© 2006 by Janna L. Goodwin

“Mothers have martyred themselves in their children’s names since the beginning of time. We have lived as if she who disappears the most, loves the most. We have been conditioned to prove our love by slowly ceasing to exist.” —Glennon Doyle, Untamed

“The best thing a girl can be is a good wife and mother. It is a girl’s highest calling. I hope I am ready.” —Nancy E. Turner, These Is My Words: The Diary of Sarah Agnes Pine

Synopsis

Two women negotiate an uncertain terrain of appropriate social behavior when DAISY shows up for dinner at LAURA’s home having invited along her invisible friend, John. As LAURA and DAISY propose a variety of frames for the situation, each offering chit-chat to try to establish a shared reality, M (an unexplained woman lying, asleep, on LAURA’s couch amid the domestic paraphernalia of early childhood and the detritus of a work-from-home situation) stirs fitfully, occasionally sleep-talking or rousing herself to participate in the conversation. A sometimes heated, sometimes frosty debate—about sex, communication, relationships, love, domestic life, gendered behavior, childbearing, parenting, meaning, and purpose—ensues, through which it becomes clear that LAURA and DAISY have different personal and political views of what makes life worthwhile. Simply by not interrupting her when she reveals her innermost thoughts to him, John seduces LAURA, which sets off an increasingly dramatic series of events: a birth, a murder plot, and an escape. When the cuckoo clock sounds, a CHILD begins to cry, and D arrives home from work, everything changes: LAURA and DAISY fling themselves into the unknown, leaving M behind to decide: are her days vapid or worse—a hell of repetition, expired opportunities, empty fantasies, and regret—or can happiness be found in the mundane and the quotidian?

Characters

M, a woman, late 20s/early 30s

LAURA, a woman, late 20s/early 30s

DAISY, a woman, late 20s/early 30s 

D, a man, late 20s/early 30s

CHILD, a toddler

A cuckoo clock reads 6:20. Soft ticking. A table with an empty wooden bowl at its center. A loveseat with a small end table next to it. M’s eyeglasses are on the end table, next to an open laptop. Half-read books are piled around. M lies curled on the loveseat, napping, dressed in sweats, partly covered by a baby blanket. From one hand dangles a child’s picture storybook.

A front door. The doorbell rings. LAURA, carrying a wooden spatula, enters, crossing to answer the bell. HER hair is carefully styled. SHE wears a colorful sundress with a Betty Crocker-esque apron over it. In other respects, she somewhat resembles M. As SHE passes the end table, LAURA puts on M’s glasses, and swipes up the baby blanket, using it as a dishcloth to dry HER hands. SHE answers the door.

DAISY, who is alone, has on the latest in fashionable shorts, a summer top, sandals. SHE carries a small handbag. DAISY, too, shares some of M and LAURA’s defining features, though with HER short, spiky hair and tattoo, SHE is the edgiest (and undeniably the perkiest) of the three.

DAISY

He-e-e-ey. Hey, hey, hey. 

(After kissing LAURA on the check, indicating nobody as if there were somebody) 

This is John. I invited him at the last minute. I hope you don’t mind; I didn’t call ahead to let you know. Anyway, just look at you! 

LAURA

(Cautiously, looking past DAISY) 

Wher— who—?

DAISY

So, can we come in? 

(Entering confidently)

I’m freezing. It’s awful out there. We could hardly get out of the driveway. The plow blocks us in with a wall of icy sludge and we spend two hours digging a path to the street, and then on the way over, we almost crash. I hate, absolutely hate this time of year. Hate. 

LAURA

(A tentative laugh of appreciation)

Ah. Heh-heh.

DAISY

John hurt his thing shoveling, didn’t you, sweetheart? I said, “You don’t have to do that so vigorously! Let me help!” but he never listens to me. Do you? See what I mean. He’s like –

DAISY pulls a blank, stunned face.

LAURA

LOL. 

(A pause)

Gosh. Okay. It is good to see you! Both! Heh-heh.

DAISY

You, too. Where’s Mimi?

LAURA

Mindy. She’s working late. She’s very important where she works. But, she’ll be here for dinner.

DAISY

Great! What’re we having?

LAURA

Vegetable cous cous. I found the best olives on sale over at the Nut House. Kalamata.

(Pronouncing it to resemble “calamity”)

I haven’t made it since I was single, and I just got a, what’s it called? A hankering. It reminds me of something, I don’t know, the Mediterranean, travel, exotic places I’ve never seen. What’sa matter? Something wrong? With olives?

DAISY

I’m… it’s just that—I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I should have… ngggh! Oh, well! I’m a horrible person.

(To “John”)

How’s about we go out and pick something up for you later, Big Guy. 

LAURA

Something what? For wh—? Why?

DAISY

John doesn’t eat vegetables. I know. Who doesn’t eat vegetables? But it’s not a big deal; it’s just a little awkward. Hey, me, I eat anything! Rocks, dirt. Not to say that your dinner isn’t special. 

LAURA

Daisy, Daze-Da-a-aze! “John.” Right. You kill me. “I don’t eat no stinkin’ vegetables.” 

(Playing along)

Well, “John,” if you don’t eat your vegetables in my house, you don’t get any pudding! 

(Snorts at her own wit. Then, gravely) 

Seriously, there are children starving in China. You have to eat vegetables. 

(Lighter)

Okay, then! So, how’s it going?

DAISY

How is what going?

LAURA

It. You know, it. Everything that goes one way or another.

DAISY

Why would you bring it up?

LAURA

Uhm…

DAISY

I mean, if you’re making a joke, it’s so not funny.

LAURA

I’m looking at you, but I’m not understanding you. 

DAISY

The entire house is a wreck, and I still don’t know what we’re going to do about all the bills. It’s a disaster. We’re both utterly depleted and we’re lucky we’re not dead. Is that what you meant?

 (Audibly sniffing at the air, twice)

What’s that?

LAURA

What?

DAISY

I thought I heard Marni’s car. Mandy. Coming home. A crunchy-gravel sound. 

LAURA

Oh, that’s probably just the cous cous. Bubbling, or burning, maybe. I’d better check on it. Can I get you a drink?

