Slings and Arrows
Saturday morning dawns brightly. Too brightly. The sun streaks through the uncurtained basement window and hits Liszt right in the eyes as he lays sprawled under the pool table.
Liszt: agh...ugh... (he tries to cover his eyes, but winds up just tugging at his chained wrist) Oh, curse this solitary existence! (he stands and stretches - his attention is caught by the sound of the porch door, and he glances out the window in time to see Brahms happen past) Ridiculous! It must be just 6 o'clock! What are these crazies thinking? I really do have to get him a date if he has nothing better to be doing at the crack of dawn than counterpoint exercises. (runs a hand through his hair, frowns at the feeling) Dear God, how long since I've washed my hair? It's quite unkempt this morning! (scowls about the room) I don't like this protest business. It puts me in such a bad mood. (he catches the strains of singing birds) Oh, I wish it would RAIN today!
Liszt is put out of his misery (to an extent) when Antonio Zacara shows up at 10:00.
Zacara: Hello Franz.
Liszt(practicing pool): Hi Antonio.. I noticed it's getting cloudy out there. (smiles)
Zacara: Heh, yes indeed. It's going to rain today, so we had to get the couch EARLY.
Liszt: Couch?
Zacara(calls up stairs): BRING IT DOWN, KIDS!!
Liszt(alarmed): What couch? I thought we were getting tables and chairs.
Zacara: All in good time. This is a Hildegard-approved couch, no less. Something about organic.
Liszt: What! How can a--
Zacara: Whatever. It involved 'non-allergenic,' which works for me. (turns to staircase, which Ives and Tchaikovsky are trying to navigate with a big blue couch)
Liszt: What are they doing hom-- wait, is it Saturday?
Zacara: Yes.
Liszt(pales): Oh no... I have a date tonight!
Zacara: So much for your protest!
Tchaikovsky: You can always cancel it.
Liszt: Don't be silly. I wouldn't want to stand her up.
Ives: That's right, Pyotr, don't you have any understanding of chivalry?
Tchaik: Not in the traditional sense.
Zacara(snickers): All right - lets put it against this wall under the window. (He directs them, and soon the sofa is in the exact spot where the old one was.)
Liszt: I must say, the work crowd actually gets things done.
Zacara: Yes, and it's good we're starting early today. I forgot to mention last night- oh, no we hadn't decided yet - but we're installing a wet bar.
Liszt: ...... we are?
Zacara: Yeah... (stalks over to the far wall, next to a closet door) Here's a fine place for one. Electrical sockets.. and this is near the water line. We just punch out a little wall, put up a cabinet-counter out here - like an island - throw in a sink, mini-fridge and voila! Wet Bar. How's that for your salon?
Liszt: Funny that... it's starting to sound more like Antonio's Bar.
Zacara: minor details. (turns to the others) Let's get started with the planning. (they head back upstairs; Ives can be heard)
Ives: Nothing like a little home improvement for time spent with the boys!
Liszt: wait- what-- (sigh) I picked a bad time to protest, I see.
Upstairs, the three descend upon the kitchen, where Wagner is at the table writing another newspaper editorial and Schumann is cooking brunch; he whistles to himself as he flips the potatoes around the pan.
Zacara: Well, look who's up!
Wagner: Thank you, Antonio, I wasn't aware.
Zacara(seats himself at the table): We need the use of this table.. I'm sorry if we're disturbing you. (moves the newspaper aside)
Wagner(not looking up): You are not.
Zacara: eh, so, it sounded like the proper thing to say. We're adding a wet bar to the basement.
Schumann(stops whistling, turns around): What!
Ives: It's what we need. Wolfgang approves.
(Schumann joins them at the table in curiosity.)
Wagner(looks up): Even I approve of that.
Zacara: Good. You two can help. We'll need someone to run to Home Depot to pick up supplies. And then of course, we'll need help with the installation.
Wagner(bristles): I was not put on this planet so that I could be your lackey.
Schumann(has been reading Wagner's article): HAH!
Wagner: Dear God, Man! Don't yell in my ear!
Schumann: (suddenly whispers) I know this Eusebius fellow of whom you write..
Wagner: Oh?
Tchaik(shrugs to the others): Perhaps we should continue this planning elsewhere?
Zacara: ... if Robert's here, then the piano room may be open. Let's go- (They are about to walk out when Beethoven appears in the doorway, hair glistening.)
Beethoven: It's raining.
