Going Rogue

Jamie Boller



Lights up on an empty apartment. There are some cardboard boxes, packing tape, and other various tools for moving
scattered about the room. There are two high, glorious windows downstage. There is a young woman sitting on one of
the window sills. She is stretched out and leaning against the pane. She is naked with a blanket wrapped around her
shoulders and looking out the window at us. Her hair’s a mess. It’s nighttime and there’s the sound of distant waves.
Just waves for a bit as we watch her watch us. She looks. She takes a swig from a wine bottle she rests between her
thighs. She opens her mouth to say something. She doesn’t. She looks upstage. She takes another swig as she looks
back out the window. Something catches her eye outside. She squints down at it. She calls out.


Woman ( calling offstage ): DID SHELLY GET A NEW CHOW CHOW?

She gets on her knees so she can get a better look.

Woman: WHAT HAPPENED TO KEVIN? ( She waits for an answer. More to herself than to him: ) That is
not Kevin. His tail is curlier. That can’t be the same fucking chow chow. Why would she get another
dog? Do you think she traded Kevin in for a brand new young dog as like a midlife crisis or
something? Or maybe he’s sick! ( beat ) THAT IS SO WRONG. HOW COULD SHE DO THAT?
WHAT IF KEVIN NEEDS HELP?

Man ( from off ): IF YOU’RE SO WORRIED ABOUT HIM, WHY DON’T YOU JUST CALL HIM?

Woman: CALL WHO?! Whom. CALL WHOM?

Man ( off ): THIS KEVIN GUY.

Woman: What?! Weren’t you listening to me? KEVIN IS A DOG!

Man ( off ): SINCE WHEN?! ( beat ) DON’T YOU KNOW A KEVIN?

Woman: WELL, YEAH, I USED TO, BUT I HAVEN’T SEEN HIM SINCE THAT WEIRD UH
PERFORMANCE PIECE WHERE HE WAS WEARING THAT PEACH SUIT.

Man ( off ): KEVIN IS THE MOST IGNORANT NAME FOR A DOG I’VE EVER HEARD.

Woman: HOW DO YOU DETERMINE WHAT IS A GOOD NAME FOR A DOG?! WOULD
YOU RATHER HE BE CALLED MAX OR BUBBA OR FIDO OR SOMETHING
STEREOTYPICAL LIKE THAT?

Man ( off ): IF HIS NAME WERE FIDO I WOULDN’T HAVE THOUGHT HE WAS A
PERSON.

( beat )

Man ( off ): ANYWAY, I’M SURE IT’S THE SAME DOG.

Woman: How can you be sure of that?!

Man ( off ): SHELLY ISN’T EVEN 30.

Woman: SO?

Man ( off ): SO SHE’S NOT HAVING A MIDLIFE DOG CRISIS. ( beat ) WHAT ARE YOU EVEN
DOING OUT THERE? I COULD USE SOME HELP IN HERE.

Woman: You don’t see this dog every day! I see him every day taking a shit in the grass right next to
my car so that I have to dodge a fucking poop obstacle course to get in and I think I’d KNOW IF
IT WERE THE SAME DOG.

Man ( off ): WELL. I DON’T KNOW.

Beat. She has won. She takes a swig of wine and reclines again.

Woman: DO YOU WANT SOME WINE?

Man ( off ): YOU BETTER NOT MEAN THAT BOTTLE OF NERO D’AVOLA I BOUGHT
YESTERDAY.

Woman: ( beat) NO.

Man ( off ): FUCK YOU, YOU BASTARD.

He comes onstage carrying what appears to be a heavy box and puts it in the corner with a huff.

Man: Not that I don’t appreciate it, but why are you naked?

Woman: My skin hurt. Wine?

She offers him the bottle. He joins her at the window and takes a swig.

Woman: What happened to the trash stache?

She runs her fingers across his upper lip.

Man: It kept getting caught in my harmonica. I see yours is still in tact!

He runs his finger across her upper lip. She slaps him playfully on the face.

Woman: Assface! slap Look at your stupid! slap Assface! slap

Man: You’re going to spill my Nero!

He takes the bottle and perches on the opposite windowsill, looking out. She wanders through the cardboard boxes in
her blanket.

Woman: Do you know where we put my jammies?

Man: Ask me like a big girl and maybe I’ll answer.

Woman: Pardon me sir, but might I inquire as to the whereabouts of my evening garments? She
curtsies.

Man: To your left.

She rummages through a box and retrieves a pair of pajamas. Something with superheroes or vintage cartoons is good.
She dresses during the following exchange.

