TRAPPED! by Ben H. Winters
Studio L, an unremarkable rehearsal studio in a warren of unremarkable rehearsal studios, collectively known as the Meyers-Pittman Studio Complex, located on the sixteenth floor of a tall nondescript building in Chelsea, a couple blocks south and one long avenue over from Port Authority. The walls are mirrored; the floor is marked with tape; tables and chairs are clustered to represent the location of furniture on the real set.
Downstage right is a props table, laden with all manner of weaponry. The play in rehearsal is the Broadway thriller “Deathtrap” by Ira Levin, and the table displays the full range of weaponry called for in that show, viz., “a collection of guns, handcuffs, maces, broadswords, and battle-axes”
PATRICK WOLFISH, the stage manager, wears black boots, black clothes, and a black attitude. He sits scowling with arms crossed, projecting the combination of administrative prowess and social awkwardness that is the hallmark of technical personnel.
ELSIE WOODRUFF, the director, is young and smart. While others speak, she nods and furrows her brow, as if she’s evaluating their ideas to rate them on a scale of one to four stars. When she’s speaking, she gestures a lot, as if she feels she must constantly be directing everything.
LEWIS CANNON, the fifty-something actor playing Sidney Bruhl, wears sunglasses indoors and has an unlit cigarette behind his ear. He talks slowly, with the pompous self-regard befitting a star much bigger than he is.
MARCUS VOWELL, the good-looking young actor playing the good-looking young playwright Clifford Anderson, is theatrical, even for a theater person. He is very butch to look at, with well-muscled arms and a prominent jaw, but his affect is high camp, in that way that is utterly delightful for the first thirty seconds or so.
DETECTIVE MA WONG works homicide for the New York City Police Department. Her manner is no-nonsense, in sharp contrast to the abundant nonsense all around her.
At rise, DETECTIVE WONG is standing thoughtfully beside the props table, turning a page in her notebook. After a moment, a second pool of light opens far upstage right, discovering PATRICK WOLFISH seated in a chair, his crossed arms signaling irritation and displeasure. Their conversation has an impressionistic feel, as both speak directly to the audience.
WONG: “Deathtrap.” That’s a play?
PATRICK: Yes. It’s a play. About a murder. Actually, it’s a play about a play about a murder. “A young playwright sends his first play to an older playwright who conducted a seminar that the young playwright attended.” That’s the description of the play within a play, but it’s the same as the play. Both plays are called “Deathtrap.” Very meta. The twist-actually, the first of the twists-
WONG: (raises her hand) I just wanted to confirm that it’s a play.
PATRICK: Yes. It’s a play.
WONG: So that explains the weapons.
PATRICK: Yeah. It’s in the stage directions. “The room is decorated with framed theatrical window cards and a collection of guns, handcuffs, maces, broadswords, and battle-axes.”
WONG: Can you quote the whole play?
PATRICK: It’s my job.
WONG: You’re the stage manager?
PATRICK: Yes. It’s my job to know the script. Also to organize and manage rehearsals, to ensure a safe and productive working environment, to-
WONG: (raises her hand) I just wanted to confirm that you’re the stage manager.
PATRICK: Yes.
WONG: And you’ve worked with the producer Otto Klein in the past?
PATRICK: Nine shows and counting.
WONG: Well, just nine. Mr. Klein has been beaten to death, remember, Mr. Wolfish? His body was found this morning stuffed between the snack machine and the… (She refers to her notes.) The Dr. Pepper machine.
PATRICK: Right. Yeah. I know.
(WONG fishes in her pocket and holds up a cell phone.)
WONG: And do you know what this is?
PATRICK: It’s a phone.
WONG: It’s Mr. Klein’s phone. Would you read this text, please?
(She holds it higher; PATRICK leans forward and squints, reading the tiny screen.)
PATRICK: But-but I didn’t send this. Why would I send this?
WONG: I had the exact same question.
PATRICK: But I didn’t send it. Seriously. I lost my phone yesterday.
WONG: Where?
PATRICK: Here. During rehearsal!
WONG: So. Someone with your phone texted Mr. Klein, asking him to arrive an hour early this morning, and then when he did, that person bludgeoned him to death and left his body slumped behind the Dr. Pepper machine. But it wasn’t you, because (making a big show of checking her notes) you lost your phone. Yesterday.
PATRICK: (standing up) Yes. Yes! Well, obviously I didn’t lose it. Obviously, someone stole it. The murderer!
WONG: Would you sit down, please?
PATRICK: (still standing) Ask my husband. Ask Peter! When I got home from rehearsal last night, I was looking all over for my damn phone. Ask him!
WONG: Great idea. Where is he right now?
PATRICK. Right now? He’s working. He’s an actor.
WONG: Is he in a rehearsal?
PATRICK: No, no. He’s-he’s not in a show right now. He was up for a swing in Honeymoon in Vegas, but the choreographer on that hates him.
WONG: So, where is he?
PATRICK: He’s busking. Riding the A/C train, singing Gilbert and Sullivan.
WONG: All right. I’ll send someone out to find him, and we can get this thing cleared up. (She takes out her phone to make a call.)
PATRICK: Look. Detective. Detective. I’ve never killed anyone in my life.
WONG: In that case, you’re free to go.
PATRICK: Really?
WONG: Sit down, please.
The lights dim on PATRICK as he reluctantly sits, but stay illuminated on WONG, who, after murmuring instructions into her phone, shifts attention to upstage left, where a new pool of light finds MARCUS VOWELL, overwrought and overemoting.
MARCUS: I just-I just-I mean, I cannot believe it. Dead? Klein is dead? He cannot be dead. I mean, I feel like he is literally right here in this room right now.
WONG: Actually, Mr. Vowell, we’re still awaiting the coroner’s van. Mr. Klein is out there next to the Dr. Pepper machine, if you’d care to see him.
MARCUS: Oh, my God, no thank you. I could not handle that. It’s just so, so sad and so, so weird. I’ve never known anyone dead before. My friend Rigoberto was extremely sick once, and he was sure that it was cancer. He said goodbye to all of us, one by one, and then the doctor told him it was indigestion, and he just had to chew his food more. Such a close call. So scary.
WONG: Mr. Vowell, who was present at rehearsal yesterday?
MARCUS: Yesterday, yesterday… Okay, let’s see. We were rehearsing act two, scene two. It’s such a good scene. Sidney gives his whole shocking speech and then he looks at Clifford and he goes, “I’m out of dialogue. Your go.” And then Clifford-that’s me, I’m playing Clifford-such a good part-I go, “I’m hoping you’ll take pity on a pretty face.” I love that line. Love it! It’s such a good play.