Totally
from
The Best American Short Plays 2009–2010
one of seven works collected by Daniel Gallant under the heading Seven Card Draw
[Silence. Darkness. Lights up on a GIRL. Lovely. Standing there. Waiting.]
GIRL Oh, hey, hi, how’s it going? Really? Yeah? Really? That’s awesome. . . .
[Beat.]
Hmmmm? Me? Oh, you know, I’ve been . . . I dunno, it’s been interesting. Uh-huh. Totally. Very interesting. I’m not really feeling so—I mean, I’m supposed to meet someone so I can’t stand around and, but okay, lemme just . . . I’ll tell you the highlights. How’s that? If I just skim it for now and then maybe we’ll catch up at some other, whenever. Maybe I can text you or we can Skype or, or—yeah. We can do that another time. Cool. Great.
[Beat.]
So. My birthday, right? In January—and yes, you missed it, bitch, thanks, I even sent you an e-vite for it, you never responded—well, ends up being this huge day for me but, I mean, like, starting out, when I’m waking up that morning, how could I ever even know that? You know? So yes, it’s a big deal, party that I throw myself every year; it’s worth it, I get to see people, and the presents—not why I do it but it doesn’t suck—and just a chance to, you know, keep in touch with everybody, for us to keep it real. Nice. So, yeah, that happens and I drink too much, and Douglas, you know him right, of course you do . . . everyone knows Douglas apparently, that’s what I find out that night. He gets me a necklace from Tiffany’s, which is lovely, it is, very whatever, lovely, and they’ve put the gift receipt in there so I pull it out, just to get it out of the way so I can admire the jewelry—seriously, I’m not at all studying it or anything like he starts accusing me of—and it’s tucked in there, right? It’s just his receipt to the present, but on it is charges for, I mean, like, two other necklaces. Two more of these things.
Exact same ones. And so you know how that goes, it blows up into this whole . . . shit, whatever you’d expect, with all the lying about they’re for his mom and, and his sister for their upcoming birthdays—yeah, right, in April and November—and then it just spills out of him. Like, plop, wham, on the table. . . . Yeah. He’s been messing around and he’s seeing someone—one does turn out to be for his sister, which is whatever—why he has to buy it during a trip to get me my gift, I don’t know, but still, it’s his family, at least—but yes, there’s this girl and “it’s over,” he promises, just bought her this as a good-bye thing. I’m, you can imagine, I am knocked out. Flat. I’m planning to marry this guy, make a life with him and this is going on? All this time, however long? With packages and shit, too, not just fucking her and stuff, like guys sometimes do because of all that excess energy, but really. . . . I’m dead inside. Suddenly I feel like I went outside and ate up all the dog shit that I’m able to find out there on the street. That’s how I feel.
[Beat.]
Because, see . . . I had a gift for him that night, too. I’m ready to tell him, yeah—I have something all prepared for the evening and now he’s gone and, like, ruined it. You think I’m gonna tell him I’m pregnant now? Are you crazy? Huh?
That’s—I mean, I dunno, and maybe some girls even would, what better time to get him back on the straight and whatever, but see, he’s always so worried about that, he is, he’s this Mr. Protection freak with the, like, double condoms and making sure I’m caught up on my pills and whatever.
Yeah. Like, insane about it to a point where I’m already nervous that he’ll deny it or won’t even believe it’s his, and plus there’s this other part of me that I get from my dad, this sort of deep-rooted stubborn streak—one whole side of me is now thinking, “Screw you, Douglas, you don’t get to know this! No, it’s my secret now, bitch, and you’re out in the cold!”
[Beat.]
Do you need to go? No? Okay, cool. Yeah, so, anyhow, that’s what I’m feeling inside, up in my head . . . but see, in the moment, I get all soft. I go ahead and cry and beg him to come back and we make up and all that shit—I do really believe he’s done with this girl, this “Melody” something and he even has the nerve to call her up and put us on the phone together! Wants her to say it to me, that they’re done and she does, whether she believes it or not, she did say it, so—and on the surface, I mean, as far as he can tell, we’re fine. We are totally good and all is well in the bell tower. But—
[Phone rings.]
Wait, lemme just check, see if this is . . .
[Answers.]
Hello? Yeah, I’m at the, no, I’m already here. Yep. I’m just standing here, so . . . okay.
Yes, okay, alright, got it. I’ll meet you here . . . bye.
[Puts her phone away.]
Sorry. I hate it when someone else does that but it really was important. I told you, I think, that I’m meeting somebody. Didn’t I? Yeah, I’m pretty sure I mentioned it.
[Beat.]
And so that’s been me, for, like, the last few months, I’ve just been wandering around with this, this, like . . . knowledge in my head and I’m wanting to, I guess, maybe, do something. To risk it all, everything I have or expect to get, my happiness, to pay it back to him. To let him have it. A taste, right? Of his own whatever . . . medicine and shit, or however that saying goes. What’s that thing they used to say, way back when to people who were, you know, avenging loved ones or fighting those mythical animals and all that? Hmmmm? Oh, come on, you know! It’s . . . “Payback’s a bitch!” That’s the one. And hey, it’s so fucking true: Payback is a bad-ass bitch.
[Beat.]
And, so, yeah, that’s what I’m doing. I mean, in life. And now. Right now, that’s what I am doing here in about a few minutes . . . yep. See, what I did—and this is wrong, I know that, and normally, you could put your purse down right there . . . go off to the bathroom all day long and I would not think of touching it. Looking inside. And the same for my boyfriend. Totally true. He used to leave his computer open and on the, like, Swimsuit Edition page and I’d stroll right past, couldn’t care, Jess, my show’s on. Seriously. But now—shit, now it’s a war, with me slinking around and digging through his sock drawer or his wallet if he’s stupid enough to leave it around and . . . just a bunch of crazy shit like that.
