Ten-minute play first draft - "What Everybody Living Gets"

This is the ten-minute play I'm working on for school this semester. I just finished the first draft. It's based on an idea I've been turning over in my mind-- I've been referring to it as "Vitality" because the vitality of the human spirit is a major theme --but is a big enough project that will take some time to work out. The character of Sariel, the guardian angel, has appeared before in this scene I scribbled down a while ago. The character of Max is one I thought up based on trying to get some of the bad things in my head right now out in any constructive way possible. My present biggest disappointment with the current state of the piece is that I want Sariel to be extremely cheeky and funny normally, but with turns into a profound serious intensity when it really matters, and I'm not sure it hits that enough. Will have to revise for that. This piece is for school, but I think I can repurpose it to use in the larger Vitality piece.

You know. Just turning my pain into gold. Or something.

What Everybody Living Gets
by Phoebe Roberts

MAX TAN, a terminal cancer patient
SARIEL, his guardian angel

~~~

(MAX TAN sits at his desk, looking sick and drawn. Papers and books are spread out in front of him. He leans back in his chair and stairs dully. The lights go down. When they go back up, SARIEL has appeared behind him, holding a strawberry smoothie in front of his eyes. MAX startles, then looks up at him in recognition.)

MAX: Shit! Sariel! It’s you.

SARIEL: Morning, Max.

MAX: Never going to get used to how you just blink in like that.

SARIEL: Ah, it’s just to keep you on your toes.

(He comes around to beside the desk.)

SARIEL: Brought you this.

(He holds up the smoothie.)

MAX: How thoughtful.

SARIEL: I know you had a rough morning.

MAX: It’s always rough.

SARIEL: Still. You don’t always have that bad a reaction. Is the Benedryl still working?

MAX: Yeah. The swelling’s down. Gave me some trouble with the port, though.

(He rubs at his upper right chest.)

SARIEL: Aw, man. I’m sorry.

MAX: Isn’t your fault.

SARIEL: You know what I mean. Anyway, I thought I’d stop in and make sure you were okay. With a smoothie!

(MAX stares.)

SARIEL: No need to thank me. I like taking care of you. It’s my nature!

(MAX rolls his eyes. SARIEL pushes the smoothie toward him. MAX takes one look at it then goes back to glaring at his work.)

MAX: Get rid of that.

SARIEL: You got to eat.

MAX: I’m not hungry.

SARIEL: You didn’t have dinner last night. Or breakfast this morning.

MAX: I told you, I’m not hungry. That chemo shit makes me sick to my stomach.

SARIEL: Just want you to keep your strength up. I thought we could do something today.

MAX: Like what?

SARIEL: I don’t know. Nothing big. I thought we could… I don’t know, ride mules down the Grand Canyon, or take a stroll down the Champs Élysée.

MAX: Nothing big, huh?

SARIEL: Oh, dear boy. Not for me.

MAX: Maybe tomorrow.

SARIEL: Tomorrow the chemo will kick in and you’ll be too wiped out. Come on, while you’re still feeling okay. You could use the change of scenery.

MAX: Nice as that sounds, I’m just starting to get into this problem.

SARIEL: Oh, really?

(SARIEL gets up and stands behind MAX to look over his shoulder.)

SARIEL: It’s good to see you working.

(Pause.)

SARIEL: It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

MAX: It’s been hard to concentrate. But I’m trying to get my mind off things.

SARIEL: I’m glad. Anything good?

MAX: Eh. I don’t know. Too soon to tell.

(MAX tries to return to his work, but after a moment leans back and rests his head in his hands. SARIEL stretches his head around to look MAX in the face. MAX’s head stays bent, so it is quite the contortion. Finally MAX rolls his eyes to look at him.)

MAX: Can I help you?

SARIEL: Max? If you don’t mind my saying, you look like hell.

MAX: Thanks, pal.

SARIEL: You been sleeping?

MAX: Not much.

SARIEL: You’re not going to be good for much of anything if you quit sleeping too.

MAX: I can’t. I’ve tried. Those goddamn steroids make sure of that.

(SARIEL leans over the desk.)

SARIEL: This is a problem, friend.

MAX: No kidding.

SARIEL: You got to take care of yourself.

MAX: That’s why I’m on the freaking chemo regimen, aren’t I?

SARIEL: As the philosophers say, necessary but not sufficient.

(Pause.)

SARIEL: What’s that smell?

(He pushes around some of the books and papers and sees an ashtray with a smoldering cigarette in it.)

SARIEL: Oh, come on, Max.

MAX: Lay off.

SARIEL: You haven’t had enough of these yet?

MAX: Just a couple of drags. So kill me.

SARIEL: You don’t need me for that, Max, you got this!

MAX: Jesus Christ. What’s it matter now?

SARIEL: Begging your pardon?

MAX: What’s it matter now?

SARIEL: It matters because only an idiot would deal with a limp by shooting himself in the foot.

MAX: It’s not like it can make anything worse.

SARIEL: I don’t know about that. If it means you’re giving up.

(MAX tenses.)

SARIEL: But you don’t really want to do that. So come on, just a sip. All that protein’s wrapped up in tasty strawberry. Goes down real easy.

(SARIEL pushes it toward him. MAX grabs the ashtray and hurls it across the stage.)

MAX: Damn it, Sariel! What the hell are you doing!?

SARIEL: Not letting you throw in the towel.

MAX: What’s the damn point!? What does it matter if I work, or if I eat, or if I get any damn sleep? There’s no getting out of this. I’ve taken the drugs and I’ve shot up the chemo and I’m still dying. Why do you care whether or not I give up?

SARIEL: Because you don’t have much time left.

MAX: I know! I’ve accepted that! What more do you want from me?

SARIEL: Is that all you think I care about? Your death?

MAX: Is that what you’re all about? Making sure I’m at peace in preparation for the inevitable?

SARIEL: If I can do that for you, yeah, I’d like you to have that. But I’m here because I’m worried about the rest of your life.

