Dry Martini
Vintage bucle drama
by Benjamin Gavarre
Dry martini. Vintage bucle drama. © 2026 by BENJAMIN GAVARRE is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0
gavarreunam@gmail.com
Dramatis Personae
- FRANKIE: The bartender. A wannabe crooner who idolizes Frank Sinatra. Prefers drinking the inventory and singing a cappella over wiping the counter.
- DINO: The eternal patron. Possesses the charm, cynicism, and charisma of a Rat Pack member. Watches the world burn with a drink in his hand and constantly breaks the fourth wall.
- EDGAR: Agent for the Activities Committee. Clumsy, paranoid, and bureaucratic. Wears a trench coat, a fedora, and sometimes a fake mustache over his real one.
- J.P. (The Tycoon): The money man. Oilman, casino mogul, and mine owner. A megalomaniac with absurd projects to privatize even outer space.
- AVA: The ultimate femme fatale. Fashion icon and lethal seductress. So smart she always plays three sides at once.
- ELVIS: The boy of the hour. Young, gorgeous, magnetic, and full of promise. A hurricane of rhythm and innocence in a cynical world.
Setting
An elegant, bohemian speakeasy in 1953. Mahogany bar, leather stools, thick cigarette smoke in the air. A massive vintage tube radio sits in the center of the bar. There is no trace of modern technology.
ACT I
(OPENING MUSIC: A languid jazz trumpet. FRANKIE is behind the bar, humming "I've Got You Under My Skin" while pouring himself a drink. DINO sits impeccably dressed, smoking a cigarette. The tube radio buzzes with static, followed by the deep, theatrical voice of an announcer.)
RADIO VOICE: "...And remember, citizens, according to the latest edition of our only official newspaper, 'The Only Truth', starting tomorrow, public kissing is strictly forbidden as it constitutes a fluid exchange of ideologies. Maintaining eye contact for more than three seconds will be penalized with heavy fines. And by decree of moral health, red-headed characters are banned from Hollywood films. Red is suspicious, citizens. Have a good night, and watch your neighbors!"
DINO: (Exhaling smoke and looking directly at the audience). Welcome to 1953. The golden age of jazz, tailored suits, and institutional paranoia. In this country, if you scratch your left ear, they open a file on you. If you order your steak rare, you're a bloody subversive. And if you breathe too hard, they send you to the new re-education camps in Alaska to make ice cubes for the Senate.
FRANKIE: (Pouring Dino a drink). You gotta be careful, Dino. Nowadays, even the walls have ears. (Sings into his ear, Sinatra style) 🎵 And the spies are everywhere... 🎵
DINO: Frankie, if you sang as fast as you drink my inventory, you'd be selling out the Sands in Vegas by now. Give me a Dry Martini. And make sure you use your right hand to squeeze the lemon. We don't want any "southpaws" in this bar. You know... the ones who use the sinister hand for their collective business.
FRANKIE: (Laughing and pouring). You got it. A 100% right-handed Martini.
(The bar door bursts open. Enter EDGAR. He wears a trench coat buttoned to the neck, a pulled-down fedora, and dark sunglasses, despite being indoors. He walks hugging the wall, as if dodging invisible bullets, trips over a coat rack, and falls flat on his face. He quickly gets up, pretending it was intentional).
EDGAR: (Loudly whispering). The bald eagle has landed in the crow's nest. I repeat: the eagle is in the nest.
DINO: Edgar, you’re talking to a lamp.
EDGAR: (Adjusting his hat). Silence, civilian! This is a covert op. I have intel that this bar is a gathering spot for sympathizers of... (looks around) ...the sickle and the other farming tool.
FRANKIE: The hammer?
EDGAR: Don't say it out loud! (Pulls out a red notebook, realizes the color, screams, and throws it on the floor). The witch hunt is at its peak. Did you read The Only Truth? Chaplin has fled. But that’s nothing. We suspect the flawless Mother Martha Magdalena—yes, the little Sister of Charity—is an undercover spy! Her orphanages are actually training centers to brainwash babies. And don't get me started on that French singer, the guy with the accordion! Turned out to be a Soviet snitch!
