The Babe, the Bard, and the Baron by David Christner

This Play is the copyright of the Author and may not be performed, copied or sold without the Author's prior consent

ACT I, SCENE II

LIGHTS COME UP ON TABOR a few minutes later. He's working at a desk
in his opera house office. There is a KNOCK on the door. He answers
without looking up.

TABOR: Come in!

WILDE enters.

TABOR (pointing, without looking up): Have a seat, Mr. Wilde I'll be
right with you.

WILDE (taking a seat): Unless my eyes deceive me Sir, you are already
with me. (A beat.) But perhaps things aren't right with you?

TABOR (looking up): What-?

WILDE (standing and extending his hand): Oscar Wilde, Sir, at your
service.

TABOR: Look Wilde, that so-called witty repartee may work on your
Cambridge chums-

WILDE: My God, Sir-Oxford!

TABOR: All right, your Oxford chums, but let me assure you, Sir, that
Horace Austin Warner
Tabor is not a man to be trifled with.

WILDE: Very well then, Sir, I shall make it my sacred duty to trifle
without him. But I shall continue to trifle nonetheless. For try as I
may, I cannot for the life of me seem not to trifle. (A beat.) Again,
Sir, allow me to present myself: Oscar Wilde, at your service.

TABOR: Yes, well, my pleasure-

WILDE: That remains to be seen.

TABOR: Yes, well-Horace Austin Warner Tabor. My friends call me
Haw.

WILDE (pointedly): How do you do, Mr. Tabor?

TABOR: Do you want to know the truth?

WILDE: Certainly not! I find the truth to be thoroughly undignified
in almost every circumstance. I much prefer to hear a fanciful
variation thereof.

TABOR: Then I'll give it to you straight-

WILDE: From the Horace's mouth.
TABOR: What? (A beat.) Oh, I get it-straight from the horse's
mouth. I suppose that's better than what comes out the other end.

WILDE: In my somewhat limited experience, Mr. Tabor, I'm sorry to
report that it is often difficult, if not impossible, to differentiate
between the two.

TABOR: Mr. Wilde-I have no idea of what you're talking about.

WILDE: In my youth, Sir, I spent one long insufferable summer serving
as an equine agrarian assistant at a local stable.

TABOR: You did what?

WILDE: I was a stable boy.

TABOR: So you know something about horses.

WILDE: I know a horse's ass when I see one.

TABOR: Excellent! Now, let's get back to the point.

WILDE: By all means, the point! I assume that's why you've called me
here.

TABOR: Yes, that's what I'm trying to tell you, Sir.

WILDE: Well then continue, Sir, without further hesitation. I could
not, let me assure you, be any less concerned or more amused.

TABOR: I've got trouble, Mr. Wilde. Right here in Leadville, I've got
trouble. It starts with T, which rhymes with a D, which stands for
divorce.

WILDE: I have a strange feeling that someone else will express a very
similar sentiment in the distant future. But then that is there, not
here, so do continue for I find the subject of divorce terribly
amusing, even more so than pointless conversation

TABOR: I don't intend to get a divorce so you can be amused, Mr.
Wilde.

WILDE: Nor would I expect to you. You intend to get a divorce, no
doubt, so that you can be amused.

TABOR: Yes-no, no! That's not it at all. Amusement has nothing to
do with it.

WILDE: That is a pity, Sir. I am of the opinion that one should seek
amusement at every opportunity.

TABOR: Look Wilde, I want a divorce whether it's amusing to anybody
or not. It's hanging over me like a-a-

WILDE (poetically): Veiled curtain of moral decay.

TABOR: Hell no! (A beat.) To put it in equine terms, it's hangin'
over me more like a goddamn load of horse manure.

WILDE: I see, but praise be to the deities, I do not smell.

TABOR: No, you don't see! The divorce ain't but half of it. (A beat.)
I also got a miner's strike looming, and I'm in the middle of a
campaign for a US Senate seat.

WILDE: That would actually make the divorce part of it one-third as
opposed to one-half. And you'll probably need the horse manure for
your campaign.

TABOR: That don't matter! The point is: I'm in trouble. Big trouble!

WILDE: My dear man, is that what you call trouble?

TABOR: What do you call it?

WILDE: In my book, which is the book I'm referring to in this
instance, I classify divorce, strikes -of any kind-and political
campaigns as minor inconveniences. This is particularly so in the case
of a strike involving miners.

