Tuesday, August 16, 2005

5. There There (The Boney King of Nowhere)

In pitch dark, I go walking in your landscape
Broken branches trip me as I speak
Just 'cause you feel it doesn't mean it's there.

There's always a siren singing you to shipwreck
(Don't reach out, don't reach out)
Steer away from these rocks -- we'd be a walking disaster
(Don't reach out, don't reach out)
Just 'cause you feel it doesn't mean it's there.

There, there -- why so green and lonely?


Radiohead


Prologue

Our man Robert enters, standard paper in hand.

ROBERT: Hello. Last time --

He stops. He looks around, waiting for something to interrupt him. He checks behind the couch. He looks toward both doors. To the hallway.

Nothing.


ROBERT: Right. Okay, last time, Michael's brother was freed from jail, came here and made an ass of himself. Also, Jason's dad was caught in a hurricane in Florida -- he lives there, in Florida. Um...let's see....That about covers it. Now, we're moving to about five days later, on a Thursday. Jason's not here: he's in Florida, helping his dad with...cleaning up, or something. I dunno. But there you go.

Exit.


Scene 1 -- the house, morning

There is no one in the living room.

The clutter on the table is a little more extensive than usual...and, in fact, we see that it's spread to the floor a bit, too.

Michael enters from the hallway, dressed and ready for work.

He stands behind the couch, looking at the table. A look of disappointment crosses his face.

Turning back to the hallway, he shouts:


MICHAEL: All right, guys! I asked you for one thing!

Angela enters in a hurry, also dressed in office-type clothing and prepared for work. She has an envelope in her hand, which she hands to Michael.

ANGELA: Oops. Sorry. I forgot.

MICHAEL: It's all right. Come on, you two! I'm in a rush.

ANGELA: ...Um, say, Mike?

MICHAEL: Yeah?

ANGELA: Can I talk to you about something?

MICHAEL: Uh, well, I'm kinda running late for work.

She checks her watch.

ANGELA: It's fifteen 'til ten, you only work five minutes away.

MICHAEL: I was supposed to be there at nine.

ANGELA: Oh. Shit. Nevermind. It can wait.

MICHAEL: Patrick! Rebecca! Let's go!

Angela exits to the kitchen.

Patrick enters, decidedly not in a hurry and definitely not dressed for work: t-shirt and torn shorts.


PATRICK: What are you wailing about?

MICHAEL: When I went to bed last night, I asked everyone to leave the rent on the table so I could take it to the bank at lunch. And everyone managed to not do it.

PATRICK: Doesn't Jason usually handle that?

MICHAEL: Usually. But I don't know if you've noticed, Jason's not here.

PATRICK: Right. But he's coming back tonight, isn't he? Why don't we--

MICHAEL [getting irritated]: Look, Patrick, it's the twenty-first. That's the day for the rent. It always has been. Jason asked me to make sure it was taken care of while he was gone, and just because it's me and not him doesn't mean that you're allowed to...

The whole length of Michael's tirade, Patrick has been developing a smile, and it now blossoms into a laugh. He pulls out his wallet.

PATRICK: Sorry. I just like watching that face you make when you get angry.

MICHAEL: What face?

PATRICK: Don't worry about it.

MICHAEL: What face?

PATRICK: Hey, aren't you really late for work?

MICHAEL: Yes, asshole, now--

PATRICK: I'm getting it, I'm getting it.

Patrick digs through his wallet and counts out his money.

PATRICK: Isn't this the part where I complain about having to pay rent to Jason's dad on a house that Jason pretty much owns?

MICHAEL: Yes. And this is the part where I wonder aloud why I should give a damn about your opinion.

PATRICK: That's right.

Patrick hands a stack of cash to Michael.

MICHAEL: Thank you.

Angela enters the room again, munching on a piece of toast. Patrick flops onto the couch.

ANGELA: Aren't you going to work?

MICHAEL: I'm trying.

ANGELA: I meant him.

MICHAEL: Oh.

PATRICK: Not today. I called in sick. My CDs are supposed to be ready today.

ANGELA: Ah, yes. That's right.

PATRICK: Hey, it's Thursday, aren't you supposed to be off?

ANGELA: Yeah, usually. But Maggie has this lunch appointment thing at two with the head of the sales department, and she wants me to go as status-swelling meeting backup.