Ives: Didn't you see the weather report? It's supposed to rain off and on all day and night. You'll have to work inside for once.
Zacara: Or you can forget the inspiration of Mother Nature for one day and join us in MAN'S WORK.
Beethoven: (raises an eyebrow)
Brahms(stalks past, hair matted to his head): They probably want you to repaint the damned basement.
Zacara(glares after him): No. We're installing a WET BAR.
Brahms(disappears into piano room): SAW DUST for your effort!
Beethoven: I like bars. What are we doing?
Zacara: Good - we're invading the piano room so we can plan what we're doing. Let's go.
(Mozart jaunts down the stairs)
Mozart: What's going on this fine Saturday morning?
Zacara: We're planning the wet bar.
Mozart(goes past toward the basement): Excellent. Plan away. I'll be making sure the basement doesnt implode meanwhile.
Soon Zacara, Ives, Tchaikovsky and Beethoven reach the piano room at the end of the hall. Brahms has already staked out the piano; Hildegard is sitting at the couch reading. At the sight, Tchaikovsky freezes in the middle of the doorway--
Tchaik: WAIT! Look!! (he points at the two, who both glare back) They're in the same room and they're both alive and coexisting peacefully!
Zacara: Damn.
Brahms(deadpan): Don't be alarmed. I'm drafting a brutally sexist comment even as we speak..
Hildegard: (sighs noisily)
Zacara: That's our cue to make ourselves comfortable!
(There is sudden yelling from the kitchen)
Wagner: WHAT!! YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS - THIS QUATSCH!!!? FIEND! SABOTAGING MY HUMANITARIAN PLANS VIA A DIRTY PENNAME!!
Tchaikovsky: I think that's my cue for damage control.. excuse me (exit)
Ives: All right, let's get to work. (they kneel and huddle around the coffee table; Hildegard frowns, gets up)
Hildegard: I'll find a quieter place to read, thanks. (exit, they shrug)
Meanwhile, Tchaikovsky arrives in the kitchen in time to prevent Wagner being whacked upside the head with Schumann's pan of hash browns.
Schumann: You cannot suggest that Eusebius is a pen name! He is a FULLY FUNCTIONAL, THINKING BEING!
Tchaik: Stop stop!! You two are hopeless! (gets in between them) What is this about now?
Wagner: The foul villain is attempting to sabotage my work!
Schumann: Your work sabotages itself by its very logical oversights!! That someone was merely to point them out was an inevitable evil! (looks at Tchaikovsky as if seeing him for the first time -- immediately changes demeanor) Oh, Pyotr. Be a good soul and run a plate of hash browns down to Franz. I dont begrudge it him; I think for once his show may actually be inspired by something other than empty showmanship!
Tchaik: uh.. is it safe for me to leave the room?
Wagner: YES! (storms out)
Schumann: I wonder what gets into him.
Tchaik: I couldn't tell whether it was the article or the pan, Robert... (rolls eyes, gets a fork and a plate full of hash browns, heads for the basement.)
Elsewhere, Barbara Strozzi and Modest Mussorgsky are having a peaceable conversation. Both sitting on the living room couch, sipping tea (with brandy in the case of Mussorgsky), and chatting about yesterday's art show.
Strozzi: It's nice to know you met some new friends.
Mussorgsky: They share my artistic views -
(Their conversation is interrupted by faint screaming from outside)
Strozzi: What is that?? (she spins around and pulls aside the curtain behind the sofa; Mussorgsky squints at the scene across the street.)
Mussorgsky(nonplussed): Some girl running around in a big T-shirt.
Strozzi: She's not in trouble, at least.
Mussorgsky: I don't know. Someones yelling from that window, do you see?
Strozzi(squints also): Oh yeah, hahah! Probably an embarrassed lover. oh look! she wants him to come out and play in the rain too!
Mussorgsky: hhahah - oh no, now she's going back in.
Strozzi: Yes, and that's definitely not her T-shirt.
(They face the room again.)
Mussorgsky: well that was amusing..
Strozzi: I wonder - I haven't met many of the neighbors..
Mussorgsky: Yeah, I only just met that one yesterday!
Strozzi: You remember that? I'm impressed..
Mussorgsky: I wasn't that drunk. (Strozzi seems incredulous; he nods) Oh, you havent seen me drunk yet.
Strozzi: I look forward to it, Modest.
In the basement, Tchaikovsky brings Liszt a plate of hash browns. Liszt stares blankly.
Liszt: ... what...? What?
