by Njel de Mesa
CHARACTERS:
MAN
WOMAN
CHARACTERS:
MAN
WOMAN
(A park bench is seen onstage. An agitated Woman is annoyed that her lover is ridiculously late. The Man enters sort of rushing.)
MAN: (Panting.) Sorry…
WOMAN: You’re late…
MAN: I’m late…
WOMAN: Lemme guess—
BOTH: --Traffic.
MAN: Exactly.
WOMAN: Ho-hum. What a novel excuse…
MAN: For real. It was horrendous.
WOMAN: Stop. (Beat.) It’s so obvious.
MAN: What is?
WOMAN: Your nose, Pinochio.
MAN: Ahh…consider this then my dear fairy godmother, albeIT be the most overused apology in the book, it IS the truth…And to substitute it with another would not just be a lie but a double lie. (Challenging.) SEE…(Swaggeringly shows his nose which is not any longer. Spiteful.)…my proof of truth evidenced by my nose which happens to be as short as your trust…
WOMAN: And he makes it an issue on trust!
MAN: I will ‘til you start believing.
WOMAN: Why can’t you just spill it? All of it. Say it…
MAN: What?
WOMAN: “I overslept”. Now you try it.
MAN: (Fumes.) IT WAS TRAFFIC!
WOMAN: Traffic? On a public holiday?
MAN: (Thinking of an excuse.) Well…
WOMAN: Well?
MAN: Well…
WOMAN: And the truth gropes to stall…
MAN: (Without any compunction.) Well, you see…uh…I had to passby school…but then suddenly the cars filed into an unmoving line caused by a stalled vehicle…uhm… (Proud of his cleverness.) There!
WOMAN: I also passed by school on my way here…I don’t remember being forced into that long line…
MAN: (Pretensiously irked.) Let me finish! You see, the… the s-s-stalled vehicle was—was (Stalls.) – was (Idea.) mine! My car broke down in the middle of the University road.
WOMAN: Your car broke down?
MAN: My car broke down.
WOMAN: You lost your wallet yesterday…
MAN: I know. Series of unfortunate events.
WOMAN: …Which means you don’t have a driver’s license.
MAN: (Nervous.) Oh yeah…True, true…I did…lose my wallet…along with my license… sooo…
WOMAN: Sooo…
MAN: I-I… asked a friend to drive for me!
WOMAN: Friend? Guy or Girl?
MAN: (Gropes.) Guy? I guess…
WOMAN: (Baffled.) You guess?!
MAN: I mean... yes?
WOMAN: (Suspicious.) Are you keeping something from me?!
MAN: (Defensive.) Oh, no. (Thinks.) No.
WOMAN: Then was it a GIRRRL or a guy? And why’d you have to guess?
MAN: (Stalling.) Beeee…cause…he…she… is…uhm…a… (Idea.) homosexual! There you go…he-she’s gay.
WOMAN: A gay man driving for you?!
MAN: Gay’s have special skills as well…
WOMAN: But you’re homophobe…
MAN: I am?
WOMAN: (Implying.) Unless your conversation starter on our first date was a total lie…
MAN: Of course I am!
WOMAN: A homophobe? A liar?
MAN: A homophobe.
WOMAN: So why’d you let him take you for a ride?
MAN: Uhm…it’s more complicated than it is… ‘cause he-she is…m-m-my cousin. Yeah, he’s my cousin…you know…cousin…didn’t have a choice really. Mom’s will to let him drive whenever…
WOMAN: Who’s your Mom? Elvis? I attended your mother’s funeral last year—
MAN: Oh better…get those ears cleaned… I said: it’s IN Mom’s will!
WOMAN: For what end?
MAN: Make-up… I mean, to make up for… I guess… for Mom’s… long lost… often ostracized… usually forgotten… gay nephew… you know… hitting two birds: free chauffer service and a bit of quality time…
WOMAN: Hmmm… plausible.
MAN: Great. It’s about time we get our date started, …shall we?
