OFF THE HOOK

Early evening. A wife and husband, ROBERT and JOAN ARMSTRONG, are in the bedroom of their small, sparsely furnished, one-bedroom East Village apartment getting dressed. The man is in his early thirties, the woman is in her late twenties. JOAN is sitting, partially dressed, in front of a vanity table's mirror brushing her hair. ROBERT, in dress shirt and underwear, is looking for something in the closet.

JOAN

What are you looking for?

ROBERT

Where's that tie your father gave me last Christmas?

JOAN

You mean the one with the blue giraffes and maroon flamingos?

ROBERT

That's the one.

JOAN

The one you said neither you nor any human being with an IQ higher than a dying geranium would ever wear?

ROBERT

Well, it's colorful. Besides, your father may not have taste but I never said he doesn't mean well. Wait, here it is.

(HE takes it out and begins putting it on)

JOAN

(slightly offended)

You seem to think he means well enough when he lends us money.

(ROBERT adjusts his tie in the mirror behind her)

ROBERT

OK, OK, your dad's a great guy. I take his money and then deride him behind his back, so that makes me a heel. I admit it, OK? My problem is I love being a heel.

JOAN

Your problem is that you have to accept loans from someone who voted for McCain/Palin and it bugs the hell out of you, doesn't it?

ROBERT

How'd you guess?

JOAN

People have a right to their own convictions.

ROBERT

I don't deny that. I simply hold to the firm conviction that people who voted for the brain-dead Alaskan bimbo are idiot-scumbags.

JOAN

Well, I think so too, but I'm not a fanatic about it.

ROBERT

I am not a fanatic.

JOAN

Not a fanatic? The day after my father lent you money the last time, you told him all Republicans should be hanged from the yardarm of a schooner.

ROBERT

I did not.

JOAN

No? Then what did you say?

ROBERT

I said all Republicans should be hanged from the yardarm of a frigate. Nobody hangs anybody from schooners, for Christ sake.

JOAN

Well, pardon me all over the place. I don't have the advantage of your Navy background.

(JOAN watches him in the mirror)

JOAN

(cont)

You don't have to wear a tie, you know. I'm not dressing up.

ROBERT

Hey, kid. My wife's 30th birthday is not something I take casually.

JOAN

Ouch! Please don't speak the figure out loud. It hurts.

ROBERT

Oh. Sorry. Anyway, it's my way of showing my appreciation.

JOAN

For what?

ROBERT

For your coming home from the hotel at a decent hour! First time in a long time.

JOAN

It is not. Besides, I never work late if I can help it.

ROBERT

Come to think of it, how do I know you are my wife? I only see you late at night, if at all. I don't actually know what you look like in the afternoon.

JOAN

Very funny, but my hotel paycheck does help pay the rent, doesn't it? Besides, you act as if you think I enjoy working all hours as a hotel P.R.

ROBERT

Hey, could we please not mention the subject of your employment tonight? Just for one night, at least?

JOAN

You brought it up.

ROBERT

Well, now I'm bringing it down.

JOAN

(saluting)

Aye aye, sir! Request permission to speak, sir!

ROBERT

You are so funny.

(HE attempts to place his arms around her

but she takes them away)

ROBERT

(cont)

OK, I'm sorry.

(This softens her; THEY briefly kiss)

JOAN

You still haven't told me where you're taking me.

ROBERT

It's a surprise. But I can tell you that tonight we're escaping the parameters of the East Village altogether.

JOAN

You mean we're actually going to a restaurant more than four blocks from Tompkins Square Park? Wow! So where are you taking me, anyway?

ROBERT

Like I said, it's a surprise. But I will tell you that it's all the way over in the West Village.

JOAN

The West Village! That is impressive. The last time you took me to a restaurant outside the East Village Reagan had just been shot.

ROBERT

Stop exaggerating. I took you to an in-spot in mid-town just...a few months ago.

JOAN

An in-spot? Beefsteak Charlies in Times Square is an in-spot?

ROBERT

It had a hot singing group, if I recall correctly.

JOAN

It had four sloshed, red-faced tourists from Kansas singing Broadway showtunes horrendously off-key until they were asked to leave. Some 'hot singing group'.

