Heroes ~ a short comedy

Cast:
Ron:    25-35 Gay male, "Leading Man" type
Eliot:   25-35 Gay male, "Best Friend" type
Hero:   off-stage baby girl voice

Location:    Ron’s living room. Tuesday evening.

Set:
couch (or 3 chairs side-by-side)
coffee table
side table with drawer

Props:
deck of playing cards
wadded up “used” disposable diaper
cell phone
Mardi Gras cup of “Vermouth”
baby vomit (1 cup of thin flour and water solution)

______________________________________________________________

Eliot:   What?! ! You mean, you lured me down to your hell hole apartment under false pretenses? Ron, you distinctly said the only three D-words that can get my heart racing on a Tuesday evening: drinks, dish, and Downton Abbey. Well ok, there's a possible fourth D-word. But you did not say the B-word...(reaching for it)...babysit!

Ron:    But I promised James I would watch baby princess buttercup while he goes to his NA meeting. He’s putting a lot of trust in me. Eliot, I need your help on this.

Eliot:   (Butterfly McQueen impersonation) But Miss Scarlet, Gay boys don’t know nothin’ bout watchin’ no babies. (end impersonation) Why in the Hail No did you agree to babysit?

Ron:    Because…I mean…have you seen James? Cuz baby daddy is superfine! Superhot! Ever notice how young fathers with babies are all superhot?

Eliot:   Yeah, that sperm works!

Ron:    ‘Zactly. So in order to get in tight with daddy, I gotta put in some quality time with his daughter, baby princess buttercup. 

Eliot:    Ohhhhhhh..... I get it now. You bait-and-switch me, so you can ensnare another guy? Sorry, a superhot daddy. My God, that is so devious. Fine, I'm in. But you owe me.

Ron:    Put it on my tab. And thank you! I just need to show James that I am not freaked out he has a kid.

Eliot:   Where is the little shitter anyway?           

Ron:    In my bedroom, napping in her car seat.

Eliot:   In her car seat?

Ron:    Show him I can handle the adult responsibilities of parenthood. That I have a tender, nurturing heart.

Eliot:   Oh my dear Lord, Ron. You did not say nurturing heart! You thought “Mommy Dearest” was a comedy. You roared all through the wire hanger scene.

Ron:    Yeah. But you have to admit that was funny, in an over-the-top, camp-tacular sorta way. Besides, "Mommy Dearest" was a true story. It’s not mean, if it’s true.

Eliot:   What?

Ron:    Anyway, by the time James meets my evil twin, we both will be well into our Gay honeymoon in Cancun. Do the Gays still do Cancun?

Eliot:   Not anymore. It’s all about Thailand. The drugs are better. So where’s the real Mommy?

Ron:    Long story, but basically Real Mommy Dearest is unfit to parent a child.

Eliot:   But the guy in Narcotics Anonymous is? Wow, Real Mommy must have been some "true story." Why did James hook up with her in the first place? He is Gay, right?

Ron:    Yes, James is Gay. Or Bi or whatever. Regardless, he is gorgeous! I can see why she hooked up with him. Don’t know why he hooked up with her. But I have a good idea why they split. (whispers “Cocaine”)

Eliot:   Well that answers both questions. Why they hooked up and why they split. Drugs do make for strange bedfellows.

Ron:    Like that one Mardi Gras you and I took Ecstasy.

Eliot:   Shut up your mouth. I was thinking more like Whitney and Bobbie. On second thought, I don’t want to spoil a perfectly dreadful Tuesday evening thinking about Whitney and Bobby. So if past performance is a predictor of future performance, what does his druggie past predict about the two of you as poster children for Gay marriage?

Ron:    Everybody makes mistakes, Eliot, Ok? We are all entitled to make mistakes. Lord knows you’ve dated some winners.

Eliot:   I dated you. So much for winners.

Ron:    And that is why we broke up.

Eliot:   I see you’re still bitter. So then, why do you want my help at babysitting? (Butterfly McQueen impersonation again) Miss Scar…

Ron:    (interrupts Eliot) You know CPR. You took that life-saving course at the NOAC. I thought you might come in handy, you know, in the event of an emergency.

