Hold Me Closer Read online

  I know I shouldn’t want it so much. I know I should be happy alone. But all I can feel is the missing piece. All I can feel is—inadequate! A boy may say he’s mine, but after a very short time, he forgets why.

  PHIL:

  Don’t be so hard on yourself!

  TINY:

  Sweet of you to say! But you know what? No matter how much I love myself, I’ll wonder why no one else will love me. No matter how loud I sing, I’ll wonder why there isn’t another voice there, singing right back.

  PHIL:

  I’m here.

  TINY:

  Yeah, well, you don’t count.

  PHIL:

  It’s not all about romance, Tiny. There are other kinds of love.

  TINY (covering ears):

  I CAN’T HEAR YOU.

  Ex-boyfriend #9 comes sauntering across the stage. DEVON CHANG. Oh, man, Devon Chang. Sometime over the summer, he went from geek to god, and became The Boy Who Launched a Thousand Texts.

  Tiny is distracted from Phil as he and Devon make eye contact. There is some wordless flirtation. Devon starts to walk off the stage.

  TINY (TO PHIL):

  I’ll be right back.

  Tiny runs after Ex-boyfriend #9, leaving Phil alone onstage. (Don’t judge. Real friends understand.)

  ACT II, SCENE 7

  PHIL

  (looking offstage, then turning to the audience):

  We can only wish them the best. Let’s see how it went.

  At this point, DJANE comes out. (In a former incarnation of this musical, she was Janey, but I think Djane fits her personality better.) I hope Phil and Djane don’t mind me saying this in the stage directions, but Djane is the girl that Phil Wrayson should really be going out with. It would have happened long ago, if they didn’t keep getting in its way.

  Djane shakes her head.

  PHIL:

  No luck?

  DJANE:

  All of the clovers had three leaves.

  PHIL (thinks for a second):

  Oh, I see what you did there.

  DJANE:

  All he found at the end of the rainbow was a pot of—

  PHIL:

  Stop! This is a family show.

  DJANE (deadpan):

  In what way is this a family show?

  Phil just looks at her.

  DJANE:

  What?

  PHIL:

  It’s just that . . . I don’t know . . . you look nice?

  Djane gazes at him strangely.

  DJANE:

  Now, why would you do that?

  PHIL:

  Because you look nice-ish?

  DJANE:

  Oh, now it’s nice-ish.

  PHIL:

  My head is starting to hurt from contemplating all the possible ways I could offend you.

  DJANE:

  Why would you choose now, of all times, to tell me I look nice-ish?

  TINY (offstage):

  I’m ready for the next number!

  DJANE:

  I’ve got to go make sure Oscar Wilde knows his lines.

  Djane exits.

  PHIL (flustered, calling after her):

  Now, don’t get too Wilde now, you hear? That man could win an Oscar for his Wilde-ness! (to audience) Lord, did I just say that? I guess it all goes to show—I’m making a transition here—that love sometimes causes you to do stupid things. And even when the lessons are clear to everyone else around you, sometimes you have a hard time seeing them yourself. When people say love is blind, they act like that’s a good thing. But some people find their way around in the darkness a little better than others.

  Tiny is wheeled onto stage in a bed (if a rolling bed is readily available). He is wearing a pair of silk pajamas. At first it looks like he is asleep. But then he is illuminated by a cell-phone glow, and it’s clear that he’s texting.

  PHIL:

  Even if someone told Tiny it was over, he wanted to believe it wasn’t. Perhaps because it was easy to see him coming, he didn’t make it a habit of chasing people down IRL. But a phone—a phone couldn’t run away. It would just keep receiving text after text after text. So he kept sending text after text after text.

  As Tiny falls asleep, Ex-boyfriends #9, 13, 15, and 17 appear on the side of the stage and sing the following in a round, to the tune of “Row Row Row Your Boat.” #9 sings a full verse first, then repeats, and the others chime in, in a round.

  EX-BOYFRIEND #9:

  Text text text your heart all across the screen,

  scarily scarily scarily scarily, love’s not meant to be.

  Text text text your heart all across the screen,

  scarily scarily scarily scarily, love’s not meant to be.

  EX-BOYFRIEND #13:

  Text text text your heart all across the screen,

  scarily scarily scarily scarily, love’s not meant to be.

  EX-BOYFRIEND #15:

  Text text text your heart all across the screen,

  scarily scarily scarily scarily, love’s not meant to be.

  EX-BOYFRIEND #17:

  Text text text your heart all across the screen,

  scarily scarily scarily scarily, love’s not meant to be.

  TINY wakes with a start as soon as they’re done. Phil Wrayson has left the stage. In his place is The Ghost of Oscar Wilde. (Bonus points if you can make his appearance a surprise.)

  TINY:

  Who are you?

