GAME NIGHT BY

JOHN PATRICK BRAY AMY MICHELLE COLLINS

BRYAN MAYNARD CAROL M. RICE

LAUREN TUNNELL CHRISTINE WEEMS MICHAEL WEEMS

L. ROBERT WESTEEN

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Copyright  (c)  2013  by  John  Patrick  Bray,  Amy  Michelle  Collins,  Bryan  Maynard,  Carol  M.  Rice,  Lauren  Tunnell,  Christine  Weems,    

 CAUTION:  Professionals  and  Amateurs  are  hereby  warned  that  performance  of  GAME  NIGHT  (or  any  plays  listed  as  part  of)  is  subject  to  payment  of  a  royalty.    It  is  fully  protected  under  the  copyright  laws  of  The  United  States  of  America,  and  of  all  countries  covered  by  the  International  Copyright  Union  (including  the  Dominion  of  Canada  and  the  rest  of  the  British  Commonwealth)  and  of  all  countries  covered  by  the  Pan-­‐American  Copyright  Convention,  the  Universal  Copyright  Convention,  the  Berne  Convention,  and  of  all  countries  with  which  the  United  States  has  reciprocal  copyright  relations.  All  rights,  including  without  limitation  professional/amateur  stage  rights,  motion  picture,  recitation,  lecturing,  public  reading,  radio  broadcasting,  television,  video  or  sound  recording,  all  other  forms  of  mechanical,  electronic  and  digital  reproduction,  transmission  and  distribution,  such  as  CD,  DVD,  the  Internet,  private  and  file-­‐sharing  networks,  information  storage  and  retrieval  systems,  photocopying,  and  the  rights  of  translation  into  foreign  languages  are  strictly  reserved.    Particular  emphasis  is  placed  upon  the  matter  of  readings,  permission  of  which  must  be  obtained  from  the  Author  in  writing.    The  English  language  stock  and  amateur  stage  performance  rights  in  the  United  States,  its  territories,  possessions  and  Canada  for  GAME  NIGHT  (or  any  plays  listed  as  part  of)  are  controlled  exclusively  by  Next  Stage  Press.    No  professional  or  nonprofessional  performance  of  the  Play  may  be  given  without  obtaining  in  advance  written  permission  and  paying  the  requisite  fee.  Inquiries  concerning  production  rights  should  be  addressed  to  licensing@nextstagepress.net                                                                                                       SPECIAL  NOTE  Anyone  receiving  permission  to  produce  GAME  NIGHT  (or  any  plays  listed  as  part  of)  is  required  to  give  credit  to  the  Author  as  sole  and  exclusive  Author  of  the  Play  on  the  title  page  of  all  programs  distributed  in  connection  with  performances  of  the  Play  and  in  all  instances  in  which  the  title  of  the  Play  appears  for  purposes  of  advertising,  publicizing  or  otherwise  exploiting  the  Play  and/or  a  production  thereof.  The  name  of  the  Author  must  appear  on  a  separate  line,  in  which  no  other  name  appears,  immediately  beneath  the  title  and  in  size  of  type  equal  to  50%  of  the  size  of  the  largest,  most  prominent  letter  used  for  the  title  of  the  Play.    No  person,  firm,  or  entity  may  receive  credit  larger  or  more  prominent  than  that  accorded  the  Author.    

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SORRY! (or, “R.E.M. Wrote a Song Called ‘Losing my Religion’”)

[Inspired by the classic Board Game - Sorry!] By John Patrick Bray

Lights up on a large board-game table. MYRA, a Blue Pawn, holds a card and merrily dances down toward JIM CRIST, a Green Pawn. MYRA. One, two, three, four, five sliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide. (She bumps into Jim Crist.) Sorry! JIM CRIST. Oh, man! I can never get out of start. (He walks back a bit, toward “Start.”) MYRA. You gotta learn to read the cards. JIM CRIST. “Read the cards,” huh? MYRA. Yeah. It’s kind of like looking at a card and wishing. You know? You get an understanding with the card. You learn to listen to each other. JIM CRIST. It’s luck of the draw. The card can be anything. The cards are just with you this time. MYRA. And last time. And the next time. (Jim Crist draws a card.) JIM CRIST. Four. (He walks four spaces. A shadow is cast over him.) The board is getting a little crowded here. GOD. Stand clear, children. Daddy is going to clean house. JIM CRIST. You’re not my daddy. MYRA. He’s my Daddy. JIM CRIST. Still. You shouldn’t go around telling people you’re their Daddy. It creates confusion. GOD. Today, I am your Daddy, and you sir, are my all mighty bitch. JIM CRIST. My Daddy was a clover. He smoked a long wood pipe, and had a triangular red-beard. He lined his pockets with gold and cried over his dead grandparents every March 17. MYRA. Ignore him. Just draw. GOD. Draw…where’s the dice?

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JIM CRIST. There’s no dice. GOD. No dice? Nay, I say there are dice. Right here! (God produces dice from Somewhere; rolls the dice. He runs next to Jim Crist.) Checkmate! JIM CRIST. Dude. Read the rules. GOD. What are we playing? JIM CRIST. Sorry! GOD. Apology accepted, James H. Christ! JIM CRIST. Crist. GOD. The sins of the world are now forgiven! MYRA. He means the game, Daddy-O. Don’t be such a square. GOD. A square? Does this outfit make me look square? JIM CRIST. No. In this game, you’re a pawn. Like the rest of us. Okay? GOD. Okay. (Beat.) A…a PAWN, am I? JIM CRIST. See, Myra here says the game is about communicating with the cards. Talking to them. Listening. But, me? I say it’s chance. It’s all chance. Chance brought us together. Chance made us meet in college. Chance made us put on Barry White and get groovy. It wasn’t by being in the groove with fate, or being able to…what did you call it…”read the cards.” It was all chance. Chance brought…him here. GOD. And it was chance that made me blow my retirement on a pair of sevens. JIM CRIST. Yes. So, no dice here. GOD. I wonder what happened to that man who took all that I…held dear. MYRA. You still hold me dear. GOD. I do, for you are my children- JIM CRIST. You’re not my Dad – GOD. -and as your father, I declare that you two…are playing this game wrong. MYRA. Okay, Dad. How should we play? JIM CRIST. No. NO. SORRY! has instructions. Instructions we have to follow. It’s like a quest. GOD. A quest? JIM CRIST. The instructions operate as a kind of map. (He shows God the instructions. God takes out his glasses, looks them over. Jim Crist rolls his eyes at Myra. She gives him a look.) GOD. You just said it was chance. If this is all chance, then there are no rules. (God tears up the instructions.)

