Game of Phones

A play in one act

By Hector H Taylor

A play in one act with one set.

Synopsis

Anthony and his friend Wes are one-time colleagues. They have known one another since starting university. They met at medical school and qualified as doctors at the same time. They are the same age. Anthony married and had children. Wes did not; he enjoys the good life. They wrote fiction together at university and had some success. Ultimately Anthony had the pressures of work, writing, wife, kids and all that went with it. He was eventually de-registered from medicine by the General Medical Council for gross misconduct and at the same time Wes resigned as a doctor (though he is still registered) to follow a (medical) journalistic path. He writes novels too and is quite well off as a result. He once offered to help Anthony out financially, but the offer was resented so he is constantly looking for ways to help that pay Anthony – hence the offer to co-write the play with a cash prize if it won the competition, knowing Anthony wouldn’t do it alone. Anthony considers himself a spent force and is completely unmotivated in life.

During telephone/texting exchanges between Anthony and Wes, something happens in the conversations that eventually hits a nerve and Anthony effortlessly writes a complete play in no time at all, but his initial motivation is to get Wes off his back – not necessarily to perform well. The process of writing is frantic and comically/dramatically displayed on the stage and the installed stage screen*. Anthony emails the play to Wes who submits it – Anthony suffers an agonising wait for the result.

Anthony has a further drift into deep depression and solitude following what he sees as a protracted wait for the result of the competition. There is an imagined discourse with familiar demons leading to an unrelenting downward spiral of depression.

All mobile phone text and computer text typed by cast to be displayed live on electronic screen (rear curtain or over stage?) throughout (could be designed to resemble a smart phone?). PA used to portray thought at the same time, using actors’ recorded voices.

***

Cast

Anthony: (relies strongly on expletives for expression)

Wes: (mostly voice only, on screen seen as an avatar. Voice could be performed by one of the ‘demon’ cast. Hardly ever uses bad language)

Demon one – Alcohol: (ALC)

Demon two – Self-Loathing/Self-Pity: (SL/SP)

Demon three – Voice of Reason: (VoR)

The screen*! Very important!

Ex Wife – Female Dancer

Scene one

The set is a one-room bedsit, with contents just visible on a stage darkened to depict a level of squalor. There is one tiny window behind the ‘kitchen’ sink. At centre front stage is an old door supported on a pair of trestles – dimly spot-lit from directly above. Set at ±45° to stage front.

The ‘table’ has a shaded lamp, a half-full bottle of red wine, a half-full glass of red wine, a mobile telephone and a laptop – no power cable. In a battered straight-backed chair, a slight 40-something male (Anthony) dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, feet bare, sits facing the laptop, slumped with arms resting on the table, fingers interlocked in front of the laptop’s keypad.

Anthony’s mobile vibrates; he picks it up on the third buzz and answers. Wes’ avatar appears on the screen. [All Wes’ verbal exchanges are played over PA.]

Anthony: ‘Wes.’

Wes: (PA) ‘Hey dude, how’re you today? Up for a challenge?’

Anthony: ‘Tsk, that’s a new greeting. What the fuck could this be leading to? Also, dude, most of today’s gone, thank God!’

Wes: (PA) ‘I’m great thank… never mind. A challenge – one that you’re at the very least level with. One that you can easily accomplish.’

Anthony: ‘Not much of a fucking challenge then, is it…’

A few seconds of silence is broken by Anthony.

Anthony: ‘So… go on then!’

Wes: (PA) ‘So, you’re willing to listen?’

Anthony: ‘Do I have a choice?’

Wes: (PA) ‘Ah, you always have a choice. You can choose to listen; you can choose to hang up. You can choose to put a shift in and earn some money doing a bit of easy writing.’

Anthony removes the phone from his ear – looks at the heavens then returns to the call:

Anthony: ‘For fuck’s sake, Wes. We’ve been through this. I’ve been sitting here all day waiting for an idea that would make it worth even turning my fucking machine on…’

Wes: (PA) ‘This is different. It’s a play.’

Anthony says nothing. Five seconds pass.

Wes: (PA) ‘You still there?’

Anthony: ‘Uhuh.’

Wes: (PA) ‘A play. You up for it? There’s a cash prize, it’s not much but it’s within reach – you’re a talented writer. Write whatever you want. Just a few days doing what you do best.’

Anthony: ‘How much is “not much”? And, as I’ve done absolutely nothing worth doing for the last two years – I don’t have a best anything.’

Wes: (PA) ‘A grand.’

Anthony: ‘You see – there’s the fucking problem. You think a grand’s nothing… you’re such a prick.’

Wes: (PA) ‘So you’ll do it then? We can do it together; you come up with the ideas, I’ll mess around with them like we used to do – it’ll be fun! I know you can do it – it will be good. I’ll just tweak it; it will be a winner!’

Anthony: ‘No it won’t; you know it won’t, and we were in the same room back then –bouncing ideas around and we never came even close to writing a play. You know as well as I do – I’m not capable of anything anymore. Why do you keep coming up with these fucking schemes, it’s so tedious?’

