THE REAL KENNY

Austerity-inspired fiction (that isn’t at all pretentious)

A play in one act (profligacy isn’t my thing) about profligacy

EXT. STREET CORNER. NIGHT.

Electricity-lit street. Kenny’s standing, smoking, shivering. Louise walks right up to him. She’s wearing 4-inch heels, a little black dress, little else.

KENNY: Con-con-con-congratulations on the outfit.

No reply. Louise looks at Kenny, then at her phone.

KENNY: I-I-I thought you weren’t coming . . .

LOUISE: Why wouldn’t I?

KENNY: Eh . . . I wouldn’t know . . .

LOUISE: No. So why did you think it?

KENNY: Who said I was thinking it? . . .

LOUISE: You said it. To say something you must first think it.

KENNY: Maybe I was just trying to make conversation . . .

LOUISE: You call this a conversation?

KENNY: Wouldn’t you call this a conversation?

LOUISE: A shit one, yes.

Pause.

KENNY: How-how-how-how are you?

Louise looks at Kenny, then at her watch. Pause.

LOUISE: I . . .

KENNY: You’ve got great teeth.

Pause.

KENNY: D’you, d’you drink a lot of milk?

LOUISE: What?

KENNY: Milk? The drink? The white stuff? . . .

LOUISE: I know what fucking milk is! . . . (Pausing, breathing out) No, I don’t drink a lot of milk.

KENNY (Pausing, nodding): Good.

LOUISE: What? You just said . . .

KENNY: Yeah, but milk also gives you bad breath. What use are lovely white teeth when you can’t show them off ’cause they stink?

No surprise, no reply. Louise checks her phone.

KENNY: Wh-wh-wh-wh-where you from?

LOUISE (While texting): Newton Grove.

KENNY (Nodding): Ah, the Grove . . . (Pausing) Where’s that?

LOUISE: Y’know when you put your money in the vending machine but then your Twix gets stuck? Yeah?

KENNY: Yeah. Really annoying . . .

LOUISE: Yeah, this? This right here is the social equivalent of that. That dangling Twix. That you’ve paid for.

KENNY (Pausing, nodding): D’you like Twixs?

LOUISE: What? . . .

KENNY: It’s just if you don’t like Twixs then that isn’t necessarily a bad thing . . .

LOUISE: Why would I’ve paid for a Twix if I didn’t like Twixs?

KENNY: You might’ve typed in the wrong code? Those keypads are highly confusing . . .

LOUISE: When’s the last time you were on a date?

KENNY: Is this a date?!

LOUISE (Nodding) No.

KENNY: Last night.

LOUISE: Last night?

KENNY: Older woman. Plastic surgery . . . Or maybe a stroke . . . Sad either way.

LOUISE (Shaking her head, muttering under her breath): That’s not a date . . .

KENNY: The first time I saw her, I gazed into her eyes, her brow-lifted eyes, and I just knew she wasn’t the one . . . And three off the tee again tonight.

LOUISE: Roger that.

KENNY: So what’s the point? Y’know? I mean, what if I sweep you off your f-f-f-feet, that it’s perfect here on in . . .

LOUISE: Sorry?

KENNY: That it’s perfect here on in. For argument’s sake . . .

LOUISE: Not a strong argument . . .

KENNY: What a waste of time it would be. When everything’s already . . . Perfection – a once in a lifetime, in ten lifetimes, a hole in one. And all for what? A fucking par save? . . . Sorry, I didn’t mean to swear.

Louise grimaces with a smile.

KENNY: What? You should never swear in front of a girl. Gees, it’s cold! . . .

LOUISE: What?! . . .

KENNY: What?! It’s cold! . . .

LOUISE: Swearing’s fucking everywhere! See?

KENNY: Like God?

LOUISE: God?

KENNY: Or Adrian Chiles.

Louise stares at Kenny. It’s a stare that says, ’God? Adrian chiles? What the fuck you talking about?’

KENNY: What? Catch him Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday mornings on GMTV, Tuesday nights for the football, Wednesday nights for highlights of Tuesday nights’ football, Saturday nights for some clip show, game show, list show, or chat show . . . D’you know he sleeps during the ads? That’s how he does it. It’s true . . . Would you be offended if I never swore in front of you again?

Louise smiles. This time, no grimace.

KENNY: What d’you do?

