Our Lives in the Theatre

Curtain opens on a half-finished stage set representing a living-room or drawing-room. The flats representing walls are up, but they're only half-painted. The painted sections are in imitation of wallpaper with oak trim. Instead of furniture, there's carpentry tools, a saw-horse, a couple meagre wooden chairs, a step-ladder with a couple well-worn red script-books lying on top of it, and there's dust everywhere. An unpainted door (ajar) to the left through which the rear scrim can be seen. At centre, a half-finished staircase goes up to a riser and no further, and there's a doorless doorway to the right of it. Stage right, fancy double doors in a nearly complete state.

From a distance, the sound of a metal safety door resonantly closing, and some laughter.

 

MAX (off). Who was left to get me home?

MARCY (off). You could have called a cab, or a cabriolet as the case might have been.

MAX (off). The party'd been in the middle of nowhere. Literally. A barren field.

JOE (off). A blasted heath.

MARCY (off). A road. A tree.

MAX (off). Okay, yes, a road. And a lot of trees along the road.

MARCY (off). Where you afraid of the ghosts, out there on, what, Ghost Road?

JOE (off). Scary stuff.

 

MAX enters through the fancy double doors. He's twenty-nine, already with a bit of a paunch, of average height, in black slacks and a worn dinner-jacket obviously now in everyday use.

JOE and MARCY follow. JOE is twenty-four, handsome and tall with black hair. Jeans and t-shirt. MARCY is only twenty-three, and blonde and pretty is an ordinary way. A light blouse and a skirt below her knees. They're very close together. All three are in a cheery mood. MAX sits in one of the chairs.

 

MAX. So, to continue, yes, I was frightened. I didn't know what direction was what.

JOE. Brush up on your astrology.

MARCY. Astronomy.

MAX (curiously). Why?

JOE. You could have read the stars in the sky, to find true north.

MARCY. Or what passes for truth in this crazy mixed-up world.

MAX. I don't think I even looked up once. Too afraid of what I'd see, like some mad banshees putting out their claws for me.

MARCY. I don't think banshees have claws.

MAX (gazing into the theatre-house dramatically). But then‑what should appear? A light!

JOE. The ghost!

MAX. It grew bigger, and bigger, until it finally became‑

MARCY. The dead motorcyclist!

MAX. ‑a Honda Civic!

MARCY. Oh.

JOE. Yeah. Oh.

MARCY. Was there a ghost inside?

MAX. No ghost. Instead ... a woman.

JOE. This would never work onstage.

MAX (raising the arm not holding the bottle). It could work onstage, because ... can you guess who the woman was?

MARCY. I've lost interest.

JOE. Search me, I dunno.

MAX. It was ... Joan!

MARCY (perking up). Oh my God! That's how you met!

MAX. Yes.

MARCY. Out in the middle of a field!

MAX. Yes.

MARCY. That's what's called a 'cute meet.'

MAX. Yes, it was a cute meet.

JOE. I suppose it would work as a flashback; but it would be no way to actually begin a story.

MAX. Maybe that's why it's taken me till today to tell you about it.

MARCY (to herself). Taw, taw, tee-tee-taw.

JOE (not hearing Marcy). You're quite the dramaturge.

MAX. And that event, that night, barely a day over seventeen, that night, and that road, is what has, in the end, brought us all together.

MARCY (peering into the house). I don't think she's here yet. Joan?

MAX. She went off to get props at some dime store. (Flicks his nose). She hates asking for receipts, so she likes to buy everything herself.

JOAN (off). I'm coming into the auditorium, Max, and I heard that, Max.

 

JOAN enters via the emergency exit to the left. She is a strikingly good-looking woman and well-dressed. She's thirty-two and has a confident air, though she's carrying a bag from the Almighty Dollar.

MAX puts down the bottle and moves it with his foot to one leg of his chair, hiding it from JOAN but not from MAX and MARCY.

 

MARCY (as JOAN enters and comes up the six stairs leading to the stage). Did you get some good stuff? I hope you picked up some candy and chips while you were there.

JOAN. Sorry, no candy, and no chips. A bunch of red ribbons we can use for the chamber scene, though. Get the lights on them just so, with a fan behind them, the audience will literally see flames coming away from a wall.

 

JOAN tosses the bag to MARCY, who opens the bag and pulls out things one at a time.