WOMAN: But what explains for the quickfix? Don’t tell me you’re an automotive mechanical whiz? Might as well help my Dad fix our car…that way I wouldn’t have to commute…
MAN: Oh… (Gulps.) …sadly, …my cousin did all the fixing…
WOMAN: A homosexual automechanic?
MAN: That’s my cousin. One of a kind. Not like me, dime a dozen, garden-variety-Tom-Dick-and-Harry-in-car-distress…
WOMAN: You didn’t help at all?
MAN: Shame on me.
WOMAN: (Inspects his hands.) So it seems…
MAN: Have a thing with dirt and grime…and battery sparks…
WOMAN: Are you sure you’re…
MAN: …telling the truth? Of course.
WOMAN: …straight?
MAN: (Revolted.) What?
WOMAN: You heard me. Your cousin’s gay. You’re homophobe. All the signs are in. Birds of a feather. Plus you’ve a thing with dirt and grime…
MAN: I’m a metro—what do they call it…uhm…--metrosexual!
WOMAN: You? A metrosexual?
MAN: Yup. Squeeky clean. Obsessively hygienic. Overtly conscious-if-I’m a looker proud member of that market segment.
WOMAN: You don’t look the part. Not enough evidence. You’re lying.
MAN: I’m not.
WOMAN: We’ll see. Empty your pockets.
(Man empties his pockets with but his wallet and a hankerchief in it.)
WOMAN: Ha! No breath freshner. No oil control films. Not even a hand sanitizer. You ARE lying.
MAN: No… let me explain… no… let me… explain…
WOMAN: Double time.
MAN: (Faster.) No, let me explain…
WOMAN: I am letting you. Quick. (Silence. Waiting for reply.) Your efficiency sucks, should’ve fired you a long time ago. What are you waiting for?
MAN: Fire!
WOMAN: You’re waiting for a fire?
MAN: No! There was a… a… fire, yes, a fire…a big…big…terrible…totally devouring fire…
WOMAN: So?
MAN: I lost all my metrosexual paraphernalia when I had to pull out my hanky…when I had to wet it…when I had to go back into the burning building …when I had to save this kid…who just so happened to be…trapped in the building…
WOMAN: Unbelievable.
MAN: I know. I know. That’s why I didn’t tell you. You wouldn’t believe. I’m still shocked as you are. Thank God, we have this date to distress us both… Let’s go.
WOMAN: Which building?
MAN: What building?
WOMAN: What do you mean “what building”?
MAN: (Stalling.) Oh, THAT building…I thought you were referring to another building…
WOMAN: (Suspicious.) Are you telling the—
MAN: The ECONOMICS Building! Yeah… that old dilapidated, forsaken building…
WOMAN: That’s far from the University road. What were you doing there? You’re supposed to be helping your gay cousin or atleast pretend to do so while he-she did all the manly work…
MAN: You see…
WOMAN: No, I don’t see.
MAN: I had to go to the Economics building while he-she was fixing the car to…to…
WOMAN: To do…what? Start the fire?
MAN: Uhm…stop pressuring me…hold on…I’m getting to it… to-to submit! To submit an assignment!
WOMAN: There was an assignment?!
MAN: Yes. Yes. Assignment. There was…
WOMAN: We’re classmates in Econ and you didn’t just happen to tell me there was?!!!
MAN: Oops.
WOMAN: (Chases Man.) You want me to flunk! I’m gonna whop you ‘til you’re the one who’ll flunk!
MAN: Wait! (Beat.) It’s not you…it’s me.
WOMAN: Where did that come from?
MAN: It was a make-up assignment…If I don’t pass it…I’ll flunk.
WOMAN: You could’ve just told me?
MAN: Rather embarrassed. Might be a turn-off.
WOMAN: Oh, alright. (Calms down.) I suppose… if you are flunking then I should let you pass…
MAN: (Whispers.) That was close.
WOMAN: Close?
MAN: CLOSED! I mean. “CloseD”, that’s what I said.
WOMAN: What was?
MAN: The-the-department!
WOMAN: So you didn’t get to submit your paper?
MAN: Unfortunately.
WOMAN: Can I see it then? I’m just curious. I suppose it’s still with you.
