Part 6

Status
Not open for further replies.

Allen

Webmaster?
#1
(Morgan stands up and walks through the chairs towards the back of the room into the darkness. After a moment, he reemerges from the darkness.)

Morgan (scaring Tony as he walks past him by stamping his foot): Boo!

(Tony falls off his chair, and gets back up and resumes sitting, but with a frightened look. Morgan sits down again in his chair.)

Morgan (addressing Tony over his shoulder): I put a tip in the writing desk for the maid. Don't try to take the money. That would make me unhappy. (Addressing Waiter) How much to remove the bodies?

Waiter (addressing Morgan): We're not supposed to do that. Union rules. But fifty bucks a corpse would be nice.

Morgan (hands the Waiter folded currency): This should cover it.

Waiter (counts and pockets the money): You're very generous. I'll take care of it right away.

(Waiter drags the bodies of Speedo and Shoo-Bop one by one to the window and throws them out. When he is done, he leaves the room with his snack cart.)

(Maria gets up from her chair, sits next to Tony, talks with him quietly and then gets on her knees before him obscuring Tony's lap from view. Later,
Maria sits in an empty chair next to Tony whispering quietly to him. Morgan lights and smokes a cigarette contentedly.)


Father O'Hara (addressing Morgan): Don't you feel the least bit of remorse? You just killed two human beings.

Morgan (addressing Father O'Hara): You'll have to trust me on this one, Father. That's all the potential they have. Besides, it isn't like I killed them in the real world. They're both comfy as ever sitting in a jail cell completely unaware that they've even been here. ---- I caused them as little pain as possible. When I was finished, I even closed their eyes out of respect. That's a pretty decent send-off in this place. If I hadn't killed them, they would've raped us. You might not know it, but being violently sodomized by riff-raff in other johns' sessions is the leading cause of hemorrhoids among men who patronize prostitutes. Before I woke up and learned to look out for myself, I was constantly plagued.

Father O'Hara: But the Church teaches that it's a mortal sin to take the life of another human being.

Morgan: I see you're going to be difficult about this. OK. Assuming for the sake of argument that the duality of Creator and Created is an immutable fact, what makes you think the Creator has any interest in sitting in judgment of a bunch of hairless, semi-conscious monkeys who've only just recently learned to store food for the winter? If the Creator was any Creator at all, he'd stick to the really important stuff of managing supernovas. You can't screw around with those. One slip and you can burn up an entire galaxy just like that.

Father O'Hara: Who is to comfort and judge us then when we die?

Morgan: The people we've known. The people we've had sex with.

Father O'Hara: Do you mean Bob's immortal soul is going to be judged, in part, by Ruth and all the other prostitutes he's seen?

Morgan: Oh, no. Prostitutes can't comfort and judge their johns. If they could, they'd bleed their johns dry. It'd be worse than the selling of indulgences in the Middle Ages. Only the people you've known and the people you've had sex with that you haven't paid or haven't paid you can comfort and judge you when you die. ---- Ever get any?

Father O'Hara: I've been sorely tempted on many occasions by my housekeeper, Mrs. Catelli, but have never succumbed. We sit and drink tea together in the parlor most nights and talk. She's a widow. I love her I suppose in the way old husbands love their wives.

Morgan: No nasty bits at all in your closet? C'mon, Father. There's no one here for you to be ashamed before. What you call your soul was shat out the ass of a black hole by accident eons ago in another galaxy. A kind of by-product of the really important stuff that the Creator spends all his time creating. Whatever you've done, it's OK.

Father O'Hara: When I was in the seminary, Bishop Monaghan and I were very close. ---- We confessed and repented before we were ordained. I haven't seen him since. I still think about him. He was a fine looking boy back then. All blond hair, muscles, and legs. I held him close to me each night in bed after vespers when the lights went out. ---- It was my fault. I was the one who insisted.