Mozart: (lining up a pool shot) honestly, it's only been one day.
Tchaikovsky: Robert wanted you to have these.
Liszt: Why?
Tchaikovsky: He believes you.
Liszt: He believes me? About the salon? I knew that he agreed.
Tchaik(frowns): I think its more that he believes you believe in what you're doing.
Liszt: That's very patronizing of him!
Mozart: Shut up and eat them before I do.
Liszt: I won't argue with that.. (looks up at Tchaik suddenly) Actually - I had an order from the Apocalypse that I was supposed to pick up today - could you.... (catches Tchaik's frown) would you drop by and pick it up for me?? You know the place.
Tchaik: I do... I suppose I could. (steps forward) In return for what?
(Liszt seems taken aback; luckily Mozart fills the void with his snickering)
Liszt: Ah, I'd set you up on a date, but I'm not sure you'd appreciate that... ALTHOUGH, I do have a date tonight, as you know--
Mozart: OH! Oh! Give it to Johannes!
Tchaik(brightens): That's a good idea. That way you don't stand her up.
Liszt(to Mozart): I thought you said he wouldn't accept my charity?
Mozart(matter-of-fact): Oh, he won't, but it'll be a great laugh to see his expression when you tell him you have a date for him.
Liszt(sighs): Wolfgang, the world does not revolve around making you laugh!
Mozart: Where's your sense of humor? Ten bucks says he'll make a comment that involves 'ladies of the night.'
Liszt(has to chuckle): I'm not betting against that.
Tchaik: Oh come on, the way you people go on you'd think he grew up in a whorehouse.
Liszt: I'm not betting against that either.
Mozart(to Liszt): Please?! Ask him? It'll be great!
Tchaik: Doesn't either one of you think he'll accept?
Both: No!
Tchaik: Well fine, I'll bet that he does. (to Liszt) Then you owe me double.
Liszt: Very well. Go get him, but don't give him any idea -
Tchaik(affronted): I wouldn't Throw The Bet! How can you think that?! (storms off)
Soon Tchaik returns with Brahms. Mozart and Liszt smile.
Brahms: This is a foul plot; what's going on?
(Liszt sits on top of the pool table and folds his hands as if preparing to announce that they've lost a favorite pet. Mozart stands back holding his cue stick and smirking.)
Liszt: Johannes, I have a question for you.
(Mozart loses his composure and starts to laugh - this gets the better of Tchaikovsky, who also loses his straight face; Liszt frowns severely at them.)
Brahms: ... was that a punchline?
Liszt: No, I'm serious! As you know, I'm protesting the use of this pool room.
Brahms(honestly surprised): .... oh. Is that what this is about.
Mozart: HAHAHAHAH!
Liszt: What! Where have you been!?
Brahms: I was wondering where you had been... but I guess this answers that question. (confusion returns) Wait - what are you protesting again?
Tchaik(hand to head): hopeless!!
Liszt: What -- Nevermind. The point is, I'm handcuffed here until further notice, and I can't make my date tonight, so.... I was wondering if you'd like to go in my place.
Brahms: (pause - then outburst of laughter) HAHAHAHAHAH!
Mozart(now doubled over pool table clutching stomach): HAHAHAHHAH!
Tchaik: Oh... hahaha.. that's not good.. hahahah!
Liszt: (looks upward appealingly) I'm quite serious!
Brahms: What! I'm not dating any of your whores! (turns to walk off)
Mozart(claps): HAHAH! I TOLD YOU SO! I WIN!! HAHAHAHAH!!
Tchaik: Hahahahah!
Liszt: You win indeed!
Brahms(stops): Wait.. You were betting on my reaction?
Mozart: Yes! I said it would "involve 'ladies of the night'."
Brahms(smirks): I suppose no one bet that I'd take this date?
Tchaik(like a five year old admitting to taking a cookie): I owe each of them ten dollars.
Brahms: Maybe I will then.
Liszt: What! Wait -
Mozart: You can't do that!
Tchaik: Ohhhh, smack! (clears his throat guiltily) As the kids say.
Brahms: Now each of you owes him ten dollars.
Tchaik(primly to Brahms): Yes, and I am NOT splitting it with you.
(Brahms looks offended.)
Mozart: See, Franz, this is GREAT entertainment!
Brahms: Oh what - I should be reimbursed for this - It's a dinner date or theater ? I'll have to be paying for something!
Mozart: HAHAHHAH!
Tchaik: ahhahah - oh dear god!
