Three Somebodies

by Kat Georges

  STEPHEN: What’d you do?

  WENDY: I went direct. Hid backstage. Turned on the charm. Tried my luck. Finally got to talk to a lead singer.

  STEPHEN: What band?

  WENDY: The Schmucks! I tell him, let me sign you up. You’re big in Chiswick now—so what? You want big bucks? Think “America.” He says—USA? They know us there. I say—Got proof? I bloody do, he says. And then—oh, God—I almost puke. He pulls his little laptop out—gets his little website up—grins his stupid little grin—and says—“We’ve got four million fans.” CDs, groupies—all online. And we don’t make a fucking dime.

  STEPHEN: Online groupies?

  WENDY: I kid you not. These guys call them, chat-room sluts. I tell you, Stephen, the whole thing sucks. It’s so wrong.

  STEPHEN: You’ve been in this business too long.

  WENDY: Excuse me for venting.

  STEPHEN: You’re the boss. Well, for now.

  WENDY: You ain’t getting my job.

  STEPHEN: Things change. There’s been talk—

  WENDY: Oh? What’s going on?

  STEPHEN: I can’t say a word.

  WENDY: Aren’t you . . . due for a raise?

  STEPHEN: Overdue.

  WENDY: Tell you what—You help me, I help you.

  STEPHEN: Money talks.

  WENDY: Understood. These two acts from London. Models. Real cute. They look great on TV. That’s worth . . . two hits apiece. You write—I produce—you get three points of profit—

  STEPHEN: Sounds good.

  WENDY: Let’s talk in six months. Seven tops.

  ANNIE moves next to STEPHEN and smiles sexily.

  STEPHEN: Hands keys to Annie. Green Jag. Back lot.

  WENDY: Who’s your friend?

  STEPHEN: Who—her? Valet.

  WENDY: Some girl . . .

  STEPHEN: Not my type. Now, Wen—

  ANNIE: (To WENDY, in a flirtatious voice.) My name’s Annie

  STEPHEN: What about—

  ANNIE exits.

  WENDY: Wait here. Exits.

  STEPHEN: —my raise?

  WENDY: Offstage. Sorry. Yells. Annie!

  STEPHEN: I quit. Calls a mysterious someone on cell phone.

  WENDY: Offstage. What?

  STEPHEN: (To Wendy.) I said—(To cell phone.) Hurry up, please. It’s time. (To Wendy.) I quit. (To cell phone.) Do her in.

  WENDY: Offstage. You can’t quit.

  STEPHEN: (To Wendy.) Hold on. (To cell phone.) Angry. Look—You’ll get paid! . . . Yeah . . . (To Wendy.) You heard me. (To cell phone.) Just call me when you’re done.

  Hangs up.

  Cell phone rings.

  STEPHEN: That was quick. Answers cell phone. This is Stephen . . . —

  WENDY: Voice on phone. I’ll double your salary. Triple your stock. Just tell me what’s up.

  STEPHEN: Are you serious?

  WENDY: Voice on phone. Yes.

  STEPHEN: Fuck. (To cell phone.) We got a deal, Wendy. Aside. Oh shit. (To cell phone.) Hold on . . . Calls another number on cell phone. Hello? Umm . . . Change of plans. . . —It’s too late? No it’s not. . . . Yes. I’m talking to her—Yes. Hang on. Switches line. Wendy—you there? . . . Hello? Hello? Scream. Dial tone. Switches lines. Shit. What the hell’s going on? Hello? Hello? Dial tone. Fuck!

  WENDY: Entering. Okay talk—What’s up? Buy-out? Takeover? Merge? Tell me the truth—How come they’re keeping me out of the loop? Pause. You’re not talking. Whose side are you on?

  STEPHEN puts phone away.

  STEPHEN: You’re alive . . . uh-oh. Where’s that girl?

  WENDY: Annie? She split.

  STEPHEN: Holy shit.

  Begins exiting.

  WENDY: Get back here or no deal.

  STEPHEN: I get that raise—or I walk. I got an offer. Mega-bucks.

  WENDY: You whore.

  STEPHEN: Says who?

  WENDY: Your boss.

  STEPHEN: My pimp.

  WENDY: Your wife.

  STEPHEN: Tell your girlfriend.

  WENDY: I’m straight. Since June.

  STEPHEN: Me, too.

  WENDY: You?

  STEPHEN: Since July twenty-two.

  WENDY: Hugs STEPHEN. Oh, Stephen.

  STEPHEN: Oh, babe. . . .

  WENDY: Stern. Stephen. Don’t cry.

  Pause.

  STEPHEN: I love you.

  WENDY: Me too.

  They kiss a long time.

  VOICEOVER ANNOUNCEMENT: If the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden, if the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden . . .

  Tender, starry-eyed, schmaltzy moment. Pause.

  WENDY: Remember our honeymoon?