DAISY

Nothing for me, but I’ll bet John would have a beer.

LAURA

(Tightly)

Righty right. Beer for John. 

(An idea: she’ll ask the nonexistent John)

So… John.  What kind of beer? What kind of beer, John? I have pilsner, Tsing Tao, Guinness, and plain old Bud. 

DAISY

Is that the Go Gos?

LAURA

What? Is what the Go-Gos?

DAISY

I love it! I love them so much. Loved them, I mean. Back in the day. 

LAURA

Is what the Go-Gos?

DAISY

Or the Mamas and the Papas, maybe. I can never… quite…

LAURA

I don’t hear anything. 

DAISY

Hey, can John use your bathroom?

LAURA

Ok, yes, fine, but first: what kind of beer, John?

DAISY

It’s down the hall, Honey. On the right. Or the left, if you’re walking backwards. 

LAURA

What kind of beer would John like?

DAISY

I don’t know. I don’t drink beer. Let’s wait’ll he gets back and ask him.

LAURA

Oh, Daisy, for god’s sake. 

DAISY

It was today, wasn’t it? We’re having dinner today? I mean, tonight? Now?  We didn’t come on the wrong date? Did we? We’re supposed to be here, right? You were expecting us?

LAURA

You. Not “us.”

DAISY

Oh. You’re pissed that I just sprang John on you without any warning. 

LAURA

(Sitting on the loveseat, on top of M, who drops the storybook)

Look—I have no idea what you’re doing. 

DAISY

(Sighing; sinking onto M, too)

I don’t know, either. It has been so hard, Laura, with the aftermath, the shock, all that blood, the cleanup, the ramifications. I’m just… it’s been endless; what can I say?  I’m exhausted. If it weren’t for John…

LAURA

Stop with John. Stop with John. Please. Stop. With. John.

When LAURA becomes agitated, SHE bounces up and

down on M, who grunts and moans.

DAISY

Does this have anything to do with Mitzi? 

LAURA

Does what?

DAISY

Missy. Misty. Minny! Millie! No, wait… it’s—

Your emotions. The rage. The tears. Is it Mitzi? Minny. Muffy.

LAURA

(Touching her tongue)

—right here.  What about her?

DAISY

I know how she feels about having men in the house.

LAURA

There ARE no men in the house.

DAISY

Oh. That was low. That was as low as you’ve ever gone, Laura. Thank God, he didn’t hear you.

LAURA

He didn’t hear me ask what kind of beer he wanted, either. Did he? He doesn’t hear anything, does he? Because he can’t hear, can he? Can he?

DAISY

Oh, Laura! He just doesn’t listen, that’s all. He doesn’t listen. It’s not my fault. It’s not your fault. It’s him. I mean, I love him madly, but— 

(Seeing “John” re-enter the room)

Nothing. Never mind. Hey, Tootsie! Did you find the bathroom okay? 

DAISY

 (To LAURA)

You’re out of toilet paper, Laura.

LAURA

(Standing)

Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry! I should have—I’ve been so busy, I didn’t think about—there’s some underneath the— hey.

(Looking towards the bathroom, back at DAISY, back at the bathroom, SHE then sits on M again)

There IS toilet paper.

DAISY

I do that all the time. I leave an empty roll and then I’m stuck. Sometimes, I use the roll itself, just the cardboard. It’s not all that absorbent, but it does okay in a pinch.

(LAURA regards her through narrowed eyes.)

Well? Oh, come on. It’s not like we’re not all friends.

LAURA

You are so…hostile. 

DAISY

We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. It was just a topic. I was just raising a topic. That’s what people do. That’s what conversation is. People sit around, and somebody says something, and then the other person says something in response, having listened what to the first person said. It’s like a game. You say something; I respond. Then, either I say something back, or you take a turn. I say something back, and you take a turn. I take a turn, and you say something back. 

M mumbles something in her sleep, protesting being sat upon.

DAISY

What’s that? 

LAURA

What, do you mean the music, the dinner, the sound of an approaching car? Do you mean John’s cell phone? Did John just say something? Is there a draft? Do you hear sirens? Children laughing? A tuba? What, Daisy? What???

M 

Livia. Mmmm…

DAISY

(Softly)

That voice.

LAURA

(Not hearing anything)

Oh, that voice. 

M

Dahhs! Ohnng.

DAISY

Das… ome. Something ome.

LAURA

(Pissy; still not hearing anything)

That’s just…God. Yeah, it’s God. 

DAISY

You don’t still believe in that whole “God” story, do you? The white guy with the beard on the throne? Lightening bolts?

LAURA

You’re thinking of Zeus. God is a whole other thing. God is Love.

DAISY

Wasn’t it God who went around smiting people all over the place because they weren’t submissive enough?  

LAURA

“Tough love.” And… he mellowed considerably after Jesus was born. 

DAISY

So, this is interesting.  You still think there’s a Creator. A purpose. A reason for things. 

LAURA

I didn’t say that. You said, “What’s that,” and I replied, “It’s the voice of God.” 

DAISY

The implication being that: A) There is a God; B) He has a voice; C) You heard it, and D) You recognized it. How could you recognize it if you haven’t heard it before?

LAURA

I didn’t even hear it now. You did. You said, “What’s that?” I said “The voice of God.”  I was kidding. It was a joke.

DAISY

Well, it wasn’t very funny.

LAURA

It wasn’t supposed to be.

DAISY

We are teetering on an abyss, Laura.

LAURA

I’ll say. I’ll say we are. Teetering right on a big, fat abyss. Whoops! I accidentally shoved you in! Sorrrryyy! 

(SHE makes a splatting, squishing impact noise with her mouth.)

Thank heaven; I thought she’d never leave. 

DAISY is frozen, astonished, as if SHE was just pushed off into an abyss.

LAURA (cont’d)

So. So then. 

(Sitting on the sofa, turning to “John”)

John.

