Featured Writer of November

Sarah Congress writes comedic plays, musical books, and television scripts. Her play The Angel Manual received a reading at the HBMG National Winter Playwright's Retreat (2019) and a portion of her book for the musical Lar's Hostel was selected to be in the New Work Series' Emerging Artist Theatre Program (Forthcoming, 2020/2021). In 2017 her comedy The Legal Secretary was presented as a staged reading at The Road Theatre Lankershim Center for the Arts in LA. She currently teaches TV writing for The Knowledge Project and works in the Dean's Office at Columbia University, School of the Arts.

COVID-19 Bachelor Number Five

By Sarah Congress

Characters:

Isabella: 25. An unemployed chef and a Democrat, originally from New Jersey.

Michael: 25. An advertising copywriter and a Republican, originally from Staten Island.

Time: 

The Present.

Setting:

The deck of the Staten Island Ferry.

Lights up on the deck of the Staten Island Ferry. 

Isabella, wearing a face-mask, fixes her hair using her iPhone camera.

Michael, also wearing a face-mask, appears. He stands six feet apart from her.

Michael: Are you Isabella?

Isabella turns to look at Michael.

Isabella: I am Isabella. 

Michael: Thank goodness. It’s so hard to tell with these masks on.

Isabella: You’re Michael—I’m assuming slash hoping?

Michael: I am Michael. 

He goes in for a handshake then stops himself.

Michael: Sorry, I keep forgetting. 

Isabella: It’s okay. These are such weird times. 

Michael: They are indeed. Do you want to have a seat on the bench? I’m sure it’s sterilized. 

Isabella: Looks a little damp from the rain earlier, here—

She takes a few tissues from her purse and dabs the bench. 

Isabella: Good as new. 

Michael: Smart thinking. 

She sits.

He sits.

Michael: I’m so glad you’re Isabella. I thought this woman over there might be you because she was about your height and had the same hair color. So I went up to her and introduced myself. Turns out, her name wasn’t Isabella. Her name was Cheryl.

Isabella: Cheryl? Who on earth is named Cheryl.

Michael: My mother’s name is Cheryl.

Silence.

Isabella: Sorry, I can’t tell if you’re joking or not?

Michael: I’m actually not joking. My mother is Cheryl O’Sullivan. She kept the last name from her second marriage. 

Isabella: Cheryl is a great name. And also my favorite character on Riverdale.

Michael: Really? I’m more of an F.P. Jones fan…

Silence.

Michael: I’m really glad that you were okay with us meeting on the ferry. I just thought it would be a smart way to stay in the open air. And from all of our texting these past few weeks, I gathered that you liked the outdoors. 

Isabella: I’ll definitely give you points for creativity. Can’t say I’ve ever had a first date on the Staten Island Ferry before. 

Michael: Have you been on many dates during the quarantine?

Isabella: Have I been on many dates during the quarantine? Good question…

She starts counting in her head. 

Michael: I feel like I’ll match with people on a dating app, and we’ll text for several days or a week even, but since it’s so hard to meet up during a pandemic, nothing ever happens past the texting. 

Isabella: I guess this is my thirteenth date since COVID started?

Michael: You’ve gone on that many first—wow. I guess I’m lucky number thirteen?

Isabella: Well, four of them were Face-Times with this same actor and gym-trainer guy Jason in Brooklyn, and then two of them were social distance park hangs with Raymond, a furloughed airline pilot in Midtown—

Michael: You really don’t have to list them all for me. 

Isabella: And then there was Patrick, a very successful CBD start-up Instagram influencer, who ended up canceling last minute because he had a temperature the morning of our date, turned out to just be a severe case of shingles, not COVID—

Michael: Yikes poor Patrick. 

Isabella: So technically you are my COVID-19 bachelor number five.

Michael: COVID-19 bachelor number five. Lucky me. 

Isabella: I’ve lived in New York for years, but this is actually my very first time riding the Staten Island Ferry. 

Michael: Really? I love the ferry. I’m biased though, I grew up in Staten Island near Fresh Kills.

Isabella: Fresh what?

Michael: Kills.

Isabella: Who lives in that town? Hannibal Lecter?

Michael: No, no, no it’s not a murder capital or anything. 

Isabella: Should I be worried? Being alone on a boat with you?

Michael: Yes—quick go grab a life-jacket before I strangle you to death and throw you overboard. 

