Amateurs and Professionals are hereby warned that the performance of this play is subject to royalties and no public performance of this play or excerpts may be given in any form, including radio, film, television or stage without the written permission of the author and/or his agents and only upon application.

This play is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author or his agent's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
 

Any application for performance must be made to:

RICK RAFTOS MANAGEMENT
P.O. Box 445, Paddington
NSW, Australia, 2021
Telephone 61 2  9360 5311
Fax 61 2   9360 5267
raftos@raftos.com.au
 

Copyright © Steven Dawson 1993.
 

First Performed February 1993
Crossroads Theatre
Sydney Australia
 

Performed by Steven Dawson
 
 

Directed by Stuart Chalmers & Alex Galeazzi
Designed by Terry Ryan
Lighting Design by Pene Quarry
Sound Design by Fiona Martin
Stage Manager Stephanie Dawes
Asst. Stage Manager   Scott Moon
Photography by Robert McFarlane
Publicity by Mary Anne Vale
 

Greetings From A Small Planet

by Steven Dawson
 
 

Slide: Greetings from A Small Planet . TAPE OF "WHEN YOU WISH UPON A STAR." A MOON STANDS CENTRE STAGE. THE THEME FROM 2001 PLAYS AS A LARGE ROUND OBJECT MOVES AROUND THE MOON'S EDGE. IT REVEALS ITSELF AS A SPACE HELMET. THE ACTOR SLOWLY WALKS OUT AND TAKES A MOONWALK AS THE SOUND TAPE OF THE APOLLO ELEVEN MOON LANDING PLAYS.

Thanks for coming. I'm always worried no one will turn up. You know. They've listened to the critics or something. Thank God you didn't or maybe you did and you've come to gloat. I'm just glad you're here anyway. Otherwise there's no point my coming out here. I could've done the show in my dressing room and I haven't done shows in dressing rooms for years......that I've been aware of, anyway. As you can see I've gone to a lot of trouble with this costume. Hard to believe but I've been dressed tonight. Normally I look like I've just stumbled up an embankment after a derailment.

When I was a kid I always dreamed of being an astronaut. The minor point that Liverpool in the boondocks of Sydney didn't have a space program wasn't the slightest deterrent. One of my earliest memories in childhood was watching a rocket blasting off into the cosmos with a few brave but socialist Russians or a small dog. Then after a while I figured it wasn't so much that I wanted to be an astronaut so much as wanted to get away. From everything and everyone.  That somehow I didn't really belong where I was. A bit of an E.T.

I never thought I'd be doing this sort of thing for a living. You know, when I was at high school I told my careers guidance counsellor I liked animals and working in the outdoors. She got me a job scraping wombats off the Mittagong by-pass. [BEAT] Actually, I always wanted to be a dancer but....alcohol ruined any chance of that. When I was a kid my grandmother dropped a Gin bottle on my in-step.

By the way. Are there any heterosexuals in the audience tonight? Sometimes it’s a good idea to check. They could’ve just slipped in past the metal detector and Body Shop stand in the foyer. Look at the person sitting next to you and ask yourself “Is he one?” They dress so normally you’re never quite sure. Underneath those cheap polyester jump suits and that quality Lowes dress sense could be a straight person not quite out of the proverbial yet. You may even work with one and never know it. Many of my friends tell me.....well, the ones that will talk to me, they say “You know, I think he’s one but I’m not sure.” But there’s all those little mannerisms that give it away. The funny way they talk. Not one single “s” in barbecue. “Barsbecue.” The pathetic way they tell blonde jokes. “How does a blonde like her eggs in the morning? Answer...Jamaica.

C’mon. Put your hands up. You know who you are. Probably hit Half-tix right on midday wanting to see some fabulously free range Andrew Lloyd Bloody Boredom, still the ugliest man on the globe, type thing but Pickled In Aspects was gone and Phantom of The Lovely Cossies isn’t in town yet but all my friends saw it in Melbourne saying “It’ll never come to Sydney” so I just thought I’d try on the off chance but all they had left were tickets to some fringe crap but the girl on the booth said it was “Absolutely marvellous” but no, she hadn’t seen it yet” so we’ll take two please and if it’s boring then we can always leave at interval and go sit in our hotel room with the video because they have ever such a nice selection.” Well, I’m sorry but the poster with the bad wig should have been enough warning to avoid this thing like a K Mart Shoe sale. Welcome to Wuss Theatre! Suspend your dis-belief for just a little while. This is a show about different kinds of love. It’s like a quest. Actually there are definite bits in it on how to get revenge on an ex by writing a show, giving all the best lines to your character while making them out to be real bastards. So you can get lots of sympathy in the foyer and possibly a few phone numbers which, in a way has a kind of singles column concept about it but instead you pay me before I do the work. [BEAT] Suddenly I feel so cheap!

Ah, The Quest for Love. Oh, God. Sorry. I’ll read that again. The Quest for love. Ohhh...Gooooddddd!!!!

