Introduction to the Mad Three

The first part of this story: The Aftermath

This night was wild – just how I liked it!

As soon as Franco had come in, demanding that we open up a bar, I had seen a golden opportunity to practice my mixology.  Most of my friends now refused to taste the drinks I made, even though I had worked out nearly all of the errors!  The MSG and soy sauce debacle was far behind me.

Unfortunately, as the night progressed, there was disappointingly little interest in my specially designed and printed cocktail menu.  I had spent hours laboring over the names and mixtures, but nobody was ordering!  For the first half of the night, I was stuck doing nothing but popping the tops off of beer bottles and making basic martinis for Franco and all the girls he tried to hit on.  How dull.

I was thankful, then, when I went back to grab more vodka and encountered Jack, worrying away as usual.  He may be constantly in a state of despair, but I do have to admit that he’s good at noticing potential problems.  Fortunately, I’m a born problem solver!  As soon as I heard that there was a thief, I knew that a booby trap was the answer.

Okay, maybe I got a little excited.  My order of self-defense equipment had just come in the mail earlier that day, and I was just raring to try out the pepper spray.  The stuff was super fun to spray, too – that might have been why I didn’t quite want to let go of the trigger.  Oops.  Sorry, Jack.  Didn’t mean to splash you with that.

Hey, keep on working through it!  Ignoring Jack’s slightly pathetic cries of pain, I headed back out, booby-trapped bottle tucked ever so innocently under my arm.  Behind the bar, I tucked it in among the other bottles below the bar, making sure that it was on top where it would definitely catch the thief’s eye.

I meant to mention the decoy bottle to the other bartender.  I had opened my mouth to inform him, but I didn’t remember his name, and it was far too awkward to just grab him by the shoulder.  So maybe I’d just not let him know.  The thief would probably swipe the bottle before the other bartender noticed anyway.

A little later, the bottle had almost completely slipped my mind when Franco came up to the bar, grabbing me very rudely.  “Hey, give me three more martinis,” he demanded.

I was first going to make a rejoiner about having some patience, but my eye fell on the decoy vodka bottle, and a much better plan came into my head.  “Sure,” I replied, reaching for the bottle.  Being careful not to inhale the fumes, I poured out the three martinis for him, barely repressing my giggles.

Being sure to stay nearby, I watched Franco’s antics closely.  Sadly, he didn’t drink any of the tainted martinis himself, but my hopes were lifted a moment later, when he took the mixture of capsaisin and alcohol to the face.  Hah!  I laughed openly as he went stumbling off to the back room.

Unfortunately, I had been distracted by watching Franco’s fall from grace.  Behind my back, the other bartender had continued using the bottle of vodka that I had taken out.  The booby-trapped vodka bottle!  Now, there were at least a dozen martinis behing handed out, all of which had been poisoned with an unhealthy dose of pepper spray.

Before I could grab back the martinis, patrons were grabbing for their drinks, and the angry cries were mounting.  I could hear other people passing on the girl’s cry of “roofies.”  The other bartender was backing away helplessly, his eyes wide.  There was nothing to it.  I would have to step up and be a hero.

I shot the other man a look, trying to communicate, “don’t worry, I’ve got this.”  Putting down the glass I was holding, I put a hand on the bar, hoisting myself up so I was standing on the wood.  I raised my hands, making sure that I had the attention of everyone in the bar.

“Calm down!” I shouted.  This did not seem to appease the angrily muttering crowd, so I pressed on.  “Don’t worry!  You haven’t been roofied!  It’s just pepper spray!”

Strangely enough, this still didn’t seem to be making anyone any calmer…

Introduction to the Mad Three

The first part of this story: The Aftermath

I couldn’t believe how well my luck was going.

When I had first suggested the idea of opening up a bar, I hadn’t bothered putting in much thought about the process.  Both liquor and pretty girls were intimately involved in my life, and a bar seemed like the perfect place to bring those two items together.  And trust me, I’ve been to a lot of bars.  I’ve met the employees, and they don’t seem to have any more clue than I do.  How hard could it be?

