Rental
Hey all, long time no see. I'm sorry I haven't written in so long; school, a death in the family and graduation have kind of caught up to me. I'm working on things but they're far from done.
HOWEVER, for one of my classes, I had to write a one-act play and I ended up writing an American-ized, non-romantic (but kind of bromantic) version of Rent-A-Friend and since you guys all read that, I figured maybe you'd want to read this? I don't know; I just thought it'd be nice to post something.
There's a part missing in the middle but you guys know the story so you can fill in the gaps. And it has a slightly different ending. Anyways, enjoy.
RENTAL
Characters:
OLIVER: mid to late 20s, always perfectly dressed, kind of nervous, not amazing with people.
NASH: a little younger than OLIVER but not much, very hip, kind of a manchild, smooth talker
Scene One
(Lights up on a sparse apartment. There’s a couch, a recliner next to it and a stand in front where a television would be sitting. OLIVER, mid to late 20s, sits in the recliner, typing away on a laptop that was probably past its prime three years earlier. Despite the fact that this is his place and technically he’s just lounging around, he’s dressed in khakis and a button-down shirt, complete with loafers. He keeps glancing nervously at his watch.
After a short while, there is a ring of the doorbell. OLIVER is flustered, almost dropping the laptop. He carefully closes it and sets it next to the chair before dusting himself off and trying to calm down. He moves slowly towards stage right as the doorbell rings one more time. He opens the door.
NASH stands in the doorway. He’s perhaps slightly younger than OLIVER but only just and dressed normally. He fixes OLIVER a look.)
NASH: Oliver Russell?
(OLIVER nods and NASH grins in response.)
NASH: Ollie!
(NASH reaches forward and ruffles OLIVER’s hair before stepping past him, into the apartment, dropping his bag on the ground and launching himself onto OLIVER’s couch. OLIVER doesn’t know what to make of this.)
NASH: (noticing OLIVER’s lack of response) What? You’re going to act like you don’t know me?
OLIVER: Well, er, I guess you’re going to start the act right now, and that’s okay and all, that’s fine, but I don’t actually know your name so…
NASH: I didn’t put my name in the email? Shit, I’m sorry. I’m getting really lax about that kind of thing. You can call me Nash. (reaches out his hand as if to shake)
(OLIVER realizes he’s still standing next to the open doorway. He takes a look out and then closes the door, heading over to NASH and shaking his hand.)
NASH: Okay, let’s see what we’re dealing with here.
(He takes a long look at OLIVER and the other man looks slightly uncomfortable, sitting down in the recliner. Finally, NASH breaks out into a grin.)
NASH: Okay, so I’m going to say you’re the type who’s going to need someone to balance them out. You're totally bookish, right? And every once in awhile you get really fired up about something but for the most part, you're super quiet. I’d say more Disney’s Belle than Pointdexter, though. Hidden depths.
(OLIVER blinks and NASH laughs)
NASH: Don't’ give me that face; you're transparent! I mean, come on, I've been here all of what? five minutes? and I'm pretty much the only one that's talked. It's fine, that's what I'm here for, but give me some credit; I know what I'm doing.
(OLIVER nods, still not quite sure what to make of all of this. NASH reclines on the couch.)
NASH: Okay, don’t want to waste any time, right? Let’s figure out what kind of deal you want to go with. This is for some book thing, right?
OLIVER: Er, yeah. A party for my book release.
NASH: And you need a friend-slash-family for?
OLIVER: Well, when my editor called, he asked me how many guests I was bringing. Didn’t really give me the chance to say none.
NASH: So you said?
OLIVER: I said one, cause, you know, I figured at least somebody from my family could fly out. But then with the snowstorm-
NASH: Got it. Hmm, okay. So you’re from the east?
OLIVER: Yeah. Moved out here for college.
NASH: Okay, I get that. That gives us a few possibilities for how we want to do this then. You can choose what we go with.
OLIVER: Oh, um, alright.
NASH: So your first choice would be college roommate. It kinda seems like the most obvious, you know, in my professional opinion or whatnot. With college roommate, you pretty much get the full gamut of coed stupidity nostalgia. Drinking parties, that one time you thought it was just a normal brownie. I could even throw in streaking, if you want.
OLIVER: That … I don’t know. I don’t know about that. That’s nothing like…I didn’t…
NASH: Yeah, no kidding. Okay, what else could we do? I guess we could pull childhood friend?
OLIVER: What’s childhood friend?
NASH: Well, in that, we make up some sob story. Something like I transferred to your school in fourth grade or something, we hit it off like, you know, happens, and then I had to move away in high school. The perk of this one is that we can blame anything that I don’t know on the fact that we haven’t reconnected for so long. I can also throw in some of those super sappy ‘he was such a cute kid’ things. Some story about catching crawdads. Do they have crawdads where you’re from?
