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This script is distributed by the Australian Script Centre, trading as australianplays.org
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[email protected] http://australianplays.org Tel +61 3 6223 4675 Fax +61 3 6223 4678
© 2006 Gary Abrahams
DOWNSTAIRS AT GOSFORD PARK
by Gary Abrahams
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!This script is distributed by the Australian Script Centre, trading as australianplays.org!
77 Salamanca Place Hobart 7004 Tasmania Australia
[email protected] http://australianplays.org Tel +61 3 6223 4675 Fax +61 3 6223 4678
2
DOWNSTAIRS AT GOSFORD PARK
Gary Abrahams
CAST
Samson, a waiter in his late thirties.
SETTING
An arts function involving various actors and writers performing pompous and
pretentious monologues.
© 2006 Gary Abrahams
3
DOWNSTAIRS AT GOSFORD PARK
SAMSON has been walking around all evening holding a tray of water samples.
He has an air of quiet desperation. During the monologues he has been
standing to the side of the room, dutifully holding his tray, slowly getting
more and more wound up, until …
Samson: (Suddenly and quite loudly)
In my head I am a woman.
(He stops, shocked that he has spoken out loud)
Sorry. That’s not quite right. Not what I meant to say.
(He gathers strength, and the following comes out fast and uncontrolled)
I’ve been standing here holding this fucking tray all night and planning …
rehearsing what I was going to say … writing myself a monologue in my head. I
wasn’t even sure if I was going to say it out loud, tell my story out loud. We all
have a story … I mean I also have a story, I don’t need some wannabe writer to
write me a story, I have my own story …
Fuck.
(He stops. Takes a breath. Gains control)
This is harder than it seems.
It’s certainly not as spontaneous as I thought it would be. In my head, as I was
standing here, with this tray, all night, I would suddenly just start speaking,
just start talking, and a flood of words would come out of my mouth, and my
story would be told and you would all listen, and be engrossed, and then you’d
all stop just thinking of me as a waiter, a human dumb waiter, and see that I
am … um … um … not just a waiter.
Maybe what I’d say would seem so great to you you’d all start talking to me
later on, and ask me to put down my tray and join your conversation, join your
group, and then maybe I’d meet some brilliant artists, or theatre people, or
whoever the fuck comes to these things, and you’d see that I was brilliant too,
that I was just like you and we’d connect!
© 2006 Gary Abrahams
4
Yeah?
We’d connect. I would make connections!
And those connections would lead on to some work, proper work, and then I
would also be an artist, or theatre person, maybe even connect my way into a
job in advertising!
Yeah?
Advertising!
And I wouldn’t have to hold this fucking tray ever again, smiling politely as
everyone slurps their fucking drink sample right in my face, and pops fucking
smelly canapés into their rotten mouths and hands me soiled tissues that I have
to somehow hide discreetly so as not to put people off the food. Because I
would have a job in advertising and I would be on the other side of the tray!
(He takes a breath, and continues with more confidence)
I would be on the other side of the tray. And I would eat the canapés. And not
hidden in a dark corner of the kitchen trying to stuff handfuls of leftovers into
my mouth before my boss catches me.
I would swan about!
And I do. That’s my point. My story. What I’m trying to say.
In my head I’m doing all those things.
In my head I’m someone else.
A woman.
(Pause)
Not in a weird way, I’m not saying I want to be a woman. I’m just saying that in
my head, sometimes, I become one.
And she’s absolutely gorgeous. Five foot nine with big bouncing breasts and a
tiny waist and hips you just want to hold on to and never let go of. Legs so long
they practically go up to my throat. Thick raven hair that follows my every
move like a punctuation mark and lips the colour of ripe watermelon. Eyes the
colour of the Mediterranean sea and lashes so long and thick a breeze comes
off me every time I blink.
© 2006 Gary Abrahams
5
Men and women stand in awe around me as I hold court, and everyone wants to
know me. I would be the one people want to connect with!
I am an actress, a model, a singer, a writer, all the things exceptionally
beautiful and talented women get to be, and I never, ever have to carry a tray
or serve anyone.
I get served.
In my head.
I get served.
(Pause)
I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I don’t want to stop you from enjoying
your drinks and canapés. I don’t even want you to try and make conversation
with me as I do my job. That’s the last thing I want. Please just ignore me. Say
thank you occasionally at most.
I know I am a servant, I know this is my role in life, I know this is what fate has
in store for me. I know I am destined to live forever downstairs at Gosford
Park.
But in my head it’s different.
And if I seem distant, or cold, or a little rude, and never look you in the eyes,
it’s because I am perfectly happy.
In my head.
I am happy.
(Pause)
But only in my head.
The End
© 2006 Gary Abrahams