Of course, I had a couple buddies who were all too willing to help out.  Manny, a regular at most of my favorite hangouts, is built like an ogre, and was more than happy to hang around the bar and lean on anyone who gave us trouble.  He also knew a guy who was just itching to make use of his bartending certification.  That was especially nice, because I wouldn’t drink anything Corkscrew hands me.

Speaking of the crazy roommate, Corkscrew managed to be useful for one time in his off-kilter life!  I don’t know how he knew about that empty building, furnished and everything, just waiting for us to make use of it.  He probably overheard about it from another person in the psych ward.  Regardless, it all was coming together!  Even more than usual, I couldn’t wait for the weekend.

Once we divvied up positions, I knew that I had to be the front man.  And despite what you think, it wasn’t just about the girls.  The first employee that the patrons meet needs to charm them, needs to keep the party atmosphere rolling (and the juices flowing).  Jack would bore our customers to sleep, and Corkscrew would burn the bar down before midnight.  The girls were really just a side perk.

As the bar opened, I was excelling at my role.  Bobbing from group to group, learning all the names I could, and being charming and welcoming to everyone.  Of course, the easiest way to be charming is to arrive with free drinks.  When we had gone shopping earlier that day, we had picked up a lot of vodka, so I made sure to greet new groups with martinis in hand.  As an added bonus, the martinis went over very well with the groups of girls coming in!

I walk up to each group of girls, drinks in hand, and announce that they’re fortunate enough to have arrived on martini night!  Seriously, I’m a marketing genius.

About halfway through the night, as I’m walking towards the back of the bar to check on the other groups of patrons, and I run into Corkscrew.  Literally.  Fortunately, the vodka bottle he’s holding doesn’t break or spill on my nice clothes.

“Hey, you might not want to go in the back room,” Corkscrew told me.  “Jack’s feeling a little hot under the collar.”  He giggled.  “And above the collar, too.”

What?  I have no idea what he’s talking about.  My face must have showed this confusion.

“There’s a thief in the bar,” Corkscrew elaborates.  “We don’t know who, but I’ve got a plan to handle it!”  He went running off towards the bar.

A thief wasn’t really for me to deal with, but the night was going amazingly and I didn’t want any big disruptions.  I made my way back to the front of the bar, and tapped Manny on the shoulder.  “Yo, Manny, I’ve heard that there’s a thief in here somewhere,” I said discreetly into his ear.  “Keep an eye out for anything suspicious, okay?”  He nodded back at me.

I turned away, but then a sudden thought popped into my mind.  “Hey, take this,” I told Manny, pulling a small tube from my pocket and passing it over to him.  I didn’t know why Corkscrew was carrying a can of pepper spray in his jacket, but I was glad I had liberated it from his pocket.

Now, back to the fun part!  Indeed, a group of ridiculously hot girls was just entering, looking around expectantly.  I hurried over to the bar, catching the eye of Manny’s bartender friend.  I held up 3 fingers, and he nodded, grabbing for martini glasses.  Drinks in hand, I spread a wide smile across my face and approached the girls.

“Hello, ladies!” I said jovially.  “Welcome to martini night!  Your first drink is on the house!”  I passed over the glasses.

Two of the girls returned my winning smile, but the third immediately took a drink and started coughing and choking.  The other girls’ smiles disappeared as they turned to their companion.

“Oh my god!” one of the girls exclaimed.  “Are these roofies?  Are you trying to roofie us?”

“Of course not!  I’m not sure what happened to your friend, but we just want to make sure you have a wonderful time at our bar tonight!” I said.  Or at least, that’s what I was intending to say.  I was interrupted at the third word by the choking girl hurling her drink into my face.

This time, I was the one choking out, “Oh my god!”  I don’t know what was in that drink, but my entire face was on fire.  I could barely see and I felt like someone had just seared me with a flamethrower.  Abandoning the girls, I stumbled to the back room, where I vaguely remembered seeing a sink.

I made it to the back room, only knocking a couple people out of the way, and forced as much of my face under the faucet as possible.  After a minute or two, the pain had subsided slightly, and I stepped out into the back room.  As I moaned, I saw something move out of the corner of my tear-stained eyes.  Someone was laying on the couch.

