Take Ten II

by Eric Lane

  PHYLLIS: What… what'll happen to her?

  ROLLO: The daughter-in-law picks her up, checks her insides for valuables, doesn't find nothing, she sends Portmanteau down the Red Mile.

  PHYLLIS: (in horror) The Salvation Army??

  ROLLO: She got Clearance Sale written all over her tweed.

  PHYLLIS: (rising panic) I want to get out of here! Somebody CLAIM me!!!

  ROLLO: Hey, hey, hey. Kid, that ain't you. You're just outta the warehouse, ya dig? You got miles of blue sky up ahead.

  CREW: (offstage) CAN I HELP YOU?

  LOUISE: (Tenses, alert with anticipation.) Hssst! Freeze! It's a pickup!

  CREW: (offstage) COULD I SEE YOUR CLAIM CHECK?

  (The suitcases sit forward, waiting expectantly. PHYLLIS closes her eyes tightly, crossing her fingers.)

  PHYLLIS: Me. Me.

  CREW: (offstage) YUP. IT'S RIGHT OVER THERE.

  (Loud sound of footsteps. The suitcases hold their breath, hopeful. Suddenly DICK is “pulled up” by the shoulder.)

  DICK: Me??

  PHYLLIS: (eyes open) Him???

  DICK: (yelling into the wing) IT'S ABOUT GODDAMN TIME! WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN??

  (He is “carried” off, stiff-shouldered. The others sit stunned.)

  MILDRED: (quietly heartbroken) Mercy. My land.

  PHYLLIS: He got picked up?? Out of all of us? Him??

  ROLLO: (Shrugs, mournful.) As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods. They use us for their sportsacks.

  MILDRED: Isn't that … ?

  ROLLO: Shakespeare. My asshole, he used to shack up with an actress he met down in Isla Mujeres. I carried her scripts.

  AMBER:: I hate theatre.

  PHYLLIS: (voice starting to tremble) I'll never get home now.

  AMBER:: Quit snivelling. We're all on the shelf.

  LOUISE: Speak for yourself, Miss Thing. Idon't intend to remain in this venue.

  ROLLO: Drop the attitude, will you? You're luggage.

  LOUISE: I'm Louis Vuitton! I'm a French attachÉ!

  ROLLO: You're Louise Vuitton, from Paris, Queens. Anybody can see that you fell off a truck.

  LOUISE: (bristling) I'm hand-tooled!

  ROLLO: Is that what they call it in Hong Kong? You're Nau-gahyde, buddy. A knockoff. A fake.

  (LOUISE draws herself up with great, wounded dignity.)

  LOUISE: … Well, a girl can dream, can't she?

  ROLLO: (softening) Sure she can. Plump up your pillow and dream of the Louvre. (Sotto voce.) Shit. Me and my big … Gets me into more trouble.

  PHYLLIS: What do you mean?

  ROLLO: I see dead baggage. The future, the past. I can't help it. I always have. Thing is, most people, they don't wanna know.

  PHYLLIS: Can you see my future?

  ROLLO: You're best off not knowing. We're all flying blind. But you know what? We land. Somehow or else—call it kismet or roll of the fuckin'dice—all of us land on the right piece of road.

  PHYLLIS: So my Realtor is gonna come back for me, right? I'll be found?

  ROLLO: (Hesitates, doesn 't like lying.) …. Sure, kid. Of course you will. Here, put your strap on my shoulder.

  PHYLLIS: Thanks, Rollo.

  (She settles her head on his shoulder, then puts her thumb in her mouth. ROLLO strokes her hair softly.)

  ROLLO: You're gonna get home, kiddo. All us lost chickens. One way or another, we're all goin'home.

  (PHYLLIS sucks her thumb. ROLLO stares straight ahead.)

  FAITH

  Eric Lane

  Faith was first performed by Orange Thoughts Productions in New York City, in April 2003. The author directed the following cast:

  MICHAEL James Georgiades

  FATHER Joel Rooks

  CHARACTERS

  MICHAEL: Twenties to thirties, average looking. FATHER: A priest in his forties to sixties.

  SETTING: A confessional.

  (A confessional, simply represented by two chairs. FATHER, a priest in his forties to sixties, listens to MICHAEL 'S confession. MICHAEL is in his twenties to thirties. Average looking.)

  MICHAEL: … Bless me father for I have sinned.

  FATHER: How long has it been since your last confession?

  MICHAEL: Many years.

  FATHER: Tell me your sins, my child.

  MICHAEL: I have killed someone.

  (A pause.)

  FATHER: Go on.

