by Vicki Grant
PAUL: Like everyone else.
HILDY: You know what I mean. Not everyone but…
PAUL: No, I don’t know what you mean. In fact, I usually don’t know what you mean. Shocking, I know, but when you say “ordinary families” I don’t automatically picture mothers who run emergency departments and kids who have to be forced to go skiing.
HILDY: So? Everyone’s idea of ordinary is different. We’re individuals. Different circumstances. Different influences.
PAUL: No kidding.
HILDY: Okay. So what’s ordinary for you?
PAUL: Not that.
HILDY: Give me your four minutes then.
PAUL: Sorry. Don’t have that much material.
HILDY: Right. You’ve been alive what? Eighteen? Nineteen years? I’m sure you can squeeze out a four-minute highlight reel.
PAUL: Whoa. That was your highlight reel?
PAUL: What? Can’t take a little repartee?
HILDY: I thought you said you don’t read.
PAUL: So?
HILDY: You’re lying. “Repartee”? That’s a book word.
PAUL: That’s a Bugs Bunny word.
HILDY: I don’t remember Bugs Bunny ever saying “repartee.”
PAUL: Oh, well, then I must be wrong because you obviously memorized every word.
HILDY: This is the type of argument you have with a six-year-old.
PAUL: It’s not an argument. It’s repartee. About repartee. I thought you’d appreciate the simple beauty in that, you being an English major someday and everything.
PAUL: You smiled.
HILDY: I did.
PAUL: Okay. Where were we? My life story. My parents aren’t around. No siblings, at least that I know of. I play the drums. You know that. I draw. You know that, too. I almost graduated from an inner-city high school. I consider that one of my greatest achievements.
HILDY: Almost graduating?
PAUL: Yeah. Hard not to graduate there. Got a heartbeat and they put you on the honor roll.
HILDY: Well, congratulations. What else you got?
PAUL: I’m currently unemployed.
HILDY: That’s it?
PAUL: Yeah. That’s it. Story of my life.
HILDY: Wrong. You know what that was? That was a ten-second cover-up of a thirty-six-part docudrama. What you didn’t say was way more interesting that what you actually said. For instance, what happened to—
PAUL: Don’t ask me about my parents.
HILDY: What about friends?
PAUL: I’ve got a few.
HILDY: Yes? And?
PAUL: Not bad guys. They improve with alcohol.
HILDY: Girlfriend?
PAUL: Too messy. I prefer girls with an s.
HILDY: Bond. James Bond.
PAUL: Teacher! Betty’s making fun of me again.
HILDY: I’m making fun of the image you try to project.
HILDY: Which I shouldn’t do. Because I hate it when you do that to me.
HILDY: Sorry.
PAUL: My image doesn’t care.
HILDY: Nor should it. That was an inappropriate thing for me to say.
PAUL: Again. Doesn’t care.
HILDY: So. What do you want to do?
PAUL: When?
HILDY: When you, you know, “grow up”?
PAUL: Did that already.
HILDY: Okay. Fine. What do you want to do in the future?
PAUL: Get by. Haven’t thought too much beyond that.
HILDY: Seriously?
PAUL: I think I’ve answered the question.
HILDY: Four minutes it says. You’ve got about three minutes and thirty-seven seconds to go.
PAUL: I’m going to fill it with a drum solo.
HILDY: Ouch. Doesn’t that hurt your fingers?
PAUL: That’s what tables are for.
HILDY: No, they’re not and that’s not an answer, either. So stop, would you?
HILDY: Thank you. I’ll let you catch your breath and you can begin.
PAUL: I don’t need to catch my breath.
HILDY: All right so begin then.
PAUL: I doodle. That’s what I like to do. Maybe in an ideal world I’d draw for a living but this isn’t an ideal world, is it? Or I guess I’m asking the wrong person. Miss High School Trip to Europe and—natch—proud possessor of a gay best friend.
HILDY: Why would the sexual orientation of my best friend deserve that type of response from you?
PAUL: I dunno. You seem to be trying really hard to be “an individual” but you do these totally predictable things. I bet I could name your favorite food, your favorite musician, your favorite book—if I read, that is—your favorite beverage, your favorite brand of…
HILDY: Look. Your four minutes are up. Ask the next question.
PAUL: Hit a nerve, did I?
HILDY: I’d like to hit you.
HILDY: And that’s not funny. So quit laughing, would you?
QUESTION 12
PAUL: (Laughing) Sorry. Maybe it’s being stuck in this room for hours—
HILDY: It hasn’t been hours.
PAUL: I can’t help it. Sorry. Nothing is funnier than seeing someone like you snap.
PAUL: If you want me to stop laughing, you’re going to have to do something with your face.
PAUL: I mean it.
PAUL: And those little puffs of smoke coming out your ears.
PAUL: Oh. My. God. You are so not what you think you are. You did this big thing about claiming how you’re so ordinary but then as soon as I agreed, you lost it. Which makes me think that you didn’t really mean what—
HILDY: Just shut up and ask the question.
PAUL: And there you did it again. Who’s crabby now?
