Bentham and Sangermaine

A Stage Play by Gil-nam Moon

Two lovers each carry secrets that threaten their relationship

SCENE ONE

(a cluttered floor in a room without windows. Numerous books scattered. Perhaps some posters. A messy but literate person lives here.)

BENTHAM

I guess my world is small, maybe. But I like it that way.

(Sits on edge of futon)

What should I do? Go back to sleep?

(Touches feet)

Maybe I should find some socks. You know I had a dream last night. I lost a tooth. A tooth. It was so strange….it was itchy. Yes, I mean it. An itchy tooth. So I pulled and pulled and tugged and pulled….and it came out.

(Puts on zip-up hooded sweatshirt)

I was somehow in the middle of the desert, and I was wearing a flowing red dress like Lebanese champagne. Hm…maybe it was in a film. Anyway, I was standing in the direct centre of the frame and there was this little itchy tooth in my palm. See, something from inside my tooth, it seemed to come out of my tooth and ran down the spine of my arm. It felt like a caress of mist, all the way across and up.

(Laughs)

God, it’s so hard to describe.

(Looks pensive)

I remember clutching the tiny little ember of ivory to my chest and suddenly, I was falling. Yes. Dream falling. I wish I could explain it to you better. But there it is.

(Stretches)

I almost want to fall asleep again. Maybe I will. Maybe I shall. Lord. My girlfriend Sangermaine always says that. Never a ‘will’. Always a ‘shall.’ She’s gotten better, though. Really.

(Suddenly sits bolt upright)

There was a novel by Ivan Goncharov called Oblomov. The title character spends half the book deciding whether or not to get out of bed.

(Lies back down)

It’s like I have a brother.

(Finds pack of cigarettes)

She doesn’t know that I smoke. Don’t tell her, okay?

(Flings box away)

Empty. You know that I once"

(Knock on the door. Enter SANGERMAINE)

SANGERMAINE

Another day in paradise, eh? You know some of us make a concerted effort to be useful. Or at least less useless.

(Knocks)

Open the bloody door.

BENTHAM

You’re a hardworking productive citizen now?

(Looks at nails)

SANGERMAINE

School is work.

(Begins to nibble nails.)

And what exactly is it that you do all day?

BENTHAM

(Her voice is slightly desperate)

Why don’t you stay and find out?

(Continues to gnaw nails)

SANGERMAINE

Hm. would that I could.

(An awkward silence passes)

No really, just what is it that you do all day?

BENTHAM

Sit about nude and await for my prince to save me from the dark tower this evil blonde sodomite lady set me up in.

(Looks at nails)

SANGERMAINE

(In a matter-of-fact tone)

I occasionally fantasise about not checking up on you. Therefore letting you starve. Freed from this obligation, I put on my old ballet tutu and flit about the house like a merry little mayfly, blissful in the glorious sunlight, until I notice a smell. But of what? Oh yes, a smell. Like a rat, trapped under the radiator.

BENTHAM

I love you too.

SANGERMAINE

(sinking to floor, by door)

Open up.

BENTHAM

…thought you had school. You’ll miss the train, or whatever.

SANGERMAINE

Aw, scheisse~!

(blows kiss to door, still closed, hurries away)

BENTHAM

(opening door just a crack)

Sangie? Sangermaine?

(pokes head about)

Humph. It figures.

(to audience, as before)

Cliché it may be, I feel compelled to tell you how we met, Sangermaine and I.

(back bolt straight, sitting on hands)

Alright. We, um, I, we both were at a Korean barbecue restaurant and Sangermaine decides it would a fun idea to inhale a square cutlet the size of the Suez Canal, in its entirety.

(Stands up)

Since I used to be an ace Girl Guide, I was able to saintfully rush over to prostrate form, Doktor Heimlich’s wisdom in my mind, and I was able to just about"and"and... … you"don’t believe me, do you?

(slumps slightly)

And face it, there’s nothing particularly sexy about choking, or vomitous or accidentally breaking someone’s ribs. Unless you’re like a lesser late Roman Emperor or something. Damn. It was a good story too. Cos she like, sues me, but in the courtroom…ah…it’s the sort of story that plays better in your head. Lord. I got lots of stories like that. Hmmm....god...lord, okay. Here it goes.