OLIVER: I don’t know.
NASH: Eh, they have crawdads everywhere. It’ll work. Make you homesy. People like homesy.
OLIVER: I suppose. Yeah, okay. Yeah, sure, let’s go with that one.
NASH: Childhood friend it is, then. Sounds good, Ollie.
OLIVER: Um, no one calls me Ollie.
NASH: Excuse you. I’ve called you Ollie ever since you stopped Billy Nelson from beating me up the second week of fourth grade.
OLIVER: Oh.
(Beat)
NASH: So where are you putting me?
OLIVER: What?
NASH: Where am I sleeping? We’ve got a week to make me your best friend in the world. You think we’re going to get it done in a meet and greet?
OLIVER: But you never said anything-
NASH: Fuck what I said. I can sleep on the couch if need be.
OLIVER: I don’t know if I really feel comfortable with you just-
NASH: Couch it is, then. (picks up his bag, placing it on the couch and starts pulling things out of it. A shirt, a few pairs of underwear, a small Gameboy, a deck of cards.)
OLIVER: ….yeah, okay. Alright, just, oh, just don’t steal my tv.
Scene Two
(NASH lays across the couch, tapping away at buttons on his Gameboy. The machine makes tinny noises that resemble music as he plays. OLIVER walks in from up stage left, on the phone.)
OLIVER: And what time do I need to be there? (pause) Okay, yeah, I can be ready by then, I guess. (pause) Okay. Okay, yeah. (pause) Yeah, see you then. Okay, bye.
(OLIVER hangs up the phone, looking vaguely defeated)
NASH: (without looking up) Who was that?
OLIVER: (sinking into the nearby chair) Manager. There was a change of location for the party.
NASH: And you’re upset…?
OLIVER: No, no, I mean, no point. It’s just a few blocks farther and yeah, it’s fine.
NASH: Okay, sure.
(silence except for the pinging of Nash’s Gameboy. After a few seconds, the noise turns into triumphant music and NASH grins, closing it with a flourish. As he sets the Gameboy down, he arches his back and pulls out a book he’s been sitting on.)
NASH: Well, if everything is fine, might as well get some business done, huh?
OLIVER: What do you mean?
NASH: I found this old yearbook. Figured we could use it, bone me up on some of our shared history.
OLIVER: Where did you find that?
NASH: Doesn’t matter. Who’s Olive Russell? (flipping through the book) I saw it in the index. Did they misprint your name?
OLIVER: Not really.
NASH: Because that would be super embarrassing in fourth grade.
OLIVER: It’s my sister.
NASH: (stops flipping) You’re kidding me.
OLIVER: She’s four years older.
NASH: You guys are seriously Olive and Oliver?
OLIVER: My parents thought it was clever.
NASH: Your parents are idiots. No offense.
OLIVER: (huffs a bit but doesn’t say anything)
NASH: Okay, anyway, what else do we need? Hmm… Childhood crush? Got one of those? You can always make up good stories around a good CHC. I think it’s directly related to how those black and white pictures of toddlers kissing sell so well. It’s weird but chicks dig it.
OLIVER: Er, what?
NASH: Childhood crush. The girl you looked for on the playground and then proceeded to through a ball at.
OLIVER: Why would I do that?
NASH: You hurt the one you love, right? Or something like that. Anyway, name.
OLIVER: Oh, um, Amy Douglas.
NASH: Amy Douglas, hmm? (flips through the yearbook to find her) Oh, she is cute. Good choice.
OLIVER: Uh, thanks.
NASH: Anything ever happen with her? You ever tap that?
OLIVER: What? No. I just, well, I never really, I asked her to a dance in eighth grade but she ended up going with Matt Ardell. So that kind of, you know, ended that.
NASH: Poor kid. First heartbreak. That’s a good one. And then I found you all depressed at the dance and we snuck out and TP’d her house.
OLIVER: We…? Okay, okay. That’s kind of fun. I like that.
NASH: Thought you might. Anyone else I should know? Bully? Teacher’s Pet? Classroom rival?
OLIVER: Peter Reynolds was kind of a dick.
NASH: Strong language! Let’s see this kid. (flips the page) Oh, look at that mug! He looks like the kind of kid who would take your lunch money.
OLIVER: Eight years.
NASH: Eight years? Damn, Ollie! Let’s come up with something good for him. Maybe he’s in jail now.
OLIVER: I think he runs a car dealership.
NASH: Doesn’t matter; in my head, he’s in jail. For tax evasion or something stupid like that.
OLIVER: (grinning) Okay.
