Today at work I wrote a play in an hour.
Post 9-11, city apartment of couple Harry and Elise. Harry enters wearing a nice black fleece pull over and jeans . Elise is sitting with Julie. Elise witnesses Harry enter, and re-witnesses to discover he is carrying a briefcase.
Elise: Goddammit Harry, what’s with the briefcase? You’ve been carrying it for days.
Harry: (hurt) You don’t like my briefcase?
Elise: Lawyers carry briefcases. You’re not a lawyer; you don’t brief cases, you shelve books. Now tell me what’s in the briefcase.
Harry: What!? No. It’s just my work stuff.
Elise: Well then let me see.
Harry: I don’t ask you what’s in your purse.
Elise: That’s because you don’t care what’s in my purse.
Harry: You don’t know…
Elise: I do know that. You never ask me what’s in my purse…
Harry: Excuse me…
Elise: …If you cared you’d ask.
Harry: Well it’s just not polite!
Elise: You’re such a guy!
Elise storms off. Harry is dumbfounded.
Julie: At least she didn’t ask me what’s in my cup.
Harry: (still dumbfounded) Huh?
Julie: I’ve been drinking heavily for hours…
Harry sits down puts briefcase in his lap.
Julie: She doesn’t know. She just blabbed on and on and on…
Silence.
Julie: So what is in the briefcase?
Harry: Ugh.
Harry gets up and walks to the table, sits his briefcase down and takes off his fleece pull over.
Julie: Oh come on! Just cause your PMSing girlfriend of 4 years is weeping in the next room doesn’t mean you can’t give your loving sister for life a peak at whatcha got in there?
Harry: NO! Why. Does. Everybody. Care.
Julie: Oh Harry! It’s because you’re so charming and mysterious! But mostly because its random and you are so intent on not letting anyone see whatcha got in there.
Harry: Sis…I don’t care what’s in your purse, so you just don’t worry about what’s in my briefcase.
Julie: It’s just not…YOU thats all. (pause) Alright. But if I have to spend another night over here listening to your girlfriend talk about how you don’t pay enough attention to her, I’m gonna go on a drunken rampage.
Harry: What?! I pay-
Julie: (cutting him off, and lovingly) I know.
Julie has a thoughtful pause rolls her eyes and collects her things.
Harry: Are you going home?
Julie: Yeah.
Harry: Are you alright getting to the subway station?
Julie: Yeah. (on her way out the door) Good luck with the monster…
Elise: (from bedroom) HARRY!
Lights fade.
Lights rise, its early morning. Elise creeps into the living room. Creeps to the table where Harry left the briefcase and tries to open it. She struggles. The struggle goes on for minutes. She climbs up on the kitchen sized table. She attempts to open the briefcase using several different kitchen and office utensils including (but not restricted to) a letter opener, a pie server, a bottle opener, scissors, and a paper clip. She fiddles with the lock and turns the set of numbers. It pops open but not so that she can see or the audience can see what is inside.
Elise: Asshole would use his address.
She repositions herself on the table and sits the briefcase in her lap. Opens it.
Elise: TOY CARS! TOY CARS! TOY FUCKING CARS!
Harry comes running out of the bedroom in a panic and his boxer briefs.
Harry: WHAT?! Are you ok!?!? What is it!?
Harry sees Elise.
Elise: Toy cars!
Harry: Aw, goddammit!
Curtain.
