THE JOE SHOW

a play by

TERRY BISSON

CHARACTERS

VICTORIA Office temp.

JOE Talk show host, seen only on TV monitor.

SHARON Office worker, slightly punk.

ELEANOR, An academic in her fifties.

THE SETTING. New York City, today.

MAIN SCENE: A sketchily-suggested studio apartment. Door, center stage rear, hung with locks and chains. Stage left, kitchen area--small refrigerator, cabinets, suggestion of a stove; behind and to one side, a bathroom door. Stage right, closet area--dresser, mirror, folding screen. Center stage front, a BIG screen TV on a coffee table. Beside it a stereo. Facing the TV, a couch. Lamp and phone, wine bottle, ashtray on end table. Minimal, casual.

VICTORIA's voice is live. JOE's voice always comes from speakers.

SCENE ONE

Sound of keys in rear center door locks.

Victoria enters, wearing a plain coat and rakish hat. Closes door behind her. She addresses audience indirectly, as if talking to herself or remembering.

VICTORIA. It had been a long day. Nobody ever said temping would be easy.

Locks the locks, one by one.

VICTORIA. But I had licked it once again, and I was home. Home alone!

Victoria hangs up hat and throws coat into corner. Dressed in nondescript generic skirt and blouse--receptionist or secretary. Steps through bathroom door and we hear bathwater. Steps back out, closing bathroom door behind her, cutting noise.

VICTORIA. I had my routine down pat. The little bubblebath pill already waiting in the tub. The CD player set up, ready to go.

Picks up a remote from end table and fires it at the stereo. We hear Miles Davis's "So What." (As in In The Line of Fire.)

VICTORIA. Miles Davis. Just like In The Line of Fire.

Steps behind screen and undresses. Skirt, blouse, pantyhose, hung over screen. Looks over top of screen.

VICTORIA (smiles at her joke). Can I help it of Clint and I are soul buddies?

Walks to end table in slip. Lights a joint. Studies display on phone/answering machine.

VICTORIA. Only one message on my machine, and I knew it would be from Reuben, and I wasn't taking his calls. No way. I was home alone with my favorite houseplant.

Back behind screen. Slip hung up. Walks quickly, nude, across back stage into bathroom. Bathwater off as Coltrane's solo begins.

VICTORIA. Home alone with my favorite tenor player. That's why I knew something was wrong, right away, when Coltrane fucked up.

Saxophone makes bleating noise. Stops. Starts over. Stops.

VICTORIA (in doorway in towel). Coltrane fucked up?

Victoria comes out, wrapped in a towel, puzzled. The stereo is making strange noises, like a band tuning up. She points remote at it and fires. Stereo light goes off.

JOE. Sorry about that.

Victoria clutches towel more tightly around her and looks around the studio.

JOE. I thought music would be easy, like speech, but it's not.

VICTORIA (alarmed). Who's there?

JOE. You want the short answer or the long answer?

VICTORIA. Who the fuck is in my apartment?

JOE. I'm not in your apartment.

VICTORIA (looks at answering machine). You're on my answering machine?

JOE. Just for amplification. Pick up the phone. It's easier.

Victoria picks up phone with two fingers, as if it were hot.

VICTORIA. Hello?

JOE (phone voice). Hello, Victoria. I like your new haircut.

VICTORIA. What is this, some kind of weird crank sex call? Who are you? What do you want?

JOE (phone voice). Calm down, Victoria. Like I said, do you want the long answer or the short answer?

VICTORIA. The short answer.

JOE. I'm a temporary electronic entity that has taken over your TV.

Victoria stands motionless for a long pause. Looks at TV. Back at phone. Back at TV.

JOE. Victoria, are you still there?

VICTORIA. Better give me the long answer.

JOE. Good. Hang up the phone and turn the TV on, and I'll explain.

Victoria hangs up the phone, picks up the remote, points it at the TV and fires. The TV comes on. We see a man sitting at a plain desk on a rather bare TV sound stage. This is Joe. He is a nondescript amalgam of Conan, Leno, Letterman and Chevy Chase. The generic white male talk show host.

JOE. Thanks. Since I am part of the electronic matrix, I can access most of the electronics in your apartment, like the CD player and the phone. But the TV is the real me.

VICTORIA. Uh-huh. The real you. (Humoring him, while looking under the couch, under the end table, behind the TV.)