  MICHAEL: Over and over. In my mind. Killed them for what they have done. And I'm scared.

  FATHER: Scared of what? MICHAEL: What will happen.

  FATHER: What will happen?

  MICHAEL: When it's no longer in my mind but me, actually— not thinking but when it's time—Trying to believe, to find a reason not to—But less and less and wondering—

  FATHER: Wondering what?

  MICHAEL: Why?

  FATHER: Wondering why what?

  MICHAEL: How someone could have done this—could have taken so much, when I trusted, believed—Why did I believe—?

  FATHER: You were right to have faith.

  MICHAEL: Not then. Not in him. He stole from me. Took things—

  FATHER: Things.

  MICHAEL: Not things. But important—Irreplaceable. Not things.

  FATHER: Something closer to you.

  MICHAEL: My youth.

  My joy.

  My innocence.

  He took my innocence.

  FATHER: He hurt you.

  MICHAEL: My soul. He took my soul.

  FATHER: No one can take your soul. Only the Lord has that divine power.

  MICHAEL: Took it. Pretending he knew things. Secrets. I didn't know.

  FATHER: Your soul is still yours. No one can—

  MICHAEL: Took it. When it wasn't his to take. To hold. Close. Me not knowing, thinking I should believe. That this is faith. That this is what God wants from me.

  FATHER: You must forget.

  MICHAEL: How can I forget?

  FATHER: You must forgive.

  MICHAEL: Forgive?

  FATHER: You must.

  MICHAEL: No. No forgiveness. Not for this. Not h

  FATHER: The Lord forgives our sins.

  MICHAEL: I'm not the Lord.

  FATHER: Washes them away.

  MICHAEL: Too easy.

  FATHER: Offers salvation.

  MICHAEL: Only words.

  FATHER: And hope.

  MICHAEL: No meaning.

  FATHER: To those who pray.

  MICHAEL: I'm out of prayers.

  FATHER: Prayers are answered.

  MICHAEL: I can't.

  FATHER: Redemption.

  MICHAEL: No.

  FATHER: Salvation.

  MICHAEL: Can't.

  FATHER: Hope.

  MICHAEL: None.

  FATHER: Faith.

  MICHAEL: Gone.

  FATHER: Joy.

  MICHAEL: I can't.

  FATHER: Love.

  MICHAEL: I can't forgive you. (A beat.)

  I can't forgive you.

  FATHER: Tell me your name.

  MICHAEL: You don't get to ask. You don't get to do anything. You listen. And you pray. For what you've done to me.

  FATHER: Who—

  MICHAEL: Shut up. (A beat.)

  You don't even know who I am. Were there so many? You fucking asshole. How many Hail Marys is it going to take to wipe away your sins? Now it's your turn. I want to hear it. Or I tell. Everyone. (Silence.)

  Now.

  FATHER: What, my son—?

  MICHAEL: I am not your son. I never was your son. I want to hear your confession.

  FATHER: I can't.

  MICHAEL: Trust me.

  FATHER: Only him.

  MICHAEL: Where's your faith?

  FATHER: My faith is in Jesus.

  MICHAEL: Don't even try it.

  FATHER: In the Lord Jesus Christ.

  MICHAEL: Jesus Christ—

  FATHER: In his divine mercy.

  MICHAEL: Shut the fuck up.

&nb
sp; FATHER: I ask for his forgiveness.

  MICHAEL: What about mine?

  FATHER: Forgive me if I have sinned.

  MICHAEL: “If.” What kinda bullshit is that?

  FATHER: If I have not seen—

  MICHAEL: Fuck you.

  FATHER: Not followed—

  MICHAEL: How could I have followed?

  FATHER: For what I am about—

  MICHAEL: What are you about?

  FATHER: To do.

  MICHAEL: I was five years old. Do you remember? I was five years old.

  (A moment.)

  (Blackout.)

  FIGHT DREAMS

  Alison Weiss

  Fight Dreams was presented in workshop at the Ensemble Studio Theatre's Intern Fest (India Cooper, Lab Director) in New York City, in June 2001. It was directed by Moira Squier. The cast was as follows:

  BRADLEY: Mark Frankos

  DINAH: Gwendolyn Wilson

  DR. WERMAN Michelle O'Connor

  JULIO Christos Klapsis

  PHARMACIST Laura Maxwell

  Fight Dreams premiered as part of Five by Five and One by Ives (Sara Sessions and Alison Weiss, coproducers) at the HERE Arts Center in New York City, in December 2002. It was directed by Richard Harden. The cast was as follows:

  BRADLEY: Roger Del Pozo

  DINAH: Alison Weiss

  DR. WERMAN Sara Sessions

  JULIO Christos Klapsis

  CHARACTERS

  BRADLEY: Twenties to thirties, sensitive, devoted, and whiny.

