ONE EVE, ONE ANGEL, AND ONE FOOL.

  

 

ONE EVE, ONE ANGEL, AND ONE FOOL

 

(Or the Farce of the Late Mr. Higgins)

 

By BENJAMIN GAVARRE

Esta obra está bajo la licencia Creative Commons Atribución-NoComercial-SinDerivadas 4.0 Internacional.

bengavarre@gmail.com

 

 

Ladies and gentlemen, step right up and witness a brief comedic paso of deceit and soap suds! You will see how a cunning wife and a quack doctor invent the perfect fake illness to punish a brutish husband. But beware, for in farces, as in life, plans often backfire: between the warm water and the bubbles, revenge goes sideways and the brute falls... unexpectedly in love. Let the curtain rise for One Eve, One Angel, and One Fool!

 

 

 

CHARACTERS:

• DR. LUKE: A quack doctor of dubious ethics. All talk, zero patients.

 

• EVE: A cunning, vengeful wife who doesn't mess around.

 

• MARTY: The husband. Heavy-handed, tiny-brained, with a massive guilty conscience.

 

• ANGEL: The "cousin." A smooth-talking freeloader with an angelic face and flawless skin.

 

SCENE I: THE CLINIC OF STARVATION

(Dr. Luke’s clinic. A plastic skeleton missing a leg and empty glass bottles. DR. LUKE paces around, rubbing his rumbling stomach).

 

DR. LUKE: Oh, the misery! Three days without prescribing a single aspirin! My guts are making more noise than a brass band. If a sick person doesn't walk through that door soon, I’ll have to make a soup out of the drywall.

(EVE enters, wearing oversized dark sunglasses).

EVE: Oh, Luke! Help me, I’m passing out!

DR. LUKE: Come in, my dear Eve! Take the good chair. What ails you? Though judging by that bruise peeking out from under your shades, I’d say you tripped and fell on your husband’s fist... again.

EVE: Hush! This time it was a plague of mutant fleas that bite and—bam!—leave you with a black eye.

DR. LUKE: Look, Eve, I graduated from the School of Hard Knocks. That was Marty the animal. And what did the beast do afterwards?

EVE: The usual. The second I start crying, he gives me the sad puppy face. He filled the house with cheap graveyard flowers, bought a giant stuffed gorilla, and blew his paycheck on a tacky lava lamp. I’m tired of it, Doc. I want revenge, but I don’t want him to leave me; someone has to pay the bills.

DR. LUKE: I have the perfect solution. You need intensive care and "family support." Do you have a favorite cousin?

EVE: I have my cousin Angel... he's a very "affectionate" boy.

DR. LUKE: Bring him over immediately! You and your little Angel are going to suffer from a terrible modern illness: The Late Mr. Higgins' Disease. It’s so serious that you look perfectly fine on the outside, but it requires excessive luxury and absolute bed rest. Marty, driven by pure guilt, will become your slave. Leave it to me.

 

SCENE II: THE DIAGNOSIS AND THE PENANCE

(Marty and Eve’s living room. MARTY enters carrying a massive stuffed gorilla, sobbing loudly).

 

MARTY: My beloved Eve! I’m a beast! A poorly raised mule! I brought you this gorilla so you’d forgive me. Smash a vase over my head if you want, but please forgive me!

EVE: (Laying on the sofa, playing weak). Oh, Marty... your guilt doesn't take the pain away. I can see the light, the ghosts... I’m dying.

MARTY: Don't die! What can I do? Should I make you chicken soup? Should I hire a mariachi band?

EVE: I need the moral support of my own blood. And what a coincidence, my cousin Angel—the one who got kicked out of the city—was just passing by...

MARTY: The pretty boy with the blond hair?

EVE: That’s the one. He was feeling as sick as I am, so I let him in to give him some broth.

(ANGEL enters, looking extremely handsome, fake-coughing delicately into a silk handkerchief).

ANGEL: (With a smooth, sweet voice). Hello, Cousin Marty. Oh, I feel shards of glass in my throat... I need to lie down next to my cousin so we can share some family warmth.

MARTY: Come on in, cousin! My house is your hospital!

(DR. LUKE enters with great pomp, using a plastic funnel attached to a hose as a stethoscope).

DR. LUKE: Make way for science! I have come to examine the dying. (He examines both of them; they secretly wink at him).

MARTY: Give it to me straight, Doc. Will they make it? They look pretty rosy to me... they're practically glowing.

DR. LUKE: That’s the danger, you ignorant fool! They have the fulminant variant of The Late Mr. Higgins' Disease. The main symptom is looking incredibly healthy and attractive right before you suddenly drop dead. If we don’t act now, they won't make it to dinner.

MARTY: Holy smokes! What do I do, Doctor?

DR. LUKE: The prescription is expensive. To boost their immune system: nothing but Norwegian salmon, prosciutto, and fine red wine. And most importantly: Intense Contact Hydrotherapy.

MARTY: Hydro-what?

DR. LUKE: Baths, Marty. Sponge baths with deep massage. You must give cousin Angel a warm bubble bath to bring down his internal fever. Then, once Angel recovers, he will give a nice sponge bath to Eve.

MARTY: Wait. I have to bathe this big guy? And then he bathes my wife? Hey! Are you trying to make a cuckold out of me?

DR. LUKE: Look at yourself as the hero of the movie! You will be the catalyst for their healing, free of all guilt!

MARTY: (Imagining the scenario). I buy the salmon! I scrub his back! I am their slave! (Smiles weirdly at Angel). What could possibly go wrong?