Through a veil of tears, I could make out Jack, also clutching his eyes.  “What happened to you?” I asked.

“Corkscrew,” he replied simply.  “And you?”

“Not sure,” I said, but I had a sneaking suspicion that Corkscrew was also to blame.  Somehow.

Dropping into a chair, I sat with my roommate in shared companionable pain.  As we waited for the burning to decrease, however, we could hear the sound level from the front room rising.  And the voices didn’t sound happy…

What’s going on? Maybe Corkscrew’s perspective will illuminate the situation…

Introduction to the Mad Three

The first part of this story: The Aftermath

THREAD #1: JACK’S NIGHT
Sitting in the back, staring down at the sheets of numbers and the piles of receipts, I felt like it was all going wrong.

Although I had put up the token protest that I knew my roommates would expect, I had initially been happy to be given back room duty.  Franco, of course, wanted to be out in the front, not doing any real work.  Corkscrew, the mad scientist, had elected to work at the bar, mixing up drinks alongside Franco’s bartender friend.  Neither of them had really wanted to handle the real stuff, the finances.

Now, that meant that I was in the back room of our makeshift bar, sitting next to a huge crate of booze that would, hopefully, last us through the night, staring down at the disturbingly high piles of receipts.  Every few minutes, I would be interrupted by either Corkscrew or the other bartender, whose name I hadn’t learned before the chaos of the night began.  The intruder would barge in, grab a bottle or two of the alcohol, and go rushing back out, into the fray of bar patrons.

At first, I had enjoyed being out of the way.  To be honest, I couldn’t believe that I’d gone along with Franco’s madcap idea in the first place.  Wasn’t I supposed to be the voice of reason?  Perhaps not believing that I had accepted a role in this crazy venture had led me to want to stay in back, not mingling among our drunk customers.

Of course, even though neither of my roommates wanted to deal with the finances, they had both tried to convince me to come out into the front room.  Franco, of course, had obvious intentions.  He had set the whole thing up as a way to meet drunk girls, and what would be a more perfect component of that plan than a private back office?  I shuddered to think of the mess he would have caused, had this room been given to him.

As for Corkscrew, he had also wanted the back office as his own.  Why?  I honestly haven’t the slightest clue.  The guy’s unreadable, like playing the Joker at poker.  He’s got plenty of expression, but such crazy thoughts that it’s impossible to predict what’s going on beneath that wild shock of blonde hair on his head.

Franco had landed a stinging insult on Corkscrew when he made his office request, of course.  “Why in the world would you need a back office?” he had sniped.  “The only company you’ve got any shot of entertaining tonight are the voices in your own head.”  With this, Franco strode out to the front, leaving Corkscrew sputtering in impotent anger behind.

I had listened to this with a half-smile on my face, but now, three hours into our six-hour night, there was trouble, and the smile had long since disappeared.  I did another count of the bottles, trying to be certain, but there was no denying it.  Even as I finished my count, Corkscrew ducked into the back office to pick up another bottle of vodka.

“Corkscrew,” I shouted at him, grabbing his arm.  “Dude, we have a problem.”

Corkscrew glanced over at me.  He had managed to find a black apron somewhere, but his gangly frame and wild blonde hair made him seem like a teenager playing dress-up.  “Yeah, no one’s ordering anything interesting!” he responded.  “I made up a whole custom drink menu, but no one wants to give it a shot!”

What?  I forced myself to stay on topic, a surprisingly difficult task around Corkscrew.  “No, we have a real problem!” I insisted.  “Look, as we ring up people, the receipts show up on my laptop back here.  And I’ve been counting the bottles of liquor as they go out to the front.  But we’re sending way more out to the front than we’re ringing up!  Somehow, some of the alcohol is disappearing without being purchased!”

Corkscrew’s eyes went wide.  “Someone’s stealing from us?” he gasped.  “No way!  I didn’t think we’d have to deal with this on the very first night!”

“This could be our last night!” I replied.  I didn’t know what to do, and felt a rising sense of helplessness.  We didn’t have cameras in place to look for thieves, due mainly to our inability to either afford or wire cameras.

