Dedication
from Drama For High Society: 4 New Stage Plays
by Oliver Allen
To my mother—whose strength shaped the rhythm of my earliest sentences, and whose love taught me that art is only worthwhile when it carries a heartbeat.
To Paco—steady, loyal, and unshakably present, even when the world felt like it was tilting off its axis.
To my sister—my first audience, my fiercest critic, and the one who reminds me that family is a lifelong workshop in honesty.
To my cousin Ian—who kept laughter alive in the rooms where it was needed most, and who taught me that kinship can be both refuge and rebellion.
To the women I love, dearly and without hesitation—
Jasmine Washington, whose brilliance and fire sharpened my own;
Varshni, whose gentleness and clarity steadied my storms;
Natalia Nova, whose presence reminded me that beauty can be both fierce and quiet.
Each of you left fingerprints on these pages.
To my father, Lloyd Allen—for the lessons spoken and unspoken, the lineage of grit, and the reminder that a man’s voice is strongest when it refuses to disappear.
To Dr. Fox and Dr. Adams—who saw the writer in me long before I had the courage to claim him, and who insisted that intellect and imagination are not opposing forces but necessary partners.
To my old basketball crew—who taught me rhythm, timing, teamwork, and the poetry of motion long before I ever stepped into a rehearsal hall.
To Matt Landers—a friend who shows up with sincerity, humour, and the kind of loyalty that doesn’t need to announce itself.
To Greg Ould—whose compassion, clarity, and grounded wisdom helped me stay upright in seasons when the world felt too heavy.
And finally, to everyone who has ever held space for my voice—whether in conversation, in silence, or in the wings of a stage. This book is stitched together from all of you.
Drama For High Society
4 NEW STAGE PLAYS
By
Oliver Allen
2026
Drama for High Society: 4 New Stage Plays
Playwright’s Note — Oliver Allen
The first truth I have to admit is this: being a writer in this era feels like standing on a cliff edge while the ground keeps eroding under your feet. The world moves at a velocity that mocks reflection. Technology accelerates everything—communication, outrage, forgetting—until the human voice risks becoming background noise in its own century. And yet, paradoxically, this is exactly why the theater remains one of the last sanctuaries where a writer can still slow time, still insist on breath, still demand that an audience sit in the dark and listen.
These four new stage plays—bound together under the title Drama For High Society—are my attempt to carve out that sanctuary. They are not polite plays. They are not designed for a world that scrolls. They are built for the stage, where the spoken word still has the audacity to matter.
The Writer’s Task in a Fractured Age
To write today is to resist disappearance. It is to insist that language can still hold weight even when algorithms flatten nuance into content. A writer in this moment must be both archivist and prophet: preserving the textures of lived experience while imagining futures that might redeem or indict us. The work is harder now, not because inspiration is scarce, but because distraction is infinite. The writer’s task is to keep the signal alive in a world addicted to noise.
My dramaturgical lineage—Hemingway’s clarity, T.S. Eliot’s fragmentation, Atwood’s moral ferocity, Langston Hughes’s pulse, Tim Rice’s theatrical wit, Alan Menken’s melodic generosity, Alain Boublil’s epic sweep, Dionne Brand’s political lyricism, Phyllis Webb’s quiet radicalism—reminds me that writing has always been an act of defiance. These artists wrote against their eras as much as within them. They carved out space for the human voice to remain sovereign.
Why Theater Still Matters
Theater is the one art form technology cannot fully conquer because it requires bodies in a room. It demands presence. It demands vulnerability. It demands that we witness each other without filters, without edits, without the illusion of infinite choice. In a world that increasingly prefers simulation to encounter, theater remains stubbornly, beautifully analog.
The spoken word—delivered live, unrepeatable, uncorrectable—still has the power to cut through the static. It can slow a racing mind. It can expose a truth that no screen can hold. It can remind us that we are not algorithms; we are breath and bone and trembling intention.
These plays are built on that belief. They are written for actors who understand that language is not merely dialogue but ritual. They are written for audiences who crave the shock of recognition. They are written for a society that has forgotten how to listen and must relearn it together.
The Four Plays as a Single Gesture
Though each play stands alone, the collection forms a single argument: that high society—whether defined by wealth, intellect, culture, or aspiration—must confront its own illusions. These plays interrogate the masks we wear, the systems we inherit, the betrayals we justify, and the tenderness we still dare to seek. They are comedies in places, tragedies in others, but always they are invitations to witness the human condition without the anesthetic of irony.
In binding them together, I wanted to create a book that feels like a manifesto disguised as entertainment. A reminder that drama is not merely spectacle; it is a method of thinking. A way of holding a mirror to a world spinning too fast to see itself clearly.