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JIM CRIST. It’s controlled chance. Okay? House always wins. GOD. The house… MYRA. I always win. GOD. And if you do, I have decreed it so. JIM CRIST. No, you didn’t. Milton Bradley did. MYRA. (Correcting.) Parker Brothers did. JIM CRIST. Myra and I let you live here because…you’re broke and crazy. No one else will have you – MYRA. JIM CRIST! JIM CRIST. It’s the truth, ain’t it? So, now you know the truth. GOD. So, it wasn’t chance that brought me here. It was you two. You two needed me. JIM CRIST. For crying out loud! GOD. You needed me to be here in your lives to make sure you are playing by the rules and not living by chance. JIM CRIST. !!!!! MYRA. You start at start. You pick a card. You move forward. If you land on a space where there is another pawn present – GOD. Another pawn, you say? MYRA. You knock them back to their start. Whoever gets home first, wins. GOD. Home. But we have a home. The three of us. JIM CRIST. About that – MYRA. Not now! JIM CRIST. He has to know this isn’t working out. GOD. Yes, yes, please…talk about me like I’m not even here. MYRA. Can we just play the game. JIM CRIST. Right. The game. Another Sunday tradition ruined. GOD. Tradition? MYRA. Every Sunday we pull out a board game. It has to do with Hurricane Gustav. When Jim and I got married, we lived in that little shotgun shack in Baton Rouge. Hurricane Gustav blew through, and took our power, our porch, our back door. We lived with nature for two weeks. For the first week we were trapped in by trees and power lines. So, we ate canned Vienna sausages, and played board games. We’ve kept it as our Sunday tradition. Board games and canned sausage. GOD. Hoc est Corpus Meum.

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JIM CRIST. Right. GOD. (Raising sausage high.) That night, they all took the sausage, and offered it to Me, and said “this is my sausage. I…I give it to You.” MYRA. Well, you definitely gave me the sausage every night that week. Eh? Eh? (Nudges Jim Crist.) JIM CRIST. (Hushing.) Dude. He’s standing right there. MYRA. Eh, he’s not listening anyway. GOD. If it’s all chance that brought us together, if there are no rules…. JIM CRIST. There are rules, just not your rules. GOD. Yes. I believe I now understand. The house always wins. (Beat) Well, then. We need some dice. JIM CRIST. Dude. Faulty logic much? GOD. And none of this starting point – that’s too…what’s the word…Pagan. JIM CRIST. PAGAN?!?! GOD. …chthonic realm, the waiting place for the unborn – JIM CRIST. No, that’s not what chthonic realm means – MYRA. What does it mean? JIM CRIST. I don’t know, but it ain’t that. GOD. -I prefer dice. Cards are the instrument of the Tarot reader. MYRA. Okay, that makes sense. GOD. I’m not into that…Voo-Doo-bull-dooky. Dice are my preference. There’s more control. (Beat.) The house…wins. JIM CRIST. Last time I checked, this was my house. MYRA. Jim… JIM CRIST. Fine. Dice. Throw the dice. GOD. I will. Daughter, will you blow on my dice. (He holds them out. She does.) Good. They will bring luck and fortune to the one who rolls it. JIM CRIST. Great. Just what you need. Luck and fortune. (He rolls.) GOD. One. I have rolled a one. JIM CRIST. Great. So. You’re sending me back to the chthonic realm? GOD. No. Too pagan. (God produces a sword. He runs Jim Crist through!) MYRA. Hey!!!! (Myra races to him. He stumbles.) JIM CRIST. What in the name of effing heck did you do that for? GOD. (Condescending.) Soooooooooooorrrrrrrrrry. (Jim Crist falls. Myra stays with him.)

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MYRA. Why did you…? GOD. You can’t both occupy the same spot. It’s against the rules. (He slays her as well. He looks at his dice. He looks at the bodies.) Well, what is done is done. And all is forgiven. (He looks around.) It is a fine house. A fine house indeed. It is…A HOUSE OF ME! And the house always wins. Fun game. Fun games. (He smiles. A long moment.) I’m so lonely. So, so lonely. (He picks up a card. He puts it to his ear. Looks at it.) Hello. (To anyone in the house.) Hello? (He sets it down. He wanders off the board.)

CURTAIN

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BOARD TO DEATH A ONE ACT PLAY OF THE GAMES WE PLAY

[Inspired by the classic Board Game - Monopoly] By Bryan Maynard

BAGS sits alone at a board table. A large globe is off to the side. There is a pitcher of water, a cocktail shaker, several decanters of liquor, and drinking glasses on the table. Behind him, a projection screen looms large. He sips from a martini glass and plays a game of solitaire. DARROW enters. DARROW. First one here? That’s not like you, Bags. BAGS. (He does not look at Darrow, sips from his glass.) What can I say? One is the loneliest number… DARROW. I’m sure that I have no idea what you mean. Just as sure that you’re never alone. BAGS. Ah Darrow, you don’t know half as much about me as you think you do. DARROW. Sure I do. Old money, trust fund blueblood. Loves yachts, fast cars, and faster women. BAGS. A playboy has to keep up appearances. What else do you see, Tiresias, oh seer of souls? DARROW. Nothing much by all accounts. In fact, less than meets the eye… (He sits.) …to all but a blind man. BAGS. (He stops playing and looks at Darrow. He lifts his glass.) Long live the king. DARROW. You haven’t won yet. BAGS. Is that why we’re here? That stupid game again. DARROW. You may call it stupid, but your father didn’t and neither did his father or – BAGS. Or his father. Or his father’s father. Really Chaz. I know the score. By virtue of our families having played this game for generations now, we are the elite of the elite. Cream of the team. DARROW. You may know the score, but you’ve never known the rules.

