Death of a Salesman’s Son

Just then, Mr. Farco’s secretary appears. SECRETARY: Mr. Farco will see you now. B. B.: When we get done here, we need to talk about what you did with Mama’s money. I don’t like it, Nico, gambling with Mom’s money. NICO ignoring B. B. and speaking to the secretary: You know, you look just like the girl on the cover of Vogue this month. That’s not you, is it? SECRETARY: No, sir. It’s not me. Please come this way. NICO: Well, it’s your twin then. My name is Nico Alba. It’s actually Nicolas, but they started calling me Nico when I played for the New York Yankees. Do you follow the Yankees? SECRETARY: No. NICO: Well, I played shortstop. You got plans for lunch? SECRETARY: Yes, I do, but thanks anyway. Please have a seat. NICO leaning toward B. B.: Damn . . . that sure was fine. B. B. and Nico sit in chairs facing a large mahogany desk and wait. NICO speaking to B. B. in a whisper: I wonder how long this fat pompous asshole is gonna make us wait. I know how this works. I use this technique myself. They wait a bit longer when a side door opens and in enters Mr. Farco, a rather large overweight man in a fine business suit. FARCO: So they tell me that you’re the Alba Brothers. B. B. and Nico stand to shake hands with Mr. Farco. NICO taking the lead and extending his hand: Well, they call me Nico, and he goes by B. B. B. B.: Hi, nice to meet you. Mr. Farco does not extend his hand and walks behind his desk, sits down, and leans back in his chair. The brothers take their seats as well. FARCO: Well, I’m Antonio Farco. What’s this all about? NICO: Yeah, we know who you are, Tony. FARCO with a stern look: Hey, only my friends call me Tony. You call me Mr. Farco. With mockery: So, Nico, what do you want to talk about? NICO: Well, you can call me, Mr. Alba, and you know why we’re here. We’re here to discuss our future business relationship. FARCO: You got no future if you stay in sportswear. That’s my business, and I own it, here in Tampa and everywhere in Florida. I’m recommending you sell out and do something else before your business fails. NICO: Well, our business ain’t failing. We’re makin’ all kinds of deals, makin’ all kinds of money. B. B. interrupting: Mr. Farco, can we try to work this out between us businessmen? You know there’s plenty of business to go around. We don’t need to fight over this. We can work together, kinda join forces. We have a factory with sixteen sewing machines and plans for many more. We can collaborate on big orders. You may have noticed that Nico and I are doing things a little different than usual. We’re stirring up business by putting on sporting exhibitions and fashion shows all over Florida. And we’re starting to get the attention of some important New York fashion outlets. Let’s help each other. FARCO looking only at B. B.: From now on, I prefer you do the talking. Your brother here needs some manners. NICO visibly upset: Yeah, and you need to kiss— B. B. stopping Nico in mid-sentence: Mr. Farco, let’s figure something out. FARCO looking at B. B.: I like you, therefore, I’m going to explain things the way they are, not like you and (mockingly) “MR. NICO” here wants them to be. You see, I have friends who protect my business to make sure it stays profitable. Your problem is that you’re cutting into those profits that me and my friends hold dear. Now let’s talk options. You can voluntarily close your business, and everybody goes back to living a happy life. NICO: Keep dreamin’. That ain’t happenin’. FARCO ignoring Nico’s interruption: Or you can sell me your factory and store and at least come out with something. NICO: That ain’t happenin’ either. FARCO now looking at Nico: Or you can stay in business and collect your fire insurance money when that terrible fire burns down your building. You have options. NICO standing up: I’m done with this fat ass. Looking Farco directly in the face: Screw you! You ain’t gonna push the Alba Brothers around! FARCO: Don’t worry. I don’t do any of the pushing. My friends do that part. NICO looking at B. B.: Let’s get the hell outta here. B. B.: Go on, Nico. I’ll catch you outside. I wanna say one more thing to Mr. Farco. NICO: What? Are you afraid of this guy? He ain’t nothin’ but a damn pompous son of a bitch. Turning to look at Farco: And I oughta knock the shit outta ya right now, you fat bastard. B. B. standing to restrain Nico: Nico, please, pal, calm down. Go, let me talk to him. Go, please. NICO: So you’re sidin’ with him over your own flesh and blood? You got no backbone, B. B. You’re a disgrace. B. B.: I’m not sidin’ with him, Nico. I’m with you, but let me talk to him. Pushing B. B. away, Nico stomps out angrily. B. B. collecting himself: Mr. Farco, please forgive my brother. He’s just high-strung, that’s all. I’d like to take a couple of weeks to think about your options and maybe come up with an idea or two of my own. Will you give me a couple of weeks? FARCO: Yeah, I’ll give YOU a couple of weeks. Your brother’s looking for some serious trouble he won’t know how to handle. He won’t win. You need to calm his stupid ass down. B. B. getting up to leave: Thank you, Mr. Farco. I’ll be back Monday, two weeks. FARCO: You know, you remind me of somebody. Years ago, there was a kid named Alba who worked here for a while. I remember he was a good kid. It wasn’t you, was it? B. B. leaving the office: No. Wasn’t me. The scene fades to black.