Smoke & Fire

AT RISE:
The stage is dark. A military version of the Star Spangled Banner sounds. A spotlight finds a singer, stage right, as she sings America’s National Anthem in its classic style, devoid of any affect.

As she sings, the stage lights, a mix of red, white, and blue, illuminate the stage where four men, RUFFIN - Black, (40s), LEE - Asian (50), ARNEZ - Hispanic (40s), and DAPPLEGRAY, White (50s), hold the four corners of an American flag as they walk it to center stage. They fold it military style and present it to the singer after she finishes the anthem, as if a military guard at a funeral.

She solemnly accepts the flag and exits the stage. Bright lights replace the red and blue lights, clearly revealing a semi-circle of chairs center-stage, parted by a large desk: the type one might find in the Oval Office. Some of the men sit, others stand as they retrieve thick folders from beneath their chairs.

RUFFIN
That’s the last time we have to hear that song.

DAPPLEGRAY
That song meant something. That flag-- It told a story.

RUFFIN
Sure did. Your fairy tales and my nightmare.

DAPPLEGRAY
Have some respect.

RUFFIN
Respect? I’ll have what it had for me.

DAPPLEGRAY
There was no satisfying you.

RUFFIN
Why are you here?

DAPPLEGRAY
What are you getting at?

RUFFIN
You have so much respect for those stars and stripes? That’s your problem.

DAPPLEGRAY
That’s not a problem for me.

RUFFIN
A piece of cloth means more to you than actual people.

ARNEZ
That’s not all that matters to him.

DAPPLEGRAY
The ideals of that piece of cloth. What it symbolizes. One nation. Under God. Indivisible, with Liberty and justice--

RUFFIN AND ARNEZ

For all white people.

DAPPLEGRAY
It was a great nation.

LEE
If it means that much to you why go along with this?

DAPPLEGRAY
Anything can be improved upon. I won’t fight progress.

ARNEZ
You’re just a quitter like the rest of us.

LEE
We’re not quitters. We’re sensible people. And this solution still strikes me as extreme.

DAPPLEGRAY
Everybody wants to run away from the evil white man. I would love to see your faces when you realize that you have no more boogie men to blame for all your problems. Your failures.

RUFFIN
Take credit where it’s due, boogie man. You usually try to take everything else. Isn’t that it? Always want to control people? Control places? Control things? Only a fool wouldn’t run from that mess.

ARNEZ
We’re not running. We’re choosing.

RUFFIN
Either way. Whatever.

DAPPLEGRAY
Oh sure. All your problems will just disappear. Mr. Lee, your people will be fine though, I’m sure.

LEE
My people?

DAPPLEGRAY
Chinese folks.

LEE
I’m Korean. I can’t speak for the Chinese or the Japanese or the Vietnamese--

DAPPLEGRAY
Whatever.

LEE
Don’t do that.

DAPPLEGRAY
I’m just giving credit.

LEE
We’re not anybody’s models. We’re people. And let’s not forget how Japanese Americans were put into camps in this country.

DAPPLEGRAY
Still, you don’t complain. You do well, even if you make believe I’m doing something wrong. You people will be just fine. I should like to visit whatever place you make.

RUFFIN
For the same reason you visit Thailand, boogie man?

DAPPLEGRAY
You can go to hell. Let’s get this thing over and done.

(They open their folders as a MAP of the USA appears on a large projection screen on the back wall-- upstage. The country is sectioned off into four large parcels, dilineated by bold red lines.)

DAPPLEGRAY
The white race wants the state of Maine to the border of Virginia and west through to Ohio and Illinois.

RUFFIN
The biggest cities? The city is made by the brothers. Style, culture, music.

ARNEZ
What if we want New York? Immigrants made New York.

LEE
Chinatown, Koreatown, Thai Town, Little Tokyo. What are you going to do with those?

DAPPLEGRAY
All the signs, all the restaurants, the tech companies, the cleaners, they’ll make great high-end real estate. After we clean it up.

LEE
Exploitative as ever. You can’t sell the stories in those buildings.

DAPPLEGRAY
We’re still running a capitalist economy gentlemen. It only makes sense for us to keep the financial centers. Your stories are beside the point. The relevant point is business. World markets deal with New York, Chicago, DC, Boston.

