DEATH IN NEW ORLEANS.

   

 

Death in New Orleans

(A Spectral Farce in One Act)

® BENJAMIN GAVARRE SILVA

bengavarre@gmail.com

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Characters

• BOBBY (45): A loud, crude, new-money Texas real estate shark. Gets horny out of nowhere the second he thinks about making millions by tearing down historic properties.
• PEGGY (65): His wife. A supreme penny-pincher from the Houston country club scene. So much plastic surgery she can't smile without mechanically lifting her entire left arm toward the ceiling.
• MADAME CLOTILDE (Shadow): An elegant, 19th-century Creole socialite. Refined, bilingual (French/English), but uses filthy language when she’s angry. Weapon of choice: a spectral atomizer.
• BEAU (Shadow): A dashing, rugged smuggler from the Bayou. Handsome, muscular, possesses a freezing breath, and loves instigating chaos.
• MISS HATTIE (85): A know-it-all Southern belle equipped with an aluminum walker. Grumpy, obsessed with mysticism, and determined to squat in the mansion by "spiritual right."
• SARAH (45): Her long-suffering African-American assistant. Obedient on the outside, but harbors some very naughty thoughts about the men in the afterlife.
• CHAD & CHLOE (The Hipsters): A modern, insufferably optimistic couple from Brooklyn. Obsessed with minimalism, artisanal pour-over coffee, and their dogs.
• DEATH (The Baron of Shadows): An imposing, robed specter with a scythe, acting like a lazy, highly expressive mime. Addicted to Southern sweet tea and guttural groans.

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Setting

The luxurious yet decaying parlor of an Antebellum-style mansion in the French Quarter of New Orleans. A grand piano sits covered in a white sheet, alongside an elegant mahogany screen and a desk holding an antique bottle of Louisiana Bourbon. In the background, the buzz of swamp crickets and the distant echo of a jazz trumpet can be heard.

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ACT ONE

SCENE 1: TRADITION INSULTED

(As the curtain rises, BOBBY and PEGGY inspect the walls greedily. Sitting on the grand piano are MADAME CLOTILDE and BEAU, invisible to the living. The Southern heat and humidity are suffocating.)

BOBBY (Rubbing his hands together, breathing heavily, loosening his tie) Peggy, baby! Being in this palace we bought for pennies at the courthouse foreclosure... I don't know what this heat is doing to me, but it's getting my Texas hormones raging! Kiss me, my little silicone doll, I’m raring to go like a rodeo bull!

PEGGY (Pushing him away rigidly as her left arm automatically jerks toward the ceiling) Get off me, Bobby! I’m going to pop the stitches from my latest neck lift! Besides, the air in here smells weird... like a rotten swamp.

MADAME CLOTILDE (Outraged, pulling a golden atomizer from her period dress) Those filthy Texas rednecks! Beau, it is time to use my grand-aunt's signature bayou fragrance: "Essence of Dead Alligator Baking under the Sun."

(Clotilde sprays the air directly into the Texans' faces. Bobby and Peggy freeze, wrinkling their noses.)

BOBBY Good lord, baby! Did a sewage pipe burst out on Bourbon Street? It smells like a hobo's sock soaked in the Mississippi!

BEAU (Stepping forward, cracking his knuckles with a smuggler's grin) Leave 'em to me, Clotilde. These folks need a little swamp adjustment to lower their pride.

(Beau sneaks up behind them, grabs their heads with his invisible hands, and blows a freezing blast onto their necks.) ¡Fuuuuu!

BOBBY & PEGGY (Jumping at the same time, clutching their necks) Holy hell!! It's freezing!

SCENE 2: THE STROBE EFFECT AND THE SEPARATION

BOBBY (Trying to calm down, spots the bottle on the table) Well, look at that! A free bottle of pre-Civil War Bourbon. Cheers to Louisiana!

(Bobby pours two glasses. They both chug it down in one gulp. Instantly, they freeze in a dramatic pose. The stage lighting shifts to an intense, voodoo red, and a strobe effect begins. A distorted New Orleans drumbeat echoes.)

(In slow motion, the actors playing Bobby and Peggy make a sudden "stepping back" motion to symbolize their souls detaching, while the main light focuses on their "bodies," which drop rigidly to the floor like sacks of potatoes. The strobe stops. The shadows blink, now free.)

BOBBY (GHOST) (Looking down at his own cowboy-booted body on the floor) Well, I'll be damned! Who the hell are you? And why are we looking at ourselves from the floor?

