Skip to content

Diary of a Rejected Married Woman

Diary of a Rejected Married Woman

by Diana Easter

Diary of a Rejected Married Woman


(Lights up on opening scene: Girl in front of mirror in bathroom—she is gorgeous, perfect. She brushes her hair and applies makeup. Offstage, a woman’s voice reads a note out loud while the written note appears on screen, large. Viennese Waltz routine notes appear on screen next, followed by Ron Montez Cha Cha choreography notes.)

WOMAN (Offstage):       4-8-15

When is enough enough?

What am I doing that is difficult to deal with? Tidiness, activeness…sadness.

I am always sad.

Feeling alone, worthless, unneeded, unloved.

No respect.


A mom, a nag, a babysitter, a maid, a receptionist, a buffoon, pushover…

Nowhere to go.

A fool.

I am also an optimist, free, loving, smart, funny, resourceful, caring, motherly, and responsible.

Back to work.


(Girl in front of the mirror moves to the edge of a massive staircase made of white wood—an enlarged barn feel. She is looking out in the distance as lighting reveals a male figure sitting on a couch with his back to her and the audience while watching a giant TV screen with static. We cannot see what the male figure looks like. Girl on stairs looks like she wants to talk to him, looking at him longingly. Male figure does not move at all during the scene. Offstage, a woman’s voice reads a poem.)

WOMAN (Offstage):       11-21-14. Uneasy. He was quiet all weekend. Doesn’t say much. No conversation. I feel like if I don’t do the talking, nothing is said. When I’m quiet, he thinks something is wrong. I’m empty—run-out. If no one is conversing with me, there is no conversation. Quiet during the game, dinner, drinks…dancing. Gets self-conscious when I want him to fuck me more.

(light fading around girl to only a soft light)

It’s not me. It’s not my fault.

It’s not my fault he is that way.


(Lights out. Screen shows “Both Reached for the Gun” choreography notes. Lights up to reveal another girl on stairs. She is taking off her robe to reveal black fishnets and black lingerie.)

GIRL (loud,  fierce):         No more eggshells. Be you! If he doesn’t handle it well, that is his problem. The

moon is out. I am breathing, healthy, and strong. I am great! I love me! I love

puppies and pie but not puppy pie! That’s just messed up.

(lights out with exit.)


(New set: Danika in robe sitting on chair. Down light and side light.)

MAN (Offstage):              Leave the shower on for me. Come sit by me. Put your arms around me.                                                                Talk to me.

DANIKA:                              About what?

MAN (Offstage):              That’s me flirting. You look good in that. Bring your fine self over next to me.

DANIKA (to audience):   I am eating soup during all of this.

(Danika exits)

 (Screen lights up with next poem. It is read out loud by a female voice offstage. The screen then shows love notes followed by Rumba choreography notes.)

WOMAN (Offstage):       2-16-15. Smile.

                                                The light is bright.

                                                Shining bright.

                                                Love to smile.

He thinks a lot of things that are not true. Wants them to be justified. I smile. He thinks I’m being a smartass. Break the cycle. Smile now. Smile always.

No more tears.


(“Ballroom Blitz” by The Sweet is played at start of scene. Danika is pacing across the blank stage back and forth in dance practice attire, reciting the following poem out loud while the accompanying written note appears quickly on screen, followed by a scene of eight dancers rehearsing.)

DANIKA:                              I feel hurt. Angry. Insulted. Disrespected. I want to cry. When I am choreographing off the fly for the dance company, it is distracting to have someone cutting up and goofing off.

It is distracting because I wouldn’t do that. No one is like you. Don’t expect people to be like you. You don’t like the routine. You are angry. It is my feelings. Today, what he did affected me.

(Another beautiful woman appears on opposite downstage. She is the offstage voice we have heard before. She is looking at a dark male figure too hard to see upstage of her. Audience cannot make out any features of the male figure. She recites the next poem out loud as it is projected on the screen, slowly scrolling down.)

WOMAN:                            Asking contantly if something is wrong. Tells me how self-conscious he is. Quiet. Uneasy looks. Tells me negativity all day. I block it out all day. Went to bed smiling. Stayed smiling all day. Listened to all his concerns, worries, and doubts all day and night. Just listened. Did not let it affect me.

