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Love, Et Cetera

By Gavarre Benjamin

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Introduction to Love, Et Cetera: The Dialectics of Desire and the Unreal Light

"Love, Et Cetera" is more than just a comedy of manners about the enlightened bourgeoisie; it is a surgical dissection of codependency and the existential void in the era of over-intellectualization. Set against the backdrop of Manhattan’s Upper West Side, the play places us in an environment where language—psychoanalysis, philosophy, and translation—no longer serves to communicate, but rather to build walls and trenches.

I. Anatomy of an Intellectual Class: The Protagonists

The play presents an asymmetric symmetry between two couples embodying archetypal crises:

• Francesca (Fran) and Julian (Power and the Parasite): Fran is the backbone of the play. As a seasoned psychoanalyst, she possesses the "clinical eye" yet suffers from a selective emotional blindness. Her relationship with Julian is a modern iteration of the tragedy of displaced motherhood. Julian, the "composer" without music, is the eternal puer aeternus; a charming manipulator who uses his immaturity as a defensive weapon to avoid the responsibility of being.

• Henry and Helen (Cynicism and Absence): Henry represents the exhaustion of reason. As a philosophy professor at the New School, he has replaced life with concepts, and affection with alcohol. Helen, on the other hand, is the character who suffers most from the materiality of loneliness. Her work as a translator is metaphorical: she is constantly trying to translate Henry’s silence into something resembling love, with no success.

II. The Ontology of the "Unreal Light"

The most fascinating technical device in the play is the breakdown of realism through the Unreal Light. These passages are not mere fantasies; they are moments of visceral truth. In Love, Et Cetera, daily reality is the mask, while the dream-state (what Henry imagines, what Julian projects) is the manifestation of the unconscious that dares not be spoken in the "real world."

The oscillation between what is and what might happen creates a dramatic tension where the audience wonders if the characters are trapped in an apartment or within the labyrinth of their own minds. The repetition of dialogues following the brief blackouts suggests a circular time—an eternal return of the same mistakes, where the possibility of change is merely a mirage of the light.

III. The Analyst: The Observed Observer

The figure of The Analyst functions as a Brechtian device. By wearing a neutral half-mask, he strips away his humanity to become the mirror of the others' neuroses. He is the link between the stage and the audience, the only one holding the "notes" of a reality that the protagonists insist on denying. His final entrance, unmasked, shatters the last boundary between clinical analysis and raw reality, leaving the characters—and the audience—in a state of total uncertainty.

IV. Collaborator’s Note

From an aesthetic perspective, "Love, Et Cetera" moves to the rhythm of the blues: there is a profound sadness beneath the surface of witty banter and glasses of Scotch. It is a work that reminds us that, despite all our academic degrees and our ability to cite the classics, we remain creatures of habit, desperately searching for an embrace to save us from ourselves.

G.

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Love, Et Cetera

By Gavarre Benjamin

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Love, Et Cetera

By Benjamín Gavarre

Characters:

• Francesca (Fran): Psychoanalyst, 45.

• Julian: “Composer,” 29.

• Henry: Philosophy professor, 36.

• Helen: Translator, 29.

• The Analyst: A functional character.

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GENERAL STAGING PROPOSAL

Space: A minimalist, high-end Upper West Side apartment. The home bar is the central axis of the stage.

Lighting: High contrast. Rapid "switches" in lighting mark the cuts between the men’s and women’s conversations.

Music: A solitary, slightly discordant piano blues plays during transitions, evoking Julian’s unfinished composition.

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Fran’s Apartment.

The Home Bar.

[LIGHTING: Warm interior light. A "party that's been going for hours" vibe. SOUND: Soft jazz in the background, barely audible. HENRY and JULIAN are at one end of the bar; HELEN and FRAN are at the other. There is a clear but invisible visual divide between the two groups.]

Henry is near Julian at one end of the bar; on the other side are Helen and Fran. Everyone toasts and smiles.

JULIAN. ― Women... Do you actually get them?

HENRY. ― I make an effort to understand Helen.

JULIAN. ― No, not me. I mean, I don’t even try... understanding Fran.

HENRY. ― (Finishes his drink and says…) I’d like another one. On the rocks.

[SOUND: The clink-clink of ice against glass resonates with a slight echo. RAPID LIGHTING SWITCH: The men's side goes dark; only the women's side remains illuminated.]

FRAN. ― So, a female gynecologist.