Eliot:   If by CPR you mean Cocktail Party Repartee, then I’m your girl. Speaking of which, where’s the Vermouth. I feel a martini emergency coming on.

Ron:    Please Eliot, no drinking on the job! You’ll wake the baby.

Eliot:   (Raising voice then catching himself) Wake the baby!? How does mixing a little libation threaten baby princess whatcha-ma-call-her’s slumber?

Ron:    When you kick back a few, Eliot, my darling, you do tend to get loud.

Eliot:  (Raising voice then catching himself) I do not get loud, Ron. I get dramatic. You’re “an actor”. It’s called projection. Ugh, suit yourself.

Ron:    What is that? Why are you doing that with your fingers, air quotes? “An actor” in air quotes?

Eliot:   Nothing. (beat) Look, all I am saying is maybe you need to commit emotionally to your roles, more fully, both on the stage…and in real life. A Wise Woman once told me, it's not mean if it's true.

Ron:    (Mimes a stab to the heart, falling onto the couch. Hams it up too long.) How’s that for emotional commitment? You know I have to kill you now.

Eliot:   Please, don’t kill the messenger, no matter how gorgeous she is. Ron, I know you have it within you to commit emotionally to stuff. You’re just scared.

Ron:    (leaves the stage) I should peak-in on baby princess…um.

Eliot:   (searches for Vermouth) Oh what the hell, a little nip never hurt. It is after 5pm, for chrissake. Cocktail hour! (Surprised by Ron’s return) Oh Ron! My blood alcohol level is dangerously low. I was feeling (whispers "sober". beat.) Uh, so how is the little princess buttermilk drop?

Ron:    Sound asleep. I said no drinking, Eliot.

Eliot:    Aw Hail no, I am outa here.

Ron:    No no no! Please Eliot, don’t go. I really, really need your help on this. I’ve never taken care of a baby before. I really don’t want to mess this up. James is so gorgeous. I never meet gorgeous guys. He might be my one chance at happiness.

Eliot:   Hello! Ex-boyfriend in the room!

Ron:    Sorry. But you know what I mean. You just said it. I don’t want to fuck this up like I have every other relationship. I’m ready to commit, emotionally, fully. But I need support from my best fwiend Ewiot. Pwetty pwease.

Eliot:   (cold stare) You so owe me.

Ron:    When James and I get Gay-married, we’ll name our first born after you.

Eliot:   Fat chance. Butt babies never live.

Ron:    (choking on laughter, shushing himself) You…are…all kinds of fucked up…on so many levels. Butt...babies… That is so wrong. God, I love you.

Eliot:   It’s not mean if it’s true. Oh I love that phrase! So does baby princess whatcha-ma-call-her have a real name?

Ron:    Of course she has a name. Parents tend to name their babies at birth.

Eliot:   Well actually this one time, I knew this one couple, they waited a whole year to name their baby. The rest of us got fed up, never knowing how to refer to it, what to call the…little bundle, so we just dubbed it “Noname” (pronounced No Nah May). Like “No Name”, but with French accents. “Noname” Eventually they settled on some hippy bullshit like Sequoia or Shrove Tuesday.

Ron:    Well James named his little girl Hero.

Eliot:   ‘Zactly. Hippy bullshit like that. What the what? Like a Hero Sandwich? I think Daddy and Mommy Dearest were doing more than lines of (whispers “Cocaine”). They were smoking the ganja too, huh? The green, the chronic, when they named her, right? Maybe they were feeling a bit o’ the munchies? Thinking “Yo Babe, a Hero Sandwich sure sounds good right about now.”

Ron:    No, Tiresome, not like Hero sandwich. Like a superhero. When little Hero grows up, she will bend iron bars, leap tall buildings, and save lives. I think it’s a supercute name, and just makes me love James all the more.

Eliot:   Aw. That is supercute. I definitely need a cocktail now to rinse the vomit out of my mouth. Vermouth?

Ron:    No.

Eliot:   TV then? Let’s catch the end of RuPaul’s Drag Race while we wait for Downton Abbey.

Ron:    No and no.