  STEPHEN: Just like a dream. Champagne and romance. Paris, London, Berlin . . . —

  WENDY: We never left Vegas. You almost OD’d.

  STEPHEN: Champagne?

  WENDY: Percodan, peyote, and speed. Pause. Remember the hotel in London, Las Vegas? The Sperm Bank Hotel?

  STEPHEN: Let’s go back.

  WENDY: It’s not real. But the fake one inspired a real one to be built.

  STEPHEN: Where?

  WENDY: In London, of course. Real London.

  STEPHEN: I’m there.

  WENDY: Well, you were.

  STEPHEN: Huh?

  WENDY: I saw you—well, not exactly—I saw your—you know—

  STEPHEN: My sperm?

  WENDY: Yes. Guess what? You were on sale—half-price. So I bought you. . . . —

  STEPHEN: Half-price? My sperm? Me?

  WENDY: Yes, and well . . .

  STEPHEN: Well what, Wendy?

  WENDY: I’m pregnant.

  Pause.

  STEPHEN: Taxi! Exits. Wait! My car!

  WENDY: It’s yours. (To cell phone.) All set?

  STEPHEN: Offstage. Fuck my car.

  WENDY: (To cell phone.) Make it real. Roll tape . . . mark it. Cue lights. Blackout. Monitor. TV on. Cue sound. ACTION!

  END OF SCENE I

  INTERLUDE

  Video

  VIDEO SOUND: Twelve o’clock. Along the reaches of the street / Held in a lunar synthesis / Whispering lunar incantations / Dissolve the floors of memory / And all its clear relations / Its division and precisions / Every streetlamp that I pass / Beats like a fatalistic drum / And through the spaces of the dark / Midnight shakes the memory / As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

  VIDEO SCENE: Front of bar from Scene I. STEPHEN paces in front, waiting for ANNIE to return with his car.

  CUT TO Taxi. POV Passenger (JACK). Passing neon lights and hookers. pulls into bar parking lot. CLOSE UP of STEPHEN’s car. JACK gets out of cab. Cab pulls away.

  CUT TO STEPHEN flagging down cab.

  CUT TO bar parking lot. CLOSE UP of keys on ground next to STEPHEN’s car. JACK sees them and picks them up.

  CUT TO car. JACK approaches. Tries key on door—it fits. Begins to open door.

  CUT TO STEPHEN getting into cab. Cab pulls into bar parking lot STEPHEN sees JACK opening door to his car. STEPHEN jumps out of cab and runs toward JACK.

  CUT TO car door opening. ANNIE (dead) falls out with knife sticking out of her chest.

  CUT TO STEPHEN running.

  CUT TO knife, in JACK’s hand.

  CUT TO STEPHEN running.

  CUT TO JACK’s hand. Knife falls out. JACK runs away.

  CUT TO STEPHEN. Picks up knife. Shakes ANNIE.

  STEPHEN: (on video, screams) Murder!! Help!! Murder!!! Help me!!

  SCENE II

  Dressing Womb

  Los Angeles, 1999

  VOICE: Hurry up, please. It’s time.

  JACK: In womb. Ever since I got here, I have the strangest dreams. Every time I close my eyes, I remember bits and pieces. The truth is—I don’t know if in fact what I remember is really a dream. How can anyone dream of people and places he’s never seen? How can anyone dream of agony unless they’ve known it before—lived through it firsthand. Maybe I have . . . In my beginning . . .r />
  SOUND: Loud buzz. JACK twitches.

  JACK: They watch me like a hawk. Who knows what they’ll do? Whisper. One slip and I’m out of here. This time for good.

  SOUND: Loud buzz. JACK twitches.

  JACK: I mean, I got to use words when I talk to you. See? I can’t ever say what I mean.

  ANNIE appears.

  JACK: Greetings.

  ANNIE: Hello.

  JACK: I’m Jack.

  ANNIE: Is that so?

  VOICE: Hurry up, please. It’s time.

  JACK: You remind me of someone I used to know.

  ANNIE: Who?

  JACK: If I tell you, you’ll laugh. Pause. You remind me of you. You’re not laughing. You’re . . . crying? It’s a compliment, really.

  ANNIE: I think it’s lovely.

  JACK: It’s the best lie I’ve got.

  VOICE: Hurry up, please. It’s time.

  Pause.

  JACK: Are you hungry?

  ANNIE: No.

  JACK: I don’t mean to be rude, but . . . Eats. . . . There’s plenty of food.

  ANNIE: You need food. I need you. You’ll have to leave here soon.

  JACK: What’s that? In your hand?

  ANNIE: A rose.

  JACK: Doesn’t smell like a rose.

  ANNIE: It’s paper.

  JACK: It’s yours?

  ANNIE: You bought it for me.

  JACK: Impossible!

  ANNIE: Did you forget?

