Coffee House, by Laura Haldane

Characters:

TORIE, a college junior studying biology and English, extroverted and outspoken. Talks loudly and gestures when she speaks. Wears whimsical earrings and hipster glasses.

AUGUST, a college senior studying American Sign Language and English, quiet until you get to know her. Feminist, distrustful of men after a string of awful dates. Vegetarian who wears scarves.

ROSE, a college senior studying writing and theatre. Soft-spoken and dreamy. The poet and most dedicated writer of the group. Wears headbands and killer boots.

BRIE, a college junior studying writing and English. Also a feminist. Very opinionated, though diplomatic. Always carries a messenger bag covered in buttons with liberal and nerdy slogans.  Just returned from a semester in Scotland.

WEASEL-FACE, A guitar-playing male patron with a narrow face, shifty eyes, and a pointed, slender nose.

VARIOUS HIGH SCHOOL AND COLLEGE-AGED CUSTOMERS

Time: A Monday night in January in the present day.

Setting: A purple room with Indian décor in a hip coffee house. Orange and red scarves cover the windows. Photographs and paintings of elephants, Hindu deities, and Indian architecture adorn the walls. Several mismatched tables are placed sporadically throughout the room. The chairs do not match the tables or each other. Jeweled poufs and a short couch sit in one corner of the room.  A group of teenagers is seated there, playing a card game.

Three young women sit at a coffee table covered in artistic permanent marker graffiti. A small lamp with a beaded shade sits against the wall at the far end of their table. August and Brie write in notebooks, while Rose types away on a laptop. They each have drinks, and they occasionally take sips from them. August frequently looks at her watch and then back at the entranceway to the purple room. 

[Enter TORIE stage left, looking flustered. She scans the room, sees her friends, makes her way downstage, and plops into the empty seat]

TORIE: Seriously, the world hates me. Guess who’s in Lena’s class. Seth! And guess what else.  He’s in the classroom next to mine on Thursday mornings. I saw him when we went on break.  It’s like the universe is trying to send me a message, but I’m not sure if it’s encouraging me or laughing at my misery.

AUGUST: [Unfazed] You’re late. Here’s your pumpkin spice latte. [Slides cup across table to TORIE]

TORIE: [Takes the cup]. I’m always late.

AUGUST: We meet at the same time every week. You were the one who picked 7:30.

TORIE: I know, but I had to walk my dog. [Begins unpacking her things] So, what are we all working on today?

BRIE: My mermaid novel.

TORIE: The one that seems like a fantasy story but is actually a scathing condemnation of the media’s portrayal of women?

BRIE: [Nodding] That’s the one.

TORIE: I love it already. What about you, Rose?

ROSE: A poem about the dark mystery of artistic expression.

TORIE: Sounds intriguing.

AUGUST: I’m attempting to write a short story involving undead fairies haunting the woods outside a small town.

TORIE: Sounds even more terrifying than your last one.

AUGUST: [Brightly] That’s the plan.

[The three girls go back to writing. TORIE stares down at her pad of paper for a moment, then looks around at the other girls, and then back down at her paper.  She picks her pen up and puts it down several times.]

TORIE: So, about Seth.

AUGUST: What about him?

TORIE: He’s just so good looking.

AUGUST: Mmhmm.

TORIE: And so polite.

AUGUST: Mmhmm.

TORIE: [Sighing]. And so unavailable.

BRIE: [Finally looking up from her journal]. We’ve offered several times to give his girlfriend a non-lethal dose of poison, so I don’t know what more you want from us.

TORIE: I know. And I appreciate the offer. There’s just got to be a better way…

ROSE: Have you considered talking to him?

TORIE: Yes. But seeing as I get all clammy and tongue-tied around him, it’s not going so well.

BRIE: He’s really nice, so I don’t see why you’re so afraid of him.

TORIE: Easy for you to say. Ever since you got back from studying in Scotland, you are somehow immune to the powers of an attractive accent.

BRIE: Really, it’s not that hard to talk to a guy from another country. Step one, say hello. Step two, make some comment about school or last week’s basketball game or the midnight premiere you went to. Step three, continue conversation until…

[While she is talking, a young, weasel-faced, male patron who entered the room from stage left earlier on in the conversation picks up his acoustic guitar and comes over to their table, interrupting Brie at “Step three.”]

WEASEL-FACE: Hey ladies.

[The girls look up at him in surprise, speechless for a moment].

TORIE: Hi…

WEASEL-FACE: What are you all up to today?

TORIE: [Stammering a bit] Writing. We get together on Mondays… to write…stuff.

[August rolls her eyes]

WEASEL-FACE: Do you come here often? I do, and I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.

ROSE: We come here once in a while, but only on Mondays.

WEASEL-FACE: Cool. Me, too. You guys in high school or college?

AUGUST: [Looking offended] College.

