about discipline.
A RT : ( To the group ) Anybody here know what he’s talking about? Hands, please.
L ARRY : And the single greatest lesson I learned down there was one called The Pat on the Head. Just that. In caps: THE PAT ON THE HEAD. These extraordinary trainers working with the animals—people think they beat them or force them. Not at all. The animals are shown how to do something. They try. If they do it right , they get a pat on the head. Oh, sure—sometimes a chunk of fish or meat or dog biscuit—but I watched that process for five long weeks and I’m convinced that The Pat on the Head was more important. That was the lesson. Think about it, Art.
A RT : Listen, I once patted a guy on the head so hard—an actor—it took seventeen stitches.
L ARRY : So. We’re on the Roof Garden. Number over. Jack and Nora to their table with two friends. Orchestra off. Trio continues. Sonofabitch—Claude—comes in with a party of six. Will there be room, Ivan?
I VAN : We make room.
L ARRY : Jack sees them. Nora doesn’t. Her back is to them. S.O.B. spots Jack and Nora. His party—heads together—they look over at Nora’s table—then back together and big laughter. Jack stands. Sits. Trio off. Orchestra on. They play the one-step. How’s that coming, Hy?
H Y : Bloodcurdling. Trouble is, I never danced the one-step in my life. But don’t worry.
L ARRY : All right.
H Y : No sense the two of us worrying.
F RED : We’ll get it, we’ll get it.
L ARRY : One-step. Everybody on, dancing. Except Jack and Nora. Claude and partner. When we’ve got the number—the dance—really riding—S.O.B. and his partner sit there and stare at Jack and Nora. They’re trying to cool it—all at once, Claude points. That’s the moment! That’s the signal—Jack makes a running lunge for him—he shoves the girl in front of him and dashes onto the dance floor—we lose him—meanwhile Jack piles into the girl—knocks her ass over tip—gets up and piles into the crowd—looking for Claude.
A RT : Jesus! How’re you going to do that ?
L ARRY : Do what?
A RT : Knock the girl over. Eight times a week. Can we get insurance on a thing like that?
L ARRY : As in all things, Art, we get experts, professionals. It’s a tough trick I grant you, but important. It’s action. And audiences these days are action-oriented, you know that. And they’re going to get their share from us, believe me.
A RT : Yeah, but how ?
L ARRY : Stand up, Nick. ( N ICK gets out of his chair and takes a step forward. He is a short, elderly, chunky, scarred, tough-looking trainer type. He wears glasses ) Ladies and gentlemen—Nick Pappas, our stunt man. He’s here to help us with falls, trips, fights, and so on. Anything physical—we’ll refer to Nick.
A RT : ( To N ICK ) O.K. You tell me how we’re gonna do it.
N ICK: The knockin’ the girl out of the chair bit you mean?
A RT : That’s it.
N ICK: Well, first off—it’s not gonna be no girl.
A RT : What?!
L ARRY : Hold it. Listen, everybody. This is classified information. Keep it dark. No leaks. It’ll hurt us. After a while, I suppose—it’ll come out, but by then it won’t matter, now it will. So this is—for the present—Top Secret, right? Go ahead, Nick.
N ICK : No girl. I got a good man. A tumbler. He’ll look an O.K. girl all right.
H Y : If he remembers to shave.
N ICK : Don’t worry about the guy. The way we’ll routine it, see—there’ll be no physical contact whatsoever. Way shape or form. I figure the jumper to dive right past my tumbler—right into the wings offstage where I got a foam-rubber mat. My tumbler takes his own fall. Also, he’s gonna be wearing this dress and nothing underneath—I mean not pants no nothing—
A RT : But if he’s a—
N ICK : Wait. No pants no nothing—only a false twat.
A RT : ( To L ARRY ) Is this guy putting me on?
L ARRY : Why would he?
