ACT I, Scene 1
Lights up on Tom in his bedroom. The only furnishings are a low end table next to a mattress laid directly on the floor, and a standing lamp. A small mirror sits atop the coffee table with a plastic card leaned against it. Tom sits on the edge of the mattress. He picks up the mirror and gazes into it, becoming tearful as he looks at his reflection.
He begins talking aloud to his reflection- his “Body Double” who looks nothing like him- about his shortcomings. The Body Double appears in a spotlight stage left during this exchange. Eventually they begin to argue loudly. The Body Double needles at Tom, chastising him for his recently failed relationship with Mel. Mel then appears in a spotlight stage right, and the Body Double disappears.
Tom pleads with her, begging her to take him back, or at least tell him why things ended. She is cagey and avoids answering him directly, telling him he desperately needed to work on himself. He presses her further, eventually causing her to snap at him. “How was I supposed to love you when you can barely stand yourself? You put up walls so high nothing could get to the real you.” Tom, on both knees, pleads with Mel for another chance. “Look, Mel, I don’t have those walls up any more- Had to hire a battalion of Mongols to get through them all.” He chuckles lightly, while she maintains a stony faced, deadpan expression. “I just can’t… We can’t… (pause) Done.” She waves goodbye and disappears as well. Tom really examines himself in the mirror for a short time, shrugging and trying to hide the disappointment with the person looking back at him.
Tom looks around for his bag of ketamine, distraught and shaking. “Here kitty kitty…” He soon finds it and lays out several lines on the mirror, sniffing three in a row with a rolled dollar bill. The Body Double reappears, warning him to pace himself with such a profoundly strong substance. Tom shakes his head at the mirror grinning, as if telling it to mind it’s own business. He sniffs a line then another, and stands up. Shaky at first, he soon feels comfortable on his feet. He takes a step, reels in a wide arc, and steadies himself on the mattress with his left hand. Then he hears knocking at his bedroom door. Puzzled and nervous he slowly makes his way to the door, swaying as he walks despite clinging to anything firmly grounded within reach. He looks through the peep-hole and sees a tall, lithe figure in a long blue coat, Bowie, turned away from the door. He cracks the door and half-barks-half-slurs, “Who’s there- and what’ya want?” Tom closes the door hard, making a dull thud. He turns away from the door, and as his first step falls, three sharp knocks at the door echo through the bedroom. (Blackout)
Scene 2
Lights up on the bedroom. Tom, opening the door, breathes, “Who’s there?” into the empty hallway. There is no answer, and Tom relaxes. He turns toward his bed, loopy and half-sedated. Sitting on the edge of his mattress is Bowie, grinning and tenting his fingers casually. Tom begins yelling, threatening to call authorities, use physical force, and carry out countless horrors until he realizes who he is. Tom falls silent, somberly bowing his head for a while. Bowie, who maintains composure throughout the verbal barrage, tries to downplay his reaction to a strange person mysteriously appearing in his bedroom. “I honestly can’t say I would have reacted much differently, were I you.” After an awkward exchange of obligatory small talk from Tom and polite but unenthusiastic responses from Bowie- “How’s the weather?” “Seasonal.” — Bowie explains the purpose of his visit. “I’m really quite stuck on a new song- a new masterpiece, really. And I need your help with it.”
Tom is dumbstruck- still grateful, but quite shocked. He explains he probably won’t be much help, if any. “I’m not really a great writer, and I’m even worse with music.” Bowie asks a few more times, changing tactics each time. Tom sees through the tactical shifts, and asks Bowie to leave. “Out. Now, out. I won’t put up with this enigma code harassment bullshit. Go home, look up ‘subtlety’ in a dictionary, and try somebody else.” Bowie leaps to his feet, clapping his hands and quietly celebrates. Tom is even more confused by this latest outburst, and taking Bowie’s arm attempts to lead him out the door. “Alright, uh… get the fuck out.” Bowie turns to him and says there’s too much to discuss to leave just yet. (Blackout)
Scene 3
Lights come up to show Tom and Bowie seated in fold-out chairs opposite one another at the coffee table. On the table are a half dozen pages the pair is examining meticulously. Tom, becoming bored, questions the value of the whole effort and if it’s just a waste of time. Bowie, sighing, explains that this is to be his next- and final- masterpiece, but he’s completely blocked and can’t get it right for some reason. He begs Tom to help, saying he has it on good authority he can crack it. Tom, half afraid and half angry, fires back, “Listen. I’m not a writer, or a genius, or a fucking cultural icon. Write the damn thing yourself.”