Man: Do you think you’ll like it there?

Woman: Probably not. I hate everything.

Man: When are your folks getting here?

Woman: Not until the morning. Thank god, because I know Mom will shit a brick when she sees
this place. I cannot handle that right now.

Man: Because your skin hurts?

Woman: Yes. And because I want to drink your wine and watch the sea!

She gives him a dramatic twirl, snags the wine bottle back, and returns to her window.

Woman: Are you going to be okay?

Man: What? Why wouldn’t I be okay?

Woman: Because you’re in love with me. And my leaving to go home and let my parents coddle the
shit out of me is going to devastate you and break your poor fragile little heart.

Man: ( Laughing) You are so fucking presumptuous!

Woman: Which is another reason why you’re in love with me.

Man: Okay, you got me.

Woman: Blegch, I don’t think I’m ever going to feel good for longer than a day.

Man: That’s a ridiculous thing to say.

Woman: It’s true!

She opens up her window and sticks her head out like a golden retriever on a roadtrip.

Man: What are you doing?

Woman: What’s it look like I’m doing, loser?

She moves outside the window, her legs dangling below. She looks down.

Woman: Phew! Look at that! 12 stories ain’t bad, eh?

Man: Goddammit.

He opens his window and joins her on the ledge.

Man: My ass is too fat for this.

Woman: Your ass is perfect for this! Extra padding for when we plummet to our untimely deaths!

She giggles.

Man: So...now what?

Woman: How’s that?

Man: How long are we supposed to go on like this? How long do we stay here?

Woman: I guess until something happens.

Man: Huh?

Woman: I said...I GUESS. UNTIL. SOMETHING. HAPPENS.

Cue: something happens. A goddess wearing a skintight pleather jumpsuit and stilettos with tacky fairy wings on her
back karate chops her way out of a cardboard moving box. She wears round sunglasses and a short, black bobbed wig.
She looks like something out of a badass Lady Gaga Meets the Matrix nightmare. She’s sexy, in a really tacky way.
Spotlight. Angel choir music. She improvises musical riffs, a la Whitney Houston or Mariah Carey. Lights return to
normal.

Woman: What the actual fuck?

Man: What the hell was that?!

They look to each other, terrified. They’re not sure what to do.

Goddess: No, no, no, stay where you are. I’ll come to you.

She struts downstage center, between the two windows. She speaks directly to the audience.

Goddess: Yeah, there’s no wall here. Surprise, surprise! I’m here to salvage this play from utter ruin. I just sat in a cardboard box back there for like 5 minutes. I have a major cramp. Can you rub one out for me?

She shimmies up to the man, offering him her shoulders. He reaches for them, but the woman shoots him a death glare.

Woman: What the hell is wrong with you?

She hops down off her perch.

Woman: This was going exactly the way I wanted it to! The energy was bright, the language was
witty, we got a few awkward chuckles here and there! What the hell? Did Robert send you? I swear
to god, I’m going to kick his ass. He always says my writing is too “manic pixie dream girl.” That
fucking misogynist asshole--okay, Robert! You can come out now! Ha-Ha. Where are you, you bald
British bastard?

Man: ( officially dropping the act and adopting effeminate mannerisms ) Baby, I was loving it. Everyone was
totally buying our chemistry.

Goddess: Don’t push it.

Woman: What are you doing here? If you’re going to humiliate me in front of a room full of my
closest friends and family, you might as well tell me what you want!

Goddess: Like I was saying before your tirade of insecurity… I’m here to save this play. If that’s
what you’re calling it.

Woman: The working title is Transparent Love.

Goddess: Jesus Christ. OKAY. I’m going to be honest with you here. This wasn’t going anywhere.
How were you going to establish conflict? Was there a plot coming any time soon? Now, I realize
this was a subtle piece about friendships across gender and change in life, and growing up, a
bildungsroman, blah blah blah I’ve taken an English class too. But listen to me. This is a losing fight.
No one wants to watch plays. No one really likes going to the theatre, they just tolerate it or do it
brag to their bougie friends about how cultured they are. You are competing with sparkly musicals
that OOZE sequins, people. You are competing with dudes onstage rapping at each other about
America! Not to mention movies. This theatre stuff? Bullshit! People hate engaging with other
people! Isn’t that right? ( Points to someone in audience. ) Hey you! You wanna come up here for some
good old audience participation? No? I didn’t think so. No, people hate this kind of shit. They want
to sit in a movie theatre and watch incredible stunts and close-up performances and be left in the
dark to masturbate in peace. They want to look up every tiny piece of trivia on their phone without
being afraid you’ll go all Patti Lupone (or Renee Davis Brame!) on their asses. No one gives a shit
about watching you sit and be human with each other. People HATE human shit. It disgusts them.
That’s why they go to movies. To get away from all that. Alright, so here’s what we’re going to do.

