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Los Feliz Monologues



Los Feliz , a 35 minute one-man play by Martin Foreman, features a man in his early thirties striking up a conversation in a Los Angeles diner at the end of the day. He's brash and self-confident and he wants you to know about the woman he used to date. The more he talks, the more the audience learns about his past, his need for companionship and his attitude to women.


A good monologue for an actor who can walk the fine line between alienating his audience and having them sympathise with him.


Conditions of use


The monologue and extracts on this page may be used without charge for auditions and teaching only. They may not be used in any public performance, whether paid or unpaid, in any medium, without the written approval of the author.


If used in auditions or teaching, the author would appreciate being informed here.


To apply for performance rights for part or all of the play, contact the author here.

Californian Lives by Martin Foreman


one of three one-(wo)man plays in Californian Lives
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p 5 Opening scene


Freeways? Nothing you can tell me about freeways. I wrote the book on freeways. I know every mile of freeway in LA and Orange Counties. Go on, try me. Name me two cities and I'll tell you how to get from one to the other. La Caņada and West Covina? Come on, give me something difficult. Two-ten east then Ten west or Two-Ten east, Six-Oh-Five south and Ten east, depending on traffic and whether you want the Plaza or the Country Club.


Give me another. All right, I'll give you one. San Pedro and Montebello. Now most guys would tell you the One-Ten north and the Ten east. Sure, and get caught by all that traffic downtown. You listen to me and I tell you the One-Ten, the Ninety-One and the Seven-Ten. You get there half an hour before the other guy, you've time to put your feet up, grab a bite, call the wife.


How do I know? Because I drive the freeways, every freaking day of the week. Eight, ten hours a day.
pp 7 - 8 seeing Melanie


So about three months ago, the end of a long day, I've been in Glendale with a jackass of a client who thinks he's owed a replacement instead of the annual service, I'm on my way back to the office when there's a road block. Traffic is backed up in all directions and I find myself taking streets that even I don't recognize. This is Silverlake, Los Feliz, a lot of nice houses with gardens. Hills and streets winding all over the place.


I pull up at a Stop sign and I'm waiting for the traffic to clear when I turn and what do I see in the garden right next to me but the woman of my dreams. Not bimbo, not babe, one hundred percent serious woman. Thirty-one, thirty-two, long black hair, face a little like that girl in the last Tom Cruise movie. Sleeveless blouse and pants showing off every curve. But not cheap. This woman had class. And a nice house and plenty of time to spend making her garden look good.


There I was sitting in my car, looking her over like any guy would. She looks up and for a second she catches my eye and I'm thinking, without thinking, know what I mean, that I want to make love to her all night long. And I mean love. A bimbo you screw. A babe you talk to a bit, then screw. A woman like this, you make love. Then the guy in the car behind me is sounding his horn because I haven't moved and the road is clear. So I move off and head for the office and suddenly I don't know whether the world is wonderful or a piece of shit. Wonderful, because she's in it. Or shit because I'm not making it with her.
pp 13 - 14 in love


Anyhow, I finally ask her for a date. Go out for a meal. She says yes without even thinking about it. So two days later, I pick her up in my best jacket and pants. I look okay, but she looks a dream. Black dress, dark green jacket, green beads. That's when it hits me. I don't just want this woman, I'm in love with her. She's beautiful, kind, intelligent and she wants to go out with me. For a second, I don't know what to do. Kiss her, hug her, throw myself at her feet. Almost said there and then, will you marry me. You would too. Think Cameron Diaz, brunette and with a brain.


I'll never forget that evening. Driving down Los Feliz, the sun was setting, everything had that pinky-orange look, romantic, not quite real. Melanie beside me, smelling of perfume but a real woman smell underneath. Chris Isaaks on the CD. I hadn't been so happy in years. Tried to let her know how I felt. Not straight out, but stuff like life was going really good for me, LA was finally beginning to feel like home, there was a kind of beauty in the city that most people didn't see. She just sat there, didn't say much, but when we stopped for the lights at Santa Monica and I looked over at her, she just smiled. I was like a teenager again, well and truly hooked. Just wanted the ride to last for ever.




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