PATRICK: You have to go to work so you can go to lunch? Just to sit there and bulk up someone's importance?

ANGELA: I am an empowered and informed member of society.

MICHAEL: Rebecca! I need your money!

PATRICK: Man, you're getting a kick of this money thing, aren't you? You're like the Sheriff of Nottingham in that Disney Robin Hood, when he takes the money from those mice at the church. "Not the poor box!"

Angela laughs. Michael does not.

ANGELA: Sorry. It was funny.

MICHAEL: Rebecca!

ANGELA: Maybe she left already.

PATRICK: I don't think so.

From the hallway, we hear a door close, followed by a series of harsh coughs. And then a sneeze. And some more coughing.

MICHAEL: Oh.

Rebecca enters -- well, perhaps it's her reanimated corpse -- in a bathrobe. She looks terrible: pale, with half-closed eyes and a stuffy nose. She's holding some money in one hand.

REBECCA: Hey.

MICHAEL: Jeez...I thought you said last night it wasn't so bad.

REBECCA: It wasn't so bad last night. The virus was lulling me into a false sense of security.

She lets out a machine-gun rattle of coughing. She then holds out her money to Michael.

REBECCA: Here.

He hesitates.

MICHAEL: Hmm...

REBECCA: Oh, take it, you baby. You've got a good, strong immune system.

ANGELA: And you're probably going to catch it anyway.

MICHAEL: Good point.

He takes it and heads for the door.

MICHAEL: All right, gotta go. 'Becca, feel better; Patrick, go to hell; Angela, good luck on...being there.

ANGELA: Thanks.

He opens the door and is halfway gone when...

MICHAEL: Oh, Patrick, remember, you promised Jason you'd clean up the garbage before he got back.

PATRICK: Yeah.

MICHAEL: And you promised me you'd find those sunglasses you borrowed.

PATRICK: Yeah.

MICHAEL: And you promised you'd burn those Rolling Stones CDs for me.

PATRICK: Yeah!

MICHAEL: And you promised you'd pick Jason up at the airport tonight.

PATRICK: Y--Actually, you promised you'd do that one. But nice try.

MICHAEL: Eh. Worth a shot.

He exits.

Rebecca walks around to the couch and looks down at Patrick.


REBECCA: So, Patrick.

PATRICK: So, Rebecca.

REBECCA: Remember the last time you were sick?

PATRICK: Sure do.

REBECCA: Do you also remember where you left the cough drops?

PATRICK: Yeah, they're in my room. I'll get 'em.

REBECCA: Thank you. And could you get the tissues, too?

PATRICK: Yeah.

He gets up and exits to the hallway. Rebecca shuffles around to sit down, sniffling the whole way.

ANGELA: Um, Rebecca?

REBECCA: Yeah?

ANGELA: Can I ask you something?

REBECCA: Sure, what's on--

Rebecca tries to flop onto the couch, but she miscalculates her trajectory and very nearly misses the couch altogether. As it is, she barely manages to avoid falling to the floor.

After a long moment, Rebecca pulls herself into a sitting position, and tries to shake the dizziness away.


REBECCA: --your mind?

ANGELA: ...Actually, it's not that important. I'll wait until you're feeling better.

REBECCA: Oh, are you sure?

ANGELA: Yes.

REBECCA: Thank god.

Patrick comes back, tissues in one hand and cough drops in the other.

ANGELA: A'right, I gotta go. When are you getting your CDs?

PATRICK [sitting down next to Rebecca]: Around one-thirty or two.

ANGELA: 'kay. You got one for me, right?

PATRICK: Sure did. Only ten bucks.

ANGELA: You'd make me pay for your CD?

PATRICK: Well, no. I wouldn't make you. But if you wanted to, I wouldn't protest.

ANGELA: We'll see. Hope you feel better, Rebecca.

Rebecca starts to respond, but all that comes out is more coughing. So she gives a thumbs-up instead.

Angela exits.

Patrick picks up the remote and turns on the television.


REBECCA: What's your CD called again?

PATRICK: The First Joke and Other Matters.

REBECCA: Right.

PATRICK: It was Jason's idea. Got it from a book, I think.

REBECCA: I like it.

PATRICK: Me too.

Rebecca fixes him with a helpless, puppy-like stare.

REBECCA: Hey, you weren't, by any chance, planning on making some soup later, were you?

