Dalliard: Piano

	Hugh enters a shop. There are pianos about the place. Stephen is ready.

Hugh		Hello.

Stephen		It does seem to be, sir, yes.

Hugh		Seem to be what?

Stephen		Rather hello.

Hugh		Sorry?

Stephen		I opened my television last night only to find that nice
		gentleman with the legs advancing the prediction that it might
		be rather "good evening" today, but looking out through the
		window that the previous owners thoughtfully installed for the
		purpose, I find that it has, as you athletically observed,
		turned out to be rather "hello".

Hugh		Mmm. Nice weather.

Stephen		And a very nice weather to you too, sir. (Calling off.) We have
		a customer, Mr Dalliard! It's pleasantly spoken but with a loud
		taste in vests. I'm talking to it now. (To Hugh.) Sir. How can
		I make your life more attractively-styled?

Hugh		Well now, it is my god-daughter's birthday next week, and she's
		very keen to have a piano.

Stephen		I understand, absolutely, sir. I have god-daughters of my own.

Hugh		Yes, well ...

Stephen		You would like me to bundle her into a large trunk and
		transport her to the continent of Africa, where she might join
		the slave trade and become a lasting credit to you and your
		collection of hand-painted Chinese rugs?

Hugh		Well ... no.

Stephen		No?

Hugh		No.

Stephen		No in the sense of "Yes, and is it alright if I pay by cheque?"

Hugh		No, no in the sense of "no".

Stephen		Hmm. I fear that being with you is one of the accomplishments I
		have yet to master in my short, but interestingly shaped life.
		(Calling off.) Things are turning frosty, Mr Dalliard.

Hugh		I'd like to buy a piano.

Stephen		For your god-daughter?

Hugh		For my god-daughter.

Stephen		With what end in view?

Hugh		So that she can learn to play it.

Stephen		With what end of the piano in view, you blithering customer.

Hugh		Er ... both ends, I think ...

Stephen		A double-ended piano?

Hugh		Yes.

Stephen		(calling) Mr Dalliard! A situation is developing! (To Hugh.)
		How old is this so-called god-daughter of yours?

Hugh		Seventeen.

Stephen		Mr Dalliard! Stop your ears, the talk is becoming loose.
		Seventeen and you want to buy her a piano.

Hugh		Yes.

Stephen		For your god-daughter?

Hugh		Is there a problem?

Stephen		I wouldn't go so far as Reading, sir. Although they tell me
		that it's in Berkshire at this time of year.

Hugh		Look. I came in here ...

Stephen		So far, sir, I am in complete agreement with you. You came in
		here. You bloody ... well ... came ... in ... here. You did. If
		you hadn't come in here, I would have noticed, and called the
		Church of England immediately. But you did come in here, and
		here you stand, proud, slightly lopsided, the finest full-page
		advertisement for the Anglo-Saxon race I've seen since
		yesterday's edition of Brookside.

Hugh		I want to buy a piano.

Stephen		We all want to buy pianos, sir.

Hugh		Do we?

Stephen		Leaving aside the vast majority of human beings who don't want
		to buy pianos, yes sir.

Hugh		So?

Stephen		Mr Dalliard! Start your ears again. This is getting exciting.
		(To Hugh.) Sir, you are, you have been, you were, you are, you
		did, you always will be, the master of that sixty-foot gaff-
		rigged schooner that plies the oceans of the world in the name
		of "Your Destiny", but might I recommend that you take at least
		one shagging moment to think about this?

Hugh		What?

Stephen		God-daughters are not horses, sir.

Hugh		No ...

Stephen		Neither are they commercial aircraft, nor streets of terraced
		housing in what used to be called Hull.

Hugh		No ...

Stephen		They are not quantities of tepid water that collect in the
		bottom of up-turned tea-cups during the wash cycle, no more are
		they hard-boiled sparrows.

Hugh		Your point being?

