by Neil LaBute
BILL turns and looks at KIP. KIP sits there, watching him and waiting before he says anything else.
KIP I don’t know why they don’t help you guys change your names when you move from spot to spot. State to state.
BILL …
KIP I suppose that would defeat the purpose, though. Make it harder to track you from place to place. And that’s the point. You need someone to keep an eye on you. Don’t you? (Beat.) Bill?
BILL …
KIP Because if not … if people just forgive and forget you … then you’re free to do whatever it is you wanna do. Move from Oregon to here—with a few stops in-between, I imagine—get a job anywhere you like, go to the park on your lunchtime … (Beat.) If folks don’t keep track of you then you can pretty much just go around acting like you’re a normal guy. A “nice” guy. (Beat.) Isn’t that right, Bill? Bill Jensen of Eugene, Oregon?
BILL That isn’t me.
KIP No?
BILL No, it isn’t.
KIP You’re not “Bill Jensen” from Eugene? A guy whom I was able to track down for about fifty bucks’ worth of police records there on the Internet? (Beat.) Hmmmmmmmmm?
BILL No.
KIP It’s pretty easy to prove, Bill.
BILL I’m saying I’m not that person anymore.
KIP Oh, I see. So you’re … it’s more a … philosophical response than the truth, is that what it is? Because you are the right guy. From that place. Who did what you did. (Beat.) A few times.
BILL But … that’s not who I am now.
KIP Ok, well, that’s something we could talk about for a long time, I’m sure—debate that for the rest of the month and we still might not end up agreeing about that little fact … but you’re the guy. From that website. And I’m not sure that my wife or my son or your job would really be able to identify the subtleties that you’re referring to. In your character. (Beat.) The “new” you.
BILL looks at KIP. A deep sadness settles over his face. Tears in his eyes, even. KIP is unmoved.
KIP Do you get what I’m saying here? Bill?
BILL I’m a different person today.
KIP Same name, though. If the authorities really felt the same way that you do … you think they’d make it like the, ummm, you know … “Witness Protection Program” or something … really help you disappear into a new identity or whatever. But they don’t. Do they? (Beat.) No. They don’t …
BILL …
KIP … and I think the reason that is, it’s because you haven’t really turned over a new leaf … gone through some big change and come out the other side a completely new and reformed person … I think you’ve been allowed to move out of their state, that’s all. You’ve been spit outta the system and sent on your merry way to do as you please in some other state. With some other person’s kids. Some unsuspecting grandparent or wife or whomever. That is what I think the situation we find ourselves in here is … Bill.
BILL You don’t know me, Mr. Simms. What I have gone through. What I live with. You don’t and you never will.
KIP You’re right. I don’t because I’m not you or a person like you … (Points.) I do not hear the sounds of children playing in a park and get turned on.
BILL starts to say something but KIP holds up a hand and stops him. KIP continues:
KIP That’s the difference. I’m not sick. Like you. I don’t have a disease like yours … no matter how much I work or how “lonely” my wife is or the time I have to give up with my son because I’m out of town on business trips … whatever shortcomings I have as a person and a man and a dad and a husband … I’m still nothing like you. (Beat.) Am I? (Beat.) Bill Jensen?
BILL No.
KIP Correct answer.
BILL You’ll never be like me … and you don’t know how lucky you are because of that. (Beat.) You’ll never feel my pain … what I carry around inside me.
KIP You know what, Bill? I am unmoved. That’s the problem with facts. The cold fucking facts of a person’s life. (Beat.) I have read what you’ve done. Just sitting there on a piece of paper that was faxed to me. For anybody to see. Your history. (Beat.) And after you sift through a few pages of that … a student … and a—what was it?—someone’s cousin, one side of your family or the other … after thumbing through the things you’ve done … no. I can’t feel the pain you carry inside. I cannot. I’m too busy thinking of the pain that you have caused in your lifetime. Lots of fucking pain … to lots of other people.
BILL looks at KIP and tries to hold his gaze but he can’t and turns away. BILL lowers his gaze as he goes over and sits on a different bench.
