Angels in America: A Gay Fantasia on National Themes: Revised and Complete Edition Read Online Free PDF

Sorry.
          (Blows his nose loudly) It’s just—
    JOE : Yes?
    LOUIS : Well, sometimes you can tell from the way a person sounds, that—I mean you sound like a—
    JOE : No I don’t.
          Like what?
    LOUIS : Like a Republican.
    (Little pause. Joe knows he’s being teased; Louis knows he knows. Joe decides to be a little brave.)
    JOE : Do I? Sound like a . . .?
    LOUIS : What? Like a . . .? Republican, or . . .?
          Do I?
    JOE : Do you what?
    LOUIS : Sound like a . . .?
    JOE : Like a . . .?
          I’m . . . confused.
    LOUIS : Yes.
          My name is Louis. But all my friends call me Louise. I work in Word Processing. Thanks for the toilet paper.
    (Louis offers Joe his hand. Joe reaches, Louis feints and pecks Joe on the cheek, then exits.)
    Scene 7
    A week later. Mutual dream scene. Prior is dreaming that he’s at a fantastic makeup table, applying his face. Harper is having a pill-induced hallucination. She has these from time to time. For some reason, Prior has appeared in this one. Or Harper has appeared in Prior’s dream. It is bewildering .
    PRIOR (His makeup complete, he examines its perfection in the mirror; then he turns to the audience) : I’m ready for my closeup, Mr. DeMille.
          One wants to move through life with elegance and grace, blossoming infrequently but with exquisite taste, and perfect timing, like a rare bloom, a zebra orchid . . . One wants . . .
          But one so seldom gets what one wants, does one?
          No. One does not. (Sorrow and anger well up, overwhelming the grand manner) One gets fucked. Over. One . . . dies at thirty, robbed of . . . decades of majesty . . .
          (Angry) Fuck this shit. Fuck this shit.
          (He consults the mirror, attempting to resume the pose)
          I look like a corpse. A . . . corpsette !
          (It doesn’t work. Commiserating with his reflection)
          Oh my queen; you know you’ve hit rock-bottom when even drag is a drag.
    (Harper appears. Prior is surprised!)
    HARPER : Are you . . . Who are you?
    PRIOR : Who are you?
    HARPER : What are you doing in my hallucination?
    PRIOR : I’m not in your hallucination. You’re in my dream.
    HARPER : You’re wearing makeup.
    PRIOR : So are you.
    HARPER : But you’re a man.
    PRIOR (He looks in his mirror, SCREAMS!, mimes slashing his throat with his lipstick and dies, fabulously tragic. Then) : The hands and feet give it away.
    HARPER : There must be some mistake here. I don’t recognize you. You’re not—Are you my . . . some sort of imaginary friend?
    PRIOR : No. Aren’t you too old to have imaginary friends?
    HARPER : I have emotional problems. I took too many pills. Why are you wearing makeup?
    PRIOR : I was in the process of applying the face, trying to make myself feel better—I swiped the new fall colors at the Clinique counter at Macy’s.
    (He shows her.)
    HARPER : You stole these?
    PRIOR : I was out of cash; it was an emotional emergency!
    HARPER : Joe will be so angry. I promised him. No more pills.
    PRIOR : These pills you keep alluding to?
    HARPER : Valium. I take Valium. Lots of Valium.
    PRIOR : And you’re dancing as fast as you can.
    HARPER : I’m not addicted . I don’t believe in addiction, and I never— Well, I never drink. And I never take drugs.
    PRIOR : Well, smell you , Nancy Drew.
    HARPER : Except Valium.
    PRIOR : Except Valium; in wee fistfuls.
    HARPER : It’s terrible. Mormons are not supposed to be addicted to anything. I’m a Mormon.
    PRIOR : I’m a homosexual.
    HARPER : Oh! In my church we don’t believe in homosexuals.
    PRIOR : In my church we don’t believe in Mormons.
    HARPER : What church do . . . Oh! (She laughs) I get it.
          I don’t understand this. If I didn’t ever see you before and I don’t think I did, then I don’t think you should be here, in this hallucination, because in my experience the mind, which is where hallucinations come from, shouldn’t be able to make up