|
Post by tjaman on Dec 4, 2005 19:45:06 GMT -5
The Case of the Summer FurDramatis Personæ Kristianne RaeLynne “K.R.” Whitley, a private investigator Ray Longschott, her assistant Sophie Stackett, an office manager Lucy Bustier, a mysterious femme fatale Johnny Truelove, a boyfriend Arthur LaRocque, an insurance executive Marcus Elfwasser-Fitz, a claims adjustor Jake Mulray, a proprietor Vince, a bouncer Blind Eddie, a shill Lana Saliers, a chanteuse N’est-Pas di Palma, a psychic Lacy Underthings, a body Lester Bieberdorf, a fanatic Chin See, a Chinese launderer Chin Sa, a Chinese launderer Millie Fiori, a florist Gina Wallace, an assistant D.A. Act 1AT RISE: It’s summer in Chicago, 1931. A sparse office suite. A folding chair and a small desk with an office chair, on which is a vintage telephone, a period typewriter, a small notepad, stubby pencil, cash ledger and exactly two messages on a spindle. If there’s a wire inbox, it’s empty. There’s a lackluster fan and an coatrack with a rumpled sportscoat on it. LONGSCHOTT in short sleeves, suspenders and dress slacks sits a little downstage of the desk, flips playing cards into a hat. WHITLEY enters SL wearing period formal daywear. She crosses all the way DSR and narrates above noir music, idly buffing her nails. LIGHTS UP WHITLEY: The late afternoon sun stared like a bored streetwalker into the rundown office suite on the top floor of the Rogue-Wisteria building. The long Chicago summer had been a quiet one at K. R. Whitley Investigations — too quiet. Money was like last year’s girdle — tight and stretchin’ thin. STACKETT: (Runs in SL, a little breathless — there’s no elevator — wearing period businesswear and carrying three different newspapers. She looks disapprovingly at LONGSCHOTT and the cards on the floor, and hands him a newspaper. She sits at the desk and looks through hers, while LONGSCHOTT sets his on his knee and continues flipping cards). WHITLEY: The firm’s secretary, Sophie Stackett, had taken to combing through the late editions looking for unfinished business — missing persons, petty larceny, con jobs — the kinds of cases that are bread and butter for a detective firm. STACKETT: Crime everywhere — bootlegging, embezzlement, acrimony — (Sighs) What are we doin’ wrong? WHITLEY: Lately our bread was sliced so thin we wouldn’t dare butter it. We’d started praying for the misfortunes of others. BUSTIER: (Saunters in SL, wearing a trenchcoat, blonde wig, tinted glasses and a big hat. Her non-reception suggests LONGSCHOTT and STACKETT have all but forgotten how to interact with clients. The accent in her low speaking voice is hard to place, something vaguely European). This is K. R. Whitley Investigations? WHITLEY: We was about to find out how misfortunate others could get. STACKETT: (Snapping to, as noir music stops) Why yes it is, no case too small. (Gritted aside to LONGSCHOTT, who does stand, however eventually) Pardon my not getting up, (Continue normal) but I just got back from errands. All those steps. BUSTIER: I’m aware of the steps, Miss. Six flights up is a daunting prospect for all but the most motivated (Shrugs out of stylish trenchcoat to reveal navy eveningwear on a knockout body) And I am motivated. WHITLEY: (Over noir music) Her figure would turn most pinup girls green with envy. She wore her dress like she’d been sewn into it, and one missing stitch would be worth 25 cents at a cabaret. (Noir music stops) LONGSCHOTT: What can we do for you, Miss ... ? BUSTIER: My name is Bustier. Lucy Bustier. WHITLEY: (Over noir music) Some women are described as having a great personality. Miss Bustier was not one of those women. (Noir music stops) BUSTIER: Last Saturday night I was at a little gin mill speakeasy at the corner of Twenty-Second and Mind-Your-Own-Business. (Sits on desk, legs crossed, draws a cigarette out of a very small purse. LONGSCHOTT lights cigarette. STACKETT takes notes). A friend of mine, Gary Lassiter, and I were out on the town ... STACKETT: Gary Lassiter, the city manager? BUSTIER: Yes, what of it? STACKETT: Oh, he’s in all the papers. Rich, they say, and easy on the eyes. LONGSCHOTT: Sophie, hush. Please continue, Miss Bustier. BUSTIER: We were painting the town bright red. Gary was dressed to kill, sharp tuxedo (STACKETT squeaks) and I was in something ... less comfortable. WHITLEY: (Over noir music) Less comfortable that that? She’d need two shoehorns for her unmentionables. (Saunter upstage and exit SR as noir music fades out) BUSTIER: It was this dark red velvet Vionnet number slit 8 to the bar, string of the pearls and a diamond (Flashes diamond on right hand). I wore my fur as well. LONGSCHOTT: Fur? BUSTIER: A mink scarf, with a ruby-studded head clasp. STACKETT: Sounds darling. BUSTIER: It’s been stolen. Can you help me out? LONGSCHOTT: (Looks at STACKETT, who gives a tiny shake of her head and glances quickly SR) Well, I’d like to ... BUSTIER: (Caught the whole thing, stands) This is detective firm, yes? LONGSCHOTT: That’s right. K. R. Whitley Investigations. BUSTIER: You hunt down the things? LONGSCHOTT: That’s right. BUSTIER: (With look at hat on the floor) What, you’re too busy for my fur? LONGSCHOTT: No ma’am. BUSTIER: So what, my money’s no good here? (Flashes cash, a good amount) LONGSCHOTT: It’s not that either. STACKETT: It’s not that at all, ma’am. You seen the comic strip “Henry”? (Gets coin purse from desk, opens it) Two weeks ago a couple of moths would’ve flown out of here. BUSTIER: And now? STACKETT: We can’t afford the moths. BUSTIER: So what, then? LONGSCHOTT: Miss Bustier, we’ve got to run everything by the boss, K. R. Whitley. BUSTIER: (Taken aback) You’re not Mr. Whitley? STACKETT: (Laughing) Him? He can misplace modifiers. LONGSCHOTT: Hey! STACKETT: He loses track of time. LONGSCHOTT: That’s enough. STACKETT: He once got lost in thought. LONGSCHOTT: Sophie ... STACKETT: It was just once at school, though. It hasn’t happened, y’know, recent. LONGSCHOTT: Can it, Soph. My name’s Longschott. Ray Longschott. This is Sophie Stackett, the secretary. STACKETT: Office manager. It’s good to meet you, Miss Bustier. BUSTIER: Well, if you’re not Whitley, where is he? WHITLEY: (Enters SL, shaking out nails) Pleased to meet you, Miss Bustier. My name is Whitley. K. R. Whitley. BUSTIER: (Skeptical) Charmed, I’m sure. (Fingertip touch) I didn’t mean to interrupt your ... toilette. WHITLEY: Oh, these? (Pats hair) After so long without a client I thought I should spruce myself up a little. I see you’ve met my associates. I apologize for any delay. (Takes STACKETT’s notes) So what can we help you with? BUSTIER: I’m not sure where to begin. I hardly need say, Ms. Whitley, that you are not what I expected. WHITLEY: Excuse me (STAGE: Tableaux, Noir music as WHITLEY addresses audience) And I hardly need tell you I’d gotten that a lot. In the bootleggin’, hard luck and short livin’ gritty back streets of the Irish district, Chicago’s South Side, people do not first think of a dame to do their private investig-ating, unless they want their privates investigated, if you hear what I’m saying. I get by, though. I’ve got an understanding with LaRocque’s (Pronounced “la-rock-a”) Certified Insurance downstairs, following up whatever claims they need followed up. They don’t make us rich, but ... BUSTIER: (Clears throat, pointedly, Noir music stops) WHITLEY: (Re-engage) Sorry. I didn’t mean to mislead you in any way, Miss ... Bustier (Drops notebook back on STACKETT’s desk). BUSTIER: What are your particulars? WHITLEY: 36, 24, 36, but I think that’s a little personal, don’t you? BUSTIER: I mean, what are your qualifications? WHITLEY: Well, I’m a crackerjack shot — top of my class at Academy. BUSTIER: Academy? WHITLEY: Chicago’s Finest. My father’s a vice cop, 30 years on the force, and I’ve always been daddy’s little girl. I didn’t finish, though — the other fellas ... it got kinda rough in there. BUSTIER: Really. WHITLEY: They didn’t like that I was a better shot than them — and the only girl. STACKETT: You tell ‘em, sister. WHITLEY: They got razzin’ on me, some. BUSTIER: So that’s what I’m hiring here? Some china doll who cracks under the pressure? WHITLEY: (Removes small gun from garter holster, polishes it) Y’know, this is probably the most adorable little gun I’ve ever seen. Light, compact, and cute as a bee to boot. They gave it me when I left the Academy, kind of their little joke. BUSTIER: And ... ? WHITLEY: I will just point out that however small, pearl-handled and adorable a gun is, it is still a gun. French poodles can have sharp teeth, Miss Bustier. BUSTIER: Be that as it may ... WHITLEY: (Reholsters weapon) I completed my P.I. training six years ago. I’m not the same scared little daddy’s girl they ran out of Academy. I’ve got my office, a good man, and, well, a shot at the big time, here. BUSTIER: But has your good man got a good woman? WHITLEY: I beg your pardon? BUSTIER: I am not myself, by trade, the private investigator, but I cannot help but notice that while Mr. Longschott wears his wedding band, you, Mrs. Whitley, do not. WHITLEY: Oh. LONGSCHOTT: Oh, I’m not her man, Miss Bustier. WHITLEY: Oh? LONGSCHOTT: I’m her man — that is, I’m her assistant. But my wife isn’t her. BUSTIER: Then ... WHITLEY: No. And I’m a miss. My boyfriend just moved here from St. Louis a couple months back. He’s a salesman. No, Ray wasn’t even the one that got away, really. He’d been landed hook, line and longshoreman before we ever met. BUSTIER: (To LONGSCHOTT) What’s your background? LONGSCHOTT: Forward infantry in the war, got my license when I got back. I’ve been tracking bounty and missing persons cases for 10 years now. BUSTIER: For Miss Whitley. STACKETT: It helps to have someone around who knows what she’s doing. BUSTIER: I ... see. WHITLEY: Mr. Longschott, by himself, is a top-drawer detective, Miss Bustier. But it is easier to support a family like he’s got when you’ve got cases coming in. I’ve got a better head for business. It is also easier, when you are me, to keep cases coming in when you’ve got a man in the office. STACKETT: Lousy city ... WHITLEY: He follows up leads for me when we’ve got a case. Otherwise he’s a ficus. BUSTIER: A ficus? WHITLEY: He sits in my front office and looks pretty for $40 a week plus caseload. Perhaps, Miss Bustier, if that is your real name, you should tell us what it is you’re here for. BUSTIER: I beg your pardon? WHITLEY: I doubt it. But I do know, whatever your real name is, you have not been completely honest with me.
|
|
|
Post by tjaman on Dec 4, 2005 19:47:18 GMT -5
BUSTIER: Look, sister, if this is how you ... why, I’ve barely said 20 words to you.
WHITLEY: And most a’ them was false. (Refers to STACKETT’s notes) You were not, for example, out with Gary Lassiter last Saturday or any other day. He is married to his job first and his wife second. It’s convenient ‘cause they’re in the same building. She’s Mrs. Gina Wallace, assistant D.A. for Cook County.
BUSTIER: I thought you said they were married.
WHITLEY: He kept his name. Anyway, no offense, but you wouldn’t have a chance with him.
BUSTIER: How d’ya figure?
WHITLEY: Let’s just say he was the one that got away. (BUSTIER smiles victoriously) He likes ‘em tall, leggy, with red hair, and married to him. So, according to you, what happened on Saturday?
