟s work.
MCALMON: It positively permeates the behavior of the characters.
PRINCESS: Jane Austen?
MCALMON: She‟s randier than D.H. Lawrence.
BUFFY: Anyway, we were quite lost in our conversation and doing our best to keep it
amusing and apparently drawing a bit of a crowd.
MCALMON: Sensing not all eyes were on her, Gertrude stood and in that slow ponderously
pachydermal way of hers approached.
BUFFY: Well, I turned and found myself peering right into these huge piercing eyes and
she said;
MCALMON: “Do I know you? No, I suppose you‟re just one of those silly young men who
admire Jane Austen.”
PRINCESS: How terrifying. What did you do?
BUFFY: I said, “Yes I am. And I suppose you‟re just one of those silly old women who
don‟t.”
McAlmon cracks up.
KAY: It‟s not funny. I got chucked out too.
MCALMON: You don‟t care, do you?
KAY: I do care and it‟s all Buffy‟s fault.
MCALMON: Oh, come on. It wasn‟t Buffy‟s fault. She caught you trading recipes with Alice.
KAY: I wouldn‟t have been talking to her if I wasn‟t ashamed to be associated with –
Well, what‟s wrong with that anyway?
MCALMON: That makes you a wife.
BUFFY: What‟s the difference?
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 51
MCALMON: Alice always talks to the wives. Because they‟re a lower species.
KAY: When I told Stein I was a writer, she made a joke about helping Alice with her
cookbook.
PRINCESS: Well, if she needs help, I‟d be happy to recommend you.
KAY: Oh! Fateful velvet slippers!
Kay rushes off. Raymond stands.
BOBBY: What‟s wrong with Mummy?
RAYMOND: The poor child. I‟ll comfort her. (follows Kay off)
MCALMON: Oh rats! Bobby, go tell Bricktop to put you to bed
McAlmon takes Bobby off the bar and puts her on the ground.
Bobby crosses to Bricktop.
MCALMON: More liquids!
McAlmon goes to the bar. Morley has come to a decision.
MORLEY: You read The Sun Also Rises for him before it was published, right.
SCOTT: I helped him a bit.
MORLEY: OK, so I‟ll tell you what, I‟ll give you my new novel to read. If you like it, really
like it, then you can give me a hat.
SCOTT: No, no, that‟s backwards, isn‟t it, Zelda?
ZELDA: Of course it is – in that situation he should give you a hat.
BRICKTOP: Look, will you guys just give me the hat and tell me what you want to drink?
SCOTT: No one on this planet deserves a hat more than Bricktop.
MORLEY: Problem solved. I‟ll take a beer and if you don‟t mind, I‟m just going to move
down the bar – get all this Stein stuff down before it starts to fade.
Morley moves down the bar, close to McAlmon.
SCOTT: Brickie, that is a most becoming chapeau.
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ZELDA: Scott used to have one just like it.
BRICKIE: You two been eatin‟ Toklas‟ hash brownies again, haven‟t you?
SCOTT: True. I‟m flying.
ZELDA: There seems to be some heavenly support beneath his shoulder blades that lifts his
feet from the ground in ecstatic suspension as if he secretly enjoys the ability to
fly but is walking as a compromise to convention.
SCOTT: Thank you, darling.
Scott and Zelda kiss.
ZELDA: Bricktop, do you have a pen?
Brinktop hands her a pen. Zelda pulls a little notebook out her
purse and begins to write in it.
ZELDA: There seemed to be some heavenly…. What did I say, Scott?
SCOTT: “Support” but you might consider some variation on “fine golden chain”. Support
is very earthbound, don‟t you think?
ZELDA: (continues writing) Support beneath his shoulder….
BOBBY: Why are grown-ups so silly, Bricktop?
BRICKTOP: Because they want to be just like you, but can‟t remember how to do it.
Bricktop takes a napkin and begins to play with it – turning it into
a puppet. Scott sighs and drinks. Before he speaks again he‟ll put
back a few. The band plays The Gigolo Song.
PRINCESS: Oh, what a lovely song. Buffy, I have a confession to make.
BUFFY: You do?
PRINCESS: I do. Today the maid was cleaning your room and she came upon some
photographs.
BUFFY: Oh. You saw them?
PRINCESS: Yes. You are a handsome young man.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 53
BUFFY: It‟s all in the lighting really. The photographer is an artist.
PRINCESS: I‟m sure he was, the poses were – very Hellenic.
BUFFY: Do you really think so – because the plan is they will illustrate a little volume I‟m
writing for…one of the better known Parisian publishers.
PRINCESS: Yes, she found the manuscript too. La Nuit Delphi?
BUFFY: Yes, well, it‟s just a first draft, of course, but I think the juxtaposition of the
ancient and the modern creates a certain tension within the text that…
PRINCESS: Did you really spend last Christmas working in a brothel?
BUFFY: It‟s a very busy time of year. (sigh) OK, OK – guilty as charged. I‟m a
pornographer and gigolo and pose for dirty pictures. I suppose you‟ll want me to
leave.
PRINCESS: Of course not, poor boy – to tell you the truth, I‟m rather intrigued. Shall we
dance?
BUFFY: Why not!
The Princess and Buffy dance.
PRINCESS: You know, Buffy, I‟m a Catholic. Well – I became a Catholic, but I‟m not sure
that it stuck.
BUFFY: Why do you say that?
PRINCESS: Because when I think of the sinful life you‟ve lead, all I want to do is…I mean to
say, Cop…Cop… Copu - Oh, tell me more.
They sing The Gigolo Song.
BUFFY: I spent last Christmas in a brothel
Working hard to earn my keep
Between the crones and Nancy boys
I barely got a moment‟s sleep
I posed nude for my new friend Max
With two delightful femmes d‟joie
And later I did a movie where
I clearly broke the law
It‟s a fact that‟s hard to face
That I am just a gigolo
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 54
Despite my looks and youthful grace
I‟m a whore don‟t you know
I‟ve sold my body
What else could I do
And mortgaged my soul
For a few paltry sou
And now I live
On the avails of you
I‟ve got those gigolo blues
PRINCESS Don‟t be blue my darling boy
My precious porno star
Performing with such expertise
In an movie so bizarre
I can‟t say how it moves me
It‟s so hard to relate
To find a man who won‟t make love
But simply copulate
BOTH: Do, do that gigolo voodoo
It always works a wonder with me
Do, do the things only you do
When I‟m sittin‟ on your knee
I need burning kisses
And a fond caress
We‟ll make love in our fashion
BUFFY: And you‟ll take care of the rest
PRINCESS: I‟ll take care of the rest
PRINCESS: I love the way you smell
Like clean linen, like fresh lace
And I crave the smell, dare I tell
Of your buttocks near my face
I sense I‟ll worship leather
Being tied up to a chair
All the things I‟ve read
All the things you‟ve said
Oh Buffy strip me bare
BOTH: Do, do that gigolo voodoo
It always works a wonder with me
Do, do the things only you do
When I‟m sittin‟ on your knee
I need burning kisses
And a fond caress
We‟ll make love in our fashion
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 55
BUFFY: And you‟ll take care of the rest
PRINCESS: I‟ll take care of the rest
BOTH: Do-do-do do what you do
Do that gigolo thing.
The Princess and Buffy kiss. The music slides into a ballad. They
continue to dance, becoming very romantic. Morley looks at
McAlmon, who is stewing.
MORLEY: How do you spell Toklas?
MCALMON: With a K.
Morley makes a correction and closes the notebook.
MORLEY: Well, that was bracing. Un autre biere, s‟il vous plaît. Do things go nuts
everywhere you go?
MCALMON: It‟s Scott – chaos follows him like Mary‟s Little Lamb.
MORLEY: (whispers) Come on, Bob – the guy is sitting right there.
McAlmon glances at Scott who seems to not be paying attention.
MCALMON: (whispers) Did you manage to find Ernie and warn him Fitzgerald had returned?
MORLEY: (softly) Yeah, and he wasn‟t too happy about it
McAlmon signals for another drink. Kay re-enters with Raymond.
KAY: I mentioned your name to Gertrude Stein.
RAYMOND: How is the old girl?
KAY: She told me she remembered you when you drank sherry and worried about the
crease in your pants.
RAYMOND: Yes, well Gertrude has a wonderful memory. It comes from the fact that she
keeps repeating the same things over and over.
