These Walls Can Talk

by Erin Mallon

  Cameron: Hmm. Not sure.

  Vera:I guess we’ll never know. What are you reading, love?

  He shows her the cover.

  Vera:It doesn’t bother you to read about war right before bed?

  Cameron: Nah. I like it. Makes me feel peaceful actually.

  Vera:Huh.

  Cameron puts down his book.

  Cameron: (suggestive)

  It’s Friday.

  Vera:It is Friday.

  Cameron: So do you want to…

  Vera:(realizing)

  Oh it’s Friday! Yes of course, it’s Friday, so yes! Is she asleep though? Do we think she’s asleep?

  Cameron: Should be.

  Vera:Ok then, let’s… you know, let’s… Yes. Let’s.

  They put their books on their nightstands and come together in a sweet kiss. The door immediately flings open wide.

  (Note: Vera and Cameron’s next exchange is delivered simultaneously)

  Vera: (freaking the fuck out)

  HAZEL, NO! BAD GIRL!

  MOMMY AND DADDY ARE-

  SHUT THE DOOR!

  SHUT THE DOOR!

  SHUT THE DOOR!

  SHUT THE DOOR!

  SHUT THE DOOR!

  Cameron: (freaking the fuck out)

  HAZEL, WHY!? EVERY TIME!

  IT’S FRIDAY GODDAMNIT!

  SHUT THE DOOR!

  SHUT THE DOOR!

  SHUT THE DOOR!

  SHUT THE DOOR!

  SHUT THE DOOR!

  The door closes.

  Vera: Do you think we were too harsh?

  Cameron: I don’t think so, no. She needs to learn. Alright, back at it.

  Vera:“Back at it,” yes.

  They start to kiss.

  Cameron goes to unbutton her pajama top.

  She stops him.

  Vera: You know what?

  Cameron: What.

  Vera:Can we um. Can we maybe try something different tonight?

  Cameron: Different. Different how?

  Vera:Well, you know how we always start by sweetly kissing with minimal tongue involvement, then you caress my breasts a bit, suckle the left one, lightly blow on it, move to the right one, suckle it, blow on it, and then I stroke you real gently, focusing on the underside of your shaft, adding a little thumb swirl to the tip every third stroke or so until you seem ready to go, and then I lay down on my back, you climb on top of me and we have sex for a while until I come and you come and then we clean up, get back in bed, assume the spoon position and fall asleep?

  Cameron: Yeah.

  Vera:Well, that’s really nice, and I like it. But I was thinking… maybe we could try something different tonight.

  Cameron: Different. Different how?

  Vera:Just… well, I’ve been reading a lot lately and-

  Cameron: Reading? Or listening.

  Vera:Um. Listening, but it’s the same thing as reading.

  Cameron: Sweetie, it’s not.

  Vera:“Sweetie,” it is. There have been many studies done on this argument. There is no significant difference in comprehension or retention between people who listen and people who eye-ball read.

  Cameron: “Eye-ball read.”

  Vera:Why are you such a snob about this?

  Cameron: I’m not.

  Vera:You are! Just like you’re a snob about Romance.

  Cameron: Well, yeah! Because Romance is –

  Vera:SOMETHING YOU’RE TERRIBLE AT!!

  Beat.

  Cameron: Excuse me?

  Vera:I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I meant that you could - I mean, WE could… maybe actually benefit from some of the themes and relationships in the books I’m listening to -

  Cameron: What kind of “themes?”

  Vera:Thank you for asking. Themes like … well I guess they’re not themes so much as… qualities?

  Cameron: What kind of “qualities?”

  Vera:Paying attention.

  Cameron: I pay attention!

  Vera:To yourself! (quick beat) That didn’t – I meant that – Rrrrrrrr. Sweetie. You pay such great attention to our daughter. You pay beautiful attention to your work, to the things that you’re creating. It would be nice if… a tiny bit of that attention was directed to… well, to me.

  Cameron: That’s ridiculous. I pay attention to you.

  Vera:When was the last time you asked me about my job?

  Cameron: You hate your job. You never want to talk about it-

  Vera: When was the last time you noticed anything specific about me ?

  Cameron: I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about-

  Vera:(losing her shit)

  AND WHEN THE HELL WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WENT DOWN ON ME?!!!!

  Offstage child voice: crying sounds

  (Note: Vera and Cameron’s next exchange is delivered simultaneously)

  Cameron: It’s ok baby!

  We love you, everything’s fine!

  Go back to sleep!

  Vera: Baby, it’s ok!

  Everything’s fine, we love you

  Go back to sleep!

  Slowly and silently, Cameron and Vera get into bed.

  There is space between them.

  Their backs are turned to each other.

  Vera turns out the light.

  Cameron: February 27th, 2015.

  Vera: What?

  Cameron: You asked when the last time was that I went-

  Vera:You uh – (quick beat) You know the date?

  Cameron: Yeah.

  Cameron gathers his pillow and a blanket and leaves the bed.

  Vera:What are you doing?

  Cameron: I’m going to sleep on the floor in Hazel’s room. She’s having trouble sleeping, so.

  Vera: Baby, come on, can we just-

  Cameron: I love you.

