From Now On

Excerpts from a Playscript

Billie is a Hollywood star on the verge of losing everything she’s worked for, all because she answered an interview question honestly and from her heart. Now she’s back in her hometown trying to figure out the rest of her life after success and fame have seemingly slipped away.

In this scene, Billie has come home earlier than expected to stay with her mother, Justine, and her stepfather, Travis.

Act I. Scene 1

Time: 4am. Present Day.

Setting. Oklahoma. Largish town / smallish city on the plains. Interior of an old farmhouse. Everything within is neat and tidy but dated and out of style. It’s the type of furniture and décor that was nice a few decades ago but now looks cheap — it will never be cool or retro. There’s a decent sized table. Again, nothing fancy or chic, and please not a perfect looking rustic farmhouse table. This is a family that cannot afford rustic chic.

BILLIE — female, late 20s — knocks on the backdoor. Her silhouette can be seen from behind the curtain covering the window. No one answers. Billie knocks again and calls out.

BILLIE. (A stage whisper. She wants to be heard, but it’s late and also doesn’t want to wake anyone up if they’re already sleeping.) Hello? Anyone awake? (Then more to herself) Anyone alive?

(She searches for a spare key, tripping as she scrambles around in the dark. She uses the flashlight on her phone to see better. Eventually, she finds the key and unlocks the door.)

BILLIE. Hello? Mom? Travis? Sammy? (Billie knocks again.) It’s just me. I’m coming in if that’s alright. (She enters dressed in comfortable clothing — jeans, or sweatpants. She has a suitcase and a duffle bag, and wears a small purse crossed over her chest. She put her bags down, walks around the kitchen looking tired, then sits down at one of the kitchen chairs. She puts her head in her hands for a moment. At last, she gets up and goes to one of the cabinets to pull out a plate. Although she feels awkward and uncomfortable, it’s her childhood home. She’s very familiar with it. She moves to the refrigerator and begins scrounging for food. She pulls out a bucket of leftover fried chicken.) Bucket O’ Chicken. Breakfast of champions. (She then pulls out a bag of celery, while at the same time TRAVIS — male in his 50s, Billie’s stepfather — enters the stage in his boxers and open bathrobe. Travis rounds the corner to see the refrigerator open but doesn’t see Billie because she’s squatting down looking at the door of the fridge for ketchup.)

TRAVIS. What the — Who left the fridge open? I’m going to kill those kids so help me —

BILLIE. Oh. Hey, Travis.

(Travis is startled and screams in a very high-pitched voice. He then slams the fridge door into Billie, knocking her down and scattering the fried chicken.)

BILLIE. Travis! Travis, it’s me, Billie. It’s just me.

TRAVIS. CRIPES ON A CRACKER! Dang it, Billie! You scared the life out of me!

BILLIE. I’m sorry, Travis. I’m sorry. I’m early.

TRAVIS. Well, I can see that. What happened to coming this evening? (Travis helps Billie up and they both start cleaning up the spilled chicken in these next lines, eventually ending across from one another at the kitchen table.)

BILLIE. Yeah. I was going to, but I caught an earlier flight.

TRAVIS. Why didn’t you call? I would’ve picked you up.

BILLIE. I just got an Uber. It’s fine.

TRAVIS. Aw heck, Billie. You don’t just get in the car of some stranger. For all you know it could be a serial killer.

BILLIE. What?

TRAVIS. Don’t you ever watch Dateline?

BILLIE. No, because I’m normal.

TRAVIS. Serial killers. All of them.

BILLIE. (She shrugs and shakes her head at him) Seriously? All of them?

TRAVIS. It’s just math, Billie. Statistics. Look. I’ve seen enough of those shows. If you don’t want to get murdered, don’t be rich, don’t have affairs and never, EVER hitchhike.

BILLIE. Getting an Uber isn’t hitchhiking, Travis.

TRAVIS. Really? Did you know the guy?

BILLIE. No! How could I?