Bowie leans forward in his chair, brushes the hair out of his face, and composes himself briefly. He then begins to tell Tom about the inspiration behind the song, what Bowie was trying to communicate through the song, and the ways he unsuccessfully tried to fix it on his own. “It’s a song for the troubled everyman- overworked, underappreciated. Halfway between exhausted and clinically depressed. That’s not me, not by a long shot. I just can’t relate to them- or to the song.” Bowie waits quietly, expecting a response at any time. After a short while, Tom opens his mouth to respond with, “So you did a quick web search for “lonely, sad guy” and I came up first, is that it? At least I got first place in something…” Bowie backtracks and explains further that he received a tip from a friend who claims Tom will play an integral role in perfecting his song.
After a few minutes of hemming and hawing, Tom agrees to help figure out what the problem is with the lyrics. Bowie points out three of the six pages and explains that they’re his old drafts, and that’ll be their jumping-off point. They pour over each line, trying to find the “weakest link,” but Tom too was stumped. He offers Bowie a drink, retrieving two lowball glasses from the kitchen (offstage). Tom yells to ask Bowie what he wants to drink. Bowie replies he has accounted for beverage, and presses Tom to join him at the table for a glass or two of a bottle of whisky he produces from within his jacket. “Distilled on an island between Ireland and Scotland. Aged in oak barrels for twenty years- two decades. Probably almost as old as you, actually…” Bowie pours them each a generous amount of the brown liquid and hands one glass to Tom. “Join me in a toast! To the artistic process, however surreal or introspective it may be.” Tom raises his glass briefly, and takes a long sip.
The pair shift their focus back onto the pages of lyrics. Bowie reads line for line, while Tom reads them as one cohesive unit. Bowie, stumped, begins reading backwards, sideways, upside down, etc. Tom, however, seems to be noticing something about the song as a whole. “It’s good, really it is, but I feel what you probably feel- it’s got so much potential, but we can’t seem to figure out how to unlock it.” Bowie agrees, nodding enthusiastically and grunting in agreement from time to time. After a beat, Tom picks up a page of lyrics and walks over to the window for better visibility in case he missed something in the generally dusky room. Shaking his head, he makes a one hundred-eighty degree turn and heads back to his chair. He suddenly notices his shadow, leading him to describe the lyrics as they are currently, simply a shadow of the real lyrics.
Bowie becomes nervous, pacing back and forth rhythmically in complete silence until Tom speaks. “What? I know I’m missing something here, so tell me now. No? I guess I’ll figure it out on my ow-” Bowie, forgetting his anxiety completely, grabs Tom by the shoulders, locks eyes with him, and tactfully calms him down. Tom, breathing heavy still, asks, “What’s so spooky about a shadow, anyway? They’re obsolete is what they are. (pause) When was the last time you saw somebody with a sundial?” He starts to speak as though he’s giving a TED talk on shadows and sarcasm, but Bowie cut’s him off. Bowie, getting a bit irritated by now, takes a firm, unyielding tone with Ted. “Okay, I’ll level with you. One condition- no cheeky bullshit while I’m talking, got it?” Ted nods and Bowie continues, “I’m not actually from Earth, well not thisEarth at least. E7, born and raised. Beautiful place, E7- not to say E5 isn’t quite pretty itself. You’re lucky to have been born in a good dimension. Most of them are run down as all hell, ‘cept E6. Superficially it’s a great dimension, but it doesn’t take long to feel a foul, icy grip on your soul, so avoid it at all cost.” (Fade out)
Scene 4
Lights come up showing Tom and Bowie reading lyrics in every conceivable direction. Tom, frustrated and stiff, gets up to stretch. He holds onto the page, not wanting to miss a key element in the puzzle. As he moves, the page’s shadow over a sheet of blank paper, and the word “mirror” spelled backwards and upside down appears in the center of the page. Bowie asks Tom to scoot to the right a bit, and with the shadow gone the word vanished. “Actually, Tom, I think you were perfectly fine where you had been. C’mon back over now.” Tom returns to his earlier area, and the letters become clear again. Bowie urges Tom to turn around slowly, while keeping the page in his hand in exactly the same position. Tom complains and huffs about being a glorified servant, but is eventually swayed.” As he turns, he sees the letters on the page- clear, crisp, and cryptic. “Well, that’s- You see it too, don’t you? Please say you see it too.” Bowie pats him on the shoulder and chuckles, reassuring him. “I saw it too, don’t worry. You’re not crazy, just cautious is all. Neither are inherently good or bad traits, but cautiousness is, in my experience, less… explosive.”
