another one-act play with many working parts …

][][

CHARACTERS:
THE LOVER: Possibly the Norse goddess Frigg, or perhaps simply Icelandic. She is somewhere in her late 40s to 50s. In a cruder, ruder time she would be considered a MILF, a Yummy Mummy, a Cougar; however those terms with all their baggage gets defined. Today she considers herself to be what healthy female eroticism looks like in a world that does not value either; though she is far from being healthy and rarely knows who or what, exactly, she is.

THE CONCUBINE: Senegalese, or perhaps Moroccan. A fey tomboy in her late teens. She is bewitched, besotted and bemused to find herself the object of lust to such an older, mad woman. She is at that age where, having her hormones run wild within her, she is discovering her moody, sassy side, a force of nature that she cannot always control.

THE EMPTY WINE-JAR VIRGIN: Nervy, pervy and with curves, she walks the earth with an empty old-fashion clay wine-jar (what the Romans would call an amphora) balanced upon her head for highly complicated personal reasons. In another time and place she would be one of the physical embodiments of the Yoruba lwa, MAMI WATA, a mermaid-like goddess who controls love, intimacy and fresh water. Unfortunately for her this is neither that time nor place.

HELEN KANE: (1904 – 1966) A popular American jazz singer in her day; her signature song was “I Wanna Be Loved By You.” Kane’s voice and appearance were a likely source for Fleischer Studio’s character, Betty Boop, although It-girl Clara Bow has also been credited as another possible influence.

THE CHORUS: Just as in the theater of ancient Greece, the Chorus is a group of performers full of gravitas and panache who comment with a collective voice upon the dramatic action going on. There are four female members to this one; all looking as identical as possible, wearing black clothing, white kid gloves and long fright-wigs of white hair. They appear as ghosts since none of the other characters can see, hear or interact with them. They all speak with over-wrought heavy brogues, and while their words and actions can be, at times, absurd, they present everything they do with a deadly seriousness, as if they really were in a classical Greek tragedy, which this, of course, is not.

][][

Setting:
A bathroom in an old Victorian-type sanitarium, perhaps set up in the 1800s to address ‘hysterical paroxysm’ in the female of the species. The stage consists of a line of shower-stalls, the sort that are nothing more than funny little privacy curtains that start around the shoulders and end at the knees, each with an old-fashion shower head dangling down above the stall. If it was the sort of bathroom to be haunted it would possess a waif-like melancholic Ophelia, hair in a shower-cap, complaining of her wandering womb trying to seek its proper place. Everything feels slightly dank and out of focus. The unnerving sound of water dripping on cracked tile off-stage is combined with the distant moan of endless wind. There is a row of clothing pegs on one wall with one cotton robe hanging on it. Nearby is a towel rack with a single towel. The set should be built on simple, wheeled elevated rises, in such a way as to be easily rolled off-stage with minimum fuss.

][][

Presently there is only one person using the showers, THE LOVER, naked, standing under the hot water, singing snatches of ‘Me and the Man in the Moon’ to herself. Since running an actual shower is highly difficult to stage (not to mention a waste of good water) when the actresses are in their respective shower-stalls they simply pantomime the act of washing.

THE CONCUBINE enters, wrapped in a large robe with her towel around her shoulders, unaware anyone else is using the bathroom.

THE CONCUBINE [startled, shy]:
Oh, I beg your pardon!

THE LOVER [turning around, wiping soap from her eyes]:
Hello, you needn’t. There’s enough hot water for everyone. Just [she lowers her voice conspiratorially] don’t tell anyone I’m here.

THE CONCUBINE [still smiling shyly, walks over to the towel rack, placing her towel next to the other]:
What do you mean?

THE LOVER:
I’m supposed to be seeing Doctor Bentorgan for my headaches, emotional instability, gloom, aggression, depression and feelings of lower abdominal heaviness, but I told Nurse Quim that I was feeling a bit overexcited and snuck away to the showers as soon as her back was turned. I’ve always found hot water is a great cure for it.

THE CONCUBINE [taking off her robe, hanging it on the peg next to the other one and then walking naked to the shower stall next to THE LOVER]:
It?

THE LOVER [giggling]:
You know, ‘it’!