DINO: Marcel the Mime? The guy who never speaks is the biggest snitch in the world? That’s poetic. How does he rat people out, blinking in Morse code?
EDGAR: Mock me all you want. But fake news is the only truth we have left. (Sits down heavily). Give me a Raleigh Martini, Frankie. The one with tobacco soaked in gin. And an olive.
(Enter AVA. Dead silence. She is stunning, walking with a magnetic confidence that paralyzes the bar. Tight dress, long gloves. She approaches the bar. Pulls out a long cigarette holder and a Raleigh cigarette).
AVA: Fire.
(Edgar, Frankie, and Dino pull out lighters at the exact same time and burn each other's hands in a slapstick tangle).
AVA: Boys, such kindness overwhelms me. (Lights her own cigarette with a gold lighter). A Dry Martini, darling. And give me the special olive. The one that goes "tick-tock".
EDGAR: (Jumping off the stool). Is that you, Agent Carmine? The Spanish model?
AVA: I am many things, Edgar. I am a Vogue cover girl, the lover of three Hollywood directors, and the only person who knows who really owns this country. And I assure you, it’s not those senators chasing after redheads.
(The door opens. Enter J.P., The Tycoon. Silk suit, gold rings, smoking a cigar the size of a missile).
J.P.: Exactly, gorgeous! The owners of this country are the ones paying the White House’s electric bill. (To Frankie). Pour me something that costs more than your mother's mortgage, kid.
FRANKIE: (Pouring whiskey). Right away, Mr. J.P. How are the oil wells in Texas? And the casinos?
J.P.: Boring. Money doesn't excite me anymore, boys. I've been thinking about the future. I already own the banks, the gold, and the congressmen. Now I want to put a network of satellites in space to broadcast commercials for my casinos straight into people's dental fillings. Think about it: Columbus discovered America, I will discover extraterrestrial advertising! Though those weeping bureaucrats from the Committee are bleeding my wallet dry funding their ridiculous re-education camps in Bermuda.
DINO: (To the audience). There are men who want to conquer the stars before making sure we all have hot water. Such is the 20th century... and I have a feeling the 21st will be just the same. (To J.P.). J.P., you fund the right-wingers and the "sinister hand" at the same time, don't you?
J.P.: It's capital diversification, Dino!
AVA: (Playing with her olive, which emits a very faint electrical buzz). It's all a game of shadows. You men think you control the world, but the world is just a bad joke. Want to hear a story?
DINO: Please. Anything is better than listening to Frankie try to hit the high notes in My Way.
FRANKIE: Hey! (Mumbles). 🎵 Regrets, I've had a few... 🎵
AVA: (With a hypnotic voice, pacing the bar). Once upon a time, there was a very patriotic eagle who was so terrified of the color red that it banned sunsets. It forced all the animals to look at the ground so they wouldn't see the orange sky. The animals obeyed, because the eagle had sharp claws and an Avian Activities Committee. But one day, the eagle saw its own blood, got so scared of being a closeted "lefty," that it plucked out all its feathers. And it froze to death in the middle of summer, surrounded by blind animals. The moral: paranoia is a poison you drink yourself, hoping the other guy dies.
(Slow, cynical applause from Dino. Suddenly, the door flies open. Enter ELVIS. He is young, wearing a leather jacket and the perfect pompadour. He radiates an electric, vital energy).
ELVIS: Man, it's raining cats and dogs out there, and there are more cops on the street than girls at my shows. Can a guy get a soda?
FRANKIE: (Drops his glass). The King!
ELVIS: Not yet, buddy. I'm just a southern boy who moves his legs when he hears a good guitar. But they wanna draft me into the army. They wanna cut my hair and put me in a uniform because they say the way I dance threatens good morals and corrupts the youth.
