PLAYWRIGHT: It’s just show-business, honey. Now about that curtain. Let’s discuss that curtain. —Hilary, I’m sorry but I do say things so—go take a breather at Sardi’s. [Hilary goes off.] —About that curtain, it may be effective, it could be, but it’s just a curtain and we can’t settle for that. Can we? Jane? Are you listening to me?

JANE: —Yes. [She separates herself from Tye’s perfunctory comfort.]

PLAYWRIGHT: A play’s not stopped by a curtain, I mean if it’s a true thing it continues after the curtain the way life does after sleep. It comes out of the night stop and goes into the next day. And maybe it goes on in the minds and hearts of the audience after, so look—[Turns to Tye.] You’re an incorrigible delinquent, she’s bright enough to know that. You’re weak, purposeless. Addictive. Right? [Tye nods, expressionless.] Oh, attractive, appealing, a cut above what you do or she wouldn’t have had you with her. But you’re employed by a gangster that’s ripped off the show head-liner because she defied him, and hell, you might go next because you’ve heard about it and know she’s not in Spain. You’re holding goods, hot goods, for your buddy, Smokey. You said you’ll be back at midnight with pizzas and vino, oh, that’s his immediate impulse, but Tye’s impulsive and his impulses don’t always stick. An accident brought you together, you’re attracted strongly, by his—innocent delinquency, his—boyish appeal, but—are you listening, Tye? [No answer.]

JANE: He is.

PLAYWRIGHT: He’s employed by gangsters, the mob, that’s ripped of the show’s head-liner because she defied Fat Charlie’s orders, and how do you know that Tye mightn’t go next since he’s heard about it and knows she’s not in Spain. He’s holding hot goods for his buddy, comes home noon, falls stoned across the floor, needle-mark on his arm, smeared all over with lipstick.

TYE: I think we’ve got the picture.

PLAYWRIGHT [to Tye]: You tell her not to sweat dying with you, that you’ll be home at midnight with vino and pizza. And you’ll celebrate. What? Death? Hers? Coming soon?

TYE: Dig.

PLAYWRIGHT: The skylight’s not blue, now, it’s turned black as the piano-man singing. So. How certain are you that his immediate impulse will hold despite his weak, purposeless pattern? [Jane shakes her head with a concentrated gravity.] —What are you now?

JANE: I am? —Alone.

PLAYWRIGHT: No, you’re with the cat, as you said. An animal is a comforting presence sometimes! —So what do you do?

JANE: —This. [She bends slowly and gathers the invisible cat in her arms.]

PLAYWRIGHT: And say?

JANE: Beret . . .

PLAYWRIGHT: And look up at the black skylight with a question, then straight out into the house, your eyes dark as—