Murder at the Retirement Community by Josh Nichols

This Play is the copyright of the Author and must NOT be Performed without the Author's PRIOR consent

HANK: Hey uh, Emma.

EMMA: One moment Mr. Miller. I’m just showing our space off to a potential future new neighbor for you. (to AARON) Anywho, I think you’ll find that our residents really love it here.

HANK: Emma, I think you maybe…

EMMA: Well hey there Mr. Interrupty Pants. (to AARON) One moment, please. (to HANK) Alright, what can I help you with?

HANK: Well it’s Ted, he’s…

EMMA: Mr. Williby or Mr. Morrison?

HANK: Williby, he’s kinda blue.

EMMA: Oh no! Is he still out of sorts because his daughter didn’t visit again?

HANK: I have no idea…

EMMA: Oh it’s just terrible her doing that to him. He seems so lonely and she doesn’t keep her promises to visit. Darn it! It makes me so gosh darned cross with her.

HANK: Don’t hold back. Look, I think you should probably go help him out.

EMMA: I’ll swing by as soon as I’m done with my tour.

HANK: Well, he’ll probably be dead by then.

EMMA: What?!

HANK: Like I said he’s blue. I think he’s choking on a hard candy.

EMMA: What?! Oh my word! (starts to exit) Why didn’t you tell me!

HANK: What the hell do you think I’m doing?

EMMA: Oh Mr. Davis… (talking loudly to GORDON as though he can’t hear) I…AM…SORRY.. MR. WILLIBY… NEEDS ME! (as she exits) Mr. Williby I’m coming! Elevate your feet! Breath through your nose! Turn your head and cough!

GORDON: What a bitch.

AARON: Dad?!

GORDON: What?

AARON: She’s been nothing but nice to you.

GORDON: (mimicking the nurse loudly speaking) OH… REALLY? DO…YOU…THINK…SO? Treating me like I’m a little kid or some dog.

AARON: She was just making sure you could hear everything okay.

GORDON: I can hear better than you!

AARON: Well how would she know that?

GORDON: Hmm, how about asking me, huh? The older I get the less people ask me anything. Like whether I want to move into this dump or not.

AARON: Oh come on, we’ve been through this, I’m busy with work and wouldn’t be home enough to take care of you. It’s not fair to leave you home alone all day.

GORDON: What, do you think I’m gonna make a mess on the carpet? Tear up the furniture. I’m a grown man not a Shih Tzu.

AARON: That’s not what I’m saying. Besides this place is nice and they have all sorts of fun and games, and…aaaannnd…a shuttle for the mall! Huh, huh?!

GORDON: Oh whoopee, I’ll spend the rest of my life in a geriatric amusement park with a mall shuttle. (looks to the sky) Don’t take me now God, I’m already in heaven.

AARON: Shhh…don’t joke about death in a place like this. Some of these folks probably don’t have long left.

HANK: Hey! You got a problem with old people pal? You might find that YOU don’t have long left!

AARON: No, I didn't mean… I just… um… I hope that man is going to be okay.

HANK: Who?

AARON: Mr. uh… Mr. whatever his name is? The man who’s choking.

HANK: Ha! You’re new here. He’s not choking… I just like to keep it interesting around here.

GORDON: (laughs)

AARON: Oh that’s terrible!

HANK: Meh, what do you know? You wait until you get my age. You gotta cause a little mischief just to make sure you're still alive. Besides, making Emma run around like that keeps her tush firm. She’s nice right?

AARON: She’s very nice.

HANK: That was a rhetorical question. Keep your hands off her tush. I got dibs.

AARON: No, not that! I meant she’s a very nice person. Not her “tush.”

HANK: (defensive) Oh you don’t think it’s nice? You think you can do better?

AARON: No, I mean, she has a very nice tush but.. I mean, no… you know what? I’m done with this.

GORDON: Well, I mean you are single now you may want to start putting yourself out there so you don’t end up dying alone like me.

AARON: Dad, you’re not gonna die alone and I’d appreciate you not sharing my personal business with strangers.

GORDON: Oh, soooo sorry! Your personal business? You were talking to the tour guide about my bowel movements… I didn’t think your relationship status was off limits.

HANK: So your wife, is she hot?

AARON: What is wrong with you?

HANK: Ha! There’s my answer. She can’t be more than a four or you’d brag about it.

AARON: “If” I put a number on her, which I wouldn’t because that’s shallow and demeaning, I’d have you know she’s a solid eight… was … an eight. We’re divorced now. You know, this is none of your business!

HANK: Well I mean that’s kinda subjective. Give me a baseline, what would you rank Emma?

AARON: I wouldn’t. I don’t even know her.

HANK: What a prude, just give her a number.

AARON: Absolutely, not.

HANK: Okay, let’s try another route, give me some ranks on some dirty pictures (He reaches into pockets to pull out pictures).

AARON: No!

HANK: It’s either Emma or these naughty photos.

AARON: Oh my gosh, fine! She’s is a seven! Would you please just leave me alone?! Don’t you have some oxygen to huff or some spongebath to get?

HANK: You think she’s only a seven and your ex is an eight! Yowza, can I get her number?

MYRTLE enters holding a stuffed cat.

MYRTLE: Hank? Hank?!

