Unemployable

Cast of characters

Tom	Late twenties to early thirties. A would-be writer.
Mary	Late twenties. A would-be actress. Lives with Tom.
The Man	Nondescript. Interviews Tom.

 

Scene

An office; Tom and Mary’s apartment; a prosthetic
limb factory

 

Time

The present.

 

SETTING:	An office room.
AT RISE:	MAN behind desk. TOM, dressed indifferently (maybe even sloppy), sits in chair in front of desk. The setting should have enough indistinctness about it that the audience might assume they are seeing a psychologist listening to his patient. MAN takes occasional notes.

 

TOM

I’m an alcoholic. I think. But then maybe I have to deny
it before I really am. So I’m not. But then I think: maybe that’s my denial
talking. I don’t know, it’s tricky. You don’t have any scotch, do you,
perchance?

MAN

No. Sorry.

TOM

I suffer from fatigue. I’m always fucking tired. So,
yeah, I have a hard time getting up in the morning. I drink a whole pot of
coffee just to get the energy to take a shower, and then I end up feeling edgy
and irritable. I smoke a lot, too — cigarettes, I mean, not . . . I mean I
used to smoke weed all the time, but . . . But yeah. Actually I quit with the
patch but now I’m addicted to the patch. I’ve got two on right now, see?

(pulls up
his sleeve to reveal two small patches)

Anyway, you don’t give a shit about that. Sorry. But,
yeah, I mean basically I’m depressive. I envy others. I’m not able to just
appreciate good qualities in other people without envying them. And then that
envy turns into spite and instead of wanting to be them or be like them, I want
to kill them. Or just incapacitate them.

MAN

Anything else?

TOM

I’m chronically dissatisfied. I have problems sustaining
meaningful relationships. I’m not very bright.
I have poor hygiene. I don’t look people in the eye when I talk to them — if
I talk to them — you’ve probably noticed that about me. I have anxiety and
nameless phobias. I tend to use a lot of sarcasm in conversation, and ridicule
others to compensate for my own insecurities. Let’s see, I’m petty, vulgar.
Forgetful. I have problems organizing my thoughts. I lose track of time,
sometimes don’t know what day it is. I daydream about horrific events. Often
I have problems maintaining an erection during sexual intercourse.

MAN

I see, uh huh, well let’s . . . move on to the next
question. What would you say are your best qualities?

TOM

Well, I uh . . . jesus, that’s a bitch of a question, uh . .
.

MAN

It’s always hard to speak well about yourself, I realize,
because nobody wants to sound arrogant.

TOM

Oh, yeah, especially when you have zero self-esteem, cause
when you’re certain of your complete lack of worth and inability to do anything
well, it’s tough. But . . . . . see, I’m shy, too. I’d almost call it a
complex. It’s not just that I feel inferior, though, it’s also that I’m just
not good at talking to people. I don’t relate to anyone, you know, it’s like .
. . well, really I just don’t like people. Sorry, tangent there, let’s see . .
. Positive qualities. Positive qualities. Positive. Good things. Good
things, uh . . . I’m a perfectionist, in a way — but I can never perfect
anything, so I usually just give up right away — if I even bother in the
first place. So I’m not sure whether that’s a positive or . . . Ummmmm . . .
.

(pause; slightly
excited:)

. . . I’m very curious.

(pause)

MAN

Curious.

TOM

Yes, I’m interested in a lot of things. But I feel like
there’s no point in learning because I’ll just forget it all anyway and I’ll
never know even as much as the average person knows–which I realize is not the
reason to better yourself, but, again, I suffer from intense envy
so — sorry, I’m not — Positive, positive, positive, positive . . .

MAN

Let me phrase it another way: what do you think you could
bring to Infomedia Tech, Incorporated?

TOM

What could I “bring”?

(TOM makes
little quotation marks with his fingers on the word “bring”)

MAN

Yes, what is it that you have in particular that would be an
asset to this company.

TOM

Uhhhhh . . . well, that’s . . . . . What does your company
do again?

Scene 2

(TOM and
MARY’s apartment. mary sits
reading a script [“A Bright Room Called Day”] — occasionally
saying lines out loud, practicing saying them in different ways. Tom enters, looking exhausted)

TOM

What are you doing here?

MARY

Me? I live here.

(without
looking up, continues reading and occasionally saying lines throughout the
scene)

TOM

Did you go?

MARY

Hmm?

TOM

How did it go?

MARY

What.

TOM

Mary.

(waving to
get her attention)

Hello.

MARY
(waves)

Hi.

TOM

(sees what
she’s reading)

You got it? That’s — really? You really got it?

MARY

Hmm?

TOM

You got the part.

MARY

You didn’t think I’d get it? You don’t think I’m any good?

TOM

I didn’t say that, I’m just —

MARY

Surprised?

TOM

Well, yes, surprised.

MARY

Because I can’t act.

TOM

No, because the competition must have been fierce, and I
didn’t think the director would be perspicacious enough to appreciate your
subtlety, understated passion and keen insights.

MARY

You’re good.

TOM

Really, though. That’s great, that’s —

MARY

It’s tomorrow, Tom.

TOM

What?

MARY

It’s tomorrow.

TOM

No.

MARY

Yes. It’s Tuesday.

TOM

I know it’s Tuesday, Mary, and that means it was today.
Don’t — don’t tell me you didn’t . . . Shit. Not again.

MARY

The audition is tomorrow.

TOM

On Tuesday.

MARY

Yes.

TOM

That’s today.

MARY

Today’s Monday.

TOM

False.

MARY

Or — is it Tuesday today?

TOM

Yes it is.

MARY

Well then it’s on Wednesday.

TOM

Are you sure?

MARY

If today’s Monday, then the audition’s on Tuesday. And if
today’s Tuesday, then the audition’s on Wednesday.

TOM

What?

MARY

It’s tomorrow, anyway. That’s all I know.

TOM

Didn’t you say that yesterday though?

MARY

No. Maybe. If I did I was confused about what day it was.

TOM

And you’re not now.

MARY

No. It’s tomorrow.

TOM

(dropping it, unconvinced)

O.K. then.

MARY

You know what? It’s not very good.

TOM

The play?

MARY

Drab.

TOM

Really.

MARY

Pretentious. Wordy. Abstract. Poetic in a really phony
way, really.

TOM 

Really.

MARY

Yes. Really.

TOM

Yesterday it was brilliant.

MARY

I hadn’t finished it yesterday. Maybe I shouldn’t audition.

TOM

You really don’t like it?

(mary makes a disgusted, vomiting sound)

Well, it won the Pulitzer Prize.

MARY

No, that was the other one.

TOM

I think it did. Correct me if I’m wrong.

MARY

I did. You’re wrong and I did correct you.

TOM

Which? The angels thing?

MARY

Yeah, I think the fag play. Plays.

TOM

I thought they were all fag plays.

MARY

No, not as much in this one.

TOM

The first one was good.

(mary makes a dismissive
indifferent sound)

I thought.

MARY

He’s an academic schmuck and a propagandist.

TOM

Well, do tampon commercials, then. I don’t give a fuck.

MARY

Maybe I’ll do pornos.

TOM

Job’s a job.

MARY

Job’s a job.

(pause)

So, how did . . .

TOM

Yeah, I think O.K.

MARY

Yeah?

