by Eric Lane
A woman sits on an airplane. She is reading a book. A man sits next to her. They are midflight.
ROGER: I’m sorry to ask, you look so content so calm so reasonably relaxed I’m sorry to ask. Your wrist is just so, and your shoes are just right, what are they pumps, mules, puels? I’m sorry to ask, but that shaft of light is hitting your hair and making it glow. And I know, I do, look at me not exactly coiffed, ’cause this crazy way of getting from here to there makes me well want to die, with its clouds and oh God the sky, I can’t help it I’ll stop, the rhyming I’ll drop. But the question’s still in here: I’d love to know yet I hate to ask, but you, you are the smallest woman I’ve ever seen. So in between the pretzels and the plastic cup of cola, while we’re madly flying over Massapequa toward Madagascar, with Anawanda on the right and Alabama on the left, I am compelled while I eat my salted nuts, and if you don’t mind, it’s a nervousness of mine, take out my hibachi and grill shrimp kebabs: just how tall or small are you, and how delicate are your ankles when they’re undressed and, what, if I dare ask, is your name?
JOAN: I was trying to read.
ROGER: Yes, of course, reading. I should read, too. I love to read, don’t you? I mean. Let me try again. And then I’ll leave you be, but you are so, well, so well, petitely proportioned. I don’t mean to be fresh. Fresh is not a word that is used on me. But maybe, with your book, you would like a pear, a peach, a giant seedless watermelon? I know the seeded is tastier, but the seeds on the plane, with the size of the seats, is, well, not so good.
JOAN: I don’t think you should cook on the plane. Really. A flame. A hot burning flame would be, just think of the heat and the oxygen. I’m reading!
ROGER: What are you reading?
JOAN: About a lawyer who is also a judge. A heroic man who would do anything for the small people of the world.
ROGER: I’m a lawyer.
JOAN: Coincidence.
ROGER: Perhaps there’s some sense in coincidence.
JOAN: Excuse me.
ROGER: How ’bout a cream puff?
JOAN: I shouldn’t.
ROGER: I’m a lawyer. I could argue that and win. So trust me. It’s a chocolate one. Very chocolate. It’s more chocolate than I can describe. What’s your name? If you don’t tell me, I’ll make it up. You are Tiny Teena. You are Teenie Tyna. You are Itty Lily. You are Eenie Meenie. You are Lilly Putia. You are—
JOAN: Joan.
ROGER: Even better. How tall are you, Joan?
JOAN: About a foot.
ROGER: Ah. That means your foot, then, is far less than a foot.
JOAN: It does.
ROGER: That means your toes could fit in my nose.
JOAN: It does.
ROGER: That means your—
JOAN: I thought you weren’t fresh.
ROGER: I’m not. I’m freshly flawed, flaught, fraught, fnaught, fmaught—. Try the puff please please please.
JOAN: Okay. If it will quiet you down.
(He feeds her the cream puff piece by small piece, into her tiny mouth. It is the best puff she’s ever had.)
ROGER: Well?
JOAN: Well.
ROGER: More?
JOAN: Just a bit. (He feeds her. While eating.) May I ask: how tall are you?
ROGER: I’m twelve feet, eight inches.
JOAN: Wow. That means.
ROGER: It does.
JOAN: What’s your name, big lawyer who carries so much food?
ROGER: Roger.
JOAN: We never could, you know, Roger, it would never work. How could it would it? Work? Impossible.
ROGER: Keep eating.
JOAN: I mean the mechanics. Even if I fell for you. Or you fell for me. I mean. You would fall a lot farther. And I would fall only a little. That would be dangerous. For you.
ROGER: Danger is my middle name.
JOAN: And your last name?
ROGER: Shmeck.
JOAN: Oh, come on. (He shrugs.) Enough, Roger Danger Shmeck. I don’t have room. For more.
(She stops him from feeding her.)
ROGER: Just a little. Bite. From the inside, where it’s sweetest and softest and nothing like it seems.
(He tries to feed her the cream from inside the puff.)
JOAN: I’m full.
ROGER: Try this.
JOAN: What is it?
ROGER: Arroz con pollo.
JOAN: I can only eat so much.
ROGER: You could fit in more, if you danced on my knees. Or jogged in my hair.
JOAN: I’ve been through this before.
ROGER: Not with me. See, my thighs are wide, my head is flat, my heart is large.
JOAN: I cannot see your heart.
ROGER: But I bet you can hear it.
(She listens; she cannot hear it.)
JOAN: I only hear the plane.
ROGER: Look, I brought seeds that we can plant then watch them grow. I have chicks that we can raise till they give eggs for a soufflé. Try this.
JOAN: What is it?
ROGER: Pickles for a picnic. Brisket for a barbecue. It’s the middle of June, it’s the beginning of summer. A taste for everyone. And for everyone who doesn’t have a someone, or only has the wrong one, there’s always the hope for the real one, even when, or especially if, it’s impossible, it would never work, it couldn’t work, it can never be. But if it were you, I would thank you every day. So, take another bite. Joan. When you think you can’t, open your mouth and taste what I have.