Patrick smirks.

PATRICK: You know, now that you mention it...

REBECCA: Uh-huh?

PATRICK: I did wake up with an intense craving for some chicken noodle.

REBECCA: Oooh. Could you make you some for me, too? I mean, if you were making some.

PATRICK: Yeah. Sure.

REBECCA: Aw. Thanks.

She tries to put her head on his shoulder, but he pushes her back.

PATRICK: Whoa there, Captain Trips. Keep your contagion on that side.

She slides back over to the other side of the couch, coughing and sniffling.


Scene 2 -- Pizza Dome, that afternoon

A Waitress -- the same one from episode 3 -- is sitting at a table. All around her, the restaurant is empty. She's chewing gum.

WAITRESS: Sooooooo slow.

She glances out the window -- a customer! She leaps up and runs to the back.

The door opens, and in walks Angela -- looking like she'd rather be anywhere else in the universe -- and her boss, MAGGIE. Maggie's in her 30s, a severe-looking businesswoman.

Angela is holding a big black binder, with a zipper -- very sleek-looking executive-type equipment.


ANGELA: Do we really have to come here? Pizza Dome?

MAGGIE: Hey, I let Mark pick. And he picked here.

ANGELA: But...but...can't we please go somewhere else?

MAGGIE: All right, now remember: when he gets here, I'll do the talking.

ANGELA: Well, yeah. Obviously. What is this meeting even about, again?

Maggie starts to explain, but the Waitress comes bounding forward, menus in hand.

WAITRESS: Welcome to the Pizza Dome! Two?

MAGGIE: Yeah. Well, three, we're meeting someone.

WAITRESS: Okay then.

The Waitress turns and looks over the sea of empty tables.

WAITRESS: You can pretty much sit anywhere you want.

Maggie leads the way, choosing the closest table. She and Angela sit -- Angela with her back to the front door -- while the Waitress passes out menus.

WAITRESS: What would you like to drink?

MAGGIE: We'll have water.

ANGELA: Doc--uh, yeah, water.

The Waitress heads off to get said water.

ANGELA: Why am I having water?

MAGGIE: Because it's free, and the company's paying for this meeting. And anything they deem an "extravagance" they won't pay for.

ANGELA: Caffeine is an extravagance?

MAGGIE: Maybe, maybe not. But I'm not taking the chance.

ANGELA: O...kay.

The Waitress comes back with two glasses of water. She sets them before her customers.

WAITRESS: Ready to order, or are you waiting?

MAGGIE: We'll wait.

WAITRESS: Okay.

She starts to head to the back, seems to realize she has nothing to do back there, and instead sits at an empty table.

Angela looks through the menu.


ANGELA: Are we getting a pizza, or would cheese be considered an extravagance?

MAGGIE: Where is he? He left right after we did.

ANGELA: Why didn't we just take one car?

MAGGIE: Because he just bought a new car and insisted on driving himself, and I'm not riding with him again. He's a terrible driver.

Maggie reaches into her purse and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She starts to light one, but...

WAITRESS: Um, ma'am, there's no smoking.

MAGGIE: Of course.

She stands.

MAGGIE: I'm gonna smoke this outside and wait. You don't smoke, do you?

ANGELA: No.

MAGGIE: Smart girl. You wait here, then.

ANGELA: Yeah, I'll make sure no one steals our table.

Maggie leaves.

Angela looks from the door to the waitress, who cracks her gum.


ANGELA: ...Yeah.

She unzips her binder-thing and pulls out the book Rebecca was reading. She cracks it open.

WAITRESS: You guys are my first customers in two hours.

ANGELA: Really?

WAITRESS: Yup.

ANGELA: Wow.

The Waitress pops her gum.

Angela's cell phone rings. She checks the incoming number, then answers it.


ANGELA: Hello there. ... I'm fine. You feeling better? You don't sound like it. ... At the moment, I'm at my lunch meeting, waiting for our opponent to arrive. ... Where? Oh, don't ask. Did you need something? ... No, I'm not trying to get rid of you, Rebecca, but it sounds like it hurts you to speak, so I'm trying to get to the point as quickly as possible. ... On Jason's game, you mean? ... "Interactive fiction," right, right. No, the chapel is far as you can get right now. He's not finished. ... As soon as he gets back, I imagine. ... Okay then. I'll talk to you later, okay? You try and get some sleep; don't stay up all afternoon watching game shows. ... Because I know you. ... All right, later.