Isn’t it funny how the great love of your love life disintegrates into crap when you ain’t looking? Or maybe it’s just me. I mean, I certainly wasn’t looking. No, I wasn’t looking at the ten ton truck coming right at me, with both bull horns blaring and the high beam on. They say love makes you blind so I think I’ve spent half my life screaming jet speed and head first into the Stevie Wonder Wing. It’s always the same way. You’re practically thinking about giving up romance for Lent when some smooth talker comes along and sweeps you off your feet.....or, if you’re like me on a Saturday night, out of the gutter. They woo you for a week and then spend the next ten years making you wish you’d stayed face down while the street sweepers came through.

Why couldn’t it all be like it was in my mother’s day? You went out with your friends and met someone, got engaged, got married, got divorced and had kids. All in that order. Well, in my situation I could skip the kids but at least there would be some great plan. I just want my life to be like one big long Frank Capra movie? I could be Donna Reed and have Jimmy Stewart run through the snow for me. Instead it’s turned into Return Of The Swamp Thing. Or a bad Police academy movie. Now that takes some thinking about. And as for wooing.....well. Have you noticed that when you’re dead everyone brings flowers. Not a bloody dandelion while you’re alive. I always thought my idea of the perfect man was someone who could screw like a bunny all night and then turn into a pizza.

Actually I’ve found as you get older you get less physical when you’re having sex. It use to be you could hang from a Copper Art light fitting, do a double half-pike and a twist dismount and hump your brains out, no problem whatsoever. Nowadays I want to just lie there and let them make the scuff marks on the walls.

So, what you’re all getting tonight is Something About Love. Ah, love. L’amour. L’amour, l’amour. T’sur l’amour. I read a T-Shirt recently that said “If you love something set it free. If it doesn’t come back, hunt it down and kill it!" I think there’s something in that for all of us.
 

BLACKOUT
 

I’m ten years old and standing in the playground of a state school. I’m wearing grey shorts, blue shirt, grey socks and my black Bata Scout school shoes with the compass in the heel that you can’t read because I’ve stepped in something. I wonder if Sir Edmond Hila-rillary [sic] crossed the Himalayas, stopped to take off his Bata Scouts and checked his heel for bearings. I’ve got my compass but I sometimes get lost just going to the shops. And I always lose the money mum’s given me for milk and bread.

I’m still standing in the playground, a mini Mississippi of snot and blood and tears pouring down from my nose to my mouth. Two other kids are standing next to me. One is the school bully. His name is David Buggy. I hate him. Every day after school he hits me. Sometimes he gets me at lunchtime. I don’t know why. I didn’t do nothing. Why does everything happen to me? I don’t cry too loudly because being the shortest person in the school it’s easy to understand why I end up the victim. I didn’t become tall until much later. “Hey, ya’ idiot! Why you wearing that? Look what he’s got on. That’s so stupid!”

The few teachers in sight are looking away and I think the entire staff are standing behind windows secretly cheering the bully on. Maybe even doing a wave. I know they hate me and I reckon they’re jealous too but at ten years old I can’t even spell it. I am not as frightened as normal. It’s been like this everyday for two months. But today I’m in control because in the back of my head is...

The Knowledge.

I ride the cardboard fridge boxes down the grassy hills in the Bush around the corner from my house. For a long time I use to think dragons lived there because the grass was always burnt in some part of it but that turned out to be some stupid kid with a box of matches. I don’t play with matches anymore. Not since I set fire to a whole can of lawn mower petrol and my dad kicked me around the back yard. I tried to say it was the dragons. He didn’t believe me. No more dragons. No-one told me.

There’s cubby houses all over the place and bonfires light up the sky on cracker night and stupid kids lose fingers after holding on to exploding tuppenny bungers and try not to show their hand’s almost dead. “Nah. Didn’t hurt”. Our gang fights the gang at the bottom of the hill and I got seven stitches from a rock in the back of the head during a general retreat.

In the Bush you can make tunnels through the long green grass or you can just lay in and talk. Long before the council cuts it all down and calls it a park with a few chatty swings and a slippery dip that burns your bum off on hot days but you gotta try it anyway.

In the middle of the Bush is the Creek. Just a big pond going no-where but it’s tadpole city and practically the whole world to a kid. It’s got two old wrecked cars in it and I had to get a tennanus.....tennatanus..... tennis needle when I cut my arm on it and my mum says “You’re not going down there again.” I think the Bush is real nice in the daytime but at night it’s the home of Zombie Flesh Eaters and Baron Blood. I don’t go there then.

Can Vicky come out to play? She’s my best friend. She lives around the corner in another housing commission. Our mums work together in a factory. Vicky and me have been best friends for two years. We share everything. When her dad gets drunk and hits his wife, Vicky and me jump on him and pound him to the floor. Her dad’s got a hole in his neck and talks like that. He sounds like a Dalek. Can Vicky come out? Where’s she gone? Can I go to the hostipal [sic] too? Why’s she gone there? Is she having an opration [sic]? When’s she coming home? I’ll come back later.

