SERGE: I think—if he’s in love with me—
OTTO: PREPARE TO DIE, YOU FILTHY SCUM!
(Otto stalks off, his gun raised. Serge and Amanda realize what has just happened and stand frozen in terror. A moment passes.)
OTTO (Offstage): WHERE ARE YOU COWARD! IT’S NO USE HIDING!
AMANDA: He’s probably in the shower! (She immediately regrets this reflexive response)
OTTO (Offstage): Well! I’ll just wait!!
(Serge and Amanda relax.)
AMANDA: I have asked you to leave. I’ve told you to leave. If I must, I’ll call the police.
SERGE: I’ll leave when Ford tells me to.
AMANDA: What does it take to—
SERGE: You’ve said a lot of terrible things to me. Things you have no right to say. You don’t know anything about me.
AMANDA: I know more than I care to, thank you.
SERGE: You look at me and see someone in control. Someone who’s got it all together. You don’t know what it’s been like.
AMANDA (Sarcastic): Enlighten me.
SERGE: As long as I can remember, since I was a kid, people have constantly thrown themselves at me. Otto’s just one extreme case—
AMANDA: My heart bleeds for you.
SERGE: It’s a curse! Wherever I go, it’s just the same! Men, women, children for God’s sake! I’ve spent night after night with hundreds of strangers. Thousands! Millions!
AMANDA: Is the touching part coming?
SERGE: Yes—I don’t toy with people. I sit and listen to them profess their love for me till I could vomit!—But I never respond. I never say a thing. If absolutely pressed, I tell them, I confess, that I feel nothing. Because that’s what I feel. Nothing. I’ve never felt a thing. I’ve wanted to. I’ve tried to. But there’s just . . . nothing. (He is working himself into a distraught state) And yet, I attract people night and day. I never know what to do with them: the faceless throng of babbling strangers. Until Ford. It’s not fair! It’s just not fair. Is it my fault that their lives are so obviously empty? Is it my fault that people are simply sucked into me like a vacuum?
AMANDA (Genuinely sympathetic): No.
SERGE: I have needs. I have problems. Does anyone ever really care about me? No. I seem to attract only the most destructive, broken, needy, sad, sad, sad human beings. What’s wrong with me?
AMANDA (At a loss for words): I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with you.
SERGE: Is it my fault I’m unusually attractive?
AMANDA: Of course not.
SERGE: Is it my fault I have beautiful hair?
AMANDA: How could it be?
SERGE: Is it my fault I have nearly perfect skin, straight, white teeth and a smooth, tan stomach as hard as Formica?
(Their eyes meet.)
AMANDA: I don’t, I, well, I wouldn’t, I—
SERGE: Am I to blame for my well-muscled thighs?
AMANDA: Nuh-uh.
SERGE: Did I ask for my lips? Did I ask for eyes this blue? Am I to be held responsible for my butt—did you happen to notice my butt?
AMANDA: Yes, I did.
SERGE: My life has been a horrible, endless nightmare of empty, hot, pulsating, sweaty, throbbing, wild-dog anonymous sex!
AMANDA: FUCK ME!!
(She lunges at him. They kiss. It is quite passionate. Ford enters in a bathrobe. His hair is wet.)
FORD (Quietly, without emotion): Who, um, who’s that fat person sobbing in our bathroom?
(Amanda and Serge break their embrace.)
AMANDA: Ford!
SERGE: What happened to you last night, Ford?!
AMANDA: I know what this looks like.
SERGE: I waited and waited! Did you, or did you not say you’d be right back?
AMANDA: You mustn’t jump to conclusions.
SERGE: Then you call and say you’re not coming. I’m not used to this! I need to know where we stand.
AMANDA: I realize it looks as if we were embraced—and, in fact, we were. True. But not for the reasons you might think. I knew you’d come out of the shower eventually and I seduced Serge, hoping you’d walk in and find us together, in corpus delicti, or whatever it’s called. I wanted to prove to you that although this “person” may claim to have feelings of some depth for you, he obviously does not.
SERGE: What a crock! Ford, I seduced her! I pretended to be sensitive. You know I’m not sensitive. I pretended to be all upset so she’d fall for me and you’d walk in and discover that whatever hold she’s got on you is based on deception!
AMANDA: Oh shut up.
SERGE: You shut up!
AMANDA: You shut up!
SERGE: Make me.
AMANDA: Ford, I don’t know if I mentioned this, maybe I did, but did you know that when my mother died, I inherited a great deal of money? Her father invented the Ziploc bag, and I did. I inherited an enormous amount of money.
SERGE: Ford, did you realize that as a top runway model I spend six months out of every year in Europe on all expense paid trips to Paris, Milan, Madrid and London for the spring and fall collections. Of course everyone gets to bring their spouses.
(Otto enters, unnoticed, holding a huge wad of toilet paper, into which he has been sobbing.)
AMANDA: Ford, I love you.
SERGE: Ford, me too, I think.
OTTO (Shooting the gun into the air): I demand to be taken seriously!!
(There is a knock at the door as some plaster falls on Otto’s head.)
AMANDA: Excuse me. (She tosses the bag of bagels at Otto) Here, Otto. Eat.
(She goes to the door.)
Who is it?
BEA (Offstage): Is that Amanda?
AMANDA (Opening the door): Can I help you?
BEA: YOU HUNG UP ON ME!
AMANDA: Pardon me?
BEA: I’m Bea. From the hotline. I will not tolerate being hung up on!
OTTO: Mother?
BEA (Entering): Otto?!
OTTO: What are you doing here?
BEA: This one hung up on me! Forty-five minutes we talk and she hangs up! For all I know, she’s splattered on the sidewalk this morning—you got a glass of water? I got a taste in my mouth like burned, wet feathers.
(Ford fetches Bea a glass of water.)
SERGE: I thought you said your mother was in traction?
OTTO: I was lying. Or kidding. I don’t know which.
BEA: Typical.
AMANDA: Thank you for coming, but as you can see, I’m fine.
BEA: You’re Serge, aren’t you?
SERGE: Yes.
BEA: You look just like your picture,