  JACK: Look here, miss—

  ANNIE: You bought it out there. When you had money. Out there. You can have it again.

  JACK: I got it all here. I can eat, sleep, and dream.

  ANNIE: I think I’d be bored.

  VOICE: Hurry up, please. It’s time.

  ANNIE: Are you . . . bored?

  JACK: Me? Nah . . .

  ANNIE: How do you know?

  VOICE: Hurry up, please. It’s time.

  JACK: I’ve been out there before.

  SOUND: Loud buzz. JACK twitches.

  JACK: Are you hungry?

  ANNIE: No. Why do you keep asking me?

  JACK: Killing time.

  ANNIE: Nothing’s changed.

  JACK: Whispers. Do you know where I am? . . . I mean—is this—heaven or hell?

  ANNIE: It’s L.A. We’re backstage. The show’s about to begin.

  JACK: Who’s performing?

  ANNIE: You are.

  JACK: Oh, God. Not again.

  SOUND: Loud buzz. JACK twitches.

  JACK: This is the way the world ends.

  ANNIE: Do you remember how it began?

  VOICE: Hurry up, please it’s time.

  JACK: Time for this. Turns on TV.

  BLACKOUT.

  END OF SCENE II

  INTERLUDE

  Video

  TV INTERVIEWER: Okay, Wendy. Tell us—who’s Jack?

  TV WENDY KNIGHT: Don’t ask me. If I knew, I would—natural—tell the police.

  TV INTERVIEWER: Did you talk to the police yet?

  TV WENDY KNIGHT: Talk about torture. Thank God for my lawyers—

  Shot of lawyer sitting next to WENDY.

  TV LAWYER: Fuck you.

  TV WENDY KNIGHT: London.

  TV INTERVIEWER: Poser. Pause. Is Jack the Ripper a lawyer?

  TV LAWYER: Fuck you.

  TV WENDY KNIGHT: Don’t ask me. Exits.

  TV INTERVIEWER: I mean, Jack the Rapper . . . —Pause. Play the goddamn CD.

  TV off.

  AUDIO: Jack the Rapper (hip hop version of “Rhapsody on a Windy Night”)

  SCENE III

  Outside Pub

  Whitechapel, London, 1888

  Half-past one.

  INDIAN HARRY: In dark. What do say, sailor? Helluva whore, see? Pause. Aww, hell.

  LIGHTS: Street lamp fades up.

  INDIAN HARRY: Yells at person who just passed by in dark. Ye’s a fairy!

  MARY JANE: Or killer.

  INDIAN HARRY: Not he. Tha’s a fairy whore, Kelly.

  MARY JANE: ’Ow ’a ’hell d’ye know? Are ye a owin’ ’im, ’Harry. Laughs.

  INDIAN HARRY: Yer the one ’oo’s owin’, Kelly. . . . Three months rent.

  MARY JANE: I know, I know.

  INDIAN HARRY: Thirty-three shillings.

  MARY JANE: I know, I know.

  INDIAN HARRY: An’ Joe say he wants it tomorrow, eh?

  MARY JANE: I’ll ’ave it, I te’ ye.

  INDIAN HARRY: Ye’ll drink it away. Pause. Whore! Hella whore, see? Pause. . . . ’Nother fairy.

  MARY JANE: Yer scarin’ ’em off, ’Arry. Why’n’t ye ’ead ’ome? I’ll make me money in no time, and—

  INDIAN HARRY: Spend it on rum.

  MARY JANE: I mi’ ’ave a sip—

  INDIAN HARRY: Ye’ve been sippin’ already. Ye ’ad a cup in Ten Bells—

  MARY JANE: ’At were bot fer me, ’Arry.

  INDIAN HARRY: Yells. Whore for sale, whore!

  MARY JANE: ’At’s a cop.

  INDIAN HARRY: Peers. Tis? Sorry. Yells. Never mind, sor. (To MARY.) Least ’e isn’t th’ Ripper.

  MARY JANE: ’Oo knows?

  INDIAN HARRY: There’s that fairy again.

  MARY JANE: ’Arry . . . Go home. I’ll have yer rent in the morning.

  INDIAN HARRY: Joe wants it first thing. I’ll pop by at seven.

  MARY JANE: Pop by at eleven.

  INDIAN HARRY: ’At’s up to Joe, lass.

  MARY JANE: I ’ave to ’ave sleep. Make it ten and—Feels HARRY’s crotch. Seductive.

  INDIAN HARRY: I’ll ask.

  MARY JANE: Calls out. Mr. Hutchinson! (To INDIAN HARRY.) Thanks, ’Arry. You’re very kind. Exiting. See you at ten.

  INDIAN HARRY: But Joe said—

  MARY JANE: Change his mind.

  BLACKOUT.

  Later, Outside Same Pub

  Whitechapel, London, 1888

  Half-past two.