MAN: Whoa…uhm…that’s just it…uhm…it’s not with me anymore…
WOMAN: I thought you weren’t able to—
MAN: --Submit—I know …but it… it… caught fire. Remember there was this fire…big…big…terrible… totally devouring fire…
WOMAN: Are you saying you caused that fire?
MAN: No. (Defensive.) What? No.
WOMAN: You said YOUR paper caught fire. Not the other way around.
MAN: I did. It’s just that I can’t explain it.
WOMAN: Uh-huh.
MAN: It’s like internal spontaneous combustion…my paper just went pfoosh…fire…there you go…
WOMAN: You caused a fire and a traffic jam—you must be having a horrible day…
MAN: But not a horrible date. I’m fine now because I’m with you…Let’s go?
WOMAN: And I have the gall to complain that you’re late.
MAN: It’s fine. It’s fine. You didn’t know what really happened…so let’s just drop it…and go.
WOMAN: So you started the fire, got out, but came back in to save someone?
MAN: You are so smart. That’s what I like about you… (Changes the subject.) D’you know what else I like about you?
WOMAN: --But for a hero, who literally came from hell and back…you look so unscathed, unruffled, unwrinkled, and on the contrary…still neat and pressed… (Fumes.) … for our date!!
MAN: You’re so cute when you scrunch up your face with that inquisitive look. You should be an investigator?
WOMAN: If I’m the investigator. You’re the culprit.
MAN: Yes I was. And yes… there was an investigator…at the scene…aaaaand…as a reward for my braverism, gave me new clothes to replace my officially burnt duds for saving the asphyxiating kid’s life…
WOMAN: That’s the same get up you wore when we went clubbing last week.
MAN: I know. I demanded for them to get the exact same ensemble.
WOMAN: (Pointing to his shirt.) So this is new?
MAN: As brand new AS brand new…
WOMAN: (Inspects the guy’s get-up.) A metrosexual could’ve asked for an Armani.
MAN: This is Armani. I just took out the seal ‘coz I’m so coy about it.
WOMAN: So they gave you that then let you go?
MAN: What’s wrong with that?
WOMAN: They could’ve charged you for Arson.
MAN: I didn’t have a motive.
WOMAN: You were flunking.
MAN: Gimme a break! I saved a kid’s life!
WOMAN: Gimme a break! You started a fire!
MAN: Well, I stopped it as well. Ha! Can’t call me an Arsonist and a Fire Fighter at the same time.
WOMAN: Since when have you been a professional in putting out fire?!
MAN: I maybe flunking but I’m not that stupid…
WOMAN: Neither am I. (Furious.) Remember…it was a big, big fire…terrible…totally devouring… to kill it, one would require a Ph.D in firefighting…soo…Whatever secret you’ve been keeping from me…you’ve been keeping it for a very long time!!!
MAN: (Nervous.) Secret? That’s because I wanted to protect you…
WOMAN: From your secret?!
MAN: They’ll kill you if I tell you…
WOMAN: I’ll kill you if you don’t…
MAN: Please don’t make me tell you… (On his knees.)
WOMAN: This is maudlin. Cut the crap. The secret?!!!
MAN: (Helpless.) I am a secret agent!
WOMAN: (Screams to the heavens.) Lord, SMITE HIM if he’s LYING!!!
(Man ducks for cover. They both wait for something to happen. Terrified, looks up. Nothing happens. Man is relieved.)
MAN: (Proud.) See. I am.
WOMAN: Lying?
MAN: Telling the—(Hesitates. Looks up. Cautiously.) -- truth.
WOMAN: (Scoffs in disbelief.) If you’re a secret agent, I’ll be dead by tomorrow. Liar.
MAN: They killed my Mom when I told her.
(Woman ducks in fear.)
WOMAN: I thought those espionage shows on TV were totally fictional. Never thought it would happen to me.
MAN: Nobody can be THAT clever in making up wild stories.
WOMAN: So what do we do now?
MAN: Pretend this never happened. Go on with our ordinary lives and our date as well…
WOMAN: Oh, okay. (Coming out from hiding.) Shouldn’t we ask your cousin to come along?
