28 Stories

Scene opens on a 20-something year old girl sitting in a chair onstage, alone. All of the stage is dark, except for a spotlight on her chair.

MIRIAM:          My name is Miriam LeStatt. I’m twenty-eight years old, I live in Manhattan, and I work at a law firm. Yes, I’m a lawyer, as in What do you call 100 lawyers at the bottom of the Ocean? A good start. Ha. Ha.
I live alone, have since college. The idea of other people using my bathroom bothers me.
5’3”, red-brown shoulder-length hair, green eyes. “Spunky.”

I’m going to die.

No, this isn’t one of those tragic, pathetic, really quite annoying stories where I was abandoned at birth and am tragically in love and have some slow fatal disease. I will not die in my lover’s arms in the final scene. Though I probably have a few enemies by now, no one’s out to kill me. And this is not a suicide note.
It’s really much more embarrassing than all that. I’m clumsy, right? Especially when I’m drunk, and I’ll admit that I’m a little bit tipsy now. So I tripped. Off of the balcony. Of my 28 story apartment. And I’m falling.


VOICE:          28 stories.

Lights go up on a different part of the stage. There is a balcony, with a small table littered with drinks, a chest-high railing all around, and a sliding glass door. There is a scream, and a young man runs to the railing.

MAN:                     Miriam!

Lights immediately go down on the balcony again. The only light is on Miriam.

MIRIAM:           It had been a really good party, too. Good music, good alcohol, excellent hostessing if I do say so myself. Not like some crap parties I’ve been to where no number of apple martinis can get you smashed enough to make the people interesting. Blah blah, state of the economy, blah blah, price of oil, blah blah, Paris Hilton. It makes my head ache, just thinking about how repetitively dull people can be. And it’s the dull ones who never shut up! Honestly, you’d think they’d realize they were boring and try harder not to embarrass themselves.
         Well, not at my party. I made a point of inviting interesting people, with things to say, not excluding, of course, myself. Here’s a hostessing tip: Always try to invite someone a little bit crazy to your parties. Someone a little bit off-center, to keep things interesting. Then, of course, you have to invite someone wickedly funny, to make fun of them. It keeps your guests relaxed and confident – which is the point of these things. Everyone just wants to feel a little bit better about themselves. Everyone wants to have a good time.
         So there they were at my party, having a smashingly good time. It was actually going a little bit too well, I think. Successful parties invite drama. It’s inevitable: just when everyone’s having a great time, feeling good, looking good, some attention-seeking whore has to pull some stunt. I can’t stand it!

An older man, maybe 50-something, walks onstage into her spotlight, talking as he does. He drags up his own chair.

OLDER MAN:           Funny, then, that it was you this time to pull the stunt.

MIRIAM:           Ah! Meet the Devil’s Advocate himself. Every good lawyer needs a Devil’s Advocate, though this one fancies himself my conscience.

DEVIL’S ADVOCATE:           Conscience,  consciousness … whichever. Call me what you’d like to.

MIRIAM:    My alter-ego, split personality, the other side of the story…

DEVIL’S ADVOCATE:           The little voice in your head that tells you when you’re being an idiot.

MIRIAM:          I call him Jack.

JACK:                    Miriam…

MIRIAM:          I’ve always liked the name Jack. Simple. Dignified, in a way. Charming.

JACK:          Miriam.

MIRIAM:          So, Jack, I was just telling these fascinating young people about my fabulous party, which was ruined when some tramp went and tripped off of my balcony. Quite rude, don’t you think?

JACK:          Miriam, have you forgotten where you are?

MIRIAM:          Hmm?

VOICE:          27 stories.

JACK:          Pay attention, Miriam. You’re falling.

MIRIAM:          You’re a bore, you know that? A real bore. You’re always bothering me with these boring, useless bits of information. What a boring job you must have. I don’t know why I ever invite you anywhere.

JACK:          You don’t. You usually try as hard as you can to keep me away.

MIRIAM:          That’s right! Why don’t you listen to me more often? Lord knows I shouldn’t be taking you anywhere, looking like that.

JACK:          What’s wrong with the way I look?

MIRIAM:          Well, for Pete’s sake, you dress like my Grandfather. That suit is completely circa 1952, not to mention your shoes. You need a proper shave – only people who are under thirty or ridiculously good looking can get away with the scruffy morning-after face look. And why don’t you wear any color? You’re old, but you’re not dead yet.

JACK:          Not quite yet.

MIRIAM:          How old are you, anyway?

JACK:          No older than you are, really.

MIRIAM:          I’m offended! Jack, you should never tell a woman she looks older than she is. In fact, you should usually try to shoot for three years younger.

JACK:          Sometimes it’s not about how one appears, Miriam.

