Stefanie Glick, Playwright , Producer,  Bio/Contact , Home

stefanie glick

photo #1 - Reason
photo #1 - Reason

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photo #1 - Reason
photo #1 - Reason

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Excerpt from Play 
 

(KNOCK on door.  WOMAN crosses the room and opens the door.  HITMAN, an exceptionally handsome man, stands in the doorway.) 

 

HITMAN:             Can I help you?

 

WOMAN:                                        Isn’t that my line?

 

HITMAN:     Not when the visit is clandestine.

 

(HITMAN lets himself into the Living Room and hangs his jacket on the coat rack.)

 

HITMAN:        So you’re the lovely lady who needs,

                       you know, assistance?

 

WOMAN:                                             I’m not quite up to speed.

                    Who are you? 

 

HITMAN:                                Oh, so that’s how you’ll play this.

                    Well lots of ladies have tried that role, miss.

                    But either way, the word on the street --

 

WOMAN:      The street?!

 

HITMAN:                            Don’t worry.  It’s still discreet.

 

WOMAN:     I don’t know what you’re talking about.

 

HITMAN:      Says here…

 

(HITMAN removes a small piece of paper from his pocket and reads it.)

 

HITMAN:                           Yup. Right address.  Beyond a doubt.    

 

LADY 3: (aside)  My goodness.  He is handsome. 

 

LADY 2:                                                     (aside)  What a hunk!

 

HITMAN:      What’s happened in here?  What’s with all this junk?

 

WOMAN:      Oh, just a bit of fun.

 

HITMAN:                                         It’s a real mess.

                      Alhough roses are my weak spot.  I confess.        

 

WOMAN:     They are?

 

HITMAN:                      Yes.

 

 (HITMAN bends to pick up a rose petal and fondles it sensually.)

 

HITMAN:                              Blankets of flowers warm those

                      eternally departed. And in a rose,

                      one hears songs of the broken-hearted. Hey,

                      I think I’m getting ‘bit carried away. 

                      Excuse me.  But it must be your perfume.

 

WOMAN:      Or just the petals strewn around the room.

 

HITMAN:     Soft petals, broken and bare, sigh so sweet.   

 

WOMAN:      Who are you?  You sound more like an aesthete…

                      or poet, or…I feel sort of confused.  

 

HITMAN:      Translucent eyes.  You’ve the face of a Muse.

 

WOMAN:    (transfixed) Well…I…um…