A Strategic Plan Read online

ANDREW: I should have said ‘Yes’?

  PERKINS: No. / That is not what we’re saying.

  LEANNE: Two and a half grand?

  PERKINS: We are in a good position—

  ANDREW: How is this a better position?

  PERKINS: Is there anything else that I don’t know?

  LEANNE: Andrew?

  ANDREW: No.

  PERKINS: Are you sure?

  ANDREW: What can you guarantee me?

  PERKINS: Nothing.

  ANDREW: Exactly. Exactly! And what if I only get half of that?

  PERKINS: My mission is to get a deal that you feel is fair.

  LEANNE: Mr Perkins?

  ANDREW: No!

  LEANNE: It’s not in the notes / but …

  ANDREW: Leanne, I said ‘No’.

  PERKINS: What is it?

  ANDREW: Nothing.

  PERKINS: Have you been working?

  ANDREW: No.

  PERKINS: Offer of employment?

  ANDREW: Nothing like that.

  LEANNE: Andrew attempted suicide.

  Beat.

  PERKINS: How?

  Change to the studio.

  JILL: Reverse engineering.

  ANDREW: I love it.

  JILL: I bought all the old PAR cans from Staccato, / all the amps and the gear.

  ANDREW: Oh, you’re kidding.

  JILL: Fire sale prices. I packed a storage locker with all / this old Staccato shit and—

  ANDREW: Oh, you didn’t. Did you?

  JILL: I met with Georgie and she was great. She was going to run this series of pieces on this new venue of mine and she asks me where it’s going to be and I’m sitting in this meeting and I realise … I have got no idea what I am talking about.

  ANDREW: You know how to run a venue.

  JILL: But the last thing in the world that I want right now is run a venue—and so I say, ‘I’ve just decided … it’s going to be a festival’.

  She looks me in the eye and says, ‘There’s already so many festivals out there, what’s different about yours?’

  And I talk about Second City and what we were planning to do before they shut us down and out of nowhere—I don’t have any words—I start to sweat, and I start to shake and—she puts her hand on my wrist and says, ‘Jilly, are you okay?’ And that’s it. I am history.

  Wailing like an ice baby—so embarrassed. She’s this big music businesswoman and I don’t wanna look like fucking kid in front of her and I am crying in her office so bad that she—she shuts the door because of my bawling—this sobbing—tears deep from my belly. I don’t think the howling will ever stop and she …

  Two hours, two days later, I don’t know … I stop. I am an idiot. Drowned in my own tears. Tapped out. And Georgie says, ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  You forget what it’s like to hear stuff like that. Foreign language.

  ANDREW: Georgie’s the best—

  JILL: Yes, she is. The bomb. My mentor.

  Beat.

  ANDREW: You got yourself a high-powered mentor.

  JILL: Yeah. I got me one of them, yeah.

  ANDREW: Fantastic. So … how does it work, do you meet for coffee?

  JILL: Yeah—we meet for coffee, but we drink peppermint tea and go to yoga. I dream.

  ANDREW: And then what?

  JILL: The future. What does the future look like for me? You know? I force myself to map out a—chart of what the next five years might hold and … The future is fucking … scary. All I can do is see myself bashing away at a database and I don’t know what to do and I start to panic because my future is a big black hole of stupid. I am terrified and I open my eyes and I am breathing like a marathon, heart is triple-time kick drum—lungs about to explode, I open my mouth and I can’t hear the scream, and this is the answer to your question. Ando. This is the moment that I realise that without music in my life … I will die.

  Change to the airlock.

  PERKINS: Are you sure you were attempting to kill yourself?

  ANDREW: Yes. I am / sure.

  PERKINS: So, what were you going to do? Pills? Drugs? Hanging …? What …? What was your solution?

  ANDREW: Started the engine. Went to sleep. Woke up with a migraine.

  PERKINS: Classic. Should be in the notes. The GP at least. Fuck it. Okay. At least we know.

  ANDREW: Yes, we all know now.

  PERKINS: Nothing to be ashamed of. Do you want to accept the first shitty offer where you get nothing—or do you want to reject it? Instruct me!

  ANDREW: Is that what / you’re advising?

  PERKINS: What are you instructing? / You have to instruct me!

  ANDREW: Fuck. Yes. Reject it. Reject it!

  PERKINS: Excellent. What do you want to counter?

  ANDREW: What do you think we / should say? Okay.

  PERKINS: Full medical and fifty-two weeks!

  ANDREW: Sounds good.

  PERKINS: They will reject it out of hand. Fifty-two weeks—it starts at ninety per cent! But are you comfortable with this counter?