(Patting the empty space beside her)

Come, sit. What do you do for a living? Me, I used to eat meat. I liked it. I liked eating meat for a living. I liked it rare. We used to just, you know, have food, like Wonder Bread and frozen peas and mashed potatoes and roast beef, and give thanks around the table for how good it was and how lucky we were. We were lucky. And then, everybody started to get all morally indignant, eating raw garlic cloves and brown rice, bulk dried apricots, ginseng root. Food was equated with political awareness, and what was good became bad. But that’s ridiculous since most people who are all superior about their dietary habits would never eat what poor people have to eat becausethey can’t afford to shop at Bread and Circus. Spam and spaghetti-Os. That’s the real world of food, John.  I mean, unless you can afford to remove yourself. See, here’s what happened to us, as far as I can tell. This is just my theory. My theory is that the whole time things were happening, we—educated, white women, feminists or post feminists, I’m never sure about all the isms and post isms, where they begin and end—we were learning that…that certain, say, lifestyles are just kind of better than others, okay? Let’s face it: lifestyles that let you remove yourself so that you can think about community and wellness. We invented that word! Wellness. I know a woman who says Be well! when she means Goodbye. She’s a blessings and goddessy kind of person in general. She changed her name from Barbara to Lakshmi, and whenever she says anything, she exudes a studied compassion that makes you want to slap her right in the face. I mean, come on. There’s no stinkin’ goddess. There is no God, either. Just to be clear, when I said voice of God earlier, I was being sarcastic. There’s no God. Oh, but there is spirituality. Which is part of wellness. Those Weekly Wellness periodicals you pick up at the health food store checkout have a section of advertisements where you can get in touch with your angels and spirit guides, or have yourself Rolfed to death, or pretty much anything you want. If you’re a person with some extra money, anyway. Workshops. Remember how church was free? You’d go on Sunday and sure, you put a dollar into the plate out of wanting to do the right thing, but essentially there was no fee. Workshops, by contrast, cost an arm and a leg, but we do them because they bring us closer to something. I’m not against workshops. You write or tell personal stories or stretch and move around, get paid attention to, sometimes even touched or held in appropriate ways. It can make you cry. There’s a gentleness to workshops, a kindness. Kind is a good word. I think of kindred, or similarity. We pay to participate in the kindness of workshops. We took pottery and papermaking and African dance, all pumped up from the energy bars we bought for a couple of bucks a pop. Oats and seeds and molasses. We got righteous and condemned meat-eaters and bought more tempeh and goat cheese and we felt… well, not holy, but yes, whole. Whole. Whole wheat, whole foods, holistic medicine, holy shit, we were spiritual! We followed gurus, we healed our inner children, we created our own truths and rejected shared reality. Rejecting felt good so we kept it up. We put food, activities, things and people into categories just so we could reject them! We judged, rejected, and attacked—it made us feel great—and wow! What pampered, self-righteous, weak, ineffectual whiners we became. Didn’t we, John? That’s what you’re thinking. I tend to agree, although you don’t have to be quite so forceful. You’re not all perfect yourself. But, yes, you have a point: we pretty much suck. The only thing that’s good about us is friendship, but I don’t even know how to do that now. It’s such a bother. It’s such an obligation. I want my friends to just like me and leave me the hell alone. Unless I need them, and vice versa. You know who your friends are because, when your whole life falls apart, you can come stay on their couch…and, when their life falls apart, they can come stay on yours. They don’t get all bent out of friggin’ shape because you’re too worn out to text or call, or you don’t have time to hang around their kitchens or go to a strip club. But, then, when you do have the time, or when the chips are down and you’re lonely, then it’s nice. Somebody sees you. Somebody knows you. Somebody cares about you. I care about you. I feel I know you. I think I love you. I do love you. I do!

                        (Visibly surprised at her discovery)

Whoa! That’s all it takes? Five minutes of uninterrupted attention?  

(Taking out a pen and pad from her apron pocket and writing this down)

Un… inter…upted…attention. Eureka!

 (A pause as she contemplates “John”—then, turning to DAISY)

Daisy! Love is all about audiencing and being audienced! I know, I know—it’s not what we thought, but I’m pretty sure I’m right. I might have to write a paper about this and present it at a conference in Miami, or Puerto Rico. Greece. Greece sounds perfect. I LOVE JOHN! It just now happened. We… we connected on a deep level. It’s like we’re soul mates. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it: he just—he just kept—quiet! So I got to say everything I wanted to say, and… 

 (Deeply disappointed)

It turns out I didn’t have all that much on my mind after all. Just a kind of all-consuming irritation with modern life, you know, people, traffic, technology, groceries. I always thought if someone would only listen to me, I might say very profound, Pulitzer-Prizewinning things, but in fact, apparently all I do is spew out the ordinary, the frustrated, and the banal. For which I personally blame John. If he just knew how to have a fucking dialogue, some back and forth, a little give and take, I would not have had to bear the entire burden of coming up with all the ideas here. Anybody would melt down under that kind of pressure! I mean, is this a relationship or a one person show?

(To “John”)

Come on! I thought I loved you, but you can’t expect me to do this alone, to make this thing work. If you value what we have together, you gotta step up to the plate, buddy. You gotta show up! You can’t just sit there refracting. 

(To DAISY)

Although there is something incredibly sexy about silence. Is he intrigued? Or does he think I’m a dithering ditz? I suddenly feel all intimidated. Lightly flustered, although strangely titillated at the same time. What if he couldn’t care less about my insights and just wants me to shut up? What if I bore him? He can be so dismissive, even cold sometimes. So very cold. But, Daisy, it’s the aloofness that makes him so interesting. It humiliates me; it makes my efforts to connect seem pathetic. I just want him to love me. Is that so much to ask? Love me, John! 

DAISY

(Suddenly activated)

Hey, wait a minute! Hold on there, Laura. What about Mandy? Mindy. Marnie. Mammy. You can’t toss her aside like an old salad. You and she are like this!

DAISY interlaces her fingers suggestively and wiggles them.

LAURA

Mimi. 

 (Pensively)

Me. Me. 

DAISY

(Speculatively)

Right.

LAURA

I like “Manny” better. Let’s call her “Manny.” 

DAISY

Can we do that?

