The Devil and Tom Jones Scene 3

Scene 1

Scene 2

SCENE 3

Enter Suit wearing a dark suit and glasses, carrying a briefcase. He sits down next to the writer guy at the bar. He orders a blended scotch and examines the writer guy before speaking.

Suit: The camel is spitting.

Marvin: Excuse me?

Suit: (looks around then leans in closer) The camel is spitting.

Marvin: (matter of fact. More of a statement than a question.) Huh.

Suit: Excuse me?

Marvin: Does it know?

Suit: Know what?

Marvin: That it’s spitting.

Suit: I would assume so. Why would it spit without being aware of it?

Marvin: That’s what I’m saying! Why, indeed!

Suit: I’m sorry. I don’t follow.

Marvin: That’s cuz you’re a leader man! A leader! The big question is, are you a leader for Truth and Justice-or for the other stuff?

Suit: Which is?

Marvin: Deception and Disney.

Suit: Ah.

Marvin: Excuse me?

Suit: I’ve obviously run into the wrong gent. I’ll be on my way. Pardon.

Marvin: You can pardon me all you want, pal! But the mouse! He won’t be pardoned.

Fade out on him and back up on Sigmund and Missy.

Missy: It’s not that it’s nothing. It’s obviously something.

Sigmund: What something is it? (He picks up his drink and swirls the ice around in the glass) An…unreal something?

Missy: It can’t be a completely unreal something. We’re obviously here. I can plainly utilize my senses to construct my surroundings.

Sigmund: Mmhm. But?

Missy: But there is a detachment to it all. Like I’m watching a movie or something.

Sigmund: (Sets glass down) Ha! Exactly what I’m saying. It’s real, but in that fake Hollywood sense.

Missy: Right. So what then?

Sigmund: See, the trick is to take it at face value. It seems quasi-real, like some big studio blockbuster production complete with amazing special effects. That’s how you’re supposed to take it, because it is a big studio production…a divine one. And when the curtain falls or the credits roll, what are you left with? A bunch of blind fools milling around in the dark trying to find the doorway back outside. That is what life really is.

Missy: You’re saying life is a bunch of people caught up in some movie that God directed? And that we all end up stumbling around in a dark room, bumping into each other without ever really realizing it, in some half desperate attempt to reconnect with a light outside we can vaguely remember?

Sigmund: That’s precisely what I mean.

Missy: So what’s the point then?

Sigmund: Of what?

Missy: Life.

Sigmund: (Sighs and picks up his drink and swirls the ice around in the glass. Will the unwashed masses ever learn?) Life isn’t pointed. It’s more rounded. Circular. Cyclical. Points denote linear natures. A beginning and an end…or something to hurt someone with. But life doesn’t end…it just progresses.

Missy: I need to pee.

She exits and Suit sneaks over all covertly and sits across from Sigmund.

Suit: The camel is spitting.

Sigmund: Of course it is. (Notices Suit’s drink) Is that a scotch?

Suit: Yes, why?

Sigmund: Because I’ve been dryer than a dehydrated camel for quite a spell now and could really do with another drink. Unfortunately, the waitress is being chatted up by that inept fellow who has her cornered at the bar. So, what I’m saying is: I’ll give you 5 bucks for yours. (he reaches for his wallet and then stops) By the by, is that a blended or single malt?

Suit: Blended.

Sigmund: Savage bastard. I’ll thank you to leave my table now.

Suit exits. Fade back up on Marvin.

Marvin: So you sit and sit and sit and wait and wait and wait like this disconnected spirit who can’t let go of one place so it can move on to another, higher, one. A place that is most likely newer and more exciting than anything you’ve ever imagined or experienced before. But you just CAN’T LET GO! Nietzsche said that when virtue sleeps it gets up more refreshed. I wonder if that works for inspiration as well…

Fade out on him and up on Devil and Second.

Devil: Look. Honestly-

Second: Yeah, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.

Devil: What?

Second: That honesty business. Honestly I’m not sure I like it.

Devil: Like what?

Second: Being “Second.” I mean really, what kind of name is “Second.”

Devil: It’s a lovely name.

Second: It’s bullshit. You’re just saying that.

Devil: That’s not true! Those are words that cut deep.

Second: I thought we were being honest.

Devil: We were? I thought we were talking about you being Second.

Second: Jackass! How dare you call me that!

Devil: What the hell are you talking about? It’s your name.

Second: It’s a symbol of oppression and I reject it. Do you hear that? I REJECT YOUR OPPRESSION! (beat as second collects herself) From now on call me Marvelous Machismo, that’ll throw ‘em off.

Devil: No, that sounds too much like a sandwich with cheese and mayonnaise.

Second: You’re absolutely right. (thinks) Biscuit!

Devil: Biscuit?

Second: Biscuit.

Devil: Why Biscuit?

Second: It’s neutral. Doesn’t set something apart from another thing and compare them. It just tastes good with jelly.

Devil: So, that’s all you want? Is to taste good with jelly? That’s all the ambition you have?

Second: I could have less…

Devil: True, true, you very well could. Biscuit huh?

Second: Yes.