N ICK : No! See, the idea is that on the jump, she—I mean he —goes over in his
A RT : ( To the group ) Anybody here know what he’s talking about? Hands, please.
L ARRY : And the single greatest lesson I learned down there was one called The Pat on the Head. Just that. In caps: THE PAT ON THE HEAD. These extraordinary trainers working with the animals—people think they beat them or force them. Not at all. The animals are shown how to do something. They try. If they do it right , they get a pat on the head. Oh, sure—sometimes a chunk of fish or meat or dog biscuit—but I watched that process for five long weeks and I’m convinced that The Pat on the Head was more important. That was the lesson. Think about it, Art.
A RT : Listen, I once patted a guy on the head so hard—an actor—it took seventeen stitches.
L ARRY : So. We’re on the Roof Garden. Number over. Jack and Nora to their table with two friends. Orchestra off. Trio continues. Sonofabitch—Claude—comes in with a party of six. Will there be room, Ivan?
I VAN : We make room.
L ARRY : Jack sees them. Nora doesn’t. Her back is to them. S.O.B. spots Jack and Nora. His party—heads together—they look over at Nora’s table—then back together and big laughter. Jack stands. Sits. Trio off. Orchestra on. They play the one-step. How’s that coming, Hy?
H Y : Bloodcurdling. Trouble is, I never danced the one-step in my life. But don’t worry.
L ARRY : All right.
H Y : No sense the two of us worrying.
F RED : We’ll get it, we’ll get it.
L ARRY : One-step. Everybody on, dancing. Except Jack and Nora. Claude and partner. When we’ve got the number—the dance—really riding—S.O.B. and his partner sit there and stare at Jack and Nora. They’re trying to cool it—all at once, Claude points. That’s the moment! That’s the signal—Jack makes a running lunge for him—he shoves the girl in front of him and dashes onto the dance floor—we lose him—meanwhile Jack piles into the girl—knocks her ass over tip—gets up and piles into the crowd—looking for Claude.
A RT : Jesus! How’re you going to do that ?
L ARRY : Do what?
A RT : Knock the girl over. Eight times a week. Can we get insurance on a thing like that?
L ARRY : As in all things, Art, we get experts, professionals. It’s a tough trick I grant you, but important. It’s action. And audiences these days are action-oriented, you know that. And they’re going to get their share from us, believe me.
A RT : Yeah, but how ?
L ARRY : Stand up, Nick. ( N ICK gets out of his chair and takes a step forward. He is a short, elderly, chunky, scarred, tough-looking trainer type. He wears glasses ) Ladies and gentlemen—Nick Pappas, our stunt man. He’s here to help us with falls, trips, fights, and so on. Anything physical—we’ll refer to Nick.
A RT : ( To N ICK ) O.K. You tell me how we’re gonna do it.
N ICK: The knockin’ the girl out of the chair bit you mean?
A RT : That’s it.
N ICK: Well, first off—it’s not gonna be no girl.
A RT : What?!
L ARRY : Hold it. Listen, everybody. This is classified information. Keep it dark. No leaks. It’ll hurt us. After a while, I suppose—it’ll come out, but by then it won’t matter, now it will. So this is—for the present—Top Secret, right? Go ahead, Nick.
N ICK : No girl. I got a good man. A tumbler. He’ll look an O.K. girl all right.
H Y : If he remembers to shave.
N ICK : Don’t worry about the guy. The way we’ll routine it, see—there’ll be no physical contact whatsoever. Way shape or form. I figure the jumper to dive right past my tumbler—right into the wings offstage where I got a foam-rubber mat. My tumbler takes his own fall. Also, he’s gonna be wearing this dress and nothing underneath—I mean not pants no nothing—
A RT : But if he’s a—
N ICK : Wait. No pants no nothing—only a false twat.
A RT : ( To L ARRY ) Is this guy putting me on?
L ARRY : Why would he?
N ICK : No! See, the idea is that on the jump, she—I mean he —goes over in his
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