An Excerpt from a Play Entitled “Harebrained Liaisons”  

Act I, Scene 1.

Lola McNulty, 18 years old, one of the two main characters of the play has just been sent by her parents in a taxi to Crestwood Psychiatric Hospital, a prestigious yet small mental institution about an hour away from her home. Lola is a bright young woman, however she is rather reserved and withdrawn at times, yet very rowdy and boisterous at other times. Lola is extraordinarily cynical, oversensitive, self-loathing, and naturally, has rather low self-esteem, and is an overall very furious young girl. Overall, she feels as if she’s dreadfully mediocre and abhors the world, and as you can probably already deduce, she has quite a bit of pent-up anger as well as anxiety boiling inside of her. She’s absurdly unhappy with everything that is going on with her life and is, not to mention, rather ireful over the fact that her parents took the liberty of sending her to a mental hospital, against her will, in spite of the fact that there are countless valid reason why her parents chose to do what they did.


Lola: It all started with a Journey song. Who knew that “Don’t Stop Believin’” could trigger such a catastrophe? It’s quite the paradox, really. It was only three months into our friendship and it was as if we had known each other for eons. This evident connection we had was quite literally…very eerie really. And this happened right off the bat too. The day we first became acquainted, we ended up going out for ice cream and yakking the night away…well, until we got kicked out by management that is. It was most peculiar. I didn’t even think it was humanely possible to get along with someone that well! One dismal, tempestuous night, she was over and we were sprawled out on my basement floor listening to archaic CDs and chatting. We had initially planned to go for a drive to get some fries and shakes at Mondo Bite but of course it was raining cats and dogs at the time so we were trapped in my goddamn house. Anyway, I can recall we had an abnormally in depth discussion on our mentally unhinged relatives…I gave a sermon on my Aunt Barbara who flings her fine China into the garbage disposal when she’s hosed. As if she isn’t completely off her rocker when she’s sober! And naturally, this triggered her story on her neurotic, reclusive grandmother who only leaves the house to purchase colossal books of crossword puzzles at Barnes and Noble; and not to mention the tale about her uncle who plays banjos on street corners…oh! Or her wack job of a cousin who refuses to consume anything but corn dogs and Craisins. Well, soon enough, we got into a delightfully pointless dispute over which would be a more appealing and sophisticated kind of tree to plant in a backyard; a fig tree or an apple tree. Well, when we were both on the verge of imploding out of inflexibility, my brother Sebastian sauntered in, in a very haughty manner, per usual. Suddenly, she and Sebastian began talking up a storm to one another, their eyes wide and glistening, their body language clearly implied to me that they had completely forgotten that I was in the room. Sure, I was irked, befuddled, and flabbergasted…I didn’t have the faintest idea what was going on…but I’m persistent so I threw in a few sardonic and crass comments there, did a few celebrity impersonations there and still…nothing. I was invisible. I was an apparition. I was…nothing. It didn’t take me long to come to the realization that her and my brother were completely infatuated with one another. I’m not a thickheaded ninny! I can sense these things in the blink of an eye! Well…long story short I was kicked to the curb, and never heard a word from her again, despite the sporadic voicemails I left on her phone. She was far too busy spending every minute of her free time with my brother. Because she had gotten all of Sebastian, she didn’t want any of me. I lost my beloved ally. A little part of me had shriveled up and vanished into oblivion. I hope he was worth it, but something tells me that I highly doubt that that is so. I should’ve known it was all too good to be true. We clicked so well, so instantly. I was such a fool to think such an instantaneous camaraderie would be an everlasting one. Life just doesn’t work like that...well, not in MY life at least. There are always strings attached. Well, needless to say, later that night after she zoomed away in her little convertible, and after Sebastian made several phone calls to his friends to gloat, I was in a very fragile state, as you can imagine. I was shaken to my very core. The heavenly, cathartic arbitrariness of she and I had come to a grinding halt. It was if I had suddenly become fettered, trapped, exposed; tossed out into…into the cold. So accordingly, I daintily plodded up the stairs, my eyes heavy and dull in my raw and tender sockets, scalding tears burning paths on my cheekbones, and I lumbered into my room with a heavy heart and a throbbing, empty cranium, closed the door as gently and calmly as I could, picked up my father’s old, massive belt (he’s a burly man) which happened to be submerged in a heap of clothes on my floor, and then I mounted my desk, looped the belt through the hook on my ceiling which I used to use to hang baskets teeming with stuffed animals, tied the other end around my neck, double knotted both ends, kicked my desk out from under me and…well, tragically, this plan of mine didn’t pan out too well…like clockwork, my mom barged in, like she always does, much to my displeasure, and let out a howl so shrill and so deafening, that I’m sure it burst some poor bloke’s eardrums halfway across the world…(sighs, laughs a little) And here I am.


