10. Tougher Than It Is

There is no such thing as you
It doesn't matter what you do
The more you try to qualify
The more it all will pass you by
Some people like to make life a little tougher than it is

Well, the more you try to shave the cat
The more the thing will bite and scratch
I think it's best to leave its fur
And listen to its silky purr
Some people like to make life a little tougher than it is

Cake

 

Prologue

The Author enters, carrying the same sign as before: RECAPPER WANTED, NO EXP. NECESSARY, APPLY NOW, FLEXIBLE HOURS!

He puts the sign down and addresses us.

AUTHOR: Hi there. Okay, a few things to go over from the last few episodes, then we can get on with it. Angela's dating Carl, the guy who works in the bookstore in town. Patrick's band has no bass player – his old guy quit, and Rebecca filled in, but only as a one-time gig. Rebecca is trying to write a novel for National Novel Writing Month, and Jason is struggling with his piece of interactive fiction.

What else? Let me think…Oh! Michael's brother, Carter, believes that their brother-in-law, Anthony, is cheating on their sister, California. Carter wants Michael to say something to Cali, since she won't believe him. And Michael believes that Jason slept with Vanessa, Angela's old roommate, at a party a few months ago. Jason won't confirm or deny that, though Michael taunts him about it.

Okay. That's all, I think. That was to-the-point, right? Nice and succinct, no wasting time, huh? Certainly better than before – I mean, I admit that—

There is a loud "AHEM" from backstage.

AUTHOR: Oh—right. Uh, anyway. This episode is called "Tougher Than It Is." It takes place about two weeks after the last episode, so it's mid-November. Enjoy.

He starts to exit, realizes he's forgotten his sign, picks it up, and exits.

 

Scene 1 – the house, Saturday morning.

The house is the same as it ever was, with one addition: we can see the rear speakers of a surround-sound stereo system on either side of the couch.

Angela and Patrick are sitting on the couch. She's reading a book – Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut – and he is clutching a Guitar Hero controller. He's playing frantically; we hear Megadeth's "Hangar 18."

Angela looks up from her book and watches him play for a few moments.

ANGELA: You're good.

PATRICK: Yes.

ANGELA: Really good. I suck. I'm stuck on Medium difficulty. This is Hard?

PATRICK: Expert.

ANGELA: Wow. Is that—

PATRICK [making mistakes]: Can't talk. No talking.

ANGELA: Ah. Right.

She watches him play for a few more moments. He starts making more mistakes.

ANGELA: Uh-oh.

PATRICK: Shut. Up.

He makes more mistakes. We hear the sound of booing underneath the song.

ANGELA: I think you're gonna—

He loses.

PATRICK: Fuck!

ANGELA: …Lose.

Patrick drops the guitar and holds his left hand.

ANGELA: Sorry.

PATRICK: Not your fault. Hard song.

He winces and flexes his hand in pain.

ANGELA: You've been playing a lot lately.

PATRICK: I have, yes.

ANGELA: How come?

PATRICK: It's fun.

He grimaces and cracks his knuckles, again wincing from the pain.

ANGELA: Oh, yeah, you're having a blast.

PATRICK: It's a fun game. If it wasn't fun, why would I be playing it so much?

He picks up the guitar again and starts cycling through the songs.

ANGELA: Shouldn't you be practicing?

PATRICK: I am.

ANGELA: I mean your real guitar.

PATRICK: Oh.

ANGELA: You've got that party coming up in less than a week.

PATRICK: Yeah, I know. I'll be fine. Trust me.

ANGELA: Have you found a bass player yet?

PATRICK: It's taken care of.

ANGELA: Who?

PATRICK: It's taken care of.

He cycles through more songs.

PATRICK: Let's see. Well, looks like it's Megadeth again.

ANGELA: You're going to injure yourself.

PATRICK: To hell with my fingers – they can't survive Dave Mustaine's guitar wankery, they don't deserve to live.

ANGELA: Okay, seriously? What is going on?

PATRICK: Nothing.

Angela smirks.

ANGELA: I was watching Michael play earlier. He's pretty good.

PATRICK: He's excellent.

ANGELA: Ah-ha.

PATRICK: Oh, like that was hard to figure out.

ANGELA: So that's what this is? Patrick versus Michael, round 342?

PATRICK: 347, thank you.

ANGELA: Is this eternal pissing contest between you two ever going to end?

PATRICK: Of course.

ANGELA: Really?

PATRICK: Yeah. One of us has to die eventually.

ANGELA: I don't get it. You two are friends.

PATRICK: Of course we are.

ANGELA: So why do you two turn everything into a competition?

PATRICK: Everything is a competition.

ANGELA: No it isn't.

PATRICK: Yes, it is.

ANGELA: I don't treat everything like it's a competition.

PATRICK: Which is why you lose.

ANGELA: I don't lose.

PATRICK: What difficulty are you stuck on again?

Beat.

ANGELA: You dodged the question.

PATRICK: Which question was that?

ANGELA: You and Michael.

PATRICK: What about us?

ANGELA: What's the whole thing about?

PATRICK: What? We feud. We beef. Always have.

ANGELA: I bet you haven't always. Something happened there.

PATRICK: Don't know. Been beefin' so long, it's hard to remember exactly how it started. Knowutamsayin'?

ANGELA: That's not true.

PATRICK: No. But it wasn't one thing. It just…happened. It's no big deal.

ANGELA: If it's no big deal, then why all the posturing?

PATRICK: There's no posturing.

Angela points at the guitar controller.

PATRICK: That's not posturing.

ANGELA: You're going end up breaking your hand and ruining your gig.

PATRICK: Eh. Last gig, I sprained my wrist, it turned out fine.

ANGELA: [scoffs] Boys.

PATRICK: Hey, don't try to tell me you've never had a rivalry with someone.

ANGELA: Not like this. My rivalries had a point, they had a goal.

PATRICK: Exactly. Our rivalry is just for the sake of a rivalry. Cheap pettiness becomes an art form.

The front door opens, and Michael enters.

ANGELA: Ah, there's your archrival now.

PATRICK: Hey.

MICHAEL: Beat "Misirlou" yet?

PATRICK: Of course I did.

MICHAEL: Beat "Hangar 18" yet?

PATRICK: …No.

MICHAEL: Ah. Well, that's a tough one.

PATRCK: Shut up.

ANGELA: Hey, do you know where Jason and Rebecca are?

MICHAEL: Nope. But, hey, Patrick, you gotta hear this.

He's interrupted as the door opens. Rebecca and Jason walk in.

ANGELA: There they are.

Rebecca looks sad. She trudges into the room in an extremely mopey fashion.

MICHAEL: What's wrong?

REBECCA: Phil Collins died.

PATRICK: What?

REBECCA: Yeah. Last night.

PATRICK: But—I mean—how?

REBECCA: [shrugs] Don't know. Just happened. Went to sleep, didn't wake up.

PATRICK: That's unbelievable.

REBECCA: I know.

PATRICK: Man. There goes a Genesis reunion tour, huh?

