‘Why don’t you eat something?’ Natasha says to Lucy. ‘You look so good but why don’t you eat something?’

Lucy presses the bell. ‘Next!’

Natasha changes quickly into a looser costume; a huge, white shirt.

‘I have a poetic soul, you see.’

Lucy presses the bell. ‘Next!’

‘It was a transformative experience.’

Lucy presses the bell. ‘Next!’

‘Next!’

‘Next!’

‘Next!’

The bell rings out again and again as Natasha scrambles to change costumes faster and faster. She sways left and right as she pulls trousers and shirts on and off. She becomes more and more frantic until she collapses, lying motionless on the floor. Lucy just looks at her. Natasha stands up and calmly dusts herself off. She exits stage left.

Lucy is left alone at the table. ‘Intimacy is hard for me,’ she says, ‘but I think I speak for all of us when I say it’s hard for all of us.’

Natasha returns dressed in a coat and tails. She pulls a drinks cabinet behind her. She polishes a glass and places it in Lucy’s waiting hand. She opens a bottle.

‘How was your evening, Miss?’

‘It was alright.’

‘You tell me when now, Miss.’

Lucy holds out her glass and Natasha fills it to the top. When it begins to overflow, Natasha keeps pouring. She opens a second bottle and continues pouring until the liquid is all over the floor, all over the tablecloth and all over Lucy. Lucy stares straight ahead.

‘When,’ Lucy says.

Natasha takes a grey wig and waistcoat from the drinks cabinet and places it on the table. She pushes her drinks cart offstage left.

‘What could be possibly worse than this on a Saturday night?’ Lucy asks the audience. ‘This set-up. You know I’ve thought some pretty distasteful stuff in my life, and actually done worse, but I don’t deserve this. I’m generous. I try. What could possibly be more awful than this?’

From the other side of the stage, Natasha carries in a small table and a newspaper. She sits at the table. She is wearing a prim cardigan and a long skirt. Gentle, refined music begins to play. Lucy carries over her chair. She puts on the grey wig and the waistcoat. She picks up the newspaper and sits down, clearing her throat. She opens the newspaper. Lucy and Natasha sit in total silence as the refined music continues to play.

‘What music is this?’ Natasha asks.

Lucy raises one finger to silence her. She keeps reading the newspaper.

‘What are you doing this weekend?’

Lucy raises a finger to silence her.

‘What are you doing this weekend?’

A finger is raised again.

‘What are you doing this weekend?’ Natasha asks again, more quietly this time.

Lucy lays down her newspaper. She looks aggrieved. ‘Why do you come into my house and ask what I’m doing this weekend, Natasha. I’m not your boyfriend.’

‘What are you doing this weekend?’ Natasha repeats.

A photo pops up onscreen: a blurry Lucy, her breasts on show.