"I Hate David Schwimmer"

                     A One Act Play

                        By

                     Keith Kreitman

            Dedicated to the Great and Incomparable

                    John Byrd

(THE SCENE OPENS UPON A TASTEFULLY FURNISHED ONE BEDROOM NEW YORK CITY CONDO
OVERLOOKING CENTRAL PARK. RECLINING ON THE COUCH, LEAFING THROUGH A COPY OF 
THE MAGAZINE "ENTERTAINMENT" IS BRUCE EVANS, AN EARLY MIDDLE-AGED ACTOR OF 
FADING GOOD LOOKS. HE IS WEARING A LONG WOMAN'S BLOUSE DRAPED OVER A LONG SKIRT, 
WITH DARK WEB STOCKINGS AND HIGH HEELED BOOTS. LYING ON THE COCKTAIL TABLE IS A 
FULSOME WIG AND A FULL DARK PHONY BEARD. HIS WIFE, LAURA WHITFIELD, WHO HAS 
RETAINED HER MAIDEN NAME FOR PROFESSIONAL PURPOSES, WELL-DRESSED AND EARLY 
MIDDLE-AGED ENTERS FROM THE VESTIBULE.)

Laura:  What are you doing in my apartment and on my couch?         
        And, I can't believe it! You cleaned up. I didn't       
        believe you would ever shave again! And, what are you   
        doing in that get-up?
Bruce:  It's from my last show, "The Eager Transvestites." Max  
        is bringing a producer over. So I'll need to audition   
        for him. Although, I don't believe it will make any         
        difference. I won't get the job, anyway. 
Laura:  That's what I like. A positive outlook.
Bruce:  (STANDS UP AND WAVES HIS ARMS) Face it, Laura! I'm a    
        has-been! I'm over the hill! (DRAWS THE SKIN AROUND HIS     
        FACE) Look at my face! It's crinkling!
Laura:    For God's sake, Bruce. You're only 40 years old!
Bruce:  Look at David Schwimmer and see where he is!
Laura:    (EXASPERATED)Will I have to hear about Schwimmer again?
Bruce:    That nerd! That geek! That long string of bologna. They   
        say he earns a million dollars an episode on that       
        abominable TV show!
Laura:    I wish you had never known him!
Bruce:    Known him? He knew me! He kissed my ass all those years   
        at Northwestern. He thought I was a great actor. I was  
        his role model! I did "Shakespeare in the Park," for    
        God's sake. They're still talk about my Hamlet! And,    
        he's a nerd and makes a million dollars an episode.
Laura:    (WALKS TO THE WINDOW AND POINTS DOWN) Well, why don't     
        you do Shakespeare again? They do it down there in      
        Central Park every Summer.
Bruce:    (DROPS HIMSELF DOWN ON THE COUCH, SUBDUED) I can't        
        anymore. I'm allergic to cut grass and those bastards   
        keep cutting it all the time. 
Laura:    You mean you won't! There are off-off Broadway calls  
        all the time. Ever since you lost that soap opera job,  
        your life has stopped.
Bruce:    Off-off Broadway? I have my standards.
Laura:    And, I have the money! So, I support you while you        
        don't shower, sprout vegetation, crinkle up and blow    
        away. And, why are  you using my apartment for this     
        audition?
Bruce:    Have you seen mine?
Laura:    No, I haven't looked in since the Department of       
        Sanitation taped it off as an environmental hazard.
Bruce:    Pleeze?
Laura:    (SHRUGS)  OK! When are they coming? (THE DOOR BUZZER  
        SOUNDS) That must be them. 
Bruce:    Now, Laura, don't queer this deal for me.
Laura:  Please don't use that word when you're wearing that     
    getup. (SHE STARTS TOWARD THE VESTIBULE) Coming!!
