Blues For An Alabama Sky 2n5v5e

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Record: 1 Blues for an Alabama Sky. By: Cleage, Pearl. American Theatre. Jul/Aug96, Vol. 13 Issue 6, p21. 23p. 6 Black and White Photographs. Abstract: Presents the full script of the author's stage drama, `Blues for an Alabama Sky.' Background on the author; Characters; Time and place; Setting; Synopsis of acts and scenes; Cast of characters; Full script. INSET: Making our history, by Douglas Langworthy.. (AN: 9607221154) Database: Academic Search Complete Section: Playscript

BLUES FOR AN ALABAMA SKY About the Playwright Pearl Cleage is a resident of Atlanta. Her plays, which include Flyin' West, Late Bus to Mecca, Chain, Hospice and Essentials have been produced at such theatres as Alliance Theatre Company, Just Us Theater Company, Women's Project & Productions, New Federal Theatre, Crossroads Theatre Company, Alabama Shakespeare Festival, Intiman Theatre Company, St. Louis Black Repertory Company, Long Wharf Theatre, Brooklyn Academy of Music and the Kennedy Center. Her book MAD AT MILES: A Blackwoman's Guide to Truth was published by the Cleage Group in 1991 and her collection of essays Deals with the Devil and Other Reasons to Riot was published by Ballantine/One World in 1993. Ms. Cleage is also a regular columnist for the Atlanta Tribune, founding editor of Catalyst magazine and an artistic associate of Just Us Theater Company in Atlanta. Her new play Bourbon at the Border has been commissioned by the Alliance Theatre Company for production in early 1997. About the Play Blues for an Alabama Sky was originally commissioned by the Alliance Theatre Company in Atlanta, where it premiered in July 1995 under the direction of Kenny Leon. It subsequently received a production at Hartford Stage Company in Hartford, Connecticut in May 1996. The play will be presented in Atlanta as part of the Cultural Olympiad in conjunction with the Olympic Games in the summer of 1996, and at Arena Stage in Washington, D.C. in September 1996. PHOTO (BLACK & WHITE): Deidrie N. Henry as Delia and Phylicia Rashad as Angel. All photos are from the Alliance Theatre Company production. ~~~~~~~~ By Pearl Cleage MAKING OUR HISTORY An interview with the playwright by Douglas Langworthy LANGWORTHY: Why did you set this play at the start of the Great Depression, in the period of transition just after the Harlem Renaissance of the 1920s? CLEAGE: I've always been drawn to the Harlem Renaissance. I loved the writing that emerged from there. Once I started reading more about the period I realized that a lot of the questions that these characters are dealing with are really very contemporary. Most of what I had seen about the Renaissance focused on its heyday, around 1925-26. I became more interested in the end of the Renaissance; it's a very different situation when the money dries up, because the patrons have lost their money in the stock market crash and are no longer able to the artists. I wanted to look at what their options were once the heyday had ed. Many famous figures lurk just offstage in the play: Josephine Baker, the Rev. Adam Clayton Powell,

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Langston Hughes. And yet you chose to center the play around a group of characters we haven't heard of. I am not a historian, and I'm not interested in doing all the research to write a play where Langston Hughes is the central character. Especially as an African American, we tend to pluck out people and put them forward as role models, as heroes--but we pluck them out of their communities, so that there is no context for them. They are made more respectable, they have no rough edges, they never do the things that regular people do. In a sense, that lack of context relieves all of us regular people of the responsibility for making the history. Adam Clayton Powell didn't make history all by himself--he had a church with 20,000 . He couldn't have been the person we know as Adam Clayton Powell if those 20,000 people (whose names we don't know) hadn't been there every Sunday putting money in the plate, running those programs to feed hungry people. You deal with a number of social issues in Blues, but what dominates the play are your vivid characters and the friendships that sustain them. In this play, and also in Flyin' West, I'm very conscious of new family groupings. In the period of Blues, a lot of people had been separated from their families because they had come north in the Great Migration. They had to find new families, new brothers and sisters. I think that the relationship between Angel and Guy is very much like that--they're almost like brother and sister because they are the only family that they have. How have audiences reacted to Guy's open homosexuality? I know there is homophobia in the country generally, and especially within the black community. So I was very curious about how audiences would respond, not only because Guy is gay, but because he has no angst about it--he's not closeted, he's not scared, he carries a straight razor. He is completely the opposite of the tormented gay character that we know is going to die at the end. When Blues opened in Atlanta, I was really happy that people responded so enthusiastically to him. It's wonderful to look at people in the audience whom I know have a lot of homophobia in their daily lives cheering and saying, "Go on, brother!" to a guy on the stage, where they probably would be very nervous to do that in real life. Do you think theatre has the power to help people change their minds? Oh, I do. Theatre can be so productive because, if we do it right, it doesn't beat people over the head and make them defensive. This play, for instance, doesn't announce that you will have to examine your feelings about homosexuality, it just introduces a character that you like. I hope it helps give people more openness, even just a little bit, towards differences. When Sam tells Leland that Guy is "a man, just like us," that conversation needs to happen. The violence in the play is black on black, rather than between blacks and whites. I think that's because I live in an all-black neighborhood, Southwest Atlanta, which is 100-percent black. You have to go several miles in any direction to find someone who is not African American. Walking through the park is not scary because I might run into the Klan--it's scary because I might run into young black crack addicts. Which means that as a writer my role is different, because then I'm not talking about something external. I'm not saying they need to stop preying on us, I'm saying we are doing these things, this is what we do. How does Blues fit into your body of work?

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This is the first play in which I've had a black woman character who didn't triumph at the end. In most of my plays, if the woman is weak, she gets stronger; if she's confused, she achieves clarity. When I got to the end of this play, I realized I was trying to make Angel do something that had not been justified by the characters and by their story, which was to go to Paris. I kept trying to force it, but that doesn't work. So I had to come to with what it meant for me to create a character who doesn't triumph. For me it all gets back to responsibility. Certainly we as black people have to be responsible for ourselves and for our own communities. As a playwright I don't want to spend all my time fussing at white racism, but as a feminist, I don't want to spend all my time fussing at men. We as conscious, intelligent, strong women have to take responsibility. I hope that I'll continue to look more and more truthfully at the complexity of my characters, whoever they are, and not be confined in any way by the idea of positive images and role models. The responsibility is to tell the complete truth, and if you do that, the whole question of role models is really moot. The Characters Angel Allen: a thirty-four-year-old black woman who looks five years younger; former back-up singer at the Cotton Club. Guy Jacobs: a thirtyish black man; costume designer at the Cotton Club. Delia Patterson: a twenty-five-year-old black woman; social worker on staff at the Margaret Sanger family planning clinic. Sam Thomas: a forty-year-old black doctor at Harlem Hospital. Leland Cunningham: a twenty-eight-year-old black man from Alabama; a six-week resident of Harlem. Time and Place It is the summer of 1930 in Harlem, New York. The creative euphoria of the Harlem Renaissance has given way to the harsher realities of The Great Depression. Young Reverend Adam Clayton Powell, Jr. is feeding the hungry and preaching an activist gospel at Abyssinian Baptist Church. Black Nationalist visionary Marcus Garvey has been discredited and deported. Birth control pioneer Margaret Sanger is opening a new family planning clinic on 126th Street and the doctors at Harlem Hospital are scrambling to care for a population whose most deadly disease is poverty. But, far from Harlem, African-American expatriate extraordinaire Josephine Baker sips champagne in her dressing room at the Folies Bergere and laughs like a free woman. Setting The setting is an apartment building in Harlem. Three of the characters occupy two apartments which are across the hall from each other. There is a lot of running between apartments and access to and fro should be so easy that at times it seems to be one large living space. One apartment is slightly larger than the other and should have a couch large enough for someone to lie down on. In one corner of the room is a sewing area. It has a sewing machine, a woman's dress form, a full-length mirror, pieces of fabric, sewing supplies and a crowded clothes rack. This corner is Guy's workspace and is off-limits to others. In contrast to the congenial clutter of the rest of the apartment, this space is efficiently organized. On the wall; there is a large photograph of Josephine Baker. She is smiling broadly. There is a door opening to the bedroom, which is unseen. The other apartment is a small studio. There is a small table with two chairs, a tiny bookcase full to bursting with books and pamphlets. A door opens to a bedroom which is unseen.

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Both apartments have small hot plates, but no kitchens. There should also be a window facing the street from the larger apartment so that characters can talk out the window to people in the street area. Synopsis of Acts and Scenes Act One: Scene One: Sunday morning, 3 a.m. Scene Two: Sunday, late afternoon Scene Three: Wednesday, late afternoon Scene Four: Sunday evening Scene Five: Friday evening Act Two: Scene One: Two weeks later, Sunday afternoon Scene Two: Two weeks later Scene Three: The next day Scene Four: The next day Scene Five: Two weeks later BLUES FOR AN ALABAMA SKY ACT ONE Scene One The street is quiet. Suddenly, there is the sound of two people half. dragging, half-carrying a third. Guy and Leland enter on each side of a loudly drunken Angel. ANGEL: I can't believe it. I just can't believe it. I . . . can . . . not . . . believe . . . it. Can you believe it? GUY (Struggling to keep Angel on her feet): I can't believe it. ANGEL: Me either! I can't believe it! She stumbles. Leland catches her. ANGEL: Damn! GUY: Home at last! Thank, God. And thank you, brother. I don't think we would have made it that last two blocks without you! LELAND: IS she sick? GUY (Surprised at the question): She's drunk! ANGEL (Indignant): And so what? If you can't be drunk in Harlem where the hell can you be drunk? Besides, we're celebrating, aren't we? GUY: Of course we are, Angel. (To Leland) Thanks again, Ace. I think I can take it from here. ANGEL: Tell him why we're celebrating. (To Leland) Did he tell you why we're celebrating?

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LELAND: No, he.,. ANGEL: And I didn't tell you, did I? GUY: Don't answer. You'll just encourage her. ANGEL: Did I? LELAND: No, you. . . ANGEL: SO, tell him, Guy. He has a right to know. Don't you think you have the right to know? LELAND: I don't want to. . . ANGEL: Of course you do. Tell him. GUY: And then will you come upstairs before you wake up the whole building? ANGEL (Drunkenly indignant): They need to wake up! Negroes sleeping their damn lives away. (Screams) Wake up! GUY: Hush, girl! You gonna get us all evicted. ANGEL: Then tell him. GUY: Her gangster just dumped her. So she's celebrating. ANGEL: He's not a gangster. He's a businessman and he didn't dump me. He got married! (Her drunken indignation dissolve into helpless tears) He got married! GUY (Soothingly, trying to steer her into the building): He's Italian, Sweetie. They always get married. Delia emerges from her bedroom in robe and slippers and comes outside to see what all the noise is about. Leland is still hovering awkwardly around the stoop. Angel is now weeping and clinging to Guy. DELIA: What happened? (She takes Angel's other arm) GUY: Nick got married, ANGEL (Wailing): Don't keep saying it! GUY: Sh-h-h! It's okay. Come on now. Here we go. As Delia, Guy and Angel go inside Guy's apartment, Leland stands looking after them. He turns to go and sees that Angel has dropped the chiffon scarf she had draped around her neck. His first impulse is to return it immediately, but then he stops, folds it carefully and puts it in his breast pocket, then exits. Upstairs, Guy is making coffee on the hot plate. Delia is taking off Angel's shoes, jewelry, etc. and putting one of Guy's robes on her. Angel is drunk and miserable. ANGEL: He left me, Deal! He left me! DELIA: He didn't deserve you. ANGEL: But I loved him. DELIA: Of course you did.

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GUY: Hang on, Sweetie. Coffee coming up! ANGEL: I don't want coffee! I want champagne! We're celebrating! Aren't we celebrating? DELIA: Come on now. Let me help you . . . just relax, okay? ANGEL: Relax? How can I relax? I just got fired! I got fired, Deal! DELIA: Fired? She got fired? You didn't tell me she got fired. GUY: The night is young. The whole sordid story has just begun to unfold, ANGEL: I thought when he came backstage to tell me he was married, he'd go on home to his wife and leave me in peace to do the show. He must have known my heart was broken, but when we came out to do "Wild About Harry," he was sitting right in the front in his regular seat with Frankie and that other scary Guy and they were toasting him and celebrating. . . . They were having a party right up in my face! What could I do? GUY (Bringing coffee): Next time ask me that before you go onstage. ANGEL: I hate coffee. Put some brandy in it. GUY: Drink it! DELIA: What did she do? GUY: When they got to the part where they say "the heavenly blisses of his kisses fill me with ecstasy," Miss Angel broke out of the line, walked over to his table and told Nick all about his sorry self. DELIA: From the stage? GUY: Centerstage, thank you. She read his titles dear for about two minutes then she burst into tears and the stage manager came and took her away, He threw her and her stuff out into the middle of Lenox Avenue. We've been "celebrating" ever since. DELIA: They can't fire her for that, can they? GUY: For cussing out a short-tempered gangster in the middle of an up-tempo production number? ANGEL: I didn't curse him. I couldn't curse Nicky. I love him. GUY: Okay, Sweetie. Time for bed before we start back down that road. ANGEL: I don't want to go to bed. What kind of dreams am I gonna have, huh? No man. No job. GUY: There are still plenty of clubs in Harlem looking for a fine woman who can sing. ANGEL: I can't sing anymore My heart is broken. GUY: You can sing the blues. ANGEL: Everybody in Harlem is singing the blues. GUY: Then you can come to Paris with me. Give Josephine some competition.

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GUY covers Angel with a blanket. She snuggles down like a child and draws the covers up to her chin. She is fading fast. ANGEL: Are we really going to Paris, Big Daddy? GUY: Oui, ma cherie. We are really and truly going. Any day now. ANGEL: What's the boat going to be like? GUY: A ship. Not a boat. It's too elegant to be a boat. ANGEL: And are we elegant too? GUY: We are tres, tres elegant! ANGEL: You gonna save me again, Big Daddy? GUY: Every chance I get. GUY kisses Angel's cheek. Guy and Delia talk quietly, but Angel is already sleeping. GUY: Sorry we woke you up. Want some champagne? (He takes out a bottle and two glasses) DELIA: It's three o'clock in the morning! GUY: You are going to have to get over this primitive idea you have that the world shuts down between 10 p.m. and 7 a.m. (He hands her a glass) Cheers! DELIA: Do you think she really loved Nicky? GUY: I don't think that was part of their deal. DELIA (Looking thoughtfully at the sleeping Angel): Maybe I can teach her how to type. GUY: Teach who how to type? DELIA: Angel. I've got this typing correspondence course. GUY: You don't have a typewriter. DELIA: They sent a folding chart so I can practice until I get one. GUY: What makes you think Angel wants to learn how to type? DELIA: I think she's scared she won't be able to find another singing job. GUY: She better be scared. Half the singers in Harlem are looking for work. DELIA: You just said there were plenty of places. . . GUY: She already got dumped and fired: i fig that was enough bad news for one Saturday night. DELIA: Well, thanks for the champagne. I'm going back to bed. Church in the morning. GUY: Adam Powell must be preaching.

