CHARACTERS:
VICTORIA VAUGHN (45): Ultra-wealthy, outrageously bored Beverly Hills socialite. Driven entirely by ravenous lust, scandalous aesthetics, and dramatic despair.
CHADWICK VAUGHN (52): Her billionaire hedge-fund husband. Equally degenerate, obsessed with bizarre legal contracts, tax loopholes, and morbid roleplay.
BARNABY (23): The naive, overly earnest pool boy. Terrified, deeply confused, and completely out of his depth.
DR. ARTHUR GLOOM (60): The family’s high-society therapist and part-time coroner. Pitch-black deadpan, entirely unfazed by moral depravity.
ACT I
SETTING: The sun-drenched, obscene luxury of a Beverly Hills mansion patio overlooking an infinity pool. Marble statues of Greek gods dot the terrace, each absurdly outfitted with gold chains. A glass table holds champagne, crystal decanters, and legal documents.
SCENE I
(BARNABY stands near the edge of the pool holding a long skimmer net. He is sweating profusely. VICTORIA lounges on a velvet chaise in a dramatic silk robe, sipping a martini at ten in the morning).
VICTORIA: (Sighs, dramatic and guttural) Barnaby... look at the water. The way it ripples. It’s practically screaming for intimacy, isn’t it?
BARNABY: (Gulping, clutching the skimmer like a weapon) Uh... I think that’s just the filtration system, Mrs. Vaughn. I put extra chlorine in today to kill the algae.
VICTORIA: (Leaning forward, letting her robe slip slightly) Oh, Barnaby. Chlorine is so clinical. So uninhibited. Tell me, Barnaby, does a young, muscular man like you ever feel the suffocating weight of raw, unadulterated passion? Or do you just clean filters and pretend your blood isn’t boiling with sin?
BARNABY: (Sweating profusely, staring at his shoes) Mostly I just try to pay my Toyota Corolla lease, ma'am.
VICTORIA: (Standing up, gliding toward him like a predator) A Corolla! How deliciously working-class. How terribly erotic. I once had an affair with a man who drove a secondhand Subaru. The structural integrity of the backseat was appalling, but the sheer desperation!
(CHADWICK enters from the French doors wearing a tailor-made suit, carrying a leather briefcase and an IV drip stand filled with gold-infused hydration liquid).
CHADWICK: Victoria, darling. Are you seducing the pool boy again before noon? You know what the doctor said about your cortisol levels after climax.
VICTORIA: (Glares at Chadwick, sipping her drink) Oh, hush, Chadwick. Barnaby was just explaining the thermodynamic properties of chlorine. He has the mind of a philosopher and the shoulder-to-waist ratio of a Renaissance cardinal.
CHADWICK: (Inspects Barnaby thoroughly with a cold, analytical gaze) Hmm. Good clavicles. Poor credit score, I assume? Perfect. (Opens his briefcase). Barnaby, son, how would you like to make fifty thousand dollars in thirty minutes?
BARNABY: (Eyes wide) Fifty grand?! Is... is there illegal dumping involved? Am I dissolving a body?
CHADWICK: (Laughs darkly, patting Barnaby on the shoulder) Oh, heavens no! Nothing so mundane as murder. We pay the LAPD to handle our bodies. This is far more dangerous. This is marital therapy.
SCENE II
(DR. ARTHUR GLOOM walks onto the terrace wearing a black suit, holding a clipboard and a stethoscope).
DR. GLOOM: Good morning, degenerates. The gate was open. I let myself in.
VICTORIA: Arthur! Thank God. Chadwick is trying to substitute legal contracts for foreplay again.
DR. GLOOM: (Checking Victoria’s pulse casually) Naturally. Mr. Vaughn’s libido has been legally dead since the 2008 fiscal crash. (To Barnaby). Young man, do not move. You have the posture of a future crime victim. I like it.
BARNABY: (Looking around frantically) What is happening right now?! I just came here to scoop out dead bees!
CHADWICK: (Unrolling a massive scroll on the marble table) Barnaby, my marriage to Victoria thrives on a delicate balance of absolute deviance and mutual extortion. Lately, our intimate life lacks... tension. Mortality. The dark thrill of the void.
VICTORIA: He means he can’t get an erection unless there’s a financial penalty or a deadly weapon involved.
CHADWICK: (Indignant) It’s called nuance, Victoria! Plain vanilla lust is for people who pay taxes!
DR. GLOOM: (Deadpan, writing on his clipboard) I’ve prescribed them three doses of mutual humiliation, two non-disclosure agreements, and a mild threat of vehicular manslaughter. But today, we are trying something radical: the Temptation of Saint Barnaby.