BUSTIER: We were at Jake’s Double Eagle, me and Gary.
WHITLEY: Or whomever.
BUSTIER: And it was late when we got there. Miss Lola, the coat check girl, had just started her shift. There was some jazz goin’ in the corner with some little slip of a thing, a “chanteu-zee,” she called herself, but your everyday chanteu-zee does not remove her clothing during a song.
WHITLEY: She was a dancin’ girl?
BUSTIER: Let’s just say Jake provides for a variety of needs at his establishment. He hires girls with a kind of ... look to them, like famous movie stars, but in person.
WHITLEY: I hear you. So it was all talk between you and Mr. Whomever?
BUSTIER: Look, sister, maybe he was a lookalike, but let’s get one thing good and clear. If that wasn’t Gary Lassiter with me last Saturday night at Jake’s Double Eagle, I will eat my hat.
WHITLEY: The manager for the whole city of Chicago, married to the assistant D.A. and spending his after-hours in a seedy gin joint with a blonde bombshell? Ray, get her some ketchup.
BUSTIER: Believe what you want. What about my fur?
WHITLEY: What about your fur? How long were you there?
BUSTIER: Well, I checked my fur with Lola, and my party found a spot in the corner.
WHITLEY: Sounds cozy.
BUSTIER: It was.
WHITLEY: Did you see anything unusual that night?
BUSTIER: Just the usual swells. I’m not there more than two or three nights a week.
WHITLEY: And what brings you to Jake’s Double Eagle two or three nights a week?
BUSTIER: A girl’s gotta eat.
WHITLEY: That’s your story?
BUSTIER: Y-yes.
WHITLEY: So your party was in the corner. Did you have to wait long?
BUSTIER: I ... what? I don’t know what you mean.
WHITLEY: I am familiar with Jake’s Double Eagle. Jake and I go way back. If you are there to be social, you hit the dance floor. If you are there to drink, you sit at the tables. If you were seated in the corner, that means you were looking for some action.
BUSTIER: What are you talking about?
WHITLEY: Oh my, an innocent. I beg your pardon, Miss Bustier, and I hate to be the one to break this to you, but there is a back room at Jake’s Double Eagle where very important guests are invited to play poker.
BUSTIER: I was there for the ... atmosphere.
WHITLEY: And your party that night?
BUSTIER: (Deflated) Was there to play cards. After about half an hour of the chanteu-zee singing and ... the rest of her show ... we were invited to join in a game of poker. A few hours later ...
WHITLEY: ... everyone was broke except Jake.
BUSTIER: Actually, Gary came out ahead that night.
WHITLEY: What?
BUSTIER: A couple hundred.
WHITLEY: (More to herself) So Lady Luck is smiling at Jake’s again.
BUSTIER: Oh, the Lady Luck, she has taken up permanent residence. That man was born under a star. It is so wild a gin joint as you’d want to find anywhere, but raid after raid and they find ... (Shrugs) nothing.
WHITLEY: So you was coming out ahead. What happened next?
BUSTIER: It was getting late, so we made our goodbyes.
WHITLEY: And your fur?
BUSTIER: I must admit that during the intervening period, my fur would seem to have slipped my mind, and I did not specifically ask for it as we were leaving.
WHITLEY: You passed out.
BUSTIER: I ... was fortunate to have the strong shoulder of Mr. L ... of my gentleman friend to rely upon as we made our exit. It was only the following morning I remembered about my fur.
WHITLEY: What happened?
BUSTIER: I made some inquiries last night. My fur was no longer in the coat check room. Miss Lola, when I ask her, said she remembered giving it to my companion that evening.
WHITLEY: And had she?
BUSTIER: If Gary was wearing it, I certainly do not remember seeing it.
WHITLEY: I mean, did you stroll into City Hall in broad daylight and ask Mr. Gary Lassiter in front of his wife and his coworkers and God and everyone if he still had your fur, perhaps, secreted on his person somewhere?
BUSTIER: Mr. Lassiter and I have a somewhat more ... discreet relationship than that.
WHITLEY: Ah — ha. You do not sound, Miss Bustier, to have the most reliable memory of that evening. For example, I now know you are telling a story about Mr. Lassiter. He does not comport himself thuswise. And even if he did, Chicago’s city manager and the husband of the assistant D.A. for Cook County does not get invited into the back rooms of gin mills for games of chance. But it does not much matter who you were in there with. A fur scarf with a ruby-studded head clasp will stand out on most men, and if it was not on his person when you left, it must have gone someplace else.
BUSTIER: Well, you are right, Ms. Whitley, that our young city manager cuts a striking figure at a night club, with or without my fur. If you go there and ask some questions, you might learn a lot about how this city operates.
WHITLEY: Please, Miss Bustier, I know better than most how the gangs have turned this town inside out. I got a ringside seat. Half the force is on the take and thems at the top keep the other half a step or two behind.
BUSTIER: Do you know which half your father is in?
WHITLEY (coolly; STACKETT reacts more than WHITLEY does): Yes. Yes I do.
BUSTIER: Do not, how you say, blow your wig. It is just a question. Now, will you find my fur or what?
WHITLEY: (Pause) Y’know, I will take your case. If only because you — whoever you are — have been lying to me ever since you came in and I’m truly curious to learn why. Sophie, pull up our usual hide-and-go-seek form. (To BUSTIER) That’s a day rate of $200 plus expenses, up front.
BUSTIER: Will you take a check?
WHITLEY: Will you sprout wings and fly? Cash on the nail, sister.
STACKETT: (With contract) Sign here, please.
BUSTIER: (Does so, pauses) And you think you can track it down?
WHITLEY: Well, I certainly have a few stones I can look under and Mr. Longschott has some contacts he’ll probably be able to make after business hours, if you hear what I’m saying. One way or another, we’ll have some news for you ... Thursday afternoon by the latest.
BUSTIER: (Flicker of indecision, counts out $400 and hands it over) I’ll stop back then.
WHITLEY: (Hands cash to STACKETT, who writes up a receipt) Absolutely, Miss Bustier. (As BUSTIER collects carbon of contract and receipt and turns to go) One last question, Miss. Bustier?
BUSTIER: (Suddenly on guard) Yes?
WHITLEY: How did you learn of K.R. Whitley Investigations?
BUSTIER: (Relieved) Oh, that. I have ... business in the building. I remembered seeing your notice downstairs. That and ... a person hears things.
WHITLEY: We’ll have something for you ... (Spies TRUELOVE entering SL) Johnny!
TRUELOVE: Hey there, dollface.
WHITLEY: Johnny! (Leaps into his arms and hugs him in a spin)
TRUELOVE: You look great doll. (Nods) Longschott, Sophie. And who’s this?
WHITLEY: Oh, forgive me, Johnny. This is my client Miss Lucy Bust ..., Miss Lucy, this is my boyfriend I was telling you about, Johnny Truelove, St. Louie salesman extraordinaire.
TRUELOVE: (Leering) How you set for brushes?
BUSTIER: I get by.
WHITLEY: (Laughing uneasily as TRUELOVE and BUSTIER lock eyes) That salesman’s charm, you really gotta put a leash on it.
TRUELOVE: Oh, beautiful, I’ve only got eyes for you.
BUSTIER: If you can tear yourself away so as to find anything out ...
WHITLEY: I’ll get right on it.
BUSTIER: I can’t say you’ve impressed me as being the most reliable ... how you say ... dick ...
WHITLEY: Jane.
BUSTIER: Jane for this job, but if you could track it down I’d be most appreciative. It is insured, of course, but it has ... sentimental values.
WHITLEY: (Pats gun) Poodle teeth, Miss Bustier. Poodle teeth.
BUSTIER: I’ll be back on Thursday. (Exits SL)
STACKETT: Payday! Whoopee! (Hands some of Bustier’s cash to LONGSCHOTT and WHITLEY, writes up a deposit slip for the rest)
LONGSCHOTT: Oh, is Trudy gonna be happy to see this. (Pockets it)
WHITLEY: (Slipping her pay into her bra) Johnny, you looney tune! I didn’t know you was coming by today!
STACKETT: (As LONGSCHOTT collects cards and generally cleans up) Oh, Miss Whitley? There was a couple messages for you while you was at the salon.
WHITLEY: (Picks them up) “Mrs. Brewster’s lost her cat again.” (Crumples and tosses it on desk) “Krissy, Short sales run today, will try to stop by around 4. Johnny”
TRUELOVE: Salon?
WHITLEY: Salon? (Pats hair) I was out on a case, Sophie. (Smiles at TRUELOVE) OK, I made a stop at the beauty parlor.
TRUELOVE: You look gorgeous, doll.
WHITLEY: You’re sweet. (Indicates papers) ‘Djouse all find anything?
LONGSCHOTT: Couple disappearances, suspected kidnappings, no one anyone knows, a few car thefts, maybe, all page 20 stuff.
WHITLEY: The Outfit. (Finger to side of nose) Mafiosos. Let ‘em move up a couple pages.
STACKETT: With the feds planning a crackdown, the big names are keepin’ their noses clean.
LONGSCHOTT: Says here they’re closing in on ‘em.
WHITLEY: Please! They’ve been closing in on that crowd for years. That’s just the cops trying to get ‘em on the run, get ‘em to make a mistake.
LONGSCHOTT: What really gets guys like that is the money. There’s lotsa cash changes hands and they gotta keep it all on the q.t.
TRUELOVE: (To WHITLEY) No cutie like you.
WHITLEY: Aww. (Brief kiss to TRUELOVE’s cheek) Nothin’ for us then ... except for a Johnny Doe with one heckuva queer eye all of a sudden for last year’s fur.
LONGSCHOTT: How d’ya figure?
WHITLEY: OK, say you’re a tall, cool blonde and butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, faced with six flights of stairs on the hottest day of the year. I’m guessing you don’t go find a jacket and a big hat to wear.
STACKETT: I caught that.
WHITLEY: I’m also thinkin’ if it’s Saturday — the hottest night we’ve had for a while — you do not complete your sweltering Vionnet ensemble with a fur scarf with a ruby-studded head clasp.
LONGSCHOTT: I don’t think I follow you.
TRUELOVE: Yeah, doll, I mean a fur scarf doesn’t sound like the most practical thing a person has at any time of the year. It sounds like she mighta been wearing it just for, y’know, show.
WHITLEY: OK, boys, you deal with the weight of a heavy velvet gown and shoulder pads and a fur and see how far you make it before the iceman has to scrape youse up offa the sidewalk. Me, I’m gonna find a nice, light off-the-shoulder number, stringa pearls, dabba makeup, call it done.
STACKETT: It did sound like more of a fall number.
LONGSCHOTT: All the same, she did lose a fur.
WHITLEY: Maybe she did, yeah ...
LONGSCHOTT: You smell a rat?
WHITLEY: I’m smelling something ...
STACKETT: She just paid us $400 nonrefundable.
WHITLEY: Looked like there was plenty more where that came from. Business in the buliding, said it was insured ...
TRUELOVE: You’re thinking ...
WHITLEY: I’m guessing Mr. LaRocque’s Certified Insurance downstairs is gonna be out a little more than she is. Ruby-studded fur — her hat! Two or three nights a week and a girl’s gotta eat?
LONGSCHOTT: Independently wealthy, you suppose? Woman of means?
WHITLEY: Did you see that rock? Even if it was paste, how about those nails? Our Miss Bustier is a professional all right! I would not be surprised to learn that she is a banker’s secretary or something.
LONGSCHOTT: Or a call girl? High priced?
WHITLEY: In this economy?
LONGSCHOTT: (Doubtful) Some gotta be doing OK. There’s always a market for what she’s got for sale.