Wes: (PA) ‘You’re an ungrateful bastard. I’m attempting to help! You won’t let me help you with cash so I’m giving you the chan… [Wes thinks of a better phrase], I’m letting you know there’s a way you can earn a bit of cash.’

Anthony: [Following a few seconds’ thought] ‘Do you have any idea how many bottles of wine I could buy with a grand?’

Wes: (PA) ‘Well, I admit, not many but yo…’

[Anthony cuts in]

Anthony: [Incredulous] ‘You absolute tosser! I’m talking about wine that does the job, not the pointless extravagance you drink to impress your so-called mates!’

Wes: (PA)’I’ll ignore that; you’re obviously having a bad day.’

Anthony: [Shouting directly at the phone held out in front of his mouth] ‘A BAD LIFE!!’

Wes hangs up. The screen is blank.

Anthony regards the phone for a few seconds.

Anthony: ‘Tsk. Pillock’.

[He glances round the room and takes in his living conditions, then shouts at the phone]

Anthony: ‘OKAY! I’LL DO IT!’

[Anthony places both hands on the lid of the laptop and remains motionless. The lights fade to black. Ten seconds later a shaft of light from the window behind the sink signifies a new day. Anthony is lying fully clothed on his bed, about to wake. He yawns, groans and turns on his side to face the audience.]

[Anthony’s recorded voice (current thoughts) plays over PA along with faint music that increases in volume gradually but stays under Anthony’s voice volume: “ …and today’s tune is: Goin’ Back.” (Goin’ Back by Dusty Springfield plays alongside Anthony’s voice https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XvWiiUgT8Nk). ‘Yes, I approve. Dusty’s version too, could be an acceptable day, then…’ (pause… turns onto his back)]

Anthony: ‘Who am I kidding? It won’t… I know I can’t write plays, so what the fuck did I say yes for? How the hell did I get dragged into this? Hmm; he didn’t actually hear me say I’d do it… I’ve let him down plenty of times. He’ll never know; he couldn’t care less either. Not really. Not in a way that affects him. [Pauses and thinks for a few seconds] He’ll just let it slide.’

[(Five seconds pass) – attempting to excuse that he is disappointing Wes]

Anthony: (PA, as a thought) ‘Look… I write prose. I write exquisite words for people to read in their head, not bollocks for someone to say out loud to someone else who can’t be bothered to read. It’s bad enough having to compete with Homer and Jeff Archer, never mind Shakespeare. I’ll just have to tell Wes I’m [pauses to think) unavailable.’

[Anthony leaves his bed, stretches, jogs awkwardly on the spot for a few seconds, then winces and holds his knees. He hobbles to the table, picks up the glass and tips the minute amount of wine into his mouth. He sits heavily on the chair by the table. He opens the laptop and stares at the blank screen]

[He lets out a long sigh]

Anthony: (Now aloud) ‘Okay, I’ll give it today – if nothing happens, I’m out! I mean I don’t even know how to start; where to start!’

[He stretches his legs out under the table and allows his head to fall back. Another long sigh]

[The silence is broken by his vibrating mobile. Remaining in position and without looking, he fishes around on the table and picks up the phone and reads the message aloud (also appears on the stage screen)]

Anthony: ‘How much you done?’

[Drops phone onto table; rolls eyes]

Anthony: ‘How much I done?! NOTHING!’

[He leans forward, shouting loudly at the phone]

Anthony: ’FUCK ALL! What makes you think I’ll do ANYTHING!’

[Leans back in chair again, then immediately sits bolt upright]

Anthony: ‘Hey! That might be good for a location: Phook Hall.’

[Picks up mobile and types, speaking as he writes. Appears on screen – ensuring audience pay attention to screen]

Anthony: ‘Am working on location. Play set in old Manor House – Phook Hall.’

[Places phone on table. Phone vibrates immediately. Anthony picks it up and reads message aloud; also appears on screen]

Anthony: “Send what you done then.” ‘”What I done!” Very helpful to be so fucking demanding from two hundred miles away with a phone in your hand! Get yourself over here and help instead of playing phone games!’

[Slumps back in chair looking at the ceiling. Sits up quickly again]

Anthony: ‘My God! I’ve got the title! Game of Phones!’

[Picks up phone and types, speaking as he does so. Appears on screen]

Anthony: ‘You can have the title – Game of Phones.’

[Touches trackpad on laptop with a flourish to wake it up]

Anthony: ‘Hmm, that might have been a little hasty. All I have to do now is think of a plot that involves phones and a manor house. Doesn’t sound too tricky; at least I can dirty the page with the title. Ta-daaaa – Game of Phones. There, I’ve made a start – who expected that? He certainly didn’t. Maybe he’ll stay off my back for a while.’

[Stares at screen for 30 seconds doing nothing, then slumps dramatically back in chair and stares at the ceiling. Long sigh]

[Phone vibrates. Picks it up while still recumbent and reads aloud]

Anthony: “Great title you stole there, Anton. I assume you got a plot to back it up. Send me the bones, will you? Stop mucking about. I need to get started.” (Also appears on screen)

[Silence and no movement for 10 seconds. Then animated, he replies loudly as he types]

Anthony: (Texting) ‘Anthony! Anthony! How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t call me Anton, you prick!’