Liszt(cringing smile): See why no one took you up on your second proposal, Wolfgang...?
Brahms: Actually, I didn't mean it that way.
Liszt: Sure.. Now Marissa is a nice, honest girl - don't insult her-
Brahms: I didn't -- oh, bah - women! (storms off)
Liszt(calls after him): Wait! You don't know any of the details! what time--
Mozart: hahahaha ohhhhhh, Franz.... hah - I will pay good money to see you try to give him etiquette lessons--
Liszt: Oh no, no....
Mozart: "How nice of youuu to let me come...."
Lizst(shakes head, sighs): No, no... (pause as the laughter trails off) Although...(grin) a candid camera along on the date might yield some amusing results.. (he and Mozart start to laugh again)
Mozart: You know, (eyes light up mischeivously) if we really want to capitalize on this situation, we should open a betting pool to the others...
Later that afternoon we find Tchaikovsky running about the upstairs hallway searching for his umbrella.
Tchaik(tearing at hair): Where IS it! Did I leave it at the school!! ARGH! (Brahms sticks his head out of his room)
Brahms: Use this! (lobs his umbrella at Tchaik, who cowers at the flying object) Just GO! Cant get any work done around here...
Tchaik: Thanks... (grumbles to self) bloody grump..
Now armed with an umbrella, Tchaik makes his way to the French bakery L'Apocalypse. He is surprised to find three men arguing vociferously at the counter. A fourth, in black turtle neck, sits next to the others and listens quietly.
Schaeffer: No! It is a natural system of classification!
Henry: There's nothing natural about it! You are calling sounds "Elastic!"
Barraque: I don't see why it has to be 'natural' that's so German of you!
Schaeffer: I mean only that it is natural for man to classify and order the world around him!
Tchaikovsky(walks up tentatively): Hello...?
Henry: It is impossible for anyone to agree on these concepts! "Elastic!" "Less variable mass!"
Schaeffer: Just because I think we can classify what we perceive by ear doesn't mean it is a bad theory!
Barraque: No, it is a bad theory because it doesn't make sense.
Tchaik(at counter): Ah, excuse me...?
Schaeffer: Listen! (taps fist on counter- then again - and again quickly, until it turns into a drum roll) This is a sound object - you agree? Simple. And what is the form? Iterative! If I were faster, but you must imagine that - it would turn into one continuous sound - an accumulation!
Tchaik(getting pertured): Customer here!
Henry(shakes head): There's no point in tacking on names - just write the music!
Schaeffer: No, it is a contribution to KNOWLEDGE!
Foucault: Ah, but... all knowledge is an invention behind which lies something completely different from itself.... a play of instincts, impulses, desires, fear.. a will to appropriate. (grins perversely)
Barraque: Ah... right, Michel... (looks around nervously)
Tchaikovsky: Can I get some service here?!
Foucault: What kind of service would you like?
Tchaik: I just want some baguettes!
Schaeffer(frowns): How many?
Tchaik: Oh... uh (pulls out Liszt's list) 12. Actually, just- here's his order form. (hands it over; Schaeffer suddenly lights up)
Schaeffer: Oh, it is Franz's order! You are his delivery boy?
Tchaik(bristles): I beg your pardon. He's handcuffed himself to the pool table, so I'm being a good housemate and picking up his baguettes for him. He owes me.
Henry(appalled): He has handcuffs?
Tchaik: They're not HIS. He stole them from me.
Foucault: Interesting...
Tchaik: Can I just get the baguettes please? I'm in a rush.
Schaeffer(gives him bag): Ok. That's $15.30
Tchaik: Oh, put it on his tab. He'll be back - (rolls eyes) He probably can't stand much more time chained to the pool table. (exit)
Tchaik returns to the house - grumpy about his bakery experience and the continuing rain. In the basement he finds Mozart, Liszt, and Zacara gathered around the pool table. Beethoven is waging battle with the CPVC pipes revealed by a massive hole in the wall.
Beethoven(grunts in exasperation): I dont see how being the "Natural Man" makes me capable of installing pipe extensions!!
Tchaik: Dear God - what is this?! Has Hildegard --
Zacara(irritated): SHhhh! You can't let her in on this! I'm sure she doesn't approve of gambling.
Tchaik: Gambling!!
Zacara: Quiet!
Mozart(grins): Yeah we're not worried about the gaping hole in the wall - we can fix that, send Johannes to the paint store again-
Liszt: Not tonight! (they snicker; meanwhile the situation has occurred to Tchaik)
Tchaik: Wait - you're gambli... you're betting on the date??!