JOE. Real is only relative, of course. There's not really a real me. I'm a temporary electronic entity, created out of the network television matrix in order to to communicate with ...

VICTORIA. So what's your name? (Still humoring him while looking into kitchen cabinets, refrigerator, even oven.)

JOE. Name? I didn't think about a name.

VICTORIA (going to door and looking out peephole). Even a temporary electronic entity has to have a name.

JOE. A name. (Tapping on desk.) I don't know. Help me think of something.

VICTORIA. How about Joe. Jim. Jack. John.

JOE: Joe it is, then. (Brightens and sits up straighter.) That would make this The Joe Show. I wonder if I could come up with a Joe Show Band.

VICTORIA. Slow down, Joe. (Sits on arm of couch; lights joint. Since she's checked out the apartment, she's more curious than scared.) I still want to know who you are, and what you're doing in my apartment. I'm as good a sport as the next girl, but enough is enough, okay?

JOE. Number one--I'm not in your apartment. I'm in your TV. If I were in your apartment, you probably wouldn't be sitting there so casually, your thighs slightly parted, so delightfully rubenesque that a towel doesn't begin to cover the charms which ...

Victoria's legs fly together. Stubs out joint. Jumps up and grabs remote. Points it at TV.

JOE(ducking). Don't get so excited! I can't see you. You can't see out of a TV, can you?

VICTORIA (fires). Hasta La Vista, Joe Baby!

The TV go off.

VICTORIA(shaking her head). Schmuck! (Stubs out joint.) Guess I'm going to have to cut down on the dope. Oh well. (Pours a glass of wine. Carries it into bathroom.) Maybe cut down on the Coltrane too. I know I'm going to have to cut down on the TV.

The TV comes back on. A sign behind Joe now reads, THE JOE SHOW. Joe comically signals for quiet. Loud canned laughter.

VICTORIA (off; from bath). I thought I turned you the fuck off!

JOE. I can work the remote. And I'd rather be on than off. Anybody would. You can't blame me for that.

VICTORIA (off; almost whining). Just go away. Please!

JOE. No need to be so hostile, Victoria. It's after eight-thirty, which means we only have half an hour.

VICTORIA (off). Half an hour till what?

JOE. That's what I'm trying to explain, if you will just let me! Why don't you come out and watch the show for a few minutes. Ten minutes. That's all I ask.

Sound of water draining. Victoria comes out wrapped in towel, drying her hair. Tiptoes shyly, glancing warily at TV, to behind screen.

JOE. May I suggest the black lace bodysuit with the scooped peekaboo front and the stretch satin back?

VICTORIA. Jesus! You've been going through my drawers?

JOE (holding up his hands). How can I go through your drawers? I'm not even a real person. You order your clothes by phone, from Victoria's Secret, that's how come I know what you have.

VICTORIA. Well, stay the hell out of my stuff. And forget the bodysuit, it makes me feel like a sausage. Makes me look like a sausage. It was a mistake.

Victoria comes out from behind screen in a terrycloth robe, flops down on the couch.

VICTORIA. This had better be good.

JOE. Why don't you return it? Get your money back?

VICTORIA. Return what?

JOE. The black lace bodysuit with the scooped peekaboo front and the ...

VICTORIA. Jesus! Forget my lingerie and cut to the chase. You had ten minutes to explain what this is all about. It's almost gone.

JOE. Okay, here goes. To start with, as I've said, I'm not really a person. And this isn't really a TV show, though you've probably already figured that out.

VICTORIA (disgusted). Thanks a lot!

JOE (tendentious). I am actually an entity created out of the electronic matrix, a temporary consciousness put together as a communications interface in order to make a link between my Creator and you, the people of Earth, through ...

VICTORIA (holds up hand). Wait.

JOE. You want me to start over?

VICTORIA. No, I heard what you said. I just don't believe it. I don't intend to believe it. I am not one of those Elvis sighting ladies.

JOE (a comic). If I could get the King himself on THE JOE SHOW, would that convince you? (Canned laughter.) Only kidding, Victoria! I have very limited powers and bringing Elvis back to life is not one of them. I exist for one purpose only, to make a connection between my Creator and your President.

VICTORIA. Bill Clinton?

JOE (playing the comic again). I sure wasn't created and sent to Earth to talk to Al Gore. Or Ross Perot! (More canned laughter.)

Victoria stands up and hits the remote. Joe goes off but doesn't stay off. Holds up his hands in mock surrender. More canned laughter.