ANGEL: Thank you, cousin. Just make sure the water is lukewarm... if it’s too cold, my skin wrinkles. Oh, and get me some seedless grapes to snack on while you scrub me.

(Marty lets out a nervous giggle. The other three exchange complicit looks).

 

SCENE III: THE BATH AND THE PRAISE OF THE FLESH

(The bathroom. ANGEL is sitting in a vintage tin bathtub with his long legs hanging out, wearing a rubber ducky shower cap. MARTY, in shorts, is sweating as he pours water over him with a plastic pitcher. EVE watches from the doorway, casually eating an apple).

 

MARTY: Oh, cousin... it’s so hard seeing you look so radiant yet so close to death. How’s the water? Should I turn up the water heater?

ANGEL: A little bit warmer, I feel a chill in my spirit. And run that sponge down my calves, that’s where the virus pools up.

MARTY: (Scrubbing vigorously with admiration). You got it! Hey, cousin... now that I have you up close... you’ve got a great build! Legs like a pro athlete, not like my scrawny chicken legs. (Squeezes Angel's thigh). Hard as a rock. Good Lord! No wonder my Eve loves you so much.

EVE: (From the door). Don’t scrub him so hard, Marty! Angel is delicate, treat him like fine china.

MARTY: Sorry, I just get excited seeing the boy so... well-endowed. Here, lift your arm. (He soaps him up with devotion). Wow! So soft... like a cherub’s bottom. I have a back like sandpaper from hauling boxes at the warehouse, but you have imported peach skin.

ANGEL: You’re rustic, Marty, I’m aesthetic. Keep scrubbing my lower back, right where the virus stings.

MARTY: Listen, my guardian angel... man to man. If I go on a diet of salmon and wine... will my skin get as glossy as yours?

ANGEL: (Winks at Eve). No, Marty. Yours is a factory defect. But if you keep scrubbing me like this, I’ll put in a good word with the saints so they forgive you for being such a brute.

MARTY: I’d be honored! I feel reborn! (He accidentally splashes a pitcher of water right into Angel’s face out of pure emotion).

ANGEL: Watch it, animal! My eyes are burning!

MARTY: Just pure emotion, cousin! Pure emotion!

 

SCENE IV: THE BILL AND THE UNEXPECTED ROMANCE

(The living room. Remnants of a gourmet feast. EVE and ANGEL look very satisfied and slightly flushed from the wine. MARTY is drying ANGEL’S feet with unusual tenderness).

 

EVE: (Filing her nails, sounding annoyed). Hey, lots of healing and miracles going on, but when was it my turn for a bath? The doctor was very clear that Angel had to scrub me.

ANGEL: (Stretching like a cat). Oh, Cousin Eve... good old Marty left my spirit so relaxed and drained that I can’t even lift the sponge.

MARTY: Heaven forbid! Let my Angel rest, he has very sensitive skin. I’ll hose you down in the backyard later with some dish soap, that'll get the virus right out of you.

DR. LUKE: (Enters triumphantly). A scientific miracle! The terrible plague has been defeated. Now, for my fee: five hundred for the consultation, four hundred for the house call, and twelve hundred and fifty for the epidemiological follow-up...

MARTY: (Standing up, dusting off his knees). Geez, Dr. Luke... I had a lot of expenses with the salmon and the sparkling wine. I’m completely tapped out.

DR. LUKE: (Angry). You have to pay me, or I’ll tell the whole neighborhood what I saw! I’ll make you all sick again!

MARTY: Don't burst a blood vessel! I have capital in kind. Take the giant stuffed gorilla. It’s brand new.

DR. LUKE: Am I supposed to pay my rent with a stuffed gorilla?

MARTY: Take the lava lamp too. You can sell it at the flea market and make double what I owe you!

DR. LUKE: (Resigned, he grabs the gorilla and the lamp). Fine. Idiots, the whole lot of you. (He exits grumbling).

ANGEL: Well, family. This healed body must return to its cloud. Marty, thank you for your enthusiasm; it was almost a religious experience.

EVE: Yes, you can go now, cousin. Marty, get the door for the boy.

(Marty runs and blocks the door. He takes Angel’s hands, looking at him with absolute devotion).

MARTY: My guardian angel. Don’t leave without hearing me out. While I was drying your feet...

ANGEL: (Nervous, trying to pull his hands away). Cousin Marty... it’s getting late.

MARTY: It’s just that, after seeing you in that tub, so pale, with the firmness of your shoulders... I felt something right here in my chest. Eve is my wife and I love her, but you... you have skin like an angel.

EVE: (Eyes wide open). Marty! You cross the line! He’s my cousin! And didn't you notice his giant Adam's apple?!

MARTY: (Dreamily). I know he has an Adam's apple, and a mustache... but, oh Eve! Nobody is perfect. (He adjusts Angel’s collar and gently strokes his cheek). If you ever get tired of living alone, Angel... you have a home here. I can give you bubble baths every day. I have a very soft hand for soaping, right?

ANGEL: (In full panic mode, looking at Eve). Uh... yeah, sure. See ya around, I'll call you!

(Angel flees in terror out into the street. Eve drops onto the sofa, stunned, covering her face with her hands. Marty stays by the open door, sighing with a goofy, lovestruck smile).

MARTY: (Shouting into the street, completely in love). Bundle up, my Angel! Don't catch a cold!

(Marty gently closes the door, humming a romantic tune and hugging himself as if he were embracing an imaginary sponge).

 

CURTAIN

 

Esta obra está bajo la licencia Creative Commons Atribución-NoComercial-SinDerivadas 4.0 Internacional.