scene three
A café.
Film noir music.
The Other Woman waiting in a blue raincoat.
Jean enters in a blue raincoat.
JEAN
Hello.
OTHER WOMAN
Hello.
Thank you for meeting me.
JEAN
Not at all.
OTHER WOMAN
We like the same clothes.
JEAN
Yes.
OTHER WOMAN
I suppose that’s not surprising, given the circumstances.
JEAN
I don’t know what you mean.
OTHER WOMAN
You don’t need to pretend.
JEAN
I know.
OTHER WOMAN
Gordon has good taste. You’re pretty.
JEAN
I’m not—
OTHER WOMAN
Don’t be modest. I like it when a woman knows she’s beautiful. Women nowadays—they don’t know how to walk into a room. A beautiful woman should walk into a room thinking: I am beautiful and I know how to walk in these shoes. There’s so little glamour in the world these days. It makes daily life such a bore. Women are responsible for enlivening dull places like train stations. There is hardly any pleasure in waiting for a train anymore. The women just—walk in. Horrible shoes. No confidence. Bad posture.
The Other Woman looks at Jean’s posture.
Jean sits up straighter.
A woman should be able to take out her compact and put lipstick on her lips with absolute confidence. No apology.
The Other Woman takes out lipstick and puts it on her lips, slowly.
Jean is riveted.
JEAN
I’ve always been embarrassed to put lipstick on in public.
OTHER WOMAN
That’s crap. Here—you have beautiful lips.
She hands Jean the lipstick.
JEAN
No—that’s—
OTHER WOMAN
I don’t have a cold.
JEAN
It’s not the germs. It’s—
OTHER WOMAN
Put it on. Take your time. Enjoy yourself.
Jean puts on some lipstick.
That was disappointing. Oh, well.
JEAN
I’m very sorry about Gordon. You must be—his friend?
OTHER WOMAN
Gordon didn’t tell you much, did he?
JEAN
No.
OTHER WOMAN
Gordon could be quiet.
JEAN
Yes. He was quiet.
OTHER WOMAN
He must have respected you. He was quiet with women he respected. Otherwise he had a very loud laugh. Haw, haw, haw! You could hear him a mile away.
You must wonder why I wanted to meet with you.
JEAN
Yes.
OTHER WOMAN
You were with Gordon the day he died.
JEAN
Yes.
OTHER WOMAN
Gordon and I—we were—well—
You know. (She thinks the word—lovers)
And so—I wanted to know . . .
this is going to sound sentimental . . .
I wanted to know his last words.
JEAN
That’s not sentimental.
OTHER WOMAN
I hate sentiment.
JEAN
I don’t think that’s sentimental. Really, I don’t.
OTHER WOMAN
So. His last words.
JEAN
Gordon mentioned you before he died. Well, he more than mentioned you. He said: tell her that I love her. And then he turned his face away and died.
OTHER WOMAN
He said that he loved me.
JEAN
Yes.
OTHER WOMAN
I waited for such a long time.
And the words—delivered through another woman.
What a shit.
The Other Woman looks away.
She wipes a tear away.
JEAN
It’s not like that. Gordon said that he had loved many women in his life, but when he met you, everything changed. He said that other women seemed like clocks compared to you—other women just—measured time—broke the day up—but that you—you stopped time. He said you—stopped time—just by walking into a room.
OTHER WOMAN
He said that?
JEAN
Yes.
OTHER WOMAN
Oh, Gordon.
The phone rings.
Jean hesitates to answer it.
Aren’t you going to get that?
JEAN
Yes.
Hello?
On the other end: who is this?
My name is Jean.
Yes, of course.
How do I get there?
A pause while the mother gives directions.
(To the Other Woman, whispering) Sorry.
The Other Woman shrugs her shoulders.
All right, I’ll see you then.
Good-bye.
OTHER WOMAN
Who was it?
JEAN
His mother.
OTHER WOMAN
Oh, God.
Mrs. Gottlieb?
Let me touch up your lipstick before you go.
She does.
Jean puckers.
Music.