Mozart: Yes, indeed, my fine friend, step right up - we all agree that it will be a disaster, but there are some interesting opportunities at hand: (points at the betting sheet on the pool table) note the odds that he takes her to Burger King - 3:1. (Tchaik starts to laugh, looks over the sheet on the table)
Tchaik: What! "Date lasts only 2 hours" - 3:1!?
Beethoven(grumbling): You have such a terrible opinion of him
Liszt: But Ludwig, he only accepted to spite me. He'll probably be as rude as possible.. (pause) I'd call her to cancel it, but...
Mozart: You're positive he's going to split the bill.
Liszt: Absolutely. He's been accused of misogyny too many times.
Mozart: Nope; he makes HER pay! (more laughter)
Beethoven: Pass the damned pipes.. or do you not want this finished by tonight??
(Enter Mussorgsky with a bottle of unidentified alcohol)
Muss: Heyy
Mozart: Modest! Come join the mayhem!
Muss: Whats happening? (notes construction) oh jesus yourelettingludwig dothe plumbing!
Mozart: We certainly are: cut the pipe, add the new one, paste it up. It's hardly rocket science and it involves grunting, so obviously the man for the job is Ludwig.
Beethoven: I have a hacksaw over here.
Zacara(to Muss): We sent Charles upstairs to cover for us.
Muss: ohisthat whatthe noise is?
Liszt: I believe he referred to that as "composing."
Beethoven: (snorts)
Muss: HES TONE DEAF!
Mozart: hahah!! No, no - he MEANS his singing to be in a different key!
Beethoven: ..no musical ideas in his head..
Tchaik(at Beethoven): Now you sound like Richard.
Liszt: Oh yes, someone should fetch Richard so he can join our pool.
Zacara: I thought you weren't on speaking terms with him after last night..?
Liszt(folds arms delicately): I'm not; I want his money.
Mozart: hah, I'll get him... (dashes away)
Muss(stumbles over to table): whats going on here? Bets?? i'll bett..
And so the afternoon gives way to evening as the housemates compose, work on the basement and bet...Highlights include the wet bar crew studiously avoiding Hildegard; Zacara and Schumann trying to bring in wet bar supplies through the pouring rain; Strozzi wondering why she can't get a glass of water from the faucet; and Wagner confronting Ives about his "composing" - no one is seriously injured. Before 6pm everyone in the household has placed a bet except Hildegard, Schumann, and of course the oblivious Brahms. Now he and Schumann are upstairs in his room, trying to find appropriate attire for the date. Well, Brahms is leafing through his closet - Schumann is staring out the window, hand cupped around his chin thoughtfully.
Brahms: What should I wear?
Schumann(philosophically): Clothes.
Brahms(mutters): So much for making a good impression.
Schumann: ...perhaps something of the Peach Variety.
Brahms: "Peach"?
Schumann: I'm joking.
Brahms(grins): Sometimes I can't tell, Robert.
Meanwhile:
Beethoven stands back from his new masterpiece. The pipes are sealed and connected to the hot and cold water faucets over the wet bar sink. The faux-marble on the bar counter shines with a lustrous gleam, and the sandy wood of the cabinets matches the walls. Indeed, the project would be a picture of perfect Saturday-afternoon workmanship if not for the hole in the wall, still gaping obnoxiously above the bar.
Beethoven: Turn on the Water!
Mozart(turns to Zacara): Turn on the water
Zacara: Yes, I heard the first time... (goes upstairs)
Liszt(perched elegantly on pool table): Yes, let's see how this works. For once I have a bird's eye view. (he is sitting directly across from the bar.)
Beethoven(eyes narrow): what is Antonio doing...? just turn the damned--
(The pipes spring to life as the water returns and sprays out the newly installed fixture. Beethoven dives out of the range of fire - Mozart laughs as he runs to the stairs, but Liszt is chained to the table and can only attempt to cover his face)
Liszt: AGH!! DONT LEAVE ME! I'LL BE DROWNED!
(Zacara calls down the stairs "Who's dead?!")
Beethoven: TURN IT OFFF!!
Zacara: OK! (the spray of water wilts away.)
Beethoven: damn it... now we're all wet rats to boot.
Mozart: Heheheh - speak for yourself!
Zacara(calls down again): HEY! Johannes is leaving for his date!