Everyone looks at him oddly for a minute.

PATRICK: What? I liked Genesis.

Michael leans in.

MICHAEL: I'm pretty sure she's talking about her cat, dude.

It takes a moment, but…

PATRICK: Oh! Oh, okay. Yeah, that's—all right. Yeah, my fault. Okay. Sorry. I didn't—yeah, that makes more sense now.

ANGELA: Sorry, Rebecca.

REBECCA: Yeah.

MICHAEL: Well, you know, he was pretty old.

REBECCA: He wasn't that old.

JASON: Now, now…

REBECCA: He wasn't!

MICHAEL: The cat was old enough to vote, Rebecca. He was ancient.

REBECCA: …I know. But still, we had that cat forever.

PATRICK: Sorry, Rebecca.

Everyone else also offers condolences.

Rebecca sees that Patrick is holding the Guitar Hero controller.

REBECCA: Shouldn't you be practicing your real guitar?

PATRICK: Yeah, Angela's already put me through this.

MICHAEL: And he would be practicing his real guitar, he would, but he's having trouble getting off the couch, what with the weight of his massive ego.

PATRICK: Har har.

ANGELA: What were you going to say, Michael? Before Rebecca and Jason came in?

MICHAEL: Hmm? Oh, right. Something I read in the newspaper.

He pulls a cut-out newspaper article from his pocket.

MICHAEL: From the prestigious Bazemore Sun.

Everyone snickers but Angela.

ANGELA: Not a widely-read paper?

JASON: The only ones who read it are the mothers of the reporters.

MICHAEL: I only grabbed it 'cause I saw the headline.

PATRICK: Which is?

MICHAEL: "Bazemore announces construction of new football stadium."

PATRICK: For the high school?

MICHAEL: No. For our Arena League team. Yes, for the high school.

REBECCA: Wow. They're tearing down the old one, I guess?

MICHAEL: Yeah.

PATRICK: Why is this front-page news? The school built that new baseball stadium last year, no one wrote about it.

MICHAEL: 'Cause they're not fucking around this time – it's some ludicrously start-of-the-art thing. Gonna cost over fourteen million dollars.

JASON: Fourteen million dollars?

REBECCA: For a damn high school football stadium?

MICHAEL: Yep.

REBECCA: That's ridiculous.

ANGELA: It does seem a little much. For high school football?

MICHAEL: Doesn't seem that bad to me.

PATRICK: Nah, not really. I mean, if you're gonna do it…

REBECCA: That doesn't seem like a huge waste to you?

PATRICK: What else are they supposed to do with the money?

JASON: Fund the drama department. For 200 years.

REBECCA: Raise teacher salaries, improve after-school programs, get new school buses, feed and clothe the poor and homeless.

PATRICK: That last one's not really a school thing.

REBECCA: I don't care!

MICHAEL: Look. I don't know about the homeless thing, but let us not forget how much money the school and the city pull in from football, okay? Like, bajillions of dollars. Which goes to pay for all those other things.

JASON: Then why aren't they doing those other things?

MICHAEL: 'Cause a new football stadium's cooler.

REBECCA: Obviously.

PATRICK: And hey, they needed a new football stadium. The other one's gotta be eighty years old.

MICHAEL: Sixty-eight. Says so in the article.

PATRICK: Yeah, that's pretty old.

JASON: Well, it wasn't a paragon of stability any longer, no, but I didn't think it was that bad.

PATRICK: [wistfully] I almost left the best years of my life on that field.

The others, but Angela, scoff.

ANGELA: What do you mean?

MICHAEL: Don't tell this fucking story again.

PATRICK: I broke my ankle on the thirty yard line.

REBECCA: You sprained your ankle.

PATRICK: I broke it.

REBECCA, MICHAEL, JASON: It was a sprain.

Patrick considers for a moment, then back to Angela:

PATRICK: It was very severe sprain. Any more of a sprain, it would've been a break.

JASON: Of course, right, yeah, sure.

PATRICK: Silence!

ANGELA: How'd you sprain your ankle on the thirty yard line? Did you play football?

PATRICK: Oh yeah.

ANGELA: Really?

PATRICK: Yeah. Free safety. Jason was strong safety.

ANGELA: Ah. Joking.

JASON: Wait, why is it only obviously a joke when I'm playing, too?

PATRICK: I was in the marching band.

ANGELA: Oh. Of course. What did you play?

PATRICK: …The trombone.

REBECCA: No, you didn't.

PATRICK: Yes. I. Did.

REBECCA: No. You. Didn't. I played the trombone.

ANGELA: What did you play? Come on. Is it embarrassing?

PATRICK: No.

ANGELA: Then?

PATRICK: It's difficult to explain.

ANGELA: How could it be difficult to explain? It's a musical instrument.

PATRICK: I played the euphonium.

ANGELA: The…oh. The euphonum. Right. I know what that is.

PATRICK: The euphonium.

ANGELA: Right, right.

PATRICK: Never heard of it, have you?

ANGELA: Not as such, no.

JASON: Neither has anyone else in the world. Except euphonium players, it seems.

PATRICK: And we spend most of our time trying to convince the rest of the world our instrument actually exists.

REBECCA: It's the orchestral equivalent of being abducted by aliens.

PATRICK: Thank you for that.

REBECCA: You're welcome.

ANGELA: Why'd you pick the euphonium?

PATRICK: I didn't. I picked the trumpet. But I stopped playing that.

ANGELA: Why?

PATRICK: They made me.

ANGELA: They made you.

PATRICK: In eighth grade, they took me aside and said, "Please, Patrick, please, never ever play the trumpet again. Please."

ANGELA: Oh.

PATRICK: So they took my trumpet away, and gave me this miniature tuba, which weighs five times as much as a trumpet and had a name that sounded like one of the elements in Kryptonite. But anyway. My point was my ankle, which I broke—

ALL: Sprained.

PATRICK: Sprained on the thirty yard line. There was some kind of pit in the field, just a little hole in the ground, and one of my spots during our halftime show put my left foot halfway in the hole and halfway out of it. So, every Friday night, I had to risk my own foot in the name of marching excellence. I kept saying something, but they didn't fix it. Not until after the season was over.

ANGELA: Why didn't you just…not step in the hole?

PATRICK: Because then I would have been out of my spot.

ANGELA: Like, four inches.

PATRICK: Too far.

REBECCA: When you're carrying a euphonium, it's easy to tell when someone's not exactly where they're supposed to be.

MICHAEL: It's big and shiny.

PATRICK: And plus, I wanted to be in my spot. I mean, if I was going to suffer through practice every day, if I was going to suffer through band class every day, I at least was going to do it right. Otherwise, my pain would have been wasted.

ANGELA: So you stepped in the hole.

PATRICK: Half in, half out of it, every home game for an entire season. And at the last game, my foot slipped on the grass – 'cause it was kinda wet – and jammed itself right into that hole. And my ankle twisted inside the pit like a little corkscrew, and it got…sprained. Very, very badly.

ANGELA: What'd you do?

MICHAEL: Fell on his face.

