Writers Who Didn't Make It
a ten-minute play
An open-air café in Scranton. Summer, just after sunrise. Tables and chairs wait on the sidewalk in front of THE ELECTRIC CITY TERRACE. The trolley-and-neon-themed storefront features limestone, leaded windows, and subdued awnings. TARA (mid-thirties), her head propped up by her hands, leans on the hostess station near the restaurant’s entrance.
ELLIOT MERCER (late-forties) enters STAGE RIGHT. He is dressed in a tan suit, a bright paisley tie, and a brown fedora. He seats himself CENTER STAGE. A moment later, BRUCE HALSTEAD (late-forties) enters STAGE LEFT and joins ELLIOT. BRUCE wears black khakis, a Transformers tee-shirt, and a Phillies baseball cap. TARA reaches down into the hostess station, produces a pair of mugs and a sugar/creamer caddy. She places them on the table and speaks.
TARA: Morning, guys. Normal shit?
ELLIOT: Indeed.
BRUCE: Yeah.
TARA heads into the restaurant.
ELLIOT: You should just start coming in your pajamas.
TARA returns holding a carafe and fills the mugs on the table.
BRUCE: Elliot thinks I’m under-dressed for your fine establishment.
TARA: Oh? First of all, it’s not my establishment. Second, I don’t give a fuck if you show up in your pajamas. You’re not rude and you don’t stink.
ELLIOT: Bruce is incredibly rude, my dear Tara, and you are far too indulgent of his boorish attitude.
TARA: You smell nice, too, Elliot.
TARA exits back into the restaurant.
ELLIOT: (beat) You seem grumpier than normal this morning.
BRUCE: Yeah, well, it got rejected. Again.
ELLIOT: Your novel?
BRUCE: No, my audition tape for Miss Universe. Of course, my novel.
ELLIOT: Well, you know what they say: the 53rd time is the charm.
BRUCE: That was 53.
ELLIOT: Oh. (beat) So who’s next?
BRUCE: No one. The pipeline is empty.
ELLIOT: Time to fill it back up, then.
BRUCE: I’d rather cum in my sock and then wear it.
ELLIOT: Really, old boy, it’s too early to be so vulgar.
BRUCE: Fuck it.
ELLIOT: So, how shall you proceed from here?
BRUCE: Delete every file; burn every manuscript.
ELLIOT: I’ve never found you so forlorn.
BRUCE: This last rejection made me admit it.
ELLIOT: Admit what?
BRUCE: That I’m trash. I come from trash and I am trash and I’ll die trash. I thought my intelligence and abilities would let me rise above that, but I don’t have money, and no one with money decided to tell other people with money that I’m not trash. So I’m trash.
Elliot, stunned quiet, sips his coffee. Bruce adds sugar and creamer to his mug, pulls a pack of smokes from his pocket, and lights a cigarette. The pair settle into a long, uncomfortable silence. Sounds of the city awakening play like a soft soundtrack.
ELLIOT: (clears his throat) Look, old boy —
BRUCE: Shut the fuck up.
TARA enters carrying two platters. She slows her approach to the table when she notices the mood.
TARA: (placing ELLIOT’s plate) Eggs Benedict, (then BRUCE’S) and a short stack. (She hesitates to deliver bad news) Delivery is late and we don’t have any bacon. Sausage instead? Or some ham?
ELLIOT: Sausage will be adequate.
BRUCE nods.
TARA: (to BRUCE) I’m off at 2:00 today. Text me?
BRUCE: Maybe.
TARA forces a smile and exits. The silence persists as ELLIOT cuts into his eggs and BRUCE opens the syrup packs. They take a few bites, quietly chewing, not looking at each other. Finally, ELLIOT speaks.
ELLIOT: You should text her later.
BRUCE: It’s not that simple.
ELLIOT: It never is.
BRUCE: What do you know about it?
ELLIOT: I am well familiar with love and lust and the accoutrement thereof. Particularly the poetry. Remember first being in love? My word, the poetry!
BRUCE: I never wrote any.
ELLIOT: Oh my, I did. Each romance of my youth spawned stanza after stanza. I read my amorous verse from time to time, now ancient scraps torn from a notebook entombed in a shoebox. There seems a chaotic hollowness to it now, like an empty trash can blown down the avenue on a windy day.
BRUCE: Jesus Christ… Edit yourself.
ELLIOT: Excuse me?
BRUCE: Edit your-fucking-self. “Torn from a notebook” is redundant… “On a windy day” is unnecessary.
ELLIOT: Your cruelty is unnecessary.
BRUCE: So is your opinion about anything.
More silence as TARA brings the sausage to the table.
TARA: Bruce?
BRUCE: Not now.
TARA backs away from the table before turning to exit.
ELLIOT: You’re an insufferable ass.
CURTAIN