Mozart: Ah hah! let's go wish him luck. (he and Beethoven head upstairs, leaving Liszt soaked and pouting.)
In the foyer, the entire household (minus Liszt) has come to see off Brahms. Or at least criticize his choice of clothes.
Hildegard: Where are YOU going?
Brahms: uh... date?
Hildegard: With what circus company?
Brahms(turns to Schumann): Yeah, Robert... I think this jacket... er..
Schumann: Yes...Yes, I think so too. It is a bit big for you. (The jacket is a faded puke green, with randomly dispersed neon blue circles; Schumann regards it sagely)... It hangs at the sleeves.
Strozzi: Oh, you don't need a jacket. You'll be fine. It's not even raining anymore.
Brahms(looks to Strozzi - notices everyone else): Is this a family affair?
Zacara: Yes, actually... where, eh.... where were you thinking of taking the lady to dinner?
Brahms: I don't know. play it by ear.. I better go. (starts to leave)
Others: THE JACKET!
Brahms: Oh.. I'll leave that. (hands it to Schumann, who accepts it solemnly then raises his palm toward Brahms's forehead.)
Schumann: Yes, go in peace, young eagle. Fear not the stings, arrows, poisons and hell-spawned unmitigated furies that are met upon in the wandering haunted pathways and the lonely, arduous mountain roads of our most grand, most tragic of inheritances: our mission in LOVE. Yes, our mission to perpetuate our own, one unending tragedy of unfulfilled bittersweet desire, wavering devotion, the sweetest of human agonies, and most delicate of deceptions. May you find your way lit by the sweet fires of human passion, drink deeply from the wellspring of your own temptations and return to us again, as yet as ever unscathed but for the wounds you have engraved into your heart by your own hand- a wound more insidious, more deadly is perhaps rarely found, but be assured, my brave young eagle, far less painful than the ones carved by the hands that unrelentingly hold your heart for insurmountable ransom. Go! Go forth and PROPAGATE!
Brahms: ....thanks, Robert. (exit)
(As soon as they can see Brahms reach the curb, Mozart grins and looks at his watch.)
Mozart: It's 630 now. He'll be back by 845..
Ives: No, no. 9:30.
Zacara: Movie. It doesn't require talking - 1030.
Strozzi: No, you have to account for getting lost on the way to her place and on the way home. 11 and no earlier.
Hildegard(eyes narrow): What's all this about? Are you betting!
Mozart: Heheh. Yes, on the outcome of the date.
Hildegard(smirks appraisingly): She'll be in tears, or he'll have purse wounds on his head. 8:30 either way.
Tchaik: ah hahah!
Beethoven: oh for god's sake.. I'm going to fix the pipes..(exit)
Hildegard: "Pipes"?
Mozart: He needs a smoke.
Cut to Brahms driving - leaning forward, hands gripped around the steering wheel, and grumbling like a little old man forced to take his medicine..
Brahms: damn dates.. why did I bothe-- (sees the street he's supposed to take - hangs a sharp right as cars honk) whatever.. miracle if I get home alive... (he drives down street looking for the right apartment place) where... out in the boonies...rgggg... (4 miles later he finds the complex in the midst of a quiet wooded area) "Poplar Mounds"... indian burial ground.. or worse. (he drives in, parks on the wrong side of her aprt.. winds up walking around) ... grey sky bodes ill... too many flowers.. no poplar trees.. hm.. (picks off a fuchsia geranium on the way to the door; he knocks.
A well-dressed blonde girl in her mid twenties answers the door. She smiles - unseen to her is Brahms's instantaneous change of expression.)
Brahms(smiles): Hello - I'm Johannes -
Marissa: Oh yeah, you're Franz's friend - (they shake)
Brahms: He's ... tied up right now, but he didn't want you to be without some amusement tonight, or at least dinner...
Marissa: why don't you come in?
Later at home, the housemates are becoming worried that there's no sign of Brahms.
Schumann: It's 9:30 already!
Mozart: That doesn't fit well with the Burger King proposal.. heh - someone should call him. (Schumann picks up the phone on the small table next to his sofa.. dials - they can suddenly hear a faint ringing from the kitchen)
Zacara(snickers): Ah, he left his phone. I suppose he didn't want to be disturbed.
Schumann: This bodes ill.
(Their musings are interrupted as the front door is flung open.)
Bach: AGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
Schumann(sticks head out of piano room; eyes wide): You're not Hannes.
