Sue is leaving. It’s a title for a play. Sue Is Leaving. The play takes place over the course of an eight-hour day and is based on actual events.
Scene 1:
Late morning.
Int. a two-bedroom apartment in New York City’s Upper West Side. MOM, an 81-year-old aging beauty wearing a light blue stained cotton nightgown, is sitting in a chair next to a large oxygen tank is. SUE, an attractive woman in her mid-30s or 40s, is standing a few feet from Mom and talking into a phone. Downstage right, ELISE (48) has a pen in her hand and gesticulates excessively when she talks. On a table next to Elise is a computer. Behind the computer is wall covered with different colored stickie notes.
SUE: (Holding the phone) Elise, I’m sorry to bother you. Your mother is having a difficult day. She’s very angry and she’s trying to fire me.
ELISE: She can’t fire you.
SUE: She’s insisting I leave her apartment. She accused me of stealing from her. I tried to calm her down, but she threw a vase at me and called me a—I’m sorry, I’m not comfortable repeating those words.
ELISE: Yes, I understand. Are you okay? Can I talk to her?
SUE: If you could calm her down, that would be helpful. (To Mom) Mrs. Hellman. I’m on the phone with Elise. She’d like to talk to you.
MOM: I didn’t give you permission to call my daughter. Give me the phone. (Under her breath) Fucking cunt. Elise, is this you? Hi, darling, how are you? I miss hearing your voice.
ELISE: Mom, why are you talking that way to Sue?
MOM: I don’t want her here. I didn’t invite her over. She’s trying to take over my life. I want her to leave.
ELISE: But you were getting along with her so well.
MOM: I was faking it. We weren’t really getting along. I was pretending to get along with her for you. Everything I do is for you, Elise. But I can’t do it any longer. The bitch is stealing from me and I don’t want to see her again.
ELISE: You need her help. And don’t call her names.
MOM: I’m fine by myself. I don’t like people in my apartment. Except for you. But you never come visit anymore.
ELISE: I was just there and you’re not fine by yourself. You can’t even figure out your oxygen. You need to use the oxygen.
MOM: Will I die if I don’t use it?
ELISE: You might.
MOM: Good. I’d rather die than have this person in my apartment. She bothers me.
ELISE: Sue doesn’t bother you.
MOM: You’re not here. You don’t know what goes on.
ELISE: Sue is fantastic. She is one of the most fantastic people who has ever lived.
MOM: She’s stealing from me.
ELISE: She’s not stealing from you.
MOM: My Madame Bovary is gone. It was a first edition and is extremely valuable. Elise, I have to pee.
ELISE: Please be nice to her and don’t fire her. Do it for me, Mom. Please.
MOM: Fine. She can stay. I’ll do this for you. Good-bye darling.
Later in the day. The afternoon light throws an orange glow over the room.
SUE: (Phone in hand) Hi Elise, it’s been a bad day. Your mother can be terribly mean.
ELISE: I know. I grew up with her.
SUE: I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to work here any longer. I don’t say this lightly, but I think your mom may be the cruelest person I’ve ever met.
ELISE: Well, yes, she’s difficult, but I’m sure you’ve met people who are worse. Weren’t the kids in your middle school worse than my mother?
SUE: Can I confide in you as a friend?
ELISE: Sure. I was hoping we’d become friends. If you stay, I think we would become friends. So go ahead.
SUE: There’s something about your mother. She can be kind and wonderful and her life stories are fascinating, and you start to think that she really likes you, but then she snaps. It can come out of nowhere. And she says things. Elderly people often lash out, and I’m a professional and understand that, but it’s different with your mom. No one has ever gotten under my skin like she does. I’ve gone home and cried because of the things she’s said. I’m having trouble sleeping. She’s the first client I’ve worked with who has affected me like this. I’m sorry to leave you in a lurch, it’s just that—
ELISE: Please don’t quit. I really need you. I’m on an important deadline. Just stay for another two weeks. Please!
SUE: I’m sorry Elise. I hate to put you in this position. But I’m not going to be able to stay.
ELISE: But I don’t know what to do. I’m on deadline. I need you. Please, Sue. Just two weeks. You’re supposed to give two weeks’ notice.
SUE: I can’t be with her anymore. It’s bad for my health. I think you should come down to the city tomorrow.
Blackout.