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# Praise for the plays of Halley Feiffer

**AFUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE GYNECOLOGIC ONCOLOGY UNIT AT MEMORIAL SLOAN KETTERING CANCER CENTER OF NEW YORK CITY**

"A daring romantic comedy... Feiffer is one funny playwright."

—Charles McNulty, _Los Angeles Times_

_"Funny Thing_ makes a convincing case that hard laughter is an absolutely appropriate response to those moments when life seems like too bad a joke not to respond otherwise... an exposed nerve of a script."

—Ben Brantley, _The New York Times_

"Feiffer's work always has guts... powerful... But for all the farcical, caustic humor in the piece, this lovely play really is about a coming together in the spirit of shared humanity."

—Chris Jones, _Chicago Tribune_

**I'M GONNA PRAY FOR YOU SO HARD**

"Viciously funny... brutally effective. Feiffer takes a tough look at the forces that can bring us to our knees."

—Adam Feldman, _Time Out New York_

"A bone-chilling... punishing drama."

—Charles Isherwood, _The New York Times_

"Blistering, blackly funny."

—Joe Dziemianowicz, _New York Daily News_

"One minute you're laughing, the next you're cringing... the play sticks in your head like a crazy nightmare."

—Elisabeth Vincentelli, _New York Post_

"Funny, scary, and completely over the top in its own right... goes straight for the jugular through the heart."

—Robert Hofler, _The Wrap_

"Provocative, sensitive, shocking and often very unsettling... polished and probing. One of the best plays I've seen this season."

—Rex Reed, _New York Observer_

"Exhilaratingly toxic."

—Joe McGovern, _Entertainment Weekly_

"A hard-hearted stunner."

—Michael Schulman, _The New Yorker_

"Halley Feiffer's ferocious, explosive dialogue in _I'm Gonna Pray For You So Hard_ is in a class of its own."

—Lee Kinney, _TheEasy.com_

"It's a fearless piece of work, riveting and hilarious."

—Robert Feldberg, _Bergen Record_

**HOWTO MAKE FRIENDS AND THEN KILL THEM**

"Ms. Feiffer... is building a reputation for fearlessness."

—Neil Genzlinger, _The New York Times_

"Thank God... for the warped creative mind of playwright/actress Halley Feiffer, who harnesses the weird to full, gory effect in _How to Make Friends and Then Kill Them,_ an uproarious and deeply unsettling new dark comedy... Equally laugh-out-loud funny, jaw-droppingly gross, and thoroughly sad... Feiffer's unique, refreshing voice is one to which attention should be paid."

—David Gordon, _Theatermania_

"Disturbingly funny."

—Joe Dziemianowicz, _New York Daily News_

"Feiffer... has a commendable eye for the absurd."

_—The New Yorker_

"A wicked comedy... Feiffer... is an expert comic actor with an appealingly skewed sensibility."

—Elisabeth Vincentelli, _New York Post_

"There's great stuff here... dark and weird."

—Helen Shaw, _Time Out New York_

**HALLEY FEIFFER** is a writer and actress. Plays include _I'm Gonna Pray For You So Hard_ (World Premiere Atlantic Theater Company, Outer Critics Circle Nomination), _Moscow Moscow Moscow Moscow Moscow Moscow_ (World Premiere Williamstown Theatre Festival, MCC Theater), _How To Make Friends and Then Kill Them_ (World Premiere Rattlestick Playwrights Theatre), _The Pain of My Belligerence_ (World Premiere Playwrights Horizons) and this play (World Premiere MCC Theater), the West Coast premiere of which she starred in at the Geffen Playhouse. Her plays have been produced around the country and in the UK. Acting credits include the Broadway revivals of _The Front Page_ and _The House of Blue Leaves_ (Theatre World Award) and numerous off-Broadway productions including _Tigers Be Still_ (Roundabout, Drama League Nom.). TV & film includes recurring roles on HBO's _Mildred Piece_ and _Bored to Death_ and the films _The Squid and the Whale_ , _Gentlemen Broncos_ and _He's Way More Famous than You_ , which she also co-wrote. TV writing credits include _The One Percent_ (Starz), Purity (Showtime), _Mozart in the Jungle_ (Amazon) and original pilots for FX and TNT. She is a producer on the Showtime series _Kidding_ , starring Jim Carrey.
ALSO BY HALLEY FEIFFER

_HowTo Make Friends and Then Kill Them_

_I'm Gonna Pray For You So Hard_

# Copyright

CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that performance of the Play is subject to payment of a royalty. The Play is fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America, and of all countries covered by the International Copyright Union (including the Dominion of Canada and the rest of the British Commonwealth), and of all countries covered by the Pan-American Copyright Convention, the Universal Copyright Convention, the Berne Convention, and of all countries with which the United States has reciprocal copyright relations. All rights, including without limitation professional/ amateur stage rights, motion picture, recitation, lecturing, public reading, radio broadcasting, television, video or sound recording. all other forms of mechanical, electronic and digital reproduction, transmission and distribution, such as CD, DVD, the Internet, private and file-sharing networks, information storage and retrieval systems, photocopying, and the rights of translation into foreign languages are strictly reserved. Particular emphasis is placed upon the matter of readings, permission for which must be secured from the Author's agent in writing. Inquiries concerning rights should be addressed to ICM Partners 730 Fifth Avenue New York, NY 10019. Attn: Di Glazer.

This edition first published in the United States in 2018 by
The Overlook Press, Peter Mayer Publishers, Inc.

141 Wooster Street

New York, NY 10012

www.overlookpress.com

For bulk and special sales, please contact sales@overlookny.com,
or write us at above address.

Copyright © 2018 by Halley Feiffer

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast.

ISBN 978-1-4683-1716-9

# Contents

Praise for the plays of Halley Feiffer

About the Author

Also by Halley Feiffer

Copyright

Preface

Production Credits

Characters

Scene 1

Scene 2

Scene 3

# PREFACE

It's technically spring but it feels like winter. That terrible time of year when the holiday decorations are long since gone and the ever-increasing afternoon light fools you into feeling hopeful that the blood-chilling cold will fade overnight like magic, as it sometimes does. But it hasn't yet. And I'm home from college — not because I'm on break, but because my mother has cancer.

I'm twenty-one years old. Emotionally, I'm... oh, eleven? I don't know it yet but I'm an alcoholic. (I'll make this fun discovery and get sober three years later.) At this point, I'm drinking a bottle of cheap wine by myself every night just to make the very cruel voices in my head go to sleep. Luckily, I fall asleep with them. I wake up every morning and the voices are back. Luckily, I know I can drink again that night. It's a good system, I think. Or, good enough. Reliable, anyway. Oh, who am I kidding? It's all I know.

I'm in an impressive amount of denial about how unhealthy I am, how basically doomed I am, how I'm swapping out my dreams for $7 lukewarm rosé that comes in a box. (Don't knock it 'til you've tried it!) (Actually, knock it — don't try it.)

My mother has the best sense of humor of anyone I know — an uncanny ability to find the funny in almost any situation, the darker the better. One time she threw a _Stalag 17_ theme party. No occasion — she just loves the movie _Stalag 17_. She made a cake with a POW camp on top, complete with barbed wire and little toy soldiers standing guard as other toy soldiers try to scale the fence and escape into war-ridden Germany. She invited her friends and my friends. Our friends were confused. Mom and I yucked it up.

But Mom isn't laughing now. She's asleep in her hospital bed. I'm glad she's asleep. She's exhausted. She's had an awful week: a hysterectomy a few days ago to treat cervical cancer, which unexpectedly revealed masses of ovarian cancer, too. We're waiting for more tests results, to determine essentially what kind of life Mom will lead from here on out: one in which she'll have to succumb to vicious rounds of treatment to end up ultimately very likely okay — or one in which she will have to start saying her goodbyes.

I've taken the bus over here from the apartment I grew up in on the Upper West Side, every morning since the procedure. I try to arrive early, since my mother told me they wake her up around five. I stay with her until she falls asleep. My sister is still a kid — ten years younger than me — and my father is charged with caring for her while I care for Mom. I am trying to be helpful, however I can be. And I don't know how I can be. Because the only tool I have for soothing myself is $7 box-wine rosé.

What's that? My mother's roommate on the other side of the curtain. What is she saying? Muttering in her sleep. The painkillers make her somewhat delirious, I think. She's in worse shape than Mom. She's older — maybe seventy. Bald, from chemo. Years of it, maybe. Alone. Where's her family? No one's visited her yet, the entire time I've been here. Maybe she's been here so long — maybe in and out, so many times — that they've all grown tired of coming. How sad. I don't know. I'm just making stuff up. Mom is sleeping, and I'm thinking of stories. I wish I could actually write down stories. But I can't. Because I'm drunk or hung over all of the time.

A noise — a voice, on the other side of the curtain. A nurse? A visitor! The roommate _does_ have a family. Could it be — what if it's — oh God, wouldn't it be funny— am I a terrible person if I — oh God, _I wish it were her son!_ Her cute, college-age son — maybe older — just a bit older — someone I could flirt with — sneak off with — kiss a little bit, even, in the handicap bathroom! And then —

_What's wrong with you?_

The voice in my head. The cruel one — one of them, anyway. Only this time I can't make it go away. Because there's no rosé here. There's just me and Mom.

What _is_ wrong with me? What am I doing? Sitting here in a visitor's chair at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center, looking at my sleeping mother — so pale and small in her wrinkled hospital gown — fantasizing about having an affair with the imaginary son of my mother's roommate in the oncology ward.

I'm sick.

I hate myself. I listen to the voices on the other side of the curtain while I sit here, hating myself. It is the roommate's son, I think — but he doesn't sound cute at all. He sounds old. Middle-aged. Angry. I don't want to have an affair with this guy. I just want to sit here, hating myself.

_You're sick._ The voice in my head is so mean! But it's right. But then —

Another voice. Again, in my head. But it's new — or maybe not new. Maybe old — but new to me, in a way, since I'm not used to it. Because it is so much quiet than the other one, than the very cruel voice — than all of the cruel ones. And it says: _You're sick, okay, but you're not bad_. _You're just scared, that's all. And that's okay._

And it also says: _This would be a good premise for a play_.

And the other voice says: _We're not here to think of ideas for plays! We're here to take care of Mom._

And the other voice says: _But_ m _aybe we can do both. Maybe Mom would want it that way_.

And the other voice says: _Who are we kidding? We don't even write plays!_

And the other voice says: _But maybe we can._

And before the other voice, the cruel one — or one of the many cruel ones — can pipe up:

Mom's awake.

And I look at her. And I suddenly sort of know what to do.

This is a beautiful hospital — the walls are a soft pink, adorned with photographs and paintings of flowers so succulent you can almost smell them; but when you do inhale, it's the chemicals in the air you smell: the disinfectant, the metallic aftermath of so many drugs being pumped into so many veins, in so many rooms, all over this floor. And I know in this moment that my mom just wants company. That she just wants _my_ company. That she just wants me. That even though I don't know how to soothe her, I do, sort of — because all I have to do is be with her. Is be myself. Because it's me that she loves — even if I do drink a bottle of rosé by myself every night and even if I do feel utterly unequipped to take care of her and even if I was just sitting here imagining a passionate embrace with a man who doesn't exist on the other side of this curtain so that I could escape this unbearably painful reality, _that's_ the part of me that Mom loves most of all, maybe. Because that's the part of me that comes from her. The part that can find light — find the funny, even — in the most horrific of circumstances.

And maybe that's the part that I like, too.

"Do you want some water?" I ask my mom. She nods. And I bring her some. And turn on the TV. Our favorite show: _Law & Order: Special Victims Unit_. We take turns betting on which episode this one is (we've seen them all): the one where the AIDS patient screws half the men in New York City as part of a twisted plot to spew disease to the farthest corners of the earth? The one where the young woman with Down syndrome is forced to have sex with her boss when he tells her it's "exercise"? The one where —

Oh my, and now we're laughing! We're laughing, here in the hospital. On the other side of the curtain, the roommate and son get quiet. _Whatare they laughing about?_ They might be thinking. Or maybe not. Maybe the roommate has fallen asleep. Maybe the son is fantasizing about having an affair with me! Probably not. Probably he's not that fucked up. Probably that's just me. And probably that's okay.

And Mom and I are still laughing. And we watch _Law & Order_. A commercial comes on. Mom dozes off again; the sun starts to fade. I don't like the darkness — it makes me want to drink. But at least the sun is setting later and later these days. And even though it doesn't feel like it, soon I know that it will be spring. And Mom won't be in the hospital forever. And if we're lucky, she won't have cancer forever. And maybe I won't be sick forever, either — with whatever it is that's wrong with me. And maybe, _maybe_ , I can even —

It's back! _SVU_. I watch, while Mom sleeps. And I reach out. And I hold her hand.

—Halley Feiffer, February 2018

# PRODUCTION CREDITS

_AFunny Thing Happened On the Way To the Gynecologic Oncology Unit at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center of New York City_ by Halley Feiffer had its world premiere at MCC Theater June 2, 2016. Artistic Directors: Robert LuPone, Bernard Telsey, & William Cantler Executive Director: Blake West

It was directed by Trip Cullman.

**CAST**

**KARLA** | Beth Behrs
---|---
**MARCIE** | Lisa Emery
**DON** | Erik Lochtefeld
**GEENA** | Jacqueline Sydney

# CHARACTERS

**KARLA:** A charismatic woman in her early thirties whose pretty face and somewhat childlike demeanor belies an incredibly dirty mouth and mind. Spunky, spirited, angry, wickedly funny. A stand-up comedian with a real penchant for dark humor which she uses to hide behind and distract herself from the pain of her mother's sickness.

**DON:** An unassuming man in his late forties. The kind of person who you would never even notice on the subway or walking down the street—an "everyman" in the most boring sense of the word. Clearly has been through a lot of stress both in life-in-general and also more acutely quite recently. Employs a raging temper to mask the gaping wound left from his recent marital split and his mother's illness.

