by Neil LaBute
CAMMIE stands drinking a can of Coke and smoking. Thirty-eight, she chooses clothing that makes her look younger, if a little foolish. Wears her hair long. She yawns loudly.
SHARI is on the sofa, sorting a few bottles of formula and the like in a soiled diaper bag. She is twenty-one, very thin and sexy, although her face is plain and almost sad. A baby cries in one of the other rooms.
CAMMIE
—fucking pooped, huh?
SHARI
Yeah.
CAMMIE
And it’s only hump day. Believe that? Still got two more to go—
SHARI
Uh-huh.
CAMMIE
How’s the baby?
SHARI
’S kinda colicky.
CAMMIE
Yeah, poor thing. Keeping any milk down ’em?
SHARI
Little bit.
CAMMIE
He’s gonna be all right . . . Darrell went through the same thing. Worse, probably.
SHARI
Yeah?
CAMMIE
Shit . . . like he was gonna bust apart, screaming and crying just like that, day after day. Drove me crazy—
SHARI
I know.
CAMMIE
I mean, God . . . you don’t know what the hell to do! New mom, middle ’a the night. You just feel like knocking the shit outta them—
SHARI
Yep.
CAMMIE
—anything, just to shut ’em up.
SHARI
I know what ya mean. Sometimes I just crank the stereo and zone out, you know, kick back and say, “fuck it,” cry if ya wanna, I gotta take a break—
CAMMIE
Right.
SHARI
—and I don’t think that’s so wrong or whatever, I really don’t.
CAMMIE
Me neither. He don’t die from it, does he?
SHARI
Exactly. Little hungry or wet himself, hey, so hold on a second. You grow up, you wait for shit all the time—
CAMMIE
Every day.
SHARI
Every day ’a your life, true, so I don’t think you oughta just jump up whenever they start wailing like that . . . just teaches ’em bad manners, really.
CAMMIE
That’s what it is.
SHARI
Seriously . . . and false expectations ’a things. ’Cause life isn’t like that, with people all down on one knee for ya when you need ’em, just gotta cry out or say, “hey, I want this or that.” ’S totally not that way at all—
CAMMIE
I agree. (pointing at a bottle) You want me to throw one ’a them in the microwave for ya?
SHARI
Nah . . . he likes ’em cold, fine. I mean, room temp or whatnot.
CAMMIE
’Kay.
(CAMMIE looks up at the sound of a car door.)
Oh. Here comes Rich—
RICH enters the house, swinging a lunch pail. Thirty-three or so, plain-faced but muscular. He looks at SHARI sternly for a moment, then walks over and kisses CAMMIE on the cheek.
SHARI
Hey, Rich—
RICH
’S up?
CAMMIE
I, ahh, called Shari to gimme a lift home from work, hope that was okay.
RICH
Uh-huh.
SHARI
We didn’t mind . . . nice to get out.
RICH (to CAMMIE)
Could’ve taken the Impala today.
CAMMIE
No, see, that’s why I called her. Got a bunch ’a oil and stuff, dripping down.
RICH
What?
CAMMIE
Well, looks like oil . . . kinda reddish, but thick. ’S all over the driveway.
RICH
Fuck.
CAMMIE
You didn’t see it out there?
RICH
No . . . (BEAT) Shit, just got it back!
The baby cries out; RICH makes a motion toward SHARI.
SHARI
Sorry.
RICH
’S fine. I mean, if it doesn’t bother you—
SHARI
Right, yeah, I was just gonna—
RICH
’S a baby, they do shit like that. Cry.
SHARI
—I know, but—
RICH
You do? Huh. Well, that’s something, I guess . . . at least you know it.
A moment of silence between them all; the child whimpers.
CAMMIE
Anyway, that was nice of Shari, did me a favor—
RICH
Right. Yeah—
SHARI
No problem . . . we were planning on coming over tonight, anyway. Bought a new video for us, that one comedy one.
RICH
Oh.
CAMMIE (to RICH)
Just to watch the tape. Not dinner.
SHARI
No, I’m gonna grab something on the way, I mean, unless—
RICH
—great.
RICH pulls off his sweatshirt and moves to the sofa. He kicks back as he fires up a cig. Grabs up the remote. Phone rings and CAMMIE picks it up.
CAMMIE
H’lo. Yep. Uh-huh. Right. Oh well. Yeah. Whatever. No. Fuck no. Nevermind. Fine. ’Kay. Later. (to the others) ’S just Darrell—
RICH
Fuck’s he want, calling?
CAMMIE
Ride over to the mall.
RICH
Shit.
CAMMIE
I told ’em “no.”
RICH
Good. (to the remote) The hell is . . . ?
CAMMIE
Cable’s out.
RICH (tossing the remote)
Jesus Christ! Nice place—
CAMMIE
Hey—
RICH
You mail the bill or not?
CAMMIE
Yes, I mailed the fuckin’ bill.
RICH
Well, then what’s up?
CAMMIE
I dunno. You flip ’em on, you get snow.
RICH
Really?
SHARI
Yeah, anything above seven is fuzzy.
RICH
And you did the little wire thing in the back?
