Pause. She spits the gum into the purse.

She takes another pill, rapidly repeating the whole process, emptying the tiny jug and tossing it into the purse. And then more breath-spray. More gum. She sighs.

Pause.

The door opens a crack. A woman peeks in and smiles: MRS. MAY, late forties, in a black dress with white borders, the senior citizen look. She knocks tentatively and enters with a slightly hunched, apologetic air—leaves the door ajar behind her. She looks around, adjusts the blinds to make more light. Gathers magazines into stacks, picking up the one on the floor. She talks softly, as if in deference to people working in nearby offices.

MRS. MAY: Were you looking at this one?

MARIGOLD: No. Yes. But not now. (Pause.) I didn’t expect magazines! (Pause.) Is this a waiting room? Is there an inner office?

MRS. MAY: Oh, this is the inner office. I’ll take these old ones home…Unless you—?

MARIGOLD: No. Thanks.

MRS. MAY: This one’s recent. (Showing it.) How did they get that?

MARIGOLD: Horrible.

MRS. MAY: He was right in the fire. Snapping pictures…Look at that. It looks like Iwo Jima, doesn’t it, with the flag, only they’re being crushed.

Pause. MARIGOLD, looking, gasps in polite appreciation.

MRS. MAY: Carried by escalators into the flames…(Pause.) Did you see the news on TV when it, after they—

MARIGOLD: Horrible. Wasn’t it more than eighty—

MRS. MAY: They were laid out like shish kebab in the parking lot…And it was raining. And the steam was rising off the corpses in the rain.

MARIGOLD: I don’t remember that.

MRS. MAY: Don’t you?

MARIGOLD: Not—isn’t the sun—were these pictures taken that day? Because it seems sunny—

MRS. MAY:—it seems sunny—

MARIGOLD: It does.

MRS. MAY: I probably misremembered. Every time you turn on the TV. Don’t you agree, Ms. Cassandra? All the corpses blur together. (Pause.) I’m sorry—

MARIGOLD: No. I just got startled. My name—You knew. I didn’t think—Well, perhaps I should ask: Are you—(Pause. MRS. MAY is leaning close to her.) Do I—(MARIGOLD leans back.)—smell funny? I mean…For instance is my perfume all right?

MRS. MAY: Wow. You are nervous!

MARIGOLD: They flew me from Dallas.

MRS. MAY: It’s a hundred and one in Dallas. Already this morning!

MARIGOLD: That’s—I mean, I can believe it. It’s terrible there. Really hot. All the time. (Pause.) Was it a special news item? Or do you—you know, maybe you have some relatives—(MRS. MAY is fanning the air in front of her face.) Are you sure you don’t—if you whiff sort of—(MARIGOLD turns away, finds her breath mist.)

MRS. MAY (Standing, arranging things on the desk): Yes. (Pause.) It was a special news item. Hottest place in the USA. Hotter than Phoenix. Hotter than Yuma. Oh, they’ll catch up by noon. They’re in the desert and the temperature drops off when the sun goes down. But Dallas didn’t cool off at all last night…It’s down around ninety here in Houston.

Meanwhile, MARIGOLD inhales a puff of freshener, gets the device back in her purse, turns to find MRS. MAY seated comfortably behind the desk.