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"THE POKER-FACE DUEL"
A Comic Farce in One Act
By BENJAMIN
GAVARRE
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®
BENJAMIN GAVARRE SILVA
✨⚜️✨ ─── ⚜️ ─── ✨⚜️✨
✨⚜️✨ ─── ⚜️ ─── ✨⚜️✨
Dramatis Personae:
- Metepiú:
A pretentious, affected aristocrat; unmoved face, but very restless feet.
- Pentesquiu:
His rival; haughty, sensual, wields his fan with military precision.
- Madame
de Sans-Souci: The court’s chief gossip; has a tongue sharp enough to cut
glass.
- The
Duke of Carambola: An old nobleman, deaf as a post, but with an impeccable
nose for scandal.
- The
Marchioness of la Lorgnette: A professional court voyeur;
hyperventilates at the sight of romance.
- Gastón:
The lackey who pretends to serve wine but lives for spying on cards and
calves.
- The
Dealer: The official palace card dealer, on the verge of a nervous
breakdown.
✨⚜️✨ ─── ⚜️ ─── ✨⚜️✨
ONLY SCENE
The Salon of the Small Mirrors. Luxury everywhere,
wigs the size of sheep, and the smell of rice powder. In the center, a mahogany
table where Metepiú and Pentesquiu are playing Lansquenet. The Dealer
shuffles the royal cards looking miserable. To the left, Madame de
Sans-Souci and the Duke of Carambola drink tea. To the right, on a
divan, the Marchioness of la Lorgnette watches through her opera
glasses, assisted by Gastón, the snitching lackey.
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Madame de Sans-Souci. — (Snapping her fan shut) I tell you, Duke,
Versailles is sinking into the mud
of vice! Look at those two. Metepiú and Pentesquiu.
They claim they are disputing the fiefdom of Gascony, but all I see is a
shameless duel of pupils!
Duke of Carambola. — What’s that? A dress made of chutney? Well, I think
the lace suits them rather well!
Madame de Sans-Souci. — No, you deaf old mallet! They are devouring each
other alive! Those two aren’t playing for ducats, they are playing to see who
surrenders the fortress first... if you catch my drift.
At the gaming table, Metepiú and Pentesquiu hold their
cards close to their chests. Their faces are two wax masks, but underneath the
table, the rubbing of silk stockings and high-heeled shoes produces a constant
sizzling sound.
Metepiú.
— (Without moving a single facial muscle) I double the stake in the
Lansquenet, my dear Pentesquiu. I wager my wedding carriage that your hand
lacks the necessary firmness to hold this bet... or anything else of weight.
Pentesquiu. — (With a languid voice and icy gaze) My pulse
is made of marble, Metepiú. Although I must warn you that, beneath the Flanders
tablecloth, your diamond buckle is exerting a... highly absolutist pressure
upon my right shin.
Metepiú.
— A mere geographical accident of the tailoring, mon cher. Focus on the
King of Clubs.
Pentesquiu. — It is hard to focus when your left calf is
attempting to invade my borders as if it were the French army in Flanders.
On the divan, the Marchioness of la Lorgnette fans her
cleavage frantically, on the verge of fainting.
Marchioness of la Lorgnette. — Gastón! By the holy oils, Gastón, come closer! What
does your lynx eye register? What is brewing in that hell of temptations?
Gastón.
— (Leaning in with a silver tray, pretending to clean) Madame... the
situation is of unprecedented tactical gravity. Monseigneur Metepiú holds a
trio of queens in his hand, but his left foot has already passed Monseigneur
Pentesquiu's knee and is marching steadily toward the thigh. There is a
full-scale siege under the tapestry!
Marchioness of la Lorgnette. — (Hyperventilating) Oh, Louis XIV protect me!
What a delightful sin! And what is Pentesquiu doing? Is he defending himself?
Is he begging for quarter?
Gastón.
— Pentesquiu maintains the poker face of a saint in his niche, but with his big
toe, he is delivering a counterstrike to the ankle. It is a slaughter of silk,
my Marchioness!
The Dealer strikes the deck of cards hard against the
table, losing his temper.
Dealer.
— Gentlemen! For the love of court protocol! I remind you that this is a game
of gentlemen blessed by the Crown, not the labyrinth of the Versailles gardens
at three in the morning! Keep your lower extremities in their respective
districts!
Metepiú.
— (Indignant, without blinking) What is this low-class shuffler
implying? My posture is straighter than a cathedral spire!
Pentesquiu. — And my decency is beyond suspicion! (To Metepiú,
through his teeth) I told you, Metepiú! Your obvious hobbies as an
underground explorer are going to get us exiled. Even the dealer noticed!
Metepiú.
