THE IMPETUS a one-act play by Jared Peace CHARACTERS: ROY, 30, a struggling, self-involved musician currently scraping by as an entertainer at children's parties. Lean and aggressive, he wears a faded Pink Floyd T-shirt and dark khakis. HOWIE, 28, assistant manager of I. Goldman & Co. pawnshop and halfhearted drummer in Roy's band. Paunchy and meek, he wears jeans, a loose sweater, and wire-frame glasses. THE WIFE, 35, middle-class housewife and mother of two. Slender and well-groomed, she wears a simple dress and little jewelry. THE HOBO, 40, a homeless person with weather-beaten skin and eyes tucked in a perpetual squint. Thin and unkempt, his clothes are ragged, dirty, and clumsily patched together. ELDERLY WOMAN, 65, non-speaking role. TIME: A hot summer day in the city. SETTING: A small pawnshop. The walls and shelves are crowded with every kind of junk you can imagine: trumpets, trophies, clothes, books, bicycle wheels, lamps, vases, antique clocks, stickered mirrors, rabbit-eared TVs, paintings, posters, etc. A glass counter lines the back of the stage, resting beside the shop entrance and in front of the shop window. Boxes of old records sit on a table at stage left and an open doorway leads into an unseen side room at stage right. ACT ONE (LIGHTS open on HOWIE, sitting behind the pawnshop counter, unscrewing an old rotary phone.) HOWIE: (to screw) Come on, get outta there you little... (Outside, a MAN bangs on the shop window as he passes by from left to right. Howie turns to the sound, but sees no one.) HOWIE: Whuh? (The Man steps through the entrance, setting off a quiet chime. Howie turns.) MAN: Gotcha, didn't I? Ha ha. HOWIE: Oh, Roy, yeah. Good one. (Roy comes around to the front of the counter, chewing on an apple.) ROY: Hey. Just thought I'd come down, see what you're doing. It's too goddamn hot upstairs. HOWIE: (preoccupied) Yeah... ROY: For the amount Fran is gutting me for you'd think there would at least be air conditioning or something. HOWIE: Yeah... (sets screws down) Watch those so they don't roll off, will you? ROY: What the hell are you doing, anyway? HOWIE: Just... (prying open phone) This phone. It's a piece of junk. It never wants to work right. ROY: Why are you prying it open like that? HOWIE: Sometimes it helps if you take it apart and put it back together again. That's what I did last time. The receiver was clicking every time I went to pick it up, so I just-- (struggling with phone) Aah! What is WRONG with you? Why won't you open? Come on already. Come on, come on, come-- (His hand slips and the phone snaps closed on his fingers.) HOWIE: Ouch! Dammit! ROY: Good one. HOWIE: (sucks finger) Ouch. Dammit. (sets phone aside) I can't do this now. Maybe after lunch. ROY: You know, there's people you can pay to do that crap. Ever hear of the phone company? (Roy throws the apple into a nearby garbage can and walks to stage right.) HOWIE: I know, I know. I called them on Friday and they still haven't bothered to show up. Haven't even called to confirm anything, either. (grabs a stack of vinyl LPs from behind counter) Isn't that typical? ROY: Consistency. At least that's something. (Howie walks over to the boxes at stage left and begins to file the LPs. Roy picks up a wooden baseball bat and rolls it back and forth in his hands, inspecting it.) ROY: Oh, hey. Did I tell you this thing with the bow tie? HOWIE: Uh... No, I don't think so. ROY: I told Nick. I'm not sure if I told you. HOWIE: What happened? ROY: (studying bat) It's so ridiculous. It's these parents, you know. I can't stand them. I know I complain about the kids a lot, but the problem isn't with the kids. The kids can't help the way they are. The problem is with the parents. They're the ones that mock me and degrade me and spit in the face of everything I stand for. The kids are just a by-product of that. HOWIE: What happened? ROY: (stops) Hey, who signed this bat? HOWIE: Uh... (looks up) I did. ROY: Yeah, I know, but who is it supposed to be? HOWIE: That one? Lemme see. (Roy holds the bat up.) HOWIE: I think that one's Ken Griffey, Jr. ROY: Oh. It's good. HOWIE: So what about a bow tie? (Roy pretends to step up to the plate. He takes a few practice swings, then waits for the pitch.) ROY: So me and Bill show up at this birthday party last Saturday. You know, him in the clown outfit and me in the bear suit. And what do I hear as soon as I get there? The parents telling me my bow tie isn't funny enough. That they wanted one with spots. That spots are funnier than stripes. HOWIE: Heh. ROY: As if the kids can tell the difference. As if they're going to notice. As if any of them are going to care about the pattern on my bow tie when they're all too busy watching Bill and his dumb little balloon animal shtick. (He swings the bat, slicing air. Howie looks up from the records.) HOWIE: So what did you do? ROY: Huh? (pause) Oh, nothing. No, I didn't do anything. What could I do? I only had one bow tie. But still, can you believe that? There I am, stuffed inside some itchy bear suit, sweating away to entertain these people's snot-nosed daughter and all her snot-nosed little friends, and still -- still it's not good enough. I gotta have a different bow tie to boot. Talk about aggrav-- (The front door chimes open and THE HOBO shuffles inside. Howie looks at Roy. Roy shrugs. Howie sets the LPs down and returns to the counter.) HOWIE: Yes? Can I help you? (The Hobo, his cognitive skills clearly impaired, constantly mumbles to himself as he moves in and out of his own dislocated reality.) THE HOBO: Pants. HOWIE: (leans in) What? I can't hear you. You have to speak up. THE HOBO: Pp-- Pp-- HOWIE: What? THE HOBO: Pants. Do you have pants? HOWIE: Uhhh... (looks over Hobo's shoulder, at Roy) No. No, I don't think we have any pants. We have shirts though. Do you like shirts? Oh, and dresses. We have beautiful silk dresses. You interested? (Roy is snickering.) THE HOBO: Ll-- Ll-- HOWIE: Hmm? What's that? THE HOBO: Lamps. Lamps? HOWIE: Yeah, lamps. You need some lamps too, huh? Well, lamps are in the side room over there. Go knock yourself out. (Howie points to the side room.) THE HOBO: Lamps. HOWIE: Yeah, yeah, lamps. Plenty of lamps. Hey, look-- (taps Hobo's shoulder, then points to side room) Over there are the lamps. THE HOBO: (turns) Pants? HOWIE: Yeah, right. Pants and lamps. Nothing but pants and lamps over there in the side room. Now go. (Howie gives The Hobo a little push. He shuffles off by himself. Howie turns to Roy.) HOWIE: You see what I have to deal with? All day it's like this. (Roy sets the bat aside, shaking his head in disbelief. He pulls up a rocking chair and sits down.) ROY: You're letting him go back there by himself? Aren't you scared he might steal something? Or wreck something? HOWIE: No, he's harmless. He was actually in here last week. He just looks around. He's not all there, you know? Something wrong with him, mentally. ROY: Yeah... (Roy rocks back and forth in the chair and stares at the floor, lost in thought. Howie sits down, picks up the screwdriver, and starts to fiddle with the phone.) ROY: You know how, before, I was telling you about this bow tie incident? HOWIE: Yeah? ROY: And you asked me what I did about it? And I said nothing? HOWIE: Un-huh? ROY: Well, the truth is, I did do something. HOWIE: What'd you do? ROY: In fact, the bigger truth is, I've been doing this something for quite awhile now. HOWIE: (looks up) Are you-- What