Эльт Леон: другие произведения.

Prostitutes, As Such

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  • Аннотация:
    Many years ago when my son was in the middle school, they had an "incident" there and a girl got expelled as a result. Personally, I thought the school was very wrong handling this incident but no one really cared about what I thought. About the same time, they asked for recommendations for a short play that the high school kids could perform for Christmas. I wrote and submitted this play but for some reason they decided to perform a different play.

Act I

(A simple play teaching moral values on examples from everyday life;

suitable for performance by an amateur high-school or community theater.)


Act I



Sergeant – young, sure of himself, freshly shaved, new uniform.

Soldier – very young, needs some sleep, his uniform is way too small.

Local Girl – she is about 25, slim, looks tired, wears simple bright-colored dress made from cheap thin fabric.


Sergeant walks along the wall of a warehouse that extends from the left for about half of the stage humming a song. The melody is unclear but it’s something cheerful. The sign on the wall reads: “Welcome to The Middle of Nowhere military base!”. Sergeant turns the corner and suddenly stops, his back toward the public. Humming dies. Stage turns 90 decrees and now we can see the second wall of the warehouse with the gates and sentry-box by the gates. The box is empty. One half of the gates is slightly open. Sergeant walks in. The stage turns another 90 decrees and we can see what is going on inside of the warehouse.


Local Girl half-sits on a sack, with her back leaned against the wall, her face is calm and patient, her dress pulled up; she holds it with her hands. Her legs are on the Soldier’s shoulders, they are having sex. She sees Sergeant but doesn’t do or say anything.


Sergeant: Shit!


Soldier jumps aside and tries to button up his pants. He is standing with his left side to us, slightly crunching. Girl slowly lowers her legs, clumsily gets up from the sack and fixes her dress. Doing that she touches Soldier’s rifle that stands next to the sack. The rifle falls down and makes a lot of noise. Soldier has finally fixed the uniform.


Sergeant (speaks slowly, in disbelief): Have you gone fucking mad? Shit! What the hell is she doing here? You are the fucking sentry! Wanna go to jail? Couldn’t you wait just a few fucking days?


Girl moves, fixing her dress, Sergeant looks toward her and sees a big wet stain on the top of the sack where she was sitting. He looks at Soldier again. Now he is really mad.


Sergeant: This is our flour, you idiot!! We gotta eat it till next delivery!!!


Soldier looks down. He is a bit taller then Sergeant but he tries to look small.


Sergeant: You... you… you … fuck!


Sergeant fiercely kicks Soldier in the stomach. Soldier drops on his knees and Sergeant kicks him few more times. Soldier gets up. He is visibly disoriented.


Sergeant: To your place, bitch. And it ain’t over yet.


Soldier grabs his rifle and goes outside. Sergeant turns to Girl. She shows no signs of surprise or concern.


Sergeant: Now, how the hell did you get in here?


Sergeant is almost screaming, and Girl realizes that something went wrong. She tries to take Sergeant’s hand but he doesn’t let her.


Girl: Baby! Darling!


Sergeant: This is a military installation, you idiot! You’re going to jail! You understand? Jail!


Girl: Jail? I mistake baby... no jail… no… You mistake…


Sergeant: Get the hell out of here! Now!


Girl: OK baby… you want fuck me? want face?


Sergeant: You?! ... Out! Now!


Girl: OK, I out… your friend pay first …


Sergeant looks at her with surprise, then grubs her ear and pulls her toward the gates, his hand is on the waist level. Girl squeals, and follows him half-bent, making unintelligible noises. With his left hand, Sergeant turns off the light, they go out and the gate is closed. Now it’s completely dark.




Act II


Politician – in his 50-s, with sharp movements, business casual dress.


Owner of the restaurant – well-natured, heavy-built, wearing old jeans, silk shirt and expensive leather jacket.


Jocelyn – good-looking woman in her late 20-s, very proper business suit.


Chris – goofy-looking security guard.


Prostitutes – there are 3 of them. Look like prostitutes.



Darkness recedes and we see the interior of a small, dark and relatively expensive restaurant. Tables and decorations arranged to provide maximum privacy to patrons. It’s 4 in the morning and the restaurant had just closed.


Owner shows his restaurant to Politician. They move toward us from the backstage. Three prostitutes sit at one of the front tables, speak softly, we can’t hear them.


