Sammy Ronstein wants to know how the play is coming. “When can I read something, Elise?” he asked. “I’m tingling with excitement.”
I’ll send him the first act today and keep trying to figure out the ending.
I’m still stuck. This is my ninth day of Morning Pages and I’ve had no epiphanies and no new ideas. I still don’t know how to shape the ending. Or what the ending should be. How did this play get away from me? The play I intended to write when I started disappeared, and now I don’t have an ending.
I feel the kind of stuck you get in dreams when you’re being chased but your legs won’t move. I’m not breathing right. I’m eating too much. I’m slouching. I have less than two months to finish and I spent two hours yesterday cyber-sleuthing online trying to find out what became of Candy Carmella. Why did I do that?
Today I will sit up straight, focus, focus, focus, and write a brilliant play.
Then I can have my career back.
Or whatever it was that I had. It’s hard to remember.
It’s been eight years—no, seven—since The Golden Age for Insomniacs opened and a nasty-assed reviewer wrote: “While clearly not her intent, Hellman’s plodding play should help even the insomniacs in the audience fall asleep.” Not even Maya—who is truly a talented publicist—could corral an audience into the theater after that review. We had fewer than 30 people a night in a 200-seat house. I wonder if they were insomniacs hoping for a respite or season ticket holders?
Marsden was 11 when Insomniacs opened. He hadn’t yet had his growth spurt and he’d lie on the floor and curl himself around Sinatra and I’d curl myself around him and Elliot would curl himself around me and we were like a big beautiful nautilus. Marsden called me Mommalommydoodle back then. I guess words still had syllables when he was 11. I wish I could remember when they started dropping off. Elliot and I were happy. He took me to Belize after the play closed to try to get me to stop moping. We had good sex and got bad sunburns. I thought everything would be okay. We came home and I got back to work, but no one wanted to produce anything I wrote. I focused on my failings. And on Sinatra. I walked him five times a day. Walking. Walking. Walking. Trying to flesh out scenes. Characters.
I should have focused more on Elliot and less on Sinatra. I shouldn’t have blurted out, “You are soooo handsome!” every time I walked into the room and saw them together.
Elliot would be on the couch reading. He’d smile. Sinatra, snuggled up next to him, would wake up and look at me. “Sinatra, you are the handsomest guy I’ve ever met.”
Elliot’s smile would collapse. “Are you talking to the dog?”
I bruised his ego. Time and time again. Sinatra was handsome though. I miss his bright blue eyes, his shiny golden ginger coat, his sweet licks, and gentle bark. When Sinatra died Elliot asked me if I would be crying as much if it were him who had been hit by a car.
“I don’t know,” I said. I don’t know why I said that.
(LAURIE and her father, LARRY, 70s, nice looking but not particularly dashing, are seated at a table in a retro style diner—the diner decor can be projected on a large screen behind them. Larry chews loudly while he eats a hamburger. Laurie is picking at a salad, which was served in an almost comically large bowl. Between bites, she stretches her arm across the table and eats fries off Larry’s plate. Laurie points to her chin, to signal that Larry has ketchup on his.)
LARRY
What? Do I have something on my chin?
LAURIE
Ketchup.
LARRY
(Wiping his chin) Gone?
LAURIE
Yup, but now you have hamburger on your cheek.
LARRY
I put it there on purpose. I want it there. Tell me, how have you been?
(Larry reaches across the table for a bite of salad. He stabs some lettuce, picks up a fry and stuffs the salad and French fry in his mouth.)
LARRY
That is good. You’re on to something, Kiddo.
LAURIE
You have salad dressing on your nose.
LARRY
Leave me alone. You haven’t seen or talked to your old man in months.
LAURIE
I’m sorry. I’ve missed you Pops. I’ve got some news to tell you. It’s about Mom.
LARRY
Must you ruin my appetite?
LAURIE
Something happened that I think you should know about. Mom was in a car accident—
LARRY
Your mom’s always been a lousy driver. How’s the car? I hope she wasn’t driving your car.
LAURIE
Mom is fine, if you care to know. Everyone was fine. Where’s your compassion?
LARRY
I’m not sure. Let me summon it. Compassion, where are you? Compassion, are you in here? (Yells out) Waitress. Waitress. Can you bring me some compassion? Mine seems to be missing.
LAURIE
Shhhhh!
LARRY
Am I embarrassing you? Tell me what happened to your mother.
LAURIE
Her car is a mess.
LARRY
I hope she has good insurance.
LAURIE
She’s blaming the car’s accelerator for being too far from the brakes. She insists that male engineers design cars for men’s shoes, and that’s why she rammed the car in front of her. She wants to sue the auto industry. We’re lucky no one was hurt.
LARRY
I’m glad she wasn’t hurt. Honest I am.
LAURIE
I know you are. Mom shouldn’t be driving anymore. But that’s not what I wanted to tell you. She’s miles away from everything and can’t live there without a car. I don’t know why she ever moved out to the middle of nowhere. She was in a survivalist phase. She wanted to move far away from the terrorists and her back-stabbing friends.