Act I, Scene 2.

Lola pauses at the bottom of the stairs to the medium-sized red brick building that is Crestwood Psychiatric Hospital, takes a deep breath, furrows her brow, and trudges into the building with her fists clenched and shaking. She is looking faint, ghostly pale, haggard, and blatantly uncomfortable. She slowly makes her way into a brightly lit and elegant-looking waiting room where a woman at a desk greets her and asks her if she can sign some papers so she can be released into the hospital’s care officially, before she taken to the ward will she will be staying. There are doors adjacent to the woman’s desk, including the office of the psychiatrist Dr. Marcia French. When Lola stumbles into the waiting room she stops dead in her tracks, looks around incredulously and closes her eyes, until the secretary speaks to her and startles her.


Secretary: (curiously) Hello, dear…can I help you with something?

Lola: (pulls a cigarette out of her pocket, lights up, and takes a long drag and says mordantly) Nah, actually…I’m good. Just dandy, as a matter of fact. (stealthily heads for the door to get the hell out of Dodge.)

Secretary: Excuse me, miss. You’re not going anywhere. Wait a minute…(glances down at a mound of papers in front of her) are you…by any chance…Lola McNulty?

Lola: (flares her nostrils) You know what…I’m not actually. Listen, lady, I think there’s been some kind of mistake…

Secretary: (rudely, impatiently) According to my records, there is no mistake that you speak of. Your parents called a few hours ago to admit you here. (chortles perversely) Looks like you have already been spoken for…so if you can sign this form right here, you will be released into our care.

Lola: (abruptly infuriated) Look you two-bit, working-class harpy, you listen to me and you listen good… (wags finger menacingly in woman’s face) I’m 18. I’m legal. My parents can say all the bullshit they want about me but try as they might, they’re just wasting their breath ‘cuz I speak for myself now. Got it?

Secretary: (narrows her eyes and peers broodingly at Lola) You can insult me all you want young lady, but it’s going to get you nowhere. You live at home, do you not? I’ll answer that for you…you do. You are still in high school so therefore, your parents have more say in this aspect than you do…got it?

Lola: (takes a quick, yet composed and calm drag of her cigarette again, and then proceeds to lunge at the woman, thrusting her cigarette at her in an attempt to burn her, and startlingly, grabs the poor, frail secretary by her arms and shakes her, still clutching her cigarette.) I don’t belong here goddamn it…so I made some…rash decisions but so what? What’s the big deal? They were all empty threats you goddamn…(looks up and flinches violently as she spots a nurse saunter into the waiting room.)


(Enter Nurse Amy Ainsworth. Nurse Ainsworth rushes in, her eyes wide in terror at the sight of Lola grappling with the poor old woman at the desk, attempting to burn her with her cigarette. Nurse Ainsworth dashes over, grabs Lola, drags her away from the petrified secretary and smashes her into one of the leather chairs in the waiting room.)


Nurse: (with her hands on her hips) Well I take it that you’re Lola McNulty. We got a call about you a few hours ago…we’ve been expecting you. We thought you sounded like you needed some time in the crazy house, not an anger management class. What the hell’s wrong with you?