MAX: Yeah, all few months of it. What does it matter anymore?

SARIEL: Because you’re not dead yet, Max! Because you’re getting cheated out of decades that most everybody else takes for granted. All you have is right now. Which is all the more reason you have to do something now.

MAX: What? Do what?

SARIEL: Anything! Everything! The things you’re never going to get a chance to do if you don’t do them now.

MAX: Why? Why should I? What’s the point?

SARIEL: What if I told you the most significant thing you’re ever going to do is going to happen between right now and the end of your life?

(MAX stares at him.)

MAX: Can you know that?

SARIEL: Does that change things for you?

MAX: Do you know that, Sariel?

SARIEL: It doesn’t matter, Max! What matters is that you can’t know that. You can’t know what’s coming. You just got to know that, if you give up now… nothing’s coming.

(MAX breaks down.)

MAX: How can I do that… when this is all I get?

SARIEL: You have what everybody living has, Max. You have a shot. All you can do is take it.

MAX: I don’t know if I can.

SARIEL: That’s why I’m here.

(MAX sits there silently for a moment, considering. At last he picks up the smoothie and starts drinking.)

SARIEL: Now, tell me. What are you working on?

THE END

Biweekly Theater Writing Challenge: Dolls That Say "I Love You" on Command

I just wrote a scene and I freaking love it.

Dolls That Say "I Love You" on Command

(SAM, a troubled former FBI agent, walks down the street. She grips her purse uncomfortably and hurries along. Soon she comes across a park bench where a little girl in a frilly dress sits, holding a baby doll and smiling at her. She recognizes this as a form of SARIEL, her guardian angel.)

SAM: Oh, Jesus.

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: Hi, Sam. I’m surprised to see you out and about. Since you think so little of these imperfect creatures God made.

SAM: Oh, save it.

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: No, our conversation really got me thinking. It’s a good question, why God would make you all so full of sin and so prone to rejecting Him and all his love.

SAM: I’m not up for a deep theological discussion right now, okay?

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: Okay, okay. But don’t go. Since we ran into each other, you might as well come hang out a while.

(Sam looks around nervously to see who might be watching.)

SAM: Why do you show up like this? Why a little girl?

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: Because it means people are a lot nicer to me when I want to sit around and play with dolls.

SAM: People see me talking to you, they’re going to think I’m a kidnapper or something.

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: Oh, don’t worry what other people think for five minutes, okay? Just sit down.

(She sits on the bench beside him.)

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: Check this out.

(He tips the doll forward and back. Its recorded voice box says, “I love you!”)

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: Nice, huh?

SAM: So?

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: So, they make these baby dolls who say “I love you.” Whenever you want, they just say it to you. It’s a present for you.

SAM: For me? Why?

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: You know, since Chris and all.

SAM: Is this a joke?

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: Well, you were really broken up about having been left by the person who loved you.

SAM: What? Oh, Jesus!

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: I thought this might fill the void.

(He proffers the doll, making it say "I love you" again. She shoves it back at him.)

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: What? It doesn’t?

SAM: You’re an asshole.

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: Oh, I’m sorry. You mean to say, a doll that’s built to say “I love you” on command isn’t worth the same as a creature of free will who loves you of his own accord?

(Sam turns to stare at him, disturbed. Little Girl Sariel makes a snotty face and spreads his hands.)

Lame Swans, scene 5 - "Complement"

Yesterday I finished adapting the scene I wrote the draft of during 31 Plays in 31 Days, "Complement," for use in my graphic novel. While I have bits and pieces of other scenes, this is the first one I've done completely. Figuring out the perspectives and the content on each panel is pretty difficult, but I'm actually pretty pleased with what I envisioned here.


SCENE 5 - "Complement"

PAGE 1

Panel 1
LISE enters the studio. Over her shoulder both JASON and MARINA can be seen already in the studio. JASON is seated on a stool, wearing glasses and going through a notebook.
LISE: Jason? I’m here—

Panel 2
Closeup on MARINA glaring scornfully.
MARINA: What’s she doing here?

Panel 3
Closeup on LISE looking disturbed.
LISE: Where’s everybody else?

Panel 4
Closeup on JASON, focused on his notes, not looking at either of them.
JASON: Nobody else today. Just the two of you?

Panel 5
MARINA advances on JASON from his right in a posture of offense. He still doesn’t look up.
MARINA: What for?
JASON: The two of you need to work on your performance in relation to each other.

Panel 6
LISE advances on JASON from the left. He is in the same pose as before, but on the far right this time.
LISE: What does that mean?
JASON: Odette and Odile need to be identical, right?

PAGE 2

Panel 1
Double-width panel. From about chest height, the girls regard each other warily. Only the top of JASON’s head can be seen as he sits on his stool.
JASON: Enough that you can be mistaken for each other, but different enough to create a contrast. Two sides of the same coin.

Panel 2
Closeup on the left side of LISE’s face only, as if it is bisected by the right side of the panel.

