ChaseHer

 

A short play on the theme: " Liquor Is Quicker "

by Paul Shipp & K. Brian Neel

© 2009 all rights reserved

 

January 22, 2009

PLAY # 4

 

 

 

CHARACTERS: 

Beatrice 

Rose 

Ducette 

Frankie

Syll 

 

NOTE: The writers believe a solid re-write of this play is in order. Perhaps someday.

 

Lights up on a large bed with 5 women hidden under the sheets. Clothes are strewn about.  

The center woman, Frankie, pulls the sheet down for a peek. Then surreptitiously pulls them back over her head. 

A body on the side, Beatrice, stirs, then freezes. 

Her hand appears from under, reaching, feeling for clothes. 

She grabs an article of clothing and slowly pulls it under the covers. 

After some stirring, the arm re-emerges with the article of clothing, placing it on the floor. 

Her arm retreats with another article of clothing.

Still wrong, Beatrice leans to the side, trying to actually see the clothes. Fishing with both hands to no avail. 

Frustrated, she finally gets up and looks around, careful not to wake the others.

She narrates to the audience as if it were the stranger she had slept with the night before. 

Beatrice: Memory would be a wonderfully useful tool. It was the Schnapps. Last night… twenty years ago. I can walk on water, sure. Whose room is this? (Racking her brain) It’s not in here. (Pause. Singing.) “Somewhere in my youth or childhood…” (Remembering.) Karaoke. You know what I miss? I missed what happened last night. It’s like there are teeth inside my ears, biting.  

She finds an article of her clothing, and begins putting it on.

Beatrice: Today, can I walk on the floor? 

The body on the other side of the bed, Rose, begins to wake up groggily. Beatrice, startled, in the middle of putting on her clothes, fumbles to escape in the closet. 

Rose pulls off the sheets, and then realizes she’s in a strange room, in bed with strangers. She pops out of bed. She realizes she’s unclad. 

Rose: Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

Frantically, Rose searches for her cell phone in her pants. 

Rose: All I can think about is Bob cleaning our couch. That’s all. Of course I’m gonna think about Bob. Cleaning our couch. 

Ducette: (from under the sheets.) Hmmm. I love your touch. 

Beatrice reacts (duh). Rose reacts by fleeing behind a curtain. 

Ducette rises, trying to wake Frankie by standing on the bed. Frankie doesn’t move. 

Ducette: When I stood on that table and said, “Who’s buying me breakfast?” I meant it. Fine don’t play with me. You know, if I don’t have sex – I’m a tease, a flirt, a cunt. How about if I do have sex? I’m easy, I’m a slut, I’m a whore. So, which one was I? 

Beatrice makes a noise. Ducette pricks her ears. 

She stands, sneaks around like a cat, searching for the source. She thinks she finds it, but it’s the wrong place. She pounces out of sight!

Stage is still for a beat.

Out of a massive pile of coats, Syll sits up. She’s fully clothed. She blearily checks her watch.

Syll: So much for a power nap. Well, I wanted to get fucked up. 

A cell phone in the heap of clothes rings. 

Syll looks straight ahead. 

The phone rings on. And on. 

Rose emerges very small and walks among the clothes. 

Rose: (To Syll) Hello. 

She gets the phone and answers. 

Rose: Hi, honey. I’m fine. Yea, crazy night with the girls. Is everything alright? Right. Oh, sometime this afternoon. Okay. Gotta go. Uh huh. Yea. Bye. (rushed) Love you. 

She puts the mobile phone back in her pants and, embarrassed, walks back to the curtain.

Realizing, she goes back for the pants, and exits behind the curtain with them. 

Syll slowly lies back down, and pulls the coats back over her head. 

Frankie peeks out. Again. And hides in the covers. Again. 

Beatrice peeks out. It’s safe. She goes for more clothes. 

Frankie: I got thrown off a motorcycle. (Popping out.) Wanna see the scar? 

 

Beatrice: Not really. 

Frankie: Does my breath smell bad? 

Beatrice: No. 

Frankie: You’re way over there. You have to come closer. 

Beatrice moves a bit closer and sniffs.

Frankie: Closer than that.

Beatrice moves a bit closer, still not that close. 

Beatrice: Smells good. 

Frankie:  (Singing) “Somewhere in my youth or childhood…”

Frankie & Beatrice: (Singing) “I must have done something good.”

Ducette jumps out from behind the curtain and ROARS!

Frankie and Beatrice get under the covers. Behind the curtain, Rose screams.

Ducette stalks the area.

Ducette:  I’ve got you cornered.

Rose slinks into the open. 

Rose:  I lost control. I guess. 

Ducette:  Did you? I mean in a court of law, you’d be tried, convicted, and executed. You can’t compete with this evidence.  

Rose: Did I have a good time? 

Ducette:  I don’t know. 

Ducette and Rose go behind the curtain. 

After a beat, Beatrice rises from the covers, shortly followed by Rose. 

They get their clothes and dress. 

Frankie and Ducette watch them.

Syll gets up and folds coats. 

Syll:  (To audience?) One day. Is that too much to ask? Just one day? I don’t think it’s unreasonable. Some people do it all the time. Every week. Every day! It’s not like I don’t plan it. Schedule it in. This “one day.” Well, two during a lot the Bush administration. I think even two’s reasonable. Hell, it’s responsible. Otherwise there’d just be job, house, food, I don’t know, maybe clothes. It’s why we have two week vacations, right. Get that time to regenerate. Siestas in some countries. But that’s too much, if you ask me. Now, a festival! That’s what evolved from society naturally. Like Christmas. But that’s for kids. A bacchanalia! Only I think people got hurt with that. That’s not ethical. The point is, it’s justified and good and this one sucked. I’m gonna have to schedule another one. Had to take the power nap…

As each leaves, Frankie calls ‘em for what they are: 

Frankie: (Syll) Dewers neat. (Beatrice

Frankie & Beatrice:  Schnapps. 

Frankie: (Beatrice) Actually I don’t remember what you drank. 

Beatrice:  Neither do I. Usually I have vodka tonic. 

Frankie:  Of course. 

Frankie and Ducette settle on the bed. They get a bottle of booze and two shot glasses, fill ‘em up and shoot ‘em down. 

Blackout. 




Copyright © Paul Shipp and K. Brian Neel. All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio or television reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.Professional and amateurs are hereby warned that this material, being fully protected under the Copyright Laws of the United States of America and of all other countries of the Berne and Universal Copyright Conventions, is subject to a royalty. All rights including, but not limited to, professional, amateur, recording, motion picture, recitation, lecturing, public reading, radio and television broadcasting, and the rights of translation into foreign languages are expressly reserved. Particular emphasis is placed on the question of readings and all uses of this play by educational institutions, permission for which must be secured from the authorá║s representatives. For all rights, including amateur and stock performances, contact K. Brian Neel.