TOM

They don’t give the Pulitzer Prize to just anybody, you
know.

MARY

You mean O.K. as in you think you’ll get it, or O.K. as in
you think you won’t?

TOM

Well . . . see, we’ve discussed this.

MARY

I’m just asking. I wasn’t sure what you’d decided.

TOM

We. We, Mary.

MARY

We decided?

TOM

Yes. We did.

MARY

Oh. What did we decide again?

TOM

We decided, Mary, that it would be advantageous for both of
us if rather than working my arse off in the goddam library —

(mary bursts out laughing)

Thanks, I’ll be here all week.

MARY

You pussy.

TOM

(doing Joe
Pesce in Goodfellas)

I’m a clown to you? I’m here to fuckin amuse you? How the
fuck am I funny?

MARY

The prison labor camp that is the Public Library….

TOM

Well anyway, the point is the time involved, Mary.

MARY

Ah yes. So you didn’t get it.

TOM

The probability is not high.

MARY

Well, you always have your tampon commercials to fall back
on.

TOM

I have to finish this book. I have to.

MARY

That’s fine.

TOM

Is it?

MARY

Fine by me.

TOM

What if it’s no good, is what you’re saying.

MARY

Is that what I said? I don’t remember.

TOM

What if I fail. Yet again. And then . . . What. Right?

MARY

You’ll do fine. Just fine, dear. Just hang in there,
trooper.

TOM

If it’s junk, it’s junk. O.K.? But I have to finish it.

MARY

Tom. Here’s my thing in this. You don’t want to waste your
time on some dead-end job. Yes?

TOM

Yes. I do not.

MARY

So instead you’re spending eight hours a day
looking — pretending to look — for dead-end jobs hoping not to get them
so that you can get unemployment.

TOM

Point taken. I understand.

MARY

And no dental. Ya know?

TOM

Yes, but–

MARY

Just think about that aspect, that’s all I’m saying.

TOM

If I could just find a job in which I could get paid to just
sit and think. Just . . . generate ideas.

MARY

Sure. The dishwashing job . . .

TOM

Yeah, it seemed . . . but the only story ideas I came up
with were stories about some depressed dishwasher who plots revolutions and
then one day goes insane and kills the manager and the short order cook with a
pizza cutter.

MARY

Did you ever write that?

TOM

No.

MARY

Sounds O.K. Has potential.

TOM

Mainly just thought about sticking my head into the deep fat
fryer. No good can come of that.

MARY

Hmm. Well, tomorrow?

TOM

Yes? Tomorrow . . .

(shrugs)

. . . same again.

MARY

How many more?

TOM

(takes out a
piece of paper, looks at it)

Uhhhhhh . . . two more. See? It’s not a full-time thing.
It’s only the — oh, what the fuck day is it? . . .

MARY

Tuesday.

TOM

Of the year, the month. The “date” . . .

MARY

Fifteenth?

TOM

(in a tone
that says “that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard”)

No.

(a beat; he
rethinks this; with a dismissive wave of the hand:)

. . . Yeah, around in there. Ah hah: you see? The
month’s only half over. It’s a part time gig. Try unsuccessfully tomorrow to
become gainfully employed just two more times and I’m set for the month. Two
weeks to do nothing but write.

MARY

To stare at a blank page, you mean.

TOM

That’s part of the creative process, Mary.

MARY

Mmmm. A big part, yes?

 

TOM

Well it is.

(beat)

I’m going to bed. I’m fucking exhausted.

MARY

Hard work, being unemployed.

TOM

Got that right.

(beat)

I mean, not really, though. Good luck tomorrow.

MARY

You too.

TOM

Yeah, I’ll need it.

Scene 3

(interview)

MAN

What did you like best about your last employer?

TOM

Well, he stayed out of my way, I guess. He was gullible,
easily manipulated, so I could snow him into believing that I was doing my job
when in fact I spent most of my day looking at porn on the internet and
shopping online.

MAN

Yeah. Uh huh. And, what did you like least about your last
employer?

TOM

Oh, that’s easy. He was a tyrannical prick. His complete
ignorance didn’t prevent him from being dogmatic. He never listened to
anyone — probably not even to himself, or else he would surely have pulled
his own head off out of sheer frustration, annoyance and boredom. He didn’t
even know how to operate his computer, let alone fix it; so when he had
problems I offered to help and then I sabotaged his machine to self-destruct
when he did simple tasks so that he would think it was his fault.

MAN

And you have, let’s see, a B.A., or . . .

TOM

Oh, hell no. Higher education — well, education period
is for the brainwashed middle class. I dropped out of high school to join a
commune. I did go to acupuncture therapy school for six months, though. I
believe I listed that there on the resume.

Scene 4

 

MAN

And you majored in . . . . ?

TOM

Oh, uh, hydrotherapy. Yeah, I think it’s like forcing
people to take baths to cure their minds or something, but I’m not sure cause I
never really went to class. My roommate was autistic, so I was able to
convince him that he should do all my homework. He even took tests for me and
stuff, great guy. You couldn’t steal money from him, though, because he always
knew exactly how much he had right down to the last penny. That kinda sucked,
ya know. Yeah, he got me a minor in calculus, too, and I think I got a
concentration in Business Administration, I’m not sure. I’d have to ask him.
He kept really good track of everything as far as my transcript and grades and
whatnot.

Scene 5

TOM

I guess one
problem I have is, I have this thing where if I get bored? — I mean really
bored? — it makes me sick. I don’t mean sick as in “religion makes me
sick” or something — although that’s true–I mean I get physically ill. I
get so bored I’m nauseas. Start throwing up. Actually — right now, see?
I think I’m gonna throw up right now — hold on a sec . . .

(he looks as though he is about to vomit, but does not)

O.K. Sorry. False alarm. But then, see, if I’m
over-stimulated? Or under too much pressure? I have seizures.

MAN

Where do you see yourself in, say, ten years?

TOM

Ten years? Huh. That’s funny, because my true answer would
have to be in a coffin. Yeah, ever since I was little I promised myself I’d
commit suicide by the age of 30. Of course, when you’re little, 30 seems like
an old person, ya know? But even now I’d have to say . . . yeah, dead I think.
Or in prison.

Scene 6

TOM

Weaknesses? Well, little kids, for one. Yeah. Little
boys, especially. I don’t know what it is, I just . . . I’m attracted to young
people. And I know some people would call that a sickness, but then, you know,
people say that about homosexuality, too, right? I mean, it’s just in how you
look at it. But, yeah, I really can’t help myself when it comes to children.
And pornography — not just child pornography, any kind, really. I can’t
get enough of that stuff, it seems like. I’d like to make my own porn movies,
if I could find a camera. I’m impotent, too, though, so it’s sorta futile. I
just hope I don’t get carried away and rape some fellow co-worker or something.
I mean, that doesn’t look good on a resume, right?

(laughs,
maybe gives a wink)

As far as weakness goes, I’d have to say I’m just weak in
general. I think you have to give in to temptation. That’s the only way to
overcome it. I guess that’s what’s called a paradox. Say, are you busy
Friday? I’m not saying you’re gay, but either way, I’d like to have sex with
you. See, I’m forward. Now you can see that as a weakness, but I prefer to
see it as a strength. And I must say I find you very attractive. In fact, I
haven’t stopped picturing you naked since I came in here. How long is your
penis? When erect, I mean. If that’s not a personal question.