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BAGS. Then why am I sitting at the big kid’s table? DARROW. An accident of birth. That and your handlers don’t want their golden goose to lose all of his feathers. BAGS. And here I thought I was more of a Golden Fleece…! (He pours himself another drink from the shaker.) Come on, Darrow. What’s so all-fired important to drag you away from you precious casinos? Jersey boy like you can’t stay away from the Boardwalk for long. DARROW. (Irked.) You know I’m from New Hampshire. New Jersey is just a portion of my investment portfolio. Besides, my holdings in casinos and hotels there is hardly - BAGS. All right already! Far be it from me to tempt the wrath of the gods of the Jersey Shore. (He laughs and guzzles his drink.) So, where’s the gruesome twosome? DARROW. I don’t know. I didn’t call this meeting. BAGS. You didn’t? Well, you know I didn’t. And I seriously doubt it was one of the “Saints.” (He looks back at the projection screen.) You think it was the Banker? DARROW. We’ll find out soon enough. (MAGIE ST. CHARLES and DONNAN ST. JAMES enter.) BAGS. And the Saints came marching in! DONNAN. (Scowling.) Shut yer hole. I’m not in the mood today. BAGS. Oh, you’re never in the mood, you Scottish Terror. Fess up, Mags. Is he ever in the mood? MAGIE. I wouldn’t know. (She sits and looks at Donnan coldly.) Not anymore. DARROW. Don’t tell me that the merger is off. MAGIE. Among other things… DONNAN. Bloody Hell! We didn’t come here to air me dirty laundry. DARROW. And what are we here to talk about? DONNAN. You tell me, Chairman. DARROW. I’ve no idea. I was summoned here the same as you. I presume you were summoned. DONNAN. Invited. No one summons Donnan St. James. DARROW. Magie? MAGIE. Not me. I’m lucky that you gents even let a wee lass such as myself into your overblown clubhouse.

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DARROW. Magie, being the heiress to the St. Charles Electric & Water Empire elevates you well past the status of “wee lass.” (He looks at Donnan.) Scotch colloquialisms aside… DONNAN. That’s Scottish colloquialisms, ya twit. Scotch is a damned whiskey. BAGS. Damned straight! Or on the rocks! Right, St. James? DONNAN. (Seething.) SHUT. YER. HOLE. MAGIE. Boys! Settle down. A fine lot you are. Three of the wealthiest men in the world, squabbling like schools boys. DARROW. As always, the voice of reason my dear. Water? MAGIE. Yes, please. (Darrow pours Magie a glass of water. Donnan makes himself a drink and paces around the table.) DONNAN. (Looking at the projection screen.) It must’ve been him then. Has he made a peep yet? (He throws back his drink and makes another.) BAGS. Nope. He usually waits until we’re all here. DONNAN. Well, I wish to Hell he’d hurry it up. I got a business to run. BAGS. Don’t worry, St. James. Your railroad isn’t going anywhere. You know, anywhere that a jet or car or any mode of transportation created in the last one hundred years could go… DONNAN. (Through gritted teeth.) That’s an old business. A proud legacy to be sure. But I’ve diversified me assets. BAGS. Is that what you called your engagement our esteemed colleague here? A diversification? (To Magie.) Did he ever diversify your assets, Magie? DARROW. Bags! DONNAN. Tell him to get off my arse Magie, or I won’t be responsible for our next row! MAGIE. Calm down, Donnan. He’s drunk. Aren’t you, Milburn? BAGS. (Staring at his glass.) A little. (Like a bashful boy, he takes Magie’s hand.) Forgive my loutish behavior, my dear. You know I value you more than all the tea in China. MAGIE. You’re forgiven, little Lord Fauntleroy. BAGS. I kiss your hand, Madame. (He kisses her hand. Suddenly, the projection screen lights up. A silhouetted figure appears on it. None of the FIGURE’s features are distinguishable, expect for the top hat on its head.) FIGURE. (The voice is mechanically distorted.) Good evening, players. Now that you have all arrived, it is time to begin.

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DONNAN. About time. What’s all this about then? FIGURE. You four represent the pinnacle of a game that has been in play for a very long time. This game is played on several levels, in several classes of society, but none match the stakes that you four play for. While those beneath you may lose their livelihoods to the game, you operate on a level of competition that deals in life and death itself. BAGS. Life and death? DARROW. Shhh. Don’t interrupt. FIGURE. You four are all that is left of a sizable contingent of players, all of them at one time, as wealthy and powerful as you. However, as the game has grown, so have the stakes, far beyond the mere gain of material possession and wealth. MAGIE. You’re exaggerating. DONNAN. She’s right. Life and death; a lot of rot that. DARROW. SHHH! FIGURE. A few examples of your vanquished opponents. (A series of pictures of people replace the Figure on the screen, each looking impoverished or destitute.) Surely you recognize your esteemed former colleagues. Each of them an heir to this or that. Captains of industry. Self-made men and women. (The Figure returns to the screen.) All of them now, living hand to mouth. Some, not even that… DARROW. As unfortunate as all this is, I don’t see what is your point is. BAGS. (Mockingly.) Shhh! Maybe if you’d let the man get a word in edgewise we’d find out… DARROW. Bags, this is no joking matter. The last time our mysterious “Banker” called us together like this, it was because of a definitive shift in the rules of play. That being the case, I think any talk of life and death should be taken at least as seriously as anything else we have ever discussed at this table. MAGIE. Taking your title of “Guru of Gaming” a little too much to heart, aren’t you, Chaz? DARROW. No more so than you take your title of “Robber Baroness.” (Magie bristles at this.) No offense meant, darling. MAGIE. Offense taken. (She drinks her water.) DONNAN. For Christ’s sake, he stops talking every time we yak! Shut it and let him finish. (They all look to the projection screen.) FIGURE. You all have managed, by hook or crook, to take over your opponents’ assets, run them out of business, or otherwise eliminate them from the game. The