RUFFIN
You can have Boston.

ARNEZ
All you talk about is money. It’s still your god. You never learn.

DAPPLEGRAY
Money makes the world turn. Money is relevant. Isn’t that really why we’re here? Because you think the deck is stacked? You can’t keep up? Why do you care what we want?

RUFFIN
If you want the Northeast to Midwest, then we want the entire catalogue of the Library of Congress and the complete holdings of the National Museum, the Studio Museum of Harlem and the Schomburg Center for Social Research.

DAPPLEGRAY
I don’t know if I can agree--

RUFFIN
You represent your people?

DAPPLEGRAY
I’m standing here.

RUFFIN
Then you agree to my terms. That’s the price of the land you want. You won’t stick us like you stuck the Indians.

ARNEZ
What about us?

RUFFIN
That’s your concern, but our price is set.

DAPPLEGRAY
Or what?

RUFFIN
Bible says the next destruction of the earth is going to be with fire. Remember nine-eleven? Imagine that in Chicago, Philly, DC--

DAPPLEGRAY
Fine. You’ll get your words and art. I swear, I won’t miss your violent tendencies.

RUFFIN
Says the man responsible for slavery, the holocaust, and mass murders in movie theaters. Not to mention the police state.

ARNEZ
Preach.

DAPPLEGRAY
Africans sold Africans to the white man, no?

LEE
Let’s stay on topic.

RUFFIN
We claim the southeast.

LEE
We’ll take the pacific northwest.

ARNEZ
What if we want the Northeast or the Southeast?

RUFFIN
The southwest is good for you. It’s close to Mexico and Central America.

ARNEZ
I’m Cuban!

LEE
Welcome to my world, Arnez. Where one is the same as any other-- even though-- not really.

DAPPLEGRAY
There’s space in the southwest. You don’t have to live like sardines anymore.

ARNEZ
I would love to see the look on your face when you realize you have to watch your own kids, and mow your own lawns. We’ll see how much money you get to make when other people don’t do your heavy lifting for you. We’ll take our southwest and make it more than you ever did.

LEE
Don’t worry. All of us Asians have been slapped together too. Even south Asians.

ARNEZ
Seven-Eleven Indians?

LEE
Yep. They still don’t get we aren’t all the same.

ARNEZ
And what about the Jews?

DAPPLEGRAY
They’re returning to Israel.

RUFFIN
Really? Their skin wasn’t white enough for you? Had to push them out too?

DAPPLEGRAY
It’s a spacing issue. We made a deal. Ten billion dollars for their departure. They were going back sooner or later anyway. Why don’t you go back to Africa? Marcus Garvey had a good plan. We’ll sell you the ships.

RUFFIN
We helped build this country. We’re taking what’s ours.

ARNEZ
We helped build it too. And Hispanic culture gave you Jennifer Lopez. Now all the white girls are out to get bubble bootie’s too. You’re welcome.

RUFFIN
Jennifer Lopez? She ain’t the first stop on that train. You ain’t never heard of the Venus-Hot-n-Tot?

ARNEZ
The Venus what?

RUFFIN
I suppose you took black history month off.

DAPPLEGRAY
You’re so black, Ruffin. I wonder if your mother will miss you?

(Ruffin grabs him by the throat. Arnez and Lee struggle to pull him off. Dapplegray gasps for breath as he recovers from the attack.)

DAPPLEGRAY
So sensitive. And ever violent.

RUFFIN
My people didn’t get off the boat as light-skinned as me. I heard something about a master raping a girl in the field quarters behind his wife’s back. Ever violent.

DAPPLEGRAY
Let’s stay on topic.

ARNEZ
What about the Native Americans? Why aren’t they here?

RUFFIN
We’ve spoken with their various Tribal Council’s already.

DAPPLEGRAY
No worries for them. Their reservations remain sacrosanct wherever they exist. We’re all to honor the treaties we have with them. They also take the plain states between our territories.

RUFFIN
And we agree to pay them for any travel through their states. It’s neutral territory.

DAPPLEGRAY
Wait. I wasn’t privy to that discussion.

RUFFIN
You left early.

DAPPLEGRAY
Well, I’m not sure I agree to that provision--

RUFFIN
All those who agree say “ay”.

