Act I, Scene 1

A charming upstate New York parlor in a charming upstate New York home/cottage in a presumably charming upstate New York town/village.
A doorbell rings.  The doorbell rings again.  A man, J.D. Salinger, enters hastily tying his bathrobe and hastily scurrying across the stage.  He bumps into something and mumbles.
Itís 4 in the morning.

SALINGER:  Goddamned pig-sticking hell.  Itís four in the morning.

[He opens the door or something like that.  J.B., a well-armed postman is there.]

J.B.:  Good morning, Mr. Salinger!

SALINGER:  Shhhh!

J.B. [whispering]: Good morning, Mr. Salinger.

SALINGER:  Oh, for pig-sticking heavenís sake.

J.B. [still whispering]: I have a letter for you, Mr. Salinger.

SALINGER:  I told you not to call me that.  Call me Dillinger.

J.B.:  Well, I have a letter for J.D. Salinger.  Do you want me to send it back?

SALINGER:  No.  Iím J.D. Salinger.

J.B.:  I thought you were Dillinger.

SALINGER:  I am.  [He winks twice.]

J.B.:  ThenÖshould I send this letter back?

[J.B. winks twice, oblivious to the significance of the gesture.]

SALINGER:  No, Iím J.D. Salinger.

J.B.:  Then I have a letter for you.

SALINGER [snatching the letter]: Iíll take that.

[He reads the letter.  Itís not good news.]

J.B.:  Another rejection?

[Salinger nods.]

J.B.:  Thatís a shame.  I had the same problem with my book about spoons.
Did I ever tell you about my book about spoons?

[Salinger nods gravely.]

J.B.:  Well, just hang in there, sir, hang in there.  Things will work out.
Every dog has his or her day.

SALINGER:  One last thing.

J.B.:  Yes?

SALINGER:  Iím trying to keep up some façade of privacy here, so pleaseÖ
PLEASE donít refer to me as J.D. Salinger.  Call me -- that is, if you have to call me ? Sal J. Dillinger.  I donít need my life here to be more complicated than it already is.

J.B.:  But you still want all of your mail?

SALINGER:  Yes.  All of my Salinger mail.

J.B.:  You want your Dillinger mail too?

SALINGER:  Sure, why not?

J.B.:  Whatever you say, Mr. SalingerÖor should I say Mr. Dillinger?

[The Postman winks twice and exits.  Salinger is on his way to the bedroom when the phone rings.]

Act I, Scene 2

Salinger picks up the phone.  Lights up on Mimsy Borogoves, an editor/editrix.

SALINGER:  Hello?

MIMSY: Hello, Johnny.

SALINGER:  Mimsy, do you know what time it is?

MIMSY: Itís four AM here.  What time is it there, Johnny?

SALINGER:  Youíre in Manhattan.  Iím upstate.  Itís the same goddamned time!

MIMSY: Really?  I would have thought youíd be at least twenty years behind the
times there.

SALINGER:  What do you want, Mimsy?

MIMSY: I want to see J.D. Salinger publish a new work.

SALINGER:  Youíve rejected everything Iíve sent you for five years.

MIMSY: Youíve sent me crap, Johnny.

SALINGER:  Iíve sent you good solid work.

MIMSY: Crap.

SALINGER:  What about that last novel?

MIMSY: Crap.

SALINGER:  There was the story with the whale.

MIMSY: Derivative crap.

SALINGER:  Butó

MIMSY: Crap.

SALINGER:  Bó

MIMSY: Crap, crap, crap.  All crap.  Totus crapus.

SALINGER:  Pigsticking hell.

MIMSY: And another thingÖ

SALINGER:  What?!

MIMSY: Iíve noticed youíve grown overly fond of the adjective ìpig-sticking.î
Youíve used it 36,079 times in the past six months and in your last manuscript
it appeared 87 times.

SALINGER:  So?
MIMSY: If I see the word ìpigstickingî in another manuscript I will feed your genitals
to a pack of rabid wolverines.

SALINGER:  Iím sure youíd enjoy that.

MIMSY: You have no idea.

SALINGER:  Can I go back to sleep now?

MIMSY: You should be writing.  I want a new manuscript out of you in three days.

SALINGER:  Three days?!  Do you know anything about the writerís process?

MIMSY: How long could it possibly take to get to the bottom of a bottle of scotch?

SALINGER:  Goodbye, Mimsy.

MIMSY: GoodbyeÖJohnny.

[They hang up.  Salinger is on his way to the bedroom when the doorbell rings.]

Act I, Scene 3

Salinger opens the door.  Farmer Brown, a local rustic, is standing there with a sack of potatoes.

FARMER BROWN: Morniní neighbah.

SALINGER:  Morning?  Do you know what time it is?

FARMER BROWN: Right near the crack of dawn, Iíd say.

SALINGER:  The crack of dawn?  The crack of dawn?

FARMER BROWN: Ayep.  I thought you might like some potatoes.  Theyíre fresh.

SALINGER:  Fresh potatoes?  Do you know what time it is?

FARMER BROWN: Right near the crack of dawn Iíd say.

[Long pause.  Salinger is stumped.]

SALINGER:  SoÖpotatoes you say?

FARMER BROWN: Ayep.  Fresh.

SALINGER:  And theyíre fresh.  Thatís great!

FARMER BROWN: Good for a chowder.

SALINGER:  Great!

FARMER BROWN: Or you could bake them.

SALINGER:  YesÖof courseÖbaked.

FARMER BROWN: I suppose you could french fry them.

SALINGER:  Well, thanks again.

