Howdy folks. Herein is the next scene in the entirely revised Bourbon Tastes Like Sh*t (that’s why I drink it), in which we meet the people who will shape the destiny of the play.
Suddenly a light comes on upstage and we see a woman older than MATTHEW sitting at the bar, sipping a Mint Julep. She oscillates between regal and grimy. This is MAGGIE. Behind MAGGIE is a bar tender who is wiping down the bar. MAGGIE glares at MATTHEW and LUKE, who have both frozen in place. MAGGIE begins by speaking to the bar tender, but eventually speaks with us directly.
MAGGIE: No good goddamn sonofabitch.
She sips.
BARTENDER: Yep.
MAGGIE: I spent my whole life with that silly mutherfucker and while I’m at home dying, he’s here drinking his life away.
She sips.
BARTENDER: Yep.
MAGGIE: Excuses! Nothing but excuses to do what he wants to do! But, what are you gonna do?
BARTENDER: Would you like another?
Pause.
MAGGIE: Yes.
Pause.
MAGGIE: You know what kills me? I love the bastard, that’s what kills me. You know where I met him? A meadow. A fucking meadow. Can you believe that? My daddy said, go to the meadow. That’s right, I was doing needle work, and my daddy walks in and says, go to the meadow. What’s in the meadow, I said. He said, your love. Me, being a young fool, I believed him, and I raced to that meadow, because goddamn, anything was better than sitting at home and doing needle work. Anyway, I race to that meadow and there he is, sitting on the back of a horse looking… majestic. He picked me up, put me on that horse, and I do believe I fell in love with him right then and there. We rode a horse around a meadow. Can you believe that shit?
Pause.
MAGGIE: Sometimes I’m afraid that it was the happiest moment of my life. And that it all went down hill afterwards. Jesus, listen to me.
She downs her drink. She looks at us.
MAGGIE: Oh hi. I’m his wife. Yes, I’ve been here the whole time, waiting, watching. Waiting for you to pay attention to me. See, you’re my secret weapon. Shhhhhhhh. Don’t tell anyone. The story should have started with me really. It always starts with me, or someone like me—not like me (she gestures to her head), but (she spreads her legs and makes giving birth gestures) like me.
She sips at a new drink that BARTENDER put in front of her.
MAGGIE: God, I love a good Mint Julip. My doctor says I shouldn’t drink, given my condition and all, but what the fuck does he know? With this asshole gone all the time, what else can do you?
Pause.
MAGGIE: (sigh) I wanna go home.
BARTENDER: I can call a cab.
MAGGIE: Not you. I’m not talking to you. No one’s talking to you, get lost, my cup is full.
Beat. BARTENDER moves to the other end of the bar.
MAGGIE: Where was I? Home. Right. I live in a big house. A big empty house. We’re rich.
She begins laughing.
MAGGIE: We’re so rich.
She continues laughing.
MAGGIE: Isn’t it fucking hysterical?
As she continues laughing, LUKE and MATTHEW come back to life. They continue convivially.
LUKE: What?
MATTHEW: I said I drink bourbon cause it tastes like shit.
LUKE: Are you crazy?
MATTHEW: I’m not crazy, I’m just telling it like it is.
LUKE: You drink it because it tastes bad? You like it because it tastes bad?
MATTHEW: Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Who said it tastes bad?
LUKE: Shit tastes bad, man.
MATTHEW: Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. What the hell are you talking about?
LUKE: You telling me shit doesn’t taste bad? Have you ever tasted shit?
MATTHEW: I eat shit for breakfast. Shit makes me strong.
LUKE: You’re crazy.
MATTHEW: I’m not crazy! Shit is good for you. Didn’t you know that? Bourbon is good for you. Bourbon tastes like America, man.
LUKE: Whoa, you did not just say that America tastes like shit!
MATTHEW: No no no, America is a good thing, man, but it’s hard, it’s bitter and it burns. You should know that. It tastes like shit, but it’s good, it’s full of hope and mud, it’s dirty, mucky, slimy hope.
LUKE: You’re crazy.
MATTHEW suddenly slams his hand down on the table and changes.
MATTHEW: I’M NOT CRAZY! America is a beautiful country. This is the only place where you can do and be anything! And bourbon doesn’t taste like shit! It tastes like America, and it is hard to swallow but it is glorious. It is the smell of work, of sweat and blood and shit and piss because we’re stewing in it and it is wonderful. I built this country. I built it on death and disease, and years of sweating in the sun, and then sweating in factories, and traveling thousands of miles and drowning in the sea and starving in winter. I died for this country, we all died for this country, on land, over seas, under seas and even in our hearts. Even the fucking natives died for this country. We’re sitting up to our noses in the corpses of our founding fathers, and when I raise my glass, I am drinking their putrid blood! So, show some respect!
LUKE: Jesus.
MATTHEW: You’re fucking right. You wanna know why the drinks are so strong, because they’re laced with blood. At least my drink is. What are you drinking?
Silence.
MATTHEW: You’re drinking vodka. Fucking vodka. There’s no American blood in vodka.
LUKE: Vodka tastes like shit too.
MATTHEW: Vodka is a fucking Russian drink! I don’t even know you. There is no place in this goddamn country for you and everyone else who drinks vodka. Fucking communists.
MATTHEW begins laughing.
MATTHEW: Communists!
LUKE, unsure of the joke, begins laughing with him. MATTHEW thinks this is all too funny.
MATTHEW: The red scare!
MATTHEW makes a gun shape with his hand and points it at MATTHEW.
MATTHEW: Bang!
LUKE tries to join in the joke by making a gun shape with his hand and pointing it at MATTHEW.
MATTHEW: Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa.
LUKE: What?
MATTHEW: Don’t shoot me back. No no no, you don’t want to do that.
LUKE: What?
MATTHEW: You don’t want to do that. If you shoot me, I’ll shoot you, and I can shoot you well after you shoot me.
LUKE: What?
MATTHEW: Don’t you know? Don’t you know about the silos? First strike, second strike, third strike? You should know, or don’t the Russians have good intelligence.
LUKE: The grain silos?
MATTHEW: Oops. Nevermind.
LUKE: What? What silos?
MATTHEW: Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Shhhhhh! We have no silos. We have nothing.
MATTHEW can barely contain his laughter.
MATTHEW: The red scare.
LUKE: Man, I need another drink.
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