EDGAR: (Pulling out his notebook and a pen that is secretly a camera; he blinds himself with the flash). Aha! Pelvic thrusts. Clearly a hypnosis technique from the Eastern bloc to corrupt our women.
ELVIS: Man, I just feel the music. Watch. (Approaches Frankie). Give me a beat, barkeep!
(Frankie starts snapping his fingers and slapping the bar off-beat. Elvis begins to move. It is a spectacular, bold, rhythmic dance, full of grace and savage power. There is no music, just Frankie's percussion. The bar erupts in real applause; even Edgar claps before realizing it and slapping his own hand).
AVA: Heavens. If you let the government put you in a uniform, art is officially dead.
ELVIS: (Standing up, smiling with humble charm). Thank you, ma'am. I promise I'll keep dancing, even if they have to ban Tuesdays to stop me.
EDGAR: (Regaining his composure). Enough frivolity! Agent Carmine... (Looking at Ava). I know your olive is a microdot transmitter with cutting-edge Soviet tech. You are under arrest for being a double agent!
AVA: (Letting out a genuine laugh). Double? Please, Edgar. What an insult to my intelligence. I am a triple agent. I work for the left, the Committee, and Paramount Pictures. And if you eat that olive, you'll broadcast your gastric ulcers live to central intelligence in Moscow.
DINO: (Taking Ava's glass and pulling out the olive with a toothpick). Let me see this. (Holds it to his ear. A clear telegraph sound is heard: Beep-beep-beep). Well, it's broadcasting the melody of La Marseillaise. This olive is more cultured than half the Senate.
J.P.: Offer the olive ten thousand dollars to work at my casinos!
FRANKIE: (Shaking a cocktail shaker like maracas). Gentlemen, I think the world is going crazy. If mimes are snitches, nuns are spies, and olives speak Morse code, I propose we declare this bar an independent republic.
DINO: (Stepping towards the proscenium, Martini in hand, lights dimming to a single spotlight on him). And so, ladies and gentlemen, while the world played spies with fake identities and the money men planned to sell them the moon, we decided to order another round. Because when history turns into a farce directed by madmen... all you can do is laugh, find good company, and make sure your Martini is ice cold. Cheers!
(Elvis does one last pelvic thrust. Frankie hits a sharp Sinatra-style high note that shatters a glass. Ava blows a lethal kiss to the audience. Edgar, amidst the confusion, accidentally swallows the transmitter olive. His stomach begins to loudly beep "Beep-beep-beep" as he runs around the stage in panic).
(The tube radio emits a deafening emergency beep. The actors freeze in grotesque positions. The lights flicker frantically and everything cuts to PITCH BLACK).
ACT II: The On the Rocks Loop
(The Chordettes' "Mr. Sandman" plays at full volume, sweet and cheerful. The lights snap on. Everyone is in their exact starting positions from the beginning of the play).
LOOP 1: The Lapsus Brutus
(The song cuts off abruptly with the sound of a needle scratching a vinyl record).
FRANKIE: (Pouring a drink into the air, before anyone speaks). And make sure you use your right hand to squeeze the lemon... Wait. Why did I say that? I don't order the drinks.
DINO: (Blinks, disoriented. Looks at his unlit cigarette). Welcome to 1953. The year when... when I feel like I've already smoked this cigarette. (Looks at Frankie). Give me a Dry Martini. I think.
(Enter EDGAR. Instead of tripping, he enters tiptoeing, exaggeratedly slow).
EDGAR: The bald eagle has landed... and has a terrible sense of déjà vu. I feel like I've already swallowed something indigestible today.
(Enter J.P. and AVA at the same time, clumsily colliding at the door. They do a little "after you, no, after you" dance, until J.P. enters first).
J.P.: The owners of this country are the ones paying the electric bill for... for... for the dry cleaners! No! The White House. (Touches his head). My blood sugar is low.
