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WILSON
(Speaking as he types furiously)
OK. Where do I begin, the protagonist enters the bar, looking rugged and handsome he
sits down to order a drink, … beer he says… no… whiskey… He eyes the place with
sullen knowing that tonight is the night all his dreams come true. He sees her in the
corner; her black cocktail dress with a slit too far up the side, silk thighhighs attached to
garters rising from 6 inch heals. She tosses her hair back, takes a sip from her dirty
martini, and eyes him seductively. Parting her mouth slightly she caresses the rim of her
glass. Oh god what am I doing, it sounds like a porno. In two minutes they’ll be fucking
in the ladies room… ok, ok think… think what do I want to say. How can I possibly heal
myself, let alone the world by writing this shit? Lets try again.
(He pulls out the page from the typewriter
crumbles it and tosses it into the already
overflowing trashcan and puts in another sheet.)
I got it. Its brilliant! It’s perfect, formula enough to sell, philosophical enough to mean
something, wrought with real emotion, passion, catharsis, none of that “deus ex machina”
or hubris shit. And with enough dramatic action to carry me to a Pulitzer prize. All that in
ten pages and the language, shear poetry. I’m in the zone. Okay here we go. The lights
come up…no…the curtain rises, a single light comes up. Our hero, clad in all his finery
sitting center stage is illuminated with brilliant white light. Offstage we hear footsteps,
shouts, trouble approaches. Surely it is our antagonist.
(The lights rise to full on your typical college
dorm room. Two beds, two desks, two
wardrobes, two of everything, TV’s, stereos,
electronic and music equipment cram every inch
perimeter space. There is a long low coffee table
between the two beds. Our hero the struggling
playwright sits at one of the desks the other desk
is filled to capacity with the latest in computer
technology. Suddenly the door bursts open and
in a rush of machismo enters Steven Isaac
Eisenhower III, Ike for short, he is stunning in
his masculinity, chiseled from chin to toe like
one of those Greek statues you so desperately
want to tip over.)
IKE
WASSSUUUUPPP! Dude you will not believe the Betty I just met in my women’s
studies class, she is so fuckin’ hot.
2.
WILSON
Women’s studies, why did you sign up for that course?
IKE
Cause I ‘m gonna study women. It’s my major. I got a free ride, I’ll be playing varsity
baseball as a freshman and the ladies will be eating out of my hand… Not that’s that
where their mouths will be.
(IKE freezes in motion. Blackout to a single
follow spot on Wilson who comes down and
addresses the audience.)
WILSON
(To audience.)
He is probably right. This is nuts, can you believe it, who makes out these room
assignments. I guarantee you, beneath his Armani suit or her Halston dress they are
wearing leather and latex, and that riding crop on their office wall, it has nothing to do
with horses. Don’t let the pictures on their desk fool you they are sick perverted fucks.
And we are their latest victims. They have all those permanent records we heard so much
about growing up. And now they have matched us up with the one person here we each
for some ungodly, unfounded reason would just love to see dead. Just like Cain and Able
but they never told us which part we should play. And Steven here,
(As Wilson continues to speak to the audience a
light comes up on IKE who begins to move
through different poses ala Adonis or those
body builders on TV.)
WILSON
my god have you ever seen such a display of male vulgarity. Now I’m no saint. In fact,
I’m pretty fucked up. Crass, cynical and I have a mouth like a sailor. But look at him,
he’s textbook. You remember that Shakespeare monologue. The one from As You Like
It. Act II, scene vii. It’s about the seven stages of man. You know the one, “All the
worlds a stage and all the men and women merely players.” Well, I’ll place money on the
fact that every man in his family going back generations, have never gotten past the
fourth stage. Even as dying old men they have been caught, trapped forever in the land of
swagger, swearing strange oaths to some misguided cult, jealous in honor, quick in
quarrel, beating their wives and fucking up there children. I mean look at him you would
think he was the perfect specimen But there is something lacking, sure the body is strong.
In fact, it’s impeccable look at him he is a god a…
IKE
(Admiring himself.)
I am a god.
WILSON
A fucking Greek god.