ROBERT

Well, we took in a show afterwards, didn't we?

JOAN

Watching a three-card monte game on the corner of Broadway and 45th you'd describe as a show? I think you're the one who should be working in P.R.

ROBERT

So, how did I know the theater tickets weren't any good?

JOAN

Maybe next time you won't buy from a scalper. I told you-

ROBERT

Yes, I know you told me, OK? Let's not get into that one again. Anyway, I promise you this: Just as soon as producers get their heads out of their collective ass and accept my play, I'll take you to my show.

JOAN

(softly)

I should live so long.

ROBERT

(seriously offended)

What?

(JOAN turns on the hair dryer to escape

an argument. ROBERT stares at her drying

her hair then steps into the bathroom.

We hear the phone ring)

ROBERT

The phone.

(JOAN doesn't hear him)

ROBERT

The phone!

JOAN

What?

ROBERT

The phone!

(JOAN turns off the hair dryer and walks

into the hallway or living room area.

When SHE speaks, ROBERT cannot hear her)

JOAN

Hello...Yes, this is she...it's all right, Grace. What's happened?...Grace, I really can't tonight; we're about to go out for my birthday. If I tell Robert I've got to work tonight he'll go crazy. Can't Mr. Wilson get anyone else? What about Margaret?...Grace, I'm really sorry, but...I know it's press night but...(sighing) All right. I'll be there as soon as I can.

(SHE puts the phone down and stares at

it. Then SHE returns to the bedroom)

ROBERT

Who was it? Let me guess. My agent called to say that the Schuberts and the Nederlanders are fighting over my latest masterpiece. Oh, no, I forgot, I don't have an agent. OK, So, maybe the Royal Shakespeare Company finally got around to reading-

JOAN

(not looking at him)

That was the hotel. They asked me to come in tonight.

(ROBERT stops dressing and stares at her)

ROBERT

So, what'd you tell them?

(JOAN stands still, avoiding his eyes)

ROBERT

(cont)

Joan, what did you tell them?..My God, nothing is more important to you than that goddamned hotel, is it? Not me, not you, not your birthday, not our marriage, nothing!

JOAN

Robert, the P.R. on duty is very sick! They took her to the hospital. Somebody has got to be there to entertain the press at the dinner. It's in their honor, for God's sake. It's one of the most important-

ROBERT

And where is Margaret this time?

JOAN

They're trying to get her. Her number's been busy for hours.

ROBERT

That's right. And it will stay busy for hours. Because Margaret is smart enough to leave the phone off the hook if there's even one chance in a million that she might get called in to work. Something I've asked you to do a million times!

JOAN

Robert, I can't...I can't take this pressure. You've got to stop before-

ROBERT

Oh, yes! Pressure on you. Pressure in the form of a husband who loves you and wants you to spend some time at home before... Well, hell, let's say it outright, OK, let's expose our innermost thoughts to the light of day - before our marriage collapses altogether.

JOAN

Home? You call this a home? We live in a rat-infested tenement building in the middle of a mecca for crack dealers and bowery bums. And we wouldn't have this if it weren't for my job.

ROBERT (moving closer)

Baby, I told you - what I'm working on now is damn good. I know I can get it on somewhere; somewhere that really pays. We'll save carefully and sooner or later we'll have enough money to get out of here. And then we can - have a family.

JOAN

And meanwhile I'm supposed to stop entertaining guests at the hotel at exactly five-thirty every night and when Mr. Wilson sees me rushing out and asks me where I'm going I just tell him my husband wants me home, right? How long do you think I would keep my job?

ROBERT

How long am I supposed to watch helplessly as you become a masochist and a fool for the eunuchs that run that damned hotel? You have never once said 'no' to them.

JOAN

I don't say 'no' to them because the economy is in the toilet and there are a thousand women out there who would like to have my job. And although you're too damn pigheaded to admit it, we need the money. Instead of pressuring me to work fewer hours-

ROBERT

Joan, you've got pressure because your husband loves you and would like to see you stop ruining your health and marriage. A husband who wants to be with you. I think a lot of women neglected by their husbands would love to have that kind of pressure!