Panel 3
Closeup on the right side of MARINA’s face, as if bisected by the left side of the panel. It lines up with LISE’s face in the previous panel as if it were the other half.
JASON: (off-panel, across both panels 3 and 4) So I want you to work on matching each other.

Panel 4
Double-width panel. LISE moves in on JASON in supplication, MARINA has her arms crossed stubbornly.
LISE: Our styles are completely different.
JASON: I’ve observed that.
MARINA: Why would you pick us if you wanted two dancers that looked the same?

PAGE 3

Panel 1
JASON stands up and eyes them in growing frustration.
JASON: Are you even listening to me? I want the contrast too. But you’ve already got the contrast down.

Panel 2
LISE and MARINA eye each other sideways.
JASON: (off-panel) Now I need you to figure out how to complement each other.

Panel 3
JASON sits back down on his stool and consults his notes again.
JASON: Show me the mirror dance. Tell me what you each notice about how the other executes it.

Panel 4
LISE and MARINA still eye each other.
JASON: (Off-panel) Go on, already.

Panel 5
The girl look away from each other, frustrated but resigned.

Panel 6
They turn away from the camera to walk out into the center of the floor.

PAGE 4

Panel 1
LISE assumes the preparatory position, facing right. She looks a little drawn and worried.

Panel 2
MARINA assumes the preparatory position, facing left. She is the mirror image of LISE. Her expression is stern and hard.

Panel 3
LISE’s arms transition into a hide third position. Her carriage is delicate and airy.

Panel 4
MARINA is in the mirrored position of hers. She carries herself with sharp precision.

Panel 5
LISE transitions into a lunge, arms in arabasque.

Panel 6
MARINA mirrors her.

PAGE 5

Panel 1
LISE dips her upper body toward her right side, sweeping her right arm low while keeping her left arm in arabesque.
LISE: Slow down.

Panel 2
MARINA executes the same move with a snotty smile.
MARINA: Can’t you keep up?

Panel 3
JASON regards them from his seat, head tilted in consideration to the right.
JASON: It’s not a contest. What do you notice?

Panel 4
MARINA curls her lip critically as she does a chêne turn to her right.
MARINA: Her arms are a technical mess.
JASON: (Off-panel) Marina.

Panel 5
LISE pirouettes prettily to her left.
LISE: Yeah, well, good thing you’re on that side, because you can’t pirouette to your left.

Panel 6
JASON claps a hand to his forehead in disgust.
JASON: Jesus, grow up, you two. Just do what I asked already.

PAGE 6

Panel 1
Double-width panel. Shot from over MARINA’s shoulder, LISE can be seen to the left of her. Her expression softens as she actually begins to study MARINA. They raise their rear legs in an arabesque lift.

Panel 2
Double-width panel. Now from over LISE’s shoulder, MARINA is to her right and has a hard, critical look. They combre to the side toward the camera.

Panel 3
LISE springs up into relevé, arms in fifth.
LISE: She’s… very precise.
JASON: (Off-panel) Right. She finds the marks and she hits them. You find something, Marina.

Panel 4
MARINA executes porte du bras, leaning back but her eyes turned to the left towards LISE.
MARINA: She’s fluid. Seamless from one step to another.
JASON: (Off-panel) Yeah, everything flows.

PAGE 7

Panel 1
MARINA turns away in a pique turn, but her gaze remains in the same direction. She glares.
MARINA: I feel like I’m dragging myself through so you can match me.

Panel 2
LISE stops dancing in outrage.
LISE: You’re too staccato, it’s all choppy!

Panel 3
Double-width panel. They go nose to nose furiously.
MARINA: I’m not compromising myself just to make you look good!
JASON: (Off-panel) Jesus Christ, get over yourselves!

Panel 4
Double-width panel. The girls turn to face him. He regards them in disgust.
JASON: I don’t have time for this. If I wanted to do a show with just one dancer on the stage for two hours, I’d just do it myself and not bother with any of you.

PAGE 8
Panel 1
Double-width panel. JASON walks off left, throwing up his hands. MARINA storms off to the right. LISE stands awkwardly in the middle, watching MARINA go.
JASON: Go take a break, and when you come back, I expect you to be ready to work.

Panel 2
As JASON walks away toward the camera, LISE can be seen following over his shoulder.
LISE: I can’t work with her.
JASON: Oh, save it.

Panel 3
JASON sits back down on his stool. LISE comes up on his side to the right.
LISE: She hates me. She isn’t going to cooperate.
JASON: Then you make it work.

Panel 4
Closeup on LISE, whose eyes go downcast with fear.
JASON: (Off-panel): You’re the lead, the show’s on you.
LISE: Oh, God.

Panel 5
JASON takes off his glasses and looks at her, hard and unsympathetic.
JASON: But hey, you’ve got it all down, right? Just so you know, Cechetti couldn’t turn on his left side either, you know.

PAGE 9

Panel 1
JASON stands and starts to walk away left. LISE trails after. JASON looks back over his shoulder at her.
LISE: Really?
JASON: He choreographed all his pieces so that he never had to. And he has a whole method named after him.

Panel 2
JASON turns his back on her as he walks away.
JASON: Find some way to make it work, Lise.

Panel 3
Double-width panel. Lise stands alone in the studio, distraught. The top of JASON’s head is visible in the bottom of the panel.
JASON: Back in five. And this time, be a little professional.

The Stand play series - "Wildflowers"

Over the last couple weeks I wrote another ten-minute play based on The Stand. This one is probably spoilery too, so probably only those who don't want to play in future runs should read. The characters featured are Sister Flora Johansson and Violet Wood, both PCs. I like the idea of this scene a lot, though the piece itself probably needs polishing.


Wildflowers
By Phoebe Roberts

FLORA JOHANSSON, a nun, early forties
VIOLET WOOD, a wild young woman, late teens

