[DOCTOR’S beeper goes off. He looks at the number.]
PATIENT The missus?
DOCTOR I’ll tell her I left it in the car.
PATIENT How’s the baby?
DOCTOR Took his first steps last week. You hear about it, but you’re never prepared for how… miraculous it seems.
PATIENT I know.
DOCTOR Oh, I didn’t realize you were around long enough.
PATIENT For what?
DOCTOR To see your son take his first steps.
PATIENT I wasn’t. I watched from afar. They might not have been his first steps, but they were the first I saw him take.
DOCTOR Are you finally ready to confront what leaving him did to you?
PATIENT Is it true men are most likely to fool around on their wives in the first year after childbirth?
DOCTOR Is that what happened to you?
PATIENT That’s what happened to you. To your wife. Why do you think that is?
DOCTOR Because…
PATIENT What?
DOCTOR Because suddenly we’re replaceable.
PATIENT Let me tell you something — you’re always replaceable.
DOCTOR Suddenly we realize it. Men need to feel useful. Needed.
PATIENT Yawn.
DOCTOR I’m serious. Nothing makes you feel more… ancillary than seeing the love that used to be reserved for you transferred to a child.
PATIENT Men need to feel worshipped. But once they have it, they get bored and go trolling for new parishioners.
DOCTOR You reduce everything to a negation of honest emotion.
PATIENT Who’s rationalizing now? You put your dick in my mouth because you felt ancillary? Boo-hoo.
DOCTOR I love my wife.
PATIENT Ha!
DOCTOR I love my wife. And I strayed, I failed. I did. But I love my wife. Hurts to hear, doesn’t it? Because if one person can love — love deeply, if not flawlessly — then your belief that love is nothing but linguistic finery, well, it all goes up in smoke, doesn’t it? And you’re revealed as a fraud.
PATIENT Ooooh. Doctor. My. Cutting to the quick, are we? I never said I didn’t believe in love. I believe in love plenty. And no, my husband wasn’t unfaithful after the baby was born. My husband was dead. My lover killed him.
GINA returns from the bathroom, settles into the booth. She is nine months pregnant. WILL is throwing back the Buds and shots of Jim Beam. They are silent for a long time.
WILL We just don’t talk anymore.
GINA What do you want to talk about?
WILL I’s just fucking with you, baby. In a nice way.
GINA I wasn’t.
WILL Oh god, here it comes.
GINA Did you quit your job?
WILL Who ratted?
GINA You don’t deny it.
WILL No. I just want to know who ratted.
GINA I might be on maternity leave but I still have friends.
WILL Saved your life in ’Nam, did they?
GINA Did you quit your job?
WILL I already said I did.
GINA Why didn’t you tell me?
WILL I’m telling you now, right?
GINA Only because I asked. Only because I—
WILL ’Member when we used to have fun? You remember that?
GINA I’m nine months pregnant. What do you want me to do — snort some blow and do it standing up against the chain-link fence?
WILL I want a friend. A companion. Someone with balls and no fear of this bullshit life.
GINA I’m pregnant.
WILL That’ll change. But you? Since Hal—
GINA You promised you’d never say that name.
WILL Fuck that. Since Hal, you’re a wart. All sad and sniffling and drag-ass bitchy. You’re your mom. You’re my mom. You’re standing locked to the earth and letting it suck you dry instead of moving and telling the earth it ain’t got no fucking title on you until it chases you down and swallows you.
GINA There’s no end to you. You never stop sucking.
WILL We’re here for a blink, baby. Father Time burps and clears his throat? We’re over. And you want Barca-loungers from me? Fucking cookouts and layaway? We work our lives and save up just enough and get a time-share or some shit?
GINA I’m wet.
WILL Fucking mortgages and trade-ins and trips to the mall on Saturday? So — what — we can play by the rules and still fucking die? That ain’t going to be me. Take your fucking world. Take it. Let it suck you.
GINA My legs are wet, Will.
WILL It’s a good speech, yeah? That’s what I’m saying. We can go all Bonnie and Clyde and blow up this—
GINA My water just broke, you moron.
WILL “Moron” ’s kinda harsh, don’t you think?
GINA Will.
WILL All right, all right. What do we do?
GINA Can you drive?
WILL Fuck no.
GINA Flag down your girlfriend and tell her to call the taxi.
[WILL waves his arm wildly and the WAITRESS appears.]
WILL Call us a cab, V?
WAITRESS Gonna leave that sweet new truck of yours in the parking lot?
WILL Uh, V—
GINA A fucking cab, please!
WAITRESS Oh.
WILL Yeah.
WAITRESS Oh!
[The WAITRESS bolts. WILL finishes his shot.]
GINA I am not having this baby with you.
WILL Thank god, I was going to mention — I’m not into that delivery-room concept either. All the guck? I mean, I love you and all, but—
GINA You will not be the father of this child.
WILL A little late for that.
GINA Yeah?
[Slams the table in pain.]
I’m having this baby and you’re fucking MOVING OUT.
WILL We’ve had this discussion. You know how I feel about—
GINA It’s Hal’s, you dumbshit.
[The WAITRESS appears.]
WAITRESS It’s on the way, guys. It’s on the way. Hold on.
WILL [Nods.] Kind of a private moment, V.
WAITRESS Oh. We’re all pulling for you all.
[She runs off. WILL takes GINA’s hand.]
WILL It ain’t Hal’s.
GINA Your trip to Hartow and Rangely and Coronado, remember? Our vacation after you got back? Do the math.
WILL Ain’t Hal’s. Know how I know? Because it’s mine. It’s mine.
GINA Have fun proving that, you shit. God! Get me to a fucking hospital!
WILL [Yanks her hand toward him.] Suck that pain up. Suck it up. You want to eat Cheetos on the couch watching Donahue the rest of your days and getting pig-fat, that’s your prerogative. But don’t you think — not for one fucking second — that you’re taking my child.
GINA I will cut your throat.
WILL You wish.
GINA I will.
WILL That’d be great. Two dead lovers within a year. You get out of prison, the kid’ll be — what — thirty-five?
GINA Let me go.
WAITRESS [Offstage.] Three minutes on the cab!
WILL You’ll drag your tired ass to some fucking trailer park and knock on the door and tell this adult that you’re its momma. And it’ll spit in your face. Killed both its daddies? Damn. What a piece of shit you are.
[He lets go of her hand.]
GINA I will kill you.
WILL Kill you first, bitch. You try and run. Just try.
GINA I’ll kill you, Will.
WAITRESS [Offstage.] Dispatcher says “Two minutes!”
WILL Make a deal?
GINA [Screaming from the contractions.] Fucking deal? I’ll—
WILL Yeah, yeah. Kill me. I got that. Baby, look in my eyes. You wouldn’t make the county line. Come on. Look in these baby blues. Look.