(BENTHAM walks towards SANGERMAINE, who is dressed differently than before, and standing in front of vending machine.)

SANGERMAINE

(to soda machine)

Damnit~! You f*****g ate my money. Christ!

BENTHAM

Have you tried kicking it?

SANGERMAINE

Hmph. First thing I did.

(to soda machine)

You sir, are my enemy.

BENTHAM

Perhaps the route to grace is one of forgiveness.

SANGERMAINE

Never. And the nearest machine is all the way by the station.

BENTHAM

You know, I’ll bet that the can is just stuck. Caught in the um, can thing.

SANGERMAINE

(on knees, peering inside mechanism)

Let’s….

(sticks arm in)

….aha~! I feel a can. But how to get it out?

BENTHAM

I have a theory. Another can falling will un-stuck the can, I think. We need to buy another.

SANGERMAINE

But all I got is a twenty and some fuzz-balls.

BENTHAM

Three little coins, joyful as happy silver teardrops.

(tosses SANGERMAINE some coins in the air)

SANGERMAINE

Ha! Ooo!

(drops coins)

Awh….I think it rolled under the machine.

BENTHAM

(looking under also)

Sorry.

SANGERMAINE

You wouldn’t have a hangar, some gaffer tape, and a magnet handy, would you?

BENTHAM

(sitting on ground)

Nopers.

SANGERMAINE

Verdammt.

BENTHAM

Hm. What would you have got?

SANGERMAINE

A cherry cola.

BENTHAM

For what it is worth, that’s my favourite, too.

(points at self and laughs)

(to audience)

And that"I guess,

(lets coat drop to floor, puts on sweatshirt again)

-was that.

(puts up hood, for some odd reason)

We talked for a while and then a while more, and even more than that and so, eventually, after a while she"

(claps hands)

Moved in.

(puts down hood, spotlight on B.)

Well okay. Lots and lots of stuff happened in the interim. I’m sure of it. Yes. I’m positive. Completly. A whirlwind of activity and events happened between the Great Soda Controversy of the 21^st century, and her moving in.

(pensive)

Just so odd that I can’t remember...

Anyway, things were going great for a while. Absolutely. It obviously must have been going good for a while. Or else, why would we stick around, you know? And it’s so obviously long term. Really.

(a confused expression)

Six months? Yeah, of course. Hm. Strange how short the golden age always is. Even Athens was only Athens for a few decades, I guess. And the decline? The decline takes centuries.

(Spotlight on B. fades, she approaches S. who is going through the same motions as before.)

SANGERMAINE

Stupid soda machine~! Ate my quarter…..grr…..

BENTHAM

(very quickly)

Well, honestly, I’d happily give you seventy-five cents, and that would solve your immediate problems in more ways than one, but you’ll start to pull away from me in like a few months and then, and then, but…but it won’t end there. No, we’ll find ways to drag it out, year after year, until you’re a professional graduate student, I’m a professional drop-out, and we both hate ourselves so much that we hardly speak. Eventually I’ll take to sleeping in the second sub-basment living like some moron teenage wannabe tomboy shell persona I thought I had abandoned ages ago, whilst you play the young Patricia Clarkson character in some drama of your own devising upstairs. Oh, I’ll be laying on a futon, listening to your footsteps. On occasian, I’ll hear more than one pair and if they don’t sound like Alberto, I’ll be forced to imagine it’s a new fling. Mostly I imagine she looks like Penelope Cruz. Or Jill Scott.

(Pauses, speaks slower)

Yeah. You’d do that.

Naw. Even worse. You’d try to find someone totally different than me. Portia de Rossi or Taylor Momsen, or….s**t. Hehn. Maybe even Brad Pitt, but he’s too old, so maybe Michael Pitt. Yeah, you’d do that.

SANGERMAINE

(aghast)

Do I know…..you?

BENTHAM

(continuing)

Oh sure, I have the complexion you like, but I’m not a perfect, jet-white blonde, and for some odd reason you’ve always held that against me. How will you find satifaction? Maybe you’ll clone yourself and do it that way. Clone-cest. And that’s just in poor taste, darling, just poor taste.

