by Laura Wade
CHRIS: Future captains of industry, then, are you?
JAMES: Some of us, yeah.
CHRIS: Alan Sugars of tomorrow.
GEORGE and Guy come back in.
GEORGE: Here I am chaps, never fear! (To JAMES.) Where d’you want me?
JAMES: Up here.
CHRIS: (To JAMES.) Just need your PIN number…
CHRIS hands the machine to James who types in his PIN.
GEORGE: Um, it’s actually just ‘PIN’.
CHRIS: Sorry?
GEORGE: The N stands for number, it’s Personal Identification Number, so if you say PIN Number, you’re actually saying Number twice.
JAMES: George –
GEORGE: You’re saying Personal Identification Number Number.
DIMITRI: Mate, come on.
JAMES: Have you had a drink?
CHRIS: I’m sorry, I didn’t –
GEORGE: (To JAMES) Couple of pints, yeah, but I wasn’t in the room yet.
(To CHRIS.) Sorry, totally didn’t mean that in a rude way, just my father always says it to me, so –
JAMES hands the machine back to CHRIS.
JAMES: I do apologise.
TOBY: (To GEORGE.) You’re going to be wasted.
GEORGE: Chaps like that offer you a drink, you don’t say no thanks.
ED: You could say P.I. Number.
HARRY: Move on, mate.
ALISTAIR: Get on well with the Wurzels, did you?
TOBY: Dims, can Ed sit with you? Please?
GEORGE: Turns out one of them used to work for my father,
DIMITRI: (To TOBY.) Your puppy, mate.
GEORGE: then he got his own farm, free-range piggies, did terribly well till the economy went, well, tits. Bloody nice chap, too. Shame.
GEORGE finds his place among the boys – they’re all standing around the table now, with one space free at the head of the table for JAMES. A slight hush descends.
CHRIS tears off JAMES’ receipt and hands his card back to him.
CHRIS: There you go, all done.
JAMES: Thanks very much. OK.
JAMES comes to the table. CHRIS sees the boys’ silence and interprets it as his cue.
CHRIS: Right then. Well, evening gentlemen – welcome to the Bull’s Head, very glad to have you here this evening, hope you’ll have a great night.
Please sit down – make yourselves at home…
The boys all look at JAMES – they can’t sit before the president. He considers for a moment, but it’s too complicated to explain the protocol to CHRIS, so he sits.
The others are hesitant, looking at JAMES.
JAMES: (Almost under his breath.) Sit down, guys.
The others sit.
CHRIS: Great. So just a bit of housekeeping before we start serving your dinner. Firstly, this might be a private dining room, but I’m afraid you can’t smoke in here. If you do want to pop out there’s a patio out the back – you just go out of here, down the corridor to the left and through the fire door. Which is also your fire exit. And there’s a lavatory just adjacent, for your private use so you don’t have to go through the main bar to access the facilities.
Now, hope you’re all hungry, no vegetarians around the table, I trust.
TOBY: Villiers only eats pussy.
JAMES: No, there’s no vegetarians.
CHRIS: And you want to go straight onto the wine, and leave the champagne until later, yes?
HUGO: We’ve got plans for the champagne.
CHRIS: Let’s get some wine going, then –
CHRIS goes to the sideboard and picks up a bottle of wine already open there.
MILES: What happens with the champagne?
HUGO: Sabrage. Wait, you’ve chosen the wine already?
CHRIS: (To GUY.) Would you care to taste it?
MILES: I thought sabrage was a sexual thing.
HUGO: Bellingfield?
HARRY: Frottage, mate.
HUGO: (To GUY.) Who made you Bottlemeister?
GUY: Goes with the job of the food. Problem?
HUGO: Like asking a builder to do a Faberge egg.
GUY: D’you want to try it?
A murmur of anticipation goes around the table.
GEORGE: Careful, Huge.
HUGO looks at the others, narrowing his eyes. They look back challengingly.
HUGO: I’ll happily. Test it.
The boys silently watch as CHRIS goes to HUGO and pours a little wine into his glass.
CHRIS: Bought this in specially, we don’t normally have it.
GUY: Bespoke service.
There is almost an intake of breath as HUGO slowly lifts the glass to his mouth. But instead of drinking it, he breathes deeply, inhaling the smell.