Eliot:   But Hedda Lettuce is gonna teach all the girls how to hide their candy. Ugh. You spoil all my fun. So here I am, stuck on a Tuesday evening with an ex boyfriend, a tiny shit factory sound asleep in her car seat, no TV, nothing to do, and no alcohol?

Ron:    Please Mother Teresa! Your compassion is overwhelming!

Eliot:   Well what the hell are we supposed to DO? Play cards and gossip like a couple old maids?

Ron:    For starters. Gin? (Eliot gets excited) I mean, Gin Rummy.

Eliot:   Cock tease. No, I hate cards. You have to do math. I hate math.

Ron:    Is that why you always lose count of how many cocktails you drink?

Eliot:   Zing! The old nag still has some kick left in her. Ok fine. Carrrrrrrrrrrds. (Slumps onto couch) But don’t you dare tell anyone.

Ron:    Don’t worry. Your reputation as a glittering urban socialite will remain as intact as your hymen.

Eliot:   You’re damn right.

Ron:    (retrieving a deck of cards from a side-bar) Ok, what’ll we play? Ladies choice.

Eliot:   All this talk about (whispers “Cocaine”) puts me in the mood for Speed.

Ron:    (Joins Eliot on the couch. Deals 5 cards each onto the coffee table, according to the rules of Speed: http://www.wikihow.com/Play-the-Card-Game-Speed) You always were fast.

Eliot:   Lucky for you.

(They play a rapid-fire round of Speed, in which Eliot is able to discard his 5 cards quickly. He slaps his hands on the pile of cards)

Eliot:   (yelling) Speed!

Ron:    Oh my fucking shush… (Exits to check on baby)

Eliot:   Sorry. (whispering) Speed!

Ron:    (returns, whispering also) Still asleep. No thanks to you, Whitney. Ok, let’s play something else. Since that game amps you up so much.

Eliot:   Old Maid?

Ron:     Perfect. (Starts to deal all the cards between the two of them. http://www.wikihow.com/Play-Old-Maid)

Eliot:   Oh my dear Lord! What’s that noxious odor? Ron, did you fart? I told you to stop eating those Lucky Dogs whenever you're in the Quarter.

Ron:    Uh, I guess Hero needs a diaper change? You can smell that all the way from in here?

Eliot:   I have the nose of a bloodhound.

Ron:    Better alert Scotland Yard. Good to know all those years of sniffing poppers haven’t diminished your sense of smell. So, I guess one of us should change Hero's Pampers.

(Eliot loudly reshuffles his cards.)

Ron:    Well, I guess one of us…

Eliot:    Aw Hail no! Maw-maw Eliot don’t change no Pampers. You wanna get Gay-married? You best trot your tight little “actor ass” right into that gas chamber and do your wifer-ly duty. Ha! I said “doodie”.

(Reluctantly, Ron leaves the stage.
Eliot lays back on the couch, hand on forehead in a swoon)

Eliot:   (in a Scarlet O’Hara drawl) I am like to die from these vapors.

(Off-stage, baby cries)

Ron:    (off-stage) Oh my God, Hero! It’s like (gagging) Chernobyl. Oh…my…God! The humanity!

Eliot:   (making a fan out of cards, fans himself. Still in Scarlet O’Hara drawl) What did you expect, Honey? Orange flower water?

Ron:    (coughing and gagging throughout) Just hang in there little girl. Almost got this clean one on ya. One more tape. Phew! Ok, hang tight, Hero. Stay right here in your car seat. Be back in a minute. Uncle Ron-Ron is just gonna go to the kitchen and warm up a bottle of formula for you. Ok?

(baby crying continues)

Ron:    (Re-enters the stage, breathless, pinching his nose and carrying a “used” Pampers diaper) How do I dispose of toxic sludge? Oh I know. I have Ziplock baggies in the kitchen. (exits the other side of stage)

Eliot:   Yellow and blue make green! See how useful I am? (Annoyed by the constant crying) So am I supposed to just sit here and listen to all this caterwaulin’? Stone-cold sober? Ron Honey, do something about the baby. Hello? Oh my dear Lord. (exits to bedroom to attend to baby)

(Ron returns to an empty stage.)

