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"THE POKER-FACE DUEL"
A Comic Farce in One Act
By BENJAMIN GAVARRE
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® BENJAMIN GAVARRE SILVA
✨⚜️✨ ─── ⚜️ ─── ✨⚜️✨
✨⚜️✨ ─── ⚜️ ─── ✨⚜️✨
Dramatis Personae:
- Metepiú: A pretentious, affected aristocrat; unmoved face, but very restless feet.
- Pentesquiu: His rival; haughty, sensual, wields his fan with military precision.
- Madame de Sans-Souci: The court’s chief gossip; has a tongue sharp enough to cut glass.
- The Duke of Carambola: An old nobleman, deaf as a post, but with an impeccable nose for scandal.
- The Marchioness of la Lorgnette: A professional court voyeur; hyperventilates at the sight of romance.
- Gastón: The lackey who pretends to serve wine but lives for spying on cards and calves.
- The Dealer: The official palace card dealer, on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
✨⚜️✨ ─── ⚜️ ─── ✨⚜️✨
ONLY SCENE
The Salon of the Small Mirrors. Luxury everywhere, wigs the size of sheep, and the smell of rice powder. In the center, a mahogany table where Metepiú and Pentesquiu are playing Lansquenet. The Dealer shuffles the royal cards looking miserable. To the left, Madame de Sans-Souci and the Duke of Carambola drink tea. To the right, on a divan, the Marchioness of la Lorgnette watches through her opera glasses, assisted by Gastón, the snitching lackey.
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Madame de Sans-Souci. — (Snapping her fan shut) I tell you, Duke, Versailles is sinking into the mud
of vice! Look at those two. Metepiú and Pentesquiu. They claim they are disputing the fiefdom of Gascony, but all I see is a shameless duel of pupils!
Duke of Carambola. — What’s that? A dress made of chutney? Well, I think the lace suits them rather well!
Madame de Sans-Souci. — No, you deaf old mallet! They are devouring each other alive! Those two aren’t playing for ducats, they are playing to see who surrenders the fortress first... if you catch my drift.
At the gaming table, Metepiú and Pentesquiu hold their cards close to their chests. Their faces are two wax masks, but underneath the table, the rubbing of silk stockings and high-heeled shoes produces a constant sizzling sound.
Metepiú. — (Without moving a single facial muscle) I double the stake in the Lansquenet, my dear Pentesquiu. I wager my wedding carriage that your hand lacks the necessary firmness to hold this bet... or anything else of weight.
Pentesquiu. — (With a languid voice and icy gaze) My pulse is made of marble, Metepiú. Although I must warn you that, beneath the Flanders tablecloth, your diamond buckle is exerting a... highly absolutist pressure upon my right shin.
Metepiú. — A mere geographical accident of the tailoring, mon cher. Focus on the King of Clubs.
Pentesquiu. — It is hard to focus when your left calf is attempting to invade my borders as if it were the French army in Flanders.
On the divan, the Marchioness of la Lorgnette fans her cleavage frantically, on the verge of fainting.
Marchioness of la Lorgnette. — Gastón! By the holy oils, Gastón, come closer! What does your lynx eye register? What is brewing in that hell of temptations?
Gastón. — (Leaning in with a silver tray, pretending to clean) Madame... the situation is of unprecedented tactical gravity. Monseigneur Metepiú holds a trio of queens in his hand, but his left foot has already passed Monseigneur Pentesquiu's knee and is marching steadily toward the thigh. There is a full-scale siege under the tapestry!
Marchioness of la Lorgnette. — (Hyperventilating) Oh, Louis XIV protect me! What a delightful sin! And what is Pentesquiu doing? Is he defending himself? Is he begging for quarter?
Gastón. — Pentesquiu maintains the poker face of a saint in his niche, but with his big toe, he is delivering a counterstrike to the ankle. It is a slaughter of silk, my Marchioness!
The Dealer strikes the deck of cards hard against the table, losing his temper.
Dealer. — Gentlemen! For the love of court protocol! I remind you that this is a game of gentlemen blessed by the Crown, not the labyrinth of the Versailles gardens at three in the morning! Keep your lower extremities in their respective districts!
Metepiú. — (Indignant, without blinking) What is this low-class shuffler implying? My posture is straighter than a cathedral spire!
Pentesquiu. — And my decency is beyond suspicion! (To Metepiú, through his teeth) I told you, Metepiú! Your obvious hobbies as an underground explorer are going to get us exiled. Even the dealer noticed!
