Audition Arsenal for Women in their 20's

by Janet B Milstein

  And then she left me. University, the first ever in our family. And at home, we worked. One fewer pair of hands, and less money to hire help. Marie would come home on holidays. I would look forward to them, to seeing her. It was … like being a girl again. And then one holiday she did not come home. And it was awful. Awful, because she did not come home, and awful because — I only knew that she had chosen some stranger over me, and I felt — It is childish, yes. I was seventeen and I was childish. But then she never came home, never, even after you … I thought she would see after all that she should come home. But she did not.

  You see, I looked at you and I saw that you were brilliant, like she was, and beautiful, like she was, and, well, of course she chose you.

  Fun House Mirror

  By Dori Appel

  Jill: late twenties, an investment broker, successful in her work and super-organized in her life

  Dramatic

  Jill is visiting her older sister, Amelia, soon after the death of their mother. Finally pushed to the breaking point by Amelia’s haphazard but seemingly carefree lifestyle, coupled with her intrusive probing and demands, Jill explodes, “In my whole life, I’ve never had anywhere to escape to!” In this monologue, she reveals her vulnerability and confusion as she confronts Amelia about events of their childhood.

  JILL: Here we are, six years old and ten, and it’s starting to get dark. A little while ago you slipped off to Mother’s room and locked the door, and now I’m starting to get scared. “Amelia?” I call, but there isn’t any answer. “Amelia?” I knock on the door, and listen. There isn’t a sound. Did something in there get you? Is it going to come out and get me? I’m trying not to cry — if I cry, I’m afraid something awful will happen to me. So I force myself — FORCE myself — to walk away from that door. I go to the wicker chest where we keep our toys, and I take out my coloring book or paper dolls and the cardboard candy box that holds my crayons and scissors. All the time I’m saying to myself, “Don’t be scared, don’t be scared, don’t be scared.” Then I lay my things down on the table very carefully — without disturbing the salt and pepper shakers or the pad of paper that Mother uses for grocery lists — and I tell myself that if I cut all the doll clothes out exactly right, I’ll be safe. I sit alone at the table for what seems like forever, cutting and cutting with my round, blunt scissors, and dressing all the flat, smiling paper dolls in their jaunty clothes. Then at last — oh, at LAST! — Mother comes home, and you appear from somewhere, and she cooks supper, and we sit down together and eat. Amelia … (She breaks down.) … I’m still coloring perfectly and cutting out everything just right, and it doesn’t help! It doesn’t make anything safe!

  Jugger’s Rain

  By Ron Mark

  Dulcy: twenty-five; lovely, ebullient, outgoing, caring, devoted; trace of a rural West Virginia accent; now caught in the throes of an emotional upheaval in her life

  Dramatic

  Dulcy is married to Jugger’s older brother, Carney. She has grown distraught over the marriage that is falling apart; of how Carney has changed. As she talks to Jugger, Dulcy draws a parallel between Carney and their daddy (Amos), and what she had expected — and still desperately hopes to have — from their marriage.

  DULCY: Your daddy was a beautiful man, Jugger. Seemed everywhere he’d walk, the grass’d turn green under his feet. Flowers open up in his hands. Kids come running at him all screaming and laughing. I watched your mother come flying out of that door in that crazy dress of hers. Kicking up the mud. And your daddy, he’d be standing right there — tall and straight as a tree. All that silver hair, shining in the moonlight. He’d catch your mama in mid-air, twirl her around like it was a ballet. God, how they would kiss … So long I couldn’t catch my breath watching … And laugh! … No reason. Poor as dirt, pain and suffering and sick kids. But the laughing. That deep down in the bones laughing. I never forgot it … I thought if I married Carney, loved him like your mama loved Amos, then I’d have that laughing and that love. Love that never goes away. Cause that kind of love can’t die. It’s too strong, Jugger. It finds a way to reach out and come back to us. Out of the grave, see, and come back home. The dead don’t leave us. Ever. It’s us, the living, who leave the dead. Your mama never left Amos. But me, I left Carney a long time ago. And that’s why Carney’s dead. Because I don’t love him. That’s why I’m dead too, Jugger. Because he don’t love me. He just … (Crossing to tree, in tears.)