Lola: (takes a drag from her cigarette) I don’t need to be here, lady. I’m fine. Honest. Sure, I made a few mistakes, and sure I’m a bit self-destructive but come on now, I’m a teenager. (laughs) What do you expect? It would be normal not to be a self-loathing, self-indulgent adolescent descending further and further into the depths of despair.

Nurse: (guffaws) Don’t be absurd. You’re coming with me. You’ve got a long road ahead of you, missy. Oh and by the way, allow me to introduce myself…I’m Nurse Amy Ainsworth, and I’ll be taking care of you and the other girls in Ward 3 here at Crestwood…so on behalf of the entire staff of Crestwood Psychiatric Hospital…welcome.

Lola: (sardonically) Gee thanks, I can’t even tell you how ecstatic I am to be here.

Nurse: Shut your trap. I’m not gonna take any sass from you, McNulty, you hear? Now go sign that release form and I’ll take you into the ward to meet the others and get you your room.

Lola reluctantly scribbles her name on the sheet of paper, glowers at the secretary who is grinning snidely at her, and Nurse proceeds to grab her by the arm and yanks her through the door and into a corridor that leads into the ward.

Act I, Scene 3.

Lola grudgingly ambles far behind Nurse Ainsworth as Nurse leads her into the ward, Ward 3, where Lola will be staying. They traipse through a narrow, rather dark corridor into the ward and Nurse leads Lola to one of the bedrooms, which is near the common room where Lola will be staying with a roommate.

Nurse: (gestures rapidly, impatiently to a tiny, shoebox of a room) That’s your bedroom…and that’s all you need to know as of now.

Lola: (stares bleakly, skeptically, and bleary-eyed into the bedroom) How am I supposed to fit myself in there, much less all of my stuff that my parents are gonna send over? That room is infinitesimal…(takes a step further) Jesus, Mary and Joseph why on Earth is there a Kurt Cobain poster tacked to the wall? Frankly, that’s morbid. (sardonically, acrimoniously) Wait a second. Let me guess. It’s inspiration!

Nurse: (raises and eyebrow and looks at her with a shocked expression plastered on her face, says sardonically) Well, aren’t YOU a hoot.

Lola: (lights up another cigarette and brings it to her lips and takes a puff of it) You bet your boots.

Nurse: Well, you can be as offensive and rude and vulgar as you please Miss McNulty but you ain’t gonna get a rise outta me. I’ve dealt with far worse train wrecks than you.

Lola: Psssh!

Nurse: And no smoking in the ward, missy. (Violently snatches the cigarette out from between Lola’s teeth and tosses it behind her onto the floor of the hallway.)

Lola: Litterbug.

Nurse: Oh, can it. Rex and Jackson’ll take care of it.

Lola: (sing song voice) Oooh are these boys that you speak of? Are they hunks? Heartthrobs? Play-ahs?

Nurse: (edgily) Volunteers. They’re orderlies. Do whatever I tell ‘em to do…they volunteer every Saturday and Sunday afternoon. About your age. Gotta keep them far away from Genevieve though. We don’t want her sinking her claws into ‘em.

Lola: Come again?

Nurse: (ignores Lola) Or fangs.

Lola: I am deducing none of this.

Nurse: You’ll know soon enough.

Lola: (to herself) Goddamn ambiguousness of this place…

Nurse: All right, enough with the prattling, girlie, let’s go get you acquainted with the rest of the gang.

Lola: You know, Nurse Ainsworth, I’d greatly appreciate it if you would please refrain from calling me “girlie.” Frankly, it makes you sound like a sleazy, fleshy, decrepit man who gobbles down chicken wings and frequents porn websites and taverns.

Nurse: (stares at Lola, befuddled like nobody’s business, speechless for a moment.) Not only are you crazy, girl, you also apparently have a debilitating case of word vomit.

Lola: I’m just brazen like that! I take pride in it.

Nurse: I can see that. Now come along now. Scoot!