  THE GHOST OF OSCAR WILDE:

  Why, I’m the ghost of Oscar Wilde, making a visitation to you while you sleep.

  TINY:

  Because of my singular promise as a dramatist?

  THE GHOST OF OSCAR WILDE:

  More because of your disappointing love life and the behavior that results from it. I have seen your manic LOLs, and I’m not laughing. No. This is an intervention. Put the phone down.

  Tiny will not relinquish the phone. He surreptitiously tries to finish a text.

  THE GHOST OF OSCAR WILDE

  (unaccountably shrill):

  STEP AWAY FROM THE PHONE! PUT YOUR HANDS UP AND STEP AWAY FROM THE PHONE!

  Tiny, not ready for such shrillness, especially from an Irish theatrical legend, drops his phone onto the bed. The Ghost of Oscar Wilde picks it up and powers it off.

  THE GHOST OF OSCAR WILDE (back to politeness):

  Good. Now please, allow me to share some hard-won wisdom, from one green-carnation wearer to another.

  Music begins.

  [“DON’T HIT SEND”]

  THE GHOST OF OSCAR WILDE:

  Take some advice from me

  as I wander around eternally

  thinking of the love I lost

  and all the things it cost.

  I fell for Bosie’s bottomy guile

  and lost my wings in a sodomy trial.

  Surrounded in jail by thieves and rakes,

  I had plenty of time to ponder my mistakes.

  I can’t say I regret breaking nature’s laws

  but I do regret not taking a pause

  to see there was far from a surfeit

  of evidence saying the boy was worth it.

  Believe me, I understand the urge

  to push all your means to an end.

  But I must intercede here and inform you now:

  Whatever you do, do not hit send!

  You think it’s a good idea—

  but it’s not.

  You think you have something new to say—

  but you don’t.

  It’s common enough behavior

  to think that words can be your savior

  but they cannot raise the dead

  or change the thoughts inside hi
s head.

  When you text the seventh time

  with no word from the other side

  it’s a sign, my friend

  and the sign says END.

  It used to be

  if you wanted to embarrass yourself

  you’d have to wait a few days

  for the embarrassment to be delivered.

  But now in an instant

  of desire most insistent

  you cross before you’ve looked

  and your rawness leaves you cooked.

  Don’t hit send!

  Don’t think for a second

  that your phone is your friend.

  You may be afraid of pauses

  but every pause has its causes!

  You think it’s a good idea—

  but it’s not.

  You think you have something new to say—

  but you don’t.

  It’s common enough behavior

  to think that words can be your savior

  but they cannot raise the dead

  or change the thoughts inside his head.

  When you text the seventh time

  with no word from the other side

  it’s a sign, my friend,

  and the sign says END.

  It used to be

  if you wanted to embarrass yourself

  you’d have to wait a few days

  for the embarrassment to be delivered.

  But now in an instant

  of desire most insistent

  you’ve managed to destroy

  any last chance you had with the boy!

  Don’t hit send!

  Don’t think for a second

  that your phone is your friend.

  You may be afraid of pauses

  but every pause has its causes.

  More words will not persuade him—

  they’ll only infuriate him.

  So take if from me

  whatever you do—

  Do not . . . hit . . . send!

  On that note, The Ghost of Oscar Wilde finishes his song, hopefully to more applause than he got toward the end of his life.

  OSCAR (TO TINY):

  Believe me, I understand all the modern dickstractions—I mean, distractions—that you have. Especially on your phones. I admire your feverish belief in the power of words to keep a connection going even when it’s not there. But you only have so many words in your life, Tiny, and rather than giving them all away, you should keep some for yourself.

  TINY:

  What do you mean?

  OSCAR (reciting, not singing):

  Look forward to the moment

  when it all falls apart.

  Look forward to the moment

  when you must rearrange your heart.

  It might feel like the end of the world—

  but it’s the beginning of your art.

  TINY:

  Texting? That’s my art?

  OSCAR (shaking his head):

  No, Tiny. Words. Passion. The danger of falling in love is that you mistakenly believe the loved one is the only source of passion in your life. But there is passion everywhere. In music. In words. In the stories you tell and the stories you see. Find your passion everywhere, and share it widely. Don’t narrow it down to one thin line.

  TINY:

  But you don’t choose to fall in love, do you? Don’t you just fall?

  OSCAR:

  You fall and you fall and you fall. There are things you cannot control. But that is why you must hold on to the things you can control.

  I will let you in on a secret, Tiny. Are you ready?

  TINY:

  Yes.

  OSCAR (on the verge of disappearing):

  You think you’re an actor, Tiny. We all think we are actors, given our scripts. But really? You’re the playwright. You’re the composer.

  Before Tiny can ask any more questions, The Ghost of Oscar Wilde has vanished just as strangely as he appeared.

  ACT II, SCENE 8

  Tiny remains in bed.