  In BLACKOUT.

  MARY JANE’S VOICE: Misher Hushinsan!

  HUTCHINSON’S VOICE: Kelly, lass, why are ye out? It’s ’alf past one, here—and tis rainin’ now—

  MARY JANE’S VOICE: Sor. Ca’ ye len’ me a si’pence?

  HUTCHINSON’S VOICE: I’m broke.

  MARY JANE’S VOICE: ’At’s a shame.

  HUTCHINSON’S VOICE: Lost me job, and me wife is with child again. Thirteen children already, and all under ten. And all sick as could be, like me wife, me mum too—

  MARY JANE’S VOICE: Misher Hushinson?

  HUTCHINSON’S VOICE: Yes?

  MARY JANE’S VOICE: I don’t believe you.

  HUTCHINSON’S VOICE: Ach. I am broke—spent me day at the track. But I was hopin’—

  MARY JANE’S VOICE: Not tonight.

  DRUITT’S VOICE: Breathless. Kelly!

  HUTCHINSON’S VOICE: I’ll pay ye back.

  MARY JANE’S VOICE: Sorry.

  DRUITT’S VOICE: Kelly!

  HUTCHINSON’S VOICE: Good morning, then.

  MARY JANE’S VOICE: Good morning. I must go and find some money.

  Pause. Sound of walking footsteps fading. Sound of running footsteps approaching.

  DRUITT’S VOICE: Breathless. Kelly! Mary Jane!

  LIGHTS up.

  DRUITT’S VOICE: Kelly!

  Enter DRUITT. MARY JANE hides in shadows.

  DRUITT: Mary Jane! . . .

  MARY JANE: Psst . . . Mister—

  DRUITT: Kelly? Is that you?

  MARY JANE: ’Oo wants to know?

  DRUITT: I do.

  MARY JANE: Oh, ye do? Might I ask—’oo are you?

  DRUITT: Montague Druitt.

  MARY JANE: MD.

  DRUITT: Call me John.

  MARY JANE: You a doctor?

  DRUITT: Uh, no. Barrister. Teacher.

  MARY JANE: Stand in the light. Let’s see ye—. . . Oh me God! Steps out of shadows. Ye look just like—

  DRUITT: The Duke.

  MARY JANE: The Duke . . .—’Aay—’Ow’d ye know that?

>   DRUITT: I know Eddy.

  MARY JANE: Ye do? Is ’at a fact?

  DRUITT: It is. You see, Eddy and I used to . . . —

  MARY JANE: What?

  DRUITT: Never mind. Are you Mary Jane Kelly?

  MARY JANE: I’ve seen you haven’t I . . . —

  DRUITT: Are you Kelly?

  MARY JANE: Aye. I remember. I seen ye before. You’re a fairy whore, aren’t ye. ’Arry told me ye were. I said, ’Ow ye know, ’Arry? Ye owin’ him? You know Harry. He says—

  DRUITT: Who’s Harry?

  MARY JANE: Indian Harry.

  DRUITT: I’m afraid—

  MARY JANE: His real name is Tom. Works for McArthy. Real dick of a man. Hey! Tom, Dick, and Harry—Laughs—All wrapped up in one.

  DRUITT: Wanders off. Kelly! Mary Jane!

  MARY JANE: Hey Mister, John—come back.

  DRUITT: I have to find her.

  MARY JANE: Well . . . ye ’ave.

  DRUITT: You sure?

  MARY JANE: I ought to know my own name, sor. But with the Ripper on the prowl—

  DRUITT: I understand.

  Pause.

  MARY JANE: Hey—You aren’t—

  DRUITT: No.

  MARY JANE: Then what ye want me for, sor?

  DRUITT: Well . . . It’s a long story.

  MARY JANE: In street lamp light. Sure it is. Look, i’ ye want me, ye pay for me services, see?

  DRUITT: I’m a fairy, remember?

  Pause.

  MARY JANE: ’Ow well ye know Eddy?

  DRUITT: That’s a long story, too.

  MARY JANE: ’E’s married, ye know?

  DRUITT: Not so loud.

  MARY JANE: Did ye know—

  DRUITT: Covers MARY JANE’s mouth. I know everything.

  MARY JANE: Pulling DRUITT’s hand off her mouth. Ye don’t know me. Not at all.

  DRUITT: You want to die?

  MARY JANE: Maybe. Why?

  DRUITT: The Ripper’s out for blood tonight.

  MARY JANE: What the ’ell ye waiting for?

  DRUITT: I’m—

  CATHERINE: Offstage. Flowers!

  DRUITT: Whispers. —Not the Ripper.

  MARY JANE: Oh, sure. Mister—look—I ’ave to make me rent by the morn. See? If ye want—do me in, that’s fine by me. Otherwise—leave.

  DRUITT: You’re with child, aren’t you?