I’ve found myself reading—yet again—J.D. Salinger’s Franny and Zooey. For me, particularly the “Zooey” portion, this book is exceptionally well-made in terms of dialogue. It reads like a play. I love good dialogue. And I’ve always loved plays—seeing them of course, but reading them too. I have no problem saying Cat On a Hot Tin Roof is one of my favorite books.
A while back I wrote a story called “The God Box” which was almost entirely dialogue. A year or so later I decided I wanted to try writing it as a play, and I wound up with One Nathan, Under God. That was so much fun that I eventually wrote a couple of other short plays, one of which was Mr. Targo.
Mr. Targo is likely the product of, among other influences, my growing up watching the Ropers on Three’s Company and reading lots of John Cheever. I enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it.
Lead with love, xo—RJO
MR. TARGO
INT. Modest New York City apartment. Living room area at stage left. Small eat-in kitchen with table at stage right. Apartment front door that leads out into the building’s hallway is center stage in between the two rooms. A coat rack stands by the door. A window is far stage left at living room’s end.
MITCHELL RICHARDS: husband in his late-fifties, reserved, an air of defeat
MARY RICHARDS: wife in her late-fifties, boisterous, dramatic though self-assured
[Lights fade in as MITCHELL sits in recliner reading a newspaper. MARY soon enters through front door in coat carrying big brown grocery bag.]
MARY: [setting grocery bag on counter and removing coat] I saw Mrs. Beckstead on my way in. She told me that Mr. Targo upstairs has been gravely ill. [hangs coat on coat rack] That certainly explains why I’ve not seen him.
MITCHELL: [without looking up from newspaper] We haven’t seen that man in years.
MARY: She said he’s been sick in bed for months.
MITCHELL: Sick with what?
MARY: She didn’t say.
MITCHELL: You didn’t ask?
MARY: She was in a rush and I’ve been running behind all day.
MITCHELL: Yeah I can’t remember the last time I got home and you weren’t here.
MARY: [putting groceries away] We will eat in a minute.
MITCHELL: And what will be eating, Mary?
MARY: I brought a chicken. I’ll make us a salad. It's fast.
MITCHELL: You’ve got me on a fast.
MARY: It won’t be a minute. Have another beer and pipe down.
MITCHELL: [shaking the paper and mostly ignoring the comment, he pushes himself out of the chair and walks to the fridge for another beer] Suppose I’ll have another beer.
MARY: He lives alone up there, you know.
MITCHELL: Uh-huh.
MARY: I wonder who’s taking care of him.
MITCHELL: Maybe he’s dead.
MARY: Why would he be dead? Somebody must be taking care of him.
MITCHELL: [walking back to the recliner with the beer] Or at least putting a mirror under his nose every few days.
MARY: Mitchell Richards, really, how grim. [pausing] I wonder if he has any family.
MITCHELL: I wonder if he has any money.
MARY: The things you think of.
MITCHELL: Money is important.
MARY: So is family.
MITCHELL: We’re a family with no money.
MARY: Oh stop it. [They are both quiet for a moment as MITCHELL continues looking the paper over as MARY gets dinner underway. She stops and turns to address MITCHELL] Didn’t he have a dog?
MITCHELL: At some point.
MARY: And what a temper. I heard he kicked a hole in the wall.
MITCHELL: Think he kicked a hole in the dog too.
MARY: [she turns to fixing the salad] I used to hear his TV sometimes at night. Remember when he played the violin for a while?
MITCHELL: Sounded like he was wearing boxing gloves.
MARY: I can’t remember the last time I heard anything up there.
MITCHELL: It’s smells you should be worried about coming from his place, not noises.
MARY: He’s not dead.
MITCHELL: You don’t know tha—[he is interrupted by MARY who screams when her knife slips as she slices a tomato, nearly chopping her thumb off]
MARY: Gah! This blasted knife is so dull! All our knives are so dull!
MITCHELL: [unfazed] Everything OK in there?
MARY: [holding the knife, waving it, gesturing with it, but having again stopped working on dinner] How many times have I asked you to get these things sharpened?! I’m sick and tired of risking my life every time I cook a meal.
