by Eric Lane
(A beat.)
I am Robert Duvall.
(He holds up a picture of Robert Duvall. JAY drinks his Diet Coke.)
JAY: Whatever.
SLY JONES: This is Harold’s last piece of wood.
(He holds up a blood-splattered piece of wood.)
If you look closely, you see a pattern. It could be a Ford motorcar or it could be the constellation Fantastico, the Greek God of Tragic Love and in some translations, a Bowl Used For Cooking Baby Deer. Harold knew Fantastico is my favorite constellation, because I wrote about it in a letter to him when I was five years old. Now when I want to see Harold Cretts, the funniest man alive, the Human Nail, I just close my eyes and look to the stars.
(He closes his eyes.)
(Softly.) Fantastico. Fantastico.
JAY: That’s so gay.
SLY JONES: (Ignoring him, continuing softly.) Fantastico. Fantastico.
JAY: (Earnestly.) Can you really see him?
(JAY doesn’t close his eyes, but he looks up.
SLY holds out his hand; JAY takes it. They both look up at the sky.)
SLY and JAY: (Softly.) Fantastico, Fantastico.
(HAROLD, still on the other side of the stage, chuckles.)
HAROLD: Just say the wood—
(HAROLD holds the wood up to hit his head. Lights out.)
END OF PLAY
PEOPLESPEAK
John Augustine
PeopleSpeak was originally presented in Summer Shorts 2 (J. J. Kandel and John McCormack, producers) at 59E59 Theatres from August 6 through August 28, 2008.
The set and lighting design was by Maruti Evans; costume design by Michael Bevins and Megan Sanders; sound design by Chris Cotone; casting by Billy Hopkins and Jessica Kelly; press by David Gersten & Associates; production stage manager was Micahel Alifanz. Robert Saxner directed the following cast:
SIOBHAN Sherry Anderson
CASSIE Patricia Randell
BRIAN Nick Westrate
CHARACTERS
SIOBHAN: A woman of substance. A permanent temp. Somewhere in her thirties to middle fifties. Any race.
CASSIE: An extremely verbal garment center executive. Between 25 and 40. Any race. But cast younger than actor playing Siobhan.
“A witty and acerbic play.”
—The New York Times
“I loved it. John Augustine is crazy.”
—Dr. Ruth Westheimer
BRIAN: A happy, playful waiter in his twenties to forties. This actor also plays the construction worker, the cabdriver, and the man in the doughnut kiosk. And the other minor characters. Any race.
TIME
Now.
PLACE
Café Sha Sha, and various brief NYC locations.
NOTE
The set is minimal. And changes in “scene” are done simply: i.e., the taxicab is represented by using chairs with wheels on them. Changes for the actor playing the waiter should be done very simply and easily. They should flow with no time “waiting” for actor to change. Find simple, clean ways to do this.
The affirmations Siobhan sings are original melodies written by John Augustine and are included.
In the dark we hear a “self-help tape” A few sentences such as:
“You are loved. So much you are loved. But was there ever a time in your life when you wanted to die? When you thought to yourself, ‘No one will ever love me.’ Have you ever thought this? Have you? You are not alone.”
Lights upon SIOBHAN standing in her apartment. She is holding a gun. She is perhaps crying softly. She looks at the gun. Puts it to her head. Takes a breath. Yes. No. Yes. Gun down. Gun up. Ready to pull the trigger when suddenly:
… Her cell phone rings. It is in her hand already. It is one of the silly annoying familiar rings.
She answers but does not lower the gun.
SIOBHAN: Hello? Oh, hello, Mother. No, I’m at home—I haven’t gone back to work yet. Well, it is called a “leave of absence” because I am on a “leave of absence.”
What am I doing right now? (She eyes the gun.)
Oh nothing. Just wondering what to do next.
Nothing is wrong. I’m fine!
Well, maybe I do. But I think if anyone has a right to sound angry, it’s me.
Oh. Lots of people have it worse? Like who …?! (Perhaps she lowers the gun here.)