JOAN

I have pressure from the hotel and pressure from you and-

ROBERT

Pressure? You talk about pressure? What about the pressure on a man who knows his wife cares more about a hotel and pleasing a fucking faggot hotel manager than himself?

(JOAN lights up a cigarette and inhales

deeply. SHE releases it)

JOAN

I have a job. I have a job to do. We need the money. You're not making any. I don't think a calculator is required here to figure out why I put in so many hours.

ROBERT

Hotel public relations isn't a job; it's a...disorder! It should be classified somewhere between third degree bird flu and sexually transmitted diseases. When you joined that fucking hotel you were in perfect health and you were a very pleasant, sincere person. Satisfied with what you had in life. Now? You've lost weight, you're nervous and irritable and exhausted all the time. And nothing's good enough for you anymore. Including me.

JOAN

Robert, people have to work. At the risk of repeating myself, you're not making any money. I have a job that brings in money. And, yes, it does give me some satisfaction to know that I am good at my job.

ROBERT

Well, don't look now, lady, but you are bad at your marriage... And what do you expect me to do? Smile and say, 'Keep up the good work'? You make no effort to take time off from a job but you take an incredible amount of time off from your marriage. What about putting some effort into your marriage?

JOAN

When I can I do. But Mr. Wilson said it would be good if I came into work tonight because-

ROBERT

Good?! Good for whom? Good for me? Good for you? Good for our marriage? Or good for the goddamned hotel!

JOAN

Robert, could you stop placing everything in an either/or context? Mr. Wilson knows-

ROBERT

Mr. Wilson knows exactly how to manipulate you. No overtime pay, no dress allowance, no real holidays; you entertain the press until two in the morning. Until the last alcoholic who calls himself a journalist has had enough free booze and goes home. If he's got a home. Fuck the press!

JOAN

That's easy for you to say. And could you please stop shouting? They can hear us across the hall.

ROBERT

I don't care if they hear us in fucking Zaire! (raising his voice as he walks toward the hallway) Let them know what they've got to look forward to when things get better over there! Fatten up, people, then get a hotel P.R. job and slim back down!

JOAN

Robert, for God's sake. It isn't necessary to be callous.

ROBERT

Would you please pronounce 'necessary' with all four syllables?

You're not British.

JOAN

I'll pronounce 'necessary' any damn way I like.

ROBERT

Oh, that's right. I forgot. Mr. Wilson is a Brit. What are you, imitating him now?

(ROBERT unsuccessfully attempts to

pronounce the word as a three-

syllable word)

ROBERT

(cont)

Necessry. Nececery. Necess- Nope, can't do it. A blue collar guy through and through, that's me.

(ROBERT stares at her, then sits down on

the bed near her and lowers his voice)

ROBERT

(cont)

Sweetheart, you have to put distance between yourself and your job, can't you understand that? Otherwise, it will eat you up. That's the way a lot of P.R. jobs are. You'll give it everything you have and there won't be anything left for us...Joan, for us, call in and say you're sick.

JOAN

Robert, I know it bugs the hell out of you that I draw some satisfaction from this job but I do. And I know you've got some strange idea that you're in competition with a hotel and I can't change what you can't accept. But I will not call in and say I'm sick when I'm not. It wouldn't be honest.

ROBERT

(shouting again)

Not honest to lie to a hotel about being sick but it's OK to let a hotel destroy our marriage?

(For a few moments both remain silent.

ROBERT starts to reach one hand out toward

her, then taps the table with his knuckles

a few times and withdraws his hand)

ROBERT

(cont)

You know these hotel people aren't real flesh-and-blood people like us, don't you?

JOAN

Robert, please. Don't.

ROBERT

Yeah, that's right. These guys aren't human beings like us. They're not born; they're assembled in a secret factory in Switzerland, programmed to read menus in French, to learn about food, wine, dress, table manners and petty conversation; to bow and scrape to anybody who's got the price of an overpriced room. Then! And this is the secret they've managed to hide from the rest of us for thousands of years: Then! They have their sweat glands removed.