  TINY:

  It was, to say the least, a strange visitation—and I didn’t know what it meant. Not yet.

  As if I wasn’t confused enough, as high school continued and my high school relationships continued, I found the whole sex question kept coming up. The question being: Are we going to do it or what?

  Now, don’t get me wrong. I think making out is awesome. And I knew that when I was ready, sex would be awesome, too.

  But I wasn’t ready. And some of the guys I was dating were more than ready.

  EX-BOYFRIENDS #10, #11, AND #14 come onstage and circle the bed.

  EX-BOYFRIENDS #10/#11/#14:

  Horny horny horny—

  we’re just so

  horny horny horny.

  TINY (looking at them with dismay):

  The pressure was intense. And it made me realize that although I had all of these gay exes in my life, I didn’t really have a gay friend. So I called Djane instead.

  Djane appears on the corner of the stage, holding her phone to her ear. Tiny uses the phone he was using to text in bed.

  TINY (TO DJANE):

  I know I’m a guy, so I should not make such rash generalizations—but, wow, guys can really get stuck on sex.

  EX-BOYFRIENDS #10/#11/#14 (murmuring as he talks):

  Horny horny horny—

  we’re just so

  horny horny horny.

  Horny horny horny—

  we’re just so

  horny horny

  TINY:

  (To Exes) Stop that! (To Djane) You see?

  DJANE:

  Can I give you some advice that sounds massively oversimplistic but is actually, I’ve found, somewhat helpful?

  TINY:

  Sure.

  DJANE:

  Ninety-seven percent of the time, it all comes down this: Don’t do what you don’t want to do. Ask yourself that simple question: Do I want to do this? If the answer is yes, go for it. If it’s anything but yes, don’t.

  EX-BOYFRIENDS #10/#11/#14

  (singing one verse, then singing softly under the following dialogue):

  Horny horny horny.

  Horny horny horny.

  DJANE:

  Do any of them appeal to you?

  TINY:

  Not like this.

  DJANE:

  Do they care about you the way they should?

  TINY:

  No.

  DJANE:

  Do you want to do it?

  TINY:

  No.

  DJANE:

  There you go.

  TINY:

  But how do I tell them?

  DJANE:

  You’re Tiny Cooper. You mop them up with a song.

  Tiny understands. As the song begins with some serious chordage, he gets out of bed and is joined by three backup dancers wearing matching pajamas. They are the ones who will mop up the ex-boyfriends while Tiny sings.

  [“SAVING MYSELF”]

  TINY:

  All you boys who just want to mess around!

  All you boys who can’t put up with me not

  putting out!

  I’ve got something to say to you—

  and it goes something like this.

  I’m saving myself for someone who treats me

  better!

  I’m saving myself for one I won’t regret!

  If you want to go all the way,

  I have to know you’re gonna stay

  ’cause I’m saving myself for someone who treats me better.

  As Tiny sings the following, the backup dancers scho
ol the exes.

  Keep it in your pants

  and ask me to dance!

  Get away from the bed

  and talk to me instead!

  We’re not going to go there

  until you handle me with care!

  EX-BOYFRIENDS #10/#11/#14

  (trying to fight back against the dancers):

  Horny horny horny!

  We’re just so

  horny horny horny!

  TINY

  (as the dancers put the exes in their place):

  If you’re just doing it ’cause you’re horny,

  my bush is gonna be thorny!

  I’m telling you—

  I’m saving myself for someone who treats me

  better!

  I’m saving myself for one I won’t regret!

  If you want to go all the way,

  I have to know you’re gonna stay

  ’cause I’m saving myself for someone who treats me better.

  If you want to go all the way

  you better give me the time of day—

  when other people see us together—

  when other people are around.

  I’m not a game that you’re playing.

  I’m not a lie that you’re saying.

  I am worth so much more than that.

  Yes, I am worth so much more than that.

  Someday my prince will come,

  and when he does,

  we’ll come and come and come.

  But ’til that day I’m saving myself.

  Oh, yes, I’m saving myself from you.

  Because I am worth so much more than that.

  Yes, I am worth so much more than that!

  The number ends with Tiny slipping off to change while the backup dancers triumph once and for all over the exes, ultimately knocking all three of them into the bed and wheeling them offstage.

  ACT II, SCENE 9

  Tiny emerges wearing something casual—a T-shirt and jeans, perhaps. Whatever’s handy. It’s one of his less dynamic outfits.

  TINY:

  That felt good. For a day or two. Then I was back to trying. And failing.

  Ex-boyfriends #13 through #17 come onto the stage and walk in a ring around Tiny.

  TINY:

  I exhausted them. They exhausted me. They lied about their hair color. I lied about liking their hair color. I swooned—and then I realized that swooning is really just another way of saying losing consciousness.