WESTWARD HO are sitting around. Maybe they smoke or do something else.
Among them is WESTWARD’S MOTHER, seated in a straight-backed chair.)
A FRIEND
I love the word “damask.”ANOTHER FRIEND
Westward is going to speak.(WESTWARD HO moves to the pulpit---a coffee table---where he clears his
throat. Spotlight on WESTWARD. He carries a shoebox.)
WESTWARD
“The Woman Who Sang the Blues” by Westward Ho.(As he speaks, he turns the shoebox around. A tiny flashlight invades the top so
that light shines in. The effect is a miniature stage. Within in, a tiny WOMAN,
with striking footwear, is splayed out on her couch. The room shows signs of
looming abandonment.)
WESTWARD (Continued)
(Declaiming)The life of the woman who sang the blues
Was mysterious; but she left some clues:
A note from a lover
Beneath a chair cover,
And a pair of Nazi-red shoes.
(The WOMAN IN THE SHOEBOX appears to glance slyly. Of course, she
cannot move. The performance finished, lights go back to normal.)
A FRIEND
Very good. I need to refill my drink.ANOTHER FRIEND
I saw goat cheese in the kitchen. STILL ANOTHER FRIEND
I love going out of a Saturday night.(The FRIENDS drift off. WESTWARD is left with his MOTHER, in her straight-
backed chair. They look at each other.)
WESTWARD
I know what you’re thinking.MRS. HO
You do?(She gestures to the shoebox)
That was creative use of my things.
(She sits up straighter.)
MRS. HO (Continued)
I love whatever you do.(WESTWARD walks out suddenly, ostensibly to get some goat cheese.)
THE END.