Bowie copies the letters exactly as they appear on the blank sheet of paper, and starts counting the vowels and consonants. Tom is inexplicably drawn to the mirror, which he takes over to the transcribed word. He samples a few different angles before standing up, confident for a change but still vacantly staring into the short or mid distance. Bowie sees this, and asks, “What’s going on, comrade? Even the best hit roadblocks some-” Tom smiles, still gazing off into space, and states in monotone. “It was child’s play. Something in my gut said ‘use the mirror,’ so I did. The letters are a double reflection; one reflects the letters backward and another that reflects them upside down. Unscrambled, it says, ‘mirror.’” Bowie takes the mirror and nods, grinning. “I think you’ve cracked it- the missing link is no longer missing.” He explains that mirrors and shadows are virtual opposites. Either one can be used to counteract the other, given they are of complementary intensity.
Tom suggests- to Bowie’s loud skepticism- that the shadowy nature of the song’s lyrics might be easier to decipher in the mirror’s reflection. “None of this makes sense according to physics anyway, so the only thing I can assume is that a metaphorical shadow could be fixed the same way a real shadow would.” Bowie sternly warns against overuse of the mirror, adding, “By the way, don’t look at yourself in this mirror again; ‘Once it goes shadow, looking in is bad (pause) oh.’ You’ll get pulled into God knows what sort of situation- somewhere between existence as you know it and the lightless plane of the shadows is my best guess thus far. Tom assured him he would take every precaution, and after an unwavering negotiation for a couple minutes they agreed Bowie would hold and angle the mirror while Tom transcribes any new or altered text. As the last line is penned, Bowie sets down the mirror and inspects their results.
Tom gets that same gut-driven desire to hold, and even look into, the mirror, which he quickly wipes clean. Gazing at his reflection, he sees a happier Tom than usual. More relaxed too. Tom started to think the mirror showed us what others saw in us, not the bummed out ball of nerves he feels like. It was a comforting thought, and he- for the first time in over a year- unclenched all his muscles and really felt relaxation. A moment later the lights begin to flash, and Tom looks around fearfully. Bowie is nowhere to be found, and Tom curls up in the fetal position.
[Blackout]
Scene 5
Lights come up and reveal Tom in the same balled up position, and the general layout of the room is quite similar to his own, if not identical, save for the fact that everything- all the furniture, carpet, mattress, all of it- is a cold, uninviting shade of white. Tom slowly stands and looks around cautiously. He takes a step, a floorboard creaks, and he sighs in relief. “Still in my room. Thanks… whatever or… whoever.” As Tom looks around, astounded and confused by how everything got whited out so fast. From behind a curtain, Body Double reveals himself. “Welcome, Tom. So good of you to drop in, we don’t see each other often.” Body Double listens as Tom explains the song and lyrical labyrinth, though suppressing a laugh that builds as Tom goes on. “I just don’t know how much of this enigmatic shit I can take today. (beat) This has been very relaxing. Thanks for letting me drop in li-” Finally, Body Double’s composure gives way and a deep, hearty laugh fills the whitewashed bedroom, followed by a few snarled words to Tom.