Kay laughs, then looks at Buffy dancing with The Princess.
They‟re kissing as they dance. She turns towards McAlmon. He
glances over at Bobby playing with Bricktop then stares coldly at
her. She turns back to Raymond.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 56
KAY: It‟s hard. To finally meet someone you‟ve admired for years that you thought…
Everyone knows how she helped Hemingway. How she‟s helped others. I
thought…She made me feel worthless.
RAYMOND: (beat) You‟ve learned a very important lesson tonight.
KAY: Really? What‟s that?
RAYMOND: It‟s not enough to be a great artist. It‟s just a beginning. The real challenge is to
become a whole person. Gertrude has never learned that lesson. She helps those
who worship at her feet and in Gertrude‟s world there is only room for one
woman writer. Herself. So, forgive her for her talent and seek a richer world for
yourself.
KAY: What kind of world is that?
RAYMOND: There was greatness in my sister and grace. She opened a school and danced to
support her vision. A vision of a world where art and life flow together. A place
that nurtures, but never competes. Bobby!
BOBBY: (rushes to Raymond) Arcadia!
He hugs Bobby.
RAYMOND: Come. Bring Walsh‟s daughter. Spend a little time with us. You‟ll see the truth
that we‟ve discovered.
Buffy dances by in the arms of The Princess. They‟re laughing.
He doesn‟t even notice Kay has returned.
KAY: It‟s just that I‟m so tired.
RAYMOND: Then be refreshed. We all share the work needed to keep the community alive –
simple work with dignity.
KAY: But I have my work. My writing.
RAYMOND: So we will find work that gives you time to write – all the time you need and you
will have a home. No meals to fix. No clothes to buy. A family who will see to
your needs. All your troubles will be ended. Sharron will be there with the other
children and you‟ll be there too.
BOBBY: Can we, Mummy?
McAlmon approaches.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 57
MCALMON: The party grows stale. If I don‟t get out now I‟m going to break into my Chinese
Opera.
KAY: I‟m talking, Bob.
MCALMON: Then close you mouth, put your child to bed and come. By now the Select will be
alive with tortured tales of our exploits.
KAY: (to Raymond) You‟re right, Sharron needs a home.
McAlmon begins to sing in high, atonal fake Chinese.
MCALMON: Tang ya-eeeema-dong, won ton-eee-ohhh,
Nee-ah-shang-hiiiii-peee-king. Moo-shu chinoise-iiii.
BRICKTOP: Bob, please don‟t start that again.
RAYMOND: We all need a home. The world is a cold and heartless place.
McAlmon increases his volume. The band grinds to a halt. The
Princess and Buffy head for the bar.
CALMON: Ming, ming, ming. It‟s for uoooooo. Ah ya ya.
Tang ya-eeeema-dong, won ton.
Chow chow chow-meeeeeeeeee-ine.
Ting-ti, ting-ti, ting-ti, chi-chi, chi.
MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
BRICKTOP: Bob!
MCALMON: What!
BRICKTOP: Have another drink, honey, on the house.
MCALMON: I don‟t want another drink; I want my companion to taxi with me across the Seine
into the future.
KAY: I‟m not going to do that.
MCALMON: Then what?
KAY: I‟m going to live in the Duncan Colony. There‟s a place for Sharron and a hand
press – we can print our anthology and –
MCALMON: The Duncan Colony! Rats! Look at this man, Kay. He‟s a relic of The Arts and
Crafts Movement
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 58
RAYMOND: If I am a relic, it‟s of a golden ancient time and I am glad of it.
MCALMON: Rodents! Hordes of „em! Squeaking!
RAYMOND: (to Kay) I‟ll get us a cab. Come along, Bobby.
Raymond leads Bobby off. McAlmon walks to the wall where
Kay‟s poster advertising her new publication is pinned. He tears it
down, walks back to her.
MCALMON: (rips up the poster) And here‟s what I think of your whole stupid, pretentious
vision of yourself as an artist. You‟re not an artist. You‟re a camp follower! A
patsy. Oh rats!
Kay kneels, trying to reassemble her poster. McAlmon goes back
to the bar.
KAY: No! Living Poetry – best collection – ever pub – the work of… many…genius.
MCALMON: A beer.
BRICKTOP: No. Time to go.
MCALMON: (sits by Buffy and takes his beer) I need this more than you do.
As he‟s lifting it to his lips, Kay springs up, rushes to him, grabs
the glass and throws its contents at him. McAlmon dodges. It hits
Buffy.
KAY: And you – screw you - you mindless teenaged whore!
Buffy starts to cry and rushes out of the bar, followed by the
Princess.
MCALMON: Well, that was charming.
KAY: Oh, go home, Bob.
MCALMON: I‟ve got no home. I‟ve got no home in this whole wide world. (exits)
Kay slumps on a barstool. Bricktop gently crosses and gives her a
drink.
BRICKTOP: Hush now, Kay – it will be alright.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 59
Kay angrily shakes off Bricktop‟s arm and walks away. She sings
Words.
KAY: Words
Words
Words
Words
Words
Confabulation
Acceleration
Manipulation
Ejaculation
Procrastination
And Strangulation
The Tintinnabulation
Of The Words
I look into his ice blue eyes
I see my reflection there
He looks away into the café gloom
And I am free to stare
He drowns his heart
In frozen words
A vicious verb
A nasty sneer
And all we were just disappears
One day before reflection‟s mirror
Grey and oh so far from here
The men I loved
The passion and the rage
The romance without fear
Will I recall this tender age
A desperate poem
A yellowed page
A remnant of these crazy years
Shattered infinitive
Laughing intransitive
A color here
A flash of light
A foggy street
A taxi ride
A cabaret
A hint of night
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 60
Writers and poets
And artists and whores
Battles we fought
The rich and the poor
All writing lies
The passionate cries
Words of rebellion
Words of despair
McAlmon and I were there.
Some die too young or go insane
To illuminate the night
This much is true: It never was in vain
We pass from shadow into light
The words will burn like flaming birds
The long lost boys. The dance hall girls.
We will live on in the words
We will live on in these triumphant words
End of Act One
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 61
Act Two, Scene One. Le Bar Select. Fall 1929
The occupants of The Bar Select settle in. Bricktop
enters and sings Montparnasse Strut (reprise).
TRIO: So new
GUY & GAL: Jazz Age - Flappers
TRIO: So bright
GUY & GAL: Poets - scrappers
TRIO: In Paree
GUY & GAL: Life‟s a breeze and so easy
ALL: Yeah
GUY & GAL: So easy
TRIO: So new
GUY & GAL: It so crazy
TRIO: So bright
GUY & GAL: Kinda hazy
TRIO: In Paree
GUY & GAL: Life is always hoppin‟
To a hot quintet
BRICKTOP: It‟s the fall of 1929
Livin‟ this good ought to be a crime
The say back home banks are quaking
What the hell, the market‟s shaking
That don‟t mean a thing to me
This whole town‟s still on a spree
So I know you must agree
We have no cares in Paris
No bulls or bears in Paris
In Paree we are fancy free
In Paris it ain‟t chancy
In Paris we ain‟t antsy
In Paris we are fancy free!!!!
Bricktop sits down and watches Buffy and The Princess argue at another
table. Band underscores scene with Hangover Café.
BRICKTOP: The new season begins.
BUFFY: The book is finished, Princess.
PRINCESS: Of course it is. What‟s your point?
BUFFY: My point is the job is done and I‟d like to be paid.
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PRINCESS: But, dear boy, money is short and if I pay you, I won‟t be able to pay the chief
and you know what he‟s like.
BUFFY: A moralist. If he isn‟t paid he packs up and leaves.
PRINCESS: And if that were to happen we‟d all starve to death. Come, let‟s have a pernod,
sample Madame Select‟s famous rarebit and discuss deep, meaningful…moments.
Bricktop, how are you?
BRICKTOP: (waves news paper) I‟ve been better.
PRINCESS: The market?
BRICKTOP: Still bouncing around like an Indian rubber ball
PRINCESS: Oh, now, I wouldn‟t worry, dear. I mean, stocks, bonds…little gray men in
morning coats, what does that have to with us? We are artists after all and live on
a spiritual plane. Isn‟t that true, Buffy?