are you getting at? (Roy goes silent, thinking.) HOWIE: Roy? ROY: Uh, no, nevermind. Forget it. Forget I said anything. HOWIE: No, come on. Tell me. ROY: No, forget it. I never should have brought it up. HOWIE: Hey, come on, I wanna know. What did you do? Did you confront them? ROY: No... I... HOWIE: You got in a fight? ROY: No... HOWIE: Come on, tell me. ROY: I... don't know how to put it exactly. HOWIE: What do you mean? Just put it. ROY: Okay, I... steal. I steal. HOWIE: (pause) You steal? What does that mean? You steal what? ROY: Different things. It's not really important. (Howie sets the phone down, stands up, and comes around the counter.) HOWIE: What do you mean it's not really important? What-- Who do you steal from? ROY: From the parents. (Pause.) HOWIE: Well, Jesus, come on: elaborate for me. What do you steal? What's going on? ROY: It's nothing big, really. It's just that when I'm at one of these birthday parties, slaving my life away for a bunch of unappreciative slobs, I'll sometimes go up to the parents during a lull and ask them if it's okay for me to use their bathroom. And then, when I get in there, I'll rifle around through the drawers and cabinets looking for something -- anything -- to take. (Howie grabs an armchair from under the table and slides it forward. He sits down on it backwards.) HOWIE: So, like what? I don't understand. ROY: It doesn't matter. A bar of soap, wrapped in plastic. A bottle of throat medicine. A used toothbrush. It doesn't matter to me. The price of the object is irrelevant. It's what the object stands for that I care about. What it stands for and what it means when I take it. What it symbolizes. HOWIE: What does it symbolize? ROY: Protest. Revenge. A strike against middle­class complacency. HOWIE: A bar of soap is a strike against middle­class complacency? That's insane. (Roy stares at Howie, thinking.) HOWIE: And, and-- A toothbrush? I mean, come on. (A smile flashes across Roy's face. He stands up, walks over to the side room, and checks on The Hobo. Then he turns back to Howie.) ROY: All right, truth is, sometimes it's not just that. HOWIE: (pause) What is it? ROY: Sometimes I'll take it a step further. Like when the party is outside -- like in the backyard, and the house is empty -- I'll walk right past the bathroom and go poking around inside the master bedroom. HOWIE: You're joking me? ROY: No, not at all. Not at all. And I'm telling you, once you get inside those bedrooms... (shakes head) Phew! It's like a whole 'nother world. HOWIE: I, I-- ROY: It's the wives. I'm telling you Howie, it's like everything I've always said. They live off their possessions. The junk they buy is the stuff they breathe. Their padded jewelry boxes just overflow with rings and earrings and ten different kinds of watches. HOWIE: I don't understand. What are you telling me? ROY: And their closets? My God, their closets can't even hold all the clothes they have. It's disgusting. I can, I can-- (quickly checks on Hobo) I can take a pearl necklace -- a beautiful, expensive pearl necklace -- and they don't even notice it's gone. You believe that? A pearl necklace and they don't even know it's gone. I just drop it in the bear suit and let it fall to the bottom, body part over body part. HOWIE: (takes off glasses, rubs eyes) I can't, I can't-- (Roy is smiling.) HOWIE: This is unbelievable. This is-- You're like Karl Marx, only a kleptomaniac. It's amazing. ROY: I know. I know. It's so exhilarating, you have no idea. What it does to your soul, your mind. Your heart skips a beat the second you take it, but after that -- after that it's like you're walking on air, five feet higher than everyone else. HOWIE: This is insane. ROY: It's the truth. It all goes away. The kiddie squeals, the kicks to the shins, the wasted clumps of cake in the grass -- all of it. It just doesn't bother me once I get some cold piece of jewelry up against my bare ankle. I mean it. After that, nothing matters. Not a thing. (The room goes quiet. Howie looks down at the floor, his mind reeling.) HOWIE: I, I can't believe this. I never knew this about you. I can't believe I know people like you. (looks up) Who else knows about this? ROY: No one. Just you. HOWIE: I can't believe this. (pause) You're... You're a thief. I'm friends with a thief. ROY: No, no. I'm not a thief. It's not stealing. It's protest. HOWIE: How can it not be stealing? You're taking other people's stuff. ROY: It's not stealing because it's not about the money. I don't do it for the money. I do it for my own satisfaction. For my own revenge. HOWIE: Yeah, but... ROY: No. No, listen. It's not jewelry. It's not jewelry to me. To me, the pearl necklace is no different from the toothbrush or the cold medicine. Now why? Why is that? HOWIE: I don't know, why? ROY: Because at its root-- Because at its root it's about protest. It's about revenge. It's not about money. It's never been about money. (There's a sudden CRASH from the side room.) THE HOBO: (off-stage, faint) I don't, I-- (Howie rises and heads for the side room. Roy turns and checks on The Hobo.) ROY: Oh boy. HOWIE: What? ROY: You better come look at this. He just knocked over a sewing machine. (Howie disappears into the side room. Roy walks over to the main counter and eyes the jewelry enclosed in its glass casing.) HOWIE: (off) Look at this. Just look at this. What are you doing? Are you TRYING to ruin my life? THE HOBO: (off) Accident. It was... It f-f-fell. It fell. HOWIE: (off) Yeah, yeah, I see that. It fell. THE HOBO: (off) It fell. (Roy kneels down and examines the jewelry closer.) HOWIE: (off) All right, here. Hey, hey, look at me. Look at me. Here, come on. Come over here. Let's go. (Howie returns with The Hobo.) THE HOBO: It was... b-b-balanced-- HOWIE: All right, yeah. Go stand over here. (directs Hobo to stage right) Here, look at these trophies. Aren't they nice? Yeah. THE HOBO: Yeah. HOWIE: Yeah. Now stay here where I can keep an eye on you. (Howie walks back to the counter.) THE HOBO: These are on sale? HOWIE: Yeah, yeah. It's a big sale. Half-price on all golf trophies. (Roy stands up.) ROY: Man, why don't you just kick him out? It's not like he buys anything. HOWIE: Ahh, he did last week. He bought a banker's lamp. ROY: A banker's lamp? HOWIE: Yeah. Fitting, right? I'm sure he gets a lot of use out of it. ROY: No kidding. (Howie sits down behind the counter. Roy points at the encased jewelry.) ROY: These are some nice pieces you've got here. HOWIE: Yeah. ROY: Expensive. HOWIE: I guess. ROY: (pause) I should sell you some of my stuff. HOWIE: No, no. We don't purchase stolen goods. ROY: Gimme a break. HOWIE: We don't like to. ROY: Come on. HOWIE: Listen, where is all this stuff anyway? You haven't even told me. ROY: Upstairs. In my nightstand. HOWIE: You just throw it all together? ROY: Pretty much. HOWIE: (sighs) This is insane. (pause) I... I don't know what to think. I feel like I should report you. I-- ROY: Hey, hey, what is that talk? Come on. HOWIE: Well, I'm-- I'm not sure I get it. What are you protesting? Why is the middle class your target? It makes no sense. ROY: Hey, listen, listen. You can't see it? You can't see what I'm getting at? Here we are, thirty years old, stuck in the prime of our life, and where are we? Huh? Where are we? Sitting behind the counter of some crummy pawnshop? Stuffed inside a sweaty bear suit playing second fiddle to some butterfinger, balloon-popping clown? Is