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level of ruthlessness involved at this stage was perhaps unexpected by the creators of this ongoing challenge. Perhaps they never anticipated it to go on this long. Perhaps they simply didn’t care past the satiation of their own gluttonous bank accounts. It does not matter anymore. As with any game, perhaps it is time for it to finally end. (Pause. All are silent as they take this in.) DONNAN. What are you proposing? MAGIE. What do you think? DONNAN. I dinnae know. That’s why I’m asking. DARROW. He’s saying that it’s time to force a winner. DONNAN. And just how do you figure that? DARROW. Because, I’ve played this game my whole life. I’ve rolled the dice many times and always won. But every winning streak has to end. I know when the dealer is ready to close the table. BAGS. Enough with the craps analogy! I think I’m going to gag. (He sticks his finger his mouth and feigns gagging. He starts to gag for real.) MAGIE. Stop it, Milburn. This is no time for levity. (Bags keeps gagging, struggling to get up. He is red in the face.) My God, he’s choking! (Donnan rushes to him and whacks him on the back. Bags falls on the board table, struggling to breath. They all gather around him and loosen his shirt collar. He heaves upwards once, then falls still and silent on the table. A beat.) MAGIE. Is he…? DARROW. I don’t know… I can’t tell… (They all look back at the screen.) FIGURE. Life and death, lady and gentlemen. The stakes have been raised. MAGIE. What did you do to him? FIGURE. Mr. Milburn P. Bags VI. Of the Pennsylvania Bags, one of the six richest families in the world. By all accounts, the end of a proud, terrible lineage. A disappointment to none more so than himself… He will not be missed. DARROW. Did you just give us Bags’ obituary? FIGURE. And now the let the next round of play begin. One addendum to make things more interesting…my identity. If you haven’t already guessed, I am one of the people in this room. (They all look at one another.) DARROW. How? How is that possible? FIGURE. Donnan St. James – DONNAN. No…

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FIGURE. A proud immigrant to these shores. An embodiment of the American Dream gone awry. DONNAN. The Hell you say! FIGURE. Making his stake in a business that grew through the blood, sweat, and sorrow of other proud immigrants, now he stands shoulder to shoulder with all of the high and mighty that he’s spent a lifetime hating. DONNAN. That’s it! I dinnea have to listen to this! (He starts to leave.) FIGURE. His biggest weakness, another bit of his heritage… Straight or on the rocks. DONNAN. (He stops and turns back to the screen.) Drink? You think me a slobbering drunkard? FIGURE. His only contribution to the community chest of good will ultimately will be when he drinks himself to death… DONNAN. (Alarmed.) Drinks himself to – (He looks to the decanters on the table, then to Bags.) Bloody Hell! MAGIE. What is it? DONNAN. (Grabbing one of the decanters.) The drinks! He’s poisoned us! MAGIE. Donnan, calm down! We don’t’ know that. DONNAN. (To the screen.) You sneaky bastard! Fight like a man! DARROW. For God’s sake, St. James, calm down! He just said that it was one of us! (They stop and look at him.) The Banker just said that he was one of us. It makes sense when you think about it. MAGIE. One of us? One of us is the Banker? DARROW. Yes! One of us has been playing this game…and another. And the rest of us have been the pieces that he’s been moving around the board… MAGIE. Pieces on a board… DONNAN. Well, I’m done playing these little board room games! (He slams the decanter down and turns to Magie.) Give it up, darlin’. I know it’s you. MAGIE. Donnan! You can’t be serious! DONNAN. Serious? Aye, just as serious as I was about marrying you. Just as serious as I thought you were, until you had a change of heart when I told you that me businesses were suffering… MAGIE. No. That’s not true. DONNAN. (Advancing on her.) You played me like Nero’s fiddle, you bitch! DARROW. Get a hold of yourself, man!

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DONNAN. Nah! I’d rather get a hold of her! (Donnan grabs Magie by the throat and starts to throttle her. Darrow tries to break his grip, but can’t. Panicked, he grabs the nearest object, the decanter, and hits Donnan on the head. Donnan staggers and falls.) MAGIE. (Grasping her throat.) Chaz? What did you do? DARROW. Saved your life. (He kneels down and takes his pulse. He looks at Magie.) I had no choice. He was too strong. MAGIE. You killed him! (She starts for the door. Darrow grabs her.) DARROW. (Shaking her.) Magie, calm down! We have to stick together! I – I was trying to protect you! MAGIE. You’ll kill me! You’ll kill me too! NOOOOOO! (Darrow tries to cover her mouth, but covers both her mouth and nose. She struggles harder and he tightens his grip. Slowly, her struggling peters off and she goes limp in his arms. Darrow stares at her lifeless body.) DARROW. (Softly.) Magie, I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth. Please don’t scream again. (He uncovers her mouth and nose. She does not move. He puts his ear to her mouth and listens. A look of horror spreads across his face.) Magie…. (He lays her down gently. Still in shock, he moves for the door.) FIGURE. Margaret Elizabeth St. Charles. Late of the St. Charles Electric and Water Conglomerate. Unmarried and childless. Unwanted and unloved. She left behind no heirs… DARROW. WHO ARE YOU?!? BAGS. (Sitting up on the table. He puts a device to his mouth and speaks in the same mechanically distorted voice as the Figure.) Really Chaz. Even a blind man should have seen this coming. (He stands and points a remote at the screen and it goes black.) DARROW. (Horrified.) Bags? You…you did this? You’re the Banker? BAGS. Told you I knew the score. As far as the rules, well, I’m better at making them then following them. DARROW. This? All of this? You set me up? BAGS. I only planted the seed. A video of me in silhouette and my voice mechanically altered. Voice activated software to playback the video every time you said key words or stopped speaking. (He laughs.) You people actually thought you were carrying on a dialogue with someone. DARROW. What about the poison?

