Don Trumpeone: a play in one act

Don Trumpeone: a play in one act

 

Scene: sidewalk café, checked tablecloths.  Rocco sits with young son, waiting. 

Enter Don Trumpeone.  He carries himself regally, white linen suit coat draping off his shoulders, patent leather shoes.  He sits.  A radio plays a scratchy recording of Paolini’s Il Buffone.

Don Trumpeone:  Haven't seen you around Rocco, where've you been hiding?  You know, people are starting to talk, that you're on the outside too much.  Maybe you mix in more with your friends, get your beak wet with this or that or the other thing. 

(leans forward): Word is you got a subpoena.  That you're thinking of singing a song, like a canary.  To Il Magistrato.

(temper flashes):  On subjects that are none of your concern! 

(taps his temple):  Think, Rocco.  Be smart.  You do for us, we do for you, isn't that how it's always been?  We tell you to say, and you say it.  Why make a problem if there isn't one.

(stands):  Cute kid.  Six, seven?  Enjoy your children, that’s what I always tell people.  You never know when something awful will happen to one of them. 

Exit Don Trumpeone.  The radio plays on.

(curtain)