“Drop in whenever you like, but the return trip is… trickier. It requires, among other attributes, an individual to be adept at solving puzzles, code breaking, and the like- enigmatic shit, as you’d say.” Body Double grins, as if victory is his already. Tom, after three deep breaths, begins walking in a circle around Body Double, observing every visible square inch, head to toe. Tom realizes Body Double is his ‘body double,’ and questions him regarding their connection and Body Double’s lack of identical appearance and demeanor, most of which he dodges or ignores. “Just because I’m your Double, don’t mean for sure we’ll like all the same junk. Where are we right now? In a fucking mirror.” Tom, who is completely lost by this point, begins to wear on Body Double’s patience. “What are we doing in here then?!?” Body Double considers talking him down, but proceeds with the planned explanation. “What do mirrors do? Reflect whatever faces them. How and what they choose to reflect is completely unpredictable. Next time, this room might be red, another time a military bunker, and so on.” Tom nods in agreement, getting a loose grass of his predicament. After a beat, he asks what he needs to do in order to get back home.
Body Double giggles quietly to himself, and pulls out a notebook which he leafs through until finding the desired page. Tom, growing impatient, cracks his knuckles while subtly scanning the room for potential improvised weapons. Still keeping an eye out for blunt objects, Tom presses Body Double with more questions. “We’re the same height, roughly the same weight, same sandy mop of hair- shit, even a similar variety of laughs. Who are you? Some Ghost of Christmas past knock off come to keep me from recycling and walking or using public transit? If it’s a guilt trip thing, let’s end it now. I’ve got no reason to feel guilty. I haven’t wronged anyone lately, and I’m not Catholic, so this is a guilt free zone. Body Double assures him it’s not about guilt or any external pressures. To find your way home from this Reflection you must overcome an obstacle in the psyche, rather than performing some feet of strength or wit as one might expect.
Something in Tom’s head clicks and he suddenly becomes bright-faced and excited, and speaks rapidly, nearing incomprehensibility. He appears to be working things out internally- counting on his fingers, gesturing, writing out things in the air, etc.. Body Double simply watches Tom, occasionally nodding or shaking his head, seemingly at random. Once he thinks he has it figured out, Tom breaks the silence, “Okay, so this, uh, reflection of my bedroom… (pause for nod from Body Double) is partly a realistic reflection by the mirror- the furnishings, room orientation, everything- and a surrealistic reflection of my unconscious feelings about myself and my life.” Body Double smiles and nods, playfully asking, “So, what does that make me then?” Tom looks down at himself, then the Body Double, and then at himself once more. “Well, you’re- no offense meant- not as svelt as I am, and you’re far dirtier than me.(chuckes) At least most days.” Body Double looks himself over, shrugs, and pushes Tom to keep guessing, as he lays down on the mattress. “This game’s all in your head,” he sneers from the comfort of the whitewashed version of Tom’s dingy twin-size mattress. Confident in the strength of the puzzle, he begins to daydream.
Body Double’s seemingly disingenuous advice caught Tom’s attention, especially the words ‘your head’ and how they were emphasized. He extrapolates from Body Double’s comment that he’s connected to Tom psychologically in some way. Tom thinks aloud through what he remembers from the few psych classes he took in college. After about three or four snippets of useless trivia, his eyes widen and his jaw drops. He shakes himself, attempting to even out his demeanor so as not to reveal his upper hand so early. He approaches Body Double lounging on the mattress, and asks him a series of increasingly specific, personal questions. Once Tom is certain of how it all fits together, he shows his hand. “I’ve got you figured out, all figured out. You’re not literally a ‘body double’ like they have in movies, you’re just an anthropomorphized amalgamation of my insecurities. This is- You are how I see… (pause, ashamed) myself.” “Correct,” replies Body Double, “If you believe things to be good, those things will likely be pleasant and positive- or at least neutral. However, if you hold grudges or expect the worst of people, circumstances, and life itself, you’ll project that negativity into the reflection.”