A Stance Against the Velocity of the Present
If the world is turning out of control, then the playwright’s job is not to chase it but to anchor it. To plant a flag in the ground and say: Here. Look here. Listen here. Theater is not a retreat from the chaos; it is a counterweight. It is the place where we slow the world down long enough to understand what it is doing to us.
Drama For High Society is my contribution to that slowing. It is a book for those who still believe in the power of the stage, the dignity of language, and the radical act of gathering in the dark to hear a story told aloud...
O.A.
SYNOPSIS — APPETITE FOR BETRAYAL
Every Friday night, shy amateur chef Doug Albeito hires Lena Buchard, an escort known for her discretion and emotional intelligence, to taste-test his cooking. What begins as a strictly professional arrangement becomes a quiet ritual of comfort and connection. Doug cooks with a joy he hasn’t felt in years, and Lena finds herself in a rare space where she is valued for her honesty rather than her body.
Doug’s longtime girlfriend, Sherri Renaldo, notices the sudden change in him — the excitement, the secretive energy, the renewed passion for cooking — and assumes he’s having an affair. Her suspicion grows into obsession as she tries to uncover the identity of “the other woman.”
Meanwhile, Doug’s charismatic but self-serving best friend, Jason Thurlow, meets Lena by chance and becomes instantly infatuated. Seeing an opportunity to claim something Doug clearly treasures, Jason calls Lena privately and sleeps with her. For Lena, it’s just another job. For Jason, it’s a victory. For Doug, it’s a betrayal that shatters him.
When Doug discovers what happened, he is devastated — not because Lena slept with someone else, but because he realizes he had begun to care for her in ways he never admitted. The fragile balance between the three collapses.
Sherri, determined to catch Doug in the act, hides in his closet during one of the Friday cooking sessions. She overhears everything — the truth about Lena, the betrayal by Jason, and Doug’s unspoken feelings. Bursting out of hiding, she confronts them both in a chaotic, cathartic showdown.
In the aftermath, Doug ends his friendship with Jason, recognizing the toxicity he’s ignored for years. He reconciles with Sherri, not through romance but through honesty — acknowledging the emotional distance that led him to seek connection elsewhere.
Lena prepares to leave their lives, believing she has caused irreparable damage. But in a surprising gesture of grace, Sherri invites her to stay for dinner.
In the final scene, Doug cooks while Sherri and Lena sit together at the table — two women who were never rivals, sharing a meal that symbolizes forgiveness, understanding, and the strange, unexpected friendships that can grow from broken places.
The play closes not with romance, but with connection, healing, and the quiet recognition that intimacy comes in many forms.
A Stage Play in Three Acts:
ACT I — “FRIDAY NIGHTS”
CHARACTERS
- LENA BUCHARD — an escort, early 30s, composed, observant
- DOUG ALBEITO — amateur chef, late 20s, earnest, anxious
- SHERRI RENALDO — Doug’s girlfriend, late 20s, sharp, emotional
- JASON THURLOW — Doug’s best friend, early 30s, charming, selfish
EXPANDED ACT I — “FRIDAY NIGHTS"
SCENE 1 — DOUG’S KITCHEN, FRIDAY EVENING
Warm, amber lighting. The kitchen is small but lived‑in: a stack of cookbooks, a fridge covered in magnets, a single basil plant trying its best. Doug moves with nervous precision, tasting, adjusting, wiping the same spot on the counter three times.
A knock.
Doug freezes mid‑wipe.
DOUG
(whispering to himself)
Okay. Okay. It’s fine. It’s just feedback. Paid feedback. You’re not auditioning for anything. You’re not… performing.
He opens the door. Lena enters with the quiet confidence of someone who has seen every kind of room and every kind of man.
LENA
Evening, Doug.
DOUG
Hi. Yes. Evening. Come in. Please. Sorry — I’m still getting used to… this.
LENA
Most people don’t hire me for my palate. I understand the awkwardness.
DOUG
Right. Well. Tonight is… lemon‑thyme chicken with roasted fennel.
LENA
(smiles)
You always sound like you’re confessing.
Doug laughs too loudly, then tries to recover.
DOUG
I just want it to be good.
Lena sits. Doug places the plate before her like an offering.
She tastes. A long, deliberate silence.
Doug watches her like a man awaiting a medical diagnosis.
LENA
The fennel is perfect. The chicken needs… confidence.
DOUG
Confidence?
LENA
You’re afraid of salt. Don’t be.
DOUG
I’m afraid of everything, honestly.
LENA
Not cooking. That part you do with your whole chest.
Doug blushes, surprised by the compliment.
DOUG
Thank you. Really.
LENA
You’re welcome. And Doug?
DOUG
Yeah?
LENA
Stop hovering. I’m not going to run away with the plate.