that right? Is that fair? (pause)) Man, we should be out there with the band playing to sold-out crowds like The Stones. My name -- our names -- should be in lights. "The Violin Eyelids in Glastonbury. The Gig of the Year. One Night Only. Sold Out." (Howie grins.) ROY: Fans in their seats cheering for us to come out on stage. Agents and managers pepping us up behind the scenes. The record label patting us on the back for making their parasitic lives a little bit better. That's where we should be. That's our destiny. Not-- (turns and looks at Hobo, who's studying a trophy) Not baby-sitting Joe Homeless over here and worrying about, "Oh, is my bow tie funny enough? Are they gonna like it? Are they gonna yell at me?" It's ridiculous. It's not right. It's not fair. HOWIE: (shaking head) No. It's not. ROY: And that -- that's why I have to do it. That's why I have to steal. Because every watch, every shoe, every -- every ugly, flower-scented piece of soap -- is a blow for music. For Art. For every sorry ass son of a bitch who has to get down on his hands and knees and lick bathroom floors clean for chump change when he knows, at the back of his mind, that he was meant for bigger things. Can't you, can't you see that? Can't you feel it? (Howie swivels around on his stool. He faces the window, his back to Roy.) ROY: Howie? Can't you see that? HOWIE: Yeah... I, I guess. I don't know. (pause) Don't you think that maybe these people are just decent, regular people and they don't, don't... ROY: What? HOWIE: (pause) You know. ROY: No, Howie. No, I don't know. What don't they deserve? Don't deserve my anger? My frustration? Why shouldn't they? They're the cause of it. It's their way of living that impedes on mine. These people are the ones who've destroyed music. They know nothing of Art. All they care about is easy-listening. They don't want to be bothered by what I have to say. They're scared of the emotions our work instills in them. If their insides weren't so, so -- so damn sterile -- we wouldn't have this problem. We'd be living in a utopia. HOWIE: Well, I agree with you there, on the emotion thing, but... (Outside, an ELDERLY WOMAN walks past the window. Howie notices her.) ROY: But what? (pause) Howie? But what? (Howie swivels back around.) HOWIE: Oh my God, what time is it? ROY: What? Why? HOWIE: Just tell me. ROY: (checks watch) What? It's... just after 11:30. Why? HOWIE: Good. For a second there, I thought I'd missed her. ROY: Missed who? What are you talking about? HOWIE: (stands up) It's this woman. I'm obsessed with her. (Howie walks over to the entrance and, without opening the door, looks up and down the street.) ROY: What woman? HOWIE: This woman. I don't know her name. Every day for the past month and a half she's walked past the shop window at exactly 11:35, this very determined look on her face. She doesn't stop. She doesn't slow down. She doesn't look around. And the time never changes. At 11:35 she just comes gliding past the window on her way to... I don't know. Somewhere. ROY: So what? She's probably going to work. HOWIE: (turns to Roy) No, no. You see, that's not possible because ten minutes later she just comes gliding back the other way, right past the window, never to be seen again for the rest of the day. And it's been like that without change for a month now. Just back and forth over and over again without fail. I can't figure it out. It makes no sense. (pause) What time is it? ROY: (checks) 11:33. Why? Can you see her? (Roy heads over to the entrance.) HOWIE: No, no. I'm just waiting. (Howie walks over to the front of the counter. Roy continues to watch from the entrance.) ROY: Well... What does this woman look like? Is she attractive? HOWIE: Yeah, definitely. I think so. ROY: What color is her hair? HOWIE: Brown. A sort of brownish red, I guess. ROY: How come you've never told me about this before? HOWIE: You've never had the day off before. ROY: Hmmph. (Pause.) HOWIE: Time? ROY: (checks) Uh, 11:34. HOWIE: Any second now. ROY: Has she ever come inside? Have you ever talked to her? HOWIE: No, no. Never. No. She looks real busy. ROY: Have you ever tried following her? I mean, just closing up shop for ten minutes to see where she goes? HOWIE: I've thought about it. Never done it, though. (pause) Time? ROY: (checks) 11:35. Exactly. HOWIE: All right, get ready. ROY: Are you sure she's even going to come? HOWIE: She never fails. (The room goes quiet. Roy and Howie wait. A few drawn-out seconds of silence go by and then THE WOMAN crosses past the window from left to right, her face taut with determination.) HOWIE: You see? You see? There she goes! ROY: Wait, I-- (The Woman passes the shop entrance. Roy gets a brief but close look at her before she disappears.) HOWIE: You saw her, right? What did I tell you? Huh? Every single day. (Roy turns to Howie, slightly dazed.) HOWIE: You did see her, didn't you? (Roy nods.) HOWIE: So, what do you think? ROY: I think... I think I know her. HOWIE: (pause) You're joking me. ROY: I'm not kidding. I know her. I mean, I'm pretty sure. HOWIE: How do you know her? ROY: From last weekend. Her and her husband hired me and Bill to play their kid's birthday party. She was the one who said the thing about my bow tie not being funny enough. HOWIE: You're serious? ROY: Absolutely. She had her hair down then, but... the resemblance is almost exact. HOWIE: You're confused. It wasn't her. What are the odds? ROY: Howie, I'm telling you: that was the woman. HOWIE: That's insane. I don't believe it. (Roy approaches him.) ROY: And that's not all, either. Last weekend I was standing in her kitchen and, and-- (glances at Hobo, then in SOTTO VOCE) Can he hear us? HOWIE: (turns) Uh... No, I don't think so. I don't think he knows what's going on. ROY: All right. So, I'm in the kitchen with the wife and the whole house is empty. I mean, completely empty. Everyone's outside. And I'm standing there in my bear suit waiting to help her carry out the birthday cake and she's trying to talk to me and have a normal conversation. You know, they don't want to feel like they're demeaning you so they try and be friendly. It's so twisted, you can't even-- HOWIE: All right, all right. Just keep going. ROY: So, anyway, she's standing at the sink making these two big jugs of cherry Kool-Aid for the kids, and of course she doesn't want to risk staining her precious little wedding ring, so what does she do? She takes it off and sets it on the edge of the sink. HOWIE: Right? ROY: And makes the stuff and carries it outside and tells me hey, the cake is the freezer, just bring it out behind her. HOWIE: And? ROY: And so I took it. HOWIE: The cake? ROY: The wedding ring. She left it on the sink when she went outside. I was the only guy in the house. It was beautiful. Ha! Isn't that great? Isn't that perfect? (Roy walks around the counter and sits on Howie's stool.) HOWIE: But... wouldn't they know it was you? I mean, once they realized it was missing? You were the only guy in the room. Who else could it be? ROY: Maybe, but what proof do they have? People lose stuff all the time. Doesn't mean it was stolen. HOWIE: Still... ROY: Listen, if they'd pinned it on me, don't you think I would have heard something by now? Don't you think I would have gotten a phone call from Bill? It's been three days. HOWIE: I guess... ROY: I'm telling you, I got off absolutely, 100 percent scot-free. This woman's wedding ring, and she doesn't