MIRIAM:          Blah blah, what trash. Appearances are everything. All the brilliance and eloquence in the world means nothing if people aren’t willing to listen to you. And who are people willing to listen to? Beautiful people, attractive people. People who look like they ought to be in charge. Honestly, it’s no mystery why insanely beautiful people also happen to be, more often than not, insanely wealthy. When you look good, people are drawn to you. They want to give you things, to do things for you, to make you smile. That’s why the makeup industry is so successful. (Pause.) I sometimes think that I should have started my own make-up line instead of studying law.

JACK:          And I sometimes think you’re hopeless.

MIRIAM:          I am hopeless. Completely without hope. What are we going to do with me, Jack?

JACK :          Not much we can do now, is there?

VOICE:          26 stories.

MIRIAM:          Oh, gloomy gloomy, dull dull. You remind me of someone…

JACK:          Roger.

MIRIAM:          Hmm?

JACK:          I remind you of Roger.

MIRIAM:          I don’t know who you’re talking about.

JACK:          See the man up there, gripping the balcony railing, white-knuckled, watching you fall?

Lights go back up on the balcony where the same young man is clutching the railing.

ROGER:          Miriam!

JACK:          Remember him?

MIRIAM:          (Dismissively) Oh, him. Yes, that’s right, you remind me of him. He was a badly dressed bore too.

JACK:          Is that all?

MIRIAM:          He also asked stupid, redundant questions. “Is that all?” “Do you really mean that?” “How are you feeling today?” Blah blah. Like anyone actually cares how anyone else is “feeling.” Like “feelings” are anything actually worth talking about.

JACK:          Yes, we’re very concerned with what’s “worthy” conversation matter and what isn’t.

MIRIAM:          Exactly. People should try harder to be more interesting.

JACK:          Roger was interesting.

MIRIAM:          Bah.

JACK:          You don’t remember anything, do you?

VOICE:          24 stories.

MRIAM:          I remember that we weren’t up to 24 yet! What happened to 25?

JACK:          That’s what happens when you don’t pay attention, Miriam. You miss things.

MIRIAM:          An entire story?

JACK:          Remember Roger.

MIRIAM:          But… what about twenty…

JACK:          Remember Roger.

MIRIAM:          Roger. Roger McPhearson. 23 years old, fresh out of school, wanted to be a defense lawyer. Idealistic young upstart, wishy washy, thought he could make a difference. Sweet, if naïve. Mildly weird.

Lights go up on another part of the stage where there is a cafeteria table. Roger is sitting there, eating soup. He is wearing a suit, looking uncomfortable. As he looks around the room he leans too far over and his tie falls into his soup bowl. He curses and begins to self-consciously wipe it up, knocking his apple off of the table with his elbow as he does. He ducks under the table to pick it up. While he is under the table, Miriam walks up and sits down at the table next to him.

MIRIAM:          Hey.

ROGER:          (Lifts his head up and scrambles back into his seat, smoothing down his tie.) Hey! Hey. (Clears his throat.) Uh, hey.

MRIAM:          You’re the new intern, right? Here (She plops a file of paperwork onto the lunch table.) I need 50 copies of these by the end of lunch.

ROGER:          Actually, I’m –

MIRIAM:          Then I’m going to need you to return some calls. Don’t worry, nothing too important, just “Blah blah, Miriam LeStatt received your call, she’ll be contacting you herself later, your call is very important to us,” you know. (She pulls out a turkey sandwich.)

ROGER:          Ms. LeStatt? I’m actually not  -

MIRIAM:          Call me Miriam. You don’t have to be all polite just because you’re the intern. I’m sure over time we can become friends.

ROGER:          That’s nice, but I’m not –

MIRIAM:          It is nice, isn’t it? Maybe too nice? You shouldn’t think that I’m some pushover punk girl just because I’m being nice to you. I can be a real bitch when I want to be.

ROGER:          Um…

MIRIAM:          Hey, shouldn’t you be getting to work on those copies? And get me a diet coke while you’re up. Thank you!

She pointedly turns away from him and focuses on her sandwich. Roger, a bit helplessly, stares at the pile of paperwork, then picks it up and walks off. Lights go down on this section of the stage. Miriam walks back into her spotlight, laughing.

MIRIAM:          Hahahaha… Oh, man, I remember Roger.

JACK:          That’s all you remember?

MIRIAM:          Well, it’s a start, isn’t it? That was a good memory. Boy, he was upset. But honestly, he looked way too young to be a new colleague. He was too young. Don’t you hate that? It makes me feel like I’m failing at life, to be constantly surrounded by these … these children. Won’t there ever be a time when I won’t have to work side by side with people five years younger than me?

VOICE:          21 stories.

MIRIAM:          Wait, wait… 21 stories? What happened to the last three??

JACK:          You were busy. You missed them.

MIRIAM:          I missed them?

JACK:                    You can’t be two places at once, Miriam. You were busy remembering Roger.

MIRIAM:          What?? I wasted time, some of the very little time I have left, thank you very much, re-living memories of Roger McPhearson for you? What a load of shit!