TRAVIS. Sounds like hitchhiking to me.

BILLIE. I paid him!

TRAVIS. It doesn’t make it right.

BILLIE. It’s like getting a taxi!

TRAVIS. Taxis are for the city not the country.

BILLIE. Well, dammit, Travis, I guess I messed up and left my riding lawn mower in L.A.

TRAVIS. (In earnest. No longer wanting to tease her or give her a hard time.) I would’ve picked you up.

BILLIE. Yeah, you mentioned. I didn’t want to be a burden.

TRAVIS. A little late for that, don’t you think? (This makes her smile. Small beat as they sit down together. He whispers the next line.) And hey, don’t swear. Your mother hears everything. I think she can even hear our thoughts. (Another beat while he looks her over with some concern in his eyes.) You look good, even with fried chicken on you.

BILLIE. Thanks. (Starts laughing)

TRAVIS. What’s so funny?

BILLIE. (Still chuckling) It’s nothing.

TRAVIS. You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?

BILLIE. I’m not.

TRAVIS. Yes, you are. I can tell.

BILLIE. “Cripes on a cracker?” Really?

TRAVIS. (Now he starts laughing.) Aw, you know how your mom hates swearing. I’m so used to wanting to please her, I guess I do it even when she’s not around. Besides, like I said, she knows, even if she’s not around. She always knows.

BILLIE. That’s true. How is Mom anyway?

TRAVIS. She’s real mad at you, that’s for sure.

BILLIE. Mom is always mad.

TRAVIS. Not like this, she’s not. The day she found out, there was this new vein right above her left eye. It was throbbing like something out of a horror movie.

BILLIE. You don’t say.

TRAVIS. I’m not lying. It was pulsing like some sort of cocoon that was going to pop.

BILLIE. And now? What’s she like?

TRAVIS. Well, the vein is gone, so that’s a relief.

BILLIE. I’m serious.

TRAVIS. So am I. It was disgusting.

BILLIE. I’m sure it will come back now that I’m home.

TRAVIS. You can count on it. (beat) What’s your plan? How long you think you’ll be staying?

BILLIE. I have to get a job, so as soon as that happens, I guess.

TRAVIS. You have some new auditions then? That’s great! That will make your mom happy.

BILLIE. What?

TRAVIS. You know, so you can get back to working again, right?

BILLIE. Oh. No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, I’ve got to look for work.

TRAVIS. What? Here?

BILLIE. That’s what I was thinking.

TRAVIS. You’re going to stay here?

BILLIE. Sure. Why not?

TRAVIS. Is it as bad as that? There must be someone willing to hire you again. You just need to lay low for a little bit, and this will all blow over.

BILLIE. Yeah, maybe. Maybe that’s all it’ll take. My agent said that, anyway. “Time. Just takes time.” But I’m not sure time will be enough.

TRAVIS. Why not?

BILLIE. I’m not going to apologize for it. What’s the point?

TRAVIS. You’d get to work again. Billie, you’re too good. It’d be a shame if you stopped acting.

BILLIE. You didn’t see it, Travis. My own friends — or at least people I thought were my friends. Some of these people I’ve known for years. Now they won’t even return my call. They go on TV or social media and talk about me, saying things like how they hope I’ll make amends or how shocked they were when they heard. I’m lucky I still have an agent. But even she barely returns my phone calls.

TRAVIS. I’m sorry. I really am. It ain’t right. (beat) Why’d you say it?

BILLIE. Because it’s true, isn’t it? (Travis nods in agreement.) I was asked point blank. What was I supposed to do? Lie?

TRAVIS. You know what your mom thinks?

BILLIE. She thinks I did it on purpose. Like I have some sort of death wish.

TRAVIS. Do you?

BILLIE. No. (beat) Are you mad at me?

TRAVIS. Aw, heck no. I mean, you make me want to punch a wall sometimes you’re so stubborn. But, nah, I’m not mad at you. Most people would’ve lied. Most people lie every day, and not even for good reasons. I’m proud of you. It took a lot of guts.

