31 Plays in 31 Days: #6 - "Public Enemy"

Who would have thought that my biggest source of inspiration for short plays would be the backstory of The Stand? I was always proud with how rich the storyline for that game was, and as I cast about for subject matter for this writing challenge, I find there are many scenes from the larp that are perfect for dramatizing. I have done three already, two in this month alone, and I expect there will be many more. Maybe I can use that connectedness for performance reasons, and someday produce an evening of Stand-related theater.

That said, the following scene, unlike the other two, is EXTREMELY SPOILERY FOR THE GAME. If you have not played The Stand and someday intend to, do not read this piece. For those who have played, it may interest you to know that it involves two important NPCs, Amelia Royce, the wife of the sheriff, and Caleb Coleman, a rival to the Sinclair Company in the local cattle business.

Day #6 - "Public Enemy"

SETTING: 1847, the small cattle town of Reston in the Northern California Territory

(CALEB COLEMAN, a wealthy middle-aged gentleman, sits at the desk in his study. AMELIA ROYCE, a nice-looking woman, simply dressed, enters deferentially.)

AMELIA: Mr. Coleman?

CALEB: Why, Mrs. Amelia Royce! What brings you out here?

AMELIA: Forgive me for just showing up, I’m sure you’re real busy, but I was hoping you might have a moment to speak with me.

CALEB: Always got a moment for the charming wife of the sheriff. Please, come sit.

(AMELIA takes a seat across the desk from him and smooths her skirt.)

AMELIA: Thanks very much for your time, sir.

CALEB: It’s good to see you. I’ve been meaning to say thank you for that mighty fine pie you sent over. I am right partial to cherries.

AMELIA: It were for all that money you gave to Bonnie Harper’s charity. A pie’s a small token for that.

CALEB: Oh, think nothing of it.

AMELIA: It was a right generous thing for you to do, Mr. Coleman.

CALEB: Well, thank you kindly for saying so, ma’am.

AMELIA: My husband is happy to see so more and more decent citizens moving out west here.

CALEB: Reston’s been lucky to have him come out too. They say he’s the best in the territory.

AMELIA: Well, at chasing varmints at least.

CALEB: He’s got a hell of a record for that. Nobody else could’ve cornered Red Jed Palmer in that cider mill, and chased the Mad Indian through six miles of burning countryside. He collared all of them.

AMELIA: Except for one. Deadeye Damon Barrett. You know about him?

CALEB: Everybody knows about him. He’s got a hell of a price on his head.

AMELIA: He was the real outlaw. Tricking townies, outriding cowboys, better shot than the governor’s best marshals. Malcolm chased him for years, but never did catch him. We still don’t know what became of him.

CALEB: I reckoned he was dead. Nobody’s seen hide nor hair of him in ages.

AMELIA: Well, they’re not about to forget about him. Not after he knocked over that US Treasury wagon. Folks still talk about it.

CALEB: Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. It were the biggest robbery pulled in the territory since the US took it on.

AMELIA: I know— one hears things as the sheriff’s wife. Sometimes the little details that don’t get in the papers.

CALEB: That so?

AMELIA: Yes, sir. You see, it was something at the Easter picnic. I heard some of you fellows talking about that robbery. I remember you saying that… that Deadeye run off with ten thousand dollars in bullion. Is that so?

CALEB: That’s what I said.

AMELIA: That’s just it, you see. That weren’t in the papers, Mr. Coleman.

CALEB: What? I’m sure that can’t be.

AMELIA: I’m sure that it is, sir.

CALEB: Well… must be I heard it somewhere, I traveled around.

AMELIA: And then you turn up in town one day, richer than almost anybody.

CALEB: What are you saying, Mrs. Royce?

(AMELIA takes a crumpled piece of newspaper out of her handbag, smooths it carefully, and lays it on the desk.)

AMELIA: There ain’t no good pictures, so they weren’t enough to be sure. But when I heard what you said… I got sure. I think your name ain’t Caleb Coleman. I think it’s Damon Barrett.

(CALEB looks down and grows very still. He makes a fist on the desk.)

CALEB: It’s been thirteen years since anybody called me by that name. Thirteen years since I left that life.

(He rakes a hand through his hair.)

CALEB: Can I count on Sheriff Royce coming up after you to march me away in cuffs?

AMELIA: He doesn’t know. I haven’t told him.

CALEB: You didn’t? And… why would you do a thing like that?

AMELIA: I wanted to talk to you my own self first.

(CALEB rises from his chair and paces a little, finally pausing with his back to AMELIA.)

CALEB: Tell me, Amelia, ma’am… am I what you thought I’d be? Face to face with the most hunted man in the western territories… is this what you expected?

AMELIA: No. No, nothing like that.

(He marches up close and stares her down.)

CALEB: So how can you think you can march into my house play judge and jury on me like you know who I am?