JACK:          You’d rather spend your time criticizing the dinner conversation of your comrades upstairs?

MIRIAM:          Yes, yes I would. It gives me pleasure.

JACK:          Finding immediate pleasure in the criticism of others. Well, that’s healthy, I’m sure.

MIRIAM:          Hey, I don’t really care about what’s healthy at this point. All I have is the immediate pleasure, now. I don’t have time to worry about  this … this nonsense!

JACK:          It’s not nonsense.

MIRIAM:          What are you doing here, anyway?

JACK:          I’m here to keep you from wasting away your last few moments of consciousness.

MIRIAM:          Oh, go away.

JACK:          Here’s a question for you: Where was I?

MIRIAM:          What?
JACK:          In your memory of Roger. I was there too, at the time.

MIRIAM:          You’re always there. I just normally do a better job of keeping you quiet.

JACK:          Isn’t it interesting how we simplify our memories by editing out any conflicting or contrary ideas we had at the time? In your own mind, now, you’ve made that conversation much simpler than it actually was.

MIRIAM:          So what did you contribute that I’ve so callously edited out?

JACK:          I probably told you to shut up and listen to the boy.

MIRIAM:          But I didn’t shut up and listen to the boy, did I? Unlike now, I then managed to completely ignore you, and thus any suggestions you may have had in my mind didn’t make their way into the actual conversation. Your contribution to that memory was, in fact, non-existent. So you were edited out, not because I’m delusional, but because you were weak.

JACK:          Isn’t it possible that both things are true?

VOICE:          20 stories.

MIRIAM:          Shit! You’re wasting my time!

JACK:          You’re wasting your own time, Miriam.

MIRIAM:          Unfair! You distracted me!

JACK:                    I drew your attention towards something meaningful and significant, something worthy of your attention. You’re the one distracting yourself with fashion advice. You need to think.

MIRIAM:          I’m sick of thinking!

JACK:          You don’t have time to be temperamental here.

MIRIAM:          You can be so rude.

JACK:          Pay attention, Miriam! You’re falling!          

MIRIAM:          Argh! Fine, fine! You want me to think. Fine. I’m thinking about the air rushing past me. I’m thinking about my stomach, which feels like it’s in my throat. I’m about to hurl my dinner up into the air above me, and I’m thinking about whether or not it would get in my hair before impact. I’m thinking about how I must look to people on the street below. I’m thinking about the possibility that I might hit someone else, take someone else out with me. I don’t even know if I care. I’m thinking about the stars – this is the first time I’ve looked straight up at the stars in months, maybe over a year. Ironic. Ha. Ha.

VOICE:          19 stories.

MIRIAM:          And that voice! That goddamn voice, counting down every floor, every second! Is this what you wanted? I’m thinking, making myself miserable, making myself physically ill, and for what? There’s no epiphany. There’s no point!

JACK:          Ok. Good. Now think about Roger.

MIRIAM:          Why?

JACK:          Just… just try.

MIRIAM:          I’ll miss more if I remember, won’t I?

JACK:          You have to remember, either way. You’re missing time now.

Lights come back up on the cafeteria, where Roger is again sitting alone. It’s obviously a different day. He’s eating sushi and wearing a different suit. Miriam enters and sits down next to him.

MIRIAM:          Hey there.

ROGER:          Howdy. Care to join me?

MIRIAM:          I wouldn’t be sitting here if I didn’t.

ROGER:          I saw you on the train this morning.

MIRIAM:          Oh yeah?

ROGER:          Pole hogger.

MIRIAM:          Excuse me?

ROGER:          You’re one of those obnoxious people who lean their entire bodies up against poles so that no one else can hold on. Pole hogger.

MIRIAM:          (laughing) I didn’t realize it was offensive.

ROGER:          Oh yeah. It’s a major offense, taking up too much space on the subway. Have you ever noticed that? Space is much more important in a subway car than it is anywhere else. I have a theory about that.

MIRIAM:          Do tell.

ROGER:          When people are crammed together they have less space then they normally would, right?

MIRIAM:          Right.

ROGER:          So the little space that they do have increases in value.

MIRIAM:          A “you never know what you’ve got until it’s gone” sort of thing?

ROGER:          Right. I call it the supply and demand effect of personal space.

MIRIAM:          Interesting. (Pauses to chew reflectively.) You know, I didn’t see you on the train this morning.

ROGER:          I tried to catch your eye, but you seemed pretty determined not to look my way.

MIRIAM:          Nothing personal. There are too many creeps on the subway to look directly at anyone. Too many guys take it as some secret signal that you want to do them.

ROGER:          See, like that right there. In other places, where there’s more space, eye contact isn’t such a big deal. But on the subway it’s a violation. It’s like the equivalent of someone grabbing your knee.

MIRIAM:          You know why I don’t make eye contact? The brick man.

ROGER:          The who?