Well, she was born that way.
Yes, I am grateful not to be a human torso. But I don’t think it is fair to compare my problems with that woman.
I DO have sympathy for her.
She what??
Oh stop it, Mother. She likes being in the circus. At least she has a job she likes. I would give my right arm to be in the circus. That didn’t come out right.
I was absolutely NOT making a joke. Believe me, Mother. Nothing is funny to me. Nothing! … (Puts gun back up to head.) … Yes, Bob Hope movies are funny. And Jack Lemmon. Yes, Jim Carrey is funny.
Whoopi Goldberg? Not so much. But I think she’s a good actress. I liked her in Ghost.
NO. I am in PAIN! It does not help me to think about Jim Carrey when I am in PAIN! Can we change the subject please?
No. Going shopping is like the last thing I want to do. I get all my clothes wholesale anyway. You know that. It’s one of the perks of working in the garment center.
I KNOW I am still just a secretary! You think I don’t KNOW that? And they don’t say “secretary” anymore. (Holds up gun.) No. I don’t want lunch.
(Scratches her head with gun.) Because, I have this thing I need to do. (Holds up gun.) And now I think I need to get it done today.
I am smiling. (She isn’t.) Oh you can hear that I’m not smiling? OK. Hold on. I have to build up to it. (She smiles a crazy big happy smile.)
(Trying to actually sound happy.) There. How is this? Can you hear the smile in my voice now? Is that better for you?
You’re welcome. Yes, they came in the mail yesterday.
I don’t want to sing them for you now. It makes me feel stupid. Yes, it’s very nice that you write musical affirmations for me. You’re right. Not everyone’s mother does this.
… Oh, OK! But then I’m hanging up. (She picks up a piece of paper.)
(Singing.)
I’m wealthy … Money comes to me.
Money COMES to me.
Thank you very much.
I’m happy … Love is everywhere.
Love is EVERY where.
And I let it in.
I’m safe now. All my doors are locked.
All my windows down. (Quick beat wondering if she is reading the next line correctly.)
Killers lurk outside.
(Speaks.) Very good, Mother. You should put it on YouTube. But I think the third verse needs work.
Yes, I do feel better. I can’t hear you anymore—There’s a dead zone in my apartment. Pun intended.
(Lights begin to shift to: Café. The WAITER enters and sets up a sign that reads, PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED. He also sets up whatever he needs to for the café set. His cell rings, overlapping with SIOBHAN’S last lines.)
SIOBHAN: I’m losing you. I didn’t pay my phone bill. If you can hear me I’m hanging up.
WAITER: (Answering his cell.) Hey there, friend. What up? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Wait. Hold on. (To someone in the audience.) You can pay on your way out. (In phone.) OK! So let me tell you. Well, it was really crowded. But I noticed him right away. And I was like staring at him and staring at him. And I was sending him psychic messages. You know how I do. I told you I am very psychic. Anyway. I was looking at him and I was screaming in my head, “Look at me. Look at me!!”
And then you’ll never guess what he did next.
That’s right. He looked at me. Are you a Pisces too?
(SIOBHAN enters café. She notices the PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED sign and waits to be noticed.)
But isn’t that creepy fabulous? And he was like staring right at me for a really long time.
No, he was NOT undressing me with his eyes. He’s not t
hat way. Besides, it was a clothing-optional beach. He didn’t need to.
SIOBHAN: (She sings.) “I’m angry. No one sees I’m here. No one SEES I’m here. Waiters never come.”
(She drops a book to get his attention. He notices only slightly. She bends down to pick it up as …)
WAITER: Uh-huh uh-huh uh-huh uh-huh.
(The WAITER takes the PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED sign and turns it around. On the other side it reads: PLEASE SEAT YOURSELF. And the WAITER moves off.)
SIOBHAN: Whatever.
(She moves to an available table.)
WAITER: Yes. He is married. Yes, I am kind of seeing him. Does that make me a bad person? It does? No I don’t think it does. Why does that make me a bad person? I’m not married.