TABOR: Minor inconveniences! What does your book refer to as a major
problem?

WILDE: Sir, I'm afraid I cannot divulge that information. My book is
of a very personal nature-if you know what I mean.

TABOR: I have no idea.

WILDE: And that is just as it should be and will remain until such a
time that we would become fast friends.

TABOR: Look Wilde-that time ain't gonna come any time soon.

WILDE: Much to my relief. You can, however, refer to me as Oscar if
you desire to do so. I think we have, with all this talk of your
personal problems already gained a somewhat intimate familiarity that
I should no doubt, capitalize upon.

TABOR: You want me to call you Oscar?

WILDE: That is my name, Sir. Why would you call me anything else?

TABOR: Okay-Oscar. Now listen to me. I've got problems here-big
problems-the biggest of which is woman problems.

WILDE: Ah, now you have my undivided attention, Sir, for there is
nothing so amusing in this world or any other, that I know of, as a
man with a woman's problems.

TABOR: No. No! You don't understand. I don't have a woman's problems.
Women are the problem!

WILDE: Well then, at the risk of beating the horse analogy to death,
I must say that that is a Horace of another color.

TABOR: Did you say Horace of a different color?

WILDE: I'm afraid I did, but, I don't see that it really matters at
this point, Mr. Tabor. Do you?

TABOR: No. Of course, you're right on target with that
observation-Oscar. What matters is that we deal with the problem at
hand.

WILDE: Absolutely! The hand, being quicker than the thigh, invariable
leads many an unsuspecting and heretofore respectable man in to the
great abyss of-woman problems. Does it not?

TABOR: Sir, I doubt that Mr. Shakespeare himself could have expressed
any more forthrightly or even half so eloquently.

WILDE: I will be forever in your debt for such a vote of confidence.

TABOR: Mr. Wilde-Oscar, the reason I called you here is to make you
a proposition.

WILDE (standing): Sir! I'll have you know I am a gentleman.

TABOR: Keep your shirt on-

WILDE: A herd of wild Horaces could not persuade me to remove it!

TABOR: I'm talking about a business proposition.

WILDE: Are you so naïve, Sir, as to assume that I am not well aware
of the fact that the outcome of both kinds of propositions is
essentially the same?

TABOR: You're a very difficult man to do business with, Mr. Wilde.

WILDE: Oscar to you!

TABOR: Of course. Oscar. You've a very difficult man to do business
with Oscar. (A beat. Then offering a cigar from a box on his desk.)
Would you care for a cigar?

WILDE (taking a cigar): I might care for it. (A beat.) On the other
hand, I might smoke it. Thank you, Sir.

TABOR: My pleasure. (A beat.) There are plenty more where that came
from.

WILDE: And just where might that be?

TABOR: Havana. Cuba.
WILDE: I'm well aware of the location of Havana and Cuba, Mr. Tabor.
I even know the whereabouts of Australia, Asia, Africa and
Antarctica-all the “A” continents.

TABOR: Excellent. I'd expect a Cambridge man to know his geography.

WILDE: Oxford, Sir, if you please. And if you make that mistake again
you run the risk of putting our budding friendship in serious
jeopardy.

TABOR: What do you know about women, Oscar?

WILDE: Only that on some dismal day in the far too near future, I
shall-against my better judgment be compelled to marry one.

TABOR: What else?

WILDE: Absolutely nothing. In so far as I have been able to ascertain
thus far in my limited experience, there is nothing that can be known
about women with any degree of certainty.

TABOR: Surely you jest.

WILDE: Oh, if only it were so, Sir. But, Mr. Tabor, let me assure you
that the physical laws of the universe on which every fiber of our
scientific knowledge is constructed, have no application whatsoever
where women are concerned. They are a mystery unto themselves. I dare
say that God himself sees the greatest of his creations as eternally
confounding.

TABOR: I don't suppose I should feel quite so inadequate then.

WILDE: I didn't say that, Sir, but in the present company I consider
it a privilege to look upon you as a comrade in bewilderment.

TABOR: So you know nothing of women?

WILDE: Much less than that, Sir. I thought I made myself quite clear
on that point.

TABOR: Yes, you did. I just-

WILDE: Of course I will be more than willing to accept without
hesitation, equivocation or moral evasion any applicable knowledge
about the gentler sex that you may wish to bestow upon me.

TABOR: You are missing the point, Sir.

WILDE: That, Sir, I'm somewhat ashamed to admit is one of my strong
points. Nevertheless, keep me in suspense no longer; lay your
proposition before me.