MIRIAM:          There was this man who rode the subways for a while. They called him the brick man.

ROGER:          I suppose you’re going to tell me why.

MIRIAM:          This guy would pick out one person in the subway car and stare at them until they finally gave in and looked back. Then, once he’d established eye contact, when the train pulled into the next station he’d get up to leave – and right before he’d get off the train he’d hit the person in the face with a brick. (She starts to laugh. Roger looks horrified.)

ROGER:          That’s horrible! Why are you laughing? That’s terrible! Can you imagine getting hit in the face with a brick?

MIRIAM:          (Still laughing) Yeah… it’s just… a brick? That’s pretty damn random, don’t you think? I mean, why a brick?

ROGER:          Did the police ever catch this guy?

MIRIAM:          (Pulls herself together) Ahhh… I don’t know. I don’t think so. So that’s why I never make eye contact.

ROGER:          That’s insane.

MIRIAM:          You never know.

ROGER:          Crazy woman. (He goes back to eating his sushi.)

MIRIAM:          You’re just not a hardened, cynical New Yorker yet. Give it a couple years in the city, we’ll get you.

ROGER:          No no, I think it will work the other way around. Some of my old-fashioned San Francisco optimism will rub off on you.

MIRIAM:          Dear God, you never told me you were from California. I should have guessed. Are you planning on being a new-wave hippie lawyer, a crusader for peace, love and grooviness?

ROGER:          Something like that. I did become a lawyer because I wanted to help people. There are so many out there who don’t do anything but manipulate and hurt people for their own benefit.

MIRIAM:          Bwah-ha-ha.

ROGER:          Ah, you’re not as bad as you pretend to be. What cases are you working on now?

MIRIAM:          Ugh, who cares? Some child abuse case.

ROGER:          (Stops eating.) Child abuse?

MIRIAM:          Yeah, Father Thomas something or other.

ROGER:          A priest? Fucking figures. Did he do it?

MIRIAM:          Let’s not talk about work, ok? I spend enough time thinking about other people’s problems.

ROGER:          I’m curious. Did he do it?

MIRIAM:          Yeah, he did it.

ROGER:          So… so what’s your position? You’re just trying to make sure he gets a fair trial?

MIRIAM:          No, I’m going to get him off.

ROGER:          Oh, come on.

MIRIAM:          I mean it. I don’t lose cases, Roger.

ROGER:          It doesn’t bother you at all, trying to set a man who you know is guilty of child abuse free to roam the streets again?

MIRIAM:          No, it doesn’t. That’s my job. You’d better get used to it, too, if you’re going to be a defense lawyer.

ROGER:          But if he really did do it, that will come out in the trial, won’t it? I mean, the truth will come out. That’s the whole point of a fair trial, right? You can’t just get a guilty man off.

MIRIAM:           Well, it won’t be easy. But I don’t lose.

ROGER:          But how will you…

MIRIAM:          Wow, I can’t believe I’m actually talking about work during my time off. My God, I’m becoming boring! Quick, change the subject!

ROGER:          I’m serious, Miriam! Doesn’t the truth matter to you?

MIRIAM:          Not particularly, no.

ROGER:          But what if you do get him off, and he does it again? What if he hurts someone? How can you … how can you not care?

MIRIAM:          It’s easy, watch: here’s me, not caring about it.

ROGER:          Why did you become a lawyer, Miriam?

MIRIAM:          (Through a mouthful of turkey sandwich) The money.

ROGER:          That’s it?

MIRIAM:          Yepp.

ROGER:          You’re a liar.

MIRIAM:          Nope, I’m a lawyer, but they are pretty close.

ROGER:          (Gets up to walk away.) I’m not hungry any more. Do you want my sushi?

MIRIAM:          No, I don’t eat anything that isn’t dead yet. Hey, come to my party on Friday.

ROGER:          You’re having a party?

MIRIAM:          Yeah, just a small thing at my place. You should come. Maybe it’ll lighten you up a little.

ROGER:          I don’t think I want to be light. I’ll see you later, ok? (He walks off.)

Lights go off on that part of the stage. We see Miriam walking back into her spotlight to take a seat next to Jack. She squeezes her eyes shut tight.

MIRIAM:          How many did I miss?

VOICE:          15 stories.

JACK:          Four.

Miriam sighs and opens her eyes again.

MIRIAM:          Well, that was pretty fucking pointless.

JACK:          You think so?

MIRIAM:          Yeah, I really do. I don’t understand, Jack. Why am I doing this? Why am I wasting precious last moments of my life, my death, remembering Roger? Why the hell should I care? What’s the point?

JACK:          Why did you become a lawyer, Miriam? Do you remember?

MIRIAM:          Oh, God, not you too.

JACK:          As I recall, I was against that decision.

MIRIAM:          You’re against all of my decisions. That’s your job.

JACK:          (Ignoring her) I said your relationship with the truth was precarious enough as it was, and that arguing for the sake of argument would only dampen what little moral fiber you had left.

