Collected Plays: Volume 1

By Michael Louis Serafin-Wells

Indie publishers The Ginger Press present this collection of 6 new plays by Michael Louis Serafin-Wells - a winner of The London New Play Festival, New Voices West Honoree for Emerging American Playwrights and both a Verity Bargate and Heideman Award finalist. This collection includes:

DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA: On the eve of the 1988 Presidential election, a group of young people must ask: what are one's morals really worth when idealism becomes inconvenient? And where does one go when it's time to leave your youth behind?

SEVEN PAGES UNSIGNED: December 21, evening of the Winter Solstice. "The Darkest Night of the Year". Still reeling from the suicide of one of their number, friends gather for an engagement party, escaping to the roof but unable to elude the difficult choices each of them now face.

REAL REAL GONE : Two men brought together by the sudden and coincidental deaths of their fathers on the same day five years before, meet on its anniversary in an abandoned cemetery, ultimately confronting the past, each other and themselves.

THE “I” WORD: INTERNS: Idealistic Clinton White House interns face-off after one of their number is dismissed for leaking inside info to the press. Challenged by their superior, herself a one-time intern for Senator Robert F. Kennedy, they find a renewed sense of hope in "the lifetime of work" required to further their shared beliefs and the understanding those beliefs can and must overcome the frailties of any one individual.

DETAIL: Brother and sister meet in a bar the week before Christmas to exchange gifts and warily attempt coming to terms with the family from which they're both estranged amidst a sudden and secretive crisis.

TWO FROM THE LINE: Two men a get a little too personal watching a basketball game on television.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781631921711

Book preview

Praise for Collected Plays – Michael Louis Serafin-Wells

LaBute territory with fresh angles and sustained tension...

—The New York Times

Heralds the arrival of a writer with an acute sense of language and a special ability to dramatize human behavior through language that rivets with its imagery and humor.

—The Star-Ledger

The best of the bunch, with language that laces the natural poetics of the street with erudition, dramatic revelations and passionate resolves.

—Variety

Sharp and thought-provoking.

—Bloomberg News

Slick and cynical, ripe with political savvy.

—Show Business

Handles the Beltway lingo with brains and Shavian brio...

—The Village Voice

Serafin-Wells possesses one of the freshest and most authentic voices among playwrights now working. He has an uncanny knack for writing dialogue that rings with truth and yet suggests plainspoken poetry. Lines often overlap as characters talk over one another, or disintegrate with a character's unfinished or interrupted thoughts. The characters themselves have depth and dimension, as well as humor and humanity. Serafin-Wells's dialogue beautifully (and sometimes hilariously) reflects the schism between what the characters think and what they feel, and the plays make a passionate case for the despair people feel in trying to cope in a society they view as sick with greed and hypocrisy.

—Christine Sumption, Associate Artistic Director – Seattle Repertory Theatre

Michael Louis Serafin-Wells

District of Columbia

Seven Pages Unsigned

Real Real Gone

The I Word: Interns

Detail

Two From the Line

The Ginger Press Ltd.

New York

©2014

ISBN: 9781631921711

The collection copyright © 2014 by Michael Louis Serafin-Wells

District of Columbia © 2000, 2007 by Michael Louis Serafin-Wells

Seven Pages Unsigned © 2007, 2010 by Michael Louis Serafin-Wells

Real Real Gone © 1997, 2008 by Michael Louis Serafin-Wells

The I Word: Interns © 1999 by Michael Louis Serafin-Wells

Detail © 2001, 2006 by Michael Louis Serafin-Wells

Two From the Line © 2011 by Michael Louis Serafin-Wells

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author's representative, except for a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review. Any members of educational institutions wishing to photocopy part or all of the work for classroom use, or publishers who would like to include the work in an anthology, should send their inquiries to Elaine Devlin Literary, 411 Lafayette St, 6th Fl. New York NY 10003 (US) and/ or Meg Davis, Ki Agency, Suite 315, Screenworks, 22 Highbury Grove, London N5 2ER (UK/Europe).

Caution: Professional and amateurs are hereby warned that District of Columbia, Seven Pages Unsigned, Real Real Gone, The I Word: Interns, Detail and Two From the Line are subject to royalties. Each of the plays are fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States, Canada, United Kingdom and all British Commonwealth countries, and all countries covered by the International Copyright Convention, and of all countries with which the United States has reciprocal copyright relations. All rights, including professional, amateur, motion picture, recitation, public reading, radio broadcasting, television, video or sound taping, all other forms of mechanical or electronic reproduction, such as information storage and retrieval systems and photocopying, and rights of translation into foreign languages, are strictly reserved. (Additional note regarding musical suggestions: permission required from artists's publishing companies - ASCAP or BMI – prior to first performance.)