HELEN. ― I feel more comfortable than with a man, but don't get me wrong, she’s... way too much. She asked me, “Is your husband’s name Henry? How funny!” I told her, “He’s not my husband and I don’t see the joke.” And she looked at me dead serious and said, “No, it’s just that he reminds me of an ex-boyfriend I had.”

FRAN. ― Julian wanted us to get a pet, a dog, can you imagine?... But I wasn't having it. Taking care of something, of someone... Out of the question.

[LIGHTING: Switch. Women go dark; men are illuminated. Julian already has the metal tin in his hands.]

JULIAN. ― For as long as I can remember, I’ve been tied to women. They’ve dominated my life. (He opens a metal tin and starts rolling a joint). So, who’s in?

HENRY. ― Always.

JULIAN. ― Me neither... Ha, ha.

[SOUND: The flick of a lighter is heard. A plume of smoke (stage effect) rises under an amber spotlight. Lighting switch to the women.]

FRAN. ― Julian... isn't very sexual either.

HELEN. ― Well, if you want my opinion...

FRAN. ― He flirted with you. He always does it, with anyone. He does it like a prank, just to annoy me. Luckily, that’s all it is: flirting. Nothing serious. Sometimes he has flings, also meaningless. I can tell.

HELEN. ― Why do you say he isn't sexual?

FRAN. ― Oh, not with me.

[LIGHTING: The light expands to both groups. A shared but distant atmosphere. The piano blues plays a bit louder, more melancholic.]

JULIAN. ― “I cannot hold you, nor let you go...”

HENRY. ― “Nor know why, in leaving or in keeping...”

JULIAN. ― “Some strange 'I-don’t-know-what' makes me love you...”

HENRY. ― “And many an 'I-know-well-why' to forget you...”

JULIAN. ― Cheers, Professor... How does the rest go?

HENRY. ― Take it easy... don’t ask for that much.

[SOUND: The piano stops abruptly on a discordant note. LIGHTING SWITCH to the women.]

HELEN. ― He’s abusive; you have no idea how he treats me. Sometimes... by his side, I feel as if I were completely alone.

FRAN. ― Henry knows he has you locked down, that’s why he takes advantage. You have to understand that a situation is only tolerable until it no longer makes sense to endure it.

[LIGHTING: Switch to the men. The light is denser, as if the smoke has thickened the air.]

JULIAN. ― Money?... as long as there is some. It always comes, it always goes. What else?... The best drugs, the best trips; at least one book that actually excites me, a movie that isn’t total bullshit... And excuse me, but you missed the most important thing in life.

HENRY. ― What?

JULIAN. ― Wo-men: many, various, WILLING! Why do women always "play hard to get"? Men are so much easier.

HENRY. ― I assume you’re speaking from experience.

[LIGHTING: Switch to the women.]

HELEN. ― I try so hard to understand him, and all I get is his indifference.

FRAN. ― Do you enjoy being humiliated?

HELEN. ― Of course not!

FRAN. ― Then why are you still with Henry?

HELEN. ― Because... Does Julian love you?

FRAN. ― He adores me.

HELEN. ― What? But you think he cheats on you.

FRAN. ― He doesn't cheat: they’re just little pranks, a sort of childish revenge. You, on the other hand, with Henry, you're in a textbook sado-masochistic relationship.

[LIGHTING: Switch to the men.]

JULIAN. ― Well, she doesn't mind supporting me, and neither do I. She makes a pretty good living as a shrink. She doesn't interfere, I mean, not in a professional way.

HENRY. ― I see. She doesn't analyze you.

JULIAN. ― Hardly ever.

HENRY. ― Hardly?

JULIAN. ― She says I’m a classic case of “Peter Pan Syndrome,” that I’ll always be irresponsible, immature, refusing to be an adult. Then, that I’m a classic “Don Juan,” and that behind all these women, unconsciously, I’m trying to resolve a homosexual conflict.

HENRY. ― I think the same thing.

JULIAN. ― Hey, wait a minute!

[LIGHTING: Switch to the women.]

HELEN. ― He’s never hit me.

FRAN. ― But he uses you. You give him so much, and deep down you want him to despise your effort and look down on you from his high horse like a God who deigns to keep you close.

[LIGHTING: Switch to the men.]

JULIAN. ― So what... you really think I’m repressing some unconscious, latent homosexuality?

HENRY. ― Look, calm down. I was joking.

[LIGHTING: Switch to the women.]

HELEN. ― And if I told you that deep down Henry loathes himself... He’s confessed it, he thinks he’s trash.