AMELIA: Sir. I came out here, a woman alone, to accuse a man of being the most feared bandit in the west. Do you think I would have done that if I thought him just a beast? Do you think I don’t mean to give him a fair chance?

(He takes a few steps back. AMELIA stands.)

AMELIA: So here’s your chance. What should I make of you, Mr. Barrett? Wild, wanted Deadeye Damon Barrett?

(Some of the ire goes out of him and he deflates a little.)

CALEB: I know you got no reason to cut me any slack. Everything you heard about me, all the cons I pulled, all the crimes I did… they’re all on my head, I ain’t going to deny it. Any woman in your place would hand me over to her lawman husband on a silver platter and see it make his career.

AMELIA: Not to mention protecting folks from a public enemy.

CALEB: Right you are. But, ma’am… I ain’t no public enemy. Not anymore. I’m no danger to people. On the contrary, you said it yourself, I been good for this town. I gave jobs to decent men. I been generous, I gave cash to folks what needed it. Ain’t I?

AMELIA: Yes. Yes, you have.

CALEB: I done good since I got here, Mrs. Royce. The first real good I ever done anybody in my life.

AMELIA: And that means you’ve atoned? For everything you’ve done?

CALEB: Might not be, ma’am. Might be I got a long way to go before I’m right with Jesus. But I can’t do no good to anybody in a cell. Or swinging off the end of a rope.

AMELIA: A lot of folks suffered for what you did.

CALEB: I know. And I quit because I regretted that. Because I wanted to put a stop to that. I know it don’t make up for it, but I suffered for it too.

AMELIA: How? All those lawmen chasing after you with their guns—

CALEB: You think I mean about comfort and safety? That ain’t nothing of what that life cost me!

(He struggles a moment, then reaches into the pocket of his waistcoat and withdraws a lock of brown hair tied with a blue ribbon. He tosses it down on the desk. Carefully AMELIA picks it up and examines it.)

AMELIA: Oh, Caleb… Damon… was she…?

CALEB: The sheriff ain’t the only one to judge me for what I did. And that’s one hell of a penance from where I stand. You remember that when you go home into the arms of the husband that loves you.

(AMELIA considers, then carefully goes to CALEB and places the lock of hair back in his hand.)

AMELIA: Malcolm doesn’t have to know.

CALEB: You mean that?

AMELIA: I do. You got a long way ahead of you before you atone. I ain’t going to stop you now.

CALEB: Thank you.

AMELIA: This you can’t quit. You can’t ever quit.

CALEB: I won’t. I swear it.

(CALEB presses the fist clasping the lock hair to his chest. AMELIA nods.)

AMELIA: Good day, then. Mr. Coleman.

CALEB: Thank you, Mrs. Royce.

(AMELIA exits. CALEB collapses against his desk.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #5 - "Wondra"

Today, surprisingly, was the first day I struggled a little to figure out what story to write about; the others came to relatively easily by comparison. But I settled on the silly little conceit of a stay-at-home mom who, for some reason, has a surprising amount of empathy for a local female superhero. I think this is the weakest of all the pieces I've written so far for 31 Days 31 Plays, I feel like I've missed a lot of opportunities. This should be wittier and funnier, and I should have come up with a cleverer name for the superhero than Wondra. Of course, in making fun of the fact that Wondra isn't the best name, I added in one of the few actually funny lines in the piece. Still, lame as it may be right now, it might have potential if I go back and fix it up later. I like the conceit, even if I didn't quite make it work this time. And hey, at least I'm still five for five!


Day #5 - "Wondra"

(A woman, JILLIAN, is laying out breakfasts and packing a lunchbox in the kitchen. She is dressed in a big fluffy bathrobe. She checks the large wristwatch she is wearing.)

JILLIAN: Katie! Hurry up or you’re going to be late!

(A small girl, KATIE, runs in.)

KATIE: Stop right there, evildoer! Wondra is here!

(JILLIAN laughs and hands her lunchbox to her.)

JILLIAN: Come on, Wondra, don’t forget your lunch or you’ll be fighting crime on an empty stomach.

(Enter RICH, her husband, dressed for work.)

RICH: Sweetie, don’t you have a bus to catch?

KATIE: I got bad guys to catch! Just like Wondra!

RICH: Well, get moving, Mom can’t drive you, she’s got her gymnastics class.

KATIE: I’m going to be a great gymnast too someday!

RICH: You want to win a medal too?

KATIE: No, I want to fight crime like Wondra!

(JILLIAN laughs as KATIE runs out.)

JILLIAN: She's playing superheroes again.

RICH: You know, she’s in the news again today. The real Wondra.

JILLIAN: (Pleased) Oh, yeah?

RICH: Another article in the paper for your collection. Apparently she caught a bunch of guys trying to break into a jewelry store, beat them up, and left them tied to the flag pole in the center of the mini-mall.

JILLIAN: Heh, the flag pole was a nice touch, huh?

(RICH sniggers and shakes his head.)