BEAU (Placing his foot squarely on Bobby's "body" and crossing his arms) Because you just kicked the bucket, cowboy. Too bad your journey doesn't end up here in the Quarter.

MADAME CLOTILDE (With a ghoulish smile) Welcome to eternity, you pair of cheapskates! You profaned my private reserve. Death is already on his way to collect his commission.

(From behind the screen, DEATH enters, lazily dragging his scythe. He stops, stares at the Texans, pulls out an hourglass, points at it impatiently, and lets out a dry, judgmental grunt: "Ahem! 💀")

BOBBY (GHOST) Nooo! My millions! This is a goddamn Louisiana scam!

(Death uses mime gestures to point down toward the catacombs and emits a deep, final groan: "Grrrr ooh-hoo! 💀". Beau gives them a light shove, and an invisible force drags Bobby and Peggy down into the darkness of Purgatory.)

SCENE 3: THE SQUATTERS AND THE SMUGGLER

(The lights return to a Gothic amber. From outside, the rhythmic thud of an aluminum walker is heard: "Thump, thump, thump!" MISS HATTIE enters pushing her walker, followed by SARAH carrying heavy, antique suitcases.)

MISS HATTIE Perfect, Sarah! I deserve to live here in this Creole jewel. This mansion is mine by spiritual right—the Tarot cards told me so! I know all about the original owners. Madame Clotilde was an insufferable, pretentious snob, and her smuggler, Beau, was a low-class rascal who smelled like river mud.

MADAME CLOTILDE (Furious, taking a sharp step forward) What did that bitch just call me?! Beau, handle her!

BEAU (With a wolfish grin) With pleasure, Madame. I'm about to cure this assistant's workplace stress in a heartbeat.

(Beau glides behind Sarah and plants a loud, wet, spectral kiss right on her neck. Sarah tenses up, her eyes wide as saucers, and she begins to sigh, grinning from ear to ear and wriggling with delight.)

SARAH (In an aside to the audience, fanning her blouse) Oh, sweet Jesus!... Lord have mercy, this swamp ghost is fine!... (Slaps her hand over her mouth, startled) Did I say that out loud or just think it?!

MISS HATTIE (Turning around, scandalized) Sarah, what in the world is wrong with you?! You're acting like a cat on a hot tin roof! Behavior yourself, we are conducting a respectable spiritual invasion!

SCENE 4: CHARADES WITH DEATH

(Miss Hattie approaches the desk and notices an old voodoo grimoire lying open.)

MISS HATTIE Look at this... The mansion's old journal. (Reads aloud, falling into a Gothic trance) "And the phantoms... are waiting... for us..." Oh, dear, my Southern nerves!

(Miss Hattie drops her walker and falls flat, struck down by a poetic heart attack. She lies stiff on the floor. Sarah panics, but DEATH suddenly appears floating right beside her.)

(Death taps Sarah on the shoulder. Sarah turns, terrified. Death, acting like a mime playing a game of charades, points at Hattie's corpse, points at Sarah, and begins gesturing for her to repeat the cursed words. Death mimics opening a book with his hands.)

SARAH (Guessing the mime gestures, trembling) A... a spellbook? (Death nods happily and points upward mystically) And... and the voodoo spirits? (Death claps and pretends to check an imaginary watch impatiently) Are waiting?... (Death points at Sarah and Hattie) For us?

(Death gives a "Bingo!" expression and dramatically clutches his heart, mimicking dropping dead. Sarah lets out a resigned sigh.)

SARAH Well, ain't that a bitch!... Then again, considering what's left of my paycheck and my life... I am not staying behind to deal with the funeral home in this town alone! Hold on, boss, I’m coming with you! Hoo-eee!

(Sarah dramatically throws her hands over her chest and falls to the ground with theatrical flair.)

(The rapid light flash and slow-motion effect repeat. The spirits of MISS HATTIE and SARAH rise nimbly from their bodies.)

MISS HATTIE (GHOST) Well, I'll be! My sciatica is completely gone! Beau... you're still as handsome and dangerous as a sin, you wicked man.

BEAU (Winking at Sarah as he offers his arm to Miss Hattie) And you ladies look more alive than Mardi Gras night. Welcome to the club.

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MUSICAL INTERLUDE: THE TIME ELIPSIS (SECOND LINE)

(The lights shift to a smoky blue and purple 1920s jazz club hue. A lively, highly infectious New Orleans brass band tune kicks in, complete with blaring trumpets and distorted trombones.)