FRAN. ― That makes the case even more interesting. (To the others) Ready for dinner?

[SOUND: A kitchen timer or a crystal bell rings. LIGHTING: Uniform, cold, white dining room light.]

Dinner.

JULIAN. ― (To Henry) Come on, Professor. Wipe that look off your face and eat something... (Henry says nothing, staring intently at a nearly empty bottle of Scotch). It’s gourmet. Fran ordered it from that high-end Italian place on 72nd.

Pause

FRAN. ― (To Helen) Your husband is so mysterious, Helen. Does he get like this often?

HELEN. — He’s not my husband. And yes, sometimes he gets like this. He prefers drinking and thinking over eating.

FRAN. ― Is that so!... And what are you thinking about so deeply? Do you have some new theory on the human condition?

HENRY. ― More or less. I was wondering if man is a creature of habit.

FRAN. ― And what was your conclusion?

HENRY. ― I think... just to keep up the habit, man behaves like a creature.

FRAN. ― Speak for yourself.

Pause

JULIAN. ― Do you guys want to hear a preview of the blues track I’m writing? I’ve already got the lyrics.

FRAN. ― No, please. I already know them by heart.

JULIAN. ― Well, if you already know them... let the others enjoy it, don't you think?

FRAN. ― I’ve known the lyrics for two years, Julian. When are you actually going to write the music?

[LIGHTING: The light grows dimmer and more bluish, suggesting the transition into the early morning hours.]

After Dinner.

Fran and Henry remain in an “awkward after-dinner vibe,” while Helen and Julian “clear the table” and go to the kitchen to “wash the dishes.”

FRAN. ― (Starts an awkward conversation) And what does Philosophy have to say? Are you still teaching?

HENRY. ― Those are two different questions. Yes, I’m still teaching. As for Philosophy... are you actually interested?

FRAN. ― No.

HENRY. ― What a relief. I could tell you about the philosophy of an alcoholic.

FRAN. ― Not interested in that either, thanks.

HENRY. ― You’re welcome... Do you smoke?

FRAN. ― Not before bed. (Pause). You know, you’re very lucky to have a partner like Helen; she’s a great person.

HENRY. ― She is. (Pause). I just wish she had some idea of what to do with her life. (Takes another sip of Scotch).

FRAN. ― (Ironical) At least you know exactly what to do with yours.

HENRY. ― Sometimes.

[SOUND: A faint electronic hum or a sustained synthesizer note. LIGHTING: UNREAL LIGHT. The background fades to black; a cold white spotlight falls on Henry and Fran. The movements of those in the kitchen are frozen.]

UNREAL LIGHT. Everything “happens” only in Henry’s mind.

Henry stands up and looks Fran up and down.

FRAN. ― What are you doing?

HENRY. ― Nothing important: checking out your legs. They’re quite acceptable... And yes, you have a magnificent ass. Great curves, really.

FRAN. ― Excuse me!

HENRY. ― I think you’re pretentious and stupid, but your ass isn't half bad. (He leans in close to Fran’s face) Give me a kiss?

FRAN. ― (Slaps him) You’re an idiot!... Julian! Helen!

Julian and Helen enter

FRAN. ― Do you know what this creep thinks of my legs?

JULIAN. ― That they’re beautiful, obviously. I know it, let the world know it.

FRAN. ― He also said he liked my ass.

JULIAN. ― He said that?

FRAN. ― ...and that he’d like to sleep with me right here, regardless of whether you or Helen were present. What are you going to do about it?

JULIAN. ― I don’t know, Fran. Henry’s my best friend.

HELEN. ― And he’s my partner.

A very brief Blackout, then the situation and lighting return to “normal.”

[SOUND: The "clink" of ice returns us to reality. LIGHTING: Warm early morning light again.]

Helen and Julian are in the kitchen, and Henry and Fran are at the bar, performing the exact same opening actions from the previous scene.

HENRY. ― Do you smoke?

FRAN. ― Not before bed. (Pause). You know, you’re very lucky to have a partner like Helen; she’s a great person.

HENRY. ― She is. (Pause). I just wish she had some idea of what to do with her life. (Takes another sip of Scotch).

FRAN. ― (Ironical) You know what to do with yours.

HENRY. ― Sometimes.

Long pause. Henry remains lost in thought, staring at his glass, then after a moment, he laughs “for no apparent reason.”

FRAN. ― Tell me the joke.

HENRY. ― I imagined that you... That I... You wouldn't get it.

FRAN. ― Oh... it must be very deep.

