The Broken Lines Trilogy
By Sam Nicodemo
An Excerpt from the Full Piece
Produced by the York College of PA Theater Dept.
Copyright 2014; All Rights Reserved
Cast
Charlie:Simply dressed.
Emily:Oppositely dressed to Noah. A little plainer.
Will: Plainly dressed.
Noah:Dressed in wilder clothing than the rest of the cast. A little more eccentric.
Kyle:Dressed with a punker style. Possibly tattoos or piercings.
Mr. Hendricks: An older man than the rest of the cast. Dressed in a corporate manner.
The story takes place in a city area. The past and present will be separated in some manner.
(The set is separated in half.)
(Lights illuminate just one side.)
(This half has a desk and a typewriter. Stack of paper.)
(Charlie sits at the desk. Noises of a typewriter clacking is heard.)
Charlie: Writer’s block. Write. Er’s. Block. Hmph. (Picks up a piece of paper.) A. Blank. Piece. Of
paper. A blank canvas lays before me. And. Not one thought. Not a theme. A tone. Location. I…
I am characterless. I…
(Enter Emily with a glass.)
Emily: (Mocking.) By the dramatics I hear, I wouldn’t say you have writer’s block. (Kisses Charlie
on the cheek. She puts the glass in front of him.) Why do you have a block?
Charlie: My pages are due. They’re due in a week and I have nothing to show for this passed
couple of months. (Flails his arms in the air.)
Emily: (Points to the stack of paper) What do you call that, you goober. There’s four chapters,
right there. One more. You owe your publisher one more. It’s as simple as that.
Charlie: It’s far more complicated than a simple set of papers.
Emily: You’ll be fine. Just take a break. (Puts her arms around Charlie. Kisses him on the
cheek.) Come to bed. I’m sure I can help distract you for a bit with some friction in the sheets.
(She smiles and waits for him to laugh. Charlie, instead, ponders what she said.) Maybe
actually spending some time with me will inspire you. Come do something real. You’ve been
cooped up here way too long.
Charlie: Something. Real. Hm. Something. Real…
(Charlie opens a drawer looking for paper. He finds a small ring that looks as though it came out
of a vending machine. He stops looking for paper.)
Emily: What’s that?
Charlie: Huh? Oh. Nothing. Becca must’ve left in here last time she was over.
Emily: Here. I’ll toss it. It looks like it came out of cracker jack box. She doesn’t need it.
Charlie: No. I’ll give it back to her when I see her for her soccer game.
(He puts paper into the typewriter.)
(Charlie seems like he’s struck with an idea. He begins to clack on the typewriter)
Emily: I know that face. Don’t be up too late, alright. I’m tired of having to sleep alone because
of your characters. (She slowly leaves the stage, angered.)
Charlie: (Calls after her.) Emily. Wait. I’m. I’m sorry. I have to get this down on paper. It’s
important.
Emily: It’s always important.
(Charlie rips out the paper from his typewriter. He adds a blank page. He begins to type.)
(The light fades out on the one side and brightens the other side of the stage.)
(Charlie is there. Noah is holding a candy bar out in front of him.)
Noah: (Whispers.) It’s a candy bar. Charlie. Don’t be a pussy. (Waves the bar in his face.)
Charlie: Don’t call me a pussy.
Noah: Then don’t…
(Charlie takes the candy bar from Noah’s hands and stuffs it in his pocket.)
Charlie: I’m no pussy.
(Charlie walks forward a bit.)
Noah: (Yells.) That’s why I like ya! No pussy! Ladies and gents! He has no pussy! He’s got a
candy bar and it’s always happy to see me!
(Charlie looks over his shoulder, embarrassed.)
(Lights switch once more.)
(The typewriter clacks away.)
(Charlie, slightly more disheveled looking, types away.)
(Enter Will.)
Will: Emily told me you’ve been locked up here for all night. Did you forget? Your goddaughter’s
soccer game?
Charlie: Shit! Will. I’m. I’m sorry. I got consumed. You know how it is.
Will: All. Too. Well. At least I used to. I’m a dad now, dude. I traded that consumption in for a
new kind of consumption. Her name is Becca. So. How’s it coming? Em said you were on a roll.
She made me wait an hour downstairs ’til I could come up here.
