Shorter, Faster, Funnier

by Eric Lane

  BRANDON: (Destroyed.) I’m not a witch. I’m a warlock. (BRANDON storms off.)

  RICK: And when I opened the treasure there were rubies. And sapphires. And diamonds. And they were all packed in there so tight.

  CONNIE: Huh.

  RICK: Emeralds and rubies, and silver, there was silver in there. And I felt shocked and I felt proud, and so lucky, that it was all right there, all at once. Everything I needed was right at my feet, we’d gone from struggling to stay afloat to being a major force. And now the heat doesn’t bother us, and the wind is no problem. We’re going in just the right direction as a major force on the sea.

  CONNIE: When I go flying on Christmas Eve I go down the chimney of everybody, every person on earth, rich and poor, every nation, from home to home to home it’s such a rush as you get going, you get into this rhythm and it’s intoxicating.

  RICK: It must be.

  CONNIE: To make their lives so full and so special with these things they’ve been dying for all year, things they want and they need that are thrilling and wholesome, pure joy that’s really good for them, electric and lasting and real.

  RICK: That’s something.

  CONNIE: To drop off their dreams and head back to the sky and hear billions of people gasping and screaming your name, can you imagine? Giving intensely personal perfect pleasure to every human being on earth and having that be your job? It’s not even a job it’s a privilege, I’m tremendously fortunate to be able to make life on earth worth living and bring the entire planet to this state of indescribable ecstasy again and again there’s nothing like it.

  RICK: Huh.

  CONNIE: And the next day and the next to see entire families still caught in the glow of this golden moment and know you’ve lifted their hearts and brought a sense of hope and dignity and given them the strength to grow and really reach for their dreams and to feel in your gut that every chimney you went down was completely worthwhile.

  RICK: Mm.

  CONNIE: The stockings hung with glee for godsake, and the cookies and milk by the fireplace, and the songs all over the radio and TV specials on every network with every major pop star they can drag out singing your praise and the drawings, entire kindergarten classes doing drawings and collages and plays and your picture’s on their lunch boxes I mean couldn’t you die?

  RICK: (Nods.)

  CONNIE: There’s nothing else I could stand for three seconds after this, any other work would be torture because absolutely nothing else gives such undisputed pleasure with total universal recognition and I’m so ridiculously lucky to be doing exactly what I’m doing I could laugh every second of my blest and spectacular life. (To off.) Hey, Stuart Beamish. It’s me. Connie Cummings. I’m fucking Santa Claus.

  (CONNIE goes. RICK gasps for breath, staggers, fists clenched, suffocating.)

  RICK: She’s lucky all right. Her uncle was Santa Claus. Like that didn’t help. If my uncle was Santa Claus I’d be handing out presents. But my uncle wasn’t Santa Claus. I was on my own. Knocking on doors. Dying in the heat. Till I saw that ship. And there was rubies. And silver. And diamonds. Where’s Chris Dumars?

  (RICK staggers away, falls, crawls off. NANCY stands there. TABBY runs on, laughing and sobbing hysterically.)

  TABBY: Oh Nancy hi, did you know Donna Cunningham is pregnant, it’s so great, they’d been trying for so long, and she’s got this great guy, he gets along great with her friends, and Rich Kravitz has these adorable girls and the sweetest wife, and Sarah Burk’s about to have her fourth, and Bob is such a great dad, and I’m finally working on manuscripts that really mean something to me, they’re new and beautiful and fresh and so strong I can go out and push with every muscle in my body, every cell, all my blood and my skin and my guts and soul.

  (TABBY runs off. NANCY stands there. ALAN enters stepping carefully, struggling for balance.)

  ALAN: Nancy McCann! I’m Alan Roads! I was in your freshman comp! You wrote such great papers! I used to follow you across the green! Gary Fine and Gary Bowman said I should stop stalking you and ask you out! Meanwhile I didn’t know Gary and Gary were going out with each other! I sure wish they were here now but they’re dead! All my friends are gone and I have nothing to say and no idea what I’m doing! Hey the music’s starting, let’s dance Nancy McCann! You had great ideas and now your head’s way up in the trees and I’m still down here, but I’d feel way up there if you’d dance with me! So let’s dance, Nancy McCann! Can we dance?