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BAGS. A little play-acting on my part. (He drinks from his glass and looks at the bodies.) There’s no poison. That would have been overkill, all things considered. DARROW. (Desperately.) You son of a bitch! You’ll never get away with this! No court in this country will convict me! I’ll - BAGS. Buy your way out of it? Maybe for St. James, after all you were saving a damsel in distress. But poor Magie? How on Earth will you explain that one? Certainly looks like a love triangle gone wrong to me… (He pulls a card from his deck and holds up the Ace of Spades.) No get out of jail free card this time. You’ll get the gas chamber for sure. DARROW. No, no, no, no. This can’t happen to me. Not me. I’m richer than all of – BAGS. He who dies with the most toys still dies… DARROW. (It sinks in.) No…no….no. Let’s talk about this…negotiate. We can work something out. I must have something that you want. You like the Boardwalk don’t you? What about Park Place? Let’s make a deal! Yes! A deal! (Bags just smiles at him.) Why Bags? For God’s sake, why? BAGS. I’m just so bored with this game. I mean how many times can you pass Go? (He walks over and puts his hand on the globe.) Maybe it’s time for a new game…maybe something that’s a little bit more of a risk… (He spins the globe.)

CURTAIN

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PROM QUEEN [Inspired by the Classic Board Game - Chess]

By Michael Weems

Early evening. FRED is straightening up the room – maybe trying to hard to impress a special someone. He’s gotten it to near perfection when JIM enters nonchalantly. Jim tosses a grocery bag at Fred – which Fred catches. Jim sits on the couch, messing up Fred’s handiwork, and puts his feet up. He immediately opens a bag of chips and starts eating it.

JIM. You won’t believe who I saw at the store? FRED. Feet, Jim. JIM. Anthony Ramirez! He looked like such a tool box. He was getting this corsage for his boyfriend and wearing this awful light blue tuxedo. FRED. Feet, Jim. JIM. What? I’m telling a story. FRED. House rules. JIM. It’s your room! Fine, whatever Mama’s boy. Anyways – I say to Anthony. “Does that match your boyfriend’s tux!?” FRED. (It’s not.) That’s funny. (Quickly.) Do you have any change? JIM. What? No. (Fred looks through the bags. He pulls out the receipt.) FRED. Should be five dollars back. JIM. Sorry. Blew it on a lotto ticket. Lost too. FRED. That was my money – JIM. Your parent’s money. I saw Mama Fred, looking hot as always, give it to you right as she kissed your rosy cheek and pinched your cute widdle bottom. FRED. Next time – JIM. I know, I know. FRED. Isn’t Anthony dating Becky? JIM. How should I know? FRED. She’s kinda cute.

GAME  NIGHT    

17    

JIM. It doesn’t matter! Prom! It’s lame! (Mocking tone) Let’s go hang out with our teachers and dance to crappy music and spend tons of friggin money on flowers and limos and terrible dinners – for what? FRED. Memories? JIM. We’ll have enough of those to go around. Boot up! (Automatically they go to their respective computers.) Time for some World War Three action. Dude, if you hide in that tree and camp again – I will personally toss a ‘nade right at your head. Got it? FRED. It was a tactical manuever! JIM. Come on, Fred. I wanna win! Here we go. (They start playing their game – each taps intensely and reacts to the game play – they toss out a few non-sequiturs like ‘Gotcha’ and ‘Cheater’.) FRED. (Attempting to sound casual.) So. About later tonight – JIM. You’re talking. Shush. (Frustrated.) What? FRED. (Quickly.) I invited Lindsay and Casey. (Jim crosses to him and smacks him in the head.) JIM. Why would you do a thing like that without asking me? FRED. What’s the big deal? Sure, they’re girls. They didn’t want to do the prom thing either. I thought we could hang out. JIM. “Hang out?” With your Mom upstairs? FRED. She’s cool. It’s not like we’re going to be knocking boots or anything. JIM. Especially if you call it that. When are they coming? FRED. They should’ve been here like fifteen minutes ago. (Sighs) Women. JIM. Oh crap, man! FRED. What? Why are you so mad? I thought you...you know...liked... Lindsay. JIM. No dude. I don’t like her. This is ‘like like’ territory. You should’ve told me! I’ve got this new shirt from my Nana, could’ve splashed on some cologne – FRED. Really? JIM. Shut up. She’s a lady. Anyways, don’t panic. Ok, let’s work out a signal. When I flick the lights, you and Casey go find something to do. FRED. Have you thought this through? Isn’t that a bit obvious? JIM. I’m trying at least! Okay genius, what’s the signal? FRED. Stretch your arms over your head. JIM. That’s stupid.

