Two-Fisted Tales from the Four-Color City

Peter Parker, mild-mannered recent college graduate, has just been hired as an assistant editor at Excelsior Comics Publishing in New York City. Peter’s main detail is Foxtail, a low-selling superhero book for girls. He lives in Jersey City and commutes to work. He is from the Jersey suburbs, raised by a single father. He is constantly dropping things.

Joe Tamale is the editor-in-chief of Excelsior Comics. He bleeds ink and breathes New York City. He grew up in the mean streets of the Bronx and worked his way up as a copyboy, then penciller, then writer and editor for Excelsior. Now he runs the joint…but still has to take orders from upstairs.

Franklin Parker is Peter’s father. He is an insurance actuary—his son has never actually known what that means. He is withdrawn, awkward, ashamed. He lives in constant terror of being a bad father.

Yash Sunamarama is the hot hot hot penciller of Garbagemen, Excelsior’s number-one seller. He is as famous as comic book artists get. He is openly gay and was the creator of the long-running and critically-acclaimed independent book ’Mo back before he sold out to Excelsior.

Natasha Raskolnikov is the Russian femme fatale penciller of Foxtail. She is an extraordinary artist, but is stuck drawing girl books. She thinks Peter is headed to greater things and uses all her wiles to get him to take her along.

Todd DiUllio is the editor of Foxtail, among other low-selling but quietly excellent books. He has been with Excelsior for decades. Everyone in the building likes and trusts him. He is in his early 60s. He is large, kind, and Italian. Avuncular.

Alan Stepford is the long-suffering writer of Foxtail. He has been writing for Excelsior since the mid-80s, but has never been given a plum assignment. He lives in constant fear of cancellation. He drinks too much. He is anonymously sending Natasha obscene emails.

Edgar Poole is the scorching-hot Scottish writer of Garbagemen. He only appears via conference call.

A note on technical elements:

The play should be performed against a backdrop that can serve as a large projection surface. All location details should be drawn in pencil or ink, reminiscent of comic book art. When characters are discussing actual comic pages (such as scene 1.6) those pages could appear as projections. At the top of each scene, the images should be “drawn,” that is appear line-by-line in the manner of Harold’s Purple Crayon. The images should be almost entirely black and white, so that the choice to move to color at certain key points can be a bold one. When particular comics are mentioned or used onstage (only the fictional ones published by Excelsior) they can appear as projections, always in full color. Floor props such as desks, chairs, and the bar should be on castors so that they may easily and swiftly be moved on and offstage.

Prologue

Peter Parker walks onstage. Behind him is the set for Act I, Scene 1. Nothing is lit but him.

Peter:

I need an origin story. Where am I from? Why am I the way I am? What was the moment that changed me, that made me the—the man I am? Whence my vast skills and abilities? Was it a decision I made, to pursue the path of righteousness? Or was I forced into it by circumstances beyond my control—accidents, lightning, a history of gunshot death in the family. No. The truth is, I don’t have an origin—not yet. I haven’t transformed, I have yet to take up a mantle. I’m waiting for the moment to show me…who I’m to become.

Act I, Scene 1

Lights come up. This is Excelsior Comics, Inc.’s company Christmas Party. The party is at World’s Finest—a homey, slightly dingy but spacious bar in Manhattan. People are milling around, chatting, laughing. There is barely-discernable music playing, and everyone is drinking very quickly.
Peter enters and stands in the doorway. After a moment he takes off his coat, then puts it back on. He cranes his neck, looking for someone he recognizes…

Todd:

(offstage) Pete! Hey! Pete!

Todd DiUllio enters. He grabs Peter by the shoulder and vigorously shakes his hand.

Todd:

Pete! Merry Christmas! Glad you could make it! Here, gimme your coat! Go get a drink, beer and wine are free! I recommend the beer.

Todd disappears with Peter’s coat. Peter stands for a moment. He takes a deep breath, and is about to head to the bar when Alan Stepford wanders up. He is drunk.

Alan:

My name…is Jim Johnson.

Peter:

Oh.

Alan:

(leaning in, conspiratorially) But my real name…is Rocket Kid.

Peter:

…Oh.

Alan:

You see…I was exploring this abandoned warehouse one night, and I—I walked in on a gang trying to rob the joint—y’see, it wasn’t abandoned, it was a top-secret government test site. So I…

Alan trails off as Natasha Raskolnikov passes. He stares at her with undisguised lust. She is wearing a short black dress, smoking from a long cigarette holder, and carrying a drink. Natasha notices Peter. She looks at him coolly. Beat. Peter looks at Alan, who keeps staring at Natasha. Alan squeezes Peter’s shoulder, but says nothing. Peter realizes it’s up to him to speak.

Peter:

Um. Hi. I’m, uh, Pete. Peter. Um, Peter Parker. (winces slightly)

Natasha:

Good evenink. (she offers her hand palm-down. Peter shakes it gingerly and she scowls) My name iss Natasha Raskolnikov. I am drawing Foxtail. Before this I am at Surface Comics. I draw book about lesbian women.

Peter:

Lipstick & Battleaxe, yeah. It got good reviews—I’m actually, um, I’m your new editor. Assistant editor. I’m Todd’s assistant.

Natasha gives him a bemused look.

Peter:

Todd, uh, DiUllio. He, um, I think he edits Foxtail.

Pause.

Peter:

Your…book.

Natasha:

Yes, now I recall. I remember your name—it was in an email. You have the same name as the Spider-Man.

Peter:

Yeah. I do. I wasn’t, uh, named after him or anything. My, my dad’s never read a comic book in his life.

Natasha:

Your father and I have much in common. (She looks around and drains the glass in her hand) I desire to leave here. You will accompany me. You have an overcoat?

Peter:

Well, actually, I, uh, I just got here and I’m supposed t—

But she has left. Peter runs his hand through his hair, and realizes Alan is still cowering behind him. Without saying anything, Alan lurches off in pursuit of Natasha. Peter takes one step towards the bar and runs right into two Marketing People, a man and a woman, whose limbs are intertwined in such a way that their simultaneous walking and drinking would seem impossible. Perhaps she is drinking from a glass in his hand and he from hers.

Marketing Woman:

Stand aside, citizen! We have urgent business to perform in the name of justice!

Marketing Man:

Quickly, innocent bystander! Where’s the nearest phonebooth?? I need to take off all my clothes!

Marketing Woman howls with laughter and spills her drink on Pete. She pauses and scowls for a moment, then pats his chest and straightens his tie.

Marketing Woman:

Duty calls!

They exit into the night. Pete, shaken, finally makes it to the bar. At the bar are two interns arguing.

Intern 1:

You are SO GAY. Giant-Lad can COMPLETELY beat up the Badger.

Intern 2:

Your HEAD is in your ASS. The Badger has INDESTRUCTIBLE FUR.

Intern 1:

But Giant-Lad just needs to grow like, 200 feet and then one stomp and SQUISH—all that’s left is an indestructible fur coat and a wet red stain.

Intern 2:

No way, cause the Badger would smell him coming and he’d get out of the way!

Intern 1:

That’s so stupid.

Peter:

(to female barkeep behind the bar) I’ll have a beer.

Barkeep:

What kind?

Peter:

Uh, whatever’s free.

Barkeep:

Bud in a can or Stella in a glass?

Peter:

Stella.

Barkeep:

We’re out. (Drops a can of beer on the counter)

Peter opens the beer and takes a sip, grimaces, takes another. Alan enters, red-faced and drunker than before.

Alan:

Do you know who I am?

Peter:

Umm…you’re Rocket Kid, aren’t you?

Alan:

Hahahahahaha, no no, that’s my SECRET identity. My real name… (looks around furtively) is Silverback. I was just an average zoo gorilla, when I was kidnapped by activist terrorists who made me a bionic harness that increases my intelligence and already ape-like strength tenfold! But what they didn’t realize is that by making me smarter, they were creating their own worst enemy…I am a gorilla for JUSTICE!

Alan waits for Pete to say something. Peter looks down at the bar, but it provides no escape. He chugs the rest of his beer, but Alan still hasn’t gone away. Peter looks down the bar. His eyes widen.

Peter:

Uh, excuse me, I have to, uh…

He smoothes his hair, and walks past Alan down the bar to where Yash is sitting with his back to the audience.

Peter:

Um, excuse me, um, Mr. Sunamarama?

No response.

Peter:

Uh, Mr. Sunamarama?

Yash looks up, briefly and unamusedly.

Peter:

Ummm…hi.

Pete sticks out his hand. No response.

Peter:

I’m sorry, I’m, I’m Peter Parker (winces) and I’m Todd’s new assistant. Todd DiUllio. I’m working on Foxtail.

No response.

Peter:

I, uh, I just wanted to say, Mr. Sunamarama, that I’ve been reading Garbagemen since I was a kid and your work on that is just, it’s just, it’s phenomenal. Stellar. The best I’ve seen on that book in years, seriously. I just wanted to…to…say. That.

Yash:

Thanks.

Peter:

Yeah, oh yeah, no, thank you. I mean, I’m—it’s a pleasure to be working with—well, in the same building as you, anyway.

Yash:

Yeah, same here. (Turns away.)

Pete continues to stand. Eventually…

Peter:

I was also a big fan of ’Mo, when you were doing that…

Yash:

You want a sketch or something?

Peter:

Uh, no, well, I mean, I wasn’t, I mean, that’s not why I came over here or anything. I wouldn’t want to ask—I mean, it’s a party and all. But hey, I mean, if you’re offering, sure, I’d love one.

Yash:

Then go to WizardWorld. Fuck off.

Pete is stunned. He steps back.

Peter:

(to Barkeep) Scuse me? Another beer.

A can of beer rolls down the bar. Pete picks it up, opens it, drinks. Natasha enters wearing a magnificent fur coat.

Natasha:

Darlink. I have been searchink for you. We depart now. (scowls) You have no coat. It is quite chilly this evenink.

Peter:

I, uh, I can’t—my jacket’s—

Suddenly, Alan enters behind Natasha and explodes—

Alan:

I’M RATMAN.

Natasha turns, slaps Alan’s face, scowls at Peter, grabs his arm and drags him towards the door. Todd enters from the opposite end of the stage with drinks in his hands.

Todd:

Pete! There you are! Hey, there’s someone I want you to meet! The Chief, he’s in the back, wants to say hi! Pete! PETE!!!!

But he is gone. Fade.

Act I, Scene 2

Outside the bar, Natasha and Peter are walking up the block. She is smoking a cigarette.

Peter:

It’s cold.

Natasha:

You should have a coat.

Peter:

It’s inside.

Natasha looks at him. She shakes her head and continues walking.

