Waiting Life
By Michael Weems
CHARACTERS
JESSICA
City girl. Honest, tired of the game.
RYAN
Hip, young executive. Sensitive and kind.
SETTING
A couch in a midtown NYC apartment.
PROPERTIES
Two drinking glasses. One remote control.
SCENE
JESSICA
In a few minutes, he’ll arrive for our date. At first I didn’t know what to expect. You try to gain as much information as possible over the music and chatter at boozy cocktail parties; or in less desirable times, over the roar of the ball game and the drunken, though not so different, revelers. You’ve got a few precious moments to assess: Teeth all there? Check. Does he have a wimpy handshake? Thank god no. Is he too well groomed? Is he actually starting to dance to the music? Is he prettier than me? Why am I at a party in Soho? All red flags, of course. Quickly you find out he is satisfactory enough in looks, odor, social graces, and conversation to warrant a phone number or a kiss. If you’re good, you can even pull a few details out of the personal file. Was that a real, bona fide laugh at something that came my way? (Deadpan) I’m not funny. Date number two. That is, if we’re counting the goodbye-Jill-have-fun-in-your-new-life-in-Indiana party, as date number one. In the less than stellar lighting of my studio apartment, I start to see him as a whole new man. His hair looks much worse now. It’s too short. I pray I made the right decision. Suppose we run out of conversation! We won’t have the idle party goers passing by or interrupting our talks to fill voids. I guess we can just start to make out if that happens. (Ryan enters and closes the door behind him) When he walks in the door, he locks it behind him immediately, like an intruder is 5 steps behind him. I greet him. We kissed once already but what’s the expectation here? (He leans in and kisses her once. She is a bit happily flustered) Well, there we go. He doesn’t seem to like standing. He instinctively seems to know which side of the couch is mine and within a few moments will be sitting there. I want him to be comfortable. The top button comes undone, he loosens his tie, but his shirt remains tucked in and his shoes stay on. I take his tie off for him and fold it nicely. I think it’s expensive. Tonight he surprises me with takeout from a nice sushi place. I really have no idea how he knows what I would’ve ordered, but somehow he gets it right. Later, things change. You settle in to this lifestyle. You have a choice to either acclimate or deny this person. Soon, he might even leave the door open a few moments as he enters. I worry that I might like him too much already. (She sighs) Who knows? Maybe he’ll even be ‘the one.’ (She turns to him) Scotch? No, wait! Gin. How could I forget? (She exits to get his drink)
RYAN
Thanks doll! (To audience) It’s scotch actually. I know what you’re thinking. Let me fill you on a few life lessons from six years, nine months, and fifteen days in the city dating life. First, all women eat sushi. The more obscure the restaurants, the better off you are. Women aren’t a huge challenge in terms of general interests. I don’t mean this in a sexist way, but if you stick with shoes, Disney, chocolate, and dancing, you simply cannot go wrong. Doesn’t matter if you have two left feet, get the worst tripe that old Walt ever produced, and the chocolates not her favorite. Next, chivalry isn’t dead. Smile, ask questions, make them feel intelligent, make their job sound impressive and possibly beneath them. Hold the door, but don’t make them out to be physically inept. They know you’re going to want sex, so don’t pretend you’re this celibate being, strictly satiated by a hug at the end of the night. Be upfront, but not pushy. And yes, as awkward as I may look in the non-bar, non-alcohol-induced setting, she looks the same. Crows feet, white hairs, maybe a little less make up - all of these will smack you in the face and your job is not to notice. You accept these things just as you know she will for you. Second date. Her place. It’s not a mystery. I lock the door because this is friggin’ New York. I don’t take my shoes off because I’ve been working ten hours and they smell like death. I will eventually, but until then, you take it date by date. Soon you cross that magical line, where after you’ve slept together, or taken your shoes off in this scenario, you enter into ‘seeing each other,’ then ‘dating,’ and finally ‘in a relationship.’ It takes a while but you hope she’s the one who, whether or not she notices these imperfections in you, accepts them or makes them into her vision of you. (Jessica enters with drinks for both of them and sits) I believe that people truly want to settle. Playing the game, or keeping yourself available is just a facade that helps them feel young and avoid connecting to something that might end in either unhappiness or hurt. No one needs to see a late 40s playboy cruising in too tight clothes. Unless you’re a financial executive, a doctor, a lawyer, or a professional ballplayer, either settle down and have a family and a home, or hang up your hat somewhere in that magical single land where comfort and love are supposed to be equal to their next conquest. I can’t blame anyone for wanting to avoid that fear of hurt or rejection, but you have to live. (He sits next to her and Jessica cuddles into him. He speaks to JESSICA) My name is Ryan. I’m turning 33 this May, I have a widow’s peak, graying hair, smelly feet, I secretly play the air guitar to ’90s progressive rock, and I might just love you.
JESSICA
(To Ryan) My name is Jessica. I’m turning 35, again, this August. I tell everyone I run two more miles per day than I really do, I need complete pitch darkness to sleep, and I collect anything I can find about ballerinas. And I think you’re wonderful. (They kiss. He hands her a DVD. She laughs happily) Lady and the Tramp!? (She stands and picks up the remote. She hands it to him and takes off his shoes. He starts to protest) I don’t care.
(She tosses the shoes off to the side and cuddles into him)
(Sweet and flirty) Stay awhile.
THE END
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Michael Weems is a NYC based playwright/writer/actor and Lyndon State College graduate. Recent writing credits: Fragments (Little Hibiscus Productions and Festival 56, Chicago); Burden Me (Phare Play Productions); Onward, Forward (Little Hibiscus Productions) and the publication of Love Me, As Well (Eye Gone Black Literary Journal).
He divides his free time between getting ridiculously lost in Central Park, physically threatening the Wii Fit, verbally threatening international punks on pokerstars.net who go all in pre-flop, and watching painfully addicting children’s television with his son. He sends thanks to his loves, Christine and Thomas.
0 comments:
Post a Comment