Owner: so, you see… It’s not really big but we do have nice turnaround here… keeps me busy, you know…wanted to put a little bar here too but then we decided to move it upstairs…


Politician sees the Prostitutes and looks at Owner as if waiting for the explanation.


Owner: What? Oh, them… they work here… you know… wait for the clients… then ask for our best champagne (chuckles) ... so we help each other… don’t you do that in your business?


Politician: I guess we do…


Politician is obviously not pleased with the comparison. He looks at the table where Prostitutes are drinking tea from big teacups. The rest of the stage goes dark and the table is in the spotlight. Now we can hear that the prostitutes talk about household stuff - kids and such. While doing it, they take off make-ups, undo hair, and put bathrobes over their provocative clothes. In about a minute we see just tree women drinking tea and talking. Now the table goes into dark and the rest of the stage is dimly lit again.


Politician: Well, thanks for the dinner (looks at his watch) ... um... breakfast… (smiles). Jocelyn will pick me up in two minutes… When are you coming to see our place?


The door opens and Chris walks in. He holds a special bag that banks use to transport the money.


Chris: Hello, boss!


Owner: Chris! How are you today? Good! A lot of money today… (takes a package from under the bar and drops it in Chris’ bag) Sign right here (Chris signs, his tongue is slightly out of his mouth)… You take good care of yourself now…


Chris: All right, boss! (to Politician) Good night, sir! (leaves through the same door)


Politician: Funny guy … So, when are you coming to see our place?


Owner: Real soon now… Just need to find a good manager to take care of this place… (both smile )


Door opens, Chris rushes in. He is scared.


Chris: Boss! Boss! Emergency, boss! Danger! Boss, I lost the money! It’s gone! Now they will kill me! They will definitely kill me!


Owner: (in firm, strict voice) Well, Chris… I’m terribly sorry but it’s not my problem anymore. You signed for that. I will tell my people to turn on the light, so you can look for the bank’s money you have lost. Please feel free to contact me should you require any further assistance with respect to that matter. Thank you.


Chris, panicked, stays on the same spot, gasping for the air.


One of prostitutes: Chris, you blind asshole… you dropped your stupid bag behind that table. And this is the last time I'm helping you… I could’ve used them myself, you know.


Chris looks under the table and finds his bag. He briefly thanks the prostitute and leaves. Politician shakes Owner’s hand and goes outside, too. The stage turns 90 decrees and we see the bar from the outside. Jocelyn approaches, they kiss briefly. Then each of them takes out a cigarette and lits it up.


Jocelyn: (speaks fast, without emotions and never takes the cigarette out of her mouth) Darling! I need to tell you something.


Politician: (deep in his thoughts, speaks calmly and takes the cigarette out of his mouth every time he says something) Yes, baby… what is it?


Jocelyn: Remember those materials about that other politician, the bad guy, that we’ve been collecting for a few months? The materials that I should give to my newspaper tomorrow and then the bad Politician is a history?


She takes out a bright-red jacket and puts it over a business suit.


Politician: Yes, Jocelyn, I remember.


Jocelyn: Well, darling… my newspaper won’t publish them tomorrow… (she pulls her skirt up, now it’s high above her knees) They will publish different materials… about you, darling. That other Politician is not a bad guy after all (she takes out red high-hills and puts them on). And he has more money than you do. You are history, darling. (She clips huge plastic rings of bright color to her earrings and brings her hair up)


Politician: (looks at her without any surprise, in the same calm voice) Jocelyn, that’s so horrible of you!


Jocelyn: I know what you want to say… Say it! Say: “Jocelyn, you are a whore!”


Politician: Jocelyn, you are delusional. You are not a whore, you are a journalist. Now get your stuff from my car… I’ll mail you the rest from the house… Good bye, Jocelyn! By the way, all my orgasms were fake and your articles are mediocre at best! I made your editor to hire you!


She replies. They argue. All fades out into dark.



Act III


Businessman – a man in his 60-s in expensive bluish suit, mild Boston accent.


Assistant – young man around 27, very self-confident at the beginning; generally looks like a younger and cheaper version of the boss.


They both speak fast and dry, like they play tennis and the hits are strong. As soon as one stops, the other speaks, no pause. Sometimes the tempo is slower but it’s always tennis – the ball never stops.