TRUELOVE: Could be some big muckety-muck’s got her number.
STACKETT: And that name. “Lucy Bustier” ain’t in no city directory.
WHITNEY: (Considers) Maybe ... nah, the knees were wrong.
TRUELOVE: How?
WHITNEY: She kept ‘em together. She might spend a lotta time off her feet, but that secretary’s spread she’s got started, I’m guessin’ she ain’t on her back.
TRUELOVE: So what? There’s no case here?
LONGSCHOTT: (Pulls out bill, examines it) The money’s real enough.
WHITLEY: It could still be a scam.
STACKETT: (to TRUELOVE) We’ve seen this before, dear.
LONGSCHOTT: Someone insures the family jewels, socks ‘em away, breaks a window and yells “Thief!”
TRUELOVE: How can you ever tell?
WHITLEY: I’ve tracked a few things. Mosta the time a mook’s not yankin’ a tiara so as to wear it on his head. I’ve ... cultivated relationships with gentlemen in the “conversion” trade. (Starts scribbling some names on the back of Johnny’s message)
TRUELOVE: Hey, how close are these relationships?
WHITLEY: Relax, sweetie. They’ve never converted me yet. I don’t find out anything more than the boy detectives do.
STACKETT: You just do more with it when you find it out.
WHITLEY: There’s only a few people who’ll even look at a hot fur. Ray, why don’t you check a few of these out on your way home, and anyone else you might think of.
LONGSCHOTT: You got it.
STACKETT: (Eagerly) What can I do?
WHITLEY: You? (Looks at watch) Well, it’s too late to call City Hall now. Why don’t you see if you can get Mr. Lassiter on the line first thing in the morning, see if you can confirm any of this from his angle.
TRUELOVE: What about our plans for tonight? Dinner? Dancing?
WHITLEY: Oh, I’m in the mood for someplace dark and dank and sleazy.
TRUELOVE: I like the way you think.
WHITLEY: Some seedy little gin joint somewhere on (Looks at Sophie’s notes) Twenty-Second and Mind-Your-Own Business.
|
|
|
Post by tjaman on Dec 4, 2005 19:48:24 GMT -5
TRUELOVE: (Deflated) You’re on the job.
WHITLEY: Y’never know. It could be fun. I understand there’s chanteu-zees and everything. (Pats his hand) We could go someplace nice afterwards.
TRUELOVE: I’ll meet you there. I wanna go get myself cleaned up some, first.
LAROCQUE: (Offstage) Whitley!
WHITLEY: You go ahead, darlin’. 8 o’clock?
TRUELOVE: 8 o’clock’d be swell dollface. Abyssina. (Exits SL)
WHITLEY: Why don’t you get started on some of those, Ray. This one actually runs a pawnbrokers, should still be open. Let me know what you find out.
LAROCQUE: (Offstage) Whitley are you in here? (Enters SL)
LONGSCHOTT: Will do.
WHITLEY: (As LONGSCHOTT grabs jacket and exits SL) Yes, Mr. LaRocque, I am in here. Do I barge into your office hollerin’ your name all up and down the hallway?
LAROCQUE: Frequently, to steal office supplies. (Grabs crumpled memo) This is from my message pad.
WHITLEY: (Grabs it back, tosses it back on desk) And it’s my message.
LAROCQUE: Whatever. I’m up here to talk to you about a fur that’s gone missing.
WHITLEY: Stolen, yeah, I’m way ahead of you on this.
LAROCQUE: I don’t understand. We were just informed of its disappearance ...
WHITLEY: Theft.
LAROCQUE: ... disappearance this very hour.
WHITLEY: A fur scarf with a ruby-studded head clasp?
LAROCQUE: That’s the one.
WHITLEY: It’d be kinda coincidental for two of ‘em to go missing, since this ain’t exactly fur scarf weather.
LAROCQUE: Look here, She’s probably engaged your services as a cheap front to hide the real theft. which is from my company to the tune of a couple grand.
STACKETT: We ain’t cheap!
WHITLEY: (Sharp look to quiet STACKETT) And you’re up here for ... ?
LAROCQUE: I was [ahem] going to engage your services to track down the fur for us.
WHITLEY: Do you regularly deal with the criminal element, Mr. LaRocque?
LAROCQUE: I say ...
WHITLEY: I’m sorry, Mr. LaRocque, but we have already been engaged by a client to do that already (Second “already” is cq; stumble over the structure a bit). Call the police, make a report.
LAROCQUE: You know the police in this neighborhood are on the take.
WHITLEY: And you’re the driven snow?
LAROCQUE: What’s that supposed to mean?
WHITLEY: I’ve only been detectin’ perfessional like for about six years now, but my daddy is one of the best cops this town has ever seen. And he taught me to keep my eyes open.
LAROCQUE: They open enough to see which side your bread is buttered? You’re only on my list ‘cause you’re convenient, and you’re only convenient ‘cause your rent is low. I put in one word with Mr. Wisteria and you’ll be tracking your clients from Little Africa. You may as well be in Joliet tracking strays.
STACKETT: Wait a minute ...
LAROCQUE: You just keep your thoughts and your opinions about my clientele and my associates under your hat.
WHITLEY: I see the kinds of people your firm attracts, and your associates, Mr. LaRocque. Shifty-like. Shady. Like they’re up to no good.
LAROCQUE: Well, you hire thieves, you should know.
STACKETT: You talkin’ about me, Mr. LaRocque? I only nipped that one message pad like a month ago.
WHITLEY: Sophie ...
STACKETT: I swear! The girl said I could have it.
WHITLEY: Sophie, before Mr. LaRocque feels the pinch from your petty pilfering this office will be filled with office supplies. And if you are referring to my client, Mr. LaRocque, may I remind you that she engaged you first?
LAROCQUE: Insurance fraud is a crime, Miss Whitley.
WHITLEY: I’ve got some leads I am tracking down, Mr. LaRocque. If you’re that worried, hold off cutting a check for a couple of days.
LAROCQUE: We only deal in cash, Miss Whitley, as you well know.
WHITLEY: OK, before you settle her claim, then. Miss ... my client is stopping back for a progress report Thursday afternoon.
LAROCQUE: I’ll be back.
WHITLEY: Oh, and Mr. LaRocque? This is a paying client.
LAROCQUE: I had no sense that she wasn’t. The idea ...
WHITLEY: It’s nice to actually see some pay on some of this hide-and-seek for once. We can’t live on filched message pads.
LAROCQUE: Good day, Miss Whitley. (Exits SL)
WHITLEY: What a jerk.
STACKETT: Can he really do that? Get you kicked out?
WHITLEY: Oh, he threatens that everytime he needs something.
STACKETT: What he needs is a good, swift kick. So ... you and Johnny doing anything interesting tonight?
WHITLEY: Well, he had plans. I’m guessing Jake’s Double Eagle is gonna be kinda slow on a Tuesday night. Maybe he’s got something more exciting planned for later on.
STACKETT: (Dreamy) Those eyes of his ...
WHITLEY: Hmm ... You get a chance to finish up Mr. Binkman’s file?
STACKETT: Referred it to Hank’s Collection Agency on my way to the newsstand.
WHITLEY: I like this long-standing cash-up-front policy I just started. Drop that by the bank on your way home.
STACKETT: Already written up and set for deposit, K.R.
WHITLEY: I’ll clean up in here. Good night, Sophie.
STACKETT: ‘Nght K.R. I’ll make those calls in the morning. (Exits SL)
WHITLEY: What a day. (Cleans up newspapers, grabs gloves, hat and handbag, checks hat in hand mirror from handbag. Is just putting on gloves and preparing to leave when there is a knock on the door)
ELFWASSER-FITZ: (Entering SL, hat in hand) Miss Whitley?
WHITLEY: Oh, it’s ... ?
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Elfwasser-Fitz, Miss. Marcus Elfwasser-Fitz.
WHITLEY: Oh, Elfie, of course. From Mr. LaRocque's downstairs.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: That’s right, miss.
WHITLEY: Elfie, I told your boss to cool it about that fur. I’m already taking the case myself.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Fur?
WHITLEY: You’re not here about Miss Bustier’s fur?
ELFWASSER-FITZ: I only write up the contracts, I’m afraid.
WHITLEY: Sorry. What can I do for you?
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Well (Embarrassed) I’m sure you have lots more exciting things to take care of than my little problem, but I see you everyday, walking up those steps, and I always thought, what if I had a problem, like some sort of emergency (Mindless little giggle) how great it is that we have a real live detective workin’ just one floor away.
WHITLEY: Elfie ...
ELFWASSER-FITZ: No, I meant it makes me feel ... safer ... somehow.
WHITLEY: Glad I can help.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Oh, you can. I’m sure of it. That’s what I’m up here for. To see if you can help. You see, it’s canasta night.
WHITLEY: It’s ... what?
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Oh, I mean, that is Thursday night is canasta night. My landlady and her husband play canasta.
WHITLEY: Canasta.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: They’ve played every Thursday night for the last 45 years. Anyway, the other couple they play with, the Hennesseys, well, Mr. Hennessey is real sick. He’s in the hospital, and won’t be able to play on Thursday.
WHITLEY: What’s the matter?
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Well, he might be sick of losing. That’s what Mrs. Connor said, Mrs. Humphrey Connor, she’s my landlady. She’s pretty good. She said if she wins this week she’ll have 10 million points.
WHITLEY: Mrs. Humphrey Connor ...
ELFWASSER-FITZ: You get a canasta at 5,000 points.
WHITLEY: She has 10 million points?
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Her record-keeping is impressive.
WHITLEY: (Very brief pause) I’m sorry you can’t stay ...
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Pardon?
WHITLEY: I think I see where this is going, and I appreciate the offer, but I’m seeing someone, and I just think it would look, y’know, bad.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Bad.
WHITLEY: A night of canasta, Cards, couples ...
ELFWASSER-FITZ: OH!
WHITLEY: I don’t even know how to play ...
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Oh no! (Giggles) No, Miss Whitley, it’s not that at all! I’m so sorry. Asking a private detective to spend a night with me and my landlady playing canasta! (Giggles) The very idea!
WHITLEY: I was about to say ...
ELFWASSER-FITZ: You don’t even know how to play!
WHITLEY: (Genuinely annoyed) Elfie, what did you come in here for?
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Oh right. (Composes himself) Yeah. Canasta. I don’t know how to play either. But my sister does.
WHITLEY: Your sister.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: But she’s gone missing.
WHITLEY: I see.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: She hasn’t been at her apartment for days.
WHITLEY: Days?
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Well, one day. She’s got a little southside apartment — 45 Circle Court. Her landlady said she saw her leave the apartment yesterday afternoon around 4:30 and she never came back.
WHITLEY: You were going to ask her to play canasta with you.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: She works — I don’t know where, exactly, a big office downtown she told me. A secretary.
WHITLEY: (Taking notes) A secretary ... downtown ...
ELFWASSER-FITZ: I just – I’m drawing a blank. I’m sure she told me where exactly. She’s real pretty. Tall, brunette, kinda skinny, actually.
WHITLEY: I see. What’s her name?
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Oh right! Stupid of me. Stupid. See, I knew you’d be good at this. Beth.
WHITLEY: Beth Elfwasser-Fitz, a skinny pretty brunette secretary downtown somewhere.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: That’s right.
WHITLEY: When did you last talk to her?
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Is that important?
WHITLEY: If it was after Mrs. Humphrey Connor invited you over she might be skipping out on the excitement of your landlady’s 2,000th birthday canasta. Or maybe she had a hot date?
ELFWASSER-FITZ: She’s not seeing anyone. At least ...
WHITLEY: Yes?
ELFWASSER-FITZ: I haven’t spoken to her in a while, a couple of weeks or so.
