Lee Gambin - King of Bangor

MR. KNIGHT: Necrophilia? Rape? Incest? Pedophilia? Scatology?

PRINCETON: Bad dreams?

PRINCESS: Bad parenting?

QUEENIE: Bad acid trip?

MR. KNIGHT: Bad writing?

PRINCETON: Helping out a friend the best way you can…

PRINCESS: Being punished for the mistakes you’ve made…

PRINCETON: Coming home to write a novel…

PRINCESS: Channeling your secret gift…

MR KNIGHT: Jack’s a dull boy.

Queenie breaks out of the moment and resumes her old persona; that of the assistant. She looks concerned with King and approaches him:

QUEENIE: Steve? Steve you ok? (beat) Have you heard from Tabitha and the kids?

KING: Nope. Not yet. I’m sure they’re doin’ fine.

QUEENIE: You need anything?

KING: Yeah.

QUEENIE: What is it? What can I get you?

KING: I need a drink.

He pours himself another drink

QUEENIE: Look after yourself. I’m off for the rest of the day.

KING: Toodles.

Queenie is enveloped by darkness

Mr. Knight stands over King’s shoulder as he drinks and slowly types

MR KNIGHT: Hi.

KING: Who are you?

MR KNIGHT: The door was left open so I just thought—

KING: You thought wrong buddy get lost.

MR KNIGHT: Well I really wanted to talk to you Mr. King.

KING: I ain’t interested. I’m working here.

MR KNIGHT: Well that’s the reason I turned up. That’s what I want to talk to you about. Your work.

KING: I’m gonna call the police.

King goes to the phone. Mr Knight stops him with:

MR KNIGHT: The work of a writer is like nobody’s whore.

KING: What?

MR KNIGHT: That’s just something I wrote. I’m somewhat of a bedroom novelist.

KING: You’re lying.

MR KNIGHT: No I ain’t lying. I’m deadly serious.

KING: Who are you?

MR KNIGHT: (sadly amused) Who am I? That’s not important. Sadly, it’s not important at all. But it could have been. I could have been the well known much loved writer everyone raves about. But I’m not. I’ll always be the bedroom novelist. Stuck in his house writing stuff that’ll never be read by the likes of anyone.

KING: Look I’ll give you three seconds to get outta here—

MR KNIGHT: (dead seriousness) I wrote “Carrie”.

KING: You what?

MR KNIGHT: I was the guy that penned that classic.

KING: What are you talking about?

MR KNIGHT: I wrote the first draft of “Carrie” and you found it and you ripped it off.

KING: You’re crazy.

Mr Knight turns menacing

MR KNIGHT: Oh I can be. You want me to go crazy? I can get as fucking crazy as Jack… you know? From “The Shining”?

KING: Let me guess, you wrote that too?

MR KNIGHT: Damn fucking straight!

KING: Get lost.

MR KNIGHT: I wrote these stories and you stole them off me! you made millions from ’em and I still live alone in that fucking project—

KING: (counting fast) One two three, you’re out.

He picks up the phone quickly but Mr Knight as this crazed man lifts up a gun, aiming it straight at him:

MR KNIGHT: Put the phone down Mr. King.

KING: What the fuck?

MR KNIGHT: Put the phone down and pick up a pen and do the best writing you can do.

KING: What do you want from me?

MR KNIGHT: I want you to write me a cheque. A cheque for five million dollars. It ain’t too much to ask for seeing as you ripped me off for everything I wrote.

KING: You’re deranged.

MR KNIGHT: All work and no play made me that way. Now write!

King goes to his desk and slowly gets a cheque book and starts to write

MR KNIGHT: How you can sleep at night knowing that those stories you sold weren’t really yours. My God…

KING: Who do I make it out to?

MR KNIGHT: What?

KING: Who do I write the cheque for? What’s your name?

MR KNIGHT: My name?

KING: Yes, you’re name!

MR KNIGHT: I—It’s not important.

King’s fear turns to puzzlement. Before he can react Princeton approaches; he’s the errands boy from earlier. He sees the situation and wrestles Mr Knight to the ground

MR KNIGHT: Let me go! Get the fuck off me!

KING: Oh man! Thank fuck!

PRINCETON: You alright Mr. King? You ain’t hurt are you?

KING: I’m fine, just keep that asshole down while I—

King goes to the phone and dials. As he dials Princeton exits with Mr Knight

King turns around they’re gone

He decides to hang up

He goes to his desk and pours another drink

He contemplates the other line of cocaine and begins to roll the cheque up and hen he snorts

Enter Queenie. She is meek and slightly shy; grinning nervously: she is meeting her idol. She carries a copy of the same book that Princess was reading earlier. She also has a marker at hand

QUEENIE: Hello Mr. King. I’m you’re number one fan.

KING: How’d you—?

QUEENIE: The young girl let me in.

KING: What girl?

QUEENIE: She says she walks your dogs when you’re working on a novel. And I can see that you’re in over your head at the moment. I’m very excited to read it. I just love your work.

KING: She shouldn’t of let you in here. This is private property.

QUEENIE: And you’re a very private person. I know that. I know everything about you.

King reaches for the phone

QUEENIE: Oh please, please don’t be scared of lil’ ole me. I’m nothing to be scared of. Ha! What a hoot! I’m just a fan who has your most recent novel here with her and a marker and I’d just love it if you—?

KING: Autograph?

QUEENIE: It would be an honor.

KING: Then you’ll leave?

QUEENIE: I’m interrupting a work in progress aren’t I?

KING: You already know you are.

QUEENIE: It’s just that I couldn’t pass this up. I was waiting in line for hours at the Bangor Best Buy Book Sellers, that’s where I get all your first editions. The woman there was not helpful at all…

KING: So I’ve been told.

QUEENIE: But I met this nice young man who was picking up a copy for you. So I—

KING: You followed him.

QUEENIE: Yes. I followed him. Lucky I had my car with me by golly that boy can run!

KING: Gimme your book.

QUEENIE: Oh, yes, yes here!

She hands him her book and he signs it

KING: Who do I make it out to?

QUEENIE: Your number one fan.

KING: Is there a name that goes with that?

QUEENIE: (dismissive) Annie. Annie Wilkes. But I’m a plain jane nobody, not the Hollywood type you’re so used to gallivanting ‘round with; I mean all those glamorous pretty ladies and the parties and the big important producers and the like; I’m just some silly goat stuck out on her big ole farm down the road; you don’t need to pollute your masterpiece with my name…

KING: (writing) To Annie Wilkes. My number one fan. Lots of love Stephen King.

Queenie is astounded. She is completely star struck. She collects her book as if it were the lost scrolls of the holy bible

QUEENIE: Thank you. Oh my goodness, heavens to Betsy, thank you so much…

KING: You’re welcome Annie.

King sits back at his typewriter, Queenie hovers over him, worshiping him but also slowly morphing into something monstrous:

QUEENIE: This is just too much for me. Really it is. I’ve loved you from day one. From the short stories you wrote for Playboy magazine to your articles and your essays and all those anthologies…

KING: Thank you, you’re too kind.

QUEENIE: Oh but the novels! My my those are just too good for words!

KING: Oh no, they’re word worthy alright.

QUEENIE: I’m just in awe of your genius. You are a god among men.