PW Earsman
Traveller in the arts
Posts: 40
(5/25/02 8:19 am)
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The Absence of Doctor Curtis
Seeing things are a bit slow here at the moment, I thought some of you (might) be interested in my progress with a stageplay.
A lot of the format has been lost in the pasting here but It's still readable.
Like to now what you think...
Cheers
Peter E
The Absence of Doctor Curtis
By
Peter Earsman
ACT ONE
Scene 1
CURTAIN UP on a waiting room. Several lounge chairs and a couple of coffee tables with magazines. Flowers in vases. Colorful pictures on the walls. A fish-tank on a stand. A coffee machine against wall DC.
Entry door CL and door to another area CR.
A coat rack near door CL.
A man and a woman enter CL, hang up coats and sit down just far enough apart to suggest that they are not on the best of terms.
COLIN FLETCHER is mid-thirties, good looking and dressed casually but neatly. He is sitting in the chair next to the fish tank, staring into space.
AMANDA FLETCHER, COLIN’s wife, is also mid-thirties, well-dressed and attractive. She begins idly flicking through the pages of a magazine.
COLIN’S finger is hovering around his nose.
AMANDA does not look up, but frowns
AMANDA: Testily) Must you do that?
COLIN: (Nasally) What?
AMANDA: Pick your nose. Ugh!
COLIN pretends to pick his nose with his right finger while inspecting his left.
AMANDA: Not that one you idiot, the one on automatic pilot.
COLIN theatrically inspects his finger.
COLIN: Bothers you does it?
AMANDA: You know damn well it does. It always has. I'm sure it's the only reason that you do it.
AMANDA goes back to her magazine, flicking the pages irritably.
AMANDA: (Almost to herself) Fist buried in your nose all day.
COLIN looks sideways at AMANDA then reaches over and pretends to drop something into the fish tank, withdrawing his hand quickly and looking innocent.
AMANDA: (Glancing up) You'll kill those bloody fish.
COLIN: Fishes.
AMANDA: What?
COLIN: Fishes. I'll kill those fishes. There're several varieties in there. That makes them fishes. Not fish.
AMANDA: Oh well, pardon me professor.
COLIN: Probably grateful for the protein.
AMANDA: Pig.
AMANDA goes back to her magazine. COLIN looks about and notices the coffee machine
COLIN: Feel like a coffee?
AMANDA: If you think you can keep your finger out of the cup.
COLIN makes two cups of coffee, places one on the table in front of his chair then walks over and hands the other to AMANDA before sitting back in his chair. COLIN picks up several magazines, one at a time. He glances through several briefly before tossing each down in disgust.
COLIN: Women's magazines. Women's magazines. Why is it, no matter what kind of waiting room you're in, there is never any men's magazines? Where are all the men's magazines?
AMANDA: Out in the toilet I shouldn't wonder, where they belong.
COLIN starts to get up.
AMANDA: Oh, sit down for goodness sake!
COLIN: (Sighs). Even a Popular Mechanics. Anything would be better than this mind-numbing rubbish. Look at this. (Waves a magazine). Front cover, right? "Baywatch Star Describes Her Night of Agony." Lets have a look shall we?
AMANDA: Let's not.
COLIN: Here it is. (Reads for a moment, then - contemptuously). It's about her cat. Her @#%$ cat!
AMANDA: Whose cat?
COLIN: Oh some TV starlet with big tits. Apparently she had a friend look after her cat. The friend didn't give it enough water and it nearly died of thirst. The poor girl was up all night. Real front page stuff. (beat) I bet I could think of a better headline.
AMANDA: I'll just bet you could.
COLIN: "Baywatch Star Awake All Night with a dried-out p..."
AMANDA: Yes, yes. Thank you. You know you really can be obnoxious when you put your mind to it. Even when you’re not trying it seems sometimes.
COLIN tosses the magazine back onto the table sits back, sighs and gazes at the ceiling.
AMANDA looks up.
AMANDA: Does it bother you to know that most of our friends think that you're a sarcastic pratt?