Suddenly, Corkscrew opened his eyes wide; I had learned to recognize this as a worrying sign that an idea had entered his head.  “I know how to catch the thief!” he shouted.  “Watch this!”

Torn between trepidation and curiosity, I watched as Corkscrew retrieved an empty Grey Goose bottle, as well as his jacket that had been hanging over one of the chairs in the back room.  Lifting up a bottle of cheap bottom-shelf vodka, he poured it into the Grey Goose bottle, filling it about two-thirds of the way.  He then reached into his jacket pocket and, with a flourish, pulled out a small canister.

“Wait a minute.  Is that pepper spray?” I asked, taking a step back.  Corkscrew was dangerous enough by himself.  Corkscrew with a weapon?  Get ready to run.

“Oh, relax,” he responded.  “I’m not going to use it on you, just put some in the bottle!”  He aimed the nozzle into the neck of the Grey Goose bottle and pushed down, spraying the capsaicin down into the cheap vodka.  He held down the plunger for several seconds, until the flow trickled to a stop.

Corkscrew tossed the can of pepper spray carelessly onto the table beside the bottle.  “Huh,” he commented, patting down his pockets.  “I was sure that I had a second bottle of the stuff.  I guess one can will have to do.”  He put the cap on the bottle of capsaicin-laced vodka, giving it several shakes to mix the pepper spray with the alcohol.

I pointed at the discarded pepper spray.  “Look, I don’t think this is such a good idea,” I spoke up.  Yes, voice of reason has returned!

“Oh please, this will work perfectly,” said Corkscrew, his tone dismissive.  “And don’t worry, this canister’s all empty!”  He scooped it up, slamming his thumb down on the top of the can.  “See?”

Unfortunately for me, the canister was not quite empty, and one last spurt of mace burst from the nozzle, hitting me directly in the face.  I screamed as my vision faded into a white-hot blur, my hands flying up to my damaged eyes.

“Oh,” commented Corkscrew as I stumbled towards the small bathroom branching off the back office.  “I guess it wasn’t quite empty yet.  But don’t worry!” he called after me.  “I’ll take this out and catch our thief with it!”

Even though I knew that Corkscrew’s idea was not one of his better ones, there was no way that I could do anything to protest.  I spent at least fifteen minutes standing in the bathroom, flushing my eyes with water and doing my best to take deep, calming breaths.  Finally, when the pain had subsided to a deep and persistent throb, and I had regained some blurry semblance of vision, I stumbled back out to the office, half-collapsing onto the small couch against one wall.

I hadn’t been sitting long, still focusing on trying to breathe through the pain, when the back door opened.  I looked up, expecting to see either Corkscrew or the other bartender, returning for more liquor.

Much to my surprise, however, the intruder was none other than Franco.  Even more to my surprise, he was making small pained noises and holding his face.  Wait a minute.  Had he been maced as well?

Find out who the intruder is from Franco’s perspective!

Don’t recognize these characters?  Start here!

THE AFTERMATH

Jack moaned, trying to fight the urge to rub his streaming, painful eyes.  “I can’t believe it hurts this much,” he choked out, his voice hoarse.  “Seriously, how can any mugger even consider sticking with his career after he’s been shot by one of these?”

Beside him, Franco tried to laugh, but it turned into a hacking cough.  “You know, it fades after a couple hours,” he said.  “And at least pepper spray doesn’t leave any lasting damage, unlike a gun or something.”

“Figures that you would know how it feels to be maced,” Corkscrew gasped from his seat on the other side of the small office.

“Oh, shut up, you!” Franco retorted.  “Seriously, why do you have so much of this stuff, anyway?  I’m sure that this is all your fault somehow.”

“It’s for protection!” Corkscrew insisted back at him.  “Now that we’ve opened up a bar, we’re going to need to be safe, in case we have some unruly drunks accost us!”

Jack groaned, forcing his hands to stay on his head instead of clawing at his face as he half-listened to his two roommates argue.  From the onset of this idea, when Franco had walked into the living room and declared, “We need to open a bar!”, he had known that there would be trouble.