Scene 7

(TOM and MARY’S apartment. Morning. MARY sits reading
a script while watching TV, which keeps distracting her. TOM comes out of the
bathroom looking as disheveled as ever — old white T-shirt, jeans with
holes in the knees, bed head, unshaven, etc. He gets some coffee)

MARY

Hey.

TOM

Hey.

(glancing at the TV)

What are you watching?

MARY
(goes back to reading)

Oh, I’m not really watching it.

TOM

Another audition today?

MARY

(already distracted again by the TV)

Hmm?

TOM

(takes the book from her and looks at it)

MacBeth? You serious?

MARY

(snatching the book back)

Thanks for the vote of confidence, Tom-ass.

TOM

No, I just —

MARY

I can be a power-hungry manipulative bitch.

TOM

Of that I have no doubt.

(TOM downs some more coffee, then pours the rest of it
down his shirt)

MARY

Another interview?

TOM

Yup. Last one. Can’t screw this up.

MARY

You mean, “gotta screw this up,” don’t you?

TOM

You say “tomato,” I say “TOO-MAY-TOOOO.”

MARY

Maybe if you fart a lot.

TOM

Hey, that’s a good idea.

(he puts on a colorful bow tie)

MARY
(of TV)

What a fucking slut.

TOM

What time’s the audition?

MARY

Huh? Oh, it’s, uhh, . . . later on.

TOM

Rupture a spleen.

MARY

Yeah, you too.

TOM

(putting on a filthy old baseball cap, heads out the
door)

See ya.

MARY

Bye.

(TOM is gone. She watches TV for a moment.)

What an evil bitch.

(This sort of reminds her to get back to reading. She
reads for about five seconds, then watches TV again.)

Scene 8

(Office. MAN
is dressed a bit strangely, and is missing one arm. With his existing arm he
is struggling to shave the hair off the good arm. TOM enters, dressed as in
the previous scene. He coughs a lot, then spits)

MAN

Ah! You must be . . .

(looks through some papers)

. . . Derek.

TOM

No, Tom.

MAN

(looks again at his papers, looks confused)

O.K., Tom, sure. Have a seat.

(TOM glances around; the only seat is a bean bag chair.
MAN gestures to the bean bag, and TOM sits in it.)

MAN

(finding TOM’S papers, holds them up with great
excitement)

Ah! Tom!

(clears his throat; professional now)

O.K., I’ve, uh . . . got your resume here, so . . . just a
few . . . . Firstly, uh, . . . . well, what do you think you could bring to
this company?

TOM

Well, what would you like me to bring?

MAN

I dunno. I just have to ask shit like that, ya know?

TOM

Right. Well, I’ve got a lot to offer, I think. Whatever it
is that you need, I’ll bring it.

MAN

Lovely!

TOM

If you don’t mind my asking, is that–

(indicating
his missing arm)

–why you got into this business?

 

MAN

Oh, no. This was an accident here in the
plant. See, I dropped an M&M into one of the machines so of course, first
reaction, right? Reached in there for it, and . . .

(gestures and makes facial expression imitating a person
having his arm ripped off)

Got the M&M, though. Well. So, it says here, let’s see
. . . your previous job was . . . .

TOM

Dishwasher.

MAN

That’s right. Yes. And you held this position for, uh, . .
.

TOM

Four years.

MAN

Yes. Four. Years. And, uh, . . . why did you decide to
leave this job.

TOM

Well, I . . . jesus, I think a better question would be why
didn’t I leave sooner. Ya know?

MAN

You’re quite right! Or, “what prevented you from
sticking your head into the deep fat fryer,” right?

TOM

Uhh . . . ha ha. Yes. But I guess, finally — see I
always fantasized about . . . the pizza cutter. And using it to, you know, to
kill, or — not kill, necessarily, but to . . . maim . . . the head manager.
And several waitresses there, I wanted to gag with hamburgers. Just stuff
leftover food into their mouths, you know? And dunk their heads in the dirty
dishwater, watch the bubbles come up through the bits of lettuce and filth.

MAN

Uh huh. I know what you mean, I hear ya. I fantasize about
that often. And I don’t even work in a kitchen, so . . . Now I see that
previously you had worked for six years at . . . a glue factory?

TOM

That’s right.

MAN

Fascinating. Tell me a bit about that, then.

TOM

Well, it was a kind of Crazy Glue — not Crazy Glue but a
generic version of the stuff. “Loopy Glue.”

MAN

Oh, Loopy Glue! I love that stuff. You know you can glue
your fingernail back on with that stuff?

TOM

Oh?

MAN

Oh yes, works like a charm. And if you ever break off the
tip of a knife, believe it or not a little Loopy Glue and a clamp and the
blade’s as good as new.

TOM

Huh.

MAN

So what was your job, exactly?

TOM

Yes, well, I went through the tubes after the process to
make sure none were damaged and that all the caps were on tightly, and then I
would throw out any damaged tubes.

MAN

Wow! So you actually got to inhale quite a good lot of the
stuff, I’ll bet.

TOM

Yes, the fumes were pretty bad.

MAN

Bad as in “Bad Mothafucka,” right? Bad as in
“phat” with a p-h, know what I mean? That’s a good gig, save some
money that way.

TOM

Yup.

MAN

Nerve damage, though, ya know.

TOM

That’s what they say.

MAN

Did it affect your brain, do ya think?

TOM

Well, they don’t call it crazy glue for nothin.

MAN

Amen. Amen. Say, do you need a fix at all, or . . . ?

(takes a
tube of glue from his desk drawer, offers it to TOM)

TOM

No no, no, I’m good.

MAN

All righty. Mind if I . . . ?

TOM

Uh — no, no, not at all.

MAN

(takes a
good huff from the glue and puts it away)

Now, it says here under “skills” that you’re an
excellent shot with a cross-bow.

TOM

Yes sir.

MAN

Well now I’m trusting, mind, but I just want to give you a
little test if that’s O.K.

(takes out a
cross bow from his desk drawer, holds it out for tom, who hesitantly takes it; then man takes out an apple, which he balances on his head)

Now I don’t want you to be nervous, because I’ve got a
titanium plate right here —

(points to
his forehead)

— since the war and it has withstood many an airborne
object without fail. Comes in handy when the wife starts thwacking you with
the wooden spoon or throws the wok, I can tell ya. So. You ready? Stand back
a bit.

TOM

Um, O.K., but . . . see . . . no, I . . .

MAN

Don’t worry, don’t worry. Give ‘er a go.

TOM

See, the thing is . . . I kinda exaggerated about the whole
cross bow thing.

MAN

Well, embellishment is a skill, too, son. Everybody
embellishes.

TOM

Well, when I say “exaggerated,” what I really mean
is . . . lied.

MAN

Oh. Well.

TOM

I’ve never shot a cross bow, actually.

MAN

No? Well, by jesus, you should try it. No time like the
present. First time for everything. A bird in the hand is worth about two
sacks of grain. Go ahead, I’m ready.

TOM

No, I don’t think I will.

MAN

Come on, you gook fuck! Come and get me! I’ll run you
through with a bamboo shoot, you Commy gook fuckos! Just kidding. Go ahead.

TOM

No, that’s all right.

MAN

No? Well, all right, then. Let’s move on.

