(Author's note: I'm not a playwrite – this was a school assignment. I think it turned out pretty well, though. I'm also not so much of a comedy writer, but again, I think it turned out at least decently. If you find it enjoyable, leave a review and/or (preferably and!) visit my profile to see what non-play stories I've got clogging my brain. Enjoy! ~not Ross)

Characters (in order of appearance):

Milton: spy

Flash the beta fish: best friend and chief advisor

Heather McHugh: innocent woman

Waitress: …waitress

Nigel Keomanivong: evil arms dealer marrying innocent woman

General Ewert: general

Guy Mann: musician

Pastor: ….pastor

Earnestine: gun

Lance: fellow spy


(Milton walks through the door with a suit in a bag hung over his shoulder, humming happily. A beta fish swims in a bowl on his bed-side table. He approaches it.)

Milton: Guess who just got back from headquarters with some great news and a really snazzy-looking suit! That's right! (Sets the suit on the bed and peers into the fishbowl.) Only a year out of training and already a mission! They said they gave it to me because I'm "perfect for the part, to borrow the colloquialism." Isn't that great? (He hangs up the suit and pulls out a folder, opens it, and shows its contents to the fish.) Heather McHugh, aged twenty-nine, average-looking brunette – who could stand a haircut, I might add – secretary at Watral Travel Agency downtown. But whyyyyyyy am I stalking her? Well. She just happens to be related to Edgardo Angon, the biggest international arms dealer in the hemisphere. But…. What? How could anyone not know that their uncle is an evil super-genius? I mean, family gossip, come on! Anyway, guess who Heather McHugh is engaged to: another evil super-genius arms dealer! Nigel Keomanivong. Kay-oh-man-ive-ong? Key-om-annie-vong? What an unfortunate last name. But what are the odds, right? So they want me to convince Heather McHugh to end the relationship.


Milton: Flash, you're absolutely right. It's a horrible thing for me to do! This woman is about to get married, and what am I doing? She's about to have the happiest day of her life, leap into the wonderful world of couples' life, spring into that lovely land of love and caring! But what am I doing? I'm trying to ruin it for her! That's terrible! What a low-life I am! What scum of the earth!


Milton: But all for one's country, right? It's for her own safety. (He stands up, attempting to look valiant.) Heather McHugh, I am here to rescue you! Come with me, fair maiden, and you will be saved! (He glances at the fishbowl.) Yes, I do watch too many Disney movies. What are you going to do about it? Because, guess what, Flash! Tomorrow, I'm going to be a real spy.


(Milton is walking down the street wearing a suit that does not blend in at all with the crowd, topping it all off with sunglasses, darting around and hiding behind things like he's trying to be cool but it's not working. We soon see that he's following an average-looking brunette. He catches up with her and awkwardly pretends to bump into her.)

Milton: Oh! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to do that! Please forgive-

Heather: (tersely) It's fine. (She tries to hurry away.)

Milton: (rushing after her) Are you hurt?

Heather: No, I'm fine.

Milton: Are you sure? I have some band-aids with me – one should always carry a first aid kit, you know.

Heather: No, really, I'm fine.

Milton: Well, perhaps you'd like to borrow a hair brush? It looks like I may have messed up your hair, which looked very lovely, by the way.

Heather: I'm fine. You're kind of creeping me out, though. Please leave me alone.

Milton: I feel so bad. Maybe I could buy you a cup of coffee or a blueberry muffin, or…?

Heather: Are you asking me out?

Milton: (awkwardly) Not explicitly…?

Heather: I'm engaged. And I'm allergic to blueberries.

(Milton grins excitedly and pulls out a notebook and pen from his pocket. He begins to write furiously.)

Heather: …Are you taking notes about me?

Milton: (as the pen flies out of his hand) No! Ha… Why would you think that? No, I'm, uh, taking a tally of all the redheads that I see this week. Last week, I did blonds.

(Heather stares disgustedly.)

Milton: (coughing and replacing his notebook.) You're engaged? How nice! How long have you known him?

Heather: A few years… Please stop talking to me. You're very creepy.

Milton: Did I mention that I'm a musician? (cringes)

Heather: No.

Milton: I'm a musician who goes undercover as a red-head-counter so that people will be more honest with me so I can write better songs! I like writing love songs! But, since I don't have a girlfriend… Uh, right now, I mean, of course – I'm looking for inspiration, so… can you tell me about your fiancé?

Heather: (blushes) You might write a song about us?

Milton: Why… why not, I mean?

