Monologues (Women)

REBECCA

(disheveled, lurches up to a window, calls up)

Chester! Chester! What are you doin’ home? Hey Chester – My keys aren’t working in the lock! Come on down an’ let me in, it is fucking freezing frigid. Chester! I’m down here on the street –

When I was going to tell you what?

Did you read my Mail?!?

Okay. So I’m pregnant. Shit happens. I was gonna tell you when you got back home – Congratulations! Now let me in the goddamn door. The mother of your whatever-it-is is freezing to death out here.

I had a drink with the girls at Toppers! A little Christmas ho ho ho – I had One little drink!

An’ about five little chasers … I’m not keeping it anyway …

What are you calling me?!

You always were a son of a bitch with math. So you were out of town on a business trip three months ago – wait a minute – did you go through my Diary? Did you? Did You Read My – !?

Okay, okay! The “R” in my Diary stands for Rick.

CLAIRE

(watching a display of adultery in her girlfriend’s window. Denial.)

Ah, the floor show is about to begin. Naked lesbian law students. They’ll make out like this for a long time, until Betty’s law school work ethic pops up, stronger than their libidos: time to crack the books for tort class.

Naomi, I’m down here. I’m watching. Look down here, look down here…

Once upon a time, I went through my own golden girl stage. I determined a long time ago that I would never again be a golden girl, but oh I could bed them. I still can’t believe I talked these girls into sleeping with me: tall, blue-eyed, blonde – the difference in height just spurred me on: as they stretched themselves down on the bed, they were a large canvas and I a young Jackson Pollack, ready to fill every inch…

Naomi, Naomi, down here – I’m down here.

Okay; tonight will be the night that Naomi stops; she thinks for a moment; she remembers me and –

And she comes back to me… Naomi… For God’s sake, stop…

(the light goes out in the window)

Oh – oh that’s not a good sign. I fear my Naomi has found her golden girl.

MOTHER

(she narrates for herself and all others. She sits in the passenger seat, her husband driving the family to dinner at her parents apartment.)

For a moment, the family breathed in deeply.

Rebecca, the eldest, said to her brother Stephen
In a voice so low
It could not be heard in the front:
“Don’t breathe on me, Puke-Breath.”
And she accompanied it with a sharp jab.

Stephen pressed up to the glass
And let the smooth chill caress his cheek.

Claire, the youngest, chimed in next:
“If you’re gonna throw up, do it on
Your clothes this time.”

The mother glanced at her husband.
“Ray? Maybe we should pull over?”

And in a voice too low to be heard in the back
Her husband muttered:
“Maybe we should just go home.”

“We go through this every year. Please.
It’s Christmas.”