I don't often write things in script form, but since a lot of my scenes are heavy on dialogue, it's nice to not have to worry about narrative sometimes. I started this about a year ago, and only just got around to posting it. I *heart* Dei and Lyra in all their dysfunctional glory.
-----------------
(The bar appears respectable, if somewhat run down at first glance; the clientele is mostly made up of older, working class men and aging, dried up intellectuals. Upon closer inspection, beneath the layers of dust and grime, the furniture and tables are all fairly new, the bar is stocked with a variety of expensive liquors, and the small stage a the back is set up with state of the art and high quality equipment. Tonight's act has just finished her set, and is sitting at the bar with Dei, who has been somewhat unsuccessfully trying to hit on her since she first started singing.)
Dei
I am an overused cliche, that's what I am!
Lyra
You're drunk, that's what you are.
Dei
Precisely! I'm a spoiled intellectual, an exceedingly attractive, alcoholic rich boy with nothing to live for.
Lyra
Are you really?
Dei
And you- you're the beautiful, talented, razor-witted down-on-her-luck woman who's going to redeem me and make my life worth living.
Lyra
Funny, I don't think that's in my script.
Dei
It's perfect- we even met at a bar, where I noticed your obviously underappreciated talents because they stirred me out of my drunken stupor. And I bought you a drink-
Lyra
You haven't actually done that yet.
Dei
Bartender! -And you first felt scorn for my dissolute state, but then you decided that there might be a real person beneath the crumbled bits of bar peanuts and the haze of alcohol and decided to stick around and listen to my sad, woeful tale.
Lyra
Right. How sad and woeful is it?
Dei
Oh, very. Tragic, even.
Lyra
Tragic. Right.
Dei
No, really. This is the stuff Greek plays are made of.
Lyra
What, daddy didn't buy you a pony when you were seven?
*pause. they stare at each other.*
Right, that was uncalled for. How rich did you say you were?
Dei *pointing*
Six of those drinks on the menu? Named after me.
Lyra
That doesn't make you rich, that makes you an alcoholic, and we've already established that.
Dei
That piano, that sound equipment, those bottles of alcohol, all of the new furnishings, not that you can tell they're new because somebody refuses to clean properly. My donations to a place that's kept me from going home for years.
Lyra
The Steinway? You bought the Steinway?
Dei
Your voice does it credit. *he raises his glass*
Lyra
Flattery will get you nowhere.
Dei
You should see half the places I've been. But flattery nothing, it's true.
Lyra
Okay, so you're richer than God, and you spend your days in a hole in the wall getting smashed off your ass; I don't see what that has to do with me.
Dei
Everything! You need money to get your career off the ground- money, or connections. I have both. I'll be your producer or your manager, or whatever the word is, and we'll go on the road together. Or we can hire a manager and I'll just be your piano player.
Lyra
You can play?
Dei
Can I play, she asks? Can I play? Joe, tell this woman I can play.
Malcolm
He beats me at chess every time. And my name ain't Joe.
Dei
You have a lousy sense of strategy. I'm talking about the piano, Joe. The piano.
Malcolm
Oh, that. Yeah, he can play.
Lyra
Prove it.
Dei
*cracks knuckles* Sure. Any requests?
Lyra
Oh, I don't know, surprise me.
Dei
*plays a few arpeggios, and a few chords; pulls down the microphone* Hey there, everyone, Miss Lyra's done for the night, so you're stuck with me again.
Lyra
Again?
Malcolm
Yeah, ever since he got the piano, he plays it like every other night. It was his idea we start takin' in music acts, 'cuz he got tired of listenin' to himself sing. Everybody else was too drunk to care.
Lyra
He sings, too?
Malcolm
Yeah, sounds kinda like whatsisname, the blind guy.
Lyra
Stevie Wonder?
Mal
No, not him, the other one.
Lyra
Ray Charles?
Mal
Nah, the other guy, the tenor.
Lyra
Andrea Bocelli?
J
Damned if I know. I look like a musician to you? He's good, though. Does a killer Billy Ray Cyrus impression.
Dei
*speaking into the mic* I do Billy Joel, too, but only when I'm drunk! *he winks at someone in the audience* Right-o, everybody, this's one of my favorites, but I've refrained from playing it for you in the past since it really is that cliché. But you know what? I like Leonard Cohen. Fun times, and all that shit.
*the arpeggios get more organized, and a fairly familiar tune sounds*
Dei
*singing*
Put on my blue suede shoes and I
boarded the plane
touched down in the land of the
Delta blues, in the middle of the pouring rain...
Malcolm
Aw, god, I love this song!
Lyra
He's not a tenor. At all.
Dei
*singing*
Then I was walking in Memphis, walking with my feet
ten feet off of Beale...
Lyra
But damn, does that piano sound good.
Dei *singing*
And Reverend Green, be glad to see you,
When you haven't got a prayer...
Lyra
And so does he. *knocks back her drink*
Dei *singing*
Put on my blue suede shoes...in the middle of the pouring rain...
Lyra
Give me another, would you?
Malcolm
Sure. He's something, ain't he? Still beats me at chess, too.
Lyra
He's a shiftless alcoholic, and he still hasn't proven anything. That's an easy song.
Dei *smiling*
And now for a purely instrumental interlude...*plays Flight of the Bumblebee* Just for you, Miss Lyra. I always liked this song, you know. Good for those long, sleepless nights when the voices in your head just won't shut up...
Lyra *shouting across the bar*
Alright, I get the point. You can buy me another drink.
*random bar flies hoot; she glares*
Dei
Thank you, ladies and gents, but that's all you're getting from me tonight. I'm letting you off easy. *shakes hands with a couple at one of the tables on his way back to the bar*
Lyra
Okay, so you're not bad. But you're still crazy, and I don't see why I should trust you, much less let you play piano for me.