He laughs and pantomimes strangling her to death.

She doesn’t laugh. 

Silence.

Michael: Interestingly enough, at one point in time Fresh Kills held the title as the world’s largest garbage landfill. 

Isabella: I’m from New Jersey, so I get it.

Michael: My ex-girlfriend lived in the Atlantic Highlands.

Isabella: I know, you’ve mentioned that several times over text already. 

Michael nods. 

Silence.

Isabella: So how has your pandemic been so far?

Michael: Fairly quiet. Spend most days teleworking from my bed. I downloaded a lot of books to my Kindle that I keep saying I’ll read, but never actually read. How about yourself?

Isabella: It’s been pretty devastating. My best friend’s dad died, my next-door neighbor died, and the restaurant that I used to cook for went bankrupt. I couldn’t afford to pay my rent in June for my studio apartment and was almost evicted.

Michael: Oh my God, I’m so sorry. 

Isabella: Yeah 2020. Not my year.

Michael: Do you have a place to live now?

Isabella: Yes, luckily that all got sorted out. 

Michael: Thank heavens. 

Isabella: I have a roommate now, Clyde, to help with living expenses and my unemployment checks started coming in. 

Michael: I see. I see. So let me get this straight, you’re living with a strange male roommate in a tiny New York City studio apartment? 

Isabella: Oh Clyde isn’t strange; I’ve known him for years from the restaurant. He’s an incredibly gifted Australian mixologist studying for his real estate license. He also does some catalogue modeling every now and then. (She laughs) He keeps joking that we should get married so he can get a green-card. 

Michael: Too funny.

Isabella: (Laughing) Oh Clyde.

Michael: (Quietly to himself) She’s already living with someone. Why is she here?

Isabella: Fun times.

Michael: You know, I find it somewhat surprising that despite all the craziness going on in your life you’re still going on dates?

Isabella: I’m single. Why wouldn’t I go on dates? 

Michael: Well, one could argue, since your life is in such a state of flux and upheaval with losing your job, and almost losing your home, and living with Clyde, it might not be the best time to go on dates with people from dating apps?

Isabella: Do I make you uncomfortable or something? 

Michael: No, no, no not at all. 

Isabella: I feel like you’re attacking me.

Michael: I didn’t mean for it to come off that way. I just am trying to understand your situation and what it is that you’re looking for?

Isabella: I’m looking to meet the right man to date.

Michael: Not the right man to save you from your situation?

Isabella: Excuse me?

Michael: You just seem to be going through a lot of personal things right now and I wanted to make sure you are ready to date people. 

Isabella: I don’t need saving. I just need indoor dining to be allowed again so I can go back to work. 

Michael: But you live with someone?

Isabella: Yes. A man-friend, temporarily, while I’m unemployed. Is that a problem? 

Michael: No, it’s not a problem.

Isabella: You sure?

Michael: I’m sure.

Isabella: You don’t seem sure.

Michael: It’s not what I would do, but—

Isabella: Hey I wish I was at home teleworking in bed, counting the money in my savings account, and binge-watching episodes of The Great British Bake Off, but that’s just not how the tarot cards landed for me. If you want me to go to the other side of the ferry deck and leave you alone, I can. I’m a big girl. I’ll get off on the right stop. 

Michael: Oh there’s only two stops: Staten Island or The Ferry terminal in Manhattan.

Isabella: Don’t mansplain; it was a figure of speech. 

Michael: I wasn’t mansplaining. I was just genuinely concerned you may not know there are only two stops since it’s your first time on the Staten Island Ferry.

Isabella nods slowly. 

He tugs at his face-mask. 

Michael: Isabella. Can we start over? 

Isabella: That depends. How long is the ferry ride?

Michael: About twenty-five minutes each way. 

Isabella: (She sighs) Alright. We can start over. 

Michael: Thank you. This time around, I promise not to mention your unemployment. 

Isabella: Great and maybe try not to talk so much about your ex in New Jersey?

Michael: Only if you stop talking about your thousands of successful COVID-19 Hinge dates. 

Isabella: They weren’t all from Hinge. I’m also on Bumble. And MeetMe. And Tinder.

Silence.

Isabella: Hi. I’m Isabella. 

Michael: Michael.

They pantomime shaking hands. 

They laugh.

Isabella: Too bad there isn’t a bar on this ferry.