BUFFY: (miffed) I‟ll get the hooch.
PRINCESS: The poor boy. He‟s a bit like that big bird they have in that colony he‟s from.
The Canada something.
BRICKTOP: Goose.
PRINCESS: Exactly. Come the fall they all fly away. I‟m afraid Buffy is beginning to fluff
up his feathers. And… I‟d just die without him.
BRICKTOP: Is that why you won‟t pay him?
PRINCESS: I positively shower him with gifts.
BRICKTOP: It‟s not quite the same thing.
PRINCESS: Ever so much the better I should think. From the heart after all, not the pocket
book. Oh, let‟s talk of a more pleasant matter. Have you heard? My publisher
has been showing the galleys of my memoir to some of the less progressive
newspapers and he‟s been told that the sections on my current life among the
avant-garde have…
McAlmon enters, slightly green around the gills and carrying a suitcase.
MCALMON: Sweet tears of Christ, somebody get me a brandy.
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PRINCESS: Bob! Just in time – where have you been?
MCALMON: Greece, Italy, Nice. Any place to escape this pile of perambulating rubble. Hello
Bricktop.
BRICKTOP: Hi Bob.
PRINCESS: Well, you‟ve arrived just in time.
MCALMON: Why‟s that?
PRINCESS: I was just telling Bricktop….
BRICKTOP: Your publisher?
PRINCESS: My publisher has been showing the galleys of my memoir to some of the less
progressive newspapers and the sections on my life among the avant-garde
generated a great deal of interest. Especially the parts you helped Kay compose.
(whispers) I have been asked to pen a weekly, syndicated column. You‟ll never
guess what it‟s to be called.
MCALMON: Rats.
PRINCESS: No, that‟s not it. Bricktop?
BRICKTOP: I don‟t know.
PRINCESS: That shouldn‟t stop you. If I let not knowing something stop me, well…I would
live in silence. Guess.
BRICKTOP: “What’s The Word From Paris?”
PRINCESS: Perfect. “What’s the Word From Paris.” Much better than what I‟d planned.
BRICKTOP: Which was?
PRINCESS: Oh…You‟d have to ask Buffy.
The Princess hauls a pad out of her purse and a little gold pen. She
carefully writes the title and sings What’s The Word From Paris?
PRINCESS: What‟s the word from Paris
Picasso, Jean Arp, Breton?
What‟s the word from Paris
Is the surreal still au courant
What‟s the word from Paris
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That‟s what the world wants to know
What are they saying in Paris
All the dirt, who got hurt, c‟est très beau
CHORUS: What‟s being published
And who‟s being panned
Whose work in progress
Progressing as planned
And is Miss Stein‟s new Stein
Grander than grand
As grand as grand as it‟s dame
PRINCESS: Quotable quotes s‟il vous plaît
BRICKTOP: Here‟s the word from Paris
The land of endless romance
MCALMON: Here‟s the deal in Paris
For a franc Paree drops its pants
BRICKTOP: No, the word from Paris
Must charm and delight and be new
MCALMON: They‟ll slice you and dice you in Paris
And then serve you up in a stew
PRINCESS: No, no, that won‟t do. I need more joie de vivre. Come on, Bob – you‟re a poet.
BRICKTOP: Yes Bob, give us a poem.
MCALMON: A poem:
Paris is nothing but a stinking pit
Boom ba-ba boom-ba
I won‟t rhyme you fart
I quote a great doorstop
Fa gah the burning giraffes
And dance to your own boom boom
PRINCESS: That‟s lovely …but some how …incomprehensible.
BRICKTOP: Bob‟s gone Dada.
PRINCESS: Dada! (writes) Word in the cafés has it that the stork will soon pay a visit to
publisher Robert McAlmon.
PRINCESS: What‟s the word from Paris
The passion, the pleasure, the tears
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 65
MCALMON: Slurred is the word from Paris
We‟ve been drinking for nearly ten years
BRICKTOP: Don‟t tell the truth about Paris
You‟ll only make everyone blue
PRINCESS: No everything‟s grand in Paris
BRICKTOP: See the sights, endless nights
In the city of light
PRINCESS AND BRICKTOP: And you‟ll adore it it‟s true
MCALMON: (stop) But you‟ll get bored with it too
MCALMON: So, what is the word, Princess? Have you seen anything of Our Lady of The Blue
Cape?
PRINCESS: Of course. In fact, I‟m meeting her for lunch.
MCALMON: You mean breakfast, don‟t you? It‟s barely noon.
PRINCESS: Breakfast? No, I‟m sure she said lunch. Oh! No, no, she‟s keeping different
hours now. Now that she‟s with The Colony. Raymond has a shop, you see, on
St. Germain and Kay‟s running the place.
Buffy enters with drinks.
BUFFY: Kay‟s a shop girl.
Bricktop and The Princess take their drinks.
PRINCESS: No, no, of course not. Well yes, actually I suppose, but it‟s more artistic than that,
isn‟t it, Bricktop?
BRICKTOP: I wouldn‟t know, Princess. She hasn‟t been around.
MCALMON: Hello Buffy.
BUFFY: Hello Bob.
PRINCESS: Ah, yes, well it‟s the milk I suppose.
MCALMON: Milk?
PRINCESS: The members of the Commune drink only fruit juice and goat milk.
MCALMON: I may hurl.
McAlmon takes Buffy‟s drink.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 66
MCALMON: Don‟t mind if I do.
Morley enters with his boxing gloves. Gone is the stiff suit of Act One.
He‟s dressed like an Apache. Gone boho.
MORLEY: McAlmon! Have you seen Hem?
MCALMON: Sit, have a drink, Morley. I‟m sure your darling boy will show up any second
now.
MORLEY: Thanks, but beer and boxing don‟t really mix.
MCALMON: True, but gin and gossip, that‟s another story.
BUFFY: One gin and a pernod for Buffy.
Buffy exits as Scott enters from the bar with a drink in his hand.
SCOTT: Ah, Morley, there you are. Ernest had to go back to Rue Ferou to pick up his
gloves. He said he‟d meet us at the gym for a few brisk rounds!
PRINCESS: Excuse me – Mr. Callaghan. Is it truly your intention to get into the ring with Mr.
Hemingway?
MORLEY: Why sure.
FITZGERALD: They‟ve been sparring for months.
MORLEY: Just keeping in shape.
PRINCESS: But –
ALL: (except Morley) They say one night he got tight, climbed into the ring with the
Heavyweight Champion of France and knocked him into the front row.
MORLEY: It‟s no big deal – just enough exercise to build up a thirst. Then it‟s over to the
Falstaff to talk boxing with Jimmy.
SCOTT: Ernest has asked me to time the rounds. I consider it an honor. And don‟t worry,
Morley. If he gets too rough I‟ll stop the fight.
MORLEY: It‟s not a fight. We‟re just fooling around.
Zelda enters just as Buffy returns from the bar, with a gin and a pernod.
Morley takes the gin.
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ZELDA: Italy. Italy. Italy. Italy.
PRINCESS: Italy?
ZELDA: Naples. I have a job offer. A solo role in the San Carlo Opera Ballet production
of Aida. Thank you, Buffy.
Buffy sputters.
PRINCESS: This is just too easy for words. „Zelda nabs Naples niche.‟
SCOTT: When did this happen?
ZELDA: This morning. Aren‟t you pleased?
SCOTT: Of course I am – but the strain.
ZELDA: The job is there, Scott. All I have to do is pick it up.
BRICKTOP: Congratulations, honey. We‟re all proud of you.
ZELDA: Yes, but why an offer? Why now?
BRICKTOP You have been dancing your brains out for the last three years – guess you earned
it.
ZELDA: I have, haven‟t I?
SCOTT: I just worry about the strain. You‟re emotionally exhausted already and -
ZELDA: (after him) I want something for myself!!!
(polishes off the pernod) Well I think I deserve a champagne cocktail. It‟s just the
sort of drink one has when one is having a celebration, don‟t you think.
Something that makes the nose tingle.
BUFFY: If you‟re buying.
ZELDA: Of course not. Scott‟s buying.
Everyone yells orders. Scott and Buffy exit to the bar.
MCALMON: So what gives, Morley. Last thing I remember Michigan‟s hero of the Italian
campaign was dodging old Scott like an incoming mortar round.
MORLEY: I‟m as baffled as you are.