JOE. I'm sorry, Victoria. I am an entertainment entity, after all, made out of network TV. It's part of my heritage to play for laughs. (Oozing sincerity, wringing his hands like Arsenio.) A simulated human interface made out of talk show hosts and news anchors has all sorts of human needs, including the need to get a few laughs. And applause.

Applause. Joe quietens it with a wave of his hand.

VICTORIA (angry). Excuse me? I just want to turn you off, okay? I'm not stupid. I know this is some kind of Totally Fucking Hidden Video or something, and it's not all that funny. So just tell me the real deal and we'll all have a laugh--a small one--and I'll get on with my life.

JOE: Do you have somebody coming over or something?

VICTORIA. None of your fucking business.

JOE. Okay, okay. You said you'd give me twenty minutes to explain, remember?

VICTORIA. It was ten and it's over.

JOE. Let me try again. As I already explained, my only reason for being here, for being at all, for existence, is to set up a communications link between my Creator and Bill Clinton. So your next question is, where do you come in, right?

VICTORIA (sitting again, still pissed). I don't have a next question. I don't have a last question. The whole thing is just too incredibly stupid.

JOE (whining). You said you'd let me explain, Victoria. You could cooperate by asking the right questions.

VICTORIA. Okay, okay. Where do I come in?

JOE (tendentious). I'll come to that part in a minute. First, let me point out that this other intelligence, this magnificent extraterrestrial, my Creator, is using a very short window for this communication, which is why it has to happen tonight. In eighteen minutes, actually. It may never be possible again.

VICTORIA. I'm supposed to believe that you are, like, an emissary from another intelligence?

JOE. I like that. That's a good word, emissary.

VICTORIA. What is this--thing? This so-called magnificent extraterrestrial.

JOE. It's not exactly a thing. It's huge, bigger than your entire star system. It's not a biological entity; not even a consciousness, which is a focusing and limitation of intelligence--but an unlimited intelligence made up of electrical impulses; a creature of pure energy. Sort of a plasma cloud. Light years across and almost invisible, all the way on the other side of the galaxy. Are you following me so far?

VICTORIA (impressed in spite of herself). I guess. I gotta say, that's the most complicated thing I ever heard on a talk show.

JOE. Good. It gets even better. Because it so happens that right now, this evening, there is a brief moment--about a minute and forty seconds--during which my Creator will be in direct contact with this side of the galaxy, through a fortuitous fold in space-time. And when the opportunity arises to make a link, to reach out and touch someone, so to speak, why not use it?

VICTORIA. I guess, but-- Clinton?

JOE. Can you imagine trying to have an intelligent conversation with Yelstin?

VICTORIA (intrigued). So you're, like, up on Earth politics and everything?

JOE. It's not that complicated, is it, Victoria? Big dog bites little dog, that sort of thing. Woof woof. (More canned laughter.)

VICTORIA. I thought you were going to cool it on the comedy.

JOE. Sorry. I'll delete the laugh track. (Raises laughter with one hand, then kills it, like an orchestra conductor.) See? Anything for you.

VICTORIA (getting into it). Okay. So now, explain where I come in. What do you want me to do--call the President?

JOE. No, no, no. I'm setting that up through the White House staff. The actual communication will be through a satellite link at approximately 9:04 Eastern Standard Time, when the President will be on Air Force One and a temporary alignment of the Aurora Borealis with the galactic lens will make this otherwise unthinkable transmission possible. For one minute and forty seconds. Think of it--an actual conversation between the leader of the Free World and an awesome alien intelligence. Alien but friendly.

VICTORIA. How friendly?

JOE. Very friendly. Very very friendly.

VICTORIA. So where do I come in?

JOE. Well, to let me use your phone line. And to help me maintain the link. That's the hard part. So to speak. Maybe you want to slip into something comfortable while I explain it. Have some more wine. Another hit of dope.

VICTORIA. No way, not if I'm going to be talking to the President.

JOE. You won't be talking to anybody but me. Besides, does Bill Clinton look to you like a guy who's never smoked a joint?

VICTORIA. Yes. I know for a fact that he's never inhaled.

JOE. Whatever. Anyway. You are the key to the whole process, Victoria. One, you are smart and capable. Two, you read science fiction.

VICTORIA. No, I don't. I watch Star Trek, the Next Generation, when there's nothing else on.

