Lights up.

An abandoned apartment during a stakeout. JENNY and TAYLOR (this role can be male or female) are two operatives getting ready to take out a target.

TYLOR watches through a telescope while JENNY cleans, loads and assembles a sniper’s rifle.

JENNY: Status update?

TAYLOR: The target is still having dinner. We can’t take the shot until his guest leaves.

JENNY: Roger that. (beat) What are they eating?


JENNY: What are they eating? I’m hungry.

TAYLOR: Looks like….some kind of pasta.

JENNY: Details, Bruno!

TAYLOR: Ok, ok! Um, I think it’s fettuccine alfredo with grilled chicken.

JENNY: Mmm. That sounds good. What are they drinking?


JENNY: (annoyed) Taylor!

TAYLOR: Um, ok, ok–white wine. Looks like a….Chardonnay! It’s a Chardonnay.

JENNY: Who made it?

TAYLOR: (refocusing the telescope to get a closer look) Uh…Oh, wow. Dan Aykroyd.

JENNY: Wait, really?

TAYLOR: Yeah, the label says Dan Aykroyd Chardonnay Sonoma County Discovery Series.

JENNY: I didn’t know Dan Aykroyd made wine. I knew Francis Ford Coppola made wine.

TAYLOR: That makes more sense, for sure.

JENNY: Indeed. You know, some people call California Chardonnays “Tammy Faye Bakker wines.”


JENNY: (knowingly) Too much oak. It pushes the wine out of balance and into freakishness.

TAYLOR: Huh. (looks back into telescope) Looks like they’re moving onto dessert.

JENNY: Finally. What is it?

TAYLOR: Chocolate covered strawberries. (beat) With champagne.

JENNY: Oh, he is trying to get laid.

TAYLOR: Why do you say that?

JENNY: A rich meal with a well-paired wine, chocolate covered strawberries and champagne–he’s trying to seduce her through the food.

TAYLOR: Does that work?

JENNY: Well, it depends on the woman and how much interest she’s displaying. Here, move over.

She places the rifle back in its case.

JENNY: See, she’s leaning forward (beat, watching action play out) touching his arm (beat) feeding him a strawberry. She is displaying high levels of sexual attraction for our target. (beat) Shit!


JENNY: That means we’re going to be here all night. Or at least until she leaves. We can’t shoot her, too.

TAYLOR: Right.

JENNY: Dammit.

TAYLOR: Hey, it’s not that bad, right? Could be worse.

JENNY doesn’t answer. She starts to do push ups, counting as she does.

JENNY: One. Two. Three. Four. Five…

TAYLOR, not to be outdone, starts to do pull ups on a door frame, counting as well.

TAYLOR One. Two. Three. Four. Five–

TAYLOR loses her/his grip on the door frame and falls to the ground.

JENNY: Goddammit, Taylor!

She goes over to her/him.

JENNY: Only you could injure yourself on a stakeout. Without a weapon. Or an intruder.

TAYLOR: (in pain, trying to keep some sense of pride) I’m ok! My wrist kind of hurts, but I’m ok.

She/he continues to be aware of the pain in her/his wrist throughout the following.

JENNY: Taylor, it’s protocol. I have to check for signs of a concussion.

She reaches into her pocket for a small flashlight.

TAYLOR: I didn’t even fall that far.

JENNY: It’s protocol, Bruno.

She shines the light in her/his eyes to check her/his pupils.

JENNY: Alright, no irregular eye movements. Clearly, you’re conscious. Now, I have to ask you a few simple questions to determine your mental awareness, exhaustion levels and emotional state.

TAYLOR: Leave me alone, I’m fine.

JENNY: What is your name?

TAYLOR: Really? Fine. Taylor Punwar.

JENNY: What is your age?


JENNY: What day is it?

TAYLOR: It’s…we’ll…it’s. Shoot. I can’t remember. How many days have we been here?

JENNY: (Realizing she can’t remember either) We’ll just skip that question.

TAYLOR: Why are you skipping a question? Oh my god, do I really have a concussion?!

JENNY: No, dumbass, I don’t think you have a concussion, just let me get through the rest of the questions.

TAYLOR: (feelings hurt) I don’t think you’re supposed to call me a dumbass.