NASH: Gosh, what time is it? Can we eat yet?
OLIVER: Oh, shoot. It’s already six. I’ll run and grab us some takeout?
NASH: Sounds good, Ollie.
(OLIVER rushes around, grabbing his wallet and keys. NASH lies back on the couch, pulling his Gameboy out from where he stashed it. OLIVER runs out the door and NASH gives it a sideways grin before going back to his game.)
Scene Three
(OLIVER walks in the room to find NASH fiddling with cords connected to a large plastic box. This is his Nintendo Wii (or substitute other fairly recent gaming system.))
OLIVER: What the hell, Nash?
NASH: Morning, Ollie.
OLIVER: What are you doing?
NASH: This? I was getting bored beating the same game over and over again so I ran to my apartment last night to go get some more. Brought my Wii back. Fancy a game of MarioKart? (holds up a plastic steering wheel)
OLIVER: I’m really not that good at these things.
NASH: That’s fine. The Kart’s not my specialty, anyway. Trying to get better and practice makes perfect, right?
OLIVER: I suppose. Just go easy on me, alright? (takes the proffered steering wheel and sits on the couch)
NASH: Of course, buddy.
(The two sit side by side on the couch, facing the invisible television and supposedly playing the game. NASH is playing with ease; OLIVER is clearly struggling.)
NASH: You know? You never told me what your book was about.
OLIVER: You’re going to bring that up now?
NASH: Could you spill the beans or something? If I’m going to a party about a book that, I’m guessing, everyone else at the place has read, I need at least the Sparknotes version.
OLIVER: You don’t want to read it, do you?
(the game makes a crashing sound and OLIVER winces)
NASH: Not read it. Just want to know what happens.
OLIVER: Don’t worry about it. Just concentrate on the game.
NASH: I just want to know the main guy’s name. So I can throw it out at the party.
OLIVER: I can’t focus on this right now.
NASH: Come on. Just the title.
(some upbeat music plays and a surprised by pleased look appears on OLIVER’s face)
OLIVER: It’s Carl.
NASH: ….Carl? Like the name Carl?
OLIVER: Yes. Why?
NASH: Nothing. Just seems kind of boring, that’s all. What’s this story about, anyway? (in a movie trailer voice) Mild-mannered businessman gets fired at fifty, makes toy trains in his basement for the rest of his life. Carl.
OLIVER: That’s not it. Just play the game.
NASH: Janitor at a middle school gets wrapped up in a weird drug/child molestation/teacher student affair scandal. Carl.
OLIVER: Stop it.
NASH: Overweight teenage boy becomes instant celebrity when he appears on a hidden camera show. Suddenly popular, do these people like him for him or for his fifteen minutes? Carl.
OLIVER: (aggravated noise. His “driving” becomes more spastic)
NASH: Nerdy guy spends all his life alone in his apartment, wishing he had friends or a social life, but instead just writes a book about it. Carl.
(the game makes a huge crashing noise, followed by a game over. OLIVER puts the controller down.)
OLIVER: Now you’re just making fun of me.
NASH: Just tell me what it’s about.
OLIVER: Fine. (pause) It’s a modern retelling of Beowulf.
NASH: Beowulf.
OLIVER: From a Marxist perspective.
NASH: The Russian guy?
OLIVER: This is why I wanted you to let it go.
NASH: No, no, I get it. Carl, like Carl Marx. And then he kills the evil Angelina Jolie, right?
OLIVER: Angelina Jolie?
NASH: Yeah. I saw it in the trailer. She’s like a monster thing or something.
OLIVER: Oh, um, yeah. He kills the, um, the Angelina Jolie of capitalism.
NASH: Aren’t you glad you told me? Now I can talk about it at the party, when the stories get to be a bit much. They can be, you know. After awhile.
OLIVER: Honestly, you don’t have to. I’d rather you stick with the stories.
NASH: If you say so, chief. Up for another round? (pokes at the controller at OLIVER’s side)
OLIVER: I don't know; I kind of suck at it.
NASH: Ah, come on. One more game.
OLIVER: I suppose.
(NASH pushes some buttons and the background putter starts again.)
OLIVER: How did you get this system, anyway?
NASH: What do you mean? I bought it. At a store. Like a normal person.
OLIVER: But how did you get the money?
NASH: I have a job, as you well know.
OLIVER: Yeah, but it doesn’t pay this well, does it?
NASH: You do realize that you’re just one of many clients, right? I’m a professional, Ollie. Best at what I do. A specialist, even.
OLIVER: But I’m only paying you-
NASH: Doesn’t matter what you pay me. No offense but you’re kind of a small fry. I’ve been paid much more for much more, ahem, intensive services.
