Beautiful Ruins (96)

Marla: Nothing. It’s just—



Pat: [laughing] What?



Marla: Nothing.



Pat: Tell me.



Marla: It’s just . . . so many girls in the bar have talked about sleeping with you. I started to think there was something wrong with me that I hadn’t done it with the great Pat Bender. Then, when you came in alone tonight, I thought, well, here’s my chance. I guess I just expected it to be . . . I don’t know . . . different.



Pat: Different . . . than what?



Marla: I don’t know.



Pat: ’Cause that’s pretty much the way I’ve always done it.



Marla: No, it was fine.



Pat: Fine? This just gets better and better.



Marla: No, I guess I just bought into the whole womanizer thing. I assumed you knew things.



Pat: What . . . things?



Marla: I don’t know. Like . . . techniques.



Pat: Techniques? Like what? Levitation? Hypnosis?



Marla: No, it’s just that after all the talk I figured that I’d have . . . you know . . . four or five.



Pat: Four or five what?



Marla: [becomes shy] You know.



Pat: Oh. Well. How many did you have?



Marla: So far, none.



Pat: Well, I’ll tell you what: I owe you a couple. But for now, do you think we could get dressed before—




[A door closes offstage. The whole scene has taken place in near darkness, the only light coming from an open doorway. Now, still in silhouette, Pat pulls the covers over Marla’s head.]



Pat: Oh shit.




[Lydia, 30s, short hair, army cargo pants, Lenin cap, ENTERS. She pauses in the doorway, her face lit by the light from the other room.]



Pat: I thought you were at rehearsal.



Lydia: I left early. Pat, we need to talk.




[She comes in, reaches toward the nightstand to turn on the light.]



Pat: Uh, maybe leave the light off?



Lydia: Another migraine?



Pat: Bad one.



Lydia: Okay. Well, I just wanted to apologize for storming out of the restaurant tonight. You’re right. I do still try to change you sometimes.



Pat: Lydia—



Lydia: No, let me finish, Pat. This is important.




[Lydia walks to the window, stares out, a streetlight casting a glow on her face.]



Lydia: I’ve spent so long trying to “fix” you that I don’t always give you credit for how far we’ve come. Here you are, clean almost two years, and I’m so alert for trouble it’s all I see sometimes. Even when it isn’t there.



Pat: Lydia—



Lydia: [turning back] Please, Pat. Just listen. I’ve been thinking. We should move away. Get out of Seattle for good. Go to Idaho. Be near your mom. I know I said we can’t keep running from our problems, but maybe it makes sense now. Start fresh. Get away from our pasts . . . all this shit with your bands, my mom, and my stepdad.



Pat: Lydia—



Lydia: I know what you’re gonna say.



Pat: I’m not sure you do—



Lydia: You’re gonna say, what about New York? I know we screwed that up. But we were younger then, Pat. And you were still using. What chance did we have? That day I came back to the apartment and saw that you’d pawned all of our stuff it was almost a relief. Here I’d been waiting for the bottom to fall out. And finally it did.




[Lydia turns to the window again.]



Lydia: After that, I told your mom that if you could’ve controlled your addictions, you’d have been famous. She said something I’ll never forget: “But dear. That IS his addiction.”



Pat: Jesus, Lydia—



Lydia: Pat, I left rehearsal early tonight because your mom called from Idaho. I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to say it. Her cancer is back.




[Lydia walks over to the bed, sits on Pat’s side.]



Lydia: They don’t think it’s operable. She might have months, or years, but they can’t stop it. She’s going to try chemo again, but they’ve exhausted the radiation possibilities, so all they can do is manage it. But she sounded good, Pat. She wanted me to tell you. She couldn’t bear to tell you herself. She’s afraid you’ll start using again. I told her you were stronger now—



Pat: [whispering] Lydia, please . . .



Lydia: So let’s move, Pat. What do you say, just go? Please? I mean . . . we assume these cycles are endless . . . we fight, break up, make up, our lives circle around and around, but what if it’s not a circle. What if it’s a drain we’re going down? What if we look back and realize we never even tried to break out of it?




[On the bedside, Lydia reaches into the tangle of covers for Pat’s hand. But she feels something, recoils, jumps from the bed, and turns on the light, throwing a harsh light across Pat and the other lump in the bed. She pulls the covers back. Only now do we see the actors in full light. Marla holds the sheet to her chest, gives a little wave. Lydia backs across the room. Pat just stares off.]