Act One
Scene One
A room at a mid-range hotel in New York City. Suzanna, thirty-four, sits on the (made) bed, watching a Forensic Files-like true crime program on TV. Sheâs wearing a black dress (plain and casual; nothing sexy, formal, or funereal). Sheâs cozied-up and mesmerized . . . soothed by a story of female disaster worse than her own. The narrator reports on a dead woman in an eerie monotone. Something like: âThe young mother had been stabbed thirty-seven times.â
Max, thirty-five, lets himself into the room â a man on a mission, energized. He watches enough of the TV show to realize what it is, then uses the remote to turn it off.
Suzanna Hey! Iâm watching that.
Max He strangled her. Sheâs not coming home.
Suzanna Turn it back on.
Max No. I cut you off, remember? Youâre not allowed to watch that stuff.
Suzanna It soothes me and I need it. Donât judge me.
Max Iâm not judging you. Iâm disciplining you.
Suzanna I did nothing wrong! My mother is the one who showed up â
Max Stop! I just spent forty minutes calming your mother down, and she will be here soon. You need to be a big girl and face your big girl problems. (Indicating TV.) No more dead prostitutes on the autopsy channel until you do that.
Suzanna Why do you have a key to my room?
Max Because I paid for it.
Suzanna Did you pay for my momâs room, too?
Max Yes.
Suzanna Because weâre poor now?
Max Thatâs . . . what weâre all gonna talk about at dinner. Your motherâll be here soon.
Suzanna Iâve decided I wonât see her.
Max Excuse me â what?
Suzanna I am grieving my fatherâs death. My mother brought a . . . a man with her. To a meeting about the estate. That is so insulting to my father.
Max Your fatherâs dead. His feelings donât matter.
Suzanna Max!
Max Suzanna, you made a big scene in the lobby. You made your point.
Suzanna I wonât see her.
Max So . . . howâs this gonna work? I go to dinner with your mother and her manfriend . . . You stay here and cry while she takes all the money?
Suzanna You would never let that happen.
Max You know, I might. I donât like this weepyâweepy wahâwah thing youâre doing. I donât respect it.
Suzanna Max, Iâm grieving.
Max Negotiations are all about who has the biggest dick in the room . . . Be sad, grieve. But do it with a big dick.
Suzanna Grieve with a big dick? Thatâs not possible.
Max Uhhh . . . Charles Bronson in Death Wish? Rambo? Mrs Voorhees in Friday the 13th?
Suzanna None of those people are real, Max!
Max Suzanna, you gotta pull it together. Clock strikes midnight, you can regress. Light your vanilla candle and write in your dream journal. Until then, youâre a soldier. Fix yourself up.
Suzanna (as she tries . . .) In one of my textbooks, I read about these families . . . Craziest thing, Max. When someone in the family is in pain, the other family members do this thing called nurture. You ever heard of that?
Max No. (Thereâs a knock on the door. Max springs to answer it.) No crying. Big dick. (Max answers the door and escorts Susan Slater, sixty, into the room. She has MS and may use a cane. Sheâs attractive, but thereâs a heaviness to her: the fatigue of endless fatigue. Her mind is sharp and sheâs cultivated a forceful manner to compensate for her physical disability.) OK. So. Clean slate. Last few hours never happened. Iâd like to welcome my two favorite ladies to New York City. Weâre all so glad weâre here because we love each other so much, etc., etc. Now. Iâm gonna suggest that we stick to the original plan.
Susan I never suggested otherwise.
Suzanna You brought Lester! The plan did not include Lester!
Susan Suzanna, I am disabled. I canât travel alone.
Suzanna I offered to drive to Richmond and pick you up â
Susan I donât feel safe in a car with you. Iâm sorry if that hurts your feelings, but â
Max It hurts my feelings, Susan. I taught her to drive.
Susan Iâm not blaming you. Suzanna has assumed a somber attitude since her father died.
Suzanna So I canât drive?
Susan Youâre sluggish. If a drunk driver is careening into my path, I donât want my life in your hands. Iâm sorry.
Max Suzannaâs attitude is not the point. Lester is not the point.
Suzanna Lester is the point! I am not going to discuss my fatherâs estate with your . . . whatever he is to you in addition to being your house painter . . .
Susan Heâs my lover.
Suzanna Oh, my God. How could you?
Susan (anger spikes) Listen to me. Your father died six months ago . . .
Suzanna It was three months!
Max Four. It was four months; youâre both liars.
Susan You didnât lose a child or even a breast. Your father died of natural causes after a life wellâlived. Thatâs not loss, itâs transition.
Suzanna How can you . . . Itâs a huge loss.
Susan Itâs an old man dying peacefully. Itâs not tragic â
Suzanna He was my dad.
Susan And youâre an adult. This . . . This is a costume.
Suzanna What â my clothes?
Susan The black dress. Youâre infatuated with your grief. You think youâve finally found something that will distinguish you.
Max OK, thatâs enough.
Susan Itâs not a distinction, Suzanna. A parentâs death . . . It is the most common of milestones â
Max My proposal is that we keep to the plan. We go to dinner, we talk facts and figures. Lester can join us for dessert.
Susan No. I wonât leave him sitting in the room while we have our nice dinner.
Max See . . . This is the point. Itâs not going to be a nice dinner, Susan. Weâre here to talk about your finances â
Susan I donât discuss money at the dinner table. You grew up in my household; you know that.
Max Oh, no. No. You agreed to this!
Susan I agreed to hear your opinions â
Max Theyâre ...