Looking for names or, or, or dues or something. Somebody that I can blame all this stuff on, march up to their door and pound on it, make some big fucking scene out there on their porch for the neighbors to see. That’s where my head is at because of a little Tiffany’s necklace—not even any diamonds in it or anything—but that’s how I’m feeling as I’m sitting there in a panic with his address book open in my lap, me trying to decipher every name or set of initials like I’m some . . . and then it strikes me. Like a bolt, blazing down from the sky above—maybe not heaven but someplace up there—and zapping me right in the fucking face. Burn! Zap! You know? Oww! Shit. Stupid ol’ me. It’s been right here, staring at me, the whole damn time. The solution to what I’m feeling here and needing. You know. To make things right, I mean.
[Beat.]
It’s not her I care about. It’s him. My Douglas. He’s the one needs to pay for this shit, true? Not any girls I spoke to for five seconds on the phone one night—I don’t care about them. Nope. It’s Douglas. So I decide, Okay, so you’re so worried about us using protection—not right now, though, ’cause I did tell him about the baby and, surprise, he’s, like, completely excited about it. Yeah, he is. Totally. So he’s treating me like a tiny little fragile thing, opening doors for me and lifting shit and whatever, I don’t mind, it’s new to me—but this is how I figure it’s all gotta go, so that by the time the kid comes we’ll be even.
[Beat.]
I copied all the numbers in his little book there—we have one of those faxes that also do the copies, it’s nice—and I’m going down the list, guy by guy, in pretty much alphabetical order, I mean, unless I know for sure that he’s an ugly person or fat or whatever, a hairy back, maybe—and I’m fucking them. Once each. Name by name. And you know what, what’s really shocking to me but actually not that much because you know why? Guys are pretty much whores, they really are—women are the ones who get that word thrown at ’em but it’s really guys who’re mostly that way—for being his “friends” or so they say, it’s amazing how many of them are totally into what I’m doing. I mean, as long as you promise there’s no strings and it’s just a fuck and that’s all—most of ’em say “Hell yeah!” and are in my pants before I finish explaining it to ’em! It’s pretty . . . well, I find it all kinda amusing. I do. Totally.
[Beat.]
And that’s what I’m up to. Meeting one of my guys here in a minute. Yeah. It’s only my fourth month and I’m already into the Ks. So. I mean, I’ve had to pick the pace up a little because it was hard in the first trimester with all the . . .
[She makes a puking sound.]
but I’ve kicked it into gear and it’s going really good. Fast. Not sure I’ll get through the whole thing but I’m gonna go for it, trying to finish it off before the kid comes. It’s a boy, we already know, so there’s that.
[Beat.]
Oh, God, should I not’ve—is this something you didn’t wanna know? Sorry. You okay? Because I sometimes have a real big mouth and probably should’ve said something first before getting all . . . Oh. Oh, shit, wait. No. Sorry! I know, I get it. Don’t even say anything. Your fiancé, his last name starts with . . . honestly and I mean totally honest here: I never, and I mean ever, even considered him. I did not. I mean, hey, it’s me, I’m not gonna suddenly get all—I know who’s off-limits and who’s not. I promise. Promise. Yeah. Totally.
[She looks away, checking watch.]
Anyway, I should get . . . right. I’ve still got some errands to run after this and wanna be home to cook Douglas dinner. He puts in a long day over at the Nissan so he’s—that probably seems weird, right, with what I’m doing, but it works in my head so, screw it, you know, I just keep going with it! Whatever, right? Totally. Yeah, so . . . oh, think see him coming now, over there, by the . . .
[She waves.]
I gotta go but we should do something! Little spa action or, you know, before the kid comes. And I wanna hear about you, too. I do! Here am, going on and on and on but am dying to know what you’ve been up to. Okay? So call me, we’ll grab a bite or, or . . . whatever, go tanning, if you want. Wait, maybe that’s bad for the baby? Shit, I’m not even sure—I’ve been, like, six times since got pregnant, so . . . maybe we just do lunch for now, ’kay? Great! Perfect. I’m . . .
[Waving.]
I’ll be right there!
[To us again.]
Don’t tell anybody, it’s Doug’s cousin, Tommy, who I’ve always had this little thing for. I didn’t even call him. I swear! I guess he just heard from somebody: he sent me a text and here we are. Go figure. Anyway! I’m off, let’s keep in touch or something—God I love what you did to your hair. Honestly, the bangs! I mean, they look awesome. So cute. Really.
[Smiles.]
Alright, I’m really leaving this time but let’s do it, get together and . . . you pick. And next time, it’s all you, I promise. My mouth is—[]—no I mean that! Totally. I do!
[Smiles.]
You shut up, I honestly do! Bitch.
[Beat.]
Okay, wish me luck, ’cause I hear he’s . . . totally! What’s that saying? “Men: they’re hell on the forearms, tough on the knees!”
[Laughs.]
Maybe it’s not a saying, I dunno, maybe that was just my mom going on about—anyway, who knows? We shall see, right?
[Beat.]
What? This?
[She points to her neck.]
Yeah, it’s nice, huh? Pretty. No, you’re right. I mean, as necklaces go.
[Beat.]
Anyhoo! I’m outta here. Call me. And your hair’s . . . I love it. No, I do. I do! God, I really do! Bitch.
[Beat.]
I totally do. Yeah. Totally!
[A last smile. She stands and waves offstage. Only now do we see just how big her belly is. Noticeably great with child. She trots off and disappears into the shadows.]
[Silence. Darkness.]