Tom asks what the next step is, how he should proceed in order to get home. Body Double simply laughs and tells him to, “Figure it out your damn self… neurotic little shit…” Tom’s fists tighten, but he relaxes them when he sees a chair within reach. He edges closer to it a fraction of an inch at a time, while Body Double lounges on the mattress, carefree. Tom grips the chair tightly in one hand and pivots so his free hand can grab hold as well. Lifting it like a four-pronged baseball bat, Tom swings the chair at Body Double, catching him on the arm, shoulder, and cheek. The chair falls apart and the pieces all disintegrate. Tom manages to get in a couple good right hooks to his jaw, but soon Body Double is upright and attentive. “Not bad. Surprisingly good, actually,” he says before raining down a barrage of fists from every direction. “You might get past me- just wait for level two!”
Tom shows his surprise at additional hurdles to gaining his freedom, and Body Double laughs heartily. Tom mutters, “Schadenfreude,” and, with his guard down while laughing, kicks Body Double in the groin. Body Double immediately falls to the ground, curled into a ball and whimpering. Tom bends down to make sure he isn’t seriously hurt, then asking a litany of questions regarding the second challenge. The only answer Body Double every offered was, “You got past me just fine, but you think like me.” Then Body Double begins to gradually slip out of focus. As he’s disappearing, he offers one last piece of advice. “Time is precious- don’t waste it getting in your own way.” There’s a knock at the door in the rhythm of ‘Shave and a Haircut,’ and Tom softly says, “Come on in.”
Mel enters, dressed in white from head to toe, matching her neon-pale skin. A thick mane of wavy red hair falls over her shoulders, and a nose ring twinkles in the eerie light of the Reflection. Tom, at first ecstatic to see her again, then realizes it’s not really Mel, just a reflection. Tom comments that she’s exactly the same in the Reflection as in his memory of her. They start to talk, Tom focusing on the time they spent together in reality. “How about that trip to Mammoth Cave, Mel? Wasn’t that a wonderful weekend?” Mel replies very enthusiastically that she did. Tom starts to wonder if Mel- whom he’d been agonizing over for years- was already a projection; all the positive character traits of past girlfriends compiled into one woman. One fictional woman. “I know you’re only in my head. I put you on a pedestal, giving you all of this power over my happiness, and y’know what? I’m done. You’re fake. Your memories aren’t your own. We’re done here.” Mel starts to cry a little, and Tom consoles her, saying with a wink, “At least you won’t be around for my world class masturbation sessions.”
[Lights dim slowly to black]
Scene 6
Bowie looks down at Tom, who is sprawled out on the floor and still holding the mirror. Tom looks around, poking or nudging things to be sure they’re real. “Way better than those carnival fun houses- plenty of mirrors, not enough reflection. (pause) So, how was it? Were the reflections literal or-” Tom, frustrated by Bowie’s prodding, growls, “That isn’t a topic of discussion. Not now, not ever. Got it?” Bowie says no more, but takes notice of Tom’s markedly higher confidence levels, and how he’s not half as anxious as before. A brief awkward silence, then they sit back down opposite each other. “Have you made any headway with the lyrics while I was in there?” Tom asks. Bowie replies, “I’m not sure if I’d call it headway per se, but I had a thought.” Bowie describes his idea to travel to E4 (the fourth dimension) in order to see the lyrics through the perspective of an audience member, thus forging an indelible connection to those for whom the song was written. “Basically, the audience is looking at a stage through the fourth wall. It stands to reason thefourth wall would be most permeable in the fourth dimension, which is where we’re headed next.