Every day I go to her house and we walk to school together. Vicky’s slow because she wears a calliper. She’s got Perface Disease. It’s inside her leg bone, I think. My other best friend is Ricky. He’s got a calliper too but his leg’s better than Vicky’s. His leg’s thin and bony so he can put it right around the back of his head like a Indian yoghurt then throw it away like he doesn’t need it. It always grosses me out. Vicky walks like this. Ricky walks like this.

But I like Vicky better. My dad says “How come you got a girl for a best friend? Why don’t you hang around with some boys.” I say to him “Why? We got nothing in common.” Besides, they never want to let me in their games. They play stupid games at school too. But no-one ever picks me for their team. “We don’t want him. You take him.” I don’t care.

Two weeks ago Vicky and me have a fight. I didn’t start it. Not all of it. “Why don’t you come out and play anymore? Why aren’t you going to school. She tells me to shut up. No, you shut up. I see the sun shining off the edge of her calliper as she lifts her leg up real fast and hits me between the legs. I go down like a ton of bricks. I can’t breathe. My stomach hurts. Everything hurts. You pig! Ow, ow. I roll over on the grass and my arm goes in some dog poo. Yuck. Ow! She’s laughing at me. Ha, ha, ha. Stop laughing. I’ll get you. You can’t get no-one. Dog shit on you. Pee-yew!
I run around the back of her house and stand on the milk crates full of beer bottles and look in the window of her room. I can see the calliper on the side near her bed. I crawl inside the window and look around the room. She’s got lots of things for girls. I grab the calliper and throw it through the window and then climb out after it, real quiet.

It won’t stay on properly so I take one of my dad’s belts that he sometimes hits me with and I tie it around the top. The boot is real heavy. How does she walk with it?

The bully is still standing next to me. He’s frothing at the mouth now. “How come you’re wearing that?” I start to breathe heavier so I take my puffer out but he grabs it out of my hand and throws it away. I feel sick. I feel all sweaty. I want to go the toilet. He pushes me against the wall and puts his hands on my neck. I can’t breathe. If someone doesn’t rescue me they’re gonna find me dead in the middle of the playground. I’ll be in all the newspapers. On the telly.

He squeezes my throat. I want to scream out but I can’t. He bangs my head against the wall. I go dizzy then feel something wet running down the back of my neck. The other kid is holding on to my other arm. The bully stops squeezing for a second. I take a big breath, close my eyes and lift my leg real hard. I hear a scream. I open my eyes. He’s on the ground screaming and crying. The other kid is just looking at me....with his eyes wide open. Then he starts to laugh. I look down at the bully. He’s rolling around and crying like a big baby. I start laughing. He looks so stupid. “So stupid.” The whole playground has stopped and they’re looking right at me. Even the teachers. I lift my leg once more and drop the boot down hard on him. Right on his head. “Stay away from me or I’ll kill you.”

I start to run. I run right out of the school. The calliper drags in the dirt. But I keep going. I can’t go back to school. The police could come after me. I’ll have to leave the country. Hide on a ship. Vicky can come with me. I have to tell her so I run all the way home. Mum is out the back hanging the washing. I sneak inside, grab my backpack and chuck some shirts in it. I go out into the loungeroom and look in mum’s bag. I take fifty cents out of her purse because I’m on the run now and a box of matches in case I need to make a fire if I have to hide in a cave. I take off the calliper and sneak out of the house again and run around the corner to Vicky’s place. The police will be looking for me soon.

I run around the back of her house and climb in through the window again. I put the calliper back next to the bed. I’m about to climb out the window when her bedroom door opens and her mum stands there looking at me. I thought she’d scream at me. But she doesn’t. She just looks at me then she comes over to the bed and sits down.

When’s she coming home? How come you’re crying? Did you hurt yourself? I always hurt myself. How long is she gonna be gone?

She’s not coming home again? She has to. She’s my best friend. She’s gone to sleep for ever? Like in the movies? That’s dead. No, that’s not right. She has to come home. I have to tell her something. She has to come back.

I run. I run to the bush. I don’t want to think about that. She’s coming home soon. I know it. I sit on the slippery dip. Dead. Just like in the movies. I’ll wait for her. She’s my best friend. I take out the box of matches. That day I start the biggest bushfire that year. It’s even on the telly. No more dragons? That’s wrong. There’s dragons all over the place. They just know how to hide better.
 

THE LIGHTS FADE AND COME BACK UP ON THE ACTOR.
 

In years to come the bully’s whole family will go mental, one at a time. Two will go to prison. One will commit suicide and another will die from a heroin overdose, paid for after robbing every house on the street including my own five times in one month. In years to come I’ll fall in love with Vicky’s older sister. It’s my first sexual experience with a woman and her last sexual experience with a man. In years to come I’ll lose other close friends. No more dragons? Dragons hide very well indeed.