(sits back
down and looks over the resume. takes a big bite of the apple; talks with his
mouth full)

Now you used to clean toilets, yeah?

TOM

Sure.

MAN

Now, did you ever come across one where it’s like some
maniac splattered shit all over the stall and the seat and everywhere? Like
you walk in and you’re standin in a pool of piss and the smell almost makes you
faint?

TOM

No. No, sir.

MAN

Well, if you did, though, what would you do. Would you
clean it up? Or quit, or what?

TOM

I think I’d . . . quit.

MAN

Ah hah. That’s too bad. Cause the shitter in the break
room gets like that frequently — we’re trying to figure out who’s doing it,
cause it’s clearly somebody in the plant — I suspect Doug, he’s head of
production for the ad department, but he won’t fess up. Anyhow, I
thought — well, but that’s not the job you’re applying for, is it.

TOM

That’s true, no. Thanks, though.

MAN

You ever shine shoes?

TOM

Uh, no.

MAN

Good for you. When I was a — well, before A.A., I
decided to quit squeegying and try shinin shoes. I was homeless, so I just
needed enough dough to get a dose of my poison when I ran out. But I gotta
tell ya, the people who will sit and read the Wall Street Journal while a bum
shines their shoes for an unspecified sum of change are the robotic shitbags of
the earth, son. So what I’d do, finally, is I’d still do the job, shine the
shoes up real nice so’s I could see my reflection even, and then while the
guy’s diggin in his pocket for the change, I’d whip out my knife —

(whips out a
knife)

— and jab it just like that —

(jabs the
knife into the surface of his desk)

— into their upper-class hooves.

(Leaving the
knife there he makes a stabbing motion with his hand again)

Jaaaaa!

(laughs)

And then, of course, I’d grab their money and run like the
dickens. Best job I ever had. So, uh, what are you looking for in terms of
salary?

Scene 9

(MARY in the
apartment. TOM enters, dressed as before, looking glum, confused)

MARY

Well, well. Rough day at the office, honey?

TOM

You’re not gonna believe this.

MARY

I got a role.

TOM

This fucking nut. This . . . loopy son of a bitch, at
Bronson Medical Supplies. He —

MARY

I’m going to be in “Captain Sinky’s U-Boat
Adventures.” It’s a kids play, but very political.

TOM

I think he was in Vietnam . . .

MARY

It’s about the significance of the individual in the face of
the death of Reason and the rebirth of atrocity.

TOM

I told him, I said — like this, flat out: “I’m
incompetent, generally, and I see work as a necessary evil.”

MARY

Sort of a Don Quixote meets Ulysses meets Treasure Island
meets the Holocaust.

TOM

And he hired me.

MARY

I’m playing a chair. All the furniture is being played by
actors.

TOM

What am I gonna do?

MARY

What did you say? He — you got a job?

TOM

(nodding in
incredulous despair)

I start Monday. On the assembly line, making prosthetic
limbs.

MARY

That’s . . . terrible.

TOM

Yes it is.

MARY

Did you tell him the story of how you were fired for
sexually harassing that cleaning lady in the wheelchair who didn’t speak any
English?

TOM

No, but I told him I thought land mines and booby traps
should be set for hunters, and that Reagan was probably the Antichrist, and
that Joseph Stalin was just misunderstood . . .

MARY

Jesus.

TOM

Monday morning. Oh, God. I don’t . . . . . Did you say
you’re playing a chair?

(MARY
squats, imitating a chair, looking up at him with a forced smile. Pause)

I have to get fired.

Scene 10

(the
apartment, the following Monday morning. MARY eating cereal and watching a
morning show on T.V. TOM enters from the bedroom, wearing nothing but white
briefs, a pair of argyle socks, a bow tie, and a hard hat; he moves hurriedly.)

TOM

Wish me luck.

MARY

Good luck, honey. Do you think Bryant Gumble paints his
skin to look black?

TOM

Bryant Gumble. Yes. No, I suspect he is an alien
shape-shifting life form. What are you talking about?

MARY

He just seems so . . . Caucasian. Ya know?

TOM

I’ll see you after . . .

(sighs,
shivers, winces, etc. to show his bewildered disgust)

. . . work.

MARY

(finally noticing
what he is wearing)

Off to audition for the new Village People video, honey?

TOM

If I still have a job tomorrow I’ll have a sex change and
join a convent. You have my word on that.

(looks
through the cupboard for liquor)

MARY

Why don’t you shave off your nipples?

TOM

Why don’t you.

MARY

Smear ham gravy all over your body, and remember to sing Kum
Ba Ya while looking to the skies expectantly. Bring a kazoo, as well.

TOM

I don’t wish to be institutionalized, merely fired.

(takes a
couple shots of whiskey)

Well, I’m off. Have a lovely day, darling. Where the hell
are my keys . . .

MARY

Why are you in such a goddamned hurry, for chrissakes?

TOM

Mary, it’s 7:45, I have to — if I don’t — . . . . .
Oh yeah. Good thinking.

(sighs
deeply, stretches)

Is there any coffee made?

MARY

It’s an hour old.

TOM

(his pace
now lethargic, he pours some coffee and sits. The next line said while
yawning)

How can you get up so early?

MARY

I can’t sleep. I keep having dreams I’m being sat on by a
very plump German pirate and crushed to death.

TOM

That’s funny, I’ve been having the same dream. You think
I’m kidding?

MARY

(looking him
over)

You need a different hat.

TOM

I need a different life.

(pause)

MARY

I’m not going to take the role.

TOM

No?

MARY

No. I’m going to try out for “Uncle Vanya.”

TOM

I’ve seen a lot of pornos, but I’ve never heard of him.

MARY

Ha, ha. It’s at the Broken Globe.

TOM

(impressed,
implying “that’s a competitive company”)

Wow.

MARY

Don’t “wow” me, it’s worth a fucking shot.

TOM

No. Seriously. That’s good. That makes me very happy.
But, please, if they cast you as a cherry tree or a samovar, don’t accept the
role.

MARY

I’m going back to bed.

(she exits,
TOM takes another shot of whiskey, dumps a bit in his hand and splashes it on
like after-shave, and marches out the door singing or humming Kum Ba Ya.)

Scene 11

(the
apartment, that night. MARY sits reading a manuscript and writing fervently in
the margins. TOM enters, wearing the same garb and looking glum, collapses on
a chair. MARY finishes what she is writing and then studies him.)

MARY

You’re kidding me.

TOM

(ruefully
shakes his head)

Everyone at that factory is certifiably insane.

MARY

They didn’t fire you.

TOM

There was mention of a raise.

MARY

Good for you, son.

TOM

What are you working on?

MARY

Oh, nothin.

TOM

Is that . . . that’s not . . . is it?

MARY

So what are you gonna do? Get your hand caught in the
plastic arm machine so you can collect workman’s compensation?

TOM

It is. You’re reading my book.

MARY

Hmm?

TOM

I’m not upset, I just . . . Why?

MARY
(shrugs)

Got bored. Thought I’d take a look at it.

TOM

And?

MARY

It’s . . . it’s interesting. Has potential.

TOM

“Interesting and has potential, raves the New York
Times.” Christ, Mary, when did you become a goddam critic.

MARY

I’m not criticizing, I just . . . If you really want
criticism, I’ve been making notes in the margins here.

