Audition Arsenal for Women in their 20's

by Janet B Milstein

  YOUTHFUL/NAÏVE

  Pensacola

  By David-Matthew Barnes

  Marie: young adult

  Comic

  On her first date with a Cuban pizza-delivery man, an exuberant, fantastical, and very Southern Marie confesses her strategy to become the next Miss Florida.

  MARIE: I’ve been studying all night to become Miss Florida. I just never realized it until just recently that this is my calling. Now, let me tell you what I found in my studies. I didn’t care much for Miss Jamie Lynn Bolding. She won way back in 1996 and her talent was lyrical ballet. How tacky. But I simply died when I discovered Miss Kristin Alicia Beall Ludecke. She was Miss Florida five thousand years ago in 1995 — and she was wonderful. Very classy and elegant. Her platform issue was self-esteem through music and the arts and then she sang opera. It was something foreign and breathtaking. Sort of like you. And I just loved Miss Jennifer DelGallo. Now she was Miss Pensacola in 1996 and she sang the hell out of (She actually sings this, very operatic:) “Don’t Rain on My Parade!” I swear to you when I read about this, the hair on my scalp stood up when I imagined her performing. I was beside myself. I nearly peed my pants. And her platform issue was the value of the family. Couldn’t you just die? She was so brave in those democratic times. I’m gonna write to her, a belated letter of support. And I’ll tell her about my plans. Maybe I’ll even take her to lunch. Some place healthy and Christian. Up until last night, around midnight, I wanted to go to secretary school. But now, I have opted for a more glamorous and socially fulfilling career choice. (She stands on the sofa and looks out at an imaginary crowd.) I’m gonna become Miss Florida and feed starving children in Third-World countries. It came to me in a dream, a vision I had last night. I saw myself, in a bathing suit with cute polka dots. I was wearing a tiara and a sash and I was surrounded by hungry children. And I was feeding them pizza and they all loved me. And the President of the United States of America was there and he shook my hand and he said to me, “Miss Florida, Miss Marie Baker, you have changed the world.” I smiled. (She does.) I waved. (She does.) I even cried. (She starts to and stops.) There was a video crew there and they shot the whole thing and in my dream it was being sold on television for only $19.95. So, as an American girl, I feel compelled to make my dreams come true. (Pause.) I just haven’t told Mama yet.

  Shattered

  By Lindsay Price

  Hannah: teetering on the fence between childhood and adulthood. She’s a lower-class romantic who works as a secretary. Twenty.

  Dramatic

  Hannah sits on the beach in the middle of the night, drinking from a bottle of scotch. She’s just found out she’s pregnant. In the play, there are seven versions of Hannah at different ages. In this monologue Hannah at twenty talks to Hannah at seventy.

  HANNAH: You should come and sit over here. I’ve managed to carve out the exact spot where the water comes up over my toes. Come on. I’m celebrating. I just got off the phone with the doctor an hour ago. I got off the phone, went straight to the liquor store and kept on walking till I ended up here. I can’t go home. I can’t go to the office. I can’t tell my mother, I can’t tell John. John. John. John. Mr. Roberts. Can I get you some more coffee Mr. Roberts? Mail is on your Roberts Mr. Desk! Roberts. Did you know people used to think that if a girl had a very hot bath and drank castor oil at the same time the baby inside her would disappear? Just like that. Poof, disappear. Wouldn’t that be great? One hot bath, and poof. John’s baby. John’s big old baby. My boss’ baby. John Philip Arthur Roberts. I have never met anyone with two middle names before. I’m supposed to call him John. Mr. Roberts in the office but outside the office I’m supposed to call him John. Like we’re close or something. He’s really good looking. He has almost purple eyes. I’ve never known anyone with almost purple eyes before. (She sighs.) I want to bury myself in the sand and drink scotch. Maybe it will work. Maybe the baby will disappear.

  Knock

  By Lauren Kettler

  Miranda: in her early twenties. She is, as she mentions, blind. A touch of the Southern belle makes her seem almost fragile, a handicap she’d kill to overcome.