FARMER BROWN: Good stewiní potatoes.

SALINGER:  YesÖstewÖgreat.  Well, I should get startedÖon that chowder.

FARMER BROWN: Be seeiní you laytah, neighbah.

[Farmer Brown exits.  Salinger is almost home free when the doorbell rings again.]

Act I, Scene 4

SALINGER:  Pigsticking potatoes.

[He opens the door.  His personal assistant Seymour enters.]

SEYMOUR: Good morning, sir.

SALINGER:  Seymour!  What are you doing here?  Do you know what time it is?

SEYMOUR: Yessir.  Itís nearly 4:30.  Iím sorry Iím late.

SALINGER:  Late?

SEYMOUR: Yessir.  Ms. Borogoves told me I should be here explicitly by 4:15.

SALINGER:  You mean she explicitly told you.

SEYMOUR: Yessir. She does have a certain way, doesnít she?

SALINGER:  Go home, Seymour.

SEYMOUR: Iím sorry, sir, but I was told I should make sure you were comfortable
so that you could finish your manuscript.
SALINGER:   I havenít even started.

SEYMOUR: Not a problem sir.  Ms. Borogoves gave me a file of suggestions for you.

SALINGER:  MimsyÖgoddammitÖpigstickingÖhell.

SEYMOUR: I was also told that I should explicitly remind you not to use the word
ìpigstickingî in your new manuscript.

SALINGER:  Well, there goes the title.

SEYMOUR: Sorry, sir.

[A woman in some level of undress enters from the bedroom area.]

Act I, Scene 5

FRANNY: Whoís that?

SALINGER:  This is my personal assistant Seymour.  Seymour, this isÖ

FRANNY: Iím Franny.  Nice to meet you.  Are those fresh potatoes?

SALINGER:  Yes.

SEYMOUR: Should IÖgo?

SALINGER:  No, you might as well make yourself useful.  Here, you can start with
making a chowder.

SEYMOUR: Yessir.

FRANNY: Mmmm.  My husbandís a big fan of potato chowder.

SALINGER & SEYMOUR: Husband?!

FRANNY: Yes.  My husband.  You know him.  We live next door to you.

SALINGER [nearly muttering]: You miss one pigsticking welcome partyÖ

SEYMOUR: I donít suppose you know any good chowder recipes?

FRANNY: You could probably use them for a stew too.

SALINGER:  Hell, why donít we just french-fucking-fry them?

FRANNY: Oh, no. That wouldnít do at all.  These are good fresh potatoes.

SALINGER:  YesÖgoodÖfresh.  She seemed so much more interesting before.

[The doorbell rings.  It rings again.]

SALINGER:  Itís the postman.

FRANNY: How do you know?

[Salinger shoots her a piercing look.  J.B. enters.]

J.B.:  I have a letter for youÖMr.ÖDillinger.  Itís from George Steinbrenner.

[Salinger reads.]

SALINGER:  It says Iím fired.

FRANNY: Iím so sorry.

SALINGER:  I donít even work for him.

FRANNY: Thatís odd.

SEYMOUR: You can say that again.

FRANNY: Thatís odd.

[The phone rings.]

SEYMOUR: I wonder who that can be.

FRANNY: Itís definitely not the postman.

Act I, Scene 6

Salinger answers the phone. Lights up on Steinbrennerís office.  Steinbrenner is playing with his ìGreat Teams of Baseballî chess set or something like that.

SALINGER:  Hello?

STEINBRENNER: Hello.  This is George Steinbrenner.

SALINGER:  George Steinbrenner?  [To the people in his room.]  Itís Steinbrenner.

STEINBRENNER: Did you get my letter?
SALINGER:  YesÖabout thatÖ

STEINBRENNER: I just wanted to reiterate that youíre fired, canned,
out on your wazoo.

SALINGER:  But I donít even work for you.

STEINBRENNER: Thatís right.  Youíre fired.

SALINGER:   But I wasnít working for you.

STEINBRENNER: Thatís why I canned you.

SALINGER:  But Iíve never met you.

STEINBRENNER: Doesnít matter.  I still would have fired you.

SALINGER:  But Mr. Steinbrenneró

STEINBRENNER: Nope.  I wonít let you appeal to me as a friend.

SALINGER:  But Iím not your friend.

STEINBRENNER: Well thatís good, because I donít like you either.
In fact Iím gonna fire you again.

SALINGER:  But Iím not working for you.

STEINBRENNER: Donít care.  Youíre fired.  I hope you rot in hell.  I never liked you.

SALINGER:  ButÖbutÖbut.

STEINBRENNER: How ëbout those apples?  Do you like that?

SALINGER:   No, butó

STEINBRENNER: Iím glad I fired you.  I wish I had never hired you.

SALINGER:  You didnít hire me.

STEINBRENNER: Donít try to comfort me.  I donít like your attitude.  Youíre fired.

SALINGER:  But I donít work for you.

STEINBRENNER: Damn right.  And you never will again.

[Steinbrenner hangs up.  Salinger is left holding the phoneÖstunned.]

Act I, Scene 6

Shaken, Salinger hangs up.

FRANNY: That was brutal.

SEYMOUR: Are you okay, sir?

J.B.:  You want some stamps?

[Salinger pours himself a drink and sits down.]

SALINGER:  I said I didnít work for him and he just kept firing meÖfiring meÖ
firing me over and over again.  I donít understand.  I just donít understand.

J.B.:  If it makes you feel any better I have another letter for you.

[J.B. hands it to Salinger who hands it to Seymour who opens it and hands it back to Salinger.]

