All Good Things....

A large white room. A mahogany desk sits along the far wall with two leather chairs (behind and in front of the desk, respectively). The desktop is empty except for a marble ashtray. Jack is sitting behind the desk, his feet up on its top. He holds a cigarette in his left hand, opens and closes a gold zippo lighter with his right. On the floor along the walls are various paintings. In the center of the room sit two duffle bags surrounded by clothes and random items Jerrald is packing haphazardly into one of the bags. Sirens can be heard faintly in the distance.

Jerrald: Y’know, you could help pack.

Jack: (takes a deep pull of his cigarette; he leans back in his chair and exhales the smoke towards the ceiling, continuing to perform simple tricks with the zippo lighter) I mean, you look like you’ve got it handled.

Jerrald: More hands, less work.

Jack: Maybe. But what if I have arthritis?

Jerrald: (stops packing, but remains hunched over staring up at Jack) Do you have arthritis?

Jack: Well, no. But y--

Jerrald: --Then help (resumes his task, now punching clothing into the duffel bags).

Jack: (stands up and stretches before putting out his cigarette in the ashtray. He slides the lighter into his pants pocket, but doesn’t move toward the duffel bags in the center of the room) Touchy, touchy. You okay over there, Boss? Bags gotcha flustered?

Jerrald: (now visibly irritated) Don’t start, Jack. It’s your fault we’re in this shit to begin with.

Jack: Says you (he strolls over to the center of the room, crouches down opposite Jerrald, and begins stuffing his own duffel bag unenthusiastically).

Jerrald: Says a lot of people. 

Jack: Yeah? Well, fuck a lot of people (he stands, reaches into his pocket and removes another cigarette; he pulls his lighter, flicks it open, lights the cigarette easily, and takes an exaggerated pull before continuing). You think it’s on me we’re running, don’t you?

Jerrald: (stops packing and stares up at Jack with contempt) I’m sure I just finished saying so; you run off at the mouth and disaster follows. Not once since I’ve known you have you bitten your tongue. Not one damn time.

Jack: (exhales cigarette smoke towards the ceiling) Sounds painful to me. And this world is full of enough people who’d rather swallow their own blood than say, “That’s wrong, fix it.” That’s crazy to me if I’m being honest.

Jerrald: What’s that line? If everybody’s crazy, you’re the one that’s insane.

Jack: (irritably) Doesn’t change the crazy.

Jerrald: Right. (He stands, looks around the room, and flourishes his hands towards Jack while speaking to an imaginary audience) Jack King, ladies and gentlemen! The most honest--

   

Jack: (exasperated) --Here he g--

Jerrald: (continues as if he doesn’t hear the interruption) --man to ever walk the earth! We simple, common, backward folk could all learn life’s greatest lessons from the man who could not tell a lie! (claps a slow, drawn out, applause) And his reward for his honesty? Take note ladies and germs! (extends his arms outward and spins on the spot slowly, gesticulating towards the room) A one way trip to Jacobs’ fuckin’ City on the outskirts of The Bronx!

Jack: (takes another pull of his cigarette and exhales the smoke in a fine line towards Jerrald’s face) You th--

Jerrald: (retakes his place on the floor near his bag and continues to stuff items into it roughly) --Pack you’re fucking bag, Jack.

Jack: (stares down at Jerrald for a moment before walking over to the desk, putting out the cigarette in the ashtray, and lighting another. He takes the seat behind the desk and stares across the room at Jerrald) You think it’s easy, don’t you? You think I just say the first thing that comes to mind without a thought to the consequences. That I’m just shooting from the hip, John Wayne-ing my way through this life shit. Is that what you think?

Jerrald: (icily) I think I told you to pack your bag.

Jack: (angrily) I’m not packing shit. None of it’s mine. (Jerrald stops packing and stares over at Jack) That’s what you seem to have forgotten, Boss. I don’t go out into this world for me, and nothing I‘ve ever brought back was either. You sit in the comfort of this space I’ve kept safe, and tell me how to dance with the wolves outside, but when’s the last time you’ve been outside? The world ain’t how you remember it, Jerrald, far from it actually.

Jerrald: Look around you, brotha! Does this look comfortable? Are we safe? You want to talk to me about dancing with wolves, Jack?