The boys breathe out, suppressing giggles.
HUGO looks at the label on the bottle in CHRIS’ hand.
HUGO: Bordeaux? Odd choice.
GUY: Bourgogne. Burgundy.
HUGO: It isn’t.
CHRIS looks at the label on the wine.
CHRIS: Oh heck, sorry, bottles must have got mixed up.
JAMES: What’s the problem?
GUY: No no, don’t worry – can we just pour the right one instead?
TOBY: What’s wrong with that wine?
CHRIS: Yeah, it’s still in the cellar, though.
DIMITRI: It’s the wrong one.
TOBY: It’s wine, isn’t it?
DIMITRI: There’s a different wine for each course, yeah?
GUY: D’you think we could fetch it, the right one?
DIMITRI: So what’s happened is Bellingfield’s gone the extra mile and got a pre-dinner wine as well. Because he’s awesome.
JAMES: What’s wrong with the wine, Huge?
HUGO: Just a bit Christmassy for this stage of the meal.
GUY: It’s not for this stage of the meal, it’s for the main course, it’ll go perfectly –
CHRIS: We got a whole case of it, like you asked – quite a lot for ten people.
The boys look to JAMES, in need of a decision.
HUGO: We should be drinking the right one, shouldn’t we, Leighton?
CHRIS: How about I just swap them – serve this now and the other one later?
GEORGE: They’re both made out of grapes, right?
GUY: No, but Leighton –
JAMES: Pour it, thank you.
CHRIS: Righto. Sorry about that.
CHRIS starts to go around the table, pouring the wine.
JAMES: Don’t worry, happens to the best of us.
DIMITRI: Oh dear, Bellingfield. Awkward.
CHRIS is close to ALISTAIR and jostles his elbow slightly as he leans in to pour his wine.
CHRIS: Oh, sorry.
ALISTAIR takes the bottle from CHRIS.
ALISTAIR: Please – may I?
CHRIS: Want to be a waitress, do you?
ALISTAIR: Sommelier.
CHRIS: OK, well.
JAMES stands up, ushers CHRIS towards the door.
JAMES: Thanks Chris, that’s great.
CHRIS: Your starters’ll be along in a minute. Just ask if there’s anything else you need.
JAMES: Thank you. Thanks everso much.
CHRIS leaves. JAMES shuts the door behind him, then turns around to the others:
Gentlemen – let’s do this.
GEORGE: Hurrah!
TOBY: Fuck yeah!
They all jump up and stand behind their chairs again. JAMES walks back to the head of the table.
The bottle of wine is passed around and empty glasses filled.
GUY: Can I just say that was his fuckup about the wine, not mine?
DIMITRI: Mate, it just got a bit complicated.
HUGO: Smells like good wine, it’ll be great with the Chicken Kiev –
GUY: It’s not –
HUGO: Or whatever the big surprise is.
JAMES: OK, starting blocks, chaps, know you’re all raring to go. Nice work, Hugo, dodging a scrunch for drinking before the president.
HUGO: I t
hank you.
TOBY: Come on, let’s go!
JAMES: Let’s have a bit of order, yeah? Remember this isn’t a democracy.
The boys laugh and quieten down.
So. Good evening gentlemen, welcome to the Bull’s Head. My name’s James Leighton-Masters and I’ll be your president for this evening. Now, just a few Health and Safety procedures to go through with you….
Various shouts of ‘Boo!’ JAMES pulls out a roll of black bin liners, and holds it up.
…before we start on the proper business of the evening: getting chateaued beyond belief.
The others applaud and whoop, banging the table in delight. JAMES tears one bag off the roll and hands it round the table – they each take a bag and pass it on to the next boy.
ED: (As the bags reach him.) Party bags!
JAMES: So, just a bit of housekeeping – don’t forget there’s no leaving the room till after dinner – if you do need a piss at any point, you’ll notice there’s plenty of pot plants. Or you can do it out the window if it’s more than a quick wazz.
We’ve been a while in the wilderness, gentlemen, thanks to our bewigged friend over here – who we’ll be dealing with later –
HUGO: Not having a dregsing, are we?
TOBY: Bring it on. Two pints of milk.
GEORGE: God I’ve missed this.