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DELIA (Blushing guiltily): As a matter of fact, he is. GUY: You all need to leave that poor man alone. Finish your champagne. DELIA: I want to tell him about the clinic. You should come go with me. Help me get my nerve up. GUY: You've got nerve to spare already. Besides, young Reverend Powell is not my type, thank you. The truth of the matter is, the finest young thing I've seen in ages walked home with me and Angel. DELIA: The man with you downstairs? Was he a friend of yours? GUY: Never saw him before in my life. He saw me struggling down 125th Street with a drunken woman in my arms and took pity on us. DELIA: A friend of Angel's? GUY: He's a stranger is what I'm trying to tell you. A mysterious gentleman who came to our aid and then melted back into the Harlem night. DELIA: That's very romantic. GUY: I thought so. That's one of the secrets of life Young Miss. Don't forget it. Learn to spot the romance. For example . . . (He presents a new costume sketch with a flourish) Voila! DELIA: It's wonderful! When did you. . . ? GUY: Last night. I dreamed it. I saw Josephine walking down the center staircase of one of those fabulous Folies Bergere sets in this very dress. And feel this. (He gently hands her a care. fully folded piece of brilliant magenta satin) Satin. Isn't it wonderful? DELIA (Awed by the richness of the fabric): Can you imagine sleeping on satin sheets? GUY: I understand your pastor is partial to them. DELIA: Who told you that? GUY: I run in international circles, girl. I have my sources. Look at you! I don't know how you can traipse around Harlem all day talking about opening birth control clinics and then blush when I tell you your pastor sleeps on satin sheets. DELIA: I just never thought about it. GUY (Suddenly): Deal, can I ask you something personal? DELIA: What if i say no? GUY: I'll ask you anyway. DELIA: Then go ahead. GUY: Are you a virgin? DELIA. (Flustered and indignant,' she clearly is): I'm twenty-five years old! GUY: That's what I thought! How wonderful! To be present at the awakening of another young fawn! DELIA: What makes you think I'm awakening?

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GUY: You're already drinking French champagne with a notorious homosexual at three o'clock on Sunday morning! What more proof do you need? DELIA: Just don't tell Angel. She already treats me like I'm her little sister. GUY: She treats everybody like they're her little sister. Drink up! (Pours more champagne and raises his glass to the photograph of Josephine Baker) To Josephine. Paris has never seen costumes like the ones I'm deg for La Bakaire! DELIA: Do you ever think you won't go? GUY: I'm going. Besides I have no choice. The matter is now officially out of my hands. Angel wasn't the only one who got fired last evening. DELIA: You? Why? GUY: Well, I couldn't hardly stand by and let Bobby toss her bodily out into the street, could I? DELIA: What are you going to do? GUY: I'm going to drive Josephine crazy until she sends for me. She promised she would and I'm going to take her at her word. DELIA: I've got a little money saved if you need anything. GUY: Aren't you sweet? (Kisses her) I'm fine for now. I've got a couple of jobs working on the outside, thank God! Do me a favor? DELIA: Sure. GUY: Don't tell Angel. I don't want her to panic. I can take care of both of us if I have to. It won't be the first time. DELIA: I promise. GUY: Thanks. Delia looks at Angel sleeping soundly. DELIA: Maybe I'll bring that typing chart by after church anyway. She might want to . . . try something new. GUY: Forget the charts. Come by after service and finish this champagne with us. DELIA: Does it have to be either-or? GUY: Everything is either-or, Sweetie. Good night. DELIA: Good night. (A beat) Do you really think I have nerve to spare? GUY: No question. He kisses her cheek. Delia crosses the hall to her own apartment, removes her shoes and robe and gets bach into bed. Guy closes his door. He walks quietly over to check on Angel and fixes her covers gently

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as the lights go to black. Scene Two Guy's apartment is quiet. Angel is still curled up on the sofa. Guy enters carrying a small overnight bag and comes upstairs. He opens the door to his apartment and sees no signs of life. He sets the bag down and peers at Angel, then goes over and shakes her gently. No activity. He removes his coat and hat, puts on coffee and shakes her again. She groans. ANGEL: Go away! GUY: Rise and shine! ANGEL: Are you crazy? What time is it? GUY: Half-past noon, Sweetie. ANGEL: Are you kidding? God! I feel like hell. GUY: You took pretty bad, too. ANGEL: Thanks. What have we got to drink? GUY: Coffee. She glares at him. GUY: But since you asked so nicely, I'll put some brandy in it for you. ANGEL: Aspirin? GUY: We're out. Again. ANGEL: Where were we last night anyway? GUY: Don't you ? ANGEL: If I ed I wouldn't be--oh! GUY: I thought it might come back to you. ANGEL: Did I--? GUY: You did. ANGEL: Did they--? GUY: They did. ANGEL: Fired me? GUY: Like you stole something. ANGEL: They'll take me back though, won't they? I mean, if I go down and talk nice to Bobby, he'll understand. I didn't throw anything, did I? A beat. He looks at her. Clearly, she did.

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GUY: Drink your coffee before you get yourself all worked up. Angel drinks the coffee slowly. ANGEL: Do you think they'll take me back. Really, I mean. GUY: Truth or solace? ANGEL: Truth. GUY: Not a chance. ANGEL: What the hell am I gonna do now? GUY: We'll think of something. ANGEL: Like what?The Depression has killed all the nightlife in Harlem and nobody's gonna hire me downtown after what I said to Nick. GUY: You can always come to Paris with me. ANGEL: Sure I can. GUY: I'm serious. ANGEL: I know you are, but you being serious doesn't pay the rent. GUY: Which brings us to my last little piece of good news. ANGEL: I can hardly wait. GUY: I went by your place. ANGEL: This morning? GUY: I figured Nicky's Catholic, he should be in church on Sunday morning. . . ANGEL: With his wife. GUY: . . . so that might be a good time to go get your stuff with a minimum of confusion. ANGEL: What kind of confusion? GUY: I don't brink the details are particularly important except to say that the doorman let me go up for a fast five minutes to get what I convinced him were irreplaceable and exotic medicines which you had to have or die an agonizing and immediate death which would be on his conscience forever, especially if you expired on the Sabbath. (He hands her the small bag) I grabbed what I could. ANGEL: This is it? GUY: I only had five minutes, Sweetie. ANGEL: He told me I could stay there as long as I wanted to. Think of it as your place, that's what he told me!

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GUY: Think of it as your old place. And welcome to your new one. ANGEL: I can't stay here. You know last time we tried that we stopped speaking to each other for a month. GUY: Okay. (He waits) ANGEL (Quietly): Go to hell. GUY: Don't worry about it. It'll be just like old times. Tripping over your stuff on the way to the toilet. Worrying about you wearing all my good clothes. You're over here half the time anyway. What's the big deal? ANGEL: Guy . . . She looks at him without speaking: He sees/senses her fear. They have had this kind of conversation many limes before. GUY: Look, even in your current sorry state, you're better off than most of the Negroes in Harlem. You've got a place to stay and I'm not gonna let you starve to death. We'll figure it out. ANGEL: I should be figuring things out for myself. GUY: Shoulda, coulda, woulda. ANGEL: My head hurts too bad to argue. GUY: Have I ever let you down? ANGEL: You know you haven't. GUY: I know I haven't, but I'm asking you. A beat. He waits. ANGEL: No, you have never let me down. GUY: You think I'm gonna start now? ANGEL: No, I don't think you're gonna start now. GUY: Then stop worrying and pull yourself together. Big Daddy's gonna keep everything fine and mellow. Just like always. ANGEL: But I'm so broke. I owe everybody. . . GUY: Just . . . like . . . always. Okay? ANGEL: I love you. GUY: I love you too, Sweetie. Delia enters from church and knocks loudly on their door. Angel groans and falls back, holding her head. Delia pokes her head in: DELIA: How is she?

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GUY: She's alive. DELIA: How are you feeling? ANGEL: How do I looK? DELIA: Well . . . ANGEL: Never mind. Do you have any aspirin? DELIA: I think I've got some across the hall. I've got something else to show you, too, but I'll wait until you're feeling better. Delia winks conspiratorially at Guy and goes to get the aspirin. During the dialogue that follows, Delia looks around for aspirin, but finds none. On her way out, she picks up the typing chart and book and takes them back across the hall with her. ANGEL: I can hardly wait. What is she talking about? GUY: She wants to teach you how to use a typewriter. ANGEL: What? Throughout this scene Guy works at his sewing while participating fully in the conversation. This is his habit and his friends are all used to it. GUY: Since you said you couldn't sing any more because of your broken heart, Deal thought you might want to take advantage of the growing opportunities in the secretarial pool. ANGEL: Tell me it hasn't come to that. GUY: It hasn't come to that. ANGEL: Swear it. GUY: I swear it. ANGEL: My head is killing me. Where is that child with the aspirin? GUY: Sam's coming by this afternoon. He'll have some. ANGEL: When did you see Sam? GUY: We saw him. Last night at Small's. ANGEL: God! I don't even being at Small's. Was I already drunk? GUY: Let's just say, the question was already beside the point. ANGEL (ing vaguely): Did he walk home with us? GUY: No. We left him at the club. He delivered five babies yesterday. He was celebrating their arrival. ANGEL: I thought there was somebody else. . .

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GUY: A brother walked with us part of the way from 125th Street. Saw a damsel in distress and offered his assistance. A real Southern gentleman from the accent. Beautiful silk suit, too. ANGEL: A silk suit? I thought you said he was Southern. GUY: I didn't say Southern bumpkin. ANGEL: Who was he? GUY: I never saw him around before. ANGEL: Didn't you ask him? GUY: I was a little preoccupied. Delia returns to the apartment. DELIA: I'm sorry. I guess I'm out too. Angel groans. ANGEL: Well, let's pray for Sam. (She lies down and closes her eyes) DELIA: Is Sam coming? GUY: Any minute now. DELIA: Oh, well. I'll go on then. GUY: Why? Doc's family. DELIA: He's just so . . . GUY: What? DELIA: Sometimes he doesn't seem like a doctor. He's out as much as you and Angel. GUY: Are we now the standard of dissipation? DELIA: No, but he's a doctor. GUY: Doctors can't like jazz? DELIA: It's not the music. It's the way he acts. Whoever heard of a doctor going around hollering. . . GUY: "Let the good times roll!" And he doesn't holier. He speaks with conviction. DELIA: Does that sound like a serious physician to you? GUY: Relax, Sweetie. Sam's the best doctor in New York City. He'll work his magic on Angel and we'll all go out to eat. ANGEL: Don't talk about food! DELIA: Angel? (No response) Can I show you something?

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ANGEL: No! DELIA: Oh, well. (A beat. She decides to plough ahead anyway. She lies out the typing chart and book) I can just leave it for you, then. You can look at it later. Whenever you feel like it. I don't need it back right away or anything. (A beat) I just thought maybe you . . . last night . . . you sounded like . . . you might want to try something new . . . and there are expanding opportunities in the secretarial pool. Angel groans loudly. GUY: Your timing is lousy, Deal. Come tell me what the good Reverend Powell was up to this morning. DELIA: He was wonderful! He got so worked up at the end of his sermon, he came out of the pulpit, walked straight down the middle aisle and right up Seventh Avenue. His robe was billowing out around him like wings. . . GUY: That Negro ought to quit preaching and go on into full-time show business. DELIA: By the time he turned around and came back he had picked up twenty new and the choir was still singing the invitational hymn. And guess what else? GUY: A dove landed on his shoulder and a voice said. . . DELIA: I talked to him about the clinic. GUY: You did? DELIA: And I wasn't even nervous. I was in line to shake his hand after service and he said he was happy to see I had decided to make Abyssinian my church home. And I said I was proud to be a part of a church that had a sense of responsibility to the masses. GUY: Not those Negroes again. DELIA (A little defensive): He knew what I meant! The people of Harlem. The women who need. . . Angel groans. ANGEL: Please don't get her all worked up! I can't take the history of the downtrodden without some aspirin! GUY: Our apologies, Madam. We forgot the presence of the infirm in our midst. (To Delia) Go on. DELIA: So then I said I was working with Margaret Sanger to open a family planning clinic right here in Harlem. GUY: You said "family planning" in the fellowship line at Abyssinian? (Laughs) I hope none of those high-tones from Sugar Hill heard you. DELIA: Then Reverend Powell said it sounded like a very interesting idea and to come by the church office on Monday so I could tell him more about it. GUY: Well, all-reet! You hear that, Angel? ANGEL (Groaning): I want Sam!

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Sam enters from the street and comes in their open door. SAM: Ask and ye shall receive! It's a boy! GUY: My favorite Harlem healer! Come on in, Doc. DELIA: How's the mother? SAM: You didn't let me finish. It's also a girl. DELIA: Twins? SAM: Mother and babies are doing fine. ANGEL: Just what Harlem needs. Two more mouths to feed. GUY: Don't listen to the cynic. Congratulations! SAM: Thank you on behalf of all concerned. Especially the proud father who also happens to be a successful bootlegger. (Pulls a bottle from his coat pocket) GUY (Going to get glasses or cups for everybody): I'm liking this family more all the time. SAM (To Angel): How're you feeling? ANGEL: Tell me you have aspirin or shoot me. SAM: Here, try this. (Hands her some pills from his pocket) ANGEL: What is it? SAM: Just aspirin. Hospital-strength. I've found it to be very effective in treating the Harlem hangover. (He hands her a glass of the bootleg liquor and she swallows it with the pills) DELIA (As Sam pours for the others): Is it really safe for us to drink it? GUY: Just enough to toast the new arrivals. DELIA: Aren't you afraid we'll go blind or something? SAM: Don't worry. I'm a doctor. (He holds up his glass) To the two newest citizens of Harlem! Long life, good health, and let the good times roll! GUY: Amen! They all drink. SAM: Feeling anything yet? ANGEL: Not yet. SAM: It just takes a minute. I promise. (He drains his glass) Seven babies in two days. I think it's a record. Even for me! GUY: Then you deserve another drink.

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SAM: Thank you, kind sir. (Pouring another for himself and for Guy) You know, that woman almost didn't make it. DELIA: The mother? SAM: They didn't even know she was carrying twins and one of them was coming breech. When I let her husband know what the risks were, he broke down and cried. He kept saying, "That's the best woman in the world in there, Doc. That's the best woman in the world." DELIA: If she's so precious to him, why didn't he take her to the doctor? SAM: He did. He just took her a little late, that's all. GUY: Why didn't she take herself? If she's old enough to have two babies at one time, she ought to be able to figure out how to catch the subway. ANGEL (Suddenly): It worked! SAM: I told you. ANGEL: It's a miracle! You're a genius, Sam! They ought to put you in charge of Harlem hospital. SAM: That's not my reward, is it? GUY: No. Your reward is you get to take us all out for Sunday dinner. Can you come, Deal? DELIA: Well, I . . . SAM (Interrupting her quickly before she can refuse): Great idea! What do you think, Angel? Ready for solid food yet? ANGEL: Not a chance. You all go on though. I'll be fine. DELIA: Want us to bring you back a plate? GUY: If you think I'm going to the Sunday promenade carrying a plate of leftover collard greens, you could not be more wrong! SAM: Let's go. Now that you said food, I'm starving! DELIA: Give me five minutes. GUY: Take ten. I need to freshen up myself. SAM: Good. I'll take a quick nap. Delia exits to her apartment, Guy to the bedroom. Sam sits slumped in his chair with his eyes closed. Angel watches him. He speaks without opening his eyes. SAM: So how is it, Angel Eyes? ANGEL: It's been better. SAM: Well, look on the bright side.