 

JOAN. So. Are you going to get to rehearsing our hero and heroine sometime soon?

MAX (smiling at JOAN). I was just telling them how we met.

JOAN. Ah, yes. Ghost Road.

MAX. I figured there was no rush. It always works best with a small audience, you know.

JOAN. Yes, that's true. I was at a meeting of the backers an hour ago.

JOE. Did it go as right as rain?

MAX. Did you wear your bells?

MARCY (holding up some imitation lace). How about this stuff?

JOAN. I can report success. I got us the extension on the credit line.

MAX. Oh, great! Though, I suppose, we could have struggled along without it.

JOAN. Something always goes wrong, though. And remember, failing‑

JOE and MARCY (in unison). To plan is planning to fail.

JOAN. To plan is planning to fail, that's right. Someone's going to get a sandbag dropped on his head, medical bills, rehabilitation, something is bound to go wrong. (She wrings her hands and stomps her left foot.) I wish I knew what it was! I wish I knew what was going to go wrong!

MAX. Calm down, Joan, this isn't the time for an episode. (Looks over at JOE and MARCY.) We've got all night to get through, after all.

JOAN. Yes. (Collects herself.) Practice makes perfect, though. Let's hear some lines.

 

JOAN goes over to the ladder and picks up the books. She hands one to MAX without even looking, and opens hers to the twentieth or so page.

 

JOAN. Ah, let's go through this part. You're in the house, finally alone. You don't know what's to come, but the audience does, if only by the design of the poster outside. Finally, alone. Remember, you're both innocent.

MAX. Wait a sec, who's directing this?

 

MAX rises from the chair, picking up the bottle defiantly to put it some feet away. Looking at JOAN he points to the chair. JOAN obediently sits. JOE and MARCY get onto their marks and into their characters.

 

MAX. So, you're, ah, alone, and innocent, and blah-blah-blah. "I've never been alone with a man like this before."

MARCY. I've never been ... alone ... with a man like this before. I can't think of a single occasion, really.

JOE. I'd like to be able to say the same. Though‑heh!‑I should say‑with a girl rather than a man‑of course. Though I can't really say it, in those inexact words, I sure do wish I could say to you that you were my first.

MAX. Intone it all more imprecisely next time.

MARCY: Don't you think it's all so dark and almost frightening?

JOE. It's just a house. Ghosts are natural to believe in. Who was here? What did they do? Who touched this lamp last? (He mimics turning on a lamp) You can't get away from the ghosts. I'm sure that even concrete overpasses have ghosts.

MARCY. I feel there's something else here.

JOE (aside.) Should I reveal that I am nervous too? Who knows who lived, or died, in here before? (Aloud.) We got the place brightened up now. We've chased the ghosts from the corners! We've got some sandwiches, so let's just ride it out 'til morning.

MARCY. I know that you're right, Bill. Do you really think this house is your inheritance?

JOE. I never saw it before, but it accords with what I heard.

MARCY (aside). Not once I've seen a property so dead. Perhaps my Bill has something of a haunt. (Aloud.) Assuming it's so ... well, we'll just fix it up.

JOE. I saw on the Homes and Gardens channel a place like this totally gutted and made into something fancy. There's no reason we can't do the same. ((Aside.)) Look at her, folks. Look at Marcy. Did you ever see a woman more beautiful? (Aside.) The coachman's idle tales of tortures here, we can't allow them to inflict our choice.

MARCY. Well. it's certainly something to be called a fixer-upper! It'll take a week just to broom out the rat-shit! ((Aside.)) My audience! If I asked you to clap three times to really get him to start loving me, would you? (Aside.) Well sure he's cute, but ghosts are everywhere! I'm sure I wouldn't last beyond a week.

JOE. Look at the time! It's later than we thought it was.

MARCY. I'm sure this house is haunted.

VILLAIN (off). It sounds like you've started without me.

 

Kurt the VILLAIN enters through the left door. He's in his late twenties, manly, in jeans and a lumberjack shirt. Think Errol Flynn. Very much capable of throwing a dead deer onto the table of King John.

 

VILLAIN. Where are we? On what page?

MAX: Hello, Kurt. It's not your scene yet. We're, just, until the others show up, doing something.

VILLAIN. Oh, the sloppy stuff. Are we going to do a full run-through?