Dei
You've got talent, and I used to have talent. I don't want to see yours go to waste- what do you do for a living, wait tables? Take phone calls? You should be able to sing. I can make that possible for you. I wouldn't really end up playing for you, except maybe at gigs like this. Like you said, I'm not bad. But with proper backup and mixing, and a real recording studio- you'd be amazing.
Lyra
You want me to go corporate? Didn't my songs scream "bleeding heart liberal anti-capitalist hippie" loud enough for you?
Dei
Actually, they screamed, "Notice me, I have talent and ambition, and fuck you if you're not going to listen." Trust me on this, I'm a linguistic expert when it comes to pianos. I want you to meet with Opal Karolus tomorrow afternoon. Three thirty good for you?
Lyra
Karolus? The cello player?
Dei
Wife of Tyler Karolus, owner of Karolus Incorporated, the guy who owns the ground you walk on and the shirt on your back. She's CEO of Firestar Records, particularly the branch for bleeding heart liberal anti-capitalist hippies like you, known as Melisma Enterprise. You know, the non-profit one Opal runs out of pocket for new artists like yourself. But yeah, she plays cello, too.
Lyra
I think you were less creepier when you were drunk and trying to marry me.
Dei
This is all part of my nefarious plot, don't worry. Once you've got a record out, you'll go platinum in about a year, and then the media will ask you the secret of your success, and you'll have to say it was me, and then we'll be married. Because you'll have given me a reason to live again, and I'll have given you a career.
Lyra
Way less creepy when you're drunk. How am I supposed to meet with Opal Karolus tomorrow afternoon?
Dei
One moment, please. *pulls out cellphone, hits speed dial* Mornin' beautiful, it's me. Yeah, I'm not dead, tell Ty before he has a heart attack. Christ! No... no...yes, I have been drinking, no, I'm not prank calling you- Opal! ...Okay, can you be in the Chicago office tomorrow by three thirty? ...Oh. *looks up at Lyra* Actually, is noon better for you? It's better for her-
Lyra
Noon is fine.
Dei
Excellent. Yeah, she's great. No, I haven't slept with her. She thinks I'm a loser. ...Okay, see if I send either of you Christmas gifts this year. Christ! And don't wake up Tyler, I'm not talking to him. I'm talking to you, you're the one with the record label. ...Melisma. Definitely Melisma. Maybe Angel Dust after she goes platinum, but Melisma to start out. I told you, I'll cut a record with you when Tyler does. We should do a threesome. ...Bitch. Yeah, yeah. ...I know, quit making me feel guilty. 'Kay. Love you too. Bye. *shuts phone*
Lyra
Now what, I'm supposed to sleep with you out of gratitude?
Dei
Miss Lyra, I know who and what is in my league and who isn't. At the moment, you aren't, and I fully understand and accept that. *sighs, raises glass, takes a drink* When I was in my prime...but never mind. I promise you, if you go to that meeting tomorrow, you won't be disappointed.
Lyra
Okay. Clearly I'm crazy, since you could have just been talking to anyone on that phone, and I have no guarantee that there's actually a meeting with Opal Karolus waiting for me at Firestar Records tomorrow. But I'll go, since you did serenade me with Leonard Cohen, and since that Steinway was a pleasure to play on.
Dei
Thank you. You won't regret this, I promise you. Can I buy you another drink?
Lyra
*laughing* No, I think six is well past my limit. I need to get sleep if I'm going to face the music industry tomorrow.
Dei
I'll take you home, then. It's the least I can do for getting you drunk.
Lyra
I can take a cab just fine, thanks.
Dei
No problem, wait right here.
Lyra
I said-damn.
Mal
Creepy bastard, ain't he? Does that kind of thing all the time- he gets an idea in his head, he don't let go 'til it's gone.
Lyra
Are you trying to make me feel better about this or not?
Mal
Ah, you don't got nothin' to worry about. He wouldn't hurt a fly, unless it tried to bite him. You don't bite him, he don't bite back.
Lyra
Your powers of metaphor leave something to be desired, Mr. Bartender.
Mal
Powers of what? What's a metaphor?
Dei
You pick your teeth with it, I think. Put Miss Lyra's drinks on my tab, Joe. Miss Lyra, your cab awaits.
Malcolm
(as they leave) My name ain't Joe!
Lyra
*stopping at cab door* Hey, thanks- you never did get a chance to tell that tragic tale of yours.
Dei
Nah, it's not that tragic. I'll tell you some other time.
Lyra
*smiles* I'd like that, I think.
Dei
*grinning* I'm glad. Good luck with your meeting tomorrow. *helps her into cab*
Lyra
Yeah, thanks. Hey- *leans out the window, grabs his hand* Here's my number. *scribbles it on his hand* Don't get too many ideas, okay? I might just want you to play backup for me.
Dei
Of course. *takes a card out of his jacket* And if you ever need anything- anything at all, ever- you can find me at that address, or with that number. I mean it. If you need a babysitter in twenty years, drop me a line. Or...if you just want to talk, I'll be there.
Lyra
Th-thanks. *reads card; her eyes widen*
Dei
*smiling* No, thank you. *steps back, bowing slightly as cab pulls away*
(He watches the cab drive off, still grinning, then walks down the street, whistling)
D
*singing* Tell me, are you a Christian child, and I said, "Ma'am, I am tonight!"
Walking in Memphis...
-----------------------
Oh, Dei. Such a spaz. *luffs the spaz* Of course, when Lyra does go platinum and people ask her the secret to her success, she doesn't even mention Dei. He gets over it, eventually. (No he doesn't.)
No comments:
Post a Comment