Doug steps back, flustered. Lena smirks.
Lights fade.
---
SCENE 2 — SHERRI’S APARTMENT, LATER THAT NIGHT
Sherri paces her living room, phone in hand. The space is tidy but tense — like someone who cleans to avoid thinking.
SHERRI
(voice message to friend)
He’s glowing. Like… glowing. He hasn’t smiled like this since we started dating. And every Friday he’s “busy.” I’m telling you, something’s up.
She stops pacing, thinking.
SHERRI
He’s cooking again. That’s the weirdest part. He only cooks when he’s trying to impress someone.
She ends the message, then immediately replays it, listening to her own paranoia. She sighs, rubs her temples.
SHERRI
(to herself)
I’m not crazy. I’m not. Something changed.
Lights shift.
---
SCENE 3 — DOUG’S KITCHEN, ONE WEEK LATER
Another Friday. Doug is plating with more confidence. Lena sits, watching him with a faint amusement.
LENA
You’re improving fast.
DOUG
I practice every night.
LENA
For me?
Doug freezes, spoon mid‑air.
DOUG
For… the feedback. The… the process.
LENA
Doug. I’m not judging. I’m just asking.
DOUG
I don’t know. Maybe. You’re the first person who actually tells me the truth.
LENA
That’s my job.
DOUG
Yeah. But you do it kindly.
Lena softens.
LENA
Kindness is extra. I don’t charge for that.
Doug laughs, relieved. Lena watches him — not romantically, but with a quiet curiosity.
LENA
You cook like someone who’s trying to say something without words.
DOUG
Maybe I am.
LENA
And what are you trying to say?
Doug opens his mouth, then closes it.
DOUG
I… don’t know yet.
Lights fade.
---
SCENE 4 — OUTSIDE A BAR, SAME NIGHT
Jason smokes, leaning against a wall like he’s posing for a photo no one is taking. Lena exits the bar, coat wrapped tight.
Jason notices her instantly.
JASON
Well, hello.
LENA
Not interested.
JASON
You don’t know that yet.
LENA
I do.
She keeps walking. Jason follows a few steps, amused.
JASON
You’re Lena, right? Doug’s… cooking consultant?
She stops. Turns.
LENA
You’re Jason.
JASON
(smiles)
He talks about you.
LENA
He shouldn’t.
JASON
He’s proud. Says you’re helping him “find his spark.”
(leans in)
I can see why.
LENA
Goodnight, Jason.
She leaves. Jason watches her go, intrigued and predatory.
Lights fade.
---
SCENE 5 — SHERRI’S APARTMENT, MIDWEEK
Sherri sits with her laptop open to Doug’s shared calendar. She zooms in. Zooms out. Refreshes. Refreshes again.
SHERRI
Friday. Friday. Friday. Always Friday.
She slams the laptop shut.
SHERRI
I’m going to find out who she is.
Lights fade.
---
SCENE 6 — DOUG’S KITCHEN, THIRD FRIDAY
Doug is plating a dish with unusual tenderness. Lena enters, tired.
DOUG
You okay?
LENA
Long week.
DOUG
Sit. I made something comforting.
He sets down a bowl of soup.
LENA
(smiles softly)
You’re learning my tells.
DOUG
I pay attention.
She tastes. A long silence.
LENA
Doug… this is beautiful.
Doug beams.
DOUG
I wanted to make something that felt like… care.
Lena freezes slightly — the word hits her.
LENA
Doug…
DOUG
I know. I know. It’s just food. I’m not—
I’m not trying to cross anything.
LENA
You’re not.
(beat)
But be careful with words like “care.” They stick.
After Lena says “They stick,” Doug stands frozen, spoon in hand.
A long silence.
He puts the spoon down, but doesn’t look at her.
DOUG
(soft, unraveling)
You know…
I used to think cooking was the only place I wasn’t disappointing someone.
Everywhere else — work, relationships, friendships — I’m always…
almost enough.
Almost good.
Almost the man people want me to be.
But in the kitchen?
I get to make something that doesn’t argue with me.
Doesn’t judge me.
Doesn’t ask me to be louder or braver or more decisive.
It just… becomes what I ask it to be.
And when you started coming here, I thought —
maybe someone could see that part of me.
The part that tries.
The part that cares too much.
The part that’s terrified of being ordinary.
So yeah… maybe I used the word “care” too easily.
But it’s the only word I have for the feeling of finally being…
seen.
Lena absorbs this, shaken in a way she doesn’t show.
Lights dim.
---
SCENE 7 — JASON’S APARTMENT, LATER THAT NIGHT
Jason scrolls through his phone. Finds Lena’s number. Smirks.
He calls.
LENA (V.O.)
Hello?
JASON
Hey. It’s Jason. Doug’s friend.
