THEATER 189: For the Record

While leaving the theatre one night, an actor is confronted by someone from his past.

Gary Lamb directs himself as Arlo, Larry Coleman as Spencer.

F.J. Hartland is the playwright. Based in Johnstown, Pennsylvania, he is the recipient of an M.F.A. from Carnegie Mellon University.   The prolific writer’s previous plays include TED, Fat and Fiction, Games of the Mind, A Piano Player with Sad Brown Eyes, What the Puck?, Tina, Be a Guest, Smoke and Fire, and more. He is also a director (over 100 credits) and actor.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:04

Hello and welcome to Open Door Playhouse, a theater podcast that celebrates live theater on the podcast stage. I'm Gary Lamb. At Open Door Playhouse, we strive to bring our listeners thoughtful and surprising 10-minute shorts and one-act plays that showcase insightful and new perspectives of the world we share with others. Opendoor Playhouse is a 501c3 theater organization. Support for Open Door Playhouse comes from listeners like you. Your tax-deductible donations help keep our plays on the podcast stage. Now playing in Theater 189 for the record, written by F.J. Hartland, directed by Gary Lamb, starring Larry Coleman as Spencer, and also Gary Lamb as Arlo.

SPEAKER_01 1:06

I've got rid. I've got music. I've got some I've got sweet. I've got my gown.

SPEAKER_00 2:11

This is the stage door, right? Right. This is where you come after the show for an autograph, right? How did you know that? I think I saw it in an old movie. Wait. You saw the show? Roem, Seat 16, Center. I could have gotten you a comp, you know. I wanted to surprise you.

SPEAKER_02 2:41

Well, you did.

SPEAKER_00 2:48

I have friends waiting. Spence, wait. I was gonna get you flowers. Not necessarily. But flowers seemed What? Weird. No, not weird, just not right. Oh. Not that there's anything wrong with that, it's just I've never given another man flowers. I don't need flowers. But you earned them. In the show tonight, the singing, the dancing. Wow, you were wonderful. Please. You were? I was off. I couldn't tell. The audience couldn't either. Everyone in the lobby was talking about you at halftime. It's called intermission. What is?

SPEAKER_02 3:30

In the theater. It's called intermission, not halftime.

SPEAKER_00 3:34

Right. Intermission. Did you hear that applause at the end? What is that called? A standing ovation. A standing ovation. So you've got a girl?

SPEAKER_02 3:48

No.

SPEAKER_00 3:50

Oh. You like girls, don't you?

SPEAKER_02 3:53

Of course. Good. Some of my best friends are girls.

SPEAKER_00 3:58

Oh. So it's boys then? Some of my best friends are boys. Oh. Nothing wrong with it though. Some of my best friends are gay. Oh really?

SPEAKER_02 4:12

Well no. Actually, it's not anyone. I'm really focused on my career right now. I don't have time for relationships.

SPEAKER_00 4:23

That's not good, son. Make the time. You shouldn't be alone. Woman, man, dog, something. I wouldn't have gotten through life without your mother. I miss her so much. I miss her too. She saw all of your shows.

SPEAKER_02 4:41

Unlike you, who saw none of them.

SPEAKER_00 4:44

Until now.

SPEAKER_02 4:45

Until now.

SPEAKER_00 4:48

Your mother would have been so proud of you tonight, but she always was so proud of you. You weren't. It wasn't that. I just didn't understand.

SPEAKER_02 4:57

I know I'm not the son you wanted. What do you mean? You wanted to be able to say, That's my son, the star quarterback. That's my son who pitched the no-hitter. That's my son who scored the winning goal.

SPEAKER_00 5:12

I would have understood those things better, yes, but you were the son God gave me, so long as you were healthy and happy. There's my son, who is happy and healthy. You're right. I should have been there more, supported you more. Maybe you don't remember, but growing up, you weren't the easiest person to live with. What do you mean? My only memory of you as a teenager is you going off in a huff to your room and slamming the door. Everything I said, slam. Everything I did, slam.

SPEAKER_02 5:47

Even then, I guess I was a temperamental artist.

SPEAKER_00 5:52

Temperamental doesn't even begin to describe it. The door slammed so often I'm surprised it's still on its hinges. I guess I just gave up trying. And I'm sorry.

SPEAKER_02 6:09

I'm sorry too. I should have tried harder. It probably wouldn't have helped.

SPEAKER_00 6:19

I can be pretty stubborn, you know. Oh, I know. That stubborn you got from me, but your talent, your singing. Well, you got that from your mother. I remember she came home once from one of your shows and said to me, Arlo, I can't believe that two such ordinary people like us created a child as extraordinary as R. Spencer. She said that? That I was a that I was extraordinary. She did. But it wasn't until tonight when I saw you on stage that I really understood. You have a gift, Spencer. Your mother knew she saw it from almost the beginning.

SPEAKER_02 7:03

How?

SPEAKER_00 7:05

When you were about two, your mother looked out the window and saw the neighbors laughing and pointing at our house. She went out to see what was happening. There you were on the front porch, stark naked with a saucepan on your head, and you were dancing. Yeah. You're a born showman, Spencer, and I'm sorry it took me so long to see that.

SPEAKER_02 7:29

You want to hear something crazy? I would love to hear mom sing again.

SPEAKER_00 7:36

You might be in luck. Here. What is it? Open it and see.

SPEAKER_02 7:48

A record. I don't understand.

SPEAKER_00 7:51

The first time I heard your mother sing was in church. You in church. My father made me go. What? He was better than me, my old man. That's how I learned to be a father, you know. As long as I put food in your belly, clothes on your back, and a roof over your head, I've done my duty as a dad. Those are important things, Dad. Yeah, but it's not enough. Not enough to be a real father. What was I talking about? Hearing mom saying in church. Ah, from the moment I saw your mother, I knew I'd marry her one day. On our first date, I drove us down to the Jersey Shore. Along the boardwalk there used to be these little shops where you could make a recording of your voice. So your mother and I went into this small soundproof room and I convinced her to sing.

SPEAKER_02 8:51

You're telling me this is a record of Mom singing?

SPEAKER_00 8:56

When your mother was done, I gave her the record, but she wouldn't take it. Said she'd never listen to it because she'd only hear her mistakes. That sounds like Mom. Also sounds like you. So I took the record home and played it and played it and played it, and I fell in love with her. Surprised the damn thing didn't wear out. I'd forgotten all about it. Found it in a box in the attic. You should have it. Are you sure? My father used to say, a man is what his mother makes him. She made you what you are today. You deserve to have her record.

SPEAKER_02 9:42

Thank you, Dad. I'll always treasure it.

SPEAKER_00 9:47

You won't be able to play it on that uh phone of yours. Thanks, Dad. I know. Now how about that autograph? Don't be silly. I'm as serious as a heart attack. Sign my program. It's called a playbill. Then sign my playbill. Please. See? I'm not too old to learn. Do you have a pen? Uh here. There. To my dad. No more slamming doors. Love Spencer. Thank you. I love you, Dad. I love you too, son. Go on now. You have friends waiting. Um I could call and cancel. No, no. We'll be seeing each other again soon. I promise. Okay. Hey. What? There's my son, the song and dance man. Our plays are produced by Bernadette Armstrong, recorded at the Oak House Studio in Altadina, California, and mixed by our talented sound engineer, David Peters. Sound effects and music downloaded from Audio Jungle and Karaoke Virgin. If you are interested in submitting a play for production, you can find that information on our website, www.opendoorplayhouse.org. Please share this podcast with friends and do not forget to subscribe so you will be notified when our next production goes live on the podcast.