![]()
ACT ONE
Actors and musicians on stage to get ready for the live broadcast. Someone sits a piano and plays and sings. A drummer, double-bass player and guitar player join in along the way, as do the cast, harmonizing.
Sign On The Window
Sign on the window says âLonelyâ
Sign on the door said âNo Company Allowedâ
Sign on the street says âYâ Donât Own Meâ
Sign on the porch says âThreeâs A Crowdâ
Sign on the porch says âThreeâs A Crowdâ
âŚ
Looks like a-nothing but rainâŚ
Sure gonna be wet tonight on Main StreetâŚ
Hope that it donât sleet
The band take the music down for a few bars while a middle-aged actor approaches the microphone:
DR WALKER. Tonightâs story begins and ends at a guesthouse in Duluth, Minnesota, in the winter of 1934. Back here â some of the guests weâll meet along the way.
The rising light reveals two figures in the dining room where thereâs a table for eating at, some easy chairs near a stove, a dresser, a piano. ELIZABETH, fifties, sits at the piano picking out a tune. She has early-onset dementia. Her husband, NICK, is the same age as ELIZABETH but an agitated energy makes him seem younger somehow. He puts on an apron and starts working, setting the table for their guests.
This is Nick Laine. Thatâs his wife there, Elizabeth. Nick inherited this house from his granddaddy, but he never had no head for business. First he lost the stables and stud, then all the stocks. Managed to remortgage the house long enough for Elizabeth to turn it into decent boarding rooms.
But she hasnât been so good lately. Her dementia crept in so insidiously, so gradually, crueler folk in town said youâd be hard pushed to know the difference. Nickâs tryna take care of everything. Trying real hard. Like a man tryna to run through a wall tries real hard.
My name is George Arthur Walker. Iâm a doctor. Least I was. Back when this was our world. I healed some bodies in pain. But as we know pain comes in all kinds. Physical, spiritual. Indescribable.
Iâll come in the story later, but right now, all you need to know is Nickâs made some stew for his family, for the guests. Keep everybody alive another day.
The last verse is sung while NICK spoons stew in a bowl to cool for ELIZABETH. The song finishes outâŚ
NICK. Elizabeth. (Pause.) Elizabeth.
She ignores him.
Elizabeth. Sit down, Iâll give you something to eat.
ELIZABETHâs expression suggests her absence, her presence. She looks at him but otherwise ignores his requests. She goes, bends down under a chair and retrieves a little box. She turns away, hiding it from NICK. She opens it, counts through some dollars in there, and closes it again quickly.
Sit down. Come on. Supper.
Exasperated, he puts her meal down on the table and comes to her, guiding her towards the easy chair near the stove. She resists. This becomes a silent battle of wills as they slowly wrestle. She is surprisingly strong. NICK gives up, angrily walking away and tossing a plate across the table. She remains standing.
Alright. Well. Alright.
ELIZABETH. I can hear it.
NICK. What.
ELIZABETH. The girl down the hole.
NICK looks at her.
NICK. What?
ELIZABETH. Girl down the hole.
NICK is startled by someone coming through the kitchen.
NICK. Hello?
NICK sees GENE in the kitchen.
Oh.
GENE. Yeah, âOhâŚâ
NICK. What are you doing scratching around like that?
GENE. What? Iâm hungry!
NICK. You know what time it is? Youâre only coming in?
GENE. I was working late.
NICK. Working my ass.
GENE. I was working!
NICK. You were drinking.
GENE. You have to drink if you want to sit at the bar.
NICK. Who works in a bar?! You canât work in your room?
GENE. No I canât work in my room.
NICK. Why?
GENE comes to the table, putting a book down, picking at bread, while NICK continues his work.
GENE. Itâs too stultifying.
NICK. Well excuse me! I saw you got a letter. Huh?
GENE. Yeah.
NICK. New York postmark.
GENE. It was nothing.
NICK. Yeah?
GENE. Yeah, nothing, you know.
NICK. You should let me read, you know, some of your stories, some time.
GENE. Yeah?
NICK. Hey I been around.
GENE. Yeah.
NICK. Yeah. Iâve lived. You canât see it âcause as far as youâre concerned Iâm just the old dumb-bell round here. I could read âem. Tell ya where you might need a little⌠you know. A little life. A little real life. Maybe we could turn some a those rejection slips into pay cheques, huh?
GENE. Now I know youâre desperate.
NICK. Desperate? WellâŚ
GENE. Two minutes ago it wasnât even work, now you wanna do it for me?
NICK. Hey donât ambush me with my own double standards. You donât even know what work is. Get a job, youâll know all about it. What it does to you.
GENE. Get a job where?
NICK (to himself). Scribbling in a book isnât work.
GENE. Get a job where?
NICK. Hm?
GENE. Get a job where?
NICK. What are you asking me for? The Twin Cities! I donât know! You and your sister are too damn spoiled. You wanna give me some help here?
GENE. What do you want?
NICK. Lay the table. Feed your mother.
GENE. She doesnât want me feeding her!
NICK. You do it too fast. Let her chew, for Christâs sake! You let it all go down her chin, of course she doesnât like it.
GENE. She doesnât like me doing it, she doesnât like me⌠[doing it.]
NICK. Itâs because y...
