Act 8: BncheMonday, August 4th, 1980Living room (Night)

  Drunk man (slurring): You know… you… you really oughta smile more. A girl like you always looks better with a pretty smile on her face.

  Woman: And a man like you looks better from behind. How about you give me a spin, so I can see your best angle?

  (The man looks around confused for a moment, before nodding his head. Slowly, he spins in a circle. Causing a few spectators to start chuckling at the odd situation.)

  Drunk man (turning around): Now how about we-

  Woman: Don’t turn around… I said I wanted to see your best angle, remember? Let’s not ruin the illusion yet.

  Drunk man (confused): But… how am I supposed to talk to you then?

  Woman: A man like you should be more than capable of finding a way. I’ve heard that the size of a man’s brain is directly tied to the amount of drool on his chest at any given point. And right now, you look like the smartest man I’ve ever seen.

  (The rest of the room erupts into ughter.)

  Drunk man (slowly): Wait… what are you-

  Confident man: Alright. I’m cutting you off for the night Calvin.

  Calvin: I’m a grown man Marcus you can’t cut me off. Plus, I’ve only had like two beers.

  Marcus: Two beers too many maybe. You may not realize this, but the woman you’re harassing right now is the same one that writes your checks.

  Calvin: Who cares… she’s not my boss right now, she’s a woman. And I’m more than man enough to make her realize that.

  Marcus: If you’re really determined to burn that bridge I won’t stop you, but I don’t think it’s a great idea. Especially with your wife right in front of you.

  (Calvin freezes instantly. Almost sobering up, as he stares towards the other side of the room. Across from him, sits a woman. Patiently waiting for him to notice her. Her lips are tight as she stares at him with an unreadable expression.)

  Calvin (stammering): Deborah. You were here? I… I thought it was you I was talking to I swear.

  (The woman sighs, rolling her eyes at his poorly crafted excuse.)

  Deborah: Well which is it then Calvin? Did you think I wasn’t here, or that it was me you were talking to?

  Calvin: No… I just. How much did you hear?

  (She walks over grabbing him by the shoulder.)

  Deborah: Of what you said? Barely anything. You probably only managed to get out three actual words the whole time. But don’t worry. I made sure to remember all three of them, so we’d have something to talk about at home.

  (Deborah starts dragging her husband towards the door as he stumbles. Both in word, and his steps.)

  Deborah (over her shoulder): That’s for the invite Marcus, but it’s time for me to take this slob home. Just remember to be fair next time. If he gets to drool over a pretty boss of yours, then I want you to invite a man so I can do the same.

  Calvin: Deborah… please…

  (Deborah sms the door behind them. Muffled shouting picks up from the other side of the door, as they make their way towards their car. Marcus, quickly turns to the woman with a nervous smile on his face.)

  Marcus: Sorry about all that Miss Bnche. If I even thought he’d work up the courage to do that I’d never have invited him.

  Bnche: Don’t worry about it. A party where alcohol’s involved is bound to have a few fools running around it.

  Marcus: And you dealt with it well. I’m just surprised. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that vicious in my life before. It’s almost like you were a different person for a bit.

  Bnche: Guess the drinks are getting to me then. Even I’m not immune to a party’s charm it seems.

  (Bnche turns her attention to a young boy, sitting silently in the corner of the room. His knees pulled up into his chest, as he tried his best to blend into the shadows surrounding him.)

  Bnche: I’ve seen that boy out here the st few times you’ve hosted this party, and yet I’ve never heard him once. Always sitting alone in the corner. I’m interested in why a young boy like that’s even at a party like this.

  Marcus: That’s my boy, Alex. He’s not too big on making friends, so I thought I’d let him see what he’s missing out on. You having fun over there boy?

  (The boy doesn’t respond. Not even bothering to look up.)

  Bnche: Seems like he doesn’t want to talk.

  Marcus: Seems like my boy doesn’t want to do anything, but he’s still my pride and joy. I mean, what father wouldn’t be proud to show off a son that hides away in corners, frozen like a damn statue.

  (He emphasizes the st few words. Yelling them loudly, to make sure the boy knows they’re meant for him. A smaller, timid looking woman walks up to Marcus. Softly, putting her hand on his shoulder.)

  Timid Woman (quiet): He’s probably just tired honey. It’s been a long night, and you didn’t let him sleep. How about we just take it easy on him for tonight, and let him go to bed?

  Marcus (shaking his head, angry): There you go again. You’re always too damn easy on him. When I was his age, my father would have never let me look like such a pansy. He would’ve torn me apart if I even looked that soft. Once, he even made me juggle knives to make sure I was ready to handle life’s rough edges. I used to hate him for what he did, but now? I’m starting to realize how much help it truly was.

  Timid (softly, voice shaking): I understand honey… but-

  Marcus (shouting, cutting her off): Enough Caroline. That boy would be wrapped in bnkets all his life if it was up to you. He needs to experience what real life is like, before it’s too te. Life’s a beast, and the only way to live is to walk headfirst into its mouth. It’s our job as parents to toughen him up, and I’m starting to realize I’ve failed as a father…

  (The room falls silent)

  Marcus (softer): Maybe I am rough on that boy, but I only do it because I know what happens if I’m not… life keeps knocking him down, but he’s always had us to pick him back up afterwards. But what happens after that Carol? When we’re gone, this world’s gonna chew up and spit out the pieces. And we won’t be there to put him back together again…

  (Marcus’s fists clench at his side. He looks away from Carol whose eyes are now full of sorrow. Behind him, Bnche stands up, making her way over to Marcus, before pcing a hand on his shoulder. The room is silent. The energy from before sucked out from Marcus’s loud rant. Marcus’s head shoots up, looking around the room as he realizes his mistake. The life of the party lies dead. Strangled by the hands of its host. He looks around desperate for a sign of anything that might ease the tension, before a voice yells from across the room.)

