SALLY: It is kinda, isn’t it? It’s going to make a great segue between your interviews on Borges and Cervantes, though.

ROSCOE: (Sitting up violently.) Turn that thing off! (Pushes SALLY off the bed.) You’re not using any of that footage or what—

SALLY: Most men wouldn’t complain.

ROSCOE: I’m married!

(Pause.)

SALLY: Oh— (Lowering camera, keeps her balance.)

ROSCOE: I mean—I still think of myself as—

SALLY: I didn’t realize you still—

ROSCOE: I mean—except for you and me—of course.

SALLY: When you must’ve temporarily lost your mind.

(Long pause while SALLY puts camera and equipment back under her bed and ROSCOE sits on edge of his bed.)

ROSCOE: I don’t know what I’m doing here.

(LUCY suddenly enters from down right with tray and empty syringes. She stops. ROSCOE abruptly stands and starts getting dressed.)

LUCY: Oh—sorry—am I interrupting something?

SALLY: (To LUCY.) Performed your duties already?

LUCY: (Referring to MABLE.) She’s feeling no pain.

SALLY: Attagirl.

LUCY: (To SALLY.) Have you seen Elizabeth?

(ROSCOE gives a quick look to SALLY, continues dressing. SALLY smiles at LUCY.)

SALLY: (To LUCY.) No, I haven’t. She’s not with Mable?

LUCY: (Crossing to table, setting tray down.) No sign of her. She’s usually perched by Mother’s bedside this time of morning, doing her nails in some somber color. (Short pause.) Any coffee?

ROSCOE: Uh—no—we didn’t—

SALLY: (Smiles at LUCY.) Too busy.

LUCY: Busy? I thought you two had nothing to do but interview each other.

ROSCOE: (Abruptly, to LUCY.) Where did this woman come from?

LUCY: Who?

ROSCOE: This—nurse. This—

LUCY: Oh, Elizabeth? Just showed up out of the blue.

ROSCOE: Just appeared?

LUCY: Mother needed constant attention after her accident. Why?

ROSCOE: I don’t know. She just seems—out of place. I mean—

LUCY: Really? I was going to say the same about you, Roscoe.

ROSCOE: What’s that?

LUCY: “Out of place.”

SALLY: (To ROSCOE.) Rudeness runs in a direct line, down from the mother.

LUCY: I mean, what are you doing here exactly, Roscoe?

ROSCOE: I’m just—

SALLY: He’s hanging out with me.

LUCY: “Hanging out”? Like teenagers or something?

ROSCOE: No—I mean—Sally helped me after this blowup with my wife.

LUCY: She did? She soothed you? Made it all better?

SALLY: (Calmly.) Fuck you, Lucy.

ROSCOE: This thing happened—this schism. I didn’t see it coming. In a moment everything comes unraveled. Years and years—kids—schools—peanut butter sandwiches—then—your whole life turns upside down. Just like that. It’s devastating. Suddenly you’re on the road—by yourself—driving—looking for a place to take a shower—

LUCY: Where’s your wife now, Roscoe? Your family?

SALLY: (To LUCY.) Look—this is none of your business. I asked Roscoe if he wanted to come and stay with us for a while—that’s all.