Theater’s ability to capture life’s bittersweet moments is played out in John Corwin’s work, a one-act play.
The inspiration: “I was thinking about some of the things that one does in Chicago in the summer and then as I was thinking, ohmigod, some of these things I haven’t done in three to four years. And I wonder why that is and it kind of went from there,” says born-and-raised Chicagoan Corwin, 35.
Corwin, who earned a Jeff nomination for his play “Gone Home,” is taking the project to the Manhattan Theater Club off-Broadway this fall.
`Lost time’
SETTING: Toons, a neighborhood bar on Southport. Saturday. 5 p.m. Larry and Gary (both mid-30s) sit at the bar, with beers. The bartender, Jen, late-20s, behind the bar to one side.
Silence.
LARRY: Along the lake this morning, on those big rocks there, ‘tween Belmont and Diversey, there was a woman sunbathing topless.
GARY: Right there, just . . . out in the open, no top.
LARRY: Front of God and everybody. Just letting it all hang out. Amazing. The . . . boldness of it.
GARY: She was probably European.
LARRY: You think.
GARY: Yeah, they’re always . . . like the south of France, or the Greek Islands, European women. They’re always laying around topless, all free and easy, what do they care.
Pause.
LARRY: And then, as I was standing there, I noticed there was maybe 8, 10 other guys just . . . standing around, acting like they weren’t doing what they were doing. Ogling, but trying to act all innocent, like they were fascinated by the . . . clouds in the sky. The boats in the water. But it was so obvious. They didn’t fool me.
Pause.
GARY: You just stood there?
LARRY: My mind just kind of . . . drifted. The other women I’ve . . . known.
Pause.
What a breath of fresh air she was. Mmm. Nice little treat, middle of my walk.
Pause. He drinks. Silence.
Mmm. I love air conditioning. Nothing quite like walking off a hot street right into a blast of cold air. Totally changes your disposition, and for the better. Could sit here all day. All day and all night. Just . . . bask in it.
Pause.
You got plans.
GARY: Mmm. Going to see a friend of mine play the Double Door. Nine o’clock. Then afterwards, out for a coupla drinks. I think this bar up on Damen.
Pause.
LARRY: Friend’s a musician, huh?
GARY: I guess so, yeah.
Pause.
LARRY: Haven’t been to the Double Door in a while. This woman, a friend, well . . . not a friend really, we dated like 10 years ago, only we didn’t date as much as we fooled around intermittently for a few weeks, back seat of her car and one oh-so-memorable occasion on Oak Street Beach. But it was like 10 years ago, and outta the blue, last year she’s at the Double Door. She’s . . . a singer-songwriter in the alt/country neck of the woods. Course I went and saw her. She was good. It shocked me. Didn’t expect her to be so . . . accomplished. Cause in the back seat of her car, buttons undone, we never talked about music.
Pause.
When I saw her up on that stage, there was this . . . moment. She gave me a slight smile and a wink. Looking right at me. And I wondered if she remembered me. If that smile and wink really meant anything or if it was just part of the act for her.
Pause.
I wondered if she ever really liked me, or if it was just she got drunk and figured I was better than nothing.
Pause.
GARY: She’s playing tonight, you know. Nine o’clock.
Pause.
You’re talking about Kimberly, aren’t you?
Pause.
We go way back, she’s an old friend and she’s playing tonight.
Pause.
LARRY: Huh.
GARY: Yep.
LARRY: And you’re taking her out for drinks . . . ?
GARY: Purely platonic drinks, catching-up drinks. That’s all. She’s not my type.
Pause.
You should come with.
LARRY: Nah . . .
GARY: Come on, where’s the harm. See her play. Stay for drinks. Laugh and giggle. Be a helluva good time.
Pause.
And maybe, just maybe, she’s been carrying a torch for you all these years. Only one way to find out.
Pause.
LARRY: I don’t . . . think so.
Pause.
Thanks anyway, though.
Pause. He drinks. Silence.
GARY: Kevin’ll be there, too, you know.
LARRY: Thought he’s in L.A.
GARY: He was, but he’s back now. Been back six months.
LARRY: You’ve seen him?