even know what hit her. HOWIE: (sighs) Well, I don't know. I don't know what to say. (pause) What time is it? ROY: (checks) 11:39. (Howie walks over to the entrance and looks outside.) HOWIE: A few more minutes and she should be coming back this way. (Roy sits quietly and thinks. He stares vacantly at the jewelry inside the counter.) HOWIE: Man, I, I can't believe you know this woman. What was her house like? What was her husband like? (Roy doesn't respond. Howie turns to him.) HOWIE: Roy? ROY: (looks up) We're gonna sell it back to her. HOWIE: What? ROY: The ring. We're gonna sell it back to her. HOWIE: You have it on you? ROY: No, it's upstairs. But I can get it. (He stands up and heads for the entrance.) HOWIE: No, wait, Roy. That seems like a bad idea to me. She's gonna know you took it. We're not supposed to be selling stolen goods. ROY: It's not stolen goods if you don't know it's stolen. HOWIE: But I DO know it's stolen! ROY: Well, pretend that you don't. HOWIE: But-- ROY: (opens front door) Listen, I'll be right back. Stall her if she comes by. (He takes off, running past the window.) HOWIE: (sighs) This is insane. (approaches Hobo) Uh, listen. Buddy... (The Hobo turns to him, a trophy clutched in his hands.) THE HOBO: This is for sale? HOWIE: No, listen, I think you should go in the side room, okay? THE HOBO: The side? HOWIE: Yeah, listen... (Howie wraps his arm around The Hobo and guides him into the side room.) THE HOBO: The lamps? HOWIE: Yeah, yeah, lamps. Lamps, pants, maps -- everything you could possibly want. Just go in here and look around and try to keep quiet for a little while. I really don't need you getting in my way right now. Okay? (gives Hobo a light shove) And this time, please, PLEASE don't break anything. Just keep quiet. (Howie turns back around as Roy comes jogging past the window.) HOWIE: Roy. (Roy enters.) ROY: (panting) Okay, here's the plan. It's 11:42, and-- She didn't come back yet, did she? HOWIE: No, but I really think this is a bad idea. I really think this is stupid. ROY: Come on, this is ingenious. This is brilliant. This ring-- Look, look-- (takes ring out of pants pocket) Isn't this perfect? Look at this. (pause) This ring... This ring is a symbol for everything I despise about the middle class. Okay? It's a symbol for their artificiality, their complacency, their skewed priorities, their, their -- their polite immorality. Just, all of it. It's the perfect symbol for all of it. HOWIE: Roy, this is... I... ROY: All right? All right? And for us to sell it back to her? For us to sell it back to her? Well, that's like the perfect fitting end for the symbol. It's the final slap in the face. We take this symbol from them and then we make 'em beg to get it back. Then we stuff it right down their throats. Back where it came. Ha ha! (slaps Howie's shoulder) Perfect, right? It's perfect. (Howie stares at the ring. He lets out another sigh.) HOWIE: I, I don't know. This is... Well, it's really, really out there. ROY: Listen, Howie, listen. I can see that you're ambivalent and I understand that. I respect it. You're a thinker, a worrier. And that's okay. That's what I like about you. (pause) But this... This is something you just can't pass up. This is the kind of thing you have to reach out and grab. This is the kind of life experience -- the kind of open-armed opportunity -- that just doesn't come along every day. HOWIE: Still... ROY: And what about you, huh? Don't you want to find out something about this woman? Who she is? What makes her tick? You said yourself you were obsessed with her-- HOWIE: (overlapping) That was just... talk. ROY: Is that what you want to do? Just let her keep walking back and forth past your window, day in and day out, never finding out where she's going and WHY she's going there? How can you live like that? With that missing link of information eating away at your brain for the rest of your life? HOWIE: I, I don't know. ROY: (slaps Howie's shoulder) Come on. Cheer up. This is exciting. (Roy walks around the counter, kneels down, and opens the glass.) ROY: I'm just going to take one of these cases, okay? I need something to put the ring in. (Howie turns and watches Roy. Roy stands up.) ROY: (checks watch) 11:44. All right, come on, hurry. Get over here. (Howie trudges forward.) ROY: Come on! (Howie hurries over.) ROY: All right. Now, when she passes by the window over here, this is what you're going to do: you're going to make like you're stepping into the window display to set out some new items, just like you always do, and right as she passes by you're going to pretend to trip and bang the glass -- you know, like to stop your fall -- and this will get her attention. But you gotta do it hard so you startle her and she stops, all right? You really gotta bang it. HOWIE: I guess. ROY: Then, when she turns and looks at you, you raise this ring -- in the case like this, with the top flipped up -- (He puts the ring in Howie's hand. Howie looks down at it.) ROY: (continuing) -- and you raise it up like you're showing it to her and you say something like, "Beautiful piece, isn't it? You interested?" HOWIE: You think she's gonna be able to hear me? ROY: Say it loud, so she can hear it. HOWIE: What about the ring? You think she's even going to recognize it? ROY: I don't know. I hope so. Gold band, red ruby lining, white pearl center -- it seems distinctive enough. (checks watch) All right, 11:45. Come on, hurry up. (He pushes Howie toward the window, then heads for the entrance.) ROY: You ready? (Roy looks out the front door.) HOWIE: Can you see her? ROY: No, not yet. HOWIE: You really think this is gonna work? (pause) Roy, you really think this-- ROY: Okay-- Shh! Shh! Get ready. She's coming. (Roy steps back from the door and watches. The Wife passes by the entrance from right to left.) ROY: Okay, ready? Here she comes. (Howie steps into the window display area. The Wife passes by.) HOWIE: Whoa! (Howie stumbles forward and slaps the glass with his hand. The Wife freezes in place, shocked by the sudden sound. She turns to him and he raises the ring for her inspection.) HOWIE: (loud) Nice ring, huh? You interested? (Confused and still startled, The Wife looks down at the ring, then politely shakes her head and walks off.) ROY: What happened? (approaches counter) Did she see it? What happened? (Howie climbs out of the window display.) HOWIE: She saw it, but... she didn't want it. ROY: That's impossible. (Howie sets the ring case on the counter.) HOWIE: Here you go. I guess it was the wrong woman. ROY: No. That's impossible. It was her. HOWIE: Sorry. (Howie slides the case forward.) ROY: Dammit. It was her. I know it was her. HOWIE: You made a mistake. It's no big deal. People make mistakes. ROY: I'm not people. (Roy grabs the case and turns around. He starts to pace back and forth.) HOWIE: It's not a big deal. ROY: I'm telling you, Howie, it was her. You could tell by the way she walked. She takes condescending footsteps. (Howie kneels down and closes the glass counter.) HOWIE: Personally, I'm kinda glad it's not her. For a second there I was worried that-- (Outside, The Wife returns to the window and starts to hurriedly look over the items on display. Roy turns around and sees her.) HOWIE: (continuing) --she'd call the authorities and have the shop shut down, or even worse, get me tossed into jail for aiding and... (Howie stands up and looks at Roy, who's focused on the