LARRY
I thought she moved out there to escape me.
(A waitress walks over to the table.)
WAITRESS
How is everything? Can I get you anything else?
LAURIE
I’m stuffed. Thank you. What about you, Pops?
LARRY
This is a good burger.
LAURIE
Are you still working on it?
LARRY
Of course I’m still working on it.
(He looks over at Laurie’s bowl.)
You’ve barely touched your salad. Do you remember when we used to play the one-more-bite game?
(Larry picks up a fry and holds it in front of Laurie’s mouth.)
One more bite. Just one mooooore biiiiiite. One more bite or the bite monster will get you. ROAR! You loved that game.
LAURIE
(To the waitress) I’m sorry about my father. (To Larry) I hated that game. Pops, there’s something else.
WAITRESS
(Walks off as she’s speaking.) I’ll come back in a bit.
LARRY
You’ve finally met someone! It’s about time. Nicolette and I have been wondering what’s taken you so long.
LAURIE
That’s nice. But what I was going to say has to do with Mom. She’s moved—
(Laurie pauses and leans forward to make sure her father is really listening.)
Mom has moved in with me. Well, it’s temporary. But she’s going to be living with me for a while.
LARRY
(Howling with laughter) You’re kidding? Your mother has moved in with you? Have you lost your mind? As you may well remember, your mother is not easy to live with. I do recall the temptation though. When I met your mom, every head would turn when she walked in a room.
LAURIE
I can’t believe you just said that. That line is the biggest and grossest cliché in the book.
LARRY
But it’s true. Your mom had magnetism. She was drop-dead gorgeous, and she had a seductive brilliance to her. She radiated charm and intelligence with movie star sex appeal. Everyone wanted to date her, but she picked me. I was the one she chose.
LAURIE
And then you tossed her back.
LARRY
I didn’t realize what a killer seductive brilliance could be. If I had stayed with your mother, I would have died young.
LAURIE
So you left and you’re still going strong.
LARRY
I’m happier than I’ve ever been. Nicolette is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
(The waitress returns.)
WAITRESS
Are you done?
LARRY
Done? What’s done? Is one ever done?
LAURIE
I’m sorry about my father. Yes, we’re done.
WAITRESS
Can I get you anything else? Coffee? Tea?
LARRY
Peppermint tea for me. I’m off sugar. Nicolette has me on a strict diet. No meat, no wheat, and no sugar.
LAURIE
But you just ate a huge hamburger.
LARRY
(Lifting finger to mouth) Shhhhh, that’s between you and me. A father and daughter should have some secrets. By the way, I have news too.
LAURIE
Please, do tell.
WAITRESS
Anything else for you, ma’am?
LAURIE
Oh, I’m sorry. Yes, I’ll have peppermint tea as well.
(The waitress walks off.)
LAURIE (cont.)
So what’s your news Pops?
LARRY
I sold my place. Nicolette and I bought a terrific house just a few miles down the road.
LAURIE
What? You what? You moved? Why didn’t you tell me you were moving?
LARRY
I’m telling you now.
LAURIE
Why didn’t you tell me before you moved?
LARRY
You were busy at work. I didn’t want to bother you. You’ll love the house. It was just built. Nicolette decided she wants to go into the interior design business, so I bought her a house to get her started. You should see what she can do with a room. I never noticed rooms before. They were all the same to me. Some had couches, some had beds, some had tables, but mostly, they were all the same. Nicolette sees things that should be in a room that I never thought about. She has a vision, which is good, since I’ve almost lost mine.
LAURIE
I’m a little confused. You bought a house so Nicolette can become an interior designer?
LARRY
Nicolette is serious about finding something she loves to do and since I’m in a position to support her, I want to do that. She’s envious of you, Laurie, because you found and followed your passion.
LAURIE
I’m sorry. What? She thinks I am passionate about being a financial advisor? No. Wow. Well...just so you know, I didn’t find my passion. I didn’t follow my passion. I got an MBA to become financially self-sufficient. It was important to me but had nothing to do with passion.
LARRY
You always loved numbers.
LAURIE
What’s that have to do with anything?
LARRY
Let’s just say, you had a calling…. Nicolette is an artist. It’s different.
LAURIE
You have a pool? I begged you for a pool when I was a kid. My entire childhood was spent lobbying you for a pool. You said you hated pools. You told me it was against your religion to have a pool. You actually invoked religion so I would stop asking you for a pool. And now you’re suddenly a born-again pool lover? I’m not comfortable with you having a pool.
LARRY
I’ve softened my stance on pools. Plus, Nicolette insisted.
LARRY
It’s a pool-sized pool.
LAURIE
I can’t believe you got a pool.
LARRY
I don’t know why this is bothering you so much. Can’t you just be happy for me? I’m madly in love. You should try it sometime. But if it makes you feel better, I won’t swim in the pool.
LAURIE
Please swim in your pool. I insist that you swim in your pool.
(The waitress walks over with two cups and puts them down on the table. Laurie looks up at her.)
Thank you. Thank you so, so, so much.
BLACKOUT