BILLIE. I don’t think it was courage. It was just habit. Plus, I speak before I think.

TRAVIS. Well, call it what you want. Most people are ready to lie. And you know what? They practice at it, too. They practice lying. What about Eric? Is he gone, too?

BILLIE. Yeah. About a week into the whole mess, he suddenly needed a break from me, from all the “negativity.”

TRAVIS. Bottom feeder.

BILLIE. I was the star. Not him. No one knew who he was until I started dating him. Now he’s worried I’ll ruin his career.

TRAVIS. Want me to make him sing soprano?

BILLIE. (laughing) No. He’s not worth it. (longer beat. Billie is pensive)

TRAVIS. What are you thinking?

BILLIE. You remember how it was with me? Always getting into trouble?

TRAVIS. (Nods and laughs) You were a good kid. You were just stirring things up.

BILLIE. I could never sit still.

TRAVIS. I remember. I remember seeing flashlights up in the old hospital and finding all you kids in there, and then the police showed up.

BILLIE. That was a fun night until we got caught. Remember how mad Mom got?

TRAVIS. She was mad the police didn’t get involved. I guess they figured she was doing their job for them that they didn’t need to say anything.

BILLIE. No, one of them tried to say something. Do you remember? Mom was chewing us out so bad, Officer Davis stepped in and said she was being too hard on us.

TRAVIS. I think he’s still scared of her.

BILLIE. She didn’t skip a beat. She just turned her head like a dragon breathing fire and said, “I wasn’t asking for your opinion, Mikey. I know your Mom, and she’s a nice enough lady, but just because she’s okay with mediocrity, and by the look of you she is, doesn’t mean that’s good enough for me.”

TRAVIS. You’re forgetting the best part. Just before she finished yelling at him, she told him he needed a better haircut because his head looked like a hot air balloon.

BILLIE. Poor Officer Davis. He really took a hit for the team.

TRAVIS. Yeah. I thought he was going to cry. (beat) Why were we talking about this?

BILLIE. I was trying to make a point.

TRAVIS. Which is?

BILLIE. My point is, that night, all those times, Travis, I wasn’t trying to be bad. I wasn’t even trying to get attention. I was impatient. I felt that I was made for something huge or that something huge was out there in the world waiting for me. And I just would get tired of waiting. After a while, I became certain that whatever it was I was waiting for, it was never going to happen here. I had to leave. I had to be anywhere but here in this god-forsaken town.

TRAVIS. Yeah, that was you alright.

BILLIE. The funny thing is, when everyone turned on me, when all the jobs started to fall through, this, (looks around the kitchen and gestures with her arms) this stupid place, was the one place I wanted to be.

(Longer beat.)

TRAVIS. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re home. It’s not the same without you.

BILLIE. Thanks.

TRAVIS. Well, I’ll leave you to it. You should try and get some sleep.

BILLIE. I will. I’ll just finish eating, and then I’ll be right up.

TRAVIS. Jackson’s in Sam’s room, so you can have your old bed back. Night.

BILLIE. Good night. Hey, Travis?

TRAVIS. Ya?

BILLIE. I was just wondering if it takes practice to scream like a girl or does it come naturally?

TRAVIS. Now, that’s a God-given gift. (They laugh.) Hey, don’t tell your siblings. They’re fresh enough already.

BILLIE. Wouldn’t dream of it. Good night.

---

In this scene Billie’s mother, Justine, has goaded and guilted Billie into coming out with her and Travis, visiting neighbors who have become good friends to the couple. Billie remembers the neighbors from her childhood. Justine swears there won’t be any people who remember Billie from high school. But she’s wrong.

Scene 3. Carport at the Meyers’ House

Outside on the porch. Billie is nervous to go into the party, embarrassed what people might think about the collapse of her career. She has a seat on a two-seater swing. Party noises can be heard within. The screen door opens and a head peeks around. BENJI — male, late 20s — sees Billie sitting on the swing.