THE WARRIOR
SLIDE: AMONGST DARK GODS. THE ACTOR STANDS CENTRE STAGE. MUFFLED DANCE MUSIC CAN BE HEARD IN THE BACKGROUND.

Waiting. On the footpath. On the stairs. Forty nine minutes. Fucking hell! Why do I do it? What else is there? I need this tonight. I need this every night. But only at the end of the week. Restraint. I yawn. When I’m tired I yawn. Nervous, I yawn. Horny, I yawn. [Always yawning]. I watch each escapee pass me by. A better offer may be just around the corner. Mine is up there at the top of the stairs. More leave. .A whoop goes up, a wimp comes down. Heat radiates from his body as he glides down into the night.....and waiting fists. And waiting knives. I say a little prayer. Gods preserve him and see him safely home

Finally I reach the plateau. Salvation is almost upon me. Eagerly I pass across my meagre earnings, [Hock the house, sell the first born] and await anointment from the holy rubber teddy bear stamp. His smile has an edge of, dare I say it, sincerity? No. False alarm. Just attitude on white canvas. But I care little for now the gates of Valhalla are opening before me and I’m ushered into paradise. A wry smile as I hand over my expensive robe in exchange for pink parchment I am told to guard with my life. I secure it and move towards the din hoping that he may be somewhere watching me.

I lean against the wall. The music is quite deafening but alive. I close my eyes for just a moment taking in the air...or lack of it. But tonight who cares? I feel like a warrior. My armour glistening. 501’s feeling tight, t-shirt picking up the black-light, real white, so nice. Even my tan hasn’t seen better days than now. Best undies from the drawer. Socks thick in their boots. Secure and allowing me to command the cigarette butted floor. I’m armed and in my own space. Others invade but only briefly. Keeping their distance as I survey the landscape around me. The queens are out. The oldies, fatties. baldies and others. Yes, we’re all here. Looking. Looking for someone. But they’ve got to be right. Have to be worth the effort. The preparation, aggravation, perspiration and energy. And who knows...Somewhere in the dark he may already be watching me.

I go to the bar, dodging the lisping, lunging losers as they stagger past on their way to the loo for a bit of dope or swing from a white line of suspended reality. I lean forward and drop the voice a few octaves so the bartender who’s been ignoring me a whole three seconds can at least get the feeling I’m superior to him in some small way. He doesn’t. Arsehole! Me, not him. I pay him, tip him and retreat from the borrowed height of the bar trough. I move through the old trade and occasional two night stands. They smile, nod or ignore me completely. I scan quickly but carefully across the crowd. They congregate through a den of muffled noise seeping from the walls.

With the final step sounds and smells hit me like a thunderbolt. I’m urged to retreat but the spider has already spun it’s web and I await my sacrifice to the Dark Gods.

With ease and calculation I take up my position. Everything must be right, not too much light, just right. Fluros can be unkind to the ancients. This is fine. A prime position to see and be seen. The pretty boys are ignoring me. They’re not what I’m looking for tonight...mind you. I take a slow, flow look around. Casual. It has to feel sexy. Too fast and nobody will notice. But tonight he’ll be watching me.

A hand brushes across the front of my jeans as aged and lonely eyes stare into my soul. I smile feebly and the shadow moves away. I breath once more and take in the tobacco-stenched, Amyl-drenched, sweat-soaked air; trying to imagine what this place is like outside of Dreamtime. Gladiators dance, strut, float or stab the air in an arena of lasers, gels, artificial smoke and artificial fire. A frenzied flourish beneath a canopy of electrics.

Something hummable hits the ears and I park the drink, little expecting but hoping it’ll be there when I return. I enter the arena alone. A victim as so few venture, so few dare when there’s safety in numbers. But tonight it I turn them all off. The lights, music, thump and boom of the arena. My choice isn’t everyone’s. A few derelicts and speed queens flying solo and just me. On auto my hand reaches for the amyl. I can’t face the arena unarmed. My fire escape to hell.

I feel eyes in the corner as he emerges out of the gloom. Just enough to make it interesting. Jeans tight. T-shirt white. Solid, full, powerful and dark. This one is right. Him. I know it. The music goes too dull too quickly for him to see me at my best. I move, he’s watching now, to the end of the rail. A better view for both of us. Every move is observed. Hazy lights turn blue, red, blue once more. I follow the lights but my eyes are always on him. On him, inside him.

I lift the glass to drink. Lips take the icy shock with cool reserve. Lips still warm and salty as the sweat pours down my face. It feels moist and beautiful across my chest. His chest. And around his nipple. My moustache. Imagine. I run my fingers through his hair. Curly, soft. And lift his lips to mine. His face cupped in the palms of my hands. Limp but powerful. Wanting to kiss. Floating back to earth. Waiting. And he’s watching me.

