by Eric Lane
MARGARET: Kristen, I haven’t heard any such—
KRISTEN: At that luncheon two years ago! I sat next to what’s-his-name—that V.P. for development. I told him about my grandmother’s Alzheimer’s. Dammit, dammit, dammit!!
MARGARET: But you don’t have Alzheimer’s—
KRISTEN: Yet! They’re cutting me now before their coverage has to cover me—
(CHIP runs back on, still in his suit but now barefoot.)
CHIP: I don’t have any shoes!! I wore ’em home last time I had to change! Frank! Do you have an extra pair of dress shoes with you?
FRANK: I don’t know, Chip, let me look. No. No, I don’t seem to have brought an extra pair of dress shoes with me today.
CHIP: (To MARGARET and KRISTEN.) Did either or you guys?
KRISTEN: Not that’d fit you.
CHIP: Crap. Crap crap crap. I’ll just …
(He crowds in to stand beside FRANK behind the desk.)
FRANK: What are you doing??
CHIP: I’m hiding my feet. When they come in I’ll just stand back here and smile.
(He gives a little wink and a cocky “finger gun” click.)
FRANK: Not beside me you won’t.
CHIP: Oh, come on!
FRANK: You’ve got your own desk, go smile behind it.
CHIP: (Not leaving the desk, reaching for another candy.) You’re such a jerk, you know that?
(FRANK slaps his hand and CHIP drops the candy.)
Hey!
FRANK: I’d rather be a jerk than a mooch! You always got your goddamn paws in my candy bowl—
CHIP: I thought it was for everybody!
FRANK: It is! But have you ever, EVER brought in any food for the office?
CHIP: I don’t know, probably not—
FRANK: No, the answer is definitely not, because you’re a mooch! A big old moocher mooch!
CHIP: Yeah, well, at least I’m not … screwing the boss!
(Beat. They all stare at him.)
I’m bettin’ there’s some kind of rules against that one, Mr. Smarty Man.
FRANK: I don’t—
MARGARET: We don’t—
FRANK: Margaret!
MARGARET: I mean, it’s ridiculous, Frank!
CHIP: Oh, please, everyone knows!
FRANK: … they do?
MARGARET: There’s nothing to know!
FRANK: (To KRISTEN.) Do you know what he’s talking about, Kristen?
(Beat. She nods sheepishly.)
MARGARET: Oh my God.
KRISTEN: Pretty much everyone in the office pretty much knows.
FRANK: But we were so careful …
MARGARET: There’s nothing to be careful about! Nothing happened!
FRANK: How can you say that?
MARGARET: Because it’s true! Tell them it’s true that it’s not true, Frank.
FRANK: … I thought the things you told me were true …
KRISTEN: I mean, it’s cool with us, it’s none of our business.
MARGARET: Exactly.
KRISTEN: But I think it’s kind of against company policy.
FRANK: (Head in hands.) Oh God oh God oh God …
KRISTEN: But I mean, so are your naps, Margaret, and we’re not reporting those!
MARGARET: My what?
KRISTEN: Every day at 2:13 when you close your office door.
MARGARET: I’m not sleeping!
CHIP: (Sheepishly.) You do kind of snore pretty loud. (Beat.)
MARGARET: I snore?
CHIP: If the air conditioner is off, you can pretty much hear it through the whole office.
FRANK: All those walls and cubicles. It bounces. Like a canyon.
(MARGARET sits on the desk, dazed.)
MARGARET: … I’m dead.
FRANK: Maybe they don’t know.
MARGARET: They know. They always know. I just … I haven’t been sleeping well, the second and third quarters were lousy …
FRANK: I know.
CHIP: Of course you’ve got your reasons—
MARGARET: I do!
FRANK: Like I’m sure Chip has reasons for downloading all that porn.
CHIP: WHAT??
FRANK: I mean, it’s totally your business.
CHIP: I never … I don’t …
(They all stare at him. Pause.)
Does everybody know?
(They all nod.)
Even Desmond?
KRISTEN: Desmond’s the one who pointed it out.
FRANK: And please, you’re in sales. Sales departments are what keep Internet porn alive.
CHIP: … I’m dead.
KRISTEN: The nuns with the Saint Bernard was a little off-putting …
CHIP: That site was an accident! It just popped up! It was a, a cookie—
KRISTEN: I never saw it, I just heard about it.
MARGARET: (To KRISTEN.) Exactly. Like we just heard about you in the storage closet.
KRISTEN: … what?
MARGARET: Oh, come on, Kristen.
KRISTEN: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
FRANK: The storage closet, Kristen. You’ve been huffing the toner cartridges in the closet.
KRISTEN: I never …!
CHIP: Pretty much everyone in the office knows about it, Kristen.
KRISTEN: I don’t … I mean, accidentally, it’s a small room, I might have inhaled once or twice—
MARGARET: I’m pretty sure there’s a company policy on that one.
