E.T.A.: PHOENIX

by: NICK ZAGONE

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ACT II (cont...)

JOHN: A buyer?

BERT: You do still have your frames don't you?

GREG: How ‘bout them Suns huh?

JOHN: [False sincerity.] Hey listen Greg, thanks for the good time, why don't I catch you later bud…

GREG: No! John! [To BERT:] Excuse me. [To JOHN:] John, I need you…

JOHN: For Christ's sake Greg…

BERT: John, are you sure you're alright?

GREG: He's FINE! I'm sorry miss, but we were just in the process of pounding out a price for the purchase of those frames you mentioned…

JOHN: Huh?

GREG: Isn't that right John?

BERT: You're buying his frames?

GREG: Sure! You betcha!

BERT: Is this true John?

JOHN: I…

GREG: Yea—it looks like you're a little late there honey.

BERT: I'm never late.

GREG: You've met up with a man of ACTION!

BERT: Is-that-right. [To JOHN:] Are those frames still in your trunk?

JOHN: Yea, rotting with the Limpkin's—look, I'm a little tweaked. I want to think about all this…

BERT: What's there to think about John? You have a deal to work—

JOHN: I don't want you to go…

GREG: Pleasure to meet you Bert…

BERT: Please, Beatrice.

JOHN: No Bert…!

BERT: You have one of those little trunk release buttons in your car don't you?

JOHN: Under the seat. Why?

GREG: John…

BERT: No reason. Take care John. [GREG is pulling JOHN away and up to table.]

JOHN: Bert! I'm gonna call you!

BERT: Oh you will. I'm sure of it. [She exits.]

GREG: Stepping in on our deal—can you believe that chick?

JOHN: [Pissed now.] There's a can open and there's worms all over the place and you better fucking clean it up.

GREG: I want to but your frames.

JOHN: Oh I heard that!

[During the following we see BERT enter in dark glasses far up stage dragging behind her a large trash bag of something across the stage. She exits surreptitiously.]

GREG: But you have to do me a favor.

JOHN: A favor? You want me to do YOU a favor? I'm sorry but there's a recent price increase.

GREG: How much?

JOHN: A hundred percent. Twenty-grand.

GREG: That's steep.

JOHN: You gonna make me ask for the order? Huh?

GREG: I'll take ‘em. But first you gotta do me a favor.

JOHN: You will? All of them?

GREG: I just want you to meet a friend of mine.

JOHN: What?

GREG: It's a favor. For a twenty thousand-dollar sale you think you can do me one favor?

JOHN: A friend of yours.

GREG: That's right.

JOHN: Why?

GREG: Because I want you to.

JOHN: Then you'll buy the frames.

GREG: That's what I'm saying.

JOHN: Who's the friend?

GREG: I'll tell you later. Let's get outta here…

JOHN: No! I wanna know what's going on. What friend! What are you talking about?

GREG: Goddammit John.

JOHN: No! Goddamn you Greg!

GREG: Fine. It's…--

JOHN: What?! It's what?!

GREG: It's an alien.

JOHN: What?

GREG: An alien! I want you to meet an alien.

JOHN: An alien? What—they from Mexico or something?

GREG: [Shakes his head.] No. [Points to the sky.] It's an alien-alien.

[They stare at each other. The music comes on full blast. The cast comes on and dances around them. BLACKOUT. Light on DAD carrying a tiny bottle of Vodka.]

DAD: Survival Guide for Salesmen Chapter Eight. The Hotel Fridge. Your Hotel fridge contains many yummy items that are incredibly overpriced, and yes, the maid does take a daily inventory and they will overcharge you , and up the yin-yang at that. My best suggestions is to never open the puppy. But if all the bars are closed and you feel so inclined to have a little nightcap, here's a little trick that'll get you a free drink. All fridges have these little bottles of alcohol like you get on the airlines…

[DAD hands airline bottle to an entering JOHN. GREG enters also and sits on the bed. They are lacquered with alcohol.]

JOHN: Select the vodka. Drink the vodka. Fill the empty vodka bottle with water, cap it and place it back in the fridge… [He does this.] Voila! No asininely high hotel charge. Come on Greg, you've done this before…

GREG: Don't drink alone in my hotel room. Depresses me.

JOHN: Well now I feel like a loser.

GREG: You already were a loser. You sold Limpkin's.

JOHN: Okay! I sold Limpkin's Water Seal! I may be an idiot but at least I don't live in Phoenix.

GREG: I get down on my knees and thank God I do. [He does this.] If there is one. [A beat.] I know what you think. But I'm not asking anymore. I need you to go out to the desert with me.

JOHN: I don't want to hear it anymore. Stop it!

GREG: Who are you? Who are you to say?

JOHN: Greg, I think you should leave.

GREG: If I believe in God, who are you to say there's not one? If I believe this vodka bottle is the Almighty Omniscient Lord God and Savior and I put it on an altar and worship it every day—you can say that I have a psychological problem but who are you to say that this vodka bottle isn't indeed God?

JOHN: Greg…

GREG: If I say I see an alien from outer space once a week in the Arizona desert in order to give him a box of Cuban cigars—who are you to say I can't?

JOHN: You what?

GREG: I smoke cigars with aliens.