Heather: I met him at the bank. He's very wealthy, and very nice, too.

Milton: (with his notebook out again) Nice?

Heather: He's very… caring. Very practical. And so handsome. He's tall and dark and bristly… (dreamy sigh)

Milton: You must be… very in love… But! Has he ever bought you flowers?

Heather: once.

Milton: Chocolate?

Heather: No…

Milton: clothes?

Heather: No.

Milton: I thought you said he was wealthy.

Heather: He is. But he's a businessman. He loves me, though!

Milton: But he doesn't buy you flowers.

Heather: What are you implying?

Milton: I'm just wondering if he's such a good fit for you.

Heather: (horrified) What do you mean? You don't even know him!

Milton: Of course not. You're right. I'm sorry.

Heather: (smiles) So will you write us a song?

Milton: What?

Heather: We're going out tomorrow night to that restaurant right across the street. 7 p.m. Can you come and sing it for him?

Milton: Well…

Heather: It'll be so romantic!

Milton: I don't know if…

Heather: Think of it as payback for bumping into me.

Milton: Sometimes, my creative process takes longer than-

Heather: 7 p.m. It'll be the perfect evening.


(Milton walks through the front door of a fancy restaurant: candle-lit tables, embroidered napkins, nicely dressed guests, etc. He stands in front of that table thing where you wait to be seated.)

Waitress: Sir, why are you wearing sunglasses.

Milton: It's, uh, bright in here.

Waitress: No it's not…

Milton: Because they make me look professional, then!

Waitress: No they don't…

Milton: I'm here to see Heather McHugh for dinner.

Waitress: (mumbling) Well, what else would you come to see her at a restaurant for? A traffic report? (back to Milton) She's already got a table for two, sir, with two people sitting at it…

Milton: Oh! Well, yes, that's because one of them doesn't know I'm coming.

Waitress: Look, if you're not over her, go get some counseling or something! Don't crash her dates! Take it from me.

Milton: What? No! I'm not crashing her date. I'm serenading him.

Waitress: Please tell me that's a joke.

Milton: No, because it's not very polite to lie. It's not a joke! I'm a musician! I wrote them a song.

Waitress: Brownie points for creativity, Creepy.

Milton: I'm not creepy!

Waitress: Sir, I'm gonna have to call security…

Milton: No, don't do that! (yelling, jumping, and waving his hands) Heather! Heather, look over here!

(Heather doesn't look.)

Waitress: Security! Hurry, security!

Milton: (louder) Heather! Helloooooooooooo!

(People begin to stare.)

(Heather finally looks over and runs over.)

Heather: Milton, what are you doing?

Milton: Miss waitress here was being obstinate and not letting me serenade your lovely fiancé.

Heather: Well, so much for the surprise of it. But, uh…

Milton: What?

Heather: Aren't you supposed to have something to sing to? Do you have a guitar?

Milton: No.

Heather: A ukulele?

Milton: No.

Heather: A drum?

Milton: No.

Heather: A violin?

Milton: No.

Heather: A cello?

Milton: No.

Heather: Then how are you planning on singing on a romantic love song?

Milton: …romantic?

Heather: Well?

Milton: I… prefer to sing a capella!
Heather: And tell me again why you haven't made it in the music business?

Milton: That would be impossibly, considering that I never told you in the first place.

Heather: Forget it. Just come over and show us what you've got.

(She leads him over to the table where Nigel is sitting. He smirks at Milton's appearance.)

Nigel: Heather, who is this?

Milton: Tuh! He doesn't even call you "dear" or anything. Some future husband, right? (laughs awkwardly)

(They both stare at him.)

Heather: This is Milton. He has a little surprise for you!

Milton: (awkwardly clears his throat and sings his song)

It's nine a.m. at the downtown bank.

The homeless men are slowly waking.

Goldfish swim in the nearby tank.

I see you and my nerves start quaking.

Ohhhh I saw you

Ohhhh wanna say "Hi" to you

Ohhhh I saw you

I'm jumping like a kangaroo

Teller says, "Hi" and "How you doing?"
I can't seem to concentrate.

'Cause when I see you, I feel like swooning

My brain your looks asphyxiate.

Ohhhh I saw you

Ohhhh wanna say "Hi" to you

Ohhhh I saw you

I'm jumping like a kangaroo

Now at last you've noticed me.

It seems that you are sort of waving.

Oh, never mind, it's just a bee,

But it's your attention that I'm craving.

Ohhhh I saw you

Ohhhh wanna say "Hi" to you

Ohhhh I saw you

I'm jumping like a kangaroo

(An old man at the next table claps. Everyone else stares.)