  I want my husband, Jugger. I want him back. Like he was. Like you and your daddy was. Please … Please. Help me.

  Lone Star Grace

  By Suzanne Bradbeer

  Persephone: twenties

  Seriocomic

  Persephone runs a diner in small town Texas, but has kept it closed for the last few months. After finally opening up both the diner and her heart, she confronts her new friend Barbie Ann, who is about to leave her alone once again.

  PERSEPHONE: You begged me to open this diner today, and so I opened it against my better judgement, even though we don’t have any black-eyed peas, but I opened the diner anyway because I could tell you were troubled about something and I liked you for some reason — liked you more than I’ve liked anybody since Daddy. And then Kenneth burst in, and I let him go ahead and stay too because I thought he might have a nervous breakdown if I didn’t, and also because we happened to have what he ordered. And I thought, “I made two friends today, two nice friends” — especially you, Barbie Ann, because you really seemed to care so much about my daddy and the daisies and me — but now you’re both just going to run off together and leave me alone after I opened up everything. You’re just going to skip off to see some big field or crumby woods or some stupid old hill that used to be a Battleground and I’ll never see you again. (She pauses, embarrassed by her own vulnerability.) So anyway. The coffee is on the house, good-bye.

  Autumn’s Child

  By Tom Smith

  Chloe: early twenties, a fragile and traumatized girl

  Dramatic

  Chloe, in her early twenties, has returned home with a live baby in her arms after still- birthing her own baby in the hospital. In the monologue below, Chloe explains to her momma how she lost her baby.

  CHLOE: It was very quiet, after the final push. No one said a word. Then, suddenly, the doctor begins working real fast, flipping the baby over like it was a rag doll. “What is it? Why is it so quiet?” Finally the doctor looks at me and says “I’m sorry. There was no way for us to know.” Why am I crying but my baby is not? “Why isn’t my baby crying?”

  (Beat.)

  It never occurred to me that she was dead. The doctor tells me the umbilical cord was wrapped too tight around her neck for too long; the blood couldn’t reach the brain. She had strangled herself inside of me … and she was dead.

  (Beat.)

  I saw them take her. My baby. They cleaned her up and then put her in a white cloth and then put her and the cloth in a metal tub. “Don’t you throw away my baby! Don’t you dare throw-away my baby. She’s not dead! She just needs love. Let me hold my baby and everything will be alright!” Then I felt a needle go into my arm and when I woke up it was two hours later and they had thrown my baby away. When the therapist came to see me I didn’t say a word. I kept silent, like in the hospital room after the final push.

  (Beat.)

  They threw away my baby! They didn’t know she wasn’t dead. They didn’t know.

  Autumn’s Child

  By Tom Smith

  Chloe: early twenties, a fragile and traumatized girl

  Dramatic

  Chloe, in her early twenties, has returned home with a live baby in her arms after still -birthing her own baby in the hospital. In the monologue below, Chloe explains to her momma how she miraculously brought her dead baby back to life.

  CHLOE: They were horrible at the hospital, Momma! She was in a drawer. In the morgue. The morgue, Momma! Marked “Dead at Birth.” Shhh, listen to me, Momma. Listen to the miracle. I took my baby
from the drawer, and I held her up close against my heart. I knew she was breathing but they just couldn’t tell. She was breathing too delicately. I held her close. I kissed her forehead. Did you notice her hair? It’s white blonde. Angel hair. I kiss her forehead. I kiss her on top of her head. And I apologize for everything she’s gone through. There’s a little tag on her wrist with “Baby Girl Doe” on it. Momma, how can you be loved without a name? I took the tag off her wrist, and I look down and, still cradling her, I say, “I name you Angela.” It means angel. And suddenly she moves a bit. “Angela,” I say real soft, “It’s your momma. You can breathe now. No one will ever take you away from me again. You can live because I love you!” And then — oh Momma! — Angela started to cry. It was music. Beautiful music! She cried for the first time! She cried so loud and so strong that I had to take her out of the hospital. If they had heard her they would have taken her away from me again. They just don’t want to believe what love can do! It gave life to Angela. Love is better than anything doctors can do and that’s why she’s alive now!

