Utterly Amusing -- Scene 1

Utterly Amusing: A Witty Tale of Love, Life, and Somewhat-Divine Inspiration



Scene I

The curtain opens to reveal JACK and LILLY huddled center stage around a simple wooden chair and desk, upon which rests a notebook, scattered papers, and a few pens. TODD sits motionless on a sofa stage right, not actually part of the scene. He mouths the dialogue silently. A coat lays next to him. Several ZOMBIES scratch and moan at a standing door stage left.

JACK:
I'm sorry, we've done all we can. Lilly, this is it!

LILLY:
Oh Jack, no! You can't leave us! We can't survive without you!

JACK:
Lilly, I'm so sorry. But there's nothing else we can do.

LILLY:
Jack, I can't survive without you.

JACK:
There's something I've wanted to tell you for a long time. Lilly, I'm sorry. Promise me you'll lead a good life; that my death won't be for nothing! When I stay behind to distract the zombies, you have to run.

LILLY:
But Jack—

JACK:
No, Lilly! The only thing that gives me strength is the knowledge that you will live, that you will love and laugh and survive all of this and be happy again. That's all I want, Lilly, for you to be happy. When I see you, my heart sings. The clouds over my soul clear away and it's as though angels are lighting up the world around you. You're beautiful, Lilly. You're poetry in motion. You're perfect, and wonderful, and Lilly, if these are my last words to you, there's something you have to know.

LILLY:
Oh, Jack, what is it?

JACK:
Lilly...I lo-

TODD:
TODD stands suddenly.
No.

LILLY:
What?

TODD:
No. Just...no. This is not working. This is terrible. This is awful and stupid and I hate it. Go away. Please. This is contrived and terrible and cliché and other negative adjectives I can't think of.

LILLY:
Should we—

TODD:
Just go. This isn't working. I'm sorry. It's supposed to be all romantic now so there can be a happy ending because all the zombies die, but that's just stupid and I can't figure out how to make it work because logically, and it'll lack the right sort of emotion, and—

JACK:
Todd, we got it.

TODD:
Right. Why don't you guys take five and we'll see if we can get back to this.

JACK, LILLY, and the zombies file offstage, leaving TODD alone. He sits at the desk with his head in his hands. TODD is twenty-something, fidgety, messy- haired, and just plain awkward.

TODD:
He speaks directly to the audience in an aside.
Writing...is not fun. If a writer ever says it is, then they're lying, because it is not. Writing is hard. It's probably the hardest thing you can do, besides wrestling a bear or something. It has to be perfect. Narrative, dialogue, the tone and flow; the whole thing has to be flawless. If a single word is wrong, if just one sentence is off or one idea is just a little wrong, then the whole thing sucks. There is no middle ground. It will suck, and that is why writing sucks.

Sure, the first novel is fun. There's not as much pressure then because you know it'll never get published. So, hypothetically, you can hammer out a gripping legal drama that explores and analyzes the deepest recesses of the human mind and social norms and societal standards while all the while not becoming too pretentious or Freudian, no problem. And then your dream comes true and you get published.

And then you are never, ever happy again. Because once you're great, you have to stay great. There are people watching you, so it has to be perfect. And that, my friends, is why writing sucks.

I tell all this to my friend Steve, who's very sympathetic. He's good like that. He's kind of obnoxious, but a very good listener. Usually gives good advice. We've been friends since the fourth grade or something. Really, the only problem with him is that--

STEVE enters from stage right and makes himself quite comfortable on the couch. He speaks throughout this.

STEVE:
You know, you seem pretty uncomfortable with the fact that I'm getting married.

TODD:
I wouldn't say I'm uncomfortable, it's just that--

STEVE:
I think the main problem is that I'm gonna have an awesome wife but you still haven't actually managed to ask a girl out. And also, you don't really have many friends, so you're probably torn between wanting to feel happy for me and trying to stave off the steadily growing panic from the prospects of a life alone. Now, I noticed you checked the 'plus one' box on the invitation. Can I take a guess who you're planning on asking?

TODD:
No.

STEVE:
Rachel?

TODD:
No!

STEVE:
You haven't actually asked her yet, have you?