THE CONCUBINE:
Um, no, actually. I’ve only just arrived last week. How long have you been here?

THE LOVER:
Years, darling. Years. I understand just how the Suffragettes must have felt. At first I hated being here. It was so old and dour and dead that I felt as if I were dead myself. I wanted to open my parasol and fly through the window.

THE CONCUBINE:
Well, why didn’t you leave?

THE LOVER:
‘Landica Therapeutically Massage,’ every hour, by the hour.

THE CONCUBINE:
What?

The lights suddenly go down and all action stops. A single spotlight illuminates and then follows THE EMPTY WINE-JAR VIRGIN as she slowly makes her way to the center of the stage, balancing her jar on her head.

EMPTY WINE-JAR VIRGIN [monologue]:
Did you know that the Oxford English Dictionary states that the word clitoris likely has its origin in the Ancient Greek κλειτορίς (kleitoris), and is, perhaps derived from the verb κλείειν (kleiein), meaning ‘to shut’? It also states that the shortened, psychosonic form, ‘clit,’ has been used in print since 1858; however, until then, the common abbreviation was ‘clitty,’ like klitty kat. Clitoris is also Greek for the word key, indicating that the ancient anatomists considered it to be the key to female sexuality. In addition to key, the Armenian Etymology Dictionary suggests other Greek candidates for the word’s etymology include a noun meaning ‘latch’ or ‘hook,’ a verb meaning ‘to touch or titillate lasciviously,’ as well as, ‘to tickle.’ Indeed, one German synonym for the clitoris is der Kitzler, ‘the tickler.’ In ancient Rome, Soranus of Ephesus wrote that while the Latin word clitoris is derived from the verb ‘to climb the side of a hill,’ it really shares the same root as the verb for ‘roaring flood climaxing over its riverbank.’

FX: Loud applause. THE EMPTY WINE-JAR VIRGIN does her best curtsey, jar still balanced, and leaves. Lights go up and action continues, as if nothing had happened.

THE LOVER:
You’re new here so you haven’t started your ‘treatments’ yet, but believe, me once you do you’ll never want to leave either.

THE CONCUBINE [frowning]:
And that’s ‘it’?

THE LOVER:
Yes. Well, that and the gamahooching.

THE CONCUBINE:
But isn’t that a sin?

THE LOVER [cheerfully reciting from memory a bad translation of the ‘Song of Solomon,’ 5:4-5]:
My beloved puts his hand into the hole by the door, and my cup of myrrh overflows for him. I arise to open myself before my beloved, for my hands drip with wet myrrh, my fingers are sticky with myrrh, each time I touch the handle of his bolt.

THE CONCUBINE [confused]:
Er, if you say so.

Long pause.

THE CONCUBINE:
So, what does your husband think of you being here?

THE LOVER:
Husband?

THE CONCUBINE:
You know … [gestures vaguely] … a man.

THE LOVER:
Oh, one of those. Yeah … no. How about you?

THE CONCUBINE:
Mr. G was nice in the beginning. He liked taking photos of me kissing other girls. He said he only wanted the best for me.

THE LOVER:
Ah, yes. And this Mr. G, has he visited you since you arrived?

THE CONCUBINE:
No.

THE LOVER [cheerfully changing the subject]:
Have you heard the story of the nun who used to live here?

THE CONCUBINE:
No. Why?

THE LOVER:
It’s quite romantic and sad.

THE CONCUBINE:
I heard a voice that called across the wind last night while I was in bed.

THE LOVER glances at THE CONCUBINE curiously. The older woman is now smiling, as if some unknown power were compelling her to do something very rash and perhaps a tad naughty.

THE LOVER [seriously]:
So … I see that you see that this old place is haunted, too.

THE CONCUBINE [unsure how to respond]:
I … felt something. What was it?

THE LOVER [overdramatizing, as if she were performing at the Chichester Festival]:
Ack! Alas! The dead! A holy saint’s soul estranged upon the air. A nun who cannot find her way to Paradise. What did she say?

THE CONCUBINE [backing a couple of small, wary steps away]:
She said: ’I was a coward; you must be bold. I was silent; you must speak as of old.’