Morgan: Father, there is only one theological question that I've ever had: Is it the average or the mean of the opinions of us held by the people that we've known or had sex with which decides the fate of our immortal souls? There can be quite a difference. That's always disturbed me. You could have learned to do quite well by people as you got older. That wouldn't be properly reflected if the answer to my question is the average of the opinions. You'd be dragged down into eternal shit by all the shabby, stupid and thoughtless things you did to other people when you were younger. On the other hand, if the answer to my question is the mean of the opinions, your over all quality could have steadily improved, but still not enough to get you into Purgatory.

Father O'Hara: I've only Mrs. Catelli and Bishop Monaghan to comfort and judge me when I die.

Morgan: How do you think Judgment Day will turn out for you?

Father O'Hara: Mrs. Catelli will stick up for me. I'm not so sure about Bishop Monaghan. If it's the mean of their opinions, I might go to Hell.

Morgan: You need to improve your odds. It's your only hope.

Father O'Hara: But how? I'd never molest children and couldn't bring myself to hurt Mrs. Catelli's feelings by doing something objectionable with someone else. She'd be crushed.

Morgan: I might be able to do something for you here. (Addressing Maddie) Ruth's not going to be too happy when you dump her to run off with Johnny to run his grandmother's motel. Both your average and mean will take a beating. You could end up in deep eternal shit. By the looks of you, I'd say that most of the people that you've known intimately thus far would be inclined to flush you right down the toilet as a self-serving opportunist. All Father O'Hara needs is one vote for Purgatory to make sure that he doesn't wind up in Hell. How about it?

Maddie (addressing Morgan): What do I get out of it?

Morgan: One vote for Heaven. (Addressing Father O'Hara) I assume I have your cooperation?

Father O'Hara: Oh, yes. Absolutely. I will vote to send this child to Heaven.

Maddie: Well, I guess it won't hurt me any. Where do I have to do him?

Morgan: The bathroom's empty.

Maddie: OK. C'mon, Father. You've got to save my soul.

(Maddie and Father O'Hara walk through the chairs together into the foyer, enter the bathroom and close the door.)

Ruth: I'm a sucker for strippers. Maddie's my third one in two years. I just can't stop myself from believing the shit they say to me. I even pay for their boob jobs to prove that I love them. I make the relationships up in my head just like my johns make their sessions up in their heads. Because of that I can kind of sympathize with men. Which is not to say that you aren't pathetic. I could never take that away from you. (Resumes blowing Bob momentarily) I probably belong to the last generation of women who'll be able to work as prostitutes. Men will get wise soon and invent a virtual reality machine to take the place of women like me. Some asshole will probably even get the Nobel Prize for it. Men will install these machines down in their basements next to their workbenches. Whenever they're in the mood for strange, they'll tell their wives that they're going downstairs to putter around. Famous actresses will license images of their bodies and the sounds of their voices. It'll feel as real as being with any prostitute. After they come a few times, the machine will automatically shut off. Then the men will go upstairs to their wives to discuss their gardens just like nothing happened. Only the guys who think they're communing with a woman's soul when they fuck them for money will still want a skin job like me when that day comes. Fucking Machines! Death to the Machine! (Resumes blowing Bob momentarily) Before that happens, I hope that there're a few years in which the world becomes a fairer place. The first thing prostitutes would get is a transporter device like they have on the old Star Trek shows. Whenever a john becomes threatening or boring, prostitutes will be able to beam him somewhere else. If I could, I'd beam you out of here and right into Macy's window stark naked, kicking and screaming. Then I'd beam Liebowitz, my next appointment, in here to replace you just as fast. That man can make me come. He thinks he loves me. I'm going to give him the same session I gave to Pearson. Maybe even better if I have the strength. (Resumes blowing Bob momentarily) The second thing prostitutes would get is the ability to pick the types of johns they see on any given day. Of course, I'd see a woman anytime. They're much more innocent than men even when they've been confirmed bull dykes forever and a day stalking lonely femmes in fern bars. I like that innocence women have. (Resumes blowing Bob momentarily) You know, there are some mornings I wake up, look in the bathroom mirror and actually feel like doing whatever unemotional asshole walks in the door. On days like that, I'd hump like a monkey. Other mornings when I've had plenty of sleep, I wake up feeling kind. When I feel like that, I'd see lonely guys or needy guys like you. If I had my way, Thursdays I'd dedicate to young, really good looking guys with nice manners and big dicks. If the world were a fair place, I'd be able to do that. (Resumes blowing Bob momentarily) Johns would never cooperate if prostitutes attempted to work completely according to their moods. No matter who they are, they call whenever the mood hits them. Then, they show up expecting to be treated like they're special. Men are such fucking idiots. They're always looking for something outside of themselves to feel complete. (Resumes blowing Bob momentarily) Kind of like me with all my johns and strippers. When those virtual reality machines hit the stores, I'm gonna be the first in line. There're lots of famous actresses I'd like to fuck.