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ANGEL: What bright side is that? SAM: I met a bootlegger and found a cure for hangover in the same week. ANGEL: Nice work if you can get it. Angel is pacing around restlessly. Sam opens his eyes and watches her. SAM: Why don't you sing me some Sunday morning blues? ANGEL: Didn't your momma teach you not to sing no blues on the Lord's day? Sam leans back and closes his eyes again wearily. SAM: My momma taught me that man was the beginning and end of his own misery and that calling on God to fix it once you broke it was a comfort we were not allowed. ANGEL (Sitting beside him and stroking his forehead maternally): Your momma said a mouthful to answer a simple question, huh? SAM: The curse of the Negro intellectual. A beat. ANGEL: You look like hell. SAM (Eyes still closed): The pot calling the kettle. . . ANGEL: But you're supposed to be respectable. SAM: Our recent population explosion didn't leave me much time to get my suit pressed. I don't look that bad, do I? ANGEL: Terrible. You need somebody to take care of you, Doc. I'm looking for a job. Let's get married. SAM: Wait 'til I tell you what my mother said about marriage. ANGEL: Too bad. I'd be a great wife. You'd come home from a hard day's work, and I'd be there with a hot, home-cooked meal on the table and your slippers by the fire. SAM: Can't you be there in a red satin shimmy singing "St. Louis Blues" and drinking bathtub gin? ANGEL: That's not the wife! That's the girlfriend. SAM: Okay. Lose the shimmy. Lose the gin. Keep the blues. A beat. ANGEL: Why didn't we ever get together? SAM: Because you deserve better. A beat. She is moved by the directness of his response, but then she laughs as if he was only teasing. ANGEL: All right, smooth talker! If I go to hell, it's on your conscience. (She begins to sing "St. Louis

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Blues") I hate to see The evening sun go down I hate to see The evening sun go down It makes me think I'm on my last go-round. . . Delia re-enters. Angel sings her way over to Delia and begins dancing with her as she sings. Delia is shy, but delighted. Sam watches them affectionately. SAM: I didn't realize your revolution left a space for dancing. ANGEL (Still dancing): All revolutions leave a space for dancing. They just like to pretend they don't. Delia stops dancing. DELIA (Defensive): I'm not trying to make a revolution. I'm just trying to give women in Harlem the chance to plan their families. SAM: From what I hear, your Mrs. Sanger said that's where the whole thing begins. Women's bodies out of their control. Sickly kids and sorry men everywhere you look. Delia is becoming more agitated. She doesn't know Sam well and she's never sure when he is teasing her. SAM: And she's fight, of course! (He raises a glass, still teasing) Here's to victory for your side. Guy (Re-enters dressed to go out): I leave for five minutes and you all are choo sides. What did you do, Angel? ANGEL: Me? I didn't do anything. I sang "St. Louis Blues" for Doc and . . . GUY: Well, there you go. What did your momma tell you about singing those low-down blues on Sunday morning? ANGEL (To Sam): I warned you! GUY: Change your mind and come with us. ANGEL: Where are you going? GUY: Probably down to Ike Hines's. ANGEL: Chinese food? SAM: I have the feeling Delia's changing her mind about going anywhere with me. DELIA: It's just not funny to me, that's all. Women are dying. . . GUY: Don't pay Sam any mind. He can't help it. (To Angel) Coming? ANGEL: It's too early in the day for chop suey. GUY: Well, try to behave yourself until we get back. Everybody ready?

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SAM (To Delia): It's not funny to me either. I apologize. I was just teasing because I didn't know how to tell the two of you how beautiful you looked dancing in the sunlight. It won't happen again. Sam extends his arm and after a slight hesitation, Delia takes it. GUY: Well, la dee dah! Now can we eat? DELIA: I'm starving. The rest of the conversation takes place as they exit. DELIA: Do you want to go by the reading at the "Y" afterward? GUY: Not unless Langston is going to be there. SAM: Langston's not back yet, is he? GUY: There's your answer! They exit. Angel watches them go from the window. She walks absentmindedly around the apartment. She looks at the typing chart and open typing book. She holds her hands over the chart as if preparing to type, then shudders and moves away. She picks up a fan and fans herself languidly. When she es the window, she leans out, still fanning, hoping for something to catch her eye. Leland enters. He is well dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and tie. She sees him as he sees her, but she does not him from last night. He looks at her without embarrassment. She smiles at him, intrigued, fanning seductively. ANGEL: Hot enough for you? LELAND: Yes, ma'am. ANGEL (Amused by his formality): You're not from around here, huh? LELAND: I'm from Alabama. ANGEL: You a long way from home, Alabama. LELAND: My name is Leland. ANGEL: First or last? LELAND: I beg your pardon? ANGEL: Leland your first name or your last one? LELAND: First one, Leland Cunningham's my full Christian name. ANGEL: And are you a Christian, Mr. Leland Cunningham? LELAND: I try to be. ANGEL: Good for you. (A beat) I'm Angel. You looking for somebody, or you just looking. LELAND: I was looking for you.

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ANGEL: I think you've got me confused with somebody else. LELAND: Last night. (A beat) With your . . . friend. He was taking you home and I . . . ANGEL: You're not my Southern gentleman, are you? LELAND: I guess I am . . . ANGEL: Well, thank you for your assistance. (A beat) But what are you doing here today? LELAND: I just wanted to see if you were feeling all right. ANGEL: I'm feeling fine. Just fine . . . thanks. LELAND: Well, good. I just wanted to be sure everything was . . . that you were okay. A beat. She watches him, fanning herself slowly. ANGEL: So how hot does it get in Alabama? LELAND: It's pretty near always this hot down there. One way or another. ANGEL: Well, it's not always this hot in Harlem, but today it is. (A beat) Do you know what I mean? LELAND: I'm not sure that I do. ANGEL: What I mean is, it's a little too hot today for a lady to take a stroll with a gentlemen friend even if the idea presented itself to her. He looks at her. A beat. He wants this to be the right answer. LELAND: It's supposed to be a lot cooler by the weekend. ANGEL: You keep up with the weather, do you? LELAND: I grew up on a farm. Old habits are hard to break. ANGEL: All right, Alabama, why don't you come by next Sunday evening and we'll take us an old-fashioned Southern stroll. LELAND: Around seven? ANGEL: Apartment Two. LELAND: I won't be late. ANGEL: I know you won't, Alabama. It's not in your nature. LELAND: Call me Leland. ANGEL: Leland. He tips his hat and exits. She smiles after him as the lights go to black. Scene Three

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Delia is unwrapping a box that has arrived in the mail. On top of the tissue paper inside is a note in a small envelope. Delia reads the note, smiles and puts it aside. She folds back the tissue paper and pulls out a dress. It is a bright color and very different from the plain suits Delia usually wears. She looks at it, holds it up against herself and smiles. She even twirls a little, imagining herself in the dress. She lays it carefully aside and returns to the table where she was working earlier. She picks up her pen and begins to work. She stops suddenly, looks up at the dress, smiles again and focuses completely on her work. Angel enters downstairs and walks slowly up the stairs. She kicks off her shoes and drops her hat as soon as she enters the apartment door. Guy is not home and the apartment is empty. She is wearing a fairly dressy suit. She sighs and then begins looking around for something. She looks under cushions, chair, in drawers, etc. Not finding what she is looking for, she stops in frustration, looks around the room. She thinks hard as she looks at the sewing corner, listens, looks out the window to see who might be coming. Seeing no one, she moves swiftly to the sewing area, opens a drawer; nothing. She listens again. Opens another drawer. Victory! She holds up a bottle of liquor with guilty relief. She really wants a drink. She grabs a glass, pours a shot, and gulps it, eyes closed. She relaxes a little, then pours another drink. Carefully, she puts the bottle back. She sits down and holds the drink close to her. Guy enters downstairs. She hears him on the steps, gulps down her drink and puts the glass under the chair. Guy enters with several bolts of fabric. He is pleased to see Angel who stands guiltily, holding her hat. GUY: Well, hey, Sweetie! (Kisses her on both cheeks) Comment ca va? You just walk in the door? ANGEL: Just this minute. Where've you been? GUY: Over at the Hole in the Wail measuring these chubby little chorus girls who keep trying to lie about their weight when I'm sitting right there with a tape measure. ANGEL: Why are you working at that dive? What's Bobby gonna say? GUY: The money was too good to turn it down. I sound like a whore, don't I? ANGEL: Not yet. GUY: Thanks for the vote of confidence. And how was your day? ANGEL: Terrible, thanks. GUY: No luck, huh? ANGEL: There are no singing jobs in Harlem. Period. GUY: Well, it's not too late to take Deal up on her offer to teach you typing. ANGEL: That isn't funny. I've been all over Harlem and nobody will even give me the time of day. There aren't any jobs doing anything, especially singing for your supper. Whole families sitting on the sidewalk with their stuff set out beside them. No place to sleep. No place to wash. Walking all day. GUY: Listen, Sweetie . . . I saw Nick. ANGEL: You spoke to him? GUY: He asked me where you were working and I had to confess you were between engagements.

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ANGEL: It's all his fault, the sorry bastard. GUY: He said he felt bad about what had happened and he gave me a number for you m call about an audition. A club downtown. ANGEL: Really? Which one? GUY: Here. Guy pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to Angel. She reads it, face falls for a minute, then she regroups and looks on the bright side. ANGEL: I know this Guy. He's a friend of Nick's. You know Tony T. GUY: I've seen him around. . . ANGEL: Why'd you say it like that? GUY: I just don't think he's looking for a singer. A beat. She looks stunned. ANGEL: Nick wouldn't do that. Guy is silent. ANGEL: He said an audition, right? A beat. GUY: You can't make it real just because you want it to be. ANGEL: Are you really going to Paris? GUY: It's not the same thing. ANGEL: Why isn't it? Because you're some kind of genius with a dream and I'm just a colored woman out of a job? GUY: Is that your dream? Singing for gangsters? And then what? ANGEL: Then I'll have to figure out something else. Isn't that what you always tell me? "One step at a time." GUY: Okay. One step at a time. Audition. Sing your heart out and if he acts a fool, me and Sam will cut his heart out for him. ANGEL: It's a deal. GUY: Just don't ask me to make you anything to wear. I don't have time and I can't make time. You're on your own. ANGEL: You can make twelve outfits for those Hole in the Wall floozies and not one little dress for me? GUY: They're not floozies and their boss is paying enough to get me halfway to Paris.

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ANGEL: How long can it take to run up one little dress? GUY: Wear your suit. It still looks great on you. ANGEL: Everybody's already seen it! GUY: You're not going to let me say no, are you? ANGEL: Not if I can help it. GUY: I'll alter the suit . . . slightly! And I'll make you a hat. That's my final offer. ANGEL: I swear I will never ask you for anything again! GUY: Let's have a drink before you make any more promises you can't possibly keep. ANGEL (Innocently): Do we have anything? I thought we drank the last of that. He goes to the bottle Angel has recently restashed. He squints at the level of the alcohol. GUY: Well, we didn't, but we're working on it. (He pours two drinks and hands one to Angel) ANGEL: You know everywhere I went this week there were twenty people in line ahead of me. I've never seen things this bad all over. Nobody's working and nobody's got prospects, GUY: For prospects, you gotta look past 125th Street. No law says we gotta live and die in Harlem, USA. just cause we happened to wind up here when we finally blew out of Savannah. The world is a big place! ANGEL: Getting smaller every day. GUY: No it isn't. I can look out of this very window and see us walking arm in arm down the Champs Elysees. ANGEL: how you used to take those old broke-up binoculars whenever we'd go to the beach at home? The only Negro in the world ever tried to see Paris from the coast of Georgia. GUY: I am not! Langston said he used to . . . oh, my God! I almost forgot! He's back! ANGEL: Langston? Since when? GUY: Since last Saturday. I ran into Bruce Nugent and he said the group is gathering at his place later for a welcome home. Everybody is going to be there. Want to go preen? ANGEL: Can I wear your tux? GUY: I'm wearing my tax! Why don't you go very femme? You'll probably be the only lady at this affair. Shaw them what they're missing, ANGEL: I hate being the only girl. You always abandon me the first time some sweet young thing flutters his eyelashes at you, then I'm stuck the rest of the night making small talk with guy's who are still pretending not to know why they came there.

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GUY: Okay. Let's take Deal. ANGEL (Laughing): Deal's not ready for one of Bruce's parties and you know it. GUY: Well, it's time she got ready. Go ask her. We all deserve a night out! ANGEL: I can return her chart, too, thank God! GUY: I'm going to take a quick nap since Bruce's parties require one to be both ravishing and alert. Wake me at seven if you don't hear me up, will you? Dinner's at eight. ANGEL: Dinner? How rich is Bruce's new lover? GUY: It's just buffet, darling. He may have long money but he's not going to try and feed the entire Negro demimonde! ANGEL: I'll wake you in plenty of time. She crosses the hall to knock at Delia's apartment door. Guy goes into the bedroom for his nap. Delia is working. She answers the door reluctantly. ANGEL: Are you busy? DELIA: Wall, I'm working on some stuff for Reverend Powell. ANGEL: But don't you want to hear the news? Delia pauses. ANGEL: It's good news. DELIA: All right. ANGEL: I'm not going to learn how to type. (She hands the chart back to Delia) Want to know why? DELIA: Why? ANGEL: I got an audition! DELIA: That's wonderful! Where? ANGEL: A place downtown. The owner's a friend of Nick's. He's always wanted me to sing there so I think the audition is pretty much just for show. DELIA: You should do that song you were singing on Sunday. ANGEL: Those Italians don't care nothin' about no blues. They like hotsy-totsy girls, grinnin' and shakin' and singin' all at the same damn time. (A beat) Can I tell you something? DELIA: Sure . . . ANGEL: Guy got fired. DELIA: How do you know?

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ANGEL: I went to the club today to beg Bobby for my job back. DELIA: What did he say? ANGEL: They fired him the same night they did me! DELIA: I mean about your old job. ANGEL: Not a chance. Of course, he let me beg for awhile before he said no. (A beat) I couldn't figure out why Guy was taking work from dives like the Hole in the Wall, but he hasn't got any choice. DELIA: He says it won't be for long. Just until. . . ANGEL: Don't say it! The myth of the magical Josephine. She practically lives with us but so far I haven't seen her share of the rent money! DELIA: Guy says he expects to hear from her by the end of the month. ANGEL: Guy says, Guy says! He's been sending her sketches for a year but have you seen a return cable? A letter? A postcard of the Eiffel Tower? Nothing! Nothing but that damn picture hanging up there grinning at me all day and all night! (A beat) Guy's a dreamer. He always was and he always will be, but I'm gonna hitch my star to somebody a little closer to home. (Suddenly brightens) I almost forgot the rest of my good news! Langston's back and you have to come with us to the welcome home party! DELIA: I don't even know Langston Hughes. ANGEL: Half the people there don't know him either. That's what makes it fun. To see the ones who don't trying to pretend to be the ones who do. DELIA: I can't tonight. Sam's coming over. ANGEL: Sam's coming here? When? DELIA: In a little while. Reverend Powell suggested I ask him to help me get ready for the deacons meeting next week. Some of them aren't crazy about the clinic. (A beat) I didn't even know Reverend Powell knew Sam. ANGEL: Everybody knows Sam, this is just his first time calling on you. DELIA: He's not calling on me. We're working together. ANGEL: He thinks you're adorable. DELIA: What are you talking about? ANGEL: You don't think he was grinning at me dancing in the sunshine, do you? DELIA: Then why is he always teasing me? ANGEL: It's just his way. (Notices the new dress) Deal . . . you don't have anything I can wear, do you? For the audition? I've worn this to death and I lost all my other stuff at Nicky's. DELIA: I don't think so. Most of my stuff is . . . plain.