Natasha:

It is crazy in there. All the people talkink, talkink…and about what? About their JOBS—their work, their books…these tiny people and their tiny work. They spend the night drinkink until they are able to pretend that it means somethink. But deep down, they know. They know that they draw pictures for boys. Pictures of men with bodies that could never exist and women with breasts that would break the back. It is disgustink, you think?

Peter:

…Yeah.

Natasha:

Disgustink. When I, excuse me—

Natasha stops at the entrance to an alley. She takes a flashlight out of the pocket of her fur coat and shines it into the alley.

Natasha:

When I work, when I draw…I am thinkink of more. More than just the muscles and the breasts. Look in there.

Peter:

At what?

Natasha:

Look.

Peter peers into the alley for a moment.

Peter:

What am I looking for?

Natasha:

This is where it always happens, places like this. Alleys, abandoned buildinks. This is where the fights happen.

Peter:

What fights?

Natasha:

The fights of the superheroes, of course. The fights that write our paychecks. Look in there. Is that the place where amazing people do amazing things, do you think? It is cramped and filthy, and it smells of garbage and someone’s piss. It is no place for adventure. Come.

They continue to walk.

Peter:

Natasha, Miss Ros…Roskako—

Natasha:

Raskolnikov. I am married, but he is dead. His name is Urdel, which is not a nice name, I think.

Peter:

Miss Raskol—Natasha, I really should get back to the bar, I’m not really dressed for, uh, this cold and I think I’m supposed to be meeting people.

She spins around and plants herself in front of him so he almost runs into her.

Natasha:

Why do you think I am here?

Peter:

Here…here? Like, this corner?

Natasha:

Why do you think I am drawink? Why I am workink for comics?

Peter:

I dunno. Cause you think it’s an art form whose potential has never been realized and you want to further the cause of introducing mainstream audiences to new and exciting work in a medium that has spent the past fifty years in the stranglehold of a single genre consisting of power fantasies for teenage boys?

Natasha:

Listen closely. When I work on lesbian book, I draw genitals.

Peter:

Yeah, that’s…I mean, that was a mature readers book, so—

Natasha:

No one can draw the genitals of a woman.

Peter:

…Really.

Natasha:

When I come to this country I have comic book in Russia about woman who works for government. She discovers state secrets and must flee authorities. In that book I draw genitals. No one reads it but censors. Book is cancelled, stamped obscene, so I leave country. Come to New York to draw. In New York I draw genitals, everyone loves. I draw better genitals of woman than anyone sees before. But still book is cancelled, so now I draw teenage girl with powers of fox. No genitals. I do not mind—I do not like to draw genitals, but I do because no one else can. Now book is to be cancelled again.

Peter:

What? They’re axing Foxtail? But I—

Natasha:

Do not speak. Is fact. Peter, I must have new book. Not alley book or girl book. I want to draw where special people do special acts in beautiful places. I want to draw world in way it should be—in way it can be if special people work hard. I want to draw book that makes me want the future. Do you understand?

Peter:

…I think I do.

Natasha:

Good. That is all I want to tell you.

She kisses him hard. He is shocked, and pulls away. She smiles. Fade.

Act I, Scene 3

Morning, early January. Todd DiUllio’s office. It’s small and cluttered with comics, art, toys, piles of scripts. Decent view of midtown Manhattan out the small window. Todd is sitting at his computer.

Todd:

Oh fuck.

He reads more.

Todd:

Fuck me. Oh fuck fuck fuck.

Peter enters.

Peter:

Hey, uh, Todd, good—

Todd:

FUCK ME IN THE ASS! Oh, hey Pete. SHIT SHIT FUCK!

Peter:

What, um, what is it?

Todd:

This fucking—GODDAMMIT—this fucking guy, this Lurker…have you seen this? This website, In the Bleed? It’s an anonymous gossip column. It consistently scoops every other industry news outlet…sometimes we leak to him, drop him an uncolored page or a hiring rumor…but today, this morning he’s…oh Jesus lord heads are going to fucking roll. I cannot believe this. Who would have—?

Peter:

What is it?

Todd:

I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go talk to the Chief—see if he’s seen it yet. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be back in a minute, we’ll talk about what you’re doing here.

Peter:

Uh, okay.

Todd leaves, shaking his head. Pete sits at his desk, uncertain. He looks at the computer screen. He spins around in the swivel chair. As he’s spinning, Yash enters and stares. The chair slowly comes to a stop. Peter notices Yash.

Peter:

Oh. Hi. I’m Pete. Peter P—

Yash:

Parker, we met at the party.

Peter:

…Yeah. I mean, yes, I didn’t think you remembered. You—

Yash:

Is Todd around?

Peter:

He just went upstairs, I think.

Yash:

Drat. I need to—I’ve got some pages I want to show him.

Peter:

I can make sure he gets them.

Yash:

I’d rather—no offence, I just need to talk to him about it personally.

Peter:

Is he, I mean, he doesn’t edit your book.

Yash:

Yeah, but we’re friends. I trust his judgment, y’know?

Peter:

Yeah, no, he seems like a great guy—I’m looking forward to—

Yash:

There aren’t many people around here you can trust, but he’s one. He’s not—he’s exactly who he is, y’know? He’s what he appears to be.

Peter:

Are you…

Yash:

Hmm?

Peter:

Are you what you appear to be?

Beat.

Peter:

I’m sorry, that was—I don’t know why I said—

Yash:

Sometimes.

Beat.

Yash:

But I’ve been known to…well, I’ve hidden behind a pair of glasses. My other self.

Peter:

Oh.

Yash:

You?

Peter:

What?

Yash:

Are you what you appear to be? What’s under those clothes?

Peter:

I don’t—I, I, I’m not—

Yash:

(grinning) What’s your secret identity, Peter Parker?

Peter:

Oh lord, listen, I’m—my dad didn’t realize when he named—he’s never read a comic in his life.

Yash:

Okay. Well, I’ve gotta—

Natasha breezes in and tosses a manila envelope at Peter.

Natasha:

This is the redrawn pages for issue 76. Tell Todd I will never, ever do that again. If he does not like my work, he can hire someone else. I mean what I draw. Do you understand?

Peter:

Um, yes, yeah, I’ll tell him for sure.

Natasha:

That is good.

Pause. She suddenly notices Yash and the tension in the room. She smirks.

Natasha:

Good morning, gentlemen.

She exits. Almost immediately Todd enters, harried.

Peter:

Todd, Miss Ros—Natasha just—

Todd:

Yash, glad you’re here, I need to talk to you about—

Yash:

I’ve got some pages—

Todd:

Later. Now I need to speak with you. In private.

Yash:

Sure.

Todd:

Great. Pete, the Chief’s upstairs. He wants to meet you. And if I were you I’d apologize for bailing at the party.

Todd and Yash leave. Pete sits, nervous.

Act I, Scene 4

Joe Tamale’s office. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a stunning view of midtown all the way down to the battery. Deco, plush, sparse. A massive oak desk dominates. A small drawing table in the corner. Joe stands at the window, screaming into a speakerphone. The lights come up as Peter enters and stands timidly by the door.

Joe:

You Limey bastard! You have to change the storyline! Firebird cannot die! The death will be Pan, who is being mindswitched with Mister Nightmare. Now write the story!

The speakerphone screams:

Edgar:

YOU MOTHERFUCKIN COCKMASTER SHITEYES! That doesn’t make any bloody sense!

Joe:

The secret is out, you little shit! They know she’s going to die! You have to change it NOW. Or I will.

Edgar:

YOU WORTHLESS ABORTION! YOU—YOU EDITOR!

Joe:

That’s right kid, I’m the Chief!

Edgar:

Can we not have no one die? Perhaps they just save the day and no one dies? It’ll be—a return to the golden age, the sense of wonder where—

Joe:

Are you shitting me? Did I call you collect across the ocean so you could SHIT ME?

Edgar:

GODDAMMIT, your way doesn’t make sense! Do you have any idea what it is to write a story?? Do you?!!? If Firebird doesn’t die, then no one does. That’s it. That’s my final offer.

Joe:

Your OFFER? Well how about this for my COUNTER-OFFER, you FAGGOT: you write the story like I tell you or I fire you right now over the fucking phone. How’s that for an OFFER? You slimey SHIT, don’t you DARE tell me about writing! About TELLING A STORY! I was in WILL EISNER’S STUDIO YOU MOTHERFUCKER! I fetched INK for that man and he taught me EVERYTHING so don’t you DARE PRESUME—

Edgar:

Jesus Christ, you worked for Eisner??

Joe:

Not really, no. How old do you think I am? Now here’s the news: we sent a press release to Wizard, Newsarama, and Ain’t It Cool that someone big dies in issue 250. This morning someone leaked Yash’s page of Firebird in Blasto’s arms to the Internet. You wanna talk about sense of WONDER? You want every single kid who walks into the shop that Wednesday to know exactly where your story is going before they even PAY for it? You want to DESTROY everything this medium, this company stands for with your EGO and your REFUSAL to compromise over some tiny little middling story detail? Do you?

Edgar:

…No, damn your eyes you pigfucker!

Joe:

Script in my inbox in one hour! Yash is in the building already. I get it, I approve it, he draws it, we’re golden.

Joe slams the speakerphone off. He stands a moment, slumped. He heaves a sigh. Suddenly he notices Peter in his doorway.

Joe:

WHAT IS IT?!!!

Peter:

I’m…Peter.

Joe:

Oh. Peter. Parker, right?

Peter:

Yeah.

Joe:

Cute. I’m Joe. I’m the Chief. Todd says you’re a good kid. Work hard. You go to school?

Peter:

Vas-

Joe:

I never went to school. I started drawin’ for this house in 1972. Your boss hired me. It was a four-page backup for Giant-Lad Quarterly. Do good work for Todd. He’s a good man. Wasn’t I supposed to meet you at the party?

Peter:

Uh, yeah, but I, I uh—something came, that is—

Joe:

I hope she was blonde.

Yash enters. Todd is behind him.

Joe:

Yeesh, that you? Siddown! I need a page, and I need it now!

Yash:

Can’t we—

Joe:

SIT.

Yash:

Where’s the script?

Joe:

He’s workin’ on it. Meanwhile, you’re gonna draw the Death of Pan.

Yash:

Great.

Todd:

You need me?

Joe:

Yeah, Foxtail’s off the block. For now.

Todd:

How long we got?

Joe:

(to Pete) You still here? Hit the road!

Pete exits, quickly.

Act I, Scene 5

Peter is alone in Todd’s office. He is on the phone.

Peter:

Hey. Are you—can you talk? No, yeah, I just wanted to say I’m here…it’s my first day…yeah, it’s…these people are all completely insane. No, I love it. Okay, I gotta go, too. I’ll see you…soon. You too. Bye, Dad.

Peter sits and stares at the phone. He looks around the office. There is a stack of envelopes and papers that reaches at least ten feet into the air with a crude handmade sign saying “Goddamn Submissions” above it. Peter gingerly removes an envelope from the middle of the pile. The whole thing comes crashing down. Todd walks in.

