LLONA: Why would she do a thing like that?
ARCHER (hushed): She was very attached to Hubert.
E. Z.: It’s not just that. Neva always tries to throw herself in the grave at funerals. She did it at my mother’s funeral and she hated my mother.
LLONA (understa.nding1y): I guess it’s sort of like sympathy pains.
ARCHER: Well . . . heh-heh . . . I guess that puts the kibosh on the bridge game. So we’ll just be going and leave you folks to your grief.
LLONA (brushing what’s left of Hubert from the back of her skirt as she rises): Please accept our deepest sympathy.
EXIT. FADE-OUT.
Somehow Llona didn’t believe it would be that simple. Her movie camera mind scrapped the scene and went on to—
TAKE TWO:
LLONA: Excuse me. There’s something I’d like to tell all of you.
ARCHER: Can’t it wait until after we find the poo—dog, dear?
LLONA: It’s about the dog.
MRS. HOLDKUMB: Have you seen him? Have you seen Hubert?
LLONA (coyly): Not exactly.
E. Z.: Here, Hubie. Here, Hubie.
LLONA: The truth is, I’m sitting on him. I’m afraid I’ve squashed him to death.
MRS. HOLDKUMB: Murderess!
E. Z.: Dog killer!
ARCHER (trying to assuage their anger): You just can’t take her anyplace.
MRS. HOLDKUMB: Why did you kill him? What did poor little Hubert ever do to you? ‘
LLONA: Well, I’ve never been a dog-lover, but -
E. Z.: Vivisectionistl
MRS. HOLDKUMB: Call the police, dear.
LLONA (getting up and gingerly handing what is left of Hubert to E. Z.): I didn’t do it on purpose, and if you think I ’m going to stand around here waiting to be arrested because of an unfortunate accident-—
MRS. HOLDKUMB: Stop her!
E. Z.: Don’t let her get away!
ARCHER (pulling out a gun and shooting Llona as she starts out the door): Perhaps I made the mistake of marrying a gauche girl, but basically I remain loyal to the company!
LLONA: Archer, I’m dying.
MRS. HOLDKUMB: Now she’s getting blood all over my new carpet.
ARCHER: I told you, you just can’t take her anyplace.
LLONA: Archer, your wife is dying.
E. Z.: And our Chihuahua is dead. But even in our mutual grief, Archer, we must remember that there’s a job to be done. (He pours two glasses of well-aged brandy and hands one to Archer.) To the company!
ARCHER (stepping over Llona’s body, clinking glasses with E. Z., and then holding his glass high to repeat the toast) To the company. (They drink.)
QUICK DISSOLVE.
No, Llona decided, Archer wouldn’t really go so far as to shoot her. Both possibilities were really much too dramatic. What probably would happen in reality was—
TAKE THREE:
LLONA: Oh! This is awful! I don’t know how to tell you! I’ve found Hubert! I’m afraid I sat on him. He’s quite dead.
E. Z. (after a long pause): Well, I guess there’s no sense staying down here on my knees looking for him then.
LLONA: I’m awfully sorry.
E. Z.: Don’t distress yourself, my dear. He was getting old anyway.
MRS. HOLDKUMB (blurting it out): He was only five.
E. Z.: But each year of a dog’s life is the equivalent of seven years of a human life. That would make him thirty-five. And most dogs don’t live past ten or twelve.
MRS. HOLDKUMB (making an effort to remember her manners): You’re so logical, sweetheart. Actually, he was getting to be a pest. Shedding hair all over the furniture. Really, Llona dear, you’ve done us a favor.
LLONA: l’m afraid I squished him; right into the upholstery.
MRS. HOLDKUMB: Oh, the cleaner won’t have any trouble taking that out.
ARCHER (trying to be helpful): Maybe a little cold :water before it gets a chance to set—? (He starts for the kitchen, but E. Z. stops him.)
E. Z.: Don’t trouble yourself, my boy. This old furniture isn't worth worrying about.
MRS. HOLDKUMB: Old! Why, I just bought those chairs last mo-—- But of course, you’re right, dearest. (Turning to Llona and patting her hand) Now don’t you give it another thought. Accidents will happen.
ARCHER: Especially to Llona. She’s quite accident prone.
LLONA: And sitting too.
ARCHER: Huh?
LLONA: Not just prone. I have accidents sitting too.
E. Z.: Well, just let's forget the whole thing.
MRS. HOLDKUMB: Yes, let’s. Get the cards, dear. We’ll all sit down and have a rubber of bridge and we just won’t give poor dead squished icky Hubert another thought.
E. Z.: That's a good idea.
MRS. HOLDKUMB: The only real problem is, what am I going to do with that dogfood souffle?
DISSOLVE.
Even after the DISSOLVE, the picture of that bridge game lingered in Llona’s mind. No matter how polite the Holdkumbs tried to be, no matter how overly civilized, Hubert would have to cast a pall over the rubber. No, Llona decided, she just couldn’t face it. She’d never be able to carry it off. She just didn’t have the sangfroid. But what was she going to do?
Archer and the Holdkumbs were still crawling around, snapping their fingers and crooning for the dog to come out of hiding. Their backs were to Llona. She acted on the spur of the moment. She reached underneath her, found the squashed Chihuahua and shoved the telltale carcass under the cushion of the armchair. By the time the other three turned around, she was sitting the way she had been right along. There was nothing to indicate that she’d moved, no clue to her concealment of the evidence. They looked at her and she smiled back hopefully, as if to say she was sure the dog would turn up.
But of course it didn’t. The Holdkumbs were persistent though, and by the time they gave up the search, it was too late to play bridge. Llona and Archer commiserated with them all the way to the door as they made their good nights. It was the first time Llona had budged from the chair all evening.
As soon as they were out the door and alone, Archer began berating Llona for her slip early in the evening about The Pill. Llona didn’t argue with him. She was too busy trying to find a way to tell him about what had happened to Hubert. She just nodded miserably to everything he said, not really hearing the company slogans that popped up throughout his angry tirade.
“Blah-blah-blah . . . thinking man’s filter . . . blah-blah- blah . . . don’t wrap it, bag it! . . . blah-blah-blah! . . . be prepared! . . . blah-blah-blah . . . safety first! . . . blah-blah-blah!”
It seemed to go on forever. Llona kept looking for a pause, but even when one came she found she was too frightened to confess to Archer what had happened. Her courage remained at low ebb even after they got home. She drifted off to sleep still listening to Archer’s lecture, still wondering where she would ever get the nerve to make her confession.