[Tom and Karen, husband and wife both in their mid-forties, are sitting across from one another at a small table in a busy restaurant.]
Tom: This is nice isn’t it? Karen: It is nice. Tom: We don’t do stuff like this anymore. Karen: No and I really think we should. Tom: We should. Karen: Although to tell you the truth I don’t much like waiting for the food. Tom: It’s busy tonight. Karen: But really. Steak and a few vegetables. I could’ve gone in there and made it myself in this time. Tom: But you’re not cooking for yourself tonight. I’ve taken you out which means someone else will cook for you. Karen: Yes I know. Tom: I suppose I could’ve cooked for you. Karen: Oh no. Tom: No? Karen: No I want to enjoy myself. Tom: And are you enjoying it tonight? Karen: I am… I really think I am. Tom: Good. [They sit a little, looking around at all the other couples who are mostly a lot younger and all chatting away enthusiastically.] Karen: Are we past it Tom? Tom: What? Karen: Well I mean… are we too old for this? Tom: Too old to go to a restaurant? Karen: Too old for a date. Too old for Valentine’s. Tom: Now look here. I know you don’t like Valentine’s. Every year you make it quite clear, ‘no cards, and ‘no flowers.’ So over the years I have completely forgotten what day Valentine’s even is. Then I thought, well this weekend we’ll go out. I’ll take out my wife for dinner. And what do you know… I booked the table on Valentine’s Day. They had a cancellation see. Karen: Poor dears. Tom: Who? Karen: The people who cancelled. Do you think they broke it off? Tom: I don’t know. All the guy on the phone said was that they’d had a cancellation on Sunday and that was their only free table all weekend. Funny I thought, going out for dinner on a Sunday. But still, I wanted to treat you. It was only when he started asking about set menus and complimentary bubbles that the penny finally clicked. Karen: I was lying all those years you know? Tom: Hm? Beat Karen: About not wanting cards. I was lying. I always wanted cards… and flowers, and chocolates. Tom: You don’t like chocolate. Karen: I only say that because I have to watch my figure. You know I bloat easy. Tom: Do you? Karen: Yes. Tom: Never noticed. Karen: Well anyway. I was lying. Tom: Why? Karen: It’s just what you do. You say, ‘no don’t worry yourself, it’s a silly day really,’ but actually you do want love and attention. We all want to be cherished. Tom: I do cherish you. Karen: You don’t though… not enough…. Not anymore. Tom: I will then. Karen: What? Tom: I’ll cherish you more. Karen: Only because I asked you to. How pathetic. Tom: Me or you? … no anyway that’s not the point. It’s not that you asked me, it’s just that you’ve made your emotions clear and now, I am reacting. I am responding. Karen: I don’t even think I want you to cherish me anyway. Tom: …okay? Karen: I don’t think I want us to be together anymore. Tom: You mean…? Karen: Yes I mean we… Tom: Part ways? Karen: Divorce. Officially. Tom: What does officially mean? Karen: We’ve been divorced emotionally for years. But not legally. That’s what officially means. Tom: But it’s Valentine’s Day. We can’t get divorced on Valentine’s Day. Karen: I think it’s the perfect day. Because the only thing worse than being alone today is being with someone whom you loathe. Tom: You loathe me? Karen: I loathe you. Tom: You were supposed to say you love me. Blackout
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[Alex, a singer-songwriter in his early twenties, sits on a stool practising on a guitar. Ali, a singer of the same age enters]
Ali: working on something new? Alex: no, don’t you recognise it? Ali: no. sing it again? Alex: [sings] “There are cherry trees in the middle of this town, Void, bereft of bloom, And said all the men that lived in this town, A cherry will blossom there soon Ali: [joining in] “But snows fell down on a summer’s day, Withering the roots, No flower did shoot, though try it may, Nor would there given up fruits.” Alex: see you remember the words and everything. Ali: I loved that song. Alex: I loved writing it. Ali: we should put it in tonight. Alex: sure. Ali: why not? Alex: I don’t think anyone else will get it. They don’t like verses. The people who come into a place like this are generally chorus type people. Ali: Just one song. Just one good song amongst all the regular dross. Alex: I said they like choruses, I hope none of our songs are dross. Ali: you know what I mean though. Alex: I don’t want to put Cherry Trees in. Ali: why not? Alex: I’ve moved on since I wrote that. It needs work. Ali: I like it the way it was. Alex: I don’t Ali: don’t do yourself down. Alex: I’m not, I’m just saying how I feel about it. Ali: let’s ask Josh. Alex: well he won’t like it will he? Ali: why? Alex: well he likes choruses too. And there’s no drum part. Ali: he can write one. Alex: it’s not really a drum part kind of song. [Josh enters] Ali: here he is. Josh: what? Ali: what do you think…? Alex: don’t worry mate, she’s just having a moment. Josh: oh. Ali: what do you think about putting Cherry Trees in the set tonight? Josh: Cherry who? Alex: See, he doesn’t even remember it without a chorus. Just like the crowd. Let’s rehearse, we don’t have long. Josh: oh your Cherry Trees? Ali: yes! See he does remember. Alex: Great, well shall we get down to it. Only an hour till they start