SALINGER:  Hah!  Itís another rejection.

FRANNY: Oh, Sal.  Iím so sorry.  Maybe we should go have sex again.

[Salinger sits stunned as Franny starts to make a move on him.]

FRANNY: You know.  I never knew that you were into baseball.  Thatís so exciting.
I mean, you never struck me as being all that athletic.  Not that thatís bad or anything.

SALINGER:  Iím fired.  Fired.  Fired.  FiredÖ.firedÖfiredÖ

[The lights start to fade out.]

J.B.:  Do you think we should go?

SEYMOUR: I have to make some chowder.

J.B.: Oh.

[The lights go out.]
 
 

Act II, Scene 1

The same charming place as before, a few minutes later.  The doorbell rings.  It rings again.  Salinger enters from the bedroom twirling a bra.  He looks like heís ready for a drink.  He answers the door.  It is J.B., the letter carrier.

J.B.:  Good morning again, Mr. SalinDillinger.

SALINGER:  What time is it?

J.B.:  Half past five.

SALINGER:  Do you have a letter for me?

J.B.:  Yes, I do.

[J.B. gives the letter to Salinger who snaps his finger.  Seymour enters, takes the letter opens it and hands it back to Salinger who reads it.]

J.B.: Another rejection?

[Salinger nods.]

J.B.:  Well, that reminds me of what they said about my book about spoons.
You know what they said?

[Salinger nods gravely.]

J.B.:  Well, all you can really do is hang in there and Öwell, hang in there.

[J.B. exits.]

SALINGER:  Shouldnít you be making some chowder?

SEYMOUR: Yessir.

SALINGER:  Well?

SEYMOUR: Itís coming along, sir.  You know what they say about chowderÖ

SALINGER:  Do I look like I know what anyone has to say about chowder?

SEYMOUR: No, sir.

SALINGER:  Do you know why?

SEYMOUR: No, sir.

SALINGER:  Because I am an important person.  I am a great author.
Thatís why I can screw my neighborís wife while he brings me potatoes from his farm.  That leaves me little time to ruminate on the workings of chowder recipes.  Do you understand that?

SEYMOUR: Yessir.

SALINGER:  Well?  Why donít you go back to the chowder?

SEYMOUR: I thought I should tell you that Ms. Borogoves intends to be here this
afternoon.

SALINGER:  What?  What does Mimsy want to do here?

SEYMOUR: She believes her presence here will influence you in the completion of your
manuscript.

SALINGER:  She wants to have sex with me!

SEYMOUR: I should check on the chowder.  You know what they sayÖ

SALINGER:  Get out.

[Seymour exits and Franny enters.]

Act II, Scene 2

FRANNY: Good morning again, Slugger.

SALINGER:  Morning.

FRANNY: Iím surprised you never told me about the whole baseball thing.
My husbandís a big Yankees fan.  Iíll bet heíd appreciate some tickets to a game or two.  It would give us more time together.

SALINGER:  YesÖabout that.

[Franny whispers something in his ear.  He becomes really interested in baseball.]

SALINGER:  Well, Iím sure I can work something out.  You know, I used to play
baseball too.

FRANNY: Really?  WhatÖposition?

SALINGER:  Catcher.

FRANNY: Catchers are soÖsexy.  I just love the way they squat at the plate and catch
the balls and give all those signals and wear all thatÖpadding.

SALINGER:  Mrs. Brownó

FRANNY: Call me Franny.

SALINGER:  Franny, you are a dirty, dirty woman.

FRANNY: Tell me how dirty.

SALINGER:  Youíre as dirty as a hoboís underwear.

FRANNY: You have a way with words.

SALINGER:  Iím a writer.

FRANNY: A sports writer?

SALINGER:  Yeah, sure.

FRANNY: Why donít we go back into the other room and Iíll let you hit a triple.

SALINGER:  How about giving me an intentional walk?

FRANNY: Come here, catcher-boy.

[They are about to get into some sort of annoyingly passionate kiss when the doorbell rings.  It rings again.]

SALINGER:  Itís the postman.

FRANNY: How do you know?

[Salinger shoots her a look. He answers the door.  It is J.B.]

J.B.:   I have a telegram for you.

SALINGER:  A telegram?  Who sends telegrams anymore?

J.B.:  Itís from George Steinbrenner.

SALINGER:  DILLINGER STOP YOU ARE FIRED STOP HOPE YOU DIE A
HORRIBLE DEATH STOP SINCERELY STEINBRENNER END.
FRANNY: Thatís harsh.

J.B.:  Well, thatís the way it is with baseball.  One minute youíre on deck with
everything to look forward to and the next minute youíre notÖon deckÖor even at the plate.  Youíre just stuck at home with nothing to do and next thing you know youíve wasted the best years of your life going through peopleís mail and licking stamps and you just feel like youíre going to snap but you donítÖyou donít because itís so damned clichéÖI mean itís not really original, is it?  The whole postal worker goes nuts thing.  So instead you spend your time and energy on spoons and you write about them and you polish them and you just hope that it keeps you from feeding your urge to let the killing begin again.
Yeah, baseball is a tough game.

[J.B. exits.]

Act II, Scene 3

Salinger stands there stunned.

SALINGER:  WhereÖwhereÖwhere were we?

FRANNY: I believe you were about to dust off home plate.

[They move to embrace.  Seymour enters.]

SEYMOUR: Excuse me, sir.

SALINGER:  What do you want, Seymour?

SEYMOUR: I was wonderingÖabout the chowder.

