Monologue Read in NYC THE WISH Algonquin Hotel New York 2019 Scene Synopis: The ghost of Dorothy Parker is talking to George Fletcher, a hotel guest, who has fallen drunk and stupor, stumbling into a roaring 20s Christmas Eve party, after the elevator sends him all the way down to the subbasement floor. Story Synposis: A former Wall Street trader is desperate to find the perfect Christmas gift for his wife. George Fletcher is also grappling for the perfect time to tell her the truth about what he has been doing for the last six months. Unbeknownst to his wife, he’s reluctantly searching for a job, which has turned into a laissez affair, commuting from Connecticut and frolicking into Manhattan. The lies are growing out of proportion like an unpruned rambling bush. Trying to avoid his mother-in-law on the traditional Christmas dinner, his holiday plans backfire, when his wife, Susan surprises him with a visit to New York. Dorothy Parker: Well, well look who has arrived, Mr. George Fletcher. I must say you are one remarkable gentleman. Here, we have a modern man, who wishes to give his wife an out of this world Christmas gift. The exquisite flair you stuff in her stocking each year makes you one perfect man. Yet this year, you have fallen desperate like that poor husband in the Gift of the Magi. I bet some clams your mother and father have something to do with it. Why I never had a man do that for me. Mr. Benchley was very fond of me, and I was very fond of him; but, I was just a spoke on his wheel. He had his dear Gertrude, and his children in the boonies. Don’t you live somewhere in the country? I once played Mr. Benchley’s wife here in the city. No strings attached of course, just an evening companion with a feathered boa and pearls, clinging on his right elbow at dinner, a show, and plenty of night caps. Then off he went, and before I missed him, he returned in a flash like Shadu, opening portals to unlimited adventures. With the grand uncertainty of life, he was one of the most certain jelly bean in my life. {Dorothy pauses and glances at the clock on the wall} Fred-that’s what I call him-should be arriving any minute. He reminds me of you, come to think about it. A funny egg. Ah, Mr. Benchley and Miss Dottie Parker, a lovely arrangement, everlasting in the afterlife. Don’t be frightened George, as you can see we still have the world under our feet. One can call it the longest Christmas Eve party, the year is 1929, and it’s the last Gonk dance. We, the ghosts of the Algonquin Hotel do not want our fiesta to end. So here we are reunited, not in the flesh, a present haunting in the soul of eternal wit and music. The spirits never stopped flowing in the Prohibition. We had means and ways... Canada, oh Canada. That was our catch phrase, code for restocking without ruffling Frank’s feathers. Frank Case was a mobile fire extinguisher, always lecturing us not to break the law. And then, he would turn his back, and let us do what we wanted. After all, we ran the joint. The prohibition was a rhatz law: Booze is thy medicine! Oh, Canada, oh Canada, our jag juice jingle. And with that Round Table Anthem, we hosted some glitzy parties. Good sports Fitz and Zelda, the Murphy’s, and I were never put under the table. No one could out drink us. Our group roasted each other, lambasted Hoover, penned satire and prose, and then we all upchucked. And nobody was offended as the portable libations flowed in the lobby, my room, and here in this subbasement... Did you know George, there is a secret tunnel under this hotel? {Dorothy points to a corner in the room} Harry Houdini, a magic time traveler, is over there, playing charades with Harpo and Tallulah. Speaking of charades, I must say you are a stellar performer, commuting to the city each morning as if you are going to work. When are you going to tell the wifey you got canned on Wall Street? I once got handcuffed, married to a Wall Street guy. Edwin Pond Parker. What a gimlet! Better you got out when you did, the running of the bulls is a dangerous cattle trade. In your bravado, you were scathed by a pompous toro. That same fear and excitement took Ernie to Pampalona. Hem left us , but you love this city too much to leave. And you are too old to be a lollylagger, you know those young men who sleep all day. A change in career would be good for you. Is that what you want for Christmas? Macys is always looking for Santas. {Dorothy belts a loud belly laugh} You would need some cotton stuffing and some jolly glitter. All the world is a stage George, and even more so here in Manhattan. It’s a magical time of the year! The dressings in the department store windows, red and white frosted, and the snow on the ground is a pile of marble mush. Some things don’t change. I miss crushing the ice on the ground with my boots, sadistic, yet careful, for I could not afford to snap a bone. And now, everyone in my vicious circle is dead! Did we get it right? Well, here we are to grant a wish for someone good like you on Christmas Eve, and hot coal stones for the naughty ones. If a man breaks a women’s heart at the hotel, the ghost of Dorothy Parker will haunt him for however long it takes. Ah, the haunting game: Make the man feel he made the wrong decision, then twist the woman not to take him back. Oh, I know it’s a devilish trick I play, but I take great pleasure haunting those dreadful breakup lines, “You can do better, or I simply changed my mind.” Why don’t those men go fly fishing in a lake, and play catch and release there. Don’t go breakin’ a girl’s heart. We are a tender species swimming in acid rain. We hand over our hearts in this gamble for love, and waltz to the lead of a man. Phonus balonus! The band is playing my song. Will you dance with me George? It’s almost Christmas. |
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