  Young boy’s voice: Worry about yourself old man. You talk about how I’m too soft for my own good, yet only one of us has a prescription for Viagra.

  (The roar of ughter returns, as the party members look towards the boy. Alex stands up from his hiding spot, walking back into the light, with a confident grin on his face. Marcus looks towards him, his face tight.)

  Marcus (tight): I told you boy, those weren’t mine. I picked them up for a friend, but he hasn’t picked them up yet.

  Alex (shaking his head): Don’t worry dad I believe you. I saw it was prescribed to a man named Marcus, but there’s a million people with that name in the world. It’s completely possible that not only is one of them friends with you, but that they also left a half-used bottle open on our counter.

  Marcus: You know that’s not-

  (Marcus stops himself. The room’s alive again. Even his boss, Bnche seems to be ughing for the first time tonight.)

  Older man (ughing): That boy’s special. If you had his sense of humor you’d be selling out every show Marcus.

  Marcus (shaking his head): My seats might never be filled, but they’re never empty either. Your wife always makes sure I’ve got at least one front-row seat filled at every show.

  (The man ughs at his words.)

  Older man: I don’t bme her for that choice. You’ve aged like a work of art, and I’m an old man with a rapidly receding hairline, and expanding stomach. She can stare however much she wants, so long as she keeps her hands to herself.

  Marcus: Speaking of that-

  (Marcus walks over to the older man. Dragging his wife along with him. Alex looks at the group, before starting to walk back to his corner. A gentle hand taps him on the shoulder. He looks back, to see his father’s boss Bnche. Looking at him with a gentle, curious expression.)

  Bnche: Seems like you’re the hero of the day, boy. You saved the party after your old man went ahead and ruined it.

  Alex: I didn’t do it for him. A fun party is easier to deal with than a sad one. The quieter it is, the more people’s eyes look around. Gives them a higher chance of bothering me.

  Bnche: You’re pretty clever for your age aren’t you? Coming up to a solution to a problem many your age couldn’t identify.

  (Bnche leans down towards Alex with a curious look in her eyes.)

  Bnche: How would you like to follow in your father’s footsteps. I’m… curious. How a boy like you will turn out.

  Alex (shaking his head): I’m good. Dad’s job sucks anyways. He’s stuck standing on a stage, telling the same jokes someone else wrote over and over again. The difference between him succeeding and not is how much of a clown he wants to act like.

  (Bnche leans even closer. Making Alex uncomfortable.)

  Bnche: What if you just wrote the jokes instead then? We could always use a fresh hand on the writing staff.

  Alex (eyes narrow): All I did was tell one joke, and now you’re offering me a job?

  Bnche (shaking her head): No. It’s more than just that. I’ve been watching you for quite some time Alex, and I’ve taken interest in you. You seem to be uncaring, yet you’re always observing. You rarely speak, yet are more capable of it than people who never stop. You always tell jokes, and yet your eyes never ugh at their punchlines. Tell me Alex, how does a boy your age possess so many secrets?

  Alex: When you grow up in a comedy club, all you do is hear jokes all day. You learn which ones are funny, and which ones aren’t by the audience’s reactions. But after spending half my life hearing joke after joke, I’ve forgotten what it was that really makes the jokes funny. It’s like… knowing the answer to an equation, but not knowing how you got there.

  Bnche: What a fascinating perspective…

  (She says out loud, to herself. Dwelling on Alex’s answer for a few seconds silently.)

  Bnche: Are you happy with your life Alex? Do you feel like the story you’ve been written into is the wrong genre?

  Alex: What? I don’t even know what you really mean by that, but I guess? I feel like I was always meant to be one of the cool guys in a horror flick, but right now I’m living in a comedy where I’m the punchline.

  (Bnche yet again falls silent. Her eyes studying Alex. Causing him to shift nervously from foot to foot, waiting for her to let him go. But she never does. Finally, the thoughts in her head seem to slow down as she looks down at Alex. A new, foreign look in her eyes now.)

  Bnche: Your dad was right about life being tough, but he was wrong about one thing. You’re not walking into the mouth of a beast. But onto the center of a stage. Where the audience is filled with your friends, loved ones, and anyone else who stuck around. Waiting to watch the show unfold.

  Alex (slowly backing away, ughing nervously): I don’t even know what you’re trying to say really… but even if you were right about life being a stage I doubt anyone would pay for tickets to mine.

  (Bnche ignores him. Closing the gap between the two of them quickly before Alex can react. Cng! Something loud fell onto the floor. But no one in the room besides Alex seems to notice it.)

  Bnche: I’ve spent my whole life buried in books. I craved the excitement I read in them, but the thrill of a word carries far less than the actions it describes. I want to see them, I want to feel them… but that’s not possible. Not yet at least.

  (Bnche grabs Alex by the chin, before he can move any farther. Lifting it, to force him to stare at her. She leans down. Whispering in his ear.)

  (Cnk! Alex winces again at the sharp sound.)

  Bnche (whispering): This scene. It almost makes me wish I had let it py out naturally, instead of tainting it. To see from her eyes what she saw in you… But enough of that, Alex. I think it’s time you woke up now.

  Alex (scared): Woke up? What do you mean-

  (CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!)