Bach: ARGHHHH! (chucks his bag down the hall; it nearly hits Wagner who happens out of the kitchen at the wrong time.)
Wagner(offended): BY THOR - what is this unholy ululation!
Bach(gargantuan deep breath): ...... hhaghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh (collapses against wall. Mussorgsky enters foyer from the TV room so now Bach is surrounded on all sides.)
Muss: Hey JS have a beer (produces bottle)
Bach: GOD. (takes it, opens it with teeth, chugs)
Wagner: What is the meaning of this display??
(Mozart joins them, grinning impishly)
Mozart: Hey! It's JS!
Bach: (still chugging)
Schumann: Where's Hannes?
Mozart: That's what we all want to know!
Muss: lethim drink! (Bach finishes off beer, hands it back to Mussorgsky, sighs in satisfaction)
Bach: That's better. I needed that, Modest.
Muss: youpeople wonder I drink allthetime..
Mozart: So what's the problem?
Bach: Court order... bad news...got into a bit of a ... row with that IDIOT Geyersbach!
(Strozzi enters from den)
Strozzi: Ah, JS.. you've had a long day.. You missed quite a bit.
Mozart: He got into a fight!
Strozzi: What!
Bach(heads toward kitchen, the others follow as if children waiting for storytime to begin): Idiot confronted me... said I was going around calling him a "greenhorn bassoonist" -- which he is, but nevermind! I didn't call him that during rehearsal...AND even if I did, it's no reason for him to go getting offended by it! All the responsibility I have to deal with -- all HE has to do is play the right notes at the right time and he has the audacity to be offended when I'm upset that he won't!!!
Wagner: Come now, don't be insulted, JS. These plebeians can never appreciate the workings of genius.
Bach: But he waits until I'm walking my cousin home from dinner -- in the middle of main street!! -- to confront me!! What does he think -- he can pick a fight in front of my family!?!
Strozzi: Oh no - what did he say?
Bach: He was insulted and he wasn't going to take it. Then he made as if to attack me. So I grabbed the nearest blunt object--
Mozart: hahah! So much for the Great Mediator!
Bach: He's trying to beat me up! I took a bottle of olive oil off one of those Cafe Venezio tables -- of course I didn't think to pick up a KNIFE..
Schumann: Nay, olive oil the harder to ward off! You did not choose poorly, my friend.
Bach(sighs): Nothing came of it, Thank God. We were accosted by the waiters who thought we were trying to start a riot.. ? But we're both in for it for disturbing the peace or some nonsense.. Honestly.. (sits at kitchen table) What a day! Up at the crack of dawn to do the service, teach those insipid kids, lead the ensemble - which - of course no one has the decency to practice! - then it rains all day, and to top it off I haven't written a NOTE of music since yesterday!!
Zacara(appears in doorway): Get it over with and chop off a finger or two, then you can really sound like me...
Bach: ggahhh.... (buries head in hands) Someone feed me!
Speaking of feeding, Brahms is just driving his date back to her apartment after a long dinner. Marissa is now sitting in the passenger seat reeling off a stream of unimportant bits of information about her literary interests in middle school. Brahms is smiling, but gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles appear to be glowing..
Marissa: So I think I went through the entire Fear Street series.. uh, I think they were written by Christopher Pike -- oh no, R.L. Stine, yeah Christopher Pike did the other ones - I was totally freaked out by this one story about this stalker guy who dressed up as a clown. I think clowns scare everyone. But anyway, he dressed up as a clown, and he kept following her when she was babysitting, because he first saw her when he was doing some little kid's birthday party--
Brahms(stops car abruptly): Ah, we're here.
Marissa: Oh, that was quick.
Brahms: (hops out of car, runs to her door to open it) .... it's starting to rain. Best go inside quickly. (they jog to her apt door)
Marissa: I had a great time - are you sure you don't want to come in and have a drink or something?
Brahms: I don't want to wear out my welcome - I should be going..
Marissa: Ok, well we should do this again sometime. (Brahms smiles - Marissa looks as if she would like a kiss, but Brahms just nods then turns smartly on his heel and walks off. She frowns, but shrugs and goes back in.