MAN: We’re not supposed to be talking about—
WOMAN: We’re not on THAT subject. And besides your Mom would’ve willed it. Right?
MAN: (Nervous.) Of course you are…but…
WOMAN: But?
MAN: Do you really want him-her tagging along? I mean, it’s…
WOMAN: Well I am sooooo dying to meet your gay automechanic cousin!!
MAN: Had to bring him-her to…the…the…hospital. Too bad. Let’s go.
WOMAN: Why? (Snaps.Raises her voice. In one breath.) The big fire in the Economics building was definitely far from the University road where your cousin was tinkering with your aforementioned traffic-causing stalled vehicle while you were playing secret agent slash firefighter, right? And it would be impossible for him to have gotten involved in THAT scene since both the automechanical troubleshooting for your car at the University road and your pyrokinetic adventure at the Economics building simultaneously happened in the brief 30 minutes you weren’t here: running late for our date, right? So that means: there must be some other reason why you had to bring your cousin to the hospital besides cuts and bruises which he could’ve only gotten from playing with bolts and wrenches and not from any big, big fire from far,far away!?! So now, EXPLAIN!!!
MAN: (Yelling in desperation.) HE’S PREGNANT!!
WOMAN: Finally! Finally! Finally! The truth unveils itself! Show me that indecorous, adulterous WOMAN, you two-timing liar!
MAN: Woman?!
WOMAN: A.K.A YOUR gay cousin…I DON’T NEED A MINOR IN CREATIVE WRITING TO DE-CIPHER YOUR BRAND OF FICTION… Augh! You were making out with her in your car?!! I bet you were INDEED setting things on fire! Serves you right that she’s pregnant!! (Bawls.)
MAN: Oh no. No,no,no,no,no, okay, okay, OKAY!! I’ll tell you the truth!!!
WOMAN: Nothing but the…
MAN: (Exhausted.) So help me… GOD…
WOMAN: (Tries to calm herself. Inhales. Exhales.) Why were you late?
MAN: (Surrenders.) I OVERSLEPT! (Sighs.) I’m sorry.
WOMAN: Yeah right. (Walks out.)
(Blackout.)
CURTAIN
MAN: (Panting.) Sorry…
WOMAN: You’re late…
MAN: I’m late…
WOMAN: Lemme guess—
BOTH: --Traffic.
MAN: Exactly.
WOMAN: Ho-hum. What a novel excuse…
MAN: For real. It was horrendous.
WOMAN: Stop. (Beat.) It’s so obvious.
MAN: What is?
WOMAN: Your nose, Pinochio.
MAN: Ahh…consider this then my dear fairy godmother, albeIT be the most overused apology in the book, it IS the truth…And to substitute it with another would not just be a lie but a double lie. (Challenging.) SEE…(Swaggeringly shows his nose which is not any longer. Spiteful.)…my proof of truth evidenced by my nose which happens to be as short as your trust…
WOMAN: And he makes it an issue on trust!
MAN: I will ‘til you start believing.
WOMAN: Why can’t you just spill it? All of it. Say it…
MAN: What?
WOMAN: “I overslept”. Now you try it.
MAN: (Fumes.) IT WAS TRAFFIC!
WOMAN: Traffic? On a public holiday?
MAN: (Thinking of an excuse.) Well…
WOMAN: Well?
MAN: Well…
WOMAN: And the truth gropes to stall…
MAN: (Without any compunction.) Well, you see…uh…I had to passby school…but then suddenly the cars filed into an unmoving line caused by a stalled vehicle…uhm… (Proud of his cleverness.) There!
WOMAN: I also passed by school on my way here…I don’t remember being forced into that long line…
MAN: (Pretensiously irked.) Let me finish! You see, the… the s-s-stalled vehicle was—was (Stalls.) – was (Idea.) mine! My car broke down in the middle of the University road.
WOMAN: Your car broke down?
MAN: My car broke down.
WOMAN: You lost your wallet yesterday…
MAN: I know. Series of unfortunate events.
WOMAN: …Which means you don’t have a driver’s license.