Charlie: She did?
Will: Yeah. She yelled at me. She made me wait until your clacking stopped. Her words. Charlie.
She’s respects the process. Not many people respect the process. Amy doesn’t.
Charlie: I know. She’s great. You don’t have to tell me. I’m marrying her…soon.
Will: Indeed. So. How’s it going? (Points to the typewriter.) I have to admit I’m intrigued. Jealous.
But. Intrigued as well. Did you blow through that last chapter for the publishers last night or
what? We’re all excited to see what happens. Amy keeps asking me when the sequel’s
gonna be ready. She wants to know what happens to Erika and Connor. What’s next for the
“Broken Lines Trilogy?”
Charlie: Why would I tell you?
Will: Nice.
Charlie: Noah.
Will: Noah?
Charlie: Yes. Noah. A new character. A triangle.
Will: Huh. A triangle. Erika is forced to choose…That could really work.
Charlie: Connor.
Will: Yes. (Stares to the sky, working through Charlie’s idea.) After being pushed to the edge,
she chooses Connor because…or maybe Noah. I always thought Connor was a bit of a wussy
character. I never understood your thinking in making him a lead.
Charlie: No. (Angered by Will’s opinions of his character development.) Noah is a girl. She’s an
obstacle for Connor.
Will: But the book is about Erika. Connor is too…
Charlie: A wuss? I. I don’t think it is. I don’t think it is about her. Not. Anymore. Maybe the story’s
actually about him?
Will: Huh. That’s. That’s a thought.
Charlie: You hate it. That’s why I hate sharing my ideas with you. Your always (In a voice
mocking Will.) “Huh. That sucks, Charlie. Huh. Stick with what got you the gig. Huh. Oh why is
the guy such a wuss?”
Will: I don’t sound like that!
Charlie: You do a little. Admit it.
Will: I guess. Whatever. So who’s Noah?
Charlie: He meets her at a mall. See. She’s really into film.
(Typewriter clacking.)
(Lights fade and switch.)
(There’s a camera and tripod now on this side of the set.)
Noah: Okay. (Messes with the tripod.) You’re looking for a clock. You can’t find one. That’s when
you ask the stranger if he knows…
Kyle: Noah.
Noah: Huh?
Kyle: There’s nobody playing the stranger.
Noah: Just ask a random person. No big deal.
Kyle: No! I’m not gonna act to a random stranger. I am and actor! And that. Is unprofessional,
Noah.
Noah: Don’t be so dramatic.
(Enter Charlie wearing a different shirt, walking with headphones in his ears.)
Noah: Excuse me. Excuse. Me. Hey!
(Charlie is startled. He pulls out an earbud.)
Kyle: Noah!
Noah: Can you help me?
Charlie: Huh? Me?
Noah: Yeah. Your face would look lovely on camera. It’s so angular.
Charlie: On camera?
Noah: Yes. Be in my short film. Please. It’ll take a minute.
Charlie: Uh. I don’t do well with stuff like that. I’m not very outgoing.
Noah: You’re not outgoing?
Charlie: Yeah. I get nervous. And. I just wouldn’t be very good. Trust me.
Noah: You’re talking to a random stranger. Who asked you to be in their movie…
Kyle: Aggressively.
Noah: Shush! Can’t get more awkward than that. Besides. It’s one line.
Charlie: Uh. I don’t act. I’m not…
Noah: Very busy. So you’ll help me?
Kyle: Just agree to it. Her stubbornness is what makes her so lovely. (He smiles with a sarcastic
undertone.) She’s like a surge of lightening energy.
Charlie: Sure.
Noah: Awesome! Okay I wan’t you to dramatically tell him it’s almost ten o’clock. Then he’s
gonna yell at you and shake you and he’ll run out of the shot and you shrug and walk out of the
shot to the right here. Okay?
Charlie: Simple enough.
Noah: Thank you. Thank you…I’m Noah by the way.
Charlie: Charlie. My name’s Charlie.
(V.O.)
Charlie: (Narrates over the scene.)(A typewriter clacking can be heard.) He couldn’t pinpoint
what made Noah so intriguing. Was it that she was a book Connor had yet to open? Or, was it
because meeting her was like being struck by lightening? Either way. Noah was something.
