Enter MISSY, carrying a tray of breakfast food, carefully. She hesitates at the door, surveys the room. She goes to the window, adjusts the blinds just so, nudges a pile of clothes on the floor. Spying a bra on top, she with the tray, bends down and hangs it on a desk chair.
She crosses to the bed.
MISSY:
(a whisper)
Hey. Heeey.
TOM:
(Head emerging)
What.
MISSY:
(still whispering)
Baby cocooooon.
TOM:
What is that?
MISSY:
setting the tray in his lap.
Breakfast in bed.
TOM:
This is a baking sheet.
MISSY:
We dont have trays.
Tom wordlessly picks up a flower stuck
in a small vase of water. Looks at it, still sleepy.
MISSY:
With cheerful energy
AND!
Missy reaches in her sweater pocket,
and pulls at a new pack of cigarettes.
MISSY:
Tossing them to him.
For you.
TOM:
What?
Waking up more.
I can smoke.... now?
MISSY:
In bed.
TOM:
already peeling off the plastic
I can smoke in bed?
MISSY:
In bed.
Tom forgets the breakfast tray for a moment and lights a cigarette, setting back into the pillows. Missy, still standing, leans against the bed post, watching Tom.
MISSY:
Its just this once. And use an ashtray. That empty dish.
Tom exhales slowly and happily, and lets
the smoke curl fat and gray from his mouth.
TOM:
Smoking in bed is so nice.
Another drag, another exhale.
TOM:
closing his eyes.
It's so nice.
Missy holds out her hand.
MISSY:
Here.
TOM:
You want to...?
MISSY:
Yes.
Tom hands Missy the cigarette. She takes it and subtley tries to pose with it before taking the first drag. She coughs, she sputters, she tries once again to take another drag. In a second of chaos, Missy coughs again and accidently drops the cigarette on the bed quilt. She gasps, Tom jumps and pulls part of the quilt over the cigarette to put it out, knocking the baking sheet and food messily to the floor.
(beat.)
MISSY:
Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.
she mechanically paces.
MISSY:
Oh no oh no oh no oh no.
Tom rises fully out of bed, he is only in his boxers.
He follows her, doesnt touch her, except for maybe lightly, on the shoulders.
TOM:
Its okay, its okay. Its alright.
MISSY:
turning on him
I hate cigarettes.
TOM:
I know.
MISSY:
No. I'm mad.
TOM:
I know. But its not my fault.
MISSY:
Yes it is.
TOM:
Okay.
MISSY:
But its okay, this is our 'moment in the woods.'
TOM:
No its not.
MISSY:
Yes it is. We have a problem. I hate--
TOM:
I know, I know. But I dont think its a problem.
MISSY:
We have a problem whether you think we do or not.
TOM:
Thats not fair.
Its not a problem. I think that. Shouldn't that count for something?
MISSY:
You not thinking its a problem, is a problem.
I have to go to work.
TOM:
I'll clean this up.
MISSY:
I'm sorry about the mess.
TOM:
Its no one's fault.
MISSY:
Its your fault. But I'm sorry.
(beat.)
TOM:
Have a good day at work.
Missy glares at him, stalks out of the room.
MISSY:
from the other room
Just... stop being nice!
(beat.)
And get a fucking job!
A door slams. Missy is gone.
Tom throws toast at the wall.
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