HENRY. ― Yeah? I don't think so.

FRAN. ― It isn't.

HENRY. ― I figured.

Julian enters and sits at the table, looking very serious.

FRAN. ― Henry was telling me about some grave matters. Very deep.

HENRY. ― No. Fran was the one being very lucid.

Julian says nothing. He simply pours himself a drink, knocks it back, stands up, and goes back to the kitchen.

[LIGHTING: The apartment scene fades into shadows. A single, violent, white surgical spotlight illuminates a chair.]

The Analyst’s Office.

The Analyst, alone at first. These scenes are not ‘realistic’.

ANALYST. ― (May wear a white, neutral half-mask. Reads a summary of “his notes”.) Helen, though she won't admit it, loves sex. Henry prefers masturbation over common intercourse.

[LIGHTING: A spotlight opens to show Henry and Helen in a distant area of the stage, as if in their own bubble of isolation.]

Henry and Helen under a spotlight, a few feet away from the Analyst.

HELEN. ― I’m sick of having to ask for it.

HENRY. ― I don’t understand why you give sex so much importance. Is it that necessary for you?

HELEN. ― Isn't it for you?

HENRY. ― It’s as important as blowing your nose. You do it when it’s necessary.

Henry with the Analyst.

HENRY. ― I like remembering the things I did when I lived alone. I’d drink all the rum, all the cheap tequila I wanted without anyone saying a word. I’d smoke the last cigarette of the last pack and feel zero remorse when I went down to buy another. Then, I’d keep smoking and drinking, drinking and smoking. I’d crawl into bed and I didn't miss a soul.

ANALYST. ― Did you like that life? Did you like being completely alone?

HENRY. ― Yes.

ANALYST. ― Would you like to be alone again, without Helen, without anyone?

HENRY. ― I’d love it. But how do I tell my woman I can’t stand her anymore?

[SOUND: A deep, pre-recorded sigh fills the room. LIGHTING: Shifts to a subtle reddish tone. Neutral space.]

Helen and Julian.

They are alone and kissing. At one point, Julian kisses her neck.

HELEN. ― (Pulls away for a second to complain) Don’t leave marks. Not on the neck.

JULIAN. ― Not on the neck? Fine. (He unbuttons her shirt and starts kissing her breasts).

HELEN. ― What don’t you understand!... Can’t you kiss me any other way? Softer, Julian.

JULIAN. ― I understand you don’t want marks on your neck.

HELEN. ― I told you already. What you do isn't kissing. Altough, I don’t want Henry to find out.

JULIAN. ― And how? Didn't you tell me you guys don’t do it anymore? I’m going to make you forget all about it. (Unzips his pants).

HELEN. ― No! Why the obsession?

JULIAN. ― (Zips up his pants and goes for a drink) Suit yourself. I was doing it for you.

HELEN. ― I don’t need your pity.

JULIAN. ― You’re the one who called me.

HELEN. ― To get coffee.

JULIAN. ― (Ironical) To "talk"?

HELEN. ― I’m a more... conventional woman.

JULIAN. ― Fine. I know the type.

HELEN. ― I see you coming.

JULIAN. ― Not yet.

HELEN. ― What?

JULIAN. ― Come here. I’ll explain.

HELEN. ― I don’t think so... (Pause) Fine, but be gentle.

JULIAN. ― I swear.

HELEN. ― I think I’m going to regret this.

JULIAN. ― No.

HELEN. ― Yes.

Blackout.

[SOUND: Soft wind or distant city noise. LIGHTING: A vanity mirror with lightbulbs turns on in the middle of the darkness.]

Bedroom.

Fran, alone at first, fixes her hair in front of the mirror.

FRAN. — A middle-aged woman? What does that even mean? A bad translation, I suppose, for a mature woman. Not too young, not too... advanced in years; like me, exactly like me. (Pause) Well, for my age, I’m not doing too bad. (Pause) What am I saying, I look incredibly good. Okay: pretty good. (Pause) Julian acts like a child sometimes. And me? In any case, I’m the perfect idiot who always indulges his whims. It’s horrifying, as if I were his mother! (Pause) How the mighty have fallen!

[LIGHTING: Harsh side light enters.]

Julian enters and flops onto a chair to read the Times. Fran turns to look at him, smiles, flirts, but he barely looks up before going back to his reading. She goes back to the mirror.

FRAN. — I feel like I’m your mother.

JULIAN. — Shut up.

FRAN. — We don’t even make love like we used to; we don’t even make love at all.

