Better Places to Go

Better Places to Go by David-Matthew Barnes Page A

Book: Better Places to Go by David-Matthew Barnes Read Free Book Online
Authors: David-Matthew Barnes
Ads: Link
out.)
     
    RADIO ANNOUNCER: It’s going to be a wicked night, Grand Island. Weather reports say we’re expecting high winds, electrical storms, and more rain than we’ll know what to do with. My advice: get somewhere safe, cuddle up with the one you love, and hold on tight.
     
    (An older song comes on, a duet.
                 
    ROSIE, a waitress in her early twenties, enters from the kitchen. Her presence is commanding. She grabs a bottle of nail polish and a fashion magazine from the main counter. She sits in a booth, paints her fingernails, reads her magazine. She starts to sing along with the song on the radio.
                 
    RICARDO, a young and striking Mexican-American man in his early twenties, enters from the kitchen. He is carrying a bus tray.  He stops to turn off the radio. He starts to clear the tables.)
     
    RICARDO. You got any plans tonight, Rosie?
    ROSIE. I heard things about you. Last night, down at Clyde’s.
    RICARDO. I asked you a question.
    ROSIE. I asked you first.
    RICARDO. No, you didn’t. You didn’t ask me anything.
    ROSIE. Are the rumors true?
    RICARDO. When are you leaving?
    ROSIE. When the time is right.
    RICARDO. (After a moment:) The rumors aren’t true.
    ROSIE. (She stands.) Bullshit. That’s what I say. Bull – shit. You’re lying, Ricardo. Like I even care. If you and Derek are –
    RICARDO. You’ll never leave this place. You’re gonna die here.
    ROSIE. (She moves to the table that he is clearing. Purposely, she knocks over the salt and pepper shakers.) I hate you. If everybody knew what a jerk you were –
    RICARDO. If everybody knew what a compulsive liar you were –
    ROSIE. Faggot.
    RICARDO. Aw, come on, Rosie. You can do better than that.
    ROSIE. My boyfriend didn’t want me to take this job because you’re a dumb Mexican and all Mexican’s steal money and rape women.
    RICARDO. You’re not my type.
    ROSIE. (With a gesture to her breasts:) Obviously.
    RICARDO. You don’t even have a boyfriend.
    ROSIE. No?
    RICARDO. No, you don’t.
    ROSIE. But you do.
    RICARDO. Nothing’s worse than watching you lie to people.
    ROSIE. I don’t lie.
    RICARDO. You lie to every person who walks in the door. Just to sucker ‘em outta their money.
    ROSIE. People like me, asshole. They give me tips.
     
    (Rosie collects her tips from a table; a handful of loose change.)
     
    RICARDO. People feel sorry for you because you tell ‘ em that your mother is dying of cancer or that your father had a heart attack or that you have three starving babies at home and they all got scurvy.
    ROSIE. It’s part of the job. I tell people what they wanna hear. I pretend to be someone I’m not just to make them happy.
    RICARDO. Yeah, so do I.
    ROSIE. It makes people feel better about themselves if they think they’re helping someone who is less than them. Like they’re doing some good deed for the white trash of the world. Dumb fuckers don’t realize I’m smarter than them. I get ‘em their drinks. I bring ‘em plates of food. I tell the wives they look young. I flirt with the husbands. I touch their ugly babies: pat their bald heads, kiss their sticky faces. It’s their money that I really want. They always leave me a little extra, because I’m so sweet. (She pretends that she is waiting on a customer; very convincing:) What a beautiful family you have. It’s always nice to see people so happy together. Really, it warms my heart. (The façade is gone.) I know how to get what I want.
    RICARDO. You never answered my question.
    ROSIE. Yeah, I got big plans tonight.
    RICARDO. You’re gonna go home alone like you always do.
    ROSIE. You just don’t know, Ricardo. I’m so sick and tired of this place. I’d love to set it on fire and watch it burn to the ground. (Beat.) You got any matches on you, hot boy? It gets to a person after a while. It crawls all over me like a rash. Like poison fucking ivy. (Beat.) How in the hell did I get stuck in Nebraska?
    RICARDO. You were born

Similar Books

Lisa Renee Jones

Hot Vampire Touch

Buck Naked

Vivi Anna

Absolute Instinct

Robert W. Walker

Father Unknown

Lesley Pearse

Among Thieves

John Clarkson

Fig

Sarah Elizabeth Schantz