TOM

I don’t wanna look at that. Thanks.

MARY

It’s your loss. Oh, and I, uh, . . . rewrote a couple of
things. Just a few awkward passages. And chapter four. It seemed stilted.

TOM

Stilted.

MARY

Just . . . uninspired. Pedantic in a pedestrian sort of
way. And I’d ditch the entire preface. I’m not saying you should use my
version, I just found myself writing it. That’s all.

TOM

Well. I’m bringing home the bacon now, maybe you can write
the fucking thing.

MARY

Who knows?

TOM

Pardon?

MARY

It’s a thought.

(pause)

So, uh, . . . what’s the plan, Stan?

TOM

Well, here’s the thing. I’m fairly certain they’re not
going to fire me, regardless. I could just not show up, but unless I punch in
I’m not going to get paid even though I’m on the payroll. So. What I’m going
to have to do is resort to . . . actually getting another job.

MARY

One that will fire you.

TOM

Correct.

MARY

You’re a lunatic.

TOM

Shit, I wonder if I have any clean shirts . . .

(on his way
out to look for shirts, he stops)

I’m sorry, Mary, I’m totally fucking self-absorbed, I didn’t
even —

MARY

Don’t worry about it.

TOM

No, I’m a fucker. I’m sorry.

MARY

I didn’t get it.

TOM

Which?

MARY

Sonia.

TOM

Oh, that one was actually today?

MARY

I just couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t . . . focus. It’s
weird, I’m questioning — ever since the chair thing, all of it seems the
same. Shakespeare, The Snow Queen, Toothpaste commercials — all of it,
it’s the same fucking business. Isn’t it.

TOM

Mary. That’s like saying a Big Mac is the same thing as
fine cuisine, it’s just not true.

MARY
(overlapping)

Exactly, no, that’s the thing: it is the same. It’s
food. It takes longer to prepare one and the taste is different but — even
the taste, the average person probably prefers a Big Mac to caviar — so
what’s the point? And maybe they’re right, ya know? You eat your Happy Meal
without having to leave the comfort of your minivan and you’re happy with your
meal and you go about your business, dropping the kids off at day care or
whatever the fuck — I just . . .

TOM

Mary, what’s [the matter] —

MARY
(overlapping)

I reread Catcher In The Rye today. I hadn’t read that book
since I was in the seventh grade. I remember I loved it so much I read all his
other stuff, not that I really understood it but — anyway, you know how
Holden can’t appreciate theater because even if it’s a really great play with
really great performances he can’t help picturing the
rehearsals? — picturing the actor sitting there practicing for hours and
thinking they’re real hot shit and everything and . . . putting on this act,
this — sitting alone in a room and saying these lines over and over in a
voice that’s completely phony and then —

TOM

Mary, Mary, calm down. Take a nap, or — have a drink or
something, you’re —

MARY

No, I have been drinking, it’s not —

TOM

Ah, well that explains a good deal.

MARY

No! I’m not saying this because I’m drunk, Tom! Why is it
always —

(pause)

Never mind.

TOM

(about to
leave her alone, stops again)

I think you’re extremely talented and you should keep doing
what you’re doing.

(TOM exits.
A brief pause, then MARY throws a pen or something at where he had been
standing)

Scene 12

(the
apartment, a week or two later, morning. MARY at desk or table writing
furiously. TOM enters from bedroom, dressed as a priest.)

TOM

How do I look.

MARY

(without
looking up, keeps writing)

Fine. Just fine, dear.

TOM

Could you at least do me the courtesy of [looking at
me] —

MARY
(overlapping)

I’m sorry, hon, just a sec.

(keeps
writing for a beat, then looks at him)

Fine.

TOM

Fine. Good. Thanks.

(looking in
mirror, adjusting his collar, his hair, etc.)

This is gonna work, I can feel it. Obviously a master’s
degree doesn’t impress anyone, but this I think will make an impression. How
can they refuse to hire a man of the cloth, driven by the ravages of poverty to
seek menial labor which distracts him from his holy calling?

(pause)

Right?

MARY

Sure, hon. Yeah.

(MARY
scribbles furiously in attempt to get her pen to write, then tosses it aside
and searches for a new one. TOM stares at her for a beat, then heads out the
door without another word)

Oh, Tom? Tom, could you pick me up some pens? Not ball
point, the liquid ink kind. Thanks, hon.

(TOM shoots
her a look, slams the door on his way out. MARY searches in vain for another
pen, gives up; goes to a closet and digs around, takes out an old manual
typewriter. Finds some paper, sits down and types furiously, chain-smoking.)

Scene 13

(the
apartment, night. Maybe a week later. MARY sits smoking a cigarette, calmly,
doing nothing. There is now a computer in the room and a laser printer; pages
and pages of a huge document are being printed out and stacking up. TOM
enters, in drag)

TOM

This can’t go on. This simply cannot go on.

MARY

(trying not
to giggle)

You look . . . ravishing.

TOM

I gotta come up with a plan. I gotta think. I’m getting
desperate and making stupid mistakes.

MARY

Tom, dear?

TOM

What.

MARY

Where have you been?

TOM

Where have I “been,” Mary? Where the fuck do you
think?

MARY

Night club?

TOM

Yeah, that’s right, Mary. I’ve been crooning behind a
microphone.

MARY

Why are you dressed like that?

TOM

You really don’t know. Do you. Jesus, I bet you haven’t
heard a word I’ve said for the past two weeks, have you.

(a beat)

The job? The Dairy Queen job? That ring a bell?

(MARY nods
but clearly no bell is rung)

TOM
(cont.)

All right, I’ll reiterate. The Dairy Queen only hires
girls, I’ve been told, because the head manager is a filthy old pedophile.
I’ve been told. But what I did not take into account is that having been hired
I will now — would, I would, not will — have to go to work every
day thereafter wearing . . . this. Which I cannot do. It’s not about dignity,
it’s about . . .

(adjusting
his crotch)

. . . comfort. Sanity.

MARY

I think you look very dignified. Quite distinguished.

TOM

But here’s the “kicker,” as they say: today now,
I find out that this guy — this fucking . . . guy, knew the
whole fucking time that I was a man in drag and he hired me because in
addition to liking young girls he is turned on by transsexuals.

MARY

Transvestite, I think.

TOM

Excuse me?

MARY

You’re not a transsexual, I think you’re a transvestite.
I’ll look it up.

TOM

Thank you but that won’t be necessary because I am neither,
thank you very much. At any rate. He . . . in the back office, he . . .

MARY
(trying not to laugh)

Oh no.

TOM

Yes, he . . . came on to me.

MARY

It’s a jungle out there.

TOM

Yeah, easy for you to say, you don’t have to look for a job,
all you do is sit at home and fucking —

(pause)

What are you doing?

MARY

Me? Nothing. Whatta ya mean?

TOM

That is what I mean. You’re not writing.

MARY

Oh. No, this is true.

TOM

Why are you not writing?

MARY

Cause. I’m done.

TOM

Gave it up, finally? Blank page won the stare-down?

MARY

No, I finished it.

TOM

You “finished” it.

(MARY nods)

The book? You finished the book.

MARY

Yeah, it’s right there.

(pointing to
the printer. TOM stares at her in disbelief, notices the printer and computer
for the first time, does a double-take)

TOM

Where the hell
did you get a computer?