MITCHELL: And what do you expect me to sharpen knives with?
MARY: How should I know. We used to have that metal rod thing. I still have no idea where it went. [pointing the knife toward the window] Go to the truck. Find the truck. It still comes around. [carefully returns to slicing tomato] I’ve heard it.
MITCHELL: What truck? I haven’t seen any truck.
MARY: You’ve heard it. The man. That drives around in the little truck. Ringing a bell like an ice cream truck. But he sharpens knives. In the truck. I know you’ve heard him.
MITCHELL: I’ve heard the ice cream truck.
MARY: He sharpens knives!
MITCHELL: You want me to pay to have our knives sharpened?
MARY: I don’t see how else it’s going to get done.
MITCHELL: I’ll get a big flat rock. That’s all you need.
MARY: [to herself] I could use a big flat rock. [full voice, to MITCHELL] Where will you get your rock? From the lake out back?
MITCHELL: Yeah, get me my swim trunks. I won’t be a minute.
MARY: If I cut myself, I’m sharpening this knife on your big head.
MITCHELL: Shh, I’m listening for the truck. [to himself] Maybe I’ll get a treat for dessert. I wonder if he sells Creamsicles.
MARY: [pausing, though ignoring her husband’s remark] Maybe I should take some of this up to Mr. Targo. I’m sure he could use it.
MITCHELL: You’re not giving any of my dinner to that man upstairs!
MARY: I’m not giving any of your dinner to anyone. We have plenty and I’m sure he could use it.
MITCHELL: He could use it. I’m starving down here. [as if examining an item in the newspaper] They’re called leftovers and tomorrow we’ll eat what’s left over. We’re not running a meal service for the deceased.
MARY: [putting two plates of chicken and salad on the table] That’s enough.
MITCHELL: I don’t see why you’re so concerned about Mr. Targo all of a sudden.
MARY: There’s nothing all of a sudden.
MITCHELL: We’ve lived under that man for years and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard you say his name.
MARY: Mrs. Beckstead told me something else too. She said that whatever it is he has it’s caused his thingy to grow. To swell up. To uh…an…unnatural size, she put it.
MITCHELL: What’s that again? His thingy?
MARY: [annoyed] Oh Mitchell yes! His thingy. His weiner. His throbbing member!
MITCHELL; [sounding nauseous] Oh god…
MARY: Yes Mitchell? Surely you recall.
MITCHELL: [meekly] What am I recalling?
MARY: Any kind of throbbing.
MITCHELL: I believe it’s called a penis.
MARY: I’d plum forgot. Your chicken is getting cold.
MITCHELL: [unaware his dinner had been served, he rises from the recliner] About time. [he sits at the table and looks up at MARY] How big is it?
MARY: [happy to be engaged on the subject, standing table-side like a server] Well I don’t know really.
MITCHELL: Like it no longer fits in his pants? Or it’s…up all the time?
MARY: I’ve no idea. But it must be big. Mrs. Beckstead’s face was beet-red when she told me.
MITCHELL: You think she’s seen it?
MARY: I think a number of women in the building have seen it.
MITCHELL: [waving towards her dinner plate] Won’t you be joining me?
MARY: I’m not hungry yet. You eat. I’ll go see Mrs. Beckstead.
MITCHELL: I thought she was rushing out.
MARY: Surely she’s back by now. I’ll just go see.
MITCHELL: Why don’t you call?
MARY: [turning the knob and opening the apartment door] Surely she’s back by now. I won’t be a minute.
MITCHELL: Oh Mary? [she stops on her way out and turns] While you ladies are coming up with a way to bother poor Mr. Targo, why don’t you just go up and ask him if he’s got a knife sharpener we can borrow?
[MARY exits with a look of disapproval as MITCHELL grins with amusement. Lights fade to black as MITCHELL begins to eat his dinner]
END
Robbi, this was a really fun read. Thank you. I haven’t read a movie script in years, I grew to dread the experience. But plays are so much more fun to read than screenplays. I’m thinking Carol Kane and Kevin Klein or Miriam Margolyes and Jim Broadbent if staging it in London.