A Creative Transformation of Rage! (Or -- When Jews Get Angry!)

Dramatis Personae:

GARY FREEDMAN, a patron of the Cleveland Park Library

BRIAN BROWN, manager of the Cleveland Park Library

PAIGE BROWN, Brian Brown’s wife

BARBARA WEBB, Brian Brown’s supervisor

BARBARA GAUNTT, one of the assistant librarians

BILL DECOSTA, one of the assistant librarians

Scene: The studio apartment of Gary Freedman. Freedman hears a knock and opens the door. Brian Brown enters.

GARY FREEDMAN: (surprised) --Brian?

BRIAN BROWN: --You schmuck! You bastard! l'd like to cut your fuckin’ head off.

GARY FREEDMAN: You're upset, right?

BRIAN BROWN: You knew what would happen!

GARY FREEDMAN: What are you talking about?

BRIAN BROWN: Don't answer me, prick! You knew! You just didn't give a shit!

GARY FREEDMAN: Take your coat off.

BRIAN BROWN: How could you write that blog? Are you so selfish . . . you don't give a shit who you destroy?

GARY FREEDMAN: --I can tell you're angry.

BRIAN BROWN: --You told our whole story! You gave me away to Barbara Webb! Paige has left me. She's gone.

GARY FREEDMAN: It was loosely based on us.

BRIAN BROWN: Don't bullshit me, motherfucker! Who do you think you're talking to, one of those retarded talk show hosts? I lived through it with you. I know how loosely based it is.

GARY FREEDMAN: What are you telling me: that somebody would actually take seriously some innuendo that you’re a closet homosexual? Are you fuckin’ nuts? Never! Anybody who knows you, anybody who knows you like I know you -– and you know what I'm talking about -- anybody who knows you would find any insinuation that you’re gay to be laughable.

BRIAN BROWN: Of course, you made a few stupid exaggerations. Or, as the critics say: "inspired comic flights.” But Barbara Webb recognized it. You'd have to be sub-mental not to. And Paige was crushed! Crushed!

GARY FREEDMAN: Barbara Webb has suspected for so long that your branch is mismanaged.

BRIAN BROWN: I know! And I denied it. And now, you've gone . . . and confirmed it all for her! Big fucking deal! You made Paige a gracious hostess! Big fucking deal! But it's all here! The schmuck assistant librarians, Frank Green, my grandfather living in Montana. The historical preservation tax credits, for Chrissake! Cruel observations about Sally . . . and her plant watering activities. And of course, Bill Decosta, or as you so pathetically disguise him in your blog, Velvel!

Here it is. (reading from a copy of the blog):

"Bryan and Paige's house, on the other hand, with its perfect lines and friendly fussiness, reeking, I supposed, of historical-preservation tax credits, seemed an impossible dream to me, something plucked from a magazine article about childhood memories conjured on a deathbed. Something seen through the window by the Little Match Girl! Outside, the soffits were perfectly squared. The crocuses were like bells, and the Siberian violets like grape candies scattered in the grass. Soon their prize irises would be gorgeously crested cockatoos along the side yard.”

Big fucking deal! --You turned the tulips into “Siberian violets!”

GARY FREEDMAN: --Bryan . . .

BRIAN BROWN: Brian! I'm Brian, motherfucker! Not Bryan! Except of course, I am Bryan . . . because you made no attempt to disguise anything! You didn't give a fuck! You didn't care enough to disguise it!

GARY FREEDMAN: Please!

BRIAN BROWN: I threw your sorry ass out on the street six years ago. I called the cops on you and had you banned from the library. Now six years later your latest magnum opus emerges from this sewer of an apartment where you take people's suffering and turn it into gold, literary gold! Everyone's misery, you even cause misery and use your alchemy to turn it into gold, like some fucking black magician!

GARY FREEDMAN: Hey, give me a break. I'm the one who wound up being hauled off in handcuffs to DC General.

BRIAN BROWN: You deserve it and worse. You ruined my life! (holding a gun to his head) I'll blow my brains out!

GARY FREEDMAN: What's wrong with you?

BRIAN BROWN: In front of you because you caused it. My brains on your carpet!

GARY FREEDMAN: You're so fucking unstable! Will you relax? You're not going to kill yourself.

BRIAN BROWN: No?

GARY FREEDMAN: No, you're not, because it's not in you. You never were the dramatic type. Barbara Gauntt is the dramatic one. Barbara Gauntt is the French-speaking drama queen. Relax, for Christ's sake.

BRIAN BROWN: You're right. I don't have the nerve to kill myself. I knew it as I came over here. I said no. Not me. Better to kill him.

GARY FREEDMAN: Pardon me?

BRIAN BROWN: Kill the black magician. So he can't spin any more gold out of human misery. (pointing the gun at Gary Freedman)

GARY FREEDMAN: What's wrong with you?

BRIAN BROWN: Shut up!

GARY FREEDMAN: --Put it down.

BRIAN BROWN: --You're so fucking verbal. Who else could have talked three psychiatrists into diagnosing him with paranoid schizophrenia and end up getting over $200,000 in disability benefits. (continues to point the gun at Gary Freedman)

GARY FREEDMAN: You stop right there! Don't pull the trigger! If it makes you happy, my life's been going badly. I've been miserable. My psychiatrist cancels all my appointments. He cancels session after session! I’ve got insomnia. High cholesterol. I squandered all I have on shrinks and medications and Xerox paper. I’ve got chronic fatigue syndrome. I won't stand here in this fucking apartment with a world-class meshugana putz and beg for my life. If you want to shoot me, shoot me! You interrupted me . . . I was working.

BRIAN BROWN: --Whose life were you exploiting today?

GARY FREEDMAN: --You'll be happy. I was re-writing an autobiographical thing from when I was first certified insane.

[curtain]

(For those who need to know--no, Brian does not shoot me in the end. I survive.)