(TOM goes to
the printer and glances at a few pages. MARY jumps up and darts over to him,
tries to take the pages out of his hands)

MARY

Don’t screw it up, you’re going to get them all out of order
for chrissakes.

(TOM reads the title page — a look of hurt shock comes
over him. He slowly turns the page, reads a bit, then calmly puts the
manuscript back, walks in a daze to the chair and sits, expressionless)

 

TOM

(slouching,
pitiful)

What a world.

MARY

You hungry?

TOM

No.

MARY

I’m hungry, you wanna go out to eat?

TOM

You gonna pay for it?

MARY

Sure, it’s on me.

TOM

Yeah, right. You gonna wash dishes after the meal?

MARY

Don’t worry about it. I got an advance.

TOM

Pardon?

MARY

Yeah, I got a little per diem. To tide me over.

TOM

You got a . . . What? From who? Tell me you haven’t been
selling your body.

MARY

(smiling)

You know, if we were married? I’d divorce you. No, I got a
stipend from a publishing house.

(pause)

TOM

You’re serious, aren’t you.

(pause)

What, like Harlequin or something?

MARY

No, Penguin.

TOM

Ah. What is it, a children’s book or — . . . . You
don’t mean the Penguin. . . . Do you?

MARY

I don’t mean I met a penguin and he gave me some money, I mean
Penguin for chrissakes.

(pause)

You’re going to hit me, aren’t you.

TOM

No, but I am going to drink myself into a stupor.

(he gets
himself a drink)

MARY

Charming.

TOM

Hey, it’s the one thing I’m good at.

MARY

Tom, please don’t hate me.

TOM

No, listen. That’s . . . I’m very happy for you.

(starts to
go into another room)

MARY

Where are you going?

TOM

Nowhere, I’m just going in here to slit my wrists.

MARY

You want me to write a good suicide note for you?

(TOM comes
out, stands in doorway, stares)

I’m sorry, that was . . . I’m sorry. Please don’t drown
yourself in the toilet.

TOM

I’m very happy for you.

MARY

No you’re not. That’s the thing, I knew you’d react
like this. Actually I didn’t think about it much, I just — I was really caught
up in the — but I mean I’m afraid to even let you read it, because —

TOM

I have no desire to read it, Mary.

MARY

I didn’t mean to . . . I just had these ideas, Tom. And I
had to write them. I had to write it, Tom.

(silence)

Fine, don’t say anything. I’m gonna go get something to
eat. You can either join me or stay here and sulk, it’s up to you.

(silence)

It’s good, Tom. I think it’s really good. And that’s
what’s most important. I’m sorry, but that’s how I feel.

(pause)

I’ll see you later.

(another
pause. TOM does not look at her. She finally goes. A long silence. Finally,
TOM slowly rises, goes to the printer, takes the manuscript to the table and
begins to read)

Scene 14

(the
apartment. TOM sits alone, staring into space. He turns on the T.V., channel
surfs — soap operas [note: the T.V. can be nonexistent, but there should
be sound, live or pre-recorded but very cheesy and melodramatic])

TOM

Good god.

(pause)

Good god! These people get paid for this. A lot.

(makes a
sickened at-my-wit’s-end noise. He changes the channel until he finds
“Wheel of Fortune,” then leaves it there. A pause. MARY enters.
She is dressed semi-formally, more professional-looking than before. The two
avoid acknowledging one another during an uncomfortable silence.)

MARY

So.

TOM

Was that a question or just a non sequitur?

MARY

That’s a good question.

TOM

That wasn’t a question. It was a non sequitur.

MARY

So what have you been doing today, question mark?

TOM

Acting lessons.

(points at
T.V.)

MARY

Ah.

TOM

Yeah, I’m thinking of going into acting.

MARY

Tom, don’t be like this.

TOM

Like what.

MARY

Don’t be a prick.

TOM

I’m not “being” a prick, I’m just pretending to be
a prick. I’m acting. Like a prick. It’s not as easy as people think.

(a pause.
MARY starts to go into another room)

So, big meeting with your editor, then. Question mark.

MARY

Not too big, but a meeting, yeah.

TOM

He fixing all your comma splices and fragments and run-ons
and whatnot?

MARY

Yeah, I guess so. I’ve never been any good at that grammar
rubbish.

TOM

Right. That “rubbish.”

MARY

(starts to
leave again)

You know what? I’m tired of this and I’m not going to play
this game anymore. I’ll be in the shower.

TOM

You feeling dirty? I’m not a psychologist or anything but
that might indicate, say, . . . guilt. Or something.

MARY

How is the writing going, Thomas? Working on any new
grammatically-correct and perfectly punctuated opuses?

TOM

Oh, nah. You know I think I’m gonna give that rubbish up.
It’s a racket. Yeah, like I said: acting seems like a rewarding profession,
the more I think about it.

MARY

You know what, Tom? Do it. I’m not kidding you. Go out
and audition for something, maybe it’ll make you feel better about this.
Because it’s not about you versus me, Tom, it’s about finding something that
you can actually do. Something you’re actually good at without ever
having known it rather than just this inertia of doing what you think you’re
supposed to do because of some choice you made in the past, or — goddammit,
I shouldn’t have to fucking justify myself here.

(makes
exasperated noise)

Or keep writing if you want to but do something.
Don’t just . . . wallow.

TOM

No, but I’m good at wallowing. Yeah, I am. And what’s
funny is I never even knew it before.

MARY

It’s your life. Wallow away.

(a silence.
MARY seems about to say something more, but does not. Starts once again to
leave)

TOM

You’re right, of course.

MARY

About what.

TOM

Your book. It’s good. It’s really good, actually. It’s
ten times better than mine was — or I should say “would have
been.”

MARY

I never said that, Tom. I did not say that.

TOM
(overlapping)

I know you didn’t. I’m saying it. I’m saying it,
Mary, although it makes me want to chop off all my fingers and leave them in
your pen drawer, O.K.? And you’re right about me, it’s obvious. You know, in
these interviews sometimes I make up elaborate stories, but other times I
don’t. I just — there’s no pressure so I just ad lib, say whatever comes
into my head. And it’s really therapeutic in a way because I discover things
about myself. And I thought about this all day yesterday and I finally said,
“Christ, I don’t have the faintest clue who the fuck I am.” But it
didn’t upset me. Quite the opposite. Quite the opposite. You know, since
Sartre and his bunch we all think of freedom as a terrible thing, but it’s not.
It’s just not. I can do whatever the fuck I want to do.

(a beat)

Just not necessarily well.

MARY

Maybe you should, uh, . . . see someone.

TOM

I’m gonna do it.

MARY

I think that’s good.

TOM

I’m gonna audition.

MARY

What?

TOM

Tomorrow. I’m gonna fucking do it.

MARY

You’re . . . really? I mean, . . . yeah. You should.

TOM

I’m going to.

MARY
(dubious)

Good.

TOM

Yeah.

(silence)

MARY

So, uh . . . whatcha gonna do today?

TOM

Dunno. What time is it?

MARY

It’s, uh . . . about noon.

TOM

Shit!

MARY
(alarmed)

What.

TOM

(gets up suddenly, and takes off his pants, then his
shirt)

I gotta be at work!

