A House Call - Part 1 of 5

A House Call

A Play in One-Act

By Joe Kuhlman

SETTING:

• TIME: Present day

• PLACE: A sterile facade of a living room

CHARACTERS:

• MEL(M, late 20’s): An innocuous man.

• FRANCES (M or F, late 20’s): An obtrusive man / woman.

• EVALUATOR (M or F, 30’s - 50’s): A beleaguered employee.

A HOUSE CALL

A set of living room furnishings are clustered C.S.: an armchair, a side table beside it, a coffee table with a stack of magazines on top, a couch, and a rolling entertainment stand with a small television on top. On top of the side table there is an empty mug and a small framed photo of a woman. There is a door upstage for all entrances and exits. If possible, this door should close on its own without needing to be manually closed.

Lights are dimmed. Frances lays on the couch flipping through a magazine from the coffee table. It is nearly impossible to read in the low light but she flips the pages as if giving each one a good lookover. Hold.

Enter Mel. He does not fully cross the threshold, merely pokes his head in and peers around the room.

MEL. Hello? (Brief pause. He positions himself halfway over the threshold.) Hello? I’m here. (Brief pause. To himself.) Light switch. Is there a light switch? (He tries to peer through the darkness.) I wasn’t told the lights’d be off. (He takes half a step forward, holding the door open with his hand, but retreats back half a step. He parleys with himself.) If they wanted the lights on, they’d be on. Unless they wanted me to do it for them. In which case, they would have told me where the light switch was. (Regretful.) I should have asked.

    

Brief pause. Frances turns a page.

 

FRANCES. Yes, you should have.

 

MEL. (Startled.) Hello?

 

FRANCES. Please, come in. Sit down.

 

MEL. Oh, thank you. I’d love to, but - 

 

FRANCES. But?

 

MEL. It’s too dark. Who is this?

 

FRANCES. You should really just take a seat.

 

MEL. Is there a light switch somewhere?

 

FRANCES. Of course there is. 

 

MEL. Where?

 

FRANCES. Don’t worry, you wouldn’t be able to find it anyway. Not with how dark it is.

 

    Brief pause. Frances turns a page.

 

MEL. I believe I have the wrong room.

 

FRANCES. That so?

 

MEL. Yes, I’m sorry.

 

FRANCES. How embarrassing. 

 

MEL. Forgive me, I’ll just - 

 

Mel is about to exit entirely when Frances speaks. This stops him.

 

FRANCES. Melvin Datz?

 

Mel slowly positions half his body over the threshold again.

 

MEL. Yes?

 

FRANCES. You’re in the right room.

 

    Mel lets out a sigh of relief.

 

MEL. Oh, fantastic.

 

    He doesn’t move farther in.

 

FRANCES. Just think, if I hadn’t said your name, you would have been halfway home by now.

 

MEL. Thank God, you did.

 

FRANCES. Would’ve saved you a lot of time today.

 

MEL. (He chuckles.) Well, I - (He thinks.) Why is it so dark in here anyway?

 

FRANCES. You must be early.

 

MEL. No, no. Right on time. I double-checked as I walked in, before I handed all my things over to security. Would you mind flipping the switch for me if you know where it is? (Frances flips a page.) Or, if you could tell me where it is, I’d be happy to help.

 

FRANCES. You know what would help?

 

MEL. What’s that?

 

FRANCES. You could come in, shut the door, and sit down.

 

MEL. How do I find where to sit?

 

FRANCES. Have you ever sat in the dark before?

 

MEL. Plenty of times.

 

FRANCES. Same idea.

 

MEL. Yes, but - 

 

FRANCES. Feel around for it.

 

MEL. Ah, of course. (He steps fully into the room and lets go of the door. It closes behind him.) That’s worse. (He blindly crosses into the room and bumps into the armchair.) Dammit!

 

FRANCES. Did you find the chair?

 

MEL. (Through pain.) The chair found me! (He clumsily finds his way into the seat.) I’m not one to complain - 

 

FRANCES. (Sarcastic.) No.

 

MEL. - but I feel like someone should have told me to prepare for the light to be off. How long have you been here?

 

FRANCES. Oh, just forever.

 

MEL. Just in the dark? I would’ve gone crazy.

 

FRANCES. Maybe it’d be better if they just left the lights on all the time.

 

MEL. That’s good, I like that.

 

FRANCES. You know, I like to think that there’s a world where the light never goes off. A world where everyone’s able to find their seat no problem. Hell, there’s a world where you were hit by a car before you got here. Anything’s possible is my point. No one knows what’d happen if the lights were on. We don’t live in that world. (Brief pause. Lights up full. Bright, impersonal, white light. Mel flinches, shielding his eyes. Frances lowers her magazine, looks up to the ceiling, and squints. Then, bemused.) Huh. Look at that.