PATRICK: I did not.

REBECCA: No, he stayed upright. Though everyone could see what had happened – I was right behind him, with the other trombones, and I saw him do this up-and-down kinda bouncing thing, and he almost fell on his face.

PATRICK: I stayed up, though. I finished the show.

ANGELA: With a sprained ankle?

PATRICK: Yeah. I didn't do much more marching; I kinda limped from spot to spot, and I was constantly four beats behind everyone else in the formation. And I didn't play another note, what with the moaning in pain. But I finished the set.

JASON: Which was only another twenty seconds or so. But still.

ANGELA: Wow.

MICHAEL: Eh. I like my version better.

PATRICK: You would.

ANGELA: I guess everyone was pretty impressed.

PATRICK: Not really.

ANGELA: No?

PATRICK: No, they hated me.

ANGELA: Why? [playfully] I thought you band nerds stuck together.

REBECCA: A common misconception.

PATRICK: That's what people think, because people don't know. But the high school band is just as fractured and filled with in-fighting as the rest of the school. In fact, it's worse, because these people are forced to interact with one another on a daily basis and in frequent high-pressure situations. And while everyone loves the stereotype of the band nerd, it doesn't really exist – the band's just a, just a…just a…Rebecca?

REBECCA: Microcosm.

PATRICK: Yeah, microcosm. The band's just a microcosm of the rest of the student body. You've got your preps, your slackers, your jocks, your nerds, and the fuzzy people in the middle who don't indentify with anyone, just like outside the band. Only now we're crammed together, forced to wear dumb-looking hats and uncomfortable uniforms, playing music while marching around in the heat and humidity all the time, and when we're done we're blessed with each other's company, only everyone hates each other, so we're all fractured into these little groups, just like the rest of the school, where the like-minded bond together to fight against the rest of the assholes, except you can't really fight them, because they're "on your side" and you have to be a "unit" or whatever other horseshit the band director throws at you that week to motivate you, and the fucking band director, he's the real problem, because underneath the rest of the typical high school bullshit, the one thing that actually unites these kids is that on some level they all want to play music, that's why they joined the damn band in the first place, but the fucking band director is only concerned about adding prestige to his resume on the off-chance he can get out of this shithole town and find a real job, so he has to "motivate" you, but the only way he knows how to "motivate" you is by acting like a goddamn drill instructor, so the band turns into this lunatic Lord of the Flies with goofy hats and musical instruments where the special ones, the ones who play the bad music well enough to make it look like the director knows what he's doing, they're treated as princes, or princesses, these great legendary things that can lord over the rest of them, and if you're one of the lower ones, the ones on the bottom, the ones who maybe might have something else to do in their fucking life other than practice fucking Shostakovich for nine hours a day, you're treated like some reject, like some cast-off wannabe who should be thankful you get to be in the band, like it's some fucked-up Skull and Bones society, while the band director uses those same old stupid drill instructor tactics of rage and humiliation to drill you into subordination and obedience, and by the end of a four-year tour-of-high-school-duty, you're lucky if he hasn't crushed the very love of music out of you, you're lucky if you can even listen to music anymore, because it's all been swallowed by the damn band, by the damn director, because he's taken the simple love and joy of playing music and twisted it into yet another high school bullshit nightmare, and when you graduate you just want to throw your goofy hat in his face and say, "Blow it out your ass, motherfucker!"

Patrick finishes his rant, breathing very heavily. The others stare at him in silence for quite a long time.

Rebecca puts her arms on Patrick's shoulders.

REBECCA: Patrick?

PATRICK: Yeah?

REBECCA: How long have you been waiting to get that out, honey?

PATRICK: Oh…halfway through sophomore year, I guess.

REBECCA: Uh-huh. You feel better?

PATRICK: …Yeah, actually, I do.

REBECCA: You want some cake? There's some cake in the fridge.

PATRICK: Ooh, cake. Sure.

She leads him – gently, ever so gently – to the kitchen.

ANGELA: I'm…sorry I asked.

JASON: He…takes music pretty seriously.

MICHAEL: And he's really repressed.

ANGELA: I see that.

JASON: You should have been there while he was actually in band.

ANGELA: Why didn't he just quit, if he hated it that much?

MICHAEL: He's a masochist.

JASON: Rebecca.

MICHAEL: Yeah. Her, too.

ANGELA: They were that serious, huh?

JASON: For a little while. Kinda. I guess. It was off-and-on serious.

ANGELA: Why'd they break up?

JASON: Not my place to say.

MICHAEL: Nor mine. And they won't tell you, either.

ANGELA: Argh! Why does everything with Patrick have to be such a secret?

MICHAEL: What else with Patrick is a secret?

ANGELA: Oh, I was asking him earlier why the two of you fight so much.

MICHAEL: No reason. I just do it for malice.

ANGELA: That's nonsense.

JASON: [to Angela] Oh, that reminds me – Stop Making Sense comes on tonight.

ANGELA: That's my favorite movie!

JASON: I know.

ANGELA: What channel?

JASON: One of the HD channels.

ANGELA: So it'll be in HD?

JASON: Yep.

ANGELA: Yay! I've been looking everywhere for the DVD, but I can't find it.

JASON: It comes on at ten, I think. We can make that expensive gourmet popcorn that Patrick bought.

ANGELA: Oh—oh. Um, actually, I can't watch it tonight. I have…plans.

JASON: Oh. Oh. Okay. That's fine.

ANGELA: Sorry.

JASON: No, no, don't be sorry.

ANGELA: Does it come on again?

JASON: I don't think so. But it's okay. I'll DVR it, we can watch it later.

ANGELA: Okay.

JASON: All right then.

ANGELA: Cool.

JASON: Great.

A cell phone rings. Surprisingly, Michael reaches into his pocket and pulls out the ringing phone. He answers it.

MICHAEL: Yeah? … Hey, Carter. … Yeah. Okay. … Sure. … Two-thirty. … Yeah, I'll call. … See ya.

He hangs up.

ANGELA: When did you get a cell phone?

MICHAEL: Last week.

ANGELA: What kind is it?

MICHAEL: It's…uh…a phone kind. I don't know.

ANGELA: Is it a camera phone?

MICHAEL: No.

ANGELA: Play mp3s?

MICHAEL: No.

ANGELA: Web surfing?

MICHAEL: No.

ANGELA: What can it do?

MICHAEL: Send and receive telephone calls.

ANGELA: Hmm. What are those, again? Those are like text messages with sound, right?

MICHAEL: Right. So, I need you guys to leave.

JASON: …Um, what?

MICHAEL: I need you to leave. Rebecca!

JASON: Uh…

Rebecca comes out from the kitchen.

REBECCA: Yeah?

MICHAEL: I kinda need everybody to leave. Carter's coming over, we're having a kind of family thing.

JASON: So why don't you leave? Have you family thing at Wal-Mart something.

MICHAEL: Jason, please.

ANGELA: Is everything okay?

MICHAEL: It is now. I can't imagine it will be for long.

JASON: I can't just stay in my room?