Stephen		I have no point sir. I am, to all in tents and caravans,
		pointless.

Hugh		Right. One piano please.

Stephen		Very well, sir. I have strained every groin I have to dissuade
		you from your chosen course of action. You will realise that I
		am too proud to beg, and too tall to sit comfortably in a Lotus
		Seven. If, as I surmise, sir has the bit between his teeth well
		and truly between his teeth, there is nothing more I can do
		without using Venn diagrams and multi-coloured flow charts.

Hugh		One ... piano ... please.

	Stephen reaches beneath the counter and produces a vibrator.

Stephen		That'll be twenty-nine of your earth pounds and ninety-five
		pence please Bob.

Hugh		That's a vibrator.

Stephen		Sir?

Hugh		That is a vibrator.

Stephen		I realise that, sir. I am not entirely French.

Hugh		I don't want a vibrator.

Stephen		You've changed your mind? (Calling.) Mr Dalliard! Unpack the
		suitcases at once. The young git has changed his mind ...

Hugh		No, I haven't changed my mind. I never wanted a vibrator, I
		wanted a piano.

Stephen		Perhaps you are not a native of these shores, sir.

Hugh		What's that got to do with it?

Stephen		Or perhaps you merely thought, the grouse and the partridge
		being out of season, you could derive some sport from this
		humble shopkeeper, a man who palpably lives in Putney and grows
		other people's vegetables? Is that how your mind works?

Hugh		Look ...

Stephen		If that is what you thought, then I feel sorry for me. I may
		not be a duke or an ambassador's wife, but I know the price of
		a pound's worth of lard, and can recite the days of the week
		from memory.

Hugh		I just want a piano. Not a vibrator. A piano. For my god-
		daughter. For her birthday. So that she can play it. That's all
		I want. Alright? Will you sell me one, or will I have to go
		elsewhere?

Stephen		This time, sir, the dice has fallen in my favour. The worm has
		turned and the little man has his chance. Elsewhere will be
		closed.

Hugh		Closed?

Stephen		Closed. So now, your scheme is blown, shattered, it lies in
		pieces at your feet in a grotesque, mocking parody of local
		news broadcasts. You are a spent force, Mr Customer,
		yesterday's man, a speck on the pages of our island history.
		You are like a shoe-lace, looking for a nest. You are, in
		short, long.

Hugh		I don't know why, but I'm going to give you one last chance.
		Sell ... me ... a ... frigging ... piano.

Stephen		(rapidly) Upright, grand, boudoir grand, baby grand, concert
		grand?

Hugh		That's more like it. Upright.

Stephen		Cordless? With or without clitoral exciter?

Hugh		(ominously) What?

Stephen		Ivory-white, flesh-pink, fluted or unfluted?

	Hugh grabs Stephen by the lapels.

Hugh		Now, listen ...

Stephen		Mr Dalliard! Step out at once, never mind your hat, and take an
		intensive course in self-defence. Come back when you have
		attained your fourth dan and give Mr Customer a thorough
		spanking.

Hugh		I don't want a vibrator. I'm not interested in vibrators. I
		want a piano. Do you understand?

Stephen		I read you, Mr Sir. I read you like a heart-warming tale of
		human courage and star-crossed love serialised in weekly
		instalments by the author of "Danielle Steele's Emeralds".
		Piano. One. God-daughter. Seventeen. For the use of.

	Hugh lets go.

Hugh		Right. Now. Show me what you've got.

Stephen		Mr Dalliard! Ignore my previous instructions. The UN-inspired
		truce is holding. Sir and I are singing from the same song-
		sheet. Resume your carving. (To Hugh: pointing at piano.) May I
		urge the merits of this particular instrument upon you, sir? It
		is the Toyota Previa of pianos, the Radion Ultra of keyboards.

	Hugh looks at it.

Hugh		Don't be ridiculous. It would never fit her.

Hugh		My father's advice, I'll never forget it - neither a borrower,
		nor a git be.