(Danika sits in front of a bathroom mirror. She is a natural beauty. She looks at herself in the mirror as another note is read offstage by a woman and is projected on screen, follwed by Chicago notes.)

WOMAN (Offstage):       11-30-14. Checking out a waitress—multiple times. Why does it bug me? It’s my birthday dinner. Be interested in me on my dinner! Can’t I be your interest?

I have been very self-conscious these past two days…lonely…unadmired (what have I done that’s admirable?)…Depressed.

It was innocent—a smile, a body check, an interest, more than once. Once I pulled back he went into attention overdrive. Wasn’t that way before. Was it guilt or a reminder? Probably guilt…

“Is this all in my head?” he asks. He always assumes it’s me, but it is not always in my head. Why would I be jealous? I like other people too. It’s because he gives me shit for the people I like. It isn’t fair. We have different tastes. If I take him out, it’s all about him. If he takes me out, he lets me think it’s about me, but it’s about him.

(Lights up to reveal a large champagne glass filled with liquid. In the champage glass, a woman wearing a nude/champagne leotard covered in rhinestones does a water dance to “Nowadays” from Chicago. She is splashing water everywhere, spinning, kicking her legs, kneeling, arms up and out, and so forth. It is a fun, sexy, playful dance. A fountain from above pours water down on her as she continues her showgirl dance. Side lights on both sides showcase her movements, and the backdrop is a soft red and cream.)


(Danika sits in front of a mirror. Candles are lit in three spots around her. One candle goes out. She stares at it for a minute, then she relights the candle with a small smile. These actions happen slowly throughout this scene. She is in deep thought as a woman’s voice recites the next poem offstage. Tschaikowsky Kavierkonzert No 1 in B Minor, Op. 23 1 Satz plays softly in the background throughout the scene as choreography notes scroll down screen.)

WOMAN (Offstage):       7-13-18

                                                Constant Heartache.

I am ignored. He is passive, jealous, antisocial.

I’m all over him, and he is repulsed every time I touch him. I wrap my arms around him. Giggle sweet flirtations in his ear. You know that move where you talk to someone and get so close you softly press your tits against them? Then laugh and press harder? Like, oops, are those MY tits in a tight, white shirt pressing against you? Clumsy me…Nothing. It didn’t work. I talk all night, but he ignores me.

Constant conversations met with constant silence. I got all dressed up: tight jeans, hair curled, stiletto heels, makeup perfect—all to be ignored and untouched all night. He says he wants weed. I find some. Smoke with my new friends. Now he doesn’t want any. We are at Funkfest with live musicians and some incredibly funky jams, and here he is. Falling asleep in a chair next to me. He is not drunk. He is not high. I don’t understand.

I wake him up and say I am ready to go now. He drives. I tell him what he is doing is breaking my heart. He says I’m dramatic. Ignoring his actions. He doesn’t know why his dates aren’t good enough. Why I take over. I did not take over. He asked me to dinner. We did go for dinner. We ALWAYS go to dinner. I was supposed to go with my friends to Funkfest that evening and they bailed, so I invited him. I did not take over. It sounded fun. I love live music. I love the horn sections in funk music. I invited him to enjoy something I enjoy and was planning on going anyway. I asked many times if he really wanted to go, and he said “Whatever you want.” I asked again because he said it passively. He continued to say “Whatever you want.”

Games. Games are dumb.

Today he brings me flowers at work. Says he is sorry and trying. I’m tired of getting “I’m sorry” roses. Trying. He’s not trying to be this way. His trying is not good enough. It leaves me in tears and emotional stress.

Breaks my heart. No respect. No care. You know I’m upset, and you ask a question that’s gonna put me in a vulnerable position. When I am vulnerable and upset, that’s when he picks on me and fights me because I am weak in those moments when I normally am not.