(shakes head in disgust)

SANGERMAINE

Alright. Who the christfuck are you? And why the f**k-

BENTHAM

I’m nothing. A ghost. The scent of incense drowned out by the winter wind.

Goodbye-hello-goodbye.

(light fades on S. Spotlight on B.)

(to audience)

Oy. Would it not be lovely if life was like that? Well, wouldn’t it?

(She stands silent for a long moment. Angrily, she flops on the futon and goes to ‘sleep’ pulling the covers over her head like a child hiding from monsters. Lights slowly dim to black)

END SCENE ONE

SCENE TWO

(Spotlight on Sangermaine)

SANGERMAINE

Oh, of course I worry about her. A lot. It’s always…I don’t know. I have ideas, but then, there’s ideas and then there’s ideas, you know? Hm…that sounds kinda creepy. I don’t know. Would you like to know how we met?

(Spotlight fades, we move back to the Soda machine, et.al, same as before)

(S. puts coin into machine, B. observes from behind when S. speaks, she does not turn around)

You. You are simply awful at followin’ people around, Ace.

BENTHAM

Oh. Um. I just " I am conducting a survey…

(she takes out a notebook and pen, none too smoothly)

What soda is, um, your favourite?

SANGERMAINE

An Italian brand of Blood Orange flavoured sparkling water. It’s an Italian brand, but it’s made in Syria. Damascus. They use natural sparkling water from a well dug by the Crusaders. It’s very popular among Japanese businesspeople, which is why it can be found in most large aeroports.

BENTHAM

Wow, let me get all that down…

(she scribbles, quickly)

SANGERMAINE

(in a flat tone)

You shmendrik. It doesn’t exist.

BENTHAM

(bites lower lip)

Erm…

SANGERMAINE

(laughs)

Blue Raspberry Jolly Good. Or maybe Cherry. Black Cherry.

(She smiles)

BENTHAM

(head down)

I’m sorry that I’m bad at following.

SANGERMAINE

Well, if you were male, yea verily, thou wouldst haveth a face full of pepper and a crotch full of knee. But you’re not. Therefore, you don’t. Lucky little you, Sparky.

BENTHAM

(a tad confused)

Is there maybe anything that ~

SANGERMAINE

No. But you can keep secretly following me if you like. I won’t let anyone know. I promise.

(spotlight on S. again)

If this was some old-time movie, I would’ve winked or something. Maybe there’d be a little twinkling sound as I made it. Okay, yeah, that’s really pathetically corny, but hm…and also maybe a nice Mantovani orchestral swell as the camera makes a smoothly gliding circular motion. It was a magical moment. I swear. And for a while, it was wonderful. Used bookstores with the scent of thoughtful fingertips and dignifed leather.

(a pause)

I suppose you might be wondering….when did friends become…well, we’re all adults here. No need for discreet euphemisms. Still…

(B and S, sitting at café table)

BENTHAM

(in the middle of a sentence)

-Well, whatever you say, I think that the waitress is very pretty.

(She blushes)

SANGERMAINE

(to audience)

Oy gevalt. Can you believe how shy she is?

(gestures to the audience like Sicilian attorney)

That soon changed. Vanished. Like dew in August. And note her lack of mellifluous phrases. Her vocabulary soon evolved, too. I taught our little friend a lot.

BENTHAM

(a tad worried)

Um…who ya talkin’ to?

SANGERMAINE

Oh, no-one special. And yes, I think she’s lovely as a dove-ly.

BENTHAM

(incredulous)

Really?

SANGERMAINE

Quite.

BENTHAM

(shy, bashful)

Um…you know…you’re pretty pretty yourself…you know.

SANGERMAINE

Awh…and you’re such a sweetie.

(to audience)

Oh, can you believe this? I could almost cry.

(S rises, spotlight follows)

The thing is, that waitress was bloody f*****g hideous. She had however, bustline best described as bovine. Yeah. Our little friend had yet to recognise the value of subtlety.

BENTHAM

(still sitting, and wondering what is going on)

We should-

SANGERMAINE

(back turned)

Yes. Definitely.