(THERE IS AN EXCHANGE OF HELLOS IN THE VESTIBULE AND MAX, A MIDDLE-AGED AGENT 
IN A NEAT BUSINESS SUIT FOLLOWS HER INTO THE ROOM WHERE THEY EMBRACE WITH 
FAMILIARITY.)
Laura:  Max! So, nice to see you again!
Max:    Me too! (HE LOOKS AT BRUCE) What in the hell are you    
        doing in that outfit?
Bruce:  It was from my last off-off Broadway play.
Max:    You had a job? And, you didn't tell me?
Bruce:  Don't worry! There was no commission. I wasn't paid         
        anything. The only reason I took it, was I could go         
        incognito. (PUTS ON THE WIG AND THE BEARD) Didn't I         
        look cute?
Max:    Thank goodness I didn't know about the play! If I had   
        seen you, I would have fallen in love.
Bruce:  You're my `so-called agent.' If you could get me some   
        decent gigs, I wouldn't have to do this.
Max:    If you hadn't screwed up your big chance, I wouldn't    
        have to find you other gigs. Do you have any idea of    
        how many people would give their asses to land a spot   
        on "Tomorrow's Another Day?"
Bruce:   That show is for a bunch of sexually frustrated        
        housewives.
Max:    That show is for a sexually frustrated bunch of         
        housewives who want to see buff young studs with their  
        shirts off and crawling under the covers with buff      
        young females. And, that is what you got paid big money     
        for. And, that is what paid for my new house in The         
        Hamptons.
Bruce:  (SIMPLY) It was demeaning. 
Max:     What!? Money is never demeaning.
Bruce:  I mean David Schwimmer gets a million an episode and he     
        can't even do a decent Shakespeare.
Max:    (FRUSTRATED) Swimmer doesn't have to do Shakespeare to  
        earn his agent big commissions!! And, that God-Damned   
        Shakespeare stuff! That's what got you fired!
Bruce:  It's their fault. They told us, to keep it more         
        spontaneous, learn the plot line for the day and        
        improvise.
Max:     You didn't have to improvise the Romeo speech on live  
         television, trying to get that girl into bed.
Bruce:   It worked for Romeo!!
Max:        (HOLDS HIS HEAD IN ANGUISH AND LOOKS UP) Aurrgg!
Bruce:  O.K.! I was big time on daytime TV. I was on that soap  
        for years. I was featured in all of those fan           
        magazines. Just a little slip. Why wouldn't they hire   
        me back?
Max:    Because they couldn't take your arrogance anymore!      
        That's why.     
Bruce:  Why can't you get me another gig? I can do          
        Shakespeare.
Max:    So can a hundred thousand other hams. OK! Sit down. I   
        am about to tell you the facts of life.
          (BRUCE PLUNKS DOWN ON THE COUCH. STILL WEARING THE WIG    
        AND BEARD.) 
Bruce.  My father already told me about those things.
Max:    Bruce. You're forty years old. 
Bruce:  So?
Max:    The sexually frustrated housewives want to look: How's  
        your body these days?
Bruce:   Pretty good.
Max:    (TURNS TO LAURA) Laura?
Laura:    (SHAKES HER HANDS DESCRIPTIVELY) Pretty saggy.
Bruce:  It's charisma and acting ability that counts, anyway.
Max:    That doesn't do much for lust. Face it Bruce! You are   
        at that awkward age where you're too old to be a        
        hormone-rousing stud and too young and good-looking to  
        be a character actor. 
Bruce:  (CHILD-LIKE EAGER) How about a sexy romantic lead?
Max:    Let's not push it, Bruce. You don't even sleep in the   
        same bed with your wife, anymore
Bruce:   (LOOKS AT HIS WIFE WITH POUTING ANGER.) You been       
        talking again? (SHE SHRUGS) OK! Where's the big-time    
        producer?
Max:      (LOOKS AT HIS WATCH) They should be here right away.
Bruce:  They?
Max:    He is bringing along the playwright.
Bruce:   Who?