[After another pause, phone vibrates. The text is shown appearing in real time on the stage screen]

Wes: (Texting) “Don’t be so sensitive, Tony. You know I love you. Now, give me something to work with. You always start so well. I can finish the first act if you send me the plot. I just need to get going, dude. Just give me something to work with, at least – there is a deadline…”

[Anthony, reading aloud the text on his phone (across Wes), leaps to his feet, sending his chair hurtling rearward while addressing the ceiling and yelling]

Anthony: ‘AANNTHHOONNYYY!’ (Repeating as he texts🙂 ‘AANNTHHOONNYYY!‘ (Sent as a text that appears on screen)

[Text disappears and is replaced in response by a wry, smiley face (unseen by Anthony) on the screen. Anthony begins pacing the room]

Anthony: [Aloud] ‘I can’t do this! I can’t DOOO this! Okay, I’m broke and I’m going insane with, with… what am I going insane with? Fucking hell, I can’t even remember why I’m going insane!

[Pause]

Rent! I can’t pay the rent on this toilet I just about exist in. And bills? Ha! Dream on. I don’t cook or shower or read after dark, but my bills are still massive! Fucking huge! Of course I need the money, but I can’t make money writing a fucking play! I have no idea even where to start! What’s the point anyway?

Even if I manage to write all of it, there must be a thousand people with millions of years of rejection experience who’ve got a better chance of short-listing than I, or should I say, WE have. Yes, WE! You miserable excuse for a human being!’

[Anthony loudly addresses the phone on the table]

Anthony: ‘A FUCKING TOAD IS WHAT YOU ARE! [Looks away] Even looks like one. Those slow eyelids…’

[Anthony mimics as he speaks]

Anthony: ‘…the way he licks them clean with his ridiculously long, sinuous tongue. Yuck!’ [Then, as thought] ‘Woahhh, I’ve gone all weak and dizzy… sit down again for a minute.’

[Holds head whilst regaining equilibrium, then picks up his chair and noisily and angrily sets it in previous orientation. Picks up the phone and texts]

Anthony: [Speaking as he texts] “You’re a parasitic worm. You want me to do all the work and you get the glory. Fuck off and die! F.O.A.D! F.O.A.D, you T.O.A.D!”

[He throws the phone onto the table, then drops his head onto the table and remains still, arms dangling]

[Phone vibrates. Anthony ignores it. Text appears on screen and is heard through the PA]

Wes: (PA) “Now, now. That’s not nice. Worm I can live with, but I’m not parasitic. Anyway, you’re the parasite; I’ve got more than enough to do. This is supposed to be an earner for you, you ungrateful bastard. Maybe once you get evicted you’ll be inspired to actually do something with your sorry life and maybe actually write something again that’ll make your children know you exist and maybe just a little proud of you! You can be a good writer when you get yourself together, you miserable, self-indulgent sod. Anyway, when you’re on the street where are you going to charge your pho…”

[Display dies, text replaced on screen by red battery icon]

[Anthony finally stirs, picks up phone and groans]

Anthony: (Aloud) ‘For F’s sake… Shit! Hmm, at least I’ll get a bit of peace. It’s okay for him (Gesticulates towards the phone): he’s got no wife, no kids, has several jobs and a functioning liver. He’s got it made!’

[Then pleadingly] ‘This isn’t my fault. I know I’m not a victim; I’m a circumstance. Who knew open heart surgery would be replaced by keyhole fiddly bollocks? I spent two decades dedicating myself to training and expertise only to be dumped because I was outdated by technology. And, did anyone understand my problems? My dilemma? My mental health? No!’

[Rises and paces backwards and forwards, then continues]

‘“The Bitch” left me – not my doing! I am the victim. And… [Choking] she made sure she moved far enough away to make seeing the kids impossible. Who wouldn’t drink, for Christ’s sake? Anyway, it’s not like I down ten flagons of rough scrumpy every day. I do understand the basics, you know!’

[Cheerfully, raucously as he picks up a bottle] ‘Red wine, ah! Fabulous stuff. Loads of life-enhancing flavonoids. And alcohol! Wouldn’t have survived without it. Hmm… won’t survive with it… if money runs out altogether and I can’t buy my red, I’m really in the shit.’

[Screws the top from a bottle of red wine and pours into the glass. He takes a small sip only]

[He sits again, then speaks angrily]

‘Okay… I admit it, alcohol finally got me the boot, but they could have been more sympathetic, the tedious cretins. How was I supposed to cope with all the shit being flung at me without a crutch? A prop? A support?’

[After a few seconds of reflection (In mock officiousness:)] ‘Your behaviour is inconsistent with the office you hold…’

[Then back to his own voice] ‘There’s more to life than one’s “office!” Where’s the help with everything else? Fuck, fuck, fuck, faaack!’

