Franny Ornstein, Secret Agent/Sous Chef

by Brian Leahy Doyle

Cast of Characters

FRANCES RACHEL ORNSTEIN (FRANNY): Mid-late 20s, pretty enough, yet slightly insecure. A sous chef.

JENKS HEDGEPATH: Mid-late 20s, Franny’s fiancé. Well-built, gym-sculpted physique on a slender frame, classic good looks with a good head of hair. Knows how to pronounce words like “coif.” Venture capitalist.

VERA: Mid-late 20s, Franny’s assistant, attractive, great sense of humor, buoyant, the sort of person overlooked in high school who everyone cannot get over how great she looks at a high school reunion.

CHUCK (or DAVE): Mid-late 20s, rugged lumberjack physique. White ethnic. Also knows how to pronounce “coif,” but wouldn’t be caught dead saying it. Has perpetual two days’ growth of beard. Should look good in a flannel shirt. Ponytail optional. Plumber or furniture restorer.

R.S.: Acerbic sense of humor. Small of physical stature but with commanding sense of self.

PHELPS: WASP with a basic no-nonsense integrity. Dry sense of humor.

Setting: A bedroom. Diffused morning light through window blinds shines upon a queen-sized bed that is adorned with attractive blankets, pillows, and a duvet cover. To the right of the bed on a nightstand is a digital alarm clock, its digits frozen in time.

 

As the lights come up, we see a woman tossing and turning on the bed. From offstage we hear, the sound of a shower running. Its occupant, a man, is singing, perhaps a show tune. As the lights come to full, the woman, FRANCES RACHEL ORNSTEIN, or FRANNY, turns one more time, landing on her back. She stretches, producing a rather unladylike yawn, sits up, opens then rubs her eyes, yawns again, and looks about her surroundings. Pause. A stillness overcomes her features, as it dawns upon her that she has awakened in an unfamiliar room.
FRANNY

Where am I? (Deliberately) I don’t think I’m home.

She quickly drops back down onto the bed and looks under the blankets to see that she is wearing pajamas. A sigh of relief.
From offstage left, the sound of the running shower ends. FRANNY looks in the direction of the “bathroom,” frozen in fear, drawing the covers tightly around her in anticipation. A man, JENKS, enters from stage left, wearing a towel around his waist and black socks with garters. He is bare-chested, with a well-sculpted torso. He runs a comb once through his perfectly coiffed hair.
FRANNY

Who are you?

JENKS

Baby sweetie, are you okay? Did my muffin-wuffin have a bad dream. (Pause.) It’s me. Jenks. Hedgepath… Your fiancé. You know, the man of your dreams, the cynosure of your affections, the E in your E=mc2.

FRANNY

(Aside to the audience, deliberately, a statement of fact) I have never seen this person before in my life.

JENKS

All right, enough with the amnesia routine. Let’s get with the script, okay? You obviously had too much to drink last night, and I’ve got a long and busy day today. I’ve got a major merger to manage, and I gotta be at the top of my game. You think that it’s easy liquidating all of those Staples stores? The life’s work of a venture capitalist, the cross I bear.

He returns to the bathroom.

FRANNY

What next? I want to go home.

VERA enters from offstage right, from the “kitchen,” carrying a breakfast tray with a muffin on a plate, a glass of orange juice, and a cup of coffee. FRANNY looks at her completely stupefied.

VERA

Good morning, sunshine! What you don’t recognize me? Were we clubbing too much too late last night? It’s me, sugar, you know, Vera, your plucky personal assistant with the saucy sense of humor who may or may not be a person of color with minor self-esteem issues and a 2,000- square-foot loft apartment in Astoria with a breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline, which I somehow can miraculously afford despite my middling salary and me supporting my live-in hipster boyfriend, Raul, who has an incredibly astute fashion sense and no viable source of income. You want butter on your gluten-free blueberry muffin?

FRANNY

Uh, sure…
As FRANNY eats the muffin, VERA begins to give FRANNY a pedicure.

VERA

Of course, girl, I’m not as attractive as you are – yep, that’s what the good Lord wrote on that score – but even though I may or may not be a person of color with or without minor self-esteem issues, who’s kind of stuck with Raul for the duration, know, girl, that you can count me on to dispense dollops of good ol’-fashioned common sense and practical advice when it comes to your man, your career, and, strangely enough, your investment portfolio. Yep, that’s what the good Lord wrote.

FRANNY

I have an investment portfolio?

VERA

Well, yeah!

FRANNY

What next?

The doorbell rings.

VERA

I’ll get that.

She exits stage right and returns momentarily with a man, CHUCK (or DAVE), who is wearing, jeans, a flannel shirt, work boots and a tool belt.

CHUCK (or DAVE)

Hi, I’m your prototypical proletarian/working-class guy – probably Irish or Italian – with a
perpetual two days’ growth of beard and an accent straight outta the outer boroughs, and even
though I edited The Harvard Law Review, now instead of earning a six-figure income as an
associate on his way to partner at a major law firm I’m working as a plumber or maybe a
furniture restorer, but what I really want to do is someday open my own bakery on Arthur
Avenue, get married, have a couple kids, coach Little League and – oh, man, I think I’m falling
in love with you!