OLIVER: (scandalized) You don’t mean…?
NASH: (laughing) Don’t worry. I never kiss them on the mouth.
(Game crash noises. OLIVER still looks shocked.)
NASH: Aw, Ollie, come on. It was a joke.
OLIVER: So you don’t?
NASH: Come on. No, okay? I’ll pretend to be someone’s husband/boyfriend/whatever sometimes but it never goes thatt far.
OLIVER: Good. I mean, you know, that’s just so unsanitary and kind of dangerous and it just never
NASH: I get it. I know. Hence why I don't do it. Why are you so bent out of shape?
OLIVER: (thinks for a second) I guess I just don’t want my childhood friend to grow up to be a hooker.
NASH: Okay. Fair enough. One more round?
Here is where I want to add a few more scenes of them just getting to know each other, so that the end just kind of feels that much worse. But since those are kind of more of the same, I’m going to skip ahead and write the three last scenes. Since I don’t know how many scenes are in between, they’ll be A B and C.
Scene A
(OLIVER walks into the room from the side, looking absolutely flustered. His shoes are on the wrong feet and he keeps tripping over them as he tugs at an awful tie. NASH sits in his usual position on the sofa, shuffling cards.)
NASH: Calm yourself, kid.
OLIVER: (continuously moving. It seems almost like pacing) What?
NASH: You’re just going to give yourself more anxiety if you keep doing that.
OLIVER: I don’t know what you - (finally trips on the mismatched shoes)
NASH: That’s it. Come here.
(NASH walks over, picks up OLIVER and pushes him into a sitting position on the couch.)
NASH: Breathe.
(OLIVER obeys. NASH nudges OLIVER’s left foot with his right and OLIVER realizes what’s wrong. As he starts to change the shoes, NASH begins rummaging through the bag he brought. He eventually emerges victorious with one of those hipster skinny ties.)
NASH: Now, put this on.
OLIVER: That? Oh, no. Nash, that’s not, that’s not me. I mean, it’s kind of, I don’t know, flashy, isn’t it? And..
(NASH sighs and reaches over, tying the tie around OLIVER’s neck as he complains. He finishes with a flourish.)
NASH: There. You look like a million bucks. Go look in the mirror.
(OLIVER gives him an apprehensive look but trudges over to the mirror. He actually seems kind of taken aback, fiddling with the tie slightly and finally turning around with a grin.)
OLIVER: It doesn’t look so bad.
NASH: Told you. It suits you.
(pause)
OLIVER: What if no one comes?
NASH: People will come.
OLIVER: I suppose.
NASH: Now, stop that. That isn’t the Ollie Russell I know. Suck it up, get your coat, and let’s get this show on the road.
OLIVER: You’re right.
NASH: Of course I’m right. (throws Oliver’s jacket at him) Let’s go.
OLIVER: Let’s go.
(They exit)
Scene B
(Later that night. OLIVER and NASH stumble into the room in giggles.)
OLIVER: I can’t believe you convinced her I knew how to play the trumpet.
NASH: I can’t believe your manager actually found a trumpet somewhere.
(Both crack up laughing again)
OLIVER: That went better than I thought it would.
NASH: Ollie, it was fucking amazing. Great party.
OLIVER: Thanks.
(pause)
OLIVER: It’s late. We should probably get to bed.
NASH: Let’s play a round of Mario Kart.
(NASH heads over towards the television and picks up a controller.)
OLIVER: Nash, it’s like three in the morning.
NASH: You’re just worried I’ll wipe the floor with your ass, like I normally do.
OLIVER: No, I'm just worried I won’t wake up in the morning. We can do it later.
NASH: I guess. (pause) I taught myself a new magic trick the other day. Want to see?
OLIVER: I can’t see anything right now. Seriously, Nash, we can do this in the morning.
NASH: I suppose. (beat) Are you sure you don’t want to--
OLIVER: I’ll watch tomorrow. Promise. But now I need to sleep.
NASH: Gotcha. Night, Ollie.
OLIVER: Night, Nash.
(OLIVER walks off stage, yawning. NASH looks slightly upset and sinks into the couch.)
Scene C
(The next morning. The stage is empty. All traces of NASH are gone.
OLIVER walks out, looking exhausted. He doesn’t notice the absence and goes to make a cup of coffee upper right. He comes back with a mug. Still unaware.)
OLIVER: So I think I dreamt up a good strategy. I’m just going to tail your car until we-
(OLIVER gets to the couch and realizes NASH isn’t there. He looks around the room but all traces of his friend are gone. He finally walks to the television stand and picks up a lone piece of paper. He reads it for a second, crumples it in his hand, sinks down into the couch.)