LAURA

Oh, please.  Who’s gonna stop us? Right? Here’s the plan: When Maddy comes home, you pretend that everything is just normal, all right? Just perfectly normal. John, you sit there. Daze, you stand where you are. I’ll be here. We’ll just pretend like it’s all perfectly normal. Go.

(THEY pretend it’s all perfectly normal.)

This feels normal, doesn’t it? I think we’ve got it. By jove! We’ve got it! This is so freakin’ normal, it’s bizarre. 

DAISY

If I had some graham crackers and milk, we’d be all set. 

LAURA

Graham crackers and milk. My dress is wet.

(LAURA, DAISY and the sleeping M all touch their left shoulders near the clavicle.)

DAISY

Oh, that. It’s just a little bit of drool; nothing to worry about. Hey, this is kind of exciting, being all normal and waiting and everything. Waiting and waiting. La la la la la. Hmmm. Wow. I could do this all day.  

LAURA

I have been waiting for years. Screw Mitzi. She’s the one who ruined my life, not the other way around.

DAISY

I never wanted to say anything. I never knew what to say.

LAURA

Well, it’s not like she’s a loser. I mean, we were really hot together for a while.

DAISY

Oh, sure, I didn’t mean you were stupid, Laura. It’s just that you haven’t seemed happy. You seem happy with John. That’s all.

LAURA

John.  He sits there like a pudding and takes whatever I dish out. Not much to respect in that, is there? At least Mitzi protects herself. She even bites me sometimes. I mean, she’s basically a great individual. It’s just that we’re not… it hasn’t been… there’s all this crying. We fight all the time. She’s always at work. 

DAISY

So you go to where she works to fight?

LAURA

What are you talking about?

DAISY

You said you fight all the time, and then you said she works all the time, so I thought you must fight where she works.

LAURA

No. I don’t even know where she works.

DAISY

You’ve been together for how long and you don’t know where she works?

LAURA

I have my own life to live. I can’t be following Mandy all over the place, trying to keep up with her. That would be insane. I’m not insane.

DAISY

Manny.

LAURA

Laura, you idiot. I’m Laura.

DAISY

No, Manny. You called her “Mandy,” but we decided. 

LAURA

No, I didn’t.

DAISY

Yes, you did.

LAURA

I did not.

DAISY

I heard you. I was here. I was listening. I listen carefully to every word you say, and you definitely said “Mandy”

LAURA

You do not. 

DAISY

Do, too! 

LAURA

Oh, really? What did I say when you first came in?

DAISY

You said “Hello.”

LAURA

That’s a guess! That’s just a guess!

DAISY

You said, “Hi, Daisy,” to be more exact.

LAURA

And what did I say at 6:20?

DAISY

“Oh, Daisy, stop it!”

LAURA

Laura.

DAISY

I’m Daisy.

LAURA

You called me Daisy.

DAISY

NO! No, I was saying what you said. 

LAURA

Well, who the hell else is there?

DAISY

Shut up a second. At 6:20, you said, “Oh, Daisy, stop it!”

LAURA

And did you stop it? No, you did not. 

DAISY

I’m not trying to recapitulate the entire evening, Laura; I’m proving to you that I listen. I do listen. Listen!

BOTH stop and listen intently.

DAISY

Did you hear that? It sounded like a bump.

LAURA

It was a bump-bump. Bump-bump, bump-bump.

DAISY

That’s my heart beating.

LAURA

Bump-bump. Bump-bump.

DAISY

My heart.

LAURA

That reminds me. I had a dream last night that I plunged my fist down your throat and held your heart, still beating, in my hand.

DAISY

(Undecided about whether this bodes well or ill, but wanting to sound interested)

Huh! What was that like?

LAURA

Warm and strong. It was so pleasant, lying there, holding onto your heart.

DAISY

You said it was a dream.

LAURA

It was like a dream. Just like one. And then, Maury, Mary, Mira came in and freaked out all over the place.

DAISY

She cared.

LAURA

Too much. She cared too much. Way too much for her own good. Nobody should care that much.

DAISY

She loves you.

LAURA

What an asshole.

DAISY

She loves you very much.

LAURA

Well, I hate her.

DAISY

You do not.

LAURA

How would you know? You don’t know me. You know nothing about me. You waltz in here and eat my food and sit on my loveseat, but when the shit hits the fan, where are you? Where ARE you?

DAISY

We’re just friends, Laura. We’re not married. We’re not family. We’re not fused. You live; I live. We like each other; we see each other; we have a good time. Like we’re having now. 

LAURA

Like now.

DAISY

Yes. And then, I go home and you stay here, and we start feeling guilty in a few weeks, and we make a date, and you cancel, and I reschedule, and finally I come over and we do this.

LAURA

Yes, we do.

DAISY

Every time.

LAURA

Why? What’s the point?

DAISY

It’s fun.

LAURA

It’s not, either. We never paint pictures or go in the water, or sing, or go outside. It’s like… we have nothing in common anymore.

DAISY

People grow apart. Look at John and me.

LAURA

I forgot about John! Oh, my god. I forgot about John. I’m so embarrassed. Did I say anything terrible?

DAISY

No.

LAURA

Did I take off my clothes or pick my nose?

DAISY

I don’t think so. I wasn’t really watching. Oh! You drooled. Or somebody did. 

LAURA, DAISY and the sleeping M all touch their left shoulders near the clavicle. M wipes the corner of her mouth.

LAURA

It’s awful to forget about a person. But it’s so hard to remember. 

DAISY

Oh, I forget about people all the time. Nobody cares. Everybody is too busy forgetting about me to care that I forgot about them.

LAURA

But—but, I loved John once. How could I just forget him?

DAISY

You loved Missy, too, and it didn’t take you long to forget her. I bet you forget me next. 

LAURA

I could never forget you.

DAISY

Get out of here! You’ve forgotten me several times already!

LAURA

(Coldly) 

Well, Daisy, what do you expect? Constant attention? What do you want? Do you want me to follow you around to prove I know you exist? I know you exist. 

DAISY

I want John back.

LAURA

(Fiercely) 

No! You can’t have him! Although, I don’t feel anything for him anymore. He’s so all about John. Everything is “Me, me, me.”

DAISY

Mimi.

LAURA

Take him back. I mean it. Take him back now. 