Nurse Ainsworth leads Lola into a rather large, yet rather plain room with brown tattered couches, leather armchairs and a stereo and TV set plunked in the opposite corner of the doorway. There are two young women bellowing at each other. One is Florence Oliver, a trashy-looking women clad in multicolored, skintight disco pants with obscenely large amounts of makeup caked on her face. She is extraordinarily intimidating and is smoking an old-fashioned pipe, oddly enough and is screaming at a young girl, Cassie Simmons, a bratty and deer-in-the-headlights-looking girl who constantly looks like she is either sucking on a lemon or sitting on a tack. Florence looks highly amused, but Cassie, on the other hand looks like she’s on the verge of tears. We also meet Genevieve Van Linden in this scene, who is the other main character of the play. Note: In this scene Florence is smoking a pipe that contains marijuana. She is clearly high to everyone except for Nurse Ainsworth.


Florence: Your goddamn father owns a shoe repair shop. What the hell? What year is this, 1909 or 2009? Goddamn obsolete bastard. What’s next? A general store? A saloon?

Cassie: Grow a pair you rude bitch! He sold it three years ago, actually! Get your facts straight before I rip your face off! You don’t even know Daddy, so don’t you dare call him a bastard, you floozy! I’ll kill you…I’ll grab a dagger and slice your flesh off bit by bit, piece by piece…and then I’ll fling each piece of flesh slowly into a scorching bonfire and…and…and…I’ll enjoy it A LOT!

Lola: (softly, stunned) Oh my God. Where the hell am I?

Genevieve: (looks up from filing her nails) Get used to it sister, you’re not in Kansas anymore. You’re in the loony bin.

(Lola glowers at Genevieve, clearly just realizing that she was sitting there.)

Nurse: And watch your language when you’re around me, McNulty.

Lola: Okay, woman, let’s get a few things straight here. One, she just swore and you condoned it (gestures to Florence), two, why in Sam Hill can SHE smoke and I CAN’T? And don’t call me by my last name. What are you, a gym teacher?

Nurse: (mumbles half-jokingly) I knew I should have brought some duct tape with me to work this morning.

Florence: (laughs maniacally) Psssh! Puh-lease, puh-lease and puh-lease Shoe-In, you’re a twig! I could snap you in half with my bare hands and then kick your ass from here to the North Pole! I’d build you an igloo there where you can reclusively reside and inhale your beloved poppa’s shoes day in and day out as you wash random crap with you saliva and sleep on a mountain of powder-blue washcloths and sticks of Orbit or whatever…you need to get laid sister! Get with it! Gain a little more self-awareness! You’re PATHETIC!

Cassie: (trembles, then roars, clearly seething, lunges at Florence, and begins to attempt to pummel her) I’M GOING TO MURDER YOU! I’M GOING TO KILL…I’M GOING TO GET A GODDAMN AX AND CHOP YOU INTO A MILLION LITTLE PIECES! I’M GOING TO BURN YOU WITH A MILLION, A BILLION, A TRILLION GODDAMN MATCHES YOU WHORE! I’M GONNA TEAR YOU TO MICROSCOPIC SPECKS WITH MY THROWING STARS YOU…YOU…YOU SLUTTY, TRAMPY, STD-RIDDEN PIECE OF FILTH! YOU NASTY SLUT! I’M GONNA KILL YOU AND BRING YOU BACK TO LIFE AND THEN KILL YOU AGAIN!

Nurse: (angered) All right now, that’s enough! (steps in the middle of Florence and Cassie and gently tears them apart, shoving Florence into a chair on one side of the room and Cassie into another on the other side.)

Florence: (nonchalantly, takes another drag from her pipe, her eyes bloodshot and watery) That bitch is crazy, Amy A. Swear to God. No joke. She has got to go. You can bet your bottom dollar like Annie that she’s gonna be one psychotic ol’ windbag someday…a withered crone with a heart of dirt and a bottle of vodka in one hand.