Paris Before The Crash by Paul Ledoux and John Roby - 11/28/2011 – 68
ZELDA: They kissed and made up over rum punch at the Murphy‟s.
MCALMON: Punch? Well, so long as the metaphor remains constant.
Kay enters with Raymond and Bobby and members of his
entourage. They‟re all wearing Grecian outfits. Bobby spots the
now tattered poster for Kay‟s literary anthology. She runs over to
it.
BOBBY: Look Mama. Your poster. It‟s still hanging.
RAYMOND: A miracle. Breath-taking, Princess! It‟s remarkable.
KAY: Forget to tear that one down, Bob?
BOBBY: Living Poetry. The best collection ever published. The work of… many
geniuses.
PRINCESS: It certainly is. What is it?
RAYMOND: The sale of the century and Kay did it! Ladies and gentleman, I give you a
genius, a benefactor, a loyal and inspiring communard, Miss Kay Boyle.
Everyone applauds, even McAlmon, but his every move drips
irony.
BUFFY: My God, Kay, you been published?
KAY: Just stop it, Buffy.
PRINCESS: What is it, Kay? I‟m all ears…no wait, Buffy can I borrow your pen? (shakes
her pen) I‟ve run out of ink – exhausting.
Buffy offers her a very beautiful gold pen. The Princess inspects it.
PRINCESS: What a co-incidence. I used to have a pen just like this on, you know – identical,
right down to the inscription from Uncle Oscar. Thank you, you naughty boy.
Now. Speak.
RAYMOND: The Kentucky Museum of Art has made a major purchase of my designs. They
plan to open a Duncan wing!
KAY: It took months - these sweet little gray haired matrons full of endless, enervating
inquiries.
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RAYMOND: Kay never missed a step.
PRINCESS: Yes, it‟s amazing how fast on her feet she can be in a pinch. Why there‟s five
whole years of my life she invented in a single afternoon!
BOBBY: Uncle Bob – what‟s a genius?
MCALMON: Well, Bobby - I am. Most of us here, in fact, are geniuses, but there are so many
different kinds of genius that one must struggle to find one‟s particular niche, so
to speak. You mother, for instance, would seem to have a genius for…sales.
Kay practically spits but before she can say anything Raymond
jumps in.
RAYMOND: And that is a form of genius upon which we all, in the end, must rely. The
Duncan School lives on! Our commune is saved! Our fortune is made! And this
Saturday all of Montparnasse is invited to Neuilly-sur-Seine. We will celebrate
the night of The White Moon.
(sings Arcadia reprise) Dance dance
Join in the parade
BOBBY: Get a banner to wave
BOBBY & RAYMOND: Dance dance
Where the children all run
And laugh in the sun
Dance dance
It‟s a magical world
With the boys and the girls
In Arcadia
McAlmon picks up his suitcase and starts to leave.
MCALMON: I‟m off!
RAYMOND: This Saturday. Don‟t forget.
MCALMON: Rats.
KAY: Bob, wait…
She starts to follow him, but Raymond takes her arm and leads her
into the dance. As they sing the scene changes.
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RAYMOND & ENTOURAGE: Dance dance
Join in the parade
Get a banner to wave
Dance dance
Where the children all run
And laugh in the sun
Dance dance
It‟s a magical world
With the boys and the girls
The Duncan Colony
Is paradise you‟ll see
It‟s Arcadia
Act Two, Scene Two. The Duncan Commune.
Fall 1929
A small Grecian temple in a garden. The dancers
from the last scene take up positions on the temple
stairs.
Kay and Bobby lead the action. They carry jugs
and a big bowl, which is placed on a plinth. As they
recite the invocation below, the chorus fills the
bowl with juice, goat milk and herbal infusions.
KAY Juice of pomegranate, Eurydice's salvation
BOBBY: Ambrosia
ALL: Ambrosia
KAY: Milk from the goat - Apollo's creation
BOBBY: Ambrosia
ALL: Ambrosia
KAY: All that is good
ALL: All that is pure
KAY: The gifts of our amphora will endure
BOBBY: Ambrosia
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ALL: Ambrosia.
All of our major players, including Bricktop and her band, are in
attendance.
RAYMOND: Welcome. Welcome, all my friends, to this celebration of life. It‟s good – so
very good to see faces, so often illuminated by neon, flush with moonlight. You
are welcome.
Some cheer, some applaud. All are ironic.
RAYMOND: We celebrate a great victory for our community and that, of course, is a great
victory for the spirit. We gather far from the sordid cafes of Montparnasse – to
celebrate without alcohol or impure foods. I give you in their stead, ambrosia, a
wholesome infusion that I guarantee will lift your spirits beyond all the artificial
pleasure of the drug-addled night. Here you will find joy – in simple profound
truth.
MCALMON: Oh for God‟s sake, Duncan, I came here to dance. Let us have some fun!
Everyone hoots and cheers.
RAYMOND: Forgive me my enthusiasm. This is a celebration, not a lecture! Bricktop!
The band begins to play an instrumental dance piece, Jumpin’
Django. As they play, McAlmon wanders over to the punch bowl
and pours in a full flask of brandy. He‟s joined by Morley who
does the same. As they speak McAlmon begins to limber up,
getting ready to dance.
MCALMON: So, how went the brawl?
MORLEY: We spar, we don‟t –
MCALMON: Come on, Morley, if Fitzgerald was in attendance something has to have gone
wrong.
MORLEY: It was nothing. A little misunderstanding over the timing of the rounds –
Scott and Zelda enter and seeing Morley, head for the punch bowl.
They both empty flasks into the bowl as they talk.
SCOTT: Morley, there you are.
MORLEY: Scott.
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SCOTT: (ignores McAlmon) I can‟t get it off my mind and I couldn‟t be more mortified.
MORLEY: It was nothing, Scott.
MCALMON: Morley, I‟m surprised. A few months in the City of Lights and you‟re already
exhibiting nihilistic tendencies.
SCOTT: No, no, I‟ve been avoiding the truth all day long. You heard what he said. He
thinks I did it on purpose, because I wanted to see him take a pasting.
MORLEY: Heat of the moment.
MCALMON: (to Zelda) They‟re ignoring us.
SCOTT: I would never do something like that. It was just – you told me, Morley, but I
never really believed you.
ZELDA: He‟s been ignoring me all day.
SCOTT: When Hem‟s lip started bleeding I thought I‟d caught a bad dose of surrealism.
ZELDA: Ernie and he had a tiff.
MCALMON: Tragic. Let‟s dance.
They begin to dance. McAlmon favors prodigious high jumps.
Zelda follows suit.
MORLEY: You let a round go a bit long. So what? You‟re not a professional timer.
SCOTT: After you knocked him down - you could see how frustrated he was. I mean, he
hardly landed a punch.
MORLEY: He landed enough. My chest and shoulders will be plenty bruised.
SCOTT: He was a big bear out there shambling away and you just kept on ducking and
weaving and hitting him in the teeth. God, he was a mess!
MORLEY: He cut his lip a bit. It happens all the time. He likes it.
SCOTT: But it must hurt like the dickens.
MORLEY: A little pain makes you feel that much more alive. Hem says he‟d spit in the face
of death.
SCOTT: Is that the metaphor then? You‟re death?
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MORLEY: What are you talking about?
SCOTT: Well, he spit blood in your face, didn‟t he? I thought you were really going to
clock him after that.
MORLEY: That was a joke.
SCOTT: Some joke. Thank God he knocked you down too.
MORLEY: I tripped on the edge of the mat and that was a damn stupid thing for you to say!
SCOTT: Well, you went down.
MORLEY: He wasn‟t even swinging at the time.
SCOTT: “One fall to Morley, one to Ernest,” I‟m sure it made him feel better, don‟t you
think?
Scott puts his arm around Morley in an affectionate gesture.
Morley shakes him off.
MORLEY: No, it just made you look like a horse‟s arse.
MCALMON: You dance exquisitely.
ZELDA: I‟m a pro.
Zelda executes a very flashy, slightly mad series of moves.
MCAMON: Indeed. When do you depart for Italy?
ZELDA: I‟m not going
MCALMON: Why not?
ZELDA: Because I‟ve determined they only want me because I screw Scott Fitzgerald.
MCALMON: They want to turn you into a side-show? Ridiculous.
