http://XXXX.blogspot.com/
A HIGH LIFE.
Saturday, October 21, 2006
A Memorable Meeting
BACKGROUND: Set in England, late 1800s or early 1900s.
Charles: A blonde good-looking young man in his late twenties. Has some kind of title but, through his father’s stupidity, has become very poor. Has turned to writing to get an income, something Edmund frowns upon as “common” and “vulgar.” Intelligent but often oblivious.
Edmund: Darkly handsome young man in his late twenties. Duke of something important. Determines to set up his distant wealthy relative, Halle, with Charles.
Halle: Bright, pretty, vivacious young lady in her late teens to early twenties. A very wealthy merchant’s daughter who hopes to climb the social ladder.
Directions: Characters will often speak to the audience to explain what’s going on.
EDMUND: I like James, my physician, very well, but he is entirely too upright and honest, telling me the truth when I would prefer inflated lies. I like those very much. Therefore I determine to go to one who will offer that music to my waiting ears. Approaches Charles, who is sitting miserably at a table.
EDMUND: I just came from James’ inspection. He pronounced me a picture of deteriorating health.
CHARLES: I fear to ask what sort of human specimen would subject himself to the fiddling of an eccentric scientist, no offense intended. Could it be an ailment? Shortness of breath, perhaps, or body part?
EDMUND: Aside. Or perhaps not.
A MAN’s BOOMING VOICE: Charles winces. Sir, we feel a need to impart to you our standards. None. Regards, The Buggerworth Publishing Company. Edmund peers at the paper.
EDMUND: So, you are the Falkner who writes for Buggerworth? The author who penned the latest article on how men and women are compatible only for sexual intercourse and minor social interaction? That grossly offensive work so dreadful that it borders on high treason?
CHARLES: Yes, yes and yes. Perks up and admits cheerfully, preening. I visited my editor this morning, who told me in no uncertain terms that my latest manuscript was a horrific piece of work that deserved to be swallowed only for the pleasure of execration.
EDMUND: Ah. So you were the reason I ran about London waving like a madman with trousers down screaming of the herald of the coming Apocalypse.
CHARLES: Changes subject. Damnation, Edmund, why do you have flowers stuck to you?
EDMUND: A cheesed off mistress threw a parting gift from me in my face.
CHARLES: Ah. More importantly, I don't know how to begin. Mutters, throwing down pen in dejection.
EDMUND: Well, I always start writing with a perfectly clean piece of paper. Reaches over and flaps the doodled page in front of Charles. And an exceptionally dirty mind.
CHARLES: Your methods are not mine, and for that I thank God on my knees.
EDMUND: Don't do that. You'll wrinkle them.
CHARLES: What's the quickest way to the hospital? I will shortly require a trip to a mental ward.
EDMUND: Casually. Insult the queen's hair. Pause. Did you know, Queen Isabel has demanded in her full capacity as queen a portrait done by the finest painter in the country? That said painter's subjects usually are febrile, grass-masticating, road apple-defecating creatures does not deter her in the least. Her qualities resemble theirs closely enough for an easy transition.
CHARLES: Thank you, Edmund, for that fascinating piece of piece of useless trivia. You have not understood my question.
EDMUND: I understood it entirely, but apparently you could not comprehend the response.
CHARLES: Idea strikes him. Are we friends?
EDMUND: ‘Are we acquaintances?’ may be the better question. Allow me to consult the dictionary. Rummages through his coat.
CHARLES: Sits back, amazed. Frankly, I didn't know you harbored such dangerously intellectual influences in your very pockets.
EDMUND: Ah, but this belongs to the devil. Finds it and recites. Acquaintance, n.: A person whom we know well enough to borrow from, but not well enough to lend to. Tucks it back, and utters cautiously. If, incidentally, you plan to ask me for money, I must beg to be demoted from friend to acquaintance.
CHARLES: I am wholly capable of providing for myself, thank you. I intend to-
EDMUND: To what? Work? Vomits the word in a great show of disgust.
CHARLES: I was considering it, yes. Wryly. It seemed a pleasant alternative to starvation and beggary.