MAX. I think we could do that.

VILLAIN. Well okay. I guess I'll catch a forty until my entrance in the third scene then.

 

Kurt the VILLAIN goes down the steps to sit and snooze in the first row.

 

MAX. Where were we? Continue with the scene. The villain, the gardener, hasn't shown himself yet. Keep it in mind: Henry James circa 2021.

MARCY. I'm sure this house is haunted.

JOE (conciliatorily). I don't think there's anything to worry about, really, really. There may be some, ah, skeletons in these closets, but trust me we're safe.

MAX. Joe, you have to be more confident here. Be strong! Don't hem and haw.

JOE. Was I?

MAX. Yeah, 'really, really'? 'Ah'?

JOE. What am I supposed to believe?

JOAN. Sheesh! You're in love with the girl, and you want to look strong, even if you're not. It's called boldness, you cluck. You're pretending to be ready for anything, ghosts, zombies, whatever. And you'll protect her. Be male, for Christ's sake. (To MAX). That's what men do.

MAX. What have I done?

JOAN. Nothing, nothing. (To JOE). Even though the audience will see right through it, like in Rocky Horror Show, you have to look strong, like Brad. Brad-like.

JOE. I think I'm strong.

JOAN. Then act it.

JOE. Fine. (He swaggers around the stage broadly. In a deeper voice.) Sure, maybe there's a couple skeletons in these closets, ha-ha-ha! but it's anything I can't handle!

WRITER. (Off.) I heard that, and that's not the line.

MAX. Who's there?

 

The WRITER comes in from right. He's in his forties, balding, in slightly dusty work-clothes, and he has a bundle of papers under his arm.

 

WRITER. It's me.

VILLAIN. (In the first row.) Who are you?

WRITER. I'm the writer of this play.

VILLAIN. (To Max). Is this true?

MAX. Yes, it's the writer.

 

Kurt the VILLAIN runs up onto the stage.

 

VILLAIN. A real honest-to-goodness writer?

WRITER. (Leaning back.) Yes, I'm real.

VILLAIN. I have to tell you I like your play a whole lot. I like my part a whole lot, too.

WRITER. I'm guessing you're the villain.

VILLAIN. Yes, a great role.

WRITER. Malice is easy, so long as you don't over-act it.

VILLAIN. Oh no, I'm subtle. I'm a subtle villain. I've got it down so that the audience doesn't know what I'm up to for, like, two whole scenes.

WRITER. That's good. Try to keep them guessing through the whole thing is what I'd like.

VILLAIN. Hmm. I'll take that under consideration.

WRITER. Under consideration?

VILLAIN. Sure. It's my part, after all.

WRITER. Yes. Sadly. (He goes to lean against some flats representing a wall, then thinks better of it.) All the parts are in me, but I had to let them go.

VILLAIN. There's something poetic in that.

WRITER. Yes. A sad poetry. So, I was in the neighbourhood, and I thought I'd drop by to see how you are progressing. Not that it's any of my responsibility.

MAX. No, actually, it's not. Right now, it is my responsibility.

WRITER (Making a low bow). Right you are. I have been in these situations once too often. I know I have written a very good play, and if you want to ruin it, go right ahead. You're not the only theatre company in the world, or in this city, for that matter.

 

Doors slamming off, laughter, giggles, two voices singing 'Sugar Sugar.' Enter the CHORUS of six members evenly split into sexes. The are all on the cusp of being 20. Their joy in everything is easily seen. Some calisthenics as they happily hop over one another. The build themselves into a small pyramid which collapses immediately.

 

1ST CHORUS (BOY). Well, here we are! Ready, willing, and able to go! Say the word!

2ND CHORUS (GIRL). What do you have planned for us? Is it going to be the musical scene?

3RD CHORUS (BOY). The instruments are in the back, in the rehearsal room. Should we run and get them?

4TH CHORUS (GIRL). I've been practicing the bass part in my head all afternoon.

5TH CHORUS (BOY). I want to rehearse it all right. I don't quite know my motivation.

6TH CHORUS (GIRL). What's motivation got to do with being in the chorus?

MAX (Waving his hands about). Now, now, calm down, please. Act a bit professionally. This isn't high school theatre. This requires some thought on your parts.

WRITER. I hold my tongue.