SALINGER:  The chowder?

SEYMOUR: If you wanted it with lunch or dinner.

SALINGER:  You were wondering about the chowder.  Thatís great.  Now get out.

SEYMOUR: Butó

SALINGER:  Come here, Seymour.

[They go off to the side.  Salinger puts his arm around Seymour condescendingly and pulls out the bra he had been fiddling with.]

SALINGER:  Do you know what this is?

SEYMOUR: Itís a bra.

SALINGER:  Very good.  Now, do you know where I got this?

SEYMOUR: Victoriaís Secret?

SALINGER:  No.  I got this from that woman over there who loves baseball and
potatoes and extra-marital sex with her neighbor about whom she knows next to nothing.

[They wave to Franny.  Franny waves back.]

SALINGER:  Do you know how old I am?

SEYMOUR: You seem timeless to me.

SALINGER:  What do you think the odds are of finding a farmerís horny wife or even a
horny farmerís wife whoís this hospitable to a recluse like me?

SEYMOUR: I have no idea.

SALINGER:  And let me tell you another thing, itís not just that sheís horny.
She actually knows what sheís doing.  Do you know what the odds are of finding someone with both enthusiasm andÖskill?  Especially in New York?  I mean, this isnít New Orleans.

[They smile and wave.  She smiles and waves back.]

SALINGER:  Do you know where old authors go when they die?

SEYMOUR: I donít know?  Paris?

SALINGER:  I donít know either, but you can pretty much bet that wherever it is itís not
going to be any better than this.  So, if you donít get out of here by the time my viagra kicks in, I will make sure that you get a big pot of chowder enema.  Do you understand me?

SEYMOUR: Yessir.

[Seymour exits.]

FRANNY: Is everything okay?

SALINGER:  I just had to set the boy straight.
You know how personal assistants can be.

FRANNY: No, I donít, butó

SALINGER:  Well, sometimes they just need some encouragement and a good kick in
the pants.  Now, where were we?

FRANNY: We were about to put some pine tar on your Louisville Slugger.

[Just as they set about to bring this bizarre metaphor to life the phone rings.]

Act II, Scene 4

Salinger answers the phone.  Lights up on Mimsy.

SALINGER:  Hello?

MIMSY: Shouldnít you be writing?

SALINGER:  Hello, Mimsy.

MIMSY: You havenít answered my question, Johnny.

SALINGER:  Iíll get to it right away.

MIMSY: I donít want excuses, just manuscripts.  A good one, this time.

SALINGER:  You are unforgiving, Mimsy.

MIMSY: And you are a horny washed up writer.  Quit looking for nookie and maybe
youíll actually write something worth publishing.

SALINGER:  What are you talking about?

MIMSY: Donít play coy with me, Johnny.  I know youíre having sex.  I always know.
You sound slightly less alcoholic than normal.

SALINGER:  Iím not an alcoholic.

MIMSY: I donít care what you are if you are a good writer.

SALINGER:  I am a good writer.

MIMSY: You were a good writer.  Right now you are a lecher of dubious value to the
literary community.  That may qualify you for public office, but not for a Pulitzer, Johnny.

[She hangs up.]
SALINGER:  Pigsticking hell.

[He hangs up.]

FRANNY: Whoís Mimsy?

SALINGER:  Sheís myÖmasseuse.

FRANNY: Your masseuse thinks youíre an alcoholic?

SALINGER:  Very demanding woman.  Doesnít really relate to sports people like me.

[The doorbell rings.  It rings again.]

SALINGER:  Itís the postman.

FRANNY: How do you know?

[Salinger looks at her.]

SALINGER:  Iíll just get rid of him.

[Salinger goes to the door.  Farmer Brown is there.  Salinger slams the door or whatever shut.]

SALINGER:  Itís your husband.

FRANNY: My husband?  What do we do?

SALINGER:  Hide.  We have to hide.

[They hide in some ridiculous fashion, perhaps posing as furniture pieces.  The doorbell rings again.]

FRANNY: Shouldnít you answer the door?

SALINGER:  Itíll be a lot simpler if I donít.

[The doorbell rings again.]

SALINGER:  Itís alright.  Itís the postman.

[He goes to the door.  Farmer Brown is there.  Salinger plays with the bra in a nervous fashion.]

SALINGER:  Youíre not the postman.
FARMER BROWN: Thought you might like some more potatoes.  Theyíre fresh.

SALINGER:  More potatoes!  What a bountiful harvest!  Well, I guess youíll be wanting
to go and dig up some more of these magnificent tubers.

FARMER BROWN: Ayep, I reckon so.  The day is young yet.

SALINGER:  You bet it is.  Yes, sir.  Itís a young day.  Very young.  Underage.

FARMER BROWN: Is that a brassiere?

SALINGER:  Itís not your wifeís.

FARMER BROWN: Pardon me?

SALINGER:  I mean I couldnít have possibly gotten it from your wife.
I donít even think Iíve ever met her.  I donít even know if youíre married.
Would you like some chowder?

FARMER BROWN: Strange.

SALINGER:  Not really strange at all.  Iíve played with bras for a long time ?
Not that I make a habit of shopping for womenís undergarments.  I mean, I donít wear them.  I just find them here or thereÖbut not on your wifeóI mean, from your wife, with your wife.  I mean, this is definitely not your wifeís bra and I havenít seen her breasts though Iím sure they must be greatÖif she has them andÖwellÖ

[There follows a long pause.  Toward the end of the pause Franny comes out of her hiding place and darts across the stage.]

SALINGER:  Well, this is awkward.