HANK: (to AARON) Shoot, it’s my wife…ixnay on the ushtay and the eight-ay! Yah Myrtle, I’m here… I’m here.

MYRTLE: Hank have you seen Chester? He said he’s going to feed Mr. Fuzzykins.

HANK: Myrtle you've got to quit this. Our cats have been dead for 10 years… 10 years. Dead. Yet every morning you still put out fresh milk for ‘em.

MYRTLE: Oh Hank you're such a jokester. Mr. Fuzzykins still has all nine of his lives left.

HANK: Well I only have one and you're killing me.

MYRTLE: Hank you're such a hoot. Mr. Fuzzykins would you like to go get a special treat? Maybe some sardines or some heavy cream?

HANK: Please no! Myrtle, I can't take that smell.

MYRTLE passes by AARON and stops.

MYRTLE: Oh hello there, are you here for the birthday party?

AARON: Excuse me?

MYRTLE: Mister Smith’s birthday party.

AARON: Oh no, I’m here showing my dad around. He’s hoping to move in.

MYRTLE: Oh good, I thought you might be related to Otto, (still speaking sweetly) he’s a terrible person. Just a garbage human being really.

HANK: He’s ex mob. They could never pin anything on him and now he’s to old for them to care.

MYRTLE: (to GORDON) And who might you be?

GORDON: I’m Gordon Davis and that’s my son Aaron.

MYRTLE: Gordon, it’s good to meet you. So how are you, health-wise?

GORDON: I’m fine.

MYRTLE: Oh really, no memory issues, glaucoma, memory issues… bunions?

GORDON: Uh.. no…

MYRTLE: That’s impressive. So no diseases or anything?

GORDON: I mean, I have a bad back sometimes.

MYRTLE: Oh dear, that’s good to know. They make medicines for that.

HANK: Myrtle, would you please leave the poor man alone, huh?

MYRTLE: Hank, why do you always rush me?

GORDON: (to HANK) It’s fine, really.

MYRTLE: You see! He likes me and Fuzzykins (Holds the cat up to her ear) What’s that Mr. Fuzzykins? Oh you like Gordon too? Oh isn’t that nice. He doesn’t just like anyone but he’s taken a shine to you!

HANK: Myrtle, leave ‘em alone, huh? (to GORDON) You’ll have to forgive her. She's gotten a bit aloof in her old age. She used to be a real shrew but she doesn’t got that spunk anymore.

MYRTLE: Hank you are always putting that nose in my business. (to GORDON) He’s lost some of his manners over the years we’ve been married.

HANK: Myrtle, you have to get ready for the birthday party.

MYRTLE: Oh, heavens. Is it my birthday already? HANK: Not you, Otto.

MYRTLE: What was that? HANK: (louder) Otto!

MYRTLE: Oh, what a mean man. You didn’t invite him to my birthday party did you?

HANK: (blood pressure rising) It’s HIS birthday!

OTTO enters. He uses a walker slowly and takes the entire duration of his lines to get to his eventual exit.

OTTO: Did someone say birthday boy?!

HANK: Nobody said “birthday boy.” The last time someone called you a boy you were… well you were just…I mean it was… the point is you're old.

OTTO: Ouch! Easy on me fella, my heart can’t take a zinger like that one! (referring to GORDON). Looks like we got some fresh meat.

MYRTLE: This is Mr. Davis and his father Mr. Davis. Oh dear, I must be seeing double. Well, I’ve already warned them that you’re a real shit heel.

OTTO: What?!

MYRTLE: A meanie.

OTTO: What?! Awww come on Myrtle, I’m a pussycat, you know that. Speaking of pussycats, how’s Mr. Fuzzykins doing?

MYRTLE: He’s quite all right.

OTTO: (a bit aggressive) Oh he looks like a fat cat.

MYRTLE: Actually he has an empty tummy. Chester was supposed to bring him food. HANK: Can’t trust Chester for anything, what a loon. Look Otto, just leave her and the cat be. You know she’s gone a bit crazy these last few years.

MYRTLE: What do you mean Hank?

HANK: Never you mind, Myrtle.

OTTO: Well, Myrtle are you coming to my birthday party? (trying to intimidate her) I’m expecting you to bring me a big gift. And, if you don’t… well I’m afraid Mr. Fuzzykins will be sleeping with the fishes.

MYRTLE: Oh you're so silly Mr. Fuzzykins would never sleep with the fishes! He’d put them in his big old tummy. What a hungry hungry kitty! If anyone tries to get close to Mr. Fuzzykins he’d scratch their eyes out.

OTTO: (getting angry) Don't mess around with me!

HANK: Listen here bub! You leave my wife alone!

OTTO: What do you care, you just called her crazy yourself!

HANK: Yea! But I'm the only one that can call my wife crazy so back off!

OTTO: Okay big man, I’ll see you and the misses at the party!

HANK: Well maybe we won’t be coming to the party!

OTTO: Suit yourself. It's not often you get cake with real frosting around this place though. Usually it’s all that sugar free diabetes crap.

HANK: Damn. Fine, maybe you WILL see us there but I’ll have my eye on you!

OTTO: Ha! See you there. (exits)

MYRTLE: Well Hank, I better go get ready for my party!

HANK: Oye!