**MARCIE:** Karla's mother. A painfully thin, pale, dyed-redhead in her fifties. Recovering from a hysterectomy that she had to treat her Stage I endometrial cancer. Very dry wit, like Karla. In her case, her dark humor belies not only oceans of pain but also an abusive, selfish cruelty. Still, she is capable of deep love and moments of tender vulnerability.

**GEENA:** Don's mother. A heavyset woman in her sixties who hasn't paid attention to her personal appearance in about forty years. Has been battling ovarian cancer for seven years. Brave. Tired.

**SETTING**

A hospital room in New York City.

**NOTES**

A "/" indicates overlapping dialogue.

A "..." does not necessarily indicate a pause. Rather, it connotes a sort of shift in thought—a momentary, often almost unrecognizable jump, snag or tangle in communication.

Beats can be very quick—they need not linger, unless otherwise indicated.

# SCENE 1

_Ahospital room in New York City._

_The decor makes every effort to be cheery: the walls are painted a pretty, soft pink, and there is a large and festive portrait of a somewhat yonic flower mounted over each of the two beds. Still, it is a hospital room, and the thick plastic blinds that hang in the windows and obscure the lovely late-afternoon sunlight—coupled with the occasional beeping emitted intermittently from the IV stands—remind us that this is a place where cheeriness is, for the most part, put on hold._

_The room's two beds are separated by a thick, plastic, pea-green curtain. The door to the room is on the SL side. The door to the bathroom is on the SR side; it is currently open, and we can see that the bathroom is large and handicap-accessible, complete with a sit-down shower. Each side of the room is equipped with a pitcher of water and a stack of Dixie cups. A TV hangs in front of each bed. There is a window in between the two beds, exposing the New York City skyline._

_In the SL bed lies_ GEENA _, a heavyset woman in her sixties who hasn't paid attention to her personal appearance in about forty years. She is fast asleep; her face is scrunched up like a lemon—like she is worrying and fretting even in a state of deep unconsciousness._

_In the SR bed lies_ MARCIE _, a pale, painfully thin dyed-redhead in her late-fifties. She is also fast asleep. Her skeletal arm hangs off the side of the bed. She looks so slack and relaxed that we fear she may fall out of bed at any moment._

_Both women are hooked up to an IV drip, and both wear nasal cannulas to administer oxygen. Next to each bed is a bedstand and a not-very-comfortable-looking chair for visitors._

_In the chair next to_ MARCIE _'s bed sits_ KARLA _. She is a clearly intelligent, somewhat visibly-neurotic and quite charming woman in her early thirties, who at this moment seems a bit keyed up. She wears skinny jeans and sneakers and a colorful ironic sweater. She sips water from a Dixie cup and taps a red pen on a marble notebook that sits in her lap, covered with messy scrawl._

KARLA _refers to her notes as she speaks to_ MARCIE _, despite_ MARCIE _'s being dead asleep._

KARLA

"I've been single for so long? I've started having sexual fantasies about my vibrator."

MARCIE _'s mouth hangs open; she snores. Some drool begins to seep out._

KARLA

_(Re: the drool.)_

Oh. Um.

KARLA _looks around, spots a box of tissues on the bedstand._

_She grabs a tissue and delicately wipes_ MARCIE _'s mouth. Throws the tissue away._

KARLA

Now what do you think works better, "sexual fantasies" or "sex dreams"? Or _"wet dreams"?_

MARCIE _emits a little groan in her sleep._

KARLA

I know. I actually think "wet dreams" is the funniest option, but I'm worried it might not get a laugh because girls don't have wet dreams.

_(Considers this.)_

Per se....

MARCIE _emits a tiny, forceful snore._

KARLA

Yeah, fuck it. Wet dreams? You're in.

_(Crosses something out and scribbles in her notebook.)_

And I have more stuff I could add on to it, too—like I could elaborate even more?

MARCIE _emits a sort of shuddering, four-part, near-violent snore._

KARLA

Ummm....

KARLA _reaches out and gives her mom's arm a quick, somewhat awkward little rub. Then—she returns to her notes._

KARLA

Like I could—oh Idunno this is all just improv, but like I could be like: "Instead of a strong, chiseled, oiled-up man throwing open my bedroom door and raping me? I just have visions of like, my vibrator standing in the archway, backlit by silvery moonlight, sometimes wearing a fedora (sometimes not), and lovingly fucking me 'til sunrise."

_(Beat.)_

What do you think of that? That was just improv.

MARCIE _starts to snore lightly, almost rhythmically._ KARLA _begins to chew her cuticles, absently, as she peruses her notes._

KARLA

Maybe the rape part was a bit much.

KARLA _continues to chew her cuticles as she starts to scribble in her notebook._

DON _enters, quietly. He is an unassuming man in his late forties. His face is drawn, gray, pursed; he looks like he has been through the wringer both in life-in-general and also more acutely quite recently. He wears a corduroy jacket with big holes in both elbows and a pair of extremely depressing sweatpants._

_He slips in silently and sits down next to_ GEENA _'s bed. Looks at_ GEENA _. His face fills with sadness. He reaches out and takes her hand, gives it a squeeze. Then, he leans back in his chair, reaches into his jacket pocket and removes a copy of_ The New Yorker _. He reads._

_On the other side of the curtain,_ KARLA _starts to talk again, oblivious._

KARLA

I don't know, I kinda don't think there's anything funnier than rape.

DON _reacts, with horror._

_A loud snore from_ MARCIE _._

KARLA

Okay, well what if I just said something like...

_(Reading from notes.)_

"I'm in bed, dripping wet, waiting for my vibrator to come fuck me"?

_On the other side of the curtain,_ DON _is becoming increasingly aghast._

KARLA

Maybe that's like—does that kinda take the teeth out of it, though? Am I being a pussy? Arghhh, I can never tell if I'm just resorting to being a big, gaping wide _pussy_.

_On the other side of the curtain,_ DON _thinks he is perhaps hallucinating._

KARLA _scribbles in her notebook, then gets another idea._

KARLA

Or I could even work the rape element _into_ it, but in like a different _way_ —like I could say something like: "I love getting fucked by my vibrator 'cause I know it'll never rape me."

_(Thinks.)_

Or something like that.

_On the other side of the curtain,_ DON _has put his_ New Yorker _down and is listening to_ KARLA _with silent horror and fury._

KARLA _continues, oblivious, to chew her cuticles, scribble, think, improvise. She laughs at something she just wrote down._

KARLA

How about—ha ha—how about: "I only rape myself with my vibrator when I'm _really angry_ at myself"?

MARCIE _snores._

KARLA

Too much?

KARLA _chews a cuticle and scribbles._

DON _'s face is, at this point, nearly crimson. He is shaking._

KARLA

Okay here's a compromise: "I only play out my rape fantasies with my _vibrator_ , 'cause I know it will always respect my safe word."

_(Thinks.)_

It's still maybe too vague....

_(Scribbles.)_

"It's so fun to get raped by your vibrator, 'cause—

DON

_(Quiet, but forceful.)_

I'm sorry—I'm _sorry?_

KARLA _'s eyes go wide. She panics. She had no idea_ DON _was there. She chews her cuticles, fiercely._

_A long, long, deadly beat. Then—_

KARLA

_(At a loss.)_

... yes...?

DON

_(Trying very hard to convey a tone of equanimity.)_

Could you keep it _down?_ Over there? / Could you—

KARLA

_(Earnestly.)_

I didn't realize someone else was in here.

DON _doesn't say anything. He just rubs his temples, hard. Inhales, sharply. Then—_

_His cell phone suddenly VIBRATES, loudly. He takes it out of his pocket, reads something on it that is obviously displeasing to him, then puts the phone back in his pocket._

KARLA

_(Really softly,)_

I'll be more quiet. Sorry.

KARLA _returns to her notes, and_ MARCIE _._

KARLA

_(A whisper.)_

"It's so fun to get raped by your vibrator, 'cause you don't have to go to the police after, you can just—

_(Thinks.)_

No...

_(Scribbles; thinks.)_

"It's so fun to get raped by your vibr—

DON

_(Aharsh whisper.)_

I'm _sorry?!_

_The rest of their conversation is spoken in low tones—often heated—but still, always relatively measured whispers, so as not to wake_ GEENA _and_ MARCIE _._

DON

I'm SORRY—what / are you—

KARLA

I'm being _quiet_.

DON

That's not... the _point!_

KARLA

Okay, well would you care to _illuminate_ for me what you believe " _the point_ " / to be...?

DON

The _point_ is that you are not the only person in / this room.

KARLA

I _told_ you I didn't realize someone else was / _in here_... _!_

DON

You didn't " _realize_ " someone / else was " _in here_ " _?!_

KARLA

No! I _told_ you, I thought it was just me / and my—

DON

You didn't " _realize_ " there was a sixty-five-year-old woman fighting with every fiber of her being to combat a rapacious case of ovarian cancer in here? You didn't / " _realize_ " that?!

KARLA

Why are you _talking_ to me / like this...?!

DON

Why am I " _talking_ to / you" like—

KARLA

Why are you talking to me like I'm some kind of fucking / idiot?!

DON

Why are you _acting_ / like some kind of—

KARLA

You _told_ me to be quiet and that's what I'm _fucking_ / _doing!_

DON

Hey—language! / _Language!_

KARLA

What—"language"?! Are you my fucking / _pre-school teacher?!_

DON

We are in a _hospital!_

KARLA

I _noticed!!_

DON

There are _ladies_ present!

KARLA

_I'm a fucking lady!_

DON

Oh, hah. / HAH!

KARLA

You don't know! You don't even know what I _look_ like, 'cause you're not man enough to pull aside this fucking _curtain_ and come over here and belittle me / to my face!

DON

_(Incensed.)_

Oh that's it. / That's _IT_.

KARLA

That's _what_? What are you / gonna do?

DON

I'm... getting a _nurse!_

KARLA

_(Laughs, incredulous.)_

You're " _getting a_ / _nurse"?!_

DON

_(Flustered.)_

I'm—getting a—hospital / administrator. I'm—

KARLA

_(Cruelly mocking him.)_

"I'm calling _my mommy_ —I'm _telling_ on / you!

DON

I'm _sorry?_ / I'm SORRY?

KARLA

Oh, I don't think you're "sorry"—I think you, my friend, are the _opposite_ / of sorry.

DON

It's an _expression_. / Jesus!

KARLA

It's an " _expression_ " that little _pansies_ use, 'cause when you say—

_(Cruel imitation.)_

"I'm _sorry?_ " "I'm SORRY?"

_(Back to her voice.)_

—what you're _really_ saying is that you think _I_ should be sorry. You say—

_(Even crueller imitation.)_

_"I'm sorrry?! I'm SORRRY?!"_

_(Back to her voice.)_

—as a passive aggressive attempt to _control_ me / and tell _me_ what to say—

DON

Oh / I know _exactly_ where this is going...

KARLA

—because even though you don't know me (I'm just a fucking plastic _curtain_ to you), you can tell from the sound of my voice that I am a young _woman_ —

DON

Yup! / _Heeere_ we go....

KARLA

—so in your terribly insecure / imagin _ation_ —

DON

Are / you _always like_ this? Do you have _friends?_

KARLA

—that signifies that you are in a position of _power_ over me, an imagined fact that translates in your emasculated _fantasy_ -brain to carte-blanche permission to fucking _talk_ to me / any way you _feel_ like, I guess, because—

DON

Dear / god what _happened_ to you in your miserable _childhood_ to make you _become_ this person?!

KARLA

_(Barreling through, ignoring of his interjections.)_

—your terrifyingly immature sub _conscious_ tells you that THAT is the _one way_ you can feel _powerful_ when you are in the midst of the most _castrating_ powerlessness _of your life_ , wherein your mother is dying of _cancer_ over there and you are completely _powerless over THAT_.

_A beat._ DON _is stony-faced._

KARLA _'s eyes betray perhaps a hint of contrition—a nagging fear that she may have crossed a line._

DON' _s face gets kind strange—sort of pink, a little crinkly. Then—_

DON

_(Cold as ice.)_

You're a little _bitch_ , you know that?

_A beat._ KARLA _'s face turns crimson. She starts to shake—almost imperceptibly. Then—_

KARLA

_(Attempting a measured tone.)_

Of _course_ I " _realized_ " there was a sixty-five-year-old woman fighting _cancer_ in here—I just also " _realized_ " that she was _sleeping_ , as she has been all _day_ , as my mother has been _too_ , because they're on a shitload of _painkillers_ and they feel like fucking _shit_ because they have fucking _cancer_ , okay?

_(Letting some emotion slip.)_

And when you're _sleeping_ all day that means that you can't _hear_ what anyone else is _saying_ , so I thought it wouldn't _hurt_ anyone if I practiced my new _bits_ in here for my mom, okay? Because this is what we like _doing_ , okay?

_(Very impassioned.)_

_THIS. IS WHAT WE LIKE! DOING!!!_

_(Represses a little sob.)_

When she's _awake...!_

_A beat._ DON _looks perhaps a bit chastened. Then—_

DON

_(Dripping with contempt.)_

Your new "bits"?

KARLA

_Yes_.

DON

What are you _talking_ about. What are " _bits_ " _?_ I actually literally have / no idea what _bits_ are.

KARLA

Oh my _god_ are you _retarded_? "Bits" is a term we use in _comedy_ —I'm a stand-up _comedian_ / for christ's sake—

DON

I / don't care!

KARLA

—and I'm trying to generate some new _material_ because I haven't had any new material in like six fucking _months_ , so I'm like grasping at fucking _straws_ here, okay, and I really don't need you like breathing down my _neck_ and trying to like _edit_ me—

DON

I'm / not trying to _edit_ you, I just want you to _SHUT. UP!_

KARLA

—when what I'm doing actually has nothing to fucking _do_ with you, I'm just trying to like be _creative_ and get some _bonding_ time in with my _mom!_

DON

_(An explosion—still in a harsh whisper.)_

YOU CAN'T DO BOTH! You can't _both_ be creative and get " _bonding time_ " in with your mom! I mean, what else do you want to do—get an herbal colonic while you're at it?!