FARMER BROWN: Ayep.  It is that.

SALINGER:  I suppose youíll be wanting your potatoes back.

FARMER BROWN: No, no sense in that.  Good potatoes.
You might try them with some sort of cheese.

SALINGER:  YesÖof courseÖcheeseÖ

FARMER BROWN: Well, back to the grindstone.
The early bird gets the worm, you know.

SALINGER:  YesÖwormsÖof course.
[Farmer Brown exits.  Salinger goes and sits down, relieved and oblivious to the absence of Franny.]

SALINGER:  Oh yeah, that was real smooth.

[The doorbell rings twice.]

Act II, Scene 5

Salinger heads to the door.

SALINGER:  This had better be the postman.

[Salinger opens the door.  It is not the postman.  It is Zooey Brown, a tartlet.]

ZOOEY: I know your secret.

SALINGER:  What?

ZOOEY: I know your secret, J.D.

SALINGER: Who are you?

ZOOEY: Iím the sun and the moon.

SALINGER: Who are you?

ZOOEY: Iím a piece of your imagination.

SALINGER: You arenít real?

ZOOEY: Oh, Iím very real.  Wanna see how real?

[She throws herself at him.  He catches.]

ZOOEY: I know your secret.  I know your deepest fears.

SALINGER: Right now my deepest fear is that youíre not eighteen.

ZOOEY: Do you want me to be eighteen?  Or do you want me to be something else?

SALINGER: Iím not J.D. Salinger.

ZOOEY: Oh, I think you are.

SALINGER: What makes you so sure?
ZOOEY: Maybe it was the ìI wrote The Catcher in the Ryeî bumper sticker on your
station wagon with the wood paneling, or maybe it was something in your eyes that gave you away, or maybe a little postman told me.

SALINGER: Pigsticking letter-carriers.

ZOOEY: I can be very very persuasive.

SALINGER: I bet you can.

ZOOEY: Iíve been watching you.

SALINGER: All I want is a little privacy.

ZOOEY: I think you want more than that.

SALINGER: What do you mean?

ZOOEY: I mean, if you wanted privacy you would have gone to New Hampshire or
New Caledonia.  But you came here.

SALINGER: Itís picturesque.

ZOOEY: Thatís not all it is.  Thereís something else you want.  But what is it?
You could have stayed in the game back in the City and every assistant to an assistant would have fawned over you constantly.  You could have written something really great, but instead youíve been hiding out here.  But you havenít been really hiding, have you?

SALINGER: Youíre pretty sharp for a kid.

ZOOEY: I read a lot of Nancy Drew stories.

SALINGER: I donít think Nancy Drew ever stalked a writer.

ZOOEY: If you want me to leave, Iíll leave.  But then, youíll never see me naked.

SALINGER: Can I get you something to drink?  Scotch and Kool-Aid?

ZOOEY: Do you have anything stronger?

SALINGER: This isnít happening.  Iím still in New Hampshire.  This is just a dream.

ZOOEY: Relax, Ichabod, everythingís cool.

SALINGER: I donít even know youíre name.
ZOOEY: You can call me Lolita, but my nameís Zooey.

SALINGER: And I amó

ZOOEY: Pleasantly surprised?

SALINGER: You can say that again.

ZOOEY: Pleasantly surprised.

[The phone rings.]

Act II, Scene 6

Salinger answers the phone.  Lights up on Steinbrenner.

SALINGER: Hello?

STEINBRENNER: Dillinger?

SALINGER: Yes?

STEINBRENNER:  Dillinger, this is Steinbrenner.

SALINGER: Pigsticking hell.

STEINBRENNER: What?

SALINGER: What?

STEINBRENNER: Iíve changed my mind.  Youíre fired.

SALINGER: What?

STEINBRENNER: Donít sound so surprised.  I never liked you.

SALINGER: I donít even know you.

STEINBRENNER:  Doesnít matter.  Youíre fired.  No second chances.
Youíre outta there.

SALINGER: I donít work for you.

STEINBRENNER: You got that straight.  Youíll be selling hot dogs for the Toledo Mud
Hens for all I care.

SALINGER:  I donít understand.

STEINBRENNER:  Thatís because youíre dumb, Dillinger.  Youíre a dumb dodo.
Thatís why Iím firing you.

[Steinbrenner hangs up.]

Act II, Scene 7

Salinger hangs up.  He is stunned.

ZOOEY: Bad news, J.D.?

SALINGER: No, just strange.

[The doorbell rings.  It rings again.]

ZOOEY: Itís the postman.

[Salinger smiles.]

SALINGER: You know, Iím beginning to like you.

ZOOEY: That might be a mistake.

[J.B. enters.  He hands Salinger a letter.  While Salinger reads he salivates over Zooey.]

J.B.: Another rejection?

SALINGER: It says, ìThe real J.D. Salinger wouldnít have let his cat type this crap.
Please dispose of it accordingly.î

ZOOEY & J.B.: Thatís harsh.

SALINGER: Yeah.

J.B.: Well, all you can do is keep trying.  If youíre not trying youíre dying.
Iím not sure who said that.  Iím sure someone did.

[J.B. exits.]

SALINGER: Do they still wear grass skirts in New Caledonia?
Did they ever wear grass skirts there?  Iím not sure.
It must be nice this time of year.  It must be nice any time of the year.

ZOOEY: You donít need to go that far to see someone in a grass skirt.
SALINGER: Zooey, I believe this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

[Salinger nervously twirls Frannyís bra while he and Zooey go offstage.  Blackout.]

