Recently, a friend o’ mine asked me to write down some of my thoughts on Brokeback Mountain. Instead of an essay, I thought to myself, why not pen the sequel? After all, what successful movie doesn’t have some kind of sequel in the works?

Ultimately, however, that effort proved too long, so I went back and wrote something more appropriate. I still like my script though, so I thought I’d share it. If anyone wants to escort it from the page to the stage, as they say, you just let me know…

 

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BROKEBACK 2: THE REUNION

(In New York, at the Roxy, circa 1990. Go-go boys, thumping music. Supermodels Linda Evangelista and Tatjana Patitz are canoodling on a swing over the dance floor. Camera pans to the VIP room in the back. We see ENNIS sitting on a Wedgwood-blue sofa, wearing some vaguely ludicrous Gaultier attire. He’s getting a lap dance from a very young man. A chorus of drag queens is chanting “Happy birthday! Take it off!” in time with the music. JACK quietly enters the room. Almost immediately, ENNIS notices him. He shoves the go-go boy to the floor and bolts to his feet. The DJ’s record scratches to a stop, and everyone in the place turns to look. You could hear a tab of ecstasy drop into a pile of cotton balls it’s so quiet.)

ENNIS: (Softly, moving toward JACK) Jack? Jack Twist! You’re alive!

JACK: Hell, yes, I’m alive! I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for nearly a goddamn decade to tell you.

ENNIS: But…but how?

JACK: Lureen made the whole thing up–all that shit about the tire and all. We’d done got a divorce, and she was as mad as an old wet hen. Wanted some revenge, I guess.

ENNIS: Why, that cockgobbling bitch! …Hell, somebody pass us a coke spoon—we got some celebratin’ to do!

JACK: Coke spoon?

ENNIS: (Pulling a tiny spoon from a powder blue bag) Ain’t it divine? It ain’t really meant for coke–it’s just one of them old saccharine spoons. Tiffany hadn’t made ‘em in years, but they minted a batch just for lil’ ol’ me! I gave ‘em out as Christmas presents. You want one?

JACK: No, thanks.

ENNIS: I could have it engraved! I know the best little ol’ jewelry shop on 47th Street. They got a staff of nothing but pygmies from the rainforest—-smallest hands in the world, I kid you not!

JACK: I said no, thanks.

ENNIS: (Turning to the nearest drag queen) Esmerelda, please grab Jack a campari and soda–hold the twist! (Hugs JACK) Oh, I crack myself up! Now run along, dear, and bring it to stall number three—it’s my birthday wish, so you can’t refuse me! (Squinting toward the DJ booth) Go ahead, Kenny dear. Play on!

(Music picks up where it left off. ENNIS drags JACK to the men’s bathroom. They cut to the front of the line, ENNIS pounds on the door of stall number three. Sandra Bernhard and Ingrid Casares emerge, swigging orange juice and laughing uncontrollably. They air-kiss ENNIS. JACK and ENNIS enter the stall, and ENNIS locks the door behind them.)

ENNIS: (Rummaging in his Issey Miyake handbag) Now give me just a second, I need to touch up my face. Old gray mare ain’t what she used to be…

JACK: Ennis… What the hell done happened to you?

ENNIS: (ENNIS bristles. Pause.) I turned fifty. So did you, might I add. (Holding JACK’s face up to the light) Ugh! Darling, be honest with me: you’ve never used a drop of moisturizer, have you? (Not waiting for an answer) You simply have to try this new eye gel from Princess Marcella Borghese—don’t you just love saying that? Say it real fast with me: Marcella Borghese! Marcella Borghese! Marcella Borghese!

JACK: Stop it, Ennis!

ENNIS: Hush! (Peeks over top of stall) I’m known as DJ Superstar Laff-a-Lympics now. You’ll ruin my cred!

JACK: Look what you’ve turned into….

ENNIS: (Cutting JACK off before he can finish the insult) A fabulous creature of the night? Well, thank you, sweetie…. (Pulling out a compact, powdering his nose. Pause.) You know, it wasn’t easy for me…. After you died–I’m sorry: allegedly died–I kinda went off the deep end. I moved to Jackson, turned some tricks, and quickly became known as Jackson’s other hole. Before long, I became shallwesay especially friendly with a hideously wealthy rancher, who died a few years later, leaving me his estate outside Cheyenne, a home in Southampton, and a penthouse here in the city. I sold the Long Island place–Sally Jesse Raphael bought the house next door, and try as I might, I just couldn’t bear the thought of her tottering over at all hours, asking to borrow a cup of catsup for one of her infamous late-night sandwiches. For five or six years now, I’ve lived exclusively in the city, and I must say, I’ve done rather well for myself, don’t you think? (Leans in to kiss JACK).

JACK: Except now you’re a goddamn faggot.

ENNIS: (Slowly pulling a cigarette from his bag) Funny but as I recall, you were always the one craving a nice hard cock up your ass. (Lights up, exhales) Or does memory cruelly deceive me?

JACK: Look at you, with your drugs and your face powder and your eye gel and your Camp…uh, Campichi–

ENNIS: Campari.

JACK: Whatever. And your go-go boys! You ain’t nothin’ but a bitter old queer!

ENNIS: Maybe so, Jack, but you know what? Those drugs? They’re paid for. The face powder is paid for. The eye gel and Campari are paid for. And yes, the go-go boy is paid for–quite dearly paid for, might I add, considering that I shouldn’t have to pay for my own hustler on my own birthday…. And you? How are you doing, Jack?

JACK: This ain’t about me.

ENNIS: Oh, I think it is, Jack. Because deep-down, you know that you’re just like me. On the inside, anyway. You’re an aging, bitter, useless queen, and you can’t handle it, can you, honey? That’s not to say we don’t have our differences. (Fingering JACK’s dime-store cowboy shirt) Clearly, we do. But we’re more alike than you’d care to admit. (JACK doesn’t say anything) …Well, thank you so much for stopping by, Jack. It was the best birthday present I’ve had all day. Really, it was. We’ll have to do it again sometime. I’ll have that spoon ready by then–promise! Now I have to get back to the party, but you take all the time you need, sugar–all the time you need. (ENNIS tosses his cigarette in the toilet) Smoking is such a nasty habit, don’t you think? But then, all the best habits are…. Ta-ta!

(ENNIS exits the stall, air-kissing half a dozen people on his way back to the VIP room. JACK sits on the toilet, head in hands, as someone in the next stall shoves an appendage through a gloryhole. Fade out.)