GAME  NIGHT    

18    

FRED. No. You can tell her some bs story. You were chopping wood for your Dad – manly and it leads into a story you can tell her. Maybe a shoulder rub suggestion- JIM. That’s actually not bad. You okay with distracting Casey? (Fred avoids eye contact.) Dude. Really? What’s the level? FRED. Like like and or love. I think she sent me chocolate on Mystery Date Valentines and when we were in lab together, she put her foot on mine, but she realized it and smiled and didn’t move it for like ten minutes! And guess what? Then she did it again! JIM. (Sarcastic.) Wow. She must be pregnant. FRED: Jim, she’s the one. She calls me Freddie. JIM. You hate that. FRED. Not when she says it. JIM. Your grave. Thanks for the wingman efforts either ways. (A knock at the door.) Let me! (Jim races to the door. Fred does a personal quick check –hair/breath/clothes to make sure he’s presentable. LINDSAY and CASEY enter.) Ladies. Welcome to our anti-prom get together. You know Fred. LINDSAY/CASEY. Hi/Hey Freddie. JIM. We’ve got a variety of chips, cookies, soda – (Lindsay crosses to the computer.) LINDSAY. War games? Violence is so not cool. CASEY. We’re in the WSAAV. Women Students Against Actual Violence. LINDSAY. The acronym sucks. Maybe we should go? JIM. No! We....we were just testing this. Fred’s mom got the game for his younger brother, crazy I know, and she wanted to make sure it was suitable for an impressionable mind. FRED. Which, clearly, it’s not. LINDSAY. (To Jim.) Didn’t I see you wearing a ‘World War III’ shirt the other day? JIM. Highly unlikely. In the off chance I did, it was just irony. CASEY. Do you have any other games? LINDSAY. (Sharply.) Casey. We’re just staying for a few minutes. There’s a couple of other anti-prom things happening. I hear Kevin Miller’s band is gonna play next door. JIM. (Gritted.) ‘Dream Carp of Love’?

GAME  NIGHT    

19    

LINDSAY. They rock. So...is this all that’s going on? Let’s go, Case. FRED. (Quickly.) I’ve got another game that might interest you. JIM. Fred, no. (He hurries and kicks the cord and the computer flicks off.) FRED. Shoot. Those probably weren’t grounded and now they are fried. Okay, I’ve got another game that might interest you. Chess! We’ve got enough sets for everyone to play. CASEY. I don’t remember how to play. LINDSAY. It’ll probably take hours. FRED. Come on? Just try. If it sucks, we’ll all go over to hear ‘Dream Carp.’ CASEY. Please? LINDSAY. Fine. How do we do this? FRED. Lindsay, you go with Jim. He’ll be your opponent. (Jim daftly takes his cue. He stretches.) JIM. My arms are so sore from chopping wood. Must’ve strained my muscles. LINDSAY. You mean that one? JIM. I could use a shoulder rub. LINDSAY. (So what.) Great. FRED. Casey, I’ll show you how to play. CASEY. (A smile.) Okay. (Jim and Lindsay sit across from each other. Casey and Fred do the same. They are across the room from each other and out of ear shot Spotlight is first on Jim/Lindsay – Casey and Fred play in the background. They continually make moves throughout the dialogue.) JIM. So, your pieces all move different – LINDSAY. I know how to play. JIM. Of course. You’re so smart. And pretty. (Beat) So, prom sucks, huh? LINDSAY. Not really. I’m not against the idea. Nobody asked me, is all. I think everyone thought I was still with Joe. JIM. Which you’re not.....obviously.....is it too late? LINDSAY. Yep. (Focus on Fred/Casey.) FRED. He likes her. CASEY. She knows. He’s not really subtle. FRED. Right. Okay, you remember this. Oh – no. Queen can’t move through her own pieces. CASEY. Damn. Right.

GAME  NIGHT    

20    

FRED. I thought I saw pictures of you at homecoming a few years ago. You all of a sudden hate dances? CASEY. I drifted from that crowd. At first, I felt like a princess. Get dressed up fancy. Get spoiled. Tons of pictures. A nice dinner out. Everyone looks great. Dancing. And then reality sets in. People with flasks – I was so thirsty after dancing I just gulped the punch down. I was tipsy within no time. My date was puking in the bushes outside and still wanted to grope me – I had to call Mom and Dad at midnight to pick me up. That went over well. Until this year, Lindsay was always the prom queen. Any guy, any restaurant, anything she wanted. (Scoffs) Take a number, boys. Guys were actually asking me just so they’d be in the same group as her. I think the shimmer kind of wore off. (Focus to Lindsay and Jim.) LINDSAY. You hear the band warming up? JIM. (Ignoring her – he blurts out.) Do you want to go on a date sometime? LINDSAY. Where would we go, Jim? You don’t have a car. JIM. A picnic! Bike ride? LINDSAY. Or money. JIM. Ouch. LINDSAY. Do you know who asked me out yesterday? JIM. No. LINDSAY. Greg Gilbert. JIM. All state wide receiver, honor student, drives a Mercedes – damn. I get it. (Cut to Fred/Casey.) CASEY. You ever been to a dance? FRED. Nah. No tux, no money, can’t dance. CASEY. You’re really not missing out. Promise. I’m having a nice time tonight. FRED. We’re sitting in my parent’s basement playing chess, and eating junk food on a Friday night. CASEY. (Smile.) Yep. Freddie...I can’t help you with the tux or the money, not that I wouldn’t. But... (Cut to Jim/Lindsay.) JIM. You’re out of my league. I get it. LINDSAY. You like Melissa? I could hook you up. JIM. I’m not sure which stings more. The rejection or that you’ve immediately moved beyond that and are so comfortable with having done so that you’re setting me up. LINDSAY. She’s cute. I’ll call her. Unless, you have someone else in mind?