  Vera:Cameron!

  Cameron: Good night.

  He shuts the door.

  Scene FOUR

  An independent coffee shop in Manhattan.

  Cameron is sitting at a corner table, typing vigorously on his laptop and drinking a very large coffee.

  Cameron:

  Seriously??? No one? No one is going to say bless you to me??!! Screw humanity!

  A woman zooms up to his table.

  Georgia: You’re out of line. And you’re in my seat.

  Cameron: Oh! Do I exist? Am I here? Hello!

  Georgia: You spewed explosive liquid germs from your face into your elbow. I will never understand why society deems that worthy of a blessing. I do not owe you a blessing. Nor does anyone else in this coffee shop. Now please remove yourself from my seat.

  Cameron: Your seat?

  Georgia: That’s my writing seat, yes.

  Cameron: Interesting, because this is MY writing seat. Every Monday through Friday morning from 8:30am to 11:30am I sit in this here chair and I go at my keyboard like a sonofabitch. At 11:31am I relocate to that high table with the padded bar stool over there because 1) the sunlight has shifted into my eyes 2) my ass has begun to throb and 3) the high stools helps me to remember my posture which - after three hours of going at the keyboard like a sonofabitch - has inevitably begun to suffer. I sit there for three more hours or until I hit my word count for the day. Lady, I don’t even break to go to the restroom. 1) It destroys my flow. 2) The toilet seat is always adorned with communal urine speckles and 3) The soap here smells like a foot.

  Georgia: Do you always speak in numbered lists?

  Cameron: 1) No. 2) Only when I’m making an emphatic point and 3) You’re casting a weird shadow on me that’s making me feel uneasy, can you please step aside.

  She adjusts her body
accordingly.

  Thank you. Those two baristas’ names are Carl and Kimmy.

  Georgia: Gosh, you’re still going.

  Cameron: Pretty sure they do it in the supply room at least once a shift. That man with the bowtie drinking the chai crème frappucino – which was discontinued years ago by the way, they make it for him special – he meets with potential “downlines” for his pyramiddy mineral oil company all day every day and always scores at least one poor shmuck, and the old lady who will be walking in the door in oh… 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 seconds – there she is! She reads the obituaries every morning in that corner over there to “check in with old friends.” Now tell me again how this is your writing seat?

  Beat.

  Georgia: I’m… in town for some book signings and meetings. Last time I was here, I wrote the most inspired book of my career with my derriere planted in that seat, and I was really hoping to sit there again. Please.

  Cameron: Sorry.

  Georgia: Well then you’re just gonna have to share.

  She squeezes onto the bench beside him.

  Cameron: What are you-?

  Georgia: “Sorry,” but I need what I need.

  She places her open laptop right next to his and starts typing with vigor.

  He watches her a moment then starts typing with just as much passion.

  Cameron’s knee starts to bounce.

  A lot.

  Georgia: Could you please calm your knee?

  Cameron: Excuse me?

  Georgia: You’re a nervous knee bouncer.

  Cameron: Listen. I beat the shit out of the shower curtain this morning.

  Georgia: You beat off in the shower?

  Cameron: No! I beat up the shower curtain. What I’m saying is that I’m a bit… raw… right now, so maybe you should tread – Seriously why do they have magnets on the bottom if they don’t actually stick to the tub?!!!!

  Georgia: The shower liner! You’re talking about the shower liner. Oh I’m with you! I pulverize that vinyl motherfucker too. Gusting and slapping my naked legs while I’m trying to tend to the most basic needs of my body? Trying to demean me? Humiliate me? Fuck you!

  Cameron: (surprised)

  Exactly.

  They share a look then began to type again.

  Georgia: (to herself)

  Oh that’s good, that’s good. Georgia, you beauty, that’s fuckin’ brilliant.

  Beat.

  Is there a problem?

  Cameron: Your elbows are invasive.

  Georgia: Here, I’ll lean forward, you lean back.

  They shift their bodies.

  They type.

  Cameron: No actually, I’ll lean forward, you lean back.

  Georgia: Fine.

  They shift their bodies the other way.

  They type.

  Georgia: Georgia you are a goddess!

  Cameron: Could you please stop that?

  Georgia: Oh my goodness I didn’t squirt you, did I?

  Cameron: Whaaaat?

  Georgia: When I get on a roll I often have a milk letdown. And depending on the rigor of the scene and the top I’m wearing, things can quickly turn projectile.

  Cameron: No. You didn’t… squirt me.

  Georgia: Oh good. You’re sure you’re not wet?

  She starts patting him down with a napkin.

  Cameron: Not wet. Please stop touching me.

  Georgia: Alright then.

  Cameron: So, uh- What genre do you-

  He peeks at her screen

  Ugh. Romance.

  Georgia: And you? What “genre” do you-

  She peeks at his screen.

  Ugh. Sci-Fi.

  Cameron: It’s a Fantasy Thriller Sci-Fi Epic with Time Travel elements.

  Georgia: Oh. A Fantasy Thriller Sci-Fi Epic with Time Travel elements!

  Cameron: Yeah. So. Serious writing.