Catherine (addressing Morgan): That was clever getting Father O'Hara to have sex with the stripper.

Morgan (addressing Catherine): It's an old Jesuit trick. Always state things in terms of seemingly unsolvable theological questions. Priests who aren't Jesuits fall for it every time. It's not just Bob and Ruth. Most people are fairly suggestible in these places. Anyway, I thought it would be interesting for them to experience. Something unusual that they might even wake up remembering.

Jean (addressing Morgan): How did you wake up?

Morgan (addressing Jean): It happened in a brothel on the West Side 17 years ago. I'd had a session with a Puerto Rican girl and was on my way home on the train. While I was sitting there reading, I closed my eyes and realized that I was back in the session room. A man there had put a Cossack hat folded out of paper on my head. He was yelling at me like a Marine Drill Sergeant to dance with my arms folded in front of me across my chest. I told him, "Take your stupid fucking hat back. I'm not dancing." "Welcome to the party," he said. Then he kissed me on both cheeks European style.

Catherine (addressing Morgan): There was a man I used to meet in Herb's sessions back in those years. He used to put Cossack hats on the catatonics and make them dance that Cossack dance. Was his name, Nate?

Morgan (addressing Catherine): That's him. He taught me everything I know. ---- It was a bit hectic that night. I was scared. Nate told me that I was going to be OK, but that if anything happened I should come see the same girl the next night. Sure enough, something did happen. When the Puerto Rican girl's three older brothers started cursing their little sister and calling her a stupid whore, Nate reminded them that she probably wouldn't have turned out that way if they hadn't all banged her so much when she was a kid. That didn't sit too well with them. They beat all of us johns to death with baseball bats. I opened my eyes on the train and remembered everything. The next night I went back to meet Nate again.

Catherine: Nate was outspoken. I liked that about him.

Morgan: I wish I'd had the chance to talk to him first. When I walked in the session room that second night, my parents, an old girlfriend and my Grammar School football coach were already there. What little space there was left was filled with people the Puerto Rican girl knew and the johns she'd seen earlier that day. I could hear her thoughts too. I was reeling inside. Nate yelled at me from across the room. "Just act natural," he said. So I did. I pretended that the room was empty but for the girl and me. Afterwards, when I was on the train again, closed my eyes and was back in the session room naked with the other johns, Nate slapped me on the back. "You did OK, kid," he said, "Not bad for your first time." ---- The girl's brothers hadn't made their appearance yet. Nate said that we'd have to kill them. That night and for the next three nights, we slit their throats as soon as they appeared. It was the only way Nate and I could get to talk.

Jean: That must have been hard to do.

Morgan: The first time it was. It's pretty easy once you get the hang of it.

Catherine: Nate saved my life once in one of Herb's sessions. It was the night we met. The girl's father had a psychotic fit. He believed that Jehovah had ordered him to kill everybody in the room. He brained a couple of people and was about to crush my skull with a brick. Nate ran over and grabbed him by his shirt collar and belt, rushed him to the window and then threw him out just like a bouncer in a bar.

Morgan: As soon as I see it in their eyes, I do exactly the same thing. When a window's not available, I beat their heads against a doorframe a few times and snap their necks. A psychotic in the room can spoil the experience for everyone.