END
(What say you guys? Yay? Nay? I'm going to fail this class with this as my final project?)
HOWEVER, for one of my classes, I had to write a one-act play and I ended up writing an American-ized, non-romantic (but kind of bromantic) version of Rent-A-Friend and since you guys all read that, I figured maybe you'd want to read this? I don't know; I just thought it'd be nice to post something.
There's a part missing in the middle but you guys know the story so you can fill in the gaps. And it has a slightly different ending. Anyways, enjoy.
RENTAL
Characters:
OLIVER: mid to late 20s, always perfectly dressed, kind of nervous, not amazing with people.
NASH: a little younger than OLIVER but not much, very hip, kind of a manchild, smooth talker
Scene One
(Lights up on a sparse apartment. There’s a couch, a recliner next to it and a stand in front where a television would be sitting. OLIVER, mid to late 20s, sits in the recliner, typing away on a laptop that was probably past its prime three years earlier. Despite the fact that this is his place and technically he’s just lounging around, he’s dressed in khakis and a button-down shirt, complete with loafers. He keeps glancing nervously at his watch.
After a short while, there is a ring of the doorbell. OLIVER is flustered, almost dropping the laptop. He carefully closes it and sets it next to the chair before dusting himself off and trying to calm down. He moves slowly towards stage right as the doorbell rings one more time. He opens the door.
NASH stands in the doorway. He’s perhaps slightly younger than OLIVER but only just and dressed normally. He fixes OLIVER a look.)
NASH: Oliver Russell?
(OLIVER nods and NASH grins in response.)
NASH: Ollie!
(NASH reaches forward and ruffles OLIVER’s hair before stepping past him, into the apartment, dropping his bag on the ground and launching himself onto OLIVER’s couch. OLIVER doesn’t know what to make of this.)
NASH: (noticing OLIVER’s lack of response) What? You’re going to act like you don’t know me?
OLIVER: Well, er, I guess you’re going to start the act right now, and that’s okay and all, that’s fine, but I don’t actually know your name so…
NASH: I didn’t put my name in the email? Shit, I’m sorry. I’m getting really lax about that kind of thing. You can call me Nash. (reaches out his hand as if to shake)
(OLIVER realizes he’s still standing next to the open doorway. He takes a look out and then closes the door, heading over to NASH and shaking his hand.)
NASH: Okay, let’s see what we’re dealing with here.
(He takes a long look at OLIVER and the other man looks slightly uncomfortable, sitting down in the recliner. Finally, NASH breaks out into a grin.)
NASH: Okay, so I’m going to say you’re the type who’s going to need someone to balance them out. You're totally bookish, right? And every once in awhile you get really fired up about something but for the most part, you're super quiet. I’d say more Disney’s Belle than Pointdexter, though. Hidden depths.
(OLIVER blinks and NASH laughs)
NASH: Don't’ give me that face; you're transparent! I mean, come on, I've been here all of what? five minutes? and I'm pretty much the only one that's talked. It's fine, that's what I'm here for, but give me some credit; I know what I'm doing.
(OLIVER nods, still not quite sure what to make of all of this. NASH reclines on the couch.)
NASH: Okay, don’t want to waste any time, right? Let’s figure out what kind of deal you want to go with. This is for some book thing, right?
OLIVER: Er, yeah. A party for my book release.
NASH: And you need a friend-slash-family for?
OLIVER: Well, when my editor called, he asked me how many guests I was bringing. Didn’t really give me the chance to say none.
NASH: So you said?
OLIVER: I said one, cause, you know, I figured at least somebody from my family could fly out. But then with the snowstorm-
NASH: Got it. Hmm, okay. So you’re from the east?
OLIVER: Yeah. Moved out here for college.
NASH: Okay, I get that. That gives us a few possibilities for how we want to do this then. You can choose what we go with.
OLIVER: Oh, um, alright.
NASH: So your first choice would be college roommate. It kinda seems like the most obvious, you know, in my professional opinion or whatnot. With college roommate, you pretty much get the full gamut of coed stupidity nostalgia. Drinking parties, that one time you thought it was just a normal brownie. I could even throw in streaking, if you want.
OLIVER: That … I don’t know. I don’t know about that. That’s nothing like…I didn’t…
NASH: Yeah, no kidding. Okay, what else could we do? I guess we could pull childhood friend?
OLIVER: What’s childhood friend?
NASH: Well, in that, we make up some sob story. Something like I transferred to your school in fourth grade or something, we hit it off like, you know, happens, and then I had to move away in high school. The perk of this one is that we can blame anything that I don’t know on the fact that we haven’t reconnected for so long. I can also throw in some of those super sappy ‘he was such a cute kid’ things. Some story about catching crawdads. Do they have crawdads where you’re from?
