Highway Star
Act 2 Scene 3
It is night. We sit in the interior of a spacious car speeding down the highway. Phill drives, Tim sits gun, and Lori sleeps in the back, consuming the entire seat.
Tim:
I still can't believe you talked her into taxiing her car to Cali.
Phill:
She was going there anyway.
Tim:
This is great, man. No more worrying about where the next ride is coming from. No more hitch hiking at all. It's a good fucking thing that you're the stud that you are.
Phill:
Thank you. Thank you. (Runs his hand through his hair.) It's an art I have been perfecting.
Tim:
Seriously, man. If you weren't here beside me on this trip, I would've still been walking to California. I want you to know that your company is appreciated at this time.
Phill:
Why thank you, Tim. I think that's the closest thing to nice that you've said to me. (Pause. Tim looks back at the sleeping form of Lori before returning his gaze to Phill.)
Tim:
So did you bag her?
Phill:
Did I what?
Tim:
Did you bag her? Stick it in and wiggle it around. Did you hit that shit?
Phill:
No, man. I just met her.
Tim:
What's that got to do with anything? She stayed the night in a room with two complete strangers. She's got to be a little freaky.
Phill:
No. I didn't bag her. She's actually a very nice girl.
Tim:
Isn't that usually the kind of shit you usually talk right after you get a little action?
Phill:
What?! (Thinks.) You may be right. I think that is what I usually say. But it has no merit in this case.
Tim:
Yeah, right. (They sit in silence for a moment.)
Phill:
So what are you doing when you get out there, if you're not returning to Blossumdale?
Tim: I don't know. Enjoy things, I guess.
Phill:
Are you going to attempt the college life out here?
Tim:
Hell no. I'm not going to conform to societies' basis of values relying on diplomas and certificates and rules and regulation. I'm not going to sell out by worrying about material items. I'm going to live life while I can. When you die, it doesn't matter how much money you had, or how many degrees you got. It doesn't even matter how long you lived. All that matters is how you lived.
Phill:
Oh. (They drive in silence for a bit.)
Tim:
She has a tape deck, I see. (Phill glances down at the tape deck.)
Phill:
Yeah. She does.
Tim:
Do you think she'd be pissed if I put a tape in?
Phill:
I don't know. Go ahead though, just remember it was your idea.
Tim:
But where are the tapes? (Looks around.)
Phill:
I don't know. Check the glove compartment.
Tim:
No. I checked there.
Phill:
No you didn't.
Tim:
Yeah, man. I did. There's no tapes in the glove box.
Phill:
I have been sitting next to you this whole time. You never checked the glove box. You've hardly even moved.
Tim:
I'm telling you, Phill, I already checked the glove box. But I'm going to humor you here. (Tim opens the glove box.)
Tim:
Well I'll be damned.
Phill:
What's she got?
Tim:
Tampons, tapes, and a vehicle registration... (Moves some stuff around as he speaks.) There's some napkins in here too, and some ketchup packets.
Phill:
The tapes, Tim. Which tapes does she have?
Tim:
Oh. Hold on. (Reads off the titles as he picks each tape up.) Joplin, Hendrix, Doors, Neil Young, Mommas and Poppas, No Doubt, Garbage, Green Day, and the Dead.
Phill:
No shit?
Tim:
Yeah. What do you want to hear?
Phill:
I don't know. That's quite a collection.
Tim:
I'm putting in some Jimi. (Tim puts a tape into the tape deck and places the rest back in the glove box, closing it up. Some random Hendrix tune blasts from the speakers. The two are startled by the sudden abundance of sound, and turn it immediately down to a more comfortable level. Lori is awakened by this and sits up in the back. She yawns, stretches an speaks.)
Lori:
Feel free to turn the radio on.
Tim:
You see, Phill? Do you see what you've done? You've gone and woke her.
Phill:
Fuck you, Tim. It was your idea.
Tim:
I'll kick your ass!