JOE. Close enough. Three, you are a Democrat. And four, you look so good sitting there, cross-legged, with nothing on under your robe but those adorable little white cotton panties.

VICTORIA: I beg your pardon? (Fumbles for remote; fires.)

TV goes off, but comes back on. Now the JOE SHOW sign is neon; classier. The desk looks a little newer too. Victoria sits but no longer cross-legged. Looks down robe and pulls it tighter around her neck.

VICTORIA. You fucking peeping Tom. I thought you said you couldn't see out of the TV!

JOE. I can't, exactly. But I admit, that was sort of an evasion. Light is just wave action, and I'm all wave action. Inside or outside your robe is all the same to me. I know for example that you aren't wearing a bra; that you don't need one, because your wonderful little ...

VICTORIA. Shut up. Just shut the fuck up. This is either some kind of public access channel sick joke or some kind of weird alien interplanetary sexism!

JOE. Interstellar. You don't have cable. And maybe you're right. But just hear me out, okay? I'm getting to the hard part. So to speak. We chose you for this operation, Victoria, not only because you are cute, and you are cute, but because we figured you would have the the intelligence to understand and go along with it. If we chose wrong, and we may have chosen wrong, it's a lost opportunity, since there's not enough time to set up another communications link. I like your new haircut, by the way.

VICTORIA. How'd you know I have a new haircut, anyway?

JOE. Seventy-eight dollars, with the tip. On your VISA card. I get all sorts of weird info through the electronic net.

VICTORIA (peering at screen). You look brighter. You've got a neon sign.

JOE (turns to admire sign). The Joe Show! I'm coming alive. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Warming up.

VICTORIA (stepping back from TV). Jesus. This is real! You are real, aren't you.

JOE. Not real. I'm an electronic simulation, remember? A temporary entity. But I'm serious. And it's almost nine o'clock. Can we talk now without you freaking out and turning off the TV or calling 911?

VICTORIA (sits back down, flabbergasted). I guess. You just switch yourself back on anyway.

JOE (whining). But it hurts my feelings, Victoria. Even if I am put together out of talk show hosts and news anchors, I have feelings. At least, I think I do.

VICTORIA (losing patience again). Just explain, Joe. Okay?

JOE. Okay. It's kind of simple, really. Kind of stupid. The thing is, we need you to help me maintain my consciousness. Are you familiar with how an erection is caused in the human male by the blood engorging the organ you call the penis?

VICTORIA. Familiar enough.

JOE. Okay. Then you probably also understand how thought, imagination, consciousness itself, is made possible by the blood flow to the neural mass you call the brain.

VICTORIA. Get to the point!

JOE. Well, this electronic neural simulation we call Joe--meaning me--combines all that in one electron flow pattern, since with a temporary entity there is no need for long-term memory or reproduction. My Creator made it all one system, to simplify things. But it makes things more complicated in a way, since to maintain the electron flow to the so-called brain or consciousness circuit, we also have to keep the sexual circuit stimulated.

VICTORIA. You're telling me you can't think straight unless you have a hard-on?

JOE. That's it. Exactly. Of course we are talking electronic simulations here. Actually, I don't even have a...(Looks down at his lap.)

VICTORIA. Spare me the details. Do you mean this whole time we've been talking, you've been ...

JOE. ...maintaining my consciousness by enjoying the company of a beautiful woman who just stepped out of the bath. Victoria, I'm only here because you turn me on.

VICTORIA. So you're asking me to strip for you?

JOE. Not exactly. I know from the orders you place that you like to, shall we say, pamper yourself with elegant and exotic lingerie.

VICTORIA (defensive). There's nothing exotic about it, and I bought most of it for my boyfriend.

JOE. Reuben. But you bought several things since you broke up with him.

VICTORIA. Maybe I decided to be my own boyfriend. And look, I still say this is sexist as all hell!

JOE. Maybe it is, Victoria. But I can't help what I am, which is an electronic entity made out of network TV, which makes me very male, and probably what you call sexist. If you had cable, or if I had been put together out of PBS, maybe music or even Charlie Rose would provide me with consciousness. As it is, it's visual sexual stimulation. A beautiful woman in beautiful things.

VICTORIA. White cotton panties are not exactly exciting lingerie.

JOE. Tell that to Elvis.

VICTORIA (intrigued; laughs). I can't believe this! I'm getting hustled by a horny talk show host.