GAME  NIGHT    

21    

JIM. Melissa’s fine. LINDSAY. ...You’re welcome? I’m not a bordello madam, you know. This is a favor. JIM. (Irritated.) Thank you. (Lindsay texts into her phone. It almost immediately chimes back. Music starts to play. ) LINDSAY. On her way. Is that ‘Dream Carp?’ God I love them. Ok, I’m out. Oh, and Jim? JIM. Yeah? LINDSAY. Check mate. (Jim peers in closely. He picks up the chess board and throws it. Lindsay stands to get Casey. Jim grabs a nearby bag of chips and starts to eat. The lights come up on Casey and Jim who have started to slow dance to ‘Dream Carp’. They are close together.) CASEY. Just do a box step. FRED. Huh? (Lindsay stops for a moment. Casey gets this. She follows dutifully. Lindsay exits – Casey turns back and holds out for Fred’s hand.) CASEY. Coming, Freddie? (He looks at Jim sitting alone and miserable.) JIM. (Immediately.) Just go. (Casey starts to exits with Fred.) CASEY: You had it. Remember- forward; back; side (She gives Fred a quick kiss.) …together. (Casey and Fred exit. Lights go out. End of Play.)

GAME  NIGHT    

22    

THE FIELD OF CLUES or

Mr. Green, in the Library, with a…Baseball? [Inspired by the classic Board Game - Clue]

by Carol M. Rice Mr. Green (aka Bob) is morosely lying on the chaise cradling a revolver. After a moment, Miss Scarlett (aka Katie) enters with a lead pipe, which she tosses onto the floor. KATIE. Okay. It’s done. Peacock is dead, and the world is ours! (She strikes a deductive pose and then notices that he’s not moving.) Did you hear me, Mr. Green? The world is ours! (She strikes the pose again and quickly becomes disgusted.) Oh, come on! Again with the sulking? What the hell is wrong with you, Bob? BOB. Do you ever wonder why we do this? KATIE. No, not really. BOB. Really, Katie? Never? KATIE. (Sarcastically) Okay, you’re right. I hate that we kill our fellow houseguests every weekend. BOB. Or get killed ourselves. KATIE. Well, okay. That I don’t like. BOB. But you’re fine doing the killing? KATIE. Sure. It’s kind of fun, actually. BOB. Even when you have to kill me? KATIE. Well, only to save my own skin. You’re far too sexy to kill under normal circumstances. (She gives him a big passionate kiss.) And no one really gets hurt when you think about it. I mean, we’re right back the next weekend, wielding our weapons suspiciously. BOB. Why is that, do you think? KATIE. I don’t know. Never thought about it.

GAME  NIGHT    

23    

BOB. I feel like we’re in a bad movie or something. Like that Groundhog Day, where Bill Murray can’t die no matter how hard he tries. KATIE. (A little alarmed) Do you want to stay dead when you’re murdered? BOB. Well, no. I guess not. KATIE. Good. I prefer to think it’s more like Dr. Who. BOB. Who? KATIE. No, DOCTOR Who. BOB. Abbot and Costello? KATIE. No, no, no. That awesomely handsome British guy who randomly regenerates as some other awesomely handsome British guy whenever a new season starts. Something like that. BOB. But I always look the same when I…what did you call it? KATIE. Regenerate. BOB. Right. KATIE. Actually you don’t, you know. BOB. I don’t? KATIE. It depends on who’s playing you. Sometimes, like during this particular game, the character of Mr. Green is being played by a very cute and sexy guy, which is one of the reasons I killed Jim instead of you this time. BOB. Jim? KATIE. Col. Mustard. BOB. You mean there are times when you and he…? KATIE. Well, yeah! When he’s played by someone who’s hot and you’re not! Sometimes even Professor Plum gets lucky. BOB. Huh. I guess I just never noticed when you’re not your usual sexy Scarlet self. Although I’ve got to admit that there are games when I feel strangely attracted to Mrs. White. KATIE. I know the feeling. She can be totally hot when she wants to be. BOB. …Awkward… KATIE. The point IS, yes, we do regenerate. And yes, we don’t always look the same every time. (Putting her arms around him) But I’m VERY happy with the way you look tonight, Mr. Green. Can’t we celebrate the murders of our fellow houseguests? BOB. You said you got Mrs. Peacock?

GAME  NIGHT    

24    

KATIE. In the Conservatory, with the lead pipe. BOB. I love you, Katie Scarlet. KATIE. And I love you. (They come together for a passionate kiss when suddenly a baseball crashes through the window, hitting Bob and knocking him out cold. In fact, he is dead.) Oh my God! Bob? Bob, are you all right? (She pauses, realizing it’s no use.) He’s dead. CRAIG. (From offstage) Hello? Is everyone all right? KATIE. No! We’re not! CRAIG. (Sticking his head through the window. He is a baseball player, dressed in a Texas Rangers uniform.) Oh my God. What happened? KATIE. You killed Mr. Green! In the library. With a baseball! CRAIG. You’re kidding! KATIE. See for yourself! (Craig goes to check him out.) CRAIG. You’re right. He’s dead. I’m…I’m so sorry, ma’am. KATIE. Please. Don’t call me ma’am. CRAIG. Sorry. Just trying to be polite. I mean, I DID just kill your friend here. KATIE. Oh, it’s all right, really. I mean, if you hadn’t done it, I would have had to. CRAIG. You…uh, excuse me? KATIE. Yeah. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s just this little game we play. Around here it’s kill or be killed, really. CRAIG. Should I…be worried? KATIE. You? Oh, no. You’re just a mysterious handsome stranger who came along and did my work for me! CRAIG. I am so confused. KATIE. Do I have to spell it out for you? Every weekend, we come here and people get murdered. I’ve been killed…oh, I don’t know how many times. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. CRAIG. And do you…do the murdering, too? KATIE. Oh, sure! If I didn’t, I’d end up dead myself. CRAIG. Okay…. KATIE. And you’ve just saved me the trouble tonight. (in faux announcer mode) The winner and still champion: Miss Scarlet! CRAIG. (Giggling) Wait. Your name is Miss Scarlet?

