(New York apartment. Nicely furnished living room. KNOCKING at the door. Insistent. After a pause, KRISTEN, twenty-six years of age, wrapped in a Terry cloth robe, exhibiting a personality somewhere between cuddly and gorgeous, spaced and brilliant, enters the living room, heads for the front door, as......KIRK, twenty-seven years of age, prematurely grey, comes bursting in.)
KIRK: Where have you been?
KRISTEN: In the bathroom...
(He starts to enter the bathroom.)
KRISTEN: ...washing my dirty bra and six old panties.
KIRK: Robert said you threatened suicide...
KRISTEN: I threatened to kill him. As usual he got the message wrong.
KIRK: You punched him.
KRISTEN: I threw a wad of paper at him. All right. My hand forgot to open. (Beat) I fell asleep. I was giving him a blow job. I woke up. Vomited. He exhibited no compassion. So I hit him.
(He relaxes, notices the top of her head.)
KIRK: You need a dye job.
(He sits on the couch. She sits beside him.)
KIRK: You’ve broken up with five different men in eight months.
KRISTEN: Seven men in four months.
KIRK: You physically fight with all of them.
KRISTEN: (agreeing) Is that sick or what?
(His cell phone RINGS. He answers it. She heads to the kitchen.)
KIRK: (into the phone) Another half hour. Order me a bowl of gazpacho. Don't worry about it; it starts cold. I am
insensitve. I don’t care about your tears…unless you cry them into my Gazpacho and throw off the salt content.
(She returns with some crackers and cheese.)
KIRK: Debbie told me she wants out.
KRISTEN: Then why is she crying.
KIRK: I took the ring back.
(They start nibbling on the crackers.)
KRISTEN: How’s teaching?
KRISTER: But...they offered you tenure...
KIRK: I refused.
KIRK: Because I hate teaching.
KRISTEN: How can you hate teaching? You’re loved by your students. Respected. Admired. You meander tree-lined streets, walk past ivy covered walls, spend your days with growing young minds. ..
KIRK: I teach sixth grade in the Bronx.
(She moves closer to him.)
KRISTEN: Dad called. Will you cry for me when I depart?
KIRK: If you grow up like your Mom...yes.
KRISTEN: He wants to come live with me.
KIRK: He’s a sweet man.
KRISTEN: My sex life will be over.
KIRK: (Shrugs) Less vomiting.
KRISTEN: I like Debbie.
KIRK: Hour glass figure. Independently wealthy. Cleans windows. Cooks vegan. Likes sex. What’s not to like?
KIRK: Why did you fall asleep under Robert last night?
KRISTEN: On him.
KIRK: That’s not the point...
KRISTEN: Very small penis. Almost inverted.I forgot he was there. (Beat) I have a very large mouth. You know that. (Beat) The vodka numbed me. I’d never fell asleep on you.
KRISTEN: Both times deserved. You fell asleep first. (Beat) Remember pulling the top of my bathing suit down in the grammar school pool?
KRISTEN: You don’t remember one of the most pivotal events of my life?
KIRK: There was very little to remember, if I remember.
(She starts to open her Terry cloth robe.)
KRISTEN: There’s lots more now.
(He tries to stop her.)
(He stands up; she reaches for him.)
KIRK: NO...We’ve been doing this for ten years...ever since we both came to New York. I have great sympathy for you. Your mother walked out on your father. I’m sorry. Your father is sad and inconsolable. I’m sorry. The size of Robert’s penis makes you nauseous. I’m sorry. But no more. We live together. We break up. We find new people. We break up with them. We get back together again. (Beat) In a city of ten million people, there’s got to be somebody else to fall in love with. Besides, my gespacho is getting cold. Warm.
(He exits, SLAMMING the front door. She shouts after him.)
KRISTEN: You’ll miss me! You’ll see!
(He doesn’t return. Kristen goes into the bathroom. After a long pause, Kirk comes crashing through the door again. He runs across the room, enters the bathroom; and exits with Kristen in tow; a bottle of open pills in his hand.)
KIRK: Spit them out Kristen! God damn it! Spit them out!!!
(He starts walking her back and forth across the floor.)
KIRK: How many have you already taken? How many? I knew it! You never let your roots go that grey! (He flips open his cell phone.) Operator...I need to report a suicide attempt...One forty-six East Nineteenth. Apartment 106 ...what?! What do you mean 'in Pakistani'?! Get me your supervisor! (Beat) Hello. Suicide attempt. One forty six East Nineteenth. Apartment one-oh-six! She’s my...She’s my...JUST SEND THE FUCKING AMBULANCE!!! (He hangs up.)
(He continues walking her. He lapses into unconsciousness. He SLAPS her. She awakens long enough to SLAP him in retaliation; then falls back unconscious.)