Surprisingly, things had seemed to go incredibly smoothly at first.  Franco had known a bouncer, as well as a bartender who was willing to pitch in on an untested project.  Naturally, Franco had all the connections necessary to set up a semi-legal enterprise.

Perhaps the most surprising fact, however, was that Corkscrew had provided the bar’s physical space.  One of his friends was a realtor, and he had been sitting on a commercial rental property that he’d been trying to move for months.  Ignoring jibes from Franco about actually providing something constructive for once, he had talked the realtor into letting the three roommates borrow the property for a few nights.

After that, it had been a pretty simple matter to order up some alcohol, pick up some signs, and get the bar set for opening night.  But somehow, somewhere during the night, things had taken a nasty left turn.  Now, all three of them were in the back room of the bar, in pain, incapable of going out, and worst of all, Jack had no idea quite how things went wrong.

First, let’s find out how Jack’s night went!

Jack watched enviously as Corkscrew swung the fishing pole.  With a soft zing, the line shot out, the bobber landing squarely in the middle of a particularly promising patch of reeds.  Within seconds, there was the tug on the line that indicated another bite.

“My god, Corkscrew, how are you doing it?” Jack asked, watching as his pal reeled in a decent size sunfish.

At the other end of the boat, Franco took another pull of beer.  His fishing rod was still sitting in a tangle in the trunk of the car.  He was jealously guarding the chest of drinks, however, and had slowly slumped further and further down into the boat as the morning had progressed.  “Don’t encourage him,” he muttered.

Corkscrew winked, grinning, as he worked the hook free.  “It’s all in the bait!” he said happily.  “Here, what are you putting on your hooks?”

Jack reeled in his own rod, inspecting the soggy worm on his hook before forlornly casting it back out into the pond.  “Worms,” he said.

“Ah, see that’s the problem!” Corkscrew enthused.  “You have to tailor your bait directly to the fish you’re after, and then adjust for water temperature, clarity, all the other factors!”

Franco groaned, and pulled his hat down lower over his eyes.  “He’s going to say something stupid, I just know it,” he griped.

Jack shot a quick glare at the complainer.  “Look, just because we chose Corkscrew’s idea for this weekend instead of yours doesn’t mean that you need to be so grumpy!” he ordered.

“Clubs in downtown would have been way more fun,” Franco responded, but he made sure his comments were low enough to be all but inaudible.  He finished the rest of his beer bottle, adding it to the others at the bottom of the boat.

Jack turned back to Corkscrew.  “So what are you using here?”

Corkscrew gestured out at the still waters of the pond.  “Well, we’ve got a sunny day, but rather murky water,” he said.  “So we want something with a bit of flash to it, to shine through the water, and something that will move, so it stands out in the still pond.”

Holding his rod in one hand, he reached down and flipped open the large tackle box at his feet.  “Here, try this,” he said, holding out a shiny spoon lure with several small, dangling hooks.  “It should be lightweight enough to dance in the water, catch their attention.”

Jack reeled in his line, attaching the new lure.  “I can’t believe you know so much about this,” he said in admiration.

“Oh, I’ve always been a great baiter,” Corkscrew replied, a smile dancing around the corners of his mouth.

“Here it comes,” Franco murmured, setting aside his beer and reaching into the water-filled bucket.

“In fact,” Corkscrew continued, you might say that I’m an expert in it.  A master.”  By now, he was grinning broadly.  “Yep, I’m the master baiter!  Ow!”

“Nice shot,” Jack said to Franco, who was wringing drops of water from his hand.  Alongside the boat, the fish that had just connected solidly with Corkscrew’s head was making the most of its chance to escape.

Author’s note: Yes, this whole thing was written so I would have a chance to make that pun.  

Act I and Act II.

The curtain opens on the apartment, where “Pitch Perfect” is playing on the TV.  FRANCO and SUZETTE are cuddling on the couch, nestled close.  The apartment is dark.

CORKSCREW bursts in through the door, making both FRANCO and SUZETTE jump up in surprise.

CORKSCREW: I think I’ve figured it out!

FRANCO stands up angrily; SUZETTE is still hiding on the couch in the darkened room.