~~~

(The year is 1849 in the northern California cattle town of Reston. VIOLET WOOD is discovered onstage. Enter SISTER FLORA JOHANSSON wearing her nun’s habit.)

FLORA: Good day there, missie.

VIOLET: What? Oh. Good day there.

FLORA: I’m Sister Flora. What might your name be?

VIOLET: I’m Violet. Violet Wood. Do you… do you want something, sister?

FLORA: I wanted to see if you had a minute to talk.

VIOLET: You want to talk to me? How come?

FLORA: It’s a small town. Hard to miss when somebody new is around.

VIOLET: Oh. Well, yes.

FLORA: What brings you to Reston?

VIOLET: Ah… me and my fellow are just passing through.

FLORA: Have any business?

VIOLET: Oh, no, no business.

FLORA: You sure?

VIOLET: Of course.

(Pause.)

FLORA: I’ll tell you what I think. I think I know you.

VIOLET: Know me?

FLORA: There’s been a lot of talk about that outlaw pair. What do they call themselves? The Killdeer Kids, was it?

VIOLET: I— I don’t know!

FLORA: I think you do. Because I think you’re the little girl half of that outlaw pair. I think you’re a wanted criminal.

(VIOLET startles.)

VIOLET: Wh-what? What’d you say? I don’t know what— h-how’d you find out? Who told you?

FLORA: Nobody needed to. It’s written in your face as plain as day.

VIOLET: I ain’t done nothing—

FLORA: Easy, girl. I ain’t going to turn you in.

VIOLET: You’re not? Then… what do you want with me?

FLORA: I just wanted to have a talk with you.

VIOLET: About what?

FLORA: About… what you do. About how you’re living your life.

VIOLET: I don’t need some sister telling me to be a good little girl and come to Jesus!

FLORA: It ain’t like that. I thought I’d ask after you. See how you was getting on.

VIOLET: How I’m getting on? What’s your angle?

FLORA: (Shaking her head.) Got no angle. Compassion for folks is my job.

VIOLET: You got no reason to worry about me.

FLORA: I wouldn’t say that. Knowing the sort of life you leave.

VIOLET: You ain’t got any idea.

FLORA: Let me take a stab.

VIOLET: Oh, go on.

FLORA: No, give me a try. You grew up in some nowhere place with a mama and a papa that wanted to keep you small under their thumb.

VIOLET: Maybe so.

FLORA: Till you met a dashing young gent who wanted to take you away from your dull old homestead to go on romantic adventures on the frontier.

VIOLET: How’d you know that?

FLORA: It’s an old story, missie. Far older than you are. And I think you ought to know that quite a few what came before you wished their story could have ended differently.

VIOLET: What are you saying?

FLORA: Just that… you might want to get out while you still can. Before you end up the same bad way.

VIOLET: Don’t you try to lecture me! You don’t know what I had to bear back in townie life! Serving rich folks and getting looked at like I’m a little nobody! My mama always keening at me over how she knew I was going to end up wicked!