WHITLEY: Is that unusual?
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Not really. She keeps to herself. She works all day, quiet nights, keeps to herself ...
WHITLEY: ... herself. Yes. You said that already. Sounds like a real homebody.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: That’s .. her. Oh! And she reads a lot. Spy novels, Mata Hari.
WHITLEY: (Scribbles a few more notes) OK, Elfie. Well, tell you what, I can’t promise anything, but I can get the ball rolling and see if anything turns up in time for ... Mrs. Humphrey Connor’s canasta party.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Oh, thanks. I’d really appreciate it. Um ... do you take checks?
WHITLEY: (Considers) There’s not much to go on, here. Heck, she might even show up tonight. Tell you what, I’ll swing by and check it out. If I find anything out, I know where to find you.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Oh right! Of course. (Giggles) Thanks Ms. Whitley. (Exits SL)
WHITLEY: (Drops notepad and pencil into handbag as noir music rises) A stolen fur, a missing sister, Mrs. Brewster’s cat and a rendezvous (Pronounce it ren-dez-vooz) at a sleazy gin joint. When it rains, it really pours. (Exit, close door and lock it. Noir music fades)
LIGHTS DOWN
|
|
|
Post by tjaman on Dec 4, 2005 19:49:53 GMT -5
Act 2
AT RISE: That evening, Jake’s Double Eagle, with a bar, a small stage with a band, couple tables, including one for Miss N’EST PAS DI PALMA, who has tarot cards and incense burning. There’s also a coat-check window. At the bar sits BLIND EDDIE with a glass of water, and a statue, ideally of a double-eagle. Otherwise, a double-eagle motif should be suggested somewhere else in the room. There’s a few patrons at the tables. JAKE stands behind the bar with VINCE at the door, which has a peephole. He’s holding a gun on TRUELOVE, seated nearby.
LIGHTS UP
BAND PLAYING
WHITLEY: (Knocks a secret knock)
VINCE: (Through the peephole) What’s the word?
WHITLEY: Thunderbird.
VINCE: (Shutting peephole) She’s clean. (Unlocks door, opens it as WHITLEY enters in period eveningwear)
TRUELOVE: Dollface!
VINCE: He’s not.
WHITLEY: I swear, Johnny, I can’t take you anywhere. He’s clean boys; he’s with me.
VINCE: (As JAKE steps forward) Looked like a cop.
JAKE: Hey everyone! It’s Miss K.R. Whitley, the private investigator whose daddy is a vice cop. (A few shady patrons sneak off SR) So good to have you at my establishment, Miss Whitley. Vinny! The word is no longer “thunder-bird.” (To WHITLEY) May I offer you a soft drink?
WHITLEY: (As LANA takes the mic, dressed as Ethel Merman) Why not? I’m not likely to find anything out now. May as well soak in the atmosphere.
JAKE: That I can do. This place has great atmosphere, and some of the finest jazz on the South Side.
WHITLEY: (To TRUELOVE) Say what you want about Jake’s, he’s got some swell music.
LANA: (As Merman, removing a glove) The styles, the craze, and all the rage / These days they just fly off (Toss glove to stage audience) the stage / But nothing stays the rage these days / Like Change / (Removing other glove) The come and goes, the to and fros / From garters, spats and pantyhose (Toss other glove) / The most that shows in how it goes / Is Change / Hems, skirts, slits and peekaboos / Slide up and down like slide trombones / The corset girdle BVDs — what’s next? / Nobody knows / Hair is up and hair is down / Decolletage can go to town / Brunette, red or plat’num blonde / It’s all about the Change / It’s all about the Change! (Bows and waves during onstage applause)
WHITLEY: (Meets her at dressing room door) Nice number. Ethel Merman, right?
LANA: Oh, the name's Lana. I'm the cigarette girl but I'm sorta filling in.
WHITLEY: You ain't kidding. That's quite a voice you've got on you. You mind if I talk to you for a minute?
LANA: Just for a minute. I got kinda a full card tonight. Lacy left early last night and she didn't come in at all tonight, neither.
WHITLEY: Who's Lacy?
LANA: Miss Lacy Underthings. She's the other chanteu-zee Jake brings in to sing along with the band. We usually get a little break after the number but with only one of me here, I've gotta be the cigarette girl, too.
WHITLEY: Makes for a pretty full night.
LANA: Well, I'm used to working around all of Lacy's admirin' public. Ain't seen Lester Lookie-Loo in here at all tonight. Always with the requests.
WHITLEY: Well, I'm actually here about a little fur scarf number ...
JAKE: Hey! Ethel! Stop with the chinwaggery and trot those butts!
LANA: Sorry Mr. M. (To WHITLEY) I gotta go.
WHITLEY: Right. Just when I was in danger of gettin' somewhere.
JAKE: You looking to find out something specific-like, Whitley, or you just out on the town tonight?
WHITLEY: Yeah, come to think of it, you seen any prominent city officials stepping out with leggy blondes and their out-of-season fur scarves around lately?
JAKE: I run a respectable establishment, here, I don't need none a' them city stiffs musting up the joint.
WHITLEY: But they stop by though.
JAKE: Yo! Blind Eddie! You seen any city officials hangin' around?
EDDIE: Let me see if I can recall ...
WHITLEY: So no, then. You don't see Mayor Cermak or Alderman Stevens or Gary Lassiter ...
JAKE: Lassiter? What you need to know about Lassiter for?
WHITLEY: He ever stop in to your respectable establishment?
JAKE: I suppose we've seen him once or twice ... special occasions ...
WHITLEY: How special?
JAKE: Look (Pulls her aside downstage) What Lassiter might be doing in here on his own time with his own people is his own business.
WHITLEY: Say you was to take an interest. He here more to raise a friendly glass or play some cards?
JAKE: I believe he and his party were here to listen to the jazz.
WHITLEY: Well, I'm not here to listen to none a' your jazz. I happen to know that they was playin' cards.
JAKE: And play some cards. You didn't let me finish!
WHITLEY: So, what's the graft this week, Jake? Money laundering or you turning out the sourdough again?
JAKE: I don't know what you mean.
WHITLEY: I bet you do, and say I win that bet am I heading out that door with cabbage or sauerkraut?
JAKE: Hey, you best make sure you're walking out that door at all.
WHITLEY: Is that a threat?
JAKE: It's a premonition.
WHITLEY: (Tickles him) Ah, don't even try it. You know I can take you. Now, I need to talk to Lola. She around?
JAKE: (Fully recovered and displeased) What, the coat check girl? You're the detective — try the coat check.
WHITLEY: Thank you. (Heads over) Good evening, Miss Lola. How's tricks?
LOLA: A little slow tonight, whatcha gonna do?
WHITLEY: How slow were things on Saturday?
LOLA: Oh it was a hot one. A lotta people came in to cool off. We had the air conditioning on.
WHITLEY: Not a lot of coats to check, I don't imagine.
LOLA: Oh, you know these swells — always want to make an impression.
WHITLEY: I bet. Anyone try with a fur scarf with a ruby studded head clasp?
LOLA: Did that thing turn up? I'm catching the worst hell for that.
WHITLEY: How so?
LOLA: Mr. Lassiter himself came calling for it after his date passed out and had to be carried home.
WHITLEY: His ...
LOLA: Tall, leggy blonde, a miss Lucy something.
WHITLEY: I see.
LOLA: There'd been some frivolity. Anyways, Lacy was performing her Marlene Dietrich number and ...
WHITLEY: Lacy? Oh, right. Lacy Underthings.
LOLA: Oh, she is in trouble now. Lana's gotta pull double duty with her sittin' the night out.
WHITLEY: She do this a lot?
LOLA: Oh, no. She's pretty reliable. Otherwise Mr. Jake would have more chanteu-zees on call. Nah, she must be sleepin' it off.
WHITLEY: What do you mean?
LOLA: Nothing. Just, she was three sheets to the wind last night and was all over some mook on her way out.
WHITLEY: Is everyone a stretcher case on their way outta this joint?
LOLA: They come here on the right nights they are. Anyway, the night you was askin' about, Saturday night, someone came up during Lacy's number and asked for the scarf. One of the gentlemen from the back room. Apparently Miss Lucy had caught a chill.
WHITLEY: But ... chilly Miss Lucy never got her fur.
LOLA: Well, I don't know nothin' about that, see. They was in the back, and I was out front the whole time. A gentleman came up to me with the ticket and I give him the fur.
WHITLEY: Not Mr. Lassiter?
LOLA: No, not Mr. Lassiter. A gentleman in his party.
WHITLEY: I see. Thank you, Miss Lola.
JOHNNY: (Drawing her aside, careful to stay out of LOLA's sightline) We just about done here dollface? I've soaked up plenty of atmosphere for one night.
WHITLEY: Hold on a minute. I need to make sure everything's jake.
JAKE: (To LANA, who's been selling cigarettes) Yo! Lana! We gotta request for da Blue Angel.
LANA: Right away, boss.
WHITLEY: Jake, you see a fur anywhere when you were cleaning up in the back room?
JAKE: Very funny, "cleaning up." I've been takin' a bath back there lately.
WHITLEY: Rub-a-dub-dub. The house always wins, Jake, and you know what you're doing. If your patrons are leaving here with fat wallets then you are either legitimizing some ill-gotten gains, or ...
JAKE: Wait just a minute!
WHITLEY: Or you are printing your own again. Which is it?
JAKE: I'm not printing, I swear!
WHITLEY: I keep my ear to the ground, and there's been a lot of cabbage moving lately through the South End. I hear your poker faces are lookin' a lot happier these days I've got no choice but to call my daddy in here to have a good long look around.
JAKE: Never gonna happen.
WHITLEY: What, you think you've got Gary Lassiter stopping in here from time to time you're immune?
JAKE: He's a Christian just like me.
WHITLEY: What, he likes to take a little Communion once in a while?
JAKE: It ain't that. He's a straight arrow. I give him 7-UP instead of gin, ice tea instead of brandy, lemonade — just lemonade, you get the picture — and he thinks that's what everyone else is gettin'.
WHITLEY: I see. So he'd be interested to learn that that ain't the case?
JAKE: He always seems to be. He keeps me real honest. He strides in here once in awhile and grabs a glass on the bar and takes a nice whiff.
WHITLEY: That doesn't rumble you?
JAKE: I'm ready for him. I just have soft-drinks at the bar, and a glass a' water for Blind Eddie.
EDDIE: Blind Eddie. Blind Eddie. Lord, one o' these nights couldn't it be Handsome Eddie?
JAKE: You find me Handsome Eddie I'll greet him for you. Enjoy your gin.
EDDIE: You do serve some nasty watered down drinks in this joint.
JAKE: We don't want you driving drunk. Again. Anyway, Mr. Lassiter is sympathetic to my situation.
WHITLEY: Oh, is he?
JAKE: You see that statue on the bar, there?
WHITLEY: The Double Eagle? Yeah, I see it.
JAKE: It's a bergenshauk my daddy, God rest his soul, brought back with him from the Great War. And that if anything were to happen to it in a raid or something it'd kill me. Just kill me. So he comes in the night before a big raid and tips me off. It can't lose! Practically the mayor himself is tipping me off when a raid is comin'! I hide my daddy's sainted bergenshauk — and all the hooch as well.
WHITLEY: That is so sad.
JAKE: I do truly miss him.
WHITLEY: Not that, you mook. That he bought that line of bull and he's out there running the city. You're holding that bird for Sonny Mueller. You've got his promissary note t' the bottom of it! Your daddy's doing a stretch in Sing-Sing for hanging paper and so will you be if you keep up those backroom shenanigans. And the closest he ever got to the Great War was watching your mother dance in Atlantic City.