(Lights dim, then raise again, revealing a woman who is kneeling all alone on the floor crying, wailing with flashing, yellowish-orange lights. She is sobbing loudly, rocking back and forth, arms switching from holding her body to covering her face. As her actions and sobs intensify, now an alarm bell is sounding, coming in and out like a state of emergency ring. The light shifts to a flashing red. The woman cries harder and louder, but her cries are drowned out by the alarm. Suddenly, there is silence. The red lights continue to flash, but there is no alarm. The woman mimes a scream—no sound is heard—silence. Lights out.)

(Lights raise. A woman is sitting in a chair reciting a monologue with a cup of coffee.)

WOMAN:            8-15-18

                                I don’t understand.

I don’t understand this behavior. I get up at 5am because I cannot get comfortable with my arm from the car wreck. It is bruised, sore, swollen, wrapped in a splint, and sleeping is very difficult. He wakes up and asks why I’m leaving the bed. Do I not want to be near him? I say no—not comfortable. I can’t sleep. I’m going to try and sleep on the couch. He follows me into the living room claiming that he needs his phone, and I said “That’s odd.” He then gets into a huge argument with me at 5am about why I’m questioning him and why I made that comment and why am I starting drama at 5am. I do not feel like I’m starting drama. I was merely making a comment about my personal opinion, and I do find something is off. There is nothing more to talk about, really. After about ten minutes I go back to the bedroom and apologize for my comment and say yet again that I meant nothing by it, and I just thought it was odd, and there is nothing more, and I’m so sorry for any weirdness I caused. That was not my intention. And I press his arm trying to make it better. I go take a shower and move on with my day, and he gets up and immediately questions why I don’t go after him sexually. I tell him that I feel the same way, and we both feel lonely and ignored. I tell him that my wrist was hurting. I’m in pain all day, and I just don’t feel very sexually active—it’s distracting. He goes to tell me that there’s always something, and he’s right. There always is, it seems. I’m not sure why, and I tell him I’m sorry. I hope maybe by going to some counseling we can work it out so it won’t be awkward. I also tell him that maybe because I’m a woman the emotional disconnection I feel and the hurt I get often has something to do with it—I’m not sure. I’m not a doctor. He’s on my case yet again. I’m going to go to dance practice. It’s weird. He is being so weird this morning. I guess it’s stress. I don’t know, but I don’t know what to do.


(At the top of the scene, the screen shows pictures of showgirls in full headdresses getting ready, laughing, putting on lipstick, and playing around. Lights go up to reveal three girls sitting at a four-top table. Casey is on the left, Amanda is on the right. Danika is across from Amanda. Casey is in a black, low-cut, long pant romper jumpsuit, and the other two girls are casually sexy in jeans and loose shirts. All three have heavy makeup with false lashes. Casey’s short blonde hair is down, while Amanda and Danika have both sprayed their hair back into tight buns. Soft music is playing in the background. Other tables around the girls are only slightly filled. It is close to closing time at the restaurant bar. Casey is drinking a draft beer. Amanda has a glass of red wine. Danika has a bottle of beer.)

DANIKA:                              God, I feel like such an idiot.

CASEY:                                  What an asshole.

AMANDA:                           You deserve better.

DANIKA:                              I tried so hard.

AMANDA:                           Of course you did.

CASEY:                                  What a cunt.

DANIKA:                              I’m not out of shape. I’m not a frumpy housewife. My ass has its own fan club.

AMANDA:                           Yeah!

CASEY:                                 I’m a member.

DANIKA:                              Marriage counseling, talking, listening, flirting, watching what I say. I don’t know what else I could have done.

AMANDA:                           It’s not your fault.

CASEY:                                  What a cunt.

AMANDA:                           He can’t accept himself.

DANIKA:                              He blames me for everything. His low self-esteem, lack of support…

CASEY:                                  Yeah. It’s your fault he didn’t have any friends, so he went on Tinder to make some.

AMANDA:                           The Craigslist ad was better.

CASEY:                                  Yeah. I’m going to hang out with my Craigslist friends, only I won’t tell you about them, and I want to hang out with them at 1am and 5am.

(All laugh.)

AMANDA:                           I love hanging out with my Craigslist friends.

DANIKA:                              You guys are my Craigslist friends.

(All say “aww,” giggle, then take a drink.)