Todd:

Good. You found the slush pile.

Peter:

Sorry.

Todd:

74 is on the stands and 75 is in the can. We’re not into crunch time on 76 yet, now that I’ve got Natasha’s pages. So your first assignment is that (gestures to the sea of paper at Peter’s ankles). Read those. Send a form letter. If you think anything in there is good, I don’t care.

Peter:

Got it. I didn’t even know you accepted unsolicited submissions…

Todd:

We don’t anymore. We did for a month in 1997. I swear to god, we don’t sell this book to more than 20,000 people in a good month, but every single one of them sent us their goddamn twelve-part epic storyline. Worst idea I ever had. Now get to it.

Todd sits at his desk, starts typing. Peter picks up a pile of envelopes, takes them to a small table in the corner (his desk space). He opens one. A moment.

Peter:

This stuff is incredible.

Todd:

Uh huh.

Peter:

I mean, wow, I mean—this guy! This guy from, uh, from Kansas, have you seen this—

Todd:

Pete, I don’t look at those. That’s why I have an assistant. I have real work to do.

Peter:

Oh, right.

Silence.

Todd:

Oh, for chrissake. What does he say?

Peter:

Okay, this is a cover letter and, um, no script, just a letter. Written in green pencil on some gas company letterhead. It says, and I quote, “Dear Mr. Moore—”

Todd:

Who?

Peter:

Max Moore.

Todd:

…Dynamo.

Peter:

Yeah.

Todd:

The letter is written. To Dynamo.

Peter:

Yeah.

Todd:

Jesus.

Peter:

Where do these people come from?

Todd:

Kansas.

Yash enters with a folder.

Todd:

You done with the Chief?

Yash:

Yeah.

Todd:

Fantastic.

Yash:

We can still run the page! No one cares, it doesn’t matter if people know in advance—

Todd:

Yash.

Yash:

Yeah. Hey, I’ve got pages from 253 here…

Todd:

Let’s see ‘em. What’ve you got?

Yash:

The fight on Nightmare island. Three pages of Nightmare torturing Commander G. And a hell of a last page.

Todd:

(flipping through pages) This is good…this is good…nice jet crash…The Mr. Nightmare redesign is solid. Yash, this is great work. Ari’s gonna flip over this stuff.

Yash:

Thanks.

Todd:

You’re not gonna get away with this one, though.

Yash:

Which?

Todd:

The second page of the torture sequence. Just get Frankie to ink over it, throw some shadows…

Yash:

COME ON! It took me like four hours to get that blood looking right!

Todd:

And he’ll throw some black over it in thirty seconds. Ain’t life a bitch.

Todd turns a page and suddenly bursts out laughing.

Yash:

Yeah.

Peter:

What…what is it?

Todd is crying with laughter.

Peter:

What’s going on?

Yash:

Last page.

Todd:

Oh my God…oh my lord, Yash can I have this?

Yash:

Why not just wait til it comes out?

Todd:

Very funny. Hey, Pete, go run off a copy of this for me, will—

Yash:

I’m not kidding.

Todd:

Yes, Yash, you are. You drew that page as a joke to amuse your co-workers. Now that it has served that function you can go back and draw the real page.

Yash:

That is—

Todd:

THE REAL. PAGE.

Peter:

I don’t—what’s the—

Todd hands a piece of drawing paper to Peter. Peter looks at it, stunned.

Peter:

That’s—

Yash:

Todd. Todd, you’ve got to—

Peter:

That’s um—

Todd:

Don’t do this, Yash. Don’t even waste your energy.

Yash:

Todd, goddammit, this is important!

Peter:

That’s Commander G kissing The Badger.

We see the image projected.

Todd:

It certainly is.

Peter:

I don’t…I don’t understand.

Yash:

Todd, you know as well as I do that homoerotic subtext between—

Todd:

Don’t launch into your little lecture!

Yash:

You’re not my editor. I was just showing you that—

Todd:

And your editor is gonna say the exact same thing.

Pause.

Yash:

Can I have my pages back, please.

Todd:

Yash—

Yash:

My pages.

Todd:

Yash, don’t go and—

Yash stands with his hand out. Todd collects the pages into the folder and hands it to Yash, who turns towards Peter. Peter realizes he’s holding the offending page and hands it to Yash, who leaves.

Todd:

(under his breath) Fuckin’ kids, I swear…

Todd stares into space for a long time. Peter stares at him. Eventually, Todd starts to chuckle.

Todd:

Whaddaya think of that guy, eh?

Peter is silent.

Todd:

(to himself) What a kick in the ass it’d be…

Peter goes back to the crazy file. After a moment…

Todd:

Hey, Pete.

Peter:

Yeah.

Todd:

Do you think you could go talk to him? He’s not gonna listen to me no matter what I say. You could give him some perspective.

Peter:

Well, I mean, sure, I’d um, be happy to…but I don’t know why I’d—I mean, I don’t really know him that well or anything.

Todd:

Sure, but you’re… (he trails off and realizes with dread what he has done)

Peter:

What?

Todd:

Well, I mean…you’re both…I mean, you are…

Peter:

What do you…

Todd:

I mean, you’re gay, aren’t you?

Beat.

Peter:

Um, I, I, I—no. I mean, no, I’m, I’m not.

Todd:

Oh. Well. Sorry. I just thought…I don’t know why. Something just made me—I just assumed.

Peter:

It’s okay, uuuh, whatever. It’s not a big, um.

Todd:

Okay. Well. Sorry. Anyway.

(Silence)

Peter:

I could, I mean, I guess I can still go talk to him if you want.

Act I, Scene 6

The breakroom. Small, dirty. There’s a round table, three plastic chairs, a coffeemaker. Yash is sitting at the table, pages spread out in front of him. There is also a Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee, untouched and reeking. Pete enters, stands in the doorway behind Yash for a long time. Silence. Eventually, Pete makes a small gagging sound. Yash turns, looks, turns back.

Yash:

Hey.

Peter:

Uh, hey.

Yash:

He didn’t send you after me, did he?

Peter:

Um, no. He didn’t. I just, uh, just wanted some coffee.

Yash:

Coffee’s poisoned. It’s been sitting there for three days.

Peter:

Oh.

Pause.

Yash:

Come in, sit down.

Pete does. He glances at the pages spread on the table. He whistles.

Yash:

(idly) Which?

Peter:

The jet crash. This is—this is a sweet page! How long’d it take you to draw this?

Yash:

(casually) What, that one? Oh, like, 3 hours.

Peter:

Jesus.

Peter continues to look through the drawings.

Peter:

This is Mr. Nightmare’s redesign?

Yash:

Yeah.

Peter:

I like it. I always hated that weird sort of skirt-thing he had.

Yash:

Yeah, and the cape. I’ve never been one for capes.

Peter:

I dunno, a cape can be pretty cool sometimes. On the right person. They look great on flying characters, and anyone dark, with like a night theme or a villain.

Yash:

They’re so pointless! They’re impractical. Who would ever wear a cape?

Peter:

Who would ever wear these boots you’ve got on Tempest? Who wears high heels into battle? What are these like, pouches?

Yash:

They’re for her accessories!

Peter:

Excuse me?

Yash:

Her crime-fighting accessories. (Beat) They look cool and they’re fun to draw. What do you want from me?

Their eyes are bright. Yash is standing, Pete is on the edge of his seat.

Peter:

(rifling through pages) What about this—you call this practical?

Yash:

Come ON. What am I supposed to do? It’s her EMBLEM.

Peter:

That’s not an emblem, that’s a neckline that goes down to her navel. It’s the opposite of an emblem.

Yash:

She’s Lady Victory, she’s got the V. See, the border of the—

Yash walks around behind Peter and leans over him to point at the page.

Yash:

(cont.) —the border of the neckline. That yellow strip, that’s her V. Have you ever seen her original costume?

Peter:

Like 80-Page Garbagemen #1. Yeah, I’ve seen the cover. Never read it.

Yash:

It’s shitty. But her costume is that green with this yellow V on it. I’m just updating it, making it current.

Peter:

By exposing a third of her naked torso?

Yash:

What does she care? She’s bulletproof!

Peter:

(turns the page to change the subject) This is pretty. It’s a shame about that blood…Todd’s right, you’ll never get that printed. Wow. The look on Nightmare’s face…ditching the mask was totally the way to go, especially when you’re so good with—the characters are so expressive. Their faces…God. You are…I’m sorry. You’re amazing. I’m sorry.

Yash:

Why the hell are you sorry? Thank you.

Peter:

I dunno. I thought…it was unprofessional. Something. You didn’t seem too happy to hear it…

Yash:

At the party. Yeah, I was pretty foul that night. Lot on my mind.

Peter:

Like, uh…

Yash:

Like what?

Peter:

Never mind.

Yash:

No, tell me.

Peter:

Like Commander G and The Badger?

Yash:

Haha! No, actually—

Suddenly, Joe enters and goes for the coffee.

Yash:

Howdy, Chief!

Joe:

Tell me, Yeesh, do they still have the plague in your country?

Yash:

(cheerily) I dunno, I’m from Indiana. How’s your mom’s moustache?

Joe:

Stopped growing a week after she died. (He drinks coffee and grimaces) I pay you to sit on your ass?

Yash:

No, you pay me for these (brandishes pages).

Joe:

What about him?

Yash:

He’s editing me.

Joe:

Is he your editor?

Yash:

No.

Joe:

Then let him get back to work. (To Peter) Get back to work. Better yet, be useful and make some fresh coffee.

Peter:

Yes, sir.

Joe:

Fuckin’ kids. (Exits)

Peter gets up and starts rifling through cupboards, uncertain of what he is looking for.

Yash:

You’re not gonna find any.

Peter:

Any what?

Yash:

Any coffee. That’s what you’re looking for, right? There is none. That’s why the same pot’s been sitting there for three days.

Peter:

Oh.

Yash:

Let’s go get some.

Peter:

What?

Yash:

Some coffee. Let’s go for a walk, pick up some coffee.

Peter:

I really shouldn’t, I’ve gotta—

Yash:

Joe asked you to make coffee, right?

Peter:

Yeah, but I’ve, I mean Todd, there’s all this—

Yash:

The submissions pile will still be there when you get back, believe me. Todd doesn’t need you right now. Come on.

Peter:

I can’t. I’m sorry.

Yash:

Don’t be sorry, just do it. You don’t need a hall pass. Come on. I’m not asking you to rob a bank. I just want a decent cup of coffee.

Act I, Scene 7

The Daily Grind, a nondescript chain coffee shop. Pete and Yash sit at a small table, each has a cup. A pound bag of grounds sits between them. They drink coffee.

Yash:

So how do you like it so far?

