First Aid on a Winter Night

The following is a dialogue I submitted for my graduate Playwriting class.  The script includes stage directions and instructions for the actors such as (BEAT) which means to take a brief pause between lines.  As a note to anyone who knows me and anyone who doesn’t, it is entirely fictional.

Characters:  CHERYL and DENISE are women in their early forties, each with two children.  They have been friends for several years after meeting in a yoga class.  Both are attractive, although Denise could be mistaken for a former model, while Cheryl is more the girl-next-door type.

Setting:  The scene is Denise’s well-appointed brownstone in Park Slope, an upscale section of Brooklyn.  Large works of modern art adorn the walls courtesy of Denise’s part ownership in a Manhattan art gallery.  The living room sofa and love seat are a deep burgundy Italian leather.  Cheryl, a teacher’s aide, lives with her children in nearby Windsor Terrace, a more middle-class neighborhood.

Time:  A Saturday evening in winter.  Cheryl enters Denise’s living room.

(UNRAVELING HER SCARF)
Oh my God, will this frigging cold ever stop?  I can’t remember a winter like this since I was a kid.

(TAKING HER FRIEND’S COAT)
And that would be where again – Minnesota?

Wisconsin.  (BEAT)  Same difference.  All your chickenshit New York winters have got me spoiled.  What you guys call cold is shirtsleeve weather back home in Madison.

(CHUCKLING)
There’s an appealing thought.  A city full of cheese-eaters with pasty white arms clomping around in snowshoes.  Get me a plane ticket, quick.

(LAUGHING, PLAYFULLY SLAPS HER FRIEND’S ARM)
Stop!  It’s no more ridiculous than Park Slopers prancing around in Uggs until summer.

(GESTURING WITH HANDS IN AIR)
Okay, okay, I give up.  (BEAT)  Although Uggs CAN be worn in the summer, just not in the pool.
(BOTH WOMEN LAUGH)

Thanks for letting me come over tonight.  My house is so silent with the kids at Daniel’s.  (BEAT)  I wonder if Wanda-the-Amazon is there with her Heidi Klum push-up bra.
(CROSSES HER ARMS UNDER CHEST AND SQUEEZES UP)

(WAVING HER HAND IN A SWEEPING MOTION)
We won’t let her ruin our evening.  (BEAT)  White or red?

(DISTRACTED)
What?

Wine.  We have Chardonnay, Merlot and a nice Cabernet.

Oh, right.  Which one of those is red and which is white?  And which do you have the most of?  I may need a trough.

Us, run out?  Victor buys it by the U-Haul.  I have a Merlot open from dinner; want to start with that?  It’s a red.

(SETTLING HERSELF ON THE SOFA)
Fine.  (BEAT)  Speaking of Victor, where is he tonight?

(POURING WINE INTO TWO GLASSES)
He’s at his Model Train Club thing.  A bunch of wannabe Choo-Choo-Charlies out to wow each other with their gonzo layouts.  I swear if that set-up gets any bigger it’ll take over the whole basement.

At least you know where he is.  (BEAT)  I thought I always knew where Dan was, but that old cliché really is true about the wife being the last to know.

(CONSOLING BUT SHARP)
No one knew, honey.  He’s a dog.  They’re born and bred dogs.

Not Victor.  Right?

No; not Victor.  (BEAT)  He doesn’t have the imagination.  He only has eyes for one kind of caboose.
(THE WOMEN LAUGH AND KEEP DRINKING)

(SARCASTIC)
No problem there with Dan.  Wanda-the-Amazon has enough caboose for THREE trains.

You see, there you go.  He marries you with your nice body and cheats with the poster girl for Jenny Craig.  (SHAKES HEAD)  I don’t get it.

Our separation is not about my body, Denise.  It’s not even about sex.
(TAKES GIANT GULP OF WINE.)
(BEAT)
How about you open up a white one next?

(DENISE FETCHES A BOTTLE FROM THE WINE RACK.  CHERYL HOLDS UP HER GLASS WAVING IT IN THE AIR.)

(GRABS CHERYL’S MOVING GLASS AND STEADIES IT BEFORE POURING)
I know how it is.  (LOWERS VOICE TO SOUND MALE)  You’re too involved with the kids.  You don’t value my job, just the paycheck.  You don’t kiss my feet every time I walk in the door.