IKE
A fucking Greek god…yeah.
3.
WILSON
And the pheromones he excretes. It’s frightening; I can even smell it and I worked out all
my homosexual tendencies years ago. We’ve only been here a few weeks and already the
women are flocking to him. It’s sick. I walk behind him in the hall and you should see the
look he arouses in their eyes. You would think he smelled like, like I don’t know…
cookies, money, something. Whatever it is you think you need at that time you feel you
found it when you catch his gaze. It’s fucking spooky. I wouldn’t want to posses that
power, god can you imagine how selfish and cruel you could be.
(The spot above IKE changes pulsates to the
rhythm of his singing to the theme of Bonanza
by the end of the fifth phrase he is seated Indian
style on the floor.)
IKE
I am the man, I am the man, I am the maaan. (Repeat five times.)
WILSON
Physically, he is the man.
(IKE freezes his pleasure in himself becomes
panic and he collapses virtually into tears.)
IKE
(Withering on the floor in a near fetal position.)
I am Steven Isaac Eisenhower. And I am not the man. Mom, … I’m scared. Dad, …I
know… I’m sorry, I’ll do better…I swear… oh god please, won’t somebody just hold
me.
WILSON
It looks like his heart might be soft, that’s a plus. But his mind? His mind isn’t very
sound. His mind. Shit… mine’s not much better. Look at me, what the fuck am I
thinking. A theater degree…that’s marketable. I’ll have to go to grad school and I still
may wind up teaching drama in some goddamn high school. Can you say Annie get your
fucking gun. Here I am up to my ass in homework and now that I’m actually trying to at
least get something accomplished Steven comes home.
(WILSON returns to his typewriter as the lights
come back to full.)
IKE
(Making his way into the room.)
Dude, what is wrong with you… Friday night… come on get your shoes on…let’s go kill
some ladies.
WILSON
No thanks, not tonight I have to get this finished.
IKE
Come on, it can wait everything can wait for the ladies.
WILSON
4.
I really can’t, I have to have this done by Monday.
IKE
(Looking over WILSON’S shoulder.)
What is it anyway?
WILSON
It’s a play, a tenminute play.
IKE
That’s nothing
WILSON
It’s over ten pages of dialog.
IKE
Shit, you can do it hung over Monday morning
WILSON
And the formatting… brutal
IKE
For…what?
WILSON
You know, singlespaced
IKE
Oh wow, hey ask Sissy she’ll do it. She’s gonna write all my papers, she could do it even
on that stupid typewriter.
WILSON
Steven.
IKE
Ike.
WILSON
What?
IKE
Call me Ike.
WILSON
Ike…ok… Ike… Look, Steven, that isn’t just a stupid old typewriter it’s a relic.
IKE
A what?
WILSON
A relic, it is a historical nay a religious artifact. That is the typewriter that was in
Tennessee Williams hotel room when he died.
5.
IKE
So what… oh he’s that country singer, Ford right? That’s cool but still. Fuck use my
computer.
WILSON
No thank you. I am a purist.
IKE
Purist?
WILSON
Yes a purist, you know I’m suffering tradition for my art.
IKE
My ass, I’ve watched you type, you’re a fucking junkie, you just huff the white out.
WILSON
I do not, I haven’t experimented with inhalants since… hey that’s fucked up don’t
even….
IKE
Dude easy, I’m only fuckin’ with ya. I just meant you use it all the time. You run around
like a crack whore, where’s my shit I need my shit. It’s funny.
WILSON
I’m so glad I can amuse you.
IKE
You’d be amused too if you could see it… like I said ask Sissy to do it, she’s on her way
here?
WILSON
Why?
IKE
Cause we’re all goin’ out.
WILSON
Who is we’re?
IKE
All of us. You, me, Sissy, her roommate. So come on here’s your shoes, (Forcefully
throwing Wilson his shoes.) and change that nasty shirt.
WILSON
But I told you I can’t. I have to finish this, and I have an exam on Monday in my fucking
math class, 5 chapters… I’ve been there twice… then I have two other project due
Monday before noon… laundry… death… taxes… you name it I am nowhere near
completing it.