FRANNY

(Aside) I think I’m falling in love with him, too – and I have no idea why! (She returns his gaze, deeply smitten.)

CHUCK (or DAVE)

(With understated sensuality) Hi, call me Chuck (or Dave).

VERA

(With a knowing look) Girlfriend, uh huh!

Just at this moment, JENKS returns from the bathroom, dressed in an expensive tailored suit. As he adjusts his cufflinks, he takes one look at CHUCK (or DAVE) and thumps his chest.
JENKS

My woman.

CHUCK (or DAVE)

(With sincere resignation) Franny, even though I know that I am hopelessly in love with you after spending less than two minutes in your presence, I can’t in good conscience violate the Nice Guy Code by taking another guy’s girl, nor act upon the passions stirring in my heart as I gaze meaningfully into your eyes! VERA Oh, damn! This is a quandary – and you’re already running late for your flight to Kiev!

FRANNY

(Looking from VERA to CHUCK (or DAVE) then to JENKS) Kiev? Nice Guy Code? Venture capitalist? Who are you people? Where the hell am I? What is going on here? And how do you know my name? My God, I feel like I’m playing a character into one of those preposterously formulaic Hallmark Channel made-for-television movies…

All of the characters freeze in place, except for FRANNY who is captured in a special. Downstage right in another special, we see R.S. and hear the theme music to The Twilight Zone.

R.S.

Submitted for your approval, the life of one Frances Rachel Ornstein – Franny to kith and kin
alike – daughter of Sid and Miriam Ornstein of Little Neck, New York, who awakes one midMay
morning by all appearances a seemingly mild-mannered sous chef at a fashionable upscale
Manhattan eatery – or is she? As Franny grapples with her identity, where do we, gentle viewers,
draw the line between fact and fiction, dreams and nightmares, true love, espionage, and the
over-arching conventions of a television movie genre?

Downstage right special goes out. The lights are restored to the previous light plot.

FRANNY

Espionage?

VERA

(Consulting her iPhone) That’s right, girl, and we gotta get you into a cab to Kennedy so you can make your flight to Boryspil International, catch your connecting to Simferpol and then straighten out that mess in the Crimea! Then after debriefing the NSC in the Oval Office on Friday, Jessica Chastain’s people want to take a meeting. That’s right! So get out of those PJs! On the double, hup two! (She takes the breakfast tray and walks to the “kitchen” and then stops.) Damn! Me and my mouth! (With a look over her shoulder to CHUCK (or DAVE) with an air of menace.) You didn’t hear that!

CHUCK (OR DAVE)

Oh, no, of course not, who’s Jessica Chastain?

VERA

Exactly! (She exits.)

CHUCK (or DAVE) looks at FRANNY, smiles with goofy good will, and then realizes that JENKS has been glaring at him. A silent stare-down ensues between the two men. Pause.
JENKS

(Eyeball to eyeball with CHUCK (or DAVE), with a trace of mockery in his voice) Okay, working-class hero, you got a pipe to plumb or an ottoman to a, to a, well, whatever you do with an ottoman?

CHUCK (or DAVE)

(Smiles) Yeah, no problem, Mr. 1 Percent. I’ll check with Vera, Franny. (He exits stage right.)

JENKS

All right, baby, I gotta bounce if I’m going to make that conference call with Lloyd Blankfein and Jamie Dimon. Listen, text me when you get to your hotel in Sebastapol, okay? Hey, maybe, we can order in sushi on Friday night, watch a movie (a sly look), canoodle?!

FRANNY

Okay…

JENKS

(Looking at watch) Oh damn, now am I going to be late! (A quick kiss on her cheek and then before he exits stage right) Hey, next time let’s be a little more careful about getting crumbs on the duvet cover, okay?

FRANNY

Okay…

JENKS exits.

FRANNY

(Sitting up in bed) I used to know who I was, what was expected of me… I was a good sous chef! Scheduling the staff, making sure that the kitchen was well-inventoried, conducting line checks, and overseeing the timely rotation of all food products! Oh, bliss! And then there were those special moments when would I fill in for the Chef or Chef de Partie! Life was good, life was meaningful, I knew my station in the restaurant, my place in the world. And how I dreamed that someday I, too, would wear the toque, a necktie, the white double-breasted jacket, apron, and shoes with the steel or plastic toe-caps… But now I feel lost, thrust into a role for which – hell, I have no idea what these people are talking about! How did this happen!? All I want is to go home. Who can help me make sense of all this?

CHUCK (or DAVE) re-enters, stops at threshold.

CHUCK (or DAVE)

Um, excuse me, Franny, the bathroom is through here, right?

FRANNY shoots a knowing look to the audience, nods, and winks.

FRANNY

Yeah, I guess so. Hey, listen, Chuck (or Dave), you seem like a guy who pretty much has his head on straight. Does any of this espionage stuff make any sense to you?

CHUCK (or DAVE)

What do you mean?

FRANNY

I mean, do I look like a secret agent to you? I mean, really?