Max:     Moe Gottlieb. He recommended me to this producer for   
        casting.
Bruce:  I know him! He wrote a play? He's a nerd. He's a clone.
        He's another David Schwimmer.
Max:    That nerd may get you into a movie job.
Bruce:   A movie job? You mean Hollywood?
Max:     Not in that outfit. Not unless you want to be female   
        King Kong. Get out of that damn ape outfit and get back     
        in here. 
Bruce:  (EAGERLY)  I'll be right back! (HE EXITS TO HIS OWN         
        APARTMENT)
Max:    Laura. How do you put up with that guy?
Laura:  (SIMPLY) ) I love him.
Max:    You love him and you buy him the apartment next door    
        and live separately?
Laura:  It's just that I can't stand him.
Max:    Well, being a lawyer, I suppose you can rationalize         
        that. (HE HEADS FOR THE BAR)But, for me, I need a       
        couple of drinks to reconcile that paradox.
Laura:  I mean, it's just that I can't stand him now. When      
        he was on that show, he was forceful, manly, confident,     
        regal, even. (PAUSE, THEN QUICKLY) ....OK!.. sexy. But,     
        when that blew up, he became like a crushed teen-       
        ager, never shaving, rarely showering, clothes all over     
        the furniture and floor and moping around the apartment     
        all the time, unable to face the world. It was like his     
        whole adulthood had been sucked out of his body.        
        Whenever, I could tolerate the smell, I felt like I was     
        making love with jail bait.
Max:    You don't know actors, then. They come alive only in    
        roles. Take those away from them and they become empty  
        suits.           
Laura:  Anyway, I sent him to the best adolescent shrink in         
        town. He spent the hours quoting Shakespeare            
        from the couch. Finally, the shrink gave up. Said it    
        the first terminal case of arrested childhood           
        development he had ever run across. In fact, he         
        read a paper on that syndrome at his next convention.
Max:    You, a prominent lawyer, how in the world did you ever  
        get hooked up with him?
Laura:   (COYLY) Oh! it was very romantic. He came as a date        
        with one of our receptionists at an office Christmas    
        Party. (USING HER HANDS TO DEMONSTRATE) We passed near  
        the buffet and both turned and did a double take. He    
        moved up very closely and whispered: "You are so        
        fucking beautiful!" and in no time we on the couch in   
        my office. 
Max:    He tells you that you are "so fucking beautiful," and   
        that was enough for a "pickup?" (MAX REACHES IN HIS         
        BREAST SUIT POCKET AND PULLS OUT A SMALL NOTEBOOK)      
        Oh! I've got to remember that line.  
Laura:   It was more than that. He was whispering Romeo's       
        balcony scene lines to me as we headed for the couch.
Max:    (SCRATCHES OUT THE ENTRY) You can forget that stuff.
Laura:   (WISTFULLY) Can you imagine that? A virginal graduate  
        of Princeton and Columbia Law School, done in by that   
        simple and exquisitely lyrical line, "You are so        
        fucking beautiful!" (THE DOOR BUZZER SOUNDS) Oh! That   
        must be them. (SHE GOES INTO THE VESTIBULE TO THE DOOR.     
        WE HEAR THE EXCHANGE Welcome!
Voice:  Is this the Whitfield apartment?
Laura:      Of course!  Come right in!
(THEY COME THROUGH THE ARCHWAY. MOE GOTTLIEB IS A MESSY, ARTISTIC GREENWICH 
VILLAGE TYPE. A REAL NERD. RICHARD MORGAN IS A SHARPLY DRESSED C.E.O TYPE, WITH 
A SLIGHT SUPERIORITY SMIRK ON HIS FACE. A MAN WHO APPEARS TO KNOW HOW TO GIVE 
ORDERS AND GET THEM OBEYED. GOTTLIEB SPOTS MAX)  
Moe:    Max!! (THEY DO A "SHOW BUSINESS EMBRACE)
Max:    Hello, again, Mr. Morgan. And, this is Laura Whitfield. 