I turn my head to look like I’m after someone else. A game, a bluff. But he doesn’t know that. Or does he? Is he playing games with someone else? In a panic I turn back. He’s gone. Fists clench, stomach drops and the pit opens before me. I move towards it but once more my eyes focus on a shadow approaching me. I note the familiar jeans and shirt but newly discover the rugged, handsome face. Not too much but enough. And there’s something else. Evil and sleek in it’s assurance. His dark eyes settle briefly then float away, begging me to follow into the chasm. I move with every sense now alive into the darkness. The warrior leads me through a thinning crowd. He turns twice to welcome pursuit, stops, turns once more. He reaches out and suddenly the crowd is gone I hear only ghostly drumming somewhere in the far off distance. We are alone. And he watches me.

We move towards each other but I can’t find solid ground. Lips search but don’t meet. He tries to pull away but I clutch his strong back, not wanting to let him go. I can’t lose this one. There’s something. I feel heat from his body and almost move through it. The amyl flares and sends us sailing briefly through clouds then lands me with a jolt. I feel like the ocean in a current of ecstasy. Alive and on fire my clothes melt away and he takes me, takes my soul.....Soul. Dear God.

Eyes are alive. Blood is alive. Touching. Groins on fire. I can’t find myself. Too close, too close. Help me. I struggle but he won’t let me break free. I fall further into a fire too strong. He’s reaching for me, his powerful arms dragging me through the chasm. Lips, cock. Too much fire. I break from him. Break, break. Bite! Thump! Lips. Thump! Cocks. Thump! Sweat. Thump! Thump, thump, thump!

The light changes from blue to red, blue once more. I crawl from the arena, unobserved. Glancing about, weakly. He’s gone. I collect my robe and stagger out into the darkness. I turn a corner. I turn another. Then another. I feel the eyes upon me. I turn and his eyes are there in front of me. T-shirt, jeans, shoulders...and smile. I smile back. He leans forward, his tongue in my ear. Warm. I smile. I don’t see the fist. I don’t see the knife. But I see myself lifting from the Earth. Flying to the Dark Gods. And he’s still watching me.

Lights Fade

OPERA QUEEN
Well, hellooooo.

CLONE
What?

OPERA QUEEN
I said hello.

CLONE
Oh. Hi.

OPERA QUEEN
You enjoying yourself?

CLONE
Yeah, it’s alright.

OPERA QUEEN
This place is changed so much, don’t you think. It used to be so lovely here. The bar men were just that. Men. Not screaming she hounds. These queens all look like they’ve had Albury overdose.

CLONE
Yeah, I suppose.

OPERA QUEEN
I say. What’s the difference between an Albury barman and a coconut?

CLONE
What?

OPERA QUEEN
You can sometimes get a drink out of a coconut.

CLONE
Yeah.

OPERA QUEEN
You’re not laughing. You’ve heard it?

CLONE
Only a thousand times.

OPERA QUEEN
Isn’t this a warm night? I just thought I’d kill time with a little drinkie. I’m actually off to see Cosi.

CLONE
See what?

OPERA QUEEN
Cosi. Cosi Fan Tutti. It’s Mozart, dear. Lovely music though I wish the hell these stupid bloody directors would die off and leave the fuckers alone. All this updating into punk and David Jones window display type productions gives me the screaming habdabs. Doesn’t it you?

CLONE
I.....

OPERA QUEEN
And of course there’s that new young prat. Did that dreadful Strictly Bloody Boardroom. Strictly fucking awful, if you ask me. Like it? Hated it!! Two snaps down and thanks, we’ll let you know.

CLONE
Yeah. Well, I quite liked it.

OPERA QUEEN
Still....lovely frocks. Do you like opera?

CLONE
Nah! Hate the fat black bitch!

OPERA QUEEN
What? Not Oprah. Opera. I simply adore it. Can’t imagine my life without it.

CLONE
Then you must lead a pretty boring life.

OPERA QUEEN
I think not. I have plenty of other interests but that is my true passion.

CLONE
Oh, yes?

OPERA QUEEN
What sort of music do you like? No, wait. Let me guess. You’re a Bartok type of person, I can tell.

CLONE
Bar-who?

OPERA QUEEN
Bartok. Very physical, very contemporary, almost violent in a way. Doesn’t just lay there. Moves around a bit.

CLONE
Never heard of him.

OPERA QUEEN
You’ve never heard of Bartok? That surprises me.

CLONE
Life’s full of them.

OPERA QUEEN
Full of what?

CLONE
Surprises.

OPERA QUEEN
No. I meant....

CLONE
I know what you meant.

OPERA QUEEN
Oh, I see. Then what about Schubert?

CLONE
What about him?

OPERA QUEEN
Do you like him?

CLONE
Sing me one of his songs.

OPERA QUEEN
You’re making fun of me. I give up. What sort of music do you like?

CLONE
I don’t like classical music. In fact I hate it.

OPERA QUEEN
You hate it?