Ron:   Bottle's on low. Will you check the temperature in a few.... (Notices Eliot is gone. Cell phone vibrates in his pant pocket.) Hello? James! Hi Gorgeous.

Eliot:   (off-stage) What is the problem in here little girl? Is that any way for a superhero to carry on? Well I would not want to be stuck in a car seat all day, neither. Alright, let me unstrap ya. Come on up here to your Maw-maw Eliot. Yes, that’s a good girl. 

Ron:    Hero’s great! She’s in the bedroom right now with Eliot. You remember my best friend Eliot? 

Eliot:     Shoosh now. Maw-maw Eliot wants to sing you a little Gospel hymn she learned at Vacation Bible School. (busts out singing, imitating Lady Gaga.) That’s right Baby, I was born this way…

Ron:     Right, Bourbon Pub Eliot. He just loves babies. But not as much as I do! What’s all that noise? Oh, he’s singing her a lullaby.

Eliot:   (off-stage, singing full volume, getting into it)
Don't hide yourself in regret

Just love yourself and you're set

I'm on the right track, baby

I was born this way.

(baby crying increases to a wail)

Ron:    Oh, Hero’s been a total angel. Hasn’t cried once since you dropped her off. 

(Baby crying abruptly ends with the sound of infant projectile vomit.)

Eliot:   Oh my dear Lord!

Ron:    Well, it's not like I don't know nothin' bout watchin' no babies. Ha. I used to be a baby. Some people would argue I still am one.

(Eliot enters with a slash of baby vomit up the downstage side of his shirt, possibly dripping from his cheek and hair.)

Ron:    (horrified) No! I mean, Hail no, she’s been no trouble at all. I am more than happy to keep an eye on Hero for you. Anytime, James.

Eliot:   I hate you so much.

Ron:    A family outing? Yeah, I’d love that. Ok, we'll talk about it after your meeting. Oh right, of course. Sure, we’ll be fine until then. Enjoy coffee with your sponsor.

Eliot:   Vermouth please.

Ron:    Yes, I’ll give Hero a kiss for you. Bye James. (Torn between the lingering bliss of the phone call, his best friend’s distress, and the unattended wailing baby in the bedroom) Oh my God, Hero! (Rushes to bedroom) Uh Eliot, help yourself. Kitchen! Fridge!

(Eliot exits to the kitchen.)

Ron:    (off-stage, sings beautifully, slowly, lulling Hero to sleep)

I need a hero.

I'm holding out for a hero til the end of the night.

And she's gotta fast, and she's gotta be strong.

And she's gotta be fit for the fight

I need a hero...

(stops singing) sssshhh. That's my little superhero. Yeah, just close those sweepy wittle eyes...oh so sweepy...shhhhh...Yes, that's a good girl. Uncle Ron-Ron will be right back.

(Ron and Eliot both return to the stage, Eliot carrying a Mardi Gras cup of straight Vermouth)

Ron:    (frazzled) Oh, Eliot, thank God you had the presence of mind to strap Hero back into her car seat before you...after she...before you left the bedroom. So she’s not rolling around on top of my bed and possibly...fall. James would hate that. Is that straight Vermouth?

Eliot:   Shut up your mouth, I am getting drunk.

Ron:    Can I get drunk too?

Eliot:   You cannot get drunk, not around baby princess butter bomb. It’s not safe for both of us to get drunk.  And right now, I have dibs on the Vermouth. You are the babysitter. Hero relies on you.

Ron:    I am not someone people should rely on! I never have been. You said it yourself, no emotional commitment!

Eliot:   Ron! (beat) This is what I was talking about. Right now. You’re scared. You got a glimpse at real life, and now you’re scared. That part’s perfectly normal, especially for new parents. I’m not saying you’re ready to jump into being a parent, not yet. But the way you feel right now, every new parent feels that way. Frankly, nobody in the world ought to be relied on. But babies make you step up. When you have a baby, you have to become that person, someone who can be relied on. Someone who’s in it for the long haul. You have no other choice.

Ron:    (beat) Um...right. Right! So…uh…you were pretty natural in there with Hero, until the uh...incident. 

Eliot:     Well, I can hardly blame her. I've been known to experience the occasional "incident" myself, now and then. (Puts aside the Vermouth.)