JILLIAN: Huh? What are you laughing about?

RICH: What? Oh, nothing, it’s just— I don’t get what could possess somebody to do this.

JILLIAN: What!?

RICH: I mean, it’s crazy! This girl’s running around in colored tights and a mask karate-kicking bad guys! She sounds like a nut!

JILLIAN: She is not!

RICH: And that name! Isn’t Wondra that special flour you can find in the grocery store that makes really good gravy?

JILLIAN: It’s because she’s wonderful, Rich!

RICH: Oh, what’s so wonderful about her?

JILLIAN: I think she’s great! She’s out there, you know, foiling crime and protecting the innocent!

RICH: She’s going to get herself killed.

JILLIAN: I think she’s brave. Risking herself to do the right thing.

(JILLIAN turns away and begins angrily eating her own breakfast. RICH is surprised by the strength of her reaction.)

RICH: Jill? Are you okay?

JILLIAN: Sure.

RICH: Come on, Jill, what’s wrong?

JILLIAN: It’s just… I don’t think it’s fair to just dismiss her as a crazy person when she’s just trying to do some good! She has… the special abilities she needs to do something nobody else can do, and you just deride her for wanting to do it?

RICH: Jeez, I didn’t mean—

JILLIAN: And God forbid somebody like her step outside their assigned role as helpless female! I for one am glad Katie has a strong female role model!

RICH: Jillian—

JILLIAN: Someone who makes a difference! Somebody who doesn’t just settle for… mundane, conventional, boring… safety.

(She finishes in a huff and crosses her arms, not looking at him.)

RICH: Oh. Wow. I, uh, I’m sorry, Jillian.

(She doesn’t answer.)

RICH: Are you okay?

JILLIAN: No!

RICH: I’m sorry. Please talk to me. We should talk about this. Do you feel like you’re conventional and boring?

JILLIAN: No!

RICH: Do you feel like we don’t appreciate the special stuff about you?

JILLIAN: No! Well… maybe.

RICH: Well, I’m sorry about that. I do think you’re special.

JILLIAN: Really?

RICH: Yeah! You’re always busy, you have a lot of projects. You expose Katie to all kinds of cool stuff I never could! And you’re really dedicated—I mean, you won all those competitions as a professional gymnast! I think it’s cool that you still keep up with it even after you retired.

(She makes a face of frustration.)

RICH: And I’m proud of the fact that you always want to do the right thing.

(She melts a little.)

JILLIAN: Well… I’m glad you see all that.

RICH: I do.

JILLIAN: And you promise you won’t make fun of Wondra anymore?

RICH: Promise. She’s pretty amazing, actually, now that you mention it.

JILLIAN: You better believe she is!

(She smacks his playfully on the shoulder, smiling again. They kiss.)

RICH: I guess I’d better get going to work. I love you, honey.

JILLIAN: I love you, too.

RICH: I’ll see you tonight. Have a good day!

(He gathers up his bag and exits.)

(Once JILLIAN is alone in the kitchen, a blue light on the wristwatch starts blinking. JILLIAN looks at it intently, then pulls a blue domino mask out of her robe pocket and puts it on her face. She throws off the robe, revealing her skintight blue Wondra costume.)

JILLIAN: Don’t worry, dear, I will!

(She dashes offstage to save the day.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #4 - "Colors in the Sky in Rain"

Today's piece uses characters from The Stand. It's spoiler-free for the game, so it's all right to read if you haven't played yet. It tells a bit of the backstory of two of the characters in the game, Negahse'wey the Yurok woman and a certain former US Marshall who once called himself Kenneth Dillon. I'm pretty good at writing the voice of a cowboy from the 1840s, but I struggled more with figuring out how a Yurok Native American who didn't know perfect English would talk. I tried to give it some verisimilitude without descending into stereotypes.

And hey, this one's not dark! In fact, it was playing these characters that and Adam were legally married while in my larp. I'm still tickled by that. :-D

Day #4 - "Colors in the Sky in Rain"

(A white man, KENNETH DILLON, dressed in flannel and denim lies asleep on a pallet. A Native American woman, NEGAHSE’WEY, sits a ways off mixing herbs and mud in a bowl.)

(After a moment, KENNETH stirs, moaning softly. He claps his hand to his forehead in pain, then pushes himself up to rest on one elbow.)

KENNETH: Jesus Christ, Buck… feel like a bull run me over… Buck? You there?

(He looks around and is surprised by his surroundings.)

KENNETH: What…? Where am I?

(He looks at NEGASE’WEY in shock. She looks back at him, considering.)

KENNETH: God damn! Who in the hell are you?

(He scrambles awkwardly back a bit.)

KENNETH: Jesus… one of them Yuroks, ain’t she. Gonna be lucky to get out of here with my scalp still on. Oh, Jesus. What in the hell does she want?

NEGAHSE’WEY: I know your talk some.