THE LOVER [back to her normal mischievously voice]:
You mustn’t believe everything that ghosts tell you.

THE CONCUBINE:
I wish you wouldn’t talk like this. It unnerves me.

THE LOVER:
That’s the whole point, darling. When I was a wee girl I lived in Skibbereen during ‘an Gorta Mór.’ Back then the famine left not a soul standing — not one. Even the Sister Charlotte-Evie-Eve, who told me that the church’s gargoyles would speak to her, died and was buried at the Famine Burial Pits at Abbeystrowery.

THE CONCUBINE:
My! That is terrible, I am so sorry. Er, the famine you say? Wait. When was this?

THE LOVER [again cheerfully changing the subject]:
Do you have any extra soap? I seem to have used all mine up.

THE CONCUBINE:
Certainly. O! [goes to hand her bar over the shower stall, but it slips out of her hands, landing at the feet of THE LOVER] I am so sorry, it slipped.

THE LOVER [crouches on hands and knees, scratches a kneecap]:
Never apologize unless it’s serious, like running someone over with a lorry or accidently impaling them on rusty farm equipment. [slyly raises the bottom of the shower curtain that separates the two stalls, peering hungrily at THE CONCUBINE] My! What a lovely fat arse you have, my dear.

THE CONCUBINE [turns around, sees THE LOVER peering up at her, squeals in the exact same manner as those bizarre 1950s housewife stereotypes; standing on a chair and freaking-out over a mouse]:
Please, madam!

THE LOVER:
Madam?

THE CONCUBINE:
Missus?

THE LOVER:
Missus?

THE CONCUBINE:
Well, I don’t know your name.

THE LOVER:
Funny, I never told you.

There is another awkward pause.

THE CONCUBINE:
Well, regardless, please don’t peer at me that way, I feel self-conscious.

THE LOVER [suddenly standing extremely close to THE CONCUBINE with only the shower curtain between them]:
I don’t know why you’d say that. I’m naked. You’re naked. We’re alone and nobody is going to bother us.

THE CONCUBINE:
Are … are you trying to flirt with me?

THE LOVER:
I’m doing more than ‘trying.’

THE CONCUBINE:
But it’s wicked!

THE LOVER [in her best Mae West voice]:
‘Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before.’ But for you I’ll go back over tried and true grounds anyday.

THE CONCUBINE:
Do you do this often?

THE LOVER:
’I’ll try anything once, twice if I like it, three times to make sure.’

THE CONCUBINE:
This is all so confusing. I don’t understand what, exactly, is happening.

THE LOVER [reaching over and playing with THE CONCUBINE’S hair]:
Well, last night a ghost sang to you outside your window and now you’re taking a shower with me. Later I’ll show you all about gamahooching and Landica Therapeutically Massage. Seems rather straight forward, actually.

THE CONCUBINE:
Please! You simply mustn’t! It’s disgraceful!

THE LOVER:
What’s disgraceful?

THE CONCUBINE [confused]:
Whatever it was that you were going to suggest.

THE LOVER:
Actually, I’ve already suggested it. What is there disgraceful about that? It always feels fantastic!

THE CONCUBINE:
It’s wrong.

THE LOVER:
It’s inevitable.

THE CONCUBINE:
Why inevitable? Why can’t you talk with a naked girl in a bathroom for half an hour without falling in love with her?

THE LOVER:
I didn’t say anything about love.

THE CONCUBINE [surprised and more than a touch disappointed]:
Oh? You didn’t?

THE LOVER:
Would you like me to? I can try it out, hold on. [doing her best QUEEN MAB] ’Love is a tryst/ between two naked girls/ who cum when kissed.’ Like it? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I was destined to love you.

THE CONCUBINE:
I didn’t say that! I have nothing to say about your lurid suggestions except that I … I’ve nothing to say … except … that I … well [almost inaudibly] have some suggestions, too.

THE LOVER [triumphantly]:
Suggestions? Calculations? Arithmetic? You love me!

THE CONCUBINE [flustered]:
I … I don’t know. No. Yes. Perhaps.

THE LOVER:
Then kiss me!

THE CONCUBINE [suspiciously]:
No!