KIP I’m sure you’re better. Right now. Sure that you’re showing remarkable restraint these days. That’s probably true. (Beat.) And so am I. I am restraining myself from moving over there next to you and pulling your cock out through your throat. That’s what I wanna do. To you. But I’m not. No. Because I’m showing remarkable restraint.
KIP stands up, reaches inside his coat pocket. Produces a small rubber ball. A toy soldier. A little book.
KIP I stole these from my boy. He loves them. Carries ’em around the house all the time and wants me to read him the book and to play with the ball and the soldier … but I’m giving them back to you now. Here.
KIP moves over to BILL and puts the items in his hands. Sits next to him.
KIP doesn’t say anything else. Just sits there, staring off into the distance. BILL glances over at him.
KIP He’s gonna cry tonight … later, when he can’t find that stuff … and when you’re not around or they go to some new playground or that sorta thing … he’s gonna cry. About you. Missing you. I hate doing that to Taylor … but he’s four and pretty soon, you know what? He’ll forget. About you and those toys and everything else … and life—mine and his and Trish’s—it’ll go on. Happily. Without you anywhere nearby.
BILL turns the toys over in his hands. Not looking at KIP while he does this.
BILL This was my brother’s. (Holds up soldier.) When he was a little boy.
KIP Huh.
BILL He was older than me … my brother … and he died when he was about ten. Back home.
KIP In Oregon?
BILL Yes. (Beat.) The year we moved there.
KIP That’s too bad. Sorry.
BILL It’s alright. (Beat.) He was hit by a car. In our new neighborhood.
KIP I see.
BILL And I kept a few of his things … all this time, I’ve held onto these little relics of his. (Holds out his hand.) A few that I gave to your son and some others still in my possession at home. In my apartment … (Beat.) I’m not saying any of this as an excuse or some kind of … as a sort of … reason for this, any of this … I sit at this bench most days, a lot of the time since I moved here, to this city, so I can get away from people, not for a vantage point for … for … you know … I honestly don’t. That’s not what I do. I’m trying to be alone, to live a life where I’m alone and doing good … I said “I’m a good person” to you and I meant that. On the inside. Inside of me I am and I’m striving to be that. Now. Every day. (Beat.) I didn’t ask your wife to be here when I was here. I didn’t want your son to run up the hill one day and sit there … on my bench … and to smile over at me and laugh and, and, and … I didn’t do anything to make that happen. It’s not fair. It’s not fair to me. (Beat.) What I’ve done is in the past and it’s not fair to punish me like this. What you are saying to me … doing to me here. (Beat.) Please. I’m not asking you to understand me or who I am or what I’ve done … but can’t you see that it’s not right … to … for you to do this to me now?
KIP No.
BILL “No?”
KIP I hear you, what you’ve just said … but I can’t feel that. Inside me. That what I’m telling you is wrong. (Beat.) What’s wrong is that I’m not gonna tell somebody what you’re doing with your afternoons—that’s wrong. I’m remiss in not letting anyone at your place of work know about who you are and what secrets are hidden away
in your past. (Beat.) I’m letting you go … like the police and the social workers that I condemned before. I’m telling you to go away, to run off and bother some other family or co-worker or innocent child. That’s what I’m doing. That is what I’ll get to live with and probably pick up the paper one day and see your face there, in a photo, blinking back at me … like you are right now … with that “what have I done?” look on your fucking face … that is the mistake I’m about to make … but I guess I can live with that.
BILL … please …
KIP Bill. Don’t. (Beat.) Trish has no idea that I’m doing this. Obviously neither does Taylor. I don’t want their lives changed one iota from what it was since the last day they came here. (Beat.) But you will go away. Elsewhere. You will.
BILL And … I mean … if I didn’t? (Beat.) What then?
KIP I’ll kill you. I’m not joking and I’m not a violent person … I didn’t grow up in a house like that but I’m gonna come back here … this week and a month from now … three years … doesn’t matter. I will be back. Occasionally and often. And if I find you here, sitting in the sunlight and reading your paper and listening to the children playing … I will kill you. Do you understand me? Kill you dead.
BILL Yes.