(hurriedly, he puts on some lipstick and a clown’s wig,
places some pasties on his nipples, and snow shoes on his feet)

 

MARY

(as TOM is dressing, she follows him around somewhat)

Tom, what are you doing. You’re freaking me out a little
bit here. Why don’t you — look, put your pants back on and I’ll take you
out to eat. To celebrate. It’s on me. Anywhere you wanna go.

TOM

Get out of my way, I’ve got places to be.

MARY

O.K., well . . . have a good day at work, I guess.

(Without a word he abruptly leaves, slamming the door
behind him. MARY shakes her head, laughs a bit, then almost starts to cry.
She collapses on the couch, sighs, lets her head fall back and sits staring at
the ceiling)

Scene 15

 

(the prosthetic limb factory. MAN’S office. MAN now
has a prosthetic arm with a hook for a hand, sits trying to eat sardines with
it. TOM enters)

MAN

Robert!

TOM

(looks around a bit to
see who MAN is talking to)

Uh,
it’s Tom, actually.

MAN

You
just get here? It’s almost one o’clock.

TOM

Yeah,
sorry I’m late. I was masturbating and lost track of time.

MAN

Ah.
Sure. Since you’re here, there’s something I wanna discuss with you.
Oh — sardine?

TOM

No
thanks. So I see you got a new arm.

MAN

Oh,
this old thing? No, this is old. I usually only wear it when I’m reading.

TOM

Right,
right.

MAN
(eats another sardine)

Sit,
sit.

TOM

(sits, puts his feet up
on MAN’S desk)

Mind
if I put my feet up?

MAN

Please
do! Although I should warn you, I have one hell of a foot fetish.

(MAN stares longingly at
TOM’S feet; starts to slowly reach for them)

Mind
if I . . . [touch them]

TOM

Sure,
sure. Hey, do you have a toe nail clipper, per chance?

MAN

Yeah,
here.

(takes a nail clipper
out of his shirt pocket. TOM takes off his socks and proceeds to clip his toe
nails. MAN licks his lips, then forces himself to look away from the feet,
sighs)

Whiskey?

TOM

Yes,
please.

(MAN pours a couple of
shots, they drink)\

MAN

Now
I’ve been thinking: should we be content with just two legs and two arms? Says
who? See, I was thinking some people might prefer more limbs. Everyone wishes
they could have four arms, don’t they? — or animal limbs. Right? Or even
a tail. Gills. Horns. Webbed appendages — you think Olympic swimmers
wouldn’t pay good money for that shit?

TOM

Of
course they would.

MAN

Damn
right. Quills. Quills, Douglas!

TOM

Tom.

MAN

Quills,
Tom!

TOM

Quills,
right.

MAN
(suddenly worried)

Shhh.

(listens)

TOM

What.

MAN

Shhhh.

(points up and around the room)

TOM

What?

MAN

Shhh!

(whispers)

Bugs.

TOM

Bugs?

MAN

Wire
taps.

TOM

Who’s
planting bugs?

MAN

Who
the hell do you think, Scott? The Chinese!

TOM

Oh,
right.

MAN

Those
little slanty-eyed devils are constantly trying to steal my ideas. We’ll have
to be [very very quiet] . . . do you know semaphore code?

TOM

No?

MAN

Dammit.
Me neither.

(thinks for a while)

Well,
we’ll have to learn. Oh! Something else I’ve been working on that I want to
show you.

(opens a safe and takes out a glass head)

Like
it?

TOM

Sure.
It’s a beauty.

MAN

Prosthetic
head — a first in and of itself. But. But. But. See-through?
Now there’s the genius. Be able to see the brain working in there? Huh?

TOM

Yeah,
brilliant.

MAN

Damn
right.

(suddenly looks shaken, looks around in a
panic that they have been overheard; whispers)

Shit — we’re
talking too loud again. Pretend it’s all a joke.

TOM
(whispers)

O.K.

(MAN begins to laugh loudly; TOM joins
him. The laughter grows, becomes a bit maniacal. MAN suddenly stops laughing,
stares upward, listening; TOM’S laughter dies down. MAN silently points at the
glass head, then taps his own temple by way of saying “genius.” He puts the
head away, conceals it.)

MAN

(MAN gets out a bottle of absinth)

Absinth?

TOM

Uh
. . . sure, why not.

(MAN pours, they each drink a glass)

MAN

I’m
kinda bored. Are you bored?

TOM

Uh,
. . . a little.

MAN

Wanna
go have a snowball fight?

TOM

O.K.,
sure.

(as they start to leave MAN puts on a
huge parka and winter hat)

Sir?

MAN

Hm?

TOM

Uh
. . . it’s July.

MAN

Is
it?

TOM

Yeah.
There’s no snow.

MAN

Ah.

(thinks)

How
about mud?

TOM

Mud
fight?

(MAN nods, smiling wildly)

All
right.

(MAN pops another sardine in his mouth
and they go — MAN still in his winter clothes, wraps a scarf around his
neck)

 

Scene 16

(The
prosthetics factory, MAN’S office. TOM comes in — bleeding
profusely from his hand)

MAN

What’d ya do?

TOM

Cut my finger.

MAN

Looks bad. Bring it over here, I can fix it.

(TOM goes over to MAN, who immediately sticks TOM’S
finger in his mouth and sucks on it)

Hey, your blood is really good!

TOM

Is it?

MAN

(still with TOM’S finger in his mouth)

Yeah, it’s sweet! Tastes like syrup almost.

(MAN takes the finger out and looks at it, licks his
lips)

You should bottle that and sell it. I could help you
market it. Hold on a sec, let me find a jar.

(MAN looks around the room for a jar)

Scene
17

(The prosthetics factory, MAN’S office.
TOM comes in wearing a turban and carrying a rolled-up rug)

TOM

You wanted to see me, sir?

MAN

Yes, Derek. Have a seat. What’s this I
hear about a prayer rug?

TOM

Oh, well you see, sir, I’ve decided to
become a Muslim.

MAN

I see.

TOM

Yes. So you see, three times a day I am
required by strict edict from Allah to stop what I am doing, kneel on my prayer
rug facing east and pray to Mecca.

MAN

I see, I see. Fascinating.

TOM

I hope that won’t be a problem.

MAN

No, no, not at all. Well, tell ya what.
Why don’t you just do it in here from now on, I’d like to watch. Less
distracting, I imagine. You know . . . I’ve been thinking about
converting to Judaism.

TOM

Really.

MAN

Oh yes indeedy.

(takes
out a yarmulke and puts it on)

MAN
(cont.)

There. I’m Jewish! So I guess we should
fight, eh?

TOM

What?

MAN

Come on, let’s fight. Wanna fight?
Let’s fight. Come on.

TOM

Not really, I–

MAN

Get up, let’s fight. Only I get a gun
and you don’t.

(MAN
takes out a gun from his desk)

TOM

I really should get back to work. I’ll
see you later.

MAN

O.K., then. We’ll meet again.

(TOM
leaves. MAN spins the chamber on the revolver, puts the gun to his head and
pulls the trigger. The gun clicks. Truly frustrated:)

Son of a bitch. I never
win.

(He
spins the chamber again, puts the gun to his head; FADE)

Scene
18

(The prosthetics factory. MAN’S office.
TOM enters wearing a KKK outfit, complete with hood. carries a large wooden
cross.)

MAN

Who’s in there?