BENJI. Billie?

BILLIE. Oh. Hey.

BENJI. I don’t know if you remember me.

BILLIE. (Awkwardly stands up.) Yeah, of course I do. Benji. You were a grade below me, right?

BENJI. That’s right. How are you?

BILLIE. Fine. I’m fine.

BENJI. You coming in?

BILLIE. In a minute. I was just getting some fresh air.

BENJI. Didn’t you all walk here?

BILLIE. Yeah, we did. I guess I wanted more fresh air.

BENJI. I see. Do you want company?

BILLIE. (Awkwardly) Sure.

BENJI. Great. Wait here, I’ll get us some drinks. Beer okay?

BILLIE. Yeah, that works.

BENJI. Good, because that’s all we got unless you want to try my brother’s moonshine. You burn it to see if it’s okay to drink, and if it burns blue, you’re good to go. Last time he made some, Zach, my brother, you remember Zach? (She nods) Well, he poured the moonshine on a paper towel, and it burned blue alright, but it was a paper towel, so it burst into this mega ball of blue flame. He panicked and threw it in the air, and it landed right on his arm — burned the hair clean off.

BILLIE. Is that so?

BENJI. Uh-huh. It’s never grown back. The bald patch looks like Florida. Actually, it’s kind of awesome. I’ll have him show you sometime.

BILLIE. I’ll pass on the moonshine for now.

BENJI. Wise choice. Be right back.

(Benji goes inside to get them both drinks. Billie is annoyed at the thought of his company.)

BILLIE. Great. Why did I come here? I should’ve stayed home. “No one you’d really know, my ass!” I swear, she did it on purpose. (She wanders back and forth thinking. A few moments later Benji returns with drinks.)

BENJI. (handing her a beer) Here we are.

BILLIE. Thanks.

BENJI. Sorry we don’t have anything nicer.

BILLIE. Beer’s fine. It’s not like I’m the queen or anything.

BENJI. Right. It’s just that I figured given your work and all you’d be used to something classier. Cheers.

BILLIE. Cheers.

(A long awkward silence. The next two lines are spoken together)

BILLIE. So, how’s your family?

BENJI. How’ve things been? (They laugh) You first.

BILLIE. How’s your family? I mean, minus your brother’s bald arm?

BENJI. Good, they’re good. They’re inside if you want to see them.

BILLIE. Maybe in a little bit.

BENJI. Right. Fresh air. So, how’ve you been?

BILLIE. I’m okay.

BENJI. My mom mentioned you might be sticking around for a bit. Is that true?

BILLIE. That’s what I was thinking.

BENJI. You’re not going back?

BILLIE. Not for now.

BENJI. Don’t you want to go back? I mean, why would you stay here?

BILLIE. No one wants to hire me, so there’s no work. I’m supposed to be doing press and premieres right now, but I was asked not to come. I was also supposed to go to London in two months to start filming, but they replaced me. And now none of my friends are talking to me anymore.

BENJI. Don’t sound like good friends to me.

BILLIE. I’m starting to figure that out. So, you see, not much waiting for me if I go back.

BENJI. I’m sure, eventually, you’ll get work again. The world’s big. You can always make new friends.

BILLIE. I don’t think there’s enough time on earth for people to want me back, at least not those people.

BENJI. It can’t be that bad.

BILLIE. You saw it, so you tell me.

BENJI. I didn’t see it.

BILLIE. (Shocked and disbelieving) Liar. Everyone’s seen it.

BENJI. Beg your pardon, not everyone. It’s not like you’re the queen or anything.

BILLIE. Fair enough. (beat) You really haven’t seen it?

BENJI. Nope.

BILLIE. Why not?

BENJI. I don’t like to watch people in pain. Can’t figure out why the rest of the world does.

BILLIE. Huh.

BENJI. What? You don’t believe me?

BILLIE. No. I’m surprised that’s all. Most people slow down to get a better look at an accident. I don’t think I know many people who look away.