(dismisses B with wave of hand)

Yes.

(to audience)

Well, that was out of the way. I shall spare you the dreary recititive of all the tradtional bourgeois rituals. Moving in, ramen for breakfast, houseplants and dvd box sets, yadda, yadda, ad nauseam.

BENTHAM

(stands and rises, addresses audience)

We got a guinea pig. It died.

(Table is quickly made way for a futon on an incline, S gets on, pulls covers foetus-like over self)

SANGERMAINE

So…about your folks?

BENTHAM

I think I told you before…

SANGERMAINE

My memory lapses. Ecstasy and orange juice make for a hell of a breakfast.

(cigarette on lip)

So you can tell me again.

(searches around covers)

Did that damn lighter fall in between the bed and the wall again? Gottverdammt…

(searches)

BENTHAM

Dead. They’re dead.

SANGERMAINE
(back turned on B, still looking for lighter)

Wha?

(Her posture suddenly straightens. She addresses audience. Her back still faces B)

Then she said it.

BENTHAM

I love you.

(S’s eyes close, as if in pain. Exquisite pain.)

My parents are dead and I love you.

SANGERMAINE

(to audience)

Well, what could I say to that?

(S slowly turns to face Bentham)

Thanks.

(they kiss and embrace. S is slightly hesitant, B has her eyes closed, utterly consumed)

(To audience, still embracing B)

So…it was just so odd, to meet someone so…quickly. So intensely. No. Intense is the wrong word. So……..conveniently. Bah. That’s the wrong word.

(she slowly extricates herself from B)

And ‘nicely’…hm…all the words in the ‘nice’ family, they’re so… bland. I don’t know…

(she walks away from the bed, B looks on, worried and curious, eventually she lays down, very slowly)

See, most of the time, it takes so much time to find someone…when I was little, okay, I was never exactly little, same height since when I was twelve, but...but… god, this is hard.

(finds lighter, lights)

My mother was always shuffling me to these like, camps and workshops, and these…god, whatever. So I could find another girl like me. What’s worse than a rejecting parent? ....One that just thinks it’s all a game.

(puffs, exhales luxuriantly)

Look at that. She fell asleep.

(She smiles sadly at her.)

Christ. Ain’t that grand? Like, how often do you say ‘what did I do to deserve this?’ and mean it in like, a good way? Not very often. Not very often.

(sits down on bed, B stays sleeping)

Nothing lasts forever, though. Nothing lasts forever.

END SCENE TWO

SCENE THREE

(S stands by the bed, B still resting. S is dressed in an surplus Army jacket, drab olive green, a patch with a Soviet hammer and sickle prominently displayed. Black boots. )

SANGERMAINE

...So... lately, things have been a bit strained. I think it’s the house, this house. It’s haunted. Not maybe by ghosts, but by...but by...what’s the word? Possibilities. ‘Pregnant with possibility.’ That’s a phrase my mother would always use, and it would freak me out.So what about this situation? A stillborn possibility? Good lord. What an apalling mental image.

(sits on floor, head slightly resting on side of bed. )

‘Pregnant with possibility.’ God.

This is her house, you know. When I moved in, I thought I had died. I mean, from nothing...to a castle like this.

(bounces head gently against side of bed, twice, in mute frusteration. B stirs, but does not wake.)

I thought I had died, had goen to hell, and this place would be my prison for all eternity.

Tantalus. Remember reading about him in ninth-grade English? He tried to fool the Olympian gods, and was punished by being boiled in lava for all time. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that the gods placed a branch laden with apples, just out of reach. Whenever he went for them, they would move, just out of his grasp. And that’s what I almost felt like. Every time I would open a door, I would fear it would fade, or fall away from me...four floors. There are four floors in this damn house. Plus an attic that I’ve seen from the outside and have never investigated, just never worked up the courage to sojourn to the shadowlands, and of course, the basement, where she over there...

(points to B)

...Sleeps most of the time now.

In fact, she’s not even there now. What you’re seeing is most likely some sort of flashback.

(takes short cigar from pocket and puts it in her mouth at an incongruously jaunty angle.)