  ANDREW: Fuck yes. I instruct you! Make my counter!

  PERKINS: I understand your instruction!

  PERKINS exits. Silence.

  ANDREW: I really think this is a huge mistake—

  LEANNE: He has to know / everything.

  ANDREW: Is he going to tell them I tried to top myself?

  LEANNE: He is trying to get you some justice.

  ANDREW: You told me to forget about justice.

  LEANNE: That was just to calm you—the fuck—down! Jesus! You didn’t come here prepared for a fight, you came for another briefing, we are running as fast as we fucking can. What more do you want?

  ANDREW: I want them to admit liability.

  LEANNE: But that’s / just not going to happen—that is not what today is about.

  ANDREW: They chew through staff like Tim Tams. They have to be held to account!

  LEANNE: These plastic bags have forced that board to mount a defence. They have been meeting with insurance agents because of this, writing statements and finding witnesses, focusing on their policy vacuum. No matter what happens today, the board of Staccato will never forget you.

  PERKINS arrives back.

  PERKINS: They rejected the fifty-two weeks. They are offering thirty-five. Full medical. That’s a number that suggests they do not want to go into court.

  LEANNE: That’s right.

  PERKINS: Andrew. Do you want to go in there?

  ANDREW: If we go in … what happens in the end?

  PERKINS: You may walk out with nothing at all.

  ANDREW: But they’re offering thirty-five.

  PERKINS: In this negotiation. Take your tax out and you’ve still got something. Okay. You can see the options. Now. Tell me. What is your instruction?

  ANDREW: I want the madness to stop.

  LEANNE: Good / decision.

  PERKINS: I’ll inform the defendants. Congratulations.

  ANDREW: But … this isn’t madness. This is my life.

  Beat.

  And I want to run it.

  PERKINS: What about their offer?

  ANDREW: I do not give a flying fuck about their shitty offer.

  PERKINS: The money is on the table. I suggest you think about your health.

  ANDREW: My life is worth more than thirty-five weeks and medical. I want to run my case. I want to go into court. This is my instruction!

  PERKINS: I’ll inform the defence. Here we go!

  PERKINS exits. Long silence.

  LEANNE: Did you really draw a giant cock on the wall at the ambush meeting …? A permanent-marker penis? That ‘wang’. Was it really you?

  ANDREW: Nobody else in the room.

  LEANNE: What about Jill? She was there.

  ANDREW: How do you know?

  LEANNE: She gave evidence.

  ANDREW: For them?

  LEANNE: No. She’s on our side.

  Pause.

  Who drew the wang?

  ANDREW: It m
ust have been Linda.

  Change to the studio.

  JILL: And that’s it. Decision made. Clear as a cowbell. I cannot test and tag my way to the top. I want to shape the silence. Work with little bits of genius. I go back to Georgie and I say, ‘My future is in the studio. I wanna open a studio. Build my own label. Get my artists airplay and headline live shows. I want to be a producer.’ There’s this pause and she smiles and says, ‘That’s fantastic’. Felt like a grown-up. It makes sense—she helps me with the Business Plan. Walks me through the legal stuff. This is it. This is mine. It’s not much—

  ANDREW: It’s a beginning. Your label. What are you going to call it?

  JILL: Strategic Plan.

  Beat.

  ANDREW: Really?

  JILL: No, I just wanted to see your face when I said it.

  ANDREW: Fuck me—

  JILL: Your eyes were on stalks, like a cartoon. ‘Really?’

  ANDREW: What are you gonna call your label?

  JILL: Deathtrap Records.

  ANDREW: Oh—that’s, that is gangster.

  JILL: It’s cool—

  ANDREW: Scare the punters into buying the pressings.

  JILL: ‘DTR’. The logo is awesome.

  ANDREW: I bet. I bet … The logo … Shit … Oh, man. It’s good to see you.

  JILL: Thanks for the gear.

  ANDREW: It’s fine, it’s fine … it’s all good.

  JILL: So, what are you doing?

  ANDREW: Promoting some new bands. I’ve got a couple of people I want you to consider. I think you’d be perfect for them and … Deathtrap Records is going to be successful, so I’m trying to associate with you as much as I possibly can.

  JILL: Yeah, but what do you do for a real job?

  ANDREW: I don’t know yet. Got any ideas?

  Pause.

  JILL: Did you really play bass in Powderfinger …? That’s what they said in court … Is it true?

  ANDREW: One tour. I sat in—John hurt / his hand and …

  JILL: You learned the whole set list in two and half days.

  ANDREW: Five days.