MIRIAM:          And, as I recall, I told you to shove it.

JACK:                    Defending guilty men deadens the soul, Miriam.

MIRIAM:          So why aren’t you dead yet?

JACK:          (Sighs) Hopeless.

MIRIAM:          What’s the point, Jack? Why Roger?

JACK:          You’re supposed to be remembering something, Miriam.

MIRIAM:          What?! I’m sick of this game!

JACK:          Think, Miriam.

MIRIAM:          Why don’t you just save us both some time here and tell me already!

JACK:          Miriam…

MIRIAM:          Tell me!

JACK:          You didn’t fall tonight, did you Miriam?

MIRIAM:          I … of course I fell! How the hell do you think we wound up here??

JACK:          You didn’t fall. You jumped.

There is a long, heavy pause.

MIRIAM:          You’re being ridiculous, you know that? This – this is another trick, some stupid mind game of yours. You’re – you’re just trying to trip me up, trying to make me…

JACK:           Think? Trying to make you think? Yes, that’s what I do. But I wouldn’t joke about something like this. You jumped, Miriam.

MIRIAM:          Bullshit! Why would I? I’m not suicidal. I never have been! My life is wonderful! I’m successful and popular and beautiful -

JACK:          And happy?

MIRIAM:          Why wouldn’t I be happy?

JACK:          I don’t know. Why wouldn’t you be?

MIRIAM:          Asshole.

JACK:          Don’t take this out on me, Miriam. This is important. Do you remember anything at all?

MIRIAM:          I don’t want to think about this.

JACK:          Yes you do.

MIRIAM:          No, I –

JACK:          Yes you do. Stop hiding, Miriam.

MIRIAM:          The party… I remember the party… and I came out on the balcony… and I fell…

JACK:          How could you fall? The railing is up to your chest all the way around.

MIRIAM:          (Faintly) I was standing on a chair.

JACK:          (A little bit amused)  Now what were you doing on a chair?

MIRIAM:          I don’t remember.

JACK:          You know, life is interesting, Miriam. Sometimes it’s at the moments we feel most comfortable, the times when we should be the most at peace, that the world completely falls out from beneath us.

VOICE:          14 stories.

JACK:          It’s the places that feel like home that can become the most poisonous. The places where we’re supposed to feel in our element. Like you, hostess of a “smashingly good,” upper class, alcohol-soaked bash. Shouldn’t that have been a high point for you?

MIRIAM:          It was.

JACK:          You don’t sound too certain.

MIRIAM:          I’m never certain with you around, damn it!

JACK:          (Laughing) That’s my job.

MIRIAM:          What does any of this have to do with Roger?

JACK:          And a dull bulb brightens! Brilliant, Miriam, simply brilliant. You made a connection all by yourself. Hey, pretty soon you won’t need me at all!

MIRIAM:          Shut up, Jack.

JACK:          Roger! Roger McPhearson. Where did our story with poor Roger leave off?

Lights go up on the Balcony again where we see Roger holding on to the balcony, watching.

ROGER:           Miriam, no!

Lights go down again.

JACK:          Did he see you jump, Miriam? Did he try to stop you? Was there a touching moment?

VOICE:          13 stories.

MIRIAM:          Shut up, Jack!

JACK:          You know, “shut up” is what people say when they know you’re right, but they can’t bring themselves to admit it. Come on, there’s just the two of us here, Miriam. You liked Roger, didn’t you?

MIRIAM:          Why won’t you go away?

JACK:           He was sweet, in his own refreshing way. Naïve, innocent … just waiting to be corrupted.

MIRIAM:          You’re sick.

JACK:          You wouldn’t have said that five minutes ago.

MIRIAM:          Yeah, well five minutes ago we weren’t about to die, were we?

JACK:          Some would say that we are always about to die.

MIRIAM:          You’re wasting my time.

JACK:          You’ve wasted your whole life, Miriam, drugging yourself against the world, hiding behind your pointless conversations and self-indulgent parties. What finally did it for you, Miriam? What was the thing that pushed you over the edge? Don’t you remember anything at all?

MIRIAM:          I don’t want to remember! It doesn’t matter! Shut up!

JACK:          Oh, but it does matter, Miriam. You killed yourself tonight, Miriam. Don’t you even want to remember why?

MIRIAM:          Shut up shut up shut up!

Lights go up on the other part of the stage, where Roger is sitting, not eating but looking over a large stack of paperwork. Miriam comes running in, obviously upset.

MIRIAM:          Shut up! I don’t have to prove myself to you!

ROGER:          Miriam?

MIRIAM:          What?!

ROGER:          Are you OK?

MIRIAM:          What? I’m … fine… um…

ROGER:          You seem really upset.

MIRIAM:          No… no, this isn’t how it happened.

ROGER:          Miriam, are you ok?