GAME  NIGHT    

25    

KATIE. Miss Katherine Louise Scarlet, if you must know. Katie to my friends. What’s so funny? CRAIG. (Laughing in earnest now) I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just can’t… “Miz Scarlet! Miz Scarlet! I don’ know nothin’ ‘bout birthin’ no babies!” KATIE. (Stone faced) Like I’ve never heard that before. CRAIG. (Seriously trying to control himself) I’m sorry. I’m sorry. That was stupid of me. (One last fit of giggles) “Miz Scarlet!” (She slaps him and he abruptly stops laughing.) Thanks. I needed that. KATIE. So who are you, and what are you doing throwing a baseball through our library window? CRAIG. Craig Gentry, ma’am…Miss Scar... (About to laugh again) Uh, Katherine. KATIE. Call me Katie. CRAIG. Katie. Right. And who’s your friend here? Was. KATIE. His name was Mr. Green. Got any clever comments about his name? CRAIG. Nope, nope. I’m good. KATIE. Good. So, you’re a baseball player? CRAIG. Center fielder for the Texas Rangers. At least half of the time anyway. Right now I’m in a platoon with Leonys Martin [pronounced mar-TEEN]. That’s why I’m here, actually. KATIE. Go on. CRAIG. (Gesturing toward the window) You see that field out there? KATIE. What field? CRAIG. The one in front of the cornfield. Shaped like a baseball diamond? KATIE. Oh my God! CRAIG. What? KATIE. Well, it’s just… I’ve been in this house thousands of times and have never noticed that just outside the library window, there is a baseball field surrounded by corn! CRAIG. Yeah, supposedly they hear that a lot. People don’t see it until there’s a reason. KATIE. I never even knew there was a cornfield! CRAIG. Well, from what you’ve said, you HAVE been pretty involved in your game.

GAME  NIGHT    

26    

KATIE. True. Staying alive while trying to murder everyone around you will keep you pretty focused. So what does that have to do with you? CRAIG. Well, everybody knows I’m the better center fielder for the Rangers, but Wash doesn’t seem to see it that way and he’s got me sharing the position with Martin. KATIE. Okay…. CRAIG. And so I came here to see if I could make my dream come true! KATIE. You’ve lost me. CRAIG. It’s the Field of Dreams! (She shakes her head) “If you build it, they will come”? KATIE. Sorry, not much of a baseball person, really…. CRAIG. The movie with Kevin Costner? KATIE. Oh, where he joined up with the Indian tribe? Wait, what does that have to do with baseball? CRAIG. That was Dances With Wolves. Totally different film. KATIE. Oh. I’m not much on movies either. CRAIG. Right. Too busy killing people. KATIE. That wasn’t called for! CRAIG. Sorry. Okay, let me just put it this way. This baseball field, just outside your library window, is supposed to have some sort of magical powers… KATIE. “Field of dreams,” right. CRAIG. Right, and I figured it couldn’t hurt to try it out. I mean, I don’t want anything bad to happen to Martin. I just want to be an everyday player! KATIE. Well, all-righty then! CRAIG. Does this make any sense to you? KATIE. Probably about as much sense as my friends and I murdering each other every weekend makes to you. CRAIG. Wow. I guess two people couldn’t have much less in common than we do, huh? KATIE. Hey, at least you have dreams. All I ever try to do is stay alive. CRAIG. In a way, that’s what I’m trying to do, too. Just stay alive. KATIE. Yeah, but you don’t have to kill a house full of people with bizarre weapons to do it. CRAIG. Bizarre weapons?

GAME  NIGHT    

27    

KATIE. (Grabbing the candlestick off the desk) What does this look like to you? CRAIG. Um…a candlestick? KATIE. Right. And what would a normal person use a candlestick for? CRAIG. They’d put a candle in it and watch it burn? Is this a trick question? KATIE. Around here, this is considered a murder weapon. CRAIG. What? Get out! KATIE. (Grabbing the wrench) And what about this thing? CRAIG. Well, I’m not real handy, but that looks like a wrench to me. KATIE. And with a wrench you would…? CRAIG. …Attach things, like with nuts and bolts? I don’t know! KATIE. Nope! Again – murder weapon. CRAIG. Don’t you have any…traditional ways to kill people? KATIE. Oh, sure. Revolver, rope, knife. No poison, though, which I’ve always found rather odd. CRAIG. No baseballs either, although that seems to have gotten the job done pretty well, too. KATIE. True! Hey, can I keep it? CRAIG. What? The baseball? KATIE. Yeah! CRAIG. Sure! I don’t want it back, now that’s killed someone. KATIE. Excellent. It’ll give me a secret weapon I can use in emergencies! CRAIG. Okay. Glad I could help, I guess. Look, I need to be getting back. The guys are going to wonder what’s happened to me. KATIE. All right. Before you go, though… CRAIG. What? KATIE. Oh, you’ll think I’m being silly. CRAIG. No, what? KATIE. (Holding the ball out toward him) Will you sign this for me? CRAIG. You want me to sign the baseball that killed Mr. Green in the library? KATIE. Of course! Then someday when you ARE the Rangers regular center fielder, I can look back fondly on this day and remember when we met. CRAIG. Well, okay. (he signs the baseball, hesitating before handing it back to her) This isn’t going to be used as evidence or anything, is it? KATIE. What do you mean?

GAME  NIGHT    

28    

CRAIG. It could really ruin my reputation if it got out I killed some random guy with a baseball. KATIE. Your secret is safe with me. CRAIG. Thanks, Katie. KATIE. (Awkwardly) Well, good-bye, Craig. CRAIG. Bye. (He exits out the window as she watches, waving once more after him. Then she turns and looks around.) KATIE. (To herself) A baseball diamond in the middle of a cornfield, just outside this window. Who’d have believed it? (She throws the baseball up and catches it. She looks out the window one last time.) May all your dreams come true, Craig! (She exits. Fadeout.)

INTERMISSION

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