All inquiries concerning English language stock and amateur applications to perform them, must be made in advance, before rehearsals begin, with the author's representatives – Elaine Devlin Literary, 411 Lafayette St, 6th Fl. New York NY 10003 (US) and/or Meg Davis, Ki Agency, Suite 315, Screenworks, 22 Highbury Grove, London N5 2ER (UK/Europe). All other inquiries should likewise be addressed to the author's representatives listed above.

Published simultaneously in Canada.

Printed in the United States of America

For Summer

November 13, 1979 – March 18, 2011

"She was like that device they use in open heart surgery that cracks your chest open and holds it gaping, wide, so you can be healed. That fragile little muscle, scarred and scared and on the verge of giving out, giving up, held now, tenderly, in her expert hands, beneath her loving, healing gaze... God, how I loved her! My treasure. My gingersnap. Love you. Love you forever. Goodnight, little sweetheart."

DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA

This version of District of Columbia was originally presented at London's Finborough Theatre in collaboration with The Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts, opening on November 13, 2007, and directed by Wilson Milam with the following cast:

Teagle – Edward MacLiam

Dex – Kyle Soller

Nan – Anna Hope

Rufus – Anthony Weigh

Reid – Stephen Darcy

Dora – Siobhan O'Kelly

Liz – Kate Walker Miles

*An earlier version was presented at Boston's Huntington Theatre and produced off-Broadway by New York's Ensemble Studio Theatre.

(ACT ONE. Tuesday, November 8, 1988. In black, Never Mind by The Replacements. At rise we discover the large kitchen of an old three story house in NW Washington, DC. It's clean if a little run down – the work of the ever-changing succession of college students, recent graduates, recent drop outs and all the others who've made the place a home over the years. The floor is a slightly yellowing linoleum, the general parquet pattern disrupted by the occasional and wholly discordant replacement tile. A large refrigerator, a small portable black & white TV atop it, is nestled into a corner. A cubbyhole kind of storage unit filled with sundry possessions – bags, books, shoes, a desk phone and answering machine atop it – abuts a doorway leading to the rest of the house. Above, coats hang from the wall on a row of pegs. Left, big white cupboards rise over an L shaped kitchen counter, a deep double basin sink in the middle. A large sturdy table painted fire engine red is anchored down center. We're at the back of the house. A heavy wooden door, also red, leads to the alley behind – a rear entrance. Bundled newspaper and a large plastic garbage can abut it. The door is open. It's a balmy day. A heavy-duty black security gate that shares the red door's frame is closed and locked. As the song ends, we hear the phone ring twice, the answering machine engage and a young man's – Dex's – voice in recorded greeting.)

DEX (on answering machine): Hey. This machine takes messages for Reid, Rufus, Nan and Dex. We're not here right now. Duh. But if you leave your name and number, somebody'll get back to you. Eventually. If this is Teagle, I'm on my way. Everybody else, you're on your own. And, oh yeah – don't forget to vote! (We hear a beep followed by a woman's – Liz's – voice leaving a message.)

LIZ (on answering machine): Hello. This is Professor Elizabeth Epstein at Georgetown University with a message for Nathaniel... er, for Dexter. For Dex Mulroney. I will not be able to meet him this evening during office hours on campus. So, please...(beat) Hello? Nathaniel? Are you there? (beat) It sounded like someone was picking up. It's Liz. I hope you get this. I cannot meet you as planned. (Very deliberate...) But. I. Will. Try. To. Find. You. (beat) Okay? I hope you get this. (She hangs up. We hear a dial tone and then voices from the alley. In a moment, figures appear outside, a key turns in the lock, the gate swings open and Dex, dressed in peg-leg jeans, skinny tie and second-hand sport jacket with a Dukakis '88 button pinned to the lapel, enters with a green Army surplus duffle. Teagle, Westerbergian bed-head hair sticking out stiffly in all directions, follows in black jeans, boots and leather jacket, a couple of bulging white plastic Grand Union carrier bags in his hands. He has a brown leather gig bag, festooned with political and punkrock stickers, strapped to his back. Both men are in their late 20's. They're in mid-conversation.)

DEX: I can't believe it.

TEAGLE: Record contract dissolved. Tour dates aborted. Four guys with weird hair not talking to each other.

DEX: And they leave you in fucking Cleveland? Harsh.

TEAGLE (shrugging): That's show biz. You're sure it's okay I crash here?

DEX: If you don't mind bunking with me.

TEAGLE: I know that floor well.

DEX: Hell, I got a sofa, now.

TEAGLE: So, you're full up? The house?

DEX: At the mo, yeah. You know everybody, I think, except the guy who's got your old room. Hugh. Dora got him in.