  Seriocomic

  The action takes place in a semi-decent motel room somewhere in Key West. Miranda is down from Tallahassee for the weekend with boyfriend Lem. When a despondent Lem apparently shoots himself, Miranda takes refuge in Joy’s room next door. Thus begins the unlikely bonding of two very different women, both in the throes of facing their respective fears. As the monologue begins, Miranda is still coming to terms with the evening’s shocking events

  MIRANDA: You know the worst part? Somewhere inside me I feel almost giddy. I do. Not because Lem is, you know … gone. Not because of that. It’s just there’s this other part of me, the part that’s been unsure for as long as I’ve known that boy whether he’s the one I really want. Which is OK, right? I mean, you don’t have to go and marry every guy you hook up with, do you? I just got it in my fool head that there’s someone else out there for me. Someone who won’t care that I’m blind, who’ll love me anyway, just like Lem. Only, I’ll love him back without an ounce of reservation. I won’t be worrying all the time about having my freedom. And I won’t be getting mad at him either every time he says he loves me. Or asks me to be his wife, and makes all kinds of plans around it, like getting ourselves married on some crazy old boat out there on the third largest barrier reef in the world. The very first time he asks me, I’ll tell him yes, without one hesitation. So he won’t be asking me a million times a day, or doing anything really stupid like proposing on the scoreboard at half-time at a Seminoles football game. Or shooting himself in the head. This time it’d be different. Because I’d know it’s right. In my heart I’d know it. Wouldn’t that be something? You know, when you can’t see, there’s a whole universe the seeing world doesn’t even know about. It’s like your imagination has full run of your mind, if you know what I mean. And I can see him. I don’t know what he looks like, but I can see the dumb bastard. I just don’t know how the heck to find him, that’s all.

  Black Flamingos

  By Julius Galacki

  Ev: “I’m not crazy, Toby. I just got one extra voice in my head.” Mid-twenties to early thirties. A child-woman, who maintains a disarming innocence; she is physically identical to Cecilia, however her hair is uncombed and she wears soiled clothing — like an untended little girl.

  Seriocomic

  Ev, short for Evangeline, lives with Isaac in the middle of nowhere in an abandoned gas station. Tobias’ car has broken down nearby and he has walked over for help. Instead, Isaac has drugged him and then tied him to a rock out in the hot sun. In this scene, Ev has already explained to Tobias that Isaac is a demon and will most certainly kill Tobias when he returns. She’d like to go free herself, but can’t so she certainly couldn’t help him. Now, desperate, Toby lies by responding positively to her previously stated romantic interest in him: “And when I’m your husband, don’t you want him — me — to live?”

  EV: Very much, I want you to be my husband, Tobias. You see, you know who, he’s impotent. Demons are always impotent. That’s why they want to kill. A long time ago, God cut off their penises and then promised to give them back only if they did his bidding. But God lied. He wouldn’t give them back. It’s population control, see, demons live forever. He wanted more people than demons on this earth, ’cause God likes to see people die. It’s all about a harmony in his head. So, demons kill as many people as they can — on the road, in the air, coming out of tubs. Demons are everywhere, dickless and pissed off. And that makes God happy.

  home

  By Heather Taylor

  Cil: twenty-three

  Dramatic

  Cil left home at eighteen and swore never to return. In hopes to save up money to make a big move to South America, she goes back and finds herself slipping back into the familiar patterns of home. This monologue ends the play. Cil is at the worktable at the factory surrounded by piles of basins, etc. Sh
e is speaking to Tracy, a new worker. As Cil goes through the instructions of how to polish basins, she does what she is saying with ease. In the end she leaves the audience with the question — will she ever leave?

