Poems

Michelle Hughes

INT. MEDIA CITY. HIGH CLASS RESTAURANT/DINER. DAY.
STACEY sits at a small table next to a window overlooking an empty carpark. She catches a glimpse of her reflection in the glass pane and messes with her hair. A WAITRESS approaches the table expectantly.

STACEY
Erm… just a coffee. Please.

WAITRESS
Of course madam, which one would you like? We have Cappuccino, Skinny Cappuccino, Latte, Skinny latte, Mocha, Skinny Mocha-

STACEY
Just… just… give me…
(putting her head in her hands)
A fucking… Cappuccino. Cappuccino. Please.

The WAITRESS takes the menus from the table with a face as long as a gas man’s mack. STACEY continues to look out of the window. A flashy red sports car pulls into the car park. STACEY watches this car intently, as the driver parks in a bay. A blonde haired, bohemian looking woman gets out of the car and walks towards the entrance of the restaurant. STACEY quickly turns away from the window, pretending not to have seen her. It is LYDIA. She enters through the glass doors and looks around the busy restaurant. Finally, she notices STACEY and approaches.

The WAITRESS returns with the cappuccino.

STACEY
(to the WAITRESS)
Ta.

LYDIA
Starting without me?

STACEY
(looking up)
You can get your own can’t ya?

The WAITRESS turns to LYDIA.

WAITRESS
Sorry, I didn’t realise it was a table for two, can I get you anything, madam?

LYDIA
(sitting down)
Yes, can I get a skinny latte with a twist of the toffee syrup please?

WAITRESS
Sure.

LYDIA
But can I get it in a large mug? I mean, rather than a regular? What I mean is, I don’t want a large size latte, I want a regular size latte in a large sized mug.

WAITRESS
Sure, no problem.

The WAITRESS leaves.

STACEY
What do you want a big fucking cup for?

LYDIA
I like to add water.

STACEY
It’s a fucking coffee.

LYDIA
It’s how I like it.
(long pause)
Well, it was good to hear from you.

STACEY
Was it?

LYDIA
Yeah.

STACEY
Why?

LYDIA
What?

STACEY
Why? Why was it good?

LYDIA
I don’t know, I…
(pause)
How’s the kids?

STACEY
They’re okay.

LYDIA
How’s Karen?

STACEY visualises KAREN.

INT. ESTATE. KAREN’s HOUSE. DAY.
A mound of newspapers and overcoats completely covers the living room sofa. The mound begins to erupt creating a landslide of the papers and coats, revealing KAREN (forties, morbidly obese), turning over in her sleep.

INT. HIGH CLASS RESTAURANT /DINER. DAY. (CONT).

STACEY (V/O)
She’s just the fucking same. Nothing’s changed.

The WAITRESS returns with LYDIA’S drink.

LYDIA
(to waitress)
Thank you.

STACEY
When did our father put your head in the fish tank?

The WAITRESS smiles awkwardly then quickly makes her escape.

STACEY
When? When did he do that?

LYDIA
Stacey-

STACEY
Go on. When was it? When did he shove your head in the fish tank with all the fucking smelly fish? Cause, you know… you know that did happen. But, you see, what I need to know is, when did that actually happen…to you?

LYDIA
I don’t know if I want to talk about the past right now Stacey-

STACEY
I do. I want to talk about the past. I fucking love the past. I really fucking love it.

LYDIA
Stacey, look-

STACEY
I thought you fucking loved it as well? I thought you wanted to talk about it-

LYDIA
I do want to talk about it. But not right now, not here-

STACEY
Why not? Why not now? You love fucking writing about it.

STACEY throws LYDIA’s new book on the table.

STACEY
Why do you have to write about it? Why do you have to write about this shit Lydia? Does it make you feel important or something?

LYDIA stands up, opens her bag and takes out a flyer, placing it on the table in front STACEY.

LYDIA
I hope you’ll decide to come…

LYDIA leaves whilst STACEY continues to rant.

STACEY
Do you really think people want to hear about this shit? I mean…why? Why in god’s fucking name do you have to write a fucking poem? Poetry’s fucking shit anyway. Poetry? Who the fuck gives a shit? Who gives a shit? Who gives a shit about poetry? Go on! Who gives a shit?

STACEY picks up the flyer and reads it. The flyer is promoting LYDIA’s book launch. STACEY stands, calling after LYDIA.

STACEY
So now you’re going to go on a fucking stage and mouth off about this shit? You’re a fucking-

STACEY catches the eye of the WAITRESS. The proverbial sound of a pin drops as the diners in the restaurant are clearly horrified to silence. The whole restaurant stares at STACEY.

STACEY slowly picks up her things and walks away from the table with her head held high.

STACEY
(shouting as she exits)
And your coffee’s fucking shit as well!

 

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