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A Play
The story takes place sometime during the 19th century in the south. Michael owns a large estate and comes from affluent lineage (why so, is still to be decided) he is married to Lisa—daughter of a poor family, but was wooed by all men of every social class strata because of her beauty and charm.
(I am not exactly sure of the all the labels the characters will have yet, but Michael is a teacher; he is wealthy and married to Lisa. Scott is Michael's good friend and confident; he is also wealthy) The name of the play and how many acts it will have is still up in the air and the names I am using now for the characters are really just fillers; in the future I will change them.
(A knock is heard on the door of Michael's study.)
Michael: Who is it?
Lisa: It is me!
[Walks to the door and opens it]
Michael: I've have told you Lisa, that when I am in here—
Lisa: I would like to have supper with you.
Michael: I am reading.
Lisa: [sighs*] But you are always reading!
Michael: Thinking men must read, and those who teach others how to think—even more.
Lisa: Please, have supper with your wife. Talk with me, drink with me; let us enjoy each other's company.
Michael: I am busy.
Lisa: I myself will make you the finest dinner! We can have it outside on the patio; this summer's evening air is intoxicating! It is sweet and fresh and we can—
Michael: I cannot have dinner with you tonight; I have an appointment at 8.
Lisa: Can't you cancel my dear husband? You used to always make appointments with me…you would spoil me on extravagant dates. But now I eat alone and am left to be charmed by an empty seat.
Michael: Lisa, why must you so nag me? You want of nothing, so why do you complain like you do not have everything? Look around you. This house, this estate, the Parisian clothes you wear; servants to attend to your every whim at the beckoning of your finger. Many women dare only dream and fantasize over what you in reality have.
Lisa: It is true; I am not in want of much. But I do lack that which I desire most and without such a pleasure granted…it does murk the rest.
Michael: Lisa, I do not have time for your trifles. You are selfish and ignorant if you are not content with your pleasant condition of living and that is all that needs to be said on the matter…Now if you are done irking me, I wish to continue my studies.
Lisa: Dear, I only wish-
[The doorbell is rung]
Michael: I will see to that myself for it is probably my good friend Scott; he comes early.
[Michael leaves the room and makes his way to the front door. Lisa stays in the study and whimsically peruses her husband's literature. She finds a letter used as a book mark with a note inside: "I will meet you at the usual place and time. Anna"
Lisa: [aside] Who is this Anna? And is she the cause of my husband's dying affection? I cannot ask him directly…he will only dissemble. I must simply wait and be vigilant of his future actions.
[At the front door Michael greets Scott]
Michael: Scott, my good friend. How are you this evening? [They shake hands]
Scott: I am doing just fine Michael. This summer night is absolutely picturesque! Have you seen it?
Michael: Sadly, no. I have not had the chance; I have been preoccupied with my reading.
Scott: As I expected. Always reading, crammed up in the damp study of yours! What a boring sophist you are at times Michael, truly.
[Enter Lisa]
Lisa: Scott! How are you? [Scott kisses her hand] have you come to take my husband away from me?
Scott: Yes I have, and I know it must exceedingly pain him to have to depart from such beauty like you! [to Michael] You know you are quite blessed to have a woman like this. The years have been kind to her; she has only grown more handsome since the marriage.
Michael: I suppose.
Lisa: I doubt I stir any sort of emotions in him.
Scott: [ignores comments] Now, if I could have some coffee I would be a very happy man.
Michael: [to a servant] Please fix two cups of coffee, one black the other Irish.
Scott: My goodness, how could anyone drink such a thing? Coffee laced with alcohol, it only sounds like a terrible headache.
Michael: You develop a taste. Now if you would be so obliged to take this conversation into my study…
[Enter study: Michael and Scott. Michael sits down at his desk and steeples his hands—he is contemplative. Scott finds a chair and seats himself at the other side of the desk.]
Scott: You know I've always found myself to be a very empathetic person…but even the most arrogant and self-interested of men can see that something is troubling you.
Michael: Yes, I am distressed…but for what reason, I cannot tell you.
Scott: I will not inquire…but you should at least try to put on a happy disposition for the sake of your wife. I see the way she looks at you when I visit; she loves you as if you were just married yesterday. Yet I also discern that she feels estranged and neglected.
Michael: That is much to surmise, but I believe you see what is not at all there.
Scott: I believe you see, but decide to deny.
Michael: [agitatedly] Why do we speak of my wife? Let us discuss matters of importance.
Scott: Such as?
Michael: Perhaps, the company we will be sharing tonight?
Scott: What about them?
Michael: Are they daring? Do they involve themselves in risky ventures?
Scott: They are clever and intelligent men—very business savvy. But if you do not mind me asking, why do you care about this investment so much? You can bathe in money Michael. You do not even need to work; I imagine you are a teacher simply because it delights you. Even more, you are investing very little…if the venture goes sour, it won't be like you are losing a great deal.
Michael: I am afraid I have not been completely honest with you Scott…
Scott: What do you mean?
Michael: I—
[A servant enters with the coffee. They receive it and Michael immediately after acquiring his, finds his flask in his coat pocket and pours more whiskey into the coffee]
Scott: My word…it is only Monday.
Michael: I haven't been completely honest with you… this will be no small investment.
Scott: If you are that hopeful to invest a larger portion than—
Michael: Scott, if you were to of answered 'yes' to my question of these men being risky and daring, it would of not been to their injury. I need daring, I need risk; I am no longer the stable man that I still impress on others — I haven't been for a while. Now, will this venture if successful bear much fruition?
Scott: Why, yes…tenfold. But what has happened to you my friend?
Michael: I…that… that cannot be said at the moment.
Scott: Are you in a large financial crisis—
Michael: Shh! Quiet yourself, Scott! [whispers] the servants will overhear you. I can barely keep them in pay and they must be kept in pay! If I start to let them go my wife will begin to suspect things…
Scott: And what is the issue with that? Michael, you have such a kind and understanding wife, why not tell her your problems; seek counsel and consolation in her…she did not marry you for your money. I am afraid you abase her at times…
Michael: Ha! She is like a child in constant need of my reassuring affection! I cannot study or read or do anything of merit without her continuously harassing me for this or for that! Saying, [imitating] "May we go here and can you do this tonight with me?" or she will grab me by the arm and beg, "Oh please dearie, will you just take a stroll with me, it's such a fine afternoon!" I mean just tonight, before you came, she had asked me to eat supper with her and when I told her I was busy with my work—she continued to implore herself most pathetically!
Scott: Yes, she does make the grave mistake of simply loving you.
Michael: What is love, except a myth—dreamt up by foolish women?
Scott: Michael the cynic; my man, you were once the Romantic—a sentimentalist. What has happened?
Michael: Life has happened. Reality has struck and it has raddled me to my very essence.
Scott: Do you still pen poems?
Michael: Yes. And with each one I die but a little more. In my own blood I write them, yet I do not bleed from the heart but from the soul; and one day I will cut to draw my ink there forth, and from out of it will flow—nothing.
Scott: What then?
Michael: Then there will be but one last poem to write.
Scott: And who will read it?
Michael: No one, for I will burn it immediately after it is finished.
Scott: Then for what purpose would it serve?
Michael: It will be my last plea to the world, but no one will hear my cry; a fitting end to a life—deaf.
Scott: I worry about you, you are very—
Michael: Please don't start. It is an hour to eight, we must depart soon.
Scott: Let us then go.
(Michael and Scott exit)