VOICE:          12 stories

MIRIAM:          What the hell is going on?

Roger freezes where he is, about to say something. Jack walks into the spotlight and Miriam whirls around to face him.

MIRIAM:          What are you doing here??

JACK:          Why shouldn’t I be here? This is my memory too, isn’t it?

MIRIAM:          Yes but… but not like… this.

JACK:          You’re confusing yourself, Miriam. Things are getting muddled around in your head. You can’t separate reality from memory any more.

MIRIAM:          I’m not crazy!

JACK:          No no, of course not. Just confused. You’re misremembering things.

MIRIAM:          Just shut up and let me remember Roger, will you?

JACK:          Remember him correctly, Miriam. It doesn’t do you any good if you remember things that didn’t really happen.

He walks away. Miriam visibly shakes herself and sits down next to Roger.

ROGER:          (unfreezing) Miriam, are you ok?

MIRIAM:          Yeah, I’m just having a bad day. Whatcha reading?

ROGER:          I was given my first brief today. Want to see it?

MIRIAM:          No, not particularly.

ROGER:          (Half to himself) Yeah, that’s real nice.

MIRIAM:          I’m not going to lie to you, Roger. I’m not interested. Consider yourself privileged – I feel like I know you well enough now to dispense with pleasantries.

ROGER:          Lucky me.

MIRIAM:          You are lucky. Notice how I have not once asked you “how are you feeling today?”

ROGER:          And this makes me lucky … why?

MIRIAM:          Because that would imply, as it always does, that I wanted you to say “fine,” and move on. It brings a certain dullness to conversation, this expected lying. I think it cheapens our relationship.

ROGER:          So now we have a relationship?

MIRIAM:          Maybe. Hey, are you coming to my party tomorrow?

ROGER:          Maybe.

MIRIAM:          Well, if you do you’ll have to leave this awful thing at home (Prods at his brief). No work allowed at my party.

ROGER:          Speaking of which, how’s that case of yours going?

MIRIAM:          Ugh.

ROGER:          Is that why you’re having a bad day today?

MIRIAM:          What?

ROGER:          Working on a case like that. It must be hard on anyone’s conscience, even yours.

MIRIAM:          (Teasing) What conscience?

ROGER:          I looked up some of the facts after our last conversation. Frankly, it doesn’t look too good for your client.

MIRIAM:          Don’t worry about my client.

ROGER:          How are you going to do it, Miriam? What’s the plan?

MIRIAM:          We’re talking about work on our break again.

ROGER:          Come on. How am I ever going to learn if you won’t teach me your methods? How are you going to win this one?

MIRIAM:          You really want to know?

ROGER:          I really, really do.

MIRIAM:          I’m sleeping with the judge.

(Pause)

ROGER:          What??!

MIRIAM:          (laughing) And half the jury, too. There’s no way they’re getting a majority vote.

ROGER:          You’re joking!

MIRIAM:          Of course I am, Roger. Ha! You should have seen your face.

ROGER:           That was not funny!

MIRIAM:          You know it was.
         
ROGER:          Jesus. I believed you for a minute.

MIRIAM:          (Mocking) Just how depraved do you think I am, Mr. McPhearson?!

ROGER:          Depraved enough to do something horrible to win.

MIRIAM:          You like me anyway.

ROGER:          Yeah, well sometimes I wish I didn’t.

MIRIAM:          Liar.

ROGER:          Look… just, just promise me… promise me you won’t do anything to hurt the kids.

MIRIAM:          What?

ROGER:          The kids, the kids who are testifying tomorrow at your case. I know you’re so sure you’re going to win, and I don’t really know why, but I can’t help but be afraid that in the process someone is going to get hurt.

MIRIAM:          Someone always gets hurt.

ROGER:          But it shouldn’t be the ones who didn’t do anything wrong.

MIRIAM:          (Standing up to leave.) I’ve got to get back to work now.

ROGER:          Miriam, sometimes losing is the, the most morally right thing you could do.

MIRIAM:          Maybe I don’t care about what’s morally right.

ROGER:          Maybe you should.

MIRIAM:          I have to go.

ROGER:          It’s important, Miriam.

Miriam walks out of the spotlight.

ROGER:          It’s important to me.

Lights out on that part of the stage. Lights up on Miriam and Jack, sitting again together in their spotlight.

VOICE:          10 stories.

JACK:          Why are we here, Miriam?

MIRIAM:          I … I don’t know.

JACK:          Why are we here, Miriam?

MIRIAM:          I don’t know.

JACK:          Why are we here, Miriam?

MIRIAM:          I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t understand anything! It doesn’t make sense! I wouldn’t have jumped…

JACK:          Father Thomas Bridgman, allegedly befriended and then abused at least 10 boys over a 19-year career as a priest, three of whom came forward and testified at his trial on Friday, March 17. That’s today’s date, Miriam.

MIRIAM:          That doesn’t matter!