DANIKA:                              Ugh. It’s so ridiculous to say it out loud. How have I been so blind? It’s happened so many times. It’s so hard to get the proof, and when you have it, he makes it seem like you’re the one who is crazy. It’s all in your head…

CASEY:                                  Gaslighting.

AMANDA:                           It’s what mansplainers do. They blame you. It’s always your fault, never theirs.

DANIKA:                              FUCK!

(Danika drinks.)

(A very attractive, young male waiter comes to the table. He is built, brunette, and has a smile that could kill.)

WAITER:                              May I take your order?

AMANDA:                           You guys want the nachos? It’s on me. I’m starving!

CASEY:                                  Oh my, yes.

DANIKA:                              Fuck, yeah.

AMANDA:                           And a burger.

CASEY:                                  Chicken almond salad.

DANIKA:                              Oh, I almost got that. Wings.

WAITER:                              Spicy?

DANIKA:                              Yes.

WAITER:                              Ranch or bleu cheese?

DANIKA:                              Ranch. Napkins, too, please! (to friends) I’m messy. (laughs)

(Waiter walks offstage. They all watch him leave.)

AMANDA:                           He is so gorgeous.

CASEY:                                  Was anyone else looking at his butt when he left?


DANIKA:                              He is such pretty scenery.

CASEY:                                  What?

DANIKA:                              You know. Something beautiful to be admired from far away.

AMANDA:                           I wonder how many women hit on him every day? (looks around restaurant.)

DANIKA:                              Like looking out the window at a pretty bush or water feature or something. Scenery. Not going to touch it, only admire it.

AMANDA:                           There is so much smoke in here.

DANIKA:                              All these gamblers be like chain-smoking (Makes quick back and forth smoking actions)

CASEY: (Sticks chest out) Alright, now to find someone to buy my food.

(All laugh.)

DANIKA:                              You do look hot in that.

AMANDA:                           I know! I’m dressed ready for bed.

DANIKA:                              After killing my feet last time, all night standing in those heels, I was like, hell no! Sneakers tonight!

(All laugh. Lights down.)

(Lights come up to a semi-crowded nightclub. A woman is seen, all in black with a cigarette in her hand, a glass of red wine on a black stool next to her on a small stage. She reads the next poem, slam-poetry style. Light bongo music is played throughout the scene by a musician sitting next to her. Spotlight is on the woman, but it is not harsh. An audience can be seen mingling at tables and listening. A light haze of smoke lingers in the air.)

WOMAN:                            3-30-18.

                                                Every time.

Every time we go out, you complain. Maybe it’s legit, maybe you should quit, cut the shit, enjoy this bit in time. Walking away, pouting today, tomorrow, always. All the insecurities disappointed, disabling, disgruntled. Bliss is all you ever want, need, crave. Repeated, reset this eternal clock to wind down the seconds, minutes, hours of constant reminders of the sorrow you have for me. Questions, frustration, connotation, cursing, damnation of these false ideas and drowning depressing thoughts you have of me. Calling my behavior out when none is there. Even if I have my wits about, not gonna make a scene or be mean. I’m polite, cordial, and smiling. Not sarcastic, really trying. Trying to see past your pain, enjoying the now and looking forward to a better future and time where you can let the past and present go and be in a positive state of mind, just this time. That would be fine. The bliss I miss instead of this would be fine, fine. The bliss I miss would be fine. This time. Next. The now is for me. I’m free from my hurt past. The now and future is mine. I dread the constant compares and complaints. Communication constraints unhinge my nerves, but I try to stay calm. Sometimes you get your way, and I lose my cool and explode. I really really try not to. You always think I’m out to get you. I’m not. You ask so many questions, and I give so many answers. It’s exhausting. My answers are what you know but want to hear aloud, so your set anger can be justified. That’s sad. I only get angry with you when you are mean and selfish. My feelings are real. My feelings are legitimate. I can feel any way I want. I can interpret anything I want. It’s factual. Listen to yourself. Those are the true feelings.

(Bongos stop suddenly.)