Peter:

The coffee?

Yash:

New York. The job. Life.

Peter:

Well, I grew up in Jersey—actually, I still live there, but not in, not where I grew up. But yeah, so, I’ve been coming to the city all my life. But it’s…I didn’t think it’d feel different, y’know? But even the train is different, somehow. I got in this morning and for the first time in my life I felt like I belonged here…I didn’t feel like I had to hide that I wasn’t actually a New Yorker, just a bridge-and-tunnel geek. It’s pretty cool.

Yash:

Where in Jersey?

Peter:

Commuter town. You haven’t heard of it. You’re from Indiana?

Yash:

That was a while ago. I’ve been here for…man, seven years.

Peter:

Yeah, you’ve been on Garbagemen three years now…and before that ’Mo for three.

Yash:

You read ’Mo??

Peter:

Um, no, actually. I mean, yes, but not when it was coming out. Only recently. In the, the paperbacks.

Yash:

(impishly) Wow, I didn’t know any straight people even knew it existed. I don’t think Todd’s even read it. I met him at a convention four years ago and he gave me a fill-in issue of Kid Dynamo. I don’t think he even knew I had a book of my own.

Peter:

Well…I liked it. It was a good book.

Yash:

Thanks. It was immature… I can’t even look at the first volume any more without wanting to set it on fire.

Suddenly, Natasha enters and breezes past the table.

Natasha:

Silence. I am not here. Return to your business.

She disappears. A moment later, Alan enters, red-faced.

Yash:

Alan.

Peter:

Oh, uh, Mr. Stepford. Hi.

Alan:

Hey Yash. Did Natasha come in here? I’ve got, uh, I’ve got this, we need to talk. About the next issue. The villain. I’m thinking it’s time to revamp the Seaghost.

Yash:

That’d be cool. I haven’t seen him in a while.

Alan:

Yeah, anyway, you seen Natasha? I thought I saw her come in here. I was—I was, um, behind her and she didn’t hear me, um…I thought I saw her come in here.

Yash:

Damn, no, Alan, I haven’t seen her. You sure she didn’t turn the corner?

Alan:

I’m pretty sure I saw her come in here.

Yash:

I haven’t seen her. Pete?

Peter:

No, uh, no. Haven’t.

Alan regards Peter warily. A beat.

Peter:

I’m sorry, uh, I’m Peter. Peter Parker. I’m Todd’s new assistant. We met at the Christmas party.

Alan:

Uh-huh. Well, if you guys haven’t seen her, I guess I’ll, uh…keep looking. I’ll go back to the office, see if maybe she went back there.

He leaves.

Yash:

Jesus, that guy is such a creep.

Peter:

What is the deal?

Yash:

Oh, he’s just got a bone for Natasha. It’s ridiculous. One’a those nerds who grew up with no friends but his comics…one time a couple years ago he was drunk at the Christmas party and he told me he was still a virgin. God, I never wanted to know that. I don’t know why Todd keeps him on…Natasha’s constantly complaining about him, and it’s not like he’s the vital member of that duo.

Peter:

I dunno. Have you read Foxtail?

Yash:

Yeah.

Peter:

It’s good.

Yash:

It’s alright.

Peter:

No, it’s good. It’s actually really good. No one reads it, but it’s excellent.

Yash:

That’s Natasha. She’s the best artist in this business, the slut.

Peter:

But it’s not just her. Alan’s…It’s the one book on the stands with a young protagonist who actually sounds young. She’s got a real voice. I think he’s underrated, I always have.

Yash:

Yeah, well, he’s still a creepy little pervert. Natasha’s always talking about how much he stares at her, but he’s never like…chased her down before. I wonder what that’s about.

Peter:

Yeah, what happened to her?

Yash:

Who knows. Maybe she ducked out the back…she’s like a Russian spy, I swear…half the time she’s in the room and I never even heard the door open. She’s another crazy…this house is full of ‘em.

(Natasha has, of course, returned and is standing behind Yash when he finishes his sentence.)

Natasha:

Full of what?

Yash:

JESUS! Don’t DO that! What are you, Batman??

Natasha:

I do not know this Batman. When did he leave?

Yash:

Like five minutes ago. He’s going back to the office.

Natasha:

Curses. I intended to speak with Todd.

Yash:

What’s the deal? He’s never like, tracked you down before.

Natasha:

I noticed him three blocks away, following me. I attempted to elude him, but he is like a fox.

Yash:

(indicates her fur coat) And you’re not exactly inconspicuous.

Natasha:

I refuse to modify my lifestyle for such as him.

Peter:

Hey, Natasha.

Natasha:

Mr. Spider-Man. So nice to hear you speak, finally.

Peter:

Natasha, we were just talking about Foxtail.

Natasha:

Ugh. That imp. That little girl who wears baggy pants.

Peter:

Is that why it doesn’t sell?

Natasha:

What?

Peter:

The book. I’m trying to figure out why sales are so down when you and Alan are doing such good work.

Natasha:

I ask you, who is book for?

Peter:

What?

Natasha:

Who is Foxtail made for? Who is supposed to enjoy?

Peter:

Well, it was supposed to spearhead a line of books for girls, but that never—

Natasha:

Have you ever in your life met a girl who reads Foxtail?

Peter:

Well…no.

Natasha:

Now I must be off.

She disappears.

Yash:

She is so cool.

Peter:

What?

Yash:

She’s a nutjob, but there’s something about her…she pretends so hard that she hates this job, this world, but…

Peter:

She dragged me out of the party…told me she wanted to do work that made a difference…she acted like I had something she wanted.

Yash:

That’s how she always acts. I hear she slept with half the guys at Surface when she was doing Lipstick & Battleaxe, though God knows why. She’s a better artist than any of those surfer dudes.

Peter:

Okay, I should really go do some editing or something.

Yash:

Come on. What does an editor actually DO, anyway? We artists do all the real work.

Peter:

…Excuse me?

Yash:

I’m kidding.

Peter:

You better be.

They regard each other. They drink coffee.

Act I, Scene 8

Todd, Alan, and Peter are sitting around a long table in a conference room. There are framed paintings of superheroes on the walls. These might be in color, though the rest of the background is black and white. There are large piles of comics in front of Peter.

Todd:

You sure you saw her?

Alan:

She said she’d be right up. She gave me a look like I was—

Todd:

(speaking over) I don’t care, Alan.

Natasha breezes in.

Todd:

Story meetings are every other Tuesday at 10:30. This has been the case since I hired you.

Natasha:

I had…how do you say? Feminine functions to perform.

Todd:

I DO NOT CARE. Let’s get started. Alan here brought up a potential revamp of Seaghost the other day, and personally, I think he’s one whose time has come. Pete here did some research and it turns out that the character hasn’t appeared since the October 1996 issue of Kid Dynamo. So Alan, what are you thinking?

Alan:

Well, uh, I thought, y’know, the original Seaghost was this old guy and we haven’t seen him in a while, so maybe he died, right? Just, y’know, died quietly. Or retired. He wasn’t a crazy one, with a personal vendetta or anything, he just mainly stole money—

Peter:

He did kidnap Mary Maple that time—

Alan:

But that was cause he thought she was an heiress, he had no idea about her connection to Dynamo—

Natasha:

Is my presence for this…conversation necessary?

Todd:

Alan, tell us your idea.

Alan:

Okay, well, I thought, his power comes from his helm, right? The skull-mask, with the spirits of all who’ve died on the seas trapped in it.

Natasha:

Fascinatink.

Alan:

So I’m thinking that a classmate of Emma’s—

Natasha:

This Emma? Who is this?

Todd:

Emma is the name of your lead character, Natasha. Foxtail’s real name.

Natasha:

Ah. Indeed.

Alan:

So a classmate of Emma’s finds the skull-mask in the boiler room or something. I was thinking maybe, for her costume, she could just sort of…be in her school uniform, y’know? Like the skirt and the socks and all, but with this crazy skull head.

Todd:

That’s pretty cool…

Natasha:

It is a disgrace. Todd, you know that I cannot draw these girls, I cannot make them real while I know that this boy touches himself at the thought of my drawings.

Alan:

Natasha, that’s—

Todd:

Natasha, do you want to be here?

Natasha:

At the moment?

Todd:

Do you want to keep drawing this book? Alan is a writer. He is doing his job. You work with him to tell stories. That is your job. If you will not do your job, I can find someone else who will. It’ll take me ten minutes.

Silence. Natasha scowls, gets up, leaves.

Alan:

She can’t quit the book, Todd. She can’t! If she quits the book, we’re sunk! She IS this book, without her—

Todd:

Alan, we’re probably sunk with or without her. Sales on 75 are down from last month again. We’re hemorrhaging readers. But until we get the word from upstairs, we keep pluggin’, alright? Now get me a workup of this new Seaghost and I’ll patch things up with Natasha, get her to work up some sketches. Pete’s got references for you to work from. And don’t forget to sign a residuals form so if we ever make a toy out of your girl Seaghost you can get a third of a cent. We done?

Alan:

I hate this, Todd. I really do. Living under an axe…

He leaves.

Todd:

That could’ve gone better. I’m sorry, Pete. Y’know, a big part of an editor’s job is sucking dick. Artists are the most selfish, short-sighted, lazy people on this planet. But it’s not like I can draw the pages. Believe me, if I could…anyway. So hey, you’ve been here, what. A month, almost. How’re you likin’ it?

Peter:

This is the best job I could—I spent yesterday reading every Seaghost appearance of the past 20 years.

Todd:

Aren’t many of ’em.

Peter:

It’s…this is exactly what…I can’t even believe I’m here, y’know?

Todd:

Lemme tell you something. I’ve been workin’ here since I was younger then you. And I’m a lot older than you now. And sometimes…not a lot, especially not lately, but sometimes…I can’t believe it either. Pick some of those out for Natasha and get the rest back to the Archive.

Todd leaves. Pete sits, reads comics. Yash enters.

Yash:

Hey.

Peter:

Hey. Natasha flipped out in the story meeting.

Yash:

Fantastic. (He enters the room)

Peter:

What’s up? Anything I can help you with?

Yash:

Nah, we just had our own meeting actually, in Ari’s office. They scrapped my page.

Peter:

The kiss? Well, yeah, I thought they did that a long time ago.

Yash:

But this was it—my last chance. 253 goes to the printer on Thursday.

Peter:

Oh well. That’s work for hire.

Yash:

Tell me about it.

Peter:

You self-published, right? ’Mo?

Yash:

Sort of. I had this sugar daddy who took care of it…he had hookups in printing…real sleazy guy, but he printed my book so I wouldn’t notice what a giant creep he was and that his apartment smelled like feet and had no windows. It was a weird time in my life. (Sits, takes some comics from Peter, flips through them.) What’re you working on?