She hangs up and returns to her book.

WAITRESS: You need some more water?

Angela looks at her glass, which hasn't been touched.

ANGELA: Uh, no. Thank you.

WAITRESS: Okay. You need anything, you just holler.

ANGELA: Will do.

WAITRESS: Okay.

The Waitress gets up and heads for the back again, but the door opens.

It's Louis.


WAITRESS: Hey, Louis.

Angela cringes and brings her book up higher to attempt to cover her face.

Louis doesn't even look in her direction, though.


LOUIS: Hey...you. Carlton here?

WAITRESS: In the office. Here for your check?

LOUIS: Yeah.

WAITRESS: I'll get it.

LOUIS: Thanks.

The Waitress goes to the back.

Angela brings the book a little closer to her face.

Louis is still not looking at her, though. He drums his fingers on an empty table.

The Waitress comes back with an envelope. She hands it to Louis.


WAITRESS: Here you go.

LOUIS: Thank you much.

Heading for the door, he opens it and starts to examine the contents.

WAITRESS: Hey, Melissa was telling me you told her a funny joke yesterday.

LOUIS: Yeah?

Louis stops walking. He's right next to Angela's table now, but he's still looking at his paycheck.

WAITRESS: Yeah, another one of those Helen Keller ones.

LOUIS: Oh, yeah. I did.

WAITRESS: Well, what was it?

LOUIS: She didn't tell you?

WAITRESS: She couldn't remember.

LOUIS: Uh, let's see...oh yeah. Why did Helen Keller's dog kill himself?

WAITRESS [breathless anticipation]: Why?

LOUIS: You'd kill yourself, too, if your name was...

He trails off when he finally sees Angela.

LOUIS: Hey.

ANGELA [trying nonchalance, and failing]: Hey.

WAITRESS: Huh?

LOUIS: Oh, uh...I forgot.

WAITRESS: Uh-huh.

She goes to the back.

LOUIS: How's it going?

Angela puts her book down.

ANGELA: It's...going. How about you?

LOUIS: It's going. How's the house treating you?

ANGELA: Oh, it's gr--...it's, uh, it's okay.

LOUIS: Yeah.

ANGELA: It's a nice house.

LOUIS: You with that frigid chick outside?

ANGELA: Uh, yeah. The frigid chick.

LOUIS: Is it all right if I sit down?

ANGELA: Uh...sure. Go ahead.

He does.

LOUIS: How's everybody doing? I haven't talked to anyone but Patrick, and that was months ago.

ANGELA: They're fine. Jason's in Florida right now.

LOUIS: With his dad?

ANGELA: Yeah. And Michael's brother got out of prison.

LOUIS: Really? Cool.

ANGELA: Oh yeah. Cool.

LOUIS: Ya know, it's okay if they want to call me or something. They don't have to avoid me.

ANGELA: When you left, you punched Patrick in the face and said "I never want to speak to any of you again."

LOUIS: Did I say that?

ANGELA: Yes. Yelled it, actually.

LOUIS: Oh. Yeah. I remember now. I've been doing a lot of drinking since then.

ANGELA: Yeah.

LOUIS: "I never want to speak..." Yeah, I didn't mean it. Well, I did. But I don't anymore.

ANGELA: Okay.

LOUIS: Except for Jason.

ANGELA: Huh?

LOUIS: I meant it for Jason. I don't want to talk to Jason.

ANGELA: ...'kay.

LOUIS: I know he was behind throwing me out of there. The others may have agreed, eventually, but it was his idea.

ANGELA: Well...Louis...

LOUIS: And he'd been planning it for months.

ANGELA: I don't think that's true.

LOUIS: No? It was Jason's idea to move you in to replace me, wasn't it?

ANGELA: No, it was Michael's.

LOUIS: Bullshit.

ANGELA: No -- trust me, I was there. It was Mike's idea.

LOUIS: And Jason signed on pretty fucking quick, didn't he?

ANGELA: Well...yeah.

LOUIS: I'll bet he did.

Louis turns in his chair so he no longer directly faces Angela. Angela, for her part, is getting pissed.