JOHN: I'm not sure how to respond to that.

GREG: It doesn't matter whether you believe me or not. I need your help John. Tonight.

JOHN: Tonight? Oh God, this isn't happening.

GREG: I didn't want this to happen John. Do I look like the kind of guy who goes out looking for little green men?

JOHN: They're green?

GREG: No. I was just…

JOHN: Christ.

GREG: Heather was orange. We fought. I had to go. I went to the desert. I drove. Then walked. It was night. Then it was day.—Those lights! It was… I didn't want to see this—or him. He said his name was Valdoff. We talked.

JOHN: Valdoff?

GREG: He heard the Earth had great cigars. Cubans he said. I said they were illegal here and really hard to get…

JOHN: The alien wanted Cuban cigars?

GREG: He was very specific.

JOHN: Why Cubans?

GREG:
I don't know! I didn't know anything about cigars! You read up on cigars when an
alien's gonna destroy the Earth if he doesn't…

JOHN: Destroy the Earth?!

GREG: When an alien comes to you and says he's gonna destroy the Earth if he doesn't get some Cuban cigars—You don't ask questions! You get him the cigars!

JOHN: This is nuts.

GREG: What's nuts? This? Staring out into space talking to yourself on a golf course—that's nuts.

JOHN: [After a beat.] Did you get the Cubans?

GREG: Yes. He wanted some more.

JOHN: How'd you get ‘em?

GREG: I got money. I got ‘em. The Earth's in peril here, what's that got to do with anything?

JOHN: I'm gonna get some ice. We need more ice.

GREG: [Stopping him.] John. Now's the time. Answer the questions. You don't think I've thought about this? We all ponder, a little bit. The unanswerable questions. Maybe a couple minutes on the toilet. Huh? A scientist discovers an amoeba on Mars. Is it a creature of God's? What if it has it's own God? We share more than 95 percent of an ape's DNA. If it's partially human does it have rights? Does it have –a soul? We all run around the planet selling our worthless crap, kissing our buyer's butts, fighting on the phone with our spouses about money, trying to be sane and stay happy while the world is collectively kicking our ass… but it's all merely preoccupation… The big questions. The big questions are what we're here for. Not all this. Millions of years ago a creature crawled out of a cave, looked up at the sky, and thought "What does it all mean?" That creature with his eyes on the skies, was a hell of a lot more advanced… more human than any of us.

JOHN: [A beat.] What do you need me for?

GREG: The cigars I got Valdoff this week… They're a little dry.

JOHN: So?

GREG: They've been out of a humidor too long. Valdoff's very particular.

JOHN: Get some more.

GREG: I'd like to, but pure heroin is easier to get than these cigars!

JOHN: Fine. What do I do?

GREG: I want you – to just be with me. [GREG pulls out a gun and cocks it.] Just in case there's any trouble. [He tries to hand it to JOHN.]

JOHN: What the hell?…

GREG: I need you to ride shotgun.

JOHN: Get that thing away from… is that loaded?

GREG: Well you can't throw it at him.

JOHN: If he doesn't like the cigars I'm supposed to plug him?

GREG: No! It's just in case. It'll probably be fine. It's just -in -case.

[They stare at each other. It's now the same tableau as the beginning of the play.]

GREG: Answering questions is frightening shit John. The fact of the matter is…I get scared.

[GREG offers JOHN the gun.]

JOHN: The frames?

GREG: After.

JOHN: Well…Beats trying to descramble the porno channel.

[JOHN carefully takes the gun. GREG clinks his glass with JOHN and downs his drink.]

GREG: I gotta piss.

JOHN: By all means. Please. Piss.

GREG: Then we'll leave.

[GREG exits. A pause. JOHN contemplates gun. He puts it to his head. Then, finally, he puts it in his pocket. Fade to darkness. The sound of a coyote. Two flashlights appear. We see JOHN and GREG holding them.]

JOHN: Brr. Is this still Phoenix?

GREG: Sedona. What do you think?

JOHN: It's red… It's beautiful.

[We see a light. It is Valdoff. He is a dark man in a leather jacket. He has a spelunking light on his head. He carries a Snakelight.]

VALDOFF: Greg?

GREG: Valdoff!

VALDOFF: Buenos.

[They shake hands.]

VALDOFF: You got ‘em?

GREG: Here they are… [GREG offers the cigars then pulls them back.] I want to warn you first…

VALDOFF: No humidor.

GREG: They were in one, but…

VALDOFF: You should really keep dem in a humidor. [He takes the cigars.]

Continue...

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Copyright © 2004 by Nick Zagone

CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that E.T.A.: Phoenix is subject to a royalty. It is fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America, and of all countries covered by the International Copyright Union (including the Dominion of Canada and the rest of the British Commonwealth), and of all countries covered by the Pan-American Copyright convention and the Universal Copyright Convention, and of all countries with which the United States has reciprocal copyright relations. All rights, including professional and amateur stage performing, motion picture, recitation, lecturing, public reading, radio broadcasting, television, video or sound taping, all other forms of mechanical or electronic reproduction, such as information storage and retrieval systems and photocopying, and the rights of translation into foreign languages, are strictly reserved.

Inquiries concerning all rights should be addressed to the author at zagonenick@icloud.com

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