FRANCO: Dude, you’re interrupting here!

CORKSCREW: No, I figured it out!  I know about the lizard king!

SUZETTE sits bolt upright and screams.  FRANCO and CORKSCREW both jump and stare at her.

SUZETTE hysterically: Oh my god, it’s coming!

CORKSCREW: Yeah, on Friday!  It actually looks pretty scary!

FRANCO: Wait, what?

CORKSCREW: It’s this new movie that’s opening up!  In theaters this Friday.  Apparently they’re big on the whole ‘guerrilla marketing’ thing.

FRANCO: Oh, that actually makes sense.  Kind of.  To SUZETTE: So you’re a promoter for this movie?

SUZETTE: No!  The real lizard king!  I saw it!

FRANCO: What?

CORKSCREW: Like an early showing?

SUZETTE: No!  On the subway!  I was riding the subway back, and all of a sudden, there was this giant lizard . . . thing!  Stumbling towards me!

CORKSCREW: So why did you call me the lizard king?

SUZETTE: I didn’t!  I was warning everyone!

FRANCO soothingly: Look, I’m sure it was just another marketing ploy.  Let’s just calm down.  There’s no such thing as the lizard king.

Behind CORKSCREW, a figure appears in the doorway of the still-darkened apartment.  The others turn to see a giant lizard standing there, staring at them.  SUZETTE screams and runs out of the apartment, past the giant lizard.  FRANCO lets out a high-pitched wail and hides behind the couch.  CORKSCREW flails his arms in confusion.

The giant lizard reaches up to remove his mask, revealing JACK.

JACK: Hah, I totally got you guys!  By the way, Franco, thanks for the tip about the costume shop!  That place was amazing!

KENDRICK enters the doorway from behind JACK.

KENDRICK: Jack, I think that’s the most fun I’ve ever had on a date!  That was such a good idea!

JACK: Oh, the date’s not over!  He pulls on the mask.  Eh, misssssssy?

KENDRICK giggles and allows JACK to lead her into the apartment and offstage.  FRANCO and CORKSCREW are left standing in the apartment.  They are silent for several seconds, awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

FRANCO: I think I’ll pass on that Lizard King movie.

CORKSCREW: Yeah, sounds good.  Hey, is that Pitch Perfect?  I love this movie!

Curtain.

Act I.

Curtain rises on a restaurant table for four.  JACK and KENDRICK, tall, blonde, pretty, are seated. They look bored and uncomfortable.  

KENDRICK: Jack, I just never feel like you do anything romantic for me any more.  It’s hard to know whether you care or not.

JACK: Look, let’s talk about this some other time.  Franco and his date are finally here.

FRANCO and SUZETTE enter.  SUZETTE is short, busty, straight dark hair in a bun, as CORKSCREW described.

FRANCO: Hey, sorry we’re late.

JACK: That’s kind of your thing – we know.

FRANCO and SUZETTE sit down.  A waiter brings them their menus.

KENDRICK: So, how did the two of you meet?

SUZETTE: Oh, it was so romantic!  Franco got up and gave me his seat on the subway – he was so gallant!

KENDRICK: That does sound romantic.  She shoots a pointed look at JACK, who rolls his eyes.

SUZETTE: And then he asked me to dinner, and a movie back at his place afterwards!

JACK: Oh?  A movie at our place?

SUZETTE: Your place?  No, Franco’s place.

FRANCO embarrassed: Jack, I’m going to the bathroom.  Maybe you could join me?

JACK: What?  No!

FRANCO kicks JACK under the table, audibly.  JACK muffles a curse.

JACK: Sure, I’ll go to the bathroom with you.  He stands up and limps after FRANCO to the side of the stage.

FRANCO: Yeah, I meant to talk to you about this before, but we got here late.  Do you think you and Kendrick could go someplace else after dinner, maybe give us a few hours at the apartment?

JACK: I hate when you don’t ask me about stuff like this!  You’re totally imposing-

FRANCO interrupting: Look, the two of you were going to go back, sit on the couch and watch TV for a while, and then go to bed.  It’s all you ever do.  Kendrick’s right – you do need to get out of the rut!