Michael: I would murder someone for a vodka seltzer. Not that I’m a murderer, Isabella, despite being from Fresh Kills. 

Isabella: Let’s play a game. 

Michael: What kind of a game? I suffer from GSAD—Game Stress Anxiety Disorder. It took me over a year of therapy to recover from a very competitive round of Cards Against Humanity at a New Year’s Eve party.  

Isabella: If money and health were of no concern, what would you do on a perfect first date?

Michael: Spend the afternoon at a museum?

Isabella: Money is of no object. You can travel anywhere and do anything you want. 

Michael: Hmm, if that’s the case then maybe I’d go take my date to the Bahamas? Snorkeling, tanning on the beach, drinking margaritas in the pool. Watching the show the resort puts on. 

Isabella: So your idea of a perfect first date is basically a five-day-all-inclusive-trip to the Caribbean you’d find on Groupon? 

Michael: Now that you mention it, I guess it is…how about you?

Isabella: Lights up on Paris. 

Michael: Classy.

Isabella: My date and I have spent the afternoon strolling through Notre Dame, the Catacombs, and the Louvre. We end our night at a small restaurant, sitting outside in the cool air, drinking wine and eating Moules-frites.

Michael: Yum. I’m a third French Canadian, by the way.

Isabella: A street musician appears and plays something beautiful on his guitar. We gaze into each other’s eyes and we kiss.

Michael claps.

Isabella: Do you think we’ll ever get to do things like that again? 

Michael: Most of the things you described were outdoor activities and I thought the CDC said those were okay?

Isabella: I meant do you think people will ever be able to live carelessly, with that same sense of freedom and trust again? Or is it gone forever? Like the days of handshakes?

Michael: As soon as there’s a vaccine things will be right as rain.

Isabella: I’m not so sure about that, but I admire your optimism.

Michael: I try my best to stay positive. It’s good for the immune system. 

Isabella: It’s hard to remain hopeful what with climate change and all the awful shootings from civil unrest and Donald Trump—I feel like he’s leading this country off of a cliff and into extinction. 

Michael: Don’t blame this all on Trump. That’s just not fair. It’s not like he and Putin scurried into a laboratory one night and invented Coronavirus on behalf of big business. 

Isabella: Wait a minute: your profile said you were liberal?

Michael: I am liberal. 

Silence.

Michael: Liberal Republican.

Isabella: Well, this has been fun.

She turns to leave.

Michael: Woah, woah, woah, being a Republican is that much of a deal breaker? 

Isabella: You voted for Donald Trump. 

Michael: I did not vote for Donald Trump. I vote for John Kasich in the 2016 primaries and in the general election I chose not to vote because I didn’t like Clinton or Trump. 

Isabella: Doesn’t matter—we could never date. Goodbye. 

Michael: Why not? I’m a human being, with blood flowing through my veins, just like you.

Isabella: That’s debatable.

Michael: How can such a well-educated and worldly woman completely write me off just for following my own set of morals? 

Isabella: Because your morals spit on my morals. 

Michael: I’ve never spit on anything in my life. Not even at the dentist. 

Isabella: The things I believe in and fight for; gay marriage, abortion, health insurance for all, are intrinsic human rights and to support anything else would be a crime against humanity. Goodbye.

She turns to leave.

Michael: I want to grab your arm but I can’t because of social distancing. 

She stops.

Michael: Listen, I believe in marriage—provided the two people, whatever their gender—are truly in love. And I support abortions—not as a form of contraception—but for cases like rape or for an underlying risk to the woman’s body. But health insurance for all? Isabella—keep dreaming. That’s just never going to happen. You want health insurance? Go get a job like the rest of us. The United States isn’t here to babysit you. 

Isabella: God, people like you make me sick. 

Michael: People like me?

Isabella: Money people.

Michael: I write advertising copy. I’m not exactly Jeff Bezos over here.

Isabella: What if someone can’t find a job and therefore can’t get health insurance?  

Michael: The internet is free. Anybody can job hunt and find a job. 

Isabella: The internet is not always free.

Michael: Then said person could go to a Starbucks. 

Isabella: You have to be able to afford a beverage in the Starbucks in order to use their WIFI network.

Michael: Oh come on, not everyone is Tiny Tim from A Christmas Carol. Most people can afford to buy a bottle of water and use the internet in a Starbucks. 