BENJI. Well, I do. I look away.

BILLIE. Huh.

(This bit begins to be a little playful. She’s enjoying herself more than she expected.)

BENJI. There you go again. You don’t believe me.

BILLIE. No, no, I do.

BENJI. You see, I have this thing about me—

BILLIE. Oh no, where is this going?

BENJI. It’s just this part of me. I don’t know. There’s something inside me—

BILLIE. Those voices aren’t real; don’t do what they tell you to.

BENJI. (smiling) Listen, I’m telling you something about me that you should know since we’re sharing a beer here, all friendly like.

BILLIE. Sorry, I’m listening.

(JUSTINE — woman in her 50s, Billie’s mother — peaks out the front door looking for Billie.)

JUSTINE. There you are. Oh. Hi, Benji.

BENJI. (standing up) Hi, Mrs. Young

JUSTINE. Your shop is coming along real nice, Benji. You boys are doing a great job up there.

BENJI. You think so?

JUSTINE. Yes, I do. It’s real professional.

BENJI. Hopefully, it gets some real customers, too.

JUSTINE. I’m sure it’ll work out. I was just checking to make sure everything was all right. Do you two need anything?

BILLIE. We’re good.

BENJI. All set, Mrs. Young.

JUSTINE. Suit yourselves. Come in when you get hungry.

(Before Justine exits back into the house, she takes a last, curious look at the both of them.)

BENJI. Yes, ma’am. What was I saying?

BILLIE. You were telling me about the voices inside you.

BENJI. Right. It’s just that I feel so terrible when someone is humiliated that I want to do something worse just to help that person out. You remember Frank Coleson?

BILLIE. Yeah, sure I do. You two are friends, right?

BENJI. That’s right. Frank moved here in seventh grade from California. He’s always been real good-natured, but he was the new kid, and you know how that goes. Everyone’s waiting to see what your like — see if you’ll mess up — see if you’re weak. That first week he was here, Frank came to school with his pants on backwards.

BILLIE. Oh! I totally remember that. Front-Butt-Frank. (They both begin to chuckle and eventually laugh a little harder.) So stupid.

BENJI. Yeah. It’s still pretty funny, though, isn’t it? (beat) Anyway, at the time, I felt so bad for him that at recess, I went and put my pants on backwards.

BILLIE. No. You did not.

BENJI. God’s honest truth, I did. He’d already turned his pants around, but people kept teasing him anyway. It’s not like I could stop it.

BILLIE. Why’d you do it then?

BENJI. I didn’t want him to be alone. Anyway, it made him smile.

BILLIE. Wow. I never knew.

BENJI. It’s true, that’s how we became friends in the first place.

BILLIE. No. I mean, I never knew you had a front butt. (He laughs) That’s sweet, Benji. Weird, but sweet.

BENJI. Isn’t it weirder to watch people at their worst — not that you were at your worst, whatever you did — but isn’t stranger to watch people suffer? All I’m saying is, maybe I’m not the weird one.

(beat)

BILLIE. Maybe you’re not. I’m impressed.

BENJI. Stick around and you’ll see I’m a pretty impressive guy.

BILLIE. (beat) Sorry, but I think your brother’s got you beat with his Florida arm.

BENJI. True. That’s tough competition. Maybe if I burned Texas into my chest hair.

BILLIE. It’s good to have goals. (beat) Anyway, I totally knew you didn’t have a front butt.

BENJI. Sorry?

BILLIE. What I mean is, do you still like to run naked through homecoming games?

BENJI. (puts his head in his hand, embarrassed) You remember that?

BILLIE. (starting to giggle) I do.

BENJI. Aw, no. I was telling the guys at the shop about you being home, and they said you wouldn’t remember, but I told them you would.

BILLIE. (Billie’s really laughing now) Aw, you were talking about me? Why? Because I’m such a big deal, right?

BENJI. You’re a big something that’s for sure.

BILLIE. I’m flattered.

BENJI. Don’t you start thinking it matters that I was talking about you.