CLONE
Yeah, I do. And that’s with a passion. But if there’s one thing I hate worse than opera it’s opera queens. So why don’t you run along pet and let mother finish her drink.

OPERA QUEEN
Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was interrupting anything.

CLONE
That’s because I couldn’t get a word in. Not everyone standing around in bars want conversation. Comprehende?

OPERA QUEEN
You should’ve made your feelings known....

CLONE
I came here to meet men. Know what I’m talking about? Men. They look a little like me. Wear moustaches; not lipstick. Drink beer, not banana daiquiris. Guys who check their nails like this. Not like that. Guys who can at least can keep their heels on the ground and off the headboard. Now, why don’t you leave me in peace and go find someone who might be less bored with your conversation than I am. What about the one over near the bar in the pin-stripe? She looks like a prime candidate for classical. Or show tunes. You could skip hand in hand through Ava And Susans. He’s probably off to the same do as you are. Maybe he could share your box!

OPERA QUEEN
I’m sorry, I...

CLONE
Fuck off!

THE CLONE STANDS THERE FOR A MOMENT.

[TO AUDIENCE] If you can upset at least one person a day, you know you’re alive.

HE SEES SOMEONE HE LIKES AND SIDLES UP TO THEM.

How’re you doing?

THE OTHER PERSON SAYS SOMETHING TO HIM. HE REELS BACK.

No problem. [BEAT] Queen.

HE STARTS DANCING TO THE MUSIC AS THE LIGHTS FADE.

Hi. How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages. Oh, me...I’m having the best time. Have you been away? You look great. Yeah? Thanks. What? Oh yeah sure. I’m gonna work a bit as well. Really good seeing you again. Yeah, bye. [PAUSE] Queen.

Neville? Neville, don’t you walk away from me, you bitch. Yeah I saw. He’s over there. Trying to pretend he hasn’t seen me. There. No, on the pec deck. Maybe with a bit of luck he’ll forget what weights he’s on, it’ll fly back and he’ll concuss himself. You don’t need you to tell me what a prick he is. I slept with him for two years, remember? I think I know. What do you mean? Of course I’m over it. What do I look like? One of those bitter and twisted queens? [BEAT] I’m sure you’re joking.

Well, did you have a good time last night? Of course you saw me. We went together remember? What am I saying? Of course you don’t. You deserted me five minutes after we got there but you were a bit free range last night. Half a trip and you’re doing Magilla Gorilla impressions on one of the speakers until that guy in the construction hat threw up on your boa constrictor cossie. Why he wore a construction helmet to a jungle party is anybody’s guess. Some people have no idea. Who did you end up with? Oh, well it was a nice helmet. Well, I had a fabulous time. I did. I was ripped to the tits and quite pissed of course after the three triple bourbons and well on the way to giggle valley by the time that half an eccie you gave me kicked in. Someone told me I was trying to hump a chain fence. I don’t believe it myself but there were weird marks on my belly this morning that appear strangely self inflicted. But I had the best time....I think. I walked around and told all the people I know they looked fabulous and all the people I didn’t, they looked hideous. So obviously I’ve endeared myself to a whole new circle of enemies.

Neville, look, look. Over there. Slowly. Don’t let him know.....oh, that was subtle, pet. “Where?!”. Honestly, you’re so discreet. He knows we’re talking about him now. I know we haven’t said anything but that’s what he’s gonna think. He’s started doing different poses now...See. What did I tell you? I hate you. Look at that body. Makes you sick. I’ve been coming here for donks, I’ve starved myself like a Somalian Calender girl and I still look like Jabba The Hut. No, he’s new. He only started coming here last week I think. Yes of course I’m sure. I am here everyday so I think I know who’s new and who are the same tired old hell-hags and yes, Neville you are included in that group. No, you’re right. I ain’t no spring chicken either but take a look at these drum sticks. Now, shut your cake-hole for a moment and gaze. Isn’t he cute?

Look at those arms. I’m sure you could do major quality damage under them. I think he must be on steroids or something. Of course he is. Look at that chest. That’s just not natural. Although I think maybe he’s overdoing it a bit, poor girl. He’s so pumped up at the pecks he’s starting to lactate. Look. Aren’t those milk stains on his t-shirt? He could hire himself out as a wet nurse. No, I haven’t caught him in the sauna yet. Why? Because I don’t go in there anymore. Not after that last incident. What incident? Don’t tell me you haven’t heard? Well, I’m not saying anything except that it involved five queens, a curling wand and some Amway cosmetics and that’s the last I speak on that subject.