JAMES: Two terms without a dinner, boys, two whole terms out in the cold. Let’s just say it hasn’t been easy. But we’ve weathered the storm, kept our heads down, our beaks clean and our faces out of the papers and we have been handsomely rewarded. Summoned back to the table, to do what we do best.
ED: Yay!
JAMES: Oh, on the proviso that we keep it quiet this time.
ALISTAIR: Boo!
JAMES: ‘Keep it contained’ – I was told. ‘I’ll do what I can’, I said, ‘but hey, all the boys want is to have the evening they deserve – and if they want to raise the roof, how could I possibly stop them?’
The others laugh.
‘How can one man stand against the might of the fucking Riot Club?’
The others bang the table in agreement.
HARRY: Legend.
JAMES: There’s a new wind blowing, gentlemen. The time for mourning is past, no more beating our breasts and howling at the moon. Now is the time to throw off our chains, to dance footloose upon the earth, to carpe some fucking diem. We’ve earned tonight, gentlemen. We’ve earned it.
So, in the name of all that is riotous, let us eat till we explode,
GEORGE: Huzzah!
JAMES: Drink till our eyes fall out,
TOBY: Hear hear!
HARRY: Yes!
JAMES: And leave a trail of glorious destruction in our wake.
The boys clap and cheer.
Hugo, will you kindly lead the President’s Toast?
HUGO stands up and raises his glass to JAMES.
HUGO: We who are about to dine, salute you.
ALL: Cenaturi Te Salutant.
JAMES: Gentlemen – imbibe.
The boys all drink to JAMES, draining their glasses then slamming them down. There’s a moment while they take a breath – some of them reel from the alcohol, some reach for the bottles and fill the glasses up again. The party has started.
DIMITRI: (To JAMES.) Mate, are we singing?
JAMES: Yeah yeah, we’re doing it now.
GUY: So patriotic, it’s sweet.
JAMES: Hugo?
The boys prepare to sing. HUGO gives the first note.
HUGO: Maaaaaaaah.
The boys pick up the note and sing the national anthem.
CHRIS opens the door to bring in the starters, but hesitates because of the singing. He nods in approval, then joins in. The boys turn to look, and with the shock their singing peters out. CHRIS is left singing God Save The Queen on his own, with a plate of pâté de foie gras in each hand.
Blackout.
SCENE 3
Later. The boys are finishing their pâté. GEORGE is standing up.
DIMITRI: Don’t know, just a slightly odd texture.
GUY: If you don’t like it, don’t eat it.
DIMITRI: Just a bit gritty, that’s all.
JAMES: I don’t think it’s gritty.
GUY: Ironic really. Cousins in Greece eating actual grit right now.
ED: Have they run out of houmous?
TOBY: Debt crisis, you wad.
GEORGE: I’ll eat it. Woofed mine down already. Yum, Bellingfield.
DIMITRI and GEORGE swap plates.
DIMITRI: Just had better, that’s all.
GUY: What, wrapped in a vine leaf?
HUGO: (To Guy.) Will you be enlightening us as to the metaphorical import? Or is it just ‘the Riot Club in a pâté’?
DIMITRI: What’s this?
HUGO: Guy’s menu. Everything’s got a special symbolic significance.
DIMITRI: Oh, this is classic.
GUY: Foie gras: it’s hedonism, isn’t it – the ultimate extravagance. That’s what we stand for.
DIMITRI: Classic.
ED: I thought that was caviar.
DIMITRI: Don’t they force-feed them?
GUY: What?
DIMITRI: The geese, yeah? Force-feed them till they get massively distended livers?
HUGO: Gavage.
DIMITRI: Awesome metaphor, mate.
GEORGE: Uh, chaps, still waiting here.
JAMES: Guys, yeah, sorry – everyone finished?
ALISTAIR: Balf hasn’t.
GEORGE: Reward for after. Toast before toast.
JAMES: Guys – Balf’s doing the Lady Anne.
The boys quieten down and listen. MILES goes to stand up, but HUGO stops him.
HUGO: We sit for this one.
GEORGE: Gentlemen:
GEORGE raises his glass.
the Lady Anne.
HUGO: Is that it?
GEORGE: What?
HUGO: You’re not going to say anything about her beauty or –
GEORGE: Not so good with the wordy stuff, I –
ED: Who’s Lady Anne?