KENNETH: Oh! Oh. Uh, sorry, there, miss. Ma’am.

(As an afterthought he goes to take off his hat, and realizes he isn’t wearing it.)

KENNETH: Uh, where’s my…

(She reaches for it and hands it to him. He holds it to his chest.)

KENNETH: Thank you, miss. Feel naked without my…

(He clutches his hair again.)

KENNETH: You ain’t cut off my scalp.

(NEGAHSE’WEY looks at him as if he’s an idiot. KENNETH suddenly feels a fool.)

KENNETH: I guess… I reckon you had plenty of chance if you was going to do that. Sorry, ma’am. Can you… can you tell me where I am?

NEGAHSE’WEY: Yurok village. The old plank house where nobody goes.

KENNETH: Yurok village? How’d I get here?

NEGAHSE’WEY: Found you half-dead. Washed up in the river.

KENNETH: The… the river…

NEGAHSE’WEY: Very stupid, swimming with hide and wood and iron on your feet.

KENNETH: We got no choice! We was on the trail, after some varmint! Me and Buck… Oh, Jesus… Buck! He must think I’m a dead man.

(He struggles to stand, but collapses back onto the pallet.)

NEGAHSE’WEY: Buck?

(She comes over with her bowl of herbs and tries to quiet him. She examines him, checking his pulse and looking into the whites of his eyes.)

KENNETH: My brother, my partner in the marshalls… he was with me. Going after the varmint. We chased him to the river, but the storm was picking up. Water was running wild, made it hard to cross, but we couldn’t just let him get away. Had to go in after him. But… the rain, and the current…

NEGAHSE’WEY: River swept you away.

KENNETH: Yeah… yeah, it did. Hit me like a freight train. That’s the last thing I recollect.

(She begins dabbing at his cuts with the contents of her bowl.)

NEGAHSE’WEY: Found you after. In the mud after storm. Only a little breath, much blood. Though you dead, but… I saw your breath.

KENNETH: No wonder my head’s pounding like a stampede. So I been here since last night?

NEGAHSE’WEY: Three nights.

KENNETH: Three nights!?

NEGAHSE’WEY: You sleep. I wonder if you never wake.

KENNETH: Oh, Jesus. Gone all that time… I gotta get back, gotta tell Buck I ain’t dead…

(NEGAHSE’WEY tries to keep him still, but KENNETH staggers to his feet. He goes to leave but sways helplessly.)

NEGAHSE’WEY: Not good to go out there.

KENNETH: Why?

NEGAHSE’WEY: People out there. Yurok.

KENNETH: Yurok?

NEGAHSE’WEY: Want you not here. Rather you die.

KENNETH: Oh. Oh, Lord.

(He sways. NEGAHSE’WEY helps him back to the pallet.)

NEGAHSE’WEY: I think you not go far.

KENNETH: Might… might be right, ma’am. Oof… like I was drunk of a week, I’m so dizzy. Reckon I’m stuck here until I can defend myself on the way out.

(He allows NEGAHSE’WEY to continue ministering to him silently for a moment, then looks to her.)

KENNETH: Wait a breath… if nobody wants me here… how in thunder did I get here?

NEGAHSE’WEY: Me.

KENNETH: You? Just you?

NEGAHSE’WEY: And my spotted pony. Lay you on his back, bring you here.

KENNETH: But… you said they don’t want me here.

NEGAHSE’WEY: Yes. They say, no white man here. Should leave you where you lay, leave you die. I say no. I say, carry you back here, lay you in the old plank house, tend your wounds. Much anger at me.

KENNETH: Why’d you do it, then?

NEGAHSE’WEY: Sad for you. Lying there, blood and hurt, with no one. Sad.

(KENNETH takes off his hat again.)

KENNETH: That was… that was right kind of you, miss. And… sounds like brave too. Thank you.

(Pause.)

KENNETH: Ah… the name’s Dillon, by the way. US Marshall Kenneth Dillon.

(She stares.)

KENNETH: Just… call me Kenneth. If you please.

(Awkwardly he extends his hand for a handshake. He is a little thrown when she touches it palm to palm.)

KENNETH: What’s your name?

NEGAHSE’WEY: (Considering) You say… Colors in the Sky in Rain.

KENNETH: “Colors in...?” Your name’s Rainbow?

(She stares.)

KENNETH: Uh… what do you say? In your tongue?

NEGASEH’WEY: Negahse’wey.

KENNETH: Negah— Negahse’wey.

(She laughs at his pronunciation.)

NEGAHSE’WEY: I have your tongue. You have no Yurok.

KENNETH: Well… I could! I think… I think I might be here for a little while. I could learn.

(She laughs again.)

KENNETH: (Trying hard.) Negahse’wey! See there! I know one word already! Might be… might be you could teach me more.

(NEGAHSE’WEY walks over to the pallet, tipping her head back and forth.)

NEGAHSE’WEY: Might be. Might be not. So stupid you swim with your boots.