(The four ghosts—Clotilde, Beau, Hattie, and Sarah—along with DEATH, line up on stage. They perform a short, stylized musical number: the classic New Orleans "Second Line" dance, twirling umbrellas with comical jazz steps. Beau snatches Hattie's walker and uses it as a prop for a quick Charleston.)

(During the dance, Death casually drags the two "bodies" from the floor behind the mahogany screen with total indifference. As the choreography ends, everyone strikes a spectral pose. An antique sign projected on the back wall reads in Gothic lettering: "ONE YEAR LATER...". The music finishes with a sharp blast from a trumpet.)

SCENE 5: THE HIPSTER INVASION AND THE SADISTIC VENGEANCE

(The lights return to the amber Gothic tone. Outside, a moving truck horn blares, followed by sharp, high-pitched barking: "Yip, yip, yip!" The doors burst open. CHAD and CHLOE enter, sporting fedoras, organic linen outfits, and artisanal coffee tumblers. They practically radiate New York optimism.)

CHAD (Looking at the ceiling in awe) Chloe, babe! I cannot believe we closed on this ancestral French Quarter space! The bohemian, mystical energy in here is just so raw! We are going to rip out all this colonial junk and these dusty mahogany screens.

CHLOE I know, right?! Everything painted in a clean, Scandinavian minimalist white. And we can put the custom designer dog beds right in that corner for our three French Poodles. I am so glad we decided to go child-free to really connect with our travel karma!

BEAU (Stepping to the front of the ghost lineup, cracking his neck, stretching his rugged bayou muscles) Scandinavian white? French Poodles in New Orleans? I'm gonna throw these two trust-fund kids headfirst into the Mississippi.

MADAME CLOTILDE (With a macabre smile) This is the end of civilization... Destroy their precious "karma," my specters.

(The four ghosts slowly line up facing the hipsters. Their expressions turn sadistic, malevolent, and dark. Death takes his place right in the center.)

MISS HATTIE (GHOST) I'll have these two for dinner with a side of hot gumbo.

SARAH (GHOST) We're about to give 'em a voodoo welcome they'll never survive.

(Suddenly, the lights flash into a sickly, swamp-like green and blue. The four ghosts, led by an ominous step forward from Beau, advance all at once. Chad and Chloe freeze mid-sentence. The air turns ice-cold, and their cheerful faces instantly warp into absolute terror. They are paralyzed with fear, trapped by the spirits.)

(DEATH calmly walks to the front, stops right before the terrified hipsters, pulls up a chair from the desk, and sits down with total composure. He produces an invisible glass of sweet tea, takes a slow sip through an imaginary straw while staring dead at the couple, and breaks the silence with a deep, booming, terrifyingly sadistic laugh:)

DEATH (With a massive, roaring, guttural echo that shakes the theater) HA-HA-HA-HA-HA... HAAA!!! 💀

(The four ghosts smile with pure cruelty, closing in on their new victims as the curtain drops instantly to a heavy bass drum hit.)

CURTAIN

THE END

 

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WITH THE MUSTACHE PROUDLY ON!

  

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WITH THE MUSTACHE PROUDLY ON!

(A Political Slapstick Farce in One Act)

CHARACTERS:

• LYSIS (40s): The leader. Sharp, fierce, with a commanding, gritty Texan/Western accent. She wears a gigantic fake mustache that keeps ungluing because she laughs too hard.
• CONGRESSMAN BRAD "THE LOBBY" (50s): Portly, wearing an incredibly expensive three-piece suit. He smells of imported whiskey and illicit campaign funds.
• CONGRESSMAN CHAD "THE FILIBUSTER" (40s): A master at breaking records for sleeping on the House floor. He carries his official Capitol privacy pillow.
• GENERAL SMITH (60s): Capital Capitol Security Chief. Hysterical, paranoid, wearing a uniform covered in cheap, fake medals that look like soda can tabs.
• COMBATANT WOMEN (2 actresses): Armed with brooms, frying pans, and ridiculous protest signs.
• THE DONUT DELIVERY GUY (Extra / Comodín): Walks in trying to collect cash for the caucus snacks.

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ACT I

At the rise of the curtain, CONGRESSMAN BRAD is fast asleep at his desk, snoring like a broken chainsaw, tucked up to his nose under a massive American flag. Next to him, CONGRESSMAN CHAD is fast asleep, hugging his official Capitol pillow, drooling slightly over a leather-bound copy of the Constitution.