Isabella: But where are they going to sit and use the internet if it’s a pandemic and they can’t be indoors?

Michael: These aren’t normal times.

Isabella: Well honey, these are the times that we live in. Look at me, I had a 3.7 GPA in high school and went to a well-known culinary school and I was almost evicted.

Michael: We’re not talking about your unemployment, remember? It’s not a good first-date topic.

Isabella: If it wasn’t for Clyde, I’d be living on the street.

Michael: If you say Clyde’s name one more time I will jump into the water.

Isabella: Clyde.

Silence.

Michael: See this is the problem. It’s not COVID it’s this. 

Isabella: It’s what? 

Michael: The fact that nobody is willing to compromise anymore. It’s either their way or the highway. And I blame the internet. It spoiled us. It gave us too many options. Don’t like the YouTube song that’s playing? Click next. Hate your current neighborhood? Google Search and find a new one. Unhappy with your spouse, political party, retirement package, mortgage rate? Here’s fourteen-hundred-thousand different options—all just a click away. 

Silence.

Michael: We won’t accept anything into our psyche that isn’t “what we like.” We’re evolving away from listening to any fact or opinion that isn’t our fact and opinion. And it scares me—and should scare the world.

Silence. 

Isabella: Huh. 

Silence. 

Michael: Anyway, you’re mad at me so feel free to go to the other side of the ferry deck. I won’t bother you. Have a healthy and safe rest of your pandemic and enjoy your many, many, many online suitors. 

Silence. 

Isabella: You know something, your theory reminds me of when people come to the restaurant I work at and want to make all these annoying substitutions to the dish I’ve created and it’s like—why can’t you open up and try something new instead of dictating the menu you’re comfortable with?

Michael: Never thought of that, but yes?

Isabella: Diner: listen to an expert. I’m a chef. You’re not. So do not substitute the fennel risotto for steamed broccoli. 

Michael: Well I don’t know Isabella, what if the person has a gluten intolerance? How very intolerant of you to their needs.

Isabella: I can and will throw you overboard.

Silence.

Isabella: Let’s play a new game.

Michael: Oh are we done playing crucify Michael the Liberal Republican?

Isabella: For the time being, yes. 

Michael: Well then, what’s the new game?

Isabella: We’re both God and we’re going to sit here overlooking the Atlantic Ocean and build a new world. 

Michael: Sounds fun. Can I get a flow-chart of my administrative angel support staff? 

Isabella: Human Resources will have that forwarded to you momentarily on a cloud. 

Michael: I suppose the first item on the agenda would be to end this pandemic?

Isabella: I second the motion. And while we’re on diseases, I’d like to cure cancer. 

Michael: And Alzheimer’s.

Isabella: And heart disease. 

Michael: Next job security: let’s have some. 

Isabella: Pensions for all?

Michael: And beach houses.

Isabella: I can attach a mandatory vacation home to the job security bill and send it to Congress. 

Michael: Everyone should have summers off. 

Isabella: And all clothing stores must have weekly designer sample sales. 

Michael: Can we have a National Pancake day?

Isabella: Don’t we already have a National Pancake day?

Michael: There’s already a National Pancake day? 

Isabella: Surely IHOP started one…?

They laugh.

We overhear an announcement: Now arriving: St. George Ferry Terminal. 

Michael: Did you want to get off? I can show you all around Fresh Kills?

Isabella: Ah as tempting as that sounds, I think I’m more of a Manhattan gal.

Michael: Do you want me to get off? 

Isabella: What for?

Michael: To leave you and your Democratic notions at peace?

Isabella: Do you want to get off?

Michael: If you want me to get off—I can get off.

Silence.

Michael: Did you want me to get off?

Isabella: It sounds so sexual. 

Michael: (Flirting) What: get off?

They laugh.

Isabella: Nah, I could use a friend for the ride home.

Michael: It’s an even prettier view, on the way back.

Isabella: I have no doubt.

Silence.

Michael: I bet Clyde doesn’t ever even offer to get you off…

Isabella: Michael. 

Michael: I wish I were named Clyde.

Isabella: Look at her, Lady Liberty. 

Michael: She’s something alright. Isabella, the bar is officially open. 

He pantomimes pouring and handing her a glass of champagne.

Isabella: Thank you sir.

Michael: What do we toast to?

Isabella: Better days.

They clink glasses. 

Lights out. 

End of play.