FLORA: Ah, honey. That’s rough and no mistake.

VIOLET: That weren’t no life!

FLORA: I know.

VIOLET: I had to get out of that!

FLORA: Can’t say as I blame you.

VIOLET: My fellow, Ralph… he got me out of that. He saved me from it. He gave me freedom and adventures and now we’re famous! Everybody knows the Killdeer Kids! We’re somebody now!

FLORA: Still. That’s an awful lot of danger you’re taking on yourself.

VIOLET: I ain’t afraid.

FLORA: Even if there’s no danger to you, there’s bound to be danger to somebody.

VIOLET: Oh, go on.

FLORA: You got guns, don’t you?

VIOLET: Got to!

FLORA: Ever shot anybody? Ever killed anybody?

VIOLET: Ain’t nobody ever died!

FLORA: You sure about that?

VIOLET: We give them a chance to give up the loot and go quietly! Nobody has to get hurt. We ain’t murderers.

FLORA: You ain’t yet.

VIOLET: Never!

FLORA: Even your Ralph?

VIOLET: I know Ralph! He’s smart, he uses his smarts to get the best of other folks. He ain’t some roughneck killer! We’re going to do better than that. We’re going to be another Deadeye and Sally Flowers!

FLORA: (Shaken, saddened.) That’s… that’s what you want to be?

VIOLET: Sure as hell we do. You heard the stories, right?

FLORA: I know them.

VIOLET: They was the wildest desperadoes on the range! Ain’t nobody was as brave or daring or clever as them, and everybody knows it! That’s what Ralph and I are going to be.

FLORA: That’s what you want, is it?

VIOLET: That’s what we always wanted!

FLORA: Of course. Should’ve known, I guess. Everybody wants to go that way when they don’t like the rules. But what they don’t know going in is the life’s got its own rules. Just like anything else. Can’t ever get away from that.

VIOLET: I do what I want.

FLORA: That’s the trouble, missie. You end up having to do things you don’t want to. To make a dollar. To stay alive. To stay those few steps ahead of the law.

VIOLET: It ain’t like that!

FLORA: You telling me you and your boy never got stuck in a tight spot?

VIOLET: Well… no, but—

FLORA: What might happen next time if you found yourself in a corner because things ain’t going like you planned?

VIOLET: Well… I don’t know! I don’t know, all right? But what else are we going to do? Settle down and— be like regular folks somewhere? With all them rules and laws? Ralph and I can’t live like that.

FLORA: All right, all right, we’ll let than one go. Here’s another thing…how is it that you see yourself ending up?

VIOLET: Not as a nun, that’s for sure!

FLORA: Right. I suppose I didn’t see it coming for me either. But I mean when you’re an old one. Too old to go gallivanting all over the range with a gun strapped to your back.

VIOLET: Well, I can’t see us digging ourselves into some old patch of dirt and getting gray and stupid.

FLORA: You got a different plan, then?

VIOLET: We’re going to get rich and famous, we… we don’t need no plan.

FLORA: Fair enough. Suppose you won’t if you end up dead. Plenty of famous outlaws do.

(VIOLET springs up in a rage.)

VIOLET: Oh, what do you know? You’re just some old lady in a black and white bed sheet, you don’t know a damn thing about us! We’re going to end up just like Deadeye and Sally, you’ll see!

FLORA: And how do you know they ended so well?

(VIOLET stops short and turns to look at FLORA.)

FLORA: Let me ask you— when was the last time you heard about the two of them?

VIOLET: They… they ain’t dead. Nobody could’a got them.

FLORA: Maybe not. But they sure as shooting ain’t riding around like they used to! Because they all end up the same way.

VIOLET: You can’t say that!

FLORA: Oh, child. Might be you’ll get lucky. Might be all your dream will come true. But might also be that one day... nothing’s like you planned. When you thought you was going to be a dashing rogue and you feel like nothing but a cold butcher. When the man you thought loved you best out of everything shows you he’s in so deep he can’t do nothing but save his own skin. When your pretty dream of all your romance and adventure fades out into finding yourself alone and with stains on your conscience you can’t never wash clean.

(VIOLET looks at her in shock.)

FLORA: So if you want to be like Deadeye and Sally, you ought to know how you’re like to end up.

(She stands up and turns to leave.)

VIOLET: Wait one minute, there. How do you know all that?

FLORA: All what?

VIOLET: About the life. The outlaw life. And… Sally and Deadeye.

FLORA: I told you, girl. It’s a real old story. You ain’t the first one to live it.

VIOLET: Who… who are you?

FLORA: Sister Flora. That’s all.

(She exits, leaving VIOLET to watch her in shock.)

The Stand play series - "Going Back"

Guess what, I wrote another short play based on The Stand! This one's very rough; it was tricky to write and I don't feel like I got the period diction down this time. But it depicts a very dramatic moment in the backstory of Carson Hill, one of my favorite PCs in The Stand. This one is also very spoilery, so read only if you've played the game. It's going to take a lot of editing, but I like the idea of it a lot. I made myself bang it out even though it was hard, which is the important first step to getting a play made.