(KENNETH stares a minute, then, realizing she’s made a joke, bursts out laughing. Negahse’wey smiles.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #3 - "Service is its Own Reward"

Yesterday, commented on the piece from day two that it was rather dark. I confess I hadn't really thought about it until she mentioned it, but yeah, it really is. So is piece number one from the day before. And, surprisingly or unsurprisingly, so is my piece for today. I am drawn to tragedy; I suppose I really am a goth in my soul. But it's funny that I wouldn't even notice the trend until Carolyn said something.

This piece is about a wealthy older gentleman who is found sitting up at night by his faithful butler, who has been in his employ for years. The idea for it came to me as I was trying to fall asleep last night, fretting about what the hell I was going to write about today. I scribbled a few notes in the dark in a notebook before I passed out so I wouldn't forget it in the morning. As with all of these I am posting them in rough, unedited, first-draft form, but I think this one has serious ten-minute play potential. The conflict may need to be upped, the point of view of the butler may need to be strengthened, but I think there are the bones of a solid ten-minute play here that I could fix up and submit to competitions and stuff.

Day #3 - "Service is its Own Reward"

SETTING: A big armchair, a beverage cart, a writing desk, a safe upstage

(JORDAN HOLLOWAY, a sad and drawn-looking older man in a smoking jacket, sits in his armchair in the dark. He is sipping a brandy in a snifter.)

(A middle-aged man in formal dress, LUCAS JENNINGS, enters and turns on the light. He stops short in surprise.)

JENNINGS: Mr. Holloway. You’re awake and about at this hour?

MR. HOLLOWAY: I spend twenty-three hours a day in that bed, I couldn’t bear another minute.

JENNINGS: I understand. But Dr. Rollins said that you were not to mix alcohol with your medication.

MR. HOLLOWAY: Bother Dr. Rollins. He’s already seen that every other pleasure in life is denied to me. Can’t do me much more harm than that.

(JENNINGS nods and MR. HOLLOWAY considers his drink.)

MR. HOLLOWAY: As a matter of fact, I think I’d like you to make me another. Something stronger this time, I think.

JENNINGS: Are you quite certain?

MR. HOLLOWAY: Never been more certain in my life.

(JENNINGS considers a moment, then sighs resignedly.)

JENNINGS: Very well, sir.

MR. HOLLOWAY: Good man.

JENNINGS: Service is its own reward, sir.

(He goes to stand behind the beverage cart. He pulls a pair of white gloves from his pocket and pulls them on before beginning to mix the drink.)

MR. HOLLOWAY: Always loved those white gloves of yours. It’s those little touches you do. Show that you’re a class act.

JENNINGS: That’s kind of you to say.

(He puts a few drops from a small bottle into the drink.)

MR. HOLLOWAY: And of course you would be the one to stick by me. Even when I’m like this. How’s that drink coming?

JENNINGS: In a moment, sir… are your documents still in the same place?

MR. HOLLOWAY: Yes, in the safe. Trust you to remember everything.

(JENNINGS goes to the safe and unlocks it. He takes papers out of it.)

JENNINGS: What good would I be if you could not rely upon me?

MR. HOLLOWAY: That I could always do. All the fellows were envious of me, you know, having a right hand like you. Said you were like something out of an old movie.

JENNINGS: I was happy to do it.

(He sits at the writing desk and begins to sort through the papers.)

MR. HOLLOWAY: Tell me, Jennings, and please speak frankly… was there ever anything you wished you hadn’t had to?

JENNINGS: Honestly, I always very much regretted all the stories I told to Mrs. Holloway.

MR. HOLLOWAY: Hmmm. You always were a better man than me. I hope you can forgive me for the compromise on my account.

JENNINGS: The alternative seemed rather treacherous. You didn’t deserve that from me.

MR. HOLLOWAY: Bless you for thinking that. I deserved what I got from her, though, didn’t I?

JENNINGS: Given the circumstances, it was not an unreasonable response.

MR. HOLLOWAY: Who’d have thought I’d miss her after that? I swear, the rooms all still smell like Opium. It’s been years, but I suppose she wore it here for longer. If I could find a twenty-five-year-old who’d wear the stuff, maybe I’d be able to get some sleep at night.

(He laughs weakly, looking to JENNINGS for approval, whose expression does not change. His face falls.)

MR. HOLLOWAY: Bad taste, I suppose? Sorry, Jennings. I’m out of practice talking to civilized people. I exclude those bullies in white lab coats. I’ve been alone too much lately.

JENNINGS: There’s a remedy for that.

MR. HOLLOWAY: Oh? You mean, get in touch with the old gang of greedy snakes and self-serving flatterers? No, they showed me their true stripe when they mysteriously disappeared when I was no longer of any business use to them. And wasn’t as though I had a vast circle outside them.

JENNINGS: Perhaps someone new, then.