coming in and we haven’t run a track yet. Josh: Yeah, we should put Cherry Trees in. Alex: what? Josh: I used to love that song. Alex: what all eleven minutes of it? Josh: you could cut a few versus for sure, but yeah I used to love it. Let’s put it in near the end. We’ll have them by then so they’ll go with us I’m sure of it. Ali: see. Alex: there’s no drum part though. Josh: doesn’t bother me mate… unless you want me to write one. Coz I’m totally cool with that [vocal percussion] bomb bomb bomb te-kat te-kat. Alex: no, no. The song’s fine without drums but… Ali: I can put some harmonies in. And you can lead. Draw them in with the sound. The open, natural sound. We should, you know we should put it in. Alex: I don’t want to. Ali: why? Josh: yeah why? Alex: I’m not ready. Josh: for what? Alex: to put my music out there again. Ali: why? Alex: it’s hard you know. Playing someone else’s music is one thing. It’s all about performance. But playing your own is so much more honest. Ali: you don’t want to be honest? Alex: being honest is hard for some of us. It’s too revealing. Josh: but you used to play it for us all the time. Alex: you’re my friends. I can be honest with you. But them out there. No. Ali: okay then. Let’s perform. Josh: other people’s songs. Alex: dishonestly. Josh: not exactly dishonest, just. Alex: less honest. Ali: behind a mask. Josh: are you wearing masks now? Are you both going to wear masks? No fair, I want a mask. Ali: pathological masks. Alex: erm… Psychological. Ali: that’s what I said. Josh: so let’s perform. Blackout [Two poets, they may be male or female and any adult age, sit at a bar waiting for drinks. The bar tender, a young man, attends on them.]
Poet One: What did you think of the news? Poet Two: news? I didn’t come here to talk about news. I thought we were drinking. Poet One: We’ve had two already. Poet Two: So we’re warming up. Poet One: I don’t think I can stomach another. Poet Two: have something else then. Excuse us bar keep! I’ll have another dry martini… and you’ll have? Poet One: I really don’t… Poet Two: and a double Jameson for my friend here. Bar Tender: Coming up. Poet One: a double? Poet Two: a single isn’t worth the money. Poet One: I don’t even like Whiskey. Poet Two: then you should have said what you did like. Poet One: but I didn’t want a drink. Bar Tender: Ice with the Jameson? Poet Two: sure. Poet One: do I want ice? Poet Two: “My love is like to Ice” Poet One: I don’t need any information about your love life. Not after last time. Poet Two: look, I don’t see any of the old crowd anymore. These nights between us are the only fun I have all week. Let me enjoy it. Bar Tender: [bringing over drinks] here you go. Poet Two: thank you. Keep it on the tab. Bar Tender: of course. Poet One: [sipping the drink] oh…. Oh no I do like Whiskey. What is it I don’t like? Poet Two: Sex… you don’t like sex. Poet One: how would you… Poet Two: well I think you like sex in principle, but it’s the fucking you find unpleasant. Poet One: we’ve never even… Poet Two: I learned it for myself… I read your book. Poet One: which one? Poet Two: the last one…. The… what was it? The one about plums. Poet One: “Plums might be the only fruit?” Poet Two: Yeah that’s it. Poet One: and how does that relate to my sex life? Poet Two: all that stuff about rotting purple flesh and… “De-stoning with a look.” It’s obvious. Poet One: Is it? Poet Two: yeah. I know you think your poems are all about nature and wild-life and… what was it you said in the Financial Times? Poet One: oh… “Cezanne did to the canvas what I am doing to the page.” Poet Two: That’s it! Poet One: pretentious really. Poet Two: but at the end of the day. All poems are about sex. Poet One: really? Poet Two: Sure. Songs are about love and sorrow, Odes and epics are about heroes, Novels are about community, Plays are about relationships and Poems are about sex. And you can see why. Even those less prudent of us can never really say what we think about the act of sex, so we express it in the form which allows us to hide behind artifice and imagery. Poet One: Your poems are all about sex, but I don’t think you really hide behind anything. Poet Two: aha? Poet One: “destiny extends from between my legs, To prod, perchance to dream…” Doesn’t leave much to the imagination does it? Poet Two: no you’re wrong. It’s all in the imagination. So I’m talking about a cock. But cocks can’t dream can they? It’s all about what you take from it. Poet One: so what do you take from my poem? Poet Two: You think that passion and eroticism are for teenagers and drug addicts… and that once the sexual awakening has paced, all your bits shrivel up and rot, because you no longer need them. And that feeling is why you don’t like having sex. You think you might look down and see a rotting prune where a plum used to be. Poet One: it’s funny. All the old ladies who bought that book just thought it was about a bowl of fruit…. That’s poetry I suppose. Poet Two: That’s marketing. Bar Tender: Last orders. Blackout. [Jules, a heavily pregnant middle aged woman is walking slowly up a narrow garden path. Tony, her twenty year old son, waits in a garden chair, smoking. It is late at night]