JENNY: (reigning in a rage bubbling to the surface) I am sorry I called you a dumbass. That was uncalled for. May I continue?

TAYLOR: Whatever.

JENNY: How tired are you feeling?

TAYLOR: We’ve been on a stakeout for over a week. I am incredibly exhausted.

JENNY: Would you say you’re more exhausted than you would normally be at this point in a stakeout?

TAYLOR: I don’t know. I don’t think so.

JENNY: How do you feel? (beat) Emotionally.

TAYLOR: (giggling) Are you kidding me? How do I feel? You treat me like shit during this whole stakeout. You are condescending, you bark orders at me and won’t even let me touch the riffle. I was the top of my class at West Point. I know how to shoot a gun. I am competent. I am a human being. You know, this is the longest conversation we’ve had this entire time. This is the longest time we’ve made eye contact. You don’t know anything about me.

JENNY: (Long beat. She stares at her/him blankly) You’re fine. No concussion. (She grabs a bag with a first aid kit inside.) I think your wrist is sprained, though. Does it still hurt?

TAYLOR: (giving up) Yeah.

JENNY: Let me see. (beat) Give me your hand.

She/he does. There is a tender moment between them.

JENNY: Ok, it’s swollen, that’s not a good sign. Does it pop or click when you move it?

She/he tries to move it. Cringes.

TAYLOR: Yes. It’s clicking.

JENNY: (She wraps her/his wrist with an elastic bandage as she talks.) I’m going to wrap your wrist to stabilize it. Take some ibuprofen. (She hands her/him two pills and a bottle of water. She/he maneuvers clumsily with his one hand, takes the pills.) Is that too tight?

TAYLOR: No, that’s ok.

JENNY: (Riffling through the first aid kit.) Let’s see…We only have one ice pack. (She breaks it so it starts to get cold.) You need to ice and elevate your wrist. Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off. (She looks around for something to wrap the ice pack in. Not finding anything, she shrugs and takes her shirt off, revealing a tank top.) Keep it wrapped in this so it doesn’t get too cold.

She finds a box for her/him to prop up her/his arm on.

JENNY: Are you reasonably comfortable?

TAYLOR: Reasonably, yes.

JENNY: (almost smiling, but she catches it) Good.

She goes over to the telescope, checks in.

JENNY: Well, we’re going to be here for a while.

TAYLOR: What are they doing?

JENNY: They’re slow dancing.


JENNY: She’s not going to leave any time soon. I’m guessing she’s going to spend the night. We might even have to deal with a breakfast in bed kind of situation tomorrow.

TAYLOR: (sarcastically) Not breakfast in bed.

JENNY looks in a bag to see what food they have left. It’s not much.

JENNY: Well, champ, we’ve got pudding, tuna and protein bars. What do you want?

TAYLOR: Champ?

JENNY: I’m trying to be more personable. What, wasn’t that good?

TAYLOR: (chuckling) I’ll take it.

JENNY: What do you want?

TAYLOR: What kind of pudding?

JENNY: Butterscotch. There’s one left.

TAYLOR: Want to share it?

JENNY: Sure.

She sits next to her/him. Opens the pudding. Eats a spoonful.

JENNY: Ready?

TAYLOR: For what?

JENNY: You have a broken wrist, Taylor, I’m going to have to feed this to you.

TAYLOR: Right.

She feeds her/him one spoonful. Then another. Some of the pudding sticks to a corner of her/his mouth.

JENNY: Shoot, sorry about that.

She gently takes a finger and wipes the pudding off. In an act of bravado, Taylor licks the pudding from her finger.


TAYLOR: (embarrassed) Jenny, I’m so sorry, I, maybe I do have a concussion–

JENNY: Let me try something. Sit still.

TAYLOR: (dubious) What are you going to try?

JENNY leans in slowly and kisses her/him. At first, it’s a peck. Then she goes in for a longer one. Sparks fly. Taylor tries to touch her with her/his non-injured hand.

JENNY: Don’t.

TAYLOR: Don’t?

JENNY: Don’t.


They continue to kiss, her/his hands not touching her. She maneuvers herself gently to straddle Taylor.

They continue to kiss. Music swells: Someone to Watch Over Me.

End of play.