[Sombrely] ‘I only had Wes; he did his best but – a shoulder to cry on? Do me a fucking favour… would that have worked – really? I mean, this is serious shit; my wife is shagging one of my mates and I’m being replaced by a probe! Oh crap… I’ve just realised – my probe was replaced and I was replaced by a probe. Ha-ha! How fucking ironic! I HATE MY LIFE!’

[Stifles a sob] ‘Oh, fucking hell…’

[Takes a long glug of wine and almost empties the bottle into the glass. Starts to sob quietly for a few seconds then bangs fist onto the table]

‘Pull yourself together, you spineless moron, and have another drink.’ [Laughs. Measures remaining wine in the glass and takes small sip] ‘Only four bottles left; got to conserve stocks until the next hand out.’

[Reflectively] ‘God almighty, has it come to this? A social security refugee with no hope but for a part share in a play that can’t be written…’

[Quietly] ‘No one wants my columns anymore. [Sighs] I can’t sell my books. I can’t even conceive of a new plot for eating tonight and that dickhead wants me to write a play!? I used to love writing when people actually wanted to read my stuff, but this is different. It’s the wrong structure for my brain type. I’m a weaver of experiences that are imagined; I’m not a dictatorial visualiser for rote reproduction. I can’t even imagine how to do this.’

[Anthony spins the phone on the table, stopping it with his right index finger. His finger remains on the phone and he looks at it for the first sentence following]

Anthony: ‘He means well; he’s trying to get me to be responsible for something and focus but, fuck… [Looks up and removes his hand] The chances of winning are minute even for good writers – never mind a reluctant nobody with no experience. I’m wasting my time, I’m wasting everyone’s time… there’s no money coming in from playwriting.

[Sits still for ten seconds]

[Rejuvenated] ‘Shit, better get the phone charged or I won’t know whether I’ve won the lottery. Where’s my USB cable?’

[Looks at ceiling for inspiration]

‘Jacket pocket, right-hand side.’

[Rises then walks to jacket hanging on a nail on the door. Slips hand into pocket and retrieves the cable and returns to the table. He inspects the ends and plugs one end into his phone, the other into the laptop]

Anthony: ‘Okay, how much juice in the laptop? [Attaches the phone] Result! Almost full. So not writing does have advantages.’

[Takes another drink from the glass]

[Reflectively] ‘It’s Toby’s birthday soon; eight, I think. Yes, eight. Should send him something.’

[Takes a sip of wine and holds the glass up to gauge the remainder]

‘A book? I could write him one… hmm, perhaps not. He wouldn’t like it. [Pauses] And Gracie will be three…’

[Fights back sudden sob, throws back remainder of wine, refills the glass with the remainder of the bottle and drinks in one. Rises steadily, but stands still for ten seconds facing stage front. Starts to sit again, but having lowered himself two inches, rises and walks steadily to the under-sink cupboard. Opens the cupboard door and takes out a fresh bottle of red wine, unscrews the top and takes three or four long slugs. Walks unsteadily to his bed carrying the bottle close to his chest. Props himself up against the bed head and pillows and takes another drink from the bottle – then more as the stage lights fade over time to darkness]

Scene Two

[The next morning. A gradually strengthening shaft of sunlight from the kitchen window illuminates Anthony as he lies, fully clothed, propped on his pillows still clutching the now empty bottle. He wakes, dazed. His first duty is to check that the bottle is empty. He holds it up to the light, then inverts it into his mouth. Holds his head with his free hand]

Anthony: [In pain]‘Fuck, what day is it? For Christ’s sake, who cares? I don’t, and it makes no difference to anyone else. [Pause] I’m still alive? Guess so; I don’t suppose you have a hangover if you’re dead. Fuck, my head hurts. Shit, if I’m not dead I need a few quid for a couple of bottles then. Is it credit day? Better check.’

PA: low volume music plays as in his head. Anthony’s thoughts are broadcast over PA:

[Remains motionless. Long sigh] ‘Okay, what’s today’s tune then?’

[PA music volume increases. Anthony’s thoughts over PA (with music at lower volume), still a little slurred]

Anthony: ‘Hmm, haven’t heard this for a while, don’t usually wake up to classics… Beethoven’s 5th piano concerto if I’m not mistaken? Emperor. [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IS30yphoy50] What the hell happened yesterday to put that in my brain for fucking sunrise entertainment?! Hmm… I love it though. Beautiful. So beautiful. There’s one note that always gets me…’

[Music continues for a few seconds]

Anthony: ‘It’s a long piece… maybe that’s why I normally wake up to the Doors or Lou Reed.’

[Music immediately changes to very loud: “Won’t you be my wagon wheel (etc)” [Lou Reed Transformer album – Wagon Wheel. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5kf0cEH8_Js]

Anthony: [Hands over his ears] ‘Faaack, I was enjoying Beethoven! What part of a brain controls this!?’

[Music ceases. Anthony lies still for ten seconds. Still in pain, he takes a deep breath – lets it out slowly]

Anthony: ‘Okay. What did happen last night? Did I talk to Wes? Did he give me shit again? Do I give a shit? Fuck knows.’

[Long sigh]

‘Need a pee.’