LENA (V.O.)
How did you get this number?
JASON
I want to see you.
A long silence.
LENA (V.O.)
My rate is—
JASON
I don’t care. Just come over.
After Lena hangs up, Jason sits alone in the dim light, phone still in his hand.
JASON
(to himself, low)
Doug always gets the good things first.
The praise.
The sympathy.
The benefit of the doubt.
People look at him and think, “Oh, he’s harmless. He’s sweet.”
And me?
I walk into a room and everyone assumes I’m the villain.
The selfish one.
The one who doesn’t feel anything.
But I do.
I feel everything.
I just learned a long time ago that nobody cares about a man who feels too much unless he hides it behind a joke.
So yeah — maybe I want something he has.
Maybe I want to see what it feels like to be the one someone looks at with softness.
Even if I have to pay for it.
Even if it’s just for an hour.
Even if it’s wrong.
At least it’s something.
Lights snap out.
---
END OF EXPANDED ACT I
---
ACT II — “THE BITE”
SCENE 1 — JASON’S APARTMENT, LATE NIGHT
Dim lighting. Clothes on the floor. A half‑finished drink on the table.
Lena stands near the door, coat still on, posture rigid.
Jason lounges like he’s already rewritten the night in his own favour.
LENA
We’re done here.
JASON
Already? You just got comfortable.
LENA
I wasn’t comfortable. I was working.
JASON
(smiles)
You don’t have to pretend with me.
LENA
I’m not pretending. You hired me. That’s all.
Jason sits up, smirk fading into something sharper.
JASON
Come on. Doug’s obsessed with you. I just wanted to see what the big deal was.
Lena stiffens. A long silence.
She turns to leave — but stops. Something in her breaks open.
LENA — MONOLOGUE
LENA
You know…
Men like you always think you’re the first one to say something like that.
Like you’ve discovered a new species.
Like I’m some rare bird Doug keeps in a cage and you’re the brave explorer who stole a feather.
But here’s the truth:
I’m not a prize.
I’m not a secret.
I’m not a test of loyalty between boys who never learned how to grow up.
I’m a person who walks into rooms where people want things from me —
and I give them what they paid for.
Not because I’m weak.
Not because I’m broken.
But because it’s work.
And work is cleaner than intimacy.
Cleaner than pretending.
Cleaner than men who want to win something that was never a competition.
So if you think you “got there first,” Jason…
you didn’t.
You just paid the fee.
Jason’s expression flickers — wounded pride, then anger, then something like shame.
JASON
Doug’s gonna lose his mind when he finds out.
LENA
Finds out what?
JASON
That I got there first.
Lena’s face goes still — not shocked, but disappointed.
She leaves without another word.
Lights fade.
---
SCENE 2 — DOUG’S KITCHEN, NEXT FRIDAY
Doug cooks with nervous excitement, humming.
Lena enters, quieter than usual.
DOUG
Hey! I made something new—
(he stops, noticing her mood)
Are you okay?
LENA
Doug… we need to talk.
DOUG
(heart drops)
About what?
Before she can answer, Jason bursts in, uninvited, swaggering like he owns the air.
JASON
Dougie! Smells amazing in here.
DOUG
Jason? What are you—
(turns to Lena)
Did you two… plan to meet?
LENA
No.
JASON
Actually, we’ve met.
(beat)
Intimately.
Doug freezes. Lena closes her eyes.
DOUG
Jason… what are you talking about?
JASON
I’m saying your girl here is talented in more ways than tasting soup.
LENA
Jason, stop.
JASON
Why? He should know. You’re paying her to eat your food, I paid her to—
DOUG
(shouting)
Get out.
Jason smirks, shrugs, and leaves.
Silence. Heavy.
DOUG
Lena… is it true?
LENA
Yes.
(beat)
He called. I went. It was work.
DOUG
Work.
LENA
Doug—
DOUG
You could’ve told me.
LENA
I didn’t think it mattered.
Doug’s face crumples — not angry, but wounded in a way he didn’t expect.
DOUG — MONOLOGUE
DOUG
You know what’s funny?
I didn’t even know I cared until right now.
I didn’t know there was a part of me that…
hoped.
Hoped for something I didn’t have the right to want.
I kept telling myself this was professional.
That you were here for the food, not for me.
But every Friday, when you walked through that door…
I felt something open.
Something I haven’t felt in years.
And I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to ruin it.
I didn’t want to make it weird or heavy or complicated.
But now it’s all of those things.
And I don’t know what to do with that.
Lena softens, realizing the depth of his hurt.
LENA
Doug… I didn’t know you felt—
DOUG
I didn’t either.
(beat)
Not until right now.
Lights dim slowly.