Phill:
Do you want me to pull over?! (Momentary silence aside from the music.)
Lori:
There are tapes in the glove box.
Tim:
Oh yeah? Do you have any Jimi Hendrix? (Lori realizes what is playing.)
Lori:
Fuck you, Tim. I just woke up.
Tim:
You've been hanging around Phill, too much. (None speaks. Lori yawns again.)
Lori:
What time is it anyway? (Phill looks at the clock on the radio.)
Phill:
It's 10:30.
Lori:
It's getting late.
Phill:
How was your nap?
Lori:
No bad. Little odd, but not bad. (Silence.) Let's stop at the next exit for the night.
Phill:
Will do.
Tim:
So why you going to California, Lori?
Lori: Life's really shitty where I'm from. I guess I'm just hoping for something better.
Tim:
So it's pretty much the same situation for all of us?
Lori: Oh I doubt that.
Tim:
Why's that? (She does not reply for a while.)
Lori:
I'd really rather not say.
Tim:
Drugs? Abuse?
Phill:
She said she doesn't want to talk about it, Tim.
Tim:
I was just curious.
Lori:
Well... It's just that... My uncle is Lou Marzetti.
Tim:
Your uncle is who?
Phill: Did you just say Lou Marzetti?
Lori: Yeah. He was shot the other day.
Phill:
Oh my God.
Tim:
No shit?
Lori:
Yeah. So now there is a big hunt for the man who did it, and... I don't know... I just thought it would be wise to get the hell out of Chicago for a while, you know?
Tim:
Who shot him? (Phill hits him in the back of the head.)Ow! What the fuck?!
Lori:
No one knows. Who ever did it shot Uncle Lou and both of his bodyguards. The driver was found dead too.
Tim:
Damn. (Lori points to the windshield.)
Lori:
Look. Here comes an exit. Let's get a room.
Phill:
All right. (Camera switches to an out-side the vehicle view. The car gets onto an off-ramp as the screen fades to black.
END SCENE
It is night. We sit in the interior of a spacious car speeding down the highway. Phill drives, Tim sits gun, and Lori sleeps in the back, consuming the entire seat.
Tim:
I still can't believe you talked her into taxiing her car to Cali.
Phill:
She was going there anyway.
Tim:
This is great, man. No more worrying about where the next ride is coming from. No more hitch hiking at all. It's a good fucking thing that you're the stud that you are.
Phill:
Thank you. Thank you. (Runs his hand through his hair.) It's an art I have been perfecting.
Tim:
Seriously, man. If you weren't here beside me on this trip, I would've still been walking to California. I want you to know that your company is appreciated at this time.
Phill:
Why thank you, Tim. I think that's the closest thing to nice that you've said to me. (Pause. Tim looks back at the sleeping form of Lori before returning his gaze to Phill.)
Tim:
So did you bag her?
Phill:
Did I what?
Tim:
Did you bag her? Stick it in and wiggle it around. Did you hit that shit?
Phill:
No, man. I just met her.
Tim:
What's that got to do with anything? She stayed the night in a room with two complete strangers. She's got to be a little freaky.
Phill:
No. I didn't bag her. She's actually a very nice girl.
Tim:
Isn't that usually the kind of shit you usually talk right after you get a little action?
Phill:
What?! (Thinks.) You may be right. I think that is what I usually say. But it has no merit in this case.
Tim:
Yeah, right. (They sit in silence for a moment.)
Phill:
So what are you doing when you get out there, if you're not returning to Blossumdale?
Tim: I don't know. Enjoy things, I guess.
Phill:
Are you going to attempt the college life out here?
Tim:
Hell no. I'm not going to conform to societies' basis of values relying on diplomas and certificates and rules and regulation. I'm not going to sell out by worrying about material items. I'm going to live life while I can. When you die, it doesn't matter how much money you had, or how many degrees you got. It doesn't even matter how long you lived. All that matters is how you lived.
