Directed by Blake Weirs
Featuring Laura Jane Bailey and Aeron Macintyre
Lights up.
A basement loft. In reality, the space is strewn with paintings. We would see a cement floor, exposed brick, a small round table, two chairs, a kitchen area, windows high on the ceiling, half above/half below ground. For this we only need one painting. A nude. Grace blusters on. Dressed smartly in a black pantsuit, white blouse. She’s frantically putting on earrings, putting on heels, fixing her hair, checking her phone etc.
Grace
Where are we again? By the Q, right? In fucking Queens, Jesus.
Hal
enters. Wearing sweat pants, an old undershirt with holes and paint stains. Disheveled hair. Carrying a coffee mug.
Hal
Coffee?
Grace
I’m just gonna go thanks.
Hal
Takes the edge off.
Grace
Oh I’m familiar with coffee.
Hal
Alright, well, I enjoy your company. Does that…do…anything for ya?
Grace
Honey I’ve gotta go, I’ve got, ho, it would make your head spin, the amount of money in these hedgefunds. The Greg Martin
Hal
Hundreds of millions.
Grace
Bingo big boy. Okay Hank.
Hal
Hal.
Grace
Yes. Thank you for the drinks and the snow angels and the sex. It was all quite above average. Good luck at your…thing.
Hal
Exhibition.
Grace
Yes. That. Goodbye.
(She opens the door. She stops frozen. The two stare offstage.)
Beat.
Hal
Hm.
Grace
How?
Hal
That changes things.
Grace
Does this happen?
Hal
Head to toe snow.
Grace
Shit!
(She spurns to action. A whirlwind.)
Well this is the absolute best. There’s another way out right?
(Hal laughs.)
That better not be a “no.”
Hal
Well, this is a basement loft.
Grace
That’s not a thing.
Hal
It’s all relative.
Grace
Yeah relative to a loft this is a fucking basement. Christ what would you do if there was a fire? Child.
She exits to the bedroom.
Hal Surveys the room. Sips coffee. Shrugs.
Hal
(to himself) Run away screaming.
Grace reenters.
Grace
There’s no other way out of here.
She screams, punches a hole through a painting, pulls out her phone and dials.(to herself) Gracey, Gracey, Gracey. With an ‘artist’…?
(to Hal, indicating the painting)
Sorry about the…
(to the phone. Change in tone)
Heeey Desmond. You’re not going to believe this but…(beat)…oh…(beat)…what about the Greg Martin portfolio?…no shit…(beat)…(uncomfortable laughter)…that’s not appropriate…K, I’ll check in EOD.
Hangs up.
(to Hal) Whole city’s shutdown. Beat.
Hal
Coffee?
Lights down. Shift.
Lights up.
Grace and Hal sit on the floor. Hal is holding up two fingers. Grace, seven.
Hal
Never have I ever…had a nine‐to-‐five for more than a couple months.
Grace puts downa finger
Grace
Oh please. Stability, financial security, planning for the future?
Hal
Takes up too much brain space. Nah. I tried it. Gave it a fair shot. My stepdad was a stained glass window artist. Made his living repairing other people’s stained glass art. So, you know. “If you can do anything else, don’t be an artist.” Ha, I’d tell the same thing to my kid.
Grace
Well I can afford a fire escape anyway. You know it’s not selling out if you have money to do laundry and generally take careof yourself. You know that right? Don’t judge me.
Hal
You’re judging me.
Grace
Because you’re judging me!
Hal
Not in the way you think.
Beat.
Grace
Never have I ever…gone skinny dipping.
Hal puts down a finger.
Hal
Sister you are missing out.
Grace
I don’t like being naked.
Hal
Didn’t seem to be a problem…
Grace
That’s different. That’s context. That’s…expected.
Hal
I dunno Grace. You’ve got a pretty good human female thing going on.
Grace
It’s not that it’s…
Beat..
Hal
Never have I ever painted a nude of corporate America.
Beat.
Grace
No.
Hal
Why?
Grace
I can’t.
Hal
Same question.
Grace
I just said
Hal
It’s context…
Grace
The amount of…you would never understand…
Hal
I’m listening. Isn’t that what you want?
Grace
It’s the other people. Okay? Men. I’m not ashamed, it’s just…that constant tunnel vision. Always seeing the boobs and the butt, the womanness. The professional, yes, they see that, the shark, the broker, the ruthless mother fucker, they see all that, but the way they see it, the way they look at me, talk to me, it’s a gloss on everything. All that good stuff, it’s all peripheral, all filtered through some vague superiority. There’s money, accolades, admiration, sure, sometimes, but it’s thin, like running stew through a colander, it tastes like stew, but it’s missing all the real bits. Desmond, god, the prickishness that just cascades out of his mouth…never mind.
Hal
You’re not an object. You’re a subject.
Beat.
I have an exhibition in two days and you broke my painting.
Grace studies Hal, looking for something.
It’s nothing I haven’t seen already.
She cracks a smile.
Grace
How naked?
Hal
Naked naked.
Grace
Christ. I’m not sleeping with you again.
She exits to the bedroom.
Hal
(to himself) It’s kind of the same thing.
He exits to the bedroom. Lights down.
End of play.
Art and Music in Our Souls 