PAUL: Okay, okay. Here goes: If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?
HILDY: Patience, especially now.
PAUL: Good one. Me too.
HILDY: Too late. I got there first. No copying. Come up with something different.
PAUL: I’d have the ability to turn you off entirely while still being able to collect my forty dollars.
HILDY: Hahaha. I’m choosing to laugh at that good-naturedly but I don’t think that’s the real answer. I want the real answer.
HILDY: You know, I’ve noticed that the touchier the question, the more compulsively you draw. It’s obviously a defense mechanism for you.
HILDY: Well, look at that. Les tables ont tournées. Not so funny now, is it?
PAUL: If this is a defense mechanism, it’s not working very well. You managed to bug me even in Spanish.
HILDY: French, and you know it.
PAUL: I knew you reminded me of someone. Jean-Claude Van Damme.
HILDY: I don’t know who that is.
PAUL: He’s an actor, and you know it.
HILDY: Are you done?
PAUL: Oh yeah. I was done ages ago.
HILDY: TATQ
PAUL: What?
HILDY: TATQ. As in “Then Answer The Question.” It’s exhausting having to spell it out all the time.
PAUL: You’re exhausted?
HILDY: I think the real answer is in your drawings. You draw a version of the same thing over and over again. That hand. It must mean something.
PAUL: The answer to the question is in my drawings? How very mind reading of me. I didn’t even know what the question was until I read it and yet somehow I was able to miraculously draw the answer.
HILDY: I don’t mean the answer to that particular question. I mean the answer to who you are as a person.
PAUL: I’m going to hurl.
HILDY: If I’m so wrong then why are you crumpling it up?
PAUL: So I don’t do something worse.
HILDY: Such as? Reveal yourself?
PAUL: Oh my god. You are unbelievable. Who do you think you are now? Oprah?
HILDY: I—
PAUL: Don’t say you don’t know who that is. You watch TV like everybody else. You don’t think I actually believe
your bullshit, do you? You’re hiding as much as I am. So that’s what I’d like.
HILDY: What?
PAUL: I’d like the ability to see what you’re really like underneath all your posing and big words and old man’s overcoat or army tent or whatever the hell it is you’re wearing. You might say “ethereal” and know what’s so goddamn good about kitchen cupboards without handles, but you’re not fooling anyone. You just decided what part of the shitshow you want to make public. My guess is your family is as screwed up as the rest of us.
PAUL: Wow. That sure shut you up.
QUESTION 13
PAUL: Now you’re mad.
HILDY: No, I’m not. There’s just not much I can say to that. If you remember, I was the one insisting we all have problems. You were the one dismissing mine because I happen to own a Coach “satchel.”
PAUL: Yay. We agree. So what’s with the face?
HILDY: Just because something’s true doesn’t mean you have to like it.
PAUL: Wow. Two things we agree on.
HILDY: Now what are you drawing?
HILDY: It’s me again, isn’t it?… Thanks for the giant lips, by the way.
PAUL: What’s wrong with giant lips? I like giant lips. And no. It’s not you. It’s Pandora. Updated version of the story. Instead of a box, all the world’s woes are stuffed into her genuine Coach satchel.
HILDY: (Laughs) I thought you don’t read.
PAUL: I don’t.
HILDY: Then how do you know about Greek mythology?
PAUL: Comic books. Amazing what you can pick up just looking at the pictures.
HILDY: I like it. Despite your best efforts to appear shallow, you have once again revealed your depths. Can I have it?
PAUL: Take it. Nothing like someone explaining a joke to kill it… Here… Let me sign it for you.
HILDY: (Laughs) To Betty. You’re going to need a bigger satchel if you’re collecting my problems, too. Bob… Hey. No xoxo?
PAUL: Bob’s kinda shy with the ladies.
HILDY: Unlike Paul, his alter ego. Or is it the other way around?
PAUL: You’ll never know.
HILDY: I already do.
PAUL: Wow. What a coincidence. Question 13 is also about things beyond your comprehension.
HILDY: Smooth segue.
PAUL: Whatever that means. Okay, here goes. If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future, or anything else, what would you want to know?
HILDY: I’d want to know if…
PAUL: Yeah?
HILDY: I don’t know.
PAUL: Do so.
HILDY: I’d want to know if things will ever go back to the way they were.
PAUL: Christ. You need a crystal ball for that? The answer is no.
HILDY: I know but…
PAUL: No buts.
HILDY: You didn’t listen to what I was going to say.
PAUL: There’s nothing you can say. Can’t go backward. Get over it. Move on. Seriously. Next question.
HILDY: I don’t know what you’re so mad about all of a sudden. I wasn’t talking about you. I—
PAUL: Next question.
HILDY: We’re not at the next question. It’s your turn.
PAUL: I’m sick of this stupid thing.
HILDY: Too bad. We’re not done yet. What would you want to know?
PAUL: Is there a God and, if so, what was he thinking?
HILDY: Oddly serious response.
PAUL: And you thought you’d gotten to the bottom of Bob’s twisted psyche.
HILDY: What do you mean, “what was God thinking”?