VILLAIN. I think they're awful damn cute. I could gobble them up like that!

JOAN. I quite like the acrobatics routine. Are you all trained?

MARCY. Isn't there a big chance for some clowny business in the second act?

JOE. I don't think we've explored every possibility for some hijinks. Hijinks, even kinks.

 

High overhead, a lighting bar sways. The other two lighting bars join in, in a kind of sympathy. They squeak.

 

1ST CHORUS. Is everything moving?

2ND CHORUS. Why is the stage moving?

 

The entire auditorium starts shaking terribly. The flimsy unsecured parts of the set fall down. Ages-old dust on the ceiling high above the house starts falling. A loud noise from off, a crash of something glass and metal.

 

MAX. Jesus Christ! Everyone, get under the proscenium!

JOAN. Get under, everyone!

 

MAX, JOAN, 1ST, 2ND, 3RD, 4TH, and 6TH CHORUS, WRITER, VILLAIN, JOE, AND MARCY get under the proscenium arch and huddle, watching all around. The trembling gets more violent. Spotlights fall from the balcony to smash some seats below. The lighting bars are swaying freely, and a red Fresnel which had been put up in a safe-enough manner not three weeks before falls to the stage and shatters. The 5TH CHORUS is still on stage, somewhat stunned by it all. Crashing is heard all around, and a tremendous roar that sounds like a train approaching. The lighting bar from which the Fresnel fell rocks about like mad, and finally its wires give way. It swings down with a great force and hits 5TH CHORUS, who screams before being knocked into the left wing. The emergency exit on the right side collapses, for it was mostly just plaster anyway; out backstage another collapse is taking place, on the edge of the building. Many of the lights go out; the emergency lighting system kicks into illumination. The auditorium is full of dust and the smell of ozone. The emergency exit on the left side collapses. The balcony is jumping up and down until finally it entirely lets go, smashing down into the house below. The stage and auditorium are littered with debris, and the emergency exits are quite obviously blocked. Fifteen minutes pass as the eleven huddle silently.

 

MAX (Quietly). I guess it's over.

 

A minute passes.

 

JOAN. I think you're right.

MARCY. I've heard of these things called aftershocks.

 

Two minutes pass.

 

JOAN. I think the show's over.

MAX. I think you're right.

 

They get up and brush themselves off.

 

WRITER (Smiling). I guess everyone's okay.

6TH CHORUS. I think you're eleven-twelfth's correct.

 

1ST and 3RD CHORUS go into the left wing, where they find that 5TH CHORUS's skull has been smashed to bits.

 

1ST CHORUS. We got a fatality here. Peter's very much dead.

VILLAIN. Well, really, it was a major earthquake. I think we did pretty good, all in all. We're in the middle of wreckage. Eleven-twelfth's not bad at all!

3RD CHORUS. He was our friend.

VILLIAN. Yes, I'm sure he was. And I'm sorry for your loss. Very sorry for your loss. (Looking up.) I guess these prosceniums are built to stand the test of time. It's not even cracked.

JOAN. Are there any injuries to report? No? So, you're all okay? Bones, bruises, fractures, anything? Well, that's good.

2ND CHORUS. Peter's dead!

JOAN. We've established that plot-point, thank you very much. Sorry. Really sorry. However, since I'm the producer of this show, I must buck up and take charge. Now be careful how you move and what you step on! The set's a shambles, and there's lots of rusty nails about. How about you two (indicating 4TH and 6TH CHORUS) take up those two brooms over there and gently get what you can down into the orchestra pit?

6TH CHORUS. Us? Why us?

JOAN. You look fit, and you're the ones I pointed to.

 

4TH and 6TH CHORUS take up brooms and start shovelling stuff into the orchestra pit.

 

WRITER. I have to say, I believe we're going to find all the exits blocked.

JOE. Why do you say that?

WRITER. Just a hunch.

JOE. You're wrong, mister author. (Thinks for a moment.) Does anyone have anything like a radio on them?

ALL (Save JOE). Not I.

JOE. Maybe we are indeed cut off.

JOAN. Joe, let me control this. Everyone, carefully, check the six exits. House exits, emergency exits, stage exits.