MAN: (Nervous.) Oh yeah…True, true…I did…lose my wallet…along with my license… sooo…
WOMAN: Sooo…
MAN: I-I… asked a friend to drive for me!
WOMAN: Friend? Guy or Girl?
MAN: (Gropes.) Guy? I guess…
WOMAN: (Baffled.) You guess?!
MAN: I mean... yes?
WOMAN: (Suspicious.) Are you keeping something from me?!
MAN: (Defensive.) Oh, no. (Thinks.) No.
WOMAN: Then was it a GIRRRL or a guy? And why’d you have to guess?
MAN: (Stalling.) Beeee…cause…he…she… is…uhm…a… (Idea.) homosexual! There you go…he-she’s gay.
WOMAN: A gay man driving for you?!
MAN: Gay’s have special skills as well…
WOMAN: But you’re homophobe…
MAN: I am?
WOMAN: (Implying.) Unless your conversation starter on our first date was a total lie…
MAN: Of course I am!
WOMAN: A homophobe? A liar?
MAN: A homophobe.
WOMAN: So why’d you let him take you for a ride?
MAN: Uhm…it’s more complicated than it is… ‘cause he-she is…m-m-my cousin. Yeah, he’s my cousin…you know…cousin…didn’t have a choice really. Mom’s will to let him drive whenever…
WOMAN: Who’s your Mom? Elvis? I attended your mother’s funeral last year—
MAN: Oh better…get those ears cleaned… I said: it’s IN Mom’s will!
WOMAN: For what end?
MAN: Make-up… I mean, to make up for… I guess… for Mom’s… long lost… often ostracized… usually forgotten… gay nephew… you know… hitting two birds: free chauffer service and a bit of quality time…
WOMAN: Hmmm… plausible.
MAN: Great. It’s about time we get our date started, …shall we?
WOMAN: But what explains for the quickfix? Don’t tell me you’re an automotive mechanical whiz? Might as well help my Dad fix our car…that way I wouldn’t have to commute…
MAN: Oh… (Gulps.) …sadly, …my cousin did all the fixing…
WOMAN: A homosexual automechanic?
MAN: That’s my cousin. One of a kind. Not like me, dime a dozen, garden-variety-Tom-Dick-and-Harry-in-car-distress…
WOMAN: You didn’t help at all?
MAN: Shame on me.
WOMAN: (Inspects his hands.) So it seems…
MAN: Have a thing with dirt and grime…and battery sparks…
WOMAN: Are you sure you’re…
MAN: …telling the truth? Of course.
WOMAN: …straight?
MAN: (Revolted.) What?
WOMAN: You heard me. Your cousin’s gay. You’re homophobe. All the signs are in. Birds of a feather. Plus you’ve a thing with dirt and grime…
MAN: I’m a metro—what do they call it…uhm…--metrosexual!
WOMAN: You? A metrosexual?
MAN: Yup. Squeeky clean. Obsessively hygienic. Overtly conscious-if-I’m a looker proud member of that market segment.
WOMAN: You don’t look the part. Not enough evidence. You’re lying.
MAN: I’m not.
WOMAN: We’ll see. Empty your pockets.
(Man empties his pockets with but his wallet and a hankerchief in it.)
WOMAN: Ha! No breath freshner. No oil control films. Not even a hand sanitizer. You ARE lying.
MAN: No… let me explain… no… let me… explain…
WOMAN: Double time.
MAN: (Faster.) No, let me explain…
WOMAN: I am letting you. Quick. (Silence. Waiting for reply.) Your efficiency sucks, should’ve fired you a long time ago. What are you waiting for?
MAN: Fire!
WOMAN: You’re waiting for a fire?
MAN: No! There was a… a… fire, yes, a fire…a big…big…terrible…totally devouring fire…
WOMAN: So?
MAN: I lost all my metrosexual paraphernalia when I had to pull out my hanky…when I had to wet it…when I had to go back into the burning building …when I had to save this kid…who just so happened to be…trapped in the building…
WOMAN: Unbelievable.
MAN: I know. I know. That’s why I didn’t tell you. You wouldn’t believe. I’m still shocked as you are. Thank God, we have this date to distress us both… Let’s go.