Jules: you’re here then. Tony: where else would I be? Jules: you were supposed to pick me up tonight. Tony: I’d had a drink. I didn’t think it safe to drive. Jules: no of course. You could have phoned me though. Told me. Tony: I thought one of the other women would drive you. Jules: they were all gone before I realised you weren’t coming. I assured them you would be there. Tony: that’s really more your fault than mine. Jules: okay Anthony, I’ve had a long night so let’s not fight now. Tony: who said anything about fighting? Jules: so have you thought anymore about what we discussed this morning? Tony: I thought about it. Jules: any conclusions? Tony: I just don’t know what good it’ll do. Jules: well like I said. It might mature you. It bring the two of you closer together. Tony: do we even need to be closer? Jules: well I think… and this is only my opinion… but I think it has reached the time where you either get closer or you part ways. Tony: do you? Jules: it’s all up to you of course, but like I say, that’s my opinion…. That’s what I think. Tony: I’m glad you expressed your opinion. Jules: I think I’ll go straight to bed. Tony: you haven’t eaten yet. Jules: no but I’m tired. I walked half way home. Tony: why did you do that? Jules: I thought I could make it. Tony: what made you think that? Jules: a few weeks ago I could’ve made it. Tony: you’re fit to burst, you can’t be walking half way across town. Jules: well it’s easy to forget. It’s been twenty years since I was pregnant. Tony: thirteen. Beat. Jules: well you know what I mean. It’s been a long time anyway. Tony: is that why you want to give the baby up? Jules: what do you mean? Tony: because of Jim. Jules: don’t bring him up. Tony: because you reckon Jim would’ve given you grandkids the proper way? Jules: who said anything about… Tony: so you give me yours and then you have grandkids and great-grandkids and it all works out. Jules: it was just a thought. I thought it would bring you…. Tony: why would you want us closer together? You hate Patrick. Jules: well he’s not what I would’ve chosen but I think he’s…. Tony: no you would’ve chosen Sally from down the road. Jules: where’s all this coming from? I’ve never said a word about… Tony: I’m just trying to see why you want to get rid all of a sudden. I thought you were happy. ‘A happy accident’ you said. Jules: I was in shock then. You don’t expect to conceive at my age. Tony: so you obviously weren’t using protection. Jules: well no we didn’t Tony: the irony. A Queer boy lecturing his mum about condoms. Jules: I don’t think that is irony actually. And don’t say Queer, you’re degrading yourself. Tony: no, we’ve reclaimed that word. We’re allowed to use it again now. Jules: are we? Tony: yeah. Jules: I see. Beat. Jules: look. I just don’t think it’s fair to bring up a baby at my age. I thought… well you used to talk about kids. I thought it might focus you. And if you really do care for Patrick, then maybe it would help a little. Tony: nah, having a baby to save a relationship sounds more like your sort of game. [stands, they stare at each other in the eye for a moment.] I’m going up. See you in the morning. Jules: see you. [They hold each other’s gaze a moment longer. As Tony turns away the lights begin to fade. Jules screams in pain. Blackout] [We see two young men, Sam and Bill, who are in a harness, dangling in front of a large clock face which they are cleaning.]
Sam: it’s warmer today isn’t it? Bill: what? Sam: I said it’s warmer today isn’t it? Bill: Oh yeah, quite a bit warmer. A bit damp though too hey? Sam: you’re not wrong. It does feel damp. Bill: I reckon that’s just the sponges though. Sam: you what? Bill: I reckon that’s just the sponges. Sam: the sponges don’t make the air damp. Bill: but they make us damp, so we feel that it is damp. But actually it might not be damp at all. It could just be the sponges. Sam: you talk shit sometimes. Bill: do I? Sam: yeah you do. Sometimes I wish you wouldn’t say anything. Better to say nothing than talk shit like you do. Bill: I won’t say anything then. Sam: well no, don’t be all sensitive. You can say some things, but just don’t talk crap. Bill: but how can I tell what’s crap and what’s not? I reckon it’s the sponges what makes us damp, you say that’s crap, but I disagree. Sam: fine, you just say whatever’s on your mind and I’ll tell you if it’s crap. Sound good? Bill: not really. Sam: why? Bill: well, it’s a bit degrading. Sam: is it now? Bill: yeah it is. Because at the end of the day, some of the things you say sound like crap to me. Sam: oh yeah? Bill: yeah. Sam: like what? Bill: like you saying it’s warmer. Sam: what today? Bill: yeah it’s not warmer today. It’s colder if anything, so that’s crap what you said. Sam: you agreed with me. Bill: I was being polite. I wouldn’t just come out and say something was crap like you do. Beat. Sam: do you really not think it’s warmer today than it was yesterday? Bill: no I don’t. I think it might be colder if anything. Sam: really? Bill: really, I do. That’s my opinion. And it’s not crap. Sam: right…. And the dampness. You think it’s the sponges? Bill: could be. We’re damp so we think it is damp. But at the end of the day, it’s actually just us who is damp. Sam: you know when you say it like that I can come around to agreeing with you. Bill: really? Sam: yeah. Bill: great. Sam: great. Long pause. Sam: reckon we’ll finish this on time today? Bill: we better. It’s bloody freezing. |
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