ZELDA: Of course it is. (laughs) Because, of course, I don‟t screw Scott Fitzgerald or vice
reversa. Most nights he‟s too worn out from his writerly romps with sweet Ernie
for the issue to come up at all.
The Princess enters with Buffy who carries a pile of papers. He
hands them out.
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PRINCESS: It‟s here, my first column!
BUFFY: Black and white and read all over
PRINCESS: Stop the music! Stop the music!!! This just in!!!
Bricktop signals for the band to stop.
MCALMON: Rats, now what?
PRINCESS: It‟s my column!! It‟s here. Read it! Read it to everyone!
The band goes into a soft Parisian café tune.
BRICKTOP: (looking at paper) It rhymes?
PRINCESS: That was Buffy‟s idea.
BUFFY: For better or verse it can be sung.
PRINCESS: How fabulous. That‟s how it must be presented. Sing it, Bricktop.
MCALMON: Oh, do.
Bricktop nods and reading the paper, she begins to sing The
Column.
BRICKTOP: I sing a song of scandal
So listen boys and girls
It‟s a column in a paper
That‟s read all round the world
It tells of tales of Paris
From one who‟s in the know
Our own Princess of Sarawack
Observes the passing show
A story now of triumph
The Duncan Colony
Has made itself a fortune
And is on a spending spree
The whole band kicks in.
BRICKTOP: The profit was enormous
A party has been planned
Raymond couldn‟t help himself
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He bought a red sedan
It‟s really a sensation
Poetry in steel
The Dickie seat is really sweet
In the Duncan Hupmobile
KAY: Raymond!!!! You told me the money was going to buy beds for the children.
RAYMOND: I got the most fabulous deal. And a Hupmobile is a stellar advertisement for the
success of the Colony.
KAY: While Bobby and the other kids sleep on the floor under dirty sheepskins?
RAYMOND: It‟s bound to pay off.
KAY: No, that‟s the last straw
RAYMOND: Give me time. It will be better.
KAY: No, nothing ever gets better. Bobby and I are leaving tonight.
CHORUS: So drive, drive, drive
Raymond Duncan
In your Hupmobile
Drive drive drive
Mr. Big Shot
Make them tires squeal
Drive drive drive
Raymond Duncan
It really is surreal
He‟s such a freak
An Ancient Greek
Behind the driver‟s wheel
BRICKTOP: Here‟s the latest gossip
On a guy called Hemingway
How he got his just desserts
At The Rotund yesterday
Now Hem he fell to bragging
In his loudmouth way
And told poor Morley Callaghan
That his stories were cliché
Our heroes started fighting
They did their manly best
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Poor Morley took a pounding
But stood up to the test
Then Ernest shot a left hook
And Morley showed some class
He hit him with a snappy jab
That knocked Hem on his ass
So Callaghan
You‟re a big shot
You‟re the guy who won the day
We‟re your fan
Mr. Morley
You put your man away
You‟re just grand
Mister Big Shot
What more can we say
You kicked his ass
Now that‟s called class
On the streets of Montparnasse
The way you socked him
The way you clocked him
He way you knocked him on his ass
SCOTT: Oh my God, Morley – that‟s not what happened!
MORLEY: She got it all wrong!
BUFFY: (laughs) Still – its‟ amusing. The bull moose laid low by the up-and-coming cub.
SCOTT: It‟s not funny! That column is syndicated!
BUFFY: Throughout the entire English-speaking world.
SCOTT: (to Morley) You will have to write a retraction.
MORLEY: I can‟t retract something I never said!
SCOTT: Well, she got it from someplace!
MORLEY: Well she didn‟t get it from me!
SCOTT: Well you better do something – I love that guy!
ZELDA: So you admit it. At last. You‟ve been playing pony boy with that that big
bohunk?
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SCOTT: If you think there‟s anything unmanly about my relationship with – The man‟s a
war hero, for God sakes. He hunts. He skis. He can paddle a canoe!
ZELDA: I‟ll paddle your canoe!
Zelda begins to chase Scott around the party. The Princess and
Buffy stand watching as arguments break out all around.
PRINCESS: Oh dear, this hasn‟t turned out quite the way I‟d hoped.
BUFFY: It‟s perfect. Next week‟s column is writing itself.
PRINCESS: It is? Oh dear. Buffy, do you have a pad, pencil or pen?
BUFFY: No need – We can write anything we want. It‟s pandemonium!
Fights are breaking out. Zelda has thrown Scott to the ground and
is riding around on him while he imitates a wild horse. Bricktop
cuts the number short.
BRICKTOP: OK! That‟s it!!! Cease, desist. Arrêtez!!!!!
Silence.
BRICKTOP: Scott, stand up. And Zelda, stop beating on him. He ain‟t a tambourine.
SCOTT: Thank you, Bricktop. God, I need a drink.
Scott heads for the punch bowl.
ZELDA: Scott, don‟t drink that muck - it‟s full of milk.
SCOTT: (to Morley) I suppose you think I‟m a fairy too.
MORLEY: Of course not.
SCOTT: Oh come on, Morley, I noticed how you pulled away from me when I took your
arm.
MORLEY: That is the most ridiculous thing I‟ve ever heard.
SCOTT: I should have never mentioned that business about the size of my penis. You took
it all the wrong way.
ZELDA: Oh Morley, he didn‟t –
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SCOTT: It‟s all your fault – you and that French flyboy.
ZELDA: We never made love!
SCOTT: Then how do you know – no, why did you think – that is to say – you said…you
thought my penis was abnormally reduced in girth!
ZELDA: Morley, I know Scott recommended you to Scribner‟s and Hemingway
encouraged you and all, but if I were you, I‟d stay away from the both of them.
Because when you get caught in the middle of a lover‟s quarrel you end up
getting hurt. (to Scott) I‟m going to find some squalid little lesbo boite in Pigalle
and try and catch up. (exits)
SCOTT: Zelda! You‟re the one who told me it was too small!!!… Zelda!!! (exits)
MORLEY: That is the most ridiculous thing I‟ve ever heard.
MCALMON: Why so?
MORLEY: Well to start with, Hem‟s married.
MCALMON: Twice.
MORLEY: Just my point.
MCALMON :First Hadley, the beautiful, feminine mother of his son; now, a dykish fashion
writer who‟s more manly than Buffy.
MORLEY You actually think… No, how could you ever get the idea that Hem was that
way?
MCALMON: Oh, I don‟t know, the idea just came to me one night. We were on a bender in
Pamplona and I woke up to find El Matador crawling up my backside moaning,
“Conchita, Conchita.”
MORLEY: That‟s it. I‟m calling it a night.
He exits, passing Kay, hand in hand with Bobby who is carrying a
hastily packed suitcase. Raymond blocks her way.
RAYMOND: You may go, but the child must remain.
KAY: You can‟t keep my baby.
RAYMOND: You and Walsh weren‟t married were you??
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KAY: Bobby, go and see Bricktop, darling. I‟m sure she‟s missed you terribly.
Bobby crosses to Bricktop.
RAYMOND: I only ask because in France a bastard child is the responsibility of the father‟s
family. So you must have falsified the girl‟s baptismal certificate.
KAY: This is vile.
RAYMOND: I‟m sure the courts will agree that we can take better care of her than a penniless,
debauched, alcoholic scribbler.
KAY: Raymond, please…
RAYMOND: Kay. We…I need you. You…you are the honey that draws men and women to
the beehive. (beat) And if it would help…I would be privileged to taste that
honey.
Kay slaps him and runs to McAlmon. She wraps herself around
him.
KAY: Save me Bob. Save me. Save me. Save me.
MCALMON: My God. What‟s the matter?
KAY: Oh Bob, I came to this zoo to give my baby a home. He said he had a press. He
said I could publish… Everything he said was a lie. And now I‟m nothing but a
miserable shop-girl peddling “hand-woven” garments made from cheap cloth that
comes in shipments twice a year from some very modern Athenian sweat shop.
I‟m trapped – again.
MCALMON: I am shocked to the point of operatic display.
McAlmon begins a Chinese opera which he uses to accompany
Kay‟s confession.
MCALMON: (continues under) Tang ya-eeeema-dong, won ton-eee-ohhh,
Nee-ah-shang-hiiiii-peee-king. Moo-shu chinoise-iiii.