SIOBHAN: (Reading from index cards.) “People notice me. I am a relevant person. I deserve to be loved. I deserve to have coffee when I sit in a café. Maybe I deserve to have wine.”
WAITER: But creepy how we were both at Sandy Hook, right? Isn’t that a coincidence? It is too a coincidence. Don’t ruin my serendipity. Serendipity. It means …
(SIOBHAN picks up table tent and strains to read the phone number. She makes a call on her cell.)
I’m not sure what it means. But it’s something good. Like being nude at a beach at the same time is serendipity. I think.
(The café landline phone rings.)
Hold on. The café phone is ringing. It might be my boss. Café Sha Sha. This is Brian.
SIOBHAN: Do you have take-out service?
WAITER: Yes, we have take-out service.
SIOBHAN: And do you also have table service?
WAITER: Yes, we have table service.
SIOBHAN: Then could I get some table service? Over here. At this table. (He looks around. She waves a kind of hostile wave.)
WAITER: Ohmygod. That is so cute. You are adorable. (Into cell.) I’ll call you back. I have a live one here. (To SIOBHAN.) YOU are a problem solver. You saw a problem, and you solved it.
I know most waiters would give you attitude now. They’d be all up in your face with “oh, no she didn’t.” But I’m not that kind of waiter. I like people with spunk.
What can I getcha, honey? I’ve always wanted to say that to someone. Like I’m Eve Arden or some sassy waitress in an old movie. People my age don’t even know who Eve Arden is.
SIOBHAN: Maybe I should get something to go.
WAITER: No, stay here. I like you. You’re … well … you’re tall. And I like that in a customer. I’m kidding. That’s my humor. You’re sitting down. You could be short for all I know.
SIOBHAN: Coffee please, black.
WAITER: Oh my God. Same here. We are so much alike already. I can tell we’re going to be great friends. Ask me how I take my coffee.
SIOBHAN: I’m gonna regret this …
WAITER: Go on. Ask me.
SIOBHAN: OK. How do you take your coffee?
WAITER: Black. Like my presidents.
SIOBHAN: Uh-huh.
WAITER: Sorry. And I promised the boss I wouldn’t make political jokes. Don’t tell him. He’s a Log Cabin Republican and we agreed to disagree.
Coffee (whispers) black. Coming up.
(WAITER exits. She dials her phone.
Noise from the street Car alarm, beat box, etc. WAITER turns into CONSTRUCTION WORKER in hat and orange vest. Sunglasses. And stands at a corner. CASSIE appears as if on a street somewhere. Each time CASSIE walks by—CONSTRUCTION WORKER changes his sign from 61 STREET to 60 STREET, 59 STREET, and so on. CASSIE’S phone rings. CONSTRUCTION WORKER is also on the phone.)
CONSTRUCTION WORKER: You have a NICE ASS, honey.
CASSIE: (Caught off guard but not offended.) Thank you. You have a nice ass too.
CONSTRUCTION WORKER: I am talking to my wife!
CASSIE: Oh. (Now she is offended.)
(CONSTRUCTION WORKER walks off while holding phone and becomes the MAN IN DOUGHNUT BOOTH.)
CASSIE: (Looking at cell.) Who is this calling … Siobhan!
Hey there! I have been a MESS without you. I’ve missed ALL my appointments. EVERYthing in the office is in shambles. I can’t do anything for myself. And that is a tribute to YOU! You keep me organized.
So, how are you? Are you done grieving? Or recovering? Or whatever you were doing? I don’t mean to sound—however I sound. I’m just anxious to have you back. Are you ready to come back to work?
SIOBHAN: Hi. Yes. Well. I don’t know. Hello?
CASSIE: How are you feeling? I really want to know.
SIOBHAN: I think I’m doing pretty well for someone who just doesn’t give a fuck anymore.
CASSIE: Oh, well that’s good.
SIOBHAN: I’m having a hard time.