---
SCENE 3 — SHERRI’S APARTMENT, SAME NIGHT
Sherri sits on the floor surrounded by takeout containers.
Her hair is messy, her eyes red.
She’s been spiraling for hours.
SHERRI
(to herself)
He’s lying. He’s lying. He’s lying.
She stands abruptly, pacing.
SHERRI — MONOLOGUE
SHERRI
I can feel it.
That shift.
That tiny, invisible shift when someone stops choosing you.
It’s like a draft in a sealed room —
you can’t see it, but you know something’s leaking.
He used to look at me like I was the thing he’d been waiting for.
Now he looks…
guilty.
Or distracted.
Or like he’s somewhere else entirely.
And I keep telling myself I’m imagining it, that I’m being dramatic, that I’m sabotaging something good.
But my gut is screaming.
And my gut has never been wrong about men.
So if he won’t tell me the truth…
I’ll find it myself.
She grabs her coat and storms out.
Lights shift.
---
SCENE 4 — DOUG’S KITCHEN, LATER
Doug sits alone at the table, staring at the untouched dish he made for Lena.
A knock. He doesn’t move.
SHERRI (O.S.)
Doug? Open the door.
He sighs, opens it. Sherri pushes past him.
SHERRI
Where is she?
DOUG
Sherri, not tonight.
SHERRI
Every Friday you disappear. Every Friday you’re glowing. Every Friday you’re cooking like you’re in love with someone else.
DOUG
It’s not like that.
SHERRI
Then what is it?
Doug hesitates. Sherri’s eyes widen.
SHERRI
Oh my god. You are in love with her.
DOUG
I don’t know what I am.
SHERRI
Doug—
DOUG — MONOLOGUE (THE BREAKING POINT)
DOUG
I hired her to taste my food. That’s all.
But she listened.
She cared.
Or at least… it felt like she did.
And I didn’t realize how starved I was for that.
For someone to look at me and actually see me.
Not the version of me you want, or the version I pretend to be —
just me.
The quiet parts.
The scared parts.
The parts that don’t know how to ask for help.
I didn’t fall for her.
I fell for the feeling of being understood.
And I didn’t know how to tell you that without hurting you.
Sherri’s anger falters. She looks wounded.
SHERRI
You could’ve tried.
Lights shift to black.
---
SCENE 5 — DOUG’S KITCHEN, ONE WEEK LATER
Doug cooks mechanically, no joy.
Lena enters hesitantly.
LENA
Doug.
DOUG
You don’t have to come anymore.
LENA
I know.
(beat)
But I wanted to.
Doug stops stirring.
DOUG
Why?
LENA — MONOLOGUE (HER FIRST REAL VULNERABILITY)
LENA
Because you’re the only person who ever cooked for me without wanting something back.
Do you know how rare that is?
Most people want a fantasy.
A performance.
A version of me that fits whatever story they’ve already written in their heads.
But you…
you cooked like you were trying to heal someone.
And I didn’t realize how much I needed that until it was gone.
I’m not asking for anything.
I’m not trying to fix what broke.
I just…
wanted you to know that you mattered.
More than you think.
Before they can continue, a rustling sound comes from the closet.
Both freeze.
SHERRI (O.S.)
Oh, for god’s sake.
Sherri bursts out of the closet, furious and humiliated.
SHERRI
I KNEW IT! I knew you were hiding her!
Chaos erupts.
Lights fade to black.
---
END OF EXPANDED ACT II
---
ACT III — “THE TABLE"
SCENE 1 — DOUG’S KITCHEN, THE NEXT MORNING
Soft morning light.
Doug sits at the table, exhausted, staring at nothing.
The kitchen looks like a battlefield after an emotional war.
A knock.
He doesn’t move.
The door opens anyway — Jason steps in, hands in pockets, wearing the smugness of someone who thinks time has already forgiven him.
JASON
Morning, sunshine.
DOUG
Get out.
JASON
Come on. Don’t be dramatic.
DOUG
You slept with her.
JASON
She’s an escort, Doug. That’s literally her job.
DOUG
You did it to hurt me.
JASON
(smiles)
Maybe a little. But you were getting weird about her.
DOUG
Weird?
JASON
You were acting like she was your soulmate or something. I was helping you snap out of it.
Doug stands. Something in him finally snaps.
DOUG — MONOLOGUE (THE BREAK)
DOUG
You know what the worst part is?
I let you get away with things for years.
Little things.
Big things.
The jokes at my expense.
The digs about my cooking.
The way you’d flirt with Sherri just to see if you could.
I told myself, “That’s just Jason. That’s just how he is.”
But that wasn’t the truth.
The truth is — I was afraid of losing you.
Afraid of being alone.
Afraid that without you, I’d have no one.
So I let you treat me like a sidekick in my own life.