Ron:     Our own, jaded Eliot Dearest might actually have the maternal instinct after all, underneath that hard shell--once you scrape off the patina of bar smoke.

Eliot:   Ha. Ha. Well, I pretty much parent you, don’t I?

Ron:    Yes you do. And for that, Maw-maw Eliot, I am grateful. Thank you.

Eliot:   You are very welcome, Uncle Ron-Ron.

(Baby crying starts again. Sighing, they both exit to the bedroom, singing "I Need a Hero".)

(Ron runs back onstage and crosses to the kitchen exit.)

Ron:     Oh crap! The bottle!

END

Revolving Closet Door

Cast:

Ron, age 20s-30s, any race. Gay. A Leading Man type.
Eliot, same, except more of a Side-kick.

Location: Ron’s living room, present day. There is a couch (or 2 chairs side-by-side) off center.

Props: none.

(Ron hurries onstage, pursued by Eliot.)

Eliot:     Wait, wait! You can’t just tell me a thing like that and then rush out of the room! Ron, stop!

(Ron stops.)

Eliot:     Ok, so you’re telling me that you want to go back IN to the closet, is that right? You can’t go back in, Ron, not after all the struggle to come out in the first place. In  my whole life, I have never met anyone who already knew the hard-won, sweet taste freedom, of self-acceptance, of honesty, but then decided to go back in. Closets don’t have revolving doors, you know.

Ron:     Don’t think of it that way. I’m not going back into the closet.

Eliot:     You just said you don’t want to be Gay anymore. How am I supposed to think about it?

Ron:     I mean, Eliot, maybe I’m not really Gay in the first place?

Eliot:     So all those times you swallowed cock, that didn’t mean you were Gay?

Ron:     I’m just thinking, I’m an actor. You know? Everyone around me’s Gay. Maybe I just wanted to fit in.

Eliot:     We all know what you wanted to fit in. You and I did it, a hundred years ago, remember? Besides, not everyone in theater is Gay.

Ron:     Musical theater?

Eliot:     Ha ha. What the hell, Ron?

Ron:     I just think maybe I never was really Gay in the first place. In the theater world, everyone around me is smart, funny, and homosexual. And I just wanted to be one of the guys, that’s all. But now I want to be my real self.

Eliot:     How does that work? How do you stop being who you are?

Ron:     You’re not listening, Eliot! I’m not really Gay. I just thought I was.

Eliot:     Oh? So then, how do you know you’re not? This I gotta hear.

Ron:     So recently I started dating this woman. We’re getting kinda serious.

Eliot:     What?! When did you start dating a…a…woman?

Ron:     We met at the temp job. Her name is Rachel. She’s a contract copyeditor.

(Ron shows a picture of her in his wallet. She is not attractive.)

Eliot:     Ouch. Um…ok. So…how long have you two dated? And why is this the first I’ve ever heard about your “serious” relationship…hello?...with a woman? Hello! Best friend over here!

Ron:     Cuz I knew what a judgmental queen you’d be. Rachel and I have been dating a few weeks now.

Eliot:     A few? How many is a few? 15 weeks? 2?

Ron:     Altogether, we’ve been dating 5 weeks. Like I said, it’s getting kinda serious. There’s been talk of the “m” word.

Eliot:     (chokes) So you just started dating this…uh…Rachel woman, five weeks ago. And that makes you not Gay. Have you guys ever…? I mean, can you?

Ron:     Not that it’s any business of yours, but yes. Not often, but we do enjoy a happy sex life.

Eliot:     Does Rachel think it’s a happy sex life?

Ron:     She loves me.

Eliot:     I see. Five weeks, and there’s already talk of marriage and love. Are you sure Rachel’s not a lesbian?

Ron:     Bitch.

Eliot:     So…what? You fuck her, but imagine fucking guys?

Ron:     Why, you game?

Eliot:     Please Mary, that ship sailed a thousand years ago.

Ron:     We don’t fuck. But there’s things we can do.

Eliot:     What, oral? First off, ew. Second off, oral sex is totally the retreat of the closeted Gay man. Dick ain't hard? That’s ok, you can always satisfy her with your tongue. Did I mention “ew”?