Morgan:(KISSED THE BACK OF HER HAND) How lovely! I understand   
        your husband is an actor. Max has told us a lot         
        about him. We have a great spot for him,                
        ....if he's the right guy.
Laura:  You produce movies? 
Morgan:We call them feature pictures, Mrs. Whitfield. 
Laura:  Please be seated and tell us about them. (MOE AND       
        MORGAN SIT ON THE COUCH. LAURA DROPS INTO A CHAIR.Max!  
        would you, please, do the honors with the drinks?
Morgan:No! No! Nothing for me. I never drink during working     
        hours. (MOE LOOKS LIKE HE WOULD LIKE SOMETHING BUT      
        MEEKLY WITHDRAWS AND SINKS DEEPER INTO THE COUCH. MAX   
        TAKES HIS DRINK AND MOVES INTO THE OTHER CHAIR) See         
        Mrs. Whitfield....
Laura:  Please call me Laura.
Morgan:OK! Laura. Well, there's nothing much to tell, Laura. I  
        got into this racket quite accidentally. You see, I'm   
        an importer of Korean autos and they're getting big in  
        this country, so I'm amassing more loot than I can      
        handle, tax-wise, that is. So, my tax accountant        
        suggested   some convenient tax loss writeoffs and      
        nothing is better for that than making flop movies.
Laura:   So, your business is making "flop" movies. 
Morgan:Not exactly! It didn't work out that way...yet. We       
        made a mistake. We started with porno stuff, like       
        maybe you heard of one called, "Lesbos in Paradise."
Moe:     I saw that one! (LOOKS SHEEPISH AND SINKS BACK INTO THE    
           COUCH AGAIN) 
Laura:    No! I can't say that I have. 
Morgan: Well! We made three of them like that and they were         
        cash cows. To our dismay, they sold big time in every   
        cowtown across the land.
Laura:  Gee! I'm sorry. 
Morgan:If there is anything I hate, it's having Uncle Sam       
        reaching for the hard-earned money in my pockets. So,   
        I rethought. We will make serious movies to be sure to  
        lose money.
Laura:   Like Shakespeare?
Morgan:Yes! Something like that.
Laura:  Then, my husband is the man for you.
Morgan:Even though I feel most comfortable in my little abode   
        in Baltimore, I've become attached to Hollywood.        
        Nowhere else is plump T and A available freer than      
        there.
Laura:   T and A?
Max:    (LEANING FORWARD)  You don't want to know what that         
        means.
Laura:      Yes, I do!
Morgan: I thought everyone knew what that is: It's tits and         
        ass.
Laura:   Oh! Then my husband is definitely the man for you.
Morgan:Where is your husband, by the way? 
Max:    (NERVOUSLY) He'll be here right away. He's getting out  
        of costume to meet you. 
Morgan:I don't have much time, you know! Anyway, Moe, here, he  
        panhandles me in Central Park and I find out he's a         
        writer. So, he comes up with this sure flop, if I ever  
        read one. 
Moe:    Thanks, Mr. Morgan. 
(BRUCE WALKS IN, LOOKING DEVASTATINGLY HANDSOME, NEAT AND TRIM IN SLACKS AND 
WHITE SHIRT. HE SMOOTHS BACK HIS HAIR WITH AN EASY 
PATRICIAN MANNER)
Moe:    (LOOKING SHOCKED) What the hell are you doing here?
Bruce:  (TAKEN ABACK) What the hell are you doing here?
Moe:    We are auditioning Mrs. Whitfield's husband for a       
        movie.
Bruce:  I am Mr. Whitfield! I mean Mrs. Whitfield is my wife. I     
        mean she isn't Mrs. Whitfield. She is Mr. Evans. I mean     
        Mrs. Evans.