(SQUEAL OF LAUGHTER)
OMIGOD!  It’s like you were right there at the marriage counselor!  (BEAT)  What a load of horseshit.
(PUTS HER HAND TO HER MOUTH AND LOOKS AROUND)
Should I be talking so loud?  Where are your kids?

Amanda’s at a sleepover and Jared’s at the Garden watching the Knicks.  The Buckleys had an extra ticket and invited him along.

Nancy and Eric Buckley.  Now there’s a good marriage.

Oh, God, Cheryl, you are so naïve.

(LEANING FORWARD)
Why?  What do you know?

It’s not what I know.  It’s what I don’t.  (BEAT)  No one knows what goes on in a marriage.

(MOODY)
You’re telling me.  I didn’t know what was going on in my own marriage.  Sixteen years!  Then he turns to me on the couch in the middle of a Clint Eastwood movie and tells me there’s someone else.

Dickhead.

A fucking Clint Eastwood movie!  A comedy even.  (BEAT)  The one with the monkey.

 

(SHAKING HEAD)
Christ.

(DRAINING WINE GLASS)
The SECOND one.  That asshole dumped me during the FUCKING MONKEY SEQUEL.
(BEAT)  (HOLDS HEAD)
I think I’m feeling this wine.

You think?  You’re chugging it like Gatorade.  You need food in your stomach.  I have some mini quiches left over from the art show last night.
(RETRIEVES TRAY FROM TABLE BEHIND SOFA AND POINTS TO SELECTION)
These are goat cheese and basil, the ones in the middle are asparagus, and those over there are portobello mushroom.

(LOOKS AT TRAY STILL HOLDING HEAD IN HANDS)
Don’t you have any Doritos?

Doritos?  You’re kidding.  Is this Superbowl Sunday or something?

Oh my God, you are such a snob!  Doritos are almost a side dish at our house.

Let me guess breakfast:  Captain Crunch?

(PLAYING INDIGNANT)
I’ll have you know the Captain is fortified with eight essential vitamins.

Oh, that Captain.  Men will tell you anything to get in your mouth.
(BOTH WOMEN LAUGH LOUD)

(PUTS WINE GLASS ON COFFEE TABLE)
You know, once we’re separated for a year, the divorce is automatic.  Did you know that?

Yeah, my cousin Marlene got divorced.  It’s all no-fault now.  Just like a car wreck.  It happened, but nobody’s to blame.
(BEAT)
How long has it been now?

Six months.

Have you given any thought to moving on?

God no!  That house is for me and kids.  No way I’m moving.

No; not moving, sweetie.  Moving on.

(STUNNED)
You mean dating?

Why not?

How about because men are pond scum?  Which box on the Cosmo questionnaire do I check for that?

Okay, I get you’re not ready to jump back in the pool.  But don’t you want to know what’s out there?  For the future?

And what kind of future would that be, Denise?  Parents Without Partners dances at the American Legion Hall?  I’m 43 years old with two kids in therapy.  Oh, yeah, I’ll be beating men off with a stick.

(ENCOURAGING)
Cheryl, have you looked around lately?  It’s like everyone is starting over.  It’s a freaking movement.  Sometimes I feel like married people are in the minority.  Do you know how many dating sites there are?

No.  Do you?

As a matter of fact, I do.
(RETRIEVES LAPTOP AND OPENS IT UP IN FRONT OF THEM ON COFFEE TABLE.)
You can go on a religion-based site like JDATE or ChristianMingles, a general site like Match.com, or one that asks you a thousand questions for a personalized profile like eHarmony.

(RAISES EYEBROWS)
Have you been on these sites?

(DISMISSIVELY)
No, of course not.  But you’d have to be living in a cave not to know about them.  (BEAT)  Don’t you watch TV?
(TYPES ON KEYBOARD WHILE SPEAKING.)
Which one do you want to start with?

None of them.  (PAUSES WHILE LOOKING AT SCREEN. POURS MORE WINE.)  Well, certainly not the religious ones.

Great.  Match.com it is.

I don’t want anyone emailing me.

