Contact Rebecca Gernon to produce BitterSweet Chocolates your community theater.  Gernon and her writer's group at the World Premier of BitterSweet Chocolates in Houma, Louisiana, AWARDS 2nd Place in Henrico County One-Act Play Competition, Richmond, VA, in 2005 PAST PRODUCTIONS Houma, Louisiana. November 9-18,2007 FUTURE PRODUCIONS | BitterSweet Chocolates . . . Share our secrets!Synopsis followed by partial scene BitterSweet Chocolates explores the thoughts, opinions, and relationship of Amelia Stevens and Cynthia Alton from 1959, when they are thirty-six year old young mothers, until 2004 when they are eighty years old. The two friends are reunited in 1959 when Cynthia’s husband, the impeccable Colonel Joe, is stationed at Offutt AFB in Omaha. At this time, Amelia and her husband Ronnie, who have recently bought a cabin on the outskirts of Omaha, are busy raising their five children. Amelia is anxious to show her best friend the new cabin despite the fact Cynthia is nine months pregnant with her third child. Cynthia brings chocolates for a housewarming gift, and the two friends quickly resume their tradition of sharing their lives over a box of chocolates. When next we glimpse at Amelia and Cynthia, they are sixty years old and busy planning a surprise retirement party for Ronnie. The couples are well acquainted with each other having spent time a great deal of time together over the past twenty-five years. They believe there are no secrets between them, but the effect of a bottle of champagne exposes the unexpected. In Act Two Amelia and Cynthia are eighty. As the two friends share their chocolates, each piece reminds them of important events in the past. Even though Amelia firmly tells her husband he can't eat the last piece, he and Cynthia share it behind Amelia’s back. Their action triggers the revelation of the biggest secret of all. |
Excerpt from Act II
CYNTHIA: I like cotton underwear. My dresser is filled with it, except for that lingerie we bought at Frederick’s of Hollywood in Des Moines.
AMELIA: My gosh, I haven’t thought about lacy underwear in years. We could have bought that stuff at the mall here in Omaha. Why did we go to Des Moines?
CYNTHIA: I was afraid someone would recognize me here. I tried to keep my head down the whole time we were in Frederick’s, I was so embarrassed to be in that kind of a store. As I ducked into the fitting room with my black lace panties and push up bra I collided with Buelah Morton, the preacher’s wife. Holy cow, I don’t know who was the most embarrassed.
AMELIA: Probably the cows that sacrificed their hide for Buelah’s thong underwear and leather whip.
CYNTHIA: The next Sunday when Pastor Morton cracked that whip on the pulpit during one of his fire and brimstone sermon, I had to fake a bout of coughing to cover my laughter
“And Jesus said to the money changers,” (Crack) “get out of here you sinners. Away with all you demon spawn.”
AMELIA: The first time you told me that story, I laughed so hard I peed by pants.
CYNTHIA: On the way out of church, Pastor pulled me aside and said, “Cynthia, I heard you laughing during my sermon. Do you think sin is funny?” And I said, “No, Pastor, but imagining you chasing Buelah around the parsonage in leather underwear is hysterical.” (Pause) I don’t know what possessed me to say such a thing. Thank God Joe wasn’t with me; he’d have died of embarrassment. (Quietly) I never wore that lingerie. It’s in the bottom drawer of my dresser, wrapped in the original black tissue paper.
AMELIA: Why didn’t you wear it?
CYNTHIA: Colonel Joe lived, breathed, and died by Army regulations. Black lace panties aren’t government issue.
AMELIA: (AMELIA selects a chocolate, then passes box to CYNTHIA.)
Here, take a piece. Mmmm. Orange cream, not bad. What did you get?
CYNTHIA: Something with coconut.
AMELIA: I’ve worn out dozens of those lace outfits. Thank God Frederick’s wasn’t in business when Ronnie and I first got married, I’d have ten kids instead of five. Back then he didn’t need any encouragement, but now he does, but an outfit like that would make me a widow. I can hear Ronnie now, “Dial 9-1-1 and hand me the Viagra, honey. I’m dying with a smile on my face.”
CYNTHIA: That reminds me, you won’t see my smiling face tomorrow for lunch. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment.
AMELIA: What’s the matter?
CYNTHIA: Nothing. Just my annual checkup. The doctor will listen to my heart, draw some blood, and tell me I need to exercise. I don’t mind that, but the nurse said the doctor wants to check out my colon.
AMELIA: Doctors ought to keep their alien probes out of our innards. If God had wanted our colons looked into, he’d have put a window in our butt.
CYNTHIA: The clinic referred me to a new doctor, because I griped about the young whippersnapper I had last time. When I told him my back hurt, he said, “That happens when you get older.” His response to all my complaints was “You’re not getting any younger.” And for that bit of wisdom Medicare paid him a hundred dollars. No wonder the Social Security system is bankrupt. I could have stayed home, looked in the mirror and diagnosed myself for free. I'm seeing an older, semi-retired doctor tomorrow. Dr. Davis, have you heard of him?
AMELIA: Dr. Davis! Hot damn! Break out those black lace panties.
CYNTHIA: What? Are you nuts? This is a doctor’s appointment, not a hot date.
AMELIA: It never hurts to advertise. Haven’t you heard? Dr. Davis is available! His wife died last year. Cynthia, Joe’s been gone more than twelve years now. Come on, put a little excitement in your life, like we used to do.