MICHAEL: Didn't you say you needed to go to the grocery store today, anyway? It is your turn.

JASON: Well…yeah…but….

MICHAEL: Then go now. That'll give me a little while. I just need an hour, maybe two. Please.

REBECCA: All right, Michael. We'll all go to the grocery store.

JASON: But…

REBECCA: Patrick!

Patrick comes out, still eating a piece of cake.

PATRICK [mouth full]: Yeah?

REBECCA: We're going to the grocery store.

PATRICK: It's his turn.

REBECCA: We're all going. Michael needs the house for a while.

PATRICK: But…I'm eating cake.

REBECCA: You can bring it with you. Come on.

PATRICK: Oh, all right…

The four of them start gathering up keys and things.

JASON: So what's this about, anyway?

MICHAEL: Carter's trying to start trouble.

JASON: Big surprise.

MICHAEL: Tell me about it.

They head for the door.

ANGELA: Good luck.

MICHAEL: Thanks.

JASON: Don't let Carter get drunk and break things.

MICHAEL: Get drunk and break things? Can he do one or the other?

JASON: Ha ha.

REBECCA: Let's go, people.

PATRICK [mouth full]: Yeah, yeah.

REBECCA: See ya.

MICHAEL: Yeah.

Rebecca, Patrick and Angela exit. Jason remains behind.

JASON: Do I really have to go?

MICHAEL: No. But if you don't, I'll tell Angela you slept with Vanessa.

JASON: Who says I slept with Vanessa?

MICHAEL: I did.

JASON: But you don't know that that's true.

MICHAEL: Doesn't matter.

JASON: That's cruel. That's mean.

MICHAEL: Desperate times.

Beat.

JASON: You win.

MICHAEL: I always do.

Jason exits. But before he does, he turns back.

JASON: You know, I couldn't tell if you were serious just now.

MICHAEL: Me neither.

JASON: Is everything all right?

MICHAEL: No.

JASON: Well. Be careful.

He exits.

Michael looks around the house.

MICHAEL: …Fuck.

 

Scene 2 – the grocery store, later that afternoon

We represent the grocery store with a simple backdrop, painted to represent half of a grocery aisle. No need to get fancy. Soft rock plays in the background, very faintly. The light is sickly pale – yay for fluorescents.

Angela is looking at the shelves, her back to us. She's got a shopping list in her hand, which she consults occasionally. The shopping cart is near her, just to her right; we see it's partially filled with groceries. Patrick is sitting in the cart, perched on the basket at the back. He's scribbling in a small notebook.

ANGELA: [without looking away from the shelves] You know, if someone sees you, you're going to get in trouble.

PATRICK: [without looking up from notebook] Oh no. I might get detention.

ANGELA: What was that Radiohead video where they're riding around the store in shopping carts?

PATRICK: Uh…"High and Dry"? I don't know. Jason's the Radiohead fan.

ANGELA: I don't think that was it.

PATRICK: I don't know.

Rebecca enter from right, jar of spaghetti sauce in hand.

REBECCA: Is this it?

PATRICK: [looks up, then back down] Yeah. That the biggest jar they have?

REBECCA: Biggest one I saw.

PATRICK: Okay.

She puts the jar in the cart. She looks at his notebook.

REBECCA: Whatcha writing?

PATRICK: Set list.

REBECCA: Ah. For the big barn show.

PATRICK: Yeah.

REBECCA: You've never played a gig in a barn before, have you?

PATRICK: I don't believe I've ever set foot in a barn before.

REBECCA: Kinda weird, having a party in a barn.

PATRICK: Doesn't matter much to me. What do you think is a better opener, "Come Together" or "Gimme Shelter"?

REBECCA: "Come Together."

PATRICK: Yeah…yeah. Maybe.

REBECCA: So, are you and Danny gonna play a White Stripes show, or are you going to beg me to play bass for you again?

PATRICK: Don't need to.

REBECCA: Why not?

PATRICK: I got a bass player.

REBECCA: You – what?

PATRICK: I got a bass player.

REBECCA: What? When?

PATRICK: Couple weeks ago. I put an ad up in the guitar store, somebody answered it.

REBECCA: Who?

PATRICK: A guy from Texas City. You don't know him.

REBECCA: But – I mean, is he good? Some guy just says, "I can play bass," and you let him in?

PATRICK: No, Danny and me jammed with him first. He's good. [looks up] Is that okay?

REBECCA: It's – yeah, of course it's okay. What?

PATRICK: Okay.

REBECCA: Okay.

PATRICK: Okay.

REBECCA: How come you didn't say something before?

PATRICK: Didn't think about it.

REBECCA: You didn't – what?

PATRICK: I didn't think about it. Sorry.

ANGELA: Okay, Patrick, I'm not seeing this soup.

He looks back at the shelf at points.

PATRICK: There.

ANGELA: Oh. You said the can was blue.

PATRICK: I did? My bad.

She pulls the can off the shelf and puts it in the cart.

ANGELA: And why do we have to buy all this special food for you?

PATRICK: Yeah, I'm real picky – I only eat good food.

ANGELA: Weirdo.

Jason enters from right, pushing a shopping cart of his own. It's empty.

JASON: I hate this store.

PATRICK: Why is your cart empty?

JASON: I haven't really been shopping. Just kind of wandering around. We've got plenty of time to kill if we're staying away from the house.

ANGELA: Oh, what was that Radiohead video in the grocery store?

JASON: "Fake Plastic Trees."

ANGELA: Yes! That's it.

PATRICK: I thought "Fake Plastic Trees" was the one where the singer guy was underwater.

JASON: That's "No Surprises."

PATRICK: Oh, yeah. Well, you're the Radiohead fan.

ANGELA: Okay, I'm heading over to the produce department. You wanna come with me?

JASON: No, I'll swing by the cereal aisle. Pick up some Apple Jacks.

ANGELA: Okay. Come on, kiddo.

She pushes Patrick and the cart off stage left with an "oof." They exit.

JASON: You know, they see him like that, he's going to get in trouble.

She doesn't answer.

JASON: Rebecca?

REBECCA: Hmm?

JASON: You okay?

REBECCA: [no] Yeah.

JASON: What is it?

REBECCA: He hired a new bass player.

JASON: About time.

REBECCA: Yeah.

JASON: What?

REBECCA: Nothing.

Jason leans against the cart and simply waits for a moment. Sure enough:

REBECCA: He never bugged me about it again. After the last show.

JASON: You told him not to.

REBECCA: He never asked me.

JASON: …You told him not to do that, either.

REBECCA: Well. Yeah. But…

JASON: You told him to leave you alone and hire someone else.

REBECCA: Yeah, but I didn't think he'd do it.

JASON: Oh, you're kidding me.

REBECCA: What?

JASON: You wanted him to ask you?

REBECCA: …Yeah.

JASON: Oh, my god.

REBECCA: Shut up.

JASON: If you wanted to be in his band again, why didn't you just tell him that?

REBECCA: Because…then he'd win.

JASON: I don't believe you.

REBECCA: Oh, be quiet.