ANGELA: Look, I understand wanting to blame someone, okay, but this conspiracy theory is just dumb. Your friends aren't plotting against you. And Jason isn't as sneaky and deceptive as you're making him out to be.

LOUIS: Oh, really?

ANGELA: Yes.

A dark look crosses Louis's face. The look of a villain who's reached upon the perfect evil solution to destroy the hero once and for all. He turns back to look at her again, and speaks with a voice full of venom.

LOUIS: You think so?

ANGELA: Yes!

LOUIS: Well, then--

ANGELA: What?

LOUIS: Then maybe...

He trails off. The poison seems to fade from his face: he can't do it.

Angela's look softens, too.


ANGELA: ...What?

LOUIS: Maybe...I don't know. I don't know. I...nothing's there. I have nothing.

ANGELA: Okay...

LOUIS: You're right.

ANGELA: Okay.

He stands.

LOUIS: I'm...gonna go. Tell Mike to call me.

ANGELA: Sure.

LOUIS: See ya 'round.

ANGELA: See you.

He leaves. As he does, Maggie comes back in.

MAGGIE: He's not coming.

ANGELA: What?

MAGGIE: His brand-new car? Won't start. He's having it towed to the dealership. We've rescheduled for tomorrow.

ANGELA: Okay. But promise me--

MAGGIE: We won't come here. Promise.

ANGELA: Thank you.

MAGGIE: All right. Now let's go somewhere where we can get real food.

ANGELA: Good idea.

Angela scoops up her things, and the two of them head outside.

As soon as they're gone, the Waitress comes back.


WAITRESS: Oh...hell!


Scene 3 -- the house, a short time later

Rebecca is sitting on the couch, still in her bathrobe, and still looking like crap. She's holding Patrick's acoustic guitar.

Sitting to her immediate left is a small garbage can, which we can see is full of tissues. The box is on the table.

She idly strums a few simple chords while looking at the television.


REBECCA: All right, Daily Double.

Her voice sounds worse than it did before. Scratchy and hideous.

REBECCA: Wager it all, man. All of it. [he doesn't] Oh, you pansy.

She plucks a light melody while watching for a few more moments.

REBECCA: Oh, Argentina. What is Argentina? Come on, you bastard, Argentina! You idiot. You're gonna lose your piddly two grand. Argentina! [it's not] ...Oh. Oops. Oh, shut up, Trebek, you smug motherf--

The front door opens and Patrick enters, carrying both a box and a shopping bag.

PATRICK: I thought you were going to try and get some sleep.

REBECCA: I did try. I failed.

PATRICK: And you're taking out your frustration by covering my guitar with your sickness?

REBECCA [strums a power chord]: Hell hath no fury like a woman with a cold.

PATRICK: Right. Here. [hands her bag] I know the stuff we have tastes terrible.

She pulls a bottle of cherry-flavored cough syrup from the bag.

REBECCA: You bought me cough medicine?

PATRICK: Yeah. Well, I bought it for everyone. You just happen to be the one sick right now.

REBECCA: Thanks.

PATRICK: No problem. It was on the way.

REBECCA: You get your CDs?

PATRICK: Sure did.

He sits in the chair to the left and makes an attempt to open the box. The lid is taped shut, so he pulls out his keys and tries to cut through. Rebecca talks to the TV again.

REBECCA: What is Baltimore? [she's right] Yeah.

PATRICK: Beating the contestants again?

REBECCA: Well, I think I'd be something like eight thousand dollars in the hole, but that's skewed, because unlike them, I answer every question. And I'm full of medication.

PATRICK: Of course.

He manages to get the box open.

REBECCA: Who is Chaucer? [right again] Aw yeah.

Patrick takes a CD out and looks at it, a smile forming across his face.

REBECCA: So?

PATRICK: Looks pretty good.

REBECCA: Cool. You now have official recordings of your music.

PATRICK: Yeah. I figure, I sell these at gigs, ten bucks a pop, make my money back easy.

REBECCA: Sounds like a good plan.

PATRICK: Yep. Now I just need gigs in front of more than nine people, and I'll be set.

REBECCA: And you need a new bass player. Chad is an idiot.

PATRICK: Yeah. ...You know, you could--

REBECCA: No, I couldn't. We've talked about this.

PATRICK: I know. I was just throwing it out there again.