THE LOVER:
Then I’ll kiss you!

THE CONCUBINE [wretchedly]:
Oh, what’s the use?

THE LOVER:
I don’t know. It’ll feel good? I don’t care. I only know that we love each other.

THE CONCUBINE [after a moment’s hesitation, desperately]:
You’re right! I don’t care, either! I do want to kiss you, too. Come here, you pervy ghost nun!

Before they can kiss, however, all the sound effects of dripping water and the running showers and the moaning wind are suddenly cut off. House lights flash three times, as they do during intermission to let audiences know it is time to return to their seats. Startled, the two women look wildly about as THE CHORUS rush out on stage and begin to unlock and release the wheels on the risers of the shower set. Within moments the whole set, with THE LOVER and THE CONCUBINE included, has been wheeled off-stage. The stage is now bare, as stages always are without anything on them.

CHORUS #1 reenters and places a large cardboard box stage-left. Written on the box’s side are the words, “Galway Puke Shooter/ This Side Up.” After arranging the box just so she sits down upstage. CHORUS #2 enters, carrying the LYSSK and TS’SSK costumes and a chair (this a reference to the play SAVAGE. The costumes consist of green reptilian body-suits and strange, oblong masks that cover the actress’s entire head save for the lips and mouth. It is suspiciously reminiscent of the bug-like xenomorphs from the Alien franchise). She places chair stage right, draping both costumes across it, then joins CHORUS #1 on the floor. CHORUS #3 enters with a large basket full of black and white poppies in it. The basket has straps on it, allowing someone to carry it on their back. CHORUS #3 takes her place next to the others. CHORUS #4 enters with four ukuleles, hands one to each member and then takes her place. There is an expectant pause. HELEN KANE walks on stage [FX: huge audience applause] She gives her trademark Betty Boop curtsy and begins to lip-sync to a recorded version of Me and the Man in the Moon. As of this writing (2014) the music and lyrics are in the public domain and thus a recording that can be found at:

[www.archive.org/details/HelenKaneCollection]

However, if copyright laws change please see the [Notes] section for the ukulele chords so that the song can be performed as a stage-performance. In either case, as soon as the music starts the four CHORUS members sternly strum along upon their ukuleles in the background.

HELEN KANE [singing]:
Why did my sweetie leave me?
Why did we have to part?
You know, no sweetie will relieve me
of this aching heart.

Why can’t I have the sunshine?
The sunshine instead of the gloom?
Why must I have these little shadows
creeping in my room?

When the night is dark and peaceful
loving hearts are all in tune
there’s two lonesome people in the whole wide world;
it’s me and the man in the moon

When the little birds are nesting
and I listen to them croon
there’s two lonesome people in the whole wide world;
it’s me and the man in the moon

While I lie there counting sheep
through my window he comes to peep
and with each other we’re sympathizing!

Oh, I’m looking at those happy people
while they sit around and spoon
there’s two lonesome people in the whole wide world;
it’s me and the man in the moon

O, but if my sweetie keeps me waiting
you know what I’m going to do? I’ll get another sweetie, soon
because there’s two lonesome people in the whole wide world;
it’s me and the man in the moon

O, how I miss his ukulele
and the way he strums those tunes
‘cause there’s two lonesome people in the whole wide world
it’s me and the man in the moon

When the creepy shadows fall
and the boogie man comes to call
I need two lovable arms around me!

You know, and if my sweetie keeps me waiting
you know what I’m gonna do?
I’m gonna get myself a big balloon, a big one
and I’ll travel through the air in that big balloon and have a love affair
with the man in the moon!

FX: Huge audience applause that last several minutes longer than anyone is expecting, rising and falling in intensity, finally fading out as THE CHORUS begins to speak their lines.