Ming, ming, ming. It‟s for uoooooo. Ah ya ya.
Tang ya-eeeem a-dong, won ton. Chow chow chow-meeeeeeeeee-ine.
Ting-ti, ting-ti, ting-ti, chi-chi, chi.
MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
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KAY: (over singing) Stop it, Bob. Please. Stop. I can‟t stay here anymore. I don‟t.
Most nights after work I pick up a drunken artist with ochre embedded fingernails
or a college boy from Duluth with a rat-eared copy of This Quarter in their back
pocket. And because they remind me that Walsh once coughed blood on the
proofs, I take them back to the store and screw them on a pile of sandals. But that
is nothing compared to leaving Bobby in the care of these…How much can I hate
myself? Tell me – you‟re an expert.
McAlmon abruptly stops singing.
KAY: Remember how you saved me in Nice? After Walsh was gone and I was alone.
MCALMON: Of course I do.
KAY: I need you to save me again.
MCALMON: Just leave.
KAY: He says if I try he‟ll keep my baby.
MCALMON: They can‟t do that.
KAY: They can. I lied on her baptismal certificate. If the authorities find out –
MCALMON: They‟d take a child – bastard or no – and give it to a cult?
KAY: Raymond has twenty-five thousand dollars. That buys a lot of law.
MCALMON: I see.
KAY: Will you help?
MCALMON: No. I hate myself far too much for that. Adieu. (exits)
Act Two, Scene Three. The Terrace of Le Bar
Select.
Hangover Café (instrumental reprise)
Scott sits at a table, head in his hands. A beat, then
Morley enters, a telegram in his hand. He slams it
down on the table. Scott jumps.
MORLEY: I saw Hemingway this morning.
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SCOTT: Good.
MORLEY: You sent him a telegram to the effect that I was publishing a retraction.
SCOTT: I thought we agreed last night -
MORLEY: I told him the same thing I told you – I won‟t retract something I never said.
SCOTT: Oh God. What did he say?
MORLEY: If he doesn‟t find a true explanation of events in the papers by tomorrow he will
be „at my service‟.
SCOTT: What‟s that mean?
MORLEY: It‟s a cordial way of offering to knock my block off. What‟s wrong with you
guys?
SCOTT: Here we go again. I‟m not a fairy.
MORLEY: I know. McAlmon‟s behind all that filth. Last night he said that he and
Hemingway had an „encounter‟ in Pamplona…
SCOTT: The riding of the bulls! No, it‟s too horribly D.H. Lawrence to be –
MORLEY: I believe it‟s the running of the bulls.
SCOTT: Of course they‟re running. Lord knows what filth those bulls might get up to if
you stopped running.
Buffy and McAlmon enter. Buffy is helping him walk. McAlmon
is all beaten up.
BUFFY: Will you just sit down while I get you a drink?
MCALMON: I‟m fine.
BUFFY: You are a bruised bag of bones.
McAlmon sees Morley and Scott staring at him.
MCALMON: What are you looking at?
SCOTT: What happened to you?
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MCALMON: Had a heated discussion about Hellas with our dear friend Hemingway. He
wanted to thank me for publishing his work. I told him it was one of the great
regrets of my life.
MORLEY: Ernest did that to you?
BUFFY: Damn right he did – out in front of The Falstaff.
SCOTT: But why?
MCALMON: Because the world is not right with Mr. Hemingway. He‟s been knocked out in
the press and some mouthy former friend has been calling him a pervert.
BUFFY: A bully takes a beating, he looks for a little guy to wail on.
MCALMON: Perfectly reasonable behavior if you‟re a self-loathing bi-sexual -
SCOTT: Shut up. We‟ve both had enough of your poison.
MCALMON: No hard feelings, Scott – want to take a few swats at me, be my guest.
SCOTT: Why do you say things like that about Ernest? You know they‟re lies.
MCALMON: You shouldn‟t be afraid to be who you are. It‟s hard on the liver.
SCOTT: Look, I told you – I‟m straight up, decent. My wife has been…she attacks my
manhood, just because she‟s attracted to women doesn‟t mean…
MCALMON: Scott.
SCOTT: The woman is trying to destroy me. Every time I try to work on the novel there‟s
some crisis.
MCALMON: Scott!!!
SCOTT: What?
MCALMON: Zelda is trying to save her herself. She needs help but you and your “manly”
friends are so tied up in your… completely fruity pugilistic obsessions, you
haven‟t even noticed.
SCOTT: (long beat) Oh my God. Why do I wreck everything I touch, Bob?
MCALMON: You don‟t.
SCOTT: I do.
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MCALMON: The man who wrote Great Gatsby can‟t say that.
SCOTT: Did you like it?
MCALMON: Immensely. Especially the spectacles.
SCOTT: That was a good thing, wasn‟t it?
MCALMON: It was and you did it. And you could do it again, but not here and not now. So
stop all this foolishness and take care of your wife.
SCOTT: I will. Thanks, Bob.
MCALMON: Not at all –
SCOTT: That‟s the best thing about you.
MCALMON: What?
SCOTT: No matter what, you stick by a friend.
MCALMON: I wish that were true. By the way, I thought Diamond Big As The Ritz was pure
glass.
SCOTT: Yeah, you‟re right.
MCALMON: And you are as gay as a box of birds.
SCOTT: You bastard!
MCALMON: Scott. I‟m as bi-sexual as the next man and it doesn‟t matter. (stands) Now if
you‟ll excuse me, I‟ve got to go and plan the abduction of a child.
Morley and Scott gape as McAlmon hobbles off.
BUFFY: Wait, Bob! I‟ll help. (exits)
Act Two, Scene Four. Bricktop’s.
The band is playing Tickle Me as our cast comes
pouring in. Raymond is with Kay and Bobby and
keeping a close eye on them. Morley goes to the
bar and gets a drink. Buffy and McAlmon enter and
stand near Raymond.
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MCALMON: What are we celebrating tonight?
BUFFY: It‟s a book launch. For the Princess.
MCALMON: It can‟t be. Where‟s the lifeboat? Raymond – they‟re launching a book. Aren‟t
you afraid the little one will get damp?
RAYMOND: I beg your pardon?
MCALMON: Poor little Bobby – still traipsing about mid-winter in that damn toga.
RAYMOND: It‟s not a toga – It‟s a chinon. Greek, not Roman.
BUFFY: Drafty either way.
MCALMON: Once that book hits the water there‟s going to be a terrible splash and there is
nothing worse for the constitution than traipsing around the Paree gris in a damp
toga.
RAYMOND: You‟re confusing this beautiful child with some common Parisian guttersnipe.
That is not the case.
BOBBY: My diet is perfect.
RAYMOND: Everyday she breathes crisp clean air, eats only the finest untainted food
BOBBY: From goat titties.
RAYMOND: She lives in perfect harmony with all around her. Her health, therefore is perfect.
BOBBY: My poo is perfect.
Bobby sneezes. Bricktop gets up on the stage.
BRICKTOP: Hello suckers!
ALL: Hello Bricktop!
BRICKTOP: Welcome to a party and here‟s a little number you can all help out on. It‟s called
Tickle Me. And of course like any really great modern composition there is a
dance that goes along with it. It‟s simple - all you got to do is tickle.
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BRICKTOP & CHORUS: Tickle me oh tickle me
Put goosebumps on my skin
Jiggle me and wiggle me
„Til my poor head spins
Hoochee me oh koochee me
Rubberize my shins
Jazza me and dazzle me
And do it all again
BOBBY: (over chorus) I know this song! Bricktop taught me this song!
KAY: Well go up and sing it with her, darling.
RAYMOND: I don‟t think –
Bobby hops up on stage before Raymond can stop her.
BOBBY: (Half Tempo Section) Moi, I‟m just une pauvre jeune fille
I sit here all alone
Never have much fun, c‟est vrai
Just blue if truth be known
But you are such un homme gentil
So free and on your own
Don‟t be a tease
Won‟t you please
Tickle my funny bone
BRICKTOP & CHORUS: Tickle me oh tickle me
Put goosebumps on my skin
Jiggle me and wiggle me
„Til my poor head spins
Hoochee me oh koochee me
Rubberize my shins
Jazza me and dazzle me
And do it all again
Dance Section. McAlmon grabs Kay and drags her off, joining the
dance. Raymond tries to retrieve Bobby, but is surrounded by
dancers and guests who tickle him. He can‟t escape.