KARLA

What the fuck is wrong / _with you?!_

DON

_(Pulling out all the stops in a vicious cross-fire.)_

NO, what the—F—is wrong with _YOU_ and your self-obsessed hipster ME GENERATION?! _Your mom is in the hospital with cancer._ Things are _not looking good._ Things are looking, in fact, _pretty grim._

_(Building to a whisper-scream.)_

So _GIVE UP THE COMEDY FOR A HOT SECOND_. LET IT GO. PUT IT ON THE BACK BURNER. Oh, and _here's_ a radical idea: drop the VIBRATOR JOKES and _FOCUS ON YOUR MOM!!!_

KARLA

_(Whisper-screaming, too.)_

I _AM_ FOCUSING ON MY MOM. And she fucking _LIKES_ VIBRATOR JOKES!!!

DON

_(Darkly sardonic.)_

Yeah. Seems like they're really _killing_ over there.

KARLA _'s entire being seems to almost vibrate with white-hot rage._

KARLA

You know what? You don't know anything _about_ me OR my mom OR her fucking cancer / or—

DON

No, I don't. / I don't know anything about your mom.

KARLA

No. You don't!

DON

You're right! I don't know your mom's _name_. I don't even know what your mom / looks like.

KARLA

No, you don't. You don't! / You _don't_.

DON

She was just moved in to _my_ mother's room this morning! How could I know / anything about her?

KARLA

Exactly. / _Exactly_.

DON

_(With saccharine-sweet irony.)_

I don't even know what your mom's favorite _color_ is, what her favorite _scent_ is, what her favorite—

KARLA

Oh / you're an _asshole_.

DON

—National _Park_ is, what her favorite _pet_ name is, her favorite _sexual_ / position...

KARLA

You're a fucking / _sociopath!_

DON

I don't know _any_ of these things, and it doesn't matter—because I _still know your mom_. Do you know why? _Do you know why?_

KARLA

Go _DIE_.

DON

Because she's in the _gynecologic oncology unit_. And I know, now, that those things about your mom that "make her who she is"? Those things _don't matter anymore_.

DON _'s cell phone vibrates. He takes it out and silences it._

DON

Because everything your mom is? Everything she likes? Everything she hates? Everything you love about her? Everything you hate? Everything she does that drives you crazy? Everything she says that gives you nightmares? Everything that you have spent the last ten years complaining about to your _shrink?_

_His cell phone vibrates again—he takes it out and silences it, angrily._

DON

You will find yourself praying— _praying_ , little _girl_ —that she could do those things _one more time_. Because _all your mom is now is cancer_.

_(He pants.)_

That's it. That's all.

_(He catches his breath.)_

You'll see. You'll see.

_(Trying not to cry.)_

That's all she is now. You'll see.

_A beat._ DON _'s cell phone vibrates again—he takes it out and silences it with ferocious fury. Then—_

KARLA

My mom's never been sick a day in her life. This was just... a fluke. And they caught it early. So.

DON

Uh-huh.

KARLA

And she had a hysterectomy. So.

DON

Uh-huh.

KARLA

I mean it was just Stage 1! Endometrial.

_(Beat.)_

Papillary serous carcin _oma_. But still.

_(Beat.)_

She's gonna be _fine_.

DON

Uh-huh.

KARLA

What do you _mean_ , "UH-HUH"?

DON

Nothing.

_(Beat.)_

Just... "uh-huh."

_A beat._ KARLA _silently fumes. Then—_

DON' _s cell phone vibrates again. He takes it out of his pocket, looks at it, reads something on it that makes him nearly homicidal, and shoves it back in his pocket. Gets upand pours himself a Dixie cup of water. Sips it, furiously. Exhales, loudly._

_Meanwhile,_ KARLA _takes her hair out of a ponytail. Shakes it out. Puts it back in a low ponytail. Takes a sip of water from her Dixie cup. Looks at her mom. Then—furiously scribbles in her notebook._

KARLA

_(Unintelligible mutter.)_

DON

I'm sorry?

KARLA

_(Very softly, nearly unintelligible.)_

... you're a fucking joke...

DON

_(Truly didn't hear her.)_

I'm _sorry?_

KARLA

You're a fucking _joke? YOU'RE A FUCKING JOKE?_

DON

Ah. Yes.

_(Almost calmly—eerily so.)_

I'm a "fucking joke." Got it. How interesting. How well put. Well let me ask you this. Let me ask you _this_ : if I am, indeed, as you say, a "fucking joke," then let me ask you THIS:

_And suddenly he whips over to the curtain and violently draws it aside._ KARLA _spins around, startled._

DON

_(Right in her face.)_

DOES IT LOOK LIKE I'M LAUGHING? _DOES IT LOOK LIKE I'M_ —

KARLA _throws her Dixie cup of water in_ DON _'s face._

KARLA

Y _OU DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO LAUGH_.

_And without skipping a beat,_ DON _throws his Dixie cup of water in_ KARLA _'s face. Then—_

_Without skipping a beat,_ KARLA _pantses_ DON _—grabs his sweatpants by the waist and yanks them, forcefully, down to his ankles._

_He stands there—his skinny, sickly-white legs exposed—wearing terribly unflattering, billowy Tweety-Bird-patterned boxers._

_A beat. Their eyes are locked. They are frozen, breathing heavily, alive. Then—_

KARLA

Okay, I don't even know what to say about those boxers? So I'm gonna start with the sweatpants.

_(Takes them in.)_

Those sweatpants are a hate crime.

DON _doesn't respond._

KARLA

What kind of a self-respecting middle-aged man wears fucking _sweatpants._

_He is utterly still. Says nothing._

KARLA

What kind of a narcissistic piece of _shit_ wears a pair of _Tweety Bird boxers_ under his fucking _sweatpants_ to a _hospital_ where his mother is _DYING_.

KARLA _immediately looks a tinge contrite—but covers it well; maintains eye contact with_ DON _, unflinching._

DON _blinks—then finally bends down and pulls up his sweatpants._

DON

_(Matter-of-fact.)_

When your mother's been dying for seven years, you sort of stop noticing what kind of boxers you're wearing, okay?

_He draws the curtain back. Sits in his chair. Rubs his temples. Hangs his head in his hands._

KARLA _chews a cuticle. Starts to say something. Stops herself. A beat. Then—_

KARLA

That still doesn't explain the sweatpants.

DON _can't believe she's still going._

KARLA

_Nothing_ explains those.

_His face turns red—he looks utterly irate, like he really might explode. Then—_

_He looks down at his sweatpants... and starts to laugh._

KARLA _listens. A beat. Then—_

KARLA

Are you...

DON

You're right.

_(Giggles uncontrollably.)_

They're so... _ugly_... _!_

KARLA

They're not that bad....

DON

_(Deeply examining his sweatpants.)_

They're seriously the ugliest things I've ever _seen!_

KARLA _starts to laugh, now, too._

KARLA

I know I was just saying that to make you feel better they're _so_ ugly.

DON _examines his pants closely._

DON

_(Giggling like a little boy.)_

Why did I... _buy_... these things...?!

KARLA

I don't know!

DON

What was I _thinking?!_

KARLA

I think you weren't!

DON

_(Giggling hysterically.)_

I think I wasn't...!

_(Giggling wanes.)_

I think I wasn't.

_(Suddenly stops giggling.)_

I think I wasn't thinking.

DON _sits in his chair, heavily—like a bag of bricks hitting the ground._

DON

_(A huge, disastrous revelation.)_

Oh... god. I wasn't... thinking.

_Suddenly, his face turns kind of pink, and kind of crinkles, again. And then..._

_He starts to cry. He tries very hard not to let_ KARLA _hear._

KARLA

_(Delicately.)_

Are you—

DON

_No!_

KARLA

You don't even know what I was gonna ask...

DON

_(Wiping nose on sleeve.)_

_Yes_ I do—I'm not an _idiot_.

KARLA

I was gonna ask... are you...

_(Fishing.)_

... a Sagittarius? Because you seem like a Sagittarius.

DON

No you weren't.

KARLA

I was gonna ask are you... gonna finish those fries? 'Cause they look really good!

DON

_(Laughing a bit, in spite of himself.)_

I'm not even _eating_ fries...!

KARLA

_(Happy she made him laugh.)_

I was gonna ask are you... afraid of heights?

DON

No.

KARLA

Are you superstitious?

DON

No.

KARLA

Are you a sweet or savory kind of person?

DON

Savory.

KARLA

Are you a Yankees or Mets fan?

DON

_(A ridiculous question.)_

METS!

KARLA

Jeez, okay. Are you a dog or cat person?

DON

_(Another ridiculous question.)_

DOG!

KARLA

Are you a Democrat?

DON

Yes.

KARLA

Are you a homeowner?

DON

Yes.

KARLA

Are you in love?

_A beat. Then—_

_He emits a fantastically loud sob. And then another. He sobs. Can't control it. Stops trying to hide the fact that he's crying. Lets go of any attempt at manliness or dignity-retention, and sobs. Like a baby. Like the bereaved._

KARLA

Oh no. Oh no...! I'm sorry—I'm—

DON

_My wife left me three months ago_... _!_

_(Sobs)_

I don't know what to do...!

_(Weeps.)_

I don't know who I _am_ , anymore...!

_(Wails.)_

I have _nothing!_

_He sobs hysterically. It gets pretty loud._ KARLA _looks to see if_ MARCIE _has been woken. She still sleeps._

DON _sobs. Pulls at his hair._

DON

_I have NOTHING!!!_

_He sobs a beat more. Then—_

_He tires out from sobbing. Stops pulling his hair. Wipes his nose on his sleeve. Looks at the space in front of him—his eyes glassy, his mind somewhere else. Then—_

_He looks at his mother, lying dead to the world in her hospital bed—her face still puckered fiercely like a sour lemon. He reaches for_ GEENA _'s hand; takes her limp fingers in his, gives them a squeeze._

DON

_(Tiny, dead voice.)_

I have nothing.

_He hangs his head in his hands. He looks like a portrait of misery._

_A beat. Then—_

_Very slowly, and very softly,_ KARLA _approaches the curtain and draws it aside. She looks at_ DON _. His head still hangs in his hands._

KARLA

Hey.

_He looks up, surprised to see her there._

DON

Hey...

_(Beat.)_

KARLA

I'm sorry.

_(Beat.)_

DON

I'm sorry.

_(Beat.)_

I mean it this time.

KARLA _takes a step toward him, and extends her hand._

KARLA

I'm Karla.

DON _stands, and extends his hand._

DON

Don.

_They shake hands._

DON

Wow...

KARLA

What?

DON

You have a really... _firm I_... handshake...

KARLA

Oh, I know—it's something my mom always, like, _drilled_ into us when we were kids.

DON

Really?

KARLA

Yeah, she would always be like: "A weak handshake is an invitation for someone to fuck you over."

DON

Whoa.

KARLA

I know.

DON

I mean, I think I _agree_ with her, / but...

KARLA

I / know.

DON

I've just never heard it _phrased_ quite that way.

KARLA

I know. She has a... well. Let's just say that some of her parenting methods? Have been... unorthodox.

DON

_(Shrugs.)_

My mom used to bring me to her book club and point at the hors d'oeuvres and say: "Eat up, 'cause that's your dinner!"

KARLA

If my sister and I refused to eat dinner? My mom would march into the other room and start packing a suitcase.

DON

My mom used to put me to sleep by telling me stories about all the men she'd pursued romantically before my dad.

KARLA

My mom used to put us to sleep by turning on "SV Squad."

DON

You mean the show that's all about sex crimes?

KARLA

_(Grinning, nodding.)_

YUP _._

DON

_That's_ how she put you to sleep?

KARLA

We found it soothing!

DON

You find "SV Squad" soothing?!

KARLA

Well, now we've graduated to "SV Ped," but—

DON

What is "SV Ped"?!

KARLA

It specifically examines child-related sex crimes?

DON

Jesus... / christ.

KARLA

It's a way better show. The performances are subtler. The writing is exemplary. The kids are really cute—until they get kidnapped and—

DON

Just stop.

KARLA

'K sorry.

DON

_(Can't wrap head aroung this.)_

So now you fall asleep to "SV _Ped_ "?!

KARLA

My mom does, like, every night. And I do sometimes.

DON

What about your sister?

_Something shifts in_ KARLA _. Her face falls, a bit. She becomes darker._

KARLA

Um....

_(Beat.)_

No, she doesn't.

_(Beat.)_

DON

Oh.

_Suddenly, from the other side of the room:_

MARCIE

_(A hoarse croak.)_

She's dead.

DON _and_ KARLA _look immediately at_ MARCIE _, who appears to be still asleep. A beat. Then—_

KARLA _bursts out laughing._

KARLA

_(Laughing uncontrollably.)_

I'm sorry—I'm _sorry_... _!_

_(Can't stop laughing.)_

I'm not laughing 'cause she's dead—'cause she definitely _is_ dead, and that's definitely not funny, but that was just...

_(Struggling to talk through laughing.)_

... such good _timing_... _!_

DON _looks over at_ MARCIE _._

DON

Is she... still _asleep_...?

KARLA _looks too._

KARLA

I think so...!

DON _starts to laugh, now, too._

DON

That was so _weird_... _!_

KARLA

I know, right?!

_(Imitating the croak.)_

"She's dead."

_They laugh._

DON

_(Going even further with the croak-y imitation.)_

"Sheee's deeead."

_This cracks_ KARLA _up. They take it even further._

KARLA | DON
---|---
_(Really going for it.)_ | _(Really going for it.)_
"Sheeeeeeeeeeee's | "Sheeeeeeeeeeee's
_deeeeeeeeeeeeaaaad!!!"_ | _deeeeeeeeeeeeaaaad!!!"_

_They both totally crack up. A long beat of just laughing. Then—_

DON

That was a good "bit"...!