  NANCY: (Softly.) Yes.

  (A pop tune from years ago plays, such as “We Are Family.” ALAN holds on to NANCY. ALAN and NANCY begin to dance. RICK and TABBY enter dancing together.)

  (At first the dancing is self-conscious. ALAN and NANCY are timid and reserved. RICK and TABBY dance cautiously, carefully showing off to one another. But as they continue to dance, both couples let go, become more expressive, joyous, and free. CONNIE joins the dancing, as do BRANDON and SARAH.)

  END OF PLAY

  RIPPER GIRL

  Elizabeth Wong

  Ripper Girl is an excerpt from Dating & Mating in Modern Times, a collection of twelve cocktail monologues for women by Elizabeth Wong. It was originally commissioned by the Playwriting Center of Theatre Emory for the Brave New Works Festival and produced by Theatre Emory, producing director Vincent Murphy.

  The play premiered on September 20, 2003, at the Mary Gray Monroe Theatre in Atlanta, Georgia. Managing director was Pat Miller; set and lighting design was by H. Bart McGeehon; sound design was by Judy Zanotti; costume design was by Michael Reynolds; the vocal coach was Sheri Mann Stewart; the videographer was Ned Zimmerman; the stage manager was Gretchen E. Butler; Elizabeth Wong directed. The role of Cassie was played by Alex Newell.

  It was first presented as a staged reading at Emory University. Dramaturgy was by Kate Snodgrass; stage manager was Emily F. McMullen; Elizabeth Wong directed. The role of Cassie was played by Laurel Ilvonen.

  CAST

  CASSIE: A teenage girl, très smart, vulnerable, yet always hiding behind self-deprecation and nonchalance; rebellious, insecure, classic under-achiever; her escape is skateboarding but she’s not competitive or planning on making it a career; in fact, she’s not sure of much.

  PLACE

  Her messy bedroom.

  TIME

  Now.

  PLAYWRIGHT’S NOTE

  Special thanks to Vincent Murphy for his enduring support of me and women’s writing; and to my nephew Alex for lending me his skateboard and introducing me to the world of Tony Hawk.

  CASSIE, late teens, has a well-used, banged-up skateboard with lots of stickers affixed.

  CASSIE: We don’t date. Kids my age, we hang out. We just kick it. So basically, if you want a boyfriend, it’s not like he asks you out. Guys just corner you at some party, and if you suck face, that’s it. No one gets all that formal. I tried having a boyfriend once, but I got sick of waitin’ by the phone for him to call, so I just grabbed my board, and headed out to a place I heard about, down by the culvert. It’s a dried-out drainage pipe, a really cool find. I heard some of the biggest rip dogs come down here, but no one was around. Had the pipe all to myself. Which was fine with me. I’m alone a lot. Which is fine. I’m not what you call popular, and like, well, I’m pretty dumb. Stupid actually, that’s what my father says when he sees my report cards.

  (Deftly, she flips up her board with her foot, and catches it with confidence.)

  I was gettin’ into my style. Flowing and slashing like Jackie Chan. I was in a groove, and feelin’ no pain. Just this rush of speed, the rumble below my feet, the sound of my wheels on concrete. This pipe was so sweet. So I got kinda bold. I tried for a goofy foot tail grab and totally missed big-time.

  (She jumps, hits the ground hard, and rolls and rolls and rolls to a stop.)

  Heard this sick pop. Like the bone here is sticking out, and I’m freakin’. I’ve never been hurt bad before, and this was bad. Then this guy, like from nowhere, like out of thin air, like some crazy-ass angel
, comes running up to me. I’m holding my leg like this. Dude goes, “You were rad. For a girl, you have this awesome rubber-band style.” I go, “Shut up.” He goes, “You’re gonna be okay, don’t talk okay?” I go, “Just shut up.” He goes, “I was up there watchin’, you were awesome.” I go, “You thought so?” He goes, “Absolutely. And oh, by the way, I called 911.” I go, “I’m gonna pass out.” He goes, “You should tighten your nuts. Your trucks are loose.”