REBECCA: And I'm shooting it -- What is the Tasmanian devil? [she's right] Yeah. -- I'm shooting it down. I don't play anymore.

PATRICK: She says, holding my guitar.

REBECCA: And I don't want to be in your band.

PATRICK: All right.

REBECCA: You should have put that one song on your CD.

PATRICK: ..."Free Bird"?

REBECCA: No, that song that I wrote with you.

PATRICK: Ah. "Within."

REBECCA: Yeah.

PATRICK: I did.

REBECCA: You did?

He hands the disc he's holding to her. She reads the label.

REBECCA: Hey, you did!

PATRICK: Yeah.

REBECCA: "All songs written by P. Jones, except 'Within' by P. Jones and R. Morgan." You gave me credit!

PATRICK: Of course I did.

REBECCA: And I'm a published songwriter now -- cool! [half-kidding] What's my royalty cut?

PATRICK: Hey, I bought you cough syrup.

REBECCA: You bought us cough syrup.

The front door opens and Michael enters.

MICHAEL: Hey.

PATRICK: You're home early.

MICHAEL: Yeah.

PATRICK: How come?

MICHAEL: Don't ask.

REBECCA: Did they make you come home?

MICHAEL: No. I still have a job. For what it's worth.

Patrick holds out a CD.

PATRICK: Here's your copy.

MICHAEL: Thank you, sir. [looks at label] Only nine tracks?

PATRICK: That's all I had ready to record.

MICHAEL: Excuses, excuses.

REBECCA: I talked to Angela, she said that the chapel's as far as Jason's written.

MICHAEL: Explains why I was stuck.

REBECCA: Yeah, I--

She cuts off with an explosion of coughing.

PATRICK: Yeesh. Go to bed, girl.

REBECCA: Yeah, I think I'm -- Who is Curtis Flood? [she's right] Yeah.

The front door opens. Angela enters.

ANGELA: Hey everybody.

ALL: Hey.

MICHAEL: How was your meeting?

ANGELA: Called on account of engine failure. Mercifully.

Patrick hands her a CD.

PATRICK: And here's your disc.

ANGELA: Ah, thank you.

MICHAEL: Say, Patrick...

PATRICK: Your sunglasses are in your room.

MICHAEL: Okay...

PATRICK: And those Stones discs are in your room, too.

MICHAEL: And the living room...?

PATRICK: It'll be done.

MICHAEL: All right.

PATRICK: You took the rent?

MICHAEL: Yeah. Well, what I didn't blow on coke and whores.

PATRICK: Obviously.

Rebecca stands, putting down the guitar and picking up her cough medicine.

REBECCA: Well, I'm going to take some medicine and try to pass out. Hopefully, I won't see you until tomorrow.

MICHAEL: We can hope.

REBECCA: See, it's funny when I say it, it's mean when you do.

MICHAEL: I know.

PATRICK: Feel better.

ANGELA: See ya.

Rebecca tries to answer, but only coughs more. She gives a thumbs up and exits to the hallway.

ANGELA: What time does Jason's plane come in?

MICHAEL: Nine-thirty.

ANGELA: 'kay.

Patrick takes his guitar and his box of discs and heads for the hallway.

PATRICK: I'll put this crap away...I'm gonna play something, so don't touch the TV.

MICHAEL: And don't forget--

PATRICK: Okay, mom! I'll clean up the damn living room.

MICHAEL: All right.

PATRICK: I will.


Scene 4 -- later that night

Patrick is sitting on the couch, playing a game. Angela sits in one of the chairs, reading.

The clutter on the table is...gone. Patrick actually did clean. It looks nicer now that we've ever seen it before.

Rebecca enters from the hallway, still in her bathrobe. She looks like she's been awake for about forty-five seconds. Or eight hundred years. Either/or.

She utters a moan.


ANGELA: Hey. Any luck sleeping?

REBECCA: Off and on. [sits on couch] Now I'm simultaneously starving and disgusted by the thought of food.

PATRICK: There's some soup left.

REBECCA: Oh goody.

PATRICK: I'm just saying, it's there.

REBECCA: Yeah. Is Jason back yet?

ANGELA: No. Michael's gone to pick him up, should be back anytime now.

REBECCA: Ah.

She elbows Patrick.

REBECCA: Your CD sounds good.

PATRICK: Thanks.

REBECCA: No problem.

