This piece is about a wealthy older gentleman who is found sitting up at night by his faithful butler, who has been in his employ for years. The idea for it came to me as I was trying to fall asleep last night, fretting about what the hell I was going to write about today. I scribbled a few notes in the dark in a notebook before I passed out so I wouldn't forget it in the morning. As with all of these I am posting them in rough, unedited, first-draft form, but I think this one has serious ten-minute play potential. The conflict may need to be upped, the point of view of the butler may need to be strengthened, but I think there are the bones of a solid ten-minute play here that I could fix up and submit to competitions and stuff.
Day #3 - "Service is its Own Reward"
SETTING: A big armchair, a beverage cart, a writing desk, a safe upstage
(JORDAN HOLLOWAY, a sad and drawn-looking older man in a smoking jacket, sits in his armchair in the dark. He is sipping a brandy in a snifter.)
(A middle-aged man in formal dress, LUCAS JENNINGS, enters and turns on the light. He stops short in surprise.)
JENNINGS: Mr. Holloway. You’re awake and about at this hour?
MR. HOLLOWAY: I spend twenty-three hours a day in that bed, I couldn’t bear another minute.
JENNINGS: I understand. But Dr. Rollins said that you were not to mix alcohol with your medication.
MR. HOLLOWAY: Bother Dr. Rollins. He’s already seen that every other pleasure in life is denied to me. Can’t do me much more harm than that.
(JENNINGS nods and MR. HOLLOWAY considers his drink.)
MR. HOLLOWAY: As a matter of fact, I think I’d like you to make me another. Something stronger this time, I think.
JENNINGS: Are you quite certain?
MR. HOLLOWAY: Never been more certain in my life.
(JENNINGS considers a moment, then sighs resignedly.)
JENNINGS: Very well, sir.
MR. HOLLOWAY: Good man.
JENNINGS: Service is its own reward, sir.
(He goes to stand behind the beverage cart. He pulls a pair of white gloves from his pocket and pulls them on before beginning to mix the drink.)
MR. HOLLOWAY: Always loved those white gloves of yours. It’s those little touches you do. Show that you’re a class act.
JENNINGS: That’s kind of you to say.
(He puts a few drops from a small bottle into the drink.)
MR. HOLLOWAY: And of course you would be the one to stick by me. Even when I’m like this. How’s that drink coming?
JENNINGS: In a moment, sir… are your documents still in the same place?
MR. HOLLOWAY: Yes, in the safe. Trust you to remember everything.
(JENNINGS goes to the safe and unlocks it. He takes papers out of it.)
JENNINGS: What good would I be if you could not rely upon me?
MR. HOLLOWAY: That I could always do. All the fellows were envious of me, you know, having a right hand like you. Said you were like something out of an old movie.
JENNINGS: I was happy to do it.
(He sits at the writing desk and begins to sort through the papers.)
MR. HOLLOWAY: Tell me, Jennings, and please speak frankly… was there ever anything you wished you hadn’t had to?
JENNINGS: Honestly, I always very much regretted all the stories I told to Mrs. Holloway.
MR. HOLLOWAY: Hmmm. You always were a better man than me. I hope you can forgive me for the compromise on my account.
JENNINGS: The alternative seemed rather treacherous. You didn’t deserve that from me.
MR. HOLLOWAY: Bless you for thinking that. I deserved what I got from her, though, didn’t I?
JENNINGS: Given the circumstances, it was not an unreasonable response.
MR. HOLLOWAY: Who’d have thought I’d miss her after that? I swear, the rooms all still smell like Opium. It’s been years, but I suppose she wore it here for longer. If I could find a twenty-five-year-old who’d wear the stuff, maybe I’d be able to get some sleep at night.
(He laughs weakly, looking to JENNINGS for approval, whose expression does not change. His face falls.)
MR. HOLLOWAY: Bad taste, I suppose? Sorry, Jennings. I’m out of practice talking to civilized people. I exclude those bullies in white lab coats. I’ve been alone too much lately.
JENNINGS: There’s a remedy for that.