window.) HOWIE: Roy? (turns around) So it WAS her. (The Wife abandons the window and comes around to the shop entrance. She steps inside, setting off the chime. Howie turns to her and she scurries over to him.) THE WIFE: Excuse me? Excuse me? HOWIE: Uh... Yes? THE WIFE: Where did you get that ring? The one in the window. Where did you get it? (Roy recedes into the side room.) HOWIE: Uh, what-- You mean the one I just put out? THE WIFE: Yes, where did you get it? HOWIE: Uh... I don't know, it's hard for me to say. We get so much stuff coming in here. Let me think... (looks around shop, for Roy) Uh, yeah, you know what? I think... I do think there was a guy... THE WIFE: What guy? What did he look like? When did he come in? HOWIE: (thinks) Uhm... THE WIFE: Was it prior to this weekend? HOWIE: Yeah... I mean, I'm trying to remember. THE WIFE: Okay. Sorry. Take your time. (Howie squints his eyes and looks forward, feigning thought.) HOWIE: Uh... Yeah, it's coming to me... (Roy returns from the side room. Howie looks up.) HOWIE: Yeah, I'm starting to get a mental image. Uhm... (Roy walks over to stage right and stops, his back to Howie and The Wife. He produces a blue­and­yellow striped bow tie from his pocket.) HOWIE: Oh, hey. Roy. (Roy affixes the tie to his shirt collar, then turns and walks up to the counter.) HOWIE: Here, maybe Roy can help with that. He's in here a lot. He talks to most of the customers. And he's good with faces. (The Wife takes a step back, making room for Roy at the counter.) HOWIE: Hey, Roy, do you remember anybody coming in here recently and selling us a ring? ROY: Hmmm... Let me see. A ring, huh? What kind of ring? (Howie turns back to The Wife, who's a little thrown off by Roy's odd appearance and overly-friendly attitude.) HOWIE: I don't know. What kind of ring did you say it was? THE WIFE: Uhm, it was a, uhm... Oh, it was just a basic gold band with ivory pearl and red trim. Like the one you just put out. HOWIE: Right, right. Of course. (pause) So, Roy, do you know anything about that? ROY: Hmm, I don't know. Maybe. (to Wife) This was an heirloom of yours? THE WIFE: It was my wedding ring. ROY: Oh, dear. And someone sold it? THE WIFE: I don't know. It's possible. I... (Roy watches her, smiling. She begins to take notice.) THE WIFE: I... I'm sorry, but... (chuckles) What is with this bow tie you're wearing? (pause) If you don't mind me asking. (Roy looks down at the bow tie. He adjusts it with his fingers.) ROY: Oh, this? This is just something I like to wear. THE WIFE: Mmm. ROY: You know, wear it around the house. Out to lunch. That sort of thing. I find it puts people in a good mood. In good humor. THE WIFE: Okay... Okay. (turns to Howie) Well... ROY: It's a comical tie, isn't it? THE WIFE: (turns back) What? ROY: The tie? It's funny, isn't it? THE WIFE: Yes, I suppose. ROY: Makes people laugh. A funny tie. THE WIFE: Okay. ROY: Not like spots. It's much funnier than spots. THE WIFE: I'm-- I'm sorry? ROY: Spots? Stripes? The stripes are much funnier, don't you find? (The Wife stares at Roy, confused. Then a sudden wave of realization washes over her face. Roy smiles.) THE WIFE: It's you. You're the bear. (He stares at her, not responding.) THE WIFE: You stole my wedding ring. I can't believe it. You stole my wedding ring! (to Howie) This man stole my wedding ring. HOWIE: I, I-- THE WIFE: I would like my wedding ring back right this instant. What did you do with it? Is it in the window? ROY: (leans in) What about my bow tie? We haven't finished talking about my bow tie. (She tears the bow tie off his collar and throws it to the ground.) THE WIFE: You're going to jail! I'm getting my ring back and you're going to jail. (Roy laughs and wanders off to stage right. The Wife turns to Howie.) THE WIFE: Where is my ring? Get me my ring. HOWIE: I don't have your ring. THE WIFE: Get me my ring or I'll call the police. HOWIE: Lady, I told you, I don't have your ring. (points to Roy) HE does. (The Wife looks at Roy. He raises his palms in the air and shrugs. She turns back to Howie.) THE WIFE: I saw you with it in the window. What did you do with it? HOWIE: I gave it back to him. I'm sorry, I don't have it. THE WIFE: Well, well... (approaches Roy) Listen you, I want my ring back right this minute. ROY: Really? THE WIFE: Yes. Yes. I want it back and if you don't return it to me then I'm going to call the police. (She takes a cellular phone out of her purse.) THE WIFE: I mean it. I'll do it right this second. I mean it. ROY: A cellular phone, huh? THE WIFE: Yes. (She opens the phone and prepares to dial.) THE WIFE: Are you going to tell me where it is or am I going to have to call the police? ROY: A cellular phone. That is so absolutely, utterly predictable. THE WIFE: Yes. Fine. Whatever. Are you going to give me my ring? ROY: I bet you just love it when that thing goes off in a public place. Or, better yet, at a friend's house. Am I right? I bet it makes your little middle-class heart just flutter-- THE WIFE: Excuse me, we're talking about my ring. ROY: No. No. (pause) No, we're talking about whatever I want to talk about. I have your ring. I'm in control here. THE WIFE: That's it. (She begins to dial.) ROY: I wouldn't do that if I were you. THE WIFE: (stops) Why not? ROY: Because in the time it will take the police to arrive, I can destroy your precious little ring five times over. THE WIFE: What with? (He picks up the baseball bat.) ROY: This, maybe. THE WIFE: (smirks) You wouldn't. ROY: Or, better yet, I might just flush it down the toilet. Make it disappear forever. You know, if there's no stolen ring, then no ring was stolen. THE WIFE: You were in the room when I took it off. You were the only one there. And here you are now, in the same place that I've found it. They're going to know it was you. ROY: You lost it. You were confused. It was a busy day. One of the kids probably knocked it in the sink and it fell down the drain. Who knows? THE WIFE: I know. ROY: (smiles) So do I. (pause) But you still have a pretty flimsy case. (The Wife forces a laugh.) ROY: But no, no -- go ahead. Call the cops. Be my guest. (She puts the phone away.) THE WIFE: All right then, where is it? Tell me? It's in your pocket? ROY: It's somewhere in this shop. Hidden. THE WIFE: (to Howie) Do you know where it is? HOWIE: No. Sorry. (She sighs. Roy smiles.) ROY: Here, I'll give you a hint: cold. THE WIFE: What? ROY: Cold. Cold. Freezing. (The Wife takes a step toward Howie.) THE WIFE: What is he doing? What's wrong with him? HOWIE: I don't know. He's usually not like this. ROY: Warmer. (She takes another step.) THE WIFE: Listen, please-- What's your name? HOWIE: Howard. ROY: Warmer. THE WIFE: Howard, please, you seem kind. Can you tell me where my ring is? Please? HOWIE: I don't know. THE WIFE: I'll pay you for it. I don't care about the money. HOWIE: I don't know where it is. I really don't. ROY: You're warmer, but you're still cold. THE WIFE: (turns to Roy) All right, what? You want me to look around? All right. Here we go. (She walks over to the counter.) ROY: Warmer. (She walks along the counter, toward the side room.) ROY: Cold. Cold. (She takes another step.) ROY: Oh, FREEZING! Ice cold! You're in Alaska! (She steps the other way, toward the entrance.) ROY: Warmer. Warmer. HOWIE: Roy, come on-- ROY: Shut up, Howie. (pause) Warmer. (The Wife walks over to the record boxes.) ROY: Oh, warmer. Burning. You're burning up! Steaming! (She