(JOAN starts to rise; ROBERT grabs her

arm and sits her back down. SHE pulls

her arm free but remains seated)

ROBERT

(cont)

Oh, yeah! A lot of people don't know about that but they do! A Swiss doctor living in one of those postcard-pretty little villages in the Swiss Alps. An odorologist or something. He specializes in removing sweat glands from anyone who reaches the top level in hotel management. No great hotel-i-er is allowed to stink! Then in a carefully camouflaged hideout in Zurich they dress them up like penguins, put carnations in their buttonholes, program their faces into simpering grins, and set them loose upon the world. Humanoids. Me? I'm human.

(ROBERT strikes one of her matches

and holds it against his arm)

ROBERT

(cont)

See, I feel something. That's flesh and blood you're looking at, baby. Human feeling and emotion!

(JOAN leans forward, grabs his arm,

and blows the match out)

JOAN

Stop it! Will you stop it!

(THEY are frozen in position. ROBERT

starts to put his other hand on her

arm. SHE pulls her arm away)

JOAN

(cont)

Do you think I enjoy getting up at six every morning and going in to work while you sleep soundly until whenever you feel like it and get up and read the paper and have a leisurely breakfast and then work on a project which has meaning to you? I work because we need money, goddamn it! I have to work, Robert. And I have a right to derive some satisfaction from that work. If you feel threatened, that's your problem, not mine. Can't you understand that?

ROBERT

Hey, I don't live in the Stone Age. You can work all you like but get a nine-to-five job, OK? Not a career without the benefits of a career. Educated people don't make low-paying hotel jobs a lifetime career. Hotel people have been schooled - not educated. You're an educated woman but you're letting yourself be sucked into their world. I know you think you've grown beyond me but in fact you haven't grown, you've mutated!

JOAN

(angrily)

All right, Robert, I've mutated, all right!? I've become a fucking female werewolf, whatever you say. But that doesn't change the fact that in our present situation I have to work. I don't blame you for...I mean, I know selling any play in today's market is tough but - now hear this - we need the money! And I...I want to be independent.

ROBERT

Independent? What does that mean?

JOAN

Just what I said. I want to be independent. The opposite of dependent.

(ROBERT stares at her for several

seconds, then slowly gets up)

ROBERT

OK. OK, you win. You don't want to believe that you've got an obsession with a hotel; you want to believe that you're a wonderfully honest person and that pressure from me to get you to come home at a decent hour is just too great and that's what's killing this marriage.

(ROBERT quickly grabs an overnight bag

from the closet, opens drawers and

begins throwing his clothes in)

ROBERT

(cont)

OK. You can be independent. The opposite of dependent. But just remember one thing: You're sacrificing your husband, your marriage, your health and...and my love for you all for the glory of hotel public relations and for the right to sit at your desk in some four-star, five-faggot hotel and shuffle P.R. papers without interference. (HE closes the bag) All right! You're now going to get exactly what you want and I sincerely hope you will be very happy.

JOAN

Where are you going?

ROBERT

Frank's. He slept on our couch when he and Margaret split up; so he owes me one.

(ROBERT walks to the door)

ROBERT

(cont)

I'll be back for some other things tomorrow. While you're at work.

JOAN

Robert. I think...I think we've just become two very different people. But whatever part of this is my fault...

ROBERT

Forget "fault." Blaming each other doesn't change anything. We both knew it was coming. Oh. I almost forgot.

(ROBERT walks to a bookshelf and reaches

behind it. HE retrieves a colorfully

wrapped gift. HE moves to her and hands

it to her)

ROBERT

(cont)

Here's your damned gift and happy birthday.

JOAN

Thanks for my damned gift.

(ROBERT turns to go)

JOAN

(cont)

Hey! (ROBERT turns) Are we...are we going to be friends after the divorce? (HE blanches) I mean, I hear sometimes ex-spouses make the best friends.

...Well, to tell you the truth, Joan, I've never been an ex-spouse before, so I don't know what the hell I'll be like. (more relaxed, with humor) But I think I can promise I won't stalk you if that's what's worrying you.

Hello?..Oh, hello, Margaret. I think the hotel...they got you?..So you're saying I don't have to go in tonight, after all...I'm what?..Off the hook...No, nothing's wrong. I understand perfectly...Why shouldn't I be happy? I'm...off the hook.