JASON: Let's go get some cereal.

REBECCA: It was fun playing in a band again.

JASON: I know.

REBECCA: Why does this have to be so difficult?

JASON: Because you make it that way. Not everything has to be a competition.

REBECCA: If you don't think it's a competition, you've already lost.

JASON: Christ. You're worse that he is.

REBECCA: Where do you think he got it?

They exit left.

The shelf backdrop is lifted and removed, revealing a different grocery store backdrop behind it. This is the produce department.

Angela enters in from right, still pushing Patrick in the shopping cart.

PATRICK: Hey, get some tomatoes.

ANGELA: They're not on the list.

PATRICK: No, but I just thought of something I can make. I'll need 'em.

ANGELA: Where'd you learn to cook?

PATRICK: My grandmother was a chef. Taught me everything she knew.

ANGELA: Really?

PATRICK: Yeah. Turns out she had just watched a bunch of episodes of The Frugal Gourmet. But she was good.

ANGELA: [reaching for tomatoes] And why'd—

PATRICK: Not those. The roma tomatoes.

ANGELA: The little ones?

PATRICK: Yeah.

ANGELA: Why'd she teach you?

PATRICK: Because my big sister refused to learn. Said she didn't want to conform to outdated, sexist stereotypes.

ANGLEA: Wow. How old was she?

PATRICK: Six.

ANGELA: Six?!

PATRICK: Yeah. Something tells me she was coached.

ANGELA: So you learned instead?

PATRICK: Grandma insisted.

ANGELA: It's a good skill to have.

PATRICK: I guess.

ANGELA: Impresses the ladies.

PATRICK: Never worked with Rebecca.

ANGELA: Well, she's a difficult lady to impress.

PATRICK: Tell me about it.

ANGELA: Jason said the only reason you stayed in band in high school was her.

PATRICK: Well. That's not entirely accurate.

ANGELA: No?

PATRICK: Rebecca was merely the most important of several reasons.

ANGELA: What where the others?

PATRICK: Spite. Defiance. Stubbornness. Malice, as Michael would say.

ANGELA: Those are the same reason.

PATRICK: Only to the untrained eye, my young Padawan.

Though those two don't see her, we spot Vanessa entering from left. She's wearing a long black jacket

She walks up to Angela.

VANESSA: Angela?

ANGELA: Oh – hi, Vanessa.

Angela isn't sure what to do, but Vanessa resolves that for her: she goes for a hug. Angela allows it, though she's surprised and a little uncomfortable. She'll remain slightly uncomfortable throughout the conversation – she never seems to know what to do with her hands.

ANGELA: Hey. Hey there.

VANESSA: [to Patrick] You know you're not supposed to do that.

PATRICK: That's what they keep saying.

VANESSA: So get out.

PATRICK: Ha ha.

VANESSA: No, I'm serious. They told me to tell you to get out of the cart.

ANGELA: You work here?

VANESSA: Yeah.

She pulls back the jacket to reveal her uniform and name tag.

VANESSA: Couple weeks now.

ANGELA: Cool.

VANESSA: I guess. [to Patrick] You gonna get out of the damn cart?

PATRICK: Yeah, yeah.

He gets out. He now leans on the cart, still focused on his notebook.

VANESSA: So. How've you been? How's life in that playhouse you guys have going?

ANGELA: Oh, it's fine. We're…we're fine.

VANESSA: I hear you're dating the bookstore guy.

ANGELA: I…well. It's only been a few weeks. It's not really…serious or anything.

VANESSA: Right.

ANGELA: How'd you hear about that?

VANESSA: Brian told me.

ANGELA: Brian knows?

VANESSA: Small town.

ANGELA: I guess. You guys are still together, then?

VANESSA: You haven't heard. We're getting married.

ANGELA: Really?

VANESSA: Uh-huh. Next month.

ANGELA: Um, wow. Congratulations.

VANESSA: Yeah.

ANGELA: Wow. I didn't think you guys were that serious.

VANESSA: Oh yeah, very serious. Getting married…having a baby…

ANGELA: You – you're pregnant?

VANESSA: [giddy] Uh-huh!

Angela makes a gesture that, to Vanessa, looks like an invitation to hug, so she goes for it.

ANGELA: Hey, more hugging.

VANESSA: [ending hug] I'm so happy.

ANGELA: Clearly.

VANESSA: I thought about calling and telling you, but I wasn't sure if you would still be mad at me.

ANGELA: If I…You were mad at me.

VANESSA: …I was?

ANGELA: Yeah.

VANESSA: I thought – oh well. Guess it's over now!

ANGELA: Guess so.

VANESSA: I'll have to make sure to send you guys wedding invitations.

ANGELA: Of course you will. Next month, you said?

VANESSA: Yeah, next month. Well, I gotta get back to work.

ANGELA: Oh, okay.

VANESSA: Nice seeing you again.

ANGELA: Yes. You, too.

VANESSA: Bye, Patrick.

PATRICK: Wait, Vanessa. Before you go, there's something I gotta ask you. But I want you to be honest, okay, don't spare my feelings.

VANESSA: Okay.

PATRICK: What's a better opener, "Come Together" or "Gimme Shelter"?

VANESSA: Do you guys play anything from after, like, 1978?

PATRICK: Sure. "Comfortably Numb." 1979.

VANESSA: Of course. See ya.

She exits.

PATRICK: She…She didn't answer the question.

ANGELA: Maybe because the answer is obvious.

PATRICK: Obviously "Come Together," or obviously "Gimme Shelter"?

ANGELA: Vanessa is going to have a baby. Should we be worried?

PATRICK: Hmm. Something my uncle likes to say come to mind.

ANGELA: Oh?

PATRICK: "And I looked and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him."

ANGELA: That bad, huh?

PATRICK: She drove her car into a pharmacy and seemed genuinely surprised when she got in trouble for it. She's Paris Hilton without the money or paparazzi.

ANGELA: I'm sure there are people less-equipped to be parents.

PATRICK: Name five.

ANGELA: And how is it Vanessa is getting married before me? Isn't that a violation of some fundamental law of nature? It's not supposed to happen that way. Karma is supposed to kick in at some point, right?

PATRICK: Well. She has lower standards than you. You're the erudite, well-read West Coast chick. She was pretty much born to never leave this ZIP code.

ANGELA: My, we're in a catty mood today.

PATRICK: This set list is a bitch.

ANGELA: Oh, for the love of – open the first set with "Come Together," open the second set with "Gimme Shelter," and close the show with "Rockin' in the Free World."

He looks at his set list, then back at her.

PATRICK: Will you marry me?

ANGELA: No. Let's go.

They start heading for the exit to the left.

PATRICK: You know, if you really want to get married before Vanessa, you could ask Jason. I'm sure he'd go for it.

ANGELA: Not funny.

PATRICK: Not even a little?

ANGELA: It's just not…fair.

PATRICK: I don't see what the big deal is. I mean, geez, it's not like a competition or anything.

She playfully punches him in the shoulder, which he oversells. They exit.

