Reunion and Dark Pony Read Free Page B

he's genuinely fond of you. . . .
    That's got to count for something . . .
    Right?
    Scene VIII
    CAROL : You know—when I was young they used to talk about Broken Homes.
    Today, nothing. Everyone's divorced. Every kid on the block's got three sets of parents.
    But . . .
    It's got to have affected my marriage. . . .
    I came from a Broken Home.
    The most important institution in America.
    BERNIE : Life goes on. Your mother and me . . .
    CAROL : . . . Oh, yeah, life goes on. And no matter how much of an asshole you may be, or may have been, life goes on.
    Gerry's like that.
    BERNIE : I'm not going to lie to you. I felt guilt and remorse and every other goddamn thing. I missed you.
    What the hell.
    I was mad. I was mad at your mother. I was mad at you.
    I was mad at the fucking government that never treated me like anything but a little kid. . . . saving their ass with daylight precision bombing. . . .
    Everybody hates the VA.
    I mean, understand: I'm not asking you to understand me, Carol, because we've both been through enough.
    Am I right?
    Pause.
    CAROL : Gerry was in Korea.
    BERNIE : Yes? And what does he have to say about it?
    CAROL : Nothing.
    Scene IX
    BERNIE : Let me tell you a story.
    One time—this was strange—when I'm working for the Phone Company. I'm out on the Cape. Lineman.
    Repairs, on the street. I'm making out okay, what with that and my disability.
    Bought myself a new Buick.
    Beautiful sonofabitch. Used to drive into Boston and go out to Wonderland with Alex.
    He loved that car. I think he was secretly envious.
    And so I'm working out on the Cape. It's December thirtieth.
    I get invited to a New Year's party in Provincetown. I'm supposed to be working.
    So I call in sick. What the hell, I had a good work record.
    And it's New Year's Eve day and I'm getting ready to drive to Provincetown.
    Put a hundred bucks in my wallet and I go to Mitchell's—that's the tavern in Falmouth I used to hang out at—and there's this Italian kid shooting pool. About twenty. I don't know . . . Steve, something like that.
    So I offer him twenty bucks to drive out to Provincetown with me, stay in the car, and drive me home New Year's Day.
    So fine. We get up to Provincetown, I go over to Kenny's house . . . Kenny Hill. You would of liked him I think. He would have liked you, I can tell you that. Had an eye for younger women. Who could blame him.
    And so we had a hell of a party.
    That's one thing Kenny knew how to do is throw a party.
    But the point is not the party but the next morning.
    So the next morning I get up off the couch or wherever I was and put on my coat and go out to the car to invite this kid Steve in for a cup of coffee or something.
    So there's the Buick but the kid is gone. Nowhere to be found. Vanished. Along with my flashlight, which I don't find out til I rack the car up near Truro. (Pause.) But hold on. ( He thinks for a moment. )
    I think he took my flashlight. . . . ( Pause. )
    So I go back in the house. Get myself together, andI figure I'd better start back to Falmouth. I'm hung over as a sonofabitch. I say good-bye to my friends, grab a bottle, and into the car.
    It's snowing up a storm. I can hardly see anyway. I'm weaving all over the road. Next thing I know I'm asleep. And the following thing I'm wrapped around a telephone pole.
    So I get out. Knocked the pole clean over; the hood of the Buick is wrenched to shit. I go to get out the flashlight to try to get a look at the engine, and the flashlight's gone.
    There's no help for it, so I get back in and go to sleep.
    Next thing I know here comes a Black and White. The cop wakes me up, I happen to know him from around Falmouth, and I convince him that it's all an accident, and I give him a drink and he drives me home and promises to call the garage. So you should be careful who you're calling a pig.
    Any case, I no sooner get in bed than ten seconds later, Wham! The telephone rings and it's Jim Daugherty, the supervisor for the Cape.
    “How are you