TABOR: Here's the deal: After you complete your lecture series, I
want you to remain in Leadville-

WILDE: My God, Sir, why would I want to do that?
TABOR: Hear me out-

WILDE: Say no more. Although I am quite taken with the Leadville's
somewhat perverse gaiety and overwhelming sense of doom, I could not
possibly remain a day longer than my contract calls for.

TABOR: I need your services rather badly, Mr. Wilde-Oscar, and I
could pay you handsomely.

WILDE: Handsomely? Now that is an amusing term. How handsomely?

TABOR: Very handsomely-10,000 now and say another 10,000 upon
completion of the project.

WILDE (thinks, then): I would undoubtedly face a great deal of
unpleasantness for not fulfilling my lecture obligations. Legal fees
could easily cut deeply into even such a handsome sum as 20,000.

TABOR: Make it 100,000 then-50 now and another 50 upon completion
of my project.

WILDE: Your project?

TABOR: To celebrate the third anniversary of opening my opera house
here in Leadville, I propose that you direct the production of a
play.

WILDE: I haven't the slightest notion of how to direct a play.

TABOR: That don't matter.

WILDE: That's an awful lot of money to pay for my very limited
experience in the directorial arena. However, it has always been my
dream-to direct.

TABOR: I don't care a horse's ass about all that. The only thing that
matters is that you direct the play. Will you do it?

WILDE: What play?

TABOR: Romeo and Juliet.

WILDE: Kind Sir, my heart is already torn asunder at the thought of it.

TABOR: I don't give a damn about that either! I want an answer and I
want the right one.

WILDE: I will have complete artistic control of course.

TABOR: More or less.

WILDE: No exceptions, Sir, to create a thing of beauty, I must insist
on complete artistic control.

TABOR: All right, whatever the hell you're talking about, you got it.
(A beat.) There's jist one thing.
WILDE: One thing?

TABOR: I know this actress-

WILDE: My good man, why don't you just stab me in the art. (A beat.)
Sir, I refuse to be comprised where art is concerned.

TABOR: I'm talking 100,000 dollars here Wilde!

WILDE (thinks, then): Can she act, Sir?

TABOR: Don't matter. She's playing Juliet, and that, Sir, is that.

WILDE: I assume you have a pool of professionals from whom I can cast
the remaining characters.

TABOR: We got all kinds of professionals here in Leadville.

WILDE: Very well then. Auditions for all the roles will be held early
Wednesday.

TABOR: How early?

WILDE: Two P.M.

TABOR: Not gonna catch any worms at that hour, Mr. Wilde.

WILDE: That, Sir, is precisely the point.

TABOR: Where do you want to hold auditions? I'll make the
arrangements.

WILDE: I think the Silver Dollar would be appropriate.

TABOR: That's a saloon.

WILDE: Remove one “O”, Sir, and you have a salon, a place of immense
popularity for intellectual gatherings on the Continent. Should we
have anything less here in Leadville?

TABOR: I'll get you the Silver Dollar.

WILDE: I will be forever in your debt.

TABOR: Somehow I think it's going to go the other way around. (A
beat.) Actress goes by the name of Baby Doe; her real name is Lizzie
McCourt.

WILDE: That information is of no interest to me whatsoever. (A beat.)
You said something about
50,000 now.

TABOR: After casting.
WILDE: What was the name again?

TABOR: Elizabeth McCourt.

WILDE: Sir, you are a Horace trader if ever there was one. I haven't
the slightest inclination of whether I can trust you or not.

TABOR: You don't have anyone else to trust, Oscar, so you might just
as well trust me.

WILDE: Very well, I will hold you to your word as a Silver Baron. (A
beat.) Now I must go to my next engagement-a pedicure at a nearby
house of somewhat questionable repute.

TABOR: It's been a pleasure, Mr. Wilde. It isn't every day I get the
chance to buy off an esteemed
Irish gentleman.

WILDE: Nor is it every day that an Irish gentleman has the
opportunity to give such an esteemed American mine owner the royal
shaft.

TABOR: What!

WILDE: Never in the course of human endeavor has so much been given
to so few to accomplish so little. Good day, Sir.

LIGHTS COME DOWN SLOWLY to end the scene, with TABOR, somewhat
reluctantly, shaking WILDE'S hand

Then - as Wilde exits - Tabor scratches his head.

[end of extract]

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