(In Chicago’s O’Hare Airport, Terminal 3, there is a particularly delicious-looking fast food Chinese stall in the mini food court. We are trying to resist its seductive tractor beam. We should be going to Jamba Juice instead, ordering something with less MSG, fat, and salt. But when we are on a promotional tour, talking about ourselves and our “art” for up to twelve hours at a stretch, we develop a particularly low opinion of ourselves. And the Chinese food seems not only comforting and delicious but something that we somehow deserve…as reward and punishment.
But then Mark sees something that catches his attention. Two older ladies, likely in their seventies, are eating lunch together in the food court. They are smiling, talking. This feels like the beginning of a vacation for them. Mark pokes me in the ribs to get my attention. The one on the right wears a long-sleeved plain T-shirt and a pair of jeans. She dresses more like a woman half her age. But she looks a bit older than the woman on the left, who wears a matching two-piece casual suit from a place like Ann Taylor LOFT. In this way, these two women are different. But their mannerisms, their smiles, their rhythms with each other, all suggest that they are very close.)
JAY: (pointing to the one on the right with the T-shirt and jeans) Alice.
MARK: (pointing to the one on the left in the matching two-piece) Jean.
(We sit on the names for a bit. They work.)
MARK: Heading to Florida?
(It’s winter. A logical destination. But something doesn’t feel right about it.)
JAY: Palm Springs.
MARK: Yes. Palm Springs.
JAY: Warm.
MARK: A place where people can get a fresh start.
JAY: Uh-huh.
(We consider what comes next. Suddenly Mark puts his hand on my knee. This means something has come to him in what we call a “flop”—i.e., the idea is nearly fully formed.)
MARK: Alice’s husband passed away last year. She’s had a hard time. She’s dressing like their daughter now, jeans and T-shirts, trying to find out who she is and who she wants to be. She read an article in The New Yorker about how older women who lose their husbands often enter lesbian relationships. The comfort and understanding is there among women, and as they approach the end of life…you know, that kind of comfort becomes more important than the previously crucial element of sexual attraction when looking for a mate. She hasn’t told Jean this, but she had an affair with one of the local female librarians. To kind of try things out. It made her realize two things. One, she can enjoy sex with a woman. Two, the next woman she wants to have sex with is Jean.
(I smile. This is pretty good. And we both watch the two ladies as they giggle and enjoy each other’s company. The thought of them finding love at a late age is terrifically exciting to both of us.)
MARK: But Jean is married. Not a great marriage, which she is the first one to admit. But still, it’s a vow. And Alice is nervous as to how to broach the idea of the two of them being together. Spending their last years laughing and traveling and enjoying life off the life insurance money she has just received.
(Mark spends himself here. And looks to me with a nod that I can jump in now. That Mark has hit the wall and needs me. I like being needed.)
JAY: So Alice has booked a trip for them to Palm Springs. A predominantly gay male community. The liberal sexuality will surround them, potentially setting the stage for this conversation Alice so desperately wants to have with Jean.
MARK: But she’s terrified.
JAY: Fucking terrified! Jean is her best friend! What if she offends Jean? Scares her off? Or, even worse, Jean politely says no and things are forever changed between them with the knowledge that Alice is harboring more than platonic feelings toward her.
(We look at the smiling face of Alice. It takes on a new light. As if we can feel the tension and the fear of how much she wants things to work out with Jean. And that the laughter is just a game. Interesting how our projections, which are no doubt utterly false, can change the way we perceive her.)
MARK: But in the end Alice has to go for it. She has to follow her heart.
JAY: For what is life if a life is half-lived?
MARK: Good one.
JAY: Little over the top?
MARK: Kinda, but it totally worked. This is big stuff. Love. Friendship. End-of-life stuff.
(We both nod. Feeling it. Loving these two women and what they will be going through in the next few days. This game is so fun. We could play it forever. And probably will. Then we take a breath. Our story seems to be done, at least for now.)
MARK: I don’t think I can do the Chinese food. I just don’t want that in my body while I’m stuck on a plane.
JAY: Agreed. Jamba?
MARK: Jamba.
(Cut to: Ten minutes later. We are in the Jamba Juice line and I am having a thought. When I have these kinds of thoughts, usually my face changes. Mark notices immediately and checks in with me.)
MARK: Whatcha got?
JAY: I’m having another thought.
(Mark knows what this means. While he is really good at getting those stories on their feet in his “flop,” I am usually the one tasked to make that story more unique and nuanced upon further introspection. I’m the one who saves us from the somewhat mediocre first draft of a story. I am supposed to take it to a deeper level. It’s a lot of pressure. Mark knows this and genuinely appreciates it.)
JAY: What if Jean was the one who read the New Yorker article about women entering lesbian relationships later in life? And when reading it, she couldn’t help but think that Alice was in that very situation. Recently widowed, liberal sensibilities, even hanging around that librarian a little bit lately. And Jean, who is a classic overthinker, started to wonder…“Oh no! Is Alice angling to turn our relationship into something more than platonic? Did she ask me on this trip to…pitch me on it? I mean, we’re headed to Palm Springs, for Chrissake!”
(This makes us laugh. Always a great sign.)
MARK: Meanwhile—and I think this is where you’re headed—Alice actually has no such intentions with Jean.
JAY: Absolutely not.
MARK: She just wanted a fun girls’ trip to cheer her up around the anniversary of her husband’s death.
JAY: Yep. But because Jean is paranoid, every time Alice puts her arm around her or fixes her hair for her—even offers to share an entrée—Jean tenses up and closes off to Alice…
MARK: …who can’t help but wonder, “Why is Jean being so weird with me?” This is soooo good.
JAY: It all culminates in a big fight at the craft fair. Jean ultimately apologizes for projecting that shit onto Alice, and Alice is able to laugh it off because they are old friends who have been through so much. And things return back to normal.
(Here, I let it sit. I’m done. And I must admit, I did a good job rebooting this idea.)
MARK: But they don’t fully return to normal.
(And now Mark has a new idea. This is our collaboration at its best. Building on each other’s ideas. Improving them. And having fun.)
MARK: Because the well has been poisoned. The fact remains…Jean’s marriage is not healthy. And Alice is looking for a partner, though she doesn’t know where to begin. So Jean shows her the New Yorker article…so they can have a good laugh about it.
JAY: Which they do.
MARK: And they have a big, fun, fancy dinner to celebrate getting over that weird moment.
JAY: Lots of rosé.
MARK: Tons.
JAY: And they go for a drunken swim back at the hotel.
MARK: And order room-service french fries and more wine back in Jean’s room.
JAY: And watch something kinda dumb and romcom-y on pay-per-view.
MARK: And feel adorably “naughty” because of all the bad language.
JAY: And stay up late talking about how much fun they’re having. And how Alice has all this money now and they should travel more together. Enjoy their lives. There’s not much time left.
MARK: And they find themselves practically quoting that New Yorker article.
JAY: And then it just gets quiet. And each thinks how wonderful it is that they can have a raging party together but also just sit in silence too. How rare that connection is.
MARK: And they just smile at each other as the air in the room starts to shift.
(We nod at each other, waiting to see who is going to be the one to make them kiss. Who has the best idea for how it should go down. We smile at each other, sucking on Jamba Juice, waiting for the idea to come. We are way too pleased with ourselves and our stupid little airport game. And we’re oddly fine with that.)