Peter:

Those’re from the archive. I was digging up reference on Seaghost for Alan and Natasha.

Yash:

Getting a revamp?

Peter:

Yeah…some girl’s gonna find the magic helmet…fight with Foxtail in the school hallway, that kinda thing.

Yash:

Gotcha. Man, I always liked this guy.

Peter:

Really?

Yash:

Yeah, I always felt bad for him.

Peter:

How so?

Yash:

I mean, he goes around stealing money, right? But it’s only because he’s got these voices—these presences, hundreds of thousands of them invading his head…dead men from centuries ago telling him to run around and steal gold…can you imagine?

Peter:

Yeah.

Yash:

The weight of history…all those old dead guys tellin’ you what to do all the time…and he can’t ever take the helmet off.

Peter:

Yes he can.

Yash:

No he can’t, it’s like stuck on or something. It’s a part of him, it like, bonded with him.

Peter:

No, he can take it off, I’m pretty sure. He just doesn’t.

Yash:

Why the hell not?

Peter:

Would you give up that power?

Yash:

I’d give up a thousand dead pirates screaming at me from inside my own brain.

Peter:

This guy flattened Dynamo! Think about it…your body is…it’s more than a weapon. You can do all these things…fly around…breathe underwater…control people’s minds…

Yash:

The guy’s got a constant migraine!

Peter:

I just picture him, flying through the window of his apartment or secret lair or whatever after a long night of crime…and he’s exhausted, he’s totally beat…had to force bank vaults and make guards shoot themselves all night…and he reaches up to take the helmet off so he can finally get some sleep…and all those voices scream at him at once…NO! Don’t take it off…without it, without US, you are nothing. Putting on that helmet was the only significant thing that guy ever did. I don’t think he ever takes it off.

Pause.

Peter:

I gotta get these books back downstairs.

Yash:

You wanna write a fill-in?

Peter:

Scuse me?

Yash:

Ari hates to ship late. He’s got a desk full of scripts—fill-ins, stories that begin and end in a single issue, self-contained so he can send them out in a hurry if Edgar or I is ever late.

Peter:

Sounds like a good editor.

Yash:

Pain in my ass. So you wanna write one?

Peter:

Uh…I mean…I mean, yeah, sure, is he…has he—

Yash:

I’ll just give it to him, he’ll stick it in the drawer. No big deal. What, don’t you want to write an issue of Garbagemen?

Peter:

Well yeah. I mean, yeah! Heck yeah! Would it…I mean, will it ever actually—

Yash:

If I’m late.

Peter:

How often do your pages come in late?

Yash:

Never happened so far.

Peter:

Oh.

Yash:

But you can dream.

Act I, Scene 9

The archive is a massive room with walls of filing cabinets and display cases. Whenever the cover of a comic book is visible in a display case, it is in color. There is a single long table, no chairs, and a library ladder to reach the higher shelves. Natasha is sitting on the table, smoking and reading a comic book. The boys enter, Yash empty-handed, Peter with half the stack. Pete holds the door with his foot while Yash goes back to get his comics. They see Natasha. Peter drops his comics.

Natasha:

Good afternoon, gentlemen.

Peter:

You can’t smoke that.

Natasha demonstrates her capacity to continue doing so. Peter goes about picking up his comics. Yash puts his pile on the table at Natasha’s feet.

Peter:

Did you see Todd?

Natasha:

Yes.

Peter:

Did he give you your job back?

Natasha:

He asked me not to leave, if that is what you mean.

Peter:

Whatever. You want any of these? (Brandishes comics.)

Natasha:

(disgusted) For what purpose?

Peter:

Reference. You’re gonna be redesigning this character as a 16-year-old girl this week.

Natasha:

I require no assistance.

Yash:

What’re you reading?

Natasha:

Nurse Nancy in Ward 2B.

Yash:

Natasha. That’s just shameful. You came down here…for a girl comic?

Peter:

Now that’s not exactly—

Natasha:

I wished to read somethink which was not solely the product of adolescent fantasy. It turns out, I cannot escape it. (Eyes comic ruefully.)

Peter begins to re-file the comics. Yash starts going through his pile.

Yash:

THIS! This is a comic book! (He holds up Dynamo’s Ward Burt Butler, a comic featuring the tow-headed sidekick.)

Natasha:

You are not amusink. And neither is this (the comic—she tosses it on the table.) You little boys, you boys and your pictures make me want to vomit. You cannot appreciate the full power of your images. Super heroes—people who are better than us, who can help us see the future…and all they do is punch and shoot each other! (She is shouting.) It is all pornography! Big muscle-man who saves the day! I can hear your testicles swelling from here! Be better than this. We are working at the vanguard of human imagination!

She gets down from the table.

Natasha:

We can use our powers for good. Finally. If we want to…we can teach them anything. The good super hero fights the bad super hero—

Yash:

Super-villain—

Natasha:

Good wins. Of course. Always. But…who decides what is good? Who decides what the winner of the fight represents?

Peter:

(quietly, up a ladder) We do.

There is a moment of silence as this sinks in. Natasha lights another cigarette. Suddenly, the door bursts open and Alan enters.

Alan:

There you are, you BITCH! You CUNTRAG—

Yash:

Jesus, Alan—

Alan:

I am NOT going to lose my book because of your PMS BULLSHIT do you HEAR ME?

Alan is approaching Natasha…

Yash:

Alan, back off. Seriously—

Alan:

SHUT UP! Your book sold nearly 100,000 copies last month you—you Jim Lee clone!

Alan dives at Yash. Pete scurries down the ladder and stands, unsure what to do as the two roll on the floor.

Yash:

PETE, a little HELP over here??

Natasha suddenly stands on the table, her cigarette in one hand, the comic Yash threw at her earlier in the other.

Natasha:

CHILDREN! You LITTLE BOYS! Fighting like DOGS! LIKE DOGS!

Natasha is screaming. Alan and Yash break, Alan stands, Yash sits on the floor. Pete is still standing by the back wall, hunched over, ready for action. Everyone watches Natasha.

Natasha:

Do you know what this is? (The comic)

Alan:

That’s…Dynamo’s Ward Burt Butler number 47.

Natasha:

Indeed.

Alan:

It’s the first appearance of Lectro the Dynamic Dog.

Natasha:

Fascinatink.

She begins to bring her hands together.

Alan:

NO! Don’t do that!

Natasha pauses.

Alan:

It’s…that’s worth…you don’t understand.

Natasha waits, her anger turning into amusement.

Alan:

It’s the first appearance. The first time anyone had ever seen a dog with a cape—I mean, it’s…it’s important. It’s a part of history, it’s worth money, you can’t…just put it back, please, Natasha, I’m so sorry, just put it back and you can quit Foxtail if you want, I just need…please Natasha, put it—

As he says this Natasha drags on her cigarette. Then, almost as an afterthought she stabs it viciously into the comic book, burning a small hole through all 32 pages of it. She holds it up and views her handiwork with satisfaction.

Alan:

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Alan sinks to his knees. After a moment—

Peter:

Ice cold.

Yash:

Sub-fucking-zero.

Natasha smiles and flicks her cigarette onto the floor by Yash. He immediately stamps it out. Alan is sobbing. Beat. Suddenly, the door flies open and Todd enters.

Todd:

Are you fucking guys still down here??! I swear to God, I have fired better men than you for—

He sees the scene. Beat.

Peter:

Uuuuh…we came in to put the books away and Natasha was here, then Alan came in and started shouting and attacked Yash, then she, uh…

Todd:

(glaring at Natasha) Then she what?

Silence. Natasha holds the damaged comic up to her eye and peers through the hole. She smiles.

Todd:

I see. (Turns to Yash) He attacked you?

Yash:

I held my own. (Winces as he stands)

Todd:

I can see that. Alan, what are you doing?

Alan is a wreck.

Alan:

She…she…my God, I didn’t think she’d actually…

Todd:

ALAN. STAND UP. BE A MAN.

Alan continues to shake and moan.

Todd:

This is ridiculous. This is out of this goddamn world. You people are all insane. Alan, you’re fired. You ATTACKED him? Are you INSANE?

Natasha:

He would have come for me next had I not defended myself.

Long pause while Todd regards Natasha. Then…

Todd:

Natasha, get the hell out of here. You too, Yash. Pete, clean this up, then I want you in my office. Alan, stand up. For god’s sake Alan, don’t make me call the cops.

Natasha calmly gets off the table and leaves the room, giving each man a look as she walks past. Once she is out of the room, Yash sighs and leaves as well. Todd lifts Alan to his feet and pushes him out the door. Pete picks up comics. Todd turns to him.

Peter:

Todd, I’m so sorry—

Todd:

Wasn’t you. Listen. Alan’s out, but we still need at least one more issue before the axe falls from upstairs.

Peter:

Who should I call? Who’s worked on the character before? McGruder’s exclusive to Surface now…Dave Kit went crazy when he started self-publishing…

Todd:

I was thinking you could do it.

Peter:

Me.

Todd:

Sure. That isn’t what you want?

Peter:

No, it’s just that—

Todd:

But I need it on Thursday.

Peter:

I…can do that.

Todd:

You know what a script looks like? Format?

Peter:

Yeah.

Todd:

Thursday. 22 pages. Foxtail and Seaghost.

Peter:

I can do that. I can do that.

Act I, Scene 10

This scene takes place on the streets of midtown, between the Excelsior offices and the Empire State Building. Pete and Yash are walking. Yash has a bag, Peter does not. Yash walks with purpose, Peter follows.

Peter:

So what are we doing again?

Yash:

We’re doing what Natasha said. We’re gonna find the places in this city worthy of a battle between gods.

Peter:

This is work? Walking around New York?

Yash:

Would you rather be doing something else?

Peter:

I’d rather be doing my job that I’m paid to do, actually.

Yash:

You’re writing the damn thing! I’m trying to help you! I know how to draw, have you ever written a comic book before?

Peter:

A hundred thousand times.

Yash:

That was published?

Peter:

Where are we going?

Yash:

Everywhere. Well, no. But the one place you can still see everywhere.

Peter:

What is this, riddle me that? Come on.

Yash:

Trust me. And we’re here.

Peter:

The…the Empire State Building.

Yash:

(grinning) Yeah!

Peter:

I’m not impressed.

Yash:

What?

Peter:

I did it when I was five. I got it.

Yash:

No, you didn’t. Just—trust me, come up here.

Peter:

No, I’m—wait, just a second. Come with me.

Pete crosses the street.

Yash:

What the hell!

Yash follows. Peter has entered Jim Hanley’s Universe, an excellent comic book store.

Yash:

(cont.) Wait! Where we—Hanley’s! Shit yeah! Why didn’t I think of this? We gotta suit up before we can take on the ESB!

Inside the store. Peter is at a rack, Yash walks up.

Yash:

What’s up.

Peter:

Got it.