The backdrop is switched again. Rebecca and Jason enter from the left. Jason actually has items in his shopping cart.

REBECCA: [singing softly] I'm all lost in the supermarket…I can no longer shop happily…I came in here for that special offer…a guaranteed personality…

JASON: Can we go home yet?

REBECCA: [checks her watch] In a little while. Michael said to give him a couple hours.

JASON: Dammit.

REBECCA: Oh, what? It's not like you had anything to do today, anyway.

JASON: I did, actually.

REBECCA: Oh yeah? What?

JASON: Finishing my interactive fiction.

REBECCA: Right.

JASON: What?

REBECCA: You've been finishing it for three weeks. Are you ever going to finish finishing it?

JASON: I'm…tweaking. Tinkering. You know. Ironing out the finer details.

REBECCA: And you were going to do that this afternoon.

JASON: I was going to do it this morning, but I had to go to your kitty funeral.

REBECCA: Do not mock the death of Phil Collins. He was a very good friend to me.

JASON: He seemed to have that invisible touch, yeah? [off her look] Hey, that was a Genesis joke, not a Phil Collins joke.

REBECCA: You're not the only one who had things to do today.

JASON: Oh, really?

REBECCA: My novel, remember?

JASON: Right. How's that coming along? Up to two thousand words?

REBECCA: You know, it's your genuine support that keeps me going.

JASON: Seriously, how much have you written? You haven't said anything since you started.

REBECCA: Well, I don't have an exact word count.

JASON: Bullshit.

She looks at him for a second. Then sighs, and…

REBECCA: Thirty-two thousand, eight hundred and seventeen.

JASON: Are you serious?

REBECCA: Yeah.

JASON: That's better than half of what you need.

REBECCA: I know.

JASON: That's amazing!

REBECCA: Eh. It's not done. It's worthless until it's done.

JASON: It's not worthless. Really, I'm proud of you.

REBECCA: Wait until you read it. Then you can be proud. If it's good. Which it might not be.

JASON: Let me read what you have so far.

REBECCA: No.

JASON: Oh, come on.

REBECCA: No.

JASON: Please?

REBECCA: Not until it's finished.

JASON: Aw. When will that be?

REBECCA: Sometime before the end of the month. Which reminds me, Mom wants everybody to come over for Thanksgiving.

JASON: Fine with me. Not like I have anywhere else to go.

Patrick and Angela enter from the right.

PATRICK: Okay, I think we're done shopping now.

JASON: We've been done shopping for quite some time. Just been kinda wandering.

ANGELA: I'll call Mike.

She pulls out her cell phone and dials. She listens for a second, then:

ANGELA: Hey, Mike. Can we come back now? … Okay. See you in a little bit. [hangs up] Okay, we can leave.

JASON: Thankfully.

They head to the exit at left.

From that direction, Shannon enters. She carries a canvas grocery bag and looks at the shelves, not seeing the others.

PATRICK: Hey, Shannon.

SHANNON: Oh, hi, Patrick. Hey, you guys.

ALL: Hey.

Shannon seems very slightly uncomfortable. Not so that anyone else notices.

SHANNON: What's up?

PATRICK: Oh, nothing. Michael's having some sort of family crisis, so he threw us out of the house.

SHANNON: That sucks.

PATRICK: Eh. Needed to get some shopping done, anyway. You're coming to the show, right?

SHANNON: Oh, of course. I wouldn't miss it.

PATRICK: Cool.

ANGELA: And he's reasonably certain he won't fall off the stage this time.

PATRICK: Reasonably.

SHANNON: Well, that's good. You're gonna play bass again, Rebecca.

REBECCA: Oh, no. He found someone else.

SHANNON: Oh. Okay. Um, cool. Right?

REBECCA: Oh yeah.

PATRICK: I guess I'll see you there, huh?

SHANNON: Definitely.

ANGELA: We'll let you get back to your shopping.

SHANNON: Okay. Bye, guys.

PATRICK: Bye.

REBECCA: Bye.

ANGELA: Bye.

SHANNON: Bye.

She continues right and exits. The others continue left.

JASON: I hope whenever Michael was doing was really, really important.

 

Scene 3 – the house, that afternoon

Michael sits on the couch, staring at the ceiling. All is quiet and still for a few moments. Michael checks his watch and lets out an annoyed sigh.

Silence.

Then, a brisk knock at the door.

MICHAEL: Come in.

The door opens and Carter enters. He's wearing sunglasses and holding a six-pack of cheap beer.

CARTER: 'sup, little bro.

MICHAEL: Hey.

CARTER: I can put this in the fridge?

MICHAEL: You brought beer?

CARTER: Stopped and got it on the way.

MICHAEL: How did you get here?

CARTER: Girl I been hangin' out with.

MICHAEL: Yeah, you can put it in the fridge. But you're taking with you when you leave.

CARTER: Wasn't planning on there bein' any when I left.

MICHAEL: You're not getting drunk here, Carter.

Carter goes into the kitchen. A moment later, he emerges, already-opened beer in hand.

CARTER: Who said anything about getting drunk? It's a six-pack.

MICHAEL: Yeah.

Carter sits in the chair to our left.

MICHAEL: You hear the high school's building a new football stadium?

CARTER: No shit?

MICHAEL: Yeah. Tearing down the old one.

CARTER: That's gonna be weird.

MICHAEL: Yeah.

CARTER: So what's the plan?

MICHAEL: Plan?

CARTER: Yeah. I know you got a plan. You're always so…what's that word?

MICHAEL: Methodical.

CARTER: Yeah, methodical. So I know you got a plan.

MICHAEL: …We're gonna have a conversation. A polite, decent conversation.

CARTER: That's it?

MICHAEL: That's it.

CARTER: That's not much of a plan.

MICHAEL: Well, I had pyrotechnics in my first draft, but they were cut for budget reasons.

CARTER: Huh?

MICHAEL: Never mind. Look, just so I can be sure, here: you don't have any actual proof that Anthony is cheating on her, right?

CARTER: I don't need it.

MICHAEL: Which means "no."

CARTER: All right, no. But I don't need it.

MICHAEL: I would think that would be important.

CARTER: When we were living together, as kids, how many girlfriends you remember me having? Real, serious girlfriends?

MICHAEL: …Seven.

CARTER: Uh-huh. And how many of them did I cheat on?

MICHAEL: …Seven?

CARTER: Exactly. So I know what it looks like. And Anthony is cheating on our sister.

MICHAEL: Then why haven't you said something yourself?

CARTER: I told you, I can't. They're letting me live there, I can't go hurling accusations and shit around. She won't believe me, he'll get mad, and I'll end up gettin' kicked out.

MICHAEL: But you think I'm believable.

CARTER: Hell yeah. More than me, anyway.

MICHAEL: Maybe because I don't hate Anthony, while you do.

CARTER: Prob'ly.

MICHAEL: And this isn't about that, is it? You hating Anthony?

CARTER: No. It's about Cali.

MICHAEL: Okay. I'll take your word for it.

CARTER: You think I'm lying?

MICHAEL: Yes.

