A SMALL COFFEE SHOP
A man in a perfectly tailored suit, TERRANCE, sits at a booth. He checks his watch… A few beats… Reads from a newspaper, sips his coffee, then puts his paper down and checks his watch again.
LAYLA storms in. She’s a hot mess, but gorgeous. She sits next to Terrance.
LAYLA: I’m so sorry, Terrance. I love you.
TERRANCE: You look a mess.
LAYLA: Thanks.
TERRANCE: I love you, too.
LAYLA: Sorry, I’m late.
TERRANCE: Timing is everything.
LAYLA: Should I start over? Walk back in and we can start over?
TERRANCE: That would be highly unproductive, considering.
LAYLA: I said I was sorry.
TERRANCE: And I said it was fine. I love you with all my heart. Why do you look like shit?
LAYLA: I’m really a mess.
TERRANCE: I see.
LAYLA: How was your flight?
TERRANCE: Horrid.
LAYLA: I’m sorry.
TERRANCE: It’s really traveling all together. I mean, what’s a good flight? Have you ever heard of a grand experience on an airplane? It’s really, generally, an epic tragedy altogether. The humans, the sweat, and the bare feet. What’s to like?
LAYLA: Did you always speak this way?
TERRANCE: No. I used to have a terrible accent. I was broke and I sounded like a grease ball from New Jersey. Things change and here we are. You?
LAYLA: Your sister good?
TERRANCE: She’s excellent.
LAYLA: The kid?
TERRANCE: He’s waiting in the car.
Layla makes a face.
TERRANCE: That was a joke. He still goes to school. It’s nine in the morning and he’s seven years old. What is this? I mean, what’s the problem?
LAYLA: What?
TERRANCE: This. This thing you are doing?
LAYLA: What am I doing?
TERRANCE: It’s a mechanism or something. Some sort of defence or setup or something else. What’s the problem? All these questions I feel, and I could be wrong, and of course doubt it, but I get the feeling you are asking me to either avoid, which would not be like you, or more likely, setting me up for some sort of a rant. About you.
She stares at him. Dumbfounded.
TERRANCE: Don’t give me that look, please. Yes, I am your agent but you are also a dear friend. In both cases, we encourage narcissim. So please.
LAYLA: I really care about you.
TERRANCE: I appreciate that.
LAYLA: And your sister.
TERRANCE: She appreciates it, I’m sure.
LAYLA: And I love, love, love little Joey.
TERRANCE: Jake.
LAYLA: Little Jake.
TERRANCE: This is Hollywood. I’m sure he’ll change it when he gets old enough, does it really matter?
LAYLA: I really love that kid, and I’m ready to babysit always.
TERRANCE: Do you want me to throw up?
LAYLA: I’d really rather you not.
TERRANCE: Then, please.
Layla starts to cry.
TERRANCE: Oh, Jesus.
LAYLA: I’m cursed.
TERRANCE: Stop it. What happened?
LAYLA: Oh my god, I don’t even know where to begin. It doesn’t even matter. It just is what it is, and that’s that. I can’t. No more. I literally can’t do it anymore. I mean, I just can’t accept the beating that is my life. I mean, what are we even doing? We all end up hurt, we are all destined for it one way or another, so what really is the point? And don’t say it’s just that. ’Cause I can’t accept that either. That old line of bullshit is out. Get in there and hurt because that’s where the stuff really is. Life! Well I don’t want it. I can’t be a part of it anymore.
TERRANCE: What happened?
LAYLA: I hope he dies.
TERRANCE: Me, too.
LAYLA: I’m just going to be one of those old people, and you know what? I don’t care. I accept it. I plan on booking every single thing you send my way and there hasn’t been enough. I’m sorry, but it’s the new me talking.
TERRANCE: Okay.
LAYLA: I want to work and I want to work… Most importantly, I refuse to care. About anything. You know what makes a really good outlaw?
TERRANCE: Excuse me?
LAYLA: A biker or a mob guy, like an Italian?
TERRANCE: What are you saying?
LAYLA: Aren’t you Italian?
TERRANCE: I am.
LAYLA: Well, then, you should know this stuff?
TERRANCE: I’m sorry.
LAYLA: I’m all over the place, but you see what I’m saying?
TERRANCE: I don’t.
LAYLA: The Hell’s Angels.
TERRANCE: What about them?
LAYLA: Or the mob. Did I offend you?
TERRANCE: Not yet.
