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One Day in Paris' Grill

SCENE: a restaurant in Paris, Texas

TIME: 1980

CHARACTERS:
Frank – a truck driver
Byron – a poet
Helen – a transsexual hairdresser
Waitress

FRANK: The stock market is up. My life is down there.

BYRON: My life is everywhere.

FRANK: You're the poet; at 1270.

BYRON: Suite 16.

FRANK: And I could have sworn you were about 33.

BYRON: Christ's age.

FRANK: Let's not go religious on me.

WAITRESS: How is life treating Byron these days?

BYRON: I'm a survivor, not a hero; for today, that is.

FRANK: That's not paying the rent.

WAITRESS: I sneak him cheap eats every day.

FRANK: I think you’ve got a soft spot for Byron.

WAITRESS: It isn't every day a poet comes in here. Remember, I'm Greek.

FRANK: I don't know what the hell I am, and who cares; Irish, Italian; I used to think I'm part Indian, always felt it. Byron, it looks like you haven't slept in a week. You need to get laid.

WAITRESS: Leave By alone; just because he's an Adonis.

FRANK: A what?

WAITRESS: Don't let Frank give you a hard time, By. If the world depended on him for beautiful words it would have to sleep on it.

(The waitress walks away.)

FRANK: She doesn't understand either of us, By.

BYRON: It's better that way.

FRANK: I always liked you; I remember the first day I met you. You think I'm getting sloppy; I mean with the talk.

BYRON: You weren't just a truck driver, Frank. When I saw you in your leather jacket…

FRANK: Your eyes were bugsy—more than a girl. You knew you were bi, at least.

BYRON: By my name.

FRANK: It's been ten years; our anniversary's coming up.

BYRON: Do you tell your wife that?

FRANK: We don't tell anyone. That's our blood covenant we made that first anniversary. We were like two cub scouts. You were twenty-three then, and I was twenty-eight. I had just gotten out of the Navy.

BYRON: That's how you knew what to do. I was very naive—still am.

FRANK: If you have to think you are virgin ears, that's all right with me.

BYRON: I've listened in darkness for your voice when you've called me, Frank; I feel desperate sometimes; maybe that's just love.

(Enter Helen.)

FRANK: Here comes Helen. Isn't she hairdressing?

WAITRESS: The transsexual, your former lover whom you gave thousands to get her operation.

FRANK: She was my former lover. I've been true to you, Byron.

HELEN: Boys will be boys.

FRANK: But boys can also be girls.

HELEN: I knew you in my former life.

FRANK: But you come in here every day to harass me. With emphasis on the ass.

HELEN: You never objected to my ass before; in fact, you praised it. Byron could write a poem in praise of Helen's ass, how about it… You see, it doesn't matter to Frank where he plays around—he always finds a hole in one.

WAITRESS: Helen, the usual?

HELEN: I try to do the usual things when I'm out.

FRANK: That's a laugh. You should see me when I'm in.

WAITRESS: Black coffee coming up; three sugars, aren't they?

(The waitress looks at the three customers.)

FRANK: Still at the drag bar?

HELEN: I was a married woman.

FRANK: If you believe it, it's true; isn't that right, Byron, but where is the ring except under your eyes?

HELEN: Frank's so crude it makes him lovable.

(The waitress brings the coffee.)

HELEN: And how is Byron surviving? Why didn't you ever become a pro? You could get anyone you wanted, but being so sensitive you couldn't have too many tricks.

FRANK: We'll save that for you.

HELEN: Just because you paid for my operation doesn't make you mother superior, Father Christmas or my sugar daddy. Once you met Byron here you forgot me, and he doesn't even dress up for you.

FRANK: That's not his thing.

HELEN: Well, Frank, at least you're open to anything.

FRANK: I've tried to be broadminded.

HELEN: I hope, Byron, he doesn't sweet cheat on you like he did me.

BYRON: I have no way of knowing. All I know is when I'm with him, I'm happy.

HELEN: You're such a kid. Even now you're still a beautiful boy.

FRANK: Isn't he…

HELEN: I wouldn't mind but who can crack that poetic soul—only a truck driver like you. What do you have, Frank, that makes you irresistible to people? I suspect it's almost a foot long, do you think so, Byron? You know he has a ruler personality, but whatever he has—he's got it.

FRANK: Why, Helen, do you have to hurt Byron?

BYRON: She doesn't hurt me, Frank.

HELEN: Why don't you write a poem about me; Helen was a famous woman.

WAITRESS: Do you know the Greeks?

FRANK: She only knows the Trojans.

HELEN: You better use one if you can't keep your pecker in your pants.

FRANK: I'm always ready.

HELEN: Don't do anything under the table.

FRANK: I don't have to.

WAITRESS: Simmer down. Every day here in the Paris Grill we go through a war.

HELEN: Tonight I've come armed.

(Helen takes out a knife.)

FRANK: She's been drinking.

WAITRESS: Put away the knife, honey, or I'll have to call the cops again.

HELEN: You betrayed me good, Frank, and there's no one else—no one.

(Helen knifes Frank. Byron goes to help him, and she cuts him.)

WAITRESS: I'm always here when there is no help, not even a bus boy. Oh, my God—who could think of it!

HELEN: This is what a four-letter word does; see Byron.

WAITRESS: There is blood all over his yellow pad, and look at these napkins I just put out.

HELEN: That's all you care about.

FRANK: She's crazy, Helen is.

HELEN: For you, alive or dead, and waitress, honey, don't call anyone and put that closed for business sign in the window.

WAITRESS: You can't hide here forever.

FRANK: I'm not losing much blood with my blood brother; is this how it goes?

BYRON: I don't know if my wounds are superficial. Now, Helen, let me call on the telephone.

HELEN: I waited for months for Frank to call. He paid for me to become a woman and when I became one he lost interest.

FRANK: I've paid my dues all around.

HELEN: Men like you think you've got the biggest way to get around your lovers. He isn't big now, is he, Byron? Now how could such a refined boy go with such a tough guy. It must be something he has…over you.

FRANK: Why did you pick on Byron—he's innocent.

HELEN: In his innocent way he stole your heart and you are a married man. No one would ever suspect your double life. You can see we all have something in common.

FRANK: We can't get any life back.

HELEN: I lost my prick and you wouldn't treat me as a woman.

FRANK: I treated you as I could and it felt right at the time.

HELEN: Until this, Byron.

(Byron manages to get on top of Helen and the waitress hits Helen with a large pan.)

FRANK: Open the doors—I need some air…

WAITRESS: The bitch took out the phone lines.

FRANK: I did love her.

(The waitress puts tourniquets on both of them.)

WAITRESS: I'll go for help.

FRANK: Nothing's going to help her until she has her satisfaction.

BYRON: We will make it.

FRANK: I'd have made it up to her.

(Frank caresses Helen and then Byron.)

WAITRESS: The ambulance is here, Frank. I know you'll drop the charges and you'll be back here tomorrow.

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