Nigel: What. Was. That?

Heather: He said he was a musician!

Milton: Not a very experienced one!

Heather: How can you call that a love song? How can you call that a song at all?

Milton: Well, I didn't have much to base it off of, which brings up a very interesting point, I might add. How much do you really know about each other?

Heather: What?

Milton: If I sat you down and asked you to tell me about your fiancé, what would you say?

Heather: I already did-

Milton: What kind of toothpaste does he use?

Heather: I don't know!

Milton: (turns to Nigel) And does she prefer milk chocolate or dark chocolate? Or! What if it's white chocolate?

Nigel: Uh…

Milton: Does she want caffeinated or decaff? Is he a college football person, or pro? What's her favorite sweater? What's his shoe size? Mac or PC? Does she constantly listen to bad jazz music? Do either of you squeeze the toothpaste from the middle? Is she obsessive and feels the need to brush her hair before bed? Does he like his steak well-done or medium-rare? Fried eggs: runny center or firm? Will he willingly eat Chinese food? Is the glass half full or half empty? Does he brush his teeth before or after breakfast? Is he the kind of person who speeds up to make a yellow light. Is that woman's shirt over there teal or blue? Or is it turquoise? Will she insist on rinsing the plates before putting them in the dishwasher? White roses or red? Or is it orchids? Does he like celery in his tuna salad? Does she like potato chips? Punk rock or heavy metal? (extra emphasis, emphatic arm movements) Will he constantly leave the toilet seat up?

(Silence in the whole restaurant.)

Awkward Waiter: …heavy metal…

Milton: Your blank faces beg the question, "Are you really ready for marriage?" (gravely) "Are you even right for each other?"

(Blank stares from Heather and Nigel.)

Heather: Get. Out.

Milton: But-

Heather: Security! Security!

(Big guys in blue shirts lumber over and grab Milton by the arms, pulling him towards the door.)

Milton: I didn't mean that in a bad way!
Waitress (from beginning of scene): (smirking) Musician, ha. What a creep.


(Milton is back in his room, teasing Flash the beta fish from the side of the fishbowl. His suit hangs in an open closet, but he's still wearing the sunglasses, along with his bathrobe. Suddenly, his TV screen beeps and an image of a woman wearing a military uniform [impressively decorated] pops up.)

General: Milton.

Milton: (leaping up in surprise and goes to salute the television.) General! You look lovely this morning, ma'am.

General: (sighs) I wish I could say the same about a certain security tape that I received last night.

Milton: Did someone break into your office, ma'am?

General: No. A musician, Milton, really?

Milton: Uh…

General: If you're going to go under cover like that, make sure it's a believable cover.

Milton: Oh, you mean the restaurant last night?

General: Yes.

Milton: That was a great song! Heather and her evil sweetheart just have terrible taste, that's all. Did you hear the song?

General: Unfortunately, yes.

Milton: Well, she caught me off-guard! What was I supposed to do? First, I told her that I was a red-head-counter, but she thought that was kind of weird, I guess, so I had to say-

General: Milton, this is what goes in your report at the end of the mission. Until then, I don't need to hear about your tactics. At all. None of my men should ever end up in the local newspaper for their creative under-cover methods!

Milton: But how am I supposed to convince her not to marry him?

General: I leave that to you. But, Milton?

Milton: Yes?

General: Think before you blurt, that's all I ask.

Milton: Yes, ma'am.

General: The wedding is scheduled for next week. I can't get enough men out there for two more weeks, so all you have to do is postpone the ceremony. Can you do that much?

Milton: Ma'am, there could not be a better man for the job.

General: I won't believe it until I see it.

(The TV screen goes blank.)


(A fancy wedding. Flowers, ribbons, a swan ice sculpture, people in curtain-like dresses, shimmery suits, etc. Milton struts onto the scene, looking quite handsome and impressive, still moving like an awkward geek. He wears an earpiece, but he constantly fiddles with it. Guests are being seated in the sanctuary – the wedding is just about to start.)

Milton: Lovely wedding. Truly lovely wedding. The ice sculpture hasn't even begun to melt yet! I wonder who's catering… (he reaches up to fondle the earpiece yet again) No! We are not here to eat food and watch ice sculptures melt, now, are we? No, I didn't think so. (He strolls about, trying to fit in with all the upper-crusty-types that surround him. The earpiece continues to irritate him. Soon, he approaches a man in a strange hat who is carrying a guitar case.) Good afternoon, sir.