6.
IKE
(Fumbling through an immense pile of laundry
and finally throwing Wilson a sweater.)
Shut up and put on your shoes, here wear this.
WILSON
Why?
IKE
Cause they’ll be here any minute.
WILSON
What? No, I’m not going anywhere. And why didn’t you ask, you can’t bring people here
yet look at this place. And what made you assume I wanted to go out on some fucked up
double date with you in the first place. Who the fuck is Sissy??? That cheerleader? Oh
god, rah, rah, rah and who is her roommate anyway?
IKE
I don’t know some charity case probably. Sissy said she wouldn’t go out without her so I
told her to bring her along. Come on I set you up. Sissy said she’s kinky, one of those
goth or punk bitches, come on I’m gonna get you laid.
WILSON
Oh thank you. What are you a pimp?
IKE
No a player.
WILSON
Sorry I was confused.
(A knock at the door)
IKE
Shit, they’re here. Come on put that thing on you look like shit, first impressions you
know.
WILSON
What, but, It’s a mess in here what will they think.
IKE
(Rushing across to open the door.)
Who cares what they think.
(Enter SISSY and ESTELLE. SISSY is dressed
in her cheerleading outfit caring a large paper
bag and ESTELLE is wearing woolen trousers
and a turtleneck. She is carrying the rest of her
band uniform under her arm.)
7.
SISSY
(Kissing IKE on the cheek.)
Hey Ike, how are you honey. I thought you guys were coming to the game.
IKE
I couldn’t tear Romeo here away from his typewriter. You must be Estelle, Wilson this is
Estelle and this is Sissy.
WILSON
(Looking up from over his typewriter.)
Charmed I’m sure.
SISSY
It’s nice to meet you Wilson. I bet you’ve seen Estelle running around in the Performing
Arts building.
WILSON
I have. Hello Estelle, how are you? I didn’t know you were in the marching band, I
always see you with a cello.
ESTELLE
I play brass and woodwinds too. The band kind of sucks but its fun sometimes, besides
it’s required for my scholarship.
SISSY
(Moving in and sitting on one of the beds.)
She has a full ride too Ike, she’s getting her Masters in music.
ESTELLE
Full load is more like it, I have to T.A. two theory classes, teach another. I play in the
orchestra and the marching band. I’ll never finish my own work.
WILSON
What’s your concentration?
ESTELLE
Composition. I’m going to write a new American opera based on the life of Wagner. It’ll
be full of passion and intrigue.
WILSON
Wagner, sounds more like antisemitism in a debtor’s prison.
ESTELLE
Point taken. In fact, that’s where it’s set.
IKE
OPERA whoa like with the fat lady with the horns.
SISSY
8.
Ike stop don’t be silly. So are we going or what? We just have to run down to our room
and change, we can do it while you two warm up the car.
WILSON
Sorry ladies I can’t go anywhere tonight I have to finish this.
SISSY
Wilson, what could be so important that you would forgo spending your evening in the
lovely company of Estelle here.
WILSON
No please don’t get the wrong idea… I just have to fini
IKE
He has to write some stupid play for his class on Monday. I told him you could do it for
him easy enough. Even on that stupid typewriter he got from Tennessee Ernie Ford.
WILSON
Please just leave my typewriter out of this.
IKE
Touchy… Jesus, just ask her, she wrote two papers for me already.
WILSON
I’m sorry Sissy I would never ask you to write this. Regardless of whatever arraignment
the two of you have.
SISSY
Why not? That sounds like fun actually. Don’t you think Estelle; I know let’s write it
now.
WILSON
No that’s ok, thanks anyway. Go on have a good time just leave me here I’ll be fine.
ESTELLE
(Coming in and empting the contents of the
paper bag onto the table.)
She’s right it would be fun. Here we brought some vodka, orange juice, cranberry, a six
pack of beer, hey hand me that pitcher and I’ll make us some cocktails.
COLE AS IKE
Nice, hand me a beer would you. Here’s the pitcher, Sis reach in that fridge and there
should be some ice.
SISSY
(Moving to reach into the fridge.)