_(Beat.)_

KARLA

Yeah, it was.

KARLA _looks at_ DON _and smiles. Her smile is full of sadness and gratitude, heartbreak and hope._

KARLA

It was a good bit. It was.

DON _smiles at her, too._

# SCENE 2

_A few days later._

KARLA _and_ DON _sit in their respective visitors' chairs. They each have a styrofoam coffee cup near them, from the hospital cafeteria._

_They have pulled the plastic curtain aside so that they can now see each other._ GEENA _and_ MARCIE _lie in their beds, sleeping._

_Today_ DON _is wearing khakis which are not terribly flattering but which are definitely a vast improvement over the sweatpants. He wears nondescript sneakers and a worn tee-shirt. He still wears that very sad corduroy jacket. He has his feet up on the frame of his mother's hospital bed and reads from_ The New Yorker _._

KARLA _wears skinny jeans and sneakers and a different colorful ironic sweater. She scribbles in her notebook._

_Even though they are both in their own separate worlds, it is clear that_ DON _and_ KARLA _have developed a casual sort of ease in their dynamic—in this unusual situation in which they find themselves._

DON _laughs as he reads something funny in his magazine._

DON

Heh.

DON

Ha. Ha!

_(Beat.)_

Heh heh heh heh heh...

_He continues reading. It gets funnier. He tries to keep quiet so as not to wake the two sleeping women, but it's hard._

DON

Hahaha! Hahahahahahahahaha!

_On the other side of the room,_ KARLA _is becoming increasingly incredulous. Finally—_

KARLA

What's so funny?

DON

Oh. Sorry. I. I didn't mean to ah. Laugh. So loud. I'll keep it down. Sorry.

KARLA

But what are you laughing at?

DON

You really wanna know?

KARLA

_Yeah_...

DON

Oh. I thought you were—I thought you were just saying "what's so funny" as a, um. As one of your euphemisms, and what you really meant was... "shut up."

_(Beat.)_

KARLA

_(Slightly bemused.)_

"One of my euphemisms"?

DON

You know, how you'll say stuff like: "Hey Don, I'm gonna go get some coffee from the cafeteria, do you want anything?" When what you really mean is: "Hey Don, can you go get me some coffee from the cafeteria?"

KARLA _laughs._ DON _smiles._

DON

Or how you'll be like: "Hey Don, what time is it?" When what you really mean is: "Hey Don, it's time for you to go get me some coffee from the cafeteria."

KARLA _laughs, louder._ DON _smiles, wider._

DON

Or how you'll be like: "Hey Don, it's nice to see you again," when what you really mean is: "Why are you still _here_ , Don? When is this whole thing going to be _over_ so I never have to see your face again?"

_Beat. Deadly silence. It gets superawkward. Then—_

_Embarrassed,_ DON _returns to reading_ The New Yorker _._

_KARLA_

So _what's so funny?_

_A beat._ DON _hesitates. Takes his feet off the bed. Looks around. Makes sure_ MARCIE _and_ GEENA _are asleep. Then—_

DON

It's this, ah. I'm just rereading this, um. It's this... "Shouts & Murmurs" piece? In the... New Yorker? It's about....

_(He considers.)_

Ahm. It's not a very... appropriate....

_(Beat.)_

I'm not sure I should—it's sort of, um...

_(Choosing words carefully.)_

... _blue_... humor...?

_(Beat.)_

KARLA

Are you fucking kidding me, Don.

_(Beat.)_

DON

Okay it's about, um. It's about the life of a, uh. Of a... condom?

_(Feels humiliated, but continues.)_

It's. Ahmmm... It's from the point of view of a condom, but it's funny because you don't know?

_(Beat.)_

That it's a... condom...? At first you can't tell? What it...is?

_(Beat.)_

That's why it's... so funny?

_He hopes he can just finish the conversation here. She doesn't give him anything._

_A beat. Then—he continues, with great reluctance._

DON

So you don't know that it's a condom, you just... you know it, um, it lives in a wallet? And sometimes it gets taken _out_ but um. Never... used? And it gets to, um, it gets to meet... all the other... things? That um, live? In the wallet, too?

_A beat._ KARLA _just stares at_ DON _. He stares back at her. Then—he continues._

KARLA

Like, it meets its owner's NYU ID card, and um his library card and his Jamba Juice card? (That part is really funny.) And eventually you, um. You figure out that it's a... condom. You know? And that part is _really_ funny.

_It's all getting even more uncomfortable. He keeps going._

DON

So then later on in the piece, the owner of the, um, the wallet and the, um, the _condom_ , he um. He meets a girl? And he takes out the condom. To, uh. You know...

_(Beat.)_

But—it's expired! He can't use it!

DON _laughs._ KARLA _does not._ DON _stops laughing. Continues._

DON

But the girl he's with, ah. _She_ has a condom. But the condom— _our_ condom (I mean I don't mean _our condom_ , I mean—um, you know _the_ condom)— _that_ condom gets... put into a box? And um.

_(Gets a little misty-eyed.)_

That box becomes like a... memory box? For the condom's owner? And this new girl? For their _relationship_ , I mean. So the condom now gets to, ah, _meet_ all these love notes and, um, movie stubs and various sweet nothings et cetera that get put into the memory box? To commemorate the relationship? That started, ah, with the...

_(Almost wistfully.)_

... expired condom?

_A beat._ KARLA _stares at_ DON _. He looks back at her. Then—_

KARLA

That doesn't sound funny _at all._

DON

_(A bit defensively.)_

I think it is...

KARLA

My jokes are way better than that.

DON

You haven't even _read_ it / yet.

KARLA

_(Slouching down in her chair.)_

My jokes are better than everyone's.

KARLA _sulks._ DON _goes back to his magazine._

_A beat. Then—_

MARLA

I just.

_(Beat.)_

I... have a hard time with—with other... comedy. Writers.

DON

Oh.

KARLA

It's like—I cannot let anyone have _any_ amount of success at what I love doing, who isn't me.

DON

Okay.

KARLA

It's like—it's like, _I_ want to be the _only_ successful comedian. In the _world_.

_(Beat.)_

I'm insane.

_(Really thinks about it,)_

I'm _insane._...

_(Beat.)_

DON

You're not insane.

KARLA

I'm insane.

DON

I mean, I used to feel that way? All the time.

_(Beat.)_

KARLA

Really?

DON

Oh my _god_ , yeah. I couldn't _stand_ anyone being even re _motely_ more successful than me at what I wanted to do.

KARLA

What did you want to do?

DON

_(Suddenly embarrassed.)_

Just... y'know. What I do. For a... living....

KARLA

Which is what? I don't actually really know / you, Don.

DON

Oh. Um. It doesn't matter. Just um. Tech. Stuff?

KARLA

So you're like an IT guy?

DON

Oh. I guess I was. I don't know. I guess I was... I'm not. Anymore.

KARLA

So what are you _now?_

DON

I'm... nothing.

_(Beat.)_

KARLA

That's depressing.

DON

No! I mean I—I _sold_ my startup. I sold it for... I sold it a few years ago.

KARLA

You sold it for...?

DON

What?

KARLA

What did you sell it for?

DON

_(Very uncomfortable.)_

Oh. Um.

_(Beat.)_

Money...?

_(Beat.)_

MARLA

_(Putting it together.)_

Wait. You sold your tech startup for... so much money that now... you can do _nothing?_

DON

_(Shrugs.)_

I guess.

KARLA _'s shakes her head, as if the act of shaking her brain will help her wrap her mind around what she is now learning about_ DON _._

KARLA

Whoa. Whoa! So you're... like a... _millionaire_...

DON

_(Mortified.)_

It doesn't really matter.

KARLA

But you look like a _homeless person_.

DON

Oh, thanks.

KARLA

Your shoes have holes in them...!

DON

_(Looks at his shoes, suddenly self-conscious.)_

They do?

KARLA

Your sad little corduroy jacket doesn't have _elbows_.

DON

Hey, it's been a rough couple of months!

_A beat._ DON _looks away._ KARLA _chews a cuticle. Looks at_ DON _, contemplatively. Then—_

KARLA

I like you _soooooo_ much better now that I know you're a millionaire.

DON

_(Sadly.)_

A lotta people do.

_(Beat.)_

KARLA

Is your apartment really nice?

DON

What?

KARLA

I have a bunch of questions that I always wanna ask rich people? But I never do because it's rude, of course?

DON

Okay.

KARLA

Where do you live?

_(Beat.)_

DON

_(Reluctantly.)_

Central Park West?

KARLA

In like one of those huge doorman buildings?

DON

Uh. Yeah?

KARLA

How many bedrooms?

DON

Why do you care? Five.

KARLA

FIVE?!

DON

One of them we use as an office.

KARLA

For what?! You don't even _work!_

DON

Well, you know, I / still need—

KARLA

Did you have an interior decorator _design_ it?

DON

You have a lot of issues around money.

KARLA

No I don't, shut up. What's the color palette?

DON

What? I don't know. Sea foam green?

KARLA

"Sea foam green"?

DON

_(With some embarrassment.)_

Yeah....

KARLA

I don't understand.

DON

What do you mean / you don't—

KARLA

You mean the _accents_ are "sea foam green"?

DON

No, the—

KARLA

The entire _apartment_ is "sea foam green"?!

DON

Yeah, the—

KARLA

Wait, so you have like a "sea foam green" couch and like a "sea foam green" rug and like the _walls_ are "sea foam green"? And the _lighting_ fixtures are—

DON

_(Suddenly erupting.)_

I don't _know_ , okay?! I DON'T REMEMBER.

_A beat. Then—_

KARLA

I'm sorry.

_(Beat.)_

DON

I'm sorry. I just.

_(Beat.)_

I haven't been there... in. A couple of months.

_(Beat.)_

I'm... subletting. A place. A few blocks away from my old...

_(Beat.)_

I don't know why I decided to stay in the same neighborhood. Stupid. I guess I thought it would be easier. For...

_(Beat.)_

Anyway. It's _not_. So.

_(Beat.)_

And I _hate_ my new place. Nothing in it is _mine_. And.

_(Beat.)_

I don't know. Maybe it's not so bad.

_(Beat.)_

KARLA

Well I bet your new place that you hate? Is like ten _thousand_ times nicer than my apartment.

DON _laughs._ KARLA _smiles._

DON

Money doesn't change your life as much as you think it will.

KARLA

That's just something rich people say to make poor people feel better.

DON

It doesn't! So you can, what. Buy a nice car? Get a flatscreen TV? Take a cool _vacation_? Those things don't fix...

_(Indicates his head, vaguely.)_

... you know. What's in _here,_...

KARLA

_(Teasing him.)_

What's... _in_... there...?

DON

_(Frustrated, now.)_

Never mind.

KARLA

Okay.

DON

Never _mind_.

_(Beat.)_

KARLA

_(Trying to soften the moment.)_

Yeah, and you probably don't even buy yourself new TVs or vacations or cars or anything, I bet.

DON

What do you—

KARLA

You won't even buy me a cup of coffee!

DON

I get you coffee all the time!

KARLA

Yeah but you always make me pay you _back_.

DON

Well, it—

KARLA

And you always _text_ me the _exact_ amount that I _owe_ you. Like, _while_ you're buying it.

DON

Well, it's—

KARLA

You're always like, "Hi Karla. Your almond milk latte was $5.23. Exact change would be preferable, please."

DON

Well it is very overpriced, here!

_A beat. She smiles. He softens. Then—_

KARLA

But the money does help with...

_(Indicates the hospital room.)_

_This_.

_He just looks at her._

KARLA

I mean you don't have to worry about _any_ of this shit, right? Like, you don't even _need_ insurance.

DON

_(Very uncomfortable.)_

I don't know.

KARLA

_Wow_.

_(Puts her feet up on her mother's hospital bed.)_

Wow.

_(Beat.)_

DON

Does your mother—

KARLA

Oh, her insurance is _terrible_. Which is hilarious, 'cause she's a social worker. It's like, "Thanks for the help, U.S. Government!"

_(Chuckles.)_

We're totally fucked.

_(Laughs.)_

I should probably just kill myself.

_She laughs. A beat._ DON _regards_ KARLA _, with concern._

KARLA

That was a joke. I'm not going to kill myself.

_(Beat.)_

Today.

_A beat._ DON _continues to regard_ KARLA _with yet more concern._

KARLA

That was a _joke!_ God. You do not understand my charming and irreverent dark sense of humor at _all_.

_A beat. She returns to her notebook. Scribbles a little. He continues to take her in. Then—_

DON

What do you _mean_ you're... "fucked"?

KARLA

Just that—I mean, we're not _fucked_ , I was being dramatic. We're just—it's just....

_(Beat.)_

I mean, her insurance is great in a lot of ways—they paid for her surgery and her week of recovery here which is awesome, but then when it comes to, like, the chemo and the radiation and the medications, it's just... It's gonna be tougher.

_(Beat.)_

But don't worry, Don. You looked so _worried_ right now. It's _fine_. This is how the world _works_. Shit happens, and you just—you figure it out. Or... you don't. You just accept that life is... kind of shitty. And that's okay. And maybe it'll change. Or maybe it won't. And that's okay too! Or maybe it's not. And maybe it's okay that it's not okay. You know?

DON _regards_ KARLA _, seriously._

KARLA

No, of course you don't. You have like seven gajillion _dollars_ , so if your mom dies, you can just, like... buy a new one.

_DON does not laugh._

KARLA

Sorry. That was another attempt at a dark joke and it... yeah it wasn't the time. I acknowledge that. Sorry.

DON

I—

KARLA

Timing is everything.

DON

Okay. I—

KARLA

_(In an old time-y vaudevillian voice)_

"What is the secret to great comedy?"

DON

Um. I don't know. What is the—

KARLA

TIMING!

_A beat. He does not laugh. Then—_

DON

_(With deep concern for her.)_

Karla, I just—

KARLA

_(Suddenly erupting.)_

Don, would you stop?! You don't _know_ me—you don't have to _worry_ about me.

