ROSCOE: Compromised?

LUCY: Diminished?

ROSCOE: Oh—

LUCY: Not herself.

ROSCOE: Well, none of us—

(SALLY pulls rest of uneaten do-nut out of her mouth and plops it on table.)

SALLY: It’s all an act.

LUCY: (To ROSCOE.) She’s not ready to meet anyone just yet. Let’s put it that way.

SALLY: Pumped full of drugs, is what it is.

LUCY: That’s not entirely true, Sally.

SALLY: She doesn’t know Monday morning from Friday night.

ROSCOE: Drugs?

SALLY: “Painkillers.” In the modern vernacular.

LUCY: My sister’s exaggerating.

SALLY: Ha!

(Pause. LUCY shifts position in her chair and accidentally kicks SALLY’s video equipment under table. LUCY looks under table.)

LUCY: What’s all this?

SALLY: My stuff.

LUCY: Camera?

SALLY: Yeah.

LUCY: What for?

SALLY: We’re making a little movie—Roscoe and me.

LUCY: Oh—what about?

SALLY: Has it got to be “about” something?

LUCY: Well—usually there’s a theme.

SALLY: It’s about Roscoe.

LUCY: Oh—

SALLY: His life—his career—

LUCY: Oh, I didn’t realize—

ROSCOE: I don’t really have a career.

LUCY: I didn’t realize you were so interesting.

ROSCOE: No, I know—I don’t appear to be, do I?

SALLY: He’s multifaceted. Chaotic.

LUCY: Really? (To ROSCOE.) Well, what is it that you do?

SALLY: He’s famous.

LUCY: Is that right? I’ve never heard of you. What’s your name again?

SALLY: Roscoe Hubbard.

ROSCOE: Well, no—fame isn’t exactly the right—

SALLY: “Infamous”—a scholar—professor—

LUCY: What do you teach?

ROSCOE: Cervantes, mostly.

LUCY: What?

ROSCOE: Don Quixote.

LUCY: Oh.

ROSCOE: Borges, also.

LUCY: How do you say it?

ROSCOE: (Overenunciating.) Bor-ges. You put a little “h” sound into the “g.” A little exhale.

LUCY: (Tries it, fails.) “Boor-geese.”

ROSCOE: Excellent.

SALLY: What do you mean? It’s really shitty. It’s not “excellent.”

LUCY: (Tries again, fails.) “Bore-gaaze.”

SALLY: Just knock it off!

ROSCOE: (To SALLY.) No—she’s—

SALLY: She’s butchering it! One of your favorite authors and she’s making hash of it.

LUCY: All right—I just thought I’d give it a whirl.

ROSCOE: I was impressed. For a first effort it was—

SALLY: It was really shitty. Didn’t even resemble the man’s name.

LUCY: (To ROSCOE.) Well, I’m very sorry I haven’t heard of you until just now.

ROSCOE: No, no—don’t be sorry. That’s quite all right.

LUCY: What other things have you done?

SALLY: He was a junkie, once.

(Long dead pause.)

ROSCOE: I wasn’t really—

(LUCY stands, collecting her tray.)

SALLY: You were. You told me you were.

ROSCOE: It was a figure— (To LUCY.) Would you like some more coffee?

LUCY: (Standing.) I don’t think so—no.

SALLY: He came up in the age of heroin—beatniks—Burroughs and Corso.

LUCY: How sad.

ROSCOE: (Offering do-nuts to LUCY.) Jelly do-nut?

LUCY: Thank you, no.

ROSCOE: Nice meeting you.