  Georgia: Fella, I peeked at your screen for literally a second and a half and I saw the word “cyborg” three times. How is your work more “serious” than mine?

  Cameron: (struggling)

  The cyborgs are- They’re fighting for- There’s an uprising that’s- and they travel back in time to- You know, I actually do prefer to work in silence so…

  Georgia: Fine by me.

  She types. She’s on a roll again and needs to hold her breasts a moment.

  Cameron takes another peek at her screen.

  Cameron: Wait. Georgia Westwood?

  Georgia: Yes…

  Cameron: You’re Georgia Westwood?

  Georgia: Yes.

  Cameron: My wife reads you. Well “listens” to you.

  Georgia: Oh yeah?

  Cameron: Incessantly.

  Georgia: Is she one of my Peaches?

  Cameron: One of your what?

  Georgia: Is she in my Readers’ Group on Facebook? My Georgia’s Peaches.

  Cameron: Christ, I don’t know. You call them your “peaches”?

  Georgia: Yup. They’re my juicy, fuzzy-fruited lovelies with luscious butts and an insatiable desire for sexy stories. It was an obvious choice. Add in the fact that my name is Georgia and, well, the name chose itself. Surely you’ve noticed that peaches look like little fuzzy butts. And peaches are by far the sexiest fruit out there.

  Cameron: No need to prove anything to me, lady. Cleary I’m not your demographic, so.

  Georgia: Clearly. And what’s your Reader’s Group called?

  Cameron: Don’t have one.

  Georgia: Oh no?

  Cameron: Don’t need one. My books sell themselves.

  Georgia: Oh! Hahahaha. You’re funny. Don’t be a snob. And don’t kid yourself. We all write Romance. It’s the only genre there really is.

  Beat.

  Cameron: You’re a piece of- You know, I’m not so sure your books are benefitting your… “peaches?”

  Georgia: Oh no?

  Cameron: No. One particular “peach” and the uh, the uh… banana she’s married to – no, the PLANTAIN she’s married to - seemed to be just fine until the peach started listening to all your juicy dribble and doubting the plantain’s prowess and affections.

  Georgia: Plantain! Confidence. Good for you.

  Cameron: If you’ll excuse me. It’s 11:31, so.

  Cameron stands and moves to the high back chair with the better lighting.

  Georgia stands and follows him.

  Georgia: Perhaps if the plantain listened to my books – or books like mine – with the peach… perhaps if the plantain listened to the peach at all… well then, maybe they’d have a chance of getting back into the same fruit salad together.

  Cameron: Please stop talking.

  Georgia: Alright.

  She sits down right next to him.

  Cameron: Oh come on. What the hell are you-

  Georgia: Don’t get your jubblies in a jubble, I’m out of there in thirty. But I’ll be damned if I miss out on the best writing spots in this establishment. I don’t fuck around and I can tell that neither do you.

  They work.

  Their elbows bump.

  Cameron: (annoyed)

  Could you please just -

  Georgia: You got it.

  He leans forward, she leans back.

  They work.

  Cameron: What did you mean that “Romance is the only genre there really is”?

  Georgia: Just that the act of writing itself is the most romantic thing there is, yeah?

  Cameron: Uhhhhh…

  Georgia: I don’t communicate in grunts.

  Cameron: Could you, uh. Could you say more about that?

  Georgia: Oh, now he wants to talk.

  Cameron: Why you gotta make this-

  Georgia: Think about it. You
set your lifeline - a real lifeline, not one you can wiggle your way out of. A lifeline that has actual consequences if you don’t meet it, and then-

  Cameron: I’m sorry – you mean a deadline?

  Georgia: No I do not mean a deadline. You call the culmination of your work a deadline and expect it to feel alive?

  Cameron: You know, I’ve never considered-

  Georgia: So you set a lifeline for your project, and then… things start to happen. To you. Through you. Inside you. But most of all, between you and… whatever it is you believe in. Muse, God, Creativity, Source, the Universe, The Well… Call it whatever you want, but we’re speaking to something when we write, aren’t we? Someone?

  Cameron: I don’t-

  Georgia: And it – or they – are speaking back. Always present to us. Putting their full attention on us, simply because we have something we want to birth. So they get right there in the birthing tub with us, rubbing our backs, whispering in our ears, making sure the water is the right temperature… partnering with us. Wrapping their strong, supportive hands around our hearts and our pens, helping us bring out what’s growing and yearning in our bellies. And their only desire? For the world to get to experience even a quarter of the beauty and power and potential that they’ve always known is living inside us. (quick beat) If that’s not Romance, I don’t know what is.

  Cameron: That is… (quick beat) Fuck, that’s beautiful. You must – you must have some remarkable relationships in your life.

  Georgia: God no. I don’t believe that kind of connection is possible between people.

  Cameron: What? But you write Romance!

  Georgia: Right. Fiction.

  Cameron: But-

  Georgia: I write fiction.

  Scene FIVE

  Vera’s office.

  She sits at her desk, typing at her computer.

  Vera: (cheery)

  Invoices. I love doing invoices. Gimme all the motherfucking invoices.

  Beat.

  I can’t do it – I just - I just need a tiny little bit of…