TOM
(takes off the hood)

It’s me, sir.

MAN
(jovial)

Oh! Steve, I didn’t recognize you with
those shoes on.

TOM

It’s Tom, actually.

MAN

Right, Tom. I like your shoes.

TOM

Thanks.

MAN

Now Dave, did you get that memo about the
new dress code policy?

TOM

If I did, I think I threw it in the
garbage.

MAN

O.K., well the jist of it is, if you want
to continue working here, you’re going to need sideburns. Effective
immediately.

TOM

Sideburns?

MAN

That’s correct. That’s the word from
Corporate, don’t blame me.

TOM

What about the women?

MAN

Women too.

TOM

But, you don’t have sideburns.

MAN

Actually they should arrive any minute
now.

(delivery
person enters)

DELIVERY PERSON

Package for Dick Wilkins.

MAN

Ah! Right on schedule.

DELIVERY
PERSON

Sign here, please.

(MAN
signs, DELIVERY PERSON leaves. MAN opens package, takes out a pair of sideburns,
which he sticks on his face)

MAN

There we go. Job security. Oh, hey!

(showing
TOM the day’s newspaper)

Great news. Looks like we’re invading
Iran and then maybe Syria! Isn’t that awesome?

TOM

Uh . . . great.

MAN

Think of all those limbs, David! The
limbs! Exports, John, exports! Merchandise! I’m hoping we can get a
government contract deal. That’d be sweet!

TOM

Yeah, well, cross your fingers.

MAN

Now I’m thinkin, we gotta expand. Branch
out. Chain saws. Grain augurs. Guillotines. Is there a way we could spread
leprosy, do you think?

TOM

I’m not sure. I’ll look into it.
Listen, I gotta take off early today. I’ve got a meeting to go to.

MAN

Oh, sure. Take the night off.

TOM

Thanks.

(puts
the hood back on, starts to leave)

Oh, say. You got some matches I could
borrow?

Scene 19

(TOM and MARY’S apartment. MARY sits
reading. TOM enters, looking more chipper than usual.)

TOM

Honey! I’m home!

MARY

Are you drunk?

TOM

Negative. Haven’t had time.

MARY

You seem . . .

TOM

Don’t say “chipper,” or I shall beat you.

MARY

Chipper.

TOM

I am chipper.

MARY

Get laid or something?

TOM

No, I got fired.

MARY

Really? My god, do I even want to know what you had to do?

TOM

In fact I simply failed to possess sideburns.

MARY

Sideburns.

TOM

Right. Dress code. You know.

MARY

Stands to reason.

TOM

But see, here’s the thing: getting fired didn’t make me
quote-unquote “chipper.” What made me quote-unquote “chipper” was the fact
that it made me depressed.

MARY

Being depressed made you chipper.

TOM

Exactly. I wasn’t sure you’d understand.

MARY

I have no fucking clue here, Tom.

TOM

Well see it hit me, then: I didn’t really want to
get fired. I liked my job.

MARY

You did?

TOM

Best job I’ve ever had. Make my own hours, I can do
whatever the hell I want, be whoever the hell I want, whenever I want. I mean
I’m just — I’ve never felt so, so . . .

MARY

Chipper?

TOM
(nods)

Chipper. You know, I’ve been thinking. I seriously think
I’m gonna audition for something.

MARY

Not to spite me.

TOM

Not to spite you. Well, maybe a little . . .

MARY

You sure you don’t need a psychiatrist?

TOM

Maybe a little.

Scene 20

(the
apartment, early afternoon. MARY sits reading a book. TOM enters looking
excited but trying not to show it. MARY puts her book down as soon as he comes
in)

MARY

Any luck?

TOM

A bit, yes. Quite a bit, actually.

MARY
(more skeptical than excited)

You found something?

TOM

It’s not for sure, but . . .

(a beat)

MARY

Well?

(takes a
script from his back pocket, holds it out to her — it is Chekhov’s
“The Three Sisters”)

Are you serious? You got a role? In Chekhov?

TOM

The highlighted part.

MARY

I don’t understand. You mean Olga? You’re playing Olga.

TOM

Yeah, it’s this new company and they’re doing gender
reversals for every part.

MARY

They’re doing Chekhov’s “The Three Sisters” with
men in drag.

TOM

Yup. Isn’t that crazy?

MARY
(appalled)

Yes. Yes, it is. You’re kidding, right?

(pause. TOM
smiles)

TOM

Yes I am. But I did get a part.

(takes out
another script — “Uncle Vanya.”)

MARY

Uncle Vanya. Ha, ha, ha. Look, I’m sorry. How many
times can I say — this isn’t a game, I didn’t do it to one-up you, Tom,
I — I mean what can I —

(MARY makes
an exasperated noise and gives up)

TOM

Calm down. You don’t understand. I’m not kidding.

MARY

Tom, don’t.

TOM

No, seriously. I’m as surprised as you are. I mean never
in a million fucking years did I think I had it in me but I
think — seriously, I think I’ve been acting so much in these goddam job
interviews and then at this factory that —

MARY

Tom, Tom, Tom. You’re telling me you’re playing Vanya. At
the Broken Globe. Is this what you’re telling me.

(TOM shrugs.
She sees the excited pride in his face and realizes he is not joking)

That’s . . . . . .

TOM

Absurd?

MARY

Fantastic.

TOM

Yes, a bit. But actually, I don’t think I’m going to
accept.

MARY

You really are insane, aren’t you.

TOM

Well it’s just, I mean I can see why you don’t like the
theater. Theater people are just . . . pricks, Mary.

MARY

You’re tellin me.

TOM

I mean, all these actors are just neurotic self-absorbed
exhibitionists, ego-maniacs and primadonnas, and the directors are all smug
pretentious sadistic manipulative shrinks who treat the actors like cattle, the
A.D.’s all think that they’re the director, and the playwrights, the fucking playwrights
all think they’re gods who can do no wrong and everything else is subservient
to the script, and I mean jesus christ, Mary. What a horror show. How can you
work with those people?

MARY

You develop bonds.

TOM

I guess. I have to say, though, I do really like to
audition. I think I’m gonna keep doing it.

MARY

But you’re not gonna take a role.

TOM

Nah. That part bores me.

MARY

Tom, if you’re not going to take a role . . . I mean, how
are you going to make any money?

 

TOM

I have no idea.

MARY

Mmm. Well, ya know, you could always, uh . . .

TOM

“Get a fuckin job”?

MARY

As they say.

(beat)

 

TOM

Yeah, but I mean . . . you can support us now, right?
Can’t you? With your fancy book deals and whatnot?

(she shoots him a deadly look. pause.)

Fine. Give me the goddam classifieds.

 

(he sits looking at the classified ads. she sits next
to him, puts her arm around him. He does the same. He kisses her cheek. They
begin circling ads.)

CURTAIN

A note on the costume changes: I realize the difficulty of
some of these, and that a good designer will be required to allow for quick
changes. But I do believe there is something very funny about a character
suddenly being dressed completely different from before, especially in a short
piece, and I hope it can be made to work.

Also: the role of “man” can and should be played
by the same actor in all scenes; a slight costume change will be necessary, but
can indeed be slight (i.e. a different clip-on tie, the addition of a moustache
and sideburns, a wig or hat, even a false nose). I would suggest making the
changes in clear view of the audience.