OLIVER: I don’t know.
NASH: Eh, they have crawdads everywhere. It’ll work. Make you homesy. People like homesy.
OLIVER: I suppose. Yeah, okay. Yeah, sure, let’s go with that one.
NASH: Childhood friend it is, then. Sounds good, Ollie.
OLIVER: Um, no one calls me Ollie.
NASH: Excuse you. I’ve called you Ollie ever since you stopped Billy Nelson from beating me up the second week of fourth grade.
OLIVER: Oh.
(Beat)
NASH: So where are you putting me?
OLIVER: What?
NASH: Where am I sleeping? We’ve got a week to make me your best friend in the world. You think we’re going to get it done in a meet and greet?
OLIVER: But you never said anything-
NASH: Fuck what I said. I can sleep on the couch if need be.
OLIVER: I don’t know if I really feel comfortable with you just-
NASH: Couch it is, then. (picks up his bag, placing it on the couch and starts pulling things out of it. A shirt, a few pairs of underwear, a small Gameboy, a deck of cards.)
OLIVER: ….yeah, okay. Alright, just, oh, just don’t steal my tv.
Scene Two
(NASH lays across the couch, tapping away at buttons on his Gameboy. The machine makes tinny noises that resemble music as he plays. OLIVER walks in from up stage left, on the phone.)
OLIVER: And what time do I need to be there? (pause) Okay, yeah, I can be ready by then, I guess. (pause) Okay. Okay, yeah. (pause) Yeah, see you then. Okay, bye.
(OLIVER hangs up the phone, looking vaguely defeated)
NASH: (without looking up) Who was that?
OLIVER: (sinking into the nearby chair) Manager. There was a change of location for the party.
NASH: And you’re upset…?
OLIVER: No, no, I mean, no point. It’s just a few blocks farther and yeah, it’s fine.
NASH: Okay, sure.
(silence except for the pinging of Nash’s Gameboy. After a few seconds, the noise turns into triumphant music and NASH grins, closing it with a flourish. As he sets the Gameboy down, he arches his back and pulls out a book he’s been sitting on.)
NASH: Well, if everything is fine, might as well get some business done, huh?
OLIVER: What do you mean?
NASH: I found this old yearbook. Figured we could use it, bone me up on some of our shared history.
OLIVER: Where did you find that?
NASH: Doesn’t matter. Who’s Olive Russell? (flipping through the book) I saw it in the index. Did they misprint your name?
OLIVER: Not really.
NASH: Because that would be super embarrassing in fourth grade.
OLIVER: It’s my sister.
NASH: (stops flipping) You’re kidding me.
OLIVER: She’s four years older.
NASH: You guys are seriously Olive and Oliver?
OLIVER: My parents thought it was clever.
NASH: Your parents are idiots. No offense.
OLIVER: (huffs a bit but doesn’t say anything)
NASH: Okay, anyway, what else do we need? Hmm… Childhood crush? Got one of those? You can always make up good stories around a good CHC. I think it’s directly related to how those black and white pictures of toddlers kissing sell so well. It’s weird but chicks dig it.
OLIVER: Er, what?
NASH: Childhood crush. The girl you looked for on the playground and then proceeded to through a ball at.
OLIVER: Why would I do that?
NASH: You hurt the one you love, right? Or something like that. Anyway, name.
OLIVER: Oh, um, Amy Douglas.
NASH: Amy Douglas, hmm? (flips through the yearbook to find her) Oh, she is cute. Good choice.
OLIVER: Uh, thanks.
NASH: Anything ever happen with her? You ever tap that?
OLIVER: What? No. I just, well, I never really, I asked her to a dance in eighth grade but she ended up going with Matt Ardell. So that kind of, you know, ended that.
NASH: Poor kid. First heartbreak. That’s a good one. And then I found you all depressed at the dance and we snuck out and TP’d her house.
OLIVER: We…? Okay, okay. That’s kind of fun. I like that.
NASH: Thought you might. Anyone else I should know? Bully? Teacher’s Pet? Classroom rival?
OLIVER: Peter Reynolds was kind of a dick.
NASH: Strong language! Let’s see this kid. (flips the page) Oh, look at that mug! He looks like the kind of kid who would take your lunch money.
OLIVER: Eight years.
NASH: Eight years? Damn, Ollie! Let’s come up with something good for him. Maybe he’s in jail now.
OLIVER: I think he runs a car dealership.
NASH: Doesn’t matter; in my head, he’s in jail. For tax evasion or something stupid like that.
OLIVER: (grinning) Okay.
NASH: Gosh, what time is it? Can we eat yet?
