3100 Block

The scene opens with Beth (late thirties – early forties) sitting on top of John (in his thirties), a gun to his head. John is conscious, but has been pacified and is lying face down on the floor. Joan (in her early to mid thirties) is on stand-by, ready to come to Beth’s assistance. It’s 3 a.m. They are in the living room in a one-bedroom apartment on the 3100 Block of Lyndale Ave. S., Minneapolis. It’s a bachelor pad, with very little in the way of furnishing. A cheap couch is pushed up against the wall. Other furnishings include a coffee table, a CD rack, and a television. The coffee table is tipped over. There are a few framed vacation photos hanging on the walls, and a three-foot souvenir sword is prominent on a rack above the couch.

Beth: My god, Joan. I can’t believe we’re doing this!

Joan: I know!

Beth: You know what I’m gonna do? When I get home, I am going to sit down and just type. I’m not even going to think. I’m just going to write it all out. You know, screw work, screw actually planning out the narrative arc. I’m just going to write.

Joan: Oh, I can’t wait to read it. Is this something you’re thinking about workshopping next Sunday? Or did you have something else you were planning to bring? I know you said you had a story you were working on.

Beth: God, I don’t know. We’ll see. I mean, who knows what could come of this? Maybe I’ll write a whole novel tonight. I feel like I could right now. I could write it straight through, with all this energy coursing through me. Isn’t this what they say menopause is supposed to feel like?

Joan: Beth, Beth. Watch it. He’s moving a little.

Beth (returns focus to John): Right.

Joan: Where do you want to start, then? An overview? Want me to look through all the rooms while you sit there? I could sort of summarize what’s in each room and we could go from there?

Beth: Umm..No..We should really just start in one room, see where that goes, and then move on to the next. It should follow some sort of logical sequence. I mean, you don’t just walk into someone’s house and peek into every single room before deciding where you want to sit and have coffee. People don’t do that. They just walk in and sit someplace.

Joan: Okay, well it’s up to you. I mean, under normal circumstances, you’re right. People don’t really do that. I just thought that a room-by-room summary might tell us a little bit about how it all fits together.

John (very softly): Please…

Beth (ignores John): Jesus, Joan. We’re here to rob the place, not critique it! It’s not like we’ve got all night to go through this.

Joan: Yeah, but if you don’t have a good structure, it doesn’t matter how well done the rest of it is.

John: My wallet’s in my back pocket…there’s a few things in the bedroom – electronics, mostly.

Beth: Joan, can you get the wallet?

Joan: Sure (with some difficulty, manages to wiggle wallet out).

Beth: Well?

John: There’s about fifty dollars in there, take it.

Joan: Okay, hold on. Here’s his driver’s license. John Eric Granger, born 1970.

Beth: Let me see the picture. (Joan holds license out for her). Blue eyes? Funny, I didn’t think they were. (To John) All right, listen to me. I’m going to stand up now and I’m going to keep this gun pointed at your head. What I need for you to do is roll over onto your back. Do you think you can do that?

John: Yeah. Just don’t shoot me.

Beth: Ok. I’m getting up and when I say ‘go,” you roll over and keep your arms flat against your body, ok? If you look like you’re making some kind of move, you’re going to get shot.

John: ok. I won’t. I’ll just roll over. I won’t do anything else.

Joan: Funny.

Beth: What’s funny?

Joan: Oh, it’s just that that’s exactly what your problem is. No offense – I’ve heard you say it too - your characters don’t really ever do anything.

Beth: (To John) Ok, Go. Roll over.


Both Beth and Joan are silent as John rolls over.

Beth: (To Joan) Even that last piece? The one about the Rastafarian?

Joan: Well, that one wasn’t too bad, but, well yeah – he did come off as a little passive sometimes.

Beth: hmm. (stares intently into John’s face) German or Scandinavian, maybe. Thirty-five, huh? Looks like he’s had a couple of tough years. Teeth..he’s a smoker. No ashtrays around here? Maybe quit a little while ago?

John: I..I quit about two months ago.

Joan: Good for you. I’m still trying.

Beth: Squareish jaw, veins in his neck pop out…good looking in kind of a run down way.

Joan: I think if you backed off a little bit on the description, you wouldn’t have as much of a problem.

Beth: Yeah? You think that’s it?

Joan: Sure, that’s what slows the pacing down.

Beth: Yeah.. I guess you’re right.

Joan: It’s good, though.

Beth: Well, let’s keep it moving. (Leans over John) How’re you doing down there?

John: I’m…are you going to..hurt me? What are you..?

Beth: Are you frightened? What are you feeling right now?

John: Scared. Confused. I don’t know…please.. just take anything you want. I don’t care. I’ve got two kids, coming over tomorrow. Please, just..

Beth: That’s it?

John, (more bravely): What are you here for? What are you going to do to me?

Beth, (deadpan): We’ve been sent here to kill you, John. The microchip. Where is the microchip?

John: What? Microchip?

Joan: Oh, quit teasing him, Beth. (Beth laughs, To John) Don’t take her seriously. (To Beth) Look at this sword. Don’t you think this would be interesting? There’s a lot of nice detail.

Beth: God, no. Cliché. Sword fighting warrior, on quest to save father/lover/brother/whatever. Been done a million times.

Joan takes the sword down from the wall and removes the sheath. She takes a playful stance, wielding the sword in her right hand as if poised to attack.

Joan: Come on, Beth. Play with me. (Affects a pose) My name eez Enigo Montoyo. You keeled my father. Preepare to die.

Joan lashes the sword around a few times, then deliberately brings the point to rest on Beth’s heart.

Beth: Joan. Quit. I’m trying to be serious here. Here, you take the gun and I’ll go get the stuff. I’ve got a better idea of what I want anyways.

Joan takes the gun, but continues to play with the sword. The gun is hanging almost limply in her hand. Beth stuffs the wallet into a tote bag that has been lying on the floor. She walks briskly around the apartment, inserting various items into the bag. The items are of no particular monetary value – merely things that catch her interest

Beth: Joan, I think this is really working for me. I think this is what’s going to get me out of this rut. Get the adrenaline going, the creativity.

God, an embalmed fish. I’ve got to include that. Picture of a girlfriend, sister maybe? Let’s look at the C.D.s… Paper Lace, Led Zeppelin, Phish….Whitney Houston? That’s outa left field. Ha… Joan did you..

John leaps up from the floor and manages to wrestle the gun out of Joan’s hand. Joan struggles with him, dropping the sword to the ground. Beth drops her bag and tries to get at John from behind. She bites his hand, causing the gun to fly underneath the couch. John breaks free of both of them, makes a grab for the sword and, elbowing Joan so that she falls heavily to the floor, takes hold of it. He begins to slash at the two horrified women.

Two of Beth’s fingers drop to the ground. They all pause to look. Beth screams.

Joan and Beth struggle to get away from his lashes and out the door. They are bleeding and frantic.

Beth (offstage): MY FINGERS! MY FINGERS! THEY’RE GONE! What am I going to DOOOOO? Joan, it's your goddamn lack of focus! You're all over the place.

John (hurries to lock door, slows to look at the fingers lying on the floor. Grins, suddenly): My God! The adrenaline! I’ve never felt so alive!

John twirls around and brandishes his sword in some classic, swashbuckling pose.

Black Out.