CARTER: Why?

MICHAEL: Because I know why you hate Anthony.

CARTER: Why?

Michael just looks at Carter.

CARTER: Fuck you.

MICHAEL: I call it like I see it.

CARTER: Fuck you!

MICHAEL: Calm down.

CARTER: Fuck you! I'm not gonna sit here and let my little brother call me a racist.

MICHAEL: I wasn't calling you a racist. Exactly.

CARTER: Fuck you. I don't have a problem with my sister being married to a black guy, I got a problem with my sister being married to that black guy.

MICHAEL: Uh-huh.

CARTER: Man, fu—

MICHAEL: Fuck me. Yeah, I got it.

CARTER: All right.

MICHAEL: You know that's why mom and dad can't stand him.

CARTER: Yeah, I know. But mom and dad ain't me.

MICHAEL: Why can't you stand him?

CARTER: 'Cause he's an asshole.

MICHAEL: He's always been nice to me.

CARTER: You spent much time living with him?

MICHAEL: No.

CARTER: Then shut up.

There is a knock on the door.

CARTER: Here we go. You can do this, bro.

MICHAEL: Thanks. Come in!

The door opens, and ANTHONY enters. He's a tall, gangly guy in his early 20s. He's wearing shorts and a t-shirt.

Carter reacts.

CARTER: Um, hey—

MICHAEL: Hey, Anthony.

ANTHONY: Hey, Mike. Carter.

CARTER: Yeah, hey. [to Michael] Come here!

Carter grabs his little brother and drags him toward the kitchen.

CARTER: What the fuck is he doing here?

MICHAEL: I told you. We're gonna have a polite, decent conversation.

CARTER: You said Cali was coming over.

MICHAEL: Did I say that?

CARTER: Yes.

MICHAEL: Yeah, but did I, really?

CARTER: Yeah.

MICHAEL: Oh. Then I was lying.

ANTHONY: You guys know I can hear you, right?

MICHAEL: Yeah, we know. Have a seat.

Anthony sits in the chair to the right. Michael sits on the couch, and Carter sits in the chair to the left and swigs his beer.

ANTHONY: So what's going on?

MICHAEL: We…we needed to talk to you.

ANTHONY: About what?

MICHAEL: Well, something's come up, and—

CARTER: You're sleeping around on Cali.

ANTHONY: What?

MICHAEL: Okay, that's not how this is supposed to go.

CARTER: Shoulda planned better.

ANTHONY: Wait, what are you accusing me of?

MICHAEL: I'm not accusing you of anything.

CARTER: I am.

MICHAEL: …Carter appears to be, yes.

ANTHONY: Of cheating on my wife.

CARTER: On our sister.

MICHAEL: Who happens to be his wife. Let's not play semantics.

CARTER: Whatever.

ANTHONY: But that's what you're accusing me of. Cheating on Cali.

MICHAEL: …It seems that way, yeah.

ANTHONY: And this charge is based on what? Carter's hatred of me? Carter's alcoholism?

MICHAEL: Little of both, I think.

CARTER: Notice how he ain't answered me yet.

ANTHONY: I didn't think I had to. Your accusation is baseless. But if I have to respond, then here you go: I'm not cheating on your sister. Okay?

CARTER: I don't believe you.

ANTHONY: Of course you don't. But how the fuck am I supposed to prove I'm not cheating on her? The burden of proof is on the accuser – I'm sure you remember that from your trial.

MICHAEL: Okay…

CARTER: Hey, fuck you, motherfucker. Smug-ass bitch.

MICHAEL: Let's all calm down, okay? There's no need for this, we can be polite, we can civil, everybody relax.

ANTHONY: And why couldn't you tell me this yourself, Carter? Huh? Why'd you have to make Michael do it for you? Are you that much of a chickenshit? You gotta hide behind your little brother?

CARTER: I ain't gotta hide behind nobody, I'll kick your fuckin' ass right now.

MICHAEL: Carter, shut up! Anthony, stop making things worse!

ANTHONY: Oh, I'll just sit here and take it when he calls me a liar and a cheater, then.

MICHAEL: Yeah, okay, this is a disaster.

ANTHONY: How'd you think it was gonna go? And why are you even participating in this? I expect this shit from him, not from you.

MICHAEL: …It was his idea.

ANTHONY: No shit. But I thought you were smarter than that.

MICHAEL: He seemed legitimately concerned, Anthony. This was supposed to be a civil, rational conversation.

ANTHONY: And you actually thought I was going to be civil and rational about this?

MICHAEL: …Seemed logical at the time.

ANTHONY: Sure it did. Was that all? Nothing else we needed to talk about? No other imaginary crimes I'm to be charged with?

MICHAEL: None come to mind.

ANTHONY: Then I'm leaving.

MICHAEL: Hey, listen, Anthony…I'm sorry. This was a mistake.

ANTHONY: Yeah.

MICHAEL: So…there's no need to tell California, right? I mean, she's just gonna…overreact. Right?

ANTHONY: …Yeah.

He moves to the door.

CARTER: Take care, bitch.

ANTHONY: You're awfully antagonistic for someone who's relying on me for a home.

CARTER: I'm relying on my sister, bitch, not you.

ANTHONY: Right.

He exits.

CARTER: I told you.

MICHAEL: Told me what?

CARTER: I told you he was cheating.

MICHAEL: Did I miss a secret confession?

CARTER: He didn't seem a little too defensive to you?

MICHAEL: Of course he was defensive, you idiot, we were accusing him of cheating on his wife! With no evidence!

CARTER: I'm just sayin', that's exactly what a guilty man woulda said.

MICHAEL: You're just – you're crazy, aren't you? That's it.

Carter finishes his beer, then heads to the kitchen.

CARTER: Coulda gone worse.

MICHAEL: Oh, it's gonna get worse, trust me.

Carter exits to the kitchen. The phone rings. Michael picks it up.

MICHAEL: Hello? … Yeah, everything's finished here. You can come back. Thanks. … Bye.

He hangs up.

MICHAEL: Fuck!

 

Scene 4 – the house, later that night

Carter is passed out on the floor behind the left chair.

Patrick and Michael are sitting on the couch. Patrick's still scribbling in his notebook; Michael's wailing on the Guitar Hero controller. He hear "Hangar 18" again. Michael is playing flawlessly.

Jason is in the right chair, typing on his laptop.

PATRICK: [without looking up] Hey, Mike, which do you think is a better choice for a ballad, "Desperado" or "Dream On"?

MICHAEL: Quiet.

PATRICK: [looks up] Oh, I'm sorry. You're in the middle of a song. Sorry 'bout that, I didn't know. I know how annoying that is, someone trying to talk to you while you're playing this game. I mean, because it requires so much concentration – especially a hard song like this, you take your focus off it at all, it becomes almost impossible. I was trying to play this song earlier, Angela was here, and just listening to her speak was so distracting that I ended up—

MICHAEL: Quiet! Quiet!

PATRICK: Oh—shit, there I go. Man, that was ironic, huh? I can't believe I did that, just going on and on like that—

Michael pauses the game and glares at him.