LEE
Ay.

ARNEZ
Ay.

RUFFIN
Three to one Dapplegray. It’s agreed. Better to pay now than fight later. Country isn’t so big anymore.

DAPPLEGRAY
Fine, we’ll pay them. But no visas or passports between territories.

LEE
Not practical. We’re already splitting up families here. They should be able to see each other.

DAPPLEGRAY
Passports. No reasons for visas. No one should be staying long. A passport should suffice for limited visits. Once a year. Christmas time, or if illness directs.

RUFFIN
Ay.

LEE
Ay.

ARNEZ
Ay.

DAPPLEGRAY
Agreed. All that’s left is to name our territories. Mr. Lee?

LEE
Asiatica. Arnez?

ARNEZ
Bueno Suerta.

RUFFIN
What’s that mean?

ARNEZ
Good luck.

DAPPLEGRAY
Fine name. You’ll need it.

ARNEZ
Ruffin?

RUFFIN
Forty Acres... Finally. Dapplegray?

DAPPLEGRAY
Goodbread.

RUFFIN
Not white bread?

DAPPLEGRAY
You’re funny...

RUFFIN
It’s time.

(He produces a pen. The others follow suit. They open their folders and each signs the paperwork of the others.)

RUFFIN
A treaty for a new world.

DAPPLEGRAY
Not quite the founding fathers.

RUFFIN
That’s a good thing. A mouth watering, sweet tasting, good thing.

LEE
A land that diversity birthed.

ARNEZ
This is the best way.

RUFFIN
To each their own.

(Lights out on the scene.)

Some Type of Ecstasy

Sunshine sprawled over the city, and from a distance seemed to cleanse the avenues, streets and boulevards below; cast the greenish-brown hills in a haze of warmth that cooled at the shores of the Pacific lapping its coast; Los Angeles, the land of make-believe and dreams, an industry town where the lie of anyone being a star was stark in its barrenness. Traffic on pretzel loops of steel and cement; cars, one behind another behind another, filled with the masses going nowhere fast on en-route to wherever. On the car radio, news breaks read by monotone announcers informed those that wanted to know, and those who did not want to know, of the murder and brutality of the latest murder or robbery. Even the city busses now, with their video screens, updated commuters of the hazards of living day to day. The only stars here were victims and victimizers; not always in physical violence, but often in the emotional violence that seemed, if possible, less humane than the bullet or the blade. How one felt about themselves and one another, the why beneath the who of what they were, was constantly being assaulted, by strangers and loved ones and even worse by one's self. Because for all of the warmth of perpetual Southern California sunlight and nature’s beauty and the electricity of the various scenes, the flowing money, the glamour of myths and appearance, there was little love in this place. For romantic love there would always be a chance, but the simple love between human beings, strangers, those who could do little for each other save to show the love inherent in recognized humanity, which was truly everything, had to be fought-to-the-death for. It’s presence seemed lost here, in this time, to be found only God knew where and He was leaving humanity to the task of solving a challenge it unnecessarily created. In a strip mall on Van Nuys Boulevard, itself a strip of tough luck workers, car dealerships and a court house that brought its own share of pain, a group of people congregated, from all points of the city of angels, some unemployed, others, the working poor attempting desperately to supplement insufficient paychecks. The donors whisked through the doors, daily, like birds seeking the southern warmth in cold winter when death stole from nature. Plasmatics, the sweat of Darla Stratford, one of the many portals for those entering to sell their DNA – sell themselves - was popular amongst many, and here a group assembled, a group who managed to fight for the simple love missing elsewhere in this city.

Bright light oversaw the center, bright light and cold temperatures. The light - hospital lights - made to see everything and everyone, and the cold to sterilize the possibility of disease. One entered into a lobby where the front desk waited to greet the regulars and the new clients. Donor records were kept behind the desk and technicians entered information into the computers. The lobby was lined with chairs and a large magazine stand and a coat rack. Beyond the lobby were examination rooms where physicals were given. On the other side of the office was a large room filled with donor beds, thirty beds, 10 per section, each supervised by a technician in scrubs who set up the plasmapheresis machines and administered the collector’s needle. Upstairs, was the throne of the center - Darla’s office.