BRAD
(Waking up with a jolt, throwing a stack of fake bills into the air)
I vote nay! I vote nay on cutting the budget for the military branch's private golf courses! Oh... wait... sorry, Chad... it was just a horrible nightmare. Man, what a hangover. That Cuban cigar I smoked last night at the private club must have been laced with public education infrastructure funds.

CHAD
(Without opening his eyes, scratching his belly under his jacket)
Don't talk so loud, Brad, you’re ruining my legislative inspiration. What you smoked last night was the veterans' pension fund. God, serving the country is exhausting! I’ve been sitting here approving invisible amendments for four hours, and the right hemisphere of my brain has gone completely numb.

BRAD
Hey, when is the congressional donut delivery guy getting here? If I don't get a three-story glazed donut topped with bacon right now, I won't have the mental capacity to draft the bill on the food crisis. The average citizen demands that we are well-fed to represent them with dignity!

CHAD
(Scoffing)
Ah, the average citizen! Those wonderful taxpayers who work so we can have five estates in Florida, three hybrid cars we never drive, and four ex-wives suing us for every dime of alimony... God bless America and its tax deduction system!

(Suddenly, the grand back doors of the House floor burst open with a loud metallic slam. LYSIS marches in, followed by her group of women. They are wearing heavy detective overcoats, stetson cowboy hats, and fake mustaches so large and bushy they look like push-brooms).

CHAD
(Jumping in his seat, putting the pillow over his head like a helmet)
Holy pork barrel, Brad! The Green New Deal protesters are storming the building! Hide the American Express Black cards and the platinum watches, fast!

LYSIS
(With a deep, gravelly voice, walking with a cowboy swagger)
Silence, you caucus of corporate parasites! We are the new ultra-independent parliamentary faction from the Comadres District. We just marched from the local supermarket to bring order and disinfect this swamp of lobbyists.

BRAD
(Standing up arrogantly, adjusting his collar)
Hold your horses, you union intruders! You can’t just walk onto the House floor and hold session! To sit in these seats, you need to have survived at least three televised smear campaigns and own a shell company in the Cayman Islands! Out of the Capitol!

LYSIS
(Smiling mischievously, crossing her arms)
Oh, really? Well, we have a constitutional verdict you won't be able to table. Girls, drop the patriotic camouflage!

(Physical Action: The women rip off their overcoats and fake mustaches in one swift motion and fling them right at the Congressmen's faces. Brad ends up with the mustache stuck to his forehead, and Chad gets his on his bald spot).

CHAD
(Screaming in panic, trying to peel the hair off his forehead)
Oh, my God! They are women! It’s a gender-balanced coup d'état with a high estrogen content! Call the FBI!

LYSIS
You bet, you absolute heirs of immunity! And today, we are taking the podium by hook, by crook, or by worst-case scenario!

BRAD
(Screaming into his desk microphone)
Point of order! Section Four of the House Rules clearly states that the Speaker's chair belongs to me by political inheritance! I demand the right of rebuttal!

LYSIS
(Lets out a loud laugh that screeches through the theater speakers)
Oh, Brad! The rules also state you can't accept cash donations from tobacco companies, and look at your teeth—they are yellow as corn!

(Physical Action: LYSIS leaps onto the high Speaker’s podium and grabs a massive wooden gavel).

LYSIS
The year-long sabbatical session is officially adjourned! From now on, the women of the nation write the budget and the legislative agenda!

(Physical Action: A COMBATANT WOMAN snatches the pillow from Chad and whacks him upside the head with it, knocking him off his chair. Another woman runs to the control panel and shuts off the main lights, leaving only a bright red spotlight on Lysis).

BRAD
(Wailing on the floor, throwing a temper tantrum like a toddler)
Nooo! Not the screens! The Super Bowl was about to start! We had bets placed with the Senate!

LYSIS
(Slams the massive gavel onto the desk, cracking a folder in half: CRASH!)
First extraordinary decree of the new era of the payback! It is hereby forbidden for any congressman, senator, or secretary of state to own more than one modest middle-class home, one four-cylinder car, and one official family! If you own summer mansions, they are being confiscated to build public community kitchens and twenty-four-hour daycares!

CHAD
(Clutched his chest, crawling across the carpet)
Nooooo! My estate in the Hamptons! My oil stocks! My three private secretaries traveling on the taxpayers' dime! This is pure proctological socialism! Help!

LYSIS
And the worst part, gentlemen of the good life! As of tomorrow morning, your VIP government healthcare is canceled. You will have to go stand in line at the public community clinic at five in the morning just to have a grumpy nurse hand you a generic aspirin! Now, let the real cleaning crew in!