COLIN: Your friends maybe. Most of my friends think I’m witty and clever.
AMANDA: Yes, well they would, wouldn’t they?
COLIN: What’s that supposed to mean?
AMANDA: Oh, forget it. (beat) Most of your friends…
COLIN: What?
AMANDA: …most of your friends would regard anyone who spent less than three years in grade eleven as pretty smart.
AMANDA continues to flick through a magazine, COLIN continues to gaze at the ceiling, sighing deeply.
AMANDA: Oh, give it a rest for goodness sake. (beat) So smug and superior aren't we? If you bothered to actually read some of these magazines, you'd find that there's some really interesting and informative articles.
COLIN: Oh, we’re back to that are we? (beat) Like what?
AMANDA: Well, like this article for instance.
AMANDA reads in silence for a few seconds.
AMANDA: Well, perhaps not that one.
COLIN leans forward, smiling.
COLIN: No, go on. Read it.
AMANDA: No, I'll find another one.
COLIN: (Sensing some kind of triumph) I want to hear that one. What's it called?
AMANDA: Oh all right. It's called, (clears her throat)...it's called,(insert current year) The Year of The 'H' Spot.
COLIN: The what spot?
AMANDA: (Irritated) The H spot. The H spot.
COLIN: (Awestruck, breathily). The H Spot!
COLIN stands and strikes a dramatic pose; perhaps strolls about stroking his chin as though thinking out loud.
COLIN: (Slowly and mockingly) I see. These things run alphabetically! Right! I get it. A few years ago it was the G spot. Now, by logical progression it would appear, we have the H spot. Brilliant. Hey! I guess that means that there are A through F spots as well! Have they been written about anywhere, these other spots? Or are they known only to women? Women's business? Sacred sites? We've got a new spot and you have to find it?
AMANDA: (Tiredly) Me and my big mouth.
COLIN: (Warming to the subject) No, no, that would be your M Spot now wouldn't it. Can't wait for that one. Let's see. 'A' spot. Self- evident really I suppose. Not the sort of information a girl can sit on. So to speak.
AMANDA: Oh, ha, ha, ha.
COLIN: B spot? Breasts, has to be breasts. No mystery there. Now - C spot? Let me think...
AMANDA: (Warningly) This is becoming tedious, Colin.
COLIN: C. Hmm. Now, what could C stand for? Damn, it's on the tip of my tongue. Isn't it irritating?
AMANDA: Not if it's done right.
COLIN: Where were we? D spot. Duodenum perhaps?
AMANDA: I really think that's quite enough.
COLIN slumps back down on his chair.
COLIN: H Spot. The mind boggles.
COLIN Looks at his watch.
COLIN: God, how much longer?
AMANDA: It's only been a couple of minutes.
(beat)
COLIN: This isn't really necessary you know.
AMANDA: What isn't?
COLIN: This, here, today. A sex therapist.
AMANDA: You don't think we've got a problem?
COLIN: Nothing we can't work out by ourselves.
AMANDA: We've been through all this, Colin. For instance, how many times have we made love in the past couple of months? Three? Four times? I've tried to discuss it with you. You just don't seem to want to talk about it. Our relationship isn't normal, you know that as well as I do.
COLIN: Oh do I now? How do you know what's normal anyway? Oh, don't tell me, Woman's Digest. You've filled out a survey, haven't you? (beat) It's always the man's fault.
AMANDA: Generally, yes.
COLIN: And how many times per month is the man expected to - perform?
AMANDA: I believe the average is about twelve.
COLIN: Aha!
AMANDA: Aha, What?
COLIN: Performance! The man is expected to perform!
AMANDA: Well?
COLIN: You don't get it do you?
AMANDA: Not as often as the average woman it seems, no.
A young female receptionist enters through door CR.
RECEPTIONIST: Mr and Mrs Fletcher? Would you come through please?
COLIN and AMANDA follow the receptionist through the door CR.
END OF SCENE ONE.
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