Curtain

Curtain.

The stage is bare.

(Enter UNIFORMED MAN from upstage left, pushing large box.  Sets center.  Exits.

Pause.  Sound of snoring.
Pause.  Sound of PHONE ringing.  Box trembles violently.)

NICK:  (Offstage, wakes with a start)  What?!  Who?!  Eh?!  Argh!  My foot!!  (Violent cursing, partially censored by PHONE.)

PHONE:  We're sorry, but we are unable to answer your call at the moment.  Please leave your name, number, and reason for calling, and we will get back to you as soon as possible.  BEEP!  "(Gruffly--)Nick?  NICK?!  This is Sam.  I've been trying to reach you since last Wednesday!  Have you really been drunk that long?   (Pause.  Tentatively--) I've got you a spot…  (Pause.)  NICK?!!

(NICK coughs loudly, still offstage.)

PHONE:  "(Strained, as if through gritted teeth--) I've worked my ass off for you, man.  Do you have any idea of the reputation you've got?  No theater in town, no cast in town wants anything to do with you!  If Vladimir and Estragon hadn't driven each other insane… (He sighs, half-irreverent.)  You shouldn't even have this chance.  (Pause.)  Okay.  You have until this evening.  Curtain goes up at seven.  The original director can't come tonight.  He says surely he'll be there tomorrow.  I just need you to stand in for him, give a pep talk to the cast, say hello to the audience.  Simple stuff.  DON'T.  RUIN.  THIS!  Just make it through the evening and afterwards, I promise, I'll buy you so much cheap liquor that you won't know it from the good stuff."  --click--

(During this, NICK has stumbled onstage from the right.  He appears slovenly and disheveled.  He holds a large glass bottle by the neck.  Makes strangled sound as he inhales clownishly.)

NICK:  Oh my--hic--GOD!!!  Where the--hic--am I and WHY is there a talking--hic--BOX?!?!

(Sound of PHONE ringing; box trembles violently.
NICK screams and leaps backwards, terrified, clutching bottle to chest.  Sound of snickering.  Ringing stops.  NICK looks about wildly, turns to bottle.)

NICK:  Fifi?  Did you--hic--hear something?  No?  I was--hic--probably just--hic--imagining things… You know how I get when I'm with you.

(NICK kisses the bottle, making a good bit of show, and begins to drink.  
Sound of PHONE ringing.  Silence.)

NICK:  Who's there?  I--hic--I'm not afraid of--hic--you!

(Swings blindly into open space, is thrown off balance, and crashes into box.)

NICK:  (Suggestively--)  Well hello there.  Hic.  You're a… hef-HEFTY!--hic--girl, aren't ya?  Splintery, too.

(NICK, after a few moments, begins to lick the box, passes out suddenly, and begins to snore.  During this, UNIFORMED MAN enters from stage right, stares aghast, and exits.

Pause.

Sound of PHONE ringing; box trembles violently.
NICK wakes with a start, jumps up, and scrambles about the stage.)

NICK:  I'm not afraid of--hic--you!

PHONE:  We're sorry, but we are unable to answer your call at the moment.  Please leave your name, number, and reason for calling, and we will get back to you as soon as possible.  BEEP!  "(Tenderly--)Nick?  Are you there?  This is Sam.  I know you've been really down lately…  I'm starting to get worried.  Let me make it better, honey.  Why don't we meet for dinner?  Call me and we can get reservations at that new Italian place on Broad Street.  I love you."  --click--

(NICK scratches his head.)

NICK:  (Confusedly--)  Sam?  Sam?  What's Sam?  Who's Sam?  A lover?  A worker?  A mate?  (Turning to bottle--)  Fifi?  What do you think?

(They pause and think, pensively.  NICK hiccoughs, falls over, is still.

Pause.  Sound of snoring.
Pause.  Sound of PHONE ringing, sarcastically.  Box trembles.)

PHONE:  (Nasal--)  We're sorry, but Nick is too drunk to answer your call at the moment.  Please leave your name, number, and reason for calling, and Nick will get back to you as soon as he's sober.  We apologize for the inconvenience.  Beep!  

NICK:  Hey!  (Holds bottle at arm's length and glares accusingly.)  Fifi, if you need some time to yourself, I can give it to you.  I understand that you have friends--hic--and family--hic.  There's more to this than just… (He gestures, unable to find the words)  THIS!  Hic.  (He begins to mutter, downcast-)  This empty stage… this empty house… this empty... empty life…

PHONE:  Pfft.  Please!  You couldn't leave HER if you tried!

NICK:  Who's there?

PHONE:  Oh, no one in particular.  Just you and me, and Fifi of course.  And…, well.  

(UNIFORMED MAN leans in from the opposite side of the stage, wearing a clown's wig, waves, and exits.)

PHONE:  Other than that, there's the termites.  One must remember the termites.  And the ghosts of our pasts--

(Sound of PHONE ringing; box trembles violently.
PHONE continues to list even as it rings.)