OLIVER: Oh, shoot. It’s already six. I’ll run and grab us some takeout?
NASH: Sounds good, Ollie.
(OLIVER rushes around, grabbing his wallet and keys. NASH lies back on the couch, pulling his Gameboy out from where he stashed it. OLIVER runs out the door and NASH gives it a sideways grin before going back to his game.)
Scene Three
(OLIVER walks in the room to find NASH fiddling with cords connected to a large plastic box. This is his Nintendo Wii (or substitute other fairly recent gaming system.))
OLIVER: What the hell, Nash?
NASH: Morning, Ollie.
OLIVER: What are you doing?
NASH: This? I was getting bored beating the same game over and over again so I ran to my apartment last night to go get some more. Brought my Wii back. Fancy a game of MarioKart? (holds up a plastic steering wheel)
OLIVER: I’m really not that good at these things.
NASH: That’s fine. The Kart’s not my specialty, anyway. Trying to get better and practice makes perfect, right?
OLIVER: I suppose. Just go easy on me, alright? (takes the proffered steering wheel and sits on the couch)
NASH: Of course, buddy.
(The two sit side by side on the couch, facing the invisible television and supposedly playing the game. NASH is playing with ease; OLIVER is clearly struggling.)
NASH: You know? You never told me what your book was about.
OLIVER: You’re going to bring that up now?
NASH: Could you spill the beans or something? If I’m going to a party about a book that, I’m guessing, everyone else at the place has read, I need at least the Sparknotes version.
OLIVER: You don’t want to read it, do you?
(the game makes a crashing sound and OLIVER winces)
NASH: Not read it. Just want to know what happens.
OLIVER: Don’t worry about it. Just concentrate on the game.
NASH: I just want to know the main guy’s name. So I can throw it out at the party.
OLIVER: I can’t focus on this right now.
NASH: Come on. Just the title.
(some upbeat music plays and a surprised by pleased look appears on OLIVER’s face)
OLIVER: It’s Carl.
NASH: ….Carl? Like the name Carl?
OLIVER: Yes. Why?
NASH: Nothing. Just seems kind of boring, that’s all. What’s this story about, anyway? (in a movie trailer voice) Mild-mannered businessman gets fired at fifty, makes toy trains in his basement for the rest of his life. Carl.
OLIVER: That’s not it. Just play the game.
NASH: Janitor at a middle school gets wrapped up in a weird drug/child molestation/teacher student affair scandal. Carl.
OLIVER: Stop it.
NASH: Overweight teenage boy becomes instant celebrity when he appears on a hidden camera show. Suddenly popular, do these people like him for him or for his fifteen minutes? Carl.
OLIVER: (aggravated noise. His “driving” becomes more spastic)
NASH: Nerdy guy spends all his life alone in his apartment, wishing he had friends or a social life, but instead just writes a book about it. Carl.
(the game makes a huge crashing noise, followed by a game over. OLIVER puts the controller down.)
OLIVER: Now you’re just making fun of me.
NASH: Just tell me what it’s about.
OLIVER: Fine. (pause) It’s a modern retelling of Beowulf.
NASH: Beowulf.
OLIVER: From a Marxist perspective.
NASH: The Russian guy?
OLIVER: This is why I wanted you to let it go.
NASH: No, no, I get it. Carl, like Carl Marx. And then he kills the evil Angelina Jolie, right?
OLIVER: Angelina Jolie?
NASH: Yeah. I saw it in the trailer. She’s like a monster thing or something.
OLIVER: Oh, um, yeah. He kills the, um, the Angelina Jolie of capitalism.
NASH: Aren’t you glad you told me? Now I can talk about it at the party, when the stories get to be a bit much. They can be, you know. After awhile.
OLIVER: Honestly, you don’t have to. I’d rather you stick with the stories.
NASH: If you say so, chief. Up for another round? (pokes at the controller at OLIVER’s side)
OLIVER: I don't know; I kind of suck at it.
NASH: Ah, come on. One more game.
OLIVER: I suppose.
(NASH pushes some buttons and the background putter starts again.)
OLIVER: How did you get this system, anyway?
NASH: What do you mean? I bought it. At a store. Like a normal person.
OLIVER: But how did you get the money?
NASH: I have a job, as you well know.
OLIVER: Yeah, but it doesn’t pay this well, does it?
NASH: You do realize that you’re just one of many clients, right? I’m a professional, Ollie. Best at what I do. A specialist, even.
OLIVER: But I’m only paying you-
NASH: Doesn’t matter what you pay me. No offense but you’re kind of a small fry. I’ve been paid much more for much more, ahem, intensive services.
OLIVER: (scandalized) You don’t mean…?