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ANGEL: I know! DELIA: Social workers are supposed to blend in, otherwise we scare people. ANGEL: Those suits they make you wear are what scare people. I begged Guy to make me something new, but he's crazy trying to get Josephine's things done and these new costumes for . . . (As if she just noticed the dress) Deal! What about this? Is it new? DELIA: My aunt just sent it to me. She doesn't like my suits much either. ANGEL: It's beautiful. Do you think it would fit me? I know we're not exactly the same size, but I think I could . . . can I try it? DELIA: Well, I guess so. Angel stops suddenly. ANGEL: What is wrong with me? This is a brand-new dress, isn't it? You're probably saving it for something special. DELIA: An audition is something special, isn't it? ANGEL: Thanks, Deal. Really. (Puts on the dress immediate(y) Zip me up! The dress looks great. ANGEL: How do I look? DELIA: Better than I ever will in it! ANGEL: It's perfect! I can't lose! I'll be a big star in no time and we'll both go to Paris and drink champagne and marry two rich old Frenchmen who will die immediately and leave us everything! DELIA: Sounds wonderful, but I've got to get back to work. A beat. ANGEL: Look at you, Deal. You got bags under your eyes like an old woman. All tired and frowned up. DELIA: I do look tired, don't I? ANGEL: Sit down here for a minute. Can I take your hair aloose? DELIa: Angel. . . ANGEL: This will only take a minute, I promise. Delia sits and Angel begins to massage her head expertly. As she talks, we see Delia's body relax. ANGEL: A New Orleans Voodoo woman showed me how to do this when I was a little girl back in Savannah. DELIA: What was she doing in Savannah? ANGEL: The Voodoo woman? What does anybody do anywhere? How does that feel? DELIA: Wonderful. ANGEL: You have to use your whole hand. All the fingers at the same time, but not too hard. Just

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enough. DELIA (Her eyes closed): It feels like everything is just . . . floating away. ANGEL (Massaging Delia's head expertly and gently as she speaks): When I was working at Miss Lillie's, as many of those old men would pay me for this as would pay me for the other. DELIA: I don't know how you can talk about it like that. ANGEL: Talk about what like that? DELIA: About what happened to you. ANGEL: It was better than living on the street. Delia doesn't respond. ANGEL: Look, I'm none the worse for wear and a whole lot smarter than most women will ever be. There's nothing a man can do to surprise me. (A beat) At least I didn't have to wear old lady suits to work. Delia laughs in spite of herself DELIA: Aren't there any colored gangsters you could fall in love with? ANGEL: They're married, too, just like the Italians. Sam enters and comes upstairs. DELIA: That feels wonderful. ANGEL: See? Those old guys still got their money's worth. SAM (Standing at the open door): And that's important to us old guys! ANGEL: Hey, Doc! DELIA: Oh! You startled me! SAM: I'm sorry. I thought we were going to work on your speech. DELIA: Yes, yes! Of course we are. (She reties her hair back from her face) SAM (To Angel): Can you do me? ANGEL: Sorry. For ladies only. I'll leave you two to your hard work since I can't talk you into coming out to celebrate with us. SAM: Too bad. What are we not celebrating? ANGEL: I've got an audition downtown and, Langston's back! SAM: It's about time. I thought that Negro had put us down for good. ANGEL: Welcome back party tonight at Bruce's. Guy's across the hall getting his beauty winks right

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now. SAM: He'll have to go aways to outshine you in that dress. It looks like it was made for you. ANGEL: It's Deal's! SAM (Surprised): Really? ANGEL: Turn your back, Doc, so I can return this dress and leave you two in peace. DELIA (Quickly): Keep it. You can give it back after your audition. ANGEL: I'll take good care of it. I promise. DELIA: I believe you. ANGEL: And don't pay me any attention, Doc. We promise to have a terrible time without you and, knowing Langston, he probably won't do anything but sit on the fire escape and laugh at everybody. SAM: Tell him to laugh loud enough for me, will you? Angel exits to her apartment. She goes into the bedroom to wake Guy. SAM: That's a very beautiful dress. DELIA: It was a gift. I don't know what my aunt was thinking. A beat. Sam smiles, but remains at the door. DELIA: If you want to go out, it's all right. I don't want you to feel obligated. SAM: I'm glad to have a chance to help. May I come in? DELIA: Of course. I'm sorry. Please . . . come in. She starts to close the door, then leaves it partially open. Sam observes this. SAM: If Reverend Powell hadn't told you to ask me, I'd have been forced to volunteer. DELIA: Why didn't you? SAM: I thought you might be suspicious of my motives. A middle-aged man with a bad reputation offering to help a beautiful young woman? DELIA: Do you have a bad reputation? SAM (Smiling): In some quarters. DELIA: Yes . . . well. Let me take your hat. Sit down. SAM: Thank you. DELIA: Why don't I tell you about our planning so far and then you can read what I've been working on? SAM: I'm all ears. (He suddenly yawns widely) Please excuse me. I've been working double shifts this

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week. We're still shorthanded. DELIA: Would you like some coffee? SAM: Thanks. Maybe that'll wake me up. As the following scene progresses, Delia shows Sam some papers, pointing out things to him. She finally hands him a sheaf of pages rind as he reads, she stands up to make coffee. She is trying to give him time to read. We see his head jerk several times. He is trying not to fall asleep. He finally loses the battle, his chin sinks to his chest over the pages in his hand and he sleeps. Across the hall, Angel comes out of the bedroom. She is carrying shoes, a shawl, etc. When she comes out, she puts these down and finds the other things she wants among her scattered belongings: several pairs of earrings, other jewelry to try, another pair of shoes, etc. She still has on Delia's dress, but during this scene, she accessorizes it into something so glamorous, it is barely recognizable. Guy comes out of the bedroom wearing a beautiful, perfectly cut tuxedo and a formal white shirt. He goes to the mirror and fiddles with his tie. Angel stands at the mirror too, putting on her makeup. ANGEL: Let me do it. GUY: Don't get lipstick on my collar! ANGEL: Hold still. (She fixes it expertly) Voila! He slips on his jacket. GUY: How do I look? ANGEL: You look positively Parisian! GUY: Merci, mademoiselle. I'm sorry Deal's not coming, but that dress is perfect for you. I can't believe she let you walk out the door in it. ANGEL: Sam said it looked like it was made for me. GUY: That's your special talent. Everybody's clothes look better on you. ANGEL; I should wear this on Sunday. GUY: And where are we going on Sunday? ANGEL: I'm going for a stroll with my mystery man. GUY: What mystery man? ANGEL: The guy who walked home with us the other night. GUY: You saw him again? ANGEL: He came by Sunday after you all went to Ike Hines. His name is Leland Cunningham. From Alabama. GUY: What did he want?

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ANGEL: He wanted to make sure I was okay. A real gentleman. GUY: Which is exactly why you need to leave the boy alone. ANGEL: He's a grown man. And a good-looking one too. GUY: All right, "He's a grown man." that when he's howling outside the window after you get tired of that down-home charm. ANGEL: I thought you wanted me to stop hanging around with gangsters. GUY: I do. ANGEL: Well, he's definitely not a gangster and we're only going for a walk, if it's okay with you. GUY: No skin off my nose. I'd have winked at him myself if I thought he was open to persuasion. ANGEL: Not a chance! GUY: By the way, who did you tell your country boy I was? ANGEL: My baby sister. They exit to the hallway. Delia's door is still partially open. GUY (Whispering): Should we let them see how beautiful we are? ANGEL (Also whispering, but suggestively): They're working. (She takes his arm and smiles) We are beautiful, aren't we? GUY: We are tres elegant. They exit together. Lights back up on Delia, finishing her tea. Sam's back is to her. She looks at him expectantly. DELIA: Well, what do you think? Sam makes no response and she gets up to walk around to his front. She sees that he is asleep. She is taken aback. At first she is offended, then she is curious, then sympathetic. She sits down across from him and shakes his hand gently. He wakes with a start and blinks guiltily at Delia. SAM: Was I sleeping? Delia nods. SAM: How long? DELIA: Long enough. (She takes the pages from where he has dropped them) Pretty bad, huh? SAM: No, no! It's my fault. I haven't had much sleep lately. DELIA: Maybe you should cut back on your nightlife. SAM: That's the one thing I should not do.

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DELIA: And why is that? SAM: Because it helps me that we're not just a bunch of premature labors and gunshot wounds. In a choice between a couple of hours sleep and a couple of hours of Fats Waller, I'd have to let the good times roll! DELIA: Don't you ever stop teasing? SAM: I don't want to work so hard on the body I forget about the soul. (A beat) Besides, I've already cut back on my nightlife. My longtime partners in crime are out fight now terrorizing our mutual friends and I'm here with you, working tirelessly to save the race! DELIA: Maybe not so tirelessly. . . SAM: The clinic is a great idea. Your speech is fine and if the good Reverend Powell endorses it, the deacon board probably will too, but . . . DELIA: But what? SAM (Gently): I deliver babies everyday to exhausted women and stone-broke men, but they never ask me about birth control. They ask me about jobs. DELIA: What does that mean? SAM: It means we still see our best hope in the faces of our children and it's going to take more than some rich white women playing missionary in Harlem to convince these Negroes otherwise. DELIA (Angrily): Why can't we take help wherever we can find it? SAM: Because it's more complicated than that. The Garveyites are already charging genocide and the clinic isn't even open yet. DELIA: Genocide? SAM: And they're not the only ones who feel that way. What does family planning mean to the average colored man? White women teaching colored women how to stop having children. DELIA: A woman shouldn't have to make a baby every time she makes love! A beat. SAM: Is that what you're going to tell those deacons at Abyssinian? She realizes he has been preparing her for the possibility of these hostile questions from the deacon board. She calms down and answers carefully. DELIA: No. I'm going to ask them for their help in building strong families with healthy mothers, happy children and loving fathers all over Harlem. Is that better? SAM (Smiling): Much better. That's the only approach they can buy. I don't think pleasure is the guiding principle at Abyssinian yet, despite the pastor's best efforts in that direction. DELIA: Reverend Powell thinks very highly of you. Everyone does.

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SAM: Do you? DELIA: We all do. The work you've done at the hospital . . . in the community. People are always very impressed that I've met you. . . SAM (Embarrassed): That sounds so respectable, I'm about to make myself sick. DELIA: You're teasing me again. SAM: I apologize. It's late. I'd better go. DELIA: Thank you for your help. SAM: Now you're teasing me. DELIA: No. I mean it. SAM: Did I say something helpful in between resting my eyes? DELIA: Yes, you did. SAM: Maybe I was talking in my sleep. DELIA: Maybe you should try it more often. SAM: But who'll be there to what I say? DELIA: Good night. SAM: Good night. He exits. Delia gathers her papers thoughtfully and gets ready for bed as the lights fade to black. Scene Four Guy is sewing on the couch. Angel enters from the street. She is moving quickly, kicking off her shoes, looking for accessories, changing into Delia's dress again. GUY: Where have you been? I thought I was going to have to entertain your beau all by myself. ANGEL: This is the only day the guys could get together to rehearse for the audition. GUY: How'd it go? ANGEL: Great! They sounded so good they make me think I can really sung! (She puts on some very delicate high heels) I thought you were going to the theatre with Deal. GUY: We're probably going to miss it, thank God! I do not think my nerves are strong enough for an evening with the literati. Everybody is sure to be abuzz with the news. ANGEL: What news? GUY: Bruce and some stallion were holding hands on the street the other night and a group of those young hoodlums knocked the wind out of them for their trouble. ANGEL: Where were they?

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GUY: Right around the corner. ANGEL: Are they all right? GUY: Mother and baby both doing fine. Bruce was barefoot, as usual, and they kept trying to stomp on his feet, but he was too quick. ANGEL: I'm telling you, this Depression is making people mean. GUY: People been mean, Bruce needs to get himself a straight razor. . . . I thought you two were going for a walk. ANGEL: We are. GUY: You're not going very far in those shoes. ANGEL: Far enough. Where's Deal? GUY: They changed the deacon's meeting at the last minute. She had to give her speech tonight. ANGEL: Tonight? Was she ready? GUY: She was nervous as a cat. Sam went along for moral . ANGEL: Good old Sam! (She holds up two different pairs of earrings) These or these? GUY: Those. ANGEL: Do you think so? I thought these might be better with it. GUY (Exasperated): Why not wear one of each? What is wrong with you tonight? ANGEL: The terrible truth is, I don't quite what to do when a gentleman comes to call. GUY: Open the door, extend your hand and drag him in. She leans to look critically at her face in the mirror. She touches the area around her eyes and at the corners offer mouth and neck. ANGEL: How old do you think he is? GUY: Younger than you'd like him to be. Stop worrying. You look beautiful. ANGEL: The whole time I was going around with Nicky, the whole time I was singing at the Club, I kept thinking something wonderful was going to happen, but it never did. In my mind, I could see myself doing all these things with Nick--riding around in fancy cars, wearing furs, him giving me diamonds. I even saw us getting married. But mostly all we did was go to his place after I'd do the last show. Half the time, his friends would come with us and they'd all sit around drinking and playing cards like I wasn't even there. Then when I'd ask him to take me home, he'd tell me he wanted me to stay around to bring him luck. I wishing I could bring myself some luck once in awhile, (A beat) This Guy feels like luck to me. I don't know why, but he does. That's not so bad, is it? GUY: Just , Sweetie, Alabama isn't just a state. It's a state of mind.

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Sam and Delia enter the building talking excitedly. SAM (Laughing): I thought Deacon Johnson was never going to come around. DELIA: Until he ed you delivered all his grandchildren. GUY: Brace yourself. Here come the rebels. DELIA (Bursting in, excited): Sam was wonderful. He convinced everybody. . . SAM (With exaggerated courtliness): . . . who hadn't been convinced already by the brilliance of your speech. DELIA: Tease me as much as you want. We're going to have the best clinic in New York City right up on 126th Street! SAM: My practice doesn't stand a chance. GUY: I take it this means you birth control fanatics will now be free to roam around Harlem at will? DELIA: Not only that. They're going to list the clinic name, address and services in the church bulletin and I've got an interview with the Amsterdam News. GUY: All that in one night? I am impressed! SAM: She was amazing. i stayed awake the whole time. ANGEL: High praise from a man who can sleep anywhere. SAM: I rose to the occasion. ANGEL: I'll bet you did! DELIA: Do you deliver every grandbaby born in Harlem? SAM: I do my best. ANGEL: Looks like you owe Doc one, Deal. DELta (Flustered): One what? GUY: One evening out for dinner with a few of his closet friends. DELIA: That sounds good to me. SAM: Me, too, but don't you have tickets to the opening at the Lafayette? DELIA: I had forgotten all about it! GUY: Thanks a lot, Doc! DELIA (To Sam): Can you come with us? I'm sure they have tickets left. GUY: Doc has never stayed awake through a theatrical performance in his life.