Bob (opening his eyes and looking down at Ruth to address her in a hopeful conversational tone): Do you come here often? It's a really nice place. It's so modern and clean looking and the rooms are so large.

Ruth (looking up and addressing Bob in an emotionally responsive tone): I use different hotels on the days I do incall. It's important to keep a low profile. But if you like, I'll come here again next Wednesday.

Bob (addressing Ruth happily): I'd like that very much. I'll definitely be here.

Ruth (addressing Bob): I need to stretch my legs again. Would that be OK?

Bob (addressing Ruth): Of course.

(Ruth stands, turns her back to Bob and stretches slowly down to touch her toes while Bob looks on with his mouth open in befuddled amazement. Ruth resumes kneeling and returns to performing the Courtesan Special with lots of tender stomach and chest touching thrown in. Bob closes his eyes, leans back in his chair and smiles.)

Jean: So what did Nate tell you that second night?

Morgan: The second night Nate taught me that sooner or later everybody who's been important to you or that you see all the time will eventually show up in your sessions. ---- When he told me that, I almost swore off going to prostitutes. But then Nate told me that nobody but me would ever remember that they'd been there.

Catherine: Nate called that the 97% rule.

Morgan: Exactly. Hardly anyone ever uses more than 3% of their brain. The rest is unaccounted for.

Catherine: Allowing us to leak away like water out of an old broken bucket…

Morgan: Into other places where we've been…

Catherine: With other people. Or into other places where the people we know are.

Morgan (laughing): It's a rare human being that can use any more of their brain. That's all that happened when I woke up. I merely gained access. And learned to see and remember everything and be in more than one place at the same time. (Addressing Catherine) Do you ever remember anything from these places when you're back in the real world?

Catherine: No. Nate tried to teach me how, but I could never learn. I only remember being in these places when I'm in another place like it. ---- Nate was in love with me. That's why he was always there in Herb's sessions. He did everything he could to protect Herb and wake him up. He thought it would improve my life. But it never worked. Herb is much too thick.

Herb (addressing Catherine while drinking a scotch and happily smoking): I resent that even if it is true.

Catherine (addressing Herb): Sorry, dear. It is true. (Addressing Morgan) It must have been difficult for you to walk into that session room the second night and see those people you knew waiting for you.

Morgan: It was at first. But then I saw how comfortable they looked. Like they'd been there before watching me. Nate told me that they'd probably already been in my sessions many times. He also taught me that I could talk to them or anybody else in the room if I wanted and that the women I was with wouldn't even notice.

Jean: What did he teach you about the prostitutes? I'd think being able to hear a woman's thoughts would be un-nerving for a man.

Morgan: There wasn't time the second night. We didn't get around to that until the third night. The second night, Nate only had time enough to teach me about what it was to be recycled. Nate taught me that even though catatonics fear that sensation of being recycled the most, being recycled doesn't hurt a bit. That it's just like walking down the street and being forgotten by a stranger you've walked past. "Nothing to it," he said, "Here, watch this new guy who just walked in the room. He acts just like you do, and walks with that same swaggering self-confidence. This girl's going to remember you and give him the same session you just had. You're about to be recycled." I turned to answer him but before I could speak, I was back on the train looking at the newspaper feeling nothing at all.

Jean: No pain?

Morgan: Nothing. I was already reading the newspaper. There was just a little more of me there to read it. That was the only feeling I had, a slight sensation of being more fully present where I was.

Catherine: It must have been strange for you to see the men who went before and after you. Men usually only get to see that at Spanish quickie joints.

Morgan: It was a little unnerving at first, but Nate explained how it worked the third night. "We're here as paint cans, kid," he told me, "That's our function. When a guy who acts like we do walks into the room, the girl uses her memory of us, pours that in the bucket and then paints him with the same color. You think this shit is all custom made for you? Wake up and smell the coffee. This is exactly what Henry Ford would have done. These girls are geniuses at mass production."
 
Status
Not open for further replies.
Top