Sunday, December 31, 2017

A Flutist's Performance

               INT.  LIVING ROOM

               SKEET is at a music stand with a flute in his hand.  He is
               wearing a blazer.  He is looking at sheet music on the stand.
               MYRNA walks in.

                         OK.  We have a situation here that
                         we need to resolve.

                         Myrna, I have a thing tonight.  I
                         need to learn this.  So the
                         situation will have to wait.

                         Really.  You want me to actually go
                         to your concert tonight, listen to
                         you play music, give you an
                         applause and ignore this?

               Myrna holds up pink panties with her index finger.

                         What's that?


                         You find some panties and you
                         immediately assume I had some
                         dalliance.  Jesus, I expect more of
                         you.  That is so cliche.

                         Wait.  You are dismissing this
                         little thing merely because it is

                         You have obviously found some
                         panties in our bedroom and you are
                         making a rather hackneyed inference
                         that I have had an affair with
                         another woman.  It's rather boring
                         of you.

                         Boring?  Oh OK.  Let me be more
                         original.  Oh wow, look at these
                         cute little pink panties.  I wonder
                         if my boyfriend is a transvestite.
                         Is that inventive enough for you.
                         Am I being imaginative?

                         It's certainly better than accusing
                         me of an affair.  Now can I get
                         back to my music?

                         Shall I hypothesize more scenarios?
                         Let me postulate...speculate...a
                         little guesswork leads me...right
                         back to a fucking affair.

                         Myrna, did you take your

                         Stop that.  This has nothing to do
                         with my medication.

                         Excuse me, but assuming the worst
                         about others is part of anxiety.
                         You are having a panic attack.

                         You mean it's not normal for me to
                         have a panic attack if I catch my
                         boyfriend in the throes of an
                         affair?  This is my psychiatric

                         You did not catch me in the throes
                         of anything. This is what you do,
                         Myrna.  You embellish, exaggerate.
                         You embroider the facts to justify
                         your little episodes.  Take a Xanax
                         and give me some space.

                         Really?  Did I embroider your
                         dresser drawer with these panties?

                         And what were you going through my
                         dresser drawer for?

                         I did the laundry and was putting
                         away your shirts, asshole.

                         Now you are getting vicious.  This
                         is what happens.  It starts out
                         with a bout of paranoia and it
                         deteriorates into nasty
                         accusations.  Shall I call Dr.
                         Winston?  I think this justifies a
                         call, yes?

               A moment.

                         I'm really upset.

               Myrna is fighting tears.


                         No.  This is not a normal really
                         upset.  This is a really really
                         upset.  I feel...I feel a little

                         Take a deep breath.

                         Oxygen won't do anything.  This is
                         not a breathing thing.  This is...
                         this is... I don't know what it is.
                         But it just feels really bad.

               Skeet places his flute on the music stand and goes to Myrna.
               He takes the panties from Myrna's hands.

                         How do you know this is not yours?

                         Because I don't like pink.  OK.
                         Maybe I like pink.  Sometimes I
                         like pink.  I usually just buy
                         white underwear.

               Skeet kisses Myrna on the forehead.

                                   MYRNA (CONT'D)
                         Do I like pink?

                         I don't know.  Do you?

                         These are probably mine.

                         It's best to presume that.  Any
                         other assumption would merely...
                         aggravate your health.

                         And we don't want to do that.

               Skeet walks back to his music stand and notices that Skeet
               places the pink panties in his jacket pocket.

                         And now it's time for me to prepare
                         for my performance.

               Myrna stares at Skeet.  Skeet raises the flute to his mouth.

                                                          CUT TO BLACK.
                                                               THE END.

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