(Lights fade and switch.)
(Typewriter clacking. Charlie is on a roll.)
Charlie: He needed to know her story. (Enter Emily wearing different clothes.) Luckily, it would
not be the last time he ever saw Noah, the stubborn Spielberg. Stubborn. Spielberg. Hm.
Emily: Who’s Noah?
Charlie: Huh? A new character. She’s gonna be part of the conflict. There’s gotta be some
conflict. That’s what I was missing. Friction.
Emily: What? Why? They’re in love. What’s wrong with just being happy?
Charlie: People aren’t always happy. I’m write realism not fairy tales. It’s impossible to happy all
the time. We’re not always happy.
Emily: (Angered.) Oh. No?
Charlie: Oh. Come…I didn’t mean it that way. (He reaches for Emily and she pulls away.) Emily.
I’m sorry. I’m just trying to say. It’s impossible in every moment of your life… being happy.
Although, I would say, whenever you’re around, I’m nothing but happy. Even though you’re mad,
I’m happy, because I have you here to be mad at me.
Emily: I’m not mad for you writing. It’s your career. I just wish…you didn’t have to isolate
yourself so much when you write. And. I hate you. (Sits on his lap.) I hate that your so good with
words. I hate it. It makes it impossible to stay mad at you.
Charlie: It’s the truth.
Emily: See. Impossible. You say sweet crap like that and then you look at me with your stupid
face and I’m. I’m just smitten all over again.
Charlie: Well. Who can resist the sweet smell of crap? (He kisses her.)
Emily: Shut up. I hate you.
Charlie: I hate you too.
(Charlie kisses Emily.)
Charlie: What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?
Emily: I don’t know. Why?
Charlie: I don’t know just curious. I guess.
Emily: I like the rules, Charlie. Doing crazy things, it’s childish.
Charlie: I stole a candy bar once.
Emily: Oh you used to live on the edge.
Charlie: So what do you think of my writing. You read the first book. Am I even any good?
Emily: I. I. It was good. I like how you modeled our love after Erika’s and Connor’s. You made
her just like me.
Charlie: I did?
Emily: Yeah.
Charlie: I gotta get back to writing. (Charlie motions to get Emily off his lap.)
Emily: What, babe?
Charlie: Nothing. I just have work to do.
Emily: You always have work to do. (Emily exits.)
(Lights fade and switch to the other side of the stage.)
(Charlie stands on stage with Noah. They’re wearing different clothing.)
(Charlie and Noah sit next to each other, wearing different clothes.)
Charlie: I wish I had guts. You put everything out there. Nothing gets left behind with you. I. I
can’t do that. I wish I could. You have such an artistic talent for movies and you just throw it all
out there on screen.
Noah: You’re crazy for thinking it’s difficult. It just takes one time. One time. Put yourself out
there and then it’ll be easy. I have faith that one of these days you’ll get the guts to do
something crazy and wild. Charlie. You have it in you. It’s not filmmaking. But. I know you have
it.
Charlie: Oh yeah? What do I have?
Noah: You’re a good writer. You should pursue it. I wouldn’t mind you writing me a script or two
to use. You’re good at it. You should keep it up and let someone see it. Don’t keep it to yourself.
Charlie: How did you…
Noah: I’m a snoop. While you were in the bathroom a while back I took a peek. It’s good stuff.
Charlie: Even if it is good I don’t have…I can’t.
Noah: Suit yourself. I’m disappointed in you. I’m disappointed in how disappointing you think
you are. You’re really stupid if you don’t see how awesome you are and how much more you
could become.
(V.O)
Charlie: (Narrates from off stage.)(A typewriter clacks in the background.)(Charlie and Noah still
sit next to each other. They look at each other. They talk softly. Their not heard over Charlie in
the present.) She saw right through Connor. He finally saw what made her unique. He finally
understood what he was missing out on. She understood. She saw things in him. He had never
seen in himself. Her honesty. Her ability to see his potential. Connor had never spoken to
someone so real before. There was something different about her. She saw that there was
something different about Connor. And that not only scared him. It confused him. He was not
prepared. This motivated him to.
(Charlie plays with Noah’s hair and kisses her.)
Noah: Charlie.
(A typewriter clacks.)