KAY: I thought we weren‟t speaking.
MCALMON: What to you take me for, a mime?
Bob mimes Kay grabbing Bobby and running away. Bobby is
taken away by Bricktop.
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KAY: There is no doubt about it. You are not a mime.
MCALMON: Then I shall speak. It‟s all been arranged. Now, while that old fake is otherwise
engaged, your daughter is being kidnapped. Through the kitchen, out the back
door – there‟s a car waiting. – Buffy will take her to the Princess‟ Chalet in
Rombouillet until all this blows over. You can join her there tomorrow.
KAY: What about Raymond?
MCALMOND: We will deal with Mr. Duncan presently.
BRICKTOP & CHORUS: Tickle me oh tickle me
Put goosebumps on my skin
Jiggle me and wiggle me
„Til my poor head spins
Hoochee me oh koochee me
Rubberize my shins
Jazza me and dazzle me
Squeeza me and pleasa me
Oh tickle me oh tickle me
And do it all again
Raymond breaks free from the dancers and scans the room.
RAYMOND: Bobby!
PRINCESS: Oh, Raymond – I‟m so sorry, but she‟s gone.
RAYMOND: Where?
PRINCESS: Someplace where wooly underwear receives the respect it deserves. Kay will
come tomorrow for her things.
RAYMOND: Ridiculous – The Colony -
PRINCESS: The Colony – you – will leave them alone or you will discover that my highly
influential columns will be devoted almost exclusively to your destruction.
RAYMOND: You can‟t –
PRINCESS: Come now, silly boy. You know what we can do with a couplet. And McAlmon
is teaching Buffy and I to unravel the mysteries of the Cinq-Cinquain. Rest
assured we‟ll be certain to make sure that little facility in Kentucky learns that
you purchased all of your hand woven fabrics from a corrupt old bead -banger
with a discount shop in The Plaka.
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RAYMOND: How do you -
MCALMON: This summer while enjoying the moonlit transports afforded by The Temple of
the Athena Nikes, I encountered a young weaver called Demetri Papadopolis.
RAYMOND: Demetri?
MCALMON: Oh you wouldn‟t know him, I‟m sure, far too authentic a human being to have
crossed your path. But a delightful companion. I wired him a number of days
ago, making inquiries about the sale of local woolies to a mad old American in
Paris. The Plaka is nothing more than a tiny village you know, perched above the
throbbing Hellenic metropolis. And Papadopolis Import/Export.
RAYMOND: Please. Enough.
PRINCESS: Do we understand each other, Raymond?
RAYMOND: Perfectly.
PRINCESS: You are such a dear friend! Let‟s dance.
BRICKTOP & CHORUS: Koo koo koochee koochee koo
Raymond throws his cloak over his shoulder and, mustering all of
his ersatz dignity, walks out followed by his entourage. The whole
joint bursts into applause.
KAY: I don‟t…I don‟t understand.
MCALMON: Yes, well some things are beyond understanding. The first seven hundred pages
of Joyce‟s Work In Progress for instance.
BRICKTOP: When Robert told us what had happened -
PRINCESS: He recruited us and had such a marvelously complicated scheme, well it was
meticulous. Irresistible. And even I could understand it.
BRICKTOP: He saved the day. Hooray.
MCALMON Rats!!!!!
PRINCESS: Really Bob, you are just…swelling.
KAY: I think you mean swell.
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PRINCESS: Do I? Then so be it. A toast to Robert McAlmon. A jolly good fellow as no one
can deny.
They all sing The Publisher of Paris (reprise)
BRICKTOP: He‟s the publisher of Paris
He‟s faithful and he‟s true
If ever you‟re in trouble
It‟s Bob to the rescue
So many friends adore him
All birds of the same feather
McAlmon is our hero and -
We‟re geniuses together
Everybody!!!
ALL: He‟s the publisher of Paris
He‟s faithful and he‟s true
If ever you‟re in trouble
It‟s Bob to the rescue
So many friends adore him
All birds of the same feather
McAlmon is our hero and -
We‟re geniuses together
MCALMON: Rats!!! Plaguish black rats! Excuse me, I must go puke in the gutter.
McAlmon exits followed by Kay.
Act Two, Scene Five. The Street Outside of
Bricktop’s.
McAlmon stops under a streetlamp and begins to
sing Rats.
MCALMON: Rats!
Little bourgie woman in her fox fur wrap
Pompous hubby dribbles Conrad from his drunken yap
White tie, black tie, what a pile of crap
The world‟s a bloody carcass in a fifteen dollar hat
Rats!
See the pasty poet starving in his loft
Scrawling out inanities with a tragic cough
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Back in Minnesota everybody scoffed
Shakespeare and Co. still love him though
His intellect‟s gone soft
Rats!
Rats in the gutters.
Rats on the roof
Rat‟s inside this noggin‟
Drinking over-proof
It‟s a little catch all
Whenever I feel trapped
I sling my verbal catcall
And the dozed holes smile and clap
See the pretty nancy boys dancing round and round
See the girl in the leather tux she never makes a sound
They speak of love that knows no name
And wallow in cliché
And when I want to sleep with them
This is what I say;
Rats!
Literary infantiles spewing out their pap
Sucking on the nipple until their lips are chapped
Dada, Moderns, I could use a nap
Still their stuff keeps turning up
Like a nasty case of clap
Rats!
Rats in the gutters.
Rats on the roof
Rat‟s inside this noggin‟
Drinking over-proof
It‟s a little catch call
Whenever I feel trapped
I swing my verbal wrecking ball
And the dozed holes sit there rapt
Rats, Rats, Rats, Rats.
KAY: Bravely spoken.
.
Kay catches up to him.
KAY: What‟s wrong, Bob?
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MCALMON: I was about to drown in that sea of fawning, faux boho sycophancy.
KAY: It‟s a terrible thing to be revealed, isn‟t it?
MCALMON: Revealed? I don‟t have the slightest idea what you‟re talking about.
KAY: That deep down in his soul Robert McAlmon, razor-edged cynic, is all goodness
and light. Once it gets around -
MCALMON: Gets around. You make it sound like the more decent elements of my character
are akin to a dose of the clap.
KAY: Why did you change your mind and decide to save me?
MCALMON: „Save you?‟ Rats. Growing up the son of an Episcopalian Minister, I had enough
saving to last a lifetime.
KAY: Never-the-less, you saved me.
MCALMON: It was a totally selfish act. I mean, how many friends can a man as horribly
unique as myself maintain? And watching the infantile shipwreck of those manly
moral morons, Scott and Morley and Hem - well, it‟s enough to drive a man to
decency.
KAY: And what‟s so wrong with celebrating that? That‟s who you really are.
MCALMON: Who I „really am?‟ I don‟t have the slightest idea who I am and never have had.
KAY: You are the man who wrote;
The scattered leaves stumble downward
Decomposing flakes of memory
Swept together in a broken pile. Smoldering
MCALMON: My God – that poem is older than the Tower of Babel.
KAY: I first read it in New York, years before I met you. I still say it to myself all the
time.
MCALMON: Good Lord, why?
KAY: At first because it makes me believe in poetry. Now because it makes me believe
in you.
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MCALMON: Believe in me. Oh rats, woman. You are such an insufferably romantic, dewy-
eyed naïf it is hard to believe. After all you‟ve been through. After what we‟ve
all been through you can still mumble such twaddle. There is no me. I am a
scattered, twisted wreck of bits and pieces that can never be assembled. Lord
knows I‟ve tried and failed and despite your touching belief in salvation – it does
not exist. We are doomed – you and I and all of us. Those that will grow big and
fat and famous and those of us who will fade away to insubstantial patches of
gray on cracking concrete. And the fat ones will puff themselves up until they
explode and the more modest of our kin will go on to become columnists for
hometown papers, effete creators of privately published pornography or...or just
drink ourselves into the ditch as is our want. Footnotes - that‟s all I‟ll ever be – a
footnote. And fine. It‟s all rot anyway, this grubby search for fame, this desire to
outlive our bones. Stupid. Dumb as those post-hole fillers wallowing at
Bricktop‟s troth and singing my praise.
KAY: They care for you, Bob. We all do.
MCALMON: That and a broken liver will buy you a tombstone.
