Do's & Donuts: The Whitmire Sisters Do a Bad, Bad Thing
NOVEMBER 19, 2010 9:45PM
Do's & Donuts: The Whitmire Sisters Do a Bad, Bad Thing
A play in two acts
By Linda L. Treiber
Mishap Gap, North Carolina at the town’s renowned beauty parlor/donut shop,
Do’s & Donuts. Cast of Characters
Veeta Whitmire: Owner of donut shop and sister to Mira Whitmire McCall.
Mira Whitmire McCall: Owner of beauty salon and sister to Veeta Whitmire.
Married to Earl McCall.
Earl McCall: Married to Mira, came from outside Mishap Gap.
Willis Deerhorn: Police chief for Mishap Gap.
Cecil: Older gent of few words, former hobo, lives in a tent.
Mrs. Galloway: Elegant retiree enjoying her mountain home.
Barry Rothstein: Book Publisher from NY.
Felix Armbruster: Attorney and speculator from Atlanta.
Firelight Whitmire: Veeta and Mira’s mother.
Gianna: New to Mishap Gap, works in beauty salon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Act One, Scene 1 Mishap Gap, North Carolina. Spring.
About 2:30 am. The front porch of the shop called “Do’s & Donuts” is a
wooden deck ringed with a varied collection of thrift store outdoor furniture,
twinkle lights, homemade wooden objects de art, and potted plants.
It is night, and the porch is lit by a streetlight listing haphazardly from
the corner of the building. A pup tent illuminated from the inside by lantern
light is set up near the back corner of the porch in the shadows.
A circular staircase runs up the side of the building leading to a front door
on a second floor apartment where VEETA lives. She is single,
in her forties, and in the proprietress of the “Donuts” side of the store. She
is tall, long hair and wears latent hippy-ish garb covered with a baker’s apron.
She sits rocking on the porch having a nightcap listening to harmonica music
emanating from the pup tent. She looks up and toasts to the stars. A train
whistle and a rumble punctuate the sound of the music and crickets.
Suddenly a blaze of headlights spray across her and the sound of car tires
come to a stop in the gravel drive. Music, crickets stop. Train trails off and
Veeta stands -
(Holding her hand over her eyes to see past the headlights)
Hello? Shop’s closed. Can I help y’all?
Veeta! I’m so glad you’re up!
(Panting, with an edge of panic)
Veeta, come here quick, I need your help.
(Car door closes, trunk opening sound)
(Leaving the porch toward the headlights)
Mira! What’s goin’ on? It’s late…Why aren’t you home? …Oh my God, what the
hell happened here?
I don’t know…I don’t know…He was there layin’ in the road. I was driving back
from the Country Club through the property and I damn near ran off into a ditch.
I couldn’t leave him. Think he’s a goner?
I can’t tell. No, wait, there’s a pulse. Let’s get him up to the porch.
What’s that sticking out?
(Gagging) Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap…
C’mon, Mira, get his feet…
(Mira and Veeta approach the porch carrying a body of a man. He
is limp and bleeding and resembles a pin cushion.)
I’m headin’ for the bench. You with me Mira?
(Crying and snorting)
Yeah. Yeah. Oh my GAWD! MIRA is as tall as Veeta, but is the complete opposite
in appearance with short, well-maintained hair, long manicured nails, elaborate
yet running makeup, and an elegant blood-stained party dress on…She kicks her
high heels off to get better leverage on the deadweight.
(As they lay the body down)
Hush up you priss. Cecil’ll hear you. Ok, now, whew, he looks like a fresh
hunted buck. Crossbow arrows. I don’t think anything vital’s been hit though.
All legs and arms. Oh, and this even grosses me out, there’s one under the skin
across his chest. (She backs off, rifles his pockets) He’s got no i.d.
Good lookin. He’s breathin’. We better call an ambulance…
NO! No…We can’t. You gotta fix him. You’re the nurse here. Do your thing.
(Looking at her like she’s got two heads)
That was years ago. I’m rusty…Just how many brandy alexanders did you drink
up there at the Club tonight anyway? I’m callin’….
Veeta, HONEY, you can’t.
Well why the hell not? What did you do? Hit him with the car
No, no. Here’s the thing… I know those crossbow arrows. They’re Earl’s
practice bolts. He marks them with this red paint here to prove to his hunting
buddies that he had the best shot when they’re practicin’.
