By Jerome Berglund
Warehouse, North Minneapolis. Night.
The BLACK BOX of a small, hole-in-the-wall converted
theatre. It can’t hold more than three rows of chairs, six
seats to each, split down their center by a narrow path
leading to a pair of swinging double-doors accessing an
antechamber which exits to the street.
A handful of TENUOUS ACQUAINTANCES and
IMMEDIATE RELATIVES of the DIRECTOR are in
attendance, but would rather be anywhere else by all
appearances. They champ bubble gum, scroll dating
apps, tap their feet impatiently, glance at watches,
conspicuously doze.
A stool is placed at center stage. The lights dim, then
immediately fade back up.
A hideous, obese elderly man in a fanny-pack is now
trussed up in locks and chains upon the seat in the middle
of the platform.
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
What am I doing here?! Who are all of these noble, good looking ladies and gentlemen?
In the back row of the auditorium, the DIRECTOR of the
performance’s actual lampooned FATHER seethes, livid
with silent, unconcealed rage.
VOICE OFF STAGE
(from shoddy concealment behind a set piece)
He’s used to giving presentations. Holding a conversation, consequently, or engaging in balanced dialogue comes harder, so you’ll have to excuse him. I can somewhat relate, though soliloquies don’t enjoy the same draw.
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
All you youthful, dapper seniors of undiminished capacity, I bet half this group need wills and powers of attorney!
VOICE OFF STAGE
He always abstrusely idolized, identified with Paul Newman’s character, when with the shakes he was soliciting clients at funerals in lengthy montage.
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
Someone reach in my breast pocket and take a business card. Your first consult is free, like the initial hit of expensive, habit-forming drugs!
VOICE OFF STAGE
You want to disinherit all your worthless children and relatives? You have to do so explicitly in a witnessed and notarized document, you know. He can recommend some great charities to leave it all to instead.
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
Don’t feel any guilt, your kids are all grown up after all. They’ve made their beds and bad decisions, can deal with the consequences of their actions now, will get by on their own – unlike my useless excuse for a progeny.
The DIRECTOR walks up to the front of the house,
shading his eyes with a hand to keep the spotlight out of
them, so as to gaze across the narrow room. He locates
his FATHER and addresses him directly.
DIRECTOR
He still has all my old French student oil paintings decorating his walls like a gallery. But as old Max used to say, ‘The price of artwork is too volatile.’
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
(stilted)
Help, my forty year old son moved back in with me and I’m at my wit’s end dealing with the constant negativity, his total lack of ambition. Oh, woe is me! Won’t someone please behold this unfair predicament I am so bravely enduring. Don’t I deserve to get showered with praise and accolades, commendations and decoration for my patience and generosity of spirit? How truly selfless and admirable, aren’t I?
DIRECTOR
There must be some other alcoholics with us today. I know there are in fact. Have you ever seen one of these? He holds up a Big Book.
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
This millennial is cramping my style!
DIRECTOR
I keep hearing I need to read this, and I guess now’s as good a time as any.
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
I can never use the slightly damaged sauna I put in that takes up most of his room, because he sleeps until noon every single day!
DIRECTOR
Because I can’t drink three beers every night like clockwork, the way certain people can, and then ‘stand on seventeen’ as it were.
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
All the tail I could be swimming in, that I can’t bring home with this man-bunned neckbeard lazing about the house like a load!
DIRECTOR
Because I always keep hitting like an inveterate loser, intent on busting and throwing the pots away.
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
He never leaves me alone, a man’s home is supposed to be his castle I tell ya, I get no peace!
The DIRECTOR opens the book.
DIRECTOR
So, I’ve just turned my life over to God, as I understand him.
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
By law, a person is entitled to a right to ‘quiet enjoyment’. I’m a big shot lawyer so I know such things, take my word for it. Why, if it weren’t for this drain of a son I could be adventuring across the most happening brothels in Eastern Asia and Central America…
DIRECTOR
What then?
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
He never drinks what I tell him to either.
He reads from the book.
DIRECTOR
“Each person is like an actor who wants to run the whole show…”
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
Why couldn’t he have inherited my moderation beyond compare?
DIRECTOR
“If his arrangements would only stay put…”
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
Either he’s a judgmental stick-in-the-mud casting side-eyes whenever I’m taking the edge off with a cold one, in my chair beside him every night for years of his sanctimonious teetotaling. Or when I’m lording my superior restraint, quaffing NA’s self righteously, he has to persist in swilling rosé ‘til he’s falling down.
DIRECTOR
“If only people would do as he wished, the show would be great…”
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
At least if I harangue him nonstop whenever we’re both awake he gets the message and sleeps in the daytime so that I rarely have to suffer him. But then I can’t use my precious
sauna!