EDMUND: You're a gentleman, Charles! Not much of one-you have far too many morals to be rid of before you truly are-but nevertheless, dedicating yourself to honest labor would be most unbecoming. You do know that buggering morals always produces inconveniences.”
CHARLES: And what would you suggest as a substitute for my own criminal proposal?”
EDMUND: Shrugs. Your dilemma is easily solved, my friend. Wed a wealthy heiress, preferably desperate, ugly, and about to die.
CHARLES: That is the vilest plot I have ever heard. An appalled Charles decries. Stares at Edmund, pondering this new wickedness. And possibly the most brilliant. As Edmund begins to grin, he adds piously. But it is evil still, no matter the cleverness.
EDMUND: Oh, don't be scrupulous now. Only the rich can afford to be that because it doesn't pay. And you, my friend, are not rich. Far from it, as you have acknowledged.”
CHARLES: Says finally. Edmund, I do plan my final destination to be Heaven, though I may embark on several detours and false leads on the way.
EDMUND: So do us all. Claps Charles on the back, ushering him to the door. So do us all.
Curtain falls.
Narrator: In his scheming little mind Edmund thinks that Halle, his cousin, has a fortune but no title, and Charles, who has no cash but a name, should be set up. He and Edmund have created an unbreakable friendship based on dirty jokes and lecherous behavior.
Curtain rises.
EDMUND: My cousin Halle has unknowingly committed society’s greatest sin. Middle-class are only supposed to wear brown, but Halle wear sparkles. Her hair is an unacceptable shade of blonde.
EDMUND: The music begins and due to the frantic pace, couples must immediately match, or more likely, mismatch. I seize my cousin before anyone else can, carelessly knocking several more respectable gentlemen out of the way.
EDMUND: Loudly over the noise. “Sweetheart, may I ask what you are wearing?”
HALLE: smiles up at Edmund. Rowan made it from my tablecloth a few hours ago. Marvelous, isn’t it?
EDMUND: Whoever the devil Rowan is—I remember only that his obscurity is his most salient quality— you look wondrous, darling.
HALLE: You flatter me, Edmund. What do you want?
EDMUND: Must every flattering word out of my mouth have an ulterior motive? You wound me, Halle. You know I only have your best interests at heart.
HALLE: You might, if you had one. Now what did you want to talk to me about?
EDMUND: I … oh, all right. I heard you were in the market for a man of means.
HALLE: What woman isn’t?
EDMUND: A married one.
HALLE: You can hardly be so innocent, Edmund. I’ve met your last mistress.
EDMUND: You’ve surely already realized that this affair-and I use the word purposely-would be the ideal situation to find such a man. Edmund waits a moment, gauging her reaction. Halle waves for Edmund to continue. What do you think about … let’s say, that one? I toss a carefully negligent hand at a man who will be very attractive if he only stops self-consciously shrinking into the wall every time a woman passes by as though he will gift her with leprosy.
HALLE: Shrugs lightly, her gown sparkling at the movement. He is well enough, for an aged monkey less energetic than an animated feather duster.
EDMUND: Eh--what? No, no. The blond gentleman. Charles, oblivious, forthwith suffers intense, if brief, scrutiny. Edmund waits confidently for a favorable reaction.
HALLE: What is the matter with him?
EDMUND: Spluttering. He’s perfectly fine. There’s nothing wrong with him.
HALLE: Does he have a history of excessive nail-biting, lip-licking, purse-emaciating, or otherwise unbearable habits, in bed?
EDMUND: How would I know? Snaps, embarrassed. I, who can engage in a heated eye-to-breast lock until the nipple blinks, absentmindedly experience a naughty private interview granted to him by the most fashionably wicked exotic dancer, and swear to smoke only after making love and still manage to be a twenty-a-day man, blushes when speaking of the vaguely indecent with his cousin. (Blackadder)
Edmund makes his way over to Charles and indicates Halle. Everyone freezes as Charles stares at Halle. Charles makes his way over to Halle.
CHALRES: In a rush. Coincidentally, I dislike opera. The characters insist on exhibiting their vocal impuissance even in death.