[Anthony struggles from the bed and, unsteadily, leaves the stage through a door beside his bed just as his phone vibrates. A text from Wes is displayed on the screen]

Wes: (PA) ‘Morning dude. How you feeling?’

[Several seconds pass; another text arrives]

Wes: (PA) ‘Dude! You still alive?! Ton…’ [Texting stops and is erased one character at a time, slowly for effect, to be replaced by] ‘Anthony! Are you there? Okay, I’m gonna ring you.’

[Anthony (unaware of the text) emerges from the bathroom – wiping his hands on his jeans – to hear the tail end of the phone’s incoming call vibration. Walking, he reaches out, from a distance, to pick up the phone just as it disconnects]

Anthony: [Aloud] ‘Who’s this? Who rings at this time of the morning? Everyone knows I hate talking at any time, but especially in the MORNING!’

[Shouting, then holding his aching head]

Anthony: ‘Can’t be Wes; he’s probably still out partying. Maybe I won the lottery!? [Brightens] Woohoo! I’ll check the app.’

[Just as Anthony is about to click, he realises there is another incoming call from Wes. The phone buzzes in his hand]

Anthony: [Still brightly] ‘Wes! I was just thinking about you. How are you? Still in yesterday’s tux? Feasting on all kinds of flesh and having a carefree, boring, thoughtless life I guess?’

Wes: (PA) ‘Well, I’m fine, thanks for asking. Unless there’s something sinister about an unbidden gale of flatulence. And yes, as you seem to expect, I’m still not home.’

Anthony: ‘Your flatulence is legendary, dude; I doubt there’s anything to worry about.’

Wes: (PA) ‘Anyway, I was just checking on you; are you okay? You didn’t text back. Look, I’m sorry for everything I said yesterday – you know how it is dude.’

Anthony: ‘Why, what did you say?’

Wes: (PA) ‘Oh, just the usual… Did you finish the bottle?’

Anthony: ‘Which one?’

Wes: (PA) ‘You had anything to eat?’

Anthony: ‘You’re not my mother. I eat when I’m hungry.’

Wes: (PA) ‘How much do you weigh?’

Anthony: ‘How would I know?’

Wes: (PA) ‘For God’s sake, man, you have to make an effort! You must know you can’t carry on like this! You’re a doctor, for heaven’s sake; you know what you’re doing to yourself!’

Anthony: ‘I’m not a doctor.’

Wes: (PA) ‘Stop splitting hairs. You have to accept that you’ve got a problem… okay, several problems, so deal with it – them – only you can do this! You know that, don’t you?’

Anthony: ‘Two hundred.’

Wes: (PA) ‘Two hundred what?’

Anthony: ‘At least two hundred times you’ve given me that fucking lecture. I don’t need a lecture. Why don’t you just fuck off and leave me to die?’

Wes: (PA) ‘Because you won’t die; you’ll mess that up too!’

Anthony: ‘Ah, trying honesty now. Do me a favour. I know only too well that honesty doesn’t get you anywhere. Just leave me to die.’

Wes: (PA) ‘You don’t want to die.’

Anthony: ‘And you are an expert in me not wanting to die…’

Wes: (PA) ‘What would it achieve?’

Anthony: ‘Well, for one thing, I’ll never have to wipe my arse again. I’m happy about that. If there’s one thing God got wrong, it’s faeces. I’ll be having words about that.’

Wes: (PA) ‘So not mayhem and murder?’

Anthony: ‘No, we did that, but He designed the arsehole. There has to be a better way. Now leave me alone. [Becoming exasperated] In fact – for fuck’s sake, stay out of my life. I don’t need you.’

Wes: (PA) [sighs] ‘Okay,have it your own way…’

[Wes disconnects the call]

[Anthony holds out his phone and dispassionately regards the blank screen. He waits for several seconds and is just about to throw the phone onto his table when a text arrives – displayed on the stage screen]

Wes: (Text) “Love you, bro, but I’m not going to be part of your destruction. Think of your kids.”

[Anthony, left side to the audience and holding the phone in his left hand, regards the message for a few seconds then begins to sob heavily, covering his eyes with his right hand, the phone remaining in the same place]

[The lighting fades to black for 15 seconds (to indicate the passage of time) then a single (dimmed) spotlight reveals Anthony sitting at his table, seemingly recovered, and contemplating opening his laptop. He raises his hands to open the lid but thinks better of it, returning his hands to his lap. Ten seconds pass]

[Anthony raises his left hand to open the lid but fails to continue – placing his hand on the table beside the laptop. He raises his right hand to open the lid but fails, placing his hand to the right of the laptop. 10 seconds pass. He grabs the laptop suddenly with both hands and raises to his feet in one powerful motion, lifts the laptop over his head and begins the motion to throw the laptop against the wall – stopping abruptly just as he is about to let go. He freezes in the position and five seconds pass. He gently places the laptop on the table, sits and opens the lid, pauses then presses the power button. He opens a new page and starts typing]

[The stage screen bursts into life with a stalling then speeding stream of zeroes and ones (010101010101010…0101010…01010101010 etc.). This then continues at a constant pace throughout the remainder of the scene. Following a few seconds of gradually increasing speed, Anthony’s typing becomes comically displayed as if playing the piano boisterously for a short while, then:]

***

Choreography:

As though still typing/piano playing, Anthony rises from his seat as music begins [Peter Gregson: Time (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NDEUo7QoTEQ)] and completes an energetic, (modern) balletic dance routine that expresses the process of writing (thought time, frustration, stream of consciousness, the passing of days and nights [three (?); four (?)] where there is occasional daylight at the window, replaced appropriately by stage lighting, as Anthony falls onto his bed fleetingly with lights dimming (to darkness) quickly and immediately as he raises athletically with lights brightening quickly.