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SAM: I took a nap this afternoon. I'm good until midnight. GUY: Well, I stand corrected. . . DELIA: Want to come, Angel? GUY: She can't! She has a gentleman caller arriving momentarily. DELIA: Really? Who? ANGEL: His name is Leland Cunningham. GUY: And he's the prettiest young country thing for miles. SAM: Is this an official date or just a friendly visit? ANGEL: We're just going for a walk. SAM: A Sunday stroll? Angel, this is a new you. GUY: That's what I told her. SAM: I can't wait to meet him. GUY: No time like the present. We've got a minute, don't we, Deal? She looks at her watch nervously. GUY: Of course, we do. He won't be late. No gentleman caller worth the name comes late for a Sunday stroll. ANGEL: Well, sit down then so you all won't scare him to death the minute he walks in. GUY: Perfect! We can be casually engaged in pleasant conversation. A beat. No one can think of a neutral topic. GUY: Okay. I'll start. (To Angel with exaggerated interest) Wherever did you get that beautiful dress? ANGEL: Go to hell! DELIA: What did you decide to do for your audition? ANGEL:Thank you! I took your advice. I'm singing blues. DELIA: I thought you said Italians don't like blues. ANGEL: They don't have to like blues. They just have to like me. Plus, I'm singing it real fast, almost double-time. She snaps her fingers and begins to sing while she talks, performing for them. Leland enters downstairs and comes up to the door. He checks the number, but before he knocks he listens to her singing. ANGEL: And I've got on Deal's beautiful dress, again, and a hat specifically designed for me by none other than Monsieur Guy de Paree and I'm dancing just a little and singing the best I've sung in years

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and everything is right on time! She completes the song with a flourish. They applaud as Leland knocks at the door. ANGEL: What did I tell you? Angel goes to the door. Leland immediately removes his hat. He is wearing a dark suit, a white shirt and a tie. ANGEL: Hello, Alabama. LELAND: Good evening. ANGEL: Come on in and say hello. (She draws him in) You met Guy. GUY: Thanks again for your help the other night. LELAND: My pleasure. ANGEL: This is Delia. She lives across the hall. This is her dress. LELAND: It's beautiful. DELIA: Thank you. ANGEL: And this is Sam, but we call him Doc. LELAND: Are you really a doctor? SAM: Harlem Hospital. Fifteen years Christmas. LELAND: It's an honor. I've never met a Negro doctor before. GUY: Well, stick around. Who knows what else new you might find! SAM: Where in Alabama are you from? LELAND: Tuskegee. SAM: Home of the world-famous Institute. LELAND (Pleased): You're familiar with Dr. Washington's work? SAM: I'm an irer. DELIA: I hate to rash everybody, but we're trying to make an eight o'clock curtain. GUY: The literati wait for no man! SAM: Good to meet you, Leland. LELAND: Same here. GUY: Bye, Sweetie!

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Sam, Delia and Guy exit. LELAND: I didn't know you were a singer. ANGEL: You heard me? LELAND: Through the door. ANGEL: What did you think I was? LELAND: Nothing. I mean, I didn't think about you working. ANGEL: What did you think about me doing? He doesn't answer and she laughs at his & comfort. ANGEL: Do I make you nervous, Alabama? LELAND: I knew somebody . . . (A beat) You look a lot like somebody I used to know back home. I keep expecting her voice to come out of your mouth. ANGEL: Was she your sweetheart? LELAND: She was my wife. She died eight months ago giving birth to our son. She was always frail, but she said the Lord said be fruitful and multiply and that's what she intended to do. I lost them both. ANGEL: How long were you married? LELAND: Two years last May. We grew up together, I knew her all my life. ANGEL: That's a long time to know somebody and not get tired of them. LELAND: I couldn't get tired of Anna. It'd be like getting tired of your arms. (A beat) When I ed you and your friend on the street that night, I thought you were a ghost. ANGEL: Did I look that bad? LELAND: You looked beautiful. I thought my Anna had come back to me. You've got her eyes, her mouth, her smile. . . ANGEL (Interrupting him): Listen, Alabama, I may look like her, but I'm not her. Don't let's get things confused. LELAND: I'm not confused. (A beat) I'm real glad to be right here. ANGEL (Softening): I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just hard enough to find a gentleman you want to spend some time with and if he's already got another woman's face in his mind, well. . . (She shrugs) It's still a little hot for a stroll, I think. Would you like to sit here in the window and see if we can catch a breeze? She gets her fan and he pulls up two chairs. LELAND: Are these all right? ANGEL: Fine.

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They sit. As the scene progresses, darkness falls. ANGEL: I feel like I've been asking all the questions. Now you ask me something. LELAND: What do you want me to ask? ANGEL: What do you want to know? LELAND: IS that really your name? ANGEL: Yes. My turn again. What are you doing in Harlem? LELAND: I'm visiting. ANGEL: Visiting who? LELAND: Isn't it my turn? ANGEL: Sorry. Go ahead. LELAND: Do you ever sing church music? ANGEL: No. Visiting who? LELAND: A cousin. ANGEL: You're not a big talker, huh? LELAND: I wanted to get out of Tuskegee for awhile. Everybody kept asking me if I was okay about Anna and my boy. How could I be okay about it? I missed her all the time. I started feeling like if I turned around real fast, she'd be standing there, looking at me . . . laughing the way she used to. . . . I have a third cousin on my mother's side living up here. He needed some work done on an old brownstone he got cheap. ANGEL: Your cousin bought a brownstone? LELAND: I sent him a letter and he sent me a train ticket. ANGEL: One-way or round-trip? LELAND: I haven't decided yet. ANGEL:Your turn. LELAND: Do you have a church home? ANGEL: A what? LELAND: A church home. I still haven't found anyplace up here to. . . ANGEL: Try Abyssinian. LELAND: Is that where you. . . ANGEL: I don't go to church.

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LELAND: I've already been there. ANGEL: Didn't you like it? LELAND: It didn't feel like church to me. The pastor was talking more about this world then he was the next one. ANGEL: What should he be talking about? LELAND (Hesitates, then speaks urgently): About sin and salvation. About the presence of hell fire. Reverend Horace, my pastor back home, says. . . ANGEL (Quickly): Hold on, Alabama. Leland stops abruptly. ANGEL: Church is over for the day, okay? LELAND: I'm sorry. ANGEL: Your mm again. LELAND: I don't know what to ask you. ANGEL: Ask me what's the worst thing that just happened to me and what's the best one. LELAND: I can't think about anything bad happening to you. ANGEL: Twice! Two bad things. Right together. Bam! Bam! Just like that. LELAND: What were they? ANGEL: I'm out of a job and I lost all my clothes. LELAND: Lost your clothes? ANGEL: Every stitch, except Deal's dress, which doesn't really count, and a few odds and ends I got from Guy. LELAND: Was there a fire? ANGEL: Sort of . . . but the good news is . . . She waits for him to ask. He's confused and silent. She prompts him. ANGEL: "The good news is . . . " LELAND: What's the good news? ANGEL: I've got an audition on Friday and the job is as good as mine! LELAND: Where do you sing? ANGEL: In nightclubs. You've been in a juke t, right?

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LELAND: I've seen a couple back home . . . ANGEL: Places like that, but with a little more class. LELAND: Maybe I could come and watch you sometime. Listen to you sing. ANGEL: It's not going to be church music. LELAND: Then I won't come on Sunday. ANGEL: What do you want from me, Alabama? LELAND: I want to make you laugh. ANGEL: You talk real pretty for a country boy. LELAND: The other night, that first night, when you went inside, you dropped this. He reaches into his pocket and hands her the scarf. She searches his face for a long moment. She raises the scarf to her face, smelling it gently. ANGEL: It smells like you. She drapes the scarf around his neck. Straddling his legs, she lowers herself onto his lap slowly as she speaks softly. ANGEL: Did you take it to bed with you? Did it make you think about me? Was I laughing in your dreams, Alabama? She kisses him as the lights go to black. Scene Five Delia is standing on a small stool, swathed in a brightly colored piece of silk. The fabric has been draped and wrapped around her by Guy who is pinning it this way and that distractedly while he talks. Delia stands with her arms held out stiffly at her sides. There is a transatlantic cable propped underneath the picture of Josephine in the place of honor. GUY: I knew they'd love my sketches! Now all I have to do is send Josephine three or four finished pieces so they can actually see them on her and . . . look up, Sweetie! DELIA: I thought you invited me over here to celebrate. GUY: I know, I know! But I just had a brilliant idea and I don't want to lose it. Hold still a minute. Delia moves her arm and sticks herself. DELIA: Ow! GUY (Laughing): Your fault! DELIA: I'll bet you don't stick Angel like that. GUY: That's because she doesn't squirm, unlike some people who can take the most beautiful fabric in New York City and reduce it to sack cloth over a pin prick or two. (He lifts the fabric off Delia) You may

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step down. DELIA: Thank you! GUY (Picking up the cable reverently): This is what we've been waiting for, Deal, and it's going to make me crazy until I can tell her everything! DELIA: Maybe the audition went so well, they asked her to stay and do a show. GUY: Maybe. . . (He knows this isn't what happened. He looks at the cable) Well, hell! Let's pop the cork on this champagne anyway! She can catch up when she gets here. (He pours two glasses, but his mind is still on Angel) We've slowed down now, but me and Miss Angel used to terrorize these streets. When we first got to Harlem, we specialized in gowns for discriminating gentlemen. Don't look so shocked, Deal. You don't think these six-foot queens buy off the rack, do you? DELIA: I never thought about it. GUY: Well, I did. The first time I went to the Hamilton Lodge Drag Ball, I knew I was looking at a gold mine. Once they saw Angel in my special creations, I couldn't work fast enough to fill the orders we were getting. . . . Once I made us matching tuxedos. I even painted a little mustache on her. DELIA: I would have paid to see that. GUY: I never could make her really look like a man, though. Probably a good thing, too. As it was, she made half the queens who saw her second-guess their stated sexual preference. DELIA: Did you ever think you and Angel could be . . . you know . . . GUY (Gently): I like boys, Deal. ? DELIA: Do you think it's because of your grandmother? GUY: My grandmother wasn't particularly fond of boys, as I recall. DELIA: I mean being raised by your grandmother. Being so close to her and all. . . GUY: Maybe I'm just lucky. Delia yawns widely. GUY: You keeping Doc's late hours? DELIA: We're trying to get the clinic open next week and now the landlord says he wants to cancel the lease. GUY: Why? DELIA: He got some phone calls, unsigned letters. Now he thinks we're a bunch of free-loving suffragettes out to destroy the Negro race. GUY (Lightly; he doesn't want to get too serious): Too late! Mission already accomplished. Delia yawns again.

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DELIA: I'm sorry! GUY: Don't be sorry. Go get some sleep. We'll continue our celebration later, DELIA: Goodnight, and congratulations. GUY: Merci, ma cherie. Bon nuit. DELIA: Bon nuit. Delia exits to her apartment, closes the door, yawns again, kicks off her shoes and exits to her bedroom. Guy pours himself another glass of champagne, goes to the portrait of Josephine Baker and raises the glass in a toast. He drinks slowly and with great peace and satisfaction. Leland enters, climbs the stairs and knocks at the door. He is carrying a dress box. Guy answers. GUY: Well, good afternoon. Evening, I guess it is. LELAND: Good evening. Is Angel here? GUY: She's not back from the audition yet. You're welcome to come in and wait for her. LELAND: I can just wait out front. GUY: Don't be silly. Come on in. LELAND: Thanks. It is pretty warm out there. GUY: Want a drink? LELAND: Is that liquor? GUY: Champagne. LELAND: It's still prohibition, isn't it? GUY: Not in Harlem it isn't, but don't let me corrupt you. (He puts on his shirt, tie, etc. as they talk) You and Angel doing something special tonight? LELAND: I'm going to help her celebrate her new singing job. GUY: Be sure you let her tell you how it went before you pop the cork on that champagne, or whatever it is you do. LELAND: What do you mean by that? GUY: I mean it's a rough business. Things don't always go the way you plan them. LELAND: Thanks. I'll that. (Looking around) You a working man? GUY: Aren't we all? LELAND: Not these days. We're two of the lucky ones, I guess. What do you do? GUY: Costumes.

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LELAND: Like for Halloween? GUY: No. Nightclubs. Cabarets. LELAND: People pay you to do that? GUY: I scrape by. And what do you do? LELAND: I'm a carpenter. GUY: Just like Jesus. LELAND: I didn't mean to offend you. I don't know very much about show business. GUY: And I hope you never do. LELAND: That depends on Angel. GUY: Then you're home free. LELAND: Angel told me what happened with her clothes burning up in the fire and all. GUY: The fire? LELAND: At her old place? GUY: Oh, right. That fire. LELAND: I know how important clothes are to a woman, so I . . . (He holds up the box awkwardly) I bought her something. GUY: Something to wear? LELAND: It's a dress, and since she's your cousin and you know her a lot better than I do, I thought maybe you could tell me if you think she'll like it GUY: Okay. Let's have a look. Guy carefully opens the box, folds back the tissue paper and pulls out a long, shapeless navy blue dress with a prim white collar and cuffs. A heart-shaped card falls out. Leland picks the card up quickly before Guy can look at it. Guy looks at Leland's hopeful face and speaks gently. GUY: I think she'll love it. LELAND: You're not just shining me on, are you? GUY: I think what she'll like most is that you were thinking about her. Angel likes to know she's on your mind. (He folds the dress carefully and puts it away) LELAND (Laughing nervously): Well, no problem there. GUY: Listen. I just got some good news from Paris and I'm going out to spread joy. You're welcome to stay here and wait for Angel as long as you like. Just do me one favor. LELAND: If I can.