The light gets brighter and brighter, until it’s close to daylight. We see Businessman in his office. His desk is at the extreme right of the stage. Assistant sits on an uncomfortable chair by a small desk, or even table on left side. They have to speak loudly in order to hear each other.



Assistant: Well, sir, should we continue our search for the president?

Businessman: What? President… What president? Didn’t we find this woman… ughm… what’s her name...

Assistant: Teresa, sir. Teresa de Cassidy.

Businessman: Right. What is she… Spanish?

Assistant: No, sir. She is from Kazakhstan.

Businessman: Right. Kazakhstan. Is it in Canada?

Assistant: No, sir, this is a part of the former Soviet Union. The Empire of Evil, so to speak.

Businessman: Right. So we hire from there now. Give me her resume.


Assistant pretends to throw a pile of the documents; Businessman pretends to catch it from the air and throw it in the trash.


Businessman: Right. Tell me about her.

Assistant: Why sir, beautiful resume. Just beautiful. Moscow State University – BA cum laude; JD at Yale – magna cum laude, MBA at NYU – super-hyper-magna cum laude with honors.

Businessman: Right. But if you want me to understand you, you have to speak English.

Assistant: Yes, sir. What I just said, sir, is that Ms. Cassidy was a straight A student in some of the toughest schools in the world. Sir.

Businessman: Right. Well, anybody can be smart at school. How about experience?

Assistant: Well, sir, for the last three years she was a senior VP at BBVIPIT. Claims that she doubled their sales.


Assistant gets up and moves on the stage without a system but eventually getting closer and closer to Businessman.


Businessman: Right. Their sales are up. Big time. And I know a couple of good ol' boys on the Board there. Damn retards. It's got be her. OK, we've got the president. Send her an offer.

Assistant: Yes, sir. But, sir. There is a but, sir.

Businessman: What is it?

Assistant: Well, sir… obviously, since she applies for such a position, sir, we collected some additional information… company’s policy, sir…

Businessman: And?

Assistant: Well, sir, she has been married three times. Each time her new marriage was connected to a career movement or, like her second marriage, to the geographical movement, sir. To the US. She has married one Greg Cassidy, unemployed, brought him to Kazakhstan, gave him a sponge bath and he supported her petition to become a permanent resident here. We have pictures… sir.

Businessman: Right. And?

Assistant: Well, sir. Her career would be impossible without certain men in power she attaches herself to. Branch manager, who was stupid enough to introduce her to the division manager, and so on. She slept with two-thirds of the board in BBVIPIT to get the qualified majority of the votes to approve her proposals.

Businessman: But sales at BBVIPIT went up. So her proposals made sense.

Assistant: Yes, sir. But that’s immoral, sir.


At this point Assistant carefully sits on the corner of the boss’ desk.


Businessman: Right. This makes me sick.

Assistant: Yes, sir. This makes me sick too.

Businessman: The world where you have to sleep with two-thirds of the board to make them accept your sound proposal makes me sick. Where is your wife from?

Assistant: Greenbow, Alabama. Sir.

Businessman: And you brought her here, right? Gave her a nice house to manage, I suppose? Where does she work?


Assistant gets up from boss' desk and goes back to his own.


Assistant: Ughm.. she doesn’t, sir.

Businessman: Right. What about your mother? Didn’t she marry a man twice her age because…

Assistant (interrupts): Well, sir… I would rather not…

Businessman: Right. Go get me a pack of cigarettes.

Assistant: I beg your pardon? Do you want me to call your secretary, sir?

Businessman: No, today I want a favor from my male bitch.

Assistant: Yes, sir.


Assistant gets up from his desk, walks around it and sits back on it.


Businessman: Tell me the truth – are you a patriot of this company?

Assistant: Why, of course, sir.

Businessman: We are number two in the world at the moment. Would you sleep with two-thirds of our board of directors to make us number one?

Assistant: I think, I can see you point, sir. She also has three kids. Beautiful children, if you ask me, sir.

Businessman: Right. Children – the flowers of life. I think I remember them – kind of small and sloppy, right?

Assistant: Yes, sir. The flowers of life, sir.


5 seconds of silence. Businessman and Assistant look at each other, then in the papers on their desk, at each other and so on.


Businessman: So, you said this lady’s resume looks good?

Assistant: Pretty good, yes.

Businessman: Well, why don’t we hire her then?

Assistant: Right. I will prepare the offer right away. Sir.


The End.


2003



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