JACK:          But he wasn’t found guilty, was he Miriam?

MIRIAM:          Shut up.

JACK:          He was found not guilty on the charges of sexual assault, the argument being that his attorney, Ms. Miriam LeStatt, raised enough reasonable doubt to call for a not guilty verdict.

MIRIAM:          So what? So what?? That’s my job! That’s what over-sentimental pricks like you and Roger McPhearson don’t understand – it’s my job to win. I’m supposed to raise reasonable doubt, to defend the child molesters, to do the shit no one else wants to! And I don’t regret it! Not for a minute.

JACK:          But you did regret it, Miriam, didn’t you? What are we doing here, Miriam? Didn’t you jump? Didn’t you kill yourself, in a fit of conscience, in a fit of moral understanding?

MIRIAM:          No!

VOICE:          Nine stories.

JACK:          (Shouting) Did you ever think, Miriam LeStatt, who you might be hurting, doing your sacred duty? Did you ever think who you might be taking down with you? Did you ever care?

MIRIAM:          I’m going to die soon, aren’t I?

JACK:          WE are going to die soon, Miriam! Explain to me! Explain to me why!

The lights come up on Roger sitting at the balcony, but also stay up on Miriam and Jack sitting in their spotlight.

JACK:          Explain to me!

ROGER:          Miriam.

Miriam stands between the two places on stage as both men talk.

ROGER:          You did it, didn’t you.

JACK:          What did you do that night?

ROGER:          You won.

JACK:          You can’t win this!

ROGER:          After everything I said…

JACK:          Did you hear what I said?

MIRIAM:          I … I … (turns to face Roger) Roger...

ROGER:          You knew what you were doing. You knew it was wrong.

MIRIAM:          Roger, it’s my job. I only did my job.

ROGER:          Was it worth it?

JACK:                    It wasn’t, was it, Miriam?

MIRIAM:          You shut up.

ROGER:          Miriam?

JACK:          Come on, focus, Miriam. You’re misremembering.

ROGER:          You knew what you were doing. You knew that it was wrong.

MIRIAM:          I was only doing my job.

ROGER:          Was it worth it?

MIRIAM:          I can’t answer that.

JACK:          You could. You just don’t want to think about it. You’re lying.

MIRIAM:          Shut up, Jack!

ROGER:          Who’s Jack?

MIRIAM:          Jack?

VOICE:          Eight stories.

JACK:          You’re losing control. This isn’t how it happened, is it?

MIRIAM:          Hey, did you ever think, Jack, that maybe I remember things the way I do because that’s how I need to remember them? Maybe it’s bullshit, but it works for me.

JACK:          Except that it doesn’t, does it? You’re only confusing yourself. Try to remember the truth, Miriam.

ROGER:          Was it worth it?

MIRIAM:          Was what worth it?

ROGER:          Winning. Was winning your case, doing your job, worth setting a child molester free? Is it worth the toll on your conscience?

MIRIAM:          What conscience?

Jack walks over to the two and leans over the balcony, watching them. It looks like he’s standing on air on the wrong side of the balcony banister.

JACK:          Miriam…

MIRIAM:          I have no conscience, remember?

JACK:          Miriam…

MIRIAM:          I’m soulless, selfish and corrupt.

JACK:          Miriam...

MIRIAM:          I’m the bad guy. I’m the boogeyman. I’m the fucking personification of New York fucking City, and you’re worried about my conscience?

JACK:          Miriam, Miriam, Miriam, Miriam…

MIRIAM:          Say something, damn it!

ROGER:          Miriam, I can’t even look at you right now.

JACK:          You can’t run away from me, Miriam. I’m always there.

MIRIAM:          Oh, shut up!

ROGER:          I can’t believe you can be so flip about this. I don’t understand you.

MIRIAM:          I’m very simple, Roger. I don’t care.

JACK:          Liar. Liar liar liar.

ROGER:          Do you know why your case matters to me, Miriam? Do you know why I do care? Other than the fact that I, unlike you, do have a soul?

MIRIAM:          No, I don’t. I don’t understand why you give a rat’s ass one way or another.

ROGER:          There’s more than one Father Thomas Bridgman. You think he’s the only one? I knew a Father Thomas Bridgman too. When I was seven.

MIRIAM:          (Pause) What??

ROGER:          I know what it’s like to be the kid on the witness stand. And I know what you did, what you must have had to do to establish reasonable doubt. You have to make the witness doubt his own sanity. You have to call him a liar. You have to make him cry.

MIRIAM:          I … Jesus, Roger …

ROGER:          You did it all, didn’t you? You watched some little kid break down sobbing, begging to go home, and used him, used his confusion and his tears to win.

MIRIAM:          I didn’t…

JACK:          Yes you did.

Miriam is obviously struggling with something. She twists in her chair, squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head, as if she is trying to clear it of a bad thought. Jack walks around and stands behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders.          