speeds up, looking in the crevasses between the boxes, and inside them, between the records.) ROY: You're steaming! You're on fire! Oh my God! (She turns around and scans the wall.) ROY: Cold. (She turns back around.) ROY: Freezing. Ice cold. THE WIFE: What are you saying? This was just on fire! ROY: Oh, it was? Okay. You're burning up. (She lets out a condescending sigh and sags her shoulders.) ROY: You're freezing. You're ice. THE WIFE: I didn't even move! HOWIE: She's right, Roy. She didn't move. ROY: Okay, sorry. You're neutral. You're tap water. THE WIFE: This is ridiculous. (She swats her hand, giving up.) ROY: (laughing) You're hot! You're cold! You're ice! You're fire! (The Wife stares at him, expressionless.) HOWIE: Okay, Roy. Come on, that's enough. Why don't you be a pal and tell her where her ring is? THE WIFE: Yes, tell me. You made me look ridiculous, now just tell me. (Roy raises the tip of the bat to his mouth and stares at the floor, his brow furrowed in thought.) HOWIE: Come on, what do you say? That was a good joke, and she was a good sport for going along with it-- THE WIFE: (overlapping) Yes. HOWIE: (continuing) --so she probably deserves her ring back. THE WIFE: Yes. Please. HOWIE: You've embarrassed her enough. (Roy looks up.) ROY: All right. All right. You're right. THE WIFE: (sighs) Oh, thank God. ROY: She can have her ring back once I've embarrassed her enough. THE WIFE: What? No, wait, you said-- HOWIE: Yeah, you already did it. That's good enough. ROY: No, no, I don't think so. I don't think so. (Roy paces back and forth, the bat swinging beside his leg.) ROY: No, what we're going to do here is this: (points bat at Wife) I'm going to ask you five questions. These will be any five questions that I care to ask you, about any subject that I care to ask about. No holds barred, all-out entertainment. You, being the good little housewife, will answer these questions calmly and diligently, and once I'm through -- assuming you've answered all five to my satisfaction -- I will tell you where your precious little ring is hidden. (points bat at Howie) Howie, you can watch. HOWIE: Roy, I don't wanna watch. Why don't you just give her the ring back? THE WIFE: Yes, this is really ridiculous. HOWIE: Yeah. ROY: Question number one: (clears throat, turns to Wife) Have you ever had an orgasm? (Howie retracts his face in shock. He tears off his glasses.) HOWIE: Oh, whoa, Roy. Hey, come on. That's way too personal. ROY: (staring at Wife) Shut up, Howie. HOWIE: Come on, what kind of question is that? ROY: (eyes still on Wife) It's a perfectly reasonable question, Howie. HOWIE: No, come on. She doesn't have to answer that. (to Wife) You don't have to answer that. THE WIFE: I'm not going to answer it. ROY: I thought you said you wanted your ring back? THE WIFE: I do. ROY: Then answer the question. THE WIFE: No. HOWIE: Yeah, Roy. Come on, pick a different question. ROY: That's the question. She agreed to the five questions and that's the first question: Have you ever had an orgasm? THE WIFE: I never agreed to the five questions. ROY: I agreed for you. THE WIFE: That's not how it works. ROY: I have the ring. It works how I say it works. When you get the ring, it can work however you want it to work. THE WIFE: (sighs) This is absurd. ROY: Time is running out on the clock. The sooner you get this over with, the sooner you can leave. THE WIFE: Just absurd. ROY: Have you ever had an orgasm? THE WIFE: Yes. Of course. All right, next question. ROY: Alone or with your husband? THE WIFE: With my husband. What kind of-- ROY: You swear it on your mother's grave? THE WIFE: Yes. ROY: You swear it on your father's grave? THE WIFE: Yes, all right. Next question. ROY: You swear it on your daughter's life? THE WIFE: Next question, let's go. ROY: Your daughter's life. You swear it on your daughter's life? (The Wife doesn't respond. A few seconds of conspicuous silence go by.) ROY: Whoops, I think we have a no. What do you think, Howie? HOWIE: I don't care. I think this is stupid. ROY: Yep, yep, I think we have a definite no. (Embarrassed, The Wife shakes her head and looks up at the ceiling, as if trying to rise above the situation.) ROY: And what about your husband? Does he know how unfulfilling he is? (She doesn't answer.) ROY: Your husband? Does he know? (The Wife looks Roy square in the eye.) THE WIFE: Is that my second question? ROY: Sure. THE WIFE: No. ROY: And why not? (She comes around the table and approaches Roy.) THE WIFE: Third question? ROY: I suppose. THE WIFE: I don't want to hurt him. (pause) Though I don't expect someone like you to understand that. (She comes to a stop a few feet from Roy.) ROY: No, no, so instead you'd rather go through your entire life faking feeling and faking emotion. THE WIFE: I don't fake my feelings. ROY: You absolutely do. You absolutely do. You act. You're an actress. That's all. Just another actress powdered up in front of the camera hitting your beats and nailing your marks and wasting everyone's time in the meanwhile. THE WIFE: Your saying that doesn't make it so. ROY: I say it because it's so. THE WIFE: You can say it until you're blue in the face -- in fact, you can say whatever you want -- but the truth of the matter is: only someone who's never known a real relationship would equate sexual pleasure with true love and true feeling. (Roy stares at her, unblinking. A long stretch of silence goes by.) ROY: That's clever. (She smirks.) ROY: Very clever. (She turns to Howie, smiling.) THE WIFE: Three down, two to go, right? HOWIE: Heh. THE WIFE: (to Roy) Come on: question four, question five. Throw them at me. I'm enjoying this, now. (Roy stares at The Wife, nodding calmly. He desperately clings onto his emotionless, I­can­see­through­everything expression.) ROY: You think you've bested me, don't you? You think you've won? THE WIFE: I know I have. ROY: What's onomatopoeia? THE WIFE: God bless you. (Howie laughs. The Wife turns to him, still smiling.) ROY: Come on, smart guy. What's onomatopoeia? THE WIFE: I don't know. Who cares? HOWIE: Yeah, Roy, I don't know either. ROY: (turns) Howie, shut the fuck up. This doesn't involve you. HOWIE: I know, but I'm just saying-- ROY: Shut up, you're going to influence her answer. HOWIE: She already gave her answer. ROY: I don't care. Shut up. HOWIE: I-- ROY: Shut up. (Howie shakes his head and goes quiet.) ROY: (to Wife) Onomatopoeia? Come on. What is it? THE WIFE: (smile waning) I told you, I don't know. ROY: Alliteration? THE WIFE: (shakes head) Beats me. ROY: Denouement? THE WIFE: (shrugs) No clue. (pause) You know what anti-climax is? These questions after that first one. (Howie chuckles.) ROY: What's the most influential pop band of the 20th century? THE WIFE: I don't know. (looks at his shirt) Pink Floyd? ROY: The Beatles. What's their best album? THE WIFE: Uhh... I don't know, the Sergeant Pepper one? ROY: Revolver. Pepper's overrated. THE WIFE: All right. What is this now? Seven, eight questions? Who's keeping score? ROY: It's four. THE WIFE: Okay, four. Great. Good job. I'm very embarrassed. ROY: You should be. I've just proven your ignorance. THE WIFE: Look at me. Am I blushing? I bet I'm blushing. ROY: And the fact that you trivialize it and laugh at it... Well, it just digs you deeper and deeper. THE WIFE: That's nice. Can I have my ring back? ROY: Question number five: Where were you going when you saw your ring in the window? THE WIFE: What