Like heaven and hell in the same object. S**t. Did I just call her an object.

(She steals covers from B, and sits down again, wrapped like a little cocoon. B stays motionless, after all, in this scene she is apparently only a figment, anyway.)

I was ....I guess I was homeless. On that particular day, mind you. On that particular day. Not a permanent condition. Yes. Well alright. Maybe I had been floating around for a few weeks. Happens. In a really big school, it’s easy to pretend. No-one asked any questions. Mostly I slept in the library. Restroom stalls. You can survive. It’s hard to shave your legs and armpits in the sink, but when you’ve got something like nine hours to kill before they unlock the doors, you can manage. You can manage. Anyway, it was a thousand times improvement over that damn bus station.

(she stands, blanket over shoulders like a shawl)

You could never actually sleep, of course. Even when you’ve got nothing, people still feel the need to steal from you. I think the worst, well, not the worst, but the one time it was most memorable was when it was freezing rain, and they stole my shoes.

(she laughs acidly.)

Why would anyone do that? Little spots of white on still-green grass. And my feet, bare. All in all a pretty sad stage of life. When she

(Points to B)

on the bed, or in the basement, or something. When she first said...you know...the whole ‘you’re so pretty’ routine, the very first time. Just the first time, mind you, the very first time she said that, of course all the little hairs on the back of my neck stood up. But I knew who she was, and where I was everything. So mentally I knew I was safe. But my body, physically, whatever. It remembered. I think my body’s just a transport for my brain, anyways. And my brain...god...my brain...it feels full of spiders, flat ginger beer, and cigarette ends tonight.

(tosses blanket over bed, it falls awkwardly on B)

Anyway, since our bedrooms are like, two floors apart, she’s never have recourse to notice-

(she suddenly stretches languidly)

That for some reason, I’ve been spending one night out of six or seven outdoors again. God, I live in a mansion built in 1879, crumbling, yes, but a mansion nonetheless, and sometimes I spend the night outside. I can’t really explain it. And certainly the weather disagrees with me. But... just the idea. Of drifting, the sense of falling and not knowing what’s going to happen next, it’s just like a second dreamlife.

(posture like a rock star, almost preening)

Of course, I know what could happen. Hell, I’ve seen it happen. It’s happened. Think of it this way. Just the pure cold knowledge that the eyes of god are so indifferent....That it’s all so hideously, gloriously random. It might be a bitter drink, but it’s crisp and sparkling, like a can of cherry soda.

END SCENE

(B sits at table. A conspicuously empty chair beside her)

BENTHAM

(in a flat tone)

Bentham. I was named for Jeremy Bentham. The exact details I forget, but apparently he was some sort of great British philosopher or something.

(she bites lower lip, as if nervous at a job interview. When she speaks again, it is at a slightly faster clip.)

Utilitarianism. That was his big spiel. Everything should be efficient and useful. He claimed he had no use for beauty or poetry. This is not to say he was one of those stiff upper lip Protestants. No sir. He named inanimate objects. His cane was named Bunnythistle. He had a teacup named Buttercup. A leather hat was called Wicket. And when he died, he specifically asked to be mummified and put on display. And there he is to-day, in an oblong glass case in Oxford University, I think. The one detail that I’m absolutely certain of, is that every year, some students, I think it’s a revolving circle of fraternities and sororities, they um…they…they change his underwear. It’s one of those college pranks. As a prank, it’s a little eccentric. After all, no-one would really know about except the pranksters. But it’s gone on for centuries. Just think, a man that believed that the greatest good was usefulness, efficiency and practicality and devoted his whole life to propagating those concepts might very well be wearing a lacey Victoria’s Secret thong as we speak.

(she sips tea, silently and politely)

Anyway, that’s how I got my name. Not much of a story, but I’m sure it’s better than yours.

(S enters, sits by her)

SANGERMAINE

You know, we don’t eat together often enough. That’s our problem.

BENTHAM

(anxious to change subject)

I like the rumours that this house is haunted. Keeps away the vandals.

(sips)

SANGERMAINE

Lobster Newburg

BENTHAM

Is that the name of a prizefighter from Long Island?

