CURTAIN RISES on three artistes who stand before us in artistic poses. ARTISTE 1 is a woman; ARTISTE 2 and ARTISTE 3 are men. When they speak, they are all self-satisfied, self-important, and self-absorbed.
ARTISTE 1
Yes, my favorite rapper is a multi-millionaire who lives in a mansion and votes Republican, while he still raps about his thug life on the street. But can’t a rapper insist, like other artists, on a fictional reality, in which he is somehow still on the corner, despite occupying the penthouse suite?
ARTISTE 2
I was punk before its time. It was that attitude of defiance, which there really wasn’t a lot of then. What’s more of a challenge to me is getting the humor in my films to people in shopping malls in East Bumfuck, America. To me that’s much more perverse.
ARTISTE 3
One of the reasons I became a fiction writer was to try to examine really harsh and blinding ideas/dilemmas in an intricate and complicated and hopefully more complete than usual way because I was personally haunted and confused.
LAURA enters stage right with a chair and a ventriloquist dummy that looks like JT LeRoy: sunglasses, blond wig, red lips. The moment she enters, the three artistes are riveted by the dummy. She doesn’t notice them, but instead smiles and nods to the audience.
Laura sits in the chair and props up the dummy on her left knee.
LAURA
(to the dummy)
So JT, why don’t you tell all the nice people in the audience a little bit about West Virginia?
During all this, the three artistes have been slowly approaching the dummy. When they speak, they address their comments to the dummy and totally ignore Laura.
ARTISTE 1
(fawning but sincere)
With my hand on my heart, the best I’ve read. You write straight from the hip, and the heart and the brain.
ARTISTE 2
(posing but sincere)
Good Lord, what a book! Your writing is savagely authentic and appallingly beautiful. They don’t make ’em like you anymore. Christ, you’re good. You’re a born writer.
Artiste 3 is rubbing his crotch.
ARTISTE 3
(depraved but sincere)
You make me cum! You make me cum! I wanna put your head in the toilet and shit on you! I wanna fuck your ass with a broomstick! I wanna bash your skull in! I wanna kill you and dismember you!
Artiste 3 by now is doubled over and working his hand rhythmically in his pants. Suddenly he notices Artistes 1 and 2 staring at him in disgust and disbelief; Laura stares at him that way too, but Artiste 3 doesn’t notice her. He straightens up under the glare of his fellow artistes.
ARTISTE 3
Your novel –
Artiste 3 takes his hand out of his pants.
ARTISTE 3
(glitzy but sincere)
Your novel is a revelation. It makes me realize how overused words like “original” and “inspired” have become. Your writing has a passion, economy, emotional depth, and lyric beauty so authentic that it seems to bypass every shopworn standard we’ve learned to expect of contemporary fiction. This is a novel gripped by an intense, gorgeous, yet strangely refined imagination, and its experience is unforgettable.
LAURA
(to the dummy)
JT, why don’t you thank these nice artistes?
The dummy turns its head to the three artistes, but the head falls off and clatters to the floor. The three artistes gasp loudly in horror. Laura grimaces in an “Oh shit!” moment. Artiste 1 turns her attention from the dummy’s head to Laura and sees her for the first time. Artistes 2 and 3 can’t tear their eyes away from the dummy’s head.
ARTISTE 1
(to Laura – enraged)
Outstanding deceit, supersonic hypocrisy, craven lying, wondrous manipulation, self-serving bullshit! You talk about transforming pain into something bearable, but your pain – whatever it is – is not the same pain –
(points to the dummy’s head)
– as a MALE!
Artiste 1 storms off left.
Artiste 2 notices Laura for the first time. He is shocked sideways and can’t process what’s happened.
ARTISTE 2
(to Laura – baffled)
I still don’t know what I think about you!
Artiste 2 stumbles off left.
Artiste 3 stares in dismay at the dummy’s head. Then he becomes furious.
ARTISTE 3
(to the dummy’s head – hysterical)
You are fake and dead!
He regains some of his composure and turns to Laura.
ARTISTE 3
(to Laura – haughty)
You seem to have become delusional.
He turns his back decisively on Laura and starts to walk off left but stops. He picks up the dummy’s head, presses it to his crotch, and scurries off with it.
Laura is sitting alone with the headless dummy. She turns to the audience and forces a smile.
LAURA
(to audience)
Next Wednesday and Thursday, JT and I will be appearing at Arthur & Edna’s Getaway Lodge on Route 19, with shows at 7 and 9 PM. I hope you’ll be able to join us.
She gets up, picks up the chair, and walks off right.
CURTAIN
(This play was written in 2012.)
For more on Laura Albert and JT LeRoy, see:
Other Writings: Essays
NICOLE V. GAGNÉ 