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GUY (Amused): A healthy suspicion of open-ended questions. I like that in a man. LELAND (Confused): Look, I don't think you. . . GUY: I don't think anything about anything. As far as I can see, all's right with the world. My dreams are about to come true! Just tell Angel to read that cable-will you? Tall her I tried to wait for her, but I had to answer the call of the wild. LELAND: I'll tell her. GUY: No offense. (Extends a hand) LELAND: None taken. They shake hands. Guy exits. Leland walks around looking at everything, touching nothing. He looks out the window. No Angel. He seats himself to wait. Angel enters, walking rapidly. She strides into the house angrily. Leland stands quickly, but she doesn't see him. She grabs the champagne bottle, takes a big gulp, rinses her mouth and spits it into the wastebasket. She tosses the bottle in the same basket and robs her mouth vigorously with the back of her hand. LELAND: Angel? She is completely startled. ANGEL: Are you spying on me? LELAND: No, we've having dinner, ? ANGEL: How did you get in? LELAND: Guy was here. He told me to tell you . . . to give you this. (He hands her the cable) ANGEL: From Josephine? (She grabs it and reads quickly. When she is finished, she speaks sarcastically) She says she just loves everything, of course. She can't really commit to a job or anything, of course, but if he can just send three or four finished pieces, she's almost certain they might be able to at least think about giving him a try. (She crumples the cable and tosses it down) LELAND: He said it was a dream come true. . . ANGEL: I'm tired of Negro dreams. All they ever do is break your heart. LELAND (Very gently): Didn't you sing well? ANGEL: I never sang at all. Not a note. It wasn't necessary. The job he had open was mine when I hit the front door. LELAND: I don't understand. ANGEL: It doesn't matter. LELAND: Yes, it does. Tell me. ANGEL: Tony T. called the guys and told them the audition was canceled so when I got there, the place was empty. It was just me and him. So he says they must be caught in traffic or something and he offers

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me a drink while we're waiting and right then, just that quick, I felt it. LELAND: Felt what? ANGEL: The truth of it. Me trying to play headliner. Guy trying to play Paris. The whole truth of it. Tony kept saying he could look out for me. Offer me some protection in these hard times. (A beat) He didn't want a singer anymore than you do. He wanted to keep a colored woman stashed up in Harlem so he could come by every now and then and rub her head for luck. LELAND: That son of a . . . (He reaches for her protectively) ANGEL: Don't! LELAND: No Negro woman should have to. . . ANGEL: No Negro woman should have to anything, and so what? Do you even understand what I'm talking about? When I was sitting there at Tony's this afternoon, I saw him looking like he could see fight through my clothes, and I knew he had tailed to Nick about me. I didn't have to imagine what they said. I've heard them talk about women. I know what they say. But I wouldn't let myself think about that. I pushed it fight on out of my mind because I know how to take care of myself! I'm not going to be a broke old woman, begging up and down 125th Street, dreaming about fine clothes and French champagne. So, I drank with him and listened to him telling me how long he'd been wanting to get to know me better and I watched him put his hand on my knee like I wouldn't notice and I pretended not to. And I laughed and laughed just to keep up some noise in that room. It was so quiet. . . . Then I stood up to pour another drink and I saw myself in the mirror . . . and I thought what is that poor, crazy colored woman laughing about? (A beat) When I turned around, there was Tony, waiting for his answer, so I gave it to him. . . LELAND: You never have to see him again. A beat. ANGEL: We had a good time the other night, Alabama. But the party's over. Go home. LELAND: I love you. ANGEL: I don't love you. LELAND: But you will. You had a run of bad luck, but it's over now. I'm going to take care of you. ANGEL: why? So you can call me by some other woman's name? A beat. LELAND: I know you're not my Anna. I know that! But I still have all the love she gave me. And if I can't shape it new to protect and cherish and keep you, if I can't save you any more then I could save her, then that love isn't worth a damn thing. ANGEL: All I can do for you is drive you crazy. LELAND: You can't drive me anyplace I don't want to go. ANGEL (Suddenly overwhelmed): I'm tired.

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LELAND (Picking up his hat): Should I come tomorrow? ANGEL: Yes. LELAND: Good night, then. A beat. ANGEL: Good night. (As he starts out the door, she calls out to him) Leland? He turns to her. She tries to smile. ANGEL: You gonna be my lucky charm? LELAND: I'm gonna be your man. He turns and exits downstairs. She closes the door and leans against it wearily. She sees the dress box, opens it, picks up the card and reads it, folds back the tissue paper and looks at the dress. She sees how horrible it looks, sighs in resignation, withdraws it from the box slowly and holds it up against her body as the lights go to black. END OF ACT ONE ACT TWO Scene One It is early Sunday afternoon. Things are arranged for a "high tea" to celebrate Guy's readiness to mail his costumes to Paris. There are flowers, china plates and cups arranged on a silver tray. Guy's package of costumes, wrapped for mailing, is sitting under the photo of Josephine as if waiting for a blessing. Angel is putting out spoons and napkins. She is wearing the dress Leland gave her, but she has improved upon it slightly with a belt or other visible adjustments. Guy enters downstairs. He is wearing tuxedo pants, a formal shirt with an ascot and a silk smoking jacket. He is disheveled. He is carrying a small bag from the grocery store. He bursts into the apartment angrily. He puts down the bag and goes to the mirror to check himself for damages. ANGEL: What happened to you? GUY: Young hoodlums down the street trying to prove their manhood. ANGEL: Are you all right? You're bleeding! GUY: Where? (He checks himself, then grins) No, I'm not. But somebody is! Damn! This shirt is brand-new! (He makes sure the jacket covers the small stain, reties his ascot and smoking jacket sash us they talk) ANGEL (Relieved): You scared me to death! GUY: Relax,: Sweetie! If you ever see me in a fight with a bear, you help the bear. ANGEL: I can't believe these Negroes are out robbing people on Sunday morning. GUY: They weren't robbing me. They didn't like the way I was dressed. I was a little too continental for their uncouth asses. ANGEL: Did you recognize any of them? GUY: What difference does it make? They are a temporary inconvenience. In Paris, a well-turned gentleman does not have to be subjected to the barbarism of street thugs! (He finishes his neatening up)

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Good as new! And, I didn't drop the sugar! (He tales it out of the bag and fills the china sugar bowl) ANGEL: I wish you'd be more careful. GUY: Walking up to the corner in broad daylight? ANGEL: Leland knows some of these guys and he said. . . GUY: What guys? ANGEL: The ones who . . . stopped you at the store. GUY: They didn't stop me. They offered to kick my ass. ANGEL: You know they'll spot you dressed like that! GUY: Spot me? I'm not hiding! Look, I'm leaving this place as fast as I can, but until I do? I plan to walk where I please, wearing what I please, whenever I please. What's Leland doing hanging around with those hoodlums anyway? ANGEL: He just met some of them at a prayer meeting or something. . . GUY: Nothing like a God-fearing man. ANGEL: I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you. GUY: Likewise, I'm sure. A beat. ANGEL: I talked to Bobby last week. GUY: Lucky you. ANGEL: When were you going to tell me they fired you? GUY: As the ship pulled away from the dock and not a minute fore. ANGEL: Don't you think I have a right to know? GUY: Why? So you can worry yourself to death and drive me crazy? ANGEL: I'm serious! GUY: I'm serious too! I've been working like a young slave to get this stuff ready for Josephine. I'm sewing for whatever clubs are left in Harlem and I got two weddings coming up if all else fails. We'll make it, Angel. I promise. ANGEL: You're a hell of a provider, Big Daddy. GUY: You wouldn't dismiss it all so fast if I was a straight man offering to take you to Paris. ANGEL: But you're not that, are you? Sam and Delia arrive.

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GUY: Bonjour! Bonjour! Comment ca va? Comment ca va? (He kisses Delia on both cheeks) DELIA: Everything looks beautiful. SAM: I've never been invited to high tea before. I didn't know Negroes were allowed to partake. GUY: I won't tell if you don't tell. SAM: So when is the great international launch actually taking place? GUY: I'm going to put this package containing five--count 'em!--five, brand-new, breathtaking, Guy de Paree originals on a freighter tomorrow morning at ten o'clock, then hold my breath for three weeks! DELIA: Tell him about Langston's friend. GUY: Langston knows a Negro in Paris who has a lover at the French Embassy. He'll come to pick it up so it won't get held up in customs. DELIA: Langston had to promise him that he could personally deliver the package to Josephine. SAM: He'll probably arrive in top hat and tails. GUY: All of Josephine's irers arrive in top hat and tails! SAM: Why so quiet, Angel Eyes? Cat got your tongue? ANGEL: I hate that expression. GUY: Angel and I have been fighting about my effectiveness as a provider. SAM: A provider of what? ANGEL: Let's talk about something else. DELIA: Is Leland coming? ANGEL: Any minute now. SAM: Should I be asking about this Negro's intentions? GUY: Maybe you should ask him if he's a good provider. SAM: He seems to be an honest, hardworking man. You can't hardly ask for more than that, can you? Leland enters downstairs. DELIA: Do you love him? GUY: Out of the mouths of babes! Leland knocks on the door. ANGEL: Sh-h-h-h! She opens the door for Leland.

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LELAND: Good afternoon. ANGEL: Good afternoon yourself. Come in and say hello to everybody. LELAND: Hello, everybody. SAM: Good to see you again. LELAND: Thank you. Miss Patterson. . . DELIA: Call me Delia. GUY: We were just talking about you. LELAND: I hope some good things were said on my behalf. ANGEL: The best. Sit down. There is an awkward silence. LELAND: I seem to have interrupted something. SAM (Quickly): We were just congratulating Delia. Margaret Sanger addressed the congregation at Abyssinian this morning. GUY: I completely forgot this was the day! I have been working too hard. Sorry, sorry, sorry! Tell me everything. DELIA: I don't think Margaret had ever been around that many colored people at one time, but she was wonderful! SAM: She even had a couple of converts in the amen corner. LELAND: I'm sorry to have to ask, but who is she? DELIA: She's an advocate for family planning. She has two clinics in New York already and now we're going to open one right here in Harlem. GUY: They'll probably put Doc out of business in a couple of years. Tea, or shall we just put some gin in these cups and call it square? SAM: Is that why they call it high tea? LELAND: You're talking about birth control, aren't you? DELIA: Aren't you in favor of it? GUY: I vote for the gin. How about you, Doc? LELAND: The cure for mothers who don't want babies is fathers who do. ANGEL: What else happened at Abyssinian? Was Isabel there? GUY: Did she sit in the third pew on the right and gaze at Adam Junior like he just hung the moon?

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SAM: From the expression on his face when she walked down the center aisle, I don't think Reverend Powell Senior has resigned himself to having a show girl in the family. GUY: Isabel can always be counted on for high drama. ANGEL: She told me the most romantic story I've ever heard. DELIA: I didn't know you knew Isabel Washington. ANGEL: We were in the Cotton Club Chorus together, Then she got that part in a Broadway show where Adam saw her and they fell in love. GUY: L'amour, l'amour! ANGEL: He was still in school up at Colgate and his father was determined to keep them apart. LELAND: Every woman is not cut out to be a pastor's wife. There is an awkward silence. SAM: I'll say amen to that! ANGEL: They had a big fight about something and all the way up there on the train, she was planning to break off their relationship for good. By the time the train pulled into the station, it was dark outside and snow was starting to fall. GUY: High drama! DELIA: Go on, Angel! ANGEL: Even worse, she didn't see Adam at all. She was fit to be tied. She grabbed her suitcase, determined to catch the next train back to Harlem, but when she stepped onto the platform, there he was at the end of it with snow in his hair and his arms full of long-stemmed red roses. GUY: You've got to be born with a talent for finding roses in the middle of December! ANGEL: He walked the length of the platform. . . GUY: And knowing Isabel, she waited right there for him to walk it, too! ANGEL: Then he dropped the roses at her feet, swept her up in his arms and kissed her fight there for all the world to see. (A beat) And they've been together ever since. DELIA: Snow roses! GUY: Snow job is more like it. (Melodramatically, as if reading from a bad novel) And in the sudden darkness, he felt that he was lost inside her. DELIA: What's the most romantic thing you ever saw? GUY: I thought you'd never ask! It was just the other night so it's fresh in my mind. Angel was there. ANGEL: Where? GUY: Langston's party at Bruce's place.

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ANGEL (Nervously): That's too new to qualify as a memory. GUY: The question was what is the most romantic thing you ever saw. Is there a statute of limitations? SAM: Not that I know of. Fire when ready. GUY: There were a million people there. Young and not so young. Rich and poor. Well, not that poor. You know Bruce is a snob. But everyone was acting very sophisticated and unimpressed with the stars who were floating around. The beautiful young men in their own tuxedos were arranged at strategic points throughout the room, as usual, but their attention was focused on a tall, slender young man with a poetic mouth and the body of a sepia Adonis. They couldn't hardly welcome Langston home for eyeballing this handsome stranger, when in walks. . . LELAND: Excuse me. The men were looking at another man? ANGEL: Maybe you should save this story for another time. You tell one, Deal. LELAND: I just don't think I understood you right. Did you say these men at your party were making. . . GUY: It wasn't my party. I was a guest. Just like Angel. LELAND (To Angel): Did you see those men looking at that other man? ANGEL: It was just a party, Leland. Nothing happened. LELAND: What did you mean when you said eyeballing? SAM: Maybe I can. . . GUY: Eyeballing. iring. Sizing up. Flirting. LELAND: Men flirting with men? GUY: They were homosexuals, for God's sake. What's wrong with you? LELAND: Don't put God's name in the stuff you're talking about! I don't know how sophisticated New York people feel about it, but in Alabama, there's still such a thing as abomination! GUY (Standing): Get out. ANGEL: Guy! Don't! GUY: Then I think you better. ANGEL (Looking at Leland helplessly): Will you wait for me downstairs for just a minute, honey? Leland hesitates. ANGEL: I'll be right down. I promise. Please? LELAND (Stiffly): Good afternoon, Miss Patterson. Dr. Thomas. Leland exits. SAM: I'll talk to him.

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Sam exits. Delia goes quietly with him and, with a look to the others that acknowledges the awkward moment, goes to her apartment. Sam goes downstairs to where Leland stands stiffly by the stoop. Upstairs, Guy and Angel face each other angrily. GUY: He's exactly the kind of small-minded, ignorant, judgmental bastard I left Savannah to get away from! ANGEL: He didn't deserve that! GUY: Who gave him the right to vote on my love stories? ANGEL: Who gave you the right to vote on mine? Sam and Leland are talking on the stoop. SAM (To Leland): I'll tell you, Brother Leland, we're an opinionated group of loud talkers, but we truly do love Angel. LELAND: I would die for Angel. SAM: Live for her, man. It's a much better bargain. LELAND: I just don't believe in those things they were talking about. (A beat) Do they kill babies at that clinic, too? SAM: No. LELAND: There was a white doctor at home used to do that when girls got in trouble. Their mammas would bring them to the back door after hours. I thought a doctor was supposed to save lives. SAM: It's not always that clear a question. LELAND: You don't do those operations, do you? A beat. SAM: It's against the law. LELAND: That doesn't seem to matter up here! Isn't it against the law for one man to eyeball another man? SAM: Didn't you know Guy was homosexual? LELAND: She said he was her second cousin from home. She didn't say anything about him being that way and I never thought to ask her. Did you know he was that way? SAM: Of course. We've been friends for ten years. LELAND: You're not. . .? SAM: No, but you're not going to meet a better man than Guy. He's saved Angel's life more than once and probably mine, too. LELAND: You call him a man, the same as you or me?

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SAM: He is a man. LELAND: Well, he may be what you call a man, but he ain't the same as me and the sooner I get Angel out of there, the better it will be for all of us. Would you please tell her I'll be back later? SAM: All right. LELAND: I'm surprised you can accept something like that. SAM: I'm just a doctor. I'm not God. Leland exits. They are still arguing upstairs. ANGEL: Sometimes I think you're jealous. GUY: I'm always jealous, but I just don't get what you see in this Guy. ANGEL: A rent check that won't bounce. GUY: Is that it? ANGEL: Isn't that enough? GUY: Listen, Sweetie, everything's about to change. As soon as Josephine's producer sees these costumes, they're going to send me a ticket as fast as they can get to the American Express office. Come with me, Angel! Paris is another world away from here. Everywhere you've been looking lately there's nothing but a bunch of sad-eyed souls wondering who pulled the rug out. But Paris won't be like this. I promise. We'll sleep on satin and dress in silk and drink so much fine French champagne we'll get tired of it. ANGEL: I can't go to Paris with you. You love me, but you don't want to take me home. GUY: I always take you home. ANGEL (Only half teasing): But you can't get lost inside me. GUY (Surprised): Do you want me to? ANGEL: I've thought about it. GUY (A little uncomfortable with the turn the conversation has taken): I've thought about it, too, but you're just not my type. ANGEL: Leland wants to take care of me. I'm going to let him try. GUY: You don't love him. ANGEL: He'll never know the difference. GUY: Yes, he will. ANGEL: And then what? GUY: He'll never be able to forgive you for the lie.

