ROSCOE: Well, Shakespeare isn’t my area of—

MABLE: It’s coming back to me now. (Quoting again.)

All this the world well knows; yet none knows well

To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

That’s it! That’s it, isn’t it? The mind’s such a marvelous muscle! There it was—just laying around like a sleeping cat, waiting for me to come along and kick its furry ass! “To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.” Isn’t that just the most gorgeous thing you ever heard?

(Long pause. MABLE looks back and forth between ROSCOE and LIZ for a response.)

Liz?

(LIZ just smiles at ROSCOE, who grows more nervous.)

Liz?

ROSCOE: (To MABLE.) I happen to have a pot of coffee on the stove in there, and—

MABLE: I was onto something here!

ROSCOE: I just thought you might like to take a break, Mrs.—?

MABLE: Murphy. Mable Murphy. County Cork, originally. Not me, of course, but those on the other side of the grass.

ROSCOE: Cup of coffee, Mrs. Murphy?

MABLE: Do I look like someone who could handle a cup of coffee?

ROSCOE: Well—um—I think we might have some straws.

MABLE: Straws?

ROSCOE: Long ones. I think I saw some.

(MABLE looks to LIZ, perplexed.)

MABLE: (To LIZ.) Long straws? For coffee?

(LIZ shrugs.)

Wouldn’t they just melt? Liz?

(LIZ shrugs again. MABLE turns back to ROSCOE.)

All right. We’ll give it a whirl.

ROSCOE: Great!

(ROSCOE leaps to his feet, glad to be getting out of the situation; exits stage right. Long pause. MABLE stares out over the audience, toward Los Angeles. LIZ, hands folded, remains in chair. MABLE nudges piece of jelly do-nut with her elbow, examines it.)

MABLE: (Smirking.) Straws. (Looking out toward L.A. She directs question to LIZ, who is also looking out front.) What do you think, Liz? Total idiot?

(LIZ shrugs her shoulders, keeps looking out. MABLE, too, continues looking out.)

Psychopath?

(LIZ squints, wrinkling her nose, and shakes her head.)

Pedophile?

(LIZ shakes her head.)

Lost in the woods?

(LIZ nods. Pause. ROSCOE reenters from right with another cup of steaming coffee and a long straw wrapped in white paper.)

ROSCOE: (Crossing to table.) Here we go! I was right.

(ROSCOE sets coffee down in front of MABLE, then holds straw up.)

Straw! (Smiling.) Long straw. (Starts unwrapping it.)

MABLE: Let her do that. I don’t know where your hands have been.

(ROSCOE hands straw to LIZ, who takes it, smiling at ROSCOE all the while. She unwraps it carefully; ROSCOE sits back down. MABLE begins to ramble—as much to herself as to anyone in particular. ROSCOE only has eyes for LIZ. MABLE still looking out over L.A.)