BARNABY: (Screaming internally) Wait, WHAT?!
VICTORIA: (Purring, stepping closer to Barnaby) The game is simple, my sweet aquatic peasant. I am going to try to seduce you. Chadwick will watch from behind that marble pillar while calculating his tax write-offs. If you resist me for five minutes, Chadwick pays off your student loans.
CHADWICK: And if you succumb to her terrifying, ravenous allure... Victoria loses her claim to our villa in Tuscany, and I get to hunt you across the golf course with a paintball gun loaded with frozen marbles.
BARNABY: (Horrified) That sounds completely illegal! And psychopathic!
DR. GLOOM: (Checking his watch) It’s Beverly Hills, son. The penal code is merely a suggestion for anyone with a net worth over fifty million. Shall I start the timer?
SCENE III
VICTORIA: (Dramatically dropping her silk robe to reveal a sheer lace gown) Five minutes, Barnaby. Just five minutes between you and financial freedom. Look at me... Am I not the epitome of forbidden fruit?
BARNABY: (Screaming, closing his eyes tightly) I am looking at the hedge! I am staring directly at the boxwood bush! The boxwood is green! The boxwood has no cleavage!
CHADWICK: (Peering from behind a marble pillar, taking notes frantically) Excellent posture, Victoria! Show him the shoulder blades! Threaten his moral compass!
VICTORIA: (Circling Barnaby like a vulture, whispering in his ear) Think of the debt, Barnaby. The interest rates. The compound inflation. I can wipe it all away with one sinful, terrible, glorious mistake...
BARNABY: (Sweating, shaking, chanting to himself) Honda Civic... three-point-four percent APR... standard insurance coverage...
DR. GLOOM: (Monitoring Barnaby's blood pressure with a cuff) Heart rate is one-forty. Respiratory distress imminent. If he faints, who gets the carcass? I have a client in mortuary science who pays top dollar for fresh pool boys.
CHADWICK: (Stepping out from behind the pillar, outraged) Absolutely not, Arthur! If he dies on my property, the environmental protection agency will audit my water usage!
VICTORIA: (Gasping, turning on Chadwick) You care more about an audit than my erotic fulfillment?! You monster!
CHADWICK: (Gasping back, sexually aroused) Say that again... call me a tax-evading monster again, Victoria!
VICTORIA: (Eyes lighting up with dark passion) You ruthless, capitalist parasite! You offshore-banking demon!
CHADWICK: (Lustfully, ripping off his necktie) Oh, God, Victoria! The degradation! It’s intoxicating!
(Victoria and Chadwick throw themselves into a passionate, ridiculously dramatic embrace on the velvet chaise, completely forgetting Barnaby).
SCENE IV
(BARNABY slowly opens one eye. He sees the wealthy couple aggressively making out while shouting stock market terminology at each other).
CHADWICK: (Between kisses) SHORT THE NASDAQ, BABY! SHORT IT!
VICTORIA: (Moaning) AUDIT ME, CHADWICK! AUDIT MY ASSETS!
BARNABY: (Staring in absolute shock and disgust) What... what just happened?
DR. GLOOM: (Stopping his stopwatch, sighing disappointed) Five minutes are up. The trauma of watching two elderly billionaires engage in fiscally-motivated mating behavior has successfully neutralized your libido forever. Congratulations, Barnaby. You survived.
BARNABY: (Trembling, looking at the couple) Do I... do I still get the fifty thousand dollars?
DR. GLOOM: (Handing him a check from Chadwick’s open briefcase) Here. Signed and certified. Now, I suggest you run before they realize they can deduct you as a medical expense.
BARNABY: (Grasping the check, dropping his skimmer net into the pool) I am going to buy a farm in Minnesota and never look at a swimming pool again.
(BARNABY sprints off the patio at full speed, scaling the perimeter wall in one terrified leap).
DR. GLOOM: (Watching him leave, taking a sip of champagne) A tragic loss for the mortuary industry. Ah, well.
(Chadwick and Victoria suddenly stop kissing, sitting up instantly and adjusting their clothes with absolute, chilling formality).
VICTORIA: (Checking her nails) Well. That was thoroughly refreshing.
CHADWICK: (Adjusting his cufflinks) Indeed. My libido is entirely restored, and we saved twenty thousand dollars on marital counseling.
DR. GLOOM: My invoice will be two hundred thousand, as usual.
VICTORIA: (Smiling sweetly, pouring another martini) Put it on the corporate card, Arthur. And hire a new pool boy for tomorrow. Make sure this one knows how to handle dark, existential dread.
BLACKOUT