DIRECTOR
You’re self-employed, determine your own schedule Why can’t you take treatments in the afternoons or evenings?
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
I don’t wanna! I just want to piss and moan like a baby all day long and stomp around instilling terror and intimidation. Wah, wah!
DIRECTOR
Pretty soon you’ll be needing those diapers changed, you realize.
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
Babies, what a costly proposition. All you men had better get a paternity test before you put your name on that birth certificate, let me tell you, or it could be a lifetime of misery like I’m dealing with here. And boy, you gotta have an iron-clad prenup if you know what’s good. Mine have broken up marriages, you best believe it!
DIRECTOR
He’s your man, if you want to lose every dollar you own, through grossly comical, actionable negligence, incompetence and sheer buffoonery. Like the time he should have lost his law license, been dragged before the board of legal ethics for…
His FATHER leaps out of his seat at last, spitting mad.
FATHER
You shut your goddamn trap right now, you insufferable ingrate!
DIRECTOR
Or what if we talked about a certain stag party instead, would you prefer that?
FATHER
That’s enough already!
DIRECTOR
(turning to address the rest of the audience)
The only power an attache has is in what he carries inside of his case. Secrets he could take to the grave, and his master won’t sleep entirely soundly until he has, am I right?
FATHER
……
DIRECTOR
What could I say, you must wonder. To whom should I say it? To bungle a murder plot against your own bagman, the fixer who assembled your client list, your friends and family directory, who perfected merging all of your mailings. Tsk-tsk. You have to laugh, really. Unwise, one might gather. A mishap and blunder foreseeably. How will he avenge himself, are you wondering?
(the DIRECTOR spreads his hands broadly)
Will this petty petulance be enough, must ask yourself…
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
Don’t threaten me! Threats are my exclusive privilege and prerogative you pissant!
DIRECTOR
Would this be considered libel or slander?
FATHER
Enough of this happy horseshit!
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
That would depend on if it’s printed or being performed.
DIRECTOR
But I can assure you, in either case it’s entirely not subject to any punitive civil or criminal recourse, being a work of fiction purely.
FATHER
You know me, I would never! Never!
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
Well, you would know, you’re his paralegal.
DIRECTOR
Besides, truth is a defense to either complaint.
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
You don’t say!
FATHER
That goes both ways!
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
He’s got you there. Or me. Us.
DIRECTOR
Similarly, a true statement cannot by any ruler be considered defamation. And satire is protected by the first amendment explicitly, under the free expression clause.
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
Ah yes, from that landmark Larry Flynt v. Jerry Falwell verdict of ‘88 I recall.
FATHER
And I look nothing like that guy, got the shirtless gym pictures on Facebook to prove it.
DIRECTOR
Indubitably, but that’s entirely irrelevant, as the characters and incidents in this play are either the products of its author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
You mean to say any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental?
FATHER
I don’t have to put up with this bull from my own flesh and blood. Need this agony, these headaches like a hole in the head.
DIRECTOR
Precisely.
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
(aside to DIRECTOR)
Seriously though. You’re absolutely certain this’ll fly, we’re safe, right?
FATHER
My actions speak for themselves, I’ve had it up to here with these insinuations.
DIRECTOR
Sure, sure, it’ll be fine.
He gestures flippantly to a sign on the wall, which reads:
“The information contained in this performance is
provided for informational purposes only, and should
not be construed as legal advice on any subject matter.”
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
If you say so.
FATHER
You just wait, we shall see!
The FATHER storms out the front doors. A moment later
another further out SLAMS behind him.
The DIRECTOR confers with the FAT OLD BALD
ACTOR on stage in WHISPERS, undoes the chains
holding him. The latter quickly hustles down the aisle and
out after the FATHER.
The DIRECTOR scans the faces of the remaining audience
worriedly, LIGHTS a cigarette and begins pacing the
stage lengthwise, his back to them.
Outside the room a SCUFFLE is audible.
The DIRECTOR tosses his cigarette, jogs from the
auditorium. The AUDIENCE stare after him, blinking.
They begin to gather their belongings, assuming the show
to have concluded anticlimactically, as his tend to.
Seconds later the trio return, the DIRECTOR and FAT
OLD BALD ACTOR dragging the FATHER whose nose is
bloodied slightly, its discharge having dripped all across
his white collared shirt.
DIRECTOR
Back by popular demand, we are proud to introduce ‘the lawyer for the ninety-nine percent’ folks!
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
(out of breath, winded)
Please…hold your applause…until the end.
They slam him down on the stool, and the FAT OLD
BALD ACTOR begins encircling him with duct tape.
FATHER
(to the AUDIENCE)
One of you stop him!
FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
I feel more and more like an accomplice to various high crimes.
The DIRECTOR goes to work taping his FATHER’s slacks
to the stool. He proceeds industriously.