Yash:

The new Foxtail? Dude, uh, you can get that free now.

Peter:

I buy it whenever I see it. Leave it on a bench or a table at the bar. It’s my activism.

Yash:

Damn. Damn!

Peter:

Anything else worth seeing out right now?

Yash is just staring at him.

Peter:

Anything else I should get? That you know of right now?

Yash:

What? Uh, I dunno…some Spider-Man something or other came out—

Peter:

I don’t read Spider-Man.

Yash:

Ah. The name?

Peter:

I don’t…I used to. I used to be so into Spider-Man…I wanted more than anything in the world since I was like 4 years old to BE Spider-Man.

Yash:

What happened? High school and girls?

Peter:

No. Just…sort of faded out. Lost interest. To be honest…that was when I found ’Mo. Started realizing that maybe there could be more to this whole comics thing. All of a sudden, superheroes just seemed…less important than the real world.

Yash:

But you came back.

Peter:

Yeah. In college. It was actually…when I heard you were doing Garbagemen. I followed you onto that book. I’d always dug it as a kid…

Yash:

When was this? When you started reading ’Mo?

Peter:

I was in like 9th grade…

Yash:

Huh. Okay. Just a sec. I’ll meet you up there. Just wanna check something in the back issues, see if they’ve got it.

Yash walks off, Pete walks to counter.

Merchant:

That’ll be all?

Peter:

Yeah.

Merchant:

That book’s for girls.

Peter:

What?

Merchant:

Foxtail. It’s a girl book. Just thought I should let you know.

Peter:

Well, can I return it?

Merchant:

All sales are final.

Peter:

Alright then, thanks.

Yash walks up.

Peter:

They have it?

Yash:

Nah.

Peter:

What were you looking for?

Yash:

Nothing.

Merchant:

You looking for something back there? Anything in particular?

Yash:

Uuuh, no, just an old umm, Green Lantern/Green Arrow. You didn’t have it.

Merchant:

I got a whole run of O’Neil/Adams GL/GA in the back. I can go grab it for you, which issue was it?

Yash:

Don’t worry about it, I don’t remember.

Yash hustles Pete out of the store.

Peter:

The hell was that about?

Yash:

I’ll tell you when we’re there. (Points up.) Now come on.

The background fades out and fades back in as the top of the Empire State Building. Peter and Yash are looking out at the expanse of New York City.

Yash:

Still gets me, man. HELL yeah!

Peter:

I’ve gotta say…this is alright. I remember it being way more crowded and I couldn’t really see anything when I was a kid.

Yash:

‘Scause you were short. Check this OUT, man! THIS is where it happens! Look at that, over to the…northwest. SICK set of rooftops.

Peter:

Where? I don’t.

(But Yash has already removed a small sketchpad from his bag and is furiously scribbling, notes and doodles.)

Yash:

GOD, I am so PSYCHED!

Peter:

Yash, what’s that? (For out of Yash’s bag has fallen a comic book.)

Yash:

Oh. Got it at Hanley’s.

Peter:

You stole it?

Yash:

I wouldn’t say that. I mean, I drew it.

Peter picks it up.

Yash:

(cont.) I was saving it for later. But hey, no day but today as the kids with AIDS say.

Peter:

What…is.

He has fallen silent.

Yash:

It’s the third issue of ’Mo. You ever seen it before?

Peter:

(quietly) Probably somewhere. I guess.

Yash:

Yeah, it’s kind of ugly and overwritten, but there’s one thing I really dig about it, actually.

Peter:

What’s that?

Yash:

It wasn’t even something I did. It’s back here in the letter’s page.

Yash takes the book from Peter. Peter is silent.

Yash:

(cont.) I got this letter from this kid who found the second issue in a bathroom stall. He said it changed his life. Here it is— “I was never able to describe, even to myself, how I felt until I read your comic. You got it right. Thank you so much—I didn’t know there was really someone else out there who—”

Peter:

(almost inaudible) Stop

Yash:

—who understood. I mean, I knew intellectually—I’m not repressed, but I never really believed that I wasn’t alone. You changed that.”

Peter is silent, staring miserably into space.

Yash:

This kid wrote me this and—I dunno, I never even realized that I had an audience until that moment. The moment I read that letter it dawned on me that these, these things that were coming so fast out of my head that I wasn’t even really aware of what was in them—got read. Got…appreciated. And the name—I thought this kid just didn’t want to put his real name in a fag book. Do you know who wrote that letter?

Peter is silent.

Yash:

You did.

Peter is silent.

Yash:

Don’t do this. Break through the wall. Once you start talking, I swear to god, it gets a lot easier to keep talking.

After a long pause, Peter takes the issue of ’Mo from Yash and opens it. As he reads, we see the page projected—a cartoonish narrator over about six panels.

Peter:

(reading) “Secrets are the most dangerous form of power. When you have one, you are impervious to harm. A secret gives you armor, and a mask. It will construct for you a new identity, so that you can devote all of your energy solely to its maintenance. But your brand-new costume is a symbiote—the secret feeds on you as it makes you feel real. I saw, in the pantheon of my youth, in Seaghost and Spider-Man, a correspondence with my own life. These characters understood better than anyone in the so-called real world the content of my experience, the seductive promise of my other self.” That’s the part that got me.

Yash:

Blech. I’m no kind of writer.

Peter:

Meeting you was the only reason I went to that weird Christmas party, y’know.

Yash:

I was rude to you. Turns out it was because I was thinking about you.

Peter:

What?

Yash:

Not…you. Your letter. Who I thought that kid was. I was wondering where he’d gone. Where they’d all gone…the audience for that book. Why it tanked. Why I ended up here, drawing these characters that practically raised me doing whatever stupid shit Edgar makes them do this month.

Long silence. After a while, Peter regards the plastic bag still in his hand from the comic store. He takes the issue of Foxtail out, looks at it.

Peter:

This really is an amazing cover she did.

Yash:

The best artist in the business. I swear to god, if I could drink her blood, I would.

Peter hurls the comic through the tines of the railing and it flies out, dances in the air above our heads. The men watch it, transfixed. It flies away.

Yash:

Someone’s gonna find that.

Peter:

I hope so. I hope it’s a girl. I hope a ten-year-old girl finds that and it gives her the words she needs.

Yash:

Yeah.

Long pause. They look out over the city.

Yash:

(pointing out) Wouldn’t it be cool to see Dyna-Girl and Shatterforce flying around shooting beams at each other right there? With the sun like that? The city beneath them, the bay off in the distance…god, that’d be so…

Peter:

It’d be amazing. It’d be the first truly amazing thing that has ever happened.

As they stand and stare off at the world, the background fades in and out, “zooming” farther and farther away, the Empire State Building receding so that eventually the two men are standing in the air, and behind them the sky turns blue as a glorious superhero battle fades into the picture above the tip of the Building’s radio tower. Peter moves a few centimeters towards Yash. Yash stands patiently. Slowly, gingerly, Peter kisses him.

Act I, Scene 10

Joe’s office. It is dark. Natasha is sitting on his desk. Joe enters with a cup of coffee.

Natasha:

Mr. Tamale.

Joe:

What are you doing here? Get off my desk!

Natasha does.

Natasha:

How much time do I have?

Joe:

Six issues, maybe. I’m working on getting you a new assignment—

Natasha:

Give me—

Joe:

Absolutely not. We’ve been over this. Yash’s work is flying off the shelves.

Natasha:

And mine sits unseen.

Joe:

We’ll see what happens. Who knows, maybe that Parker kid’ll pick things up. He seems like a bright kid.

Natasha:

He has much to learn.

Joe:

I bet. Don’t scare this one off, Natasha. He’s your last shot.

Natasha:

Do not worry. I believe that Mr. Parker and I will be able to reach an understanding.

Joe:

Fine. (Turns his back to the audience to look out the window.) Damn it, Natasha. Is all this still worth it?

Natasha:

No. But that does not mean that it cannot become so again.

Joe:

I hope you’re right. For all our sakes.

ACT DROP

Entr’acte

Yash’s apartment. One month has passed. Pete sits on the bed with his first issue of Foxtail in his hands. Yash is at the drawing table. Pete speaks to the audience, like in the prologue.

Peter:

I wrote this. I created it. It came out of me, me and Natasha…it was incredible. I turned in the script and a week later she’d drawn the whole damn thing. She gave me a weird look when she came in to give Todd the pages. For the first time in my life, I feel complete. Like I’m where I’m supposed to be—like there’s ground beneath me. I don’t know how long this lasts.

Peter looks at Yash. Yash feels the stare and turns, looks at Peter.

Peter:

Whatever happened to that Garbagemen fill-in I was supposed to write?

Yash:

Ari’s never pulled a fill-in since I started drawing the book. I was just hitting on you.

Peter:

Check this out. On the letters page. This girl wrote in to Foxtail. “I know you don’t actually exist, but I wish you could come to my school. I know we’d be friends—you’re exactly like me (except with powers). I’m sorry about your dad—mine’s the same way. And don’t listen to those other girls; you know you have something special. That makes you different. Sometimes different means better.”

Yash:

Wow. That’s…that’s so…

Peter:

It’s the coolest thing that has ever happened to me.

Yash:

How’d you respond?

Peter:

I didn’t. I just said “Thanks.” She didn’t need me, she just needed the stories.

Act II, Scene 1

We are in a train-car diner in Jersey City. It is Peter’s birthday. It is very early in the morning. Peter and Franklin Parker sit across from one another. Franklin has a cup of coffee, untouched. Peter has a plate of pancakes and eggs, a plate of bacon, and a plate of toast, also untouched. In the pancakes is a single candle, blown out. Pause.

Peter:

Thanks for coming, Dad.

Franklin:

Hey, it was, it was the least I could do. I mean, it is your birthday.

Peter:

I know, but I appreciate it. Really.

Franklin:

I’m glad.

Pause. Franklin stirs his coffee, which is black. He puts no sugar in it.

Franklin:

Happy birthday, son.

Peter:

Thanks, Dad.

Franklin:

So…how’s work? How’s life?

Peter:

Getting better. I’m, well, they’re finally letting me do some real work. The book, I mean, the, the comic I work on? It was almost cancelled twice—once in January, right when I started, and once just a few weeks ago, but these fans, there’s these fan groups online that send in letters and phone calls…and the suits keep pushing back the last issue, hoping that all this press will result in everyone in the country suddenly needing to own the next issue of Foxtail. But it’s always just the same people…it’s like we exist in this little bubble and no matter how hard we try or how loud we are, no one on the outside takes any notice. It can be pretty frustrating sometimes.

Franklin:

I’m sure. I’m sure it is. Well…hey, you’re a smart guy. You can do anything, I mean, just, y’know…keep at it. It’ll turn around. These things have a way of—

Peter:

I know Dad. Thanks. You don’t have to—

Franklin:

No, I mean it.