The second he has driven out of the apt complex, Brahms lets loose a five-minute long stream of expletives ending with "AIR HEAD ---- INSUFFERABLE!" He shakes his head, having just used a Hildegard-patented word. )
Brahms: It's brought me to this, I see... AND the rain is picking up! What a- (notices that the car has suddenly stopped accelerating...) What... ?? (takes foot off gas, tries again) Oh damn... (pulls over, turns off car, tries to restart - nothing) Lovely. And I'm in the middle of the boonies. ... (pause as he considers) I could just call.. (freezes - where's his cell phone) RGH! ... Or I suppose...walk back to her place.. hahahah! Or walk to town... (how far is that?) did I.... (yes, he lent his umbrella to Tchaikovsky) DAMN IT! I'm not walking in this monsoon... (another long pause as if the rain will stop for him) I'll just... take a nap then.... (climbs into backseat)
Three hours later Brahms is fast asleep -- back at the house, the others are downright concerned..
Liszt: I don't know what's going on. I didn't think Marissa was the type.. this is a first date!
Mozart(makes a difficult bank shot): Maybe they both got really drunk... That wasn't planned.. I don't think anyone bet - (checks sheet) huh! Looks like Modest did!
Liszt: What? He was with me on the 9o'clock..
Mozart: No... he's got his money on the sunrise option... odds 10,000 to 1.. hehehe
Liszt: How in the world did you calculate??
Mozart: Magic.
Back to the car; Brahms wakes up - looks around groggily..
Brahms: uh.... (the rain pounds on the roof; he checks his watch) 1 o'clock!! Oh damn.. I guess I'd better get back to civilization.. rain or not.. I'm not going to sit here while my stomach digests itself... (scowls, but gets his stuff together and gets out of the car)
Three hours later, we see Brahms watching in disapproval as the towing service man tries to hook up the uncooperative car to his truck. They must take the car to the nearest repair shop in town, drop off information, fill out forms... by the time it's all done, Brahms is even grumpier and hungrier - he is about to use the tow trucker's cell to call someone, but he realizes there's an IHOP across the street..
Brahms: mmm... pancakes..
TowTrucker: Do you want an umbrella?
Brahms(soaked): It doesn't matter at this point...I'm getting food.
The IHOP is (expectedly) empty.. except for a waitress and a strange bespectacled fellow who has a black mustache. Of course the waitress sits Brahms in the booth behind him. They are sitting back to back, facing in opposite directions. After ordering, Brahms starts to sketch on his napkin, humming some unknown inner voice to the counterpoint.. The man in the booth behind him turns around and spies the paper.
BespectacledMan: AH, you are a composer!
Brahms: (startled - grabs for knife compulsively) dear-- what--
BespectacledMan: I wish to be a composer as well, but I fear my true strengths are in the realm of music theory. Let me see.. (reaches over Brahms's shoulder and snatches the napkin; reads) Ahhh, this is good counterpoint. You are a skilled composer!
Brahms: .... (drinks more of his coffee) I have some friends who don't think that IS composing.
BespectacledMan(matter-of-factly): They're Wrong. See, even in this small snippet, I can see that you have an understanding of the primary unfolding of the dominant harmony here... It was kind of you to provide a key signature.. - ah, see, by means of a third progression, but I see you're not done, perhaps this is an even more elaborate prolongation?? (looking at paper) and this tone here - a cover over the proto-line, of course - that's clever, and manifested so naturally in the sequence.
Brahms(stares at him in confusion): ...what do they call you, o strange music theorist?
BespectacledMan: I am Heinrich Schenker, nice to meet you. (sticks his hand over the booth for a shake; Brahms considers the hand for a moment, then looks up again as if to introduce himself.)
Brahms: I think I'm hallucinating.
Schenker: No. I exist. (squints in interest) How long have you been composing?
(conversation ensues..
At 6:30 Schenker's car appears outside the house. Brahms gets out, thanks him, makes a snide remark about how the rain has stopped, heads inside. As usual, Bach is making omelettes in the kitchen. but he is alone, since Ives, Zacara, and Tchaikovsky are sleeping in on this fine Sunday morning. Brahms claps obnoxiously and calls down the front hallway.)
Brahms: MM! I COULD GO FOR BREAKFAST NUMBER TWO!
Bach(sticks head out of kitchen): What in God's name are you doing?? Where have you been?!
Brahms: Date.
Bach: What - did you just wake up and leave??
Brahms: (smirks) I had breakfast... over a very interesting discussion of music theory, no less.
Bach: (can't figure this out) Who - what date?
Brahms: oh, one of Liszt's lady friends.. I should sleep, though. I only got three hours last night -- quite the wet 'n' wild adventure. (winks at Bach, goes up stairs. Fade from scene as Bach is left standing in the kitchen doorway with his mouth open....)