(Audience softly snaps fingers when poem is finished. Lights fade)


(Screen lights up to show seven people laughing and drinking martinis. An old man is laughing with sunglasses on, smoking a cigar in a tuxedo. Everyone is dressed in formal wear. “Viva Las Vegas” by Elvis Presley is playing. Bright lights are flashing. Three drunk people are laughing and falling down. The game of roulette is spinning, and the sounds of the spin and ball rolling can be heard clearly. Danika is petting a white tiger with a jeweled collar. The Elvis song cuts off, as well as the show on screen. The same seven people sit at a large table at a very crowded holiday restaurant. Ensemble is dressed in fine Sunday brunch attire. There is a four-piece jazz band playing music in the background of the restaurant. The five people at the main table look casual, while Danika and Leondro are dressed to the nines. Everyone has brunch and fancy drinks. A little girl is at the table drawing a picture of her dad, Charles, taking a glance at him every now and then. The seven are all laughing and having a good time small-talking with one another.)

DANIKA:                              I think Jesus was a magical hippie.

ADALISIA:                            What do you mean?

DANIKA:                              Well, he was always performing these miracles: water to wine, raising people from the dead, curing disease, blindness…

CASEY:                                  I met this crazy man at the park who told me I was the antichrist.

LEONDRO:                           What?

CASEY:                                  Yeah. He was this bum. Walked up to my daughter and me and asked if we wanted a diet coke, showing us the can. I said “no, thank you, we don’t drink soda.” He smiled and showed me a card with a picture of a KKK guy in full cloak and hood playing a game of chess with Jesus. He said “that’s you,” pointing to the KKK guy. I said “no it’s not.” He said “yes it is.” He said that my daughter wasn’t but I was. I said “no” and left.

DANIKA:                              What made you think of that story when I was talking about Jesus?

CASEY:                                  The guy I was talking to before the bum was blind


DANIKA:                              Anyway—Jesus was a rabbi spreading the good word, not bathing, no possessions, making friends with other hobos…

CHARLES:                            So that makes him a hippie?

DANIKA:                              And the beard. But these miracles—maybe it was science. Hear me out. In the old days, science was unexplainable.

CASEY:                                  It’s a witch!

DANIKA:                              So ignorant individuals accused people of witchcraft—the unexplained.

LEONDRO (flirty):             I’m a witch.

DANIKA:                              These miracles could have been science. Jesus could have been the next                                                                Copernicus, Leonardo da Vinci…

LEONDRO:                          Cher?

DANIKA:                              Yes, Cher. He could have added some sort of scientific concoction, like Everclear, to the water at the loaves and fishes event.

CASEY:                                  I’ve been to a party like that.

DANIKA:                              Exactly. Add a few drops, and BAM! It’s a party! Let’s get fucked up! Little drugs can go a long way.

ADALISIA:                            But what about the visions?

DANIKA:                              What?

ADALISIA:                            What about his holy visions? Like when he went to the desert and was tempted by the devil.

DANIKA:                              Peyote.

(Adalisia rolls her eyes.)

CASEY:                                  Yeah. In my humanities class, we read about how ancient cultures would go to this temple to have “holy visions” where this gas passed through these vents in the architecture causing hallucinations in self-appointed holy leaders.

DANIKA:                              Praise Jesus.

LEONDRO:                          We should all go camping and do some peyote.

ADALISIA:                            Yes.

DANIKA:                              I’m down.

CHARLES:                            Never done it.

DANIKA:                              You should with friends.

CASEY:                                  I thought I was a moose once.

DANIKA:                              Whatever. Now I know you’ve never done it.

OLD MAN:                           Oh, I’ve got some stories I could tell.

DANIKA:                              So, here’s my thought on the healings: medicine. Same as rising from the dead. All these people want him dead. They torture him, nail him to a cross to bleed him out and die. You know the story of Romeo and Juliet? How Juliet drinks this potion from a priest and fake dies for a couple of days? Her body was proclaimed dead. Everyone thought she was dead. But no. So what if the person giving Jesus a drink on the cross had that elixir? He “died,” was buried, and then his grave-robbing friends rescue him the next day.

CASEY:                                  Oh. A conspiracy theory.

DANIKA:                              Magical Jesus (wiggles fingers). He comes back to his friends telling them he has risen, showing them his marks on his hands and proving it was him (shows hands like a magician would: front, back, nothing up my sleeves) and bounces out of town before the soldiers can kill him again.