On this morning, Darla, a vision of high fashion sat on her desk, holding back tears. She was a formidable woman, tall, almost 6’0, and in the space between slender and thick is where her body resided. Physically able, emotionally delicate, her hazel eyes searched the floor for an escape to this conversation. “But I’m telling you now, Ros. I own this place, remember? I’m not obligated to say anything at all.”

Ros, the bright brown shade of molasses, stood at the closed door. She did not answer right away, instead allowing her anger to circle the room like a windstorm. Then she said with a lilting Louisiana accent, “No, don’t try to pull rank on me. If we’re the friends you claim we are, you should’ve been told me what you were thinking. I have a child, Darla. Do you remember?”

Darla’s face wore a stricken expression, breathless from Ros’s certainty, hurt by her questioning. A tear demanded its release and gently slid down her flushed cheek. “We are friends. That’s why I’m telling YOU.”

“So, I should be looking for another job?”

“No. I’m just in talks, and I won’t sign any contract that costs you or anyone else their job. I promise you. ”

“That’s what the government said after Katrina came and went. Ole George Bush say, ‘trust me.’ I haven’t been home since.”

“You’re my best friend. And I’m not the government. I’m promising you this place will be here for you.”

A rueful laugh escaped Ros’ throat. “You aren’t a fortune teller, and neither am I. I do know a bit about human nature though. That’s why I tell you, you shouldn’t be making promises.”

New tears freed themselves now, still silent, dotting Darla’s blouse like a soft rain shower. “You don’t trust me?”

“My Granddaddy could tell you about a company and their promises. He worked for the Viceroy Seafood Company over twenty years. They packed and shipped seafood all over the south. Grandaddy got work loading trucks in the warehouse.”

“He got let go?”

“That’s right. But you already knew the end of the story when I started telling it. My point wasn’t about the ending. My point was about the how.”

Ros informed Darla about her Grandfather, Silas Kelly the III, who was one of a long generation of New Orleaneans. He was not educated by books or in academic institutions; he was street smart, a man who knew people, even people who thought they knew themselves. That’s why his trust of John Viceroy had been peculiar. But after bouncing from job to job, when he could get one at all, Viceroy had made him the first black man to load trucks in his operation. Many were not happy to see his face, a black man in a sea of white men, but Viceroy had stuck by him and for that, he battled his instincts about the merger with O’Holloran’s seafood. O’Holloran, a fat man with a thin mustache had connections in organized crime and in city hall. It was only a matter of time before he made overtures to Viceroy. After Viceroy ensured three month raises for his employees in the contract, Viceroy merged with O’Holloran with the fat man the majority owner. Three months and a day later everyone was laid off, scattered to the hard-scramble of the depression and missed meals.

Sadness had climbed into Darla’s bones by now, into her flesh. Sitting there on the desk she seemed a half measure of her usual song. Her voice was soft, low hung. “I don’t have any choice.”

Ros’ eyes narrowed and her back straightened. “What’s that mean? What do you mean you don’t have any choice?”

“I have trouble. I need the money,” whispered Darla. And before Ros could shoot out another question – “I can’t talk about it right now. It is what it is.”

Ros’ thoughts quickly listed potential problems: illness, lawsuits; and imagined nightmares: hidden addictions or criminal retributions. But she knew enough of her friend to understand that pushing the conversation, pushing her wasn’t the best route. “Okay. But whatever this is, I know you think you’re doing right, but you aren’t thinking this all the way through. You talking about me, but what about those people downstairs? What changes they got coming?

“What have I always said about Plasmatics? About us?”

“We’re a family.”

“Yes, we are. And that’s how it’s going to stay.”

“Darla, I don’t know. Seems to me, whatever your trouble is, is about to be everybody’s trouble.”

The friends faced each other, Darla’s tears now matched by the salt-water shimmering in Ros’s bedroom eyes. So much was unspoken in their silence, yet everything they needed to know needed not to be spoken. Time was all that would matter now; time and its revelations and ravages. Suddenly the door opened, quickly intruding on the noiselessness. Lindy, breaths erupting fast and heavy from the belly, entered, sweat slicking her black forehead. Blood seeped through a gauze pad she pressed to the inside crease of her elbow. “There’s a fight downstairs!”