JOAN: Well. Roger. Danger. Shmeck. I might. I will. But only if you’ll pick me up so I can adjust the little blower near the light button. It’s driving me crazy.
ROGER: Gladly.
(He picks her up over his head, she reaches for the blower button and aims its airstream at his face. He pulls her down to him. They kiss. Her tiny lips on his right eye. Then on his left eye. Then lips to lips, though his cover half her face. He almost tosses her across the plane, he’s so happy, but instead, he puts her back in her seat.)
I never knew such citrus lips.
JOAN: And I thought only small was beautiful.
ROGER: And I thought you never meet anyone you ever want to talk to on a plane. You know, it’s always the kind of guy that won’t shut up, that goes on and on and all you want to do is watch the bad movie and pray the plane doesn’t crash and—
JOAN:—Shut up my sweet-tasting lawyer with too much food and lushest lips.
ROGER: Show me your ankles.
JOAN: If you show me yours.
(They take off their shoes and socks, show each other their ankles. The roof and the walls and the floor of the plane disappear. And they are flying high, ankle to ankle. Then JOAN picks ROGER up, over her head, as they soar up into the sky.)
END OF PLAY
THE WHOLE TRUTH & NOTHING BUT THE BLUETOOTH
Laura Shaine
The Whole Truth & Nothing but the Bluetooth was first presented in a staged reading at Actors & Writers in Olivebridge, New York, on September 29, 2007, as part of an evening Midnight City—extreme comedy written and directed by Laura Shaine. The cast was as follows:
EVA MARIE Sigrid Heath
MEL Sarah Chodoff
A not-so-young woman, MEL, is preparing, not just for a date, but for THE date. She is studying herself in a cheval glass, a freestanding mirror, and speaking on a Bluetooth phone to her best friend, EVA MARIE, who can be offstage, or in an isolated light, also on a Bluetooth phone connector.
MEL: I’m so scared; I feel like canceling, I haven’t been on a date … in … in nine years! I had almost sincerely given up … except this tiny itsy bitsy pilot light stayed on and now I know it was a flame—This is it! He’s the One! But I feel like I could throw up if he kisses me … That’s attractive, huh? I can’t believe he’s even interested—You should see him, Eva Marie—He is … He is everything—he’s smart, he’s talented … I hate to say this as it sounds shallow—he’s RICH! He is creative but he invested! He’s retired but still working! He has his own business, hi
s own apartment, his own house in the country … and … his own boat! He’s my age! Oh, maybe three years younger and in amazing shape. I don’t know if he works out or if it is natural, but you can see his pecs through his shirt … they flex … The shirts look custom-made, because his biceps bulge beyond normal size! Omigod, everything bulges. It was natural bulge, I just know it—He had no time to take Viagra—I felt that flag go up on the mailbox when he kissed me good night on the street! I almost dragged him in then, but I thought—No, I have to get ready! I have to prepare, so that’s when he asked me out for tonight, and I said—YES! I bought a new dress and had a bikini wax! I dyed my hair and went tanning even though I know it’s terrible. I haven’t felt like this since I was … thirteen! He’s cute! He’s hot!
EVA MARIE: Guys our age are not hot … at best they are … tepid.
MEL: Okay … no, not tepid … warm! His eyes … oh, Eva Marie, they kindle and spark … When he looks at me, his face kind of goes … soft …
EVA MARIE: Yeah, well, he is in love … wow I didn’t think that still happened. I thought love was diagnosed now—as a disease … That it is the up stage of bipolar!
MEL: I feel it too—when I look at him, or even think about him!
EVA MARIE: You’re GONE!
MEL: So should I risk it?
EVA MARIE: Risk what?
MEL: You know. Full disclosure? Nudity! Omigod. I am going to faint. I feel … convulsions coming on, they are real, Eva Marie … I am going to become an epileptic!
EVA MARIE: You can’t BECOME an epileptic, you either are one or you’re not, and you would know by now.
MEL: I don’t know—so much else has … gone wrong with my body, you know the whole truth—you’re the only one who knows! How can I stand naked before this perfect buff man? I’m not perfect! I’m … I’m pretty damaged at this point; I am “as is.” He’ll run, he’ll set an Olympic record getting out of my apartment!
EVA MARIE: He won’t run, Mel. Male horniness can be … immune to a lot. They see “naked,” it doesn’t matter about the details.
MEL: In this case, the details are from Columbia Presbyterian! Oh, Eva Marie … I’m scared! You know … the left one, is gone.
EVA MARIE: It’s okay—you had reconstruction. He might not even notice in his blind lust.
MEL: He’ll notice. There’s no nipple. And the reconstruction has … well … failed. It kind of deflated and sank a long time ago … collapsed like a bad underdone cupcake. Eva Marie, it isn’t attractive. Even I can’t look. And that’s only the top half. How do I tell him about my hips?
EVA MARIE: You don’t have to! They’re replaced! They work perfectly. You said yourself—You can swivel.
MEL: Yes, hips of steel bearings and rollin’! “Watch out for me, guys, I am a serious threat!” Get between these thighs, and you’ll remember it.