DAISY

I don’t want to seem selfish. It’s just that I brought him in the first place, and you’re always taking things away from me.

LAURA

(Peevish) 

Look, I said you could have him back. Don’t make it hard for me. I have feelings. 

DAISY

Oh, right. Show me one.

LAURA

I don’t go around showing my feelings. They’re private.

DAISY

Ha. That’s what you think. Your feelings are the most public thing about you, Laura.

LAURA

Oh, really? What am I feeling now?

SHE looks defiant.

DAISY

That’s easy: defiant.

LAURA

(Triumphantly)

Wrong! 

DAISY

Triumphant.

(Accordingly, as LAURA responds)

Disappointed.  Angry. Exasperated.  

M suddenly stirs on the couch, stretching and shifting with a loud groan.

M

Wain.

LAURA and DAISY stand abruptly, LAURA with a look of expectancy.

DAISY

Exactly. Waiting. Hopeful! Or expectant. Yes, you feel expectant. Or something like that. Oh, my gosh. Are you—? You are! You are! 

LAURA

I am! Yes! Yes! Yes! 

BOTH dance excitedly, jumping up and down in glee.

M

(Talking in her sleep)

No. No! No!

DAISY

(Stopping; listening)

There it is again. 

LAURA

I’m preganini! Have a bambini! He’ll have a weeny! Or wear a beany! Eat cannolini! Won’t be a meany! 

M

(Loudly, fretfully, though still asleep)

Why can’t you be more careful? Why didn’t you take precautions! Cautions. Sszzz.

LAURA

Maddy, of course, will blame me. Like it’s my fault. She  just doesn’t want to help. She doesn’t want to take any responsibility.

M

(Eyes still closed)

Responsibility? Responsibility?! I get up every day at 4:00 and walk out that door, and I don’t come home until— 

(The cuckoo clock goes off – six full times and a funny, half-sound followed by a breaking spring. Opening her eyes, sitting up suddenly to look at the clock.)

—6:20 p.m. every night. Now, that’s responsibility! 

(Turning to LAURA; speaking with a masculine lilt and timbre)

What do you do? You sit at home and get pregnant. Look at you. Look at this place. You used to be different. You used to do that thing with your legs. 

LAURA

I can still do that.

M

But you don’t. That’s all I’m trying to say.  

LAURA

Well, I’m pregnant. People have to be more careful. A person can’t be standing on her head doing naked scissor kicks the way she used to when she was not pregnant. I mean, think of… the… the reflux.

DAISY

Naked scissor kicks. 

(Suddenly)

Why does everything have to be about sex? That is such a good question. But only John knows the answer.

ALL

(Together)

And he’s not listening.

LAURA

Well, not everything is about sex, actually. Oh, I’ve been told that sex is really what it’s all about. But y’know, it may only be “all about sex” to people for whom that’s what it’s all about. So, any theory that confirms their own personal experiences will seem absolutely right, irrefutable. Not just for them personally, like, “This theory suits me just fine!”—but for all humankind. The puzzle pieces of certain answers match so perfectly the puzzle pieces of their questions that they come to believe that their understanding of reality—time, space, people, history, science, philosophy—is the correct one. Instead of allowing, “This is only how I see it,” they say, “It’s so obvious! Only a boorish, dull or poorly-read person could possibly disagree with my perspective. I see things the way they are. I’m not interested in opinions that clash with my own. And, if you disagree with me, you’re in denial, and I certainly don’t want to waste my time arguing with you when I’m not even really curious about what you think. It’s about sex, like

LAURA

it or not.” Freudians, for example. What can you say to somebody like that? How can you even have a conversation? 

DAISY

It’s not really about anything, if you ask me. 

M

Sure it is: it’s “about time for dinner!” Ha ha ha ha ha! No, but, seriously: I am ravenous.

LAURA 

It is about something. It’s about connection. But, you’d never know it from the way we treat each other. 

(Using her right hand as a puppet, SHE pretends that her hand is M speaking)

 “Honey, I’m home.” “Honey, I’m going to sleep.” “Honey, where are the toaster waffles?” What ever happened to 

(Plaintively)

“Laura? Are we still important to each other? Are we together forever? Do you still want me? Do you care for me?”

DAISY

What’s with the hand?

LAURA

It’s called “modeling behavior.” 

M

Why? Why’s she modeling behavior? Why doesn’t she just behave?

LAURA

Is it too much to ask your partner to express an investment in the couple? Mindy takes me for granted. She doesn’t worry about losing me. I just want some kind of affirmation of desire especially in this time of, of gravidity. 

DAISY

Why, Laura, you’re just a little softy inside after all! I had no idea. C’m here, you, let me give you a hug. Lean on me, when you’re not strong, I’ll be your friend, I’ll help you carry on—

(Singing)

Well, you might have a problem—mmmmm—we all need somebody to lean on!

LAURA claps her hands over her ears and screams to stop the singing. DAISY stops.

LAURA

Look Daisy, let’s get one thing straight, perfectly straight, okay? I may be wearing a summer frock and carrying a spatula, but that’s because I’m play-acting. Play. Acting.  I’m not some whimpering housewife who can’t make herself happy. I have an education! I have a higher degree! I am performing a ROLE here. I am not identified with that role. It’s just fun to pretend once in a while. Like John, there, with his little black panties and garter belt, and the high-heels…and…wow. 

 (Staring at “John”)

I didn’t notice the high heels before. Where is all this coming from?

M

You claim it’s not all about sex, and that’s the example you come up with? John in black panties and a garter belt?  Who’s John?

LAURA

I love the feel of my dress, the pattern, the fabric, the way it looks. I like the shape of the spatula. 

(She slaps it against her palm loudly)

The smell of cous cous, and the taste of olives. I love opening the door and seeing a friend… and I love being pregnant. I am pregnant. In my head. There was no sex involved. I harbor no illusion that, if I were pregnant in my uterus with the real embryo of a real person, such an encumbrance, such a habitation would have required the implantation of a sperm cell into one of the eggs produced by the ovaries of this, my physical body. Is the introduction of that sperm what you mean by “sex?” Or, is “sex” the feeling that you get when your nerve endings are all stimulated? Is sex an act of the body, or of the imagination?

M

I am so hungry I can’t think.

LAURA

The imagination is a powerful thing. Imagine dinner, Daisy. Imagine a fluffy, delicate white cous cous with thinly sliced zucchini, rich black olives, pearl onions, peas and lentils with raisins and pignolis in a thick curry sauce.

M

Oh, fine. Fine! I can’t stand raisins. You know I hate raisins. Why the hell did you put raisins in it?

DAISY

What was that? That “thump?”

LAURA

That was the sound of all my youthful illusions hitting a wall.

DAISY

What kind of wall?

LAURA

A brick wall, with withered vines tracing patterns across its crumbling face. Just outside Widener Library on the Harvard campus. An adobe wall overrun with cascades of bougainvillea, behind a fountain in the courtyard of a casita near the basilica in San Miguel Allende, where I would have sat, writing my momoirs. Memoirs.

 (Sighing expansively)

Ahh, Daisy. Our fantasies were our greatest assets. “Lose your dreams and you will lose your mind. Ain’t life unkind?” 

DAISY

Oh, look! John’s asleep. 

(Apologetically)

If he’s not talking, he gets bored. 

LAURA

(Smacking the spatula against her palm)

I know! Let’s kill him!

(Silence. THEY all look at each other.)

M

Then, can we eat?

LAURA

Let’s just do it, okay? It would feel SO GOOD.

DAISY

What’s up with the aggression, exactly? You should take a bath.

LAURA

I took a bath.

DAISY

Light some candles. Toss in some vanilla bath oil beads. Read a book.

LAURA

I read a book. I read several. I read Dick and Jane. I read Grimm’s Fairy Tales, Aesop’s Fables, Old Yeller, The Bible, Red Badge of Courage, Lord of the Flies, Nancy Drew and the Secret of the Old Clock; Sixteen Magazine, Mad Magazine, Madame Bovary, Wuthering Heights, L’Assomoire, L’Etranger, The Second Sex, The Women’s Room, Iron John, Backlash, Othello, Hamlet, Henry V, Richard III, the Iliad, the Odyssey, The Republic, Discourse on Method, Critique of Pure Reason, Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, The Celestine Prophecy, The I-Ching, The Tao-Te Ching, Carrie, Kujo and The Shining, not necessarily in that order. Medea’s not bad, but then I loaned it to somebody. Why don’t I ever get anything back? What am I not doing right?

M

The Moosewood Cookbook is one of my favorites. Hey—

LAURA

I read philosophical texts. Sociocritical texts. Tomes! I read studies and journal articles and theory. Times have changed! I’m not just me, I’m more than me! You’ll see! I am building an intellectual empire!

(Pointing at the laptop)

Meaning! It’s all in there!

(… then, met with silence, conceding)

Fine, it’s a plan: we kill John, we have dinner, we go to the hot tubs, then off to The Grotto for some booze & boogie ‘til 2, watch Nick at Nite, stay up until 5 a.m. with a bowl of Jiffy Pop and—

(Pulling a white square of folded paper out of her apron)

—some Mother’s Little Helper. It’s puerile, and we’ll regret it tomorrow, but live for the moment, I always say.

DAISY

Is that what I think it is?

LAURA

100 % pure. Chamomile. 

When SHE holds up the paper square, it is clearly a teabag in its white packet.

DAISY

I just feel bad about John. Why can’t he come with us?

LAURA

He can’t, that’s all. He won’t participate. He’ll either have to run the show, or he’ll fade away. He can’t be part of something if he’s not the focus. Observe: he’s out like a light.

DAISY

Well, we weren’t exactly including him in the conversation, were we?

(M, falling asleep, snores intrusively and changes position.)

LAURA

C’m on, when have I ever asked you for anything?

DAISY

Last Friday. You asked me to come to dinner. I did. I am. It’s been a hoot. Admittedly, very bizarre, but a real hoot. The thing is, I promised John that I wouldn’t let you kill him.

LAURA

You did not.

DAISY

Yes, I implied it.

LAURA

I don’t understand.

DAISY

Neither do I. Nobody does. There’s nothing to understand.

LAURA

I can’t accept that! I can’t accept it!

DAISY

Let me put it another way: you understand what’s important.

LAURA

No I don’t.

DAISY

Sure you do. Watch: Here—

DAISY spreads her hands out in surrender.

Kill me.

LAURA

NO! Are you out of your mind?

DAISY

Why not? You wanted to kill John a minute ago. 

LAURA

That was different. He’s a man.

DAISY

What difference does that make?

LAURA

Men kill women all the time so I should be able to kill just one little man. It’s fair.

DAISY

Ok, yes, but technically, John isn’t a man. And he isn’t killing anybody. Look at him, he’s sleeping like a baby.

LAURA

Baby! 

(Holding her forehead) 

I just felt a kick! 

DAISY

Can I? 

(Feeling LAURA’s head, then withdrawing her hand rapidly, shocked)

AAH! Isn’t your brain supposed to be up there? I mean, doesn’t it take up the whole space?

LAURA

Mine doesn’t. Not any more. It’s all baby, baby, baby.

(Sitting on M, oblivious. M grunts)

My life would feel so empty if it weren’t for this child. You have no idea. My everything is about this offspring. Then, I will be complete. I will be whole.

DAISY

Why can’t you just adopt a poor, starving baby some other country? In China, they can’t wait to give away all the girls. The problem is, of course, you don’t know what you’re getting. You can end up with a kid who’s like, already totally ruined, you know, reactive attachment disordered, and then the rest of your life would be a nightmare, trying to love somebody who can’t experience or return love, and feeling guilty, guilty, guilty. 

M and LAURA

(Together)

Guilty.

A long, uncomfortable silence.

DAISY

But then again, you might get yourself an adorable little genius with shiny black hair who plays the piano and wins national spelling bees, science project competitions, and chess championships. Not to perpetuate stereotypes, but that certainly is one possible outcome. Why not a baby girl from China?

LAURA

(Suspiciously)

What’s in it for me?