Cassie: (grumpily, a tad more composed) At least I don’t bang postmen in broad daylight under my piece of crap trailer like a raccoon or whatever. Trailer trash. (sniffs haughtily and sticks her nose up.)

Florence: (remains blasé, takes another drag from her bong) I’m gonna choose to not respond to you, virgin.

Nurse: Shut up you two, you don’t want me to toss you both in solitary confinement again do you? You do want dinner this evening do you not?

(Florence and Cassie remain silent and gaze at the floor.)

Nurse: Ha! That’s a first that ol’ Florence didn’t have a snappy, acerbic remark to make about the cafeteria food. Ha! I never thought I’d live to see the day. You almost left me speechless, Flo, so kudos to YOU. Now McNulty, don’t you worry because one of the civil, tractable ladies here will take the liberty of introducing you to everyone and showing you the ropes and whatnot. But I have some things I have to do before we proceed, so I will be back in a jiffy…(abruptly scurries off to office, we assume.)

Lola: (unenthused) Fabulous.

(Awkward silence.)

(An evil glint flickers in Florence’s eyes and she hops up from her seat, still smoking her pipe teeming with pot. )

Florence: (puts hand on Lola’s shoulder.) I will do the honors, my dear. No need to fret! Salutations, amiga, I am Florence Oliver, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. (Roughly grabs Lola’s arm and shakes her hand.) And I am quite sure you are pleased to make mine as well. Why are you in here, hey?

Lola: Um…well…I…I…I…well, I…tried to kill myself. Then my mother walked in. Got caught red-handed. Sent here. Quickly.

Florence: Well, someone’s a bit monosyllabic, wouldn’t you say? (Looks around to the others for approval or a reaction, at the very least.)

Lola: Look, I don’t even know you…Florence is it? I’m not gonna tell you my entire life story right now of all times!

Stella: Someone’s not only monosyllabic…someone’s also sassy!

Florence: Well, now, let’s get this show on the road already. Now, listen closely munchkin…(gestures to Stella with her pipe) That’s Earl.

Cheyenne: Love it! (Laughs hysterically and maniacally.)

Lola: What?

Florence: Earl. Earlham. Stella Earlham. The spectacular Stella Earlham! The notorious Stella Earlham! The transfixing Stella Earlham! Used to be a stripper. And a hooker…(whispers) she nailed men for the cash money if you catch what I’m throwin’.

Lola: I deduced that.

Stella: (looks up from magazine) Bite me, Florence.

Florence: Gladly, sweet cheeks. And this…(gestures wildly to Cheyenne) is all 1,000 or so tons of (fake Texan drawl) Cheyenne Dixon! She’s the stout woman who lived in a shoe…(coughs) Cassie reference (coughs). And she had oh so many children and husbands that she didn’t know what to do! She’s essentially the female, morbidly obese, less famous version of Mick Jagger, if you will.

Cheyenne: (hotly) I’ll beat you to a bloody pulp. Me and Spike are doing just dandy, not that it’s any of your business.

Florence: How DANDY can you possibly be doing with some bloke with the name of SPIKE?

Genevieve: And how many children do you have again, Cheyenne?

Cheyenne: (pauses, horrified and panic-stricken, says softly) I choose not to answer that question.

Florence: Nine!

Genevieve: Better get it up to twelve soon, Hefty Bag, that way you can get ‘em cheaper by the dozen.

Cheyenne: Eat me.

Florence: I’ll take a rain check.

Genevieve: As will I.

Lola: (infuriated) What’s the matter with you all? Why are you so cruel to each other? Learn to reel it in for Pete’s sake! No wonder you’re all so crazy.

(Cheyenne, Genevieve, Florence and Stella look at her, awestruck. An awkward pause. Cheyenne smiles at Lola, Lola smiles back.)

Stella: Well, Cheyenne may be a serial divorcee but ya gotta love the gal for her flaws, don’t ‘cha?

Genevieve: You’re one to talk, you’re pretty jacked up yourself.