What? Oh don’t ask. I hate my job. Hate, hate, hate. If I have to do one more Rinse and Set I may drop a dryer in someone’s shampoo basin. I know I’m the stereo-typical hairdresser but sometimes the bitches that come in make me want to gently comb a chainsaw across their wrinkled old turkey necks. They come in looking like Benji and want to leave looking like Jane Pauley. And that’s just the guys. But I have to stay, don’t I. It’s the 14th salon I’ve been hired by in 12 months. No, I don’t think it’s me, pet. So I’ve come in late a few times. So what if I’m sometimes found slumped over the dryer. Has it occurred to anyone that I may not have slept for three days? Just because I choose to do a little raging I occasionally let someone out of the chair looking like their granny’s pet gerbil, but let me tell you, sometimes it’s like pushing the proverbial kaka uphill all the way. You trying to make a silk purse out of Razorback’s arse! And they’re never satisfied. But what can you expect when they’re all so self obsessed.

Do you think maybe I should take steroids? I don’t know. Maybe that’s going a bit too far. Oh but it’s all those needles, isn’t it? Oh I couldn’t do that. I passed out from that flu vaccine you talked me into three years ago, remember. I could never take injections. What? You’re sick. Thank God I ain’t no diuretic. I.....what? Okay. Diabetic. What did I say? Did I? Pardon e moi. You’re so anal and not even in a nice way. No, I think maybe steroids are out. Well, they shrink everything don’t they and make your voice do strange things. I could end up as Gorilla Woman. There’s a career option. And then you have to do different bits at a time. It’ll be just my luck to have one tit bigger than the other...and you could explode in airplanes, couldn’t you? That’s what I hear.

Oh, God, I feel worn. It’s all your fault, of course. Yes, Neville. Your fault. If you hadn’t deserted me last night when you did I might’ve stayed closer to Ground Control and I might just be in a better mood than I am because I’m certainly not in the mood for this today. Jesus, I torture myself. Still, I have my youth and my looks....well, my looks anyway.

Will you have a look at all these Marys. It’s like Valley Of the Dolls. They all have the same look? Valley of The Dolls nothing. It’s more like The Stepford Wives. Frightening. And they’re getting younger. Either that or there’s a few hundred oil paintings growing old in an attic somewhere. Now....well, I’m so tired of all this. It’s a waste of time. And he was the biggest waste of time of all. Look at him. He’s just dying to see me fall flat on my arse.

Of course I loved him but what can you do? When you’ve slept with someone for two years you can pretty much work out what they’re saying without the help of sub-titles. If in the first few months they say they like you stocky it usually means the day your gut hangs over your speedos you’re history and if they tell you they want to have a more spiritual relationship it’s just a polite way of saying they don’t want to fuck you anymore! I’ve seen the signs, I’ve heard the lines. Of course I’m bitter. I have every right. Right over there is the cause of all my bitterness. It’s also living proof of brain death in motion. I do so know what love is. Whose side are you on anyways, Snn...Neville?

I’m sick of this town. I want out. Maybe I should go back to Adelaide. This place is so shallow. No-one ever takes anything seriously anymore. It’s all just parties and drugs. They’re all two faced. They say one thing and they mean another. At least in Adelaide you knew where you stood. If they hate you they may throw you in the Torrens. They didn’t muck around. And it’s so pretty there. All those churches, the vineyards, the nightlife...fuck! [BEAT] Where the hell is my brain. I...oh, Hi. I didn’t see you there. Me? I’m okay. Considering you walked out on.....Do I want to what? Have coffee with you? Uh....okay. I’ll just finish up and meet you out front. Sure. [BEAT] Well, Neville? Don’t say anything. I know I’ll just get hurt again. But you know what they say. No pain, no gain. Or is that no brain? I’ll just use him for the sex. But before he dumps me again? Well I’m gonna have the best time!

Can you see? Look there. From where I stand you can see the whole world. The golden sand. Endless blue sky. Beautiful ocean. It could be chemicals but I think it’s blue. Every year on my birthday I come to this beach. Been doing it for over forty years although the journey gets a bit harder these days. I think this’ll be the last time. When I first came here there were few buildings. Now they’re creeping across the horizon. Perhaps one day they’ll knock my chair into the sea then where will I be? Probably up to my waist in water, I suppose.

Isn’t this a wonderful idea. A friend gave it to me last year but it’s only been out of the box for a few hours. It’s called a Walkman. So clever. She shall music wherever she goes. I can fill my days with music. Music and books. Beauty and life. Would you like to listen. No. I guess that wouldn’t be practical. Perfect music. Some Vaughan Williams, Strauss’ Four Last Songs. I sit here on this beach, listening to my perfect music. I close my eyes and I remember.

Today is my birthday. I was born at 6.30 in the morning, February 6th 1918. That makes me.....a lot older than I thought I was. I think being born was the easiest part of my life although I don’t think I’ve had it too bad. If I could say so I came from a fairly privileged family and though my father was quite over-bearing during difficult times he made us all aware of those less fortunate. I liked to go down to the docks when I knew I wouldn’t be missed and I’d watch the ships. One day I met up with a bunch of lads who, after some teasing included me in their gang and in all their plans. As long as I could run as fast as them and not put on airs they treated me as one of their own. All the other men my age were being sent off to boarding schools in the country to avoid the harsh realities of a war now upon us.

