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4 and The Night Tella
Sarah Milton
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- 56 pages
- English
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eBook - ePub
4 and The Night Tella
Sarah Milton
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About This Book
You definitely want to f*ck her but you don't want to know her. You certainly don't want to stay for breakfast… Sarah Milton's new one-woman play tells the story of one woman's immediate response to a sexual assault, fueled by a toxic friendship and crisis of identity. Two best friends are heading out for the night. Our protagonist, known as 'She', is hoping to win over her crush – Isaac the bartender, at their favourite joint. That night, her best friend Trixie decides to invite
a group of men home that she fancies, promoting She as her sexy, obtainable friend, to help seal the deal. But when She wakes up the next day, confused, sore, lying next to a man she doesn't recognise, she is forced to re-evaluate everything she thinks she knows about her friendships, identity and sexuality. This edition was published to coincide with the premiere at Park Theatre's Come What May Festival 2022. Do you remember the club, Amanda? Do you remember the club? In addition to 4, this play text also includesMilton's short spoken word piece The Night Tella which explores guilt, friendship and a night that should have ended in the chip shop. In these two complementary new pieces, Sarah Milton offers powerful, female led narratives with strong, complex characters.
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Chapter
Lights up on She. Perhaps she stands in a ring of playing cards. Perhaps there is a mirror that lines the back of the stage, so that the audience might see themselves in it. She has her eyes closed . . .
She I am fearless. I am beautiful. I am strong. I am sexy. I am fearless. I am beautiful. I am strong. I am sexy. I am fearless. I am beautiful. I am strong. I am sexy. I am fearless. I am beautiful. I am strong. I am sexy. I am fearless. I am beautiful. I am strong. I am sexy. I am fearless. I am beautiful. I am strong. I am sexy. I am fearless. I am beautiful. I am strong. I am sexy.
She opens her eyes.
Trixie makes me repeat this to myself over and over in the mirror as I furiously apply thick, winged eyeliner. I want to paint myself entirely black with it as I chant, but I barely have enough liner to complete my left wing.
She (as Trixie)So what if you’ve been single for a few years, babe? You’re a diamond waiting to be dug up. The right one will dig the whole way down for you.
SheI’m now lathering Veet Sensitive on my bikini area. I wonder why it comes out of the packet so cold, as I start using the back of the scraper like a spatula. I think about how much this resembles icing a cake.
Trixie is rummaging through my knicker drawer and holding up Spanx or thongs trying to get me to choose. The idea of clinging all of my stomach as close to my spine as possible makes me feel exhausted so I opt for the thong.
She (as Trixie)Suit yourself.
SheI decline a call from my mum. For some reason the time that she posted the apple tree analogy on my Facebook wall pops into my head as I wait for my icing to do its thing. Do you know what that is? It’s the one where you compare the single girl to an apple, and try to make her feel better by likening her to the best apples that are stuck at the very top of the tree. You see, boys don’t want to reach the good ones, because they are scared of falling or getting hurt. Instead they make do with the rotten apples from the ground that aren’t as good, but easy. It’s a really back handed way of praising you for not being a slag . . . So the apples, or girls at the top of the tree, suddenly develop emotional range and all that, and feel like something’s wrong with them, but in reality they are amazing. They just have to wait for the right boy to come along . . . the one who’s brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree and pick her.
My Facebook wall. I had 824 friends. It took me an hour on the phone trying to explain to her how to delete it.
I don’t even particularly want a boyfriend but everyone’s telling me I ought to. And I suppose it could be nice.
She (as Trixie)Let’s go out, babe! Where do you want to go?
Beat.
SheStar.
She (as Trixie)Star Bar? Again?
SheYeah.
She (as Trixie)Can you actually fuck him then this time? Not just do your weird . . .
SheMy weird . . .?
She (as Trixie)Just . . . grow a pussy, yeah? And it’s your round first.