Ron:     Rachel understands that I am trying to change to a healthier, normal heterosexual lifestyle. She says she can be patient. She’s happy with whatever we do, for now. As our relationship progresses, we’ll enjoy more complete union…eventually.

Eliot:     So basically, you admit you are Gay, but just don’t want to be?

Ron:     No, Eliot. I’m just out of practice with women.

Eliot:     Straight guys don’t need practice to get it up with women. That’s why we call them “straight”.

Ron:     Rachel says she wants to help me recover from my previous sick lifestyle and become a normal heterosexual again.

Eliot:     Oh! So Gay is sick, is it?  I’m sick? Abnormal? Is that right?

Ron:     No, no, no I don’t mean you’re sick or Gay is sick. It’s just sick to pretend to be something I’m not. Not really.

Eliot:     Ron, you are Gay! You’re not pretending. You might be a “fairly” good actor, but you’re not that good. Your CD collection has Celine Dion.

Ron:     Lots of straight people like Celine Dion.

Eliot:     No. They don’t.

Ron:     Rachel likes Celine.

Eliot:     Well then, by all means marry her. Before some other Gay guy sweeps her off her feet. I hear that Michael Buble’s in the market for a beard.

Ron:     I believe that Rachel and I can live a healthy heterosexual lifestyle together, if we try.

Eliot:    This is about AIDS, isn’t it?

Ron:     Ok, I am concerned about that, yes.

Eliot:     Concerned? Richard tested positive. And now you’re so fuckin’ scared you caught it from your ex-boyfriend that you’ll just stop being Gay over it. Lock yourself up in a love-less, sex-less, passion-less, air-less box. Where no virus can ever touch you. But no joy either. No life!

Ron:     Thanks for being an understanding, supportive best friend.

Eliot:     I am being supportive, by telling you the truth. You can’t turn off Gay! All you can do is return to a life of secrets. How long do you think you can hold out before you have to act on your natural urges? Start sneaking around public urinals, rest stops on the highway, waterfront parks? One minute you’re Mister Happy Heterosexual, the next you’re tapping your foot in the airport bathroom. Lots of people get hurt in the process. Like Little Miss What’s Her Fuck.

Ron:     Rachel.

Eliot:     Whatevs. If AIDS has you so worried, then you should be more worried about being in the closet. Don’t you get it? It’s you closeted guys who are at biggest risk of infection, and of passing it on. Closeted guys take all kinds of risks within the “safety blanket” of anonymity. You know what happens inside bars like the Rawhide and  Phoenix. Chock full of married “straight” guys on the down-low. Ron, you’re not running from AIDS. You’re running to it. Why would you want to expose an unsuspecting, innocent woman to that shit?

Ron:     It won’t be like that. Besides, Rachel knows about my past.

Eliot:     She knows you’re Gay, but she wants to marry you anyway? Uh dude, that’s fucked up right there.

Ron:     I told her I am bisexual and now want to live a normal heterosexual lifestyle.

Eliot:     Stop saying normal. There is no such thing. And stop saying lifestyle. Heterosexual is no more a lifestyle than Gay. You’re one thing, or the other. And some people are Bi, although you’re not.

Ron:     Rachel understands me and wants to help.

Eliot:     Oh my fucking God! Save us all from homely, desperate women! Want a man so bad they go after the Gays. Thinking they can switch us over to their team. But that has never, ever worked. Not really. Look at Calvin Klein! And here you are, feeding her delusions with your own delusions of “bisexuality”. Dude, don’t do this. You would just be playing another role. Putting on another mask. Although at this point, I’m not sure if it’s the mask of Tragedy or Comedy.

Ron:     We’re talking about moving to Arizona after the wedding, where nobody knows us.

Eliot:    You mean, where nobody knows you.

Ron:     Eliot, you’re just mad because you’re still in love with me.

Eliot:    What the fuck?

Ron:     You have always wanted to be with me. But put that out of your mind. Don't fantasize about what a compatible couple we would make, or how everybody already thinks we're a couple anyway, how good it might feel, how we're always there for each other...

Eliot:     Uh, who's loving who?