_(Beat.)_

It's really condescending, actually.

_(Beat.)_

DON

I'm sorry.

_She takes her feet off the bed._

DON _tries to read his_ New Yorker _. We can tell that he's not really reading at all. Just worrying and fretting._

KARLA _looks at her notebook, scribbles a bit. Several moments of quiet between them. Then—_

KARLA

What was your tech startup?

DON

What? / Oh.

KARLA

What was your—

DON

It was. Ahm. It was, um. PerfectWeddingMatches? Dot com...?

_(Beat.)_

KARLA

I'm _sorry_?

DON

Yeah.

KARLA

_(Almost with disgust.)_

What _is_ that?

DON

It's / ahm,...

KARLA

It sounds _terrible_.

DON

You've never heard of it?

KARLA _just looks at him._

KARLA

Okay. Just. A lot of women. Ah. It's a pretty _popular_... Um. Anyway.

_(Beat.)_

It's like, um. The site helps you find the perfect matches for all the services you would need for your perfect wedding? It's like a match-making service? But for wedding planning?

KARLA _stares blankly at_ DON _._

DON

So you and your partner answer a, um, seventy-nine-question personality quiz, designed by clinical psychologists to best elucidate your key personality _features_ , and then based on what the algorithm devises from your _answers_ , we set you up with the best options specially tailored _for you_ , for your perfect wedding. Perfect venue, perfect invitations, perfect caterer, perfect porta-potties, perfect everything.

_(Desperately trying to be cheerful.)_

And, at the same time, you get to learn more about your partner. So, really, it's a win-win...!

_(Willing himself to stay positive.)_

It's actually helped a lot of people.

_(Fighting despair.)_

Over five million users.

KARLA _looks at_ DON _, utterly bewildered._

KARLA

How did you even come _up_ with that?

DON

It was my wife's idea.

KARLA

Do you even _give_ a shit about weddings?

DON

_(A sad chuckle.)_

Couldn't care less!

KARLA

Whoa....

_(Processes the inherent. tragedy in_ DON _'s tale.)_

So, you spent years / and years—

DON

Hey / watch it....

KARLA

—your whole _youth_ —building up this business with a woman who would eventually _leave_ you—

DON

Okay / we don't have to get—

KARLA

—and the business was something you didn't even _give_ a shit about?

DON

_(Sharply.)_

_Well, it was obviously a worthwhile investment!_

_A beat. Then—_ DON _goes back to reading_ The New Yorker _._

_Angrily, now._

KARLA _goes back to writing in her notebook. Then—_

DON _'s cell phone vibrates._

DON

Oh jesus chr—

_He takes the phone out of his pocket, unlocks it and reads something on it._

_As he reads, the blood begins to drain from his face. His jaw tightens. His eyes glass over._

KARLA _looks at him, with growing concern. Then—_

DON _puts his cell phone down and treads over to the bathroom. Steps inside and gingerly shuts the door. Then—_

_We hear a series of piercing screams, accompanied by mournful wails and intense wall-banging from inside the bathroom._

KARLA _looks at the bathroom door, horrified. After a moment, the noises stop. Then—_

DON _emerges from the bathroom, utterly calm—as if nothing just happened. He returns to his chair. After a beat:_

KARLA

_What_?

_(Beat.)_

DON

It was a text. From... my son.

KARLA

I didn't even / know you—

DON

I try not to talk about him because he makes me so...

_(Beat.)_

KARLA

_(Delicately.)_

Well... what did he say?

DON looks like he might cry.

KARLA

You don't have to—

DON

No, it's okay.

_(Picks up the phone.)_

He wrote:

_(Reads from phone.)_

"Hey Dad hope you are having a good Sunday with Grandma. I just wanted you to know I took out three thousand dollars from your bank account. I know you changed the pin but you're a fucking idiot and I found out what the new pin is because you e-mailed it to Mom and I hacked into her e-mail ha ha haha ha you're so dumb that you didn't even think I would know how to do that. Maybe if you had responded to any of my fucking texts like an attentive fucking parent I wouldn't have had to do this but since you always fucking ignore me I guess I had no choice. I am sorry if this is upsetting to you but at least I am being honest. Peace, Malcolm."

_(Beat.)_

KARLA

Whoa.

DON

I know.

KARLA

That's...

DON

I _know_.

KARLA

... a _long_... text....

DON

What? Oh, I know. He always writes me these massively long texts. Which I find ironic, since he's actually spoken about _eighteen_ words to me in the last two years. It would be delightful if he could be comparably loquacious and articulate in his high school _English_ papers, but wait, he would have to have _not dropped out of high school_ for that to be the case.

_He picks up his cell phone and begins to type, ragefully._

KARLA

What are you doing?

DON

Texting him back.

KARLA

Don't!

DON

_Why_?

KARLA

Because... you're angry. And—you might say something that you... can't take back.

_A beat. Then—_ DON _sullenly throws his phone back down on his mother's bed._

_He sits down in his chair. Rests his weary head in his hands._ KARLA _watches him. Then—_

KARLA

So... what the fuck is _wrong_ with him?

DON

_(Despondent.)_

He's a teenager.

KARLA

Yeah, but like... that text was _intense_.

DON _shrugs._

KARLA

Is he on _drugs?_

_A beat. Then—_ DON _nods._

KARLA

I _knew_ it! I have like a sixth sense for that kind of stuff (not to brag). What kinds?

DON

_(With some reluctance.)_

Anything. Everything. Pills, mostly. He stole a ton of _her_ pills, a few weeks ago.

_(Indicates_ GEENA _.)_

I found out. That's why he doesn't come here anymore. That's why I don't respond to his stupid texts.

_(Beat.)_

That's why I'm all alone.

And my cunt ex-wife is too busy _finger_ banging her new _girlfriend_ to step up and, oh, I don't know, be a fucking _parent_ , so—

KARLA

_(Trying to calm him down.)_

Okay, _okay_ —

DON

I'm sorry.

KARLA

It's okay.

_(Beat.)_

I mean, it sounds like—I mean like, in all fairness, your life is like, _terrible_ , right now.

DON _starts to laugh, a little. So does_ KARLA _. Then—_

KARLA

He'll be okay, you know.

DON

_(Sarcastically.)_

That's really reassuring. Thanks.

KARLA

He will. He's just... going through a phase. A lot of kids go through that. Especially in New York City—oh my god. I did a _ton_ of drugs in high school—we all did. I'm amazed I still even have a nose...!

DON

Ew.

KARLA

But then I just kinda... grew out of it.

_(Beat.)_

And your son will, too.

DON _lets this sink in. Makes a decision to actually try to be hopeful for once in his life._

DON

How did you... grow out of it?

KARLA

Idunno... I guess I just sort of woke up one day? And was like, "How the fuck am I ever gonna be successful if I'm like partying until five in the morning every night and like routinely waking up next to some interchangeable overweight comedian whose jokes are like exclusively slanted towards _misogyny_ , and the next thing I know I'm like _begging_ him to let me give him a blowjob because of my ever-lingering _daddy_ issues before I embark on the nightmarish walk of shame back to my tiny depressing apartment that I share with three strangers whom I _hate_ , as I cry and chain-smoke cigarettes and talk out _loud_ to myself while pretending I'm on the _phone_ , and then just begin the whole cycle all over again that _night?_ " You know?

_(Beat.)_

DON

Uh....

KARLA

And also I had kind of a wake-up call, I guess.

DON

What was your wake-up call?

KARLA

Oh. Um.

_(Beat.)_

My sister died.

_(Indicates_ MARCIE. _)_

As you heard.

KARLA

Right.

KARLA

"Sheee's deeea—"

KARLA

_(Cutting her off.)_

How did she die? If you don't mind / my—

KARLA

_(Matter-of-fact.)_

Oh yeah no it's fine—it was a drug overdose.

_(Beat.)_

DON

_What?!_

KARLA

_(Oblivious.)_

What?

_(Suddenly realizing.)_

Oh, shit—but—that doesn't mean that your _son_ will die of a drug overdose! Y'know...

_(Scrambling.)_

... everyone's...

_(Weakly.)_

... _different_...

DON _hangs his head in his hands._ KARLA _stares at him, trying to conjure a way to reverse the effects of her blunder. Then—_

MARCIE

Who do I have to fuck around here to get a fizzy water.

KARLA _suddenly flinches—almost violently—at the sound of her mother's voice._ DON _notices._

KARLA

One second, Mom. I'll go get it. One second.

KARLA _leaves and heads down the corridor._

DON _is left alone with the now-conscious_ MARCIE _, whose eyes are still closed. He looks at her. Looks away. Stuffs his hands in his pockets. Pulls out some wadded-up tissues. Examines them. Throws them out in a trash bin by_ GEENA _'s bedstand. Then, thinks better of this and pulls a tissue out of the trash. Re-pockets it. He sits back down next to his mother. Picks up his_ New Yorker. _Tries to read._

_A long moment. Then—_

MARCIE

You're not very social.

DON

Oh! Ahm. Are you, ah. Are you... talking. To me?

MARCIE

No, I'm talking to your comatose mother.

DON

Oh.

MARCIE

That was a joke.

DON

Okay.

MARCIE

Because she's always sleeping.

DON

Okay.

MARCIE

Because she has cancer.

DON

_(Terribly uncomfortable.)_

Okay.

_(Beat.)_

MARCIE

I can make cancer jokes. Because _I_ have cancer.

DON

Okay.

MARCIE

Like how Jews can make Jewish jokes?

DON

Okay.

MARCIE

Are you Jewish?

DON

What?

MARCIE

You must be. You're funny.

DON

_(Flattered.)_

Oh...!

MARCIE

That was a joke. You're not funny.

DON

_(Heartbroken.)_

Oh.

_(Beat.)_

MARCIE

I used to be _married_ to a Jew.

DON

Okay.

MARCIE

Thought that meant that I could make _Jewish_ jokes.

DON

Okay.

MARCIE

Turns out? That was NOT the case.

DON

Okay.

MARCIE

So I'm really trying to milk the _cancer_ jokes.

DON

Okay.

MARCIE

While I can.

MARCIE _lies with her eyes closed. She tries to breathe, but is having trouble._

MARCIE

This oxygen tube feels like it's raping my nose.

DON

Oh. Um. Do you want me to—

MARCIE

What're you gonna do, enlarge my nostrils with your dick?

DON

Um.

_(Beat.)_

DON

I could get you a new... nasal... cannula...?

MARCIE

_(Turning head to the wall.)_

I'll make Karla ask the nurse to replace it.

_(Beat.)_

About time she did _something_ useful.

DON

Um.

_A long beat. Then—_

MARCIE

_(Turning back to_ DON. _)_

Was that rape joke too much for you?

DON

What?

MARCIE

Some men are very uncomfortable with rape jokes.

DON

Well—

MARCIE

Not all. But some.

DON

Yeah, I—

MARCIE

Usually the ones who have been accused of _rape_.

_A long beat._ MARCIE _lies there with her eyes closed._ DON _looks at anything other than_ MARCIE _. Then—_

MARCIE

This is the first time you and I have been alone.

DON

_(Nodding toward_ GEENA. _)_

Well—

MARCIE

She doesn't count.

_(Beat.)_

It's the first time we've really talked.

DON

I know....

MARCIE

It's nice.

_A beat._ MARCIE _looks at the wall._ DON _looks at the back of_ MARCIE _'s head. Then—_

MARCIE

_(Turning her head to_ DON _.)_

_I_ liked that condom story.

DON

You—you did...?

MARCIE

Of course. It was brilliant.

DON

I thought so, too!

MARCIE

Karla is so self-centered. She can't appreciate anything outside her own head.

DON

Um.

_(Beat.)_

MARCIE

So how 'bout you?

DON

Me...?

MARCIE

Rape jokes? Yay or nay.

DON

Oh. Ahmmm. Well. They're not my... _favorite_? But um. I'm sort of, uh... used to them? Now?

_(Beat.)_

Because of, ah. Karla?

_(Beat.)_

You know, her—

MARCIE

Karla doesn't make a lot of jokes with me.

_(Beat.)_

DON

But—what do you think of her... _bits?_

MARCIE

_(Horrified.)_

WHAT?

DON

_(Horrified as well.)_

I mean! Her, um. Her... standup... routines...!

MARCIE

Idunno.

_(Beat.)_

I went a few times. To see her perform. She didn't even buy me a drink.

DON

But... / she—

MARCIE

I work hard. I'm working with kids all day. Kids with real problems.

_(Beat.)_

I'm a _social_ worker. I'm actually doing something useful at my job. I'm not getting paid fifteen bucks and a basket of _nachos_ to get onstage and ruminate about my twat six nights a week.

_(Beat.)_

DON

Um—

MARCIE

So if I'm gonna go see a _comedy_ show after a twelve-hour work day? _Helping kids?_ I need.

_(Beat.)_

At least she could buy me a drink.

_(Beat.)_

DON

But doesn't she—

MARCIE

What.

DON

Doesn't Karla, um... practice? Her... standup routines? For you? She said that—

MARCIE

We don't spend a lotta time together.

KARLA _reenters with a Dixie cup of seltzer._

KARLA

Here, Mom.

KARLA _approaches her mom with the cup._ MARCIE _does nothing._

KARLA

Um.

KARLA _holds out the cup to her mom._ MARCIE _does nothing._

MARCIE

I need someone to feed it to me.

KARLA

Oh. Okay.

KARLA _slowly and awkwardly brings the cup to_ MARCIE _'s lips._

MARCIE

_(Eyes still closed.)_

I want _him_ to feed it to me.

KARLA

Oh.

MARCIE

I'm sick of you.

KARLA

Mom.

MARCIE

I'm kidding.

KARLA

Okay.

KARLA _brings the cup to_ MARCIE _'s lips again._

MARCIE

I do want him to feed it to me, though.

KARLA

_(Stung.)_

Oh.

_(Beat.)_

Why?

MARCIE

Because you bore me?