  DINAH: Twenties to thirties, neurotic and pushed to her limit.

  DR. WERMAN: Thirties to fifties, intellectual, caring, and businesslike.

  PHARMACIST: Any age, lazy and jaded.*

  CUSTOMERS: Nonspeaking, all types, annoyed by a long wait in line at the pharmacy.*

  JULIO: Twenties to thirties, handsome, powerful, and fantastical.

  (BRADLEY: and DINAH: are in bed together, snuggling and kissing.)

  BRADLEY: God, I love you so much. I can't imagine life without you, Dinah.

  DINAH: I love you, Bradley.

  BRADLEY: Do you really love me?

  DINAH: I do! (They kiss.) Mmmm.

  BRADLEY: Pookie? Is something bothering you?

  DINAH: (Kisses him.) What do you mean?

  BRADLEY: You can't hide from me, love. You know how in synch we are … Look, just… tell me what's making my angel sad, and we'll work on it. We'll work on us.

  DINAH: (totally fed up all of a sudden) I can't do this anymore.

  BRADLEY: Oh come on now! You are the most precious, exquisite—

  DINAH: I can't go on like this.

  BRADLEY: Like what?

  DINAH: IMAGINING YOU! BRADLEY:

  BRADLEY: What?!

  DINAH: Ugh, this is pathetic. I can't even fantasize anymore! This is supposed to be my healthy fantasy life, and it's come to this!

  BRADLEY: You're thinking too much again, honey.

  DINAH: You don't fucking exist, Bradley. Hate to be overanalytical here, but it's one hell of a stumbling block in this relationship.

  BRADLEY: I don't understand this. Everything was perfect a moment ago. I'm your fantasy, for chrissakes. I was doing all the right things….

  DINAH: Of course you were doing the right things, Bradley. I'm the one thinking them up!

  BRADLEY: We were spooning …

  DINAH: I was curled up on my side, alone. Look, there wouldn't even be enough room for you in this bed!

  BRADLEY: Sure there is!

  DINAH: Well, maybe if I move the Times (Begins shuffling papers, books, and teddy bears around the bed.) Oh what the hell am I doing?! I'm a mess! (Tossespapers, cries.)

  BRADLEY: Maybe you're bored. Are you bored with me?

  DINAH: I—I don't know. Maybe I just wish you could do things on your own. Like … I always wanted a man with a pulse. And maybe a working set of anatomical features strong enough to sustain human life.

  BRADLEY: Good lord, do you even hear how demanding you are right now? Will you please just get out of your head, Dinah? I'm here for you!

  DINAH: It's just not the same. BRADLEY: Is it something I said?

  DINAH: No, honey—you don't say anything. I haven't created myself.

  BRADLEY: Well to be honest, Dinah, it's starting to feel like … sometimes you deliberately have me say the wrong thing. Just to liven things up. Creating controversy, is that it?

  DINAH: Oh God.

  BRADLEY: You know, I'm supposed to be your fantasy here. And you're making me the Bad Guy! How you think that makes me feel?

  DINAH: I think you might be right. I've got to tell Dr. Werman about this.

  BRADLEY: Dinah, no! You cannot tell Dr. Werman about our problems.

  DINAH: (putting on shoes and preparing herself to leave) Bradley, I cannot go on battling with you over your existence or lack of existence every time I try to enjoy myself in bed!

  BRADLEY: (panicking) You know what those doctors do to us, don't you? They kill us. Kill us! Maybe with hours of therapy. Maybe with a pill. (Mimicking doctors.) Bradley's not healthy. Bradley's not “Real.”

  DINAH: (putting a raincoat over her nightgown) Dr. Werman is a brilliant woman.

  BRADLEY: (still mimicking) Bradley doesn't actually “Exist.”

  DINAH: (picking up purse, heading out) Do you hear yourself? Do you hear what that does to me?

  BRADLEY: Fine, go! Go to her plush little Upper West Side home office! Stare down into the repeating patterns of her Persian carpet as you rattle off the list of my inadequacies! (Beat.) Dinah, is this really what you want? She'll take out her pen and her pad. You'll go to the drugstore. The pharmacist will sneer at me. Oh, yes. Pharmacists can see us.

  DINAH: Good-bye, Bradley. I wish it didn't have to be this way.

  (She crosses the stage to the office of DR. WERMAN. DR. WERMAN enters with her pen and pad and sits down across from DINAH.)

  DR. WERMAN: So … you're telling me … you fantasize dysfunctional relationships.