Musician: I suppose it will be, yes, but it's only 10:30 at the moment…

Milton: I meant yesterday, of course.

Musician: Then yes.

Milton: How do you know the bride? Or groom?

Musician: Well, one of them called me up a few weeks ago asking me to play music here. I've never met them, though. Just so long as I know their favorite song.

Milton: Sir, I find that outlook to be quite callous! Isn't it so amazing to be able to make all these new couples' lives happy with your music? Isn't it scintillating?

Musician: Sure. When I get my paycheck.

Milton: How can you say anything like that? Here, (he digs in his pocket, produces a wallet, and opens it, pointing) look. Look how happy they are! Wouldn't you like to make a happy couple like that even happier? Doesn't that excite you?

Musician: Not…. well….. (He passes out.)

Milton: (into his watch, which is assumed to be some kind of communication device) Wow, you were right about one thing: that tranquilizing dust sure is effective. (He puts his hand to his ear, implying that he hears a response, then cringes.) Well excuse me for exalting the wonders of technology! You wouldn't be able to yell at me right now without technology, you'll remember. Some people! (He picks up the slumbering musician and drags him into the middle of a hedge, out of view, then goes back and retrieves the guitar case.) Sir, I don't think a one-night crash-course on guitar-playing is going to cut it…

(He rushes back into the sanctuary and plays around with the guitar for a few minutes until everyone has finally been seated, at which time the pastor comes out to the pulpit and begins to talk.)

Pastor: Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, on this lovely day.

Milton: (muttering) At least he thinks it's lovely.

Pastor: Today we've come together to witness the glorious binding of two into one: Heather McHugh and Nigel (stumbles over last name) Keomanivong. It is a special day in the lives of these two people, and a special day for all of us here – friends and family. Before we begin, Nigel has requested that singer-songwriter Guy Mann sing a very special song for his bride-to-be. (Tittering in the audience.) Nigel's bride-to-be, that is, not Guy's.

(Milton stiffens as the lights dim and a spotlight is pointed directly at him. He holds the guitar awkwardly and begins to strum "chords." He sings.)

Milton: It's nine a.m. at the downtown bank.

The homeless men are slowly waking.

Goldfish swim in the nearby tank.

I see you and my nerves start quaking.

Ohhhh, I saw you.

Ohhhh, I wanna say-

Nigel: (jumping to his feet and shouting angrily) Who let him in?

Milton: The attendants in the lobby, if you can believe that.

Nigel: Someone arrest him! Are there any cops out there? Arrest this lunatic! (He grabs Milton by the throat tightly.) You weren't invited here. I want you to leave. I want to never lay eyes on your again, you got that?

Milton: (hoarsely) But I'm in the middle of a song!

Nigel: (throws him across the stage and pulls out a gun, pointing it at Milton, who is busy coughing and only notices after a few moments) I. Don't. Care! Get out of here! Get out of here or be escorted by Earnestine here (waves the gun).

Heather: Nigel! What are you doing?

Milton: You named your gun?

Nigel: (clicking Earnestine) Proudly. I'm counting to three. You'd better be all the way out those doors by the time I get through, or else all these people are going to be scarred for life.

Milton: So will I, if you think about it.

Nigel: One.

Milton: Is it even physically possible to get all the way back there in three seconds? Or are you not counting by seconds? It really bothers me when people count and they don't count by seconds. Do you mind counting by seconds?

Nigel: Two.

Heather: Nigel! What are you doing? Is that a gun?

Milton: Yes, it is, and its name is Earnestine. I'd suggest having a little talk with this guy about cheating.

Nigel: Three.

(A shot goes off. Milton is blown backwards, and everything is silent. Then people begin screaming, including Heather, who runs offstage. Soon, men wearing military uniforms and carrying large guns flood through the doors of the church, heading for Nigel, who also runs offstage in his attempt to get away. One of the men runs up to Milton, who is lying unmoved on the stage.)

Lance: Hey, Milton. Are you okay?

Milton: (groaning) They tell you it hurts to get shot, even when you've got the vest, but for some reason, you just don't believe them….

Lance: Speak for yourself.

Milton: I am, thank you.

Lance: Why in the world did you sing such a horrible song?

Milton: Why does everyone keep saying it's such a horrible song?

Lance: Maybe because it's a horrible song. Didn't you think people would figure you out?

Milton: Well, of course. That was my plan all along!

Lance: You had a plan?

Milton: I had a plan.

Lance: Did you really? That was your plan? To get him to shoot you like that?

Milton: (smiling) Was it?