NINETEEN MEN
A Play in Two Acts
Characters:
MARY ELLEN– an undercover vice detective in her early 30s. A reasonably attractive woman in good physical condition.
HAMID– a Saudi-born oil company representative and adjunct professor, 38. Not a large man, quiet in his movements, withdrawn.
DEREK– an African-American undercover vice detective in his early 30s. Warm presence, good physical shape.
MAY– Hamid’s Iranian-born wife, 35. Radiantly beautiful, charming, talkative.
JONAS– an FBI agent, 43. Tries to conceal his nerves and hostilities with an air of authority.
OMAR– Egyptian-born, 27, handsome, wound very tight.
The time is summer 2003
The locations are New York and New Jersey
ACT ONE
SCENE 1
(LIGHTS SLOWLY COME UP on a rundown urban street. A couple of locked-down storefronts, a decrepit apartment building, a couple of buzzing, shorting-out neon bar signs. MARY ELLEN solely paces. Big hair, ratty rabbitfur jacket over a skimpy tank top, micro-mini skirt over fishnet stockings, four-inch spike heels. She puffs nervously on a cigarette. The well-dressed HAMID approaches, lost in thought, head cast down, hands in his pockets. Mary Ellen perks up when she sees him, tosses her hair a little bit, puffs provocatively on the cigarette. He glances at her distractedly, then continues walking. Mary Ellen follows him. When he gets to the corner, he looks left, right, ahead of him, not sure which way to go. He starts to cross the street, then changes his mind, doubling back to the sidewalk, Mary Ellen dogging him all the way. He glances at her, looks away and continues his distracted journey. He then stops, realizing that the lights is against him. Mary Ellen remains at his side.)
MARY ELLEN
We’re never gonna get anyplace if we keep this up.
(No response)
MARY ELLEN
What’s the matter? Lost?
HAMID
No.
MARY ELLEN
You look lost. Looking for something?
HAMID
No.
MARY ELLEN
I don’t know. Dude in a pair of three hundred-dollar loafers shows up on my block, he’s generally on the hunt for something.
HAMID
Oh. No. I was just walking.
MARY ELLEN
Well, you took a wrong turn someplace. Basically, I think people oughtta stay out of each other’s neighborhoods. Unless they’re, like, shopping or something. How about you– shopping for something?
HAMID
No.
MARY ELLEN
Hey. No offense. I’m just tryin’ to be friendly. I happen to be a very friendly individual.
(He turns away.)
MARY ELLEN
Listen. If you’re not actually shopping for something, I suggest you haul your ass and those Cadillac shoes of yours over to the subway as soon as possible, before some lowlife smacks you upside the head and boosts your wallet.
(confidentially)
OK, you have no reason to trust me, but on the other hand, you have no reason not to trust me. This is a way dangerous neighborhood.
HAMID
I’m supposed to believe you care what happens to me.
MARY ELLEN
Not personally. I hardly know you. Just in the general humanitarian sense.
(He stares at her.)
MARY ELLEN
Can I ask you a question?
(No answer)
What’s the matter?
HAMID
Nothing.
MARY ELLEN
Nonono. I’m a certified expert on the subject of men with problems, and you, of the three hundred-buck loafers, have got one.
(No response)
OK, lemme guess. Rough day?
HAMID
No. Yes.
MARY ELLEN
Uh, uh. One to a customer.
HAMID
It’s just been– a very unsettling day.
MARY ELLEN
An “unsettling day”? Hey. Everybody has those. Your computer crashes, you lose your keys, someone guns down a member of your immediate family. Everybody has “unsettling days.” Except of course for me. All my days are sunshine and happy memories.
(He just keeps staring at her)
So– like everyone else– with of course the exception of me– you had yourself a rotten day– you do whatever you’ve gotta do to get over. That’s just human nature. You walk it off, you get high, you get laid, you pig out on Oreos and watch “Brady Bunch” reruns till you’re cross-eyed and barfing, you yak on your cell all night. If you’re lucky enough to have somebody who’ll listen. Single most important thing after an unsettling day– somebody who’ll listen… You don’t wanna drag that facial expression home to the wife and family, do you?
(Long silence. Mary Ellen checks her watch.)
MARY ELLEN
Look, I’m not exactly on a power walk to benefit my health here, so seriously, block and a half that way–
HAMID
How much?
MARY ELLEN
What?
HAMID
For an hour. How much do you charge for an hour of your time?
MARY ELLEN
Five hundred.
HAMID
Two.
MARY ELLEN
Three.
HAMID
All right. Three.
MARY ELLEN
Sold!
HAMID
Not here. Is there some place–
MARY ELLEN
Yeah. Upstairs. Right there. OK?
(Mary Ellen drops the cigarette and grinds it out with her heel, then takes his arm and starts strolling with him across the stage.)
MARY ELLEN
You got a name?
HAMID
(panics, then recovers)
Elliot.
MARY ELLEN
(bursts out laughing)
Elliot! That is so bogus, it’s actually kinda cute. Elliot– you shittin’ me?
HAMID
What difference–
MARY ELLEN
(studies his face)
You’re an Arab, right?
HAMID
Yes.
MARY ELLEN
OK. I’ll call you Lawrence. Get it?
(She bursts out laughing. He says nothing but keeps staring at her, simultaneously intrigued and repulsed as they walk along.)
MARY ELLEN
I’m Candyland.
HAMID
What?
MARY ELLEN
That’s my name. My professional name. My nom de la rue.
Candyland. Like the game.
HAMID
I play that with my son.
MARY ELLEN
This would be a different version. I hope.
HAMID
What?
MARY ELLEN
Nothing, nothing. Just pullin’ your leg. Or I will be soon. Come on, Lawrence. Soon as we get over our initial distrust, you and me are gonna take care of each other just great.
(The street lights FADE. LIGHTS COME UP as Mary Ellen leads Hamid to a downstage area with a messy bed, a crummy dresser and a chair.)
MARY ELLEN
OK! Make yourself– not completely uncomfortable. Money on the dresser, please.
(Hamid observes the squalid surroundings, then hesitantly removes three bills from his wallet and places them on the dresser. Mary Ellen starts to disrobe.)
MARY ELLEN
So– What do you want– straight up, full service, half-and half, rimjob–
HAMID
Stop that.
MARY ELLEN
What?
HAMID
Cover yourself.
(He rips the spread off the bed and throws it at her.)
MARY ELLEN
New one on me, but whatever rings your ringer–
(She wraps herself in the bedspread. Hamid paces, examining the room. She watches him.)
HAMID
This is how it begins. The way you live. Anything for money. No sin too degrading, no substance too lethal, no mistreatment of others too inhuman, murderous or brutal that it can’t be justified in the name of the American economy. Or should I say National Security.
(He continues pacing.)
MARY ELLEN
Excuse me, but I got a kid, an apartment, a mother with a heart condition, I got food, rent, utilities, transportation, medicine, clothes for me and a growing kid, games and toys, batteries for the games and toys, I gotta pay the chiropractor, the lawyer and the dentist, I got taxes, Internet, cable, cosmetics, hair, manicure and cell phone bills like you wouldn’t believe– In case you didn’t notice, being an American is an expensive proposition.