The woman opens her mouth to speak.

Goddess: No need to thank me, it’s my job. I’m a fucking queen, it’s what I do. Hup-hup! ( She claps.)

A clear screen, kindof like a giant see-through shower curtain drops in front of the stage. We can still see the action
behind it.

Goddess ( to audience ): See? Doesn’t that feel better? You’re free to do whatever you want! Jack off to
you heart’s content! Now, let’s fix this stupid minimalist set.

The goddess starts rummaging through the boxes. The woman embraces the man as they watch in horror, helpless. The
goddess pulls things out of boxes like Mary Poppins pulling things out of her bag. She continues during the following
exchange.

Goddess: Can either of you play any instruments?

They shake their heads in fear.The goddess sighs and snaps her fingers. Bad house music begins to play.

Goddess ( over the music ): Can either of you sing?

They look at one another, wide-eyed. The goddess snaps her fingers. They begin to sing--badly.

Woman: Dear Theodosia,                                                 Man: Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star!
What to Say to You?                                                          How I Wonder What You Are!

Goddess: I’m not even going to ask if either of you have ever taken a dance lesson.

The man timidly raises his hand, but the woman gently lowers it for him.

Goddess: Get your talentless asses over here and help me with this set!

They begin to decorate with tacky streamers and cheap banners. Sequins galore.

Goddess: Okay, your outfits are ridiculous ( to the woman ) Can you go back to the naked thing? That
was good! ( to the man ) And you... Here, take my stilettos! It’ll be just like Kinky Boots! Alright! I
think you are finally ready to...ENTERTAIN! ( Desperate jazz hands.)

Woman: So back to my script?

Goddess walks over and leans against a window. She rubs her temples.

Goddess: Are you two really telling me that all you can do is get onstage and talk to each other?
That’s your big talent? Being human in front of other humans who you’ve bullied into coming and
are checking their phones every 5 minutes?

She shakes her head and storms towards the exit of the theatre, wrenching down the clear screen as she goes.

Goddess: This bad bitch is OUT! I am NOT doing theatre anymore! I should have quit the day after
someone told me they wanted to write a SEQUEL to A Doll’s House! This shit is so dumb.
LEARN TO PLAY AN INSTRUMENT, FOOLS!

Man: ( at the top of his lungs ) MY CHARACTER PLAYS THE HARMONICA! MY CHARACTER
PLAYS THE HARMONICA!

The woman and man walk slowly and lifelessly back to their windows. The set is still covered in streamers and
sequins. They look out, shell-shocked.

Man: So…

Woman: What.

Man: Is that it?

Woman: Come again?

Man: Like, are we done or do we keep going? Like, pick up where we left off? I mean, like, they’re
still watching and all.

Woman: I don’t care. She starts crying.

Man: Hey. Hey, don’t do that. Come here.

He goes to her window and cradles her. He pets her hair.

Man: If it’s worth anything, I liked it.

Woman: I liked it too.

Man: I’m sure someone out there liked it! ( Points to a friendly looking audience member.) What about you?
You liked it, right? Let’s get our asses back in the game and give these people what they came here
for! ( A la inspirational coach pep talk right before the big game.) We are gonna get on these windows, and
look out at the audience and speak memorized words as if they’re not and hope that someone at
some moment forgets about the Netflix they’d rather be watching at home and give these damn
people some pretend humanity! Now, are you with me?!

Woman: Yeah! Let’s do this! Who cares if our only talent is being really good at pretending we’re not pretending? WE LIKE IT!
Man: YEAHHHHH!

An elaborate handshake or encouraging hug fest ensues. They take some deep breaths, do some quick focus or dialect
exercises and sit back up on their perches.

Man: Okay, where should we take it from, boss?

Woman: My ass is too fat for this.

Man: My favorite... Clears throat. My ass is too fat for this.

Woman: Your ass is perfect for this! Extra padding for when we plummet to our untimely deaths!

She giggles.

It’s different this time.

Man: So, now what?

Woman: How’s that?

Man: How long are we supposed to go on like this? How long do we stay here?

Woman: I guess until something happens.

They look at each other.

Blackout.