Max:    This is too confusing for me. I'm going to get another  
        drink. (HE ADVANCES TOWARD THE BAR)
Morgan:(TO MAX) Wait a minute! Is this the guy we're supposed   
        to be auditioning?
Max:    In the flesh!
Morgan:You told me this guy was going to be a grungy, hairy     
        neurotic.
Max:    I was wrong, He's still in costume.
Bruce:  I can be grungy, hairy and neurotic better than anyone.     
        Wait! I'll bring my costume from next door.
Max:     (URGENTLY) No! No! No! No!  Don't do that! Believe me!     
        He is very capable of being grungy, hairy and neurotic.
Laura:  I'll say!
Bruce:  What is this movie about anyway?
Morgan:Tell 'em, Moe!
Moe:    (IS CHOCKING. TO BRUCE:)  I didn't know that you were   
        the Mr. Whitfield! 
Bruce:  I am not! I am Mr. Bruce Evans. And, you are a      
        clone of David Schwimmer.
Moe:    I should be so lucky! He makes million dollars an       
        episode.
Morgan:Who brought him into this? Who's David Schwimmer?
Laura:  He was my husband's classmate and best friend at        
        Northwestern University Speech School.
Bruce:   Ex-best-friend! That nerd makes a million dollars for  
        each episode on TV.
Morgan:Well, I like that. He can't be all bad!  
Bruce:  He's terrible! He can't even do a decent Shakespeare!
Max:    (SOFTLY) Neither can you.
Bruce:  (SWINGS HIS HEAD) I heard that! (MAX SHRUGS INNOCENTLY)     
        I bust my ass to be the first in our class to get a gig     
        on television and he sets up a cockamamie little        
        theater in a storefront on Lincoln Avenue, with a bunch     
        of other nerds and they all end up big stars on         
        television and in Hollywood. And, what did I get?       
        Shirtless and in bed with some soap opera starlet.
Max:    Like Jack Kennedy said: Life ain't fair, Bruce.
Bruce:  Shut up!
Morgan:Tell him what the movie is all about, Moe!
Moe:    You tell 'um.
Morgan:I said: Tell him!
Moe:    (HALTINGLY) Well, it's about this TV soap opera star...
Bruce:  Yees?
Moe:    Well, he gets his ass kicked off of the show.....
Bruce:  Yees?
Moe:    (VERY RAPIDLY) and nobody wants him...and he can't get  
        another job... and he becomes a grungy fruitcake,       
        supported by his lawyer wife and.....
Bruce:  (LUNGES AT MOE AND WRAPS HIS FINGERS AROUND HIS NECK)   
        You bastard! You stole my life!
Moe:     (AS THE OTHERS ARE PULLING BRUCE OFF, MOE IS           
        RUBBING HIS THROAT AND EXCLAIMING) I didn't know that   
        you were Mr. Laura Whitfield!        
Morgan:(CROSSES HIS ARMS AND LEANS BACK ON THE COUCH) You       
        know? I like this. Good action! I think you're in, Mr.  
        Whitfield.
Bruce:  I am not Mr. Whitfield!!
Morgan:But, I'm not fully convinced that you can be grungy      
        enough!
Laura:  Just take a look at his apartment! Come. I'll show you.
(THEY EXIT, LEAVING MAX, BRUCE AND MOE BEHIND) 
Moe:    EARNESTLY) Bruce! This is my best work! It's a deep     
        psychological plot about the emotional decline of a guy     
        who goes nuts in frustration at not being recognized as     
        the talent he is. If you play it right, you could win   
        an Oscar and screw Morgan with a financial success.
Bruce:  Can the breakdown start with him doing Shakespeare?
Moe:    I can work that in.         
Max:    Is this guy for real?
Moe:    I'll say! You know that "little abode" in Baltimore he  
        mentioned? It's really a forty acre estate with 30      
        rooms and 15 bathrooms in the house. You know how he    
        gets coast-to-coast? He spends 3 days in his Hollywood  
        office and 4 days in Baltimore.