Yep, here it is, should I put it in the pitcher.
ESTELLE
No, just in those cups.
WILSON
9.
Please, you don’t have to stay on my account. Please just go.
SISSY
Don’t be silly we’re here to help you.
IKE
See Wilson I told you she’d write it for you… Hey should I order a pizza.
SISSY
That would be great. We haven’t eaten, what do you say ‘Stell?
ESTELLE
Make it Chinese. Better yet call that Thai place down off First they deliver.
SISSY
Yummy I’ll have the…
IKE
(Pulling out his cell phone and dialing.)
Wait, wait let me get them on the phone. Hello, I hate these guys they never speak
English. Hello, hello I want to place an order for delivery. I want… I want. Yes delivery,
god.
ESTELLE
(Taking the phone from IKE.)
Here dummy give me the phone. Hello, yes I’d like to place an order for delivery…
Wilson… on campus… Lemon tree, room 7,1, no wait. What’s the room number?
SISSY
714
MADELINE AS ESTELLE
Room714. OK. We need two orders of pad thai, a noodle bowl, curried rice… red…no
green, and four spring rolls… no two…god your right they don’t speak English (She
switches to Bhat and repeats the order.) yes thanks half an hour good. Thank you. Yes
thank you bye. (Giving IKE back his phone.) It’s on the way.
WILSON
You guys no. Please just go, have fun. Please?
SISSY
You speak Thai. Wow you never cease to amaze me. Come on Wilson this will be fun.
IKE
Sit down and boot up my computer Sis, he can dictate it to you and you can type it up.
SISSY
Ok.
WILSON
10.
Wait please; just wait, for god’s sake what is happening?
(The lights fade and the follow spot picks up
WILSON as he moves from his desk and comes
down to address the audience. The others move
around finishing up their tasks making drinks
booting up the computer and generally getting
comfortable very comfortable.)
What the fuck just happened here? What is going on, this is crazy I’ll never get anything
done now. Who the hell are these people anyway? I was there I was in the zone. All I had
to do was start typing. It’s still all there, the theme, the plot, the characters, their right
there… What the hell was I going to write about anyway? Oh god, I need a Quaalude. I
knew I should have gone to State, at least then I would have had a private room. Do you
think student health prescribes Prozac?
(The lights come back to full just as Estelle
hands Wilson a drink)
ESTELLE
Here you go hun’ you’ll love this; it’s an ancient family recipe.
(Wilson takes the glass and finishes it in one
large gulp.)
WILSON
Thank you. May I have another?
ESTELLE
Easy there tiger, they’re a lot stronger then they taste.
WILSON
I certainly hope so.
IKE
PARTY!
SISSY
(Seated at IKE’S computer ready to type.)
Ok so here we go. How do you start? What were you going to write about anyway?
ESTELLE
(Filling WILSON’S glass.)
Yeah Shakespeare, what was your premise?
IKE
(Whispering in Wilson’s ear)
Oh man, she called you Shakespeare. You are so gonna get laid tonight.
WILSON
Ike stop.
11.
SISSY
What are you boys whispering about?
WILSON
Nothing, nothing, ok let’s get this over with. I was going to write about. Oh god I knew it
a minute ago. I had it all mapped out before you all came rushing in. I was going to write
a tenminute play. No, I was going to write The TenMinute Play. It was going to be
eloquent… a comedy drama that was flawless…life in all it bitersweetness filling the
stage…
SISSY
Yes, with pain and anger balanced perfectly by humor and common sense.
ESTELLE
Of course, both passion and compassion played on muted trumpets, not insisting but
insinuating.
WILSON
…Oh my god… who are you people, and why are you wearing those ridiculous
costumes.
IKE
Like you could have this guy and this girl see but there’s this other guy, so the first guy…
(The lights fade to a single spot on Wilson.)
WILSON
What the hell, I may not finish the ten minuteplay but who knows this could be the
beginning of the great American novel. Nevertheless, tonight we make Hunter S.
Thompson proud. Who cares if my play read like some cut up assemblage by William
Burroughs. You heard her she called me Shakespeare.
(Blackout)