WOMAN: Which building?
MAN: What building?
WOMAN: What do you mean “what building”?
MAN: (Stalling.) Oh, THAT building…I thought you were referring to another building…
WOMAN: (Suspicious.) Are you telling the—
MAN: The ECONOMICS Building! Yeah… that old dilapidated, forsaken building…
WOMAN: That’s far from the University road. What were you doing there? You’re supposed to be helping your gay cousin or atleast pretend to do so while he-she did all the manly work…
MAN: You see…
WOMAN: No, I don’t see.
MAN: I had to go to the Economics building while he-she was fixing the car to…to…
WOMAN: To do…what? Start the fire?
MAN: Uhm…stop pressuring me…hold on…I’m getting to it… to-to submit! To submit an assignment!
WOMAN: There was an assignment?!
MAN: Yes. Yes. Assignment. There was…
WOMAN: We’re classmates in Econ and you didn’t just happen to tell me there was?!!!
MAN: Oops.
WOMAN: (Chases Man.) You want me to flunk! I’m gonna whop you ‘til you’re the one who’ll flunk!
MAN: Wait! (Beat.) It’s not you…it’s me.
WOMAN: Where did that come from?
MAN: It was a make-up assignment…If I don’t pass it…I’ll flunk.
WOMAN: You could’ve just told me?
MAN: Rather embarrassed. Might be a turn-off.
WOMAN: Oh, alright. (Calms down.) I suppose… if you are flunking then I should let you pass…
MAN: (Whispers.) That was close.
WOMAN: Close?
MAN: CLOSED! I mean. “CloseD”, that’s what I said.
WOMAN: What was?
MAN: The-the-department!
WOMAN: So you didn’t get to submit your paper?
MAN: Unfortunately.
WOMAN: Can I see it then? I’m just curious. I suppose it’s still with you.
MAN: Whoa…uhm…that’s just it…uhm…it’s not with me anymore…
WOMAN: I thought you weren’t able to—
MAN: --Submit—I know …but it… it… caught fire. Remember there was this fire…big…big…terrible… totally devouring fire…
WOMAN: Are you saying you caused that fire?
MAN: No. (Defensive.) What? No.
WOMAN: You said YOUR paper caught fire. Not the other way around.
MAN: I did. It’s just that I can’t explain it.
WOMAN: Uh-huh.
MAN: It’s like internal spontaneous combustion…my paper just went pfoosh…fire…there you go…
WOMAN: You caused a fire and a traffic jam—you must be having a horrible day…
MAN: But not a horrible date. I’m fine now because I’m with you…Let’s go?
WOMAN: And I have the gall to complain that you’re late.
MAN: It’s fine. It’s fine. You didn’t know what really happened…so let’s just drop it…and go.
WOMAN: So you started the fire, got out, but came back in to save someone?
MAN: You are so smart. That’s what I like about you… (Changes the subject.) D’you know what else I like about you?
WOMAN: --But for a hero, who literally came from hell and back…you look so unscathed, unruffled, unwrinkled, and on the contrary…still neat and pressed… (Fumes.) … for our date!!
MAN: You’re so cute when you scrunch up your face with that inquisitive look. You should be an investigator?
WOMAN: If I’m the investigator. You’re the culprit.
MAN: Yes I was. And yes… there was an investigator…at the scene…aaaaand…as a reward for my braverism, gave me new clothes to replace my officially burnt duds for saving the asphyxiating kid’s life…
WOMAN: That’s the same get up you wore when we went clubbing last week.
MAN: I know. I demanded for them to get the exact same ensemble.
WOMAN: (Pointing to his shirt.) So this is new?
MAN: As brand new AS brand new…
WOMAN: (Inspects the guy’s get-up.) A metrosexual could’ve asked for an Armani.
MAN: This is Armani. I just took out the seal ‘coz I’m so coy about it.
WOMAN: So they gave you that then let you go?
MAN: What’s wrong with that?
WOMAN: They could’ve charged you for Arson.
MAN: I didn’t have a motive.