MICHAEL: Stop. Talking.

PATRICK: You know, now that you've paused it, you'll never get your rhythm again.

Michael sets the controller aside.

MICHAEL: There. Happy?

PATRICK: Yes.

MICHAEL: And "Dream On" was the answer to your question, if you actually wanted one.

PATRICK: I didn't. But thanks.

JASON: Oh, Michael, turn that off for a second, hand me the remote. I forgot to set the DVR for something.

Michael does those things. Jason starts pressing buttons.

MICHAEL: What's coming on?

JASON: Angela's favorite movie. Stop Making Sense.

MICHAEL: Never heard of it.

PATRICK: That's the Talking Heads movie, right?

JASON: Yeah.

MICHAEL: Talking Heads – "Burning Down the House" Talking Heads?

JASON: Yeah.

MICHAEL: They made a movie?

JASON: They made a couple, actually. This is their concert film.

MICHAEL: Wait, Angela's favorite movie is a Talking Heads concert? What the hell kind of favorite movie is that?

JASON: It's really good.

MICHAEL: Yeah, but that's not a real movie.

JASON: It was released in theaters. It's a real movie.

MICHAEL: Yeah, but – a concert film?

JASON: It is widely accepted to be the greatest concert film ever made. Jonathan Demme directed it.

MICHAEL: I've heard you say that name before.

JASON: He directed The Silence of the Lambs.

MICHAEL: The Silence of the Lambs guy made a Talking Heads movie?

JASON: Yes, he did.

MICHAEL: Huh. I'll have to watch that.

JASON: Well, it comes on in about an hour.

MICHAEL: Cool. I'm making a sandwich.

He exits to the kitchen.

Rebecca enters from the hallway, CD-R in hand. She gives to Jason.

REBECCA: Here.

JASON: What's this?

REBECCA: It's what I've written of my novel. Thirty-four thousand, six hundred and four words.

JASON: You don't mind me reading it?

REBECCA: Nah.

JASON: Thanks.

She starts to walk away.

JASON: Wait.

REBECCA: Hmm?

He closes his laptop and hands it to her.

JASON: My interactive fiction. Go ahead and play it.

REBECCA: Did you finish it?

JASON: Believe it or not, I finished it two minutes ago.

REBECCA: I don't believe you. I think it's been done for weeks and you haven't had the nerve to show anyone.

JASON: Does it really matter?

REBECCA: No. Thank you.

JASON: You're welcome.

She starts to exit, but sees Patrick and his notebook.

REBECCA: Are you still working on that?

PATRICK: No. No, I think it's done now.

REBECCA: Gimme.

He gives it to her. She looks it over.

REBECCA: Let's see… "Come Together," good… "London Calling," haven't played that in a while, have you?

PATRICK: Nope.

REBECCA: Hmm... "Run Like Hell," always popular… Wait, "Snowblind"?

PATRICK: Yeah.

REBECCA: You're gonna play "Snowblind."

PATRICK: Yeah.

JASON: The Black Sabbath or the Styx?

PATRICK: Styx has a song called "Snowblind"?

JASON: Yeah.

PATRICK: Any good?

JASON: Yeah. For Styx.

PATRICK: Hmm. I'll have to find that.

REBECCA: Patrick.

PATRICK: Yeah?

REBECCA: I tried to get you to play Sabbath for years.

PATRICK: Yeah. You did. I'm finally taking your advice.

REBECCA: I don't believe you.

PATRICK: …What?

REBECCA: Why didn't you ask me?

PATRICK: Ask you what?

REBECCA: To be in your band again.

PATRICK: I…did. Repeatedly. You said no.

REBECCA: I mean, after the party.

PATRICK: You said you didn't want me to.

REBECCA: That never stopped you before.

PATRICK: Are you saying you want to be in the band again?

REBECCA: …Yes. Yes, okay? That's what I'm saying.

PATRICK: Wow. But…I already hired this other guy.

REBECCA: Fire him.

PATRICK: I can't just fire him.

REBECCA: You fired Chad.

PATRICK: Chad quit.

REBECCA: But you were going to fire him. And you've known Chad for years, you don't know this guy at all. Come on.

PATRICK: Well…You're not just gonna quit again.

REBECCA: No. At least, I don't think I will. I can't see the future.

PATRICK: Yeah... Oh, all right. I'll call the guy in the morning.

REBECCA: Really?

PATRICK: Yes.

REBECCA: Thank you.

PATRICK: You're not gonna do a touchdown dance.

REBECCA: No. I have some dignity.

PATRICK: Right.

She hands Patrick his notebook and exits to the hallway.

JASON: There is no bass player guy in Texas City, is there?

PATRICK: Well… There are guys in Texas City, and I'm sure some of them play bass…

JASON: That's what I thought.

PATRICK: I engaged in some subterfuge, yes.

JASON: Why didn't you just ask her?

PATRICK: Because…then she'd win.

JASON: You two are insane. Why don't you just get married already?

PATRICK: We're working on it.

JASON: Okay, I'm going to IHOP.

PATRICK: What? We just bought a bunch of groceries.

JASON: Yes. But I just finished my interactive fiction. Whenever I finish working on anything, I got to IHOP. Celebration thing. Wanna come?

PATRICK: Nah, I'm good.

JASON: Okay. See you later.

PATRICK: See ya.

Jason opens the front door. When he does, lights splash in – headlights.

JASON: Hey, looks like Cali's here.

PATRICK: Michael! Your sister's here.

Jason exits. Michael comes out of the kitchen, sandwich in hand.

MICHAEL: She's here now?

PATRICK: Yeah.

Cali appears in the open doorway, looking perfectly calm.

Michael walks across the room to meet her, and she does the same. As they approach the center…

MICHAEL: Hey, Cali, how's it—

With measured calm, California plants her feet and punches him dead in the face.

Michael hits the ground behind the couch, sandwich flying.

MICHAEL: Ow!

Without a word, Cali turns and heads for the door again.

MICHAEL: Ow…

As she gets to the door, without stopping or even slowing down…

CALI: When Carter wakes up, tell him not to bother coming back.

And she exits.

PATRICK: What. The. Hell. Was that.

Michael pulls himself up by the back of the couch, one hand covering his eye.

MICHAEL: Ow…she got me with one of her rings.

PATRICK: I knew we should have bought some steak.

MICHAEL: Ow…motherfucker…

He makes his way around to the couch and flops down, still holding his eye.

PATRICK: You want me to get you some ice?

MICHAEL: Yes. Please.

PATRICK: Hmm. This has been quite a day, huh? Cali punches you in the face, apparently throws Carter out of her house, Rebecca's back in my band, she's almost finished with her novel, Jason's finished his game, Vanessa's pregnant, and you got punched in the face.

MICHAEL: You said that one already.

PATRICK: I know. I like that one.

MICHAEL: Ice. Please.

PATRICK: You got it.

Patrick gets up and heads to the kitchen.

After a moment…

MICHAEL: Wait, Vanessa's what?

Lights out.