KRISTEN: Do you think they know?
FRANK: They know. They always know.
KRISTEN: I’m so dead. (To MARGARET.) You’re dead. (To FRANK.) You’re dead. (To CHIP.) You …
CHIP: I wore my fucking flip-flops on the wrong fucking day!!
KRISTEN: Excuse me.
(She walks out.)
FRANK: (To MARGARET.) I just need to know that we had something, Margaret.
MARGARET: What do you think I was losing sleep over?
FRANK: It wasn’t just third-quarter losses?
MARGARET: The third quarter can go to hell. Every quarter can all go to hell, as long as I have you.
FRANK: Do you mean it?
MARGARET: If I’m going down I’m going down like a grown woman. On my terms.
(They’re now behind the desk, crowding CHIP, who is increasingly uncomfortable, but unable to leave …)
FRANK: And I’m going down as the best damn office administrator this crap shack has ever known.
(And they kiss passionately inches from CHIP.)
CHIP: Um. Excuse me …
(And in stumbles KRISTEN, black ink smudges over her nose and mouth, clutching her files and a toner cartridge.)
KRISTEN: THERE IS NOTHING HUMANE … OR RESOURCEFUL … ABOUT HUMAN RESOURCES!!
(FRANK and MARGARET continue kissing.)
CHIP: Kristen!
(KRISTEN staggers back toward the door.)
Where are you going?
KRISTEN: I am taking the Vanguard supple-leather-armrest, quadri-rolling, ergonomic chair from Margaret’s corner office twenty-six stories up and I am chucking that sucker straight through her floor-to-ceiling sun-tint window and I am then chucking myself down all twenty-six stories onto the goddamn smokers bitterly huddling around the front door! I am making my own final parking place all over the freakin’ curb and sidewalk!!
(She staggers out.)
CHIP: Kristen! Somebody! Somebody should stop her, she needs to be stopped—
FRANK: (In mid-kiss, now on the desk, writhing with MARGARET.) You stop her.
CHIP: I can’t! I’m barefoot! If H.R. walks in that door right now and I’m running around barefoot … (Calling out.) Someone? Kristen’s going off the reservation!
MARGARET: (To FRANK.) I love you so much.
FRANK: I love you so much.
CHIP: Anyone?? We’re about to have a serious P.R. challenge! (FRANK’s phone rings.)
FRANK: (To MARGARET.) I have never, never loved any of my superiors like I love you.
&nb
sp; MARGARET: No one is your superior, Frank Dilford.
CHIP: (Calling out.) Leon? Tina??
(Phone rings.)
FRANK: Oh, dammit.
MARGARET: Don’t answer it.
FRANK: Habit. (He grabs the phone.) Good morning, Wilkeson Midwest … (They stare at him.) Yes. Yes. Of course not. No. Thank you.
(He hangs up as KRISTEN staggers back on in a stupor, dragging a rolling chair behind her …)
MARGARET: What.
FRANK: That was H.R. From corporate. They aren’t coming today after all. They said they’d call back when they’re coming to town. Maybe tomorrow.
(They all look at each other … total wrecks …)
MARGARET: Ah.
CHIP: Oh.
KRISTEN: … huh …
MARGARET: I’ll just … take my chair back, Kristen. Thank you.
(She pries the chair from KRISTEN’s grip and wheels it off.)
CHIP: I should go call the Brownsteins and see where that fax is.
(He grabs a candy and hurries off. KRISTEN and FRANK look blankly at one another.)
KRISTEN: I’m gonna take a little break.
(She turns and stumbles off. An offstage thud as she collapses.
FRANK stands alone. Sits at his desk. Straightens his tie. Pause. His phone rings. He jumps. It rings again. He stares at it …
Blackout.)
END OF PLAY
I LOVE NEIL LABUTE
Gary Winter
I Love Neil LaBute premiered in Sticky at Belly Bar, on August 23, 2004. The play was directed by Ali Ayala, with Libby Emmons, Brett England, Matthew Korahais, and David Marcus.
I Love Neil LaBute was produced in Big Sticky at the Flea Theater in October 2004. The play was directed by Ali Ayala, with Jim Boyle, Matthew Korahais, Ana Valle, and Matt Wells.
CHARACTERS
NEIL LABUTE #1
NEIL LABUTE #2
NEIL LABUTE #3
JOSEPH SMITH: Played by a woman.
SETTING
A bar.
SCENE ONE
NEIL LABUTE #1 sits at a bar table with a drink. NEIL LABUTE #2 enters with drink and sits.
NL #2: Hi Neil LaBute
NL #1: Hi Neil LaBute.
NL #2: Hi Neil LaBute.
(NL #3 walks in with a drink.)
NL #3: Hi Neil LaBute.