Peter:

I know.

Pause.

Franklin:

You haven’t touched your food.

Peter:

I know, I’m sorry—

Franklin:

Do you want something else? We can order something else, I just thought that—

Peter:

No, I know, it’s great Dad. Seriously, it’s—it was really nice of you to—

Franklin:

I’ll get the waitress—

Peter:

No Dad, really, I mean it, it’s great that you’re here and that—

Franklin:

I’m sorry, I thought that, maybe it was a special occasion and I just ordered—I didn’t think—

Peter:

Dad, I know. Thank you.

Pause.

Franklin:

Y’know, any time you want, you should come by, it’s not that far—you can take the train and you can bring a friend, you know I won’t get in your way, don’t even—it’ll be like I’m not even there—just come and relax, I’ll have a sixpack in the fridge, any time.

Peter:

I know, Dad. Thanks. But, I mean—

Franklin:

You don’t HAVE to—

Peter:

I know, I mean, I’m not in college anymore, I’ve got my own place and all…

Franklin:

I know that. I know you’re doing your own thing now…but it’s a big house and I thought maybe—

Peter:

Thanks, Dad. Thank you.

Pause.

Peter:

How’re you? How’s Calvin?

Franklin:

Oh, he’s good. He’s old, y’know. He mostly just lies around…he barely even looks up when I come in the door anymore. He has a bunch more lumps now than when you saw him.

Peter:

Are you gonna get those looked at? They could be—

Franklin:

I don’t really want to know, you know? I’d rather just…

Longer pause.

Peter:

…I guess I should…

Franklin:

(overlapping) Yeah, I should get going, I’ve got a meeting at 10 that I should—

Peter:

Thanks for coming down here today, Dad. It was great to see you—

Franklin:

Great to see you too, son. Great to see you.

Beat.

Franklin:

I’m glad we had the chance to—

Peter:

Me too, Dad.

Beat.

Peter:

I should get to the train, I don’t want to be late. The cover artist was supposed to send me his proofs like three days ago and I want to get in so if it’s not there today I can call him and wake him up—he’s on the west coast so—

Franklin:

I gotcha. Give ‘em hell, son.

Peter:

Yeah.

Beat.

Franklin:

Is there anything else—

Peter:

What?

Franklin:

Is there anything else you want to tell me? I mean, anything else you want to talk about?

Peter:

Can’t think of anything.

Beat.

Franklin:

Well, happy birthday, son.

Peter:

You too, Dad. I mean…you know. Thanks.

Franklin:

I love you.

Peter:

I love you too, Dad.

Beat.

Peter:

I’m gonna—

Franklin:

Yeah, I should…

They both stand. Pause. Franklin puts out his hand. Peter, disappointed, shakes it. Beat. Franklin nods. Peter nods. Franklin leaves. Peter stands. Suddenly he notices a thick manila envelope on the seat where his father was. He picks it up. His name is the only thing written on it.

Peter:

The hell?

Act II, Scene 2

An hour later. Yash’s apartment. Yash is lying in bed with a sketchpad in his lap and a comic. Peter enters, breathlessly, but pauses when he sees Yash.

Peter:

That’s the problem with today’s comics artists. All they ever look at is comics.

Without a word, Yash pulls a giant book of Rothko off a nightstand and throws it at Peter, who catches it.

Yash:

Happy Birthday. I haven’t finished making your card yet. The hell time did you leave this morning?

Peter:

I had breakfast with my dad.

Yash:

At five AM?

Peter:

I, uh…went back to my place first.

Yash:

Why?

Peter:

I…umm, I felt weird. Going straight from here. Like I was lying to him.

Yash:

You’re gonna have to—

Peter:

(changing the subject) Look what I got!

Yash:

That Giffen/DeMatteis Justice League you were looking for?

Peter holds up the envelope from the diner.

Peter:

My dad wrote a novel.

Yash:

What?

Peter:

A noir detective novel.

Yash:

I thought he did something with…

Peter:

Insurance.

Yash:

I was gonna say law, whatever.

Peter:

I had no—he didn’t even—I found this on his seat after he left breakfast this morning. He…left it for me.

Yash:

So wait, it was never published?

Peter:

He never showed it to me, never mentioned it.

Yash:

Is it any good?

Peter:

“And then—as the agonizing ache in his limbs seems unendurable—as his superbly muscled body suffers the torment of a virtually indescribably ordeal—from out of the pain—from out of the agony—comes triumph!”

Yash:

…

Peter:

It’s awful. It’s in present tense! It has a happy ending. But it’s…it’s…

Peter sits, excitedly. As he narrates, we see scenes from the story drawn in comic panels with heavy inks projected.

Peter:

It’s about this noir detective who doesn’t have a name, and all the other characters have these horribly convoluted appellations for him to avoid saying it—but his wife and daughter are kidnapped by the son of the police commissioner, who’s a sex maniac serial killer—

Yash:

The commissioner—

Peter:

The son. And the detective goes after him in the usual way, but it’s got this really really gory climax—

We see projected (as part of the comic narration) a drawing of a mutilated face, a hand holding it by the hair.

—and then he gets the girls back and the commissioner gets shot somehow and everyone’s happy.

Yash:

This sounds awful.

Peter:

It completely is. I need to… (he picks up the phone and starts to dial)… What’s this?

Yash:

I, uh, I’m overdue on my phone bill.

Peter:

Artist! So where’s the nearest phone?

Yash:

Booth on the corner.

Peter:

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Act II, Scene 3

Peter is standing in a phonebooth—a full glass rectangle (or scrim effect or gobo or whatever). He is calling his father.

Peter:

When did you do this? Oh. Yeah, no, I’ve read it. I read fast. Dad, I don’t know what to say. I had no idea you’d ever…what made you want to do this? To, to, to, to, to write something. To write (checks title) “Man On A Rampage”? Well, yeah, I was too. Jesus Dad, I slept next to you for a month because you couldn’t go into your own empty bedroom if I didn’t. We never said a word. Not a word. And you were doing this…when? You wrote it in three days and just sat on it? Have you ever showed it to anyone else? Uh-huh. No, actually, I completely understand. No, actually, I, uh, I had a question. Not about that—but I’m glad you’re finally—we’re finally talking about…no, well, what I wanted to ask you was…here on the last page. You said: “The one thing that cripples a man, that can reduce him to nothing—the one thing that will eat him alive if he lets it and that is responsible for every destructive thing he does—is regret. Regret that he didn’t use the power he had when the time came because he didn’t realize then that he had it. To be a man is to accept a responsibility. And with responsibility comes great, great power.” No, I guess when I read it I realized that it was true. But I’m not…I don’t feel like…no, not yet. I’ve never done anything like that. But now that you mention it…I think I have it in me. (Pause) And uh, there’s another thing, Dad. Something I want to tell you.

Act II, Scene 4

Todd’s office, later that morning. Peter is on the phone. Todd walks in with a cup of coffee and a newspaper.

Todd:

Mornin’.

Pete nods.

Todd:

Rod?

Pete nods.

Todd:

Tell him that if this isn’t the most beautiful goddamn comic book cover known to man—

Peter:

Yeah, Rod? Did I wake you? Good. Where the fuck is my cover? No, don’t—no, I’m not—Rod…

Pete rolls his eyes. Todd sips coffee and sighs, turns on his computer.

Peter:

Are you—are you—are you done? Okay. Now where the fuck is my cover? No, you did not just tell me because if you had just told me, I wouldn’t be asking…Rod. Is the cover finished? WHAT? ARE YOU SERIOUS? You had three months! We gave you three months! No, uh-uh, we need that TODAY. We go to print on THURSDAY! Nope. Absolutely not. No. Nada. I don’t care how much time you spent thinking about it. Or drawing on napkins, no. No, I don’t want the napkin, and if you ever get work from this office again, it’ll be long after I’m dead.

Pete hangs up. Todd applauds.

Todd:

Way to go, buddy! You’re a real editor! Here. You’ve earned it.

Todd opens his desk, takes out a red felt-tipped pen, and tosses it at Peter.

Todd:

That’s a responsibility, now. Don’t go marking up scripts all willy-nilly, drunk on power.

Peter puts the pen in his pocket without responding. He is still fuming.

Peter:

That stupid guy, I swear to God…now I’ve gotta talk to Natasha, get her to whip something up…it sure won’t be painted. Todd, why are artists so irresponsible?

Todd:

Because they’re artists. Because that’s all they can do, and if it wasn’t they’d get a real job.

Peter:

Aright, I’m gonna call her...

Peter picks up the phone, takes a deep breath, dials. A cell phone starts ringing outside Todd’s office door. Natasha enters.

Natasha:

Yes?

Pete gulps, puts down the phone.

Peter:

Uh, hey, Natasha, um, I just got off the phone with Rod and, uh—

Natasha:

You need me to do the cover, yes, I assumed as much. Here it is.

She holds out a manila envelope.

Peter:

Umm…wow. Uh, thanks. Okay. (Opens envelope, takes out page.) Wow. When did you draw this?

Natasha:

I knew you would need it eventually, so I drew like usual. Next time you want special cover, don’t bother California boy. He plays videogames all day. When I was at Surface, he signed my checks. That is why I am now here. (Turns to Todd) So I will expect my usual page rate for the cover, and perhaps a little extra for the insult, hmm?

Todd:

(smirking) I’ll see what I can do.

Natasha:

That is all I may ask. You— (points at Peter) come with me. I have something to show you.

Peter:

Actually, umm, I’ve got this thing I need to—

Natasha:

Fifteen minutes. The archive.

She breezes out.

Todd:

You better get down there.

Peter:

What the hell.

Todd:

She liked working with you, y’know. These past couple issues. She told me. That’s a big deal, Pete. Natasha has hated every writer she’s ever worked with.

Peter:

What does she want, Todd? What could I have that she could possibly want from me?

Todd:

Don’t ask me. Go find out.

Act II, Scene 5

The archive. Natasha is standing, smoking a cigarette. She has a few comics on the table. Peter enters.

Peter:

Look, Natasha, before you say anything, there’s something you need to know—I’m not attracted to you. I’m not attracted to women. I’ve got something going with Yash and—

Natasha:

Yes, I suspected as much.

Peter:

You…what? What?

Natasha:

There is something you should see. Pay close attention.

She picks up the comics. They are the issues of Foxtail Peter wrote.

Natasha:

These are ours, Peter. It is time to take your place in history.

She hands him the comics.

Natasha:

(cont.) File them.

Peter takes the comics up the ladder to place them in the archive.

Peter:

I’ve...I’ve had fun, Natasha. More than that. When I saw your pages...I’ve never felt this way before. To see the scripts I wrote become real...I can’t thank you enough.

Natasha:

Indeed. For once, it was a pleasure to draw the fox-girl. Unusual.