TORIE: We go to Clarksdale University.

WEASEL-FACE: Nice. I’m at Devin Community College for now. I’ve been there for about two years.

ROSE: I went there for a while. It's a good school.

WEASEL-FACE: [Strumming his guitar as he talks] Yeah, I like it. I just really don’t know what I want to do with my life, so I figured, why waste the money?

ROSE: [At the same time as WEASEL-FACE] Why waste the money?

WEASEL-FACE: Exactly!

TORIE: That’s smart thinking.

WEASEL-FACE: Thanks. Well anyway, I’m about to go play. You guys should come listen.

TORIE: Yeah. Sure, sounds good.

WEASEL-FACE: See you guys around then. It was nice meeting you.

[WEASEL-FACE exits stage left]

TORIE: [Waiting to speak until he exits] Soooooooo…

BRIE AND AUGUST: [Simulatenously] NO!

TORIE: Come on, guys.

AUGUST: Uh-uh. If you want to go moon over some cocky, amateur musician, go right ahead, but I will not be joining you.

TORIE: That’s a little harsh.  He was very friendly.

AUGUST: Serial killers and sociopaths always are. 

[TORIE shoots her a look of disbelief]

AUGUST (CONT.): Oh come on! He was strumming his guitar while he was talking to us, and you should never trust a man strumming a guitar. And he thought we were in high school.

TORIE: It just means we look youthful. In a few years, we’ll take it as a compliment. 

AUGUST: Well, for now, it’s insulting.

TORIE: I’m sure he didn’t mean it that way. He engaged us in conversation. And that doesn’t happen to us often. Or ever.

ROSE: Torie has a point. I thought he was quite nice.

AUGUST: So now we’re supposed to fall for any guy who mistakes us for high schoolers?  I have higher standards than that.

TORIE: Oh come on, August. I’m not saying we have to welcome him into our group with open arms, but we can at least be friendly.

AUGUST: I was perfectly polite.

ROSE: If your definition of polite is icily cold.

AUGUST: I’m not about to get all flirty with the first guy who looks my way. You can go listen to him and let him seduce you with his music, but Brie and I are going to stay here and write.

TORIE: [shaking her head and letting out a short snort of derision] And we wonder why guys don’t understand women. I barely understand us! We spend countless hours complaining about guys, griping about how they never talk to us or realize that we exist. And how the ones who do are always too creepy or dysfunctional to date. And now, when a nice, normal-looking guy with some fashion sense pays attention to us, we blow him off and treat him like some piece of gum stuck on the bottom of our shoe. How can we expect guys to get to know us if we keep sending them these mixed messages?

AUGUST: Maybe if he hadn’t mistaken me for a teenager, I would have given him a sliver of a chance, but I don’t like his vibe. And he wasn’t even that attractive.  His nose was all pointy and he had shifty eyes, like a weasel.

TORIE: He did not.

BRIE: Fashionable clothes do not an attractive man make. 

TORIE: But when they’re all you have to judge a person on…

BRIE: I thought he was far too smug. It’s like he thought, “Oh look, there’s a group of young women just dying for a man to talk to them.  I’ll go over and bless them with my presence.” He seemed arrogant.

[TORIE throws her hands up in exasperation]

TORIE: You are both impossible. You coming, Rose?

ROSE: Sure.

[ROSE and TORIE both stand up from the table and are about to leave when WEASEL-FACE enters stage left, lips locked with a young girl wearing a shirt that clearly reads “DHS Class of ’15.” They are making out with a sickening intensity. They slam into the girls’ table, but don’t stop. They make it back to the guitar case resting against another table, and WEASEL-FACE stops only to pick it up. They exit, stage right through the back door, still kissing.]

[The girls are silent for almost a minute]

BRIE: Was he just making out with a high school sophomore?

ROSE: [Somewhat horrified] I think so.

AUGUST: Well, at least now we know why he asked us about what school we went to. He’s a cradle robber.

[BRIE and AUGUST share a look and then burst into laughter. After a few seconds, ROSE joins in. TORIE scowls at their merriment, but eventually, she breaks down and laughs as well]

AUGUST: I’m sorry, Torie. But I told you so. 

TORIE: [Good naturedly] Yeah, yeah. You were right.

BRIE: Just think, one day this will prove to be great fodder for your fiction.

ROSE: Yeah, too bad we didn’t get his name.

TORIE: It’s probably better this way. He won’t be able to sue me.

AUGUST: And how will you include him in a story?

TORIE: [In a storyteller voice] “The weasel-faced man strummed his guitar, eyes roving across the crowded room, searching for someone to seduce. His eyes lit upon a group of high school girls. Their giggling proved they were freshmen. ‘Bingo,’ he thought. ‘Time to rock their world.’”

[Lights slowly fade as TORIE makes up the beginning of the story, while the other girls laugh]