HUGO: Lord Riot’s girlfriend, mistress whatever, the one he was in love with.
JAMES: Don’t worry about it Balf, it’s fine.
HUGO: No, it’s – if it weren’t for Lady Anne, the club wouldn’t exist, would it?
DIMITRI goes to stand up.
DIMITRI: I’ll do it.
JAMES: Not this one, Dims.
DIMITRI: What, too dusky for you?
MILES: Why can’t Dimitri do it?
ALISTAIR: Have to be titled.
GUY: God, protocol, Dims.
ED: I thought Lord Riot started the club.
HUGO: The club was founded in his honour.
ED: Yeah, OK, yeah.
HUGO: Did your sponsor not explain all this to you?
TOBY: What, I’m supposed to give him tutorials, like sit him down and –
GEORGE: Guys I would dearly love to eat this pâté.
HUGO: Do the toast properly, then. Extemporise.
ED: So the club was started by a girl?
HUGO: Riot’s friends started the club to honour his memory.
JAMES: Sit down, Balf.
HUGO: No. It’s supposed to be a moving tribute to her finer qualities, yes?
GEORGE: OK, um. Well. She was very very beautiful and very very nice and I think any of us would have been lucky to have the opportunity to fight a duel for her, um, honour, though I think I probably wouldn’t have got a second glance off her, being as I am, a bit of a tool.
HARRY: Oh, mate.
GEORGE: The Lady Anne.
ALL: The Lady Anne.
They all drink the wine down in one and slam the empty glass down on the table. They reach for the bottles and fill the glasses up again.
ED: Lord Riot was the first president, though, right?
ALISTAIR: How could he be if he was already dead?
ED: When did he die?
HUGO: In the duel. Defending her honour.
ED: So Lord Riot was never in the Riot Club?
TOBY: Fuck’s sake what’s wrong with you –
ED: Sorry Tubes.
MILES: When did the smashing start?
HUGO: Later addition. Much later.
CHRIS and RACHEL come in.
CHRIS: We clear these plates out of your way, lads?
JAMES: Absolutely.
Several of the boys stand up as RACHEL comes into the room.
CHRIS: This is Rachel – she’ll be helping me out serving you this evening.
HARRY: Hello.
JAMES: Hello Rachel.
RACHEL: Please, you don’t need to –
ED: Hi Rachel.
GUY: Sorry, Dimitri would like to know if you’ve got any Taramasalata hanging about.
GEORGE: Yeah, chap needs his fish eggs, d’you have any?
JAMES: Guys –
CHRIS: Um, Rachel, have we got any taramasalata?
RACHEL: No Dad.
GEORGE: Or any Euros?
ED: Dad! Is he your dad?
CHRIS: Rachel’s my daughter, yes.
GUY: We need pitta bread and Euros!
RACHEL: It’s a joke, Dad – I think he’s Greek.
TOBY: Yeah, jokes.
DIMITRI: Sorry, Rachel – trouble with Guy is he’s hilarious.
JAMES: Did we mention the pâté was excellent?
HUGO: Exemplary!
CHRIS: Thanks very much. Michael will be chuffed. The chef.
HARRY: So, father and daughter team, then?
RACHEL: Yeah, Frank and Nancy Sinatra.
ED: Like Miley Cyrus and. Miley Cyrus’s dad.
CHRIS: Just passing through, aren’t you love? – she’s got a degree.
RACHEL: Oh, everyone’s got a degree, Dad –
CHRIS: Job market, you know?
JAMES: Yeah, tough, isn’t it?
CHRIS: I mean you’d think she’d just walk into something, with a first.
RACHEL: (To TOBY.) You finished?
TOBY blinks, flustered.
TOBY: Wuuurm – I mean yeah.
HUGO: A first? Felicitations.
GEORGE: Which college, Rachel?
RACHEL: Newcastle.
GEORGE: Is that near LMH?
HARRY: Mate, some people go to universities that aren’t Oxford.
GEORGE: Oh yeah.
HARRY: Sorry, he’s had a very sheltered life.
CHRIS: She could have gone to Oxford, didn’t want to.
JAMES: Full of idiots like this lot, isn’t it?
HARRY: What d’you read?
RACHEL: Modern Languages.