CAMMIE
Shit, Rich, do I look retarded to you?
RICH
Kinda—
CAMMIE (smiling)
Fuck you—
RICH
Forget it, you’re too old for me.
CAMMIE
Prick.
RICH blows her a kiss. She pretends to eat it.
SHARI
—mine went out last week, too.
RICH
Yeah, but you can’t afford cable.
CAMMIE
Rich!
RICH
What, I’m just saying—
SHARI
It’s okay—
RICH
I just mean you don’t pay for it, you had that neighbor guy ’a yours do that thing with the back ’a the box, that’s all I mean. It goes out you can’t really be weeping about it . . . this is different.
CAMMIE
Still don’t gotta say it like that.
RICH
What?!
SHARI
Not a big deal.
RICH
Exactly.
CAMMIE
Anyhow, we still got all the other channels—
RICH
What “others”?
CAMMIE
The regular ones.
RICH
“Regular?” Only “regular” thing on the whole fucking tube is Sports Channel—
CAMMIE
Listen to ’em. You got the ABC, CBS and NBC. Plus that PBS thing—
CAMMIE slides in next to him and takes a hit off his smoke.
RICH
Oh, cool, that’s fucking great . . . you t
hink I’m gonna do, watch Nova? ’S not about cars—
CAMMIE
No. I’m just telling ya—
RICH
Whatever.
A moment of silence between them all. Only the baby crying.
SHARI
Ummm . . . could I get a drag, Rich?
RICH nods and SHARI slips down on the other side of him. He puts his hand up and she reaches her mouth forward, sucking deeply off his cigarette.
RICH
Well, ain’t this just cozy?
CAMMIE
Ummm-hmmm—
They all giggle. CAMMIE lays her head on RICH’s shoulder. RICH puts his free hand on her shoulder while keeping an eye on SHARI.
SHARI
Hey. I got that tape in the car, should I go and . . .
(They both look over at SHARI; she stops cold.)
. . . maybe I oughta take off.
RICH gets back up, leaving his sweatshirt where it fell. He heads for the door.
RICH
Worry about it . . . I’m gonna go pull the Chevy in the garage, take a look at it. You guys go back to your girlie shit or whatever—
CAMMIE
Oh yeah, that’s us.
SHARI
Right.
RICH (to SHARI)
—or you might wanna go hold your kid a second, get him to fuckin’ shut up. That might be something to do.
RICH smiles and exits. CAMMIE looks over at SHARI, but neither one of them make a move for the baby.
CAMMIE
So—
SHARI
Yeah.
CAMMIE
—don’t listen to that. He’s tired.
SHARI
Right.
CAMMIE
No big thing.
SHARI
’Kay.
CAMMIE
—what tape’d you get, anyway?
SHARI
You know. That one comedy one.
CAMMIE
Oh, right. Good. That’ll be good.
SHARI slowly lays her head down in CAMMIE’s lap. CAMMIE plays with her hair as SHARI closes her eyes. The baby continues to cry.
THE MALL BUS STOP
Two wire benches near a great expanse of concrete retaining wall. Part of a logo sign overhead with a flickering bulb that reads INGTON GALLERIA.
TIM and DARRELL lean up against the wall some distance off, smoking. DARRELL holds a drink.
DARRELL
—fucking “Arches,” huh?
TIM
Yeah.
DARRELL
What’s McDonald’s doing, the middle of a supposed “celebration of international tastes,” anyway, I ask you?
TIM
Dunno. (BEAT) Nothing happening out here . . . you wanna go back down the lower level, do something?
DARRELL
Sounds good.
TIM
Yep.
DARRELL
Grab us some more CDs maybe, I don’t give a shit.
TIM
’Kay. (BEAT) I gotta be back some time, though, got an extra shift tonight.
DARRELL
Not asking for a weekend in fucking Vegas, am I?
TIM
No.
DARRELL
Jesus!
TIM
I’m just saying . . . just saying it, that’s all.
DARRELL
I heard you. Fine. Hang out here, do some video, fine—
They pass the smoke a few times without speaking.
TIM
—so, we gonna go back in? I still got a little time—
DARRELL
“Time?” Oh yeah, I forgot, you gotta work—
TIM
Whatever.
DARRELL
—yeah. (BEAT) I told Jenn we might meet her out here, though.
TIM
Oh man.
DARRELL
What?
TIM
Nothing.
DARRELL
No, fuck that, alwaying moaning your ass off, she does anything with us. Fuckin’ jealous or what?
TIM
—no.
DARRELL
’S my girlfriend, okay?
TIM
Uh-huh.
DARRELL
Jesus, Tim, you got a woodie for me or something, gay shit like that?
TIM (smiling)
Asshole.
DARRELL
Then what the fuck?
TIM
I just—
DARRELL
Didn’t make no promise, anyway, okay . . . I said “maybe.”
DARRELL lights up another cigarette. Offers TIM a drag.
TIM
—I don’t like her so much.
DARRELL
Up yours!
TIM
I don’t, though. Not anymore. (BEAT) She fucking called me “stupid” once.