JACK:          Is it now, Miriam? Is it now? Are you sorry?

MIRIAM:          (Quietly, in a much different voice.) Yes.

JACK:          Tell him.

Miriam turns to face Roger, but hesitates. She begins twisting again, trying to get out from under Jack’s hands. Her foot taps faster and faster.

MIRIAM:          I…

JACK:          Tell him!

MIRIAM:          No!

She shoves Jack away and stands. She begins pacing back and forth.

MIRIAM:          (In her normal voice again.) Fuck, Roger. You should have told me earlier.

ROGER:          Would it have made a difference?

MIRIAM:          No. Probably not.

ROGER:          That’s what I thought.

MIRIAM:          Roger, I’m… I’m…

ROGER:          What?

MIRIAM:          I wish I could say what you need me to say.

ROGER:          I don’t need you to say anything. I don’t even know why I’m here. There’s no reaching you, Miriam. You’re hopeless.

MIRIAM:          Yeah. (Faintly, trying to make a joke.)  I’m a lawyer.

ROGER:          You’re a liar. But they are pretty close.

The spotlight above the balcony dims.

ROGER:          Your light just blew out.

MIRIAM:          Oh.

ROGER:          Do you want me to get you a bulb?

MIRIAM:          Yeah… sure.

Roger stands up to go and hesitates.

ROGER:          I quit today. I’m moving back to San Francisco.

MIRIAM:          Oh.

Roger pauses, looks as if he’s going to say something, then changes his mind and walks offstage.

JACK:          That’s it?

MIRIAM:          Go away, Jack.

Jack walks around the banister of the balcony and stands next to Miriam.

JACK:          That’s all? “Oh?” That’s all you could say?

MIRIAM:          Just shut up, will you?

JACK:          Miriam, this is quite possibly the worst thing you’ve ever done in your entire life. And all you can say is “oh”? Where’s the remorse? Where’s the regret? Where’s the pain, Miriam, don’t you feel pain?

MIRIAM:          You shouldn’t even be here. This is my memory, not yours.

JACK:          OURS! This memory is ours together! I was there! I was there to watch you hurt him, I’ve been there, always, through all of your life, Miriam, through the worst of your crimes, I’ve been there, witnessing, trying to make a difference.

MIRIAM:          Failing to make a difference.

JACK:          And even now! Even here! Don’t you feel any shame??!

MIRIAM:          I don’t feel anything.

JACK:          And Roger! You loved him, in your own way, and look what you’ve done to him! Look at all the people you’ve hurt! Look at everything you’ve done! What sort of person are you, that through all of that, after all of this, I can’t force a bit of remorse into your arrogant, selfish soul?!

MIRIAM:          I’m hopeless.

JACK:          You were so close, Miriam! Didn’t you feel it? For half a second, you and I were the same person, the same being. You felt pain and regret, you were sorry, Miriam, we were sorry. What happened, Miriam? Why couldn’t we stay? Why did you push me away?

MIRIAM:          You felt sorry. I’ve never regretted anything in my life.

Miriam looks up at the blown bulb and pulls her chair over beneath it. She shakily stands on her chair and begins to unscrew the lightbulb.

JACK:          Why are you so cold?

MIRIAM:          Maybe you’re just not a very good conscience.

JACK:          Or maybe you are beyond help. Yes. Maybe I’ve done everything I could do.

VOICE:          Seven stories.

JACK:          I’m going to give you one last chance, Miriam. You need to show me just a little spark of hope. Give me something, anything to keep going for. Tell me that you’re sorry.

MIRIAM:          I’m not.

JACK:          So I have no choice. I should have done this years ago, Miriam. Jump.


Jack grabs Miriam and pushes her forcefully off of the chair. She tumbles over the balcony railing and screams. Roger, who is walking back into the light holding a lightbulb drops it and runs over to the railing. Jack stands perfectly still on the balcony.

ROGER:          Miriam!

Lights go down on Roger and Jack. Miriam and Jack walk back into their spotlight and take their seats in their two chairs.

VOICE:          Six stories.

MIRIAM:          You pushed me.

JACK:          (In shock) No.

MIRIAM:          You did, you pushed me.

JACK:          No, it didn’t happen like that, you’re misremembering.

MIRIAM:          Think, Jack! Remember! You pushed me! You killed us!

JACK:          No!

VOICE:          Five stories.

JACK:          No! I wouldn’t! I didn’t! You got it wrong –

MIRIAM:          Don’t hide, Jack. Don’t lie to me. You pushed.

VOICE:          Four stories.

JACK:          How… how could I… what was I…

MIRIAM:          So you win, Jack. You win.

VOICE:          Three stories.

MIRIAM:          Can you hear the traffic, Jack? Can you hear the people screaming?

JACK:          Yes.

VOICE:          Two stories.

MIRIAM:          Are you sorry?

VOICE:          One story.  (The lights go out.)


End