MR. HOLLOWAY: Someone new? And where would I be meeting these new people, in the chemotherapy suite? Grand chance of that, given that I can’t even remember how to talk to decent people.

JENNINGS: I very much doubt that, sir.

MR. HOLLOWAY: Hmm. Fine, then. Now, what do decent people talk about? Oh, how’s your boy Robert these days? Is he enjoying Brown?

JENNINGS: A great deal, thank you.

MR. HOLLOWAY: Smart boy, isn’t he? You must be proud. You did quite the job bringing him up, Jennings.

JENNINGS: Of course we never would have been able to send him without your help, sir.

MR. HOLLOWAY: Oh, it’s nothing. A small thing compared to lifetime of loyalty.

JENNINGS: Still, we are grateful. It meant a great deal.

MR. HOLLOWAY: Credit me this, Jennings, I never failed to appreciate just what it is you do. Admired you for it, as a matter of fact. Always finding just the right way to make yourself useful, but with a light touch, never too intrusive. Could never do it myself. Too self-centered and insensitive for that.

JENNINGS: It takes a particular temperament, that is certain. But there is something holy in making oneself useful in the world.

MR. HOLLOWAY: Don’t I know it. And I appreciate it, Jennings, I do. I hope I showed you that.

JENNINGS: Not to worry, sir.

MR. HOLLOWAY: Good. That’s something, at least. I take it Robert won’t be following in the family tradition, though?

JENNINGS: I’m not troubled. I agree that he’d be happier doing something else.

MR. HOLLOWAY: My goodness. That’s… that’s quite enlightened of you. Not—not driving him down a path that won’t suit him. As I said, it’s not something just anyone can do. But— you were happy, weren’t you?

JENNINGS: Of course, sir. But we all want more for our children.

(Pause.)

JENNINGS: I’m sure Robert isn’t the only boy you could help.

MR. HOLLOWAY: Oh, I’ve a much greater track record of tormenting young men than I do helping them.

JENNINGS: I take it there’s still been no word from Terrence or Peter?

MR. HOLLOWAY: Oh, there’s been word. They’ve called once or twice. But still can’t find the time to come up. Waiting till things die down at work, they say.

JENNINGS: It sounds to me as if they’d like to come.

MR. HOLLOWAY: Ha. They’re putting me off, Jennings. Work never dies down. I should know, I told them that often enough when they were growing up.

JENNINGS: Perhaps if they understood the… the gravity of the situation.

MR. HOLLOWAY: Oh, come off it, man. If the most I can do is guilt them into coming, then I’ve lost them for sure. Jesus Christ, Jennings, I’ve chased off the wife, chased off the boys, never made any other connection of consequence in forty years in business or pleasure.

JENNINGS: Mr. Holloway, please—

MR. HOLLOWAY: Can’t you see? I’m no good to anyone anymore.

JENNINGS: You were good to me.

(Pause. Mr. Holloway smiles, a real smile.)

MR. HOLLOWAY: May God take note of that, then.

JENNINGS: Mr. Holloway, there might be something—

MR. HOLLOWAY: Are all my papers in order?

JENNINGS: Yes, sir.

MR. HOLLOWAY: Thank you. All I want now, old friend, is my drink.

JENNINGS: If you insist, sir.

(He takes the glass he just prepared off the beverage cart and hands it to MR. HOLLOWAY.)

MR. HOLLOWAY: Thank you, Jennings.

JENNINGS: As I said, sir. Service is its own reward.

(He half-bows, and begins to exit. Briefly he pauses by MR. HOLLOWAY, and clasps his hand. He goes over to the light and switches it out, then exits.)

(MR. HOLLOWAY downs his drink in one go, then sets the glass aside. He lays back in the chair and closes his eyes. After a few moments, his breath comes slower and slower, and finally stops.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #2 - "Fitting"

Piece number two out of thirty-one is based on an idea I've been turning over in my head. It may be something I use in my comic project. But since it was in my head, I decided to use it for this next piece. It ended up closer to three pages this time instead of just over one. I call it "Fitting," and it features a ballet dancer going into for her costume fitting with one of the stitchers.


Day #2 - "Fitting"

(AMY sits on a stool sewing a piece of ballet costuming. Periodically she throws nervous glances at the door. She bends to her task intently, trying to finish.)

(Enter MARINA, a dancer dressed in dark leggings, a leotard, and a ballet shrug. She has her pointe shoes slung over her shoulder.)

MARINA: Are you not done yet?

(AMY starts embarrassedly.)

AMY: Yeah, just about!

MARINA: We had an appointment.

AMY: It’s okay, it’s ready. Just a few finishing touches.

(She hands over the dress and watches her expectantly. MARINA tilts her head and looks at her in annoyance.)

MARINA: Do you mind?

AMY: What?

(MARINA makes a “turn around” gesture with her finger.)