  CIL: It’s easy, ya know? Tracy it’s Tracy, right? All ya do is take the brush and do a quick clean. Then polish. Wipe it down. Then put ’em there. You’ll get the hang of it. (Silence.) You know in South America, there’s these places that are just fields of salt. You can walk clean across the whole thing and it’s like this big desert and it feels like your footprints are the first ones that have ever touched that place. The winds just blow over after and they disappear ya know? Manda, that’s my sister, she thinks it’s the same thing as those blizzards that sweep in sometimes but it’s not. The whole place is different — like it’s gentle and quiet with these parts — they’re just all green and lush and wild. And families let you come right in — I mean you could just eat a meal with them and everything even though they ain’t got much to give. Not like that would happen here. (Pause.) I’m savin’ up ya know. It won’t be too long then I’ll head down. Think Manda’s gonna come too. I mean she’s at college and all that but when I’m gone she’s gonna come back here and save up. She’ll get my job when I leave — just wanted to let you know. Just in case you thought you’d get to move up and all that. But if you work hard, you could always get it after she goes … not too much longer. Oh and you’d like her. She’s great. It’s so weird, always thought she’s just a kid but she’s not ya know. She really isn’t. A friend maybe. She could be a great friend. (Pause.) Ya know, it’s gonna be great down there in South America — and I’ve been practicing. Got the tape right here. (Cil shows the tape player in her pocket.) No one minds really. Just listen to it in one ear anyway. But I’ve been around for awhile, ya know, so don’t think you can do it too. Got one for Manda for her birthday — I don’t want to be the only one who can speak down there. God it’s gonna be great … and the coolest thing is you can hear monkeys chattering in the jungles and you can sleep on the edge of it on the sand between the palm trees and the ocean and feel completely safe. Just you and the ocean. Just you and the ocean, ya know? It’ll be just me and Manda and the ocean.

  Mud People

  By Keith Huff

  Barb: twenties to thirties

  Seriocomic

  Barb is an emotionally scarred woman with a young daughter, the product of an incestuous relationship. In this scene, she speaks to Clay Radley, a milk-truck driver who is very much in love with her and proposes every time he stops by the diner owned by Barb’s family. Barb is obviously lying through her teeth in this scene. But her lies go beyond subterfuge: She becomes almost childlike in her presentation — the fallout of years of abuse and emotional mistrust.

  BARB: My husband’s name is Adam. Adam’s a better man than you’ll ever be. He’s got morals and clean fingernails and shaves every day. Not just in-between milk loads. He’s a lawyer in Hurley. And he’s contemplating running for public office some day. He’s got aspirations more than a tooth-picking gear-grinder and he don’t smell like one, neither. Adam’s decent. I tell him something’s X-Y-Z he believes me: X-Y-Z. He don’t go sucking up the cheap gossip drool from out between the planks-a tavern floors around Claybourne Rising and taking that over the worda the girl give her heart to him. Fact is, he was by Tuesday last in a real car close to the ground with four doors to ask me how’d I’d like living in a house by the lake with a pier. Soon’s the arrangements’re made we’re setting the day. So, Clay Radley, you can quit oozing your romantic snake-oil charms on an involved woman. He ain’t pluck-bald on the top for one. He ain’t bow-legged for another. And he don’t smoke or drink beer for a third thing ’cause he knows it’s bad for you. His hair’s got this black raven smooth quality what looks almost purple in the moonlight dark. Plus he’s got crystal blue–sky eyes you look into what sometime tell the future. They ain’t yellow and bloodshot and tell you nothing but what he been drinking last night or how long he’s been driving. And his mustache … it’s a lot like his hair only it’s got little flecks-a gray. Not ’cause Adam’s old. Mostly ’cause he’s distinguished looking like he’s been eating powder sugar donuts and forgot to wipe his mouth.

  Groom and Doom

  By Douglas Hill

  Emmie: eighteen to twenty-two, Mama’s angel and a bride-to-be, seemingly innocent girl from southeast Oklahoma

  Seriocomic

  Afraid of making a mistake, Emmie has run from her own wedding to the basement of the church. Her mother, Ann, and her maid of honor, Joanna, have followed her down there. Emmie’s nerves about getting married are only agitated by her conservative mother’s firm belief that Emmie can do no wrong and would never make a mistake.

  EMMIE: Mom, you can’t say those things about me anymore! It’s too much! (Pause.) About a year ago … Joanna and I … were drinking. And we … No — I was drunk. I did it. I was curious. And I … was curious … about her. And there’s more, but I don’t know how much I can tell you. (Pause.) We tried pot later. (Under Ann’s glare, she offers:) And there was a week when I thought I was late. And I thought about eloping because the wedding was still four months off and I didn’t want you to know. And I didn’t want a maternity wedding dress. I’ve been listening to rap music in the car … (Pause.)