(She points to the arrows sticking out of the body and
You know how competitive he is.
(She grabs a towel on furiously wipes at the blood on her
Damn it, I was going to take this back tomorrow…
Are you genuinely telling me that Earl shot this guy? Because if you are,
(With rising glee) here finally is my opportunity to put the low-life
chicken-shit scumbucket of a husband of yours away forever…Yeah, honey, I’m
NO! Veeta, PLEASE don’t. Just pull ‘em out. C’mon sugar, just yank ‘em and
we’ll put him somewhere for someone else to find…
(Stares at Mira for a beat)
You know what time it is? It’s time for you to get on the clue train and me
to have some liquids.
(She finishes her nightcap in one furious
Please? PLLEEEEEZ? Please, please, please…Veeta, what’ll happen to me if
Earl’s put away?
He’ll get life? You’ll get a life? A few less opportunities to wear your
sunglasses at night? I see no down side…
I get it. But the anger management therapy is working for him! I swear he
hasn’t lifted a hand to me in weeks. (Faux cheeriness) C’mon, darling’,
just let’s pop these out of this fella and go dump him near the hospital or
Mira, I am just so tired of yanking your beans out of the fire all the
time…What was Earl thinkin’? What did this guy do to piss him off?
Well, probably nothing but just drawin’ breath. I think he came from that
hobo camp on The Property from the looks of it. Honestly honey, I actually do
know what got him going. Our little time at the Country Club wasn’t so hot. He
was so excited to be invited to that big Golf Banquet tonight. Bought a new
suit. Got a shave. Bugged me to get all gussied up. Said he had a big deal
brewin’ about the family property.
You mean Mama’s property?
Well, yeah, I guess. He’s just looking out for all our mutual interests.
(She gets white towels hanging out on the line near the beauty
parlor and blots the blood and mud from the man’s face)
This fella’s a looker. Here now – Press down to stop this bleeding.
(They continue to care for the pierced man all the while talking
a blue streak.)
Anyway, all those doctors, lawyers, investment bankers…We were really fish
outta water, you know? We were the pet local yokels the summer folk adopted for
the season. Earl was tryin’ so hard to make an impression on those city folk
with his big ideas, but he had too many Jack Daniels and, well, I left ‘cause I
couldn’t take it anymore. They were makin’ fun of him…and me in such a “gracious
and sophisticated way.” Snotty. The drunker he got the more he went on about
that damn railroad and the tramps ruinin’ his property value with their camp
down on our land…
…so instead of flipping off the gentry and just going home, he went out and
hunted himself a hobo. Fine fella you married. This is outta hand. I’m callin
NO. Alright, here it is Miss I’m-Gonna-Go-By-The-Book. What if we tell and
the law lets Earl walk? OJ got off for heaven’s sake! And that jury wasn’t a
backwater herd of inbreds what put him back in a golf cart. Earl’ll be vengeful,
Veeta. A poisoned dog here, a burnt down donut shop there…You know what I mean.
And, I don’t trust the legal system here…He’s friends with, sorta, or has
bullied everybody in this town…
Almost everybody. There is the one legal eagle here he can’t bully and who
didn’t excuse his lowdown dealins’…All three times he’s stood in front of the
bench for those swindles he cooked up, justice was served.
I’ll give you that. Very nearly bankrupted us if you’ll recall. Listen, you
and I are not connected to this town since Daddy passed. We’d of had some means
of dealin’ with this if Daddy could help us now.
Daddy would’ve put this fella in an ambulance and then after a good horse
whippin’ in the barn, Earl would find his nasty self on the road back south.
Right! But Daddy’s gone and we’re just the working class Whitmire sisters. We
got no real influence any more unless it’s to suggest an “up do” or jimmies on a
chocolate donut. And Mama? Well Mama’s just Mama, you know…Damn, honey, my point
is that Earl’s smart like a weasel. He could turn the whole thing around and we
could get put away for life. You thought of that, rocket?
You are my sister, and I love you, and I hope you are right. Son of a bitch.
I hope Earl’s liver fails soon. I can only hope.
Your mouth to God’s ear.
Ok, ok, ok. Just for the record, Earl’s a shitty shot.
No argument here, hon.
You ready, sister? You are gonna help me with this so here’re the rules: No
puking or crying. Glad he’s out ‘cause this is going to hurt…
(Deep breath, with faux gusto grasping one of the