DAISY

Purpose. You would be helping to raise a child who needs a parent, instead of bringing a whole nother mouth into the world to feed. 

M

(Murmuring in her sleep)

Feed. 

LAURA

But this one’s going to be MINE. I don’t mean to sound selfish, but fuck, Daisy, I want my own damn baby. My own, personal baby. Okay? So what?

DAISY

John and I are adopting.

LAURA

Oh! Well, that’s great, that’s just… that is admirable, I admit. Adopting what?

DAISY

An attitude of non-procreation! 

(She laughs heartily, then becomes serious)

No, really. Like kids are some proud achievement.  The world is teeming with ‘em, and as far as I can tell, it’s not necessarily making it a better place to live. At the very least, take an orphan off the streets and raise it; don’t just add another person to the starving planet. If raising a kid is what you’re all about, which I’m not. Maybe John is. Frankly, we haven’t talked about it in depth except to mutually insist on birth control. 

LAURA

Ok. I finally get it. You’re here to criticize me and make me feel awful about myself. 

DAISY

That’s not what I meant.

LAURA

Yes, it was. 

DAISY

I’m a rotten, rotten friend. 

LAURA

Yeah, not so good. I think I’ll send you back home. Thanks for everything. Good bye. 

DAISY

What about dinner?

M       

(Asleep, murmuring fitfully)

Dinner. Dinner. Dinner!

DAISY

The cous cous.

LAURA

There is no cous cous. I never made any. 

DAISY

Back a while ago. You described it. My mouth watered. Squash, lentils…Olives! Those olives!

LAURA

Do you see a kitchen anywhere? Do you see a floral arrangement? A fork? A knife? Does it look like we’re having dinner?

(LAURA holds her forehead suddenly and gasps.)

DAISY

What’s the matter? What’s wrong?

LAURA

It’s time, Daisy! It’s time. It’s now. They called. They called! It’s happening. I wanted you to leave, but now I want you to stay and help celebrate. Aahhhh! Yesss! Yesss! YESSS! Look at me! 

(Lifting the “baby” out of the top of her head, flinging her arms wide)

It’s a baby! A baby! A baby little baby little baby. 

(LAURA continues to coo baby talk)

DAISY

Oh, yay. Yippee for you. Now, you’ve really done something special. Good for you. That’s great. Don’t let anybody tell you your life has been a waste, Laura, No sirree.  Bless your heart, it’s a miracle! Who knows how it’s done? The tiny hands, the tiny feet? It poops! It cries! It keeps you up all night, it breaks things, it calls you names, it costs you a million million dollars and it grows up to have some more baybeees! What a major, major contribution you’ve made. Here! Keep John. You’re gonna need all the help you can get. 

LAURA

Thanks, Daisy! I mean it. A baby needs a father. Is John a good father?

DAISY

Oh, definitely. Check it out; hand him the baby.

(LAURA passes the “baby” to “John”.)

LAURA

(Cooing lovingly)

They have the same eyes.

DAISY

The same ears. 

LAURA

The same nose. 

DAISY

The same mouth. 

LAURA and DAISY

(Together)

They look exactly alike!

LAURA

All righty then! Let’s take a little break from childcare. It was wonderful at first, but it gets old after a while. 

(Suddenly, turning to DAISY)

I have another idea. 

(DAISY looks doubtful.)

Let’s go hunting, and then start our own e-business! 

M

Sniznissmahhng.

DAISY

Count me in big time. I’ll pack up the ammunition. You bring the whiskey.

LAURA

Johnny-poo, you take good care of that baby, ok? I know you will. The nappies are in the happy camper. 

DAISY

Nappy hamper. Cigars?

LAURA

Got ‘em! Bye bye, baby! Bye bye!

DAISY

John, Baby— what can I say? It’s been real. So long, kid. So long! 

(To LAURA)

Let’s go. 

DAISY turns the knob on the front door. It blows open. Bright light and a roaring sound pour through: traffic, a river, voices, children’s laughter, faraway tuba music. Wind rushes in forcefully, blowing hair and dresses askew, making it difficult to talk in a normal voice and difficult to approach the door. 

DAISY

Boots! Pistol! Notebook! Flak jacket! 

LAURA

Ball point pen! Bathing suit! Oxygen tank! Flippers! I want to go breathe air.

DAISY

(Intercutting)

Feed the hungry! House the homeless!

LAURA

(Intercutting)

See the ocean. Be alone. Think. Finish a project. Have money. Write a screenplay. Drink Guinness. Be admired.

DAISY

(Intercutting)

Put an end to racism! Reverse climate change! Cure the plague!

LAURA

Wear designer clothes and shoes that make my feet bleed!

DAISY and LAURA

(Together)

SAVE THE WORLD!

LAURA

No! Don’t look back. 

(Placing her glasses on the end table)

Look ahead. Out there. Where we’re going. I don’t care what agreements may have been made. I don’t care what anybody says, it was a mistake, a horrible mistake, but we can make it right. 

DAISY

But—

(Listening)

What was that?

(A child cries loudly, in some other room. LAURA and DAISY freeze, listening intently. M wakes with a start and sits up.)

CHILD’S VOICE

Mommy. 

DAISY

That voice.

CHILD’S VOICE

Mommeeeeee!

LAURA

Oh, that voice. That’s the voice of God. 

CHILD’S VOICE

Mommmmeeeee. Mommmmmeeee.

LAURA and DAISY

(Staring at each other in realization as CHILD continues to cry out)

Mimi. Mommy. Mommy!

M

Mmmgh… 

(Waking, wiping drool from her chin)

I’m here, Mommy’s here. Here she comes, Livvy, Oh Livvy, Olivia. 

M trips on a book as SHE leaves the loveseat, exclaiming in pain. SHE grabs the glasses, puts them on.

LAURA

Oh. Live.

The sound of a car approaching, a crunchy gravel sound, the engine stopping, a car door slamming, footsteps in gravel, a man’s voice—D—talking.

M

(Calling off, as SHE exits, limping)

I hear Daddy.  Daddy’s home!

DAISY

Dah ohhng. 

LAURA

We’re teetering on an abyss, Daisy. No, don’t look down. Just teeter here with me for a minute. Teeter and totter. Teeter and totter. Teeter totter. Teeter totter. I’m ambivalent. 