CHUCK (or DAVE)

(After a moment, unbuckling his tool belt, letting it drop to the floor, and taking her into his
arms) Franny, all’s I know is that that guy doesn’t love you, not the way that I could love you. Yeah, sure, I know, we only just met about ten minutes ago and he makes a lot more money than me (a lot more), but I also know in my heart of hearts what’s in my heart – besides ventricles and atria, that is – and that is a deep abiding desire and passion to be with you for the rest of our lives.

He looks deeply into her eyes and then kisses her, which she returns, and then he breaks off the kiss. She lies limp in his arms, on the verge of passing out.

FRANNY

Wow!

CHUCK (or DAVE)

div>But, Franny, I am so torn. As the seemingly not-so-bright, but decent, kind-hearted workingclass
nice guy in this scenario, I just can’t steal the other guy’s girl away from him, even if he is
a schmuck! Pardon my French!

FRANNY

That’s Yiddish, but I catch your drift. But what if he wasn’t, isn’t, my fiancé?

CHUCK (or DAVE)

What do you mean?

FRANNY

What if this reality is all just a big dream or a nightmare? What if in some way we could awake and find our true happiness together – you running the bakery on Arthur Avenue, coaching Little Chuck (or Dave)’s Little League team, going to my parents’ house in Little Neck for the Passover Seder, me becoming a full chef wearing a white double-breasted jacket… What if?

CHUCK (or DAVE)

Wow, that’s my dream, too!

FRANNY

So help me get out of here!

CHUCK (or DAVE)

Okay!
They stare into each other’s eyes for a moment. He once again kisses her, a kiss which she returns, and once again she becomes limp in his arms.

FRANNY

Bei mir bist du schoen!

CHUCK (or DAVE)

Can I call you Frances?

FRANNY

You can call me anything you like!

VERA returns from the kitchen.

VERA

What you are still in your PJ’s! Girl, you got to be on an airplane in order to save the Free World, you hear me! You hear me! All right, it is time I call in the big guns! (Takes out her iPhone, dials a number.)

FRANNY

Vera, I know that you’re my plucky personal assistant with the saucy sense of humor who I can count on to dispense dollops of good ol’-fashioned common sense and practical advice when it comes to men, career, and, strangely enough, my investment portfolio, but –

A cell phone rings beneath the bed. FRANNY and CHUCK (or DAVE) look at each other confused. Sliding out beneath the bed on a sliding contraption is PHELPS, as we hear the theme to Mission: IMPOSSIBLE.

PHELPS

Good morning, Special Agent Ornstein, Vera… guy in flannel shirt.

CHUCK (or DAVE)

Call me Chuck (or Dave). Pleased to meet you.

PHELPS

Same. Good morning, Special Agent Ornstein. You’ll find a dossier inside the duvet cover. No pressure, but your country’s depending upon you. Franny, the future of the Free World rests upon your accepting and completing this assignment. As always, should you or any member of your team be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow all knowledge of your actions. Of course, if you don’t accept the assignment, I will self-combust in 10 seconds… 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 ½, 1 ¾, 1 3⁄8, 1 3⁄16…

FRANNY

Okay, okay, I’ll do it. I’ll do it.

PHELPS/VERA

Whew!/Atta girl!

PHELPS slides back under the bed.

VERA

Okay, I’m going to pack you a little sack lunch for your trip because I know how much you hate airline food!

FRANNY

I’m sorry, Chuck (or Dave). I just didn’t have the fortitude to see Phelps self-combust.

CHUCK (or DAVE)

(Crestfallen) Hey, look, it’s okay. I understand.

FRANNY

I’ll make it up to you, I promise.

CHUCK (or DAVE)

Oh yeah, sure, no worries. Maybe we could do coffee, shoot some pool or something.

FRANNY

I’d really like that.

CHUCK (or DAVE)

Yeah, okay. I really like you.

FRANNY

I really like you, too. (A beat) Well, I better get changed. Goodbye.

CHUCK (or DAVE)

Bye. (He starts to exit.)

FRANNY

Chuck (or Dave)…

CHUCK (or DAVE)

Yeah?

She rushes into his arms, kisses him passionately, a deep, long soul kiss. They come up for air, she is limp, almost delirious, looks into his eyes.

FRANNY

Thank you!

And she passes out on the bed.

The lights fade to black, and after a short pause, lights resume. FRANNY is lying on the bed. CHUCK (or DAVE) is holding a cold compress to her forehead.

FRANNY

There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home…

CHUCK (or DAVE)

It’s okay now. You’ve just had a bad dream.

FRANNY

Oh, darling, I am so happy to see you. I had the strangest dream. I was a special agent for the NSA about to be married to a venture capitalist named Jenks Hedgepath, and you were a plumber or a furniture restorer.

CHUCK (or DAVE)

A plumber, me? That was a bad dream. Listen, Frances, I’ve got to get ready for work, but let me get you something for breakfast. Vera?

VERA

(Entering with a sack lunch) What you are still in your PJ’s! On the double, hup two! You got a flight to catch!

As lights fade to black, we hear the theme music from The Twilight Zone.

BLACKOUT