The Stand play series - "Going Back"

(An old-fashioned study in the back room of the Barrister Tavern. CARSON HILL stands in his suspenders and rebuttons his shirt. MAYELLA SINCLAIR, in her slip, sits on the chaise and mopes.)

CARSON: Are you sure you can stay this late?

MAYELLA: Oh, certainly. Arlen’s out late with the hands again tonight. He’s always preferred their company to mine.

CARSON: And Rebecca?

MAYELLA: Her nursemaid’s about if she needs anything. She’s far better with the girl than I’ve ever been.

CARSON: You seem glum tonight.

MAYELLA: Oh, I’m always glum. It’s my nature.

CARSON: More so than usual, then.

MAYELLA: I suppose my typical diversions have failed to distract me.

CARSON: Isn’t that what I’m for?

MAYELLA: Well, you’re doing no good for me tonight. I’m so bored I could die.

CARSON: You wound me, ma’am. Is something new wrong?

MAYELLA: It’s only that… things… things haven’t gone quite as I planned.

CARSON: Planned? What do you mean?

MAYELLA: Oh, nothing. Just my malaise. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. Nothing ever happens on this empty range.

CARSON: I’ve never minded that.

MAYELLA: I don’t see how. I’ve never understood why a man of your breeding and education would stay in a town like this.

CARSON: What makes you think I’ve got any breeding or education?

MAYELLA: Come now, darling, I’m no fool. It may escape most of the bumpkins around these parts, but I’m from real society. It takes only a few words with you to give you away.

CARSON: I see.

MAYELLA: And one look around here is enough. This isn’t any cowboy roadhouse.

CARSON: Nobody’s ever back here except you.

(MAYELLA rises and goes to the bookshelf over the desk to rifle through the contents.)

MAYELLA: See, you have too many books to be just another roughneck. And… is this a playbill for The Spanish Tragedy? Where did you ever see this?

(He takes the playbill out of her hands and files it back on the bookshelf.)

CARSON: Mayella. It’s not polite to pry into a man’s things.

(She sighs exaggeratedly.)

MAYELLA: Fine. I suppose this place has worn away my manners. Of course, I have always given you your privacy. I never pried all those times you avoided telling me where you came from to this godforsaken town.

CARSON: It’s not something I like to talk about.

MAYELLA: I know, you’ve made that clear.

CARSON: It isn’t all theaters and galas back in the cities, you know. Where you get society, you also get a lot of shady fellows trying to take advantage of it.

(CARSON turns away as he speaks. While his back is turned, MAYELLA begins looking through the items in the shelf and desk again.)

CARSON: It’s peaceful out here. I like that peace. No… hustle and bustle. No scheming politicians. No wrangling for control, no twisting the law into knots. Just a lot of cowboys working to make a living.

(MAYELLA finds a letter. She unfolds and begins to read it.)

CARSON: Sure, it’s dull, sometimes, but I say it’s a fair change of pace.

(CARSON turns back around to see her reading the letter.)

CARSON: Jesus Christ, Mayella, what are you doing? Give me that, now.

(He reaches for the letter but she yanks it out of the way.)

MAYELLA: This is a letter… from your father? Jackson Hill, esquire? Yelling at you to come back home and take up your responsibility before you shame the family name?

CARSON: I asked you not to go through my things.

MAYELLA: What responsibility? What have you done?

CARSON: That is none of your never mind!

MAYELLA: This letter is from Albany! You got rich family back in Albany? This is what you’ve been keeping from me?

CARSON: Mayella—

MAYELLA: Carson, you tell me what this is right this minute!

(CARSON glares at her for a moment, then relents.)

CARSON: All right. All right, Mrs. Sinclair. You always wanted to know what brought me out to the territory. Well, I’ll tell you. You’re right, Mayella. I do come from breeding and money. My family runs one of the biggest tobacco plantations in George, and my pap was the head of the toniest law firm in Albany. I was going to follow after him. I was a prodigy. Graduated Harvard at sixteen, aced every other fellow in law school. I had everything in the world ahead of me.

MAYELLA: You’re a lawyer come from money, and you’re running some saloon out here?

CARSON: That isn’t the end of it. To make my fortune, my uncle sent a man from a neighboring plantation who wanted me to represent him in a case. Mr. Richard Corbett, a cotton baron, a real high roller down south. He wanted the state of New York to return five runaway slaves to him that had escaped past the border. The state didn’t want to return them. But I argued that case, used every legal trick in my book, and I got them back. Was a hell of a piece of lawyering, I’ll say that myself. And Corbett was pleased. He invited me down to his place in thanks. I hadn’t been on a plantation in a long time… and I saw what it was really like. All those slaves working themselves to the bone under the whips of their masters. Suffering, dying... I turned to Corbett and asked him what he did with the property I returned to him. He told me he had them beaten and set the dogs on them to make an example to the others. All because of what I did. I got them sent back to that hell. And there I was, feeling like I’d killed them myself, when all anybody could talk about was what a triumph of law I’d accomplished.