The leader of our gang was a boy called Geordie. He was tall, strong, totally unruly and cared little for anyone’s opinion about him but he had a fire in him that would draw us all into the craziest schemes. While I was working as an apprentice in my father’s firm, Geordie was working in a nearby factory but every night we’d all meet up and make plans for the evening. I could see he was restless and only killing time until he’d reach age when he could join up to fight. War held no great appeal for me. War is always dull except to the leaders. Not only tragic but simple minded.

One night after the gang had broke up Geordie walked a little with me but before we had reached my gate he took me by the hand and led me into an alley. We stood there quietly in the dark and he leaned down and kissed me gently on the mouth. I didn’t fight him off. There wasn’t any hint of disgust. In the few months I’d known him I felt closer to him than I’d ever felt for anyone else. He was my closest friend and I his. This seemed a natural evolution of our friendship. Oh but I felt like I was melting into his arms.

As our relationship became more intense the group disbanded.....I suspect by Geordie’s instigation. I think it had become common knowledge about the two of us but nothing was ever said. How I managed to keep it a secret from my parents, I’ll never know. He’d sneak in my room late at night and leave before light. Quite a dangerous liaison. On the night before his departure we made love one last time knowing we might never see each other again. By morning I’d already made my decision to join up with him. It would be the start of a whole new adventure.

A FACTORY LAD

When I was young and not so sad
I fell in love with a factory lad
And losing all hope I gave my heart away
He had eyes of fire and how they’d burn
When he took my hand my heart would yearn
To be part of him forever and a day

But my father to me sadly said
How dare you love a factory lad
When you could have all girls so fine and gay
As for your fine girls well I don’t care
Their silly kisses I can’t bear
I could watch in the factory all day

And when Geordie sang my night away
I would stay with him till the break of day
With my satchel and my heart in my hand
He’d pick me up and he’d twirl me round
And ne’er my feet would touch the ground
And his lips were sweeter than any in the land
Up to the factory I went one day
He told me he was going away
To fight a war in far off distant lands
I will go with you and be at your side
And we can share in all the pride and glory
And medals shining very grand

The months went by, this war was hell
And all around us brave men fell
But my Geordie was beside me all the time
We were hungry and cold and scared at night
But my Geordie held me very tight
And his factory arms kept me from all harm

When I woke up on one cold morn
All around me was battle torn
No-one moved, no sound of man nor gun
His arms were still around me tight
But his breath was gone, so cold the night
He was stolen from me. I was the only one

And when Geordie sang my night away
He couldn’t last until the day
So cruel the night for stealing my love Geordie
Now they never cross him with a hasty word
At the factory site since they had heard
No more dancing in the dark with my love Geordie

And when Geordie sang my night away
I would stay with him till the break of day
With my satchel and my heart in my hand
He’d pick me up and he’d twirl me round
And ne’er my feet would touch the ground
No more dancing in the dark
No more dancing in the dark with my love Geordie
 

I wasn’t alone in my grief. There were so many others. So many. All those young men with glory and fire in their eyes. All that life in their hearts. Maybe too much. Two days later I was wounded and sent home. I was only 21 but already I’d known great loss. Too young. The one great, true love of my life had been taken from me so long ago. Too many years to live with such a loss. I have little pain now. The years have been kind. Since then I’ve known other loves and other lovers. I have had my life and it’s been good. I never really got over the loss of him but you grow fonder of something that isn’t there anymore. Now I rarely look back on that time without some sense of warmth. My real memories are only of his fire. [PAUSE] And now I wait.

MUSIC FILTERS IN OF MICHAEL NYMAN’S “CORNFIELD” FROM PROSPERO’S BOOKS.

I have everything I need now. My books. My music. My perfect music. These days of peace and solitude. Though it’s hard to reach out to touch you I know I’ll be with you soon. And when my life is at it’s most sublime I think on you...and then I touch heaven. Do you like it here? I do too. From where I stand you can see the whole world.

LIGHT FADES.
 
 

THE ACTOR ENTERS

Perhaps this is what they mean by the Dark Winter of the Soul. Dark skies, dark thoughts. We’re all of us looking for something. Some kind of love. Some kind of warmth. But it’s there already in all of us. Deep inside. Everyone has a journey. Trying to understand the journey, that’s the hard part. But when you watch all your friends die you learn to change your priorities. I have a new pain in my life now. I see a disease that’s taken so many of my friends and I try to understand but I’ve said goodbye to too many people. So...the next time I meet someone I try not to judge too quickly. I try to think...what's their story? What’s their pain? I try to imagine walking in their shoes.

SLIDES COME UP OF ALL THE CHARACTERS.

In myself I still see a small boy still fighting off the bullies and not understanding where his best friend’s gone. In myself I still see a young man trying to understand the dream and surviving against the odds. In myself I see the darker side of passion. In myself I see the hedonist facing himself and his future and in myself I see an old man whose journey is almost complete. But in myself I still see the light ahead.
 

END