HALLE: Smiles. Sir, I must agree. I used to enjoy Farinelli’s music to the utmost, often laughing so much I could hardly breathe. And then, someone beastly spoiled it all by informing me it was not a joke.”
CHARLES: And forsooth, how they frown when I decide to compete in making unbearable sounds! Aside. Perchance watching Will release bodily gases, screech in time to the heroine’s death cries and make a general arse out of himself while I myself had done nothing but laugh not been the most tactful of my maneuvers.
HALLE: Smiling in pretty confusion. “Have we met before?”
CHARLES: Aside. I hastily search my memory registry and discover myself penniless. Naturally, I am bankrupt there also. Speaking to Halle. Lord Falkner. Lord Charles Falkner. And I already know your name.
HALLE: Oh, do you?
CHARLES: Other--little--people mill around them, unconsciously pushing them closer together. Charles, as expected, does not resent the intrusion in the least. Lady Falkner.
HALLE: Laughs. Miss Halle Wheldon. Should I be honored to have your acquaintance, Lord Falkner?
CHARLES: Please, call me Charles. I am privileged to have yours, and if only a more intimate relationship blossoms, I shall count myself the luckiest man in the world.
HALLE: Declines his offer of informality. Is it not said that familiarity breeds contempt, Lord Falkner?
CHARLES: And--you must not forget--children.
HALLE: And are you planning to have children, Charles?
CHALRES: My name sounds like music as it falls from her lips and I suddenly find that I like it there. Distantly notices an alarmingly large woman with a frightening number of pearls and emeralds splattered upon her ample body then croons out a love song to the accompaniment of a piano laboring to support her weight as she languidly reclines on it.
CHARLES: Someday. I am searching for the mother meanwhile. Smiles ingratiatingly. “Let us get better acquainted. Aside. It’s all over, before it begins.
HALLE: What is your occupation, if any, Lord Falkner?”
CHARLES: Makes careless gesture with hand. I cannot sing, dance, act or do anything of use, really. Aside. Apparently minutely informed of our conversation, Edmund frantically signals to me, so I grin sickly and plow ahead with the painfully overused witticisms and jaded phrases.
HALLE: A gentleman, then?
CHARLES: I prefer to think of myself as a philosopher. I cogitate deeply on the mysteries of the unemployed life. But everything has been relegated to the fact that I am in love tonight with a beautiful young lady.
HALLE: You are perilously charming, Lord Falkner. Be careful, or I might fall in love with you.
CHARLES: I become reckless in the company of beautiful women. Do you believe in love at first sight?” Aside. Intrusive tunes, I think savagely as I wish a dire fate to all musicians warbling in the background. Speaking to Halle. I was wondering if I should walk over here again. Aside. My wellspring of sorry Edmund facsimile words has drained, leaving only a single drop. If I take this cup of bitterness, of shame, of abject humiliation, I will never forgive myself, nor can he ever call upon my self-respect to sustain me
again. Therefore, I eagerly lap it up.
CHARLES: I think it only just to tell you a terrible accident waits to occur.
HALLE: Eyes widen and lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. What will happen?
CHARLES: If you leave, I shall straightaway attempt to follow, trip on your skirts, fall on my face--my nose will never recover from the shock—
HALLE: Lord Falkner, I don’t believe this discourse is beneficial--
CHARLES: --Charles, please, and I will require a name and address for insurance reasons, of course. By-the-by, I seem to have forgotten the latter, so you may as well give me yours.
HALLE: Oh, very well, you bothersome troll!
CHARLES: Even as I watch she enacts a startling display of artistry and magic: Halle pulls out a handkerchief from her clothing, a feat unmatched as there seems to be no aspect of her shapely self unmapped by her gown. Scowling childishly, she scribbles on the cloth and then hands it to me.
HALLE: Stamps her foot. There! Much good may it do you! She storms off in a whirl of sparkling blue-and-pink sequins, casting a flirtatious smile behind her as she goes.
EDMUND: Across the room, I congratulate myself on a job well done.Labels: script, story, writing
-------------------LIVE HIGH!LIVE WILD!--------------- ; {9:51 AM}
_________________________________________________________
