Gwen and Mary Jane

     (A restaurant.)

MARY JANE:  ...I ask him for one post a day.  That's it.

GWEN:  That's not a lot.

MJ:  That's nothing!  Lisa and her boyfriend post five times a day.

GWEN:  Lisa?

MJ:  I met her at the writing retreat last week.

GWEN:  How'd that go?

MJ:  Good.  Interesting, um--you know.  I got a short story out of it.  Sent it to Broadband, but they want me to cut it in half before they publish it.  The whole thing is a thousand words--how am I supposed to cut it more than that?

GWEN:  Maybe you could--

MJ:  I'm not cutting it.  It's a digital magazine.  Who cares how long it is?  It's not taking up print space.  It's not using ink.

GWEN:  What's it about?

MJ:  Huh?

GWEN:  The story you wrote about the writing retreat.  What's it about?

MJ:  Oh.  A writing retreat.

GWEN:  Oh.

MJ:  Yeah.  It's so funny.  You should read it.

GWEN:  I'd like to.

MJ:  I'll send it to you.

GWEN:  Cool.

MJ:  You're so nice.  You actually read things when people send them to you.  I never do that.

GWEN:  Did I see that you and Peter are going to start doing more cooking tutorials?

MJ:  I mean, I want to, but if I can't even get him to post one photo with me a day and one in the costume--

GWEN:  He might be worried about the, uh--

MJ:  Was he this stubborn when you two dated?

GWEN:  Uh, he was--

MJ:  I mean, I never saw photos of you two together, but--

GWEN:  I'm more private, I guess?

     (A beat.)

MJ:  I'm private.

GWEN:  No, I know--

MJ:  I'm really private.

GWEN:  I know.

MJ:  I'm just trying to help Peter with his brand.

GWEN:  He...He seems to be doing okay?

MJ:  He barely posts, Gwen.

GWEN:  He--he has, like--ten million followers.

MJ:  Nine.

GWEN:  Okay, but--

MJ:  He has nine.

GWEN:  Right.

MJ:  He could have more if he--if he just posted when I tell him to.

GWEN:  Right.

MJ:  And what I tell him to.

GWEN:  Yeah.

MJ:  Besides, our couple account has, like, half as many followers as his individual account, and I didn't give up my personal account to create a couple account with him for five million followers.  What's the point?

GWEN:  But I mean...

MJ:  What?

GWEN:  Your--Never mind.

MJ:  No.  What?

GWEN:  Your individual account didn't have that many followers anyway.

     (A beat.)

MJ:  Gwen.

GWEN:  I'm sorry.

MJ:  I--

GWEN:  I'm so sorry.

MJ:  You--okay.  You know that the reason my individual account didn't have a lot of followers is because--

GWEN:  I'm really sorry.

MJ:  Did your individual account have a lot of followers when you were with Peter?

GWEN:  No.

MJ:  See?

GWEN:  But I was pretty private.

MJ:  I'M VERY PRIVATE.

GWEN:  I'M SORRY.

MJ:  It's really hard to cultivate an individual brand when you're constantly propping up another person.  The person you're dating.  Who you love.

GWEN:  I know.

MJ:  If I wasn't always worried about Peter, I would have a lot more time for myself.

GWEN:  Yeah, I used to worry a lot too.

MJ:  Like, how why is so resistant to downloading Parallel?  Does he want to get on the app after it blows up?  There's no point then.

GWEN:  I meant, like, worried about...his safety?

     (A beat.)

MJ:  Oh.  Yeah.  That too.

GWEN:  I love the stuff you two post together.  It's really cute.

MJ:  If you knew--it's just--if you knew what I have to do to get him to, like, snap a photo of me and caption it with something nice?  It's like pulling teeth, Gwen.  I even give him the captions and offer to set up the shots for him so they look candid, and he still gives me a hard time.

GWEN:  Maybe he's trying to protect you.  If you put too much stuff out there, it makes it easier for villains to find you and--

MJ:  Do you know how long it's been since I've been in peril?