_(Beat.)_

MARCIE

What? Are you going to _cry?_

KARLA

No...

MARCIE

_(To_ DON. _)_

When she was a little girl? _Everything_ made her cry. "Time for dinner!" She'd cry. "Take your plate to the sink!" Bawling. "Brush your teeth and put your jammies on!" Hysterical sobs.

MARCIE _laughs, remembering._

KARLA

Mom...

MARCIE

_(A bark.)_

What!

_(To_ DON _.)_

She has a very _bleak_ worldview. Always did. I'd say: "Go to bed" and she'd hear: "Nobody loves you."

KARLA

_(Fighting tears.)_

_Mom._...

MARCIE

Don't argue with me I have cancer.

KARLA _steps back. Looks away from her mom._

MARCIE

_(Mockingly.)_

"Boo hoo hoo hoo hoo!"

KARLA _says nothing. Tries very hard not to cry._ DON _watches her. Then—he gently approaches_ KARLA _and takes the Dixie cup out of her hand. She lets him._

DON

Okay, um. Mrs....

MARCIE

_(Demurely.)_

Call me Marcie.

_He brings the cup to her lips._ KARLA _watches. He is very gentle._

DON

Okay, um, Marcie, I'm bringing the Dixie cup to your lips.

MARCIE

Okay.

DON

Okay now I'm just going to pour some seltzer into your mouth.

MARCIE

Okay.

DON

Can you open your mouth?

MARCIE

Okay.

MARCIE _opens her mouth, and_ DON _delicately pours some seltzer from the Dixie cup into it._ KARLA _watches._ MARCIE _drinks._

DON

Good job.

MARCIE _drinks the whole cup._

MARCIE

I need more.

DON

Oh.

MARCIE

Get me more, Karla.

KARLA _says nothing. Takes the Dixie cup from_ DON _and starts to leave._

MARCIE

_(Calling after_ KARLA. _)_

And can you tell the nurse I need a new nasal cannula while you're out there?

KARLA

Sure.

MARCIE

And a new daughter?

KARLA _stops. Then—she leaves._

MARCIE _closes her eyes._ DON _looks at her, lost. And then—_

_Silence._

MARCIE _lies there with her eyes closed._ DON _cannot tell if she's sleeping. He stands awkwardly next to her bed, looking at the back of her head, then around the room. Shoves his hands in his pockets. Takes them out. Looks at the wall._

_The moment feels like it goes on forever. And then—_

DON

Why do you—

_With a surprising and immediate burst of energy,_ MARCIE _suddenly makes a hammy, comical "dead" face—tongue lolling, eyes bugging out._

MARCIE

Blehhhggghhh!!!

_A beat. Then—_

DON

What?

MARCIE

_(Casually.)_

Just practicing dying.

KARLA _enters, holding two Dixie cups._

KARLA

I got two more cups.

MARCIE

Do you want an award.

KARLA _is silent. Hands a cup to_ DON _._

DON

Okay, Marcie? I'm going to feed you the second cup of seltzer, okay?

MARCIE _nods, eyes still closed._

DON

Okay. I'm bringing the second cup up to your lips.

_(He does so.)_

Okay, I'm going to pour the—

MARCIE

I'm sorry, why are you _narrating_ this?

DON

What?

MARCIE

Why are you _telling_ me everything you're doing?

DON

Oh. Because... I guess because your eyes are closed?

MARCIE

Okay...

DON

And also, because...

MARCIE

What.

DON

It's—I think it's—this is going to sound so _strange_...

MARCIE

_What_.

DON

It's... my son? When he was... oh god, it's such a long story.

MARCIE

_(Eyes still closed.)_

Tell me.

KARLA

Tell us....

MARCIE

_(To_ KARLA _.)_

Shhhh!

KARLA _shrinks._ DON _notices. He continues with his story._

DON

Okay. Well, when we—

MARCIE

Feed me seltzer while you tell me.

DON

Okay.

_He brings the cup to_ MARCIE _'s lips and pours the seltzer into her mouth. She swallows._

DON

Good.

_She finishes drinking._

DON

_(Placing Dixie cup in trash.)_

Good job.

MARCIE

_(Coquettishly.)_

Thank you Don.

DON _smiles uncomfortably, sits in_ KARLA _'s chair and continues his story._

DON

Okay, so, my son? Um. His mom and I had been...

_He clearly feels uncomfortable telling the story, but continues._

DON

Ah... _really_... wanting a kid, and, ahm. We couldn't. She couldn't....

_(Beat.)_

I'm sorry, this is—I don't need to get into all—

MARCIE

Keep telling the story.

DON

I don't know.

KARLA

Keep telling it!

MARCIE

_(Snapping at_ KARLA. _)_

I just _said_ that.

KARLA _shrinks again._ DON _notices. He takes a deep breath; continues._

DON

So we, ah, when we found out that the, uh, the... _adoption_... had come through... we, ah. We were so... _excited_ that we, ah, we started to read, um, every book on parenting that we could _find_. I mean, we were buying a new book pretty much every week...!

_(Remembers.)_

And we would stay up late, _every night_ , and read these books to each other...

_(Drifts into the memory.)_

She would lay her head on my stomach... and I would read....

_(Drifts; smiles, a bit.)_

Or I would lay my head on her stomach... and she would read. And we'd pretend there was a baby in there....

_(Drifts.)_

And before we know it, it's the week before we're supposed to go get our son, and we are... just... _flipping out_ , because we realize of course that we actually have _no idea_ what to do...! I mean, all these books contradict each other—one book says: "Always do this one thing if you want your child to turn out to be not a serial killer," and another book says: "NEVER do this one thing if you want your child to turn out to be _not_ a serial killer"—and it's the same thing!

_(Laughs, a little.)_

And everyone tells you, of course, that once you _have_ the baby, that your instinct just sort of, um, kicks in. But... we're adopting, right? So what if we, you know. What if our instinct, just... isn't there?

_(Laughs, with some anxiety.)_

And my wife is—you know, I'm getting kind of worried about her, actually. She's started pulling her hair out again, and she's lost all this weight, and I look at her one night, and she's standing over the kitchen sink and I realize that she's been washing the same dish for about twenty _minutes_ , and I can feel my brain sort of start to want to explode...

_(Remembers.)_

But then, as I'm looking at her... a... calm... comes over me, suddenly. And I say to her: "Honey? _Honey_. Put down the dish. Come with me." And I bring her into the living room, and we laid down on the couch, and I laid my head on her stomach, and I said to her: " _All we can do now is wait_. And read. Let's just read _this one book_."

_(Remembers.)_

"Let's pretend this is the only book in the world...."

_(Remembers.)_

And we opened this new book. And it was written by these two Hungarian women—from Budapest, I think—and right away we could tell that it was so... _different_... from all the other stuff we had read. Because they wrote about—about _respecting_ your child... And part of that respect, is, um...

_(Becoming emotional.)_

... is... is not treating them like they're just a dumb _baby_ , you know? Not just wiping their face when you think it's too dirty, not just shoving food into their mouth when you think they're hungry. Not, you know, not— _condescending_ to them... But instead, just... _telling_ them what you're doing— _telling_ your child:

_(He begins to cry.)_

"I'm going to wipe your face now, because you have chocolate on it. It's going to be uncomfortable, at first, because the wash cloth is going to be wet. But it's good for you. Here we go."

_(He cries.)_

"I'm putting you in the bath. It's going to be warm. It might also be a bit startling, at first. But it will become pleasant, soon. Be patient. Trust me."

_(He cries, harder.)_

"I'm putting you in your crib. It's time to go to sleep. Sleep can be scary, because you have to be alone with your thoughts. But you're going to be okay. You are not alone. Mommy and I are right here with you. We love you so much.

_(He sobs.)_

_We love you_... _!_

_(He calms down a bit.)_

Goodnight."

_(He stops crying; a beat.)_

And stuff like that.

_He wipes his eyes, his nose with his sleeve. He looks at_ MARCIE _._

DON

Do you want the other cup? Of seltzer? Marcie...?

MARCIE _snores. She has fallen back asleep._ DON _turns to_ KARLA _._

DON

_(Amused.)_

She's asleep...!

KARLA _turns away._

DON

Karla?

KARLA _wipes her eyes with her hands, quickly._

KARLA

What.

DON

Nothing.

_(Beat.)_

DON

Your mom....

KARLA

What?!

DON

Nothing.

_She walks over to_ GEENA _'s side of the room and sits in_ DON _'s chair. She hangs her head in her hands, and cries._ DON _watches. Then—_

KARLA

_(Softly.)_

Sometimes I wish that she would just _die_.

_(Beat.)_

DON

I know.

KARLA

I don't really mean that.

_(Beat.)_

DON

I know.

KARLA

_(Crying.)_

I don't know how... to _do_... this...!

_(Beat.)_

DON

I know.

_A beat._ KARLA _cries. Then—_

KARLA

You're such a good... _dad_...

DON

Not really.

KARLA

_(Through tears.)_

You love your kid... so _much_... Even though he's so... fucked _up_.

DON

_(Laughs, a bit.)_

That's true...! It's true.

DON _approaches_ KARLA _, gently. She continues to cry. Both_ GEENA _and_ MARCIE _continue to sleep._ DON _kneels down in front of_ KARLA _and delicately places a hand on her knee. She lets him._

KARLA

_(Weeping.)_

She's so _... mean..._ to me.

_(Sobs.)_

But I love her... so...

_(Can barely get the word out.)_...

_much....!_

KARLA _cries and cries, her face in her hands._ DON _rubs her knee._

DON

I know. I know....

KARLA _cries. Then—_

_She calms down. Breathes deeply. Stops sobbing. Lifts her face from her hands. Looks up. Looks at_ DON _. He looks at her, too._

_Their eyes are locked. They are frozen, breathing heavily, alive. A beat. Then—_

KARLA _suddenly grabs_ DON _'s face and kisses him, hard._

DON _is shocked, at first, but then... he kisses her back. It is chaste, sweet—like two children who have escaped from their parents' watchful eyes to steal a first kiss in a secret hiding place. Then—_

_It becomes intense. Passionate. Hot, even. They devour each other with their mouths._ KARLA _comes down off the chair and straddles_ DON _on the floor._

DON _embraces this action fully—wraps his arms around her torso and pulls her closer to him. They inhale each other with their kissing._ DON _stands up, hoisting_ KARLA _up with him. They continue to consume each other._ DON _begins to carry her toward the bathroom._

KARLA _breaks away from the kiss._

KARLA

You're taking me to the handicap-accessible _bathroom?_

DON

_(Suddenly sheepish.)_

Uh... yeah? Is that terrible...?

KARLA

No. It's awesome.

_She attacks his face with her mouth. He lets her; attacks hers back._

_The rest of the conversation is had in between kisses—breathlessly, excitedly, in spurts. Also, in whispers, so they don't wake their mothers._

KARLA

_(Sort of breathless.)_

Wait one thing.

_They kiss._

DON

_(Sort of breathless, also.)_

What.

_They kiss._

KARLA

I'm not gonna have sex with you.

DON

Yeah. I mean, I assumed—

KARLA

What do you mean "you assumed"?

DON

Oh. I don't know. I just meant. Well, look at you.

KARLA

What?

DON

You're very attractive.

KARLA

Thanks.

_She kisses him._

DON

And I'm—

KARLA

You're... what?

DON

I don't know. I haven't gone to the gym in, like, six years.

KARLA

Yeah but you're rich so I don't care.

_She leans in to kiss him. He pulls away._

KARLA

That was a joke.

DON

Oh. Really?

KARLA

YES.

_She kisses him. Hard. He kisses her back. A beat. Kissing. Then—_

DON

I'm so sorry I have to put you down now.

KARLA

Okay.

_He puts her down. Cracks his back. Then—they keep kissing._

DON

I like kissing you so much.

_They keep kissing._

KARLA

Okay. Let's go.

KARLA _pulls_ DON _towards the bathroom. Before they get there, she stops._

KARLA

We can do like first and second base. But that's it.

DON

That sounds great.

_They kiss._

KARLA

I need to set boundaries. Because I can get carried away.

DON

I get it.

_They kiss. Then—_ KARLA _pulls_ DON _into the bathroom. The door stays open. They make out in there._

KARLA

Also I should tell you that I've never really had a real relationship? So this is all stuff I'm still really working on.

DON

_Really?_

KARLA

Please don't judge me.

DON

Sorry.

_They kiss. Then—she steps away, maintaining cool eye contact with him as she slowly unbuttons and then unzips her pants. He looks at her, agog. Then—_

_She hops up and into the sink. He lunges for her and they keep making out._

KARLA

I didn't lose my virginity until I was, like, twenty-four? Because I had just, like, _severe_ abandonment and intimacy issues? I still struggle with this, FYI.

_He starts to take off her pants._

KARLA

It's about my dad.

_He starts to kiss her legs as he finishes removing her pants._

KARLA

He left my mom when I was fourteen? He cheated on her with her best friend, Candi. My mom never really recovered from it, I think.

_He starts to pull off her underwear._

DON

Is this okay?

KARLA

Uh-huh.

_He removes her underwear, begins kissing her up her leg._

KARLA

And it was just really bad timing because my dad left at like the _exact age_ that I started developing sexual feelings towards boys? And my dad was, like, the primary male in my life? And then he was just... _gone?_

_He makes his way up to her inner thigh._

KARLA

And I would hear from him every couple of months, but like only in weird ways? Like he would send me a postcard written entirely in _crayon?_ And I would be like, "Dad—

_He starts to go down on her._

KARLA

_(With a deep gasp of pleasure.)_

—I'm _fourteen."_

_He continues to go down on her. She continues to try to talk to him, but it's challenging, given the exquisite amount of pleasure she is experiencing._

KARLA

And it's weird, because it's not like he's _stupid_ —I mean, he's a _History_ professor, but...

_(She moans.)_

But anyway yeah so then for like _years_ , whenever a man would try to get close to me? I'd assume that he was gonna abandon me. Because I believed I was inherently unlovable?