(Pause.)

CARSON: So that’s it, Mayella. That’s why I ran out here. That’s the culture and society that I came out here from.

(MAYELLA claps her hands over her mouth. She starts wordlessly laughing.)

CARSON: What’s gotten into you?

MAYELLA: Carson— what are you frowning over? This— this is wonderful!

CARSON: What? No, it ain’t!

MAYELLA: Don’t you see? We can go back. We can get away from this cow town forever.

CARSON: What are you talking about?

MAYELLA: You’ve got a place there, your father wants you back.

CARSON: He’s mad as hell at me for running off! He doesn’t understand what it did to me.

MAYELLA: There’s something for you back there! Money, family, society! You could take me away from here. We could get married and have a real life!

CARSON: Married? You’re already married!

MAYELLA: I don’t care about Arlen, he dragged me out to the middle of nowhere and forgot about me!

CARSON: He’s still your husband.

MAYELLA: I’ll get a divorce. You’re a lawyer, you could divorce us!

CARSON: You want that scandal on your head?

MAYELLA: Once we’re back east, that won’t matter! Who’ll give a damn about a scandal out on some frontier?

CARSON: And what about Rebecca? Doesn’t she matter?

MAYELLA: I don’t want to think about her anymore!

CARSON: How can you say that? She’s your child, for God’s sake!

MAYELLA: I’m no good to anyone like this, much less that girl.

CARSON: You can’t just leave your own child.

MAYELLA: Carson, this place is killing me! You’ve got to get me out of here!

CARSON: Mayella, I’m not going.

MAYELLA: What do you mean?

CARSON: Don’t you understand? I couldn’t bear that life anymore. I came out here to escape all that.

MAYELLA: How could you choose life in this nowhere to having a place somewhere real?

CARSON: Because out here there ain’t nobody celebrating the worst thing I ever did! I’d run to Russia if that’s what it took to never know that again.

MAYELLA: But… I thought you loved me. I thought you loved me enough to save me. Don’t you?

(CARSON is silent.)

MAYELLA: Of course not. Of course not.

CARSON: I care you for you, Mayella. And I’m sorry you feel so trapped. But I am never going back there. Not for you, not for anybody.

(MAYELLA looks at him in uncomprehending shock for a moment. Then she starts shaking and breaking into hysterics.)

MAYELLA: No. No. You can’t… you can’t just leave me here! You can’t just condemn me to this place!

CARSON: Mayella, be reasonable.

MAYELLA: I thought you’d be the one to save me from all this. But you’re abandoning me when I need you!

CARSON: Hush up, someone will hear you.

(He goes to her to quiet her, but she struggles.)

MAYELLA: You’ll regret this, my love. You’ll be so sorry for what you’ve done to me. You’ll see!

CARSON: Mayella, you’re talking crazy!

MAYELLA: Just wait. Just wait, Carson Hill. You’ll see. You’ll see. You’re going to regret this, mark my words.

(She shoves him off, grabs the rest of her clothes in an armful, and runs out. CARSON collapses on the chaise and rakes back his hair, stricken.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #31 - "Have That Dance"

I did it. I'm finished. I wrote a play for every day of the month of August. And I don't hate this one I'm finishing with either.

Christ. I used different names in an effect to not be distracting, but I’m sure you know who these people are. If I choose to do anything further with this, I should probably adapt it into a fic, rather than trying to hammer it into a distinct usable play.

Day #31 - "Have That Dance"

(An old woman, LENA, sits in a chair. Enter NICK, a very handsome, very fit young blond man carrying a bouquet of red roses. She turns around in her chair to look at him.)

LENA: You came.

NICK: Yes. I’m… sorry it took so long.

LENA: I saw the reports on the news. How they’d found you. How you were back after all this time.

NICK: I meant to call you. I wanted to. I just…. I didn’t know what to say. And then, everything happened, and I—

LENA: Not a word of that. I understand. I wanted to call you, but… I didn’t know what to say either.

NICK: I couldn’t… I couldn’t not see you.

(He proffers the bouquet.)

NICK: These are for you.

(She takes them and starts to cry. NICK kneels down beside her.)

NICK: I— I’m so sorry. If I shouldn’t have come—

(She sets the bouquet aside.)

LENA: Oh, no! Never that. It’s only—oh, Nick, you don’t know how I’ve missed you. After you were lost, and then all this time… I thought you were dead.

NICK: I was. In a way. But… after the procedure… I don’t know how it happened, but I survived.

LENA: Look at you. My God. I’d almost forgotten how beautiful you are.

NICK: Lena…

LENA: That wasn’t the sort of thing ladies said in those days, but I wish I had. There never was a man as beautiful.