 

Simultaneously, VILLAIN and 1ST CHORUS check the left stage exit, MARCY and 6TH CHORUS check the right stage exit, WRITER and 2ND CHORUS check the left emergency exit, JOE and 4TH CHORUS check the right emergency exit, MAX looks to the right house exit, and 3RD CHORUS looks to the left house exit.

 

MAX and 3RD CHORUS. The house exits are completely blocked, because the balcony fell.

WRITER, 2ND CHORUS, JOE, and 4TH CHORUS. The emergency exits are blocked, because they were little more than plaster anyway.

VILLAIN, 1ST CHORUS, MARCY and 6TH CHORUS. The cinder blocks backstage appear to have been assembled using an inferior grade of mortar. It's all rubble now.

JOAN. I suppose the thing to do now is to.

MAX. What?

JOAN. What about the balcony exits? This is so like the Poseidon Adventure. Any spelunkers present?

1ST CHORUS. Me.

2ND CHORUS. I rock-climb.

JOAN. Could you go up the balcony rubble to see if you can get to the mezzanine stairs?

 

1ST CHORUS and 2ND CHORUS go down into the house to examine the wreckage. Everyone else watches.

 

1ST CHORUS. I think we can get a hold here.

2ND CHORUS. Where will that get us?

1ST CHORUS. I don't know: up.

2ND CHORUS. It would be nice.

1ST CHORUS. What?

2ND CHORUS. Up.

 

After a moment passes, 1ST CHORUS and 2ND CHORUS begin to scale the rubble of the balcony.

 

JOAN. The fly gallery. There might be a way out through there.

1ST CHORUS. You look pretty good, climbing.

MAX. I know this theatre; I doubt the catwalks are still stable.

2ND CHORUS. You think so? Look, everyone's so far away.

VILLAIN. I stage-managed Once Upon a Mattress here, back in the day. The catwalks go to the lighting booth, and also to the boiler room.

 

1ST CHORUS and 2ND CHORUS make it up to what's left of the balcony. They're at the windows of the lighting booth.

 

2ND CHORUS. We made it! So, what now?

VILLAIN. Maybe we don't have to bother with the catwalks. (Yells:) Can you get into the lighting booth?

1ST CHORUS. That door over there.

 

The door to the passageway into the lighting booth is stable and secure. 1ST CHORUS and 2ND CHORUS enter the lighting booth.

 

MARCY. I think we've found our way out.

WRITER. I still think there's going to be some aftershocks.

2ND CHORUS. So, this is what a lighting booth looks like. (She checks out the console.) This looks pretty complicated.

VILLAIN. We could follow them.

JOE. I'm sure there's some ropes around.

1ST CHORUS. There's another door here.

JOAN. Somebody gather some ropes.

 

Aftershock. The earth trembles, and that which did not fall earlier falls now. Another Fresnel crashes to the stage; its shattering glass flies across the stage improbably and cuts through the jugular vein of Kurt the VILLAIN. Wordlessly he falls, with blood spurting from his throat and mouth. The passageway leading into the lighting booth collapses. 3RD, 4TH, and 6TH CHORUS, JOAN, MAX, TRUDY, JOE, and WRITER return to the proven shelter of the proscenium. After the shock, five minutes later, they, along with 1ST and 2ND CHORUS, get to their respective feet.

 

TRUDY. Can this go.... Oh my God, the Villain actor!

MAX. Well ain't that a bitch. (Looks up.) This theatre's gonna kill us all in no time.

4TH CHORUS. Anybody know his name?

2ND CHORUS (Looking at the collapsed passageway). We can't get back into the theatre.

1ST CHORUS. There's a door over here. Maybe it leads out onto the roof.

MAX. Yes, of course, his name was Kurt Arthurson.

4TH CHORUS. One or two ss?

MAX. I'm not rightly sure. I've got it written down somewhere.

JOAN. People. I think we should decide where to put the bodies. Some place sanitary and separate.

 

1ST CHORUS tries to open the door at the back of the lighting booth. It won't budge.

 

1ST CHORUS. Well, we're not getting out that way.

2ND CHORUS. The windows out onto the balcony, they're not blocked.

JOE. The right aisle. That's most blocked.

JOAN. Actually, you must mean the other one.

JOE. How's that?

JOAN. You mean the left aisle.

JOE (pointing). I mean that one there.

JOAN. That's the left aisle. Stage left aisle.

JOE. It's right! It's right! This isn't a play! There may not be any plays for some time! It's the left aisle!