AVA: (Walks to the bar, but missteps and almost falls). Fire. And someone explain to me why I have a feeling my olive has a Soviet transmitter in it.
EDGAR: (Jumps off his stool). Aha! I knew it! You are under arrest for being a triple agent!
(Edgar dramatically reaches into his trench coat. He pulls out a squeaky rubber chicken. He raises it with authority. The chicken goes: "Squeeeak!").
EDGAR: (Trying to maintain his dignity). Anything you say can and will be used against you in an avian... I mean, martial court.
DINO: (Rubbing his eyes). Once upon a time, there was an eagle who was afraid of the color red... And it choked on a rubber chicken. There, I skipped the moral. I just want this scene to be over.
(The door bursts open. Enter ELVIS).
ELVIS: Evening, cats. I heard they serve... (Tries to do his pelvic thrust. His shoe slips comically on the floor. He loses his balance and falls hard on his behind with a dull thud). Ouch, my subversive hips!
(Everyone stares at him in a prolonged silence).
J.P.: (Breaking the silence). I am not paying that boy's medical bills.
(PITCH BLACK. Brutal static noise).
LOOP 2: The Upside Down World
(Plays "Mr. Sandman" at double speed. The lights come on with a sickly greenish tint. Actor role swap. Edgar is now leaning on the bar trying to be a ladies' man. J.P. enters hunched over, acting like a beggar).
EDGAR: (With a husky, seductive voice, failing miserably). Welcome to 1953, dolls. The year when... uh... arresting people is my passion. Pour something strong, barkeep. Malted milk. On the rocks.
J.P.: (Approaching Dino, with a whiny voice). Spare a dime, mister? Would you sign a petition for the oppressed tycoons' union? The government wants to take away my monopoly. Have mercy!
DINO: (Clinging to his glass, sweating cold, the only one retaining his personality). J.P., get up off the floor, you're ruining my crocodile shoes. What the hell is happening to all of us?
(Enter AVA. She wears a white nun's habit, but walks with the same overflowing sensuality and is smoking a huge cigar).
AVA: (Puffing the cigar). The Lord works in mysterious ways, boys. But the Soviets pay in cash. Who wants to confess before I sell their secrets to the FBI?
FRANKIE: (Pouring the nun a drink). Mother Magdalena, you always know how to liven up a wake.
DINO: (Yelling). Once upon a time there was a fox! Who cares about the fox! Why is there a tycoon begging for change and the femme fatale is an undercover nun! Barkeep, give me formaldehyde!
(Enter ELVIS. He has his rocker pompadour, but wears a ballet tutu over his pants. He walks on tiptoe).
ELVIS: (With a high-pitched voice). Cats, I've discovered that rock and roll is too aggressive for my aura. I demand Tchaikovsky. (Starts doing clumsy pirouettes all over the stage). Look at me, I'm a swan! A white swan persecuted by the Committee!
AVA (Nun): (Pulls a black plastic machine gun from under her habit. Aims at Elvis). Nobody does ballet in my parish, commie! (Ava makes the sound effects loudly with her mouth). Pew-pew-pew-pew!
(Elvis takes the invisible bullets, does a grand jeté in the air and falls to the floor in a perfect ballet pose, faking his death).
(PITCH BLACK. Deafening static).
LOOP 3: The Plastic Excess
("Mr. Sandman" plays in reverse and very slowly. It sounds demonic. The lighting flickers violently. All characters are disheveled, hysterical, sweating).
DINO: (Grabbing Frankie by the lapels). Do not pour me another Martini! If you give me another olive I will strangle you with the microphone cable!
FRANKIE: (Yelling back, losing his temper). It's not my fault! I just wanted to sing like Sinatra and I'm trapped in this existential hell repeating the same joke!
J.P.: (Standing on a stool, banging his shoe on the bar). I'll buy the time loop! I'll buy the rights to this nightmare! Everything has a price!
AVA: (With her mascara running, screaming at J.P.). Shut up, you old miser! Your money is worthless if the clock resets every three minutes!