KAY: What if I were to tell you I love you?
MCALMON: I‟d tell you you‟re a hopeless child. (beat) I‟m getting out of here. Go – hug your
daughter. Tell her a fairy tale – and if it‟s a good enough one, write it down and if
not write it down anyway – you need the practice.
KAY: I love you, Robert.
MCALMON: I love you, too, now please get out of my way.
He exits.
Act Two, Scene Six. Bricktop’s. Late November
1929
Afternoon. The place is practically empty. A
musician sits at the piano playing Hangover Café.
Scott sits at the bar with Zelda, both in fall coats
and scarves. Their foreheads are pressed together
as they look deep into each other‟s eyes. Morley
sits at a table scribbling away. Buffy sits talking to
Bricktop who is reading a paper with a headline
about the Stock Market Crash.
BUFFY: It‟s like our whole world just fell off the map.
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BRICKTOP: I know – the whole town‟s half-dead.
BUFFY: Did you lose anything?
BRICKTOP: Plenty. Still got the bar though. You hear from home?
BUFFY: No, but I‟m sure my father is squealing like a stuck pig and will make out like a
pirate once he can assess the new lay of the land.
BRICKTOP: Ah well, what the hell, we‟re gonna survive, right?
BUFFY: Undoubtedly. But I‟ve had to let the Princess go.
BRICKTOP: You fired yourself?
BUFFY: More of a prison break, really. It was quite insufferable with her and Kay and
Bobby all running around nipping at my ankles. Anyway, here I am. Have you
seen Bob?
BRICKTOP: Bob‟s gone – for good.
BUFFY: Don‟t be absurd. Where could he go? He hates the entire planet.
Kay enters.
KAY: Hello Bricktop.
BRICKTOP: Hello Kay, we were just –
BUFFY: Talking about you, but don‟t worry the conversation was banal.
KAY: If the conversation was banal I‟m very worried. Brickie, where‟s Bob? I haven‟t
seen him in more than a month and –
BUFFY: Bob‟s gone.
KAY: Gone where?
BRICKTOP: Said he had some friends in Mexico. Rivera, Frida, that bunch.
BUFFY: Painters.
BRICKTOP: Had a sense something was going to happen.
KAY: Mexico. He didn‟t even say good-bye.
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BRICKTOP: He left something for you.
KAY: What?
Bricktop hauls out a new typewriter and puts it on the bar. Morley
looks at it with interest, gets up and crosses to the bar.
BUFFY: His typewriter?
MORLEY: Say, that‟s a Corona Four Portable. That‟s a hell of a machine. Got any paper?
Brickie gets out some paper and gives it to him. Callaghan threads
it into the machine. Suddenly Scott breaks away from the staring
contest.
SCOTT: Anyway, we won‟t be going to those clubs anymore.
BRICKTOP: What bars?
ZELDA: Lezzie bars.
SCOTT: Zelda‟s checked into a clinic. She needs a rest. Say, can I get a Scotch?
KAY: What did Bob say?
BUFFY: Yes, what did Bob say?
BRICKTOP: Said that old thing you were using wasn‟t worth nothing and since he was sure
you weren‟t giving up writing, you better have something decent to do it on.
MORLEY: (typing) The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. That‟s a good clean
sentence isn‟t it?
SCOTT: It‟s supposed to be a total rest cure.
ZELDA: But I‟m already in love with my nurse.
MORLEY: Except for “quick” - it‟s a weak word and brown – no fox is brown. Mottled
textures really. Red and white. It misses that.
BRICKTOP: Zelda, you want anything honey? .
ZELDA: Not today. I like the hospital. They are very “moderne”. They believe deeply in
the therapeutic powers of art. Which is ironic, don‟t you think, since art
obviously breeds insanity – or at least attracts the insane. In any case I‟m making
dolls clothes. Cut-outs. I‟ve painted likenesses of the family. Scott. Scotty.
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Zelda. And I paint clothes for us all. Cut-outs. Modern mostly, but sometimes
period. Rococo dancers. Come on, Scott – let‟s gavotte.
She takes his hand and leads him in a delicate dance. Scott is tender.
BUFFY: Did he leave anything for me?
BRICKTOP: He said you‟d ask.
ZELDA: I‟ll get better won‟t I, Scott?
SCOTT: In no time, my love. I‟ve taken a job at MGM. You‟ll have the best care money
can buy.
Bricktop gives Buffy a letter. He opens it.
BUFFY: It‟s a steamship ticket. To Montreal. (reads the letter with the ticket) “Dear
Buffy; You‟ve lived enough. Write it down.”
ZELDA: But the novel -
SCOTT: Doesn‟t matter.
ZELDA: It‟s no good anyway.
Zelda spins away, humming to herself, dancing alone.
SCOTT: Brickie, can we have a bottle please?
BUFFY: Champagne?
SCOTT: Certainly.
BRICKTOP: Coming up.
MORLEY: (beginning to type) She was cracking up. The whole Quarter knew but could say
nothing, do nothing. “Gee that‟s rough,” Charlie said.
SCOTT: (under) All around.
KAY: Say, that‟s my typewriter, isn‟t it?
MORLEY: I just got an idea –
KAY: Give me -
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She takes the typewriter from Morley and begins to write herself.
Fitzgerald pops the cork. Champagne fizzes into each glass as he
pours. All conversation stops as they watch the flow. Fitzgerald
holds up a glass.
SCOTT: (to musicians) Un chanson triste, s‟il vous plaît.
An instrumental version of Lost in The Shadows begins and
continues under.
SCOTT: We approach a time of good-byes. I sense that change is in the wind. So here‟s a
toast! To Babylon and all those who were held in its thrall. One day we‟ll write
of this – epic grandeur, all of us. Some sooner, some later. Some well,
others…Well. Here‟s to it. And our host – Adieu, Madame Bricktop.
Bricktop toasts them all and begins to sing.
BRICKTOP: There lost in the shadows
You know they are les gens perdu
There always in shadows
Those who lived only for the new
They lived and loved
Do you recall
Could be they were never here at all
BRICKTOP: There lost in the shadows
ZELDA: The year was 1929
BRICKTOP: You know they are les gens perdu
MORLEY: That was the time in Gay Paree
BRICKTOP: There always in shadows
KAY: Words words words words words
ZELDA: I‟m mad well just a little
BRICKTOP: The crazy years Les Années Fou
ZELDA: I‟m mad well just a little
BRICKTOP: They walk the streets
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SCOTT & ZELDA: Passion rages
BRICKTOP: Their names like dust
MORLEY & KAY: Torn up pages
BRICKTOP: So seldom heard
BUFFY: The last sou that McAlmon lent me
BRICKTOP: They weep like rust
ALL: The last roar of the Roaring Twenties
BRICKTOP: Did they once laugh
BUFFY & PRINCESS: Gossip scandals
BRICKTOP: Do you recall
SCOTT & KAY: Burnt out candles
BRICKTOP: Could be they were never here at all
ALL: Here‟s to the morning after
At the Hangover Café
WOMEN: So long sweet music
PRINCESS: Do do that gigolo voo doo
It always works a wonder with me
WOMEN: Adieu sweet romance
SCOTT & MORLEY: What happened at Gertrude‟s Salon
SCOTT,MORLEY,ZELDA & KAY: It was worse that the stories you‟ve heard
WOMEN: Farewell sweet lovin‟
PRINCESS: Do do the things only you do
SCOTT,MORLEY,ZELDA & KAY: In a word in a word in a word
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ALL: We‟d go all night
Makin‟ love and sweet delight
Until daylight
Along the streets of Montparnasse
BRICKTOP: There lost in the shadows
KAY: Words words words words
ZELDA: The year was 1929
PRINCESS: What‟s the word from Paris
BRICKTOP: You know they are les gens perdu
RAYMOND: That was the time in Gay Paree
BRICKTOP: There always in shadows
MCALMON: Rats in the gutters rats on the roof
Rats inside this noggin drinking over-proof
KAY: Words words words words words
ZELDA: I‟m mad well just a little
BRICKTOP: The crazy years Les Années Fou
ZELDA: I‟m mad well just a little
KAY: Will I recall
This tender age
The long lost boys
The dance hall girls
We will live on in the words
ALL: We will live on in these triumphant words
BRICKTOP: Could be they were never here at all
The End