 

Mel lowers his hand to look up into the light but quickly shields his eyes again.

 

MEL. Christ! (He looks at the ground between his feet.) I’m liking this much better. 

 

FRANCES. Good?

 

MEL. Good, yes. Very bright.

 

FRANCES.  It’s what you wanted.

 

MEL. Yes, but - 

 

FRANCES. You want them to turn it off again?

 

MEL. No, but - 

 

FRANCES. Light switch is out in the hallway, by the way.

 

MEL. Really?

 

FRANCES. Should have flipped it on before you came in.

 

MEL. Must’ve missed it. Didn’t think I was allowed to touch anything.

 

FRANCES. You missed it or you didn’t think you were allowed? Which world are we in?

 

MEL. Uh…both. 

 

FRANCES. You’re a funny guy. 

 

MEL. That right?

 

FRANCES. Most people don’t say anything when they come into their room. Most people just walk right in and sit down.

 

MEL. I suppose I’m not most people.

 

FRANCES. Nope.

 

Still looking at the ground, Mel extends a hand out

towards Frances.

 

MEL. Melvin Datz. Mel.

 

   Frances returns to her magazine.

 

FRANCES. I know. Make yourself comfortable. (Mel relaxes back into the chair, adjusting to the light. Frances flips another page. After a quick look around the room, a realization dawns on Mel. Frances looks up from her magazine just long enough to notice.) Something wrong, Melvin Datz?

MEL. Oh, Mel, please. This is… (He rubs the armrests in the chair then raps his knuckles on the coffee table.) Is this? (He picks up the picture frame off the side table and gives it a quick lookover.) You’ll think I’m crazy. Is all this supposed to be -?

FRANCES. Yep.

    

Mel gives the picture another second’s glance before placing it back on the side table.

 

MEL. (Bemused.) Huh.

 

FRANCES. How’d they do?

 

As Mel speaks, he stands and examines the set at various angles, circling the room, performing tactile checks, etc.

 

MEL. Very well.

 

FRANCES. Oh, yeah?

 

MEL. Yes. This is, in essence, my living room. How did they get it so accurately?

 

FRANCES. Think about it.

 

    Mel thinks and quickly realizes.

 

MEL. That interviewer. They sent someone to my house last week to fill out the forms and…well, he must have taken pictures when I wasn’t paying attention. Or took very detailed notes.

 

FRANCES. I think that’s the only reason they send someone to your house. I mean, you can fill out forms here, can’t you?

 

MEL. Are they allowed to take pictures inside my house?

 

FRANCES. Only after you sign the paper that says they can. (Mel shoots a confused look at Frances. Frances laughs.) Didn’t read that part did you?

 

MEL. I must’ve just been eager to sign.

 

    Frances nods.

 

FRANCES. Aren’t we all? (She finally sits up.) I’m curious. What were you expecting?

 

MEL. Not a couch.

 

FRANCES. It’s all in the forms.

 

MEL. What an odd procedure.

 

FRANCES. So, what brings you in today, Melvin Datz?

 

MEL. Mel. And if we’re ready to get into it, I suppose now’s as good a time as any. (He thinks.) It’s the strangest thing. It happened around last week. Or, I actually clocked it for the first time last week. I don’t know how long it’s been going on to be honest. I had just gotten out of the shower. I dried off, put clothes on, combed my hair, and I was in the middle of brushing my teeth when I caught my own eyes in the mirror. Strangest thing. I was hit with an almost unreal dread. I froze. I stared at my whole self in the mirror, separate and apart from anything else I knew. I saw a stranger there in the mirror. (Frances becomes fully reabsorbed in her magazine.) An odd, gaping stranger with a toothbrush dangling out of his mouth. I couldn’t look away and neither could the stranger. I realized, standing there, that I had no idea who I was, what I was worth, what I was even doing by showering, dressing, combing, brushing. The stranger didn’t seem to know either. Suddenly, it felt like I’d always had that doubt. Always had the thought, somewhere in the back of my head, that I didn’t know what or who I was. A dream of a dream of a dream. When I finally came to, I realized I was late for work. I decided not to go. I haven’t been back since. In one of my moments of clarity since then, I looked up what I could do to erase that feeling. Maybe even forget that I had it in the first place. That’s when I found this place and signed up for the procedure. In short, I’m afflicted. By what, I have no idea. (He exhales.) First time I put that into words. (Brief pause. He notices Frances not paying attention.) Excuse me.

 

    Frances looks up from her magazine.