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    Precious Little Talent (NHB Modern Plays)
    Precious Little Talent (NHB Modern Plays)
    Precious Little Talent (NHB Modern Plays)
    Ebook78 pages41 minutes

    Precious Little Talent (NHB Modern Plays)

    By Ella Hickson

    ()

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    About this ebook

    A touching and funny play about 20-somethings graduating into a world that's sold them down the river.
    Joey's got a first-class degree, 20k worth of debt and works in a pub. Shunned by the world, rejected by her estranged father, she finds herself falling in love with an idealistic young American'
    'It is young, full of spluttering energy and has a real fire in its belly about the need to retain your optimism in a cruel world' Hickson really is a little bit special' - Guardian
    'Terrific poignant freshness; Sam and Joey too seem like iconic figures for our time; caught between light and dark, life and death, cynicism and faith, and full of a life-force - an impressive follow-up to Eight.' - Scotsman
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherNick Hern Books
    Release dateOct 9, 2014
    ISBN9781780015149
    Precious Little Talent (NHB Modern Plays)
    Author

    Ella Hickson

    Ella Hickson is an award-winning writer whose work has been performed throughout the UK and abroad. Her work includes: Oil (Almeida Theatre, London, 2016); Wendy & Peter Pan (Royal Shakespeare Company, 2013 and 2015); Riot Girls (Radio 4); Boys (Nuffield Theatre, Southampton/Headlong Theatre/HighTide Festival Theatre, 2012); The Authorised Kate Bane (Grid Iron/Traverse Theatre, 2012); Rightfully Mine (Radio 4); Precious Little Talent (Trafalgar Studios/Tantrums Productions, 2011), Hot Mess (Arcola Tent/ Tantrums Productions, 2010) and Eight (Trafalgar Studios/Bedlam Theatre, Edinburgh, 2008/9).

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      Book preview

      Precious Little Talent (NHB Modern Plays) - Ella Hickson

      ACT ONE

      One

      Late night.

      Christmas Eve, 2008.

      A rooftop – New York City.

      SAM (to audience). It’s Christmas Eve in the winter of two thousand eight and the night is cruel and beautiful and it feels like it’s the first time it’s ever been that way. I’m sitting on a rooftop, downtown New York City; in front of me midtown, pouring out into the night like a million luminous toothpicks, but right around me is black, black and death. I’m nineteen and I’ve got an erection, right tight into the front of my pants ’cos I can feel a woman’s breath on the left side of my neck. This nervous little breath, panting, just beneath my ear; the moisture in it licking at me in the dark night and I so desperately want to turn around and suck that in, so desperately – but I keep my hands on my thighs, just like this and I say ‘hey’.

      JOEY. Hey.

      SAM. What’s your name?

      JOEY. Joey.

      SAM. No shit, mine too!

      JOEY. Really?

      SAM. No, it’s Sam. I’m sorry – I don’t know why I just said that.

      (To audience.) She laughs this funny little laugh and it sounds funny so I say –

      You sound funny.

      JOEY. I’m English.

      SAM (to audience). She says, all like that, all ‘I’m English’, like that.

      (To JOEY.) So you’re British, eh?

      JOEY. No, I’m English. No one’s really British. People who say they’re British are just embarrassed about being English.

      SAM. What about the Scots and the Irish?

      JOEY. They’re Scottish and Irish.

      SAM. And isn’t there Wales?

      JOEY. Everyone sort of forgets about Wales.

      SAM. Tough to be Welsh, eh?

      JOEY. I guess.

      Pause.

      SAM. Politics makes for bad sex.

      JOEY. What?

      SAM. Um – sorry, it was something my dad always used to say – I – I don’t know why I – um… So… you’re up here for, um – a little air?

      JOEY. Yep.

      SAM (to audience). So I’m thinking ‘a little air’, like taking a turn on the veranda, like a midnight, moonlit stroll, like Audrey Hepburn at dawn before breakfast time at Tiffany’s; like this is the moment you might tell your kids that you met and she says –

      JOEY. Hepburn.

      SAM. Hepburn?

      JOEY. Hepburn.

      SAM. How did you do that?

      JOEY. I just – how old are you, Sam?

      SAM. How old are you?

      JOEY. Twenty-three.

      SAM. No freaking way – me too!

      JOEY. Really?

      SAM. No, absolutely not, I’m nineteen. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I – you can check my driver’s license if you want.

      (To audience.) And she only fucking does! She slides these little British, English, fingers right into my back pocket, so as I can feel the bump of her ring dig in against my butt cheek – and then BAM; I stare her right in the face, eyeball to eyeball, and that little licky breath is all over my face and my lips, all warm and moist but I don’t flinch an inch… she has this pale skin and pink cheeks like she’s been out in the snow…

      (To JOEY.) Your hand is in my pocket.

      JOEY. It’s warm.

      SAM. Okay, keep it there. That’s fine by me.

      (To audience.) And then I’m sure you won’t believe this, I’m sure you will have heard this said a thousand times before but piano music starts to play. A really well-known tune, I know, but it was, I swear to you –

      Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata’ starts to play.

      That’s it! That’s exactly the one! I swear, I swear, ladies and gentlemen, it came swinging up over the fire escapes like a beautiful baboon and fills right up all the air around us like it’s smoke and ashes and she looks at me, right dead smack in the eyes. She has beautiful eyes, like two tiny tiny fires and she pokes out her little tongue all pinky in the night sky and she… licks me. Right across my top lip; and I feel like it might just be

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