  On the way to the hospital, he tightens my bushings. Which was prime, coolest thing anyone has ever done for me. Pathetic, but true. I woke up in the ambulance, dude was sitting next to me. He goes, “What’s your name, girl?” I go, “Cassie, I think.” “Well Cassie, I’m Curtis. And you are gonna be okay to rip another day, so lay back and let these good folks do their thing, okay?” So I lay back. And listen to Curtis. He and his friends Phil and Reuben ride the culvert religiously, and he was surprised to see me there, but awestruck by my smooth style. He told me how he’d been down at Wiggy’s, and at Consolidated, and lots of other places. And how his friend Reuben paid gravity tax on the same trick as me, cracked his skull on mister concrete, wrecked up his collarbone and broke a finger, finger, finger. So I got off easy. Considering.

  (She sits up a bit, leaning on an elbow. Dreamily.)

  His voice was real nice. I just listened. Going in and out of consciousness like I was. Every time our eyes met, he just really looked at me. Like no one ever looked before. I didn’t just disappear into nothing. I could even see my reflection. Like in a flash, I just knew. Here was this totally cool guy, a totally cool guy who happened to be totally impressed by ME! Sheesh. I don’t think I’ve impressed anyone before, not my father, not my stepmom, none of my teachers. A real novelty moment for the memory books fersure. (Beat.) I’m not much of a talker. I don’t got a lot to say. And uh, well, I’m not really good at basic conversation. I’m an idiot and a slacker, that’s what my father says, especially when he tries to help me with my homework.

  (She gets up.)

  Whatever. I’m not after any sympathy for my screwed-up existence. But in the hospital, I told Curtis stuff I normally just keep to myself. Like how I’m not very good at baking cookies, or doing geometry, or makin’ friends. Like how my mom died, and I miss her so much. And like how my father married this person who looks like my mom but who isn’t. How like the only time I feel things go right for me is when I’m riding my skateboard. When I’m rippin’, I feel like I’m a genius. And you know what? Curtis? He was a good listener too.

  And after I was done with my litany of self-loathing, dude said, “Cassie, I’m gonna come back tomorrow, and tomorrow, and when you get out of here, I’m gonna visit you at your house. If that’s all right with you. And oh, here’s some flowers. I got ’em from the gift store downstairs in between times when you were passed out cold.”

  (Flips up board with her foot, catches it.)

  Flowers.

  (She hugs her board, wraps her arms around it tightly.)

  I didn’t know what to say. Which was typical. But Curtis didn’t seem to care. This totally cool cute guy, a complete stranger, gave me flowers. (Smiles shyly.) Daisies.

  (Lights slowly out.)

  END OF PLAY

  THE RUMOR

  Dan Kois

  The Rumor was originally produced by the 24 Hour Company at the Atlantic Theater in New York City on June 3, 2002. It was directed by Stu Zicherman with the following cast:

  PR FLACK Danita Winfield

  REPORTER 1 Tor Ekeland

  REPORTER 2 Brice Gaillard

  CHUCK BONNER Garrett Savage

  CHRIS TINGLEY Sean Williams

  LARRY WAKEFIELD Bradford Olson

  CHARACTERS

  PR FLACK

  TWO REPORTERS (playing multiple roles)

  CHUCK BONNER

  CHRIS TINGLEY

  LARRY WAKEFIELD

  PRODUCTION NOTES

  A note on the type: A slash / in a line marks the point of interruption for the next line. For instance, in the following exchange:

  R2: The guy got the game-winning RBI, he can’t spare ten minutes / for us?

  FLACK: He’s with ESPN.

  The cue for the Flack’s line “He’s with ESPN” is Reporter 2 saying the word “minutes.”

  Occasionally, lines will continue through an interruption. For instance, in the following exchange:

  R1: Your former teammate, Eric Davis / made headlines

  TINGLEY: Ah, Eric.