HELEN KANE does another curtsy and then with a big flourish of arms ushers THE LOVER and THE CONCUBINE back in. They are still completely naked, holding hands, totally unselfconscious. They take a bow as if they had just performed some wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey version of Othello at the Old Vic. As the couple stands, center stage, grinning and waving, HELEN KANE picks up the cardboard box and begins to strew drug paraphernalia all over: crack phials, ampoules, needles, bloody balls of toilet paper, etc. as well as used condoms and a knit skull cap. Then she and THE CHORUS hastily exit off-stage. CHORUS #1 returns, carrying two bib overalls, which she tosses haphazardly about, then returns to her original spot on the floor. CHORUS #2 drags out a soiled mattress which she places downstage. CHORUS #3 brings out an acoustic guitar, which she places upon the mattress and CHORUS #4 unfolds a large poster that she attaches to the wall with the spray-painted words: “Never Trust a Junkie” (from Sid and Nancy, 1986) on them. Lights dim. Suddenly the stage has become a Galway tenement flat, a heroin shooting gallery.

When each member of THE CHORUS speaks often their words can be almost unintelligible to one not familiar with regional dialects. This was done intentionally because everyone keeps saying that they love difficult drama. At no time should they break character, wink at the audience, or play what they say for laughs.

CHORUS #1 [vaguely Galway-ish]:
Luk at our bottle av water, our Lady’s beloved, de sun’s pride!
[Look at our daughter, our Lady’s beloved, the Sun’s pride!]

CHORUS #2 [vaguely Liverpool-ish]:
She ‘as na loved anyone ‘alf as much as she loves ‘er.
[She has never loved anyone half as much as she loves her.]

CHORUS #1:
So’tiz a shame dat she is so young.
[It is a shame that she is so young]

CHORUS #2:
Perhaps she wul grrer?
[Perhaps she will grow?]

CHORUS #3 [vaguely Newcastle-ish]:
Whey aye she will gra.
[Of course she will grow.]

CHORUS #4 [vaguely Inverness‎ -ish]:
Ah min’ when ‘er first ‘urls, ‘er first ‘ubes, appeared.
[I remember when her first curls, her first pubes, appeared.]

CHORUS [giggling together]:
Pubes!

As THE LOVER begins to speak, THE CONCUBINE turns and starts to dress in one of the discarded bib overalls, donning the knit skull cap, picking up the guitar and flopping down on the mattress. She is now THE JUNKIE GUITARIST.

THE LOVER [reciting from Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis]:
‘Fondling,’ she says, ‘since I have hymned you here
Within the circuit of this ivory pale,
I’ll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer;
Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale:
Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry,
Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.

Within this limit is relief enough,
Sweet bottom-grass and high delightful plain,
Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough,
To shelter thee from tempest and from rain
Then be my deer, since I am such a park.

CHORUS #3:
Wor lady knows wot she likes.
[Our Lady knows what she likes.]

CHORUS #4:
Some say she loch tay much.
[Some say she like too much.]

CHORUS #2:
Wa’ does dat evun arl bottle and glass? She is flushed flesh like everyone else. ‘Er lover’s absence ‘as nted all sorts o’ fear in ‘er brezzy. Bright, not ‘er brezzy. ‘Er nights ‘uv beun chocker o’ sticky thoughts while terss’n and tn’n in ‘er empty flock.
[What does that even mean? She is flushed flesh like everyone else. Her lover’s absence has nurtured all sorts of fear in her breast. Well, not her breast. Her nights have been full of sticky thoughts while tossing and turning in her empty bed.]

CHORUS #3:
Wot? But the Sun’s pride is back. Wot is thor tuh feor?
[What? But the Sun’s pride is back. What is there to fear?]

CHORUS #4:
Fear.
[Fear.]

Once THE LOVER has finished the poem the JUNKIE GUITARIST begins to strums and recite parts of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 151 while the older woman slips into her own pair of worn-out overalls.

JUNKIE GUITARIST:
My soul doth tell my body that he may
triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason …

But rising at thy name doth point out thee,
as his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride …

He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
to stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side …

No want of conscience hold it that I call
her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall.

CHORUS #1:
Oi liked it better whaen they were in da nip.
[I liked it better when they were naked.]

CHORUS #3:
Yee elwis sa that.
[You always say that.]

CHORUS #2:
Why not? We’ve seun ‘Ercules chained in ‘Ades. Us berd and ‘er lover ay far lovelier than dat fill-swell beast.
[Why not? We’ve seen Hercules chained in Hades. Our Lady and her lover are far lovelier than that foul beast.]