She (to audience)I have known Trixie since university. We were in the same halls in first year and have lived together ever since. At a freshers event I swear she came up to me and said ‘Oh hi there, new best friend’ and it stuck. I reckon she said this to loads of people but I’m the one it actually worked on.
When Trixie walks into a room, the first thing you hear is her laugh. It aches its way on and off the walls until everyone is encapsulated by it. She wants you to know she’s funny and having the best time ever. She stomps around in Doc Martens, and paints her nails on the bus with perfect precision. She makes me feel popular and likes to big me up to show everyone how fucking nice she is too. She is nice. We’re best friends.
We dance most nights Trixie wants to. We never pay our way but Trixie always manages to make it happen. She blinks just the right amount of times, makes you feel like the most sexy, important and charismatic person on earth and then you hand her what she wants with a sprinkling of something extra–she’s a conjurer of her own desire. She’s intoxicating and I’m so jealous of her ability to hold you in the palm of her hand. It’s sexy.
Isaac’s behind the bar. Trixie has no idea why I fancy him . . . Nor do I. Trixie thinks it’s because he’s ‘obtainable’. But he isn’t . . . or . . . I’m just not his type maybe. He works in Star Bar. It’s this weird, half live karaoke half classy upbeat jazz bar in a dive area off of Kingsway, adjacent to West Street. He’s worked there for six months and I’m irrevocably in love with him. He has really long arms, and a broad chest but something vulnerable in his eyes. He smokes like a chimney and never charges me for a drink which I think is his way of telling me he’s into me . . . maybe. He’s confusing. He might just not know how to work the till and it’s so busy in there, no one would know.
He spots us come in and I catch his eye and then I look away, trying to appear completely unbothered by him. I call on my smug pout and lift my chest. Trixie scans the room and spots her bait.
She (as Trixie)Say something. Make me laugh.
SheUh. . . climate change is a real problem and we should be really concerned about it.
She (as Trixie)Oh for fuck sake, Maggie.
She (as Trixie)cackles.
She (to audience)Maggie has arrived early this evening. Maggie is my nickname after I’ve had a very large glass of wine or two small ones . . . Or one gin. It’s the moment I get confident, more forward. ‘Here comes, Mags.’ ‘Maggie’s getting loose.’ It’s meant to be funny. An inside joke. Trixie called me Maggie one night at uni and these group of lads started chanting it, and I think I went home with one of them. OK, I did go home with one of them. Now it’s just stuck.
She (as Trixie)I want two banana sambucas and a gin and tonic. Get your boyfriend to be generous with the measures. I’m going fishing!
SheTrixie leaves me alone. I wish I’d had a drink back at the flat. I queue and wait in line amongst all these rich boys in suits that smell of Gucci Guilty locked in old gym sweat.
I pull my dress down lower and breathe in to shrink my stomach. Tummy in, tits out. My mum first barked this at me on a holiday outside a beach hut as my grandad held the disposable Kodak. I couldn’t have been older than eight. It became our joke mantra every time a camera came out. Except it wasn’t a joke.
She (as Isaac)What can I get for you?
She (to audience)Oh shit. His dull grey eyes are looking straight into mine and I’m conscious my armpits are going to start to pour.
She (to Isaac)Well, I don’t know about you but a holiday would be nice.
She (as Isaac)Is that a cocktail?
SheNo. . . no, I was making a joke.
She (as Isaac)Well, you’re holding up the queue.
SheSorry, sorry. Um, two banana sambuca shots, a double gin and tonic and a vodka lime soda.
She (as Isaac)Is that a double vodka too?
She nods.
She (as Isaac)You can try telling me another joke after my shift, if you like?
SheWhat?
She (as Isaac)I get off at eleven.
SheUm. . . sure, sure. I’ll be there. Maybe, I mean, you know–
She (as Isaac)OK?
She (hurriedly)I’ll be there!
She (to audience)He tells me the amount and I hand him a ten-pound note and ...