  R1: a few seasons ago by saying that he wouldn’t share a glove … The cue for Tingley’s line “Ah, Eric” is Reporter 1 saying the word “Davis.” Reporter 1 continues through her next line without pause.

  Lights up on a table with three microphones. Reporters are arrayed before the table, waiting for the press conference to begin. A PR FLACK is briefing them.

  FLACK: We’ll have Larry Wakefield, Chris Tingley, and Chuck Bonner out to talk about the game in a moment. FYI, Boston lost tonight so the Yanks are a half game out.

  R1: What about Castillo?

  FLACK: He’s with ESPN.

  R1: Fuckin’ ESPN.

  R2: The guy got the game-winning RBI, he can’t spare ten minutes / for us?

  FLACK: He’s with ESPN.

  R1: Fuckin’ ESPN.

  R2: Will Bonner be addressing Tony’s column in the Post?

  FLACK: I can’t speak to that, Linda.

  R2: So, yeah?

  (WAKEFIELD, TINGLEY, and BONNER enter and sit at the table. They have all recently showered and still have wet hair. WAKEFIELD wears a Yankees hat and a warm-up jacket. TINGLEY wears a muscle shirt with cut-off sleeves and is chewing gum. BONNER has a towel hung around his neck.)

  R1: Nice throwin’ today, Chuck!

  BONNER: Thanks.

  R1: Love that sinker to / Mendoza.

  R2: Chris, were you looking fastball on the homer?

  TINGLEY: Yeah.

  FLACK: Chuck has a prepared statement to read.

  (Clamor.)

  Chuck has a prepared statement and then they’ll all take questions.

  BONNER: Thank you.

  (Reads from a prepared statement:)

  “We live in a society where baseball players are looked up to as heroes. Right or wrong, I know that as a player for the greatest team in the world, my life is a public one. But I try to keep my private life as private as possible. However, recent rumors, including an irresponsible column in yesterday’s New York Post, force me to respond.

  “I know that I live in America, the greatest country in the world, and that part of that greatness is freedom of the press. But I resent these rumors and I resent the fact that I have been forced to dignify them with a response. So I will just say it, right here, right now, so that there can be no confusion: I am not ambidextrous.”

  (Clamor.)

  FLACK: Prepared statement, guys, then questions.

  BONNER: “I am a right-handed pitcher. I pitch with my right hand. I cannot, nor do I want to, throw with my left hand. I only pitch with my right hand. Thank you.”

  FLACK: Questions? (Clamor.) Gary.

  R1: Chuck, Tony Franklin’s Post column didn’t mention any names at all.

  BONNER: Right.

  R1: It just said, I’ll quote here: “There’s a persistent rumor around town that one Yankees star who spends a lot of time throwing the ball with his right hand is actually ambidextrous and has started to think about declaring his manual orientation.” Why do you think the column’s about you?

  BONNER: I don’t know who the column’s about. You’ll have to ask Tony Franklin that.

  R1: Sorry, I’ll rephrase. Do Yankees fans think the column is about you?

  BONNER: I can’t control what people think. That’s obvious. And I can’t convince people what to think. I can only say what I know and what the truth is and that’s I’m right-handed and I throw with my right hand. That’s it. End of story.

  (Clamor.)

  FLACK: Yes, Anne.

>   R2: Coach, is there an ambidextrous player on the Yankees?

  WAKEFIELD: I don’t know. Not that it’s anyone’s business, but I don’t know. I never walked in on anyone throwing with both hands, if that’s what you mean.

  (Clamor.)

  FLACK: Barry?

  R1: Coach, can you explain the comments you made to Esquire magazine last month?

  WAKEFIELD: Whaddya mean, explain?

  R1: Well, / I mean—

  WAKEFIELD: What’s to explain?

  R1: Coach—

  WAKEFIELD: Next question.

  (Clamor.)

  FLACK: Okay—

  WAKEFIELD: “Explain.” Are the majors are ready for an openly ambidextrous player? I said sure. What’s to explain?

  R1: Do you still feel that way, after all the attention / this issue has gotten?

  WAKEFIELD: Yeah, sure I do. We’re all big boys here.