  Training My Hands for War

  By Matt Di Cintio

  Sunny: mid-twenties, petite but somehow powerful

  Dramatic

  Sunny is an unsuccessful prostitute with dreams of dancing. Over recent months and despite his cruelty, she has taken Luke as a lover. In the first act, Luke snidely offers to marry her if she can break the will of a devout neighbor. Sunny has succeeded in the previous scene, but Luke walks out. Here she catches herself in his mirror.

  SUNNY: What are you looking at? I’ve seen that expression a million times before, I know exactly what it means. All my life I’ve been trying to get that look on my face. Maybe I can’t because I have too much heart. Maybe because I don’t have any. My only real lover, the one with dark eyes, painted that look on his face when he left me, only his eyebrows were raised a little more. As if it were a surprise to him that he was saying good-bye. It’s still a surprise to me. It’s that exact look my father wore when I told him what I needed to be: on my own, free, unbound, those things, yes. That I needed to dance, spend the rest of my life moving. I have a vision in my mind of myself and whenever I picture myself I’m running. I’m running home, I’m running away from home, I’m running to the edge of the stage for my bow and my applause. And the look I have on my face is the look of someone who’s gotten to where they’re going. Do you know that look? I sat across from my father with my feet in perfect fourth position — in my mind they were in the air in an arch I could have taught classes about. At the table his eyebrows arched in confusion. He was, bemused. The poor man who tried so desperately to understand anything all his life, through wide eyes and a quarter smile. Do you know that look? No smile big enough to cause dimples, nothing big enough to leave that kind of mark. But the eyes open big and the forehead crinkles, that look. The one that looks like you’re trying and you know you’re trying. That’s the look you’re giving me now.

  Throwing Stones in Glass Houses

  By Kevin Schwendeman

  Sylvia: twenty-eight, insecure, finds hope in the little things of life, a caged bird

  Dramatic

  Sylvia finds herself attending a support group at her local church. Pregnant and in an abusive relationship she faces issues of self-esteem and denial that hinder her ability to make strong decisions. Attending the support group, Sylvia recalls the incident that forced her to seek out help. We see the hardships of her life melt into wistfulness as she takes us back to the life she remembers, only to be brought crashing back into reality.

  SYLVIA: I just forgot to get the morning paper. My morning routine wasn’t any different. I made breakfast and did the dishes. I was careful not to break any. Then I washed the clothes just like any other Thursday. I went to the store with the thirty dollars I always use to buy groceries. I buy the same thing every week. I always have just enough change to buy the newspaper … oh God … I … thought it would be OK … thought I’d still have enough. I didn’t even realize. I bought a pack of gum. I couldn’t help myself. I was the best bubble blower on the block when I was little. If you gave me a stick of gum I could blow bubbles around anyone. Big bubbles, double bubbles, the bubble inside the bubble. I could do them all. Kids would come to watch me from all over the neighborhood. I always invented new ways to make bubbles for them. I just wanted to remember. Wanted to see if I could still do it. So, I bought the gum. And I guess it cost too much because I didn’t have enough money left for the newspaper. I figured he could just watch the news on TV. I just forgot about the newspaper.

  (Pause.)

  He didn’t have to hit me.

  Heaven and Home

  By Matthew A. Everett

  Gabby: female, late twenties/early thirties, bartender

  Seriocomic

  Gabby is speaking to her good friend Cian. Cian is also the younger brother of Vince, Gabby’s long-term boyfriend. Both of them are retreating from the troubles of their respective romantic relationships and hiding out in their friendship with one another, renting a marathon of movies to watch together, as is their custom. Gabby has finally realized it isn’t doing either of them any good and rather than allow another movie marathon to begin, she stops Cian before he can pick up the remote.

  GABBY: I can’t do this. This. What we’re doing. You. Me. Movies in the dark on my bed. This. I can’t. Or I shouldn’t. I won’t.