LOUISE (Pausing, breathing out): I tell people I’m helping them, then I fuck them.

No reply. Kenny stares at Louise. Pause.

LOUISE: I’m in insurance.

KENNY: Oh.

LOUISE (Pausing, rhetorical): Do you feel secure in your future? . . .

KENNY: No.

LOUISE: What?

KENNY: If you’re asking. You did ask. About my future. I don’t feel secure in my future. I’m scared about my future. So scared my shit just shat itself. After women and sex, and God and death it’s all I think about, and when I think about women and sex it’s only about how no girl’s gonna be with me ’cause of how worthless my life is, and when I think about God and death it’s only how I’m gonna die a failure without ever having achieved anything of any value.

LOUISE (Pausing, staring at Kenny): Funny.

KENNY (Pausing, staring back): What? . . .

LOUISE: I mean, tortured souls don’t normally dress like you dress.

KENNY (Pausing): Well maybe how I dress isn’t motivated by . . .

LOUISE: Vanity? ’Cause here’s me thinking that people who really are insecure don’t like talking about how they feel – because they’re so insecure about it. And then there’s you. Who manufactures a conversation, a shit conversation, just to go on and on about yourself. You’re not insecure. You’re frustrated. You feel frustrated with the world because it doesn’t appreciate you. You’re unappreciated and you resent that injustice. Or what you think’s an injustice. And why do you think that’s an injustice? Because of your vanity.

Pause.

KENNY: Did you know van Gough didn’t sell a single painting during his lifetime?

LOUISE (Laughing): You’re comparing yourself to van Gough? . . .

KENNY: No. I’m comparing myself to his Sunflowers . . . In fact, just the vase. That vase? Craft, curve, colour – beautiful. Not even a title credit. No glory for you, vase. Sunflowers? What’s the appeal? Long since wilted. But that plucky vase? Durable ornament.

LOUISE: Okay, so what’s your craft? What are we all missing out on?

No answer.

LOUISE: Nothing to declare but your mediocrity?

Pause. Louise turns to face Kenny. Kenny draws. Pause. Then Kenny looks up at the rain.

KENNY: Chiles’ tears.

LOUISE: Or precipitation induced by the meteorological cycle.

KENNY: If you’re into that science malarkey . . . Science makes us more knowledgable but less happy and we’re somehow meant to be grateful?

LOUISE: If not for science, you’d probably be dead right now.

No reply. Louise leans in close to Kenny and hands him an envelope.

LOUISE: I didn’t pay you to talk about the weather.

KENNY: How about I give you two minutes? To titivate. I’ll be right behind you.

Louise nods, then walks off. Kenny’s left alone. But then, out of nowhere . . .

STEVEN: David?

Kenny turns ’round.

STEVEN: David! How are you?!

Steven and Kenny shake hands.

KENNY: Steven . . . (Looking around) What are you doing here?

STEVEN: I live here. Home late from a business trip. Well, I say late, I’m actually early. Late, tonight, but a day early. What are you doing here?

KENNY: I work here.

STEVEN: A new job?! David, great news! Look, good men are losing their jobs in this recession, good men. Please understand that it wasn’t a reflection on . . .

Kenny nods. Pause.

STEVEN: So, what’s this new job? Commercial property?

Kenny shakes his head.

STEVEN: Residential property?

Again, Kenny shakes his head.

STEVEN: Oh . . .

Steven looks at Kenny, awaiting an answer.

KENNY: I . . . I tell people I’m helping them, then I fuck them.

Pause. Steven stares at Kenny.

STEVEN: Insurance?

KENNY: No, I’m a male prostitute.

Pause.

STEVEN (Laughing): Oh, you almost had me! Lol out loud! I tell you what, why don’t you come up? . . .

KENNY: No, I . . .

STEVEN: No, I insist. You can meet the wife. She’s in insurance too . . .

KENNY: I don’t . . . What?

STEVEN: My wife – she’s in insurance too. Hates it. Says that she’s bored stiff.

KENNY: Louise, yeah?

Pause.

STEVEN: How did you know that?

Pause.

KENNY: I remember you talking about her in the office.

STEVEN: Well, now you can put a face to the name.

Steven puts his arm ’round Kenny’s shoulder, and leads him off.

KENNY: Yeah, I’d love to see her face.

STEVEN: So, David, tell me about this new job?