There are fine-line scars, but even THAT is NOT the problem! The problem is with replaced hips, you can’t assume … the usual positions. The first thing the hospital gives you is a chart—It’s like … a choking poster! With Xs over your pelvis … Not this way, or that way … Not my favorite ways! What do I do? Hang the poster—“forbidden positions”—over the bed, and hope for the best? What if we get carried away and my hips fall out? Hip replacement! It sounds so … geriatric!
EVA MARIE: You are many things, but you are NOT geriatric. Connect it to a sports injury. That sounds vital. Oh, it’s probably irrelevant what’s been replaced or how you look—you know they all like a b … (She doesn’t say blow job.) Just get out your bib and tucker and suppress your gag reflex, and romance will bloom! Just be honest. You’re honest and funny—that will matter MORE! Your charm and wit will carry the day … Do you really think at our stage, a man is primarily looking for tits and ass?
MEL: No, but I bet he’d like them to be there.
EVA MARIE: … Trust me, it’s not essential—you offer more interesting assets—Would YOU care if he was down a testicle, or even two?
MEL: No. It wouldn’t matter … at all. You always make me feel better!
EVA MARIE: Yeah.
MEL: So it’s going to be fine? We’ve been telling each other everything will be fine for thirty years … is it really true? We’ve been saying we’re beautiful and lovable to each other for three decades … what if THAT isn’t …
(The door buzzer rings.)
Here he comes! Well, hello hello! Don’t you look nice. Listen, I have a few things I have to tell you before, you know before … Have a drink, make it a stiff one! … Well, here goes … this is a little embarrassing but I know you can handle it … (She laughs.) What’s left of it!
(Lights blink, seductive music plays.)
(A time change can be assumed to have occurred—MEL has vanished, the stage is empty. She can be heard offstage.)
MEL: I’ll be out in a second—I’m just changing into something more comfortable, actually it isn’t more comfortable … but it’s going to hide everything we just discussed … I am so glad, none of it makes a difference! I was so scared! Well …
(She enters, still finishing her sentence.)
Here I am …
(The room is empty; the man is assumed to have fled.)
(Finishing in heartbreak.) … was. (She cries out from her soul.) Oh, Eva Marie!
(THERE IS A TERRIBLE SILENCE. MEL falls to her knees, gropes for the Bluetooth.)
Eva Marie! May Jane! He left! He just left without saying good-bye! Where are … YOU? Eva Marie, Eva Marie!
(There is no answer, and MEL lies on the floor, sobbing.
Lights up on EVA MARIE, who has also fallen to the floor, her Bluetooth extender lying near her face … She too is in extremis.)
EVA MARIE: (Whispering.) What about me, Mel? What about me?
MEL: Eva Marie—Eva Marie? If you don’t answer … I’ll …
EVA MARIE: (Pauses for two seconds, as she considers not answering; then she reattaches the Bluetooth and responds, flat but comforting.) I’m here.
MEL: (… Looking up, brightening.) I’m … glad.
END OF PLAY
THE WOODS ARE FOR SUCKERS AND CHUMPS
Megan Mostyn-Brown
The Woods Are for Suckers and Chumps was first performed at the Stella Adler Summer Conservatory in the summer of 2009. Melissa Ross directed the following cast:
MANDA Alice Oshima
ZOE Daniella De Jesus
The woods. MANDA, sixteen, sits in front of a pile of sticks and leaves. Aside from her hooded sweatshirt she is dressed totally inappropriately for a camping trip. She unsuccessfully tries to start a fire by rubbing two sticks together.
MANDA: Ugh … screw it.
(She tosses the sticks aside and curls up near the small pile of sticks, pulling her sweatshirt closer around her and her hood up over her head.
ZOE, sixteen, enters carrying a set of directions. She stops and stares at MANDA.)
ZOE: What’re you doing?
MANDA: I’m dying of hypothermia. Leave me alone.
ZOE: Why don’t you just make a fire?
MANDA: I tried. That whole rubbing-two-sticks-together thing is total crap.
ZOE: Use a lighter.
MANDA: I lost my lighter in the grass somewhere.
ZOE: Oh.
(Beat.)
Where’s everybody else?
MANDA: Adnan and Chelsea are doing it somewhere behind a bush or something. And Leila thinks she found some ’shrooms so everyone else went down to check it out.
ZOE: How do they know they’re not poisonous?
MANDA: Huh?
ZOE: The mushrooms. How do they know they’re the fun, hallucinate-your-face-off kind and not the oh-shit-you’re-dead-cuz-they’re-poisonous kind.
MANDA: Toby has a book … or something … that tells you.
ZOE: Oh. Yeah. I guess he would.
(Beat. MANDA sits up.)
MANDA: Wait a minute. I thought you weren’t speaking to me anymore.
ZOE: I’m not. I fo
und the directions to the tent but they’re in French.
MANDA: Oh. Well I don’t take French so—
ZOE: Duh. I wasn’t looking for your help.
MANDA: Ohhh-kay. Well unless you have a lighter or magically know how to make a fire appear you can like step off till everyone gets back.