…to re-cap, tourist #1 has just thrown a camera and hit a girl in the head…
She is Hispanic, about twelve or thirteen. The wailing grows louder as she approaches the tourists. They freeze in surprise. Now a Hispanic Boy, a couple of years older, enter.
HISPANIC BOY (to tourists): Hey, man, what’d you do to my sister?
TOURIST #2 (to Tourist #1): I told you this was the wrong tour.
A Hispanic Man in his twenties approaches.
HISPANIC MAN #1: Hey, man, what’d you do to my niece?
A Hispanic Man in his forties approaches.
HISPANIC MAN #2: Hey, man, what’d you do to my cousin?
More men add themselves to the group. The crying Girl, now just whimpering, is drawn to a tall cactus and gazes upward into it.
TOURIST #2 (cautiously): We’re sorry. My wife didn’t know anybody was here. Anybody living, that is.
TOURIST #1 (finding safety in map): According to this, this is a cemetery, so we just didn’t know…
HISPANIC BOY (gesturing): Does this look like Forest Lawn to you? This is Pico-Rivera, man, someone sold you people the wrong map!
TOURIST #2 (to himself): I knew it.
TOURIST #1 (indicating): But what about that grave stone?
HISPANIC BOY: What grave stone? I don’t see no stinkin grave stone…Posse, you see a grave stone?
The men ad lib remarks about not seeing any grave stone.
HISPANIC BOY: You stay out here long enough, you see all kinds of things…You start having visions (gesturing to girl)…Like right now, I see you buying some charcoal briquettes at Von’s…Aren’t you having a cook-out tonight? I know that you are because (sniffing) I detect a strong scent of lighter fluid…Anyone here like white meat?
The homeboys nod. He starts throwing lit matches at the tourists’ feet. The homeboys move in, all throwing matches at their feet. The tourists jump. An eerie organ sting is now heard as the girl sinks to her knees in awe. The cactus starts to glow. The boys are now drawn to it too. The tourists slip off as an ethereal female voice now emanates from the vicinity of the glowing cactus. Everybody makes the sign of the cross.
VOICE: Don’t be afraid. I am here to stand and deliver. Chevrolet is not the heartbeat of America. I am. There are some things that must be accomplished before the waning of the baseball moon…Bring me the arm of Fernando Valenzuela. It must be bathed in my healing waters…Do you know that the gringos have stolen his stuff?
There is another organ sting and the cactus stops glowing. The lights go down for a moment, there is thunder and lightning, and the lights come up. The Hispanics are gone. Now, a White Man in his forties – pony tail, corporately hip – reclines seductively across a rock. His assistant Brad, in his twenties, sits on the floor with pad and pen, gazing adoringly at his boss. A Writer, casual, thirties, sits cross-legged, facing Brad.
WHITE MAN (to writer): So, how would you describe the tone of this?
WRITER: “Kill Bill volume 2” meets “Macbeth”.
WHITE MAN: I didn’t know Shakespeare, but he shot his wad with “Julius Caesar”.
BRAD: Exactly.
WHITE MAN: So here’s what I think. You brought me some fabulous characters and a so-so arena, but what I’m not hearing is the 30-60-90 tent pole of story structure…As Jerry Bruckheimer says, I’m the guy at the table who kills ideas that are going nowhere…
(proudly)…I guess I’m kind of a creative exterminator…I know that sounds bad, but it will only help you down the line…As Brad knows, I am a structure man from way back…
Suddenly, the White Man appears to be possessed by another personality. He stands up on the rock, pulls a harmonica from his pocket and starts doing a sloppy blues riff for a few moments, then launches into a dirty blues song, as if he is suddenly channeling James Brown, but the lyrics are unintelligible.
BRAD (to writer, as if this is perfectly normal): Great voice.
He continues singing for a couple of minutes, then starts riffing again on the harmonica.
BRAD (now confidentially): He’s not channeling, it’s Tourette’s Syndrome.
WRITER: I thought that was the other part.
BRAD (flatly): That’s very funny. I wonder if you’re on our dialogue polish list. (Grabbing phone). I’m just going to check with Nancy…It’s busy. (Puts it down). Anyway, his doctor says there’s nothing he can do other than open for Amy Winehouse, so he has decided – and wisely, I think – to continue running this company –
WHITE MAN (resuming his “normal” persona): …So, as I was saying, if you have any other notions, make sure to have your representatives let us know.
BRAD (to writer): Do you need validation? You can get stickers from Natalie. I’ll show you out.
He gets up and so does the Writer. From atop his perch, the White Man extends his hand and he and the Writer shake, he very limply. Brad walks the Writer out.
WRITER (one last try): My work is very dark, actually.
BRAD (cheerfully): We love dark…Call us!
The White Man disappears through a door in the frieze. The lights go down and come up on the plateau. Joey is on the phone.
JOEY: Hello? (Annoyed). Bobby, I told you. I can’t talk on Wednesday morning.
As she listens, Mom droops.
JOEY: That’s when the Survey group calls and asks for our opinion!
At the mention of “Survey group”, Mom recovers, pretending that she is a puppet and pulling herself up with an invisible string.
JOEY: Bye!
He hangs up the phone and Mom inspects it to make sure it’s working properly, then puts it on top of the car.
JOEY: Sorry, Mom. Some people just don’t understand the importance of being polled.
MOM: That’s right. Polls are important. Polls are used to determine important decisions. Polls tell us that…(Now, a total change of character, as a screaming Jesse Jackson)…We are somebody!
Janey and Joey exchange a look and Mom realizes that she just cracked, then quickly regains her composure and moves to check the toast.
MOM: Not a moment too soon!
She starts to wrap the toast in a towel. But the phone rings and Mom leaps to grab it. The toast goes flying.