CHORUS [giggling together]:
Beast!

THE LOVER bends down and straps the basket of poppies to her back. She is now the DEATH-HEAD POPPY PEDDLER. She goes over to the JUNKIE GUITARIST, prods her with her foot until she gets up off the mattress and goes over to an imaginary window. She raises it and suddenly the sound of desolate inner-city traffic fills the air. The DEATH-HEAD POPPY PEDDLER slumps onto the mattress with a sigh.

DEATH-HEAD POPPY PEDDLER [fanning herself with a hand]:
I could never stand all this junkie-chic, Bodenheim crap. Let the trust-fund hippies do what they want. Come over here.

JUNKIE GUITARIST [looking around]:
What do you want?

CHORUS #2:
Dun rabbit ter us Berd dat way!
[Don’t talk to our Lady that way!]

CHORUS #3:
Teenage cunnies an’ their hearts gan be see fickle.
[Teenage girls and their hearts can be so fickle.]

CHORUS #1:
Don’t tell me ‘ee is still burnin’ for dat ‘offin-stuffer Giovanni?
[Don’t tell me she is still burning for that coffin-stuffer Giovanni?]

DEATH-HEAD POPPY PEDDLER:
Darling, it’s no use hanging out the window like that, you could fall.

JUNKIE GUITARIST:
I’ll fall if I want to.

CHORUS #1:
Bah! Fickle!
[Bah! Fickle!]

CHORUS #2:
Inconsistent
[Inconsistent!]

CHORUS #3:
Capricious!
[Capricious!]

CHORUS #4:
Unpredictable love!
[Unpredictable love!]

DEATH-HEAD POPPY PEDDLER:
You know, dear, that he’s not coming.

JUNKIE GUITARIST [irked]:
So you say.

DEATH-HEAD POPPY PEDDLER:
Sig, hye and hail. You’re just wasting time, child of mine.

CHORUS #3:
Heor wot she says!
[Hear what she says!]

JUNKIE GUITARIST:
Time? Time is all I’ve got.

DEATH-HEAD POPPY PEDDLER [opens her legs and hinting]:
You could be between my thighs.

CHORUS #3:
Wor Lady knows wot she likes.
[Our Lady knows what she likes.]

CHORUS #4:
Yoo’re repeatin’ yerself.
[You’re repeating yourself.]

JUNKIE GUITARIST:
Not that old thing!

DEATH-HEAD POPPY PEDDLER:
Oy! Ganymede! Behave!

JUNKIE GUITARIST:
He said he’d be back before noon.

DEATH-HEAD POPPY PEDDLER:
Noon is a little too soon. [Chuckles at her own rhyme, all of THE CHORUS joins in then quickly stops, highly embarrassed] You think moping around the room is going to hurry him up any quicker?

JUNKIE GUITARIST:
No. Not ‘quicker’ …

CHORUS #1:
Giovanni is a complete langer, me Sun’s pride, an’ yer are neglectin’ de wan who truly loves yer.
[Giovanni is a terrible person, my Sun’s pride, and you are neglecting the one who truly loves you]

DEATH-HEAD POPPY PEDDLER:
Then if you’re not going to play with me, play me something quaint upon that girlish axe that you’ve got clutched in both hands. Humor me with a rude cut.

CHORUS #2:
Spell it out fe ‘er!
[Spell it out for her!]

CHORUS #3:
But Raimbo cannit reed.
[But Rambo can’t read.]

JUNKIE GUITARIST:
Cut?

CHORUS #4:
Mebbe she can hum puckle lines?
[Maybe she can hum a few lines?]

DEATH-HEAD POPPY PEDDLER:
Notes, strings, you know, whatever. I want a jingle-jangle full of major C’s, U’s and T’s.

CHORUS #1:
Pucker up an’ blow, lassy!
[Pucker up and blow, girl!]