JOAN. Well, fine. (Claps her hands.) No more use of the terms 'stage right' and stage left'. I've been informed this isn't theatre anymore.

JOE. Damn right!

JOAN. Who's good at carrying bodies?

MAX. I guess I should step up.

JOE. Me too.

 

MAX and JOE lift up VILLAIN's body and take it down to the right aisle, where they gently lay it down.

 

JOE. Let's get that chorus guy's body down here, then find something, some canvas, to cover them both up.

 

MAX and JOE go back onstage to get 5TH CHORUS's body.

 

MAX. Can someone find some canvas or something?

 

6TH CHORUS finds a bolt of unsized cloth.

 

6TH CHORUS. How much should I cut off?

MAX. I guess nine feet would do.

1ST CHORUS. It's dark in here, and out there, too. (Intimately.) They probably think we're dead.

2ND CHORUS. That would give us some ... free time, I guess.

 

6TH CHORUS cuts an appropriate amount of cloth from the bolt. She carries it down the aisle, but only part way.

 

6TH CHORUS. Could you come and get it?

1ST CHORUS. I feel pretty free, don't you?

2ND CHORUS. I think I know where this is heading.

1ST CHORUS. I can't think of any objection to it.

 

MAX goes to 6TH CHORUS and takes the cloth from her.

 

MAX. Thanks.

 

1ST and 2ND CHORUS strip one another and have wild uninhibited sex, right up there in the lighting booth. It's the most hardcore scene you can imagine, and there it is, right on front of you.

MAX and JOE put the cloth over the bodies. They then return to the stage.

 

TRUDY. You know, we're going to be missed sooner or later.

JOAN. Yes; people know where we are. My husband knows where I am. Someone's bound to come and find us.

6TH CHORUS. Should we should start yelling at the collapsed parts?

JOAN. It's highly unlikely we'll be missed this early. I think we should take a break and relax. Save our strengths. Rest assured, we'll get out of here sooner or later.

6TH CHORUS. I hope not too much later!

JOAN (putting her hand reassuringly on 6TH CHORUS's shoulder). I'm sure it won't be terribly much longer.

JOE. Sounds good, but I think I'll scale up onto the balcony to see if there's a way out up there.

2ND CHORUS (whispering). Hear that? We've got to be quiet.

1ST CHORUS. I can be quiet if you can.

2ND CHORUS. Ooh, I don't know.

 

JOE carefully climbs up onto what's left of the balcony and roots around for some time. The windows into the lighting booth are too high to examine. Meanwhile, MAX, JOAN, TRUDY, the WRITER, 3RD, 4TH, and 6th CHORUS lie where they can. Some fall asleep. JOE comes back down to join the rest.

 

WRITER. I suppose I might as well sleep. Wake me when we're rescued.

JOAN. I suppose I can keep watch.

MAX. We may have a lot to do in the morning, whenever that happens.

 

Everything is quiet. Four hours pass. 2ND CHORUS shakes 1ST CHORUS awake.

 

2ND CHORUS. Hey.

1ST CHORUS. Where are we?

2ND CHORUS. Lighting booth.

1ST CHORUS (illuminatedly). Oh! Yeah, well.

2ND CHORUS. I think we should see about getting back to the others.

1ST CHORUS (getting up). I think so. Man, we're covered in it! They're going to know immediately.

2ND CHORUS. We can make up a story. We were knocked out cold.

1ST CHORUS. And got cum all over ourselves.

2ND CHORUS. They may suspect something, but no-one will mention it.

1ST CHORUS. How do you know?

2ND CHORUS. It's just one of those things I know.

1ST CHORUS. Okay, so, let's check out the windows.

 

1ST and 2ND CHORUS put on clothes. They climb over the lighting booth to peer through the windows.

 

2ND CHORUS. It's a long way down.

1ST CHORUS. I got an idea.

 

1ST CHORUS goes to a cabinet filled with extension cords and patch cables. He ties some cords together, loops a lasso over 2ND CHORUS. The other end he loops around the leg of the lighting console.

 

1ST CHORUS. Climb into the window, over the edge, and I'll let you down.

2ND CHORUS. Let me down, but let me down slowly. My heart couldn't take it otherwise.

1ST CHORUS. You won't feel a thing.