GARY: Of course.
Pause.
LARRY: Huh.
GARY: Yep. He’s got a series. CBS, ABC, NBC, one of them. Filming it here. He’s the lead.
LARRY: I’ll be damned.
GARY: “Schizo-Tective.”
LARRY: Huh?
GARY: What it’s called.
LARRY: “Schizo-Tective”? What does that even …
GARY: Believe me, you don’t wanna know.
Pause.
LARRY: Huh.
Pause.
Well good for him, good for him, he stuck to it, he didn’t quit and it’s finally paying off.
GARY: Sure, why not.
LARRY: Tell him I said hey.
GARY: I will.
Pause. He drinks.
GARY (To Jen): “Schizo-Tective.” Coming Tuesdays this fall to one of the Big Three. You should check it out, a buddy of ours.
Pause.
LARRY: Jen . . . ?
Pause.
Jen.
Pause.
JEN: Huh. Oh, sorry. Spacing out there, that’s all. Distracted.
Pause.
Cab home last night, the driver spoke with an accent so thick, I could barely understand him. I just smiled and nodded, he kept talking and talking.
Pause.
I paid him, he handed me a receipt, smiled a big yellow-teeth smile, and this part I understood completely: I am looking very much forward to it.
Pause.
Sure enough, his phone number scribbled on the receipt. Made me wonder just what I smiled and nodded at.
Pause.
The power was out in my building. The whole block, in fact, darkened. Very silent, very . . . still. I felt my way along the staircase, counting the steps, eight steps each flight, four flights to my apartment. And then inside. Blindly fumbling around for a candle and a match. Couldn’t sleep. Again. So sat on my couch, looked out the window. The power didn’t come on till 7 in the morning. Nothing to do but sit. And . . . think.
Silence.
GARY: Hey, that’s Com Ed for you, huh. Pay the bill on time, but come July, it’s 50-50, you flip a switch the light’ll go on. We all have our stories. Once lost like two hundred bucks worth of food in my fridge, this was the heat wave of ’95. Furious and broke for like the next three weeks.
Pause.
Tell you what though. Next time your power’s out, feel free to gimme a call. Always come over to my place. Gotta backup generator now, so . . . lemme give you my . . .
JEN: I don’t mind when the power’s out, it’s nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
Pause.
Thanks for the offer, though.
Pause. Gary drinks. Pause.
JEN: Guess what day today is, have I told you? Go on, guess.
LARRY: Saturday . . .
JEN: No, I mean, yes, of course, but that’s not what I’m . . . go on, guess.
LARRY: Uh . . .
Pause.
I dunno, it’s . . . is it . . .
Pause.
I really have no idea.
JEN: Today. Is my anniversary. Five years ago, I moved here. Didn’t even realize till my dad called today.
LARRY: No way, is it really five years already? Can it be?
JEN: It can and is.
LARRY: Damn. Time does fly.
JEN: Five years ago today, my father’s station wagon into Chicago.
Pause.
My family’s coming down tomorrow. For a few days. Little brother’s never been and he’s so excited. He wants me to show him the town.
Pause.
Dunno where to take them, never played the hostess before.
LARRY: Huh. Well. I . . . hmm.
Pause.
S’pose you’ll need like a family-friendly thing, huh? Can’t get too . . . wild.
JEN: Probably be best.
LARRY: Well. Huh. You could . . . uh . . . hmm.
Pause.
Hmm.
Pause.
I dunno.
JEN: Neither do I. I’m stumped.
Pause.
GARY: Just take ’em down to Taste. You’ll be fine.
JEN: Taste . . .
GARY: Yeah, sure. That’s what you can do. Where they from?
JEN: Rhinelander.
GARY: Rhinelander, the hell’s Rhinelander?
JEN: Small town in Wisconsin.
GARY: Then they’re bound to be impressed. You’ll knock their socks off. And the fireworks are Wednesday.
JEN: I hear it gets crowded.
GARY: Just go early. Bring a basket, something, stake out your little plot. Suntan lotion so you don’t burn to a crisp.
JEN: Is it fun?
GARY: Is it fun, she wants to know. Go ahead and tell her, Junior.