AMY: Oh… okay…

(AMY turns, making a snotty face. MARINA, holding her body awkwardly away from AMY, quickly gets out of her ballet shrug and pulls on the dress, somewhat stiffly, and over her leggings and leotard.)

MARINA: Well? What do you think?

(AMY turns back around.)

AMY: You didn’t get out of your stuff?

MARINA: I don’t have a ton of time for this.

AMY: It looks a little weird.

MARINA: Just check the fit then!

AMY: Okay, fine. Well, at least lace up your ribbons, then, and let me see.

(MARINA rolls her eyes, and starts to bend down to do so, but grits her teeth and stops abruptly. She holds out her shoes.)

MARINA: Can you… can you just do it for me?

AMY: What?

MARINA: I can’t bend down in this thing.

(Exasperated, AMY turns back to her and starts adjusting the bodice.)

AMY: Is it too tight?

MARINA: It’s fine!

AMY: Well, you can’t not be able to bend in it! Here, I’ll adjust it.

(AMY starts undoing it.)

MARINA: No, don’t!

AMY: Oh, Jesus.

(AMY steps back to reveal there are bandages wrapped around her shoulders. MARINA clutches her costume and tries to cover herself.)

AMY: What’s wrong with you?

MARINA: Nothing!

AMY: Are you okay?

MARINA: It’s nothing, I said!

AMY: Is… is that why you can’t bend? Are you in pain?

(AMY kneels down beside MARINA and yanks up one of her tights. Her knee is black and blue.)

MARINA: Stop it!

AMY: Oh, my God! You go on like this?

MARINA: I have to!

AMY: Does the doctor know?

MARINA: You can’t tell him!

AMY: Marina! You can’t dance on this! He wouldn’t allow you!

(MARINA grabs hold of her by the shoulders and looks at her desperately. AMY stops short.)

AMY: Oh. Oh, God.

MARINA: Amy. Please.

(She lets AMY go. AMY considers. She kneels down next to MARINA and looks at her knee. Then, after a minute, she rolls the legging back down.)

AMY: The fit looks pretty good. How does it feel?

MARINA: Good. It feels really good.

AMY: Good.

(She gets up and helps MARINA back out of the costume, very carefully to avoid hurting her.)

MARINA: Thanks.

AMY: It’s my job.

MARINA: I… I might need some opaque tights too. Can they please be opaque?

AMY: I’m in charge of the dye lot. They will be.

31 Plays in 31 Days: #1 - "Pretty is Power"

Today when I was helping Plesser, , , and Prentice move into their new house, Caitlin mentioned to me this challenge she found on the Internet and wanted to do. It's called 31 Plays in 31 Days, and it's a challenge to playwrights to write a play of at least one page in length every day for the month of August. I thought that was intriguing, so I looked it up and decided to give it a try myself. So hopefully every day this month I will post a little one-page play. They will likely mostly be crap, but writing is a habit one must get into, and I think this might be good for me. Also, I'm excited to see what Caitlin generates. She studied playwriting too when she was at her theater intensive this past semester, and even wrote a musical that saw a staged reading.

While as I said I don't expect many of these to be any good... I actually kind of like the one I just wrote. This first play for August 1st is based on a vague idea I've had for a play that I've never really developed, about a fashion model who has a terrible accident that forces her has to reevaluate her values. So I wrote a little bit I imagined for that. Here is that little bit, completely unedited. I think I'm off to a decent start.



Day #1 - "Pretty is Power"

(Lights up on CHRISTINA MORAY center stage, cast in a spotlight. She is a model, an astonishingly beautiful woman.)

CHRISTINA: Pretty is power.

(A gang of photographers swarm around her in a flurry of flashes and clicks. CHRISTINA mugs for the cameras. After a bit the photographers all step back. CHRISTINA looks to the audience.)

CHRISTINA: Instant status. Universal value. The one currency that everyone understands.

ALL: Miss Moray! Miss Moray, over here!

(They surge forward, taking more pictures and proffering autograph books. CHRISTINA smiles at them, dazzling and untouchable, condescending to sign their pads and brush them with her fingertips. A young man, KEVIN, steps forward trying to get her attention. He has a small jar tucked in one hand.)

KEVIN: Miss Moray?

(CHRISTINA ignores him and continues talking through the fourth wall.)

CHRISTINA: Nobody can ignore it. It’s enough to make anyone instantly look to you. You get the first glance, the first shot, the first choice. They can’t wait to give it to you.

(She swans past KEVIN without looking at him, going to stand at the center edge of the stage.)

CHRISTINA: Because no matter what anyone says… everyone wants pretty. Wants to have it, wants to be it. You could be surrounded by people who are smarter than you, more successful, more talented than you… but because you’re pretty, they still won’t be able to look you in the eye… and they still won’t be able to look away.

KEVIN: Miss Moray, do you have a minute?

(Hearing him, CHRISTINA laughs and shakes her head without looking back.)

CHRISTINA: The things people will do, just to get a taste of it. Pretty can get you anything you want.