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ANGEL: Just like you. GUY: No. I forgive you everything. That's what we've always traded. ANGEL: And why is that? GUY: Because you let me see how beautiful I was. Sam enters alone. ANGEL: Where's Leland? SAM: He said he'll be back later. ANGEL: Maybe I can catch him. (She exits quickly) GUY: The story of my life, Doc. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. You want to finish this high tea with me? SAM: I thought I might look in on your neighbor. GUY: L'amour, l'amour! Well, I'm too pretty to spend Sunday afternoon all alone. I think I'll go over to the Kit Kat Klub and see what trouble I can get into. SAM: You know I had your back earlier. GUY: I'd-a sliced that country fool six ways 'til Sunday. SAM: Maybe we'll catch up with you later. GUY: I wouldn't count on it. He exits behind Sam who taps on Delia's door. She answers immediately. SAM: The coast is clear. May I come in? DELIA: Of course. (She doesn't close the door completely) Did you talk to Leland? SAM: I did. He thinks we're a bunch of amoral Philistines. DELIA: I don't know anybody like him. SAM: Most of the people I see think like that. DELIA: About birth control? SAM: About life. DELIA: What do you say to them? SAM: I ask the mother if she is watching her diet. I tell the father to bring her fruit instead of candy. DELIA: I mean about what they think. SAM: Nothing.

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DELIA: So now what? SAM: She's going to break his heart. DELIA: Leland or Guy? SAM: Both. DELIA: I don't want to be in love like that. SAM: Do you want to be in love? DELIA: Yes. Don't you? SAM: How old are you? DELIA: Angel says once you're grown, what difference does it make? SAM: And are you grown? DELIA: There's no way to answer a question like that. SAM: There's no way to answer the one you asked me either. DELIA: That one should be easy. SAM: I'm forty years old. I work too hard and I drink too much. DELIA: But would you like to be in love? SAM: I've been waiting all my life to be in love. DELIA: Me, too. (She kisses Sam gently) SAM: May I close the door? DELIA: Yes. SAM: Should I lock it? DELIA: Yes. SAM: Good. DELIA: I didn't think I'd be so nervous. I talk about this all the time. Not specifically about you, of course, just in general. SAM: Don't worry about a thing, I'm a doctor. DELIA: I know everything about birth control. SAM: Good. DELIA: But, I mean, it's all theoretical. I've never. . .

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SAM: Do you want to get married first? DELIA: I thought we were talking about falling in love. SAM: We are. DELIA: I promised myself I'd never marry a doctor. SAM: I'll stop practicing. I'll wear two-tone shoes and play the baritone sax. A beat. DELIA: Will you do everything real slow? SAM: As molasses. . . He puts his arm around her and they exit to the bedroom. Angel enters and sits on the stoop. Leland enters almost immediately and stands watching Angel who looks up suddenly to see him standing there. ANGEL: I thought maybe you weren't coming back. LELAND: I wasn't sure you wanted me to. ANGEL (Teasing gently): You think I'd be sitting out here in my new dress if I didn't? LELAND: No, I guess you wouldn't (A beat) What did you do to it? ANGEL: I just fixed it up a little. Don't you like it? LELAND: I liked it the way it was before. ANGEL: Come here. (She stands, embraces him and then steps back, surprised) What's that? LELAND (Removing a pistol from his waistband): I'm sorry. I went by to check on my cousin's place and I always . . . ('He sticks the gun in the back of his belt quickly) You never know who's gonna walk up on you in Harlem. A man has to be prepared, even on Sunday! ANGEL: I hate guns. A beat. LELAND: Listen, Angel, I'm not like you and your friends. I believe there's a right and a wrong of it. ANGEL: Guy's family. LELAND: That doesn't make it right! ANGEL: I think you're just scared. LELAND: Scared of what? We had his kind back home, but we didn't hang around with them. ANGEL: And what kind is that? LELAND: I told you I was a God-fearing, Christian man the first time you ever laid eyes on me. ANGEL: I thought you said you weren't afraid of anything.

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LELAND: Reverend Horace, my pastor back home, he said sometimes, when we think we hear the voice of God, it isn't that at all. It's something else, something we want to put up in God's place, like money or lust or gambling. He said sometimes the voice of that other thing can sound so sweet, we swear it's the heavenly choir. But it's not. A beat. ANGEL: You know what I'm afraid of? Nothing so grand as my soul, of course. All I'm afraid of is trying to lean on one more weak Negro who can't finish what he started! Leland hesitates, starts to speak, changes his mind. He exits. Angel watches him go as the lights go to black. Scene Two Sam is sitting patiently on the stoop outside the apartment. Angel enters. She is wearing the same dress she had on at the start of the play, but it, and she, look a bit worse for wear. She is pleased to see Sam. ANGEL: Hey, Doc. SAM: You're a sight for sore eyes. Where are you going all dressed up? Angel sits beside him. ANGEL: I've been where I'm going, and just between me and you? It doesn't pay as good as it used to. SAM: Things are tough all over. She takes off her high heels and rubs her feet. ANGEL: How did we ever get this old? SAM: One day at a time. Brother Leland still missing in action? ANGEL: I must have been crazy to let that Alabama Negro walk out of here. SAM: Your test came back. A beat. ANGEL: How far gone am I? SAM: Almost eight weeks. ANGEL: Well, it never rains but it pours, right? SAM: I'm sorry this isn't what you want ANGEL: Yeah. Me, too. (A beat) What are you doing out here, anyway? SAM: Deal's still down at the clinic. That woman works so hard, I barely see enough of her to be a bad influence. ANGEL: Well, come on upstairs. Maybe I can scare us up something to drink. SAM: Not me. I've got to go back to the hospital, but. . .

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Angel sees an official notice tacked to the door. She takes it down and reads it with some agitation. SAM: What is it? ANGEL: It's an eviction notice. We're going to be set out on the street! SAM: Let me see it. He reads the notice. It confirms what Angel has said. ANGEL: Guy told me he paid it two weeks ago! SAM: It might be a mistake. Why don't you wait and see what Guy says? ANGEL: (Angrily): What does he ever say? Comment ca va? Comment ca va? SAM: I can probably come up with fifty or sixty bucks. (Apologetically) My patients clean me out the first of every month, but. . . ANGEL: I'll figure something out. (She turns away from him) SAM: Okay, Angel Eyes. Call me if you need me. Sam exits. Angel goes to her purse, opens it, dumps out the contents and separates out the money. There are only a few bills and some coins. She checks to make sure she didn't miss anything. She didn't. She stuffs the money back into her purse. She is not pleased. She picks up the notice again and looks at it as if the intensity of her gaze could change the words. Guy enters carrying an armful of flowers. GUY: Bonjour, cherie! Comment ca va? Look at these! I couldn't resist them. ANGEL: Have you seen this? Guy reads the notice, lays the flowers near Angel. GUY: Sorry, Sweetie. I'll take care of it. ANGEL: With what? How much have you got? GUY: Almost enough. ANGEL: Almost enough? GUY: I never said my name was Rockefeller. How much have you got? ANGEL: Fourteen dollars and seventy-two cents. GUY: Every little bit helps. Don't worry. Big Daddy is on the case. I've been feeling Josephine in the air all day! ANGEL: Stop it! Just stop it! Don't you understand? They're going to put us out on the street in seven days! One week! GUY: Then I better hustle on down to the cable office and see if there's anything there for me.

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ANGEL: Whatever presence you're feeling hasn't got anything to do with Josephine. We're not in Paris. We're in Harlem. We're not strolling the boulevard. We're about to be evicted! A beat. GUY: Do you want to walk down with me? Maybe we can scare up some dinner. ANGEL: I think it's time for me to look out for myself. (Sarcastically) Big Daddy. GUY: You always do, Angel. One way or another. (He exits) Angel begins to cry in anger and frustration. Leland enters, comes upstairs and knocks gently. She opens the door and looks at him. He is the last person she wants to see. ANGEL: What do you want? (She turns away from him and he follows her) LELAND: Angel, please, listen to me. . . ANGEL: I'm listening. A beat. LELAND: The night I found you, I went to bed early, like I always do, but I couldn't sleep. I was just laying there, wide awake. So I got up and went out for a walk. I was missing that Alabama sky where the stars are so thick it's bright as day. So, I looked up between the buildings and I thought I was dreaming. Didn't even look like Harlem. Stars everywhere, twinkling at me like a promise. And then I saw you. And that was all I saw. Just you. (A beat) Marry me, Angel. I'll never leave you again. ANGEL: Swear it. LELAND: I swear it. ANGEL: I was hoping you would come. LELAND: You were? ANGEL: Yes. I want your son to grow up with his father. LELAND: What did you say? ANGEL: We're going to have a child. LELAND: Are you sure? ANGEL: I'm sure. LELAND (Suddenly agitated): What time is it? ANGEL: About four, I think. . . LELAND: We can get the license today! ANGEL: Now? LELAND: Right now! I think this is our lucky day. Don't you?

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ANGEL: Maybe you can convince me. He quickly embraces her as the lights go to black. Scene Three Sam and Delia are at her apartment. Delia is quite agitated. SAM: It's not going to do any good to get yourself all worked up again. DELIA: Somebody could have been killed! SAM: But nobody was. DELIA: You know what some of them are telling Margaret, don't you? They're telling her to forget about a clinic in Harlem. It's too dangerous. SAM: Not if we move it someplace safer. DELIA: Everybody knows that fire was set to run us out. Who's going to rent to us now? SAM: I am. DELIA: What are you talking about? SAM: The ground floor of my parents brownstone was my first office when I got out of medical school. It's not very big, but it's completely independent of the house with an entrance on the street, three examining rooms and some basic equipment. DELIA: How long would it take to get it ready for patients? SAM: Probably the end of the week with what's already there and what you can salvage from your place. DELIA: That would show them something, wouldn't it? SAM (Embracing her protectively): You can't let them think they scared you! DELIA (Laughing with relief): They did scare me! Guy enters from outside. He is resplendent in new hat, suit, shoes and spats. He is carrying a bottle of champagne and an overseas cable. He takes the steps two at a time and bursts upon Delia and Sam. GUY: Listen to this! (Reading from the cable) "To Mr. Guy Jacobs. . . " DELIA: You heard from Josephine? GUY: Just sit down and listen! DELIA: All right, all right! GUY: "To Mr. Guy Jacobs. . . " SAM: You already read that part! GUY (With great dignity): I'm starting from the beginning so you two can get the full effect, unless you haven't got the time to hear the words that are going to change my life forever.

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DELIA: We'll be quiet. I promise! GUY: "To Mr. Guy Jacobs, Harlem, New York, from Mademoiselle Josephine Baker, the Folies Bergere, Paris, . Ma cherie . . . " Ma cherie . . . music to my ears! DELIA: Read it! GUY: "Ma cherie, your costumes fabulous! All here green with envy. Must use all five in next show." Can you believe it? All five! SAM: Go on, man! You're killing me! GUY: "Looking forward to seeing you in Paris as soon as you can make the crossing! Au revoir, ma cherie! Je t'aime! Je t'aime! Je t'aime!" She wrote that three times and she sent a first-class ticket and enough cash to get whatever I need for the trip including this beautiful ensemble. Get the glasses! DELIA: I don't have any. GUY: You're hopeless! Follow me! They go across the hall. He gets glasses, etc. GUY: She said they loved everything. Every single piece fit perfectly. SAM: Of course they did. You're a genius. GUY: I'm a realist. I added two inches to the measurements she sent me! Women always lie about their ages and their hips! DELIA: And what do men lie about? GUY: Men lie about everything else. (Toasting the photograph) To Josephine, the magnificent! Merci, merci, merci! It is my intention to run the streets of Harlem tonight until everyone who ever crossed me has heard the news and turned pea green with envy. I will expect you two to accompany me if I'm going to have any chance of returning home alive. SAM: I would consider it an honor as well as my sacred duty as your personal physician! DELIA: I wouldn't miss it. SAM: Let the good times roll! DELIA: I need to change. GUY: Thank God. That suit has a life of it's own, but it's not a nightlife. DELIA: I'll just be a minute. SAM: Don't rush. I have to stop by the hospital, anyway. GUY: Why don't you meet us at Ike Hines? We'll start the evening with some celebratory chop suey and see where the spirit leads us! SAM: If I'm not hack in ten minutes, I'll meet you there by eight-thirty.

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DELIA: Be careful. SAM: Careful as I can. (He kisses her and exits) GUY: L'amour, l'amour! DELIA: Have you told Angel? GUY: I haven't seen her. DELIA: She won't believe it. GUY: She'll believe it when I hand her first-class age to Paris. Then she can stop looking out the window for that long-gone Alabama fool like he's her ticket to Paradise. DELIA: This suit isn't that bad, is it? GUY: Worse than that, but what the hell? Maybe I'll send you back a dress from Paris. DELIA: Would you? GUY: I'll send a dozen dresses, all with shoes to match and tiny little hats with veils. DELIA: I always wanted to see Paris. GUY: In the springtime? DELIA: Anytime. I won't be but a minute. GUY: Good! I'm ready to move out amongst 'em! Delia exits to her apartment bedroom to change. Guy pours himself another glass of champagne. Angel enters wearing Leland's dress without adornment and very little make-up. GUY: Comment ca va, cherie? (He kisses her on both cheeks) That dress is more dreadful every time I see it, but all is forgiven! ANGEL: Where did you spend last night? Shoplifting at Saks Fifth Avenue? GUY: I didn't get there 'til this morning and I paid cold, hard cash. ANGEL: Well, it must have been a big night. GUY: Bigger than that. Are you ready? ANGEL: I want to tell you something. . . GUY: My news first! ANGEL: All right, go ahead. GUY: I heard from Josephine. They are going to use every single piece I sent them, and she sent so much real live spending money that I was able to pay off everybody we owe and still purchase you first-class age to Gay Paree!