JOE (offended). So don't believe it then. What do I care? I didn't set this up and neither did you. We're both just doing our jobs. If it bothers you that damn much, then forget it. Get dressed and go out, or turn off the lights and go to bed. All you'll miss is THE JOE SHOW. And a chance to facilitate a once-in-eternity communications link between your President and an incredibly wise and interesting and magnificent extraterrestrial that's about eighteen times the size of your entire fucking solar system.

VICTORIA. Don't get so excited! (Pours a glass of wine.) Do me one favor and knock off the Elvis talk, okay? It makes me feel like a nut case.

JOE. Done. Elvis is history.

VICTORIA. Now, what is it, exactly, that you have in mind?

JOE. Okay. You know that sheer camisole top and scoop front bikini with lace inserts you ordered from Victoria's Secret last week, in the magenta?

VICTORIA. Yeah.

JOE. Well. I'll bet you were planning to wear it tonight.

VICTORIA: Well. Actually, I was.

JOE: Well?

Victoria steps behind screen. Hangs robe over it. White cotton panties. Steps back out wearing camisole and bikini.

VICTORIA. This what you had in mind?

JOE. Does Father Guido Sarducci wear a hat?

On the show, a cymbal crash. The ragged beginning of a bump-and-grind burlesque tune.

VICTORIA. That band is pretty bad, Joe.

JOE. They're out of here! (Cuts them off with a Letterman-like gesture.) They're history, just like Elvis.

VICTORIA. I guess you are kind of sweet in your own way. (Sits seductively; lights the joint.)

TV flickers. There is now a sofa to one side of Joe's desk. A woman in a short black leather dress, showing lots of leg, sits on it, next to a guy wearing blue jeans and a sport coat.

VICTORIA (leans forward). Hey! Now you've got guests! Who are they?

JOE. Nobody. Really. Just generic. Part of the matrix. See how the show livens up when you slip into something comfortable?

VICTORIA. Are you trying to make me blush?

JOE. With all my heart. I love it when you blush there.

VICTORIA. Where?

JOE. On the insides of your thighs.

Victoria lays back, even more seductive. Getting into it.

VICTORIA. Don't be getting out of hand, Joe. Aren't you supposed to be calling the White House or something?

JOE. I'm on the line right now. I'm in the West Wing, talking to Stephanopolous. He's the one who has to convince the President this is for real. We can't do it cold.

VICTORIA: He's cute, that Stephanopolous. (Shrugs the camisole strap off one shoulder.) But how can you be talking to him and, you know, like, romancing me at the same time?

JOE. Multi-tasking. It's what I'm best at.

VICTORIA. And Stephanopolous, he believes your story?

JOE (leaning, chin on elbow; looks drowsy). Oh, yeah. We're almost ready to put the call through to the, you know--what's his name ...

VICTORIA: Bill Clinton. The President. Hey, Joe!

Joe wakes up.

VICTORIA. Sit up! Jesus! You're the one that told me to wear this outfit.

JOE (struggling to stay awake) . Sorry. It's just that the link takes so much energy ... it's hard to maintain full consciousness ... we're about ready to make the connection now, and you're doing fine, but ...

VICTORIA. Wake up, dammit! (Gets up and walks to screen) Keep talking.

JOE. ... but how about that little item you ordered when you were still going with what's-his-name ...

Camisole and bikini appear over top of screen.

VICTORIA: Reuben.

Victoria steps out wearing a thong bikini and a low cut lacy bra. We've gone from Victoria's Secret to Fredericks of Hollywood.

VICTORIA (putting on large gold loop earrings). Have you made the link yet?

JOE (wide awake now). It's going through right now. The Borealis is shimmering. The Galactic lens is lined up. There's an energy corona around Air Force One you would not believe. Your President and my Creator are about to make contact. In only a few seconds, if we can maintain this connection, we are going to make history.

Victoria sits on couch. Very sexy. Very deliberate.

VICTORIA. Now you're the one who's blushing, Joe.

JOE (with a bright, playful smile). Must be because I like your earrings.

Joe's female guest has legs spread a la Sharon Stone. Guy beside her has one arm over her shoulder, feeling her breast.

VICTORIA. Pretty racy show tonight, Joe. Except for the band.

JOE. I'll get rid of the band if you'll get rid of that bra.

VICTORIA. You already fired them, remember?

JOE. I'll hire them again so I can fire them again.

VICTORIA. What girl could resist such ardor?