(Enter ELVIS. He comes in screaming incomprehensible southern gibberish, like a possessed man. He jumps onto the center table. He takes off his jacket. He starts rubbing himself rhythmically against the giant tube radio).
ELVIS: Aaah! The system is oppressing me! The radio is whispering in my ear! I'm gonna impregnate this tube radio with the power of the blues!
EDGAR: (Completely unhinged, rips off his trench coat). Diplomacy is over! Get off that table, you degenerate, or I'll burn your pompadour in the name of the free world!
(Edgar dramatically pulls a NEON PLASTIC FLAMETHROWER out of his pants. Takes a combat stance).
DINO: (Looking at the audience, completely defeated). Once upon a time, there was a damn fox who went crazy because he'd been trapped in a bar for four hours with a guy holding a pool toy flamethrower. Please, just kill me!
EDGAR: Purifying fire! (Pulls the trigger. A ridiculous, weak little squirt of water comes out, barely wetting J.P.'s face, who closes his eyes in resignation).
(PITCH BLACK. Abrupt cut of the music).
THE DEFINITIVE CLIMAX
(The bass line of "Mr. Sandman" plays, but hyper-distorted. The singers' voices are deep wails. Rotating red emergency lights flood the bar. Outside the stage, real, deafening POLICE SIRENS blare. Violent banging is heard on the theater walls: BAM! BAM!).
(The chaos vanishes. The actors are frozen in genuine terror. They look up, towards the theater walls, breathing heavily).
DINO: (Stands up slowly. Looks at his trembling hands. The cynicism is gone, replaced by absolute panic). It broke. The joke completely broke.
FRANKIE: (Trembling, dropping his glass). Dino... those sirens... they're not from the sound booth. They're coming from the street.
AVA: (Tears off her gloves in desperation). They're surrounding the theater. They're really coming. Someone ratted us out!
ELVIS: (Speaking normally, without the fake accent, almost crying). Man, I don't even know anything about politics! I only took this role for the union pay! They're gonna make me disappear!
EDGAR: (Runs to the edge of the stage). It's the riot squad! They brought tanks! This isn't script paranoia, this is way beyond the limit! We're all screwed!
J.P.: (Pulling handfuls of real cash from his pockets, throwing it in the air). Take it all! It's worthless in here! If we don't evacuate the stage, nobody will ever see the light of day again!
DINO: (Runs to the edge of the proscenium, speaking directly to the audience with vital urgency, almost begging). And what are you waiting for?! They're coming for us, but you're accomplices just for watching! Get up! Let's go, everybody out through the emergency exits!
(The actors fall into total panic. They run across the stage. Elvis picks up his jacket whimpering. Ava looks for her keys. Frankie hides behind the bar).
DINO: (Desperate, on the verge of tears, screaming at the audience). This is not a damn joke! This went way beyond the script! The play is over! Please, save your lives! (Pause, an idea hits him). Applaud! If you applaud, the government will think it was just theater and they'll let us go! Come on, applaud! Applaud, for the love of God!
(The actors run to the front, joining the plea with faces of absolute dread).
ALL: "Please, applaud!", "Leave now!", "Save yourselves!", "Clap, lady, please!".
(The audience, out of inertia, discomfort, or infected by the tension, will begin to applaud. The exact second the applause grows strong, the sirens cut off sharply. The red light disappears. A bright, warm, general white light illuminates the stage instantly).
(The panic vanishes from the actors' faces as if they've taken off a mask. All actors quickly and gracefully line up at the proscenium. Their postures relax instantly. They show broad, professional, and radiant smiles. They take an elegant, synchronized theatrical bow).
DINO: (With his usual charming, cynical smile, winking at the audience). You really fell for it, didn't you?
ALL ACTORS: (In unison, taking one last deep bow). Thank you! Thank you very much!
(QUICK CURTAIN OR FINAL BLACKOUT)