Act II, Scene 8

Lights up on Farmer Brownís shed.  Farmer Brown and Melvin Purvis, an ancient FBI agent are enjoying a cup of chowder or something rustic like that.

MELVIN: So you say your wife is cheating on you with your neighbor?

FARMER BROWN: Ayep.

MELVIN: Thatís a shame.  A shame.

FARMER BROWN: Ayep.

MELVIN: Do you know anything about this man?

FARMER BROWN: He likes potatoes.

[Melvin writes this down.]

MELVIN: Likes potatoes.

FARMER BROWN: Ayep.

MELVIN: Do you know his name?

FARMER BROWN: Dillinger, I believe.

MELVIN: Whoa, whoa, hold the phone!  Did you say Dillinger?

FARMER BROWN: S.J. Dillinger.

MELVIN: This manís name is Dillinger, and he likes potatoes?

FARMER BROWN: Ayep.

MELVIN: And he seems to have a way with the dames?

FARMER BROWN: It would appear so.  Is there anything you can do?

MELVIN: As a matter of fact there is.
Iíll get him or my name isnít Melvin Purvis, G-Man.  Do you have a phone?

FARMER BROWN: Ayep.

[Farmer Brown gives him an antiquated device.  Melvin Purvis places a person to person call.]

MELVIN: Hello?  Tommy?  Hello?  Tommy?  Itís me.  Melvin.  Purvis.  Melvin.
From the Bureau.  Yeah, thatís right.  I think we need to have a meeting.
Yeah, with the old gang.  Yeah, I know Joeyís dead.  I was at the funeral.
Yeah, the buffet was good.  No, Iím pretty regular these days.  Yeah, thereís nothing like stewed prunes to get you going.  Listen weíve got to get MacGee.  Iíve got news.  News.  Yeah.  I think we got the wrong guy.  Yeah Iím sure.  Yeah, Dillinger.  Dillinger.  Exactly.  Heís out there.  I donít know how.  Yeah.  Public Enemy Number One.

[Blackout.]
 

Act III, Scene 1

An ominous silence on the empty stage.  Then, the Untouchables theme plays as the retired FBI agents limp downstage center to strike their crimebusting pose.  First comes Melvin Purvis, the most agile of the agents, which is not saying much.  Next comes Tommy ìTommy Gunî Thompson, who has to use a walker and is hard of hearing, which tends to undercut the panache of the trenchcoat and fedora look.  Then ìShooterî MacGee enters.  Shooter is also in some state of disrepair when it comes to locomotion, and is wearing some sort of flower print dress and a hat.  Shooter is near-sighted to boot.
Finally, Farmer Brown enters with some sort of farm implement and a cup of chowder.

MELVIN PURVIS: Farmer, this is Tommy ìTommy Gunî Thompson and
Shooter MacGee.  Shooter was one of Hooverís best.

FARMER BROWN: Pleased to meet ya both.

TOMMY GUN: Are you sure this is the real Dillinger?

MELVIN PURVIS: We know he has a way with women.

SHOOTER: Sounds like him.

MELVIN PURVIS: AndÖhe likes potatoes.

[Various nods of assent.]

MELVIN PURVIS: So the real question is, how do we catch him?

TOMMY GUN: We could wait by his front door and gun him down as he walks out.

SHOOTER: No, that sounds too easy to be possible.

TOMMY GUN: What about running some sort of potato scam on him?

SHOOTER: Baked or french fried?

MELVIN PURVIS: Thereís too many variables in a potato ambush.
Too many ways for him to get away.

SHOOTER: What if heís not even hungry?

FARMER BROWN: He has had two sacks of potatoes in a day.

TOMMY GUN: Thatís a lot of potatoes.
 

MELVIN PURVIS: Gentlemen, thereís one thing that Dillinger canít resist.
Farmer, is there a cinema in town?

FARMER BROWN: Ayep.  Theyíve got a double feature of Seven Years in Tibet
and Happy Jimmy the Death Shark.

MELVIN PURVIS: Perfect.  Then itís settled.  We lure him into the theatreó

SHOOTER: How do we do that?

TOMMY GUN: What?

SHOOTER: I said HOW DO WE DO THAT?

MELVIN PURVIS: I think we can count on a special friend for that.
Now, Shooter will get the first shot.

SHOOTER: Okay.

MELVIN PURVIS: Then, Tommy?

TOMMY GUN: Yes?

MELVIN PURVIS: Then, Tommy will open up with his gat and that should
finish him off.  Any questions?

TOMMY GUN: Nope.

SHOOTER: No.

MELVIN PURVIS: Good.  Gentlemen.  What we do today is of extreme importance.
Why?  Because America is a land of freedom and freedom depends on order.  And to keep the order we have to gun down bank robbers and other villains, because thatís the law.  And we canít let them get off just because itís sixty years later and we shot the wrong guy in Chicago.  The Bureau is depending on us to keep its outstanding reputation for truth, justice and the American way.  I know America will be watching us shoot this bastard down like a lame wildebeest and America will be proud and J. Edgar Hoover, watching us from that great surveillance post in the sky will be proud too.  So, for peteís sake remember to take your medication and if you have to wear your special underwear then wear your special underwear.  We canít afford to slip up this time.  Letís show those active duty whippersnappers the kind of work that gave the bureau its reputation.

SHOOTER: Give me an F!

TOMMY GUN: What?!
SHOOTER: GIVE ME AN F!

ALL: F!

SHOOTER: GIVE ME A B!

ALL: B!

SHOOTER: GIVE ME AN I!