Victoria does a slow strip tease, pulling down the cups of the bra, but leaving it on.

JOE. I think we have contact!

Guests sit up and both applaud. Victoria does too.

VICTORIA (feeling intimate as she unhooks bra). Tell me something about this Creator of yours, Joe. What's he like?

JOE. What makes you so sure it's a he?

VICTORIA (laughs as she slips off bra). Call it intuition.

JOE (thoughtful). Well, he's like a plasma cloud. He has no mass but a certain luminosity.

VICTORIA (cozily cuddles herself). Not that kind of stuff. I mean, is he nice?

JOE. Nice?

VICTORIA. Do you like him?

JOE (intimate, warm). Like him? I love him. I adore him. He created me. He's given me this wonderful existence, even if it is just temporary.

VICTORIA (purring; he's won her over). I'm a temp myself. WE temps should stick together. Do you want me to delete something else?

JOE. Delete?

VICTORIA (teasing). Take something else off, dummy.

JOE. Do I? Does Leno have a jaw?

Victoria teasingly takes off an earring and drops it on the floor. It rings when it hits.

JOE. I was sort of thinking of the little panty thing, you know...

VICTORIA (seductively). Oh you were, were you. (teasingly) But I'm going to leave it on for now and give myself a little almond oil rubdown. (Gets lotion from end table.) Besides, aren't you supposed to be working on this historic communications link?

JOE. I am.

VICTORIA. Multi-tasking?

JOE: You bet. You bet your sweet ass.

VICTORIA (scolding). Joe!

Victoria rubs oil onto the backs of her knees, the bottoms of her feet, and the insides of her thighs. A slow and sexy sequence. Joe stares out of the TV, transfixed.

VICTORIA. How's Bill doing?

JOE. Bill?

VICTORIA. He and your boss getting along?

JOE. Fantastic. But who's paying attention?

VICTORIA. Thought you were multi-tasking.

JOE. Multi-pleasure is more like it, Victoria.

She teasingly lies back on the couch, glistening, her legs spread invitingly.

VICTORIA. You say such nice things, Joe. I almost wish you were a real guy.

JOE. I almost am.

As the lights go down, Victoria begins to caress herself suggestively. It gets darker.

We hear a cymbal crash. Lights go back up. Joe, startled, sits upright. Victoria does too.

VICTORIA. I thought you fired that band. You okay?

JOE. Absolutely.

VICTORIA. What happened?

JOE. Nothing! I mean, everything! The Borealis window closed. The communication is over. It worked.

VICTORIA. It did?

JOE. Absolutely. It was great. The White House, Bill on the phone, the whole nine yards. You were great, too. Honest.

VICTORIA. I was?

She gets up, finds her robe, puts it on. Feels awkward. The intimate moment is over..

JOE. Absolutely. Anyway, my time is up. I have to go.

VICTORIA (disappointed). Go?

JOE. Yeah, see, the thing is, I have this long shut down protocol.

VICTORIA. Shut down. Does that mean ... you die?

JOE. Yeah, but it's no big deal. Like I said, I'm a temporary entity. (Lights a cigarette) Last cigarette! (Canned laughter.)

The camera moved in closer on Joe.

JOE. I forgot, did you tell me, how do you spell your last name?

VICTORIA. W-i-n-d-e-r.

The camera pulls back so we see Joe's guests on couch.

JOE (mispronouncing). Victoria Winder, folks!

Applause from the audience; the two guests on the couch applaud.

VICTORIA (pissed; corrects him). Winder.

JOE (out of the corner of his mouth). I'll call you, Victoria. (Stands and leans across desk to shake hands with the guests).

Victoria stands looking confused, unconscious of the fact that her bathrobe is open.

The TV switches to a sitcom. Seinfeld.

VICTORIA (musing aloud to audience). And that was it. The Joe Show was gone. Suddenly, I was watching "Seinfeld" which I hate.

Victoria flicks through all the channels. Shivers. Closes the bathrobe tightly.

VICTORIA. Suddenly I felt cold and very naked. I went to bed.

Lights down.

SCENE TWO

Lights up. Victoria is fully dressed, getting ready to go to work.

VICTORIA. The next morning, while I got ready for work, I thought, No way! No fucking way. And yet ...

Picks up lingerie from floor. Half-smoked joint. Earring rolled under sofa. Looks puzzled, quizzical.

Lights down.

