LUCY: Right. You asked Roscoe, but you didn’t ask us.

ROSCOE: I can—I can go—I mean—

SALLY: No! You stay here as long as you want. As long as it takes.

ROSCOE: Thanks—I appreciate that but—I don’t want to cause any—

(Gathers up his shoes and socks.)

SALLY: You’re not causing anything, Roscoe. We’ve always been this way.

(Awkward pause.)

ROSCOE: I should walk my dog. I guess—I don’t exactly know what to do, tell you the truth. Isn’t that terrible? I mean—at my age—to be still so—I didn’t see any of this coming. None of it.

(ROSCOE exits stage right, carrying his shoes and socks. SALLY and LUCY, left alone with each other. Pause.)

LUCY: He acts guilty. Like he might be running away from something.

SALLY: What could that be?

LUCY: I don’t know, Sally. You invite this total stranger into our house. You know nothing about him, really. He could be—

SALLY: I knew enough about him.

LUCY: What? What do you know? He could be a fleeing felon—

SALLY: He’s a highly respected man of letters!

LUCY: You’re kidding me. So was the Marquis de Sade!

SALLY: He just needs somewhere to pull himself back together. Give him a break.

LUCY: Don’t you find that a little pathetic? Why doesn’t he go where he knows people? Friends, family. What’s he doing here?

SALLY: He’s got no family!

LUCY: Well, he can’t have this one!

SALLY: He doesn’t want this one! Believe me. (Pause.) Why do you care, anyway?

LUCY: I don’t, really.

SALLY: You act like you do. (Pause.) What difference could it possibly make to you? He’s a friend of mine. I like him.

LUCY: That’s nice.

SALLY: It is.

(LUCY sits in stage right chair as the voice of ROSCOE is heard offstage right in high falsetto, speaking to his dog again. No sounds from dog.)

ROSCOE’S VOICE: (Off right.) Ready for a walk? What do you think? Walk? Yes? Piss and poop? Let’s go. Happy dog—jumping, jumping. Happy, happy. Here we go. Walking, walking. Here we go! Poop and piss. Happy, happy, happy dog—

(ROSCOE’s voice fades, as before. Long pause as SALLY sits on her bed, facing audience, staring at floor. LUCY fiddles with syringes at table.)

LUCY: (Mocking ROSCOE.) “Happy, happy, happy dog!” (Pause.) Have you told him about your heart yet?

SALLY: No, why should I?

LUCY: Just to—

SALLY: Lay all the cards on the table?

LUCY: Well, he must’ve noticed.

SALLY: What?

LUCY: Your scar.

SALLY: What scar?

LUCY: Oh, Jesus, Sally—didn’t he ask about it when you were—

SALLY: I told him I had something stuck in my throat when I was a little kid.

LUCY: Your throat?

SALLY: Yeah.