MR. HOLLOWAY: Oh? You mean, get in touch with the old gang of greedy snakes and self-serving flatterers? No, they showed me their true stripe when they mysteriously disappeared when I was no longer of any business use to them. And wasn’t as though I had a vast circle outside them.
JENNINGS: Perhaps someone new, then.
MR. HOLLOWAY: Someone new? And where would I be meeting these new people, in the chemotherapy suite? Grand chance of that, given that I can’t even remember how to talk to decent people.
JENNINGS: I very much doubt that, sir.
MR. HOLLOWAY: Hmm. Fine, then. Now, what do decent people talk about? Oh, how’s your boy Robert these days? Is he enjoying Brown?
JENNINGS: A great deal, thank you.
MR. HOLLOWAY: Smart boy, isn’t he? You must be proud. You did quite the job bringing him up, Jennings.
JENNINGS: Of course we never would have been able to send him without your help, sir.
MR. HOLLOWAY: Oh, it’s nothing. A small thing compared to lifetime of loyalty.
JENNINGS: Still, we are grateful. It meant a great deal.
MR. HOLLOWAY: Credit me this, Jennings, I never failed to appreciate just what it is you do. Admired you for it, as a matter of fact. Always finding just the right way to make yourself useful, but with a light touch, never too intrusive. Could never do it myself. Too self-centered and insensitive for that.
JENNINGS: It takes a particular temperament, that is certain. But there is something holy in making oneself useful in the world.
MR. HOLLOWAY: Don’t I know it. And I appreciate it, Jennings, I do. I hope I showed you that.
JENNINGS: Not to worry, sir.
MR. HOLLOWAY: Good. That’s something, at least. I take it Robert won’t be following in the family tradition, though?
JENNINGS: I’m not troubled. I agree that he’d be happier doing something else.
MR. HOLLOWAY: My goodness. That’s… that’s quite enlightened of you. Not—not driving him down a path that won’t suit him. As I said, it’s not something just anyone can do. But— you were happy, weren’t you?
JENNINGS: Of course, sir. But we all want more for our children.
(Pause.)
JENNINGS: I’m sure Robert isn’t the only boy you could help.
MR. HOLLOWAY: Oh, I’ve a much greater track record of tormenting young men than I do helping them.
JENNINGS: I take it there’s still been no word from Terrence or Peter?
MR. HOLLOWAY: Oh, there’s been word. They’ve called once or twice. But still can’t find the time to come up. Waiting till things die down at work, they say.
JENNINGS: It sounds to me as if they’d like to come.
MR. HOLLOWAY: Ha. They’re putting me off, Jennings. Work never dies down. I should know, I told them that often enough when they were growing up.
JENNINGS: Perhaps if they understood the… the gravity of the situation.
MR. HOLLOWAY: Oh, come off it, man. If the most I can do is guilt them into coming, then I’ve lost them for sure. Jesus Christ, Jennings, I’ve chased off the wife, chased off the boys, never made any other connection of consequence in forty years in business or pleasure.
JENNINGS: Mr. Holloway, please—
MR. HOLLOWAY: Can’t you see? I’m no good to anyone anymore.
JENNINGS: You were good to me.
(Pause. Mr. Holloway smiles, a real smile.)
MR. HOLLOWAY: May God take note of that, then.
JENNINGS: Mr. Holloway, there might be something—
MR. HOLLOWAY: Are all my papers in order?
JENNINGS: Yes, sir.
MR. HOLLOWAY: Thank you. All I want now, old friend, is my drink.
JENNINGS: If you insist, sir.
(He takes the glass he just prepared off the beverage cart and hands it to MR. HOLLOWAY.)
MR. HOLLOWAY: Thank you, Jennings.
JENNINGS: As I said, sir. Service is its own reward.
(He half-bows, and begins to exit. Briefly he pauses by MR. HOLLOWAY, and clasps his hand. He goes over to the light and switches it out, then exits.)
(MR. HOLLOWAY downs his drink in one go, then sets the glass aside. He lays back in the chair and closes his eyes. After a few moments, his breath comes slower and slower, and finally stops.)
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