KIP I’m not playing a game. I’m not trying to be funny or clever or make idle threats. (Beat.) I am protecting my child. Taylor will never see you again and you … there will never ever be a time when you have him on your knee as you read that book to him or you talk to my wife or what ever else you’ve done … so carefully … so cautiously … acting like it was the most natural thing in the world to pick him up and laugh and hold him while you gave Trish advice and gossiped about all the shows that she loves to watch. (Beat.) Here or at your office or in front of a courtroom of people—it doesn’t matter to me—I’ll kill you. I will waste the rest of my life doing that. To you. To destroy you and what you are.
BILL …
KIP stretches and BILL flinches at this. KIP doesn’t do it to intimidate BILL but he doesn’t hate the result.
KIP So you decide. Bill. What you want to do next. Think about that while you’re here and the sun is warming your face … think about if it’s worth it or not … for you to come back here again. (Beat.) Okay?
BILL I’ve done nothing wrong.
KIP Alright.
BILL I have done nothing to your family that is wrong … I’ve … I’ve … I’ve …
KIP Fine.
BILL I haven’t!
KIP Whatever you say, Bill.
BILL Your wife talks to me!
KIP Uh-huh.
BILL She keeps coming here to speak with me about things. Not the other way around.
KIP I hear you.
BILL Your son ran up the hill … from there … right over there, the first time. Ran up here to me! Where I was already sitting!
KIP Right.
BILL He came running to me. Up here to me and sat on my bench. (Pointing.) Right there.
BILL is trying to get through to KIP but it doesn’t seem to be working.
Suddenly, KIP turns and grabs BILL by both lapels. Pulls him close. Face to face. Shakes him hard. Once. Twice. Three times.
Silence as KIP lets go of BILL. BILL slowly collects himself as the moment of restrained violence speaks for itself.
KIP I understand. (Beat.) And you understand me, too, right? Don’t you, Bill? (Beat.) You do … don’t you?
BILL … yes.
KIP Then good.
KIP nods and reaches over. Pats BILL on the leg, and then gets up.
KIP … great day, huh? (Beat.) Gorgeous.
KIP moves away and exits. BILL sits there, with a handful of toys and his newspaper.
Suddenly his face reddens. Twisted. Angry. Shamed. Hurt. He has been caught out and he is furious. He bursts into tears. Sobs for a moment. Alone on the bench.
BILL (To himself.) … I’ve done nothing wrong … I’ve done nothing wrong here … I’ve done nothing wrong … I’ve done nothing … wrong …
BILL stomps his feet and wraps his arms around his chest. Trying to comfort himself. Holding back a scream. Tears running down his cheeks.
BILL (To himself.) … nothing … nothing … nothing …!
He sits there, fighting to regain his composure. Holding himself. Rocking back and forth.
The sound of children playing in the distance. Growing.
Silence. Darkness.
HAPPY HOUR
HAPPY HOUR had its world premiere as part of the AdA “Desire” project at La MaMa in New York City in October 2014.
It was directed by Marco Calvani.
TED Chris Henry Coffey
CLEO Jennifer Mudge
Silence. Darkness.
We’re in a club of some sort. Loud music. People dancing and drinking and occasionally trying to connect.
A guy (TED) walks in. He stands near a table with a drink. Various other drinks on the table—he’s been here for a while. He’s coming back from the bar with a fresh drink.
After a moment, he signals toward somebody. Laughs. Holds up his drink. Does a little dance, pointing toward the unseen person across the room.
Laughs. Does the dance one more time, a little bit more exaggerated this time. Maybe even a spin or two.
He signals to this person that, no, he does want to join him (or her) on the dance floor. Laughs. Waves. He then does a little bow. Waves. Bows again. Okay, that’s odd.
TED looks around some more. checks his watch. Taps a toe while he sips from his drink.
Apparently his phone is ringing because he begins to feel his jacket searching for his cell. Outside pockets. No luck. Inside pocket on one side. No luck again. Other side is the same result.
Finally checks his pants and there it is. He pulls it out and answers it.
When he starts speaking he does so loudly, over driving music (The sound is there to set the mood but disappears once this begins. The “shouting” is just for effect.)