DARRELL
Oh yeah, she was really outta line on that one—
TIM
That’s not so funny, you know? Hurt my feelings, maybe, give a shit about me you might care.
DARRELL
Just shut up and finish the smoke. Mall’s not open forever, ya know.
TIM
’Kay. (BEAT) She say she’s coming for sure?
DARRELL
I dunno, just hurry up! (sips his drink) I’m outta Coke. Shit! Fucking thirsty—
(TIM takes another hit off the Camel Light as DARRELL sucks savagely on his straw, looking for moisture. He looks up suddenly, watching something.)
Hey. Hey, lookit that dude!
TIM
Where?
DARRELL
Don’t fucking stare . . . just casual. Ol’ fucker in the camouflage. What a loser!
TIM
Prick—
DARRELL
I hate that crap! Vietnam assholes, still wear that fuckin’ garb everywhere they go. M.I.A. T-shirts and shit.
TIM
That cock—
DARRELL
Catch this. (loudly) Hey man, you kill many kids when you were over there?
(They burst out laughing and flip off the middle-aged man.)
Fuckin’ retards . . . (BEAT) That wasn’t a war, anyway, not like the Persian Gulf. My dad told me a bunch ’a shit they did over in Saudi . . . you wouldn’t believe some ’a the stuff. He told me one time—just to make a point, he was there ten months or so, I think—and he said that, this is true, the nicest thing that happened when he was there, he was up in a helicopter and flying out to some base or somewhere, and they ran right into this flock of birds. Yeah, these, like, giant birds they got near Kuwait or some place like that, big fucking birds just migrating or who knows what, but they went ripping right through ’em at about a hundred fifty miles an hour . . . feathers, blood, all sorts ’a shit on everybody! He and around six or ten of the guys with him, just covered in bird guts! They barely landed the chopper thing, that’s what he said. And they hardly get on the ground, at this outpost they’re going to, and they get attacked by these fucking ragheads!—that’s what they called the Iraqi guys, “ragheads”—really nasty shit, too, I guess, hand-to-hand stuff and they go into it already wearing all this crap on ’em! Big chunks of these, like, white birds . . . he said it really scared the fuck outta the Iraqis and they took off running. Seriously. I’m not shitting ya. He said they must’ve killed thirty or so of these birds and that was the best thing that happened while he was there. So, you can pretty much imagine the kind ’a fucking ordeal he went through. Not a holiday, anyway, some port on the South China Sea. (BEAT) Dad don’t talk about it much, not when I see him, but he did tell me that he still feels bad about those birds. He told me that—
TIM
No shit?
DARRELL
Nope. (BEAT) Although I think he’s making a big deal outta nothing. Bunch ’a birds, who gives a fuck?
TIM
Yeah.
DARRELL shakes his head and the ice in his cup at the
same time. He stands.
DARRELL
You got any cash?
TIM
I just ate it.
DARRELL
Fuck. That won’t do—
TIM slides up the wall into a standing position.
TIM
We waiting for Jenn or what?
DARRELL
She’ll find us. Not a fucking cent, huh?
TIM
Uh-uh.
DARRELL
Well, we gotta remedy that. (BEAT) Stay out here, ’kay, I’m gonna pop back inside and look for her, maybe get a refill. See if I can get us a few bucks—
Before TIM can answer DARRELL is gone. TIM is left alone, so he plops onto a bench and pulls a CD out of his pocket. He begins absently tearing at the wrapping.
After a bit, JENN appears. Seventeen, pretty, strong-featured. Uniform of the day (T-shirt, jeans) with a large bag over one shoulder. She stops cold when she sees TIM.
JENN
—Tim. Oh. Hi.
TIM
Hey. ’S going on?
JENN
Nothing. You?
TIM
Just sittin’.
JENN
Oh. (BEAT) So, where’s Darrell?
TIM
You know, around. Looking for you, I guess—
JENN
Huh. Which way’d he go?
TIM
He’s gonna be right back. (BEAT) You can sit, if you wanna.
JENN
No.
TIM
’Kay.
JENN
See, I gotta . . . uhh, do you know which direction he went?
TIM
All over.
JENN
Fuck.
TIM
S’pposed to meet him here, right?
JENN
Talked about it, yeah, but, see, I need to go. I gotta go, and I don’t want ’em all pissed off, so . . . anyway, I just gotta.
TIM
Oh.
TIM nods then turns back to working on the CD wrapper. JENN stands there, uncomfortable.
JENN
Tim.
TIM
Yeah?
JENN
How come you don’t look at me when I say something anymore?
TIM
Huh?
JENN
A thing I noticed. Lately. I’m with you and Darrell, or just at a place, you’re always looking away, off some other way. Not at me. How come?
TIM
—whatever. (BEAT) So, you’re not staying?
JENN
Ummm—
TIM
’S all right.
JENN
See, I told some friends, I mean, you know—Shit!
JENN looks around for a moment, then sits on the edge of the bench. TIM scoots down. After a moment, he holds out the CD.
TIM
You like The Cult at all?
JENN
Uh-huh.
TIM
Here.
JENN
What?
TIM
Here. ’S yours.
JENN