He occasionally checks the laptop but does not re-take his seat at any point during the routine. The zeroes and ones continue horizontally across the screen.

Towards the end of the dance routine and in self-recognition of his achievement, his wife joins the stage (in his imagination but with a female dancer joining him). They dance sensually and occasionally intertwined but not touching – unaware of each other’s presence, as he celebrates the thought that he could be on the road to recovery and to win her back.

Female dancer leaves the stage.

Finally (length of dance scene – five to six minutes?), Anthony whoops with elation as he takes his seat within the final dance step and musical note, presses period key and has finished the play.

***

Anthony: ‘Man, this feels good! I haven’t felt this good in years! Finished! Wes will be astounded –hope he likes it. He can fiddle with it as much as he likes! I’ve done what he asked and I’m done. It feels soooo good, though. I might do another… Here you go, Wes. Do your worst.’

[Anthony theatrically presses Enter to send his play to Wes by email. He skips lightly to the under-sink cupboard and takes out a bottle of wine. Slams the door. It opens again in protest to reveal to him that this is the last bottle. He looks longingly at it]

Anthony: ‘Hmm, last one. [Theatrically] Look at you. All full and voluptuous, dark and mysterious, wet and tempting. And yet, I’ve not succumbed to your wiles for several days. [Holds the bottle to his chest in a warm embrace] You’re my special bottle. Maybe I will save you for the day Wes gives me his verdict. It will be appropriate whatever his misguided opinion is – [Looks to middle-distance] or maybe I’ll still keep you for the [Spoken with a sigh.] Main Event.’

[He places the bottle back in the cupboard and closes the door, walks to his table, picks up his phone and texts]

‘WELL!?’ [Seen on the stage screen]

[Anthony throws the phone on the table and it vibrates immediately. He picks up the phone with an element of excitement and reads the message also seen on the stage screen]

Ex Wife: ‘We are getting married tomorrow. I thought you should know.’

[Lights slowly fade to black as Anthony stands numbed, dropping the phone to the ground]

Scene Three

[The scene opens with dim lighting, no daylight from the window. Anthony standing front centre stage spot lit from above. The set is unchanged but for three identical male silhouettes lit from behind only – matching Anthony’s body shape exactly. The three figures (VoR, ALC and SL/SP) begin to circle Anthony clockwise while Anthony spins anti-clockwise [Music: The Unforgiven by Metallica https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ckom3gf57Yw]. As they enter the lit area it becomes obvious that they and Anthony are the same person, dressed identically and similar in physical appearance as casting will allow.

Following some tormented choreography (two minutes max?), Anthony sits at his table with his head in his hands – still spot lit from above. There are three bottles of red wine and the ever-present wine glass on the table. The three figures are now seemingly absent. Anthony selects a bottle, unscrews the cap and pours a large drink. He picks up his phone and checks for messages; there are none. Throws the phone on the table]

Anthony: ‘Still nothing. As predicted, that turned out to be a waste of fucking time. Drinking time as well as making an effort time. Fucking hell, Wes – I made an effort, I did as you asked. Wherever you are now, go fuck yourself.’

[Mimicking Wes] “It’ll be good, mate [Mocking], maybe need a bit of tweaking, mate, a winner for sure, mate.’

Anthony: ‘Yeah, for sure. It’s been weeks now. The result date must’ve passed ages ago. Why hasn’t the bastard told me straight? He could’ve said something and gone back into his silent mode. What the fuck’s wrong with him? It’s not like I expected we would win – it was hopeless from the start, but, I admit it, I enjoyed writing a play in the end. It was different. Life is all about new experiences, isn’t it?

‘I would’ve been happy knowing it was at least okay. I just wanted to know that it was reasonable, that it was readable – that I am not a complete 100 per cent failure. Maybe the kids would’ve read it one day.’

[Sombrely] ‘Anyway, it’s too late now.’

[The three figures slowly emerge from the shadows and each sits on a corner of the table: VoR to Anthony’s left (will be left/rear facing audience); ALC opposite VoR facing Anthony; SL/SP facing audience to Anthony’s right. Anthony does not notice any of them]

Anthony: [Arranges the three bottles on the table] ‘I don’t have to drink; I choose to drink. I didn’t drink while I was writing the play so I’ve proven I can choose, haven’t I? Anyway, these three bottles will be my last. I shall give them names in celebration.’

[He picks up the bottle Wes gave him]

‘You’re “Voice of Reason”. Hello.’