do you mean? I was going to work. ROY: And where were you coming from? (She doesn't answer. Howie leans forward.) THE WIFE: I... don't understand the question. I was on my way to work. ROY: Yeah, yeah, and coming from where? THE WIFE: I don't understand. ROY: Well then let me clarify it for you, since you're suddenly so confused. Every day at exactly 11:35 you pass by that pawnshop window, apparently on your way to somewwhere very important, only to come waltzing back the other way ten minutes later like it really wasn't very important at all. Now, tell me little Mrs. Mystery: Where are you going, where are you coming from, and what exactly happens during those magic ten minutes? THE WIFE: How do you know what I'm doing? You've been following me? ROY: Howie works here. He sees you every single day. Ain't that right, Howie? (She turns to him.) HOWIE: It's true. You've been doing it for at least a month and a half now. THE WIFE: I-- HOWIE: I've been watching you through the window. I mean, I couldn't help but notice. ROY: That's right. That's right. So now tell me, little Mrs. Smart Guy, where have you been going to and where have you been coming from every day for all this time. Come on. Question number five. The clock is ticking. THE WIFE: It's a payphone. I made a call. ROY: There's no phones where you work? Come on, what do you think I am? THE WIFE: I'm serious. I made a call. ROY: Okay, and what about the day before? And the day before that? And the day before that? All going back for... How long did you say, Howie? A month and a half? HOWIE: A month and a half since I first noticed her. ROY: Yeah, so now come on and cough it up. What do you do for those missing ten minutes every day? THE WIFE: I make phone calls. I told you. ROY: Where? THE WIFE: There's a booth around the corner. ROY: Who are you calling? THE WIFE: I... I'm just... (She pauses, thinking.) ROY: What? Thinking up a lie? Come on, I want the truth. Question number five. Answer it and you're free. (She goes silent, considering it.) HOWIE: Just tell him. You're almost done. (The Wife turns to Howie, quietly taking in his words. She thinks for a moment, then turns back to Roy.) THE WIFE: All right, all right, fine... (She sits down in the armchair and eyes the floor.) THE WIFE: (pause) I, I know it sounds strange, but... if I don't call my husband every day at 11:40 and talk to him for three minutes and forty seconds, he'll leave me. (Roy and Howie look at each other, confused.) ROY: (to Wife) How do you know this? He told you this? THE WIFE: No, no, nothing like that. (pause) It's just something inside my head. HOWIE: What do you mean? THE WIFE: It's just something inside my head. I have to do it every day or else. ROY: Or else what? Or else your husband will have an affair and leave you for a better woman? THE WIFE: Something like that. HOWIE: What's wrong with your cell? Can't you call him on that? THE WIFE: No. ROY: Why not? THE WIFE: I just can't-- ROY: But why? THE WIFE: It just doesn't work that way. It has to be on the payphone down the street. ROY: I don't understand. Why? THE WIFE: It's just the way it is. I can't explain it. HOWIE: And what happens when it's busy? (The Wife looks up.) THE WIFE: When what's busy? HOWIE: The phone. When your husband's phone is busy. He's at work, right? THE WIFE: Yeah? HOWIE: So what happens when he's already talking to someone on the line? Or when he's busy working? Or when he's in a meeting? What happens then? ROY: Or when there's someone already using the payphone when you get there? HOWIE: Yeah? What happens then? (The Wife pauses, taking in all the possibilities.) THE WIFE: I, I don't know. I've never thought about it before. It's never happened to me before. HOWIE: But what if it did? THE WIFE: I don't know. I guess... I guess he'd leave me. ROY: (smirks) Jesus, talk about your fucked-up logic. That one doesn't make any sense, lady. THE WIFE: Fine. Whatever. I've answered your five questions. Can I have my ring back now? ROY: (thinks) Mmm... No. (Roy turns away and casually uses the bat to practice his golf swing. The Wife slumps in her chair.) THE WIFE: I can't believe-- What more can I do? HOWIE: Aw, come on Roy, just give it back already. She did the five questions. What more do you want? ROY: (turns) Hey, Howie -- whose side are you on, anyway? Because you know, I'm really starting to wonder. You keep defending her and I just don't get it. You've seen how she doesn't actually feel, how she desperately clings onto her husband, how she defines herself in relation to him. Isn't that exactly -- EXACTLY -- what I've been saying all these years about people like her? Hasn't she proven every single one of my words? HOWIE: Look, you told her if she answered the five questions you'd give her the ring back, and she answered them, so I don't see how you can-- (The Hobo wanders in from the side room, a ceramic vase in his hands.) THE HOBO: P-p-p-- HOWIE: Oh, geez. What do you want? ROY: Hey, come on. Get him out of here. (The Hobo raises the vase.) HOWIE: What do you want? You want to buy that? THE HOBO: Price. Price. HOWIE: You wanna know how much it costs? Well, don't worry, I'm sure it's in your price range. Turn it over. ROY: Howie. HOWIE: Hey, just turn it over. There should be a price tag on the bottom. Turn it over. (The Hobo turns the vase over. The ring case falls out and hits the floor. Everyone's eyes lock on it. The Wife stands up.) THE WIFE: Oh! (Roy drops the bat, dashes forward, and swipes the case.) THE WIFE: Give it to me! That's mine! (She follows him as he moves around the pawnshop, the case held over her head.) ROY: Ha ha! HOWIE: Come on, Roy, give it back! Just give it back! ROY: What, this? Is this what you want? THE WIFE: I answered your stupid questions, now give it to me! THE HOBO: Price. P-p-p-- HOWIE: (to Hobo) Not now! ROY: No, okay, you're right, you're right. Here you go. (He hands the case over to her.) THE WIFE: Thank y-- ROY: Whoop! (He yanks his hand back and holds the case over her head.) THE WIFE: For Christ-- ROY: Come on, jump for it. Jump for it! HOWIE: Roy! (Roy moves to the area behind the records. The Wife follows him, her arms stretching for the case.) THE WIFE: Give it back! Dammit! ROY: Whoo, whoo! Hot, hot, you're freezing. THE WIFE: Give it! ROY: Howie! Catch! (Roy throws the case over The Wife's head. It sails across the shop, hits Howie in the chest, and lands on the counter, tumbling to a stop.) (Howie looks down at the case. The Wife rushes over to him. Roy remains behind the records.) THE WIFE: Oh, thank you, thank you. Please, please, give it back. ROY: Howie! What are you doing? Come on! (The Wife reaches the counter and grabs the case. She opens it.) THE WIFE: Oh, it is. Oh, thank you, thank you. Oh-- HOWIE: I-- THE WIFE: Thank you. (slips ring on finger) Oh, my God. Thank you. (She leans forward and pecks Howie on the cheek.) THE WIFE: Oh, thank you. You're so kind. Thank you. HOWIE: It's not-- THE WIFE: Oh, oh... Here, here, let me pay you for it. (She opens her purse.) HOWIE: Oh, no. That's not necessary. THE WIFE: No, no. You deserve it. You're very kind. HOWIE: Well, maybe just a little. (Roy walks over to the counter, surprisingly calm. The Wife produces some cash.) THE WIFE: Is fifty all right? I know it's worth more, but... HOWIE: No, no, no. Fifty is fine. More than fine. (Roy takes his place at the counter, to the left of The Wife. She gives Howie the