Lady MacBeth is (Sein) Felled

A very short play about something

PLAYERS

George Costanza

George Steinbrenner

Lady Macbeth

Jerry Seinfeld

Cosmo Kramer

Elaine Benes

INT. GEORGE STEINBRENNER’S OFFICE

Balding, short, stocky GEORGE COSTANZA stands in front of Yankees owner G. Steinbrenner. Of course, we can only hear but not see Big Stein.

GEORGE C.: “My hot mustard idea, Mr. Steinbrenner?”

GEORGE S.: “It’s marvelous, George. Serving only spicy hot mustard with hot dogs and pretzels is the kind of forward thinking this organization needs.”

Costanza beams with pride.

GEORGE S.: “But today is my last day here, so I won’t be leading the condiment charge. Meet your new boss, Georgie. She’s Irish I hear. Those people love to drink, but they work hard. Mrs. Macbeth. I think it’s okay to call her by her first name, Becky.”

Costanza stammers and tries to speak, but before he gets a word out, the room darkens and a chill wind blows through George’s scalp. A massive shadow has opaquely enveloped, well, the universe. George whimpers a little.

LADY MACBETH: “Mr. Costanza!”

Costanza nearly doubles over in fright. He instinctively puts his hands over his head as if fending off an attack.

LADY MACBETH: “I’ll be brief. I’ve looked over your file. You’ve done C-grade work, but your real problem is loyalty. You have none.”

GEORGE C.: “Loyalty?”

LADY MACBETH: “Bring me the head of your best friend if you want to keep working for the Yankees.”

GEORGE C.: “I mean, I-- I’ve never hurt, let alone--”

LADY MACBETH: “You’re free to find another job, Mr. Costanza, unless your best friend’s head is on my desk in two weeks. That is all.”

CUT TO:

INT. JERRY’S APARTMENT

George and JERRY sit on a couch and watch the Yankees on TV. A thunderclap!

Jerry walks over to shut an open window. Rain patters down hard.

JERRY: “Two weeks of rain. Gotta be a record.”

KRAMER bolts through the door.

KRAMER: “My celluloid dread tenders me gritty, my betrothed went silent and gave me no ditty. I set my sights on popcorn and Sweet Tarts, but was left holding only the sour arts.”

George looks to Jerry as if to say “Uh, what?”

JERRY: “Oh, he had a date with a girl at the movies. Halfway through, she went for candy and never came back.”

George ponders. “Seems legit,” he thinks.

GEORGE C.: “Ah.”

JERRY: “Sit down, Kramer. Yankees are up two runs in the eighth.”

Kramer plops down in a comfy chair.

George suspiciously looks around. Slouches toward the kitchen as Jerry and Kramer are busy watching the game.

Costanza opens up a small drawer, grabs a knife and puts it in his pants pocket. He opens a large cabinet and plucks out a bag of chips.

Costanza carefully stalks into the living room and slinks back down on the couch, making sure the knife in his pocket doesn’t jab him.

Kramer immediately rises from his chair. And stares intensely at Costanza, who’s nervously devouring a chip:

KRAMER: “I sense a demon sprite, barren on top and foul, slinking like a scurvy beast on the prowl. I shall take delight in thine own hand, never blinking, till the hourglass has no sand.”

GEORGE C.: “You’re freakin’ me out, Kramer. Help, Jerry!”

JERRY: “He says he still feels terrible, and the world is nothing but crap. He’s gonna go home, be the master of his domain, then go to sleep.”

GEORGE C.: “Ah, okay.”

Kramer exits hastily without looking back, the door slamming behind him.

George looks at Jerry, who’s distracted watching the game on TV. George slowly rises without Jerry noticing.

Mustering up his courage, George balls his fists. He isn’t sure what to do, so he slams the bag of chips onto the floor. George pounces on Jerry. The comedian struggles underneath George, who’s scrabbling for the knife in his pocket.

JERRY: “Hey, yo, we’re not gay. That was just an act!”

GEORGE C.: “I gotta bring your head to Macbeth, Jerry! Or I’ll lose my job. It’s a loyalty test!”

George brandishes the knife. Jerry’s eyes grow wide as he pushes George away.

JERRY: “I’ll get you a job bartending at my gigs. You’ll meet women. I’ll introduce you. It’s me, George. Your best friend!”

GEORGE C.: “Good tips?”

Jerry shrugs.

JERRY: “Eh, you know, weeknights can be slow. But Saturday night, you can clean up.”

George seriously considers. Wait, what? No! He needs that Yankees job. George pounces again. He and Jerry struggle.

George gains the upper hand on Jerry and holds the knife to the comedian’s throat.

ELAINE bursts into the room, half-asleep and wearing one of Jerry’s shirts:

ELAINE: “What are you two idiots doing?!”

George looks at both of them, back and forth, back and forth.

GEORGE C.: “You two started up again?”

Jerry smiles sheepishly.

ELAINE: “Hey, wait a minute, George. Isn’t that knife part of the set I gave you for your birthday last year?”

JERRY: “You regifted me that set for Christmas, George!”

Now George smiles sheepishly.

CUT TO:

INT. STEINBRENNER’S MACBETH’S OFFICE

A grinning George C. struts into the office holding a large duffel bag. George looks around. The room seems, well, brighter and more alive.

GEORGE C.: “Well, Becky, if I can call you Becky--”

Wait a minute, it’s...

GEORGE S.: “I’m back, Georgie. Macbeth had a nervous breakdown. Couldn’t get over a stain on the rug in the executive suites. Wouldn’t stop staring at it. Wouldn’t stop! Yankees don’t care about stained rugs. We got a Series to win!”

Oh, Christ. Costanza is wildly disgusted. He’s completely fed up.

He reaches into the bag and takes out the severed heads of Jerry, Kramer and Elaine and dumps them unceremoniously on the floor.

Muttering to himself and still carrying the duffel bag, Costanza drags himself toward the exit, as Steinbrenner continues rambling.

Costanza throws a faux salute toward Steinbrenner before snatching a magazine resting on a nearby coffee table. He shoves the magazine under his armpit, then with his free hand grabs a fistful of M&Ms from a bowl on the same table. He rams several mouthfuls of candy into his gaping maw.

George C. scoops up one more handful before he leaves, still holding the magazine under his arm and clutching onto the empty, bloody duffel bag.

Fin!

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