  I don’t want to disappoint you, so that’s why I never said anything. Because I love you. But you can’t keep calling me “angel.” It’s too hard on me. And with all the fuckups in the past year and you thinking — (Ann starts to react.) No — that’s how I talk, Mom. For real. With all the fuckups in the past year and you thinking I was better than I am … I was afraid you’d find out that I wasn’t quite so good. And then you’d hate me. And it’s stupid, I know, but … I thought it was better to just keep you in the dark. (Pause.) So … do … do you hate me?

  Kim and Claudia Capture Death in a Box

  By Lauren D. Yee

  Kim: female, early to late twenties. A young woman with a mental disorder that has given her the intellect of a child — she is slow not stupid.

  Seriocomic

  Kim speaks to Death, whom she and her protective older sister Claudia have captured in a box. Death has been coaxing her to let him out.

  KIM: I know what you want. You want me to let you out so you can take me away. Claudia says you can’t trust Death, even if he’s in a box. I may be slow up here, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand things. Claudia says I’m like everyone else, just I take my time. And I am going to take all my time with you. Claudia says I could be on Jeopardy some day. I just need to know things. I have a big box of cards on my second-to-top shelf and I study them before I go to bed so I can know things. Claudia says if I let you out, I won’t get to be on Jeopardy. Claudia says if I let you out, I won’t get to do a lot of things. (Creepy voice.) “Dead men tell no tales.” And I’m going to do a lot of things. As long as I have you here, Claudia says I won’t have to worry about getting sick or falling off my bed because you can’t come to get me. So many things I can do now. When you’re like me, you don’t get to do many things. (Beat.) Claudia was always afraid you’d come in the night and take her little sister away from her. I was once afraid of you, but you don’t wear a mask like in the movies or wear that big cloak. You don’t look so grim in person. (Beat.) Though you’re not really a person, huh? (Thinks, then graciously.) Maybe I’ll let you out some day. After I’ve gone on Jeopardy and after I’ve finished studying all the cards. I get tired now. But I don’t tell Claudia. Claudia doesn’t like to think about that. She likes to keep me in this house so I won’t go away and do bad things. Claudia likes boxes. But I think there will be a time when I won’t want to know things. And then I’ll let you out. (Beat.) But wait till after Jeopardy. Claudia says I could be on Jeopardy some day.

  Ismene

  By David Eliet

  Ismene: age twenty, youngest daughter of King Oedipus and Queen Jocasta. She is a beautiful young woman.

  Dramatic


  One year after the deaths of her sister Antigone, her brothers Eteocles and Polynices and Creon’s wife and son, Eurydice and Haemon. Ismene has been trying to convince Creon to let her leave the palace and to rejoin society now that the year of mourning is over. Creon has refused her entreaties. He tells her she must remain locked up in the palace for the rest of her life to atone for the sins of her family. Desperate to know love, Ismene begs to at least be given a woman as her lover.

  ISMENE: They say the girls of Sparta learn to fight, just like the boys, that they all walk around naked until the day they are married, and that they all have an older woman as their first lover. I want a woman, Creon. I want to walk naked through the streets of Thebes, my hand being held by an older woman who is taking me home to teach me the secrets of love. Her hair is gray, and her breasts have grown saggy. My tight, young warrior’s body excites her, and she is grateful that I have been given to her. And I am grateful. I am grateful that I have been given to such a good and gentle woman. And when we first get to her house, she will heat the water and fill the bath. She’ll scrub my back, and rinse my hair, and then she’ll slip off her robe, standing there naked by the tub, exposing to me her puckered thighs, and stretch-marked belly. And I will see myself in ten or twenty years, when my skin has lost its strength, after my firm young belly has been stretched time and time again carrying my husband’s children. And when she lowers herself into the bath, I’ll reach out and wrap my arms around her. And I will know love. I will know all there is to ever know about love. I want a woman Creon. I want a woman to make love to me.

  BLUNT/DIRECT