ADALISIA:                            He would have bled out.

DANIKA:                              Magical Jesus (wiggly fingers). I see you drawing me over there (looks at the little girl at the table who has been shy and quiet the whole time. A grin spreads across the little girl’s face, and she continues to draw.) Shall I pose? (Does three quick poses at the table and laughs.) We’ve got to get going to the ballet. It starts in 20 minutes. I don’t want to be late.

LEONDRO:                          We made friends with the ballet dancers a few weeks ago, and Danika got orchestra tickets from them!

DANIKA:                              They were so hot. Ballet dancers. Mmm! And we are going to be so close we can see their muscle definition.

ADALISIA:                            I want to run home and grab my weed and change.

DANIKA:                              Girl, we don’t have time! The show is in fifteen minutes! You look hot.

LEONDRO:                           I’ll lend you my jacket with that outfit. It will look fierce.

ADALISIA:                            You sure?

DANIKA:                              Yes! He’s right. That jacket will make your outfit pop. But no weed.

(Old man pulls out a big-ass joint and hands it across the table to Danika)

DANIKA:                              Oh my gaw, that’s huge! (laughs) Do you have your card?

(Old man nods)

DANIKA:                              Are you sure?

OLD MAN:                          It’s nothing. Have a great time.

DANIKA:                              That is so sweet. Thank you so much. (Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the little girl’s picture that she had been drawing.) Ah, I see you can see the real me. No fooling you. Smart girl! Don’t ever lose that. I’m going through some tough times right now, and you can see that even with all my laughter, smiles, and charisma (side smile). Smart cookie. Don’t ever lose that ability to read people and see who they really are.

CHARLES:                            She wants you to pose with the picture.

(Little girl tries to pass the drawn picture to Danika)

DANIKA:                              Wait! She has to sign her work first. It’s not your art until you sign it.

(Little girl smiles and signs her picture, then hands it across the table to Danika. Danika makes the same sad face as the picture, holding up the drawing as Charles takes a picture with his phone. Danika hands the drawing back to the smiling little girl.)

DANIKA:                              Oh no! I don’t have any matches. Does anyone have any matches? Or a lighter?

(They all shake their heads)

DANIKA:                              Maybe the bartender has matches. All fancy restaurants have matches.

(Danika goes to the bartender and asks for matches. Leondro and Analisia get up and say their goodbyes. Danika comes back)

DANIKA:                              What kind of fancy restaurant doesn’t have matches?

(Old man hands Danika matches from across the table)

WOMAN (Offstage): Of course he has matches.

(Danika smiles and puts the joint and matches in a small clutch. Lights out. After a short pause, splashing is heard in the darkness. Heavy, worried gasps follow. Low blue lights light up the bottom of a round pool. A naked woman is in the water, frantically searching the side of the pool. She is scared, frantic, awake. She is not sure if she is dreaming or drowning. She finds a light, which lights up more white light around the pool, then a door to the pool opens, and she gasps,  hanging out the side, breathing in relief. Lights out.)


(Lights up to two attractive girls hanging out on a balcony. Both are casual, wearing no makeup. They are natural beauties in short, flowy tops and sunglasses, looking good without trying.)

DANIKA:                              What’s your opinion on old men? Have you dated an older guy?

ADALISIA:                            Charles is old.

DANIKA:                              No, he’s not. He’s late thirties or forties. And he’s a charmer. Very good-looking.

ADALISIA:                            Yeah, he is.

(They both laugh.)

DANIKA:                              I mean someone sixty or older. I have this guy in his sixties, maybe late sixties. He’s a cool guy, but he asked to be my sponsor. Help me out. He wants a girlfriend, someone to travel with and have fun. He’s a cool guy, but it is way too soon for me. And he’s old! I’m not attracted to him. He is nice…but old! I keep picturing old balls. I’ve heard they hang down. And it’s frightening! Eugh…old men. With their big, pregnant bellies in small speedos and their old balls.

ADALISIA:                            (Small laugh) Then don’t fuck him.

DANIKA:                              I won’t! (hits a joint) But I think if I agree to this arrangement, he’ll want to fuck. He hits on me all the time.