CASSIE: Oh, I know you are, angel. Anyone would. I am so sorry. But remember. You are an ox. You are a great big strong ox. And I mean that in the nicest way. You don’t look like an ox. You’re just very strong like an ox. Do oxen still exist? Or are they extinct. Google that for me, honey. I always like to learn new things. But back to you. You’re doing well?
(CASSIE walks toward MAN IN DOUGHNUT BOOTH.)
SIOBHAN: No, I’m not. I am having a really hard time with this whole thing.
CASSIE: Siobhan, honey. I am there for you. Or here for you. (To DOUGHNUT MAN.) Could you give me a bagel with a schmear? (In phone.) I am here and there for you.
(To man.) A schmear. Cream cheese, honey. Where are you from? Afghanistan? Oh, sorry. Just the coffee. No cream cheese. Forget the bagel. Forget the coffee. (Into phone.)
Didn’t you read the book I sent over? When Bad Things Happen to Good People?
SIOBHAN: No. I’m reading my Louise Hay book again and my Love Is Letting Go of Fear book and I have my mother’s musical affirmations. Oh. And a book called Toxic Parents. I like that title. And some other book someone gave me—About how not to be angry at the goddamn motherfuckers who are ruining my life book.
CASSIE: No. You know what? None of those books work. You have to read When Bad Things Happen to Good People. You! are a good person.
SIOBHAN: Uh-huh.
CASSIE: Siobhan? Repeat. You are a good person.
SIOBHAN: You are a good person.
CASSIE: No, say I am a good person.
SIOBHAN: YOU are a good person?
CASSIE: Forget it, honey. We’re both good people.
(SIOBHAN cries.)
Siobhan? Forget work for today. Let’s meet at Bergdorf. We’ll steal designs and I’ll knock them off. We can shop till we drop.
MAN PASSING ON STREET: I hate that expression. Shop till you drop. It’s stupid.
CASSIE: Who asked you? Shut the fuck up!
SIOBHAN: What?
CASSIE: Not you, honey.
MAN ON STREET: (Into cell.) Some old lady just told me to shut the fuck up. What is wrong with people?
CASSIE: I am not an old lady! I haven’t even had Botox yet, ya big lug. I’m sorry. You little lug. Meet me at Bergdorf.
MAN PASSING ON STREET: OK. After I finish my call.
CASSIE: Not you, putz. My friend.
SIOBHAN: (Through her tears.) Bergdorf? Where is that again? (She hyperventilates.) I don’t know where that is. I don’t know how to find it. I don’t have a GPS on my phone.
CASSIE: Oh, honey. Forget it. I’ll grab a cab and come to you. Now, no more tears. Do you hear me? No more tears. Pretend you’re a shampoo. Stop crying. No more tears. I’ll be right there. Where are you?
SIOBHAN: Downtown.
CASSIE: Oh God. You’re not at that Paris Commune, are you?
SIOBHAN: Café Sha Sha.
CASSIE: Good. ’Cause I don’t do Paris Commune ever since Ari and Tony left. It’s still lovely—but I want to keep my memories.
SIOBHAN: What?
CASSIE: Nothing, honey. A little joke to myself. Taxi!
(She gets into a “cab” represented by chairs with wheels. The cabdriver is on his cell and driving. He is speaking in another language.)
FOREIGN TAXI
DRIVER: Lazoomish. Lazoomish. Kapechaka? AH HAA! Lazoominsh. Nein! NEIN! Ashkanazi.
CASSIE: Could you not talk on the phone while you drive? It’s rude. And anyway—Isn’t there a law in New York?
TAXI: Zoom zoom zoom. Jibberish BITCH Americans Jibberish jibberish. Just kidding. I LOVE America! Zoom zoom zoom. Lady. I no talk on phone.
CASSIE: Well, thank you.
(The driver starts to text instead.)
NO! Please DO NOT TEXT while driving. That is worse than talking! Are you INSANE? Not you, honey, the cabdriver. You hear me? It is RUDE to text on the phone when you are driving. Can’t people go one second when they’re not on the phone?