JAKE: Hey!
WHITLEY: Y'know, I believe I will take another lemonade on the house for me and my friend — the good stuff this time.
JAKE: Listen ...
WHITLEY: I'm still in touch with my father if you've lost track a' yours.
JAKE: Right away.
JOHNNY: You still need to talk to someone?
WHITLEY: Relax, Johnny, find a table someplace. Oh, she's singin' again.
LANA: (Taking the stage as Marlene Dietrich) The mirror knows / My look, my shape, my face / It's what I do for you / Change my look for you / That's why you look for me. (Toss glove into stage audience) / I'm Lynn, I'm Greta / I'm Rita, I'm Ingrid. / I'm Marlena in the rain. / I live out this glamour / up here on the stage / I'm no more Garbo, than Harpo / But the mirror knows / My look, my shape, my face / It's what I do for you / Change my look for you / That's why you look for me. (Toss glove into stage audience, descends)
WHITLEY: That's quite a range you've got there.
LANA: Thank you. It wasn't easy. The new wig's gone. Lacy must've worn it out with her.
WHITLEY: Or it got lost in the raid.
JOHNNY: What?
WHITLEY: Oh, the raid they must've had last night. If Lassiter was here Saturday it probably means there was a raid on Monday.
LANA: There was. Whaddya know. I almost forgot. Small crowd, didn't do much. They never find anything.
JAKE: Lana! Cigarettes!
LANA: Oh, right. Back in a while.
JAKE: What do you need to know about the raid?
WHITLEY: They find something?
JAKE: No. They didn't. It was early so it didn't ruin everyone's night.
WHITLEY: Nice to see some old-fashioned respect for the law.
JAKE: The business of America is business.
WHITLEY: Lana does a good job.
JAKE: Meh. The other one's better.
WHITLEY: Lacy Underthings?
JAKE: What a name, huh? She does a Marlene Dietrich down to the floor. You wouldn't think she could — just a skinny little thing — but she can look like anyone, and boy can she belt out a number.
WHITLEY: And she was here last night.
JAKE: Yeah, for a couple sets. Not sure what happened to her after all the hubbub. You going somewhere with this?
WHITLEY: You don't mind my askin' around, do you?
JAKE: You got 10 minutes.
WHITLEY: What?
JAKE: Look, Whitley, youse bad for my business. Get done and get out of here.
WHITLEY: Right. Well, so, Lassiter was here Saturday night ...
JAKE: And nothing happened to my sainted father's bird last night. Exactly.
WHITLEY: Anything turn up in a fur?
JAKE: Oh, right. The busty blonde's fur everyone's so excited about. No, it didn't turn up. And if you're finished with your lemonade, Whitley ...
di PALMA: (Sidling up) I think perhaps she will have another.
JAKE: And I think your crystal ball might have a smudge.
WHITLEY: And you're ...
JAKE: Miss Pay da Piper
di PALMA: N'est-pas di Palma, ORACULIST extraordinaire.
JAKE: She's a real live gyp.
di PALMA: -sy! Gypsy N'est-pas di Palma, ORACULIST extraordinaire.
JAKE: Takes up space in my joint, tellin' all the guys they got luck in their future.
di PALMA: Is true! (To WHITLEY) I do not say good luck.
WHITLEY: And whaddya know, she's right. (Takes di Palma's arm) I will have another.
JAKE: 10 minutes, Whitley.
WHITLEY: (They move to di PALMA's table) So, what did you see here last night?
di PALMA: Cross my palm with silver and I can show you the world.
WHITLEY: Hmm. This cash upfront policy of mine is a good idea after all. (Hands her a buck) So, what did you see?
di PALMA: I see you are in much danger.
WHITLEY: I'm in danger of running out of time, here.
di PALMA: Your young man, he is not what he seems.
WHITLEY: Johnny? What does any of this have to do with Johnny?
di PALMA: He is ... most uncomfortable.
WHITLEY: We're a little out of his element. Why don't you tell me about last night?
di PALMA: It was as was foretold. (As in a trance) Oh, much devastation comes from so much love.
WHITLEY: Enough about Johnny already. What about ... hey, can you tell me anything about Miss Lucy Bustier's fur?
di PALMA: (Re-entering trance) I see the fur. Is on a ... falling star. (Pause) Your fur, she is not here. She has gone.
WHITLEY: That's it? That's what I get for a buck?
di PALMA: I see also roses. Many yellow roses. Yellow roses for a blue lady.
WHITLEY: White flag. If you're gonna talk in riddles, I'm hoistin' the surrender.
LANA: (Passing by with her cigarette tray) That might not be a riddle. There's a dozen yellow roses in the dressing room. One of Lacy's fans, no doubt.
WHITLEY: Was there a card with these roses?
LANA: I can go and check (Withdraws)
di PALMA: One of her fans, yes. I did see the girl leave — out the back way — with a mysterious stranger.
WHITLEY: How did she seem?
di PALMA: Others, who have seen less of the world than has Madame N'est-pas di Palma ORACULIST extraordinaire would say she seemed like the shameless tramp. That she was all over him like the cheap suit. That she was a woman of easy virtue. But I (Finger to nose) I know better.
WHITLEY: How was she dressed that night, Miss di PALMA?
LANA: (Returning) She was doing Miss Marlena, dark blue number, rhinestones and fake fur. The works. There was a card on the roses, but it don't help much. All it says is "Tonight ... and forever."
WHITLEY: Hmm. You don't happen to know where she's staying, do you?
LANA: Oh, on Circle ... something, around there somewhere.
WHITLEY: Circle something?
LANA: Street ... Lane ... Circle Drive -- sorry, nothing sounds right.
WHITLEY: Court?
LANA: That's the one. A lot of the girls who work down here live up there.
WHITLEY: You mean she was ... ?
LANA: Oh, no, not her. She was just a chanteu-zee.
WHITLEY: What kind of a name is Lacy Underthings?
JAKE: A dancer's name. A popular name, if you get my meaning. Lana, if you're done here?
LANA: Of course, Mr. M.
WHITLEY: Wait. She ever tell you her real name?
LANA: I don't think so. Funny. For all I know, Lacy Underthings coulda been her real name.
JAKE: Lana, the customers.
LANA: Right Mr. M. (To WHITLEY) Y'know, I wouldn't worry about her much. She's probably just taking the night off, curled up with a spy novel.
WHITLEY: Spy novel ... ?
JAKE: (Takes her glass) Your 10 minutes are up, Whitley. Hit the sidewalk.
WHITLEY: One more thing, Jake. You got a picture anywhere of this Miss Lacy Underthings?
JAKE: (Looks around, grabs it from the wall) Oh yeah. You can have this one. That no-show won't be working here any more.
WHITLEY: Thank you. It's been a real pleasure, Mr. Mulray. Johnny! Let's go. Oh, and Mr. Mulray?
JAKE: What is it now?
WHITLEY: Keep that nose clean. There's enough wrong in this city without the counterfeitin'. Knock it off or Lassiter's next raid is gonna be thorough.
LIGHTS DOWN
|
|
|
Post by tjaman on Dec 4, 2005 19:53:03 GMT -5
Act 3 SCENE 1
AT RISE: The sparse offices of K.R. WHITLEY, around midmorning. WHITLEY, LONGSCHOTT and STACKETT gather in the front office to compare notes.
WHITLEY: Anyway, that's all I've got. How'd youse guys do?
STACKETT: Well, all morning on the phones and I got nothin'.
LONGSCHOTT: Eight pawn shops and three known fence-and-dodge con fur-traders all come up empty. One of 'ems gotta nice car out back — probably branching into grand theft — but nothin' on our case.
WHITLEY: Which one had the car?
LONGSCHOTT: Louie.
WHITLEY: (Considers) Give 'im a coupla days then drop a dime. He's been a good squeal for us in the past.
STACKETT: We could use the reward, K.R.
WHITLEY: We ain't bounty hunters. And the cops ain't lookin' for him so much as for his known associates (Finger to side of nose). Let the deal go through and let them track it down. (Considers) All the same, Ray, don't make our tip all that anonymous. We could sure use the reward.
LONGSCHOTT: Gotcha. Anything else turn up over at Jake's?
WHITLEY: Coupla things. Lola the coat check girl said she did check Miss Bustier's fur, but someone else collected it afterwards — and before they left. Also, one of his dancin' girls (Shows picture) has gone missing and Jake's hangin' paper again. But apart from the chanteu-zee trippin' out the back way with some mook, the trail's a little cold. (Sigh) I was gonna be in her neighborhood today anyway. Maybe I can get two birds with one stone.
LONGSCHOTT: Anything I can help with?
WHITLEY: Oh, I dunno. Y'know Elfie from downstairs? His sister Beth, skinny Minnie brunette, works downtown somewhere. She lives over there, went missing a day ago. I told him I'd go see if she'd turned up or something. Anyway, the cigarette girl at Jake's said she lived over in that area, too, thought I'd shake the trees, see if anything fell out. You got some more places to check, see if anyone's been buyin' yellow roses.
STACKETT: Roses?
WHITLEY: Cigarette girl said there were some in the dressing room with a note "Tonight — and forever." Whadja get from City Hall?
STACKETT: Right (Gets her notes) OK, I somehow got through to Lassiter. He confirms that he was at the club that night.
WHITLEY: Was he with anyone, that he said?
STACKETT: Well, after a few uncomfortable moments, he says he's there with his wife.
WHITLEY: His wife know that?
STACKETT: Well, I called her next, and she seemed a little surprised. But after a little insisting, she tells me that the whole city's got some big hush-hush thing cooking up and not to spread it around, but that yeah, she was there.
WHITLEY: She see a tall, leggy blonde anywhere? On her husband's other arm, perhaps?
STACKETT: She confirmed they was in a group, but no one matchin' Miss Bustier's description.
LONGSCHOTT: Real mysterious. Meanwhile, Miss Bustier's story checks out with the coat check girl.
STACKETT: How so?
LONGSCHOTT: Well, we know she was wearing it in, at least. We just gotta figure out how it got out again.
WHITLEY: Something doesn't smell right. Gina Wallace, the assistant district attorney, is in his speakeasy and Jake doesn't say anything?
TRUELOVE: (Walking in) Jake barely wanted to say Lassiter was there.
WHITLEY: Johnny! (Leaping to her feet and kissing him) Whaddayou doing here this morning?
TRUELOVE: Hiya, doll! I banged on all the doors I was gonna and since I was in the neighborhood I thought I'd see if you wanted to get some dinner.
WHITLEY: I've told you a million times, Johnny, it might be "dinner" where you grew up out East, but we have lunch here.
STACKETT: Oh, whatever you call it. You two go on and get some.
WHITLEY: We oughta. Johnny was so nervous at Jake's last night I didn't think he was gonna keep anything down.
TRUELOVE: Those goons grabbed me when I came in. Thought I was a cop! Cutiepie here came to my rescue.
WHITLEY: Oh, you're sweet. (Kiss) After lunch. I'll swing by to see if Elfie's sister or that chanteu-zee has turned up anywhere. She might be able to help us. Ray, you got any more places you can think of to check, peek in on a couple florists while you're at it. Sophie, run through the afternoon editions, see if anything turns up. (Grab hat, put it on) Let's go, Johnny!
LIGHTS — Blackout, then bring up a single SPOT downstage on WHITLEY during the scene change. Start up noir music.
SCENE 2 SCENE — Strike Office, set up Florist's Stand SR and Back Alley SL, with Millie Fiori arranging her flowers. Back Alley indicated by a high brick wall with a couple of windows cut into it high up, with BIEBERDORF ready to appear as indicated. A streetlight DCS wouldn't be out of place, and there should be some yellow roses just visible inside BIEBERDORF's window.