DIRECTOR
Only against good taste, and the ruling classes’ almightiness. Any slumlords in the house?
Surveying his work, the DIRECTOR realizes something is
still missing.
FATHER
Aiding and abetting, conspiracy to commit a felony, kidnapping, first degree assault, theft of property…
The FAT OLD BALD ACTOR is looking increasingly ill at
ease, stands in agitated contemplation.
DIRECTOR
Evictions are two for one this month, the pandemic special.
The DIRECTOR grasps what’s lacking, turns and
removes the fanny pack from off of the performer and
affixes it to his FATHER.
DIRECTOR
No family is too pitiful to put on the street in the dead of winter, too bedbug bitten to defend the owner whose lodgings they were afflicted by.
He surveys the final picture through FINGER FRAMES of
his hands, nods with satisfaction.
FATHER
Are you proud of yourself? Look at what a mess you’ve made.
While his back is turned the FAT OLD BALD ACTOR
slips away, closing the door carefully behind him so as not
to make a sound.
FATHER
You’ve really done it now. You’ll never talk your way out of this one.
The DIRECTOR turns back toward his cohort, realizes his
absence, is momentarily surprised, then shrugs and
continues onward.
DIRECTOR
Why did you do it?
FATHER
You were the one who didn’t have the brass to do it.
DIRECTOR
Did you take out a policy on me? It would have to have been in good standing for several years to pay off for such a thing. I’ve been wondering: when did you make up your mind, put the scheme into motion?
FATHER
You’re talking nonsense, the paranoid ramblings of a troubled, delusional man, a screwed-up nutcase. An addict, probably a faggot I always suspected. Made me sick since the moment you were born, weak and mincing.
DIRECTOR
Was that when you cashed in the policy on yourself, after paying into it all those years for nothing? Kind of showed your hand there.
FATHER
You don’t deserve a red cent you piece of shit. I don’t want you getting a single penny of my hard-earned money.
DIRECTOR
What about mom, how far did your intrigue to take her out get?
FATHER
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
DIRECTOR
We’re both cowards, is what I think.
FATHER
You were out of your mind and blackout drunk, you’re either lying or misremembering. Claim whatever you like, no one will ever believe you.
DIRECTOR
You almost got my humble savings, and all those supportive friends to console you. What a bonanza that would have been, so many opportunities missed there weren’t there? Boy were you fuming mad when you picked up that phone.
FATHER
Your sister doesn’t. I told her the real story, and she’s plenty convinced. Your mom only pretends to take you seriously. They all know you, it’s not a tough sell. You’ve burned all your bridges one by one, are out of options, and where does that leave you?
DIRECTOR
You think I’ll come crawling back under your tyranny again?
FATHER
What other choice do you have?
DIRECTOR
Like when I was depending on you in L.A. and you pulled the rug out at the most inopportune time possible, without warning? Made me flee back to Bumfuck, sleep at the foot of your bed like a dog for four years, forking over ever paycheck I made in full?
FATHER
Hey, get it straight! I did you a favor, should be getting a gold medal for putting you up, putting up with you all that time!
DIRECTOR
People in our family do crawl back into bed with abusers I guess.
FATHER
Cut it with all that baloney. Everyone knows perfectly well I’m the decent provider here, have done nothing but help you and this is how you repay me.
DIRECTOR
Yet you were always the one who benefited, I’ve been gradually noticing, can’t help becoming aware. Made sure of that at every transaction, conclusively.
FATHER
Preposterous allegations. Simply ludicrous.
DIRECTOR
I’ve got you now though, finally. And just this once, in front of everyone I’ll have you admit it. If I have to beat it out of you.
FATHER
The record has already been set straight, you’ll do no good muddying the waters.
DIRECTOR
Damn you, quit gas-lighting me!
FATHER
You’re all mixed up in Greek mythology and bible studies, imagining things again.
DIRECTOR
Abraham and Isaac do seem to keep showing up.
FATHER
Just had to get that la-di-da art degree.
DIRECTOR
You picked my major for me, recall.
FATHER
Head’s all filled with Sophocles and Shakespeare in the park. I read too you know!
DIRECTOR
What you were assigned in Humanities, Liberal Arts.
FATHER
Edith Hamilton and George Lucas.
DIRECTOR
What didn’t go in one ear and out the other flew right over your head.
FATHER
You can’t change the way the world works. What, we should all live on rice and water in some commune?
DIRECTOR
Because you deserve so much more than that.
FATHER
I won’t get what I’m due. Comeuppance has never been my bailiwick.
DIRECTOR
No one likes Abraham. Even when it worked out for them.
FATHER
I feel like Houdini, tied up here before this crowd.
DIRECTOR
Because he opted to do his own dirty work. At least had that decency.
FATHER
You know, he always dragged it out for maximal effect? Any loss of control was ever entirely simulated.