(The other COMBATANT WOMAN rushes in dragging metallic trash cans that make a horrible noise, brooms, and massive kitchen pots. They dump floral aprons over the Congressmen's suits and force them to sweep the floor at frying-pan point).

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ACT II: HOMELAND SECURITY HAS ARRIVED

(A comedic, high-pitched toy police whistle blows. GENERAL SMITH enters, his uniform stuffed with absurd badges and soda can tabs, holding a neon-green plastic toy gun that makes spacey laser noises: Piu, piu, piu!).

GENERAL SMITH
(With a hoarse, deep voice like a low-budget action movie general)
In the name of the Capitol Super-Secure, Armored, and Counter-Terrorism Security Detail! Freeze, everyone! This farce is officially canceled due to a breach of the First Amendment of my holy will!

LYSIS
(Crossing her arms from the top of the podium, looking at him with pity)
Oh, my dear General Smith! Aren't you just a little bit ashamed? Coming in here to restore constitutional order with a plastic toy gun while the country's highways look like the surface of the moon from all the potholes?

GENERAL SMITH
(Looking at his gun, deeply offended)
Hey, watch it, lady, this is an official issue sidearm! Well... I did take it from my grandson's toy box before leaving the house, but the rubber band snaps incredibly hard if I aim for your eyes. Surrender or I fire!

(A COMBATANT WOMAN sneaks up stealthily behind General Smith like a kitchen ninja. She pulls out a giant green neon water blaster and presses it directly against the back of his neck).

COMBATANT WOMAN 1
Hands up, my chocolate General! Drop the toy or I’ll redecorate your dress uniform with orange juice concentrate!

GENERAL SMITH
(Turns completely pale, drops his plastic gun, and raises his hands trembling)
Good grief! A hydraulic terrorist attack! I am the highest national security authority in Washington D.C.!

COMBATANT WOMAN 2
(Runs in, slaps his military hat off, and puts a yellow checkered chef’s hat on him)
Your authority just depreciated faster than tech stocks, General! Start sweeping the aisle right now—there’s too much dust from crooked deals accumulated under this rug!

(GENERAL SMITH sits on the floor, crying in pure frustration as he cleans the desk legs with an old duster. LYSIS leans back in the massive Speaker's chair and glares directly at the audience).

LYSIS
Alright, congressmen of the entitlement caucus! Line up for the official press photo of the new regime!

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PARABASIS: THE TRUTH BOMB

(The stage lights shift to a harsh, uncomfortable amber tone. The CONGRESSMEN stand in a line at the front of the stage, wearing their floral aprons and holding their brooms with faces of deep disgust. The WOMEN stand behind them, looking triumphant. LYSIS steps forward to the edge of the stage, breaking the fourth wall completely, and addresses the audience with a cynical, biting, defiant smile).

LYSIS
(To the audience, pointing with the wooden gavel)
Look at you... yeah, all of you sitting very comfortably in those theater seats, laughing at these ridiculous men in suits. It’s so easy to come to the theater to applaud the revenge of the housewives and mock corrupt politicians, isn't it? Especially when the farce happening out there in the real world is three times more shameless—and you pay for it in full on your tax bills every single month!

You laugh at these lazy men because they use public money to buy mansions, and you laugh at us because we use a broom and a frying pan to strip them of their immunity. But don't act all holy and play the victim. In this country, we are Olympic champions at complaining about the government over Saturday dinner, and come Monday morning, we are sliding a twenty-dollar bill to the traffic officer so he doesn't ticket us for speeding!

(She takes off her cowboy hat and uses it to fan herself)

Look closely at these two choruses: the wealthy men crying because we took away their luxury cars, and the fierce women holding the law in their aprons. You are looking at the exact same thing: the perfect reflection of our beautiful civic culture of "let’s see who can screw who first." A country doesn't change just because women hold the congressional gavel or because husbands wash the dishes. It changes the day we stop admiring the guy who cheats the system just because "he sprinkles a little bit of the prize on us." Stop looking for saviors of the nation with mustaches or with skirts. How about you stop littering, pay your taxes without cheating on your declaration, and stop cutting the line at the supermarket? Your own behind comes first, sure, but your integrity comes right after! This session is officially adjourned, you parasites!

(LYSIS delivers one final, brutal gavel strike to the podium. The congressmen jump in terror, dropping their brooms. All the women aggressively flip the bird or blow a loud raspberry at the audience as the curtain crashes down at maximum speed).

EXTRA-FAST CURTAIN