— And what should they notice? We are the pinnacle of composure! Have we even
moved? Illusions of the plebeians! Ask the Duke if he notices any scandal!
Madame de Sans-Souci. — (Screaming from her table) I notice it! It
is a scandal of biblical proportions! They are using the art of pelvic
distraction to win the cards. Duke, say something, you used to be a musketeer!
Duke of Carambola. — Did I use to be a puppeteer? No, madam, but once I
pulled a tooth out of a horse using the hilt of my sword! And it didn't hurt a
bit!
Madame de Sans-Souci. — Oh, what a cross to bear! (Toward the table)
Furthermore, rumors are flying that you two are delaying the game because you
are fantasizing about the arrival of the Baroness of Yogurtiú...
Metepiú.
— (Jumping with pride) False hallway testimony! We are not waiting for
the Yogurtiú lady for a threesome game... Although I admit her fortune in lands
is tempting.
Pentesquiu. — We do not lower ourselves to dairy baronesses. Our
sources assure us that the Sun King himself, Louis XIV, is coming here because
he wants to play... the tute? The tute to what?
Dealer.
— (With a bitter smile and wild eyes) The bastard tute, I
imagine, your Majestades of impudence. Which is the only game played in this
court of vipers, where everyone shakes hands above and stabs below! Or worse,
the hairy-card game, where everyone hides the deck but shows their
fangs! Or the fallen-cup game, where everyone ends up drunk and
honorless on the floor! Play at once or I am calling the Swiss Guard!
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THE FLIRTATION AND CARDS SCENE
Pentesquiu slightly lowers his cards, quite obviously
letting Metepiú peek at them. At the same time, Pentesquiu gives him a slow,
deliberate wink. Metepiú, keeping his face rigid, responds by widening his eyes
and subtly licking his lips.
Madame de Sans-Souci. — (Jumping up) There it is! The secret wink
code! He is showing him the Ace of Cups to signal that his bedchamber is
available!
Marchioness of la Lorgnette. — (Opera glasses glued) Nonsense, Madame! That
wink means: "If you steal my King, I will surrender my duchy to you
tonight." Look how Metepiú responds with a gaze that promises the
annexation of the entire plains of Alsace!
Gastón.
— (Leaning in shamelessly) Excuse me, ladies, but from here that wink
simply means Monseigneur Pentesquiu got a grain of rice powder in his left
eyelash... although the smile the other one gave him back doesn't look like he
has a grain, it looks like he wants to plant a whole garden.
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CLIMAX AND RESOLUTION
Suddenly, a blast of out-of-tune trumpets is heard in
the hallway. An usher shouts from outside: HIS MAJESTY THE SUN KING!
Gastón.
— General alert! Trumpets are sounding! The King is coming down the gallery!
And he brings his own deck of cards with the Bourbon coat of arms!
Panic seizes the room. Everyone tries to adopt royal
curtsy positions in a rush. Metepiú and Pentesquiu, whose legs were tied into a
literal sailor's knot under the tablecloth, try to stand with elegance, but
they get trapped.
Pentesquiu. — (Looking at the door) Metepiú, if this is
the end and the King exiles us to the Bastille for indecency...!
Metepiú.
— (Finally breaking his poker face, passionately) Let them exile us,
Pentesquiu! But let them exile us together!
Metepiú grabs Pentesquiu by the waist and pulls him
in. They share a monumental, loud, and choreographic kiss in the middle of the
room, throwing the cards into the air. Madame de Sans-Souci covers her eyes,
the Marchioness screams with joy, and the Dealer faints on the table.
The door flies open with great solemnity. A short man
enters, wearing an oversized wig that covers half his face, tripping over his
own red cape. It is not the King; it is the court jester in disguise, holding a
toy scepter.
Fake King (Jester). — (In a squeaky voice) I bring the law of fun!
You are all under arrest for excess of seriousness!
Dramatic pause. Everyone stares at the jester. Metepiú
and Pentesquiu slowly part, wiping their lips.
Madame de Sans-Souci. — (Looking at the jester, then at the kiss, and
bursting into enthusiastic applause) Oh, marvelous! What a splendid farce!
What a theatrical twist! It was all prepared to celebrate the solstice!
Marchioness of la Lorgnette. — (Applauding on top of the divan) Sublime!
The kiss possessed an insuperable artistic truth! Long live the court theater!
Duke of Carambola. — (Applauding loudly) Bravo! Excellent
hunting! Although I still don't understand why the dog was wearing a wig!
The whole room bursts into ovations for Metepiú and
Pentesquiu, who, instantly recovering their "poker face", hold hands
with a perfect, cold bow toward the audience, as if nothing had ever happened
under the tablecloth.
QUICK FADE TO BLACK
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