DAISY

Me, too. Is this the only possible way for these kinds of stories to go? Romeo and Juliet. Butch Cassidy and Sundance. Thelma and Louise. 

LAURA

That all depends.

DAISY

On what? Depends on what?

D approaches the front door. HE is carrying a briefcase and a large, white paper sack in one hand, talking on his cell phone with the other. HE does not stop when HE gets to LAURA and DAISY. THEY step apart, and HE passes beneath their raised, still-intertwined hands. The light changes. 

LAURA and DAISY continue to stare straight ahead, still listening to everything, a decision yet to be made. When D crosses the threshold into the room, the outside sounds diminish but continue, under—

D

(Into his cell phone)

Right. That’s what I’m saying, that’s exactly the point I’m tryin’ to make! That property is hot right now and we need to jump on it. Gotta hand it to him; the guy’s a complete jerk. We’ll see what happens tomorrow at the presentation, because he might just— Yeah. Okay. Okay, I’m—

M re-enters the room carrying a CHILD, who is still fussing.

(Interrupting himself to kiss M on the cheek)

Hi baby. 

(Continuing, on the phone)

Yeah, we’re set to pave the whole thing over starting on Tuesday. The demo’s done as of last week sometime. Whatever; there’s always some local wacko group who can’t see the big picture. We can deal with ‘em. Listen, I gotta go. Okay.

Disconnecting, putting the cell in his pocket, D takes the baby from M. To the CHILD, affectionately, in baby talk, touching a spot on her forehead.

How’s my Olivia? What’s the bump?

M

Oh—she fell off the seesaw over in the park and got—and—

(Trailing off, distracted… touching her own forehead with a Band-Aided hand)

—hurt her thing. 

D

And you, too? What’s the matter with your thing? 

M

Oh, the hand’s nothing. You should see my tailbone.

D

It’s like walking into a trauma unit.

M

We were playing in the hall and I tripped backwards over a bunch of blocks. Well, I mean, I was actually trying to get her to follow me into the bedroom so I could put her down for a little bit, but she didn’t want to come and she wouldn’t let me pick her up. 

D

Baby, you have the AC on “High”? It feels like February in here. I’m surprised you don’t have snowflakes forming.

M

Livvy was messing with the controls. 

D

(To the CHILD)

How’s Daddy’s girly girl? All sleepy-heady? 

M

She loves the dial.

D

How— how does she reach it?

M

I hold her up.

D

Why?

M

At some point, saying no isn’t worth it. Go ahead, shut it off. I can’t feel anything anymore. 

D

You look sleepy-heady yourself. Take a nap?

(Teasing)

Must be nice. Daddy goes off to work all day and Mommy gets to sit around eating bonbons. Lazy, lazy, lazy. 

LAURA

It’s Laura, you idiot. 

DAISY

(Simultaneously)

Daisy. I’m Daisy.

M

Mommy had about forty-five minutes today to work on the draft, get my deadline extended, answer e-mails, and that’s it. Everything else was…calamitous. Olivia’s been go, go, go, go, go. If we could harness that, we would not need fossil fuels…

M, LAURA and DAISY

(Together)

…and the world would be saved.

DAISY

(to LAURA)

Write that down.

M

By ten, the house was a wreck. You had to dig a path to get to the front door. 

DAISY

I hate this time of year. Hate.

M

She won’t eat vegetables. I can’t get her to stop throwing her food all over the place. I spent the afternoon wiping things.

D

See? All day long, bonbons and soaps, but when a man gets home, a man wants his dinner. Where’s my dinner? 

LAURA and DAISY

(Together)

Dinner.

M

I don’t know, where is it?

M takes the CHILD back and D puts the white bag on the table, extracting two cartons of Chinese food. 

D

With brown rice, because I know how you are.

THEY sit and share takeout out of the cartons, the CHILD sitting on M’s lap pulling on M’s hair. They continue to talk as THEY eat.

M

Oh, and I talked to the doctor again today. 

D

Minzner? Meisner?

M

That the one. Follow-up on last week’s checkup. Apparently, Olivia’s not unusually worked-up, crabby, demanding, vigorous, or persistent. All good.

D

Seems perfectly normal to me. 

M

Although, it’s not like you’re here all day long. Did you get chopsticks? Here they are.

D

This was the agreement. But, we can hire somebody. Or—

M

John. This was the agreement.

LAURA and DAISY both touch their foreheads, just as LAURA did when she first felt the kick of her baby.

CHILD

Dah. 

D

Daddy. Daddy. That is so cool. Open up!

M takes a shuddering breath and tears roll down her cheeks unchecked. D doesn’t notice. THEY continue to eat dinner.

LAURA

Teeter and totter. Teeter and totter. 

(Striking herself repeatedly with the spatula)

Teeter. Ouch! Totter. Ah! Teeter. Ow! Ow! 

DAISY

Stop it, Laura. Stop it. Stop!

DAISY tries to wrestle the spatula out of LAURA’s hands. They tussle; they roll around the floor in hand to hand combat, LAURA holding the spatula and DAISY trying to get it from her. Occasionally, LAURA strikes out at DAISY and lands one; DAISY cries out. Wrestling, swatting and shouting, they circumvent the table as the family eats dinner. They come back to the threshhold; LAURA tries to push DAISY through and into the abyss. DAISY resists.

D

Can I have the rest of the Chow Fun?

LAURA and DAISY tumble off into the dark abyss, disappearing, calling out as THEY fall—

LAURA and DAISY

(Together)

Hel-l-l-l-l-!

M stands abruptly with wild eyes when LAURA and DAISY jump. HER standing communicates a decision. D and the CHILD, startled, look up at her, and then resume calmly eating, ignoring her.

As M continues to gaze, the lights change again—clear, warm, cozy, inviting. Her face softens; perhaps M is comforted by what she sees.

Lights fade first on D and the CHILD.

 As the intro to Head Over Heels by the Go-Gos rises in volume, M alone can be seen in a beam of remaining light as the roaring fades and only the ticking of the clock can be heard.

Blackout.