Bruce:  How does he do it?
Moe:    Has his own jet plane.
Bruce:  He has a jet plane?
Moe:    Just a seven passenger job. He says he hates catching   
        colds on regular business class flights.
Max:    Poor boy!  
Bruce:  (HOLDING HIS HEAD) I can't believe this. I will be      
        playing a nut case based on my own life and he'll be    
        hoping the picture fails.
Max:    Well, it's a little like type-casting, there.(BRUCE     
        SHOOTS HIM A DIRTY LOOK.)
        (LAURA AND MORGAN WALK BACK IN)
Bruce:  You're back already?
Laura:  We glanced through the door. We didn't dare walk in.
Morgan:I'm convinced! By the way, who's the broad that left     
        those clothes on the couch over there?
Bruce:  My mother.
Morgan:She wears a false beard?
Bruce:  Hormone problems.
Morgan:OK! Let's finish this up. Where's the phone? I want to   
        get my office in Hollywood before it closes  
        (HE TAKES IT OFF THE CRADLE AND DIALS A NUMBER)
Laura:  Be my guest!
Morgan:Thanks! I will. Hello, Betty? Get Chad for me.       
        I don't give a damn if he's in a meeting. Get him for   
        me. (PAUSE)  No body at all. I don't know why I hired   
        her. Chad? I've got our lead. Who? He's a           
        nobody. You wouldn't know who he is. Screen test?       
        What screen test? He doesn't have any pimples. He's         
        playing a grungy psycho. I don't care how he looks. All     
        right! I'll bring him back with me. Get the contracts   
        ready. What do you mean how much? How much are we       
        paying Mona Lynch?
Bruce:  Mona Lynch! She's up for a supporting Oscar!
Morgan:(HAND OVER THE MOUTHPIECE) We signed her up cheap,       
        before she made that picture. Now, she's squealing like     
        like a stuck pig. (BACK INTO THE MOUTHPIECE) OK! give   
        him half of that. What percentage of profits? Hell. I    
        don't know. Give him 5%. No, make that 10%. We're not   
        going to have any profits anyway. What's his name? I    
        don't know! (TO BRUCE) What's your name?
Bruce:  Bruce Evans.
Morgan:Is that your real name? I thought it was Whitfield.
        (BRUCE HOLDS HIS HEAD IN PAIN) Ok! it's Bruce Evans.    
        Evans. E-V-A-N-S. See you tomorrow. (HE HANGS UP) Done!     
        I'll have my car pick you up at seven sharp in the      
        morning. We take off at eight. Be ready. Dress grungy.  
        Comeon Moe! (MOE LOOKS BACK AT EACH OF THEM AS HE       
        FOLLOWS MORGAN. HE SHRUGS HIS SHOULDERS. THEY LEAVE                   
              THE OTHERS IN STUNNED SILENCE. FINALLY)
Max:    I wonder what commission he pays.
Laura;  (TO BRUCE) I can't believe you accepted that. It is so  
        demeaning. That man is an animal.
Bruce:  (A CHANGED MAN, HE PULLS HIMSELF UP SMOOTH AND SEXY)    
        It's Hollywood, Baby! That's where you find the best    
        and freest T and A. And, that's where I'll find David   
        Schwimmer, that God-damned nerd. I'm coming David.      
        Watch out David! I'm coming!   !! HE TURNS TO LAURA,    
        EYELIDS HALF WAY DOWN AND VERY SEDUCTIVELY.) By the          
            way, have I ever told you how fucking beautiful you         
        are? 
Laura:  No! Tell me.
Bruce:  (TAKES HER IN HIS ARMS) You are fucking beautiful! 
Laura:   So are you!
Bruce:  So am I what?
Laura:   Fucking beautiful..... again. (THEY KISS PASSIONATELY
Max:    (CLAPPING HIS HAND TO HIS HEAD) Oh! my God! 

                   --CURTAIN--