WHITLEY: The meal at Paddy O'Brien's pub was delicious. I walked it off on the winding streets in the neighborhood. A nor'easter off Lake Michigan provided a little relief from the heat and I was grateful because Circle Court took a little finding. Chcago's split up into neighborhoods. The Outfit's (Finger to nose) in charge of running hooch, numbers and the girls up on the Northside. Westside's all Italian and Irish. Southside, where we is, is kinda mixed up — Irish breweries, Polish, some Italian, some coloreds; a real melting pot. Or more like a lotta little pots on a stove. They've been bubbling more than usual recent-like. Most of the money comin' though is either dirty or federal, and it ain't always easy to tell the difference. If the mob could figure a way to get a piece of that national recovery money, they'd knock over a congressman. Right now, people are eyeing property lookin' to expand. Drive-by shoot-em-ups are on the rise and it's all to the tune of do-re-mi. (Shrug) I left Johny at his place up the block and finally found where I was goin', but a couple hours and a lot of door-knockin' up and down Circle Court — in these heels — convinced me that no one had seen either Elfie's sister or the dancin' girl for days. I went home to boil my feet, hopin' that Ray was havin' better luck. (WHITLEY exits SL, noir music fades.)
Kill SPOT. LIGHTS come up SR
LONGSCHOTT: (Entering SR) Last place on my list. Excuse me, ma'am, but anyone stop by last Friday or Saturday buying roses?
FIORI: I had a few sales. Love was certainly in the air this weekend.
LONGSCHOTT: I can narrow it down some. Mook woulda purchased a dozen yellow roses and a card with them.
FIORI: (Quoting) "Tonight ... and Forever." Quelle romantique, yes?
LONGSCHOTT: Maybe for him. We're looking for a girl who disappeared, might be able to shed some light on another case we're working on.
FIORI: You're with the police?
LONGSCHOTT: No ma'am. Private investigator.
FIORI: A GUMSHOE! How interesting.
LONGSCHOTT: I'm Ray Longschott with K.R. Whitley Investigations.
FIORI: A hired gun! Oh, that's even better. Yes, I remember the man. Bieberdorf. Lester Bieberdorf. Diminutive in stature, black hair, beady little eyes that spoke of danger.
LONGSCHOTT: You watch a lot of movies, Miss ... ?
FIORI: Fiori. Millie Fiori, I watch as many movies as I can, but I love all the detective stories, especially Dashiell Hammett. I just finished his new one, "The Maltese Falcon." Oh, it's so exciting to be helping with a real case.
LONGSCHOTT: Maybe you are, and maybe you aren't. Helping, I mean. The guy you sold the flowers to, he live around here?
FIORI: Oh, yes. He lives in the tenement building up the street. He's up and down the block all the time. He's a mailman, you see.
LONGSCHOTT: Mailman?
FIORI: He's not very good. My celebrity magazines are always going missing.
LONGSCHOTT: Celebrity magazines?
FIORI: Oh, he's a real stargazer, just like me. He's been really agitated too, ever since last week. Marlene Dietrich was supposed to be coming through town on a tour for her new movie and he said he knew where to find her. (Ponders) You don't think those roses were for her, do you?
LONGSCHOTT: Maybe. (Turns away)
Kill LIGHTS SR, bring up SPOT downstage on LONGSCHOTT.
LONGSCHOTT: (Over noir music) I thanked the florist for her help, fearing the worst. If the description given by Miss N'est-pas di Palma was accurate, that wasn't no Marlene Dietrich and she wasn't all lovey-dovey with this star-struck postal worker Monday night.
SOUND CUE: Cats meowing, gaining volume as SCENE continues.
LONGSCHOTT: I strolled to the block of housing flats Flower Girl pointed out, getting a little sicker, a little queasier in my gut the closer I got. There was a smell I couldn't quite place without remembering Charlie, my buddy during the war. Little guy got hit and hit hard in my last trench skirmish with the Krauts. Doc told me I'd dragged him dead for five miles. The smoke and fire and death of that weight stays with a man.
I could hear the cats yowling, getting off to an early start around the building. A little ... too early. Instead of marchin' up the front steps to confront Bieberdorf directly, I crept around the side of the building. (Shouting at the cats) "HEY! Get offa there! "
SOUND: Caterwauling reaches a crescendo, diminishes as "cats" scatter.
LONGSCHOTT: More cats than I'd ever seen scattered in a million directions. "There oughta be a law!" Phew! The smell was stronger now back here sheltered from the wind, and I could see what ...
LIGHTS up full on SL, revealing garbage cans and loose trash in BACK ALLEY — this being a period production, the garbage is likely to be loose, rather than bagged up in plastic bags — and the CORPSE of LACY UNDERTHINGS wrapped in a blanket, possibly hidden partially behind the cans, dressed in a dark blue cocktail dress, ideally sequined, in matching pumps and with the fur scarf around her neck. Kill SPOT.
LONGSCHOTT: ... or who was causing it. (Kill noir music) A tall brunette, pretty, skinny, was lying, partly clawed out of the thick blanket she'd been wrapped up in. (Run to throw back the blanket and toss the cans aside). In her hand was a single yellow rose, and around her thin, pale shoulders, still in one piece, was a fur scarf with a ruby-studded head clasp. (Removes scarf, tosses it off SR, crosses self in moment of reflection.)
SOUND: Noise from above stage, as BIEBERDORF looks out the window in a cheap suit, a platinum blonde wig and big plastic glasses.
LONGSCHOTT: I heard a sound from the upstairs window. (Looks up) "Hey! Bieberdorf! " (BIEBERDORF vanishes from view)
SOUND: Receding footsteps from above stage.
LONGSCHOTT: "Stop! " (Calls off in both directions) "Police! Police! " (Runs and exits UCS to give chase)
SOUND: Scuffle off stage, three or four male VOICES, ad lib, "There he is!" "She tricked me!" "Grab him!" "You'll never take me alive, copper!" Etc.
LIGHTS DOWN SL, bring up SPOT DSC.
LONGSCHOTT: (Appearing in SPOT, calling back). Nice work, officers. Body's out back. I think you'll find the rose matches the ones up there in his room — or at least a few over in a dressing room at Jake's Double Eagle. No, don't call ahead — Jake loves surprise visits.
TRUELOVE: (Running up, very nervous) I heard the shouting. Something about ... a body?
LONGSCHOTT: Truelove! What are you doing here?
TRUELOVE: I'm staying the next block over, saw the sirens. I mean, I heard ...
LONGSCHOTT: Yeah, I found her. Miss Lacy Underthings, and — I'll bet you a month's salary — stage name of Miss Elizabeth Elfwasser-Fitz — Elfie's missing sister. (Retrieves fur) Complete with a fur scarf. (Noir music sting)
LIGHTS — Blackout, then bring up a single SPOT downstage on STACKETT in period officewear during the scene change, holding a couple of newspapers. Start up noir music with her entrance.
|
|
|
Post by tjaman on Dec 4, 2005 19:54:19 GMT -5
SCENE 3 SCENE — Strike back alley, re-set the sparse offices of K.R. WHITLEY, Thursday morning.
STACKETT: Out of hand. That's what it is. Everything's going to hell in a handbasket. That crazy mook, strangling that poor girl, I ask you, what's the world coming to these days? Of course he was nuts, got himself all fixiated or whatnot on that Marlene Dietrich person and now they all wanna talk about his upbringing and what he thought of his mother. But all this heat's enough to drive anyone crazy. All I could think about was poor Elfie downstairs. His poor sister. Not only was she killed, but then to find out she was a novelty act at a local nightclub, chanteu-zing under a name like Lacy Underthings. I'd be mortified. Mortified! I mean, it was in all the papers this morning. I grabbed a few on my way in. But really — Elfie's sister in Miss Lucy Bustier's fur. If all our cases start solving themselves in a big ball like this, we'll have to start offerin' two-for-one specials. (Noir music fades as STACKETT joins SCENE and takes a seat at her desk.)
LONGSCHOTT: (Enters) Well, I think we've earned our money with this investigation. Fur gone, fur recovered, insurance company saved a bundle.
STACKETT: Where is it now?
LONGSCHOTT: Oh, K.R. is dropping it at the Chinese laundry up the street. It was looking a little ragged after all those cats, and I'm sure Miss Bustier would want it looking a little fresher.
STACKETT: Ew. Anyone find Mrs. Brewster's tabby?
LONGSCHOTT: It might have been in with all the other ones. I wasn't taking names.
STACKETT: It'll turn up. (Indicating papers) Couple more stolen vehicles. Mr. LaRocque (Pronounced correctly, La-Rock) is probably having a fit.
LONGSCHOTT: All those things come outta his pocket?
STACKETT: Well, near as I can figure.
LONGSCHOTT: That's gotta get pricey for him. Maybe I oughta be public-spirited and report the one I saw over at Louie's sooner rather than later.
STACKETT: Oh, I don't think he's their biggest worry.
TRUELOVE: (Entering with salesman's kit) Hiya doll ... (Stops, looks around) Sorry. Morning Ray, Sophie. Is Krissy around?
STACKETT: She's out laundering stolen goods — that fur Ray tracked down for Lucy Bustier. She's gonna be here this afternoon for a progress report. Won't she be thrilled that we already found it for her?
TRUELOVE: (Measured) She'll be thrilled it gets cleaned up. It didn't look too good last night. (Shudder) All those cats.
LONGSCHOTT: No, Chin See, Chin Sa will take good care of it. What brings you by this morning?
TRUELOVE: Good news! I just got my tour extended. I'll be able to stay up here permanent like.
STACKETT: Oh, that's great news. She'll be ...
WHITLEY: (Entering) Johnny! (Grab him in a hug, tossing laundry ticket on desk) I didn't expect you'd be stopping here today.
TRUELOVE: Just wanted to share the good news.
STACKETT: Johnny's gonna be staying in town permanent!
TRUELOVE: (Glance at STACKETT, who just spoiled his big news) Uh ... yeah. My distributor said my numbers were so good he wanted to keep me here.
WHITLEY: Oh, so do I! That's great news, Johnny.
TRUELOVE: And congratulations on solving the big missing fur case.
WHITLEY: I just feel so bad about Elfie, tho. (To LONGSCHOTT) I ran the photo I got at Jake's by her landlady, and it's her alright. Elizabeth Elfwasser-Fitz, a.k.a. Lacy Underthings.
TRUELOVE: I knew you'd get to the bottom of things, dollface.
WHITLEY: (Slaps his hand away from her bottom, but not too hard) You're gettin' to the bottom of things kind of early, too.
TRUELOVE: (Palm laundry ticket) Well, I've got a few houses to check around here and then I'm done for the day. Supp— dinner tonight? To celebrate?
WHITLEY: I'd love to. Pick me up around 7. (TRUELOVE kisses her and exits) Chin See Chin Sa should be done with the fur before noon, and Miss Lucy ought to stop in around 3 or so to get her report. So that just leaves Mr. LaRocque (la-ROCK-a) to inform of the good news.
STACKETT: I stopped in at his office. He's out settling a claim.
WHITLEY: So he'll be even happier he doesn't have to shell out for this one. Leave a message down there.
STACKETT: Already done. So, you saw the fur. What was it like?
WHITLEY: A little under the weather, but real snazzy, with the little ruby eyes and so luxurious — looking. I didn't want to try it on, you know.
STACKETT: I understand. Ew.
LONGSCHOTT: Whaddya suppose something like that would go for?
WHITLEY: Well, Mr. LaRocque said it was insured for like a couple thou, but of course that doesn't cover the (Imitating Lucy Bustier) sentimental values.
LONGSCHOTT: Two grand. What some women let leave the house.