2ND CHORUS. I'm already feeling too much.

 

2ND CHORUS gets into the window. 1ST CHORUS carefully lowers her to solid (though rubble) ground. She detaches herself from the extension cord, and gives it a tug. He pulls up the cord, loops it around himself, climbs through the window and slowly lowers his self down.

 

2ND CHORUS (whispering). Good to see you again.

1ST CHORUS (whispering). Fancy meeting you here.

 

Together, holding onto one another, 1ST and 2ND CHORUS carefully and slowly make their way down off the balcony. They stop some ten feet away from all the others.

 

2ND CHORUS (whispering). Ssh. No need to wake them.

1ST CHORUS (whispering). We could sleep too. Heh. Maybe they won't even realize we've been gone.

2ND CHORUS (whispering). Gone is the word for it.

 

1ST and 2ND CHORUS sit down in a couple seats, and fall asleep in quite a pleasant smiling exhaustion. Ninety minutes pass.

 

6TH CHORUS. Green. Such a field, James. (Wakes up and looks around.) Oh, golly. (Gets up and walks.) Someone must have missed us by now.

 

6TH CHORUS goes up onto the stage to stand in the centre.

 

6TH CHORUS. What a strange new world, with such people in it!

 

6TH CHORUS walks to the backstage entranceway. She put her head close to the wreckage. Five minutes pass as she concentrates.

 

6TH CHORUS. There's something going on out there. I'm sure of it.

MARK (distant off). Fork this concrete out of the way.

6TH CHORUS. HEY!

 

MAX, JOAN, TRUDY, the WRITER, 1ST, 2ND, 3RD, and 4TH CHORUS wake up immediately. They stumble up onto the stage with a confused rhubarbing.

 

6TH CHORUS. HEY! HELP!

JOAN. What is it?

6TH CHORUS. There's people out there. We're about to be rescued!

JOAN. I don't hear anything.

MAX. Nope, not a sound.

3RD CHORUS. I'm certain you're imagining things.

 

The forks of a backhoe burst through the wreckage with a terrific noise. The rubble falls to left and right as if made of Styrofoam (which, in fact, they are). Dust is everywhere, but it clears, revealing MARK in a hard-hat atop the machine.

 

JOAN. Mark!

MARK. Joan!

 

MARK gets down from the machine. He is burly and masculine. He and JOAN embrace as if they're married (which, in fact, they are).

 

MARK. I thought I'd never see you again!

JOAN. I thought pretty much the same!

JOE (to MAX). Wow. 'Unexpectedly.' I really expected you and Joan to get it on.

MAX (to JOE). I thought that was going to happen, too.

MARK. I'm so glad you left that note beside the telephone!

JOAN. I left a note? Yes, I left a note!

MAX (to JOE). I myself expected you to get down with Marcy.

JOE (to MAX). Did you? Certainly, I thought of that, but I guess I wasn't really in the mood.

3RD CHORUS (who'd been listening in). Huh, well, I guess it shows we're all a bunch of amateurs after all.

WRITER. How do you figure that?

3RD CHORUS. No-one got laid.

MARK. We dug and we dug, and I was determined‑

JOAN. You got to us pretty quickly, though.

MARK. You call three days quick?

6TH CHORUS. What?

MARK. We've been digging for three days.

MARCY. But, we've only been in here for, what, six or seven hours.

MARK (rubbing his neck). I can't explain it. I just can't explain it.

MAX. Listen, folks. Can we discuss this anomaly over a meal somewhere?

MARK. Actually, no, you can't.

MAX. Why not?

MARK. All the restaurants are closed on account of the plague.

MARCY. Plague?

MARK. Yeah, plague. Came out of China. They say it's like a really bad flu. Everyone, go to your homes, and stay there until further notice!

MAX. You're kidding, right?

MARK (shaking his head sadly.) Nope. I wish it was. If you don't believe me, go look at some closed restaurants if you like.

MAX. No, I ... believe you.

MARCY. But how long is it going to go on?

MARK. Only two weeks, they say. Then we'll all be as right as rain!

2ND CHORUS. Oh.

 

Inside 2ND CHORUS, a spermatozoon joins with an egg to create a new life. Not only that, the gamete immediately splits to create two embryos. That's right. Two new yet-to-be-named characters are introduced. Aside from that, our lives went on.