PHONE:  --the shadows in our hearts, so reflected by this darkened stage… the voices in our heads, all imagination…  (Suddenly cut off--)  We're sorry, but we are unable to answer your call at the moment.  Please leave your name, number, and reason for calling, and we will get back to you as soon as possible.  BEEP!  "(Sisterly, with some humor and a faint accent--)  Hey, Nick?  It's Sam.  Sis-Sam.  Mom's wondering when you're coming home.  She doesn't know you're back in town, and I haven't ratted you out.  Just please let her know before she spends our inheritance on a cross-country red-eye.  You know I could do with that money--I've been living off Ramen for a month!  Just tell her you're back and meet her for coffee or something.  Seriously.  You take care, Nick." --click--

(Pause.)

PHONE:  (Smugly--)  Well, that was refreshing.  There's nothing quite as wonderful as family.

(NICK jumps to his feet, begins searching about the stage for the source of the noise, completely ignoring the box.)

NICK:  (Suddenly agitated--)  Where is that noise coming from?!

PHONE:  But why waste precious time searching when we could have such lovely conversation?  Why don't we discuss the origin of our names?  I'm the telephone, of course.  Phone for short.  Some man gave that name to my first ancestor in back in 1876, and that's what they've called the lot of us ever since.  I never really liked it.  But we're all friends here, right?  Why don't you can call me Benny.

NICK:  (To himself, as if terrified--)  I'm all alone in here.  There's nobody anywhere in this place but me.  ME!    So where is that noise coming from?

PHONE:  (Indignant--)  I am not a noise.  I'm a phone.  A phone.  

NICK:  Ah!  Who are you?  Who's there?  

PHONE:  We've already been through this, Nick.   My name's Benny.  BEN-NY.  (Pause.)  Where did Nick come from, anyways?  It's such a common name.  Did your mother have no originality?

NICK:  I'll have you know that Nick is a perfectly respectable name!  Throughout history, only great men have held that name.  Ever head of Nicholas the Great?  Good Nick?  Saint Nick?

PHONE:  Old Nick?

NICK:  Bah!  (Pause.  Franticly--)  Where are you hiding?!  I'm tired of this.  It's as if we're lost in a fog--in a void filled with fog--and I'm just seeing the light!  The sun is there, somewhere below the horizon!  I can see the sky beginning to glow, the darkness thinning, the glare increasing, and then!  Nothing.

PHONE:  Nothing?

NICK:  Nothing but this infernal light, just as impenetrable as the infernal darkness before it!  There's no dawn in this place.  And these voices!  It's like we're calling to each other, searching, shrieking, stumbling by and not even realizing it!  

PHONE:  (Hesitantly--)  That… that was touching.  A bit clumsy, yes.  But, well...

(Thoughtful pause.  Both think pensively.

During this, MAN enters the stage, still wearing wig, but also with sad clown make-up.  MAN crosses to NICK, puts hand on shoulder, attempts to comfort.

NICK jumps, forcibly pulling away from MAN.)

NICK:  (With deadly fury--)  You!

(He charges.  MAN flees, waving his arms and whooping.  They chase each other around the stage before MAN exits left, giggling maniacally.)

NICK:  Come back here, you!  I swear, if I ever get my hands on you, I'll wring your neck!  How dare you make a mockery of me, of this stage, of this theatre!  

(Falls down on the ground, despairingly.)

PHONE:  Well what'd you chase him off, for?  He's been delightful company.  More entertaining than you, at least.  More animated.  Wondrous.  I had really taken a liking to  him.

NICK:  Argh!  Where are you, anyways?    I'm all alone in here.  There's nobody anywhere in this place but me.  ME!    So where is that noise coming from?

PHONE:  Why don't you try opening the--

MAN:  (Providing the echo--)  BOX!  Box!  Box!  Box!  

(Leaps offstage.
NICK chases MAN, stops at curtain line.)

NICK:  Stay away from me, you!  I swear, if you I see you again--!

(Sound of PHONE ringing; box trembles violently.  
NICK tumbles offstage in fear.

Sound of bicycle horn.  UNIFORMED MAN, now in a black hoop skirt, dances across the stage.  Exits.

NICK groans and reenters.)

PHONE:  Please leave your name, number, and--are you okay?  

NICK:  (Shaking his head and sobbing--)  No, no, nonononononoNO!  I'm the director of a play without a cast, on a stage without a set, in a theatre without an audience!  When is evening?  When is sunset?  There's no time in this place!

(PHONE rings again; box trembles violently.)

NICK:  (Enraged--)  Goddamn your fucking box!  

(He hurls Fifi at the box; she shatters, box collapses, revealing nothing.  NICK falls down on the stage and weeps.)

NICK:  Oh, why?  Out of time, out of space, out of options!

(Lights fade to black on the image of NICK, weeping.
UNIFORMED MAN enters from the opposite side of the stage, wearing a full black funeral dress, complete with hat and veil.  He dabs at his eyes with a handkerchief.

Blackness.

Pause.  Sound of snoring.
Pause.  Sound of PHONE ringing.  A shout.  Box trembles violently.)

Scene.