Hemingway’s Lost Manuscript: A Short Play

CAST OF CHARACTERS

ERNEST HEMINGWAY (HEM)

GERTRUDE STEIN

ALICE B. TOKLAS

F. SCOTT FITZGERALD

EZRA POUND

SCENE ONE

(SPOTLIGHT onstage opens on a group of well dressed “literary-types” who are engaged in scholarly debate while awaiting the arrival of their friend, ERNEST HEMINGWAY.  The group, GERTRUDE STEIN, ALICE B. TOKLAS, F. SCOTT FITZGERALD and EZRA POUND are gathered in the drawing room of  27 rue de Fleurus, STEIN and TOKLAS’ Parisian apartment and salon, circa 1921.)

GERTRUDE STEIN:

Hem is on his way over.  He’s very keen to hear our thoughts- Seems he’s got a first draft working that he’s quite taken with.  I must say, I haven’t heard him so enthused since… Well, since I don’t know when…

F. SCOTT FITZGERALD:

That’s good news!  The old boy has been rather down lately.  At least he’s back to writing again!

(Off-stage we hear the door open and slam shut, followed by a bit of ruckus.  Soon, HEMINGWAY- HEM- enters.  Stumbling- obviously drunk- he’s holding a leather-bound Moleskin notebook which is bulging with napkins and scraps of paper.  Placing a sugar cube on a slotted spoon, HEM goes through the theatrics and pyrotechnics of fixing himself a drink of absinthe.)

F. SCOTT FITZGERALD:

Alright, friend, what are you on about? What’s this magnum opus you’ve been sitting on?

HEM:

It’s a story. (solemnly) “For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn.” (his eyes narrow and move from person to person, as he betrays just the slightest hint of a smile)

EZRA POUND:

(visibly moved) That- that’s quite something…

HEM:

(nodding) Damn good, isn’t it?

ALICE B. TOKLAS:

It is certainly an evocative and powerful piece.

(HEM swallows the last of the green concoction and hands the notebook to STEIN, who begins leafing through it- she continues to do so throughout the play- jotting down notes and randomly jettisoning pages.)

HEM:

It just came to me.  I was sitting there just thinking about baby shoes one day when, BANG! it hit me: “For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn.”… and I thought “Now, there’s a good place to start!”… then I just began to, you know, flesh it out…

ALICE B. TOKLAS:

Flesh it out?  You mean there’s more?

HEM:

Of coouuuuurrse, you know: a detail here; a character arc there; a big twist ending!

EZRA POUND:

(puzzled) Twist ending?

HEM:

What can I say?  I was rolling…  Honestly, I cannot think of the last time the words came flowing so freely from my pen, page after page after PAGE after page!

EZRA POUND:

(skeptical) Sounds… long…

F. SCOTT FITZGERALD:

(cautiously optimistic) Wellll… What’s it about?  With that opening line I-

HEM:

(putting his hands out, as though setting a scene) It’s the story of a baby shoe salesman… You see, he’s never sold even a single baby shoe- Not one!  It’s just not in him to be a salesman, you know?  He craves adventure!… He yearns for passion!… The love of a good woman!…

ALICE B. TOKLAS: B-but the shoes…

HEM:

(mildly irritated) The shoes are beside the point…  Anyhow, this baby shoe salesman closes up the shoe store one night and on his way home, he finds a big bag of stolen money!  You know, one of those real big sacks that has, like, a big franc sign on the side?

(HEM puts one arm around FITZGERALD’S shoulder and, with the other outstretched, makes a grand, sweeping gesture, as though surveying a vast horizon of possibilities.)

HEM:

(grandiosely) I’m seeing “Baby Shoe Salesman” as the tentpole of a whole franchise:  Sequels; Prequels; Spinoffs! Imagine… a whole “Baby Shoe Salesman Extended Literary Universe” with multiple timelines andmultimedia crossovers! Just think, with all the merchandising and commercial tie-ins, the kind of revenue an I.P. like this can generate!

FITZGERALD:

(sheepish) I…P?… Hem, what the hell are you-

 

HEM:

(desperate now, with both hands grabbing FITZGERALD by the collar, and nodding slowly) Scott, this could really turn everything around for me. Hell, I probably won’t even have to write anymore!  No more fishing, or getting gored half to death in Pamplona… I hate Pamplona!… I won’t have to pretend I like boxing… I can drink daiquiris… Daiquiris, Scott!

HEM:

Look, forget the fucking shoes, Goddammit!!  Just forget the shoes, ok?.. (exasperated) Maybe I oughta change that first line…  Ok, ok…so there’s this… this fishmonger- never sold a fish…He’s on the run because now the mob is after him…

(The surrounding LIGHTS dim so that the drawing room is shrouded in darkness, while the actors are illuminated in a bright SPOTLIGHT. In slow motion, HEM performs an elaborate pantomime implying the action of the story’s outlandish premise- flapping of arms, finger pistols, the can-can, the robot, etc.  This portion of the play should be largely improvised, and will last a solid four minutes. Slowly, as HEM‘S routine comes to a close, the LIGHTS return to normal.)

HEM:

(raising a celebratory banana daiquiri- an absurdly ornate assemblage of bamboo umbrellas and skewered kiwi) It’s called, “For Sale: Fish, Never Cooked and/or Eaten.” (having a second thought)-title needs a little work…(pauses) Well…what do you think?

(TOKLAS, POUND and FITZGERALD stare bewilderedly at one another.)

GERTRUDE STEIN:

(Returning HEM ‘S much thinner Moleskin) …I have notes.