But this?
This wasn’t a joke.
This wasn’t a prank.
This was you taking something you knew mattered to me —
even if I didn’t have the courage to say it out loud —
and breaking it just to see if you could.
And I’m done pretending that’s friendship.
A long, cold silence.
JASON
Doug—
DOUG
Get out of my house.
Jason stares at him, stunned.
Then scoffs, masking the sting, and leaves.
Lights fade.
---
SCENE 2 — SHERRI’S APARTMENT, AFTERNOON
Sherri sits on the couch, knees pulled to her chest.
Doug stands awkwardly near the door, like a man entering a confession booth.
DOUG
I’m sorry.
SHERRI
For what part?
DOUG
All of it.
The distance.
The secrets.
The… feelings I didn’t understand.
SHERRI
You fell for her.
DOUG
I fell for what she represented.
Someone who listened.
Someone who saw me.
Sherri looks away, swallowing hurt.
SHERRI — MONOLOGUE (HER TRUTH)
SHERRI
Do you know what it feels like to watch the person you love light up for someone else?
To see them come home with this glow — this spark — and know it wasn’t you who put it there?
I kept telling myself I was imagining it.
That I was being jealous or insecure or dramatic.
But every Friday, you came back… different.
Lighter.
Happier.
And I thought, “God, what did I do wrong? What part of me stopped being enough?”
I didn’t want to lose you.
So I held on tighter.
And the tighter I held, the more you slipped away.
I wasn’t angry because you cared about her.
I was angry because you didn’t tell me you were lonely.
I could’ve handled the truth.
I just couldn’t handle the silence.
Doug sits beside her — not touching, but close.
DOUG
I didn’t know how to ask for what I needed.
SHERRI
Then let’s start there.
Let’s talk.
Let’s try.
Let’s stop pretending everything’s fine when it isn’t.
Doug nods.
Lights shift.
---
SCENE 3 — LENA’S APARTMENT, EVENING
Lena packs a small suitcase.
Her movements are quiet, resigned — like someone who’s learned to leave before she’s asked to.
A knock.
She hesitates, then opens the door.
It’s Sherri.
LENA
Sherri?
SHERRI
Can we talk?
Lena steps aside. Sherri enters, looking around the sparse apartment.
SHERRI
You were leaving.
LENA
It felt like the right thing to do.
SHERRI
Maybe.
But… maybe not.
Lena waits.
SHERRI
I hated you.
For a minute.
I thought you were the reason Doug pulled away from me.
LENA
I wasn’t.
SHERRI
I know.
(beat)
He was lonely. And I didn’t see it.
LENA
It wasn’t your fault.
Sherri exhales — a long, shaky release.
SHERRI — MONOLOGUE (THE INVITATION)
SHERRI
I don’t know how to say this without sounding insane,
but…
I don’t think you’re the villain in this story.
I think you walked into something that was already cracked.
And maybe you made the cracks visible.
And maybe that hurts.
But maybe it’s also the only reason Doug and I finally stopped pretending.
So…
I want to fix things.
And I think —
(she exhales)
I think you should come to dinner.
Not as the problem.
As part of the solution.
Lena blinks, surprised.
LENA
Dinner?
SHERRI
Doug’s cooking.
He’s… trying.
And I think you should be there.
Lena’s eyes soften.
LENA
Are you sure?
SHERRI
No.
(smiles)
But I’m trying something new.
Lights fade.
---
SCENE 4 — DOUG’S KITCHEN, NIGHT
Warm lighting.
Doug cooks with nervous focus.
Sherri sets the table.
Lena stands in the doorway, unsure.
DOUG
(quietly)
Hey.
LENA
Hi.
Sherri gestures to the table.
SHERRI
Sit. Both of you.
They sit.
Doug brings over a dish — simple, comforting, honest.
DOUG
It’s not fancy.
But it’s honest.
They serve themselves.
A quiet moment as they taste.
LENA
Doug… this is wonderful.
SHERRI
It really is.
Doug exhales, relieved.
DOUG — FINAL MONOLOGUE (THE RELEASE)
DOUG
I spent so long trying to be the version of myself I thought everyone wanted.
The good boyfriend.
The loyal friend.
The harmless guy who never makes waves.
But somewhere along the way, I forgot how to be honest.
With you.
With Jason.
With myself.
And with you, Lena…
I didn’t fall in love.
I fell into honesty.
You made me say things I didn’t know I was allowed to say.
And Sherri…
you’re the person I want to say them to.
I don’t know what happens next.
But I want it to be real.
All of it.
Even the messy parts.
Sherri reaches out — not for romance, but for understanding.
Lena watches them, not jealous, not wounded — simply present.
SHERRI
We’re all a mess.