TEAGLE (warily): Oh.

DEX: Dora's not so bad anymore. I think she's mellowed.

TEAGLE: Well, she always liked you. You're a Man of Letters. You're...

DEX: Gimme a break.

TEAGLE:... from a world she can understand. It's Nan and me and the rest of us punkrock ne'er-do-wells she'd like to line up against a wall.

DEX: Does she know you're coming?

TEAGLE: Dora?

DEX: Nan.

TEAGLE: Not exactly.

DEX (incredulous): Teagle.

TEAGLE: I know.

DEX: Teag.

TEAGLE: I know. But what could I possibly say? There's no good way of like preparing her.

DEX (beat, trying to be hopeful): Well, it has been a while. She might not be too mad.

TEAGLE: Are you kidding?! She may want nothing more than my head on a goddamn pike. But, fuck, ya know? I gotta try and make my case. It ain't gonna be easy.

DEX: Nothing ever is. Beer?

TEAGLE: You don't gotta go back to work?

DEX: It's a half day.

TEAGLE: At school?

DEX: Everywhere. It's Election Day.

TEAGLE: That's like a holiday, now?

DEX: In The District it is. You vote? (Teagle doesn't respond, beat...) Teag? We could do it right now.

TEAGLE: Dex.

DEX: It'll take five minutes.

TEAGLE: Dex, I can't.

DEX: Let's go.

TEAGLE: We've been through this. Four years ago. And four years before that.

DEX: So?

TEAGLE: So, how many more times do we have to go through it? Waking up the next morning shocked to see that the rest of the country doesn't see it the way we do? To discover, like last time, that Reagan's carried every state but one? I can't go there again because it's fucking hopeless.

DEX: It's not...

TEAGLE: It is! And I really don't see what any of us can do about that.

DEX: Um, get out to the polls, maybe?

TEAGLE: I just don't see how ya even begin trying to change that many people's minds. And so I leave it to you.

DEX: To me?

TEAGLE: You work with kids. It's our only hope: Teaching and breeding.

DEX: Breeding?

TEAGLE: Yeah. Like a whole litter of fresh little liberal voters. I'm perfectly willing to do my part.

DEX: I'll bet.

TEAGLE: We oughta get on that. We're nearly 30.

DEX: I'm 28.

TEAGLE: 28 is nearly 30, dude. Are you seein' anyone?

DEX: Not exactly.

TEAGLE: Nobody at school?

DEX: Pre-school or Grad school?

TEAGLE: Pre-school, man. Place oughta be crawlin' with hot single moms. Swedish au pairs.

DEX: It's not exactly anyplace to be pickin' up babes if that's what you mean.

TEAGLE: Why the hell not?

DEX: Aside from it being like pathologically unethical?

TEAGLE: Aside from that, yeah.

DEX: To begin with, there's already a tremendous amount of scrutiny as to what I'm doing there at all.

TEAGLE: Because you're the only guy in the place?

DEX: Like – yeah – why am I there and not, I dunno, in Law School or something.

TEAGLE: You're in the honors track at fucking Georgetown.

DEX: That's even worse to some corporate mom dropping off a kid on her way to K Street. Like who is this strange poetry reading man and what is he doing all day with my child?

TEAGLE: Will you keep on? Til you get your degree?

DEX: If I do.

TEAGLE: If? What?

DEX: If I finish.

TEAGLE: You're only a semester away. Why the hell wouldn't you finish?

DEX: Teag, the only reason I've been able to swing any of this – Grad School on a Kindergarten teacher's pay cheque – is because of the low-overhead collective of living here in the house. If that just ends now, all bets are off, ya know?

TEAGLE: Whaddya mean if it ends now? Rewind. Something's up with the house?

DEX: I didn't tell you any of this? Fuck me. Right. Well, the owner...

TEAGLE: Lives in Florida or something.

DEX: Yeah, well he's resurfaced, apparently, and wants it back.

TEAGLE: Wants what back?

DEX: Whaddya think? The house. And he wants us out.

TEAGLE: Well, he can't do that.

DEX: I dunno.

TEAGLE: No. I'm tellin' ya. He can't just evict you overnight. You sure he's not just tryin' to scare you into a rent increase?

DEX: We'll know in an hour. Reid and Dora are at a meeting with him.

TEAGLE: With the owner?

DEX: And like his lawyers and all. It could change everything.

TEAGLE: Ya just gotta hang tough. But don't let me hear anything more about you not finishin' up your MFA. That's just fucking wrong!

DEX: I don't belong there.

TEAGLE: You only got one semester to go for christsakes!

DEX: I don't know what I'm doing! Am I a fucking teacher or a writer?