BILLIE. Don’t get all embarrassed. Seriously, I’m touched. It’s nice to know you were talking about me, even if it had to do with you streaking.

BENJI. It’s not funny! Officer Davis still calls me “Streaker” when he sees me.

BILLIE. When the blur of your naked butt flew by, Principal Jenkins kept saying to anyone who’d listen, “Did you see that, too? Was that real?” and then Coach Mendez yelled to the team, “You see that kid? He’s got more balls then rest of you combined! Now get on that field and try not to lose!”

BENJI. (He’s horrified remembering the night and makes groans of embarrassment) Why is it still so embarrassing?

BILLIE. What on earth made you do it?

BENJI. Boredom.

BILLIE. (Laughing really hard now) That’s all? I thought it was a dare or someone was paying you.

BENJI. Sadly, no. I didn’t get any money making a fool out of myself. It was boredom. Sometimes the days just tick on by here. This day same as the last. I was bored out of my mind. I wanted to have real memories that I could look back on to know for certain I lived. So, I thought I had to do something daring, have some sort of adventure in my life.

BILLIE. Naked adventures.

BENJI. Admittedly, I wasn’t all that creative. I guess at that time, I was scared that if my life was that boring as a kid, I was, for sure, going to be a boring adult.

BILLIE. Did you ever get in trouble?

BENJI. I told Principal Jenkins all this.

BILLIE. What did she say?

BENJI. She said, “Benji, next time you feel bored and want adventure, go drink a beer like a normal teenager. And don’t do it naked.”

BILLIE. But she didn’t suspend you?

BENJI. No. I think she actually understood. She was mad, no mistake about that. But I actually think she was about to smile.

BILLIE. Do you know what I think?

BENJI. Don’t tell me.

BILLIE. No, it’s good. I swear.

BENJI. What?

BILLIE. I think we ended up winning that night because of you.

BENJI. Oh, right. My bare ass is good luck.

BILLIE. No. But maybe you are. Naked or not.

BENJI. Thanks. I appreciate it.

BILLIE. Anytime, Streaker.

BENJI. Don’t you start now.

BILLIE. I’m sorry I couldn’t help myself. It’s better than Front-Butt-Benji. (She’s looking at him trying not to laugh)

BENJI. Quit eyeballing me that way. I feel like you’re trying to remember me naked.

BILLIE. Relax, it’s not like I saw anything. You were just a hazy, flesh-colored thing going by.

BENJI. That’s a relief.

BILLIE. That’s not to say you didn’t look good.

BENJI. (This makes them both a little awkward. They both realize at once that they’re flirting with one another. Their laughing dies out a little and it returns to an awkward silence.) Do you want to come in for some food now?

BILLIE. (Looking around trying to figure out how she feels.) Sure.

BENJI. Well, Dang! Come on! We got ribs and scalloped potatoes. My Aunt Sadie made ambrosia salad. You’re going to love it. And Florida Arm’s inside. He’ll let you touch it, smooth as a baby —

BILLIE. (As they start to head inside) Benji?

BENJI. Yeah?

BILLIE. I wasn’t at my worst.

BENJI. Hmm?

BILLIE. Just, what you said before. I wanted you to know. I wasn’t at my worst. I was good. What I did was good.

BENJI. It’s nice to see you in person again, not up on a big screen somewhere.

BILLIE. You’re not disappointed?

BENJI. By what?

BILLIE. I don’t know. Some people are, and they actually say it to my face. One girl said, “I didn’t know you have freckles.” But it sounded more like, “I didn’t know you were a cockroach.”

BENJI. I think you look better in person.

BILLIE. (Flattered, embarrassed, shy) Why?

BENJI. Because it means you’re here. Come inside.

---

Rachel Kennedy is Lydwine’s resident playwright, as well as artistic director of Lydwine Stage. A mother of six, she writes from Guthrie, Oklahoma.

Guthrie, Oklahoma, 2022 - Photograph by Lydwine