_(She moans, louder.)_

And then my sister died, so that was, like... _not_ good for my abandonment issues. Ha ha.

_(She groans with pleasure.)_

I've been in a lot of therapy. In case you can't tell.

_He keeps going down on her. It gets more intense. He pulls over a squatty potty from near the toilet, sits on it. Continues to go down on her._

_She tries to keep talking despite her mounting pleasure._

KARLA

And so anyway yeah after I had sex for the first time I became just like this total slut? Because I thought that if I just fucked someone right away, he would, like, instantly fall in love with me?

_(She moans, loudly.)_

This did NOT work.

_(She grunts, rabidly.)_

And so basically I just became that girl that men wanted to fuck but, like, never make their girlfriend?

_(She wails with pleasure.)_

And so yeah now I'm just trying to, like... you know... _change_ that...

_She becomes suddenly emotional. A beat. Then—_

DON

Wait, are you going to start crying again?

_He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tissue. Hands it up to her._

KARLA

_(Tearful)_

No. I don't know. Maybe. Yeah. But don't worry. I cry all the time. It means practically nothing.

_She blows her nose with the tissue. He returns to going down on her. She moans, loudly, as she continues to blow her nose. Then—_

KARLA

Wait.

_(Takes his head in her hands.)_

I have to ask you something.

DON

Okay.

KARLA

Did none of that scare you? What I just said?

DON

What? No.

KARLA

Really?

DON

Yeah, no. You seem pretty normal to me.

_He returns to going down on her. She moans. Then—_

KARLA

_(Taking his head in her hands again.)_

_Really?_

DON

Yeah. But maybe I'm just fucked up.

KARLA

You're definitely fucked up.

_He continues going down on her. She moans. Moans. Then yelps, loudly._

DON

Shhh...!

KARLA

Don't tell me to "shhh"!

DON

Sorry!

KARLA

Turn on the shower.

DON

What?!

KARLA

Turn on the shower! To make _noise_.

DON

Oh!

DON _quickly pulls the bathroom door closed with his leg. Then—the sound of the running shower. Then..._

_Stillness._ GEENA _and_ MARCIE _sleep. We can hear soft, muffled noises of pleasure from the bathroom—coupled with the occasional beeps from the IV stands and the sound of the running shower._

_A long beat. Then—_

GEENA

This is weird.

_(Beat.)_

MARCIE

Totally.

_(Beat.)_

MARCIE

They're very selfish.

_(Beat.)_

GEENA

Who isn't.

MARCIE

Okay.

_A beat. Then—_

GEENA _starts to struggle with her breathing. She moans_.

_In the bathroom, we hear louder moans from_ KARLA _._

GEENA _moans._

KARLA _moans._

GEENA _moans, louder._

_In the bathroom, we hear_ KARLA _climaxing. Then—_

GEENA

_(Reaching her hand toward_ MARCIE, _)_

He's a good boy.

_(Beat.)_

Maybe too good....

_A beat._ MARCIE _nods off._ GEENA _dozes, too. A long moment. Then—_

GEEN _suddenly seizes up in bed and clutches her heart. Her eyes bulge open. The blood drains from her face. And then—_

_She falls back down onto her pillow, her eyes still open. Glassy. Blank._

_Her always-puckered face relaxes. She lays there, very still. She looks—finally—peaceful._

# SCENE 3

_A few days later._

GEENA _'sbed is now empty, and made, tidily, with crisp hospital corners._ MARCIE _is the only one in the room. She lies in her bed, eyes closed, very still. We watch her for several long moments. Then—_

DON _enters, quietly. His demeanor has changed. Strangely, he seems almost calmer. Perhaps he holds his head a bit higher. Perhaps his spirits seem just a bit brighter. His outfit is definitely much better: he wears a pair of well-fitted pants, nice shoes, and a crisp button-down shirt under a well-tailored suit jacket, a copy of_ The New Yorker _stuffed into one of the pockets. The sad corduroy jacket is, thankfully, nowhere to be found._

_He looks at the empty bed where_ GEENA _used to lie. Smiles, sadly, for just a moment. Then—_

_He sits down on his mother's bed. Swings his feet up slowly and lies down on the bed. In exactly the same position in which his mother used to lie. Nestles his head into the pillow. Closes his eyes._

_A moment. Stillness. Then—_

MARCIE

You're being creepy.

DON

_(Startled.)_

What?!

MARCIE

YOU'RE BEING CREEPY?

DON

Oh, sorry, I, uh...

_He trails off. Sits up. Shakes his head; shakes the sadness away. Blinks. Straightens himself up. Then, he heads overto_ MARCIE _'s side of the room. Tries to sort of knock on the curtain._

DON

_(While "knocking" on the curtain.)_

Ummm... "knock knock"...?

_(Beat.)_

MARCIE

Are you _knocking_ on a curtain?

DON

Yeah. That's weird, right? I just didn't know how / else to—

MARCIE

COME _IN_ , DON.

_He steps onto_ MARCIE _'s side of the room, and stands there, looking at_ MARCIE _. A beat. Then—_

DON

Hi.

MARCIE _looks at_ DON _._

MARCIE

Hi.

_(Beat.)_

MARCIE

I'm... sorry. About your mom.

DON

Thank you.

MARCIE

She was a good roommate.

DON

You never spoke to her. You never saw her...!

MARCIE

Exactly.

_A beat. He smiles, a little. Then—_

DON

How are you feeling?

MARCIE

I'm okay.

DON

Good.

_(Beat.)_

DON

Do you need anything?

MARCIE

I'm good.

DON

Good.

_He looks around the room._

DON

Is—is Karla... not...

MARCIE

I told her to stay home today. Get some rest. Stay home forever, see if I care.

DON

Um.

MARCIE

She's no use to me if she's just sitting around here moping.

DON

Okay. / Is she—

MARCIE

She makes most things about _her_.

_(Laughs, darkly.)_

That's _youth_ , I suppose.

_(Ruminatively.)_

The selfishness of the young artist...

_(With bite.)_

The... _aspiring_ artist.

_A beat._ DON _deliberates. Then—_

DON

_(Choosing his words carefully.)_

I think—I think what happened... with my mother,... I think Karla—

_(Beat.)_

I think that was scary. For her. I think that was really scary.

MARCIE _shrugs._

MARCIE

It's stupid to come to Memorial Sloan-Kettering _Cancer_ Center and expect no one to _die_.

DON

Well—

MARCIE

I mean that's just willful _ignorance_.

DON

Well, I—

MARCIE

What did Karla think? That your mother was going to _live_?

_(Cackles.)_

Your mother looked dead the day I got here!

MARCIE _cracks herself up._

DON

_(Solemnly.)_

Marcie.

MARCIE

_(Sharp.)_

Why are you _here_ , Don.

DON _says nothing._

MARCIE _turns her head back to the wall._ DON _looks at her._

_A beat. Then—he reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope, on which he has written the word "Marcie." He places it on_ MARCIE _'s bedstand. Then—he heads for the door. Before he can get there—_

MARCIE

I shouldn't... make jokes... like that...

DON _stops._

MARCIE

I shouldn't make jokes... about... your mom....

DON

Oh.

_She shakes her head back and forth._

MARCIE

She was your mom.

DON

I know.

MARCIE

Now she's dead.

DON

I _know_.

MARCIE

It's not... _funny_...

_A beat. Then—_

DON

Yeah, it is.

_A weird, huge smile overtakes_ DON _'s face._

DON

I mean, it's incredibly sad, of course, and it's... incredibly surreal, but it's also incredibly... _funny_. Because... there's this person, right? Who you love... so much. And they're here, with you, every day. And then—they're just... _not_.

_(Laughs.)_

It's so weird! It's so... absurd...!

_(Laughs more.)_

It's... _so... funny...!_

_He cracks himself up._

MARCIE

_(Sharply.)_

It's not funny at all.

DON _stops laughing._

MARCIE

There's nothing less funny in the world.

_(Beat.)_

DON

All right.

MARCIE

What you're talking about is _relief_.

DON

Okay.

MARCIE

You think: "Oh, she's in a better place. She's out of her pain. She's moved on. And now I can, too."

_(Beat.)_

But you can't— _you_ can't. Because _she's_ in a better place, but you're not. You're _not_....

_(Beat.)_

Because she haunts you. Inside.

_(Beat.)_

She makes you sick.

_(Beat.)_

She gives you cancer.

_A beat. Then—_

DON

_(Gently.)_

I know. That... you lost a daughter, Marcie.

_(With aching sincerity.)_

And I can't pretend to know how... _painful_... that is. But...

_(Becoming impassioned.)_

The thing is? You didn't lose your other—

MARCIE

Can you get me some fizzy water.

_(Beat.)_

DON

I'll get you two cups.

_He leaves._

MARCIE _exhales. Takes a breath. And then—she notices the envelope on the bedstand. She reaches over, picks it up. Opens it. And takes out... a check._

_She studies it. Expressionless. Unblinking. Cool. Then—_

_She puts the check back in the envelope. Places the envelope back on the bedstand. Closes her eyes. Then—_

DON _returns, carrying two Dixie cups._

DON

I'm back...! Do you want me to feed them to you?

MARCIE _nods._

DON _sits by_ MARCIE _'s bed in_ KARLA _'s chair. He puts one cup of seltzer down on the bedstand, then lifts the other cup to_ MARCIE _'s mouth._

DON

Okay, I'm bringing the cup of seltzer to your—

MARCIE

Don.

DON

Sorry.

DON _feeds her seltzer. She drinks._

DON

Good... Good.

_She drinks the whole cup._

DON _puts the empty cup on the bedstand._

DON

Do you want the other—

MARCIE

She told you about her sister, huh.

_(Beat.)_

DON

She did.

MARCIE

Huh.

_(Beat.)_

Huh.....

DON

She—

MARCIE

She never talks to me about it. She never did.

_(Beat.)_

DON

Well. Maybe she—

MARCIE

I'm the _mother_.

_(Beat.)_

I would have appreciated... someone to talk to.

_(Beat.)_

DON

I know what you mean.

MARCIE _looks at_ DON _. Really takes him in._

MARCIE

You look nice today, Don.

DON

Thank you, Marcie.

MARCIE

I like your little suit.

DON

Thank you. Thanks.

MARCIE

You usually look like a homeless person.

DON

_(Laughs.)_

That's what your daughter said, too...!

MARCIE

Huh. She said something funny. Huh.

DON _rubs his hands on his pants._

DON

She's very funny, Marcie.

MARCIE

_(Turning to the wall.)_

Uh-huh.

DON

She is....

MARCIE

Hokay.

_(Beat.)_

DON

_(Gingerly.)_

I know that you two... have a... _complicated_... relationship. But—

MARCIE

_(Doing her "dead face" again.)_

Blehhhggghhh!!!

_A beat._ DON _just looks at_ MARCIE _.Then—_

DON

_(Pretending that didn't just happen.)_

Okay, I'm just saying that—

MARCIE

We don't have a " _complicated relationship_."

DON

Well, okay. But—

MARCIE

We don't have a _relationship_.

DON

Okay. But—

MARCIE

How can you have a relationship with a person who only cares about _herself_.

_(Beat.)_

DON

But—she—but why do you _say_ that, Marcie? She's been here with you—every _day_....

MARCIE

Because she feels like she has to.

DON

Really?

MARCIE

Because she didn't show up for me. Before.

_(Beat.)_

DON

Okay.

_(Beat.)_

But—

MARCIE

_What?_

DON

I just. Um.

_(Beat.)_

My son. He, um. He came to the, ah. The... _funeral_. Today. And he wore a suit...! I had never seen him in a suit. He didn't even wear one to his own bar _mitzvah_. Refused to.

_(Laughs a little, remembering.)_

And it wasn't, you know, an _ironic_ suit. It was just... a suit. I didn't even need to tell him to put it on. Neither did his mother! Apparently.

_(Beat.)_

He still wouldn't _talk_ to me, but....

_(With a sad smile.)_

He looked great.

MARCIE

So?

_A beat._ DON _takes a deep breath. Then—_

DON

I just. You have to believe me, Marcie. Karla? She's....

_(Beat.)_

She's a good person.

MARCIE _waves her hand vaguely in_ DON _'s direction._

MARCIE

Enough.

DON

She's a... _generous_ / person.

MARCIE

Enough.

DON

She's _not_ selfish. Or, at least, not any more selfish than / the rest of us.

MARCIE

Enough!

DON

And, oh god, Marcie—she is so...

_(Laughs, remembering one of_ KARLA _'s jokes.)_

... funny...! / She—

MARCIE

_Don_. ENOUGH!

MARCIE _turns to the wall._

DON

_(Softly.)_

I feel like I'm doing everything wrong.

DON _crosses to the window. Looks out._

MARCIE _keeps her face turned to the wall. Then—_

MARCIE

You know. I'm funny too.

_(Beat.)_

DON

I know.

DON _looks at_ MARCIE _, her face turned to the wall. Then—_

MARCIE _suddenly starts to laugh._

DON

What...?

MARCIE

Just remembered a joke.

_(Beat.)_

DON

Oh yeah?

MARCIE

A joke I used to make with my mother. When she would give me a bath....

_(She laughs, remembering.)_

Oh god, it's so _dumb..._!

DON

What is it?

_She laughs, and turns to face_ DON _._

MARCIE

It's—okay. Now remember I made up this joke when I was really little, okay?

DON

Okay.

MARCIE

Here it goes: two turtles are sitting in a bathtub.

DON

Okay....

MARCIE

And one turtle turns to the other turtle and says: "Can you please pass me the soap?"

DON

Okay.

MARCIE

And the other turtle says: "What do you think I am? A typewriter?!"

MARCIE _cracks herself up._ DON _looks on, bewildered._

DON

That... doesn't make... any / sense.

MARCIE

That's why it's _funny_.

DON

Oh.

_A beat._ MARCIE _smiles—deep in a memory. Then—_

MARCIE

My mother used to _love_ that joke....