TODD:
Aside.
Writing tip of the day: avoid repetition in dialogue, such as three 'no's' in a row.

STEVE:
Seriously, if you don't do it, I'm gonna ask her for you.

TODD:
I will kill you if you do that.

There is a pause.

STEVE:
So you remember how in high school you'd read me the little poems you wrote to her?

TODD:
Can we please talk about something else besides Rachel? Anything else? Let's talk about me again and how I have no friends.

TODD's cell phone rings, which he indicates to STEVE. He takes it out of his pocket but does not have the chance to say anything before he is cut off. MOTHER enters from stage left. She carries a large handbag, a cell phone, and has a voice like a parrot. A Jewish one.


MOTHER:
You know how I'd describe my boy, Todd Cohen? He's a wonderful son. He wrote a nice little book and got it published, but now he says he can't finish the second. The boy's sweet, but he's a mess. He's always stressed out, he's got some major self-esteem issues. His hair's messy, he blinks too much, he does these weird little twitchy things with his hands, he doesn't have a girlfriend, and, oh yes, he never calls!

TODD:
TODD hunches, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Hi, Mom.


MOTHER:
Finished the book yet?

TODD:
No, I—

MOTHER:
Started the book yet?

TODD:
Yes, mother, I have started the book. It's almost done, okay? I just can't get the ending right.
TODD takes a deep breath.
How are you, mom?

MOTHER:
Fine, except that I'm constantly worried. You never call—

TODD:
Mom, I called two days ago.

MOTHER:
Two days. Two days! I called two days ago, he says! Anything could have happened in two days! How are your father and I supposed to know that you haven't been eaten by dogs or run over or gotten the flu or kidnapped and held hostage by a crazy fan?!

TODD:
Statistically, I don't have enough fans for one of them to be crazy.
MOTHER:
Oh, well that's true.

TODD:
Mom!

MOTHER:
It's true! Maybe if you actually wrote something once in a while and got it published, they wouldn't all be abandoning you.

TODD:   
Gee, Mom, you always know just what to say.
Aside.
Shouldn't she be telling me things like, "Oh, honey, you have plenty of fans who just can't wait for your second book!"?

MOTHER:
Don't get smart with me, young man.

STEVE:
STEVE leans right on in.
Hi, Mrs. Cohen!

MOTHER:
Is that Steve? Hi, sweetie. Now there's a boy you could learn from, settling down with a nice girl. His mother must be so excited about being a grandma soon.
MOTHER sighs wistfully.
Now, Mommy's gotta go. There's a sale at Macy's. You be over at seven o'clock sharp on Friday for dinner, okay? Remember, Daddy says hi, Mommy loves you, and you should stop feeling sorry for yourself and go do something useful. I love you!
MOTHER exits stage right.

TODD:
...Love you too, Mom.

STEVE:
She loves me.

TODD:
Speaking of doing something useful, I have to work today. So you have to go.

STEVE:
I'm telling you, man. You have one week to ask Rachel out, or I'm getting involved, and I know you don't want that. Seven days.
STEVE exits.

TODD:
TODD leans back miserably and speaks half to himself and half to the audience.
That wasn't entirely true. I didn't have work today, I requested time off. I only kept the job after I got published because it keeps me busy. It also gives me an excuse not to write. It's actually just great excuse in general. Works for anything. Like, just last week, I got a call from a number I didn't recognize.
TODD's phone rings. He pulls it out from his pocket and stands.
Hello? Oh, hey there, uh...buddy.
Aside.
I had no idea who this person was. The accent was vaguely French.

While TODD is speaking, JANET enters quietly rises from behind the sofa and makes herself comfortable. She wears a bright, colorful dress, possibly pleather, and has a girlish airiness to her demeanor. TODD does not notice and returns to his phone conversation.

Hang out? No, sorry I can't. Why? Oh, you know. Work. I bag at a bargain supermarket. Yeah, I hate the job. Man, too bad, maybe next time.
TODD closes the cell phone and stares at it, slightly perturbed. He tosses it on the couch beside JANET without acknowledging her presence. Aside as TODD walks back to his chair.
I have no idea who that was. Also that was a complete lie.
TODD sits down.

JANET:
JANET stands and slowly approaches TODD.
You don't actually bag at a bargain supermarket?


TODD:
No, I do actually bag at a bargain supermarket and I do dislike it immensely, and I did ask for the week off.

JANET:
Why?

TODD:
I figure if I trap myself beside a keyboard all day, the chances of my actually writing increase by at least—
TODD stands up sharply.
Holy hell, who are you?!

JANET:
JANET laughs.
That was an oxymoron.

TODD:
Okay, Holy Jesus, who are you? What are you doing in my apartment? Oh god, please don't kill me. You don't want to kill me, do you? Because I swear it's really not worth it and you'd get blood all over your dress and—

JANET:
Todd. Chill. You know me.

TODD:
No, I do not. If I did, I wouldn't think you were going to kill me.

JANET:
Do you actually think I'm going to kill you?

TODD:
Well...no, of course not.
Aside.
Yes, I most definitely did. It was pretty obvious.

JANET:
Seriously. We've been connected since, like, forever. Do I at least look familiar? You know me, I promise! Guess who I am.

TODD:
A horrifying stalker with a passion for 60's go-go dancing?

JANET:
Jesus, Todd, I'm your muse!

TODD:
Oh.

JANET:
Do you believe me?

TODD:
Sure.
Aside.
I did not believe her. At all.

JANET:
Good, I was worried I'd have to go through the whole thing. So sit down and let's figure out how to end this book.

TODD:
Aside.
Presently, I wondered if I could make it out the door before she pounced and sank her teeth into my tender throat.

JANET:
You know, when you decided to write a zombie novel, I was pretty surprised. I mean, not even post-apocalyptic, just straight-up zombie. Pretty different than a legal drama. But I think it's really good, and I don't just say that to my writers. You really got in touch with the inhuman aspect of the zombies and how it contrasted with the extremes of human emotion.

TODD:
Aside.
She didn't seem to notice as I edged for my cell phone on the sofa, where 911 was first on speed-dial. Don't judge me; living alone can make you paranoid.

JANET:
I think the problem is that you're trying to bring too much light to the situation. You addressed so well in your first novel that there isn't always goodness, but that doesn't mean you can't make the best of it. That was genius, by the way, if I do say so myself. You executed the whole thing really well, but as long as it's just the theme, you can touch on that again, it's okay. This ridiculous happy ending thing you're set on, it's ruining the plot. It's ruining everything. I mean, the characters just turn so flat and stereotypical near the end. Who're you calling?

TODD:
TODD freezes. Aside.
I was doomed.
TODD turns to JANET.
Um. Nobody.

JANET:
Todd, you're acting weird. Weirder than usual.
Pause.
It's me. Janet.

TODD:
Janet?

JANET:
That's me.

Pause.

TODD:
Oh God, please don't kill me.

JANET:
Oh, Todd, do you really not believe me? Come on. I'm your muse.

TODD:
TODD gives a high-pitched, nervous laugh.
Oh, of course. My muse. That's logical.

JANET:
JANET eyes him and stands up, hands on her hips.
When you were little you wanted to write a story about a civilization of squid living in the sky.

TODD:
…Did not.

JANET:
The main squid was going to fall in love with the girl squid neighbor. And also, they could all fly.

TODD:
That's absolutely ridiculous.

JANET:
He dreamed of being a pilot, but he couldn't because he was a squid. So he decided to design a plane that ran on rainbows. And you still sort of want to write it.

TODD:
Okay, nobody is supposed to know about that!

JANET:
Yet I do. Because I'm your muse.

TODD:
…Oh my god. You really are, aren't you? You...Janet. You're my muse. My muse dresses like a go-go dancer.
Aside.
I couldn't quite decide how I felt about this. On one hand it felt wildly appropriate, and on the other it sort of made me wonder what was wrong with me.

JANET:
Yup. I'm where you get all your inspiration from!

TODD:
Wow. Just...wow! You really—-who else have you worked with?

JANET:
Well, there's a lot. Let's see. I started a bit with Tom Wolfe. John Irving. Some with Thomas Harris, that was exciting. He's very nice.

TODD:
…Really?