Stella: As are you, you sex addict you. As promiscuous as a high-class call girl at the tender ol’ age of what is it, Gen? 15? How many guys have you plowed may I ask?

Genevieve: Oh, shut your piehole.

Cheyenne: You’ve had more sex in one year than I’ve had my entire life!

Genevieve: Oh, Beefy Cheeks…hmm, too many comebacks, I cannot choose…

Florence: (sardonically) Poor little rich girl!

Genevieve: I said shut up! I mean it, goddamn it! I’ll claw your beady little eyes out!

Cassie: You gonna pull a me Gen? Come on, I dare ya! (turns to Lola) Oh, I’m Cassie by the way. Nice to meetcha!

Lola: (sardonically, feigning warmth) And it’s nice to meet YOU. It’s nice to meet all of you.

Stella: (mumbling) It sure ain’t ever nice meeting Cheyenne though, now that’s for sure.

Cheyenne: Hey Stella, what’s the difference between a bitch and a slut?

Stella: (bored, deadpan) What?

Cheyenne: A slut will sleep with anybody, and a bitch will sleep with anybody but you.

Stella: What’s the meaning of your little opus, Senora Plump?

Cheyenne: I just reckon that you somehow manage to fit both of those descriptions pretty damn well.

Stella: (clearly not listening to Cheyenne, then abruptly jerks her head up in order to respond) Oh, I’m sorry, are you still talking?

Cheyenne: (mumbles to herself, while marching away to go back to flipping through TV channels) Nobody in this dump could understand fine humor even if it hit ‘em right between the eyes.

(Genevieve stares at Lola, who is just out of her line of vision, firing up another square now that Nurse Ainsworth is out of sight. Gen skulks over to her and initiates a chat as Florence, Cassie, Cheyenne and Stella pore over tabloids and fiddle with the TV and radio.)

Gen: Hey…Lola is it?

Lola: Yep, that’s me.

Gen: Can I bum one?

Lola: Nope.

Gen: Bite me.

Lola: Don’t say garbage like that to me. I don’t even know you.

Gen: Exactly. (Whips out her nail file again and fiddles with it.) Hey so what’s your story? Why’d you get dumped here so arbitrarily?

Lola: None of yours.

Gen: Excuse me?

Lola: None. Of. Your. Business. Got it?

Gen: Hey, sister, (mockingly) YOU reel it in!

(Lola blows smoke in Gen’s face.)

Gen: (feigning cheeriness) Hey Lola guess what?

Lola: Whatever may it be Genevieve?

Gen: I don’t like the looks of you. You better watch yourself around me. I don’t let anybody walk all over me. I run my own life. And your name sounds like a porn star name, by the way.

Lola: Gee, that’s original. Keep preaching, lady, maybe things will work out in my favor and your vocal cords will fall out.

Gen: How realistic! Maybe if I smoke one more of those, you’ll get your wish, girlfriend.

Lola: Look, do you mind? I’m trying to get some peace and quiet so could you possibly beat it?

Gen: (chuckles perversely) Peace and quiet? Where do you think you are Porn Star? No such thing exists within the four walls of Crestwood.

(Lola ignores Gen.)

(Nurse’s voice offstage: DINNERTIME! WASH UP AND LINE UP OUTSIDE OF THE COMMON ROOM! LET’S GET A MOVE ON, GIRLIES!)

(All the women except for Gen and Lola scurry out of the common room/off of the stage.)

Gen: Oh, so is this how it’s gonna be from now on, Porn Star? Never fear, chica, ‘cuz once you move on into my room we’re just gonna have one helluva time being bunk buddies! (Gives Lola a friendly punch.) Just think, I’ll be in your personal space twenty-four-seven! My gosh, we’ll get to know each other so gosh-darn-diddly well! (Sings) We’re gonna have a gay old time! (Skips away as Lola stares wide-eyed and gawking, with her mouth slightly ajar, drops her cigarette, and massages her temples. The lights dim.)