_(Beat, remembers.)_

She used to laugh and laugh....

_(Beat.)_

DON

Oh yeah?

MARCIE

It was important for me. To make her laugh.

_(Beat.)_

DON

Oh yeah...?

MARCIE

Yeah. Because otherwise....

_(Beat.)_

DON

Yeah.

_A beat._ MARCIE _turns her head back to the wall. Then—_

MARCIE

I don't want your money.

_(Beat.)_

DON

I know.

MARCIE

_(Waving her hand toward the envelope.)_

Take it.

DON

Nope.

_A beat._ MARCIE _'s head stays turned to the wall._ DON _looks at the door. Then—_

MARCIE

When I found out I had cancer, do you know what I thought?

_She turns to_ DON _. Looks right into his eyes._

MARCIE

I thought, "Oh, thank _God_." Because, then—this...

_She waves her hand vaguely around her forehead, searching for the right word._

MARCIE

... _shit_... would be over. All. This. _Shit_. This....

_(Waves her hand, vaguely indicating her head.)_

_Bull_ shit _._ Up here. This—

DON

I know.

MARCIE

_No_ , you don't.

_(Laughs, darkly.)_

You _don't_ know.

_A beat. She closes her eyes._ DON _looks at_ MARCIE _. Then—he crosses to her._

DON

_(Soft, but forceful.)_

Do you know? How many times? I've wanted to die? In the last three months? In the last _year?_ My whole life?!

_He sits in_ KARLA _'s chair._ MARCIE _opens her eyes and looks at him._

DON

I have _so much stuff_... out here—

_(Indicates the outside world.)_

—and so _little stuff_... in here—

_(Indicates inside of him—his heart, soul.)_

—and so much going on _up here_ —

_(Indicates his head.)_

—that it gives me even _less_ in here—

_(Indicates his heart and soul, again.)_

—and I—

_A beat. He becomes overtaken with emotion. Then—_

DON _picks up the envelope from the bedstand and holds it out to_ MARCIE _._

DON

Please, Marcie.

MARCIE _looks at him. Then—she takes the envelope. Places it down on her bedstand. Then—_

_She reaches over and opens a drawer in the bedstand. Removes a remote control. Points it toward the TV._

DON

What are you—

MARCIE

Turning on the TV?

DON

Oh.

MARCIE

I figured we were sort of done here.

_(Beat.)_

DON

Oh.

MARCIE

Stay and watch with me, if you want.

DON

Oh....

_(Beat.)_

Okay!

_He sits down in_ KARLA _'s chair as_ MARCIE _presses a button on the remote. The TV turns on._

VOICEOVER

"— _child-related sex crimes are considered particularly atrocious. In New York City, the hard-working detectives—_

MARCIE

_(With a little fist pump.)_

... yes...!

VOICEOVER

_—who investigate these odious incidents are members of a special squad known as the SV Ped. We follow their stories."_

_The episode begins. They watch TV together for a long moment. Then—_

MARCIE

I've seen this one.

MARCIE _and_ DON _'s eyes stay glued to the screen. A long beat. The blue light flickers across_ MARCIE _and_ DON _'s faces as they watch TV. Then—_

KARLA _enters, quietly. She sees_ DON _. Startles. Then—he turns and sees her._

_A beat. He takes her in. Then—_

DON

Hi Karla.

_(Beat.)_

KARLA

_(Uncomfortably.)_

Heyyy.

_A beat. Then—_ KARLA _pulls over the visitor's chair from_ GEENA _'s side of the room, and joins them. They all watch TV together._

_A long beat of this. Then—_ MARCIE _eventually falls asleep._ DON _turns to_ KARLA _._

DON

Um.

_(With tremendous awkwardness.)_

How are you?

_(Beat.)_

KARLA

What?

DON

How are—

KARLA

I'm good.

_A beat. They watch TV. Then—_

DON

_(Turning back to her.)_

I'm good too.

_(Beat.)_

KARLA

_(Profoundly uncomfortable.)_

Cool.

_A beat. They watch TV. Then—_

DON

Sorry, do you think we could....

KARLA

What.

DON

Idunno. Maybe we could... talk? Privately? For a—

KARLA

Okay.

DON _turns off the TV with the remote control. They both awkwardly stand up and head over to_ GEENA _'s side of the room._

DON

_(Indicating the curtain.)_

I'm just gonna...

KARLA

Okay.

DON _draws the curtain closed. They stand there, looking at each other. Looking away. Another beat. Then—_

DON

So.... How are you?

KARLA

Um.

DON

Sorry, I just asked you that.

_A beat. They look at each other. Look at the floor. Then—_

DON

Wow.

KARLA

What.

DON

Nothing. Just... you look really pretty.

KARLA

Um.

DON

Sorry. Is that...? Um. What I mean is. Um.

_(Beat.)_

I'd like to see you again.

KARLA

You're seeing me right now.

DON

No I know, I just meant... like...

KARLA

What?

DON

I'd like to... go on another date.

KARLA

We did not go on a _date_ , Don.

DON

No, I know. I just meant, like....

_A beat. Then—he leans in to kiss her._

KARLA

What are you _doing?_

DON

Oh. Sorry.

_He pulls away._

DON

Wait why not?

KARLA

Because! This is, like... not the time or the _place_.

DON

Oh. Okay.

_He takes a step away from her. They look at each other. Then—_

DON

Wait, sorry why not?

KARLA _lowers her voice to a whisper._ DON _does too, but only because that is what_ KARLA _is doing._

KARLA

Because... my _mom_ is right there? / And—

DON

Yeah, / but—

KARLA

—I don't know if she's awake or _asleep_ , / and—

DON

Yeah, / but—

KARLA

—we are in a _hospital_ , / and—

DON

_Yeah_ , but—

KARLA

—it's like one in the _afternoon_ , / and—

DON

Well / yeah, but—

KARLA

_Your mother just died._

_(Beat.)_

DON

Well. Yeah. But—

KARLA

And also I just don't know if we would actually be compatible. Actually.

_(Beat.)_

DON

_(Crushed.)_

Oh really?

_(Beat.)_

Why not...?

KARLA

Idunno. 'Cause I'm a Scorpio?

DON

Um. Okay?

KARLA

And you're a Sagittarius?

DON

I'm not a Sagittarius. You made a joke about me being a Sagittarius. But I'm not a Sagittarius.

KARLA

Oh. Right. What are you?

_(Beat.)_

DON

_(Sadly.)_

I'm a Cancer.

_A beat. Then—_

_They crack up. Then—_

KARLA _suddenly moves to_ DON _and hugs him. Hard. Almost knocks the wind out of him. She holds on to him for a long time. He holds on toher, too. Then—_

DON

_(Still holding on to her.)_

I should go.

KARLA

_(Still holding on to him.)_

Why?

DON

You should... be. With your mom.

_(Beat.)_

KARLA

Don't go.

_He pulls away from her. Looks at her. She looks at him. Then—_

_He heads toward the door. Before he gets there—he stops, and turns. Looks at_ KARLA _._

DON

I like you so much.

_He leaves._

KARLA _watches him go. Then—_

_She crosses to the curtain, draws it aside and enters_ MARCIE _'s side of the room._

MARCIE _lies there with her eyes still closed._

KARLA _crosses to her chair and sits. Picks up her notebook and pen and begins to scribble._

_A quiet beat. Then—_

MARCIE

_(Eyes still closed.)_

He really likes you.

_(Beat.)_

KARLA

I don't know.

MARCIE

Karla....

KARLA

What?

MARCIE

You always see the negative in everything.

_(Beat.)_

KARLA

I don't know....

MARCIE

Ever since you were a little girl. You've had this _uncanny_ ability to turn even the happiest experiences into nightmares. It's impressive, really.

KARLA

Mom—

MARCIE

"Boo hoo hoo hoo _hoo!_ "

KARLA

Mom!

MARCIE

_What._

KARLA

That's not... nice.

_A beat._ MARCIE _turns away. Then—_

MARCIE

He _really_ likes you.

KARLA _stops scribbling._

KARLA

He's still married.

MARCIE

Separated.

KARLA

Still. His life is a mess.

MARCIE

Whose isn't.

_A beat._ MARCIE _lies there, eyes closed._ KARLA _returns to her notes. Then—_

KARLA

_(A tiny voice.)_

Karla...?

KARLA _looks at her mother and sees that_ MARCIE _has started to cry._

... I'm _scared_....

KARLA _freezes. Considers reaching. out to her mom, but stays where she is._

KARLA

Um. Do you want anything? Some fizzy water...?

MARCIE _shakes her head. And just cries. A long moment._

_Her crying is silent, but desperate. Plaintive. Painful to behold. It is the crying of someone who has not cried in a long time—the release of years and years of hardened grief._

KARLA _watches. Frozen._

KARLA

Um.

_(Beat.)_

Um....

_A long beat._ MARCIE _cries. Then—_

KARLA

Um so on my way over here? It was so funny because there was um this. Um. So I was on the 6 train?

MARCIE _starts to calm down, a bit._

KARLA

And it was really crowded and I was just like holding onto a pole and listening to music and just kinda zoned out because I was really tired?

MARCIE _stops crying. Sniffles._

KARLA

And um, then this, um—I had the music on _shuffle?_ Which means that—

MARCIE

_(Wiping her nose.)_

I know what shuffle is.

KARLA

Okay cool. So I had it on shuffle, and then this, um, this... song came on? This song that, um. That Erika used to—do you remember? She used to play this song all the time? Really loud? Like on a loop? / In her room? It was—

MARCIE

The one about the chains?

KARLA

Yes!

MARCIE

Uch, it drove me crazy.

KARLA

I _know_.

MARCIE

The chains and the devils and the whores.

KARLA

Exactly! And my initial reaction was to be, like, oh _god_ —let me switch the song, you know? 'Cause... Idunno, 'cause I guess when you hear a song that many times, you kind of... never need to hear it again?

_(Laughs.)_

And also 'cause... I don't know. 'Cause I guess it reminds me of... Erika? So.

_(Beat.)_

But then I just... keep listening. And then I just. Um. For some reason, I just. Like. Start crying? I mean I was standing on the subway holding onto a pole, sandwiched in between a gajillion strangers, like, _weeping_.

_(Laughs.)_

And then... someone taps me on the arm. And it's this total stranger—he's this short Latino dude with like these really thick glasses? And he has earbuds in, too. And he goes:

_She does a gesture with her hands to indicate swapping something._

KARLA

And I'm like, "Uhhh... what?" And he does it again—

_Does the "swapping" gesture again._

KARLA

And then he starts to take out his earbuds. And so I take out mine. And then we just... swap. Earbuds. And I start listening to his music and he starts listening to mine. And his music is like.... it's like the worst Top 40 teeny-bopper power ballad? That I have legitimately ever heard. And I'm about to take his earbuds out and be like: "Sorry dude, I can't." But then... I look up at him and he has _my_ earbuds in and he goes:

_She imitates him—big grin, bopping to the music, giving a thumbs up sign._

KARLA

And I go:

_She does the same thing—smiles big, bops to the music and gives a thumbs up sign._

KARLA

And Mom? We rode the train like that? For _half an hour._

_(Beat; remembers.)_

And then the train stops at 59th Street, and I realize that I have to get off at the next stop. So I start taking out his earbuds and he takes out mine—and we have said literally _not one_ word to each other this entire time—and I give him back his earbuds and he gives me back mine. And the train slows down, and I'm about to get off, and I look at the guy, to be like, "Bye?" And he just... puts his hand on my shoulder.

_(Beat.)_

And he says... nothing. He just... looks at me. With his hand on my shoulder. And I look at him. And then...

_(Beat.)_

I get off the train.

_A beat._ KARLA _becomes lost in a thought. She smiles, remembering. Then—she turns and sees that_ MARCIE _'s eyes are closed._

KARLA

Oh.

KARLA _returns to her notebook._

_A beat. Stillness._

KARLA _scribbles and_ MARCIE _lies there, eyes closed. Then—_

MARCIE

Read to me.

KARLA

What?

MARCIE _waves her hand toward KARLA's notebook._

MARCIE

Read me your jokes. Your new bits.

_(Beat.)_

KARLA

Really...?

MARCIE _nods, eyes still closed._

KARLA

Um.

_A beat. Then—_ KARLA _flips to a page, and begins to read._

KARLA

"I've been single for so long? I've started having wet dreams about my vibrator."

_A beat. Then—_ MARCIE _chuckles._

MARCIE

That's funny.

KARLA

You think...?

MARCIE _nods._

KARLA

Do you think it should be "wet dreams" or "sex dreams"?

MARCIE

"Wet dreams." Definitely.

KARLA _beams._

KARLA

Thanks. Me too.

KARLA _turns the page._

KARLA

'K how 'bout this: "Instead of a strong, chiseled, oiled-up man throwing open my bedroom door and raping me? I just have visions of like, my vibrator standing in the archway, backlit by silvery moonlight, sometimes wearing a fedora (sometimes not), and lovingly fucking me 'til sunrise."

MARCIE _cackles._

KARLA

_(Glowing.)_

You _like_ that...?

MARCIE

That's great...!

KARLA

Really...?!

MARCIE

That's _funny_....

KARLA

Do you think the rape part is too much?

MARCIE

_(Shakes her head, eyes still closed.)_

No. It's awesome.

KARLA _'s eyes mist up._

KARLA

Really, Mom...?

_(Beat.)_

MARCIE

You're _funny_ , Karla....

KARLA _'s eyes fill with tears._

KARLA

Thanks, Mom.

MARCIE

You're a funny girl.

MARCIE _reaches out for_ KARLA _'s hand, and_ KARLA _takes it._

MARCIE

You're a good girl.

KARLA _begins to cry._

KARLA

Thanks, Mom. Thanks.

MARCIE

You're a funny, funny girl,....

_The two women hold hands._

MARCIE _opens her eyes, and squeezes_ KARLA _'s hand._ KARLA _cries, and squeezes it back._

_Blackout._

END OF PLAY.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaBook