SCENE 9

Lotus Express.

Wheeler sits alone, a tray with a bowl of soup in front of him. Anita enters.

ANITA: Is this what a nervous breakdown looks like? I always wondered.

WHEELER: I got your text, you quit?! Why did you quit—?

ANITA: I couldn’t stay there after you got fired defending me.

WHEELER: But you didn’t have to quit, you could’ve figured it out—

ANITA: What was I supposed to do, just go back to work like nothing happened? You really fucked up.

WHEELER: I fucked up, I was helping you, I was trying to help—!

ANITA: You think I can’t manage Michael? I manage some version of Michael every day. I manage him when I’m in line for coffee, when I ride the bus, when I go to the beach. I managed a lifetime of Michaels before you ever came along.

WHEELER: I was unconscious, I couldn’t see anything through the red mist. I wasn’t thinking of the repercussions.

ANITA: Me. I’m the repercussions. I’m shaky, all right? I . . . I had a relapse. I’m doing my best to keep it together here and . . . I’m trying to keep it together, y’know.

(She breathes.)

“We are not human beings having spiritual experiences; we are spiritual beings having human experiences.”

WHEELER: I’m sorry.

ANITA: Yeah, okay.

WHEELER: I am. Really sorry.

ANITA: No, I . . . I know you were trying to . . . whatever. It’s okay. Thank you. Oh fuck you, Wheeler. Thank you. Fuck you.

(Pause.)

WHEELER: What’re you gonna do now?

ANITA: I need to get my shit together. I’ve been putting off the decision for a long time but I want to go back to school. I blamed the schools for a long time but the problem hasn’t been the schools. It’s me.

WHEELER: How is it you?

ANITA (Considers, then): Fear. I . . . I have a lot of fear.

(He nods in agreement. He wants to speak. He weeps.)

It’s okay. Hey.

WHEELER: Sorry, I’ve had a rough couple of days.

ANITA: Okay.

WHEELER: I think I need to get my shit together too.

ANITA: Is it your wife? It’s not Minnie, is it?

WHEELER: Yeah, she left. It’s a lot of things. I’ve been very foolish.

ANITA: We’ve all been there.

WHEELER: I got a tattoo. “Minnie.” My arm says Minnie.

ANITA: You should put something after it, like “van” or “golf.”

WHEELER: Oh fuck. Ow. Ow.

ANITA: “And he was humiliated.”

(They laugh.)

“I have not received satisfaction”? What the fuck was that?

WHEELER: It’s from Barry Lyndon.

ANITA: It scared the shit out of Michael. He thinks it means you’re going to do something to his car.

WHEELER: You ever seen that thing? It’s a piss yellow ’74 Karmann Ghia convertible. Pristine. He’s in love with it. He looks so prissy and smug driving that thing, like Elton John on a Shetland pony.

(She laughs.

Nice pause.)

ANITA: It’s harder than it looks. Being a person.

WHEELER: Yeah . . .

(Amiable music drifts in from the food court.

Wheeler picks up his camera. Loads it with film, takes off the lens cap, adjusts the light meter . . .)

May I take your picture?

(Anita considers, then . . .)

ANITA: Yep. Yeah.

(He points the camera at Anita, focuses . . .

He lowers the camera. Reconsiders.

Reorients the camera for a portrait, leans in . . .

Still not right. Lowers the camera.

Anita is still, unbothered, contemplative.

Wheeler gets out of his chair, kneels, looks through the lens from a lower vantage point . . .

Lowers the camera. Slides the food tray out of his eyeline.

Using the chair to steady his wrist, he brings the camera back to his eye, carefully adjusts the focus . . .

Anita looks directly at Wheeler.

Mona Lisa.

Click.)

END OF PLAY