View single post by billh
 Posted: Tue Jun 3rd, 2008 08:37 pm
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billh



Joined: Sat May 31st, 2008
Location: Missouri USA
Posts: 17
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Mana: 
POPS: Hey, Maggie. (Beat.) Say, do you know you have bird poop on your shoulder?

MAGGIE: No, but if you hum a few bars, I can fake it.

(Sits down; Pops, Maggie’s grandfather, orders them both a drink.)

POPS:  That’s it?

MAGGIE: Yeah, that’s it. Why should it be anything else?

POPS: Well…I was hoping for something more…meaningful.

MAGGIE: "Meaningful?" Pops, have you published a novel? Produced a Broadway play? Chiseled the greatest sculpture since Michelangelo? Composed a symphony comparable to Beethoven’s—

POPS: Yeah, yeah. I get it.

MAGGIE: So what’s the deal?

POPS: It stinks.

MAGGIE: Sure, life stinks but as you always told me—

POPS: I mean the bird poop on your shoulder. It’s smelling up the place.

MAGGIE: This isn’t the Chase Park Plaza. Christ, Pops, I’m wearing overhauls, I’ve been baling hay all morning, and we’re sitting in a grimy roadhouse in the middle of the freakin’ Ozarks. Give me a break.

POPS: Now I wonder where you got that sassy mouth?

MAGGIE: And the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

POPS: And that tendency to quote stupid proverbs.

MAGGIE: You forgot the irrepressible urge to tell really bad jokes.

POPS: I was just getting to that.

MAGGIE: Another drink?

POPS: Nope. Twelve is my limit. Very strict on that.

MAGGIE: All right, then you’ll have to take it sober. Maybe not SOBER, but with nothing more to drink.

POPS: You’re pregnant by that dope pusher and going to give birth to a crack baby?

MAGGIE: He’s a pharmacist and he made more money last year than you’ve made in your whole life! Besides, he makes me tingle. You know, tingle right down there—

POPS: Shut up, I’m not that liberal.

MAGGIE: Oh, yes, you are just one flaming liberal guy. But enough about Phil the Pharmacist. This is about YOU!

POPS: Too late for me. I’ve got one foot in the grave and the other…okay I won’t finish that one.

MAGGIE: This is for you. (Hands POPS a card.)

POPS: A thank you card? It’s blank inside. Except for your name. "Love, Maggie."

MAGGIE: It’s the best thing I could get you.

POPS: Thanks for what? Did I go into one of my disorientation stages and write you a big check or something?

MAGGIE: No, no, no.

POPS: Tell me, then. I’m dying here. I mean, of curiosity.

MAGGIE: Okay…so…I lied…a little.

POPS: Here it comes.

MAGGIE: Pops, you raised me from a pup ever since the…car wreck. And it is about Phil. (Beat.) We’re getting married.

POPS: Surprise, surprise! About time. How long you been going with him? Twenty, thirty years?

MAGGIE: Pops, now listen. The thank you is…like we talked about before…for teaching me that corny jokes and stupid sayings—and, yes, even a sassy mouth—are really good ways of making sense out of the world. I never once doubted that you loved me more than anything. And that is more important than novels, plays, sculptures—

POPS: Or bird poop on your shoulder?

MAGGIE: You know…you are a lot smarter than you look, you old geezer!