Playwrite Frank Gagliano

THE COMMEDIA WORLD OF LAFCADIO B

takes place in 1917 New Orleans, during an Influenza epidemic, in a room that was once the voodoo parlour of Marie Laveau, and in which Marie Laveau’s ghost still hovers.

Enter the handsome, elegant, charismatic Con Man, “Lobo,”
who is constantly fighting the dreaded “ennui,”
and who returns to New Orleans, this day,
to disentangle himself from a festering scandal,
and to be amused by — and to confront:

•the angry ghost of Marie Laveau,
•the blackmailing whore Aurora,
•the innocent, love-sick, shrimp fisherman, Acini DePepe
—and
•to get laid.

In the process, Lobo finds the momentary amusement
He so constantly craves; and once again proves
That he has found the rhythm in life
That allows him to transcend the dreaded “ennui,”
And to get away with anything — and always will.

 

FROM THE PLAY

AURORA: Are you a bastard then, Lobo? Like most of your friends?
LOBO: Friends? What friends?
AURORA: Or are you the Lobo some people say is generous, considerate? A true gentleman?
LOBO (Grandly): I am any Lobo you like.

AURORA: How can you have such a bill for -- “grapes?” He did say “grapes.”
LOBO: One night I longed for an orgy of old. Especially the kind where nude girls stand over you, popping grapes and nipples into your mouth. So I called the Vigne Brothers.
AURORA: The grape kings?!
LOBO: Only the best. So — just the cost of shipping . . .
AURORA: And the nipples?
LOBO: That creditor will call in another hour.

LOBO: Aurora is the easy kind to have. She’s like a jelly pastry; seemingly thick- skinned throughout, but at the center --soft gook! Having her wasn’t the problem. Not for Lobo. Having her too easily was the problem.

LOBO: There’s a rhythm to everything in the cosmos. Once you find the proper rhythm, everything falls into place.

LOBO: This Joan Of Arc has got me by the vitals.
DIPEPE: But that’s pleasant.
LOBO: Not when she squeezes, DiPepe!

LOBO: Ah, Marie Laveau! I knew I’d unhinge your rhythm. You don’t like what I’m up to, do you. It’s unfair. Unjust. You voodoo queens, in your own spooky way, really tried to redress injustice back when you were riding high. Well, those days are over. It’s my day! The day of the Confidence Man!