TED … hello? (Beat.) Honey? Can you hear me?! What?! Can you … you can hear me?! Yes?!! Or no?! No?! I don’t know … I’m having a bit of trouble hearing you, so I wondered if you can hear me. Can you? Yes? No? (He waits.) Honey? I’m saying … oh, ok. Great. You can? Good. (Beat.) Yeah, it’s loud in here. Really loud. No, I don’t know the name of the song … it’s new, I think … huh? No, I don’t have that on my phone. SIZZLE. What? Oh … SHAZAM. No … I still have a Blackberry.
TED spots someone across the floor and raises up his drink. Smiles. Signals that he can’t come over there right now. Back to his call:
TED Sorry, what? What?! See, you’re going in and out … yeah. Uh-huh. No, I don’t think I can ask them to turn it down. No. It’s a club, sweetie … yes. I told you that! I did, too! Yes. These guys like to go out. That’s what they do. No, all the time. It is a serious part of their heritage. Ok, no, not that … maybe not their heritage, but their … you know … whatever this is. “Society.” No, that’s not—the “culture.” Yes, it is a big part of their culture. (Waits.) What? Oh, you have a call? Ok. That’s fine … no, take it. I should get back to the … what? Honey, what about the call you have coming in? Ok. Ok. Yeah, I will look it up … when I get home, I’ll have the answer for you. Yeah. It does have a good beat … you’re right. (Beat.) Oh, they’re calling again … who is it? No, that’s alright. Grab it. Yes. I’ll call you later. (Beat.) No! Not too late! Okay! ’Bye! Yes! ’Bye! Love you! ’Bye!
TED is exhausted after this. He practically finishes off his drink. Waves at someone else. Taps his toe again.
After a moment, a gal (CLEO) comes over. Stands near him. She is a certified knock-out.
TED glances over. Nods. She nods back and gives him a big smile as well.
She drinks something sophisticated and sways a little with the beat of the music.
TED smiles at this. She smiles back but doesn’t stop her dancing. He does his little dance for her this time and then laughs at himself.
CLEO la
ughs too, but not at him. With him. TED takes one more sip of his drink. Checks his watch. Waits.
She looks over at him again. TED moves a little closer to her. Shouts in her direction:
TED … don’t do it! Seriously. Don’t. I’m not worth it …
CLEO What’s that?
TED Nothing! (Smiles.) I was just being silly.
CLEO I didn’t hear what you said, though.
TED It’s ok.
CLEO It’s loud in here! (Waits.) Sorry, what’d you say? (Beat.) Go ahead …
TED I know, but it’s … now that I think it through it was pretty lame so I’m gonna spare you the embarrassment. Or, rather, me. Spare “me” the embarrassment. That’s what I was saying. Or going to say …
CLEO Oh, I see. Ok. (Beat.) Thanks for the tip.
TED Don’t mention it! (Toasts her.) Cheers! It’s “Happy Hour!” Which goes from five to eight, which is three hours … so …
They drink. Stand for a moment. CLEO glances over at him.
CLEO No, go on. Do it. I dare you!
TED What’s that?
CLEO Embarrass yourself. Why not?
TED Ummmmmm … a million reasons. Maybe more. I’m here with business clients—the guys over there, in the suits.
CLEO Who? The Asian guys? Those guys?
TED Yes. Japanese. Actually.
CLEO Is that not Asian anymore?
TED Ummmmm. Yeah, maybe so. Technically … but I think they prefer “Japanese.” If one were to be ethnically sensitive …
CLEO Ok, fair enough … but they can’t hear us, can they? Not way over here?
TED Ha! No, I don’t think so …
CLEO Ok. Good. (Waves to them.) No offense, gentlemen!
TED watches her do this and then sees that they seem to be responding back. He waves as well. Then bows. Again. CLEO watches this. Smiles. Bows to them as well.
TED Anyway, yes, I gotta try to keep a clear head, but don’t worry, I’m pretty good at it already, so … you know …
CLEO What’s that?
TED Embarrassing myself! You should’ve seen me over at the Benihana’s earlier—not the best with the ol’ chopsticks!