HILDY: Go ahead. Doodle away. Act like you don’t hear me.
HILDY: You’re so childish.
HILDY: C’mon. Just tell me. What was God thinking—about what?
HILDY: You can’t tease me with some big heavy response and then just stop talking.
PAUL: So I’m a tease now, am I?
HILDY: You’re once again trying to deflect attention from the issue at hand. Tell me what you mean.
PAUL: Giraffes. See?
HILDY: This is normally where I’d sigh loudly.
PAUL: Seriously. What was—so-called—“God” thinking? I mean, no one would build something that looked like this on purpose.
HILDY: I don’t believe you and I also hate it when you do that.
PAUL: What? Draw? Gee, Betty, I thought you liked my drawings.
HILDY: I hate it when you’re going to say something real, then chicken out.
PAUL: No. Truth. Look at this thing. The neck. The scrawny legs. And what’s with these pathetic horns? Go big or go home.
HILDY: Neither funny nor charming nor even particularly insightful.
PAUL: You’re so mean. I’m going to retreat into the safety of my imaginary world for a while. You ask the questions now.
QUESTION 14
HILDY: Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?
PAUL: Have we been here a long time?
HILDY: Why?
PAUL: Nothing.
HILDY: Why are you smiling like that?
PAUL: Nothing… Okay. Is there something I’ve wanted to do for a long time? Yes. Drive.
HILDY: You can’t drive?
PAUL: What would I drive? I don’t have a car, which—whaddya know—is also the answer to the goddamn supplementary question.
HILDY: Oh. Hey. How about you teach me to play the drums, and I teach you to drive?
PAUL: You. Play the drums?
HILDY: Yes.
PAUL: No.
HILDY: Why?
PAUL: Just no. Betty. Take a look at yourself. Think about your interests, who you are as a person, your upper arm strength—and now tell me you’re actually going to play the drums.
HILDY: All right. Fine. Then teach me to draw.
PAUL: I told you how to draw. Pick up a pencil and start. That’s basically how you play the drums, too. Pick up a stick and start hitting something.
HILDY: I can see why you wouldn’t want to teach me drums. I’d pick up the stick and start hitting you.
PAUL: Exactly. Now you answer. Something you’ve always wanted to do.
PAUL: Is your face ever fuchsia.
HILDY: You’re going to mock me.
PAUL: I thought you said you were okay with that. Honor bound. Doing the right thing. The Righteous Code of the Knights of Betty. Whatever.
HILDY: You’re right. I did. Fine. Something I’ve dreamed of doing for a long time…
HILDY: Kissing Evan Keefe. What?
PAUL: Nothing.
HILDY: Quit laughing. It’s not funny.
PAUL: It is.
HILDY: You don’t even know him.
PAUL: I don’t have to know him. You want to kiss him? So kiss him. Why haven’t you?
HILDY: I don’t have to tell you that.
PAUL: Yes, in fact, you do. Two-part question.
HILDY: Damn.
PAUL: Damn! Wow. You must be, like, hoppin’ mad. C’mon. Spit it out.
HILDY: Okay. Well, no real reason. Just Evan Keefe and me? It would never happen.
PAUL: Why? He gay or something?
HILDY: No! Why would you say that? He’s just, I don’t know, out of my league. I mean, look at him.
PAUL: You have a picture of him on your phone. That’s kind of creepy. You’re not a stalker, are you?
HILDY: We just happened to be in a lot of things together.
PAUL: Just happened…
HILDY: Yes. Just happened. We’re both interested in drama, music, writing—
PAUL: And he’s not gay.
HILDY: That’s called stereotyping.
PAUL: So why hasn’t he kissed you?
HILDY: You mean why haven’t I kissed him? The question is: what have I dreamed of doing.
PAUL: Oh my god. Nitpicking. You must drive people crazy. That’s why he hasn’t kissed you.
PAUL: What?
PAUL: What?
>
PAUL: Oh, for shit sake.
HILDY: Don’t you for-shit-sake me!
PAUL: What are you? Someone’s grandmother? Only eighty-year-olds say things like that.
HILDY: I don’t care who says that! Your comments are hurtful. You’ve known me for, like, forty-five minutes and you feel you have the right to say I must drive people crazy? I’m apparently so irritating that mere contact with me is—
PAUL: Jesus. You’re not crying again, are you? Christ. Sorry. Please. Stop doing that, would you.
HILDY: I am NOT crying. Female tear ducts are smaller than male tear ducts so there’s, I don’t know, a little spillage or something. I’m just. So. Angry.
PAUL: Whoa. Listen to yourself. I only asked why he hadn’t kissed you. What’s wrong with that? I figured any normal straight guy would have wanted to kiss you.
HILDY: Don’t patronize me.
PAUL: I’m not. Swear to god. I just had no idea you were so sensitive.
HILDY: Don’t say “sensitive.”
PAUL: Christ. What’s the matter with “sensitive”?
HILDY: You’re not kidding anyone. That’s a loaded word. The sugarcoating wore off years ago. You say “you’re sensitive” and everyone knows you mean “you’re irrational.”