JACK: So what am I supposed to do?

FRANCO: Actually, why don’t you take her to that new costume shop, that opened up on 29th?  It’s supposed to be really fun.  Maybe you can find a cop costume, or some handcuffs, something to spice up your activities later tonight?

He winks and elbows JACK.

JACK: Fine.  We’ll try it.  But we’re coming back by eleven sharp, so you better have cleared out of the living room by then.

JACK and FRANCO return to the dinner table.

KENDRICK: So, what’s the plan for tonight?

JACK: Well, I was thinking we could go check out this new place I’ve heard about after dinner.  Do something different, instead of just going back and watching TV.

KENDRICK nods approvingly, reserved but approving.

FRANCO to SUZETTE: And the two of us can go back and watch a movie!  If it’s scary, you can totally cling to me for support.

JACK: Maybe the two of you should watch “Lizard Boy”, or “Godzilla”!

SUZETTE squirms at the titles.  

SUZETTE: I’m actually not a big fan of reptiles . . . she drags off into silence, staring blankly.

FRANCO: I was thinking of “Pitch Perfect.”

SUZETTE snapping out of her trance: That sounds good!

Curtain closes, END ACT II.

Act III.

Setting: a college apartment, couch, large TV, Xbox.  TV is currently displaying start screen of Call of Duty.  JACK, brown hair, is sitting on the couch, controller in lap, looking bored.

FRANCO, dark-haired, handsome, enters.

JACK (annoyed): Hey, you’re late!  I’ve been waiting for, like, twenty minutes!

FRANCO: Oh, sorry.  I got a girl’s number on the subway, though.  Thinking I’ll bring her on the double date with you and Kendrick tonight.

JACK: She hot?

FRANCO: Hot enough to make it to date three!

JACK: What about smarts?

FRANCO: Eh, smarts are evaluated after date three.

JACK: So she’s destined to join the long line of girls you date, bed, and then never call again.

FRANCO winking: That remains to be seen!

JACK and FRANCO begin playing Call of Duty.  As they play, CORKSCREW, tall, gangly, shock of strawberry blonde hair, bursts into the door, frantic.

CORKSCREW: Hey, do either of you know about the lizard king?

JACK not looking up from the game: What?

CORKSCREW: The lizard king!  Some girl yelled it at me on the subway as I was coming home!  Is this some new slang I don’t know about?  Is it a gang symbol?

FRANCO: What girl?  What did she look like?

JACK nudges FRANCO.

JACK: Hey, maybe you’re dating the lizard king.

CORKSCREW: She yelled, “Watch out for the lizard king!” at me.  Maybe he’s like an escaped alligator that lives in the tunnels.

JACK: Wouldn’t that be in the sewers, not the subway?

FRANCO: Seriously, what did she look like?

CORKSCREW: I’m assuming it looks like a giant lizard.  And I think it’s male.

FRANCO reaches over the back of the couch, without looking, and slugs CORKSCREW.

FRANCO: No, the girl.  What did she look like.

CORKSCREW shrugging: Dunno.  Cute, chesty, black hair in a bun thing, yelling about a lizard.

FRANCO: Crap, that sounds like her.

JACK smirking: Sounds like you picked a winner, Franco.  Can’t wait to meet her tonight.

FRANCO: Look, doesn’t disrupt my plans.  I’ll be her lizard king tonight, if you know what I mean.

CORKSCREW is pacing back and forth around the couch.  Every time he circles in front of the TV, JACK and FRANCO throw up their hands at him, but he doesn’t notice.

CORKSCREW: Look, I gotta find out more about this lizard king deal.  I’ll see you guys later.

CORKSCREW exits.

JACK: Should we get involved in all that?

FRANCO: Nah.  One more game, then I gotta go make myself look nice for tonight.  He glances sidelong at JACK.  You should probably freshen up too.

JACK: Kendrick and I have been dating for three years, she knows what she’s got.

FRANCO: I thought you two were in a rut.

JACK: Not a bad one.

FRANCO shrugs.  Whatever.  Headshot!

Curtain closes.  END ACT 1

Act II