Tom protests, arguing that if they are to work as a team, then their decisions should be utually agreed upon. Bowie points out Tom’s foray into the mirror, and how he didn’t bring that up for a vote; he didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye. Tom takes this very personally, shouting that he didn’t choose to get sucked into that introspective riddle. “But,” Bowie chirps, “You chose to look into the mirror- which you were warned not to do. Frankly, you’re lucky to be in one piece.” Tom agrees to go with Bowie, who pours them each another glass of whisky. Bowie takes a small sip, while Tom downs it all in one gulp, adding, “No idea what the fuck’s happening next, but I’m prepared.” Bowie holds out a hand, and Tom grips it firmly, bracing himself. Tom squeezes his eyes shut, and Bowie starts counting down. “In three… two… one…”
[Blackout]
Scene 7
Lights up on Tom’s room in the fourth dimension, with identical layout to the other two save for the soft light blue coloration of this whole dimension. Tom holds the mirror in his left hand and Bowie’s left hand in his right. In Bowie’s right hand is the latest draft of the song. Tom looks around, amazed and- as one would expect- full of questions. “Why does this place seem tinted blue? Do other dimensions have colors too, like are they assigned? How are they assigned?” Bowie cuts him off and answers quickly, “Because that’s the coloration selected; Yes, most have assigned colors; I have no goddamn idea. There, asked and answered. Happy?” Tom’s focus turns back to the song. He takes the latest draft of lyrics and lays it flat on the coffee table. Bowie takes the mirror and dictates what is reflected to Tom, and soon they had the fourth dimension version of the lyrics. Tom, irritated by the constant blue-ness of the realm, whines, “So we just spent… however long to translate a page of incoherent phrases and words into a page of different incoherent phrases and words? Fantastic. Here I could’ve been sitting at home with my dick in my hand… (trails off) Dumb horseshit…” Bowie grabs his arm, whistles, and everything goes dark.
[Blackout]
Scene 8
Lights up on Tom’s bedroom- the real one. He and Bowie are seated at the coffee table, trying to make sense of the fourth dimension lyrics. They go back and forth, trading suggestions (non of which work). Bowie starts to backtrack their progress with the lyrics, exclaiming, “Double reflection! Like the first clue- the lyrics have to be read in reflection twice, otherwise-” Tom covers his mouth with one hand and holds the mirror in the other, facing it away from himself. Some rustling noises and footsteps catch both their attentions, and Tom lets Bowie up. Bowie picks up the half-empty liquor bottle and holds it at the ready.
Then Body Double walks through the door with a newfound pleasant demeanor, dressed in clean, matching clothes, and a cautious smile. Bowie, not knowing who he is, swings the glass bottle at him. Tom jumps in between and stops the bottle from hitting either Body Double or the floor, shouting at Bowie that he’s not a threat anymore. Body Double takes exception to be categorized as nonthreatening, and loudly described the menacing, fear-inducing acts he could visit upon anyone at any time. Bowie finds it hilarious, and laughs through most of it, while Tom humors him to a point and puts an end to it. “Yes, yes, yes- you’re very threatening. Scourge of the day and night alike. We get it. (beat) I just meant you aren’t a threat to us,” The exercise in semantics was enough to calm Body Double, who, while not particularly helpful, was capable of holding the mirror in place for long periods of time. While he held the mirror, Bowie and Tom tried to find the right orientation to reflect. After a few turns, Bowie points and says, “Go back a quarter turn and… Yes! See there? It says ‘Ground nails to bone- at work, and at home; Still I can hear her crying.’ I think we’ve got it!
[fade to black as they work on lyrics]
Scene 9
Lights up on Tom and Bowie sitting around the coffee table with Body Double sitting cross-legged on the floor. Tom and Bowie are leaned back comfortably in their chairs, with a neat stack of papers equidistant to both of them. Tom produces a wooden box from under the coffee table, takes out two pipes and a bag of pipe tobacco, and turns to Bowie. (in a bad British accent) “ Well, ‘ello there guvna. Care to puff on me pipe a time or two? (dropping accent) Ehh, I tried.” Bowie stands up abruptly and looks at his watch. He apologizes profusely, but insists he has to be leaving immediately. “Urgent business on E3 to attend to- can’t be avoided. Tom, before ground control calls me again I want to thank you for your help with this song. I- I want you to have it, the whole thing,” he says, handing Tom the stack of papers. “Oh, and if you’re ever on E7, look me up.” Bowie turns sharply toward the door and exits. Body Double tries to suggest things they could do together, but each makes Tom more exhausted and less patient. Tom finally, though very reluctantly, gives in when Body Double suggests Frisbee golf.(medium-fast fade to black)
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