[He places the bottle on the right of the table where one of the figures is sitting and picks up the next]

Anthony: ‘You’re already open and will be the first to go; you are “Alcohol”, an old friend who needs no greeting.’

[He places the bottle beside the second figure and picks up the third bottle]

Anthony: ‘You’ll probably make me feel nauseous – you are “Self-Loathing” combined with a rather large helping of “Self-Pity”, I’m afraid.’

[He places the bottle with the last figure. He does not acknowledge the presence of any of the figures]

[He checks his phone again and is about to put it down but instead opens the text from his ex-wife (displayed on the screen). He kisses the phone’s screen still displaying the text then throws the phone onto the table]

[Anthony holds his head in his hand for 10 seconds, then lays his head on his crossed arms on the table. VoR stands and slowly takes position behind Anthony (so that he is more front facing)]

VoR: [Behind Anthony, almost whispering into his ear] ‘Why do you think you did not drink?’ [Pauses for 4 seconds. Now slowly moving around directly behind Anthony, hands clasped behind his back in ‘schoolmaster’ style] ‘There was no stimulation to drink; you lost track of time and the necessity to drink; you were totally absorbed by writing – just as you used to be in the old days. Eventually, you slept through pleasant exhaustion and you woke ready to do it all again. Exhilaration had replaced the need for alcoholic numbness; this continued until you became frustrated by the lack of affirmation – long after the play was completed. You were free of your weakness while you were positive. You were free; your life was returning. You only succumbed when you had nothing to do, your demons returned and you did nothing to resist them.’

ALC: ‘Now hold on a minute, I’m hardly a demon. I just like to give pleasure through an occasional drink.’

VoR: [Still standing] ‘Pleasure can be gained from watching a blade of grass resisting the weight of a dew drop.’

SL/SP: ‘Oh, you mean me, then? I’m not worth the effort of demonising; I have weakness, yes, and I’m fully entitled to point out weakness where I find it. How else would a weak-willed individual know what needs fixing? Once I’m aware, I make them reflect. They don’t have to feel sorry for themselves, but they surely must face the fact that they are at the very least a pile of shit, so they probably should.’

ALC: [Concerned] ‘Jesus, you need a drink.’

SL/SP: [Relieved] ‘Thanks.’

[Anthony raises blearily from the table then pours himself another glass of wine. Drinks it in one go]

Anthony: ‘It seems freedom is temporary and demons are only too keen to fill the void.’

ALC: ‘Maybe a drink would help…?’

[Anthony pours himself another glass of wine. VoR shakes his head and re-takes his seat. Stretching out his legs and leaning back in his chair – more relaxed and slightly rotated to left so that he is side-on to audience]

Anthony: [Reflective] ‘My “Hearing” was all about alcohol. There was no account taken of what got me to the point where alcohol removed reason and numbness was all I craved. All the men in that room loathed me; far more than I loathe myself now. They couldn’t see themselves in my position so they, to a man – let’s remember, decided to banish me and ruin my life rather than reach out and help. They weren’t individuals, they were a vicious pack of petrified jobsworths – they knew what the outcome was going to be before I even turned up. The only person in the room with any empathy was a woman – the only sympathetic face; the only person to half-smile and provide comfort and a level of understanding.’

VoR: [Exasperated] ‘Anthony, she was the tea lady.’

Anthony: ‘Does that matter? If a paedophile rescues a sack-full of kittens from a river, is his compassionate act lessened by the fact he is generally regarded as a reprehensible outcast? She understood. She knew I didn’t want to be where I was. Am… She would have helped if she had been allowed.’

SL/SP: ‘Hang on; I don’t understand the “paedophile, drowning cats” metaphor. How does that relate to a woman being present?’

ALC: ‘He’s a reprehensible outcast! Anyway, give him a break; he’s having a hard time.’

VoR: ‘You didn’t always drink.’

Anthony: [Exasperated] ‘Of course I did!’

VoR: ‘Not to excess, not to put yourself and others in danger.’

Anthony: ‘I haven’t always had a reason, a need. I think losing your job and your wife in the same week makes for a sea-change. I never put the kids in danger.’

SL/SP: [Wringing hands] ‘Yes, the tide went out and never came back in again. I wasn’t strong enough to change anything. It all seemed so irreversible. I couldn’t bear to be in the same room as the bitch. I wanted to kick the shit out of my so-called friend, but I knew I wasn’t capable – physically and mentally.’

Anthony: ‘It would have gone out a lot earlier if I’d known about the affair. She only stayed with me because I was on good money. Bitch. As soon as that was taken away – that was it. Other than the money, all she needed was a regular babysitter so that she could go to her “pottery classes.”’

SL/SP: ‘You really should have noticed the manufacturer’s name had been ground off the bottom of those pots.’

ALC: ‘You need a drink. C’mon; you’ve got three bottles to get through.’

[Anthony finishes the first bottle and picks up the second]

Anthony: ‘No, not that one. It’s got a cork. That’s the last bottle Wes bought me. I’ve resisted drinking that for over a year – it is for today. I’ll save it until last.’