Peter comes down the ladder.

Peter:

That’s that. We’re in Excelsior history now, forever. Until the building burns down. Todd hasn’t given me the go-ahead for the next issue yet...do you know, have we been cancelled finally?

Natasha:

This does not concern me. We have larger matters to discuss.

Peter:

What do you want now, Natasha?

Natasha:

Do you not desire more, Peter? More than mere dead-book assignments? What is the book you long to write?

Peter:

What do you mean?

Natasha:

No one, Peter, comes into this business merely to be an assistant editor. You were a fan, once. What is the book you desire, you dream about? What is the book you’ve been writing in your mind for years?

Peter:

Garbagemen.

Natasha:

Garbagemen.

Peter:

So?

Natasha:

We share a dream, Peter. Let us leave the silly fox-girl behind. Let us dream of real heroes together—

Peter:

That’s not something I have any control over, Natasha. And if you think you can use me to get Yash to quit—

Natasha:

There is no need. He will soon be gone whether he wishes it or not.

Peter:

…What do you know?

Natasha takes a small laptop out of her coat, opens it, shows him the screen.

Peter:

In the Bleed. That’s that site—oh. Oh no. How did they get this???

Projected on the back wall we see a website, ugly design, with the headline “GAY GARBAGE” and Yash’s drawing of Commander G and the Badger

Peter:

They can’t—they can’t think that he—he wouldn’t have…

Natasha:

It does not matter. This is not good for the men upstairs. They have been embarrassed in this way too often. He will be fired this afternoon. I know this to be true.

Peter:

Natasha, how do you know? How do you—

She closes the laptop simply, puts it in her coat.

Natasha:

We have an opportunity, Peter. I like what you did with the fox-girl. You have a voice that is rare and powerful. Come with me. Join me. You write, I draw. We will be unstoppable.

She leaves. Blackout.

Act II, Scene 6

Todd’s office. Yash is sitting at Todd’s desk, reading comics. Peter enters.

Peter:

Yash, where’s Todd?

Yash:

Upstairs with the Chief. Hey, they’ve got a birthday cake for you in the breakroom in like fifteen minutes. The guys from design got it at one of those places where you can screen an image onto it in icing, you’ll love it—

Peter:

Yash, I’ve got to talk to him—

Yash:

He’s with the Chief, what’d I just say?

Peter:

You don’t understand—

Yash:

Where have you been?

Peter:

In the archive…with Natasha.

Yash:

Uh huh. Listen, there’s something I want to ask you—

Peter:

Yash, I’ve got to tell you—

Yash:

I’m quitting Garbagemen.

Peter:

…what?

Yash:

I’m sick of it. It’s been a long time coming. That bullshit with the page was the last—

Peter:

Have you seen the Internet this morning?

Yash:

What?

Peter:

In the Bleed. Check it.

Yash does so.

Yash:

Ah. (He begins to laugh) Well, that’s that then.

Peter:

You didn’t—

Yash:

What? Give him the page? Hell, I wish I had. But that doesn’t change anything. I want you to leave with me.

Peter:

WHAT?

Yash:

I’m bringing ’Mo back. I want you with me. I want to start an indy press with you.

Peter:

Yash, I, I, I—

Yash:

(standing) Come on, let’s go get you some cake.

Suddenly, a shotgun blast blows off the door to the office. Alan stands in the doorway with the smoking gun.

Yash:

ALAN WHAT THE FUCK!!!

Alan:

WHERE IS THAT RUSSKIE BITCH?

Yash:

You’re crazy, Alan, I’m calling the cops.

Alan:

Don’t move you faggot! Always thinking you’re better then me cause you’ve got a book that sells…you’ve got lines a mile long at the conventions for your fucking signature…I don’t even have a table! I have to PAY ADMISSION!

Yash:

Alan, you’re crazy and this has nothing to do with me—

Alan:

All I ever wanted was this job. More than anything, since I learned to read, this was the only thing I could ever do. Do you understand that?? Do you know how much this means to me?!?!?! And she TOOK IT ALL AWAY!

Yash:

Alan, you did that yourself when you attacked us.

Alan:

SHUT UP! I’m so SICK of you! You don’t even KNOW these characters! You’re not a fan! YOU TOOK AWAY MR. NIGHTMARE’S CAPE!

Peter:

Capes are stupid, Alan.

Alan looks at Peter in shock. In that moment, Yash grabs a bottle of ink off Todd’s desk and hurls it at Alan’s face. It shatters, covering him in ink. He goes down. Peter dives for the gun, Yash grabs Alan.

Yash:

Call the cops.

But it’s not even necessary. Alan is broken, finished. He’s a dead weight in Yash’s arms. As Peter goes for the phone, it rings. Peter picks it up.

Peter:

Yeah, it’s me. Uh-huh, he’s here too. Okay. Um, be right there.

He hangs up.

Peter:

It’s the Chief. He wants us upstairs.

Yash:

What do I do with him?

Peter:

Take him to the breakroom. Give him some cake. He can’t hurt anyone.

Yash:

What are you going to do with that (the shotgun)?

Peter:

Uuuuh…take it with me, I guess. I dunno.

Act II, Scene 7

Joe’s office. Joe stands behind his desk. Todd stands to one side. Edgar is on the speakerphone. Natasha sits in a chair, smoking. Peter enters with the shotgun.

Todd:

Jesus Christ, Peter!

Peter:

It’s Alan’s. He blew off the door to your office.

Todd:

WHAT?

Peter:

Yash took care of him. He’s on his way.

Todd:

WHAT?

Yash enters.

Peter:

How is he?

Yash:

Sitting there like a child eating cake with his hands. Half his face is covered in ink, he looks like a Steve Ditko Objectivist super-villain. What’s up?

Joe:

Here’s the scoop, guys. Foxtail’s cancelled. I’m sorry, Natasha, Pete. I love the book. I mean that, I love it. It’s the best work we’ve published in years. But no one’s buying it. There’s nothing I can do.

Natasha says nothing. Continues smoking.

Joe:

Now Yash,

Yash:

Chief, there’s something you should know…I’m qui—

Joe:

You’re fired.

Yash:

WHAT?

Edgar:

(on the phone) You Paki prick! What the fuck were you thinkin’?

Yash:

Blow me, you junkie!

Joe:

ENOUGH. Edgar, keep your mouth shut for ONCE. Yash, I’m sorry. But you must’ve seen the website. This isn’t me, this is upstairs. They think you’ve embarrassed them too often, and you’re out.

Yash:

FINE. Fuck you too! Pete and I were leaving anyway! We’re gonna self-publish and screw you and your full-color gay-ass superheroes!

Todd:

Pete??

Peter:

Umm…well…the thing is…Yash, you didn’t give me a chance to—

Yash:

Pete. Peter. Come on.

Peter:

Yash, this is where I need to be. This is where—this is my world. Excelsior is…

Yash:

You fucking FANBOY COME ON!

Peter:

Yash, I’m sorry. I have work to do here—I’m needed. I can help.

Yash:

Help? Help their homophobic asses butcher your stories and make money off your ideas??

Peter:

Yash. I’m—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, this is where I have to be. I can’t explain it.

Yash:

What are you SAYING? You HAVE to—

Joe:

Will you two Nancies please SHUT UP? Now Yash is out. That’s a done deal. Edgar, you too.

Edgar:

WHAT?!?

Joe:

Edgar, you’re a pain in my ass. And your writing isn’t that good. I only hired you because you’ve got a loyal fanbase of Wiccans and drug addicts. But it’s just not worth your shit.

Edgar:

I WILL FIND YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH! I WILL FIND YOU AND I WILL FUCKING CUT OUT YOUR EYES YOU STINKING BLOODY—

(Joe hits a button on the phone and Edgar is gone.)

Joe:

Now then. There’s just one more thing.

Natasha:

Who is taking the Garbagemen?

Joe:

Well, I would’ve given it to you and Parker, but it doesn’t matter anymore. There’s another thing. This website—the one that started all this...it’s me. I’m behind it.

Todd:

What? Joe? What are you talking about?

Joe:

Todd, I’m sorry. You have to understand my position. All I ever wanted was to draw for this house. Stealing copies of Dynamo from the five-and-dime and reading ‘em on the stoop…it’s the only thing that ever made sense to me. And when I started doing it it was…it was a dream. It was the happiest time of my life. I was living those stories, Todd. I was exploring the universe, saving lives, performing extraordinary feats. But then it changed. The magic disappeared. I don’t know exactly when or exactly how, but the drawing became a chore…I was chained to that desk (the drawing table in the corner). So I took over. I thought that if I was the one deciding what stories got told then I could bring back that feeling…but it didn’t work. All it did was turn me into one of them (points up)—the men upstairs. I hate it, Todd. I hate my life. I hate that I had to cancel Foxtail.

Todd:

But why? Why the website?

Joe:

I had to do something…something subversive. Something to piss them off so I could look at myself in the mirror.

Todd:

Did it work?

Joe:

No. Which is why I’ve decided to tear it down.

Todd:

What are you talking about?

Joe:

This place, this work we do…it’s not effective anymore. All we’re doing is feeding the sick habits of boys in their 30s. No one cares anymore. We’re not teaching anyone anything.

Peter:

It doesn’t have to be that way, Joe—

Joe:

Which is why I’ve put a bomb somewhere in this room.

Silence.

Yash:

WHAT?

Joe:

Guys, this isn’t working anymore. I’m doing you all a favor, believe me. Get the hell out of here and go get real jobs. You’ll be happier.

Joe turns and jumps through the window, shattering it. Todd runs to the hole and screams down—

Todd:

JOE! JOE!

Yash:

WHAT JUST HAPPENED?

Todd:

YOU IDIOT!

Peter:

A bomb.

Yash:

Let’s get the hell out of here, Pete!

Peter:

There’s a bomb in this room. Somewhere.

Yash:

PETE. RUN.

Todd:

Guys, you’ve got to leave. Now.

Peter:

You heard what he said! We have to find it! We have to stop this!

Todd:

Don’t be a hero, you dumb fuck! You wanna end up like him? Let’s GO.

Peter:

Yash, I can do this.

Yash:

DO WHAT? Get blown up? We HAVE TO LEAVE! NOW!

But Pete isn’t listening. His eyes are scanning the room, searching for a clue.

Todd:

Parker, goddammit!

No response.

Peter:

Regret…

Pete goes for the drawing table. He lifts the top off. Inside is a bomb—the round black kind with a fuse coming out. He goes to the broken window, hurls the bomb out. An explosion (complete with projected “BOOM”) rocks the building. But no real harm has been done.

Natasha:

(quietly) And here we are.

Todd:

Peter. Are you okay?

Peter:

Yeah. I’m fine.

Todd:

That was…thank you.

Peter:

You’

Otium