Jack: I d--

Jerrald: --Don’t. I’ve seen the movie.

Jack: Yeah. You’ve seen a lot of movies, though. Still doesn’t make you the one dancing.

Jerrald: (exhales defeated) You have a point you’re getting to?

Jack: I do. And I know I’m, we’re, not going to get there being shortchanged by small people who can’t smell the bullshit they’re shoveling.

Jerrald: (begins packing once more, he zips his bag and begins stuffing the duffel bag assigned to Jack with the clothing and items surrounding it. Jack walks back over to the desk and retakes his seat) That’s the world, Jack.

Jack: (puts his feet back up on the desk, lights another cigarette, and blows smoke rings before speaking) Why do you always say that? “That’s the world.” As if you have no say; like you’re above it all.

Jerrald: Jack, if you haven’t noticed, (gestures at himself) I’m right here with you, and someday you’re going to realize it doesn’t matter what I say.

Jack: (ashes his cigarette, tosses his lighter on the tabletop, and puts his hands behind his head smugly) Nah, believe me, I get it now. Pack the bags, Jerrald.

There is a small knock on the door before a young man enters. He is dressed immaculately in a gray three piece suit, pink tie and kerchief in his breast pocket, and black shoes shined so brightly they reflect the light of the room easily. He is twirling a black bowler hat in his right hand, and carrying a stuffed manilla envelope in his left; this is Arthur. Behind him, another young man enters wearing a white t-shirt, comfortable denim blue jeans, and a pair of black “Vans” sneakers; all of his clothing is covered in blotches of paint; He has a noticeable scar in the center of his left hand he massages absentmindedly; this is Freddy. As they enter the room, Freddy shuts the door behind them. He stares around the room quizzically. Jack stands up from his seat and strolls over to the pair blocking Jerrald from their view. The sirens in the distance grow noticeably louder.

Freddy: What’s all this?

Jerrald: (ignoring Freddy’s question, he speaks stiffly, still angered by the private conversation that just took place) Arthur, Freddy. How goes it?

Jack: Artie, Pissant. (he points to the manilla envelope in Arthur’s hand) That it?

Arthur: (flatly) It is.

Jack: Well, nobody here’s getting any younger. (he gestures with his hand) Give it here.

Arthur: (sidesteps Jack) Boss? (Jerrald nods at him quickly. Arthur turns to Jack and extends the manilla envelope out to him)

Jack snatches it, turns, and heads back over to the desk, ripping open the top of the envelope as he goes. He dumps the contents of the envelope onto the desktop; there are two passports, photo IDs, birth certificates, charge cards, cellphones, and wads of cash. He picks up a passport, skims it quickly, and becomes visibly upset.

Jack: Are you shitting me?

Jerrald: (looks over his shoulder at Jack in alarm) What’s wrong?

Jack: (flourishing the passport) What kind of lame ass name is this?

Jerrald rolls his eyes noticeably, but says nothing.

Arthur: (smirking) Did I do something wrong?

Jack: Beverly Hilson?

Freddy: Who’s Beverly Hilson?

Arthur: (ignoring Freddy’s question) I always thought you had a bit of a flare for the dramatics, mate. I found it fitting.

Jack: (takes a step away from the table towards Arthur) Yeah? We’re gonna see how fitting your a--

Jerrald: (stands to put himself between Jack and Arthur) --Jack, relax. It’s just a name. What’s mine say?

Freddy stares at the three men puzzled, but remains silent.

Jack: (turns back towards the table and grabs the second passport. He skims it quickly before looking up at Arthur incredulously) Donatello Brooks? You named him Donnie Brooks?

Freddy: Donnie Brooks? Who’s Donatello? What’s going on?

Jerrald: I like it.

Jack: (dismissively) You would. I thought I said Oswald for me. What happened to Oswald?

Arthur: (glances at Freddy quickly) It wasn’t an option. Besides, a rose by any other name, remember? I’m sure you’ll be fine. Nobody will even notice.

Jack: Y’see, Jerrald? I’ve told you a thousand times. Stupid people think everybodies stupid. (shakes both passports) These will never work. We don’t need memorable names, you idiot, we’re not trying to draw attention to ourselves (he tosses the passports onto the floor towards Jerrald who picks them up, examines them quickly, and stuffs them into the bag Jack refused to pack).