LAYLA: Well, I don’t meant to, or the Italians for that matter, but it’s relevant. I think. To what I’m saying, it is. These people, and they don’t have to be Italian or ride motorbikes, but the lifestyle is what I’m saying. This kind of person. They have chosen a life of crime, and what makes them so amazing at what they do, they know their destiny. I know I’m scattered, but I can read and I did. So these guys, what makes them so great is their approach. They don’t go around selling drugs and killing people thinking, “I’m not going to jail, I’m going to be the one that gets away with it.” No! They know what’s going to happen, it’s just a matter of when. You see what that can do? You have any idea how powerful that can be? Fear is irrelevant. It doesn’t exist. There is nothing to be let down from, because there was no expectation to begin with. That just makes them good at what they do. For all intents and purposes, their job. The ones that think otherwise? Can you imagine the rude awakening. No wonder they end up snitching on each other. I want to be a badass and that’s the new me. I inevitably know what is going to happen, therefore I surrender.
Terrance takes a sip of his coffee.
LAYLA: Thank you.
TERRANCE: No, I’m glad I could help.
LAYLA: All right. Now, let’s get me a job. I’m tready.
TERRANCE: Did you say tready?
LAYLA: Ready. I meant ready.
Lights up on the other side of the stage.
GIOVANNI holds a spoon. MARTY stares at it. He looks very depressed.
They sit at a table.
GIOVANNI: What is this?
MARTY: What?
GIOVANNI: Don’t what me. I asked you a question. Not to mention, it’s a simple question. Just answer it. Now what is this?
Marty begrudingly plays along.
MARTY: It’s a spoon.
GIOVANNI: Right. That’s exactly right. Now is it a special spoon?
Marty starts to speak.
GIOVANNI: Wait. Is it a spoon with qualities that I would have trouble finding in other spoons?
MARTY: What?
GIOVANNI: Stop saying what and answer my questions. They’re simple. This is not math. It’s easy. You asked for my help, didn’t you?
MARTY: Yeah, but…
GIOVANNI: Don’t but me, either. I was sleeping, was I not?
MARTY: Yes.
GIOVANNI: Yes is right. And I don’t mind, is what I’m saying. That’s not the point. But, I was sleeping. You call and say what?
Marty thinks… Giovanni waves him on.
MARTY: Help me.
GIOVANNI: Right. So, here I am. Here we are. And I am going to do just that. Help you. That I guarantee, but you gotta do what I tell you to do, and more importantly you gotta answer my very simple questions… Now, can I trust that you will be able to do that?
MARTY: Yes.
GIOVANNI: Great.
He holds up the spoon.
GIOVANNI: Now, what the fuck is this?
MARTY: It’s a spoon.
GIOVANNI: Very good. Now, you seen ones like it?
Marty thinks.
GIOVANNI: Don’t think, it’s really easy. You seen ones like it?
MARTY: Sure.
GIOVANNI: Sure? Don’t placate me, buddy. I’m not here for the fucking pancakes. Yes or no?
MARTY: Yes, I have seen one like it?
GIOVANNI: One what?
MARTY: Spoon.
GIOVANNI: Spoons, others like it. Plural, as in many spoons. Yes?
MARTY: Yes?
GIOVANNI: Good. Now, even though I know, we know, that this is what it is.
He holds the spoon.
GIOVANNI: I still, for some reason or another, am able to hold this up really high in the air, literally and metaphorically speaking, and have high hopes for this here spoon.
Marty looks confused.
GIOVANNI: You’re confused, I know. That’s okay. Just stick with me here, and it will all slowly start to breach. Or unfold or whatever.
He holds up the spoon.
GIOVANNI: This. This is the greatest spoon of all time. This is a special spoon, there is no other spoon like it. What is this?
MARTY: It’s a spoon.
GIOVANNI: Good. This is the only spoon I will ever hold in my hand to the end of time. What is this?
MARTY: Spoon.
GIOVANNI: You’re doing great, and here is the important part. This spoon loves me.
Marty waits.
Giovanni picks up another spoon.
GIOVANNI: This one love you any more than this one?
MARTY: No.
GIOVANNI: Exactly. They’re fucking spoons and that’s that. They are everywhere and anyone who tells you different is selling forks. You see what I’m saying here, Marty?
MARTY: I do.
GIOVANNI: Good. How do you feel?
MARTY: Like shit.
GIOVANNI: Well, that’s okay, because I’m only getting started.
LIGHTS OUT