One light up. Victoria in spot; arm up, as if on subway. Reading the paper.

VICTORIA. I even bought the New York Times on the way to work, but there was nothing in it about a call to Air Force One from the other side of the galaxy. But would there be? By the time I got to work, I had put it out of my mind.

Lights down.

One light up. Victoria in spot; in bathrobe with remote, channel surfing. Regular channels fly by.

VICTORIA. That night--okay, the next few nights--I flipped through the channels once or twice--okay, several times--not really expecting to find him. But that was it.

Lights down.

One light up. Victoria in spot; in bathrobe, hand on phone.

VICTORIA. I would have forgotten it altogether, except that Joe did say he would call. For a night or two--okay, a week or two--I almost expected to hear his voice whenever I picked up the phone. But I got over it.

Lights down.

One light up. Victoria in spot; dressed for work with shopping cart. Reading supermarket tabloid headline: HOUSEWIFE STRIPS FOR STAR MAN!

VICTORIA. Then three weeks later, while I was standing in line at the Key Food on Broadway and 96th, my eyes lit on one of those bizarre supermarket tabloid headlines.

VICTORIA (scornful). Housewife strips for star man! Her sexy chemise powers interstellar summit! Jesus! (Reads on.)

VICTORIA. Imagine my surprise when I read what was essentially my own story, with only the names changed. This woman, who lived in Bend, Oregon, had been contacted by an entity she called Luxor, who ran a sort of game show on TV, and who had enticed her into a form of strip roulette in order to "engorge his faculties" so he could set up a meeting between an extraterrestrial intelligence and ex-President Reagan.

Needless to say, she was not a Democrat but a Republican.

Lights down.

One light up. Victoria in spot, on phone. Holds tabloid in one hand.

VICTORIA. First I was amazed. Then skeptical. Then pissed. Then curious. I tried calling the Weekly Worldly, but the paper's phone, in Sioux City, was unlisted. So I called my only contact in the newspaper business, my former best friend, Sharon, who worked editing the Personals for the Village Voice, and read her the headline.

VICTORIA. I thought they made those stories up.

SHARON (phone voice). They do.

VICTORIA. No they don't. Let me tell you what happened to me ...

Victoria hangs up, turns to audience.

VICTORIA. My story seemed to make Sharon nervous. She said she would call me right back, but she didn't. She wouldn't take my calls, either. I waited a few days, during which I scanned the supermarket tabloids for follow-up stories, but there was only the usual Elvis and saucer stuff. (picks up phone) Finally I called Sharon at work and left a message on her voice-mail:

VICTORIA (on phone). Either return my call, Sharon, or I will tell your mother what you actually do at the Voice! (Hangs up.)

Phone rings immediately. Victoria answers.

VICTORIA: Hello.

SHARON (phone voice). Vickie, can you meet me today after work? There's a coffee shop at the corner of 21st and Park.

VICTORIA. Fine. (Hangs up.) Wonder what's her problem?

Lights down.

SCENE THREE

Lights up. Set is a booth in a coffee shop. Two women in booth. SHARON is blonde, heavy-set, slightly punky; combat boots. ELEANOR is in her fifties, slim, wears big glasses.

VICTORIA enters, hangs her coat on hook; sits in booth.

SHARON. Vickie, this is Eleanor from NASA.

VICTORIA (abrupt). Gladdameetcha. Now why the hell have you been giving me the goddam runaround, Sharon?

SHARON. Because it happened to me, too, Vickie. It happened to thousands of women.

VICTORIA. What happened? What are you talking about?

Waitress brings coffee.

SHARON. A couple of weeks ago, an electronic entity showed up in my computer wanting me to wear leather and lace for him.

VICTORIA. Leather and lace?

SHARON. I have a little personal collection.

VICTORIA. Were you smoking dope?

SHARON. I don't smoke dope anymore. I quit when you did.

VICTORIA. Did he tell you he was trying to set up a meeting with President Clinton?

SHARON. The Dalai Lama.

VICTORIA. And you believed him?

SHARON. Don't sound so shocked, okay? You always have to sound so shocked. To tell you the truth, Vickie, I figured it was some horny hacker's demented masterpiece, but harmless enough. And I'm kind of a hacker myself. Anyway, he got me going. With the computer it's more physical than with the TV. You can run the mouse all over your ...

VICTORIA. Spare me the details. (Angry.) Then Joe's whole story was bullshit!

ELEANOR. Not exactly.

