THE STAGE
A young-looking thirty-five-year-old man glides across the stage. This is GIOVANNI.
MARTY, same age, pays attention. Or tries.
GIOVANNI: So, this kid, right? He’s this actor. A real AC-TOR! High hopes and aspirations. A real thespian. So what’s he doing? Funny you should ask. He’s moping around the south side of Philadelphia doing shit. This guy. Here he is. Boom! The phone rings. Now keep in mind, this kid’s been at it for a while. But here is still. The rent in New York, his sister’s baby daddy drama, and his mom don’t like him so far anyway. Anyhow… He’s got a dumpy studio on the south side, and the rent’s a mess… He’s a fucking bum for all intents, so you can imagine the excitement of this call.
Marty just looks at him.
GIOVANNI: Got it. Hold on. The phone rings, right?
Marty nods.
GIOVANNI: Right. So he mopes over. Ain’t nothing shaking but the leaves on the trees, right?
Marty nods.
GIOVANNI: Wrong! It’s this cat’s agent! Apple to the cheesesteak through the wire. Talk at me. I mean, he ain’t heard a word since the last time he ain’t heard shit, so needless to say my dude’s got a little jump in his hump, right?
Marty nods.
GIOVANNI: So, here we go… Word is, and keep in mind that there’s zero chance this cat’s booker is taking him for a spin in the wind. I mean, no way… He’d kill the kid with a prank like this, at this point anyway… Break his already broken heart to bits… So, as a preface, this ain’t no joke. So boom. Here’s what. You got the part.
Marty lights up.
GIOVANNI: That’s right. He steps right into a moonwalk halfway across the floor plan and back. And I’m talking six feet and back across. Bitch is bouncing off the walls. Literally. This is not a large space. And at this point, he don’t even know what’s what. He might have booked a tampon commercial, at this point we don’t know. But then he settles. And mind you, he don’t give a shit what it is. Tampon or Teflon, the bitch is in.
Marty smiles.
GIOVANNI: Right? So here’s the news. Broadway, bitch! His dude might have even said those very words, he was so excited for his funky ass. And please believe this is one of those well-to-do, Barney’s shopping motherfuckers too. He thinks who is he, this agent, who gets weekly mani-pedis talking about “Broadway, bitch!” He don’t talk like that is my point.
Marty smiles.
GIOVANNI: Right? So turns out some kid caught a case. Been rehearsing for nine weeks and ate too much sushi… Whale poison. Mercury… Something. The point is… He dropped out and now our boy here gets the call. Period piece about Romans and gods and war and shit, I don’t know. Medium-sized part, maybe even on the small side, but this is Broadway… There are no small parts, only small people. That’s word on the street, anyway. So our kid’s bouncing off the walls again. Holy shit, right?
Marty smiles.
GIOVANNI: I mean, he’s been deep in the dump house. He’s got the rent in one hand, his sister’s baby in the other and a white towel wrapped around his neck that he’s getting ready to wrap the baby in and throw the whole shit off the balcony. Not literally, I mean I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, he’s a good dude and would never throw a child out the window, or even a towel. He wouldn’t even litter, is my point. That’s what a good dude our boy is. But metaphorically speaking… He was about to give the fuck up.
Marty nods.
GIOVANNI: So! Here’s the skin and bones and the bad news. The show open at eight o’clock and you got the first line of the play. You say some other shit too, but the first line is this and it reads as so. “Hark, I hear the cannons roar.”
Marty frowns.
GIOVANNI: I know. He’s looking at his watch, which is broken for the record, just to add insult, the poor bitch has to ask what time it is.
Marty nods.
GIOVANNI: Anyway… Boom. He’s out the door. Numbers bouncing around his head and hark I hear the cannons roar. Train to New York, two hours, cab to the theater, twenty, thirty, give or take… If it ain’t bad enough he’s pressed for time, he’s also trying to figure out if he has enough dough to make the trip. And all the while, “Hark, I hear the cannons roar.”
Marty looks like he has something to say.
GIOVANNI: Can I just tell the story, please?
Marty nods.
GIOVANNI: He’s good. He’s got just enough and he makes it on the train.
Marty smiles.
GIOVANNI: All antsy and shit. I’ll get to it, just relax… So he makes the train and now it starts. I mean, he’s been racing since he picked up the jack and hasn’t had a chance to settle into his role. I mean, let’s refer back to where this all started. I mean, he is an AC-TOR. A real thesp! He studied blood, sweat, and tears for this his whole life. Here’s his moment, foget the setup, forget the fact that he’s running late for the biggest moment of his life… The roots. The truth. The moment we’ve, at the very least, he’s been waiting for.… So, it begins. “Hark, I hear the cannons roar… No, no, no… Hark, I hear the cannons roar… No. Hark, I hear the cannons roar…” I mean this silly bitch spends the next two and a half hours of his life pumping back and forth down the aisles of this fast train saying this line every which way to Sunday. “Hark, I hear the cannons roar.” People on the train telling him to shut the fuck up. Some kid from the Bronx that was visiting his brother in some cuckoo’s nest coming back from Baltimore slapped him in the mouth for saying the shit too much… Our dude’s stressed, to say the least. And he’s been slapped. MAYBE MORE THAN ONCE. But he’s focused. “Hark, I hear the cannons roar.” Up, down, and all around.
Marty checks his watch.
GIOVANNI: Good to have a watch that works. Unfortunately, his does not. And ain’t this a bitch, he asks the kid from the Bronx what time it is. Turns out, he too has a nonfunctioning watch, so our boy gets slapped yet again.
Marty shakes his head.
GIOVANNI: Right? So he’s off the train and into the city. Now what he did not factor in, nor did he have time to do so, was the fact that he’d be stepping out of Grand Central right about the time when getting a cab was less likely to happen then… Insert bad joke. I don’t know, I’m on a tear here. Cut to… You like how I’m getting all cinematic with the shit?
Marty smiles.
GIOVANNI: Right? Cut to our boy doing nine-O, booking up the street screaming at the top of his lung. “HARK I HEAR THE CANNONS ROAR. HARK I HEAR THE CANNONS ROAR.” This is New York City, so he’s blending wonderfully… It’s like a chorus line, homeless dudes start screaming the shit too. Which starts to give our boy some more ideas. So now he’s mocking them mocking him, the whole thing’s a mess… Leave alone the fact he’s sweating, cramping, and about to be late for his Broadway debut… But he makes it. “Hark I hear the cannons roar.” Still practicing his line like a whackjob over and over again as they rush him backstage and toss a big red cape over his head… Hark I hear the cannons roar. He can’t stop, it’s like he’s obsessed… People now at this point know not to fuck with him, because he’s an actor and that’s protocol around these parts… ’Cause from the cape thrower to the nose powderer, they don’t say shit while he’s harking, they just get him all set and point.
Marty’s at the edge of his seat.
GIOVANNI: So, this is it, the moment he’s been waiting for his entire life. Six hundred people waiting. Curtains, playbills, popcorn… Maybe not popcorn, I don’t know… But here he is. Music up. One last time in his head… “Hark I hear the cannons roar.” He’s got it! They give him a big sword and shove him out to the center of the stage, and KABLOOOOOOOM! An explosion echoes through the whole theater, and he goes, “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?”
M: It’s a joke.
GIOVANNI: True story, babe. I am a true blue kind of a guy. And there is a point.
LIGHTS OUT