NASH: (laughing) Don’t worry. I never kiss them on the mouth.
(Game crash noises. OLIVER still looks shocked.)
NASH: Aw, Ollie, come on. It was a joke.
OLIVER: So you don’t?
NASH: Come on. No, okay? I’ll pretend to be someone’s husband/boyfriend/whatever sometimes but it never goes thatt far.
OLIVER: Good. I mean, you know, that’s just so unsanitary and kind of dangerous and it just never
NASH: I get it. I know. Hence why I don't do it. Why are you so bent out of shape?
OLIVER: (thinks for a second) I guess I just don’t want my childhood friend to grow up to be a hooker.
NASH: Okay. Fair enough. One more round?
Here is where I want to add a few more scenes of them just getting to know each other, so that the end just kind of feels that much worse. But since those are kind of more of the same, I’m going to skip ahead and write the three last scenes. Since I don’t know how many scenes are in between, they’ll be A B and C.
Scene A
(OLIVER walks into the room from the side, looking absolutely flustered. His shoes are on the wrong feet and he keeps tripping over them as he tugs at an awful tie. NASH sits in his usual position on the sofa, shuffling cards.)
NASH: Calm yourself, kid.
OLIVER: (continuously moving. It seems almost like pacing) What?
NASH: You’re just going to give yourself more anxiety if you keep doing that.
OLIVER: I don’t know what you - (finally trips on the mismatched shoes)
NASH: That’s it. Come here.
(NASH walks over, picks up OLIVER and pushes him into a sitting position on the couch.)
NASH: Breathe.
(OLIVER obeys. NASH nudges OLIVER’s left foot with his right and OLIVER realizes what’s wrong. As he starts to change the shoes, NASH begins rummaging through the bag he brought. He eventually emerges victorious with one of those hipster skinny ties.)
NASH: Now, put this on.
OLIVER: That? Oh, no. Nash, that’s not, that’s not me. I mean, it’s kind of, I don’t know, flashy, isn’t it? And..
(NASH sighs and reaches over, tying the tie around OLIVER’s neck as he complains. He finishes with a flourish.)
NASH: There. You look like a million bucks. Go look in the mirror.
(OLIVER gives him an apprehensive look but trudges over to the mirror. He actually seems kind of taken aback, fiddling with the tie slightly and finally turning around with a grin.)
OLIVER: It doesn’t look so bad.
NASH: Told you. It suits you.
(pause)
OLIVER: What if no one comes?
NASH: People will come.
OLIVER: I suppose.
NASH: Now, stop that. That isn’t the Ollie Russell I know. Suck it up, get your coat, and let’s get this show on the road.
OLIVER: You’re right.
NASH: Of course I’m right. (throws Oliver’s jacket at him) Let’s go.
OLIVER: Let’s go.
(They exit)
Scene B
(Later that night. OLIVER and NASH stumble into the room in giggles.)
OLIVER: I can’t believe you convinced her I knew how to play the trumpet.
NASH: I can’t believe your manager actually found a trumpet somewhere.
(Both crack up laughing again)
OLIVER: That went better than I thought it would.
NASH: Ollie, it was fucking amazing. Great party.
OLIVER: Thanks.
(pause)
OLIVER: It’s late. We should probably get to bed.
NASH: Let’s play a round of Mario Kart.
(NASH heads over towards the television and picks up a controller.)
OLIVER: Nash, it’s like three in the morning.
NASH: You’re just worried I’ll wipe the floor with your ass, like I normally do.
OLIVER: No, I'm just worried I won’t wake up in the morning. We can do it later.
NASH: I guess. (pause) I taught myself a new magic trick the other day. Want to see?
OLIVER: I can’t see anything right now. Seriously, Nash, we can do this in the morning.
NASH: I suppose. (beat) Are you sure you don’t want to--
OLIVER: I’ll watch tomorrow. Promise. But now I need to sleep.
NASH: Gotcha. Night, Ollie.
OLIVER: Night, Nash.
(OLIVER walks off stage, yawning. NASH looks slightly upset and sinks into the couch.)
Scene C
(The next morning. The stage is empty. All traces of NASH are gone.
OLIVER walks out, looking exhausted. He doesn’t notice the absence and goes to make a cup of coffee upper right. He comes back with a mug. Still unaware.)
OLIVER: So I think I dreamt up a good strategy. I’m just going to tail your car until we-
(OLIVER gets to the couch and realizes NASH isn’t there. He looks around the room but all traces of his friend are gone. He finally walks to the television stand and picks up a lone piece of paper. He reads it for a second, crumples it in his hand, sinks down into the couch.)
END
(What say you guys? Yay? Nay? I'm going to fail this class with this as my final project?)