Backstage Writers - Think Hope Do

As Mel carries on with his nose… (cf. Jacques’ Nose)

Mel’s prepping my skin. She’s right. It does help me concentrate. Her fingers tingle every stub of my beard. Amazing what that does. I love this chair. A firm seat does help. If only I could be like Vincent and jump on any girl. Vincent loves explosive love. I love Celine. Correction. I’ve got twenty nanoseconds to fall in love with Celine- dear little vitamin D deficient, long everything Celine. She drops her briefcase on stage, and I’m supposed to tackle her. Yeah! But why? Maybe it’s the way she drops it. There’s authority in the way that designer bag hits the deck. “I’m here!”  Ah, Celine. If you were Yasmine, this would be easy. Celine! Just seeing you drop that briefcase! Nah- This is never going to work. And to think that paper Théâtre Ce Soir has made a big splash about us. The New English Theatre Opening Night. Journalists staying for dinner. Huh? Since when do we feed the press?

Vincent gets away with leaping across the stage. He’s a ticking love bomb. You work with him, you get kind of nervous. I could jump on Yasmine. She’s got much more… substance. I could jump on most anyone. At least, so I thought. I’ve got to want Celine for those legs that are way too skinny. How did they get that way? Doesn’t she ever walk up stairs? She’s got nice baseball breasts. They look like they might pop off if I grab them, and the rest - I think of a praying Mantis. I should focus on that fragile side, the earnestness. The praying mantis rubs its arms together, looks like it’s cooking up some wild insect scheme. We know how that turns out. That intensity. The mantis is a devoted, passionate little beast. Insect cannibalism, rituals of the truly devoted, et ‘op! Off it goes. I’m not getting anywhere.

I need passion… in Celine, in that damn briefcase. If it were a suitcase, it would be easier. I could do the “I’m sorry” thing. I’m good at being impulsively sorry. But it’s not a suitcase; it’s a chic lady’s briefcase. Focus on the corners, Luc would say. I’m focusing! It’s not passion. Luc is right. You focus, you get answers. I can’t just “horny dog” Celine. I know that’s what Julian wants, but I’m not convinced, so it’s not going to work. No, Celine has to set me off, but it’s got to be a quiet tension, something luring, something that strikes me the moment I see her because I know she’ll be hot. I need to feel how she’s going to writhe herself into hysterics, if only she could just let herself go. There’s got to be something about her, about the way she does what she does. I’ve got to feel this-

Mel’s looking at me funny. I’ve got to concentrate, to see her as- Yes! Like Mel, she knows what she wants. She’s intuitive. I should focus on this intuitive side. She acts on her impulses. She’d let herself go if only- I can’t concentrate. Think Celine. If only she weren’t ignored. Yes! She’s the person you see but don’t see. You love but don’t know it until- Hmm… That’s it! Until she starts exuding- Oh my, Mel. What is it? Raw desire? For me? This is working! She sees into me, reads my desire. She knows- God, I feel strange- She knows I’m seeing our clothes fly off, the two of us groping for a comfortable place, out of breath, each of us trying to- Oh Mel, yes! Don’t stop….