Dead Man's Cell Phone

Dwight carries Jean to his mother’s home.

Mrs. Gottlieb, holding a glass of bourbon.

Mother! Jean passed out in Johannesburg.

Dwight tends to her.
Jean looks at Mrs. Gottlieb.

Hello? Who are you? Put down your weapon! Oh, Dwight!

Here, have some bourbon, upside down.

A lot has happened since you’ve been here, Jean. Hermia has had an offer to return to the stage.

The ice follies. Hermia used to be a world-class dramatic skater, but Gordon thought it was undignified for his wife to dance on the ice wearing loud makeup. So she left the follies for him. Let that be a lesson to you, Jean. Never leave off follies for a man. Well, now the follies have her back. She’s on tour. Denmark, then San Jose.

Hermia, in the distance, ice dancing.
Dramatic skating music.

And I for one am happy for her. Dwight has been using his letterpress to publish books of subversive political theory and poetry—haven’t you, Dwight? He’s on all the government watch lists.

But I’ve only been gone a day—

No no Jean you’ve been gone months.

That’s not possible.

Oh, yes. And Gordon’s mistress—Carlotta—she’s taken over his business—yes—she got hold of his old business contacts somehow and away she went.

Carlotta, in the distance, brandishing a phone.

He left her nothing, you see, in the will—and she’d been with him twelve years. Gordon should have been more generous. Everyone’s moved on. Except for me.

He was my only son. That is to say—he was my first son. The first sometimes feels like the only—you must know that from your own sexual experiences, or are you a virgin Jean?

Mother! What would make you feel better, Jean?

A cold compress, a quiche?

I think I’d like a steak actually.

A steak? I thought you didn’t eat meat.

I’m starving.

Carmen! PUT A STEAK ON THE FIRE!
Rare?

You know, I’ve tried to call Gordon but his voice is no longer on the out-going message. I call his old number, and no voice. And somehow—now—I feel he’s truly dead.

I have something to tell you, Mrs. Gottlieb.

Well then don’t stand on ceremony, dear.

Gordon’s gone up the pipeline to spend eternity on your planet since it seems you loved him most.

It’s hard to explain. You won’t understand until you die.

You’ve seen Gordon?

That’s where you’ve been?

And he’s waiting for me there? In heaven?

It’s a kind of heaven, I guess. There are these—laundromats.

Does he have to do his own laundry?

Yes he has to do it himself now.

Is he punished?

Not really. Now he’s with you. Or—he’s waiting for you.

He has no one else to console him?

Gordon! Gordon, I’m coming!

Together we’ll play all the games we played when you were little. Hush, little wormy, on my arm, we’ll get a spider to calm you down! Gordon, wait for your mother! It won’t be long now!

Mrs. Gottlieb walks off with determination.

She might sing a reprise of “You’ll Never Walk Alone.”

She throws herself into the flames with the steak and self-immolates, but we don’t need to hear or see that.

The fire—the steak on the fire—oh no—the pit—
it’s such a large barbeque in the backyard—
Aren’t you going to stop her?

No. They’ll be happy together.

She always did love him best.

So that’s that?

Good-bye, mother. Kiss my brother for me and be happy.

I want to make sure we get on the same planet when we die.

I don’t want to end up with my garden or my dog for all time. Let’s start loving each other right now, Dwight—not a mediocre love, but the strongest love in the world, absolutely requited.

I want to be selfish with you.

I want to love you because of and not in spite of your accidental charms.

I want to love you when you burn the toast and when your shoes are awful and when you say the wrong thing so that we know and all the omniscient things of heaven know too—let’s love each other absolutely.

Then let’s do it, Jean. Let’s love each other better than the worthies did.

Who are the worthies?

It’s from a poem.

Did you write it?

No John Donne did. I’ll take you to my letterpress and show you.

Not right now. Now we kiss. And the lights go out.

They kiss, and the lights go out.