ALL: I!

ALL: F-B-I!  F-B-I!  F-B-I!  F-B-I! F-B-I!

[The chanting continues until the G-Men start to cough and sputter.  Then, blackout.]

Act III, Scene 2

Salingerís place again.  The doorbell rings.  It rings again.  Salinger enters.

SALINGER: Pigsticking hell.

[J.B. enters.]

J.B.:  I have a letter for you, MrÖ.

SALINGER: Oh, whatever.  Even I donít remember anymore.

[Salinger snaps his fingers.  Seymour enters.  Salinger hands the letter to Seymour who opens it and gives it back to him.  Salinger reads.]

SEYMOUR: Bad news?

SALINGER: Actually, itís a job offer from the Boston Red Sox.

SEYMOUR: The Red Sox?

J.B.: Some guys have all the luck.

SALINGER: They figure that if I was good enough for Steinbrenner to fire then I should
be good enough to work for them.

SEYMOUR: Exactly what will you do for them?

SALINGER: I have no idea.  I donít think they do either.

SEYMOUR: I suppose you wonít be needing a personal assistant anymore, sir.

SALINGER: Of course I will.  Maybe even two or three.

SEYMOUR: This is great!

J.B.:  You know, this reminds me of the time thatÖ Oh, who am I kidding?
This doesnít remind me of anytime.  Iím cursed to walk this wretched earth forever giving people their mail.  Iím forsaken by an unforgiving fate, condemned to live this postmanís life thinking about spoons and dreaming of gouging my eyes out with them so I will no longer have to read peopleís addresses.  I canít go on.  Canít go onÖwill go on.  Will go on because I have faith.  I have faithÖand spoons.  Faith in spoons.  Spoons of faith.

[J.B. exits.]

Act III, Scene 3

Zooey enters in some state of elegant undress.  She moves like a lioness preparing an ambush.

ZOOEY: Hello, J.D.  Whoís the gopher?

SALINGER: Seymour, this is Zooey.  Zooey, let me introduce you to my personal
assistant Seymour.

ZOOEY: Hello, Seymour.  Whatís up your butt?

SALINGER & SEYMOUR: What?!

ZOOEY: Oh come on, Seymour.  Iím sure youíre good at whatever you do, but you look
as happy as Bartleby.  So what kind of rod do you have up your butt?

SALINGER: While youíre formulating your answer to that why donít you bring in
some of that chowder youíve been working on.

SEYMOUR: Yessir, Mr. Salinger.

[Seymour exits.]

ZOOEY: Weíre alone again.

SALINGER: Naturally.

ZOOEY: Would you like to be a dirty old man and paint my toenails or do you want me
to unclog your writerís block so you can scribble The Pitcher in the Corn?
SALINGER: YouÖareÖcruel.

ZOOEY: You have to be cruel to be kind.

SALINGER: When are you kind?

ZOOEY: Iíve taken you this far, havenít I?  I think I want to see you kneel now.

SALINGER: Does that make you feel powerful?

ZOOEY: If you only knew.

[Salinger kneels.  Franny enters in some sort of undress.]

FRANNY: Zooey?

SALINGER: Franny?

ZOOEY: Mom?

SALINGER: Mom?!

[The doorbell rings.]

FRANNY: What are you doing here?

ZOOEY: Mr. Salinger was just helping me try on some shoes.

FRANNY: Whoís Mr. Salinger?

[The doorbell rings again.  It rings a third time.]

SALINGER: Well, itís not the postman.

FRANNY: How do you know?

[Salinger and Zooey stare at her.  The door (or whatever) is flung open and Mimsy enters.]

MIMSY: Hello, Johnny.

ZOOEY: Johnny?

FRANNY: Whoís Johnny?

SALINGER: Hello, Mimsy.  What do you want?
MIMSY: You know what I want.

SALINGER: Iím not going to have sex with you, Mimsy.

MIMSY: Sex?!  Ha!  Who are you kidding?

SALINGER: You want to have sex with me because Iím a great writer.

FRANNY: Youíre a writer?

ZOOEY: Mom!

FRANNY: Heís a writer?

MIMSY: The unbelievable arrogance of you people.  Writers write things.
You havenít written anything in years.

SALINGER: But Iím famous.

FRANNY: He is?

ZOOEY: Mom!  Youíre embarrassing me!

MIMSY: What have you done lately?  Hmmm?  Donít get me wrong, Johnny.
You wrote some great things and I can see that you attract more than your fair share ofÖcupcakes andÖmuffins.  But I prefer my men to be moreÖproductive.  Anybody can coast on a reputation.

SALINGER: You donít want to have sex with me?

MIMSY: Nothing gets past you, Johnny.

SALINGER: I donít understand.  Iím an important personage.

MIMSY: The only thing of yours I want to see is a manuscript.

[Pause.]

MIMSY: You donít have a manuscript, do you?

[Salinger shakes his head gravely.]

MIMSY: Then I suggest you dip your other quill in some ink and get to work.

SALINGER: You really donít want to have sex with me?

MIMSY: If you only knew.

[Mimsy exits with a flourish.]

FRANNY: Youíre J.D. Salinger?

[Salinger nods.]

FRANNY: Then you lied to me about working in baseball, too?

SALINGER: WellÖ

FRANNY: I donít understand why you would have to sell shoes.

ZOOEY: Mom, he wasnít selling me shoes.  Weíve been having a love affair.

FRANNY: You too?

ZOOEY: What?!

[Seymour enters.]

SEYMOUR: I have chowder!

FRANNY: We should really talk.