[He takes the top from the second bottle and fills the glass]

Anthony: ‘I didn’t drink when I was babysitting – ever. I love my kids. I miss them so much; I can’t stand the pain. [5 seconds fighting back tears] Hmm, bottle two. Better start getting prepared.’

[He raises a finger in recognition of a thought]

Anthony: ‘Corkscrew.’

[Anthony walks to the under-sink cupboard and picks up a plastic margarine tub. He opens the drawer above and rummages around for the corkscrew. He also picks up two spoons and takes them to the table. He sits and arranges the items before him. The spoons together on top of the margarine tub, the corkscrew beside Wes’ wine bottle]

Anthony: ‘Wes was the only constant and now he’s gone.’

VoR: ‘You told him to go!’

Anthony: ‘He knew I didn’t mean it. I mean, we’ve argued before; worse than this; loads worse.’

SL/SP: ‘Maybe it was the last straw. You are very wearing; even the guys in the off-licence don’t talk to you and you must be their best customer.’

VoR: ‘You could always ring him.’

Anthony: ‘What would be the point? We’d just be back here in next to no time. It’s gone too far. There’s no way back now.’

VoR: ‘I think it’s worth a try.’

SL/SP: [Panicking] ‘Don’t wobble now; you’re nearly there.’

Anthony: ‘Don’t worry; I heard this morning’s tune. No one has forgiven me and I can’t forgive myself.’

ALC: ‘Have another drink!’

[Anthony empties his glass, pours another and drinks that straight down too. He measures the remainder in the bottle and realises it is almost empty]

Anthony: ‘It seems it’s time. I don’t think there’s enough left without using some of Wes’ wine. Maybe he’d approve. Well, I don’t have any choice.’

[Anthony opens the margarine box and takes out a small bag containing a white powder and a bottle of pills that he rattles to determine its contents. He opens the bottle and tips a few pills out onto the table, collects them up and places them into one of the spoons. He takes the second spoon and laying it over the first, crushes the pills before tipping them into the glass. He repeats the process three times and then pours the contents of the bag into the glass. He stops to take in the pile of white powder in the glass. He picks it up and holds it to the light, tipping it backwards and forwards to watch the light play. He tips in the remainder of the second bottle; it is insufficient to fully cover the powder.

He picks up Wes’ bottle and kisses it gently. Takes up the corkscrew and attempts to screw it into the cork, but drops the corkscrew onto the floor. He places the bottle on the table and bends to pick up the corkscrew, falling onto the floor in the process. He lies on his back for a few moments saying nothing and is immobile. Gradually, he crawls back onto the chair. Realises he needs to remove the foil from the neck of the bottle. He scrapes the foil with the side of the corkscrew but loses his grip again; the corkscrew drops to the floor. He manages to pick it up without falling and completes the removal of the foil and the cork. He takes a swig from the bottle]

Anthony: [Enthusiastically and slurring slightly] ‘Well, that was worth the effort! Wow, that is good!’

VoR: [Rises quickly to his feet] ‘Then stop! You can build on this and enjoy many more pleasurable experiences and life!’

SL/SP: ‘Don’t listen. You can’t afford it. You will just be drinking the same old crap.’

ALC: ‘I resent that! It’s not crap, it’s affordable!’

VoR: [Leaning in and pleadingly] ‘It’s a lifeline – you are actually enjoying something – and it’s wine. Think!’

[VoR takes his seat]

[Anthony is motionless. Then, for the first time he looks at each of the demons in turn. He returns to the first, pauses to appreciate the earnest look on the face of VoR then shakes his head slowly. VoR stands and slowly walks into the darkness and off stage]

[Next he looks at the expectant ALC, who is smiling wryly. Anthony pours half the bottle of wine into the glass as the powder swirls]

ALC: ‘You’re not leaving a note?’

Anthony: ‘Who for? The tea lady?’

ALC: ‘It seems my work here is done.’

[ALC rises and slowly leaves the stage into the darkness]

[Finally, Anthony looks into SL/SP’s eyes]

Anthony: ‘Nothing. You’re already dead.’

[Anthony picks up the glass and drinks the cocktail in one. Coughing at its finish, he drinks a little of the wine from the bottle to settle the cough. He places the glass carefully on the table and adjusts its position neatly beside the laptop, which he opens. He turns to look directly at SL/SP]

[SL/SP rises and slowly leaves the stage, stopping to look back (halfway to the wing) before disappearing into the darkness]

Anthony: ‘You know, this is really rather good.’

[He holds the bottle unsteadily at arm’s length to read the label, then weaves his way over to the bed and quietly and slowly props himself up on the pillows, slowly settling into his familiar, comfortable position. He struggles to raise the bottle]

Anthony: [Whispering] ‘Cheers, Wes.’

[The phone vibrates twice on the table. Over the next 30 seconds, Anthony sips from the bottle whilst the stage lights gradually dim leaving a single spot light on Anthony that soon dims to complete darkness]

[15 seconds pass then the stage screen displays a text]

Curtain down. No curtain call. Play out tune: Man of the Hour by Pearl Jam https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vXqwtUUPe0w

House lights on after 30 seconds. Audience leave as play-out tune continues.