Freddy: (fed up with being ignored, he brushes past Arthur towards Jerrald, and shouts) What’s happening here? Who are Donatello and Beverly?

Jerrald: (surveys Freddy carefully before finally responding to his questions) They’re us. Jack and I have to leave.

Freddy: For how long? Why?

Jerrald: (looks over at Jack, who folds his arms defensively and leans on the desk, but doesn’t speak) Arthur will catch you up. It’s a bit of a story and we’re kind of in a ru--

Freddy: (he rounds on Jack angrily) --What the fuck did you do?

Sidestepping the bags in the center of the room deftly, Freddy rushes Jack, throwing a haymaker wildly. Dodging, Jack grabs Freddy’s arm, twists it behind his back, and slams Freddy headfirst into the desktop. He pushes his free hand, closed in a fist, into the side of Freddy’s head. Face pressed against the documents and wads of cash, Freddy struggles wildly, but cannot free himself from the hold. Jerrald and Arthur both take steps toward the two.

Jack: (laughs wildly) Did you see that? Fred damn near took my head off! (he presses down with his fist into Freddy’s skull, causing him to moan and writhe in pain) I should snap your goddamn arm off, you little shit.

Freddy: Don’t call me Fre- ah! Ah!

Arthur: Woah, Mate! Easy!

Jerrald: Jack!

Freddy: (breathing heavily) I told you, Boss! I fucking told you!

Jack: (over his shoulder) Keeping secrets again, Boss? He told you what?

Freddy: (continues to struggle against the hold) That you’re a blight, a fucking cancer! I told you he’d ruin everything!

Jack: Heh. Says you.

Freddy: Let me go!

Jerrald:  Freddy, calm down. Jack, let him go. Now.

Jack: (stares at Jerrald before throwing both hands up in resignation, releasing Freddy from the hold) Fine, but if he comes at me again, his body’s going into one of those duffel bags. And to answer your question, pissant, I exist.

Freddy: (massaging his cheek while rotating the arm Jack had in the hold) You exist? You’re going to have to do better than that, Jack. A lot fucking better.

Jack: Tone, Fred. Long story short, I told the truth. Same as I’ve ever done. Same as I’ll always do.

Freddy: Of course you did. Why can’t you jus--

Jack: --Because I don’t suck dick to get ahead. Don’t kiss ass either. You think you’ve got me pegged; (jerks his head in Arthur’s direction) Him too. That I’m the problem. That I’m the issue. I didn’t make this reality, Pissant.

Freddy: Don’t call me pissa--

Jack: Shut up. Here’s reality: When you refuse to be a part of the system, you’re a problem; nevermind if it’s broken; nevermind it asks you to give up bits and pieces of yourself until you stare into the mirror and see a whole stranger. Artie over there thinks you have to go along to get along; you think it doesn’t affect you as long as you have your precious, little paintings, but you’re both wrong, and someday you both are going to look in that mirror and be terrified by the person staring back at you. Me? I don’t have that problem. I love who I see upon inspection. And fuckall to whoever thinks life is more than that when it’s all said, done, and caskets are lowered.

An uncomfortable silence fills the room. Jack grabs the stack of documents and cash off the desktop, shoves them back into the manilla envelope, walks over to his duffel bag, and pushes them roughly inside. He picks up the duffel bag, slings it over his shoulder, and looks around the room quickly. He makes his way to the door, bumping Arthur roughly as he passes him.

Arthur: (cheerily) Godspeed, Beverly!

Jack: Fuck yourself, Artie. I’ll be outside, Jerrald.

Jack exits. Freddy and Arthur move to the center of the room, closer to Jerrald.

Freddy: (to Jerrald) Do you really have to leave?

Jerrald: We do.

Freddy: I mean, do you really have to leave? You know Ja--

Jerrald: --Freddy, we do. He’s not wrong, you know? Whether I admit that to him or not, a lot of what he says makes sense.

Freddy: Now you’re making excuses for him. Again.

Jerrald: I’m not. You have to understand his position. Before you got here, before Arthur, I asked Jack to do a lot. If we’re being honest, I asked him to do it all. I was afraid of the world. In a lot of ways, I still am. He never was. And everything I have, even the ability to bring you two into this thing of ours, I owe, in no small part, to him.