NL #1: Hi Neil LaBute
NL #2: Hi Neil LaBute.
NL #1: Blackout.
(There is no blackout. NL #1, #2, #3, all just stare at their beer bottles.)
NL #3: Lights up.
(They all drink.)
NL #1: Okay. What do you want to do now?
NL #2: I don’t know if I should write a play, a film or a poem.
NL #3: A poem. Hey! That’s a swell idea.
(They all look serious for a moment. Then they all start cracking up laughing.)
NL #1: Hey—you’re funny Neil LaBute.
NL #3: Hey thanks, Neil LaBute.
NL #2: Hey let’s make a film.
NL #1: We’re out of money.
NL #3: Money? What’re you fucking stupid? We just rob the bar and we’ll have money. How do you think any film gets financed?
NL #1: I didn’t know that.
NL #2: Just watch, asshole.
NL #1: Hey bartender! Yeah you bitch! Empty the cash register and toss over a wad of cash or I’ll come over there and shove this beer bottle up your armpits. Then we’ll work on your other orifices.
(Nothing.)
NL #3: Please, bitch.
(A roll of money comes flying over the bar and into their booth.)
See. You gotta know how to talk to people, fuck face.
NL #2: So look, Neil LaBute. I want to make this film about three guys who are married. They hate their wives and pain-in-the-ass kids. They hate their jobs. Their bosses are assholes. Their coworkers are like shit-eating mole rats. So these guys get together one night and get shit-faced. They sign a contract in blood on a napkin.
NL #1: They all agree to fuck each other’s wives!
NL #3: And make each wife not tell anyone else!
NL #2: Then they agree to fuck each other’s daughters!
NL #1: And the daughters can’t tell anyone or the fathers stop supplying them with crack.
NL #3: And they won’t pay for their high school graduation breast implants.
NL #2: And they’ll cut off their boyfriends’ balls on prom night!
NL #1: They should do that anyway!
NL #3: We are fucking geniuses.
(They drink and high-five.)
NL #2: Blackout!
(They stare at their beer bottles.)
NL #1: Lights up.
NL #2: I’m not sure if this is a film or a play.
NL #3: Well, Neil LaBute, a fucking play is language-driven.
NL #2: And a film is visual-driven.
NL #1: (Snooty British accent.) Is this a language-driven story or visual?
(They all contemplate this very, very seriously.
Then they all look at each other and crack up.)
ALL: Ahhhhh! It’s a fucking movie. We’re fucking geniuses.
NL #3: Blackout.
(They stare at their beers.)
NL #1: Lights up.
(They all have legal pads in front of them.)
NL #2: Okay! Let’s write a scene.
NL #1: We got three couples. John and Betty. Alice and Peter. Mark and Sarah.
NL #3: This is fucking amazing! We’re not even sticking with our original idea.
NL #2: John is having a midlife crisis, even though he’s only twenty-six.
Peter and Alice throw a barbecue, where all the couples meet.
John gets trashed, and Betty is embarrassed. They fight.
John storms into Peter and Alice’s bedroom, where he sulks
about his miserable life.
Then Sarah walks in. She tells John not to sulk, that Betty is an uptight asshole.
John agrees and rapes Sarah. Sarah is pissed, but says, what the fuck. Turns out she too is having a midlife crisis. So they agree to meet every other night at a motel and fuck.
John and Sarah seem rejuvenated.
(Pause. They think.)
NL #1: What next?
NL #3: Mark suspects Sarah is fucking John, but he’s a wimp and doesn’t say anything.
But Peter has been arrested for molesting one of his eight-year-old students, and Alice knows Sarah is screwing John.
NL #2: Alice shouldn’t know. She’s too stupid.
NL #3: Okay. Alice just decides to have an affair with Mark, but John finds out and cuts off Mark’s balls.
NL #1: Why should John cut off Mark’s balls when John is screwing Mark’s wife?
(Silence.)
NL #3: Then Betty should cut off John’s balls and fuck Peter.
NL #2: How can she fuck Peter if he’s in jail?
NL #1: Yeah, and we already established that Peter only likes little girls.
NL #3: What if Peter got out of jail and got counseling?
NL #2: Betty has to remain sweet and naive. That way everyone else can look like complete assholes.
NL #1: Way to go, Neil LaBute.
NL #3: Good thinking, Neil LaBute. That’s why we’re like a fucking modern-day Shakespeare.
NL #2: Thank you, I agree Neil LaBute. We have a window unto the human soul.
(Joseph Smith, founder of the Mormon Church, appears.)
NL #1: Who the fuck are you?
NL #2: Who the fuck are you?
NL #3: Who the fuck are you?
NL #2: The whorehouse is on Clinton Street.
NL #1: Hand jobs outside the Lincoln Tunnel, bitch!
JOSEPH SMITH (JS): I am Joseph Smith, founder of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.