Play One of a Trilogy
A World of Possibility
The Making
A two-act play. The Depression-era childhood, the Eagle Scout year, the NCAA 9.6-second final, and the midnight dance at the USO in Paris that changed everything.
Working draft · Act II Scene 3 written
Setting St. Louis, Missouri / Paris, France · Years 1934–1959 · Running time ∼2h15m with one intermission
Int. USO — Paris — December 31, 1956 — 11:50 p.m.
A four-piece band plays Autumn Leaves. A dozen couples on the dance floor. Stage right: a bar where SOLDIERS queue for watered-down champagne. Stage left: a long table of FRENCH CIVILIANS learning English by listening. Downstage center: YOUNG BARNEY, 22, in a gray suit, no tie, holding a glass. WALLY SUGAR and DAN DEVINE have gone to the bar. YOUNG BARNEY surveys the room.
Upstage right in his armchair, the OLDER BARNEY. A spotlight finds him.
OLDER BARNEY
to the audience
I was very sick the day before. I had been so sick I told the Unholy Three
to go to dinner without me. I had slept for four hours. When I woke up, I was
well and hungry and alone in a hotel room in Paris ten minutes before
midnight on New Year's Eve.
OLDER BARNEY (cont'd)
Nobody in New Year's Eve history has ever wanted to be alone less.
YOUNG BARNEY notices a young woman dancing with a SOLDIER. She is MARTINE DE VISME, 19, in a dark dress. She looks over her shoulder, laughs at something the SOLDIER said without laughter. YOUNG BARNEY notes this.
OLDER BARNEY
I remember thinking: that's his steady. That's a terrible thing to discover
at five minutes to midnight.
The SOLDIER with MARTINE glances at his watch. Then at the door. He bends, says something apologetic to MARTINE, who tilts her head politely. He crosses the floor and leaves. MARTINE looks briefly at her sister CHRISTIANE at the long table, shrugs. CHRISTIANE mouths something encouraging. MARTINE turns back to the dance floor, alone.
OLDER BARNEY
I'll tell you exactly what I thought. I thought: the pressure of having to kiss
somebody at midnight has gotten to him. And I thought: I can fix that.
The band slows into Auld Lang Syne. A VOICE over a PA system announces something in French. Couples reach for each other. YOUNG BARNEY sets down his glass. He walks toward MARTINE. It takes him exactly the right number of seconds. A CLOCK somewhere offstage begins to chime.
Midnight.
YOUNG BARNEY
his American accent unmistakable even in four syllables
I'm Barney. From St. Louis.
MARTINE studies him. Her English is good but careful.
MARTINE
Martine. From Paris.
YOUNG BARNEY
May I dance with you?
MARTINE
considering
The soldier I was with has gone.
MARTINE
You are aware of this?
YOUNG BARNEY
I was counting on it.
A beat. MARTINE's expression does something quiet and serious that is not quite a smile. Then she puts her hand in his. They step onto the floor at the moment the band resumes playing.
OLDER BARNEY
rising from the armchair, walking to the edge of the stage
We danced through Auld Lang Syne. We danced through the two songs
after it. At twelve-thirty, the USO closes. I asked her to a place around the
corner called Whisky à Go Go. It had just opened. She said she was there
with her older sister. I had not noticed the older sister. I looked. Christiane
— not my daughter, my daughter was not yet born — studied me.
CHRISTIANE DE VISME rises from the long table and crosses to them. MARTINE whispers something. CHRISTIANE looks YOUNG BARNEY up and down and then, almost imperceptibly, nods.
OLDER BARNEY
The whole rest of my life was made in the space of that nod.
MARTINE
to Young Barney, quietly
My sister says yes.
YOUNG BARNEY offers his arm. MARTINE takes it. They walk toward the door together. CHRISTIANE follows at a dignified distance. The band plays on. The streamers do not stir.
OLDER BARNEY
almost a whisper
I will dance with her on a boulevard at two in the morning when the Métro
has stopped. I will take her home at six when it starts again. I will propose
three months from now, in an Italian hotel room, by giving her my Kansas
relay medal. I will marry her in fourteen months. We will be together for
twelve years.
OLDER BARNEY (cont'd)
But none of that is tonight. Tonight I don't know any of it.
OLDER BARNEY (cont'd)
Tonight is just the dance.
Lights down, except for the spot on OLDER BARNEY. The band's final note held, then cut. Blackout.
End of Act Two, Scene 3