ADALISIA:                            Then fuck him.

DANIKA:                              Old balls!

ADALISIA:                            (Laughs) Then don’t!

DANIKA:                              (Passes joint) Maybe I should dangle the carrots? Make myself unavailable just for now while I think things through.

ADALISIA:                            Yeah. Good idea.

(On the screen, a phallic carrot is projected, pointing downward and dangling while the actors on stage make downcast faces of disgust.)

ADALISIA:                            I have this guy (takes a drag off the joint). He helps me out. How do you think I’m going to New York next week?

DANIKA:                              Is he old?

ADALISIA:                            Yeah.

DANIKA:                              Older than Charles?

ADALISIA:                            Yeah.

DANIKA:                              Do you fuck him?

ADALISIA:                            No.

DANIKA:                              Play with his dick in any shape or form?

ADALISIA:                            No.

DANIKA:                              Oh.

ADALISIA:                            Yeah. He gives me money and takes me shopping all the time. That dress I wore last week?

DANIKA:                              Oh my gaw, I loved it.

ADALISIA:                            He bought me that. Yeah, he loves to take me shopping.

DANIKA:                              And you don’t have to fuck him?

ADALISIA:                            No. But I do do things for him.

DANIKA:                              Like what?

ADALISIA:                            Wear sexy outfits.

DANIKA:                              Does he get naked? (disgusted look)

ADALISIA:                            No.

DANIKA:                              Oh, thank god. Old balls. Eww.

ADALISIA:                            It’s me and a few girls, and we just hang out, dance, and pose.

DANIKA:                              And he doesn’t drop his pants?

ADALISIA:                            No.

DANIKA:                              Old balls. Yuck.

ADALISIA:                            I’ve never seen his balls. He keeps them hidden.

DANIKA:                              So you’ve seen his dick?

ADALISIA:                            Yes.

DANIKA:                              Eww! I knew it!

(They both laugh.)

DANIKA:                              That’s so gross! I like young, fit guys like ballet dancers and bassists.

ADALISIA:                            Yeah, but he likes that. He wants me to tell him how gross he is. And his dick. I make fun of it all the time.

DANIKA:                              Oh, you’re a dominatrix.

ADALISIA:                            To him, I guess. It’s all different circtumstances. (Pause) He is always looking for more girls. He says if I bring a friend, he’ll pay more, if you are interested. We’re friends, though. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. It’s just being in your underwear.

DANIKA:                              Yeah, I’ll think about that. (Makes a face and shakes head) I do need the extra cash, but my self esteem is so low. I can’t help being awkward around attractive men, let alone old men. I’m not in the right state of mind for that.

ADALISIA:                            Totally get it. (Takes a final hit out of a pincher. Lights out.)


(Back at the nightclub, spotlight shines on a large, black piano with the sexy waiter from before as a pianist and female performer. The woman is in a long evening gown, looking as though she was from the 1930’s—a classic beauty. She is in front of a microphone. There is a small audience with candles on the tables and wine.)

WOMAN:                            Hello. This song is dedicated to all those sad songs out there. They sure are depressing, but boy do they get you through some tough times. Nothing helps me through a tough time like singing a sad song. And damn, am I going through a tough time right now.

(Woman sings “Cry Me a River.” At the end, the audience whoops and hollers, applauds, throws roses, then lights out. After a short pause, the noise of glass shattering can be heard. Lights up. Set is a bathroom, with notes everywhere. Candles are snuffed out. Danika is dead, face down, on the floor. Woman stands over her in bewilderment and saddness. She is holding a note and staring at Danika’s body. Lights out.)


DANIKA:                              My love for you is the abundant twinkling light of the sun spanning across the waters—each light beam in competition with the other, glittering as the gentle waves move, the sun shining rays to the west as it crosses the east. A static standstill of this moment is time captured and admired by the ducks and butterflies whisping by in the sky. A weary soul could get lost in the waters of your eyes—the twinkling beauty of light glistening on the top of deep, dark waters. Your inner light shines through, touching my heart, my inner-most being, with your warmth.

When I find you…

(Lights out.)


Comments are closed, but trackbacks and pingbacks are open.