Patrick puts the controller down.

PATRICK: I'm gonna make a sandwich. Anybody else want one?

ANGELA: No thanks.

REBECCA: I do. And yet I don't.

PATRICK: 'kay then.

He goes to the kitchen.

ANGELA: So when did you write that song with him?

REBECCA: Oh...two years ago? Sounds about right.

ANGELA: I like it.

REBECCA: Thanks.

ANGELA: It's kind of a sad song.

REBECCA: Yeah, I suppose. I wrote the words, he wrote the music.

ANGELA: Who's it about?

Rebecca only looks at her, sniffling.

ANGELA: All right. Forget it.

REBECCA: What did you want to talk to me about earlier?

ANGELA: Hmm?

REBECCA: This morning, when I almost killed myself sitting down. You wanted to talk about something.

ANGELA: Oh. Right. It's...nothing. Forget it.

REBECCA: Come on.

ANGELA: Well, it's...

REBECCA: Yeah? What?

ANGELA: Okay, you have to promise not to say anything to anyone else. 'Cause if I'm wrong, I'm gonna feel terrible. Okay? Promise?

REBECCA: Of course.

ANGELA: All right.

She takes a breath, considering her words.

ANGELA: The other night...Saturday...Jason and I were talking, and...we were talking about different stuff, and then...he stopped. He got this look on his face, you know, and it felt...it felt like he wanted to say something, and couldn't bring himself to do it. You know what I mean?

Rebecca's face is stone.

REBECCA: Uh...huh.

ANGELA: And this isn't the first time, really. It was just the first time I noticed it, but I've thinking...I think he's done that before, it just didn't register, ya know? It felt like he was trying to...like he wanted to....

Rebecca decides to go the "clueless" route.

REBECCA: What? Ask you out? Ha ha!

ANGELA: ...It felt heavier than that. A lot heavier.

REBECCA: Ah. Uh-huh.

ANGELA: Yeah. And I just thought...you guys have known him longer. Especially you, you know...maybe he's...maybe he said something to you?

Rebecca pauses a moment, considering. She sniffles. She fills time with a forced cough.

Then...


REBECCA: Not to me.

ANGELA: No?

REBECCA: Nope.

ANGELA: Yeah. It's probably just in my head, anyway.

She clearly doesn't mean that, and Rebecca knows it.

REBECCA: Yeah.

ANGELA: And you haven't...you know, noticed anything?

REBECCA: Can't say I have.

ANGELA: Right. Well, like I said -- don't tell anyone?

REBECCA: Right, of course not.

Patrick comes out of the kitchen with two plates, a sandwich on each. He hands one to Rebecca and sits.

PATRICK: If you want to, eat it. If not, don't.

REBECCA: Thank you.

She puts it on the table.

The front door opens, and Michael enters, carrying a suitcase.


MICHAEL: Don't ask.

PATRICK: Don't ask what?

Jason enters, carrying his other suitcase. He looks very tired. He also has a bandage over one eye.

PATRICK: Jesus, what happen--

JASON: Don't. Ask.

MICHAEL: I told you.

PATRICK: Okay.

ANGELA: How was your trip?

Jason responds with a string of unenthused, unintelligible mumbling -- something like, "Mmmphhggrhphgmhphm."

PATRICK: That good, huh?

JASON: Get your CDs?

PATRICK: Sure did. Got one set aside for you.

JASON: Cool.

ANGELA: Oh -- Jason. Your Floyd CD, it's still in my car. I forgot to get it, I'll go now before I forget again.

JASON: Well, it's not that...

But she's up and out the door.

JASON: ...right.

Rebecca stands and shuffles over to Jason.

REBECCA: You look like hell.

JASON: So do you.

REBECCA [indicating the bandage]: I told you, you gotta keep your left up in the later rounds.

JASON: And I told you to stop hanging around with victims of the Black Death.

She chuckles. She reaches up and takes his chin in her hand, pulling his face close to hers. She looks him directly in his uncovered eye.

REBECCA: She's on to ya, kid.

It takes Jason a second to understand, but he does. And something like horror creeps into his face. Rebecca releases him.

The door opens again and Angela returns, disc in hand. She hands it to Jason.


JASON: Thank you.

ANGELA: Right. So. What now?

Eyes turn to Jason.

JASON: ...I have no idea.

Lights out.