Phill:
Oh. (They drive in silence for a bit.)
Tim:
She has a tape deck, I see. (Phill glances down at the tape deck.)
Phill:
Yeah. She does.
Tim:
Do you think she'd be pissed if I put a tape in?
Phill:
I don't know. Go ahead though, just remember it was your idea.
Tim:
But where are the tapes? (Looks around.)
Phill:
I don't know. Check the glove compartment.
Tim:
No. I checked there.
Phill:
No you didn't.
Tim:
Yeah, man. I did. There's no tapes in the glove box.
Phill:
I have been sitting next to you this whole time. You never checked the glove box. You've hardly even moved.
Tim:
I'm telling you, Phill, I already checked the glove box. But I'm going to humor you here. (Tim opens the glove box.)
Tim:
Well I'll be damned.
Phill:
What's she got?
Tim:
Tampons, tapes, and a vehicle registration... (Moves some stuff around as he speaks.) There's some napkins in here too, and some ketchup packets.
Phill:
The tapes, Tim. Which tapes does she have?
Tim:
Oh. Hold on. (Reads off the titles as he picks each tape up.) Joplin, Hendrix, Doors, Neil Young, Mommas and Poppas, No Doubt, Garbage, Green Day, and the Dead.
Phill:
No shit?
Tim:
Yeah. What do you want to hear?
Phill:
I don't know. That's quite a collection.
Tim:
I'm putting in some Jimi. (Tim puts a tape into the tape deck and places the rest back in the glove box, closing it up. Some random Hendrix tune blasts from the speakers. The two are startled by the sudden abundance of sound, and turn it immediately down to a more comfortable level. Lori is awakened by this and sits up in the back. She yawns, stretches an speaks.)
Lori:
Feel free to turn the radio on.
Tim:
You see, Phill? Do you see what you've done? You've gone and woke her.
Phill:
Fuck you, Tim. It was your idea.
Tim:
I'll kick your ass!
Phill:
Do you want me to pull over?! (Momentary silence aside from the music.)
Lori:
There are tapes in the glove box.
Tim:
Oh yeah? Do you have any Jimi Hendrix? (Lori realizes what is playing.)
Lori:
Fuck you, Tim. I just woke up.
Tim:
You've been hanging around Phill, too much. (None speaks. Lori yawns again.)
Lori:
What time is it anyway? (Phill looks at the clock on the radio.)
Phill:
It's 10:30.
Lori:
It's getting late.
Phill:
How was your nap?
Lori:
No bad. Little odd, but not bad. (Silence.) Let's stop at the next exit for the night.
Phill:
Will do.
Tim:
So why you going to California, Lori?
Lori: Life's really shitty where I'm from. I guess I'm just hoping for something better.
Tim:
So it's pretty much the same situation for all of us?
Lori: Oh I doubt that.
Tim:
Why's that? (She does not reply for a while.)
Lori:
I'd really rather not say.
Tim:
Drugs? Abuse?
Phill:
She said she doesn't want to talk about it, Tim.
Tim:
I was just curious.
Lori:
Well... It's just that... My uncle is Lou Marzetti.
Tim:
Your uncle is who?
Phill: Did you just say Lou Marzetti?
Lori: Yeah. He was shot the other day.
Phill:
Oh my God.
Tim:
No shit?
Lori:
Yeah. So now there is a big hunt for the man who did it, and... I don't know... I just thought it would be wise to get the hell out of Chicago for a while, you know?
Tim:
Who shot him? (Phill hits him in the back of the head.)Ow! What the fuck?!
Lori:
No one knows. Who ever did it shot Uncle Lou and both of his bodyguards. The driver was found dead too.
Tim:
Damn. (Lori points to the windshield.)
Lori:
Look. Here comes an exit. Let's get a room.
Phill:
All right. (Camera switches to an out-side the vehicle view. The car gets onto an off-ramp as the screen fades to black.
END SCENE