money.) THE WIFE: Here you go. HOWIE: All right, great. And I'll just get you to fill out one of our purchase forms -- you know, just in case you need a receipt. Or you ever want to return it, for whatever reason. THE WIFE: Oh, I won't want to return it. HOWIE: Even so... (Howie kneels down and takes a form out from under the counter. The Wife turns to Roy, smiling. His blank expression kills her smile instantly. Howie stands up.) HOWIE: Okay. Here you are. (He hands her the form and she begins to fill it out. Roy looks down and notices his bow tie resting on the floor, under The Wife's foot. He bends over.) ROY: You're standing on my bow tie. (The Wife looks down at it, then raises her foot. Roy takes the bow tie, stands up, and brushes it off.) ROY: You scuffed it. THE WIFE: Whatever. You deserve it. (Roy re-affixes the bow tie to his collar. Howie watches him, unnerved by his calm.) THE WIFE: (finishes form) All right. There we go. HOWIE: Okay, great. Thanks a bunch. THE WIFE: And thank you again. Really. This means more to me than you know. HOWIE: Oh no, no, I should be the one... Well, you know. (Howie smiles. The Wife holds her hand out and gazes at the ring.) HOWIE: It's great. THE WIFE: It's beautiful. ROY: You're standing on my bow tie. THE WIFE: (turns) What? ROY: You're standing on my bow tie. Please get off my bow tie. THE WIFE: What are y-- You're wearing your bow tie. HOWIE: Roy? ROY: You're going to scuff it. Please get off it. (The Wife stares at Roy, flabbergasted. She shakes her head.) THE WIFE: Unbelievable. You are just, just-- You need help is what you need. Seriously. I'd look into that if I were you... ROY. (She turns to leave. Roy catches her wrist.) THE WIFE: (turns) What are you-- HOWIE: Roy? (The Wife tries to pull away, but Roy holds on.) THE WIFE: Come on, this isn't funny. Let go of me! ROY: You seriously thought you were getting my ring? THE WIFE: It's my ring. Now let go of me. ROY: You scuffed my bow tie and you seriously thought you were getting my ring? HOWIE: Roy, come on! Let her go! You lost! ROY: Not yet. (Roy twists The Wife's arm around, forcing her to one knee.) THE WIFE: Ow! What're you-- HOWIE: Jesus! Roy! What the hell are you doing! (Roy pulls The Wife's hand up and folds all but her wedding finger down. Howie comes around the counter.) HOWIE: Roy! Roy! What's wrong with you! THE WIFE: My knee! Get me up! (Roy stuffs The Wife's wedding finger into his mouth and sucks the ring off it, then throws her hand aside and kneels down. He clenches the ring between his teeth, flashing it to her with a grin.) ROY: See 'is? Say goo-eye 'o 'is. (He swallows the ring, pats her on the cheek, and stands up.) THE WIFE: Oh! You-- (Howie grabs The Wife and pulls her up. He forces her away from Roy.) HOWIE: Come on, come on! Get away from him. I don't know what he's-- THE WIFE: He swallowed my ring. He swallowed it! HOWIE: I know, I, I-- (turns to Roy) Roy, Jesus, what the hell are you-- (Roy starts to wheeze and clutch at his throat. He's choking.) HOWIE: What, what-- (Roy reaches out and grabs Howie by the arm.) HOWIE: What, Roy! Are you choking? You're choking? (Roy falls to his knees, still clinging onto Howie's arm.) ROY: (gasping) Howie. Hh-hhh... HOWIE: (turns) Oh, Jesus. Jesus. I don't-- We gotta call an ambulance. We have to-- (Howie reaches over the counter and grabs the rotary phone. It falls apart in his hands.) HOWIE: Oh, God. I can't-- (The Wife stares at Roy, terrified and disgusted at the same time. She backs slowly away, gradually drifting closer and closer to the entrance.) HOWIE: (turns to Roy) Roy, Roy! Don't panic! Roy! (Roy sinks to the floor, dragging Howie down with him.) HOWIE: Roy, let go of me! I gotta go call an ambulance! Roy! Come on! (Howie tries to loosen Roy's grip, but it's no use.) HOWIE: Someone call an ambulance! Quick, someone-- (spots Wife) Hey, lady! Lady! (The Wife is unresponsive. She stares at Roy, still in shock.) HOWIE: Oh, Jesus. Jesus. Uh... (turns to Hobo) You, hey. Hey! THE HOBO: M-m-- HOWIE: Yeah, yeah, come on. Look at me, look at me-- THE HOBO: What? What? (The Hobo shuffles over to Howie.) HOWIE: Listen, listen, there's a phone booth at the end of the street, just around the corner. I want you to get to it, I want you to call 9-1-1. You got that? Can you do that? Call 9-1-1. THE HOBO: Nine, nine-- HOWIE: One, one. Right. Call 9-1-1. (Howie grabs The Hobo with his free hand and pushes him toward the entrance.) THE HOBO: 9-1-1? HOWIE: Yes, right, right: 9-1-1. Now come on, hurry! It's an emergency! (The Hobo exits the shop and takes off down the street, shuffle-running as fast as he can. Howie turns back to Roy.) HOWIE: Roy, Roy, are you-- What do I do? (Roy continues to wheeze.) HOWIE: Uh... Here, here. Can you stand up? Can you-- I need to get behind you. I have to do CPR. (struggles to lift Roy) Come on, come on, Roy. I can't-- I need you to help me here. Come on. (The Hobo returns to the shop, throwing open the front door with a chime.) THE HOBO: S-someone's-- HOWIE: (turns) What? Did you phone? Are they coming? THE HOBO: (shakes head) N-n-no, no. S-s-s-- HOWIE: Huh? What? THE HOBO: Phoning. Someone's f-f-f-- HOWIE: Aah! (Howie looks around frantically. He spots The Wife's purse.) HOWIE: There! In her purse. Call 9-1-1. (The Hobo stares at Howie.) HOWIE: A phone! In her purse! (The Hobo opens The Wife's purse and rifles around inside it. The jostling tears The Wife out of her trance. She looks up.) HOWIE: Lady! Your phone! (She reaches inside her purse and hands the phone over to The Hobo. He brings it to Howie.) HOWIE: (dials) Come on, come on... (to Hobo, while it rings) Hey, there's blankets and a first-aid kit in the other room -- go get them for me. Go get th-- (into phone) Hello, hello? Yeah, I have an emergency over here at I. Goldman & Co. Pawnbrokers. A man's choking. We need an ambulance right away. (pause) Uh, 800 Main Street. Yeah. (Howie waves The Hobo into the side room.) HOWIE: (into phone) No, no, he's choking on a ring. (pause) Yeah, yeah, a ring -- like a wedding ring. (As Howie continues, The Wife begins to quietly ease out of the shop.) HOWIE: Yeah, yeah. (pause) No, no, I can't get him up. He's on the ground. I can't get him up. (pause) No, he's too heavy. He's wheezing. Listen, should I try pushing on his stomach because I think I once saw-- What? (pause) No, hold on. (Outside, The Wife passes by the shop window and disappears out of sight. The Hobo emerges from the side room with the blankets and the first-aid.) (The LIGHTS start to DIM.) (Howie puts his ear to Roy's mouth.) HOWIE: I, I don't know. I think-- I think so. He does seem to still be breathing, but he's wheezing like he's about to pass out. I think it's stuck in there. Uh... (pause) Hold on? Okay. Okay, sure. (There's a break in the call. Howie looks down at Roy.) HOWIE: It's okay, Roy. She says you're going to be okay. She says it sounds like your windpipe is only partially obstructed. You're okay. (SOUND of a wailing SIREN in the distance.) HOWIE: There, you hear that? That's them. They're on their way. It's all over. You went nuts for a second there, but it's all over. They're coming to rescue you. (Howie takes a folded blanket from The Hobo and slides it under Roy's head.) HOWIE: Just a few more minutes, Roy. All you have to do is make it through the next few minutes and you're gonna be okay. (pause) You're gonna be okay. (BLACKOUT.) Copyright Jared Peace 2000