GWEN:  Uh.  No?

MJ:  Months.  I can't even tell you the last time I was kidnapped.  It's like the villains think Peter doesn't care if I live or die.

GWEN:  I don't know where they'd get that idea.

MJ:  They keep going after Aunt May, and, like, don't get me wrong, I love Aunt May, but I'm Peter's girlfriend.  She's a woman in her--what?  Nineties?

GWEN:  I don't think--

MJ:  --And they're kidnapping her?

GWEN:  It's...strange.

MJ:  The last time we both got kidnapped together, and, like, that wasn't ideal?  But, like, I dealt with it, whatever.  I made sure she wasn't in any of the photos I took when we got rescued, but the villain was, like, Wow, you're really annoying.  And I was like, Well, you kidnapped me.  I'm supposed to be annoying.  And the villain--the one with the arms?

GWEN:  That could be--

MJ:  He had a lot of arms and he was like, No, like, I felt bad kidnapping her, but you?  Ugh, I just wanted to get rid of you the whole time.  She was a delight compared to you.  He just went on and on, even as he was going in the police car, and I was like, Um, Peter, are you going to let him talk to me that way, and Peter was like, Please don't call me Peter in front of people, they're not supposed to know who I am, and I was like, Yeah, don't I know it, that's what's hurting your social media presence, and it became this whole thing.

GWEN:  He's just trying to protect his identity.

MJ:  You can't have an identity and a personality.  You know who said that?

GWEN:  Someone...who doesn't know what either of those words mean?

MJ:  Evan Feathers.

GWEN:  Is he a new superhero?

MJ:  Kind of.  He created Parallel.  He's amazing.  And Peter won't even watch his videos with me.

GWEN:  Are they long?

MJ:  Oh my god, they're endless.  But he's so smart.

GWEN:  Maybe I should watch the videos?

MJ:  You should!  Gwen, you really should.

GWEN:  Maybe I will.

MJ:  You'd learn so much.  I mean, I know it's hard being, like, an also-ran?  Like, second place?  All the time?  But you could really use that to your advantage to, like, build a following of, like, other girls who got broken up with and handled it mostly okay.

GWEN:  Yeah, I--I guess it's worth a try.

MJ:  I mean, right now, you're practically invisible.

GWEN:  Yeah.

MJ:  It's like you super power!

GWEN:  Yeah.

MJ:  But not really.

GWEN:  Yeah.

     (A beat.)

MJ:  Yeah.

     (A beat.)

GWEN:  Yeah.

     End of Play

Open All Night

She sees the blue

In the back

And it could be him

He stays up all night

Drinking

With flashing lights on

Got written up twice

But they forgot

To write his thirst away

He told her if she ran

He’d run after her all night

And the highway is his

Just like everything else

She only stopped twice

To grab coffee

So she could go straight

To her sister’s in Fort Lee

When he’d threaten her

He’d tell her

There were guns

All over the house

But she couldn’t find any

When she started

Tearing the house apart

A steak knife

Was the best she could do

And a can of hairspray

She’d use as mace

If it came right down to it

Her runaway bag

Looks like it was packed

By someone

Who’s never run before

Just so she doesn’t panic

She puts on Chuck Berry

To see if she can trick herself

Into thinking

It’s all going to be all right

She borrowed the neighbor’s car

And that was after begging for three days

Because the neighbor’s nice

But he wanted something for something

Before he would loan it out

And she had to flirt hard

And make some promises

She’s never going to keep

At least this way

He won’t be able to report

The car stolen

And get her that way

She’s not good

At thinking about the nitty gritty

Which is pretty fucking dangerous

If all it takes is one detail

To throw you off the line

The blue light might not be him

But she won’t know if it is or not

Until she pulls over

And then what’s to stop him

From firing a round through the window

And telling his boss he thought he saw a gun?