DIRECTOR
But what if God told you to do something similar today?
FATHER
Could have gotten loose in two minutes, but then where’s the suspense.
DIRECTOR
A learned man of the law knows sullying his hands with wet work would be imprudent. So where does that leave him?
FATHER
Thus he kept his audience biting their nails, on the edge of their seats for a whole hour of anticipation during his daring escapes.
DIRECTOR
(turns to his FATHER)
Wait, what was that?
The FATHER stands up. Those bindings which had been
restraining him fall limply to the ground.
As his FATHER turns and advances toward him the
director’s MOTHER and SISTER rise from the front row
and rush at him simultaneously, while the kliegs overhead
abruptly go out.
His struggled SUBDUING is audible.
The house lights slowly rise and the DIRECTOR is on the
stool now, straight jacketed.
FATHER
Behold, the hero of this story has cleverly freed himself. You may all applaud now.
After a beat, those gathered do so in smattering,
uncertainly.
DIRECTOR
But what if Isaac could take care of the messy part for him, assume that burden?
FATHER
In the penal colonies, when a convict won’t work the sewing machine he goes in the hole, administrative segregation.
DIRECTOR
You always loved, had such great success playing the suicidal card with authorities, got the taxpayer to roll a red carpet for your brother, out your hair and into VA warehousing for fifteen years at no cost out-of-pocket, even claimed bragging rights for the conceit. From that selfsame playbook managed your homeless high school friend a golden ticket for treatment, emergency housing with no waiting list. It’s win-win either way, huh?
FATHER
And after some time to think about their actions they always return refreshed and compliant, responsive and cooperating.
DIRECTOR
Best case, you can act the grieving parent and milk that udder for every ounce of sympathy you can squeeze from it, while quietly making a tidy little score on the side no one else need know about.
FATHER
With a newfound deference and appreciation for the privileges they enjoy, their place in the organization’s structure.
DIRECTOR
And if he doesn’t play along, well a drunken gun owner’s word against a licensed attorney’s? Puh-lease, no cause for or means of investigating, open and shut.
FATHER
I think a little time away spent reflecting, in a solitary institutional setting, will do you good.
DIRECTOR
Like a coffin, a hollowed dictionary one keeps their shell corporations’ accounting records stowed away in.
FATHER
(turning to the rest of the nuclear FAMILY)
Don’t you agree?
His MOTHER and SISTER nod as through the double-
doors two POLICE OFFICERS enter and march matter-
of-factly toward the stage.
They flank the DIRECTOR and look him over.
DIRECTOR
……
FATHER
Oh what, now the cat’s got your tongue?
DIRECTOR
Nothing new there.
FATHER
We can do this as many times as we need to, until you learn your lesson on how to behave, and obey. It’s up to you.
The POLICE OFFICERS heft the DIRECTOR to his feet,
handcuff him.
DIRECTOR
This does feel repetitive. Silver Hill, Connecticut? I can discern a pattern emerging.
FATHER
Deja vu is only a trick of your mind, an error in the temporal lobe glitching and nothing more. Take him away boys
They march the DIRECTOR towards the double-doors.
DIRECTOR
(shouts over his shoulder)
At your funeral, let this be the eulogy!
FATHER
(calls after him as his son is led through exit)
I always dreamt of flying! If fantasies are wish-fulfillment, what do yours tell of desiring?
The FATHER stares out at the swinging doors.
A beat later the DIRECTOR bursts back through
unescorted, hell-bent on having the last word.
DIRECTOR
Art is a purgative, an emetic! When you’re on the nickelodeon, shout magic words at your own risk!
FATHER
(unruffled)
Think long and hard in there. I want to hear nothing but respect and servility out of your mouth when they give you your shoes back.
The POLICE OFFICERS, shaking their heads and rolling
their eyes in disgust, unhurriedly reappear, grip him firmly
by each arm and escort the DIRECTOR off into the night.
FATHER
And now justice is served, the good guys come out on top in the end, and all is well in the world. If anyone needs estate planning advice or wants to buy one of my phenomenal, not whatsoever plagiarized books, you can see me in the parking lot by the open trunk!
An ambulance SIREN can be heard outside, receding.
FATHER
Don’t forget to tip your bartenders ladies and germs, goodnight!
FADE TO BLACK
Bio: Jerome Berglund graduated from the University of Southern California’s Cinema-Television Production program and spent a picaresque decade in the entertainment industry before returning to the midwest where he was born and raised. He has previously published stories in Stardust and the Watershed Review, a play in Iris Literary Journal, and poetry in Hey I’m Alive Magazine, Something Involving a Mailbox, and Fauxmoir. He has previously published two poems in The Yard. “Polish Day Parade” and “By The Slab“
Read more Hard Life stories at The Yard: Crime Blog