But maybe we can be a mess together.
Lena smiles softly.
LENA
I’d like that.
They eat.
The tension dissolves into something warm, human, imperfect.
---
FINAL MOMENT
Lights narrow to a soft glow over the table —
three people sharing a meal that shouldn’t make sense,
but somehow does.
SHERRI
You know… he really does cook better when he cares.
Doug laughs.
Lena laughs.
The warmth fills the room.
Lights fade to black.
---
END OF PLAY
O.A.
PLAYWRIGHT’S NOTE
On Chivalry, Language, and the Responsibility We Owe Each Other
There’s a belief floating around modern culture that chivalry is outdated — a relic, a punchline, a dusty code belonging to knights and storybooks. But the truth is simpler and far more urgent: chivalry can never die because it was never about armor or horses or grand gestures. It was about conduct. It was about how we treat one another when no one is watching. It was about restraint, respect, and responsibility — three things that never go out of style.
In every generation, young people inherit a language that shapes how they see themselves and each other. Today, one of the loudest phrases echoing through hallways, locker rooms, and group chats is “smash it.” A phrase that reduces intimacy to demolition. A phrase that turns connection into conquest. A phrase that teaches boys to perform dominance and teaches girls to brace for it.
Teenagers deserve better than that.
They deserve a vocabulary that doesn’t shrink them.
They deserve a culture that doesn’t flatten them.
They deserve a world where desire isn’t synonymous with destruction.
When teens casually use language that degrades themselves — and each other — they’re not just joking. They’re rehearsing a worldview. They’re practicing a script that tells them vulnerability is weakness, tenderness is embarrassing, and responsibility is optional. And once that script takes hold, it becomes very hard to unlearn.
This play argues for a different script.
It argues that strength is not swagger.
That masculinity is not performance.
That femininity is not endurance.
That intimacy is not conquest.
And that love — real love — is not something you “smash.”
It’s something you earn.
Chivalry, in its truest form, is simply the courage to treat another human being with dignity. It’s the willingness to slow down, to listen, to care, to consider the consequences of your actions. It’s the understanding that your choices ripple outward, touching lives beyond your own.
When the boys in this play shed their bravado and pick up responsibility — when they stop performing and start listening — they’re not becoming less masculine. They’re becoming more human. They’re discovering that respect is not a burden but a strength, and that empathy is not a punishment but a path.
If there is a message at the heart of The Big Dick Crew & the Transcendent Few, it is this:
Chivalry isn’t dead.
It’s simply waiting for the next generation to grow into it.
And they will — if we give them the language, the guidance, and the expectation that they are capable of more than bravado. That they are worthy of more than the scripts they’ve inherited. That they can rise, not by burning bright and fast, but by learning how to carry the light.
O.A.
SYNOPSIS:
The Big Dick Crew & the Transcendent Few is a coming‑of‑age ensemble comedy set in a Nova Scotia high school detention room, where bravado meets responsibility and teenage swagger gets dismantled one diaper at a time.
Five senior basketball boys — loud, confident, and catastrophically unserious — land in detention for passing notes full of locker‑room nonsense. Led by Darius, the charismatic instigator, they jokingly refer to themselves as “The Big Dick Crew,” a name that masks insecurity more than it reveals confidence.
Their swagger collapses the moment three senior volleyball girls walk into detention, unimpressed and unwilling to tolerate the boys’ “smash it” mentality. When Darius tosses out his sarcastic crew name, the girls fire back, dubbing themselves “The Small Fry Crew” — not because they’re weak, but because they’re honest about what they’re not ready for: pregnancy, parenting, or the emotional labor that comes with real relationships.
The exhausted detention teacher seizes the moment and turns the room into a role‑reversal boot camp. Out come the pregnancy bellies, weighted vests, baby dolls, Lamaze breathing drills, diaper‑changing stations, and bottle‑feeding challenges. The girls become the instructors, guiding the boys through the realities of care, patience, and responsibility.
What begins as a punishment becomes a hilarious, chaotic, and unexpectedly heartfelt crash course in empathy. The boys stumble through contractions, panic over crying dolls, and discover that nurturing requires more strength than swagger ever did. The girls, meanwhile, watch closely — not to embarrass the boys, but to see who’s capable of growth.
By the end, only a handful of the boys truly rise to the challenge. These are the Transcendent Few — the ones who listen, who try, who let go of bravado long enough to learn something real. Their reward isn’t romance or conquest, but a simple, supervised movie date with one of the girls — a symbolic step toward maturity, respect, and genuine connection.
The play closes on the central truth the boys finally understand:
Love isn’t something you “smash.”
It’s something you earn.
And it takes practice.
O.A.