Ron:      Put that out of your mind. And try not to be jealous, even though you just can’t stand to see me genuinely happy with a woman.

Eliot:     Ron, dearest, our thing lasted like a minute. A thousand years ago. Ever since, I have never been anything but your friend. 

Ron:      With the exception of that one Mardi Gras we took Ecstasy. 

Eliot:     But lotsa boyfriends between then and now. I would totally continue to be a supportive friend, as I have for the past…million years, to see you genuinely happy with another man. Hell, I’d throw the bachelor party. Male strippers from the Corner Pocket, Jell-O shots, color-coordinated invitations tastefully laser-printed with a sans-serif font.

Ron:     Rachel’s brother will be my best man.

Eliot:     Ouch. So…what? You’d rather take a stranger—excuse me, the stranger’s brother, to stand as your best man? Instead of me, your best friend since the Dawn of Time? Who talks you off the ledge whenever Southern Rep fails to give you a callback, after you prepared so hard for the big role? Who pretends to be your date whenever old trolls hit on you at the Pub? Who sat right there on your couch, held your hand, and cried with you when Lady Sybil died on Downton Abbey?

Ron:     That was sad. So now you do want to attend my “sham” wedding after all.

Eliot:     Are you kidding? I love seeing you in theater!

(Ron tries to leave in a huff.)

Eliot:     We’re not done talking about this. Ron Lewis Livingston, I will call your mother!

(Ron stops.)

Eliot:     Now come on. Sit down.

(They sit on couch.)

Eliot:     Talk to me. Seriously, what is all this melodrama really about?

Ron:     I told you already.

Eliot:     Yeah, all this time I’ve been your friend, you’ve secretly been a straight man. But this time, tell the truth. Why the hell do you want to do something so drastic? Marry someone you just met? Leave town? Frankly, you’re freaking my shit out.

Ron:     (losing it) Um, ok. Listen. Eliot, I’m unhappy! There, I said it. Alright? I have been for a long time. All my life even. I feel sad. A lot.

Eliot:     Well that’s no big secret. You’re an actor. Newsflash! (pretending to shout through a megaphone) “Actors have big emotions!” You’ll ride out this mood, like you always do. Until the next big role comes along, and you get all caught-up in the excitement.

Ron:     This isn’t just a mood swing, Eliot. I’m lonely! All the time. So terribly, terribly lonely.

Eliot:     Well that has nothing to do with being Gay. Welcome to the human condition! You think I’m not lonely? You think straight people aren’t lonely, even married ones? Rachel? Honey, that girl is lonely.

Ron:     (crying) I thought when I came out, the Gay time, that I wouldn’t be so lonely anymore. That the hungry, unquenchable maw would be satisfied. Each time I met a new boyfriend, had sex, for a time I wasn’t lonely. But it never lasted. Long before we broke up, I’d already feel the loneliness coming on again, wedging itself between us. Sometimes I was lonelier IN the relationship that out of it. With someone, but lonelier despite of it. Or because of it.

Eliot:     I  know, Honey.

Ron:     I just want to feel connected, you know? I just want…I need the silent screaming in my brain to stop, once and for all. I need my heart to quit tearing itself out of my chest. I don’t want my soul to continue this slow, protracted dying anymore. I reach out, but no one answers my grasp.

Eliot:     I know, Honey. You’re lonely. We’re all lonely. That’s the big dirty secret of life, Ron. Everybody is lonely.

Ron:     I just want a chance at happiness with someone else.

Eliot:     I know. But this is not the way. Don’t marry someone out of loneliness, someone you hardly know, who you’re not really attracted to, and who tells you things she thinks you want to hear. Don’t call that happiness. That’s desperation.

Ron:     But I am desperate.

Eliot:     No. You’re not. You deserve better. And I want better for you, my friend.

(They share an intimate moment. Ron takes it too far.)

Eliot:     Stop that. Ew! You are so not straight. (shoves Ron away) Told’ja.

(Ron teases Eliot with tickle fingers, as Eliot springs up from couch.)

Eliot:     I mean it, Ron. Stop that! Ew! Ron Lewis Livingston! I will call your mother!

(Eliot rushes from room, pursued by Ron's tickle fingers.)

End