JANET:
A bit with Chuck Palahniuk, but don't hold that against me. Joyce Carol Oates, she's great. Alan Moore. Lois Lowry. Oh, and a bit of theatre, too, I worked with David Mamet and Tony Kushner.

TODD:
...My muse? You mused for Wolfe. You inspired Thomas Friggin' Harris. Oh my god.

JANET:
Wha-? Oh, no, no. See, I interned with them.

TODD:
You...wait, what?

JANET:
I once got to attend this fantastic workshop with Calliope and Yann Martel, which was amazing. But yeah, I doubt you've ever actually heard of any of my authors. Like, mine specifically.

TODD:
Oh.

JANET:
Sorry, I'm not that great yet.

TODD:
TODD is quiet for a moment. His next words are despairing.
Why are you telling me this?

JANET:
Oh, no, Todd, don't worry! We're a great team! You saw how well you did with your first book; I'm finally hitting my stride. I'm getting it! You're published and bestselling and everything! And I'm not that bad, none of my authors have killed themselves yet.

TODD:
Yet? As in, somebody will?

JANET:
Ooh, that came out badly, didn't it?

TODD:
Janet, how long have you been a muse?

JANET:
Oh, not very long at all. Just thirty-five, forty years. Thereabouts.

TODD:
Thirty-five years and you still haven't 'gotten it'?

JANET:
These things take time, Todd. The first lesson is: practice make per—

RACHEL enters stage left and walks to the door. She knocks on the door and TODD jumps with pure, unadulterated horror.

TODD:
Oh my god, Janet, hide, somebody's here—

JANET:
Don't worry, they can't see me. It'll just look like you're talking to yourself.

TODD:
Fantastic, I'll just look crazy.
TODD crosses stage left and answers the door.
Hey, Rachel! How, uh, how are you?

RACHEL:
Great, and you?

TODD:
Fine, fine. What's up?

RACHEL:
Oh, I just left my coat here Friday when we were all watching the movie, so I figured I'd drop by and get it.

TODD:
Oh, is that your coat? I was wondering who left it.
Aside.
I knew full well that it was her coat. I was thrilled to find that I had a reason to call her, but I hadn't gotten around to it yet. It wasn't nerves. I just hadn't had time yet.

RACHEL:
Yeah, I see it over there, I'll grab it.
RACHEL crosses stage right to the sofa. She pauses by the desk.
Oh, is this your manuscript?

TODD:
Yeah, it is! Nearly done. I just keep getting stuck in the final scene. Doesn't want to work, y'know?

RACHEL:
You're giving it a happy ending, aren't you? It'd be so satisfying.

TODD:
Of course.
TODD makes a face, which RACHEL does not see.

RACHEL:
Good, that'll be nice.

TODD:
Yup. So.

RACHEL:
So...Steve's getting married, huh?

TODD:
Steve's getting married.

RACHEL:
I heard you checked the plus one box.

TODD:
Yeah, yeah, I did.

RACHEL:
So are you bringing anyone?

TODD:
Oh, me? I don't know. Are, um, are you?

RACHEL:
Me? Oh, no. I thought somebody might ask me. He hasn't yet. But I'd like him to.

JANET, hearing this, leans in to listen with interest.

TODD:
Oh. Well, I do have a question for you...

RACHEL:
RACHEL straightens up, obviously eager.
Yes?
Pause. TODD seems about to speak. He suddenly realizes JANET is lurking directly over his shoulder.

TODD:
Aside.
And thus...I wimped out.
To RACHEL.
Uh. Where'd you get your coat? The quality of the cotton is exquisite.

RACHEL visibly deflates.
RACHEL:
At the mall. See, I was there with some friends, and I found a gift card in my purse...
RACHEL continues speaking unenthusiastically. Meanwhile, TODD, the picture of despair, speaks over her in an aside.

TODD:
And this was my life. Realizing that my friggin' muse, who after forty years still had no notable accomplishments, was watching me as I attempted and failed to ask Rachel out. Realizing that she probably had been for a while. And realizing how I would never finish my book because I would never be satisfied with it, or with myself. And, oh yeah, realizing how I was absolutely correct when I said that when you start to write, you will never be happy again.

Close curtain.