WOMAN: You were flunking.
MAN: Gimme a break! I saved a kid’s life!
WOMAN: Gimme a break! You started a fire!
MAN: Well, I stopped it as well. Ha! Can’t call me an Arsonist and a Fire Fighter at the same time.
WOMAN: Since when have you been a professional in putting out fire?!
MAN: I maybe flunking but I’m not that stupid…
WOMAN: Neither am I. (Furious.) Remember…it was a big, big fire…terrible…totally devouring… to kill it, one would require a Ph.D in firefighting…soo…Whatever secret you’ve been keeping from me…you’ve been keeping it for a very long time!!!
MAN: (Nervous.) Secret? That’s because I wanted to protect you…
WOMAN: From your secret?!
MAN: They’ll kill you if I tell you…
WOMAN: I’ll kill you if you don’t…
MAN: Please don’t make me tell you… (On his knees.)
WOMAN: This is maudlin. Cut the crap. The secret?!!!
MAN: (Helpless.) I am a secret agent!
WOMAN: (Screams to the heavens.) Lord, SMITE HIM if he’s LYING!!!
(Man ducks for cover. They both wait for something to happen. Terrified, looks up. Nothing happens. Man is relieved.)
MAN: (Proud.) See. I am.
WOMAN: Lying?
MAN: Telling the—(Hesitates. Looks up. Cautiously.) -- truth.
WOMAN: (Scoffs in disbelief.) If you’re a secret agent, I’ll be dead by tomorrow. Liar.
MAN: They killed my Mom when I told her.
(Woman ducks in fear.)
WOMAN: I thought those espionage shows on TV were totally fictional. Never thought it would happen to me.
MAN: Nobody can be THAT clever in making up wild stories.
WOMAN: So what do we do now?
MAN: Pretend this never happened. Go on with our ordinary lives and our date as well…
WOMAN: Oh, okay. (Coming out from hiding.) Shouldn’t we ask your cousin to come along?
MAN: We’re not supposed to be talking about—
WOMAN: We’re not on THAT subject. And besides your Mom would’ve willed it. Right?
MAN: (Nervous.) Of course you are…but…
WOMAN: But?
MAN: Do you really want him-her tagging along? I mean, it’s…
WOMAN: Well I am sooooo dying to meet your gay automechanic cousin!!
MAN: Had to bring him-her to…the…the…hospital. Too bad. Let’s go.
WOMAN: Why? (Snaps.Raises her voice. In one breath.) The big fire in the Economics building was definitely far from the University road where your cousin was tinkering with your aforementioned traffic-causing stalled vehicle while you were playing secret agent slash firefighter, right? And it would be impossible for him to have gotten involved in THAT scene since both the automechanical troubleshooting for your car at the University road and your pyrokinetic adventure at the Economics building simultaneously happened in the brief 30 minutes you weren’t here: running late for our date, right? So that means: there must be some other reason why you had to bring your cousin to the hospital besides cuts and bruises which he could’ve only gotten from playing with bolts and wrenches and not from any big, big fire from far,far away!?! So now, EXPLAIN!!!
MAN: (Yelling in desperation.) HE’S PREGNANT!!
WOMAN: Finally! Finally! Finally! The truth unveils itself! Show me that indecorous, adulterous WOMAN, you two-timing liar!
MAN: Woman?!
WOMAN: A.K.A YOUR gay cousin…I DON’T NEED A MINOR IN CREATIVE WRITING TO DE-CIPHER YOUR BRAND OF FICTION… Augh! You were making out with her in your car?!! I bet you were INDEED setting things on fire! Serves you right that she’s pregnant!! (Bawls.)
MAN: Oh no. No,no,no,no,no, okay, okay, OKAY!! I’ll tell you the truth!!!
WOMAN: Nothing but the…
MAN: (Exhausted.) So help me… GOD…
WOMAN: (Tries to calm herself. Inhales. Exhales.) Why were you late?
MAN: (Surrenders.) I OVERSLEPT! (Sighs.) I’m sorry.
WOMAN: Yeah right. (Walks out.)
(Blackout.)
CURTAIN
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