STACKETT: If I had a fur like that I'd wear it wherever I could. Oh, it sounds so elegant. So glamorous.
WHITLEY: I know.
LONGSCHOTT: What I don't understand is how it got on that chanteu-zee — Elfie's sister, the singin' secretary.
STACKETT: She coulda picked it up at the club.
WHITLEY: Lana said it was a fake. She made a bigger deal of the good Marlene wig being gone.
LONGSCHOTT: Well, she must've been wearing it. You think she got it from Lola, the coat check girl?
WHITLEY: No ... Lola confirmed she gave it to (Wracks her brains) ... one of the gentlemen accompanying Mr. Lassiter's party. If we could just track down who he was ...
LONGSCHOTT: It's a police matter, now, and they caught the guy who did it. Yellow roses all over the place, had the wig still. Hell, he was wearing it when I saw him in the window.
WHITLEY: Sure sounds like our guy. Anyway, I'm gonna talk to Elfie downstairs and tell him about his poor sister, and stop off at the Brewsters about their cat's still missing — I tell you, I feel like I'm just a fountain of bad news today — and pick up the fur on my way back. Now (Searching her purse) where did I put that claim ticket?
STACKETT: I saw it when you came in. It's right ... (Searches through newspapers)
WHITLEY: I think I did drop it on your desk, Sophie.
LONGSCHOTT: Maybe it fell. (Searches under the desk)
STACKETT: (As LONGSCHOTT gets a little too close) HEY! (Hits him with newspaper) Watch it, bub!
WHITLEY: I know I had it when I came in. Any luck, Ray?
LONGSCHOTT: Nope, not seeing it.
STACKETT: I'm sure it'll turn up in time for your meeting Miss Bustier, K.R. She won't be here til 3 and Chin See Chin Sa are just up the street. It can't have gotten far.
WHITLEY: Let's hope not. I'd hate to have such good luck finding the fur only to have it disappear again. (Steps forward as noir music starts)
LIGHTS — Blackout, then bring up a single SPOT downstage on WHITLEY during the scene change.
SCENE 4 SCENE — Street scene with Chinese Laundry.
WHITLEY: With the fur turning up all unexpected like, I'm afraid I had a lot more questions than I had answers. I couldn't stop wondering how that fur got on that girl. I was pretty sure I could take everything I was told about what happened at that club Saturday night and Monday night, squeeze it real hard and get maybe a drop of truth to drip out. If Lola gave it to Lassiter or one of his party, how'd it get on the dead girl? And if Lola gave it to Elfie's sister of that looney bird Bieberdorf, why wouldn't she have just said so? I figured I'd skip Elfie and the Brewsters and go straight for the laundry, ticket or no. After all, they got this Martinizing now that they do in an hour. (Noir music fades)
LIGHTS UP
WHITLEY: Yes I'm here to pick up my fur.
CHIN SEE: Ah so, beautiful lady. Chin Sa! (CHIN SA comes from the back) Didn't I tell you, beautiful detective lady drop off fur this morning to be cleaned?
CHIN SA: Oh, hello.
CHIN SEE: Fur not here.
WHITLEY: What do you mean, "Fur not here"?
CHIN SEE: Just what I say. Fur gone.
WHITLEY: That was a ruby-studded fur scarf! I just dropped it off here this morning.
CHIN SA: That's what I say, "Who drop off the fur?" when Mr. Gentleman come to pick it up. I no see him before.
WHITLEY: What gentleman?
CHIN SEE: Mr. Gentleman picks it up. He says "Good day," and fur gone.
WHITLEY: Mr. Gentleman ... who?
CHIN SA: He say his name is Mr. Gentleman Lassiter.
WHITLEY: Rassi — Mr. Lassiter?
CHIN SA: That what I said.
CHIN SEE: He said he here to pick up fur for beautiful lady. I think he mean you.
WHITLEY: That's sweet. And very stupid.
CHIN SA: Not stupid.
CHIN SEE: He have ticket.
WHITLEY: He ... what? He had the claim ticket for my fur? Is that what you're telling me?
CHIN SEE: That's right. (Shows her)
WHITLEY: First he's escorting blonde bombshells to seedy gin joints, next he's stealing my laundry. When does he find the time to manage the city? (CHIN SEE and CHIN SA bow repeatedly for their exit. WHITLEY steps forward as noir music starts)
LIGHTS — Blackout, then bring up a single SPOT downstage on WHITLEY during the scene change, as noir music starts up.
|
|
|
Post by tjaman on Dec 4, 2005 19:56:50 GMT -5
SCENE 5 SCENE — The sparse offices of K.R. Whitley Investigations. STACKETT and LONGSCHOTT are already in place, along with MARCUS ELFWASSER-FITZ, who is inconsolable.
WHITLEY: My head was buzzing like a big bad beehive. I knew our footwork had solved the case and I knew that fur couldn't have gone far. But that had to wait. I was sure by now that the police had told Elfie about his sister and I wanted to be there if he stopped upstairs. As for the fur, well, we found it once, after all. I was sure we'd find it again. (Exit SL to enter through office door as noir music fades).
LIGHTS UP
WHITLEY: (As she enters) Sophie, call Gary Lassiter's office and ask him if he is holding a freshly Martinized fur scarf with a ruby-studded head clasp. (STACKETT does so and pursues a silent conversation) Oh, Elfie. I am so sorry about your sister.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: How does someone even get mixed up in a life like that?
WHITLEY: I honestly don't know, Elfie. At least you was close enough to care.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: But not close enough to know what she was doing!
LONGSCHOTT: If it helps, most of the time, the girls are pretty safe.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Not from sickos!
WHITLEY: This was a bad situation. (STACKETT hangs up) At least they caught the guy.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Yeah, that's something, anyway. Oh, I was going to ask ... How ... much ... do I owe you?
STACKETT: Oh, Mr. Elfie.
WHITLEY: You don't owe us nothin', Elfie. She was found in pursuit of another investigation. I can't take your money.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Well ... (Trying to search for a bright side) at least I've got a good excuse to get out of Mrs. Connor's canasta night. (No response as he rises to exit) Well ... I suppose I'd better get back to work.
STACKETT: Take good care of yourself, Mr. Elfie.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: You've all been so good to me. Thank you. (Exits)
STACKETT: Oh, and K.R.? Mr. Lassiter says he's been in his office all day and doesn't know what you're talking about.
WHITLEY: So we're back to Square One. Two days later we've got no fur, the sister turns up dead and Mrs. Brewster's cat is still missing.
TRUELOVE: (Entering, carrying his salesman's kit and a small tabby puff of fur with a red collar on it with a bell) Or, maybe not.
WHITLEY: Johnny!
TRUELOVE: (Placing salesman's kit on stand) I finished my run and was passing by, found this little guy out on the front step. Thought you'd like to have it.
STACKETT: It couldn't be.
WHITLEY: Collar says Brewster. Mrs. Brewster officially owes us $200 for finding her cat.
STACKETT: Oh, he's a little cutie.
LONGSCHOTT: What's his name?
TRUELOVE: His collar says "McGuffin." Funny name for a cat.
LAROCQUE: (Entering) Aha! I knew that fur would turn up. Stolen indeed.
WHITLEY: Mr. LaRocque, that is not a fur. It's a cat. What are you doing up here anyway?
LAROCQUE: Checking the status of your investigation into that missing fur. You said you might have something by today.
STACKETT: We do.
WHITLEY: Sophie!
LAROCQUE: I'm listening.
STACKETT: I mean we did. We don't now.
LONGSCHOTT: Mr. LaRocque (la-ROCK), that fur turned up last night on the body of Miss Elizabeth Elfwasser-Fitz, your associate's sister.
LAROCQUE: The police just left Marcus a little while ago. I invited him to take the rest of the day off, collect his thoughts, but he refused. Said work would help keep his mind off of it. So the fur's recovered?
WHITLEY: No, it's still stolen.
LAROCQUE: You just said ...
WHITLEY: A fur matching that description was discovered last night but we can't confirm it's the right one without presenting it to our client. And we can't present it to her because it has been stolen again from us.
STACKETT: It's been out of our custody for two hours.
LAROCQUE: So it was in your custody?
WHITLEY: You have no proof of what you are hearing.
STACKETT: Sorry, K.R.
TRUELOVE: You gotta pay that claim, mister!
LAROCQUE: I'm not paying anything!
STACKETT: You have to! That policy still holds good. Regardless of when it was stolen, it's still stolen.
WHITLEY: Yeah! It was stolen from me.
TRUELOVE: So it's even more stolen!
WHITLEY: My client will be here within the hour. Save her a trip and cough up the dough.
LAROCQUE: (Exiting) Fine! I'll send the settlement up here, then. Pardon me, miss.
BUSTIER: (Entering) Charmed.
WHITLEY: Miss Bustier!
BUSTIER: Is it not the time for our meeting?
STACKETT: Now's as good a time as any.
WHITLEY: I'm afraid I've got some disappointing news for you, Miss Bustier. (Draws on her) The jig is up!
STACKETT: K.R.!
LONGSCHOTT: What's going on?
WHITLEY: This dame's pussyfootin' around has maybe caused a girl's death and more than a few headaches, and I gotta hear it from her. What's the scoop, sister?
BUSTIER: (To LONGSCHOTT) I knew I did not trust her to get to the bottom of this.
WHITLEY: Your fur was at the scene of a lotta crimes, and I can't place you near much of it. And now that it's gone missing again at the hands of someone claiming to be city manager Gary Lassiter, I gotta wonder what you're playing at. You said it was insured? Your insurance agent just now passed you in the doorway, and didn't even seem to recognize you. What the story, sister?
BUSTIER: Well, I ... (voice slipping into "normal," upper class Chicago accent) OK, you caught me. LaRocque didn't recognize me because I'm not really Lucy Bustier. I'm actually ... (Removes hat, wig and shades, tucking wig and shades into folded hat, which becomes more or less handbag-like.)
WHITLEY: Assistant district attorney Gina Wallace? (Holsters gun immediately.)
WALLACE: The same. I hired you as a front to investigate a money laundering operation in this building. Your location made you all the more convenient.
WHITLEY: So you set up the whole thing at Jake's Double Eagle?
WALLACE: Except for the death of that poor girl. I read the police reports, and I swear, Bieberdorf wasn't in the picture at all.
WHITLEY: That Bieberdorf character was pretty far gone. It sounded like he'd been stalking her for awhile, and Monday night the fantasy mixed up with the reality.
WALLACE: Yes. Well, it's it's still missing, I do still have a claim on that fur.
WHITLEY: Wait a minute. Why the disguise?
WALLACE: Well, to be perfectly honest, I was also investigating you, Miss Whitley.
WHITLEY: Me?
WALLACE: In a much less official capacity. When evidence kept running back to my husband, I needed to see if you would, too.
WHITLEY: Miss Bustier ... I mean, Wallace ...
WALLACE: He's still very fond of you. I make a point of knowing my competition.
WHITLEY: The one that got away.
WALLACE: I figured I'd establish myself as an unknown quantity — on the level downstairs, but a lot shadier up here, and see what happened.
WHITLEY: I love Gary, Miss Wallace — enough to wish him all the happiness in the world. You have been reading too many bodice-rippers.
WALLACE: Honey, in this dress, a sharp intake of breath would be a bodice-ripper.
WHITLEY: I'm head over heels with my new beau, Johnny Truelove. His distributor just stationed him up here permanent like, and I mean to make the most of that.
LAROCQUE: (Enters with ELFWASSER-FITZ, who is naturally still despondent and a little nervous) Ah, Miss Wallace, there you are. Miss Whitley said you'd be stopping by.
WALLACE: Yes. Do you have my claim settlement?
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Yes, it's all here, all in cash. Our customers prefer the security.