  (BRADLEY: crossesfrom bed to

  DR. WERMAN'S office; he sits beside DINAH.)

  BRADLEY: Honey, we're not dysfunctional! We've got a great situation here.

  DINAH: Will you shut up! I never asked you to come.

  BRADLEY: (to DR. WERMAN) This is exactly—see this?! See this sort of behavior?!

  DR. WERMAN: (She doesn 't see BRADLEY.) Dinah? Need a moment to think?

  BRADLEY: Dinah please. We can fix this! Don't let her kill me off. Is it the sex? Is that it? If it's the sex, I can improve!

  DINAH: (to BRADLEY:) Oh, of course the sex is fine, Bradley. Which one of us do you think actually handles the sex?

  DR. WERMAN: Dinah, how are your sexual fantasies? I mean, have those taken a backseat to these—these “fight dreams,” we'll call them?

  DINAH: (to DR. WERMAN) Doctor, I—um—I think I handle that area pretty well. (To BRADLEY.) Myself.

  BRADLEY: OH! So I get none of the credit, then, is that how it works? Dinah, I am sorry but this is ludicrous.I AM YOUR FANTASY! Where would this alleged sex life of yours be without ME?!

  DINAH: (to DR. WERMAN) But sometimes, Doctor, our most intimate moments—

  DR. WERMAN: “Our” most intimate moments?

  DINAH: Well, my most intimate moments, you know …

  DR. WERMAN: Yes. I know.

  BRADLEY: Oh, this is just rich. Hello! In bed Thursday morning? My creative work. Oh, and what about the futon after Days of Our Lives? You're telling me I had nothing to do with that concept?

  DINAH: (to DR. WERMAN) Sometimes, Doctor … those intimate moments are interrupted by a profound anger inside me that none of it is real, so why bother! Why bother imagining someone else so incredible it can only be a letdown to continue my own existence?

  BRADLEY: Thanks for the gratitude.

  DINAH: How is that useful in my life? What do I need this for?

  DR. WERMAN: Dinah, in fact, a healthy fantasy life can be paramount to one's happiness.
<
br />   BRADLEY: Yes!

  DR. WERMAN: We've discussed this.

  BRADLEY: You hear that?

  DR. WERMAN: However, if you feel these depressing intrusions of conflict into your otherwise healthy sexual dream life are inhibiting your ability to function—

  DINAH: Yes, Doctor. They are. BRADLEY: How can you be so cold?

  DR. WERMAN: Okey dokey (BRADLEY: begins to tremble as DR. WERMAN jots down a prescription.) I'm going to write you a little three-month supply here…. (Tears sheet off the pad and holds up the prescription.) This has been shown to help many of my patients gain some extra … focus. Still the same old you, just a lot more … composed. (Hands DINAH: the piece of paper.)

  BRADLEY: (trembling) No warmth. No breath …

  DINAH: (She takes the prescription.) Give me strength, doctor!

  DR. WERMAN: NOW, now. Same time next week.

  (They shake hands, DR. WERMAN exits. Lights fade on DR. WERMAN 'S office. DINAH, with BRADLEY: following, approaches a counter center stage where a PHARMACIST appears, chewing gum and chatting on the phone. DINAH: hands the PHARMACIST the prescription, then gets in line and waits. About five annoyed customers are ahead of her, impatient. PHARMACIST helps them with superhuman slowness and “attitude” during the following exchange.)

  BRADLEY: Dinah. You don't fool me. You chose Duane Reade on purpose. Look at this line! They'll take hours! You have time to change your mind!

  DINAH: I just want to get you out of my head.

  BRADLEY: Dinah, honey! Think … about us… about your feelings … about ME. Pookie? This is you … and ME.

  DINAH: There is no US, there is no YOU, there is no Pookie!

  BRADLEY: (pointing at the PHARMACIST, who sneers at him as the guy being helped looks around, wondering what the hell is going on) She sees me! She sees me, she fucking sees me! Dinah, I need you to work with me here, baby.

  DINAH: YOU ARE GOING TO DIE TODAY, BRADLEY! DIE! DIE! DIE!!

  (All turn and look at DINAH. After a beat, the PHARMACIST knowingly saunters over to DINAH: with her bag of medicine, takes DINAH: 'S money, and gestures for her to leave at once. The other customers, indignant that she 's cut the line, ad lib complaints. Blackout on that portion of the stage as they exit.)

  (DINAH: crosses hurriedly back to her bed. She tears open the drugstore bag, opens the bottle, and pops the pill. BRADLEY: sits with his head in his hands on the edge of the bed.)