LARRY: You’ve never been?
JEN: Nope. Coupla times made plans, but . . . they fell through.
GARY: So much fun you’ll soil yourself. Middle of . . . you know, like a hundred million people, got your . . . turkey leg, uh . . . corns on the cob, uh . . . frozen cheesecake on a stick . . . eat, drink, have a nice relaxing day. Then the fireworks. And those are . . . something. To behold.
Pause.
LARRY: I . . . I used to go to Taste like six, seven times a year. Loved it. The feeling I was . . . part of something. This massive crowd. I belonged in it. A . . . connectedness, if that’s even a word. All the people there, essentially for the same thing: Turkey legs, cheesecakes, fireworks. But also . . . something deeper, something hidden. All of us just . . . need to be around people. Remind ourselves of just where we are. And when I was there, I wasn’t . . . lonely, or . . . bitter, or . . . worried. I was . . . happy.
Pause.
Course I haven’t been in a coupla years.
Pause.
You should go. It’s fun.
GARY: And if you need a guide . . .
JEN: We should be able to find our way around.
LARRY: I think there’s maps there . . .
JEN: Good. Well. Thank you both.
Silence. Gary looks around.
GARY: This is all right. Yeah. This was a good idea. I like this place. Maybe I’ll make this my new regular.
Pause.
And . . . it’s good to see you.
Pause.
Buncha times, I . . . thought about calling you. Guess I was nervous what you’d say. But I’m glad I finally . . .
LARRY: Yeah.
GARY: We . . . shouldn’t . . . uh . . . I’ve been thinking . . . we shouldn’t let so much time pass, eh? We should get together more often. Once every two years just isn’t enough. Whadya think?
LARRY: Mmm.
GARY: Yeah. Good.
Pause. He finishes his beer.
Taking a leak . . .
He goes off. Pause.
LARRY: Weird. Seeing him again.
Pause.
We used to be . . . good friends. Back in the day.
JEN: What happened.
LARRY: Eh. Not important, really. I don’t even remember her name, to be honest.
Pause.
He’s all right. It’s different, now, but . . . we’ll hafta just wait and see.
Pause. He finishes his beer.
I guess we’ll need two more.
She pours two beers, brings them over. Pause.
JEN: Do you ever get a . . . feeling. It usually happens for me when I’m sitting home alone, the phone’s not ringing, my mind just kind of . . . goes. To some time and place long gone. I revisit people. Or I remember conversations. And I think about . . . things. I get that feeling. Not sadness, but it is a . . . loss. Because it’s all gone. Everything and everyone. Gone, long gone, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Can’t change a thing. Do you ever get that feeling?
Pause.
LARRY: I do. Yeah . . . I do.
Pause.
JEN: Like this morning. First time in a long time, thought about a boyfriend. That I had. He called me one day. “Meet me after work, I’ll treat you to a night on the town, show you the sights.” This was when I first moved here, had no idea what the sights might be. So I said, “I love it, let’s.” He said “Meet me on the corner of Ohio and Superior. Seven o’clock.” So I did. Went to Ohio and Superior. Took the Red Line down.
Pause.
LARRY: Ohio and Superior are both east-west, they run parallel.
She pours a whiskey. Downs it.
LARRY: There . . . there is no corner of Ohio and Superior. They never meet.
JEN: Nope. You’re right with that one. They sure don’t.
LARRY: How could he . . . did he not know that?
JEN: Oh, he knew, he knew.
Pause.
And after I finally figured out that . . . fact, I walked . . . east. On Ohio. If for no other reason than that’s the way the sidewalk traffic seemed to flow. The flow carried me . . . north on Michigan. Never seen so many people. Friday evening, middle of summer. The weave and sway of the crowd, pulling me along. It carried me at its own pace, all the way north. Till Michigan ends. Or . . . just becomes Lake Shore Drive, maybe, I dunno. But there was an underpass. I left the crowd, walked out to the beach. I got a drumstick from an ice cream truck. Because ice cream always gets me through. It’s the one thing I can always depend on.
Pause. She smiles.
And that’s all I have to say about that.
They look at each other.
Silence.
Fade.