ZOOEY: Iím gonna be in therapy for years.  God, I just hope I donít pull a Wurtzel
and freak out and get all Prozac-y.

SALINGER: Would it make a difference if I told you that I got an offer to work for
the Red Sox?

FRANNY: You know, thereís no reason why we should both stop seeing him.

ZOOEY: That would just be too weird.

[Franny goes over to Salinger and gives him a brief kiss.]

FRANNY: Iím sorry we didnít get to go into extra innings, Sal.  Maybe some other time.

SALINGER: Sure.

FRANNY: You can keep the braÖfor old timesí sake.

[Zooey leaps into Salingerís arms suggestively.]

ZOOEY: So long, J.D.  You werenít overrated, if you know what I mean.
[whispering] Iíll send you some dirty pictures sometime.

[Franny and Zooey exit.]

SEYMOUR: You want some chowder, sir?

SALINGER: Go away.

[The doorbell rings.]

SALINGER: Who can it be now?

[Steinbrenner enters.]

STEINBRENNER: Are you Dillinger?

SALINGER: There is no Dillinger.  Iím J.D. Salinger.

STEINBRENNER: No Dillinger?

SALINGER: No.  Just me.

STEINBRENNER: Well, I donít like your tone.  Youíre fired.

SALINGER: I have never worked for you.

STEINBRENNER: Iím George Steinbrenner.  I can fire anyone at any time.
More than once.

SALINGER: Oh yeah, Iím going to work for the Red Sox.

STEINBRENNER: Good riddance.

SALINGER: Same to you.

STEINBRENNER: Just remember.  Steinbrenner gets the last laugh.  He always does.

[Steinbrenner exits.]

SALINGER: I hate it when people refer to themselves in the third person.

SEYMOUR: Chowder?

SALINGER: Get out.

SEYMOUR: But ­

SALINGER: You heard me.

SEYMOUR: Yessir.

[Seymour exits in a dejected fashion.]

SEYMOUR: Itís good chowder.

SALINGER: Who ever heard of potato chowder.

[The doorbell rings.]

SALINGER: I told you to go away.

[Salinger answers the door.  It is the Lady in Red.]

LADY IN RED: Are you sure you want to get rid of me?

SALINGER: Who are you?

LADY IN RED: Iím your dream girl.

SALINGER: I think Iíve had enough of that.  I should get back to work.

LADY IN RED: I think you need a break.  We can see a movie.

SALINGER: I donít like movies.  Theyíre so fake.

LADY IN RED: You donít have to watch the movie.
You can just soak up the atmosphere.  Itís a double feature.

SALINGER: I swear to God Iím going to wake up and Iíll be in a pile of snow in
New Hampshire.

[The Lady in Red touches his cheek and whispers something into his ear.]

SALINGER: On the other hand, you donít find double features anymore.

[They prepare to go.]

LADY IN RED: You should really change your clothes.]

[Salinger nods as if in a trance.  He puts on a jacket.]

LADY IN RED: And this will complete the picture.

[She puts a fedora on his head.]

SALINGER: This is pretty snazzy.  Who are you?

LADY IN RED: I told you.  Iím your dreams come to life.

[They walk over to the cinema (whatever that is) in an almost ritualistic manner.]

SALINGER: I have no idea what Iím doing.  I donít even like movies.

LADY IN RED: Do you like me?

SALINGER: I guess I do.

LADY IN RED: Then thatís all that matters.

[They enter the cinema.  The FBI agents take up their positions in an agonizingly slow fashion.  It would almost look like slow motion but for the entrance of J.B. who has no problem walking.  When they are in place Salinger and the Lady in Red enter.]

LADY IN RED: Are you sure you donít want to stay for the second film.

SALINGER: Not if itís as bad as the first one.  I donít even like Tibet.  And even if I did
I hate how fake these movies are.  Listen, I donít want you to take this personally, but I have to get back to writing.

LADY IN RED: Itís too late for that.

SALINGER: What?

[She gives him the kiss of death.]

LADY IN RED: I want you to know it was nothing personal.
I was beginning to like you.

SALINGER: I hardly know you.

LADY IN RED: It hardly matters.  You should have stayed for the second film.

SHOOTER: Hey, Mac!  Do you like cheese?

SALINGER: Sure, everybody likes cheese.

SHOOTER: How about Swiss cheese?
SALINGER: What?

[Salinger walks offstage to investigate.  As he does he is riddled by machine-gun fire from the FBI agents.  J.B. tries to save him, but itís too late.  Seymour enters and he and the postman prop up the bullet-riddled and bloody Salinger.]

SHOOTER: F-B-I!  F-B-I! F-B-I!

[The other agents join in the chant as they gather around.]

MELVIN PURVIS: Good work, men.
As a great man once said, itís never too late for justice.

TOMMY GUN: I have to go to the bathroom.

SHOOTER: Public Enemy Number Two.

[The FBI agents limp offstage chuckling.  Farmer Brown and his family have entered and watch Salinger with a measure of pity. Mimsy enters too.]

SEYMOUR: Mr. Salinger, I thought you should knowÖthe chowder was actually
pretty good.  Mr. Salinger?  Say something.

J.B.: You might as well, thereís no sense being a recluse now.

SALINGER: Youíre all just a bunch of phonies.

[Salinger dies.  As he does John Lennonís ìImagineî plays in the background.  As a tableau develops with the music and lights Steinbrenner enters with a catcherís mitt.  He drops the catcherís mitt onto Salingerís body and walks away whistling some old baseball tune triumphantly.  Lights fade to black.]