JUNKIE GUITARIST [staring out the window, half to herself]:
I once knew the sort of snatches that you’re talking about. I could spit out the meanest of slit-roses, but an axe-limbed girl whisked the tune past me. Hey, maybe you’ve seen her, my mamacita with the baby-wide hips? [PAUSE] I sat on a rock in the midst of a heart-scrubbed stream and smiled at her while fingering my young dumb soul. I climbed a ghost-tree and plucked [STRUMMING} “silver apples of the moon/ golden apples of the sun.” I stumbled after her, over the sun-stunned hills, since the axe-limbered girl would often stop; she’d touch both of my eyes with the flesh of her flower and then sprung away. It was like a dream of a queenly crow cast among mourning doves and fools, a little scattered popcorn upon a penthouse floor, all in blues with neon light and a bubbling pool, gurgle; and I, heavy with leprous distilment and junk-flop sweat, followed. Through high corridors and leaking roofs I went, to you, the biggest of big ass women, towering over me like a wisp of Missy Missile Madam’s soul. But the music is gone. Where is my wealthy tune? Where is my flushed tool? My amethyst flood? My silver clouds? My golden rain?

Pause. The JUNKIE GUITARIST attempts to play a “Me and the Man in the Moon” riff. She becomes frustrated at her poor skills, lays the guitar down.

CHORUS #4:
She pure shoods practice mair.
[She really should practice more.]

CHORUS #2:
Dee can’t ‘ear us, tinnie dee?
[They can’t hear us, can they?]

The JUNKIE GUITARIST goes over to the chair and picks up one of the Xenomorph costumes, holds it up to examine it better. Picks up the oblong, skull mask, turning it this way and that with great fascination. She has no idea what it is.

JUNKIE GUITARIST:
Where did this come from?

CHORUS #1:
Isn’t dat from a scene —
[Isn’t that from a scene –]

CHORUS #2:
— dat got cut in de final edit?
[– that got cut in the final edit?]

CHORUS #3:
Why did wuh brin those wi’ wor?
[Why did we bring those with us?]

CHORUS #4:
Stage directions.
[Stage directions.]

[sudden darkness. curtain]

][][

Notes:

Here are the ukulele chords for Helen Kane’s Me and the Man in the Moon:

Bb F7 Bb
Why did my sweetie leave me?
Bb F Gm
Why did we have to part?
F7 Bb A7 Ab7 G7
No other sweetie can re-lieve me
C7 F
Of this aching heart.
Bb F7 Bb
Why can’t I have the sunshine?
Bb D7 Gm
The sunshine instead of gloom?
C7 F G
Why must I have these little shadows
Gm7 Cm7 F F7
Creeping in my room?
Bb
When the night is dark and peaceful,
Bb F#
Loving hearts are all in tune,
F7 Eb F Gaug
There’s two lonesome people in the whole wide world,

C7 F7 Bb
It’s me and the man in the moon.
Bb
When the little birds are nesting,
F#
And I listen to them croon,
F7 Eb F Gaug
There are two lonesome people in the whole wide world,
C7 F7 Bb
It’s me and the man and the moon.
Gm A7
Oh While I lie there counting sheep,
D7 G7
Through my window he comes to peep,
C7 F F7 F
And with each other we’re sympa-thi-zing!
Bb
Oh, I’m looking at those happy sweethearts,
F#
While they sit around and spoon,
F7 Eb F Gaug
There’s two lonesome people in the whole wide world,
C7 F7 Bb
It’s me and the man and the moon.
Bb
Oh, but if my sweetie keeps me waiting,
F#
You know what I’m gonna do? I’ll get another sweetie, soon;
F7 Eb F Gaug
Because there’s two lonesome people in the whole wide world,
C7 F7 Bb
It’s me and the man and the moon.
Bb
Oh, how I miss his ukulele,
F#
And the way he strums those tunes,
F7 Eb F Gaug
‘Cause there’s two lonesome people in the whole wide world,
C7 F7 Bb
It’s me and the man and the moon.
Gm A7
When the creepy shadows fall,
D7 G7
And the boogie man comes to call,
C7 F F7 F
I need two lovable arms aro-o-und me!
Bb
You know, and if my sweetie keeps me waiting,
F#
You know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna get myself a big balloon, a big one,
F Eb F7 Gaug
And I’ll travel through the air in that big balloon and have a love affair,
C7 F7 Bb7
With the man in the moon!

Written by: LESLIE, EDGAR/MONACO, JAMES V.
Creative Commons license: Public Domain