He’s done it before

Not to a woman

And not to someone he’s married to

But cops in New Jersey

Are like cops everywhere

They won’t give permission

But they’re generous

With their forgiveness

When it comes

To one of their own

That’s why she’s never

Called in about him

Or said anything

When his buddies come by

To barbecue every summer

And notice the black eyes

And the bruises

When it first started

She hoped maybe one of them

Would have an attack of conscience

And the white hats would show up

But the doorbell never rang

And fists never loosened up

So she knew it was all on her

Chuck Berry is midway through

“Little Queenie” when she knows

She’s gotta pull over

There’s no running from a cop

No matter which cop it is

She stops the car

Kills the engine

And the blue light keeps moving

Until the car is side-by-side with hers

And she imagines the bullet

Coming through his driver’s side window

Past her passenger side

Right through the heart

That broke two years ago

The first time she smiled at him

And he asked her why

The window rolls down

The officer driving looks older

And a little bit like her dad

But only a little bit

‘You were swerving a little

You good?’

She says she is

He tells her to take it easy

Doesn’t seem like compassion

Just bigger fish to fry

Down the road

He takes off

And now the sirens are going too

Definitely a pressing matter

More pressing

Than a woman driving erratically

Down a highway in New Jersey

With her make-up all fucked up

And her fingernail polish chipped

And a steak knife

In the glove compartment

She’ll make it to Fort Lee

But after that

She doesn’t know

She doesn’t know

If she should just keep driving

All night

Hitting up the open places

To grab a burger

A pack of smokes

And something to wipe

Her lipstick off

It’s not like

She’s gonna

Need it

The Prince Came Calling

The Prince came calling

But Cinderella

Had decided

To go barefoot

And run through a pumpkin patch

Looking for a new carriage

The Prince came calling

And the mice mistook him

For a mouse-catcher

And hid under the stairs

While he asked the evil stepmother

Over and over again

Where his princess was

‘Princess,’ she said, ‘There’s no princess here’

Of course a princess

Is not a princess

Until a prince

Comes looking

Right?

But Cinderella was quite sure

That prince or no prince

She was a princess

Because she made a crown

Out of turnip greens

And an evening gown

Out of corn stalks

And when her fairy godmother appeared

To ask what she was doing

Cinderella replied

That it was too nice a day

To spend inside

Waiting for a prince to arrive

The evil stepsisters

Heard birds in the sky

And fearing the fate of their eyes

They ran to the coachmen

Who came with the prince

And within an inch of a moment

The coachmen fell

For the evil stepsisters

Who were actually quite nice

If you didn’t look twice

And it was decided

That they would get married

And move into the castle

Alongside the coachmen

And their prince

The evil stepmother

Went out to the field

To let Cinderella know

That they would be

A much more happy family

Because a house with no stepsisters

And a few good mice

Is very nice

For living in

The Prince came calling

But with Cinderella and her stepmother

Out near the beans

And his coachmen in love

With the two angry means

It seemed as though

The call was no ball

But a fall

A fail

A pail with cinder-water in it

And no matter how you spin it

It’s hard to weave a fairy tale

From a cinder-filled, pitiful

Paltry, poor pail

The Prince sat down

Next to the mice

Who had come out

When they realized

He was (mostly) nice

And he waited to see

Who would come

Make him happy

Since surely

He couldn’t return

To the castle

Regardless of the hassle

Without an ever after?

Cinderella entered the house

Put on the glass shoes

And (kindly) dismissed the mouse

But the other stayed put

To see how it would end

It seemed unlikely that the Prince

Would become a new friend

But stories can surprise you

As I’m sure this one has done

Is it better than the old one?

Well, it has a princess with a turnip crown

And love spread out all over town

And a stepmother trapped in a vegetable maze

Did I tell you of that?

We’ll save it for another day or days

Because we’re running out of time

And what you need to know

Is that the Prince came calling

Every day

But Cinderella couldn’t seem

To ask him

To stay

For she was who she was

And who she was

Was a Princess

Though who can say of what?

And does it really matter?

I would argue

It does not