(As Stuart exits into the kitchen.)
PEGGY: Try to understand. Your father’s recovering from a mid-life crisis. That’s why I went camping. I hate camping. Wasted three days of my
life, watching him flirt with Mrs. Jameson in the back woods.
Horrible, taking advantage of a woman with Alzheimer’s. He used the
same line on her every morning, and it always worked!
(She pulls a stained pillow from under her shirt.)
The things I do to get your father through the day. He cries himself to sleep each night, wondering what’s become of you. Little Cindy is
all he has left to hope for.
(She looks between JOEY and the pillow.)
Where are my manners? Joey, meet your sister. She’s a little premature
right now, but she’s going to be a Rhodes Scholar. I’m teaching her
Latin in utero.
(She puts the pillow on the sofa and waits.)
Well. So much for introductions. (A troubled pause.) Joey? Why don’t we talk anymore?
[ . . . ]
(As Peggy exits into the kitchen.)
STUART: I hate camping with my wife. But what can I do? She’s going through “the change.” Stuffs a pillow up her shirt to feel young again. It’s your fault, Joey. I advise you to stop aging immediately. Or regress. Wet the bed and give her something to do.
(He makes sure he’s alone, then opens a beer.)
So. I caught a trout yesterday. Ten feet long. Dropped him in the canoe when — Wouldn’t you know? — he sprung to life, tipped it over,
and drenched your mother! You could see the down feathers through her
shirt, but she didn’t complain, even when it started to mildew. It was
hard to maintain appearances after that. She smelled a bit fishy to
everyone. But I kept up the facade, dear God, if only for her sake.
(Offers JOEY some beer.)
Drink?
(No response. STUART drinks.)
I bought one of those do-it-yourself funeral kits. To keep ahead of the neighbors. Any day now I’ll be in the alley with the rest of the garbage. Please, Joey. Who knows how much time we have left.
(He leans close.)
What does Emily look like without her panties?
