MARIGOLD: No.

MRS. MAY (reading): “First. Number One: A person called Kate Wendell was made my sister’s boss. Started in riding my sister Marigold and hasn’t let up since, which is well over a year of unjustified bullshit. Number Two. Just look in the files. It’s complete and utter chickenshit the stuff this woman Kate Wendell finds to complain about. Third. This woman is a lesbian after my sister. Making passes and remarks and threats. I’m calling sexual harrassment. Number Four. Everything I’m telling you adds up that Kate Wendell is the one to be charged with something, not Marigold Cassandra.

“I am a ripper and runner and I sure know the stink off another skunk like me when I get up next to one. And that about covers Ms. Kate Wendell.

“My sister has a tough enough job. Which she is tough enough to get it done. But she is still that most tendermost creature, a human. Do not fail her by keeping her at the mercy of a”—the mercy of a—what. (Pause.) Just let me hear you read those two words out loud.

Pause. MARIGOLD is stone.

MRS. MAY: But you did read them to yourself silently. (Pause.) And you’ve already said them out loud once today. You’ve read them and you’ve said them. I’m just asking you to do it once more.

Pause. MRS. MAY reaches into her desk, takes out a small recorder, holds it to her ear, rewinding with deft application of her fingers to the buttons, without looking. We hear some of their recent conversation quite distinctly—

RECORDER: “…the cleaning lady…because you are insane…”

MRS. MAY gets the playback set where she wants it. Reaches with the little machine across the desk, right into MARIGOLD’s face.

A long, long pause.

She lowers the tape machine slowly to the desk. Sits back very slowly.

MRS. MAY: All right—

MARIGOLD slaps the recorder aside. Grabs one of the copies of her confession and tears it into confetti, dancing around and showering herself with it.

She stops.

MARIGOLD: “Homosexual maniac.”

She grabs the second copy, shredding it and strewing the shreds, repeating the phrase a dozen different ways:

Homosexual maniac. Homosexual maniac. Homosexual maniac. Homosexual maniac. Homosexual maniac. Homosexual maniac. Homosexual maniac. Homosexual maniac. Homosexual maniac. Homosexual maniac. Homosexual maniac. Homosexual maniac.

Meanwhile, she tears the third unsigned copy in half. Balls up one half, tosses it over her shoulder. Balls up the second half, tosses it.

Picks up the recorder. Holds it out, thumbs the Play button:

RECORDER: “Homosexual maniac.”

She drops the recorder in the trash.

Pause.

MRS. MAY gets up, turns slowly, shuts the blinds. Leaves the desk. Picks up the stack of magazines. Dignified, not cowed. Looks at MARIGOLD. Takes hold of the doorknob and turns to leave, but MARIGOLD stops her with a word—

MARIGOLD: Cass…went down the Colorado River once. I saw him one spring, he stopped at my place in Dallas and said he was heading to Arizona. Gonna drive a raft for one of those outfits that takes you down the river and through the canyon. I asked him, “Cass—how’d they pick you?” “Oh, I met the owner of the company in this bar and I told him, Hey, I wouldn’t mind a job like that. He asks do I have any rafting experience and I said, Hell yes, all over the rivers of South Texas, every damn river!” That’s Cass! I don’t think he’d ever been in a rowboat at this point. I don’t think he’d splashed around in anything bigger than a stock pond. After he got out there, I tried to phone him one time; but the office up there in Grand Canyon country said, Yeah, he works for us, but he’s out on a trip right now down the Colorado. What was that man’s name?