Freddy: So you’re just going to leave because Jack has to run? You’d never do that if it were me or Arthur.

Jerrald: You’re right. But whether you believe it or not, Jack would.

Freddy: He wouldn’t.

Jerrald: (exasperated) Look, Freddy, you can believe what you want, but I have to go with him. I owe him that much.

Freddy: Why?

Jerrald glances at Arthur.

Arthur: Because “the proper office of a friend is to side with you when you are in the wrong. Nearly anybody will side with you when you are in the right.”

Jerrald: And believe it or not, Jack’s right on this one.

Freddy: (sucks his teeth derisively) Says you.

Jerrald: (smiles knowingly) Says a lot of people. Besides, I told you when we met, your purpose was larger than painting for me. It’s your time; time for you to be who you’re supposed to.

Freddy: (uncertainly) And who is that?

Jerrald: Only you know, Federico. But telling my stories through your lens is done.

Freddy, overcome with emotion, lowers his head to hide the tears streaming down his cheeks.

Freddy: What if I can’t?

Jerrald: (places a consoling hand on his shoulder) Hey, you’ll be fine. You knew this was coming someday. I know it sucks we couldn’t control the when of it all, but the why remains the same.

Freddy: (wipes the tears from his eyes and looks up slowly) The why?

Jerrald: Yup. And with me gone, only you’ll know the reasons you paint. The only advice I have to give is simple.

Freddy: Yeah? What’s that?

Jerrald: Don’t do it for the applause. You’re as good as finished the moment you do.

Freddy: That’s good advice.

Jerrald: (smirking) I know. Jack told me that once.

The sirens in the distance grow louder again. All three men stare at the door to the room apprehensively. Arthur, quiet through this exchange, speaks first.

Arthur: I think you’d better get a move on, Boss.

    Jerrald: (hesitantly) Right… (resolved) Right.

Jerrald bends, lifts his bag, and throws it over his shoulder.  He extends his hand, which Arthur shakes, and pulls him into a half hug. Jerrald whispers inaudibly into Arthur’s ear while Arthur  nods energetically, and finally releases him. He then grips Freddy in a bear hug, and releases him, gripping his shoulders.

Jerrald: I have a going  away present for you, Freddy. Give me your hand.

Freddy: (stares at Jerrald with trepidation before extending his right hand) Um, okay.

Jerrald: (with mock sternness) Your other hand, Federico.

Slowly, Federico extends his left hand, which trembles slightly. Jerrald takes it in both his hands.

Freddy: Is this another lesson?

Jerrald: No, Freddy, relax. We’re done teaching. This is a gift.

When Jerrald removes his hands from Freddy’s the ugly scar is gone. Freddy stares at it in amazement, up at Jerrald, then back at his restored hand, speechless.

Jerrald: (in the voice of Oscar Goldman) I can rebuild you; I have the technology. I can make you better tha--

Arthur: (clears throat loudly) --Boss.

Jerrald: Fine, fine. I’m going, I’m going. You take care of eachother. 

Jerrald exits. Freddy looks around the room before strolling over to the desk. He stares at it briefly before walking over to the Boss’s chair and sitting down. Arthur walks over and takes the seat opposite him. They both sit in silence, looking around the room for a moment.

Arthur: And then there were two.

Freddy: Two’s enough, I think. I know from experience three can be a crowd, four- an intrusion (he notices Jack’s lighter on the table, picks it up, and examines it. A smile creases his lips). Hm, looks like this belongs to you.

Arthur: I thought that belonged to Beverly (he chuckles to himself).

Freddy: No, it’s yours. There’s an inscription.

Arthur: Really? What does it say.

Freddy: “Arthur, just in case you need to burn some shit down.” (he tosses the lighter to Arthur who catches it deftly) Maybe he wasn’t so bad.

Arthur: (flatly) He was. (he places the lighter on the desktop) I don’t want it.

Freddy: I think you should keep it; just in case. Switching gears, you want to tell me what the Bo-- Jerrald said to you?

Arthur: (picks up the lighter and pockets it) Not particularly, no. But we’ve got business, Boss. A lot of tomorrows coming up.

Freddy: Don’t call me “Boss.” And tomorrow was their game. Not a bad one, but I want to play something different. What’s on the schedule for today? 

Fade to black.