(KEVIN pushes through the crowd and grabs a hold of CHRISTINA’s shoulder.)

KEVIN: Miss Moray!

(CHRISTINA turns to him in disgusted exasperation to see what he wants. KEVIN pops open the jar and splashes the contents across her face. CHRISTINA collapses and, agonized, clutches her face in her hands. BLACKOUT as she starts hysterically screaming.)

Biweekly Theater Writing Challenge #14.2 - Mrs. Hawking 1.3

Had to submit my workshop manuscripts for the upcoming residency period of my grad school today. I included pieces of my Tailor screenplay, and the first four scenes of Mrs. Hawking. Here is scene three, which I just wrote, to complete that first chunk of the text. Scenes one, two, and four are also posted here.

As I've mentioned, Mary and Mrs. Hawking are very much a sort of female Watson and Holmes. This has been helped enormously by being in Sherlock Holmes: The Final Adventure right now. But there's also going to be something of a Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth thing going on here-- a brilliant, damaged heroic figure and the more well-adjusted person who takes care of that hero, once the hero lets their friend in enough to allow them to love them. That makes me smile. That will come out more and more as the story goes along.


SCENE iii

(MARY sits with an appointment book open on the parlor table. She springs up when MRS. HAWKING enters from the study followed by two well-dressed young women.)

MRS. HAWKING: Mary, please show these ladies out.

MARY: This way, misses. Did you have a pleasant visit?

FIRST LADY: Oh, very helpful indeed.

MARY: Oh… how lovely. Have a good day now. And do come again!

SECOND LADY: (Laughing) Not with any luck, we won’t!

(They exit and MARY closes the door behind them, a bemused look on her face. MRS. HAWKING starts digging through a bag on the table.)

MARY: So many visitors today!

MRS. HAWKING: Yes, I am unusually occupied. Do take care to keep the appointments from running into one another. It will not do to run off schedule.

(She pulls out a notebook and begins looking through it.)

MARY: Of course, Mrs. Hawking. It can be quite the undertaking to entertain so many friends.

MRS. HAWKING: Friends? Goodness, no. I am not a sociable creature. Strictly business, Miss Stone.

MARY: I see. And are all these ladies come… seeking the same thing?

MRS. HAWKING: Each in their own way.

(The front bell rings. MARY rushes to answer it and opens the door to an older middle-class woman.)

MARY: Good morning. How may I help you?

MRS. KELLEY: Good morning to you. I’m here to see the lady of the house. Mrs. Colonel.

MARY: Yes, right this way. Madam, your guest has arrived.

MRS. HAWKING: Ah, yes. Mrs. Kelley, is it?

MRS. KELLEY: I simply must speak with you. It’s become quite urgent, you see.

MRS. HAWKING: I very much understand. Please go into the study, I shall be with you shortly.

(MRS. KELLEY nods and walks past her to EXIT. Mrs. Hawking begins writing in her notebook.)

MRS. HAWKING: Mary, what name is marked down for one o’clock?

MARY: A Mrs. Henry Walter Northbrook, ma’am.

MRS. HAWKING: Indeed.

MARY: Will you and Mrs. Northbrook be taking luncheon together?

MRS. HAWKING: Luncheon?

MARY: It will be the luncheon hour.

MRS. HAWKING: Ah, no. Just tea will suffice.

MARY: Of course. Tea it is. I am happy to be of help in whatever what I can!

MRS. HAWKING: Most excellent.

(MRS. HAWKING goes to exit, with MARY on her heels. She stops in her tracks, presses her lips together, and looks over her shoulder at the girl.)

MRS. HAWKING: Thank you, Mary.

MARY: Oh! Oh, yes, of course, madam.

(MARY busies herself with some small chores in the parlor. Mrs. Hawking exits into the other room. MARY looks after her as if lost. Then the bell rings again. MARY rushes to answer it and this time it is a working-class girl.)

GRACE: Please, miss, I’ve just got to see the lady.

MARY: Of course. Do you have an appointment?

GRACE: Sure do, miss. Grace Monroe at eleven-thirty.

MARY: Ah, yes, I see you. You’re rather early yet, Miss Monroe, Mrs. Hawking is still with a prior engagement.

GRACE: No trouble, I’ll wait as long as I need.

MARY: Very well, then. Please sit and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be putting on the tea soon.

GRACE: Thanks very much, miss.

(GRACE settles into a chair, stiff and anxious. Again MARY attempts to busy herself, but after a moment sidles back over.)

MARY: Please, miss… might I ask… what brings you here?

GRACE: Begging your pardon?

MARY: Ah… on what business have you come to see Mrs. Hawking?

GRACE: Why, same as everyone, I should expect!

MARY: And… what business is that?

GRACE: Don’t you know?

MARY: I’m afraid I don’t.

GRACE: Miss, she’s known far and wide for it. She tells women what they ought to do.