MOM (mid-air): Children, make more toast. (Into phone). Hello? (Excitedly)…Yes, this is the Doakes Family…the National Focus Group Survey? Well, hello! May I tell you how synchronistic this is? I was just willing you to phone us…Of course I believe in synchronicity. Is that what you’re asking in today’s poll?…You can’t tell me because you need to talk to the head of the household…(Stalling and scanning the horizon). Well, three out of four Doakeses are ready to be asked for your opinions, children, line up for the Survey people…
Janey and Joey line up.
MOM: …and say hello.
Janey and Joey ad lib “hellos” into the phone. It doesn’t help. Mom is almost completely unglued.
MOM: You know, Mr. Doakes will be here any second, as you may recall, he’s got an impeccable record when it comes to being polled, he’s always on hand for your call, in fact, you could say, it’s the reason he gets up in the morning, that goes double for all the members of our family…
Janey and Joey cheerfully nod in agreement.
MOM: Well, couldn’t you call back? Mr. Doakes has so many opinions, and we already know what they are, so of course he’s anxious to share them with you, in fact, the last thing he said to me was, “Honey, you know what really rings my chimes?”…(Reacting to the line going dead). Hello? (Shaking phone). Is anyone there? (Frantically taking phone apart and quickly putting it together again to see if it’s working). Did you kids do something to this phone?
She loses control and throws it. It lands down below.
JANEY: Of course not, Mom.
JOEY: I’m sure they’ll call back.
MOM (attempting to re-perk): Oh, I’m sure you’re right. You’re always right. Except of course when your father –
The lights go down as Mom spots a figure out on the horizon approaching the camp. We hear Mom’s voice as the lights come up below.
MOM: Children, go get that phone.
The phone rings. The Hispanic girl enters, rushing out to answer it. She is followed by the rest of her group.
HISPANIC GIRL: Hello?…No, this is not the Morris household. Yes…(Looking to her group). This is a household…
There are ad lib comments among the group like, “Yeah, a household,” “That’s what we are,” etc.
HISPANIC GIRL (to group): Someone is taking a survey. They want to know if we’ve joined the switch to Tylenol gel caps…(Into the phone). What are gel caps?
A siren is heard, then a door slam and police lights flood the stage.
COP’S VOICE: Drop the phone!
The cop enters.
COP: And assume the position.
The girl drops the phone and the group flees. The cop circles the phone a couple of times, as if he is afraid of it, then cautiously picks it up. This cop is the same character as the man in the power animal workshop who couldn’t find his power animal.
COP (as if this is the most difficult thing he’s ever said in his life): Hi…My name is Mike and I’m addicted to UPS deliveries…
GROUP VOICE (from offstage): Hi, Mike.
Five or six people now enter. Mike drops the phone. One of the group carries a coffee urn, another Styrofoam cups, another a platter of cookies. Some get a cup of coffee and then the group sits down. Mike now takes off his helmet and says something he has obviously been wanting to get off his chest for quite some time.
MIKE: …I know this might sound strange…
GROUP MEMBER #1: Not at all, Mike.
GROUP MEMBER #2: We love you.
GROUP MEMBER #3: You’re doing the best you can.
MIKE: …Well, ever since my wife left me for her best friend, I stay up all night watching the Home Shopping Network. It’s not that I want any of the stuff they’re pushing. What do I need with a bogus gold medallion from some chest of so-called sunken treasure. It’s just that I really like, I suppose you could say I get off on receiving all of these deliveries, with my name on them, that I have to sign for…
GROUP MEMBER #4: That’s not strange at all, Mike. I listen to all-news radio on a ‘round-the-clock basis, and whenever I hear a report of a jackknifed truck, I rush to the scene. I don’t know why, but I simply cannot stay away from a big rig that has pulled an unforeseen U-ey. In fact, that’s why I was late for this meeting.
GROUP MEMBER #5: Why didn’t you call me instead of going to the scene of the accident? You’re supposed to call me, remember? I’m your sponsor.
GROUP MEMBER #4: Because some of us don’t have fancy new car phones in their fancy new Escalade.
MIKE: Yeah, but that’s not the strange part. The strange part is I’m not even home to get the deliveries. I just like getting those yellow notices that tell you to go down to UPS headquarters to pick up your package…You know, “We will hold the package for 72 hours…”
GROUP MEMBER #1: Thank you for sharing, Mike.
GROUP MEMBER #2: That was lovely.
GROUP MEMBER #3: My family is dysfunctional too.
GROUP MEMBER #4: You’ve entered into a three-way co-dependency relationship with the Home Shopping Network and United Parcel Service.
GROUP MEMBER #5: Just keep calling me, Mike, whenever you feel the urge to shop, charge, and wait for the notice, instead of calling that 800 number. No matter what time it is.
MIKE: Thanks.
Now we hear the sound of a doorbell. Mike jumps.
GROUP: Who is it?
MALE VOICE: Special delivery.
Mike starts pacing as if he needs a fix.
GROUP: Break the chain, Mike. Break the chain of addiction.
MIKE (shouting in agony): Come in!
A guy in Federal Express shorts walks in. Mike rushes to him.
FEDERAL EXPRESS GUY: Hi, has anyone seen Tiger Woods? Looks like some more bad news.
MIKE (pleading): No, but I could sign for him. I’d be happy to sign for the delivery. Really happy.
The group converges menacingly on Mike.
GROUP: Break the chain. Break the chain.
A loud thunderclap is heard. The stage goes dark for a few moments, and the cactus glows. The Hispanic Girl prays before it.
CACTUS (ominously): Where is Fernando’s arm? Bring me Fernando’s arm. We must pray for Fernando…
Check back for Part III Friday August 27th.