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He hands her a folder with the necessary papers, tickets, etc. GUY: We sail a week from Friday! Now aren't you glad I made you get your port? Otherwise we'd have to wait a month and you know how mean Josephine gets when you keep her waiting! Don't look so surprised. Say something! ANGEL: You're really going. GUY: We're going. Angel does not respond. GUY: Aren't we? ANGEL: Bad timing, Big Daddy. I'm pregnant. A beat. GUY: Accident or insurance? ANGEL: Yes. GUY: Does Leland know? ANGEL: He asked me to marry him. And I told him I would. GUY: Well, I guess we missed the moment big time, didn't we? A beat. ANGEL: No, we didn't. I don't even love him! You said so yourself! GUY: What about the baby? What about Leland? ANGEL: I can get rid of it! I'm not that far along! I'll tell him I had a miscarriage. GUY: So you're going to tell him you miscarried his baby and oh, by the way, the wedding is off because you're sailing for next Friday? ANGEL: I thought you were the one who could forgive me everything. He takes the folder and lays it on the table beside her. GUY: Sometimes you wear me out, Miss Angel. Sometimes you just wear me out. He closes the door behind him as Delia steps out into the hallway. He smiles at her. GUY: Ready? DELIA: How do I look? GUY: We'll work on it. They exit out the back door of the building as Sam enters downstairs. Angel picks up the ticket and holds it in her hand. She savors the possibilities that it represents. It is clear that she has already settled

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the questions involved and is headed for Paris. Sam sticks his head in the door. SAM: Did I miss the celebrants? ANGEL: They just left. SAM: I was hoping I could catch them. You've heard the big news? Angel nods. SAM: So how is it, Angel Eyes? ANGEL: It's been better. (A beat) Leland came by last night. SAM: Is that good or bad? ANGEL: He asked me to marry him. SAM: So you two patched things up after all? ANGEL: I don't want to have this baby, Sam. A beat. SAM: What about Leland? ANGEL: What about him? (A beat) I don't know. I just know I'm going to Paris. Guy booked age for me and we sail next Friday. SAM: Did you tell him about the baby? ANGEL: Of course I told him. He was surprised at first, maybe a little mad at me. He sounded like you. "What about Leland? What about Leland?" What about me? SAM: This will kill him, Angel. ANGEL: No, it won't! He'll live through it just fine. And so will I. (A beat) This is my chance to live free, Doc, and I'm taking it. SAM: Freedom's such an abstract thing. That baby's flesh and blood. A beat. ANGEL: It was flesh and blood the last time, too, but it didn't seem to bother you. What's the difference? How come a little half-Italian baby didn't tug at your heart strings like this one does? SAM: It wasn't the same thing. ANGEL: Yes, it was. I was carrying a baby I didn't want from a man I didn't love and I wanted to get rid of it without bleeding to death on somebody's kitchen table. SAM: You told me you'd go crazy if you had to have Nick's child. ANGEL: Is that what you want? Then will you save me? SAM: You're asking me to do something I don't think I'm prepared to do.

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A beat. ANGEL: So is that how it works? You can help as long as the poor, ignorant woman is at her wit's end and could never survive the birth. As long as all she's going to do after you save her is go home and feel guilty enough or scared enough to keep the next one so you can deliver it and bring us all a bottle of champagne to toast the newest citizens of Harlem . . . and let the good times roll? (A beat) Don't worry about it. I'm sure Tony T. can find me a number if I tell him that the baby's his. SAM: It doesn't have to be this hard. ANGEL: It already is, Doc. Just not for you. A beat. SAM: I'll be in my office tomorrow morning first thing. ANGEL: Why? Because I made you feel guilty? SAM: Because you're right. Everybody's got to kill their own snakes. ANGEL: Thanks, Doc. I'll never ask you again. I promise! Sam sits wearily. ANGEL: What have we got to drink around here? She rummages through the cabinets as Sam watches her and the lights fade to black. Scene Four It is midmorning. Guy is hanging up some costumes prior to delivering them. Angel enters. She is walking slowly. She comes upstairs and enters the apartment. GUY: You're out early. I didn't even hear you get up. ANGEL: I took care of it. GUY: What are you talking about? ANGEL: I saw Sam. GUY: This morning? ANGEL: Just now. (A beat) There is no more baby. GUY: My God, Angel! Did he bring you home? ANGEL: I caught a cab. He's coming by later. GUY: Do you want to lie down? Can I get you anything? ANGEL: I'm all right. GUY: My God, Angel! ANGEL: Stop saying that! (She sits down and closes her eyes wearily)

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GUY: I'm taking the last of these costumes over to the club, but I'll be right back. Will you be okay? ANGEL: You're not sorry, are you? GUY: Are you? ANGEL: I'm sorry in about twenty different ways and I don't give a damn about any of them. GUY: I won't be long. He exits. Angel remains motionless, eyes closed. Leland enters carrying a small rocking chair. He struggles up the stairs with it and knocks at Angel's door. She is startled to see the chair in front of her when she opens the door. ANGEL: Oh! I thought it was Sam. LELAND: May I come in? ANGEL: Of course. LELAND (Putting the chair down gently): It's a rocking chair. (He rocks it) I made it for you. I started on it that first night I saw you. . . ANGEL (Stops the chair from rocking): My grandmother said death rocks an empty chair! LELAND: Then sit in it. I want you to rock all of our children in this chair. Angel turns away quickly, but Leland embraces her. LELAND: I just came from my cousin's place. I had those guys hoppin' up there today! We're going to be able to move in a lot sooner then I thought. Maybe next month. Right after the wedding. Would you like that? ANGEL: Yes, I . . . LELAND: And, I have something else for you. (He reaches into his pocket and brings out a small box) Open it. She opens it. Inside is a small diamond ring. ANGEL: It's beautiful, but . . . LELAND: It was my mother's. And then Anna . . . I thought at first we should bury it with her, but my mother said no. Let the dead bury the dead and this on to the living. She hands it back to him. LELAND: What's wrong? ANGEL: I have to tell you something. LELAND: Are you all right? ANGEL: I had a miscarriage. I lost the baby.

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LELAND: Lost . . . the baby? ANGEL: Sam says there was nothing he could do. Sometimes nature takes care of things that weren't supposed to be. Leland sits in the rocking chair and puts his head in his hands. She watches him closely. LELAND: I was so happy when Anna told me she was carrying my son. She never had a sick day the whole time she carried him. They still don't know what went wrong. She just stopped breathing in the middle of her labor and by the time they got to him, he wasn't breathing either. They laid them out side by side like they were both just sleeping. (A beat) I'm so sorry. I know how much the baby meant to you. I'm just thankful you're safe. ANGEL: I'm fine. LELAND: What did Sam say? ANGEL: He said I just need to take it easy for awhile. LELAND: Did he say we can try again? ANGEL: I didn't ask him. LELAND: Don't you want to? ANGEL: I can't think about that yet, Leland. It's too soon. LELAND: I know, but the sooner the better. ANGEL: Sam said it would be good if I got away for awhile. So I wouldn't keep thinking about the baby. LELAND: That's a good idea. Where should we go? ANGEL: I don't think that's the kind of trip he meant. LELAND: What did he mean then? ANGEL: Just me. LELAND: You want to take a trip alone? ANGEL: Well, no. I have a friend to go with me. LELAND: You're not making any sense. ANGEL: I want to go to Paris with Guy. LELAND: To Paris? What are you talking about? ANGEL: He's . . . scared to go alone. And I need to get away. Sam says . . . to get my strength back. We'll get married as soon as I get back. I might even be able to talk Guy into making me a wedding dress. LELAND: It's because of the babies, isn't it? Because of both my sons dying. (A beat) It was a son, wasn't it?

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ANGEL: What difference does it make? LELAND: I always wanted a son first so he could take care of the younger ones. I always could see myself with a son. (A beat) You don't hold it against me, do you? ANGEL: Listen to me, Alabama. This isn't about you and it isn't about all the dead mammas and all the dead babies and all the things that are supposed to move me. I'm not that kind of colored woman! I just don't want to think about all that anymore. I'm tired of it! I'm going away. From you. From Harlem. From all those crying colored ghosts who won't shut up and let me live my life! LELAND: Don't talk like that, Angel! We'll have lots of beautiful babies. I promise. ANGEL: I don't want any babies. Not yours or anybody's. A beat. LELAND: What do you mean? A beat. ANGEL: Leave me alone. LELAND: Tell me what you meant. ANGEL: Nothing. LELAND: You're lying. ANGEL: You want me to lie! That's all you ever wanted. Pretend I'm Anna. Pretend I love you. I'm through with it! Leland grabs her arms and turns her toward him roughly. LELAND: Look at me! ANGEL: I didn't lose the baby. I got rid of it. LELAND: You got rid of my son? How . . . (A beat) Dr. Thomas? You let Dr. Thomas take my son? (He grabs her by the shoulders as if to shake her, but he stops himself and releases her) LELAND: If you didn't have Anna's face, I'd kill you. He exits. Angel closes and locks the door after him, leaning against it and closing her eyes wearily. Sam enters downstairs and meets Leland outside the house. SAM: Brother Leland . . . LELAND: I'm not your brother. Sam hears the agitation in Leland's voice and recognizes immediately that Leland knows. SAM: All right. My mistake. LELAND: Where are you going?

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SAM: Angel . . . wasn't feeling well. I told her I'd stop by. LELAND: She's not here. SAM: Then I guess she's feeling better. LELAND: Angel told me what you did. A beat. SAM: What did she tell you? LELAND: She told me that you killed my son! SAM: Go home, man. It's over. Sam turns and starts away. Leland pulls a gun from his belt and points it at Sam's back. There is an immediate blackout, followed by the sound of one gunshot. in the darkness, one small spot comes up on Angel's horrified face in the darkness. This spot stays on for just a few seconds and then the lights go to black. Scene Five Delia enters from her bedroom. She is looking at a newspaper. Guy enters from his bedroom. He has a small suitcase which he places by the door. There is a champagne bottle resting in a silver ice bucket with two glasses nearby. He gently turns the bottle. Delia finishes reading the story and folds the paper slowly. She picks up her coat and hat and a small photograph and crosses to Guy's apartment. He is looking at the photograph of Josephine and doesn't notice her at first. He looks up and sees her watching him. GUY: It's not time to go yet, is it? DELIA: No. I was just rattling around over there driving myself crazy, so I thought I'd come over here. GUY: And drive me crazy, too? Well, come on and sit down. I'm trying not to forget anything. I've sent the rest of my luggage ahead and paid the landlord through the end of next month in case . . . she comes back to get her things. DELIA: Have you seen the paper? GUY: Not today. DELIA (Reads): "Murdered physician accused of performing illegal abortion on missing Harlem show girl." GUY: Why do you keep reading that stuff? DELIA: Everybody in Harlem is reading it! GUY: Hardly a recommendation! DELIA: They make it sound so tawdry. GUY: It is tawdry. And so what? So are we all! Tawdry and tainted and running for our natural lives! (Sees the photo of Sam) You got a picture of Sam. Good.

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DELIA: They had one at the hospital. It isn't a very good one. Look how young he is . . . GUY: It doesn't matter. He has to be here for the send-off. Delia hands him the photo of Sam which he props up under the photo of Josephine. He pours a glass of champagne for himself and Delia. GUY: Drink up, Sweetie. Sam's spirit requires champagne to ease the journey. Delia turns away. GUY: Are you okay? DELIA (Looking at Sam's photo): We only had a chance to . . . be together three times . . . and I just keep thinking about it. I don't even know I'm thinking about it, and there it is. Pictures in my mind and everything. (A beat) I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean to embarrass you. GUY: You can't embarrass me. DELIA: I just didn't know how much I'd miss him. There isn't a single place in Harlem where I don't think about something we did, something he said . . . (A beat) I thought after the funeral, I'd be able to move on, but . . . GUY (Gently): It's only been a couple of weeks, Sweetie. Give it time. DELIA: Margaret offered me her place in the mountains. I might just take her up on it. GUY: Are you serious? DELIA: Well, you're leaving and the trial isn't for another month at least. GUY: If you're going away for a month, what's the point of moping around the Catskills? Come with me! DELIA: To Paris? You're mixing up your lady friends, aren't you? GUY: Not a chance! Listen to me for a minute. Harlem was supposed to be a place where Negroes could come together and really walk about, and for a red-hot minute, we did. But this isn't the end of the world, you know. It's just New York City. DELIA: What if Angel comes back? A beat. GUY: When I first met Angel at Miss Lillie's, she was already saving her getaway money. She had her little coins and crumpled-up dollar bills all knotted up in somebody's great big silk handkerchief. She was headed up to Harlem as fast as she could get there and she believed it so hard, I believed it, too. So I got my own white silk handkerchief and started putting those coins in there everyday and counting them every night. And I'd be lying there with my eyes closed, letting those old men touch me wherever they felt like it, but it didn't matter, because in my mind, I was stomping at the Savoy! But I never told Angel. I just kept my ears open so when she was ready to make a move, I'd be ready too. One of the other girls told me she was leaving one night late, so I got my little suitcase and met her at the tram station. She was happy to see me, but she sure would have left without me. (A beat) Angel doesn't like to say good-bye.

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DELIA: I want her to say she's sorry. GUY: Sorry ain't worth waiting for, trust me. All sorry can do is sit there. It can't ever make it right. We got our hearts broken, Deal, but we don't have to pay for it with our lives. Sam already took care of those dues. DELIA: I don't even have a ticket! GUY: Do you have a port? DELIA: Yes, but . . . GUY: It's never crowded this time of year. We can book your age at the dock. I've got plenty of money and a huge stateroom. If worse comes to worse, we'll tell them you're my little sister and you can bunk with me. DELIA: I can't just pick up and . . . what about the clinic? GUY: Don't tell me those suffragettes down there can't figure out what to do for a couple of weeks without you! DELIA: I'm not even packed. GUY: We'll buy you whatever you need on the ship! Including a new hat! DELIA: I love this hat! GUY: I know! (He opens the door and grabs his suitcase) Ready? She clearly wants to go, but she hesitates, amazed at her own boldness. DELIA: Can I really do this? GUY: What would Sam say? She hesitates, then smiles slowly. DELIA: Let the good times roll! GUY: Then get your port and meet me at the corner! I'll get us a cab. DELIA: I won't be a minute! GUY: You better not be! We're going first-class, but I don't think they'll hold the ship for us. He exits quickly. Delia goes over to her apartment, rummages quickly through her desk looking for her port, doesn't find it. She stops, thinks, then exits to the bedroom. A beat. Angel enters cautiously through the back door, listens to be sure they have gone and then lets herself into Guy's apartment, leaving the door open behind her. The two champagne glasses are still there. Sam's picture is still propped under the photo of Josephine. She picks the photo up and stands looking at it quietly. Delia comes out of her bedroom with her port and a small overnight bag. She is moving rapidly. She moves into the hallway and sees Guy's open door, stops, enters cautiously. Angel, still holding the picture of Sam, looks up and sees her standing there. In that moment, both understand that things have

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changed forever between them. Angel crosses to Delia and hands her the photograph. Delia takes it. ANGEL: Good-bye, Deal. DELIA: Good-bye, Angel. Delia exits quickly without looking back. Angel picks up the bottle of champagne and refills one of the glasses. She walks over to the open window and sits down, looking out calmly in a moment that is clearly reminiscent of the afternoon she first encountered Leland. She has been faced with these same difficult decisions about how she will live many times and although she would have avoided this moment if she could have, she is not in a state of panic, confusion, or even remorse. She is thinking--figuring out what is, and what is next. She raises her glass and drinks slowly as the lights fade to black. END OF PLAY PHOTO (BLACK & WHITE): Pearl Cleage PHOTO (BLACK & WHITE): Left to right: Gary Yates (Leland), Deidrie N. Henry (Della), Mark Young (Guy) and Bill Nunn (Sam). PHOTO (BLACK & WHITE): Phylicia Rashad as Angel. PHOTO (BLACK & WHITE): Guy (Mark Young) and Angel (Phylicia Rashad). PHOTO (BLACK & WHITE): Deidrie N. Henry as Delia and Bill Nunn as Sam.

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