MECK/PILLER/EMILY

MECK 
Have some wine, Baal?  How about some caviar?  Here, have some caviar.  Fish eggs, good for you! 

PILLER  
You know, when they gave me those poems to review, written by someone calling himself "Baal", I almost threw them away. The paper smelled like garbage!  But they're quite amazing. You really should be published.  Meck here will pay for it. He can afford it, God knows.  Get you out of that attic. 

MECK 
I deal in wood pulp.  Whole forests of trees float down rivers in Brazil, for me!  Sure, I'll print your poems. 

EMILY 
You live in an attic, really? 

BAAL 
Yeah.  130 First Street.  ...The side stairs. 

MECK  
I'm too fat to be a poet.  But you!  You look like a foreman of mine in Malaya.  The little guy used to have himself whipped before he went out to cut down trees.  He said he had to be snarling to get anything done! 

PILLER  
I could write an article about you.  Do you have any more poems I should look at?  It could be a real break for you.

MECK 
You ought to travel.  The mountains of Abyssinia!  You should go to them. 

BAAL 
The mountains don't come to me. 

PILLER 
Very good!  The mountains don't come to you!  Your use of allusion is marvelous. 

BAAL  
In the bars, they buy me drinks if they like the poems....Got any money? 

MECK  
I'll publish you, what the hell.  Fame and fortune! 

EMILY 
You shouldn't drink so much... 

BAAL  
I could use some new clothes.  Yeah, that'd be useful. 
MECK 
You don't care about being published? 

BAAL 
(looking at Emily) Soft clothes. 

PILLER 
(ironically) Yes.  I could be useful to you too. 

EMILY 
You write such wonderful poems, Mr. Baal. They're so... tender. 

BAAL 
(staring at her) Hey!  Why don't you play something on the piano? 

MECK 
Good idea!  Music makes me digest better. 

EMILY 
(flustered) You shouldn't drink so much, Mr. Baal... 

BAAL 
So you're into pulp, eh Meck?  Forests are slaughtered for you? 

EMILY 
(quickly) You can drink as much as you want to, really, I was just... 

PILLER 
He's a great drinker, too. 

BAAL 
(to Emily, staring at her breasts) Play some more.  You have nice eyes. 

PILLER 
So you like the shape, the curve of the music, eh Baal? 

BAAL 
I wasn't listening. (turns to him) What?  You talk too much, you know that? 

PILLER 
You're a queer duck, Baal.  You really don't care if you're published, do you? 

BAAL (to Meck) Do you handle animals too, Meck? 

MECK (angry) What do you care? 

BAAL (putting his arms around Emily) What do you care about my poems? 

MECK 
I was going to do you a favor.  Emily, go see how the other guests are doing. 

PILLER (to Meck) 
He's an "artist", he doesn't want to be exploited. 
(to Baal) 
You don't give a damn about me either, do you Baal?

BAAL (stroking Emily) I give a damn about soft skin. 

EMILY 
You really shouldn't drink so much, Mr. Baal. 

MECK 
Don't you want to lie down for a while?  Or go home?  I'll see you to the door... 

PILLER 
Your soft clothes are floating away, Baal.  Your poems have already sunk. 

BAAL 
Go to bed, Meck.  I'm breaking up your monopoly. 
(He kisses emily on the mouth.  Meck pulls her away.) 

MECK 
God created beasts as well as men, Baal, but that doesn't mean decent people have to put up with beastliness.  Come on, Emily. (Emily and Meck exit.) 

PILLER 
(walking out) Your poetry has a... destructive effect, Baal.