CHARACTER LIST — The Big Dick Crew & the Transcendent Few
THE BOYS — “The Big Dick Crew” (sarcastically named)
1. DARIUS COLE (17)
The ringleader. Charismatic, sarcastic, performs confidence like it’s a sport. Deep down, he’s terrified of being ordinary. His arc is the emotional spine of the play.
2. TYSON “TY” MACLEAN (18)
Tall, goofy, lovable. The kind of jock who laughs first, thinks later. Surprisingly gentle once he stops trying to impress everyone.
3. JORDAN FULTON (17)
The quiet one. Observant, thoughtful, uncomfortable with the group’s bravado but afraid to speak up. He becomes one of the transcendent few.
4. RILEY O’CONNOR (17)
Hot‑headed, competitive, allergic to vulnerability. The last one to admit he’s scared of responsibility. His meltdown during the “crying baby” test is legendary.
5. MARCUS BAIN (18)
The smooth talker. Thinks he’s a future NBA star. Talks big, panics fast. Learns humility the hard way.
---
🏐 THE GIRLS — “The Small Fry Crew” (ironically named)
6. ALEXIS “LEX” HART (17)
Captain of the volleyball team. Sharp, confident, no‑nonsense. She’s the one Darius tries to impress — and the one who sees right through him.
7. NIA CAMPBELL (17)
Funny, theatrical, dramatic in the best way. Turns every pregnancy‑simulation moment into a performance. Secretly soft‑hearted.
8. KAYLA DOUCET (18)
Calm, grounded, emotionally intelligent. She becomes the boys’ unexpected moral compass. Jordan quietly falls for her.
9. BROOKE MACPHERSON (17)
Arrives late to detention. Blunt, sarcastic, allergic to stupidity. She’s the one who suggests the “pregnancy belly challenge.”
10. SIERRA JAMES (17)
The peacemaker. Sweet but firm. She’s the one who teaches the boys Lamaze breathing — and watches them fail spectacularly.
---
THE ADULT
11. MR. HARGROVE (40s–50s)
The exhausted detention teacher. Dry humor, zero patience, secretly delighted to turn this chaos into a teachable moment. He orchestrates the role‑reversal gauntlet.
THE BIG DICK CREW & THE TRANSCENDENT FEW
4‑ACT STRUCTURE + OPENING DETENTION SCENE
---
ACT I — THE FIRE (Swagger, Bravado, Denial)
Setting: After‑school detention, Nova Scotia.
Energy: Loud, chaotic, comedic.
- The five basketball boys enter detention like it’s a locker room.
- They joke, brag, toss around “smash it” like it’s a personality trait.
- Darius introduces the sarcastic moniker “The Big Dick Crew.”
- The girls arrive — unimpressed, sharp, and instantly in control.
- Lex fires back with “Fine. Then we’re the Small Fry Crew.”
- Mr. Hargrove, exhausted but opportunistic, decides to weaponize this moment.
- He announces a role‑reversal empathy program as their detention assignment.
- The boys laugh — until the pregnancy bellies come out.
Act I ends with the boys strapped into weighted vests, wobbling, complaining, and realizing this detention is not a joke.
---
ACT II — THE CRACK (Chaos, Resistance, Ego Collapse)
Energy: Comedy peaks, emotions begin to surface.
- The girls run the boys through Lamaze breathing.
- The boys fail spectacularly.
- Baby dolls “cry” on timers; Riley has a meltdown.
- Marcus tries to flirt his way out of responsibility and gets roasted.
- Jordan quietly excels — Kayla notices.
- Darius tries to maintain swagger but cracks when he drops his baby doll.
- The girls begin to see which boys are actually trying.
Act II ends with Mr. Hargrove announcing:
“Only the boys who pass the final test move on.”
---
ACT III — THE SHIFT (Honesty, Vulnerability, Growth)
Energy: Softer, more intimate, more truthful.
- The final test: a full “night shift” simulation.
- The boys must soothe, feed, and care for their dolls for an hour.
- Ty surprises everyone with tenderness.
- Jordan shows natural patience.
- Darius finally admits he’s scared of not being enough.
- Lex sees him — really sees him — for the first time.
- The girls acknowledge the boys who’ve grown.
Act III ends with Mr. Hargrove announcing the Transcendent Few.
---
ACT IV — THE LIGHT (Resolution, Maturity, Earned Connection)
Energy: Warm, hopeful, earned.
- The boys who passed earn a supervised movie outing with the girls.
- Not a date — a practice in respect.
- Darius and Lex share a moment of genuine connection.
- Jordan and Kayla walk out talking softly.
- The remaining boys grumble but learn something too.
- Mr. Hargrove closes detention with a final line about responsibility.
Final image:
The boys and girls exit in pairs — not as conquests, but as equals.
The fire dies.
The light rises.