TRUELOVE: HEY! (As McGuffin leaps to ELFWASSER-FITZ, the case he is holding opens, and $1,000 in cash comes spilling out onto the floor)
LAROCQUE: Marcus, really.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: Sorry, Mr. L. ACHOO!
STACKETT: (Retrieving the cat as ELFWASSER-FITZ scrambles to put the cash back in the case) Did that cat get fur all over you, Mr. Elfie?
ELFWASSER-FITZ: A little. I'm ACHOO! I've always been allergic to cats. And they always ACHOO! seem to like me.
WHITLEY: I'm sure Johnny has a brush for that. (As WALLACE crosses to accept the briefcase) A lint brush?
TRUELOVE: Sure ... right in my ... OH! Let me ...
WHITLEY: Never mind. I'm right here. (Opens case) There's no brushes in here. It's Miss Bustier's fur!
LAROCQUE: (Swiping at briefcase) I'll take that!
ELFWASSER-FITZ: WAIT!
TRUELOVE: Yes! Wait until you count it!
LAROCQUE: What's the point? Your fur is recovered and this claim is now extraneous.
WALLACE: Please count it, Mr. LaRocque.
LAROCQUE: (Shrugging) Oh, very well. (He does so.)
WHITLEY: You took my claim check!
TRUELOVE: Shut up.
WHITLEY: You're not Gary Lassiter!
TRUELOVE: SHUT UP!
ELFWASSER-FITZ: ACHOO!
LAROCQUE: There's only $1,000 in here, Marcus!
WALLACE: Cuff him.
TRUELOVE: I arrest you, Marcus Elfwasser-Fitz, by the authority of the Department of the Treasury.
STACKETT: (Staring) The Bunco Squad?
LAROCQUE: What's going on here?
TRUELOVE: Sir, my name is Special Agent Arthur Huntington. For more than a year, my department has been tracking the discrepent disbursements of your office through claims and documented expenditures. More than once, your clients have recorded a loss at significant variance with the value of the claim, generally quite a bit lower. Meanwhile, organized crime has been making significant in-roads in this district, leading us to believe there might be a connection.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: ACHOO!
WALLACE: It took a few agents a few tries to narrow the field to Mr. Elfwasser-Fitz, but he was in a good position to work something like this. Easily intimidated ...
ELFWASSER-FITZ: ACHOO!
WALLACE: And a little weak in the knees. As your recording clerk, Mr. LaRocque, he was responsible for your own contract information and, often enough, field disbursement.
LAROCQUE: I prepare those disbursements myself!
HUNTINGTON: I don't doubt that for a moment, LaRocque.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: ACHOO!
HUNTINGTON: (Drawing a brush out of his jacket pocket) Let's attend to that cat fur, Mr. Elfwasser-Fitz.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: What? I mean ...
HUNTINGTON: (Drawing a wad of bills from ELFWASSER-FITZ's suitcoat) See? (Hands the bills off to LaRocque) You prepare the disbursement based on the negotiated settlement, and Elfie here makes the disbursement based on the copy the client has — both of which he prepares — and funnels the discrepency to The Boys (Finger to the side of nose.)
ELFWASSER-FITZ: You'll never prove anything.
WALLACE: Honey, he just did. Say goodnight, Gracie.
ELFWASSER-FITZ: What?
WALLACE: New comedy team, George and Gracie. It's a thing.
HUNTINGTON: Take him downtown, Ray.
LONGSCHOTT: Yes, sir. (Exits with ELFWASSER-FITZ)
WHITLEY: You just make sure they spell "K.R. Whitley Investigations" right in their report. Wait a minute. (Smacks HUNTINGTON) Why did you have that fur?
HUNTINGTON: Sorry doll. I couldn't take the chance that your outstanding detective work would keep LaRocque from making the settlement and proving our case.
WHITLEY: Outstanding, huh? Thanks, I guess. But how did it get on that poor girl?
HUNTINGTON: That I'm not real sure about. I was undercover as part of Lassiter's party Saturday night at Jake's fixing the scam. I picked up the fur from Lola and handed it off to one of the girls to hide in their dressing room. Near as I can figure, Lacey Under... — I mean, Ms. Elfwasser-Fitz — must've thrown it on as part of her act Monday night before Bieberdorf slipped her a Mickey and snuck her out the back way.
WHITLEY: I see. So ... was "Johnny Truelove" just an act, too?
HUNTINGTON: Not all of it, doll. The part where I needed a good excuse to be hanging around the Rogue-Wisteria Building was an act. (Noir music) The part where I fell in love with you wasn't. (Noir music stops)
WHITLEY: Oh. But ... what happens now?
HUNTINGTON: Well, I have a lot of paperwork to file on Elfwasser-Fitz, and I have no doubt the charges will get reduced the more he leads us to his connections.
WHITLEY: And then it's back to D.C.?
HUNTINGTON: Actually, I wasn't lying when I said I'd be around for awhile. They want me to head up the Chicago office. Seems like some locals are passing counterfeit bills, and it could take months to get to the bottom of that.
WHITLEY: I can see a visit or two to Jake's clearing some of that up. Wait a minute, though. That's how I fit into your plans? What if I hadn't gone for you?
HUNTINGTON: Honestly? It hadn't even occurred to me. (Hands WHITLEY the cat and kisses her goodbye) Abyssinia, dollface. (Exits)
STACKETT: More than a month he played you for a sap! What a mook!
WHITLEY: Nah. He's a hero. And a guy is a guy is a guy. (To WALLACE) Except for your guy, of course. He's a prince. You treat him right.
WALLACE: The city does appreciate all your help in this matter.
WHITLEY: How much?
STACKETT: Yeah! How much?
WALLACE: Well ...
WHITLEY: I figure I've been providing a base of operations for the Fraud Squad for more than a month.
WALLACE: All greatly appreciated — seriously. (In BUSTIER accent) I do not think you'll object to taking a check this time, Miss Whitley. (Hands over a check, which WHITLEY glances at and passes off to STACKETT — WHITLEY has the better poker face, but STACKETT's reaction is ... largely contained) And for playing fair with me and my guy, again (Handshake) Deeply appreciated. I'd better head downtown and help Ray and Huntington get this statement and start some paperwork of my own.
WHITLEY: Don't get tangled up in nothin'
WALLACE: (At SL exit) Thanks again, Miss Whitley. You do manage to have some pretty sharp teeth of your own.
WHITLEY: Take care of yourself, Miss Wallace. (WALLACE exits)
STACKETT: Whoo-hoo! $5,000! Not bad for a month's work.
WHITLEY: We should clear the rent for awhile, that's for sure. I kind of like this long-standing Sometimes Accepting a Check policy I just established.
STACKETT: I'll get this over to the bank before they close. $5,000! Wow.
WHITLEY: Here. Drop Mrs. Brewster's cat at her place on the way. With her ... no checks. Cash up front. Any problems, tell her he's a federal crime fighter.
STACKETT: Gotcha, K.R. (STACKETT exits as noir music starts)
WHITLEY: (Moves to window, gazing out at the sunset, strike a pose in the direction of the audience) The sun sets on the top floor of the Rogue-Wisteria building, where a fresh cool breeze off the lake makes it just a little bit easier to breathe and makes the city feel just a little bit cleaner. (Draws gun) And looking out over it, knowing I helped make it that way, gives a girl a nice perspective on the whole thing.
(Strike a pose with the gun as noir music swells to a crescendo and LIGHTS come down, giving us a moment with K.R. WHITLEY silhouetted against the SUNSET streaming through the window, and then...)
LIGHTS OUT
|
|
|
Post by tjaman on Dec 4, 2005 19:59:07 GMT -5
* out of breath *
Well, that's pretty much it -- a comic noir in three acts and several scenes.
Any reactions -- even negative -- would be most enjoyed and appreciated.
Thanks in advance -- T.
|
|
|
Post by Rebelman on Dec 16, 2005 13:09:51 GMT -5
I just read Act 1 and I'll get back at you on Act 2.
Very well written. You gave each character a different feel and a good home feel of the time period. That fits real well.
You have a building detective plot that will lead to a climax and a resolution which is good story building.
I wasn't sure what you meant by points of the landlady. Is that how they calculate money? You said it in dollars in one part. Do they do points first and give money for it?
Anyhow, Overall Act 1 is pretty good. Kudos.
I'll give you more as I read up on it some more.
|
|
|
Post by tjaman on Dec 16, 2005 13:59:15 GMT -5
I once looked up how to play canasta, and they get points for cards that ... someone has at the end of a round. I forget exactly how to play. ::blush:: Glancing back, I didn't see the point values rendered in dollars anywhere, but I appreciate your comments so far.
But whoever Mrs. Humphrey Connor is, she seems pretty OCD to track how many canastas she's won over the last 45 years of playing. ;D
|
|
|
Post by Aunt Arlene on Dec 16, 2005 21:36:55 GMT -5
I honestly kept indending to read this, but stuff kept coming up. Mostly car related.
I'll try to read it this weekend.
|
|
|
Post by quantumcat on Dec 19, 2005 23:14:28 GMT -5
I love this,tj. I have a weakness for noir,pulp fiction and everything about that period. I could taste,see and hear every bit plus it had good characters,an intriguing plot and great humor. It had the feel of the best of the works of that time and what wasn't quite as they'd have done it then was the way it SHOULD be done. I'd like to see it performed on stage as written but I'd also like to see it as a graphic novel and a filmed version . (O.k., *several * movies,black n' white by RKO or MGM or somebody.) It would take one heck of a story to outdo the sets,wardrobe and music but you gave this play the action and the characters to do just that. Guy Noir and all the wry,sly gumshoes from Harlem to Venice and Chi-town to the Big Easy salute you. Ya done good,kid.......
|
|
|
Post by tjaman on Dec 20, 2005 10:07:15 GMT -5
* blushing *
High praise indeed. Thank you, q. I was mostly worried about pacing and then about continuity. I knew with the staging we had that there'd be some difficulty working the scene changes, but I didn't see a way to tell this story entirely inside the detective firm. So we ended up with these monologues to cover scene and costume changes, but I felt that they served as storytelling -- the audience could enjoy a bit of a "show so far" while curtains and set pieces are being moved about in partial darkness.
Then I was gonna have Truelove/Huntington head back to Washington at the end but I thought ... nah. The kid's earned herself a little happiness. Besides, nothing was going to trump K.R. pulling a gun on Bustier/Wallace. I was ... really pleased with that scene.
Thanks for the feedback!
|
|
|
Post by tjaman on Mar 13, 2006 12:43:01 GMT -5
* bump *
|
|
|
Post by dEz on Mar 13, 2006 14:05:24 GMT -5
IMO -- I recognize the brilliance in your writing. Your gift that you posses to paint a story, and the humor. And I have to admit I didn't get a chance to sit down and complete reading this in it's entirety. I really only got up to the start of the 3 page (paste). Which is a small dent and not worthy of my initial response. And I am on the fence if I should denote my initial coments -- hmm --- // okay, here goes // I did find it hard to get sucked into the story. I think because the main character "K.R." Whitley, a Private Investigator (Female) for this era (30s) was not believable to me. I just felt it was a reach as a professional woman that such a female would exist in the work force and in this capacity at that time in history. You would have to walk in my shoes to fully appreciate where my heart is coming here. Sorry, I could be entirly wrong. There were also points that entered into play, that sucked me back into the now (2006), such as "I prefer to be called Office Manager vs Secretary" it was something to that effect. The story kept confusing the era in my opinion. This line was clearly a 90s power title, such as Sanitation Engineer for what used to be just Janitor. But I do plan to read this out in it's entirety. I'll let you know my complete thoughts then. Always good things to read your work and passion.
|
|