TEAGLE: Can't you be...?

DEX: A real one, I mean. Not play it safe but actually have the balls to...

TEAGLE: Are you writing?

DEX: I got something, I think.

TEAGLE: What is it?

DEX: It's fucking long.

TEAGLE: Can I read it?

DEX: Maybe. Just... I dunno, Teag. I don't know what I'm doing there.

TEAGLE: What does Liz say?

DEX (beat): Who?

TEAGLE: Liz. Has she weighed in on this at all?

DEX: How do you know about her?

TEAGLE: Whaddya, kiddin'? When I called ya from the road on St. Patrick's Day it was all you talked about!

DEX: Oh.

TEAGLE: Your new Chekhov...

DEX: Chaucer.

TEAGLE: Charo, whatever, professor. How you changed everything over making her your advisor or...

DEX: Mentor.

TEAGLE: How brilliant she is! Liz said this. Liz said that.

DEX: Right.

TEAGLE: So, what I wanna know is what does Liz say about this fuckin' crap?! You not finishing?! What is that?! Have you told her?

DEX: Not exactly.

TEAGLE: What?

DEX: Not in so many words.

TEAGLE: Why the hell not?

DEX: It just... It hasn't come up.

TEAGLE: Well, what the fuck do you talk about, then? Your love life?

DEX: No! God! What? Of course not! That would be, ya know, just...

TEAGLE: Uh-huh.

DEX: Just...

TEAGLE: Pathologically unethical?

DEX: It would. Yeah.

TEAGLE: Right. (beat) So, you're sleeping with her, huh?

DEX: What?

TEAGLE: Dex, aside from all the stuttering...

DEX: Where do you get...?

TEAGLE: ... I know when you're lying to me.

DEX: Lying?

TEAGLE: Yeah. Your eye starts doin' that weirdass thing where it flickers.

DEX: Fuck.

TEAGLE: I mean, how long've I known ya?

DEX: Teagle.

TEAGLE: Dude, it's okay. I'm sure scholars get horny, too. There's no shame in that.

DEX: Just...

TEAGLE: Unless she's like...

DEX (beat): Yeah.

TEAGLE: Oh. Married?

DEX: Yeah.

TEAGLE: Shit. Is she Catholic?

DEX: No, but I am.

TEAGLE: Oh, right.

DEX: And the whole thing's just fucked anyway. I don't know what I'm doing. And I can't talk to anybody about it.

TEAGLE: Talk to me.

DEX: I can't.

TEAGLE: Dex.

DEX: Except to say that I'm in like totally over my head and I gotta see her later.

TEAGLE: Tonight?

DEX: In a while, yeah. We. Have. To. Talk. One of those, ya know?

TEAGLE: Oh, boy.

DEX: So, in a few hours, even, all may be revealed. Who knows? But meantime...

TEAGLE: Dex...

DEX: I can't just be some kid about it. (From the back alley, there's the sound of a low speed collision between something like a bicycle and an empty garbage can, the lid rolling noisily to a stop on the pavement outside.)

NAN (off): What the fuck?!

TEAGLE (to Dex): Nan?

DEX: Who else?

NAN (off): Who left their shit out here?

DEX (calling out the door to her): Where are your glasses?

NAN (off): Dex?

DEX: You shouldn't be toolin' around on that thing without...

NAN (off): They're in my fucking room. I forgot 'em, okay? Ya wanna maybe gimme a hand or... (Dex exits into the alley reappearing a moment later with Nan's bicycle. Nan, early 20's, small and scrappy, follows, unsnapping a punkrock sticker festooned bicycle helmet. Her hair – short, dyed and a bit spikey – springs free. She's wearing boots, a plaid tartan skirt and a black hoodie. A full-to-bulging rucksack is strapped to her back and two Nikon cameras are slung over her shoulders crisscrossing her body like some kind of photographic bandita.)

NAN: GAH!

DEX: What's the matter?

NAN: Teagle?

TEAGLE: Nan.

NAN: Nobody told me you were gonna be here today!

TEAGLE: Yeah. Sorry.

NAN (punching Dex on the arm): Nobody told me.

DEX: Ow! Hey!

NAN: Fuck.

TEAGLE: How ya doin'?

NAN: I'm good. I'm.... You look totally different.

TEAGLE: I know.

NAN: I've never seen you with hair.

TEAGLE: It was the label's idea. Thought we'd look more like the Ramones.

DEX: I can see that.

TEAGLE: You look great.

NAN: What? I do?

TEAGLE: Yeah. You look terrific.

NAN: I dunno. It's pretty dark in here, actually.

DEX: What?

NAN: It's true. I gotta leave my shutter open like forever tryin' to get any kinda shots out here this time of