SANGERMAINE

Aha! Even better! It’s something to eat.

BENTHAM

(not looking at S, sipping tea)

Oh, joy.

SANGERMAINE

And I shall make it. Tonight. The Korean market by the video shop sells live lobsters.

BENTHAM

The Golden Tokkaebi? I don’t like that place…the statue outside the door is scary…

(an awkward pause)

So. How’s the collegiate life?

SANGERMAINE

More like the collegiate existence.

BENTHAM

That bad?

SANGERMAINE

C’est la vie, ma Cherie.

BENTHAM

Well, why wouldn’t it be? Credentials aren’t ham hock…and, you know, I’ve never known you to cook. Anything.

SANGERMAINE

Spaghetti.

BENTHAM

Out of a can. Not real.

SANGERMAINE

You know, lobster anything is kind of an old lady thing to do…

BENTHAM

…well, you suggested it…

SANGERMAINE

Look at us. We’re young and beautiful. But we live like shut-ins. It’s wretched.

BENTHAM

Well, when you’re at the scary Asian-people place, you can pick us up some youthful hipster junk. We can all drink Pabst Blue Ribbon, smoke out of a hookah, and wear trucker caps at an askew angle. We can only listen to music that Pitchfork.com tells us to like and maybe later we can pretend that the last few years never happened and canvass for liberal Democrats. In our slightly askew trucker caps. Whilst buzzed on PBR. The fruity miasma of hookah smoke on our American Apparel knockoff clothes.

SANGERMAINE

Well, why not. Let’s get a satellite dish, watch nothing but Cartoon Network. All the day long.

BENTHAM

Wear pajama shorts over our jeans and smoke electronic cigarettes.

SANGERMAINE

Advertise ourselves on social networking websites, get some new blood over here. Elle-oh-elle.

BENTHAM

Oh, don’t even joke about that.

SANGERMAINE

I saw a girl in my Modern Canadian Literature class who had a trucker cap with a Soviet hammer and sickle on it. I asked her about it. She said it was a gift from her big brother and that they both ‘loved’ Rage Against The Machine.

BENTHAM

What does that have to do with anything?

SANGERMAINE

Nothing. What wine goes well with lobster?

BENTHAM

The lemonade kind.

SANGERMAINE

Pfui. You’re no fun at all. … You know…

BENTHAM

No, I will not wear a trucker cap with the symbol of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics on it. Never.

SANGERMAINE

…I am willing to bet that somewhere down below us there may very well be a very large store of wines and spirits.

BENTHAM

Any spirits in this house are bound to be spectral. Dommageund verdammt.

SANGERMAINE

Maybe I’ll just buy the lobster and eat it all up myself, then.

BENTHAM

Yeah. With my money.

SANGERMAINE

Quite. While we’re at it, I may add that I stay here rent-free, and …come on. We are just about the only people in our age demographic what who can afford wine with their lobster. Come on. You’re no fun.

BENTHAM

You’ve only noticed that now?

SANGERMAINE

(getting up)

Well. I shall tidy the kitchen. Tonight’s a lobster night, after all.

(busies herself)

We live like paupers, when we-

BENTHAM

Me. Not really ‘we’, to be brutally honest. Besides, the money’s not my fault. But next time we swing by the cemetery, I’ll be sure to blame them for complicating our lives.

SANGERMAINE

Be neither grim nor flippant. Now…where’s a bloody pot. We need a large pot. D****t, how did they do this in Annie Hall?

BENTHAM

I don’t recall. Woody Allen is a rapist, anyway.

SANGERMAINE

(looking through cupboards)

Paedophile. Roman Polanski’s the rapist.

BENTHAM

Same difference. The whole pack.

SANGERMAINE

Okay…moving on.

(finds a small pot, inspects it before putting it back)

Cooped up all the time, like a little hermit. You need to get out more, you know?

BENTHAM

…

SANGERMAINE

Oh. The sweet sound of silence.

BENTHAM

…

SANGERMAINE

Okay, you’re creepin’ me out. What’s on your mind?

BENTHAM

(looking away)

Where do you sleep at nights?

