A work in progress
Stage lights up on a posh but messy green room. The sounds of rhythmic chanting can be heard in the distance. We're apparently backstage at a concert hall--a very large one, at that. The crowd is growing restless.
Shortly after the lights come up, Madonna enters the green room downstage left. She's dressed completely in white, with a cascade of auburn ringlets brushing against her shoulders. Surrounded by a six-member beauty SWAT team (Jennifer Grey, Tiffany, Martika, the fat girl from Wilson-Philips, Marcella Detroit, and Rossy de Palma, each of whom sports a long white lab coat), she makes her way to the center of the room and sits in a very minimal-chic recliner, leaning back so that the stylists can do their work. The effect is of crows gorging on a corpse.
After a moment or two, a previously unnoticed barber shop chair spins around upstage right. Sitting in it, we find a woman, although her face is obscured: she's looking straight down, wearing a very large-brimmed, very white, felt fedora. When she looks up, we realize it's Grace Jones, naked save the hat. She's had her nose in a very large pile of...something. There's a wide straw sticking out of the top of the pile, which we'd assume is cocaine, except it's green. And it glows with a rhythmic, scintillating, wave-like phosphorescence, like a cuttlefish. She laughs as she raises her head, leveling her eyes at Madonna. Startled, Madonna bolts upright in her chair. She slowly stands.
Madonna: I didn't expect to see you so soon, Gracie.(Grace breaks into laughter again.) You know, it was foolish of you to come here tonight. My henchwomen have been specially trained to deal with you by Dolph Lundgren himself. (Henchwomen drop lab coats. They're wearing outfits much like Madonna herself, but much less fabulous and about a half-size too small.) Have at her, girls!
(The SWAT team rushes her. The barber chair spins, Grace disappears. General confusion. Moments later Grace, clad in a leopard print cat suit that would probably look ridiculous on anyone but her, drops from the ceiling onto the pack of women. This is followed by a ten minute kung-fu sequence, choreographed by Maggie Cheung. During the fight, Madonna breast feeds Rocco, looking mildly amused by the goings-on. Grace eventually kicks every last ass and whips out a cigar, striking her match on the nose of Rossy de Palma. She paces slowly toward Madonna, who appears unruffled but puts Rocco in a bassinet nearby--just to be safe. Madonna lunges first.)
Madonna: (Giving her a kick to the head) Send that one to the agent who scored you Vamp, tramp!
Grace: (Flipping her over the shoulder) And that's for Body of Evidence, you mindless little slut!
Madonna: (Landing on Grace's shoulder's with a gravity-defying front somersault) You don't have room to talk about bodies, ya' freak! You lousy excuse for a post-op trannie!
Grace: (Falling backwards, pinning Madonna to the ground) Listen here, Eyebags-y Mallone, at least I don't inject myself with toxic chemicals every day of the week just to look younger. (Pauses. Thinks for a moment.) Well, maybe on the weekends...
Madonna: (Pushing her off with the heel of her 6-inch McQueen pumps) Get your lousy bumper offa me, you cow!
Grace: (Flying jump-kick to the head) Cherish this, bitch! (Madonna's head is severed, flying off and up. Grace catches it on the sharpened tip of an eyebrow pencil plucked from Martika's pocket. Grace licks Madonna's head like a lollipop, then inserts it into her own vagina. Addresses audience directly.) For safekeeping. (Smiles, exits. The sounds of the crowd grow louder as we hear an announcer say "Ladies and gentlemen: Jones, Miss Grace Jones...")
Director's note: The above can be performed with Javanese shadow puppets if Ms. Jones and Ms. Ciccone are unavailable at the time of production.