  You and your brother. Together, you’d make a great catch. As it is — I’ve got to stop torturing myself and you’ve got to help me.

  You take advantage. You do. I’m not saying it’s calculated. You know I like you too much and I can’t say no, so it’s easier, it’s comfortable. But you have a perfectly decent, caring, adorable guy who, as far as I can see, has reshaped his entire life just so he’d have a shot at being with you. And you’re using me to avoid him. And I’m letting you. I should leave well enough alone. God knows I’ve got my hands full with your brother, as usual. We’re always having trouble. He’s the emotional equivalent of a long distance phone call. But I don’t say anything because I’m normally too worried about when you’re going to decide to get on with your life — And sure, you let me do all this, but it’s me that did all the work so I can hardly blame you for the corner I’ve painted myself into.

  I have to stop. Don’t get me wrong. I still care about you. But I have to stop.

  ROMANTIC/IN LOVE

  Temporary Heroes

  By David-Matthew Barnes

  Shelby: early twenties

  Dramatic

  Shelby is a waitress who dreams of becoming a pop star. Here she tells Sal, her best friend and co-worker, why they should leave together and start a new life.

  SHELBY: I’m saying, let’s leave. Let’s just go. We can catch a train and get out of here. Out of Vinnie’s and this neighborhood and New York and this … trap that we’re getting stuck in. Don’t you want your freedom? Don’t you want to go and write and see things and do things and just live? I wanna sing, Sal. I wanna sing more than anything in this whole world. But I wanna be with you. I want to feel right. We can go and leave this place and finally get to be young. Tonight. I got your stuff right here and I saved up my tips. There’s so much more, Sal. There’s so much we haven’t seen or done. We’ve been so busy taking care of everybody else. You know I’ve spent my entire life looking after my mother. And you and your family and your brothers and sisters. Well, what about us? Don’t we get a chance? (She begins to cry, but softly.) I love you, Sal. And I have from the first day we met. And it’s just not your eyes or your smile or the way you say my name … it’s your words and your talent and it’s who you are and what we’ve become together. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.

  A Question of Water

  By Steven Schutzman

  Dottie: a twenty-year-old rock singer, works as a waitress and dreams of stardom. She loves to shock people with her behavior, but underneath her tough persona, she’s a romantic innocent, bruised by life, taking thin
gs hard.

  Seriocomic

  Dottie has just quit her job and come home to find her father Tobias, Lincoln, and his younger brother Randall in the kitchen. The moment she enters she kisses Randall long and hard, in order to shock Tobias and Lincoln, and to rekindle her connection with Randall. Then, total strangers crossing paths in an early morning mist, Dottie kissed Randall the first time. The kiss, the presence of Tobias, and the freedom of quitting her job ignite Dottie to improvise her vision of fated romance and stardom.

  DOTTIE: We’ll separate, live a thousand miles apart. Our mouths will ache until we can’t stand it then we’ll find each other by chance at a truck stop in Ohio and kiss with raw hunger; bloody, achin’ kisses under the buzzin’ highway lights. I’ll know his mouth by how it aches against my mouth’s achin’. I won’t let him touch my body. I know Randall’s too shy to do it on his own, that it’ll be up to me to put his hands in the right places. For a year, I’ll deny him and myself. Our kisses will become more and more exquisite, more and more excruciatin’. My body will fill with music and light and genius. I’ll write ten songs a day. He’ll see me live on MTV, find the studio and break in while I’m singin’. When we finally make love we won’t know the difference between pleasure and pain and we will devour each other alive. They’ll get it on tape and it will be the greatest rock video ever made.

  Brian and Shevat

  By Gabrielle Reisman

  Shevat: early to mid-twenties, a romantic eccentric

  Seriocomic

  Shevat, pulled by a love at first sight, has fallen through the mirror suspended above Brian’s bed. The two agree to live together but things grow difficult when Shevat’s sister sends her telegrams asking her to come home. Here, Shevat explains a bit about the way Brian makes her feel to Silva, the couple’s landlord.