Devil: Alright.(Turns toward audience) Hi. Can I get everyone’s attention please! Yeah, um, Second is hereby to be referred to as Biscuit from now until forevermore, amen. Thank you and go about your business.

Biscuit: Wow! That feels so much better. I feel like a new person, like-

Devil: A delicious, soft, flaky pastry that simply melts in ones mouth when mixed with just the right amount of butter and blackberry jam?

Biscuit: (suspiciously) You want to eat me don’t you?

Devil: Maybe just a little.

Biscuit: Well forget it. You can’t.

Devil: And why not?

Biscuit: Because being eaten is a tool the oppressors use. They eat the weak to become stronger. I REJECT YOUR CANNIBALISTIC AND OPPRESSIVE TENDENCIES!

Devil: You really are taking the fun out of this.

Biscuit: Out of what?

Devil: Out of the whole honesty thing. I mean, what use is honesty if we can’t use it to our advantage later?

Biscuit: That’s a bit selfish don’t you think?

Devil: Just being honest.

Biscuit: Is that so? I think I might have liked you better if you lied all the time. At least then it’d be weakly entertaining and not so—

Devil: honest?

Biscuit: I was gonna say asinine but it’s whatever.

Devil: Owch. That hurts.

Biscuit: What’s wrong? Did you fall off a cliff?

Devil: No, no. Nothing like that. But, are you always so honest?

Biscuit: Yeah, it kinda sucks. Doesn’t have near the charm I thought it would.

Devil: I still think you’re jealous.

Biscuit: Of what?

Devil: Because I’m El Numero Uno. Light It Up Lou. And you…you’re Biscuit.

Biscuit: Bullshit. What’s so great about being first? You had to do all that work to get to be First and then what happens? You have to spend the rest of your time being paranoid that someone else will become First and you will gasp become second, or even third. Me? I’m just Biscuit. All I have to worry about is the proper consistency of jam. My life is infinitely better than yours.

Devil: You just keep telling yourself that, dough baby.

Biscuit: See what being first does? Name calling, how low is that? But I must remind myself that you can’t help it. You’re first and being first means you are the oppressor.

Devil: You are an infuriating little pastry.

Biscuit: Well you are a pompous concept.

Devil: Honestly?

Biscuit: Honestly.

Marvin is simply sitting patiently, he doesn’t look at his watch but observes the people passing with a disinterested curiosity. Biscuit approaches his side of the bar and is talking with him as she attempts to get the bartender’s attention.

Biscuit: What are you doing?

Marvin: Waiting for someone.

Biscuit: Who?

Marvin: Not sure. I just figured that I’d know ‘er when I saw ‘er. (beat) Do you walk up to people you’ve never met and harass them often?

Biscuit: No, I don’t do this often. The only time I do this is when I feel oddly compelled to do things against my nature. Sometimes I think my life is scripted. (beat) You’ve got to be fucking with me, though.

Marvin: (In all seriousness) Why would I do that?

Biscuit: Because, do you honestly expect people to believe that you are sitting here patiently waiting for a woman whom you’ve never seen or met that may or may not show up?

Marvin: Hm. I guess I’ve never thought about the effect my sitting would have on others. And I haven’t even figured in the dramatic life changes that can come from seeing a lone man sitting on a barstool and the ultimately tragic consequences it could cause to the innocent passerby. (beat) O.K. I’ve thought about it. And I’ve decided that it doesn’t matter.

Biscuit: It doesn’t matter?

Marvin: Well, maybe its not that it doesn’t matter so much as I just don’t care.

Biscuit: How could you not care about something like that?

Marvin: It’s amazingly easy. (Whispers) I’m doing it right now.

Biscuit: Don’t you think that’s a bit self absorbed of you?

Marvin: Oh, now that stings. Stings bad, worst than bees even.

Biscuit: It should. Being selfish is the problem with the male gender. A woman’s needs always come second to your own. All guys ever think about is sex, beer and football.

Marvin: Don’t forget NASCAR. Real men dig motor oil. And just because I don’t care about the effect my sitting has on the laity doesn’t necessarily mean I don’t care about people, especially women, on other, more intimate levels. Your overgeneralization is not only demeaning but condescending as well. Shame on you. You have become what you hate so much.

Biscuit: What’s that exactly?

Marvin: Male-minded. (beat) I gotta go. That looks like the woman I’m here to meet.

Biscuit: How do you know?

Marvin: Maybe I know because for a instant our eyes met and exchanged a thousand love stories and tasted the idea of honey-dipped fantasies…then again, she could just have a nice ass. (Shrugs) Either way, I’m out. Good talking. (Exits as if trying to catch up with the next true love of his lifetime).

Biscuit: Yeah, Good talking…

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About Universal Shift

I am the Sonata Unusual. I coat myself with some obtuse angle too far below zero to become any warmer. I create motivation, activate schemas, moisten gardens with scents of natural honeydew. Construct this meaning, you sleepy flock. Silence your singing—despairing contortions out of tune. Shatter the brittle butterfly glass with your hideous wailing. I am born of my god’s imagination. When I die I shall meet him. For there are many things to discuss over tea…or scotch.

Posted on February 26, 2012, in Author, Fiction, Philosophy, Religion and Spirituality, Spirituality, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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