NICK: Not as beautiful as you.

LENA: And look at me now. I’m an old woman.

NICK: Still. It’s… it’s so good to see you. I was afraid I’d never see you again.

LENA: So much time has gone by. A lifetime, Nick.

NICK: A lifetime, yes…

(He indicates the pictures on her table.)

NICK: Is this your husband?

LENA: Charles. Yes. He passed almost ten years ago.

NICK: He looks… he looks like a decent man.

LENA: He was.

(Pause.)

LENA: I’m so sorry, Nick.

NICK: You don’t have to apologize.

LENA: I did wait, you know. As they searched for you. Even after everyone else had given up hope. I never wanted to be with anyone else. But the years went by, and you stayed gone…

NICK: You had a life to live.

LENA: At that point, it seemed like Charles made more sense than waiting for a ghost.

NICK: Do you have children?

LENA: Yes. Two. This is Alexandra, my eldest… and this is her younger brother.

NICK: What’s his name?

LENA: Nicholas.

NICK: Oh, Lena.

LENA: Charles was a good man, and I loved him, but… he wasn’t you, Nick. Nobody could ever be you.

NICK: I’m—so sorry. I’m so sorry I had to leave you. I thought— I thought it was the only way. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to do… so many things… that I never had the chance to.

LENA: We had a date.

NICK: That was where I would have started. And I would have learned how to dance. And… I would have told you that I loved you.

LENA: Oh, Nick.

NICK: I wanted to. The time wasn’t right then, so I didn’t. We weren't at that place yet. But now… now it’s way past time. I love you, Lena. You’re the one I was waiting for.

LENA: I love you, too, Nick. I always have, even all through the years with Charles. And God help me, I always will. For however long that is.

NICK: Lena, I’m here now—

LENA: No— none of that, Nick. Don’t… don’t say anything about that, not right now. Just… just be here, for a while. Be here with me.

NICK: I’ve waited seventy years to do that. I still owe you a dance, you know.

LENA: Yes, you do.

(He stands and extends his hand to her to help her frail body from the chair.)

NICK: You promised to teach me.

LENA: Yes. It’s about time you learned.

(He pulls her close and she begins slowly showing him some old-fashioned steps.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #28 - "Better Design"

This piece follows my previous Project Runway-inspired piece, "Slimming." I kind of like this character of Freddy Moreau, a talented but emotionally fragile young man based on my current favorite PR designer Christopher Palu (who won last night with an elegant design, woohoo!) I also like dealing with body image issues inherent in the fashion industry, so it's a cool topic to get into. I think I could write something interesting about Freddy learning that.

Day #28 - "Better Design"

(FREDDY MOREAU and OTTO JOHANSSON work in a design studio. OTTO dresses a mannequin while FREDDY cuts bias strips at a worktable.)

FREDDY: I screwed up. I ruined everything.

OTTO: I’m sure you didn’t ruin everything.

FREDDY: Still, I really screwed up. She hates me now.

OTTO: What do you even do that was so bad?

FREDDY: Basically made her feel like I thought she was fat.

OTTO: Aw, shit.

FREDDY: Yeah!

OTTO: So, is she?

FREDDY: Is she what?

OTTO: Is she fat?

FREDDY: Otto! That’s not the point.

(OTTO stares.)

FREDDY: Okay, sort of. She’s like a size ten, maybe twelve.

OTTO: Geez.

FREDDY: The point is, I made her feel that way!

OTTO: Yeah, you can never do that. What’d you do, anyway?

FREDDY: I tried to steer her toward a slimming design.

OTTO: Oh, I don’t blame you.

FREDDY: Why? I completely screwed up.

OTTO: Well, it’s hard to design for big people.

FREDDY: Otto!

OTTO: It is! In school, I never made anything for anyone any bigger than a six.

FREDDY: I want to have more clients than just the world’s three supermodels, dude.

OTTO: Seriously, though! Don’t beat yourself up. Fat people never look good in high fashion designs—

FREDDY: Oh, Christ.

OTTO: —but if you stick them in something that doesn't make them look thinner they get mad at you. You can’t win.

FREDDY: She didn’t want me to make her look thin.

OTTO: Seriously? And you’re doing that?

FREDDY: She wasn’t happy with the designs I was giving her, so I had to come up with something else. That’s what you do when you’re working for a client!

OTTO: But you’re the designer! You’re supposed to have better taste than her. If she ends up looking terrible, everybody will blame you.

FREDDY: She’s going to be wearing my stuff. She’s not going to look terrible.

OTTO: She will if everybody thinks she looks fat!

FREDDY: Jesus, Otto. If I sounded to her like you do now, no wonder everybody thinks we’re all assholes.

OTTO: That’s the way it is. It’s not my fault.

FREDDY: You know what, I think Heidi was right. If that’s all anybody thinks, then I must be a pretty shitty designer.

(He sweeps all his materials off the table.)

FREDDY: Maybe you can’t handle it, but I’m much better than that.