You do everything on the site.  You know, in your profile.  We have to set up a profile for you.  Pick a screen name.  Something catchy.

(CONCENTRATING)
Umm, how about Sweet Mama?

(STUDYING HER FRIEND)
Really?  Is that the image you want to put out there?  Maybe you should re-think the religious sites.

(ADAMANT)
That’s the one I like.

(TYPES ON KEYBOARD AND SHAKES HEAD)
Unbelievable.

What?

It’s taken.  Pick something else.

(RESTS CHIN ON HAND THINKING.  BIG SWIG OF WINE.)
Madison.

Cute.  For Wisconsin.  (PUNCHES KEYS)  Taken.  Put a number after it, but not your birth year.

Why not?

Because it’s too obvious and guys want younger.  You’ll have plenty of time to scare them off with something that matters.  (BEAT)  What’s your lucky number?

My Girl Scout Troop was #423.

(LOOKS AT CHERYL)
Girl Scouts?  Really?  (PUNCHES KEYS)  Done!  You’re Madison423.
(BEAT)
Now we’ll create a profile.  Let’s list your attributes.  (SILENCE)  Cheryl?

(THINKS THEN SHAKES HEAD)
Forget it.

Fine.  I’ll do it for you.  You’re smart, pretty, clever, and you love to dance.  You’re looking for the real thing; that movie kind of love that everyone says isn’t possible but you know it is.  You’ve got an adventurous spirit, a centerfold body and you believe in the magic of fate.

(STARES AT DENISE)
I hate dancing.

(BUSY TYPING PROFILE)
Huh?

And I think fate sucks.

(KEEPS TYPING)
Everyone exaggerates the truth.

You’re exaggerating a lie.  (BEAT)  Whose profile is this anyway?  It sounds like yours.
(THE WOMEN EXCHANGE LOOKS.  CHERYL PUTS HAND ON DENISE’S ARM)
Are things all right with Victor, Denise?

(SITS BACK AGAINST SOFA CUSHION AND SIGHS)
Victor who?  He’s never here.  If he’s not with his train buddies he’s at the gym or the racquetball court or the golf course.  Victor’s idea of fun does not include me, Cheryl.  If I didn’t have the art gallery I’d go crazy.
(BEAT)
I get hit on quite often, you know.

What?  Hit on by who?

Art dealers.  Artists.  Customers.  You name it.

So is that your idea of fun?  Denise, don’t do anything stupid.  Talk to Victor.  See if he’ll go to marriage counseling.

And where did that get you and Dan?  He’s with Wanda-the-Amazon and you’re shitfaced on your friend’s couch.

(FROWNING)
Wow, you’re a mean drunk.

(REFILLING BOTH GLASSES)
I’m not drunk and I’m not being mean.  I’m being honest.

Oh, you want honest?  (SITTING UP STRAIGHT)  Okay.  Here’s my profile for your dating site:  I’m a great mom who loves going to Little League games and pizza parties.  If you’re an asshole to my kids, you’re history.  I believe trust and respect are the most important things in a relationship.  And I know what losers look like so make it real.

You know who you’ll attract with that?  Nobody.

Perfect!  Then it’s the right profile.

You are a great mom, Cheryl.  You’re also a great friend.
(SUBDUED VOICE)
What you aren’t is married to someone who makes you feel all dried up.

I’d rather feel dried up than like a failure.  I failed myself, my kids, my marriage. . .

(ANIMATED)
Let go of that!  You have the whole world open to you now.  You’re free! 
(THE WOMEN EXCHANGE A LONG LOOK AS THEY SIT TOGETHER ON THE SOFA.)

(SQUEEZING HER FRIEND’S ARM)
I’m serious.  Don’t do something you can’t undo.

(SHRUGGING)
If it doesn’t work out I’ll just take my profile down.

You’d still be cheating, Denise.  Think of your kids.  (BEAT)  It’s no fun being alone.

(TURNS HER ATTENTION TO THE LAPTOP AND RESUMES TYPING)
A lot of things are no fun, Cheryl.  Alone is just one of them.

(SCENE ENDS AS LIGHTS GO DOWN TO THE SOUND OF CLICKING KEYS)

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