Week 11, Day 73 - “A Ghost’s Story”

“A Ghost’s Story”
Written by Joe Janes
4/1/09
73 of 365

CAST
Franklin, 30s
Jenny, 30s
Victor, 70
Mata Hari, 30s

(Lights up on Franklin in bed, looking over mail, including a large, stuffed manila envelope. Jenny gets in to bed for the night.)

JENNY

Any good news?

FRANKLIN

Just bills.

JENNY

What’s that one?

FRANKLIN

Another returned manuscript.

JENNY

Not your new novel?

FRANKLIN

No. My agent’s on top of that. It’ll get picked up. This is, you know, Victor’s memoirs. “An Admiral’s Life.”

JENNY

An admiral’s long, boring, tedious life. At least you kept your part of the bargain and, thank God, so did Victor.

FRANKLIN

Yeah. You’re right, Jenny. At least he’s resting peacefully, now. Good night.

JENNY

Night, sweetie.

(They kiss and turn off the lights. After a moment, they hear ghostly wailing.)

JENNY (continuing)

Franklin…Franklin…Did you hear that?

(Franklin sits up. There’s another low wailing sound.)

FRANKLIN

Please let it be the wind.

JENNY

I don’t think it is.

VICTOR

Oh-h-h-h-h-h…Oh, hell. Wake up, would you?

(Franklin turns on the light. Standing at the end of the bed is Victor, a retired Admiral from World War I, in uniform. Oh, and he’s dead. And by that, I mean, a ghost.)

FRANKLIN

Hello, Victor.

JENNY

Victor. Long time no see.

VICTOR

Mrs. Delarose. Sorry to awaken you.

(Long pause as Victor looks off and Jenny and Franklin exchange glances.)

FRANKLIN

Victor. We had a deal. I write your memoirs and you stop haunting our house.

VICTOR

That is correct. We are men of our word, aren’t Franklin?

FRANKLIN

Then what brings you here?

VICTOR

You wrote the book, but where’s the book?

JENNY

There’s one right here.

VICTOR

I see it here. I only see it here. Why am I not seeing it at Borders?

JENNY

You go to Borders?

FRANKLIN

Books don’t just magically appear at Borders, like you apparently do. A publisher has to publish it and then distribute it.

VICTOR

Oh. I see. I’m just being impatient, is that it?

FRANKLIN

Yes, and, perhaps, a little unrealistic.

VICTOR

How do you mean?

FRANKLIN

My agent won’t touch it. I’ve piled up twenty rejection slips peddling this book on my own. Publishers don’t seem too keen to get your story out to the people.

VICTOR

But, I was an admiral in The Great War.

FRANKLIN

Yes, but…

JENNY

Just tell him, Franklin.

VICTOR

Yes, Franklin, tell me.

FRANKLIN

You were the most mind-numbingly dull admiral in the history of the world.

VICTOR

How dare you!

FRANKLIN

Let me read some of the rejection slips…(He picks up a pile of letters from a desk)…Ho Hum… Interminable… Vapid… Monotonous… Didn’t this guy do anything?...Too dry for our tastes…This would be great if we wanted our business to fail…Sorry about the blood stains, I stabbed out my eyes… And you know what, Victor? They’re right.

VICTOR

You just haven’t found the right one, yet. What’s the one that Oprah likes?

JENNY

Victor, you’re not listening. Here’s your book… As dictated by you to my husband… I’ll just flip through and read at random… “Monday morning, Sept 17th, 1910. Today I drank six ounces of tomato juice. It upset my tum-tum. I will try it again tomorrow. After that, it’s back to reliable old orange juice, sans pulp.”… “Thursday afternoon, May 13th, 1915. Today, I was to meet with the president of the United States…

VICTOR

That’s interesting!

JENNY

…but he cancelled and I ended up having tea with Army Colonel Jessup. He drinks his oolong straight. I don’t know how he does that.” And then it goes on about how you don’t remember what you talked about because you were busy wondering why the lemons were sliced so thin. For two pages.

VICTOR

They were absurdly thin. Try again. The good stuff’s near the end.

JENNY

…”As I got older, I realized it is the little things I will miss the most. On this one spring morning in 1928, I had a rough go at having a pleasant bowel movement.”

VICTOR

I still miss that.

FRANKLIN

Victor, I’m sorry. Your life was mundane. You didn’t fight in any battles, you weren’t married, no children. No rocking the boat. No out-of-control substance abuse. There’s no story here.

VICTOR (tearing up)

Well… Here, I thought… I just wanted people to remember me… At my funeral, the only people who were there were the ones who had to officially be there. None of them knew me, personally.

JENNY

We’ll remember you, Victor.

VICTOR

As a dullard.

FRANKLIN

Not true. You scared the hell out of us when you started showing up. I’ll never forget that.

VICTOR

You’re just trying to be nice.

(Mata Hari enters.)

MATA

There you are, Victor! Oh, hello.

VICTOR

Mata Hari, this is Franklin and his lovely wife, Jenny.

FRANKLIN

Mata Hari?

MATA HARI

Yep. Victor, Marilyn Monroe is trying maraschino cherry stems with her tongue. Thought you’d want to be there.

VICTOR

Just the thing to cheer me up.

FRANKLIN

You party with Marilyn Monroe and Mata Hari?

VICTOR

Sure. It’s the afterlife. Eternity. No hangovers. What else are we suppose to do?

MATA HARI

Some of us get hung up on legacy, from time-to-time. Are you done worrying about that silly book?

VICTOR

I do believe I am. Let’s go, pet.

FRANKLIN

Wait. Victor. This is your book.

JENNY

Your afterlife is far more interesting than your life ever was.

VICTOR

Oh, the stories I could tell. Stalin and Gandhi experimenting. Saucy stuff. The party really kicked in when Reverend Falwell hit the scene.

MATA HARI

But this guy’s the real party animal. I can’t keep my hands off him.

VICTOR

It’s the uniform.

FRANKLIN

Victor – let me write the story of your afterlife. I promise you I can get that published.

(He looks at Mata Hari for a moment.)

VICTOR

Nah – I’m not one to kiss and tell. See you on the other side.

MATA HARI

Tah-tah!

(They exit. Franklin and Jenny look at each other dumbfounded.)

JENNY

He is pretty hot in that uniform.

(Blackout)