SANGERMAINE

A bed, that’s where all the cool kids sleep. It’s like a sofa, but without the back thing. Much more comfortable for falling unconscious upon. Really. You should try one. Better than the futon on the floor routine you do.

BENTHAM

(not taking bait)

No.

SANGERMAINE

(nervous laughter)

What are we goin’ on about, eh?

BENTHAM

I was lonely last night. I had a really, really scary dream and I missed you. So I went upstairs. But you weren’t there. The sheets were warm, but you weren’t there.

SANGERMAINE

Awh…you poor little…I had that restless leg syndrome again…

BENTHAM

-which somehow necessitated the use of your jacket. And my shoes.

SANGERMAINE

You checked the closet? That’s obsessive.

BENTHAM

You stole my shoes. That’s thievery.

SANGERMAINE

My feet shrank. Yours fit me better, anyhow.

BENTHAM

(sternly)

Why…why do you want to leave me? I mean, really. Where would you go? You don’t have any money.

SANGERMAINE

You don’t really have any money, either. Not really.

BENTHAM

Is that what this is about? Honestly?

SANGERMAINE

No. What do I look like. But why should my knowledge surprise you? I mean, Christ, who’s the one payin’ the bills, here? Damn, your signature is hard to forge.

BENTHAM

I know what’s going on. No need to lie or change the subject. Just tell me why. What does it feel like? Explain. Please. Now.

SANGERMAINE

You’ve never introduced yourself to twenty different people using twenty different names in a day. You’ve never felt that. There’s naught to explain.

BENTHAM

Listen, I think I know-

SANGERMAINE

-I’m sorry but you don’t.

BENTHAM

No. You will not patronise me anymmore. You will hear me out. You WILL.

(S stands blinking at this most uncharacteristic show of defiance.)

god... I was so young, you know... and there was someone else. Her name was Celeste. Jet black Bosnian hair with bright-ish purple highlights, arms pale as forgotten tears, legs thin as wrists, and most importantly, a long red leather trenchcoat that always smelt of Chanel No.5 and mentholated cigarettes. Don't ask how we met. It's a long story. Very long. Anyway...she had a boyfriend. No...worse than that. Fiance.

SANGERMAINE

I don't need to know...wait...legs thin as wrists...?

BENTHAM

An exaggeration, obviously. She had a bit of a problem with certain food issues, but that is NOT the point of the story....

SANGERMAINE

I don't really need to know-

BENTHAM

Yes. Yes, you do. And this time you will listen to every f*****g syllable

(pauses to collect herself, nervously runs hands through hair.)

And one time...we were shopping--for just some groceries--and we were loading what we bought...there was--a watermelon. I remember that, not that that is important. But...in the boot, I mean, in the trunk of her car,I saw a blanket, a pillow, a book. A book of ghost stories. I remember that clear as sweet-water. Two books. Scary Stories To Tell in The Dark, and a translation of Grimm's Fairy Tales. I said to her, are you planning on a camping trip or something? Then I laughed. I actually laughed. Then she laughed. I can still hear her voice in my head. No,no, that stuff's just for security, she said. Just in case, you know?

SANGERMAINE

And this is...?

BENTHAM

I realised then and there what that meant. How fragile her situation, her life must be. But my reaction was to laugh. Not to be cruel. Didn't know what else to do.

SANGERMAINE

So the ... the male person was abusing her?

BENTHAM

God. You sound like a social worker.

(a tense silence)

That very afternoon, we made love for the first time, as a couple. In the glorious summer sun. I remember the smell of the blanket, the colour of the pillow, the flashlight useless in the grass. Afterwards she read to me from one of the books. Crickets and the sounds of pages turning, the wind playing little games with her hair. She had freckles in places you don't normally think of as having freckles. And of course, Miss Interrogator, the requisite bruise. On her hip. She said she fell, but unless you're a hockey player, you don't fall on your hip...conversation waned. We did it again, but the second time I scarcely felt a thing.

SANGERMAINE

Listen-I...

BENTHAM

A week later we did it again. My body reacted. But I felt even less than before. She had such beautiful arms, like warm ivory pillars. Bruises up and down. She did not attempt to explain. We didn't see each other for a month. When we met up again, I just ran away after she tried to kiss me. I didn't want anymore surprises, and I still don't know why I showed up. I ran away...I think she still has my socks and necklace. I know for sure she still has my backpack, cos I just left it there. Just left it.