  JILL: Powderfinger … I mean, they’re pretty shit. But that’s pretty cool. I may need some session players. You interested?

  ANDREW: Maybe.

  JILL: It’s a high-pressure environment.

  ANDREW: I’m in a good place.

  JILL: Yeah. Me too.

  Beat.

  ANDREW: Okay. I gotta go.

  He doesn’t move.

  JILL: You don’t look like somebody who is trying to leave the music business.

  ANDREW: I am. I’m going …

  JILL: Where?

  ANDREW: Home.

  JILL: Wow. What are you doin’ at home?

  ANDREW: Repair some damaged gear.

  JILL: What are you really doing?

  Pause.

  ANDREW: I go online, search up all the bands I used to listen to. Nick Cave, the Velvets, Watch them. Volume down and—The Church, The Stooges, The Pixies … fuck. Midnight Oil. Some of their early stuff is surprisingly good. But I always come back to my first loves …

  JILL: / The Clash. The Pistols. The Jam.

  ANDREW: The Pistols. The Clash. The Jam. Yeah … I’m going to spend this afternoon watching Paul Weller sing ‘Going Underground’ on repeat. I love that clip. Twenty-two forever—dressed to kill. Demanding justice. Smashing out the chorus and then the key change. I join him for the ‘scream’ and ‘shout’ … and end up pretending that I’m … I still have skin and it still tingles.

  Silence.

  JILL: Do me a favour.

  ANDREW: What’s up?

  JILL: Stick around for a few hours.

  ANDREW: Oh, I gotta go.

  JILL: Yeah, you’re so busy.

  ANDREW: I don’t want to trigger you or anything.

  JILL: Shut up. Old man.

  ANDREW: Old man?

  JILL: Okay. I got a new prospect and I want your opinion. Listen to this.

  She puts buds in his ears—he smiles. Silence.

  ANDREW: You recorded this …? With Mr Neuman … That bass. You’ve got a gift, just—feels so prominent, but it’s not in your face. It’s great. Who are they?

  JILL: Culture of Fear.

  ANDREW: Serious? Oh-ah … Do I hear a B3 in there?

  JILL: Do you like this sound …?

  ANDREW: Yes. I do. Great job.

  JILL: Thank you.

  Pause.

  ANDREW: Yes. This is beautiful.

  Silence. Lights snap out.

  POST-SHOW MUSIC

  Style Council: ‘Walls Come Tumblin’ Down’.

  THE END

  GRIFFIN THEATRE COMPANY PLAYS

  PUBLISHED BY CURRENCY PRESS

  AVAILABLE IN BOOKSHOPS AND ONLINE

  LIGHTEN UP

  Nicholas Brown & Sam McCool

  In Australia, we like ‘em blonde and bronzed. In India, it’s ‘fair and lovely’. So what happens if you’re stuck in between? This very funny play by actor (and Bollywood leading-man) Nicholas Brown and comedian Sam McCool tells a universal tale of identity, cultural assimilation and bleaching your bits.

  978-1-76062-028-8, also available as an ebook

  THE TURQUOISE ELEPHANT

  Stephen Carleton

  Inside her triple-glazed compound, Her Excellency Augusta Macquarie shields herself from the catastrophic elements, bathing in the classics and campaigning for the reinstatement of global reliance on fossil fuels. Outside, the world lurches from one environmental cataclysm to the next. Meanwhile, her sister, Olympia, thinks the best way to save endangered species is to eat them. Their niece, Basra, is intent on making a difference–but how? Can you save the world one blog at a time? Stephen Carleton’s shockingly black, black, black political farce won the 2015 Griffin Award. It’s urgent, contemporary and perilously close to being real.

  978-1-92500-574-5, also available as an ebook

  Gloria

  Benedict Andrews

  Playing the real-life survivor of a sadistic crime, Gloria must immerse herself in the horror of her character’s reality. As she falls further into the abyss, the unravelling of her mind is reflected by the breakdown of order around her. We see a portrait of a society afraid to acknowledge its widening gaps. A beautifully complex and original work, Gloria is at once deeply Australian yet global in its perspective.

  978-1-92500-568-4

  FOR A FULL LIST OF TITLES, SEE WWW.CURRENCY.COM.AU

  COPYRIGHT DETAILS

  First published in 2017

  by Currency Press Pty Ltd,

  PO Box 2287, Strawberry Hills, NSW, 2012, Australia

  [email protected]

  www.currency.com.au

  in association with Griffin Theatre Company

  First digital edition published in 2017 by Currency Press.

  Copyright: A Strategic Plan © Ross Mueller, 2017.

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