Metepiú. — And what should they notice? We are the pinnacle of composure! Have we even moved? Illusions of the plebeians! Ask the Duke if he notices any scandal!
Madame de Sans-Souci. — (Screaming from her table) I notice it! It is a scandal of biblical proportions! They are using the art of pelvic distraction to win the cards. Duke, say something, you used to be a musketeer!
Duke of Carambola. — Did I use to be a puppeteer? No, madam, but once I pulled a tooth out of a horse using the hilt of my sword! And it didn't hurt a bit!
Madame de Sans-Souci. — Oh, what a cross to bear! (Toward the table) Furthermore, rumors are flying that you two are delaying the game because you are fantasizing about the arrival of the Baroness of Yogurtiú...
Metepiú. — (Jumping with pride) False hallway testimony! We are not waiting for the Yogurtiú lady for a threesome game... Although I admit her fortune in lands is tempting.
Pentesquiu. — We do not lower ourselves to dairy baronesses. Our sources assure us that the Sun King himself, Louis XIV, is coming here because he wants to play... the tute? The tute to what?
Dealer. — (With a bitter smile and wild eyes) The bastard tute, I imagine, your Majestades of impudence. Which is the only game played in this court of vipers, where everyone shakes hands above and stabs below! Or worse, the hairy-card game, where everyone hides the deck but shows their fangs! Or the fallen-cup game, where everyone ends up drunk and honorless on the floor! Play at once or I am calling the Swiss Guard!
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THE FLIRTATION AND CARDS SCENE
Pentesquiu slightly lowers his cards, quite obviously letting Metepiú peek at them. At the same time, Pentesquiu gives him a slow, deliberate wink. Metepiú, keeping his face rigid, responds by widening his eyes and subtly licking his lips.
Madame de Sans-Souci. — (Jumping up) There it is! The secret wink code! He is showing him the Ace of Cups to signal that his bedchamber is available!
Marchioness of la Lorgnette. — (Opera glasses glued) Nonsense, Madame! That wink means: "If you steal my King, I will surrender my duchy to you tonight." Look how Metepiú responds with a gaze that promises the annexation of the entire plains of Alsace!
Gastón. — (Leaning in shamelessly) Excuse me, ladies, but from here that wink simply means Monseigneur Pentesquiu got a grain of rice powder in his left eyelash... although the smile the other one gave him back doesn't look like he has a grain, it looks like he wants to plant a whole garden.
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CLIMAX AND RESOLUTION
Suddenly, a blast of out-of-tune trumpets is heard in the hallway. An usher shouts from outside: HIS MAJESTY THE SUN KING!
Gastón. — General alert! Trumpets are sounding! The King is coming down the gallery! And he brings his own deck of cards with the Bourbon coat of arms!
Panic seizes the room. Everyone tries to adopt royal curtsy positions in a rush. Metepiú and Pentesquiu, whose legs were tied into a literal sailor's knot under the tablecloth, try to stand with elegance, but they get trapped.
Pentesquiu. — (Looking at the door) Metepiú, if this is the end and the King exiles us to the Bastille for indecency...!
Metepiú. — (Finally breaking his poker face, passionately) Let them exile us, Pentesquiu! But let them exile us together!
Metepiú grabs Pentesquiu by the waist and pulls him in. They share a monumental, loud, and choreographic kiss in the middle of the room, throwing the cards into the air. Madame de Sans-Souci covers her eyes, the Marchioness screams with joy, and the Dealer faints on the table.
The door flies open with great solemnity. A short man enters, wearing an oversized wig that covers half his face, tripping over his own red cape. It is not the King; it is the court jester in disguise, holding a toy scepter.
Fake King (Jester). — (In a squeaky voice) I bring the law of fun! You are all under arrest for excess of seriousness!
Dramatic pause. Everyone stares at the jester. Metepiú and Pentesquiu slowly part, wiping their lips.
Madame de Sans-Souci. — (Looking at the jester, then at the kiss, and bursting into enthusiastic applause) Oh, marvelous! What a splendid farce! What a theatrical twist! It was all prepared to celebrate the solstice!
Marchioness of la Lorgnette. — (Applauding on top of the divan) Sublime! The kiss possessed an insuperable artistic truth! Long live the court theater!
Duke of Carambola. — (Applauding loudly) Bravo! Excellent hunting! Although I still don't understand why the dog was wearing a wig!
The whole room bursts into ovations for Metepiú and Pentesquiu, who, instantly recovering their "poker face", hold hands with a perfect, cold bow toward the audience, as if nothing had ever happened under the tablecloth.
QUICK FADE TO BLACK
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