SANGERMAINE

I'm sorry...I want-

BENTHAM

Of course I couldn't talk about it. Who could I? They'd probably throw her in jail, for all her trouble. I just got quieter and quieter. And no-one noticed.

SANGERMAINE

Okay. This is probably basically unprecedented in world history, but maybe we can...you can visit her. To see if she's alright. Hell,I'll even stay in the car,and-

BENTHAM

She died about a month ago. Or maybe two. When all you can do is sleep all the time, days fade, blend, mix and vanish.

SANGERMAINE

I've wondered what was bothering you, and I meant to ask...really.

BENTHAM

Celeste is dead. Like everyone else. Do you hate me now?

SANGERMAINE

(voice cracking)

No...why would I hate you?

BENTHAM

I have been conducing an imaginary affair with a dead girl for over a month. Please. Hate me like I hate myself. And don't lie.

(B removes piece of paper from back pocket.)

This is a bus ticket to Florida. Talahasee. Thinking of transfering to the film school down there?

SANGERMAINE

Hey! Where did you-

BENTHAM

Inside your jacket inside your closet. Also, you're smoking again. Naughty-naughty.

SANGERMAINE

Only with friends. I'm a social smoke. And you're a snoop.

BENTHAM

Friends?

SANGERMAINE

Yes. I have dozens.

BENTHAM

(acidly)

Well...put some shrimp on the barbie. Invite the teeming, smoking hordes over. Normal social lives, here we come.

SANGERMAINE

Don't be sarcastic...

BENTHAM

Once again, I won't let you change the subject. Answer me directly. Why are you leaving me?

SANGERMAINE

Ten thousand reasons. Mostly because you secretly want me to. Honestly. You are no fun to be around. And you just said that you really love that Celeste girl-woman-person-whatever.

BENTHAM

You're gonna quit your studies? Like that?

(snaps fingers under S's nose)

SANGERMAINE

I'm just a friendly ghost on campus anyway. And why have you started to care? I'm not really quitting s**t.

BENTHAM

Oh...the gloves are off. She uses profanity like a grown-up now.

SANGERMAINE

Alright! The ticket...it was a mistake. A weird impulse like stealing perfume from a department store or voting Libertarian, alright? (She smiles) Hey. Start up the fireplace for the first time in ages. We can burn the little sucker together, okay?

BENTHAM

...

SANGERMAINE

and it's nearly morning, see? We can just...forget this. And get like, doughnuts or something.

BENTHAM

Morning? Still dark?

SANGERMAINE

A very bluish, shiny dark. Everything at the bakery will be...absurdly fresh.

(puts on jacket)

I'll be back before you know it.

BENTHAM

(very quietly)

Don't leave me.

SANGERMAINE

What's your favourite? I remember! The croissants with the strawberry-chocolate glaze. I did not forget.

(forces smile)

BENTHAM

Oh god...when does it end? When will I finally lose enough?

SANGERMAINE

You could come with me. Really. We can walk briskly and be there by sunrise...

BENTHAM

Oh god...oh god...

SANGERMAINE

Close your eyes and think of me. Think of croissants, cocoa, orange juice and me.

(B remains motionless)

And even if I do go wandering...it won't be forever. I promise. And even if I go away, I'll be easy to find. I promise to be conspicuous. Really. Alright. Close your eyes and think of glazed croissants...and all the fun we'll have together when we're reunited, okay? Okay?

(B sits down on the ground, in a near-foetal posture)

Listen. There's your side, my side and what actually happened. The way to keep sane is to...the way to keep sane is to stick to your side. Okay.

(S walks away from B, sobbing silently, and turns around)

See you soon. I promise.

(Lights out. One last time we see the two at that fateful soda machine. This is a flashback, they are dressed the same as before)

SANGERMAINE

Hey you. You got a quarter? I need a quarter.

BENTHAM

Well...why not?

(tosses coin casually)

So...you go to school here? Haven't really seen you around.

SANGERMAINE