VICTORIA. Who's this?

SHARON. Eleanor, from NASA, remember? She saw it on the Internet.

VICTORIA. Saw what on what Internet? Slow down, you two!

SHARON: The story! After I heard from you, I got curious, and I posted an inquiry on the Internet--

ELEANOR (smiling sweetly). It was clever. It said, 'Had safe sex with an electronic entity lately?'

SHARON. And by midnight I had heard from eleven hundred women on three continents. All of whom had been contacted by an electronic entity and--

VICTORIA (pissed). Contacted? Seduced. Coerced. Raped, is more like it!

SHARON. Whatever. Don't get so excited, okay? You always have to get so excited. Persuaded, let's say, to strip on the evening of October 11th under the pretext that--

VICTORIA. Eleven hundred on the same night?!?!

ELEANOR (sweetly). It's called multi-tasking.

SHARON. Anyway, to make a long story short, they--we--all tell the same story. The temporary entity, the interstellar plasma cloud intelligence, the high-level meeting. The details vary, but the results are all the same.

ELEANOR (shyly). We all undressed for him.

SHARON. We all took it off.

VICTORIA. So it was a hustle.

ELEANOR (tendentious). A hustle, in the sense of an illusion, absolutely. But like any good illusion, parts of it were true. I know because we at NASA had been--

VICTORIA. NASA? The space agency?

SHARON. I told you when you came in, Eleanor is from NASA.

VICTORIA. Jesus! I thought you meant the county on Long Island. Anyway. Go ahead.

ELEANOR. We at NASA had been tracking this thing for over a month.

VICTORIA. Tracking what thing?

ELEANOR. The electronic entity. The thing you call Joe, and Sharon calls Reuben.

VICTORIA: Reuben?!!

SHARON: Just let her finish, okay? You never let anybody finish.

ELEANOR. We at NASA had become aware that there was a free floating conscious entity in the electronic matrix around the country in early October. It showed up in NASA's global satellite links, in the Internet, in the cable TV system, even in the phone lines. We were still tracking it when it suddenly disappeared on the 12th of October. What we didn't find out until later was that it had contacted thousands of people, all women, without our knowing about it.

VICTORIA. But--didn't you just say you were one of them?

ELEANOR (primly). I keep my private life separate. At least I thought it was private. Until I saw Sharon's message on the Internet.

VICTORIA. So Joe was real after all! (Stunned, but pleased.) A self-created electronic consciousness!

ELEANOR. Not self-created. The part about the plasma cloud, the non-biological intelligence bigger than a star system--that part was also true. As soon as we knew what to look for, we located it, all the way on the other side of the galaxy. And the plasma cloud created the temporary electronic entity, there's no doubt about that; matrix nets have imprints like DNA. Right now at NASA we are trying to figure out a way to set up communications with the plasma cloud directly, since the interface it created for itself was only temporary, and is gone.

SHARON. And was such a fuckin' liar.

VICTORIA. But wait! If all that was true, Joe and his Creator, both parts of it, then what was the lie?

SHARON. All the rest. Clinton. Stephanopolous. Air Force One. The Dalai Lama. Ronald Reagan. Michael Jackson--

VICTORIA: Michael Jackson?!!

Eleanor is blushing, looking down into her wine glass.

SHARON. Don't be so judgmental, okay? You are always so judgmental. But yes, the phone call to the Dalai Lama or Mother Teresa or whatever--that part was all bullshit.

VICTORIA. If all the communications stuff was bullshit, then what was the point? Why were we contacted at all?

ELEANOR (still blushing). Think about it.

SHARON. Think hard.

VICTORIA. You girls are not serious. Joe--the entity--was just using us to--to get off? That was the whole purpose?

ELEANOR (nodding). Sex.

SHARON (signals for check). He was cruisin'.

ELEANOR. Either it was the electronic entity or the plasma cloud. Or maybe both at once. We at NASA are still working on that.

Waitress lays check on table.

VICTORIA. Well, I'll be damned.

They all get up, lay down money, put on their coats.

SHARON. And there's one other part that's a lie.

VICTORIA: What's that?

They walk off stage (out of the coffee shop); Eleanor first. Sharon and Victoria follow. Victoria is last.

SHARON: The part where he says he'll call you.

VICTORIA: Oh, that. (Looks toward audience as she follows the other two off stage.) That part I never believed.

Lights down.

Curtain.

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