JULIAN. — No? And what do you call last night?

FRAN. — That was an excellent massage, Julian, thank you.

JULIAN. — Don’t pressure me, Fran, I’m fed up!

FRAN. — He’s fed up? The gentleman gets calls from his lovers at my own house, makes dates with them right under my nose, spends his afternoons with them. He comes home late, "exhausted," and tells me not to pressure him. You could at least apologize.

JULIAN. — You’re with me, aren't you? That should be enough for you.

FRAN. — You’re an idiot.

JULIAN. ― I’m not an idiot, and you should feel grateful.

FRAN. ― You should be grateful. Without me, you’d starve! Get away from me!

JULIAN. ― So I should leave? Is that what you want?

[LIGHTING: Mirror light turns off. Back to the clinical spotlight for the Analyst.]

The Analyst’s Office.

Helen and the Analyst.

HELEN. — And I’m not complaining. I love him, but I’m not satisfied.

ANALYST. ― (Writes)… “Doesn't complain and isn't satisfied.”

HELEN. — He’s always absent, even when he’s with me. At night he clings to me as if his life depended on it. Those are the best moments, if they’re even good. He hugs me… and then...

ANALYST. ― Then?

HELEN. — In private...

ANALYST. ― Sex.

HELEN. — Well, there isn't any. Or when there is... it’s very strange. Almost always... He finishes... alone… and falls asleep. That’s why I’ve looked for other men.

ANALYST. ― Others? Not just Julian?

HELEN. — The others… I don’t even remember their names.

ANALYST. ― But you remember Julian’s.

HELEN. — I’m not an easy woman.

ANALYST. ― I see.

HELEN. ― I’m still in love with Henry.

ANALYST. ― But you feel something for Julian.

HELEN. — I like him, but I don’t understand why we can’t just do it in a normal way.

ANALYST. ― Normal?

HELEN. — Like everyone else does, like you do, I assume.

ANALYST. ― Why do you get involved with men like Henry and Julian?

HELEN. — I don’t know... Julian is the same way with his woman. They don’t have sex, not normally. He only gives her massages, no sex. She says Julian is a potential homosexual. What do you think?

[LIGHTING: Light opens again to the home bar. A "circular meeting" vibe; it feels like they never left.]

Fran’s House.

The Bar.

The four friends are in another one of their gatherings.

JULIAN. ― I was in a classroom. It was my elementary school but also college. I was giving my teacher a massage on top of her desk.

HENRY. ― Only a massage?

JULIAN. ― Sure. It was like the ones I give Fran. When I finished, she gave me some bills and said: I hope one day you do the same for me as you do for your little classmates. I laughed and stuffed the money in my underwear.

HENRY. ― What do you think, “Fran”? Do you identify with any of the ‘characters’ in his dream?

FRAN. ― It’s clear that Julian symbolizes his internal feminine side through the teacher.

JULIAN. ― My internal feminine? Don’t talk such bullshit.

FRAN. ― Look, Julian. The man in you... would have to defeat the adolescent who insists on playing pranks to free himself from his detested mother image—meaning the teacher, meaning me.

JULIAN. ― Oooh!

FRAN. ― Mock me all you want; the day you can truly love me will be the day you don’t need me.

JULIAN. ― Who needs who?

HENRY. ― I need another drink. We’re out of Scotch, brother.

JULIAN. ― You finished it. Come on, help me find another bottle.

[LIGHTING: Julian and Henry go into shadow as they exit. Warm spotlight on Fran and Helen.]

Julian and Henry exit.

FRAN. ― What a pair of idiots. Why do I have to fix Julian’s life? Do I ask anyone to fix mine? Let’s finish dinner.

HELEN. ― No, thanks.

FRAN. ― Are you okay? You look... dimmed.

HELEN. ― More or less.

[SOUND: A metallic echo on the voices during the "Asides."]

FRAN. ― (Aside) Helen bores me.

HELEN. ― (Aside) I need a hug.

HELEN. ― (Aside) My head hurts.

[LIGHTING: The Analyst’s spotlight turns on sharply.]

The spotlight on the Analyst turns on.

ANALYST. ― (Continuing his notes) Fran is a rare bird. Her relationship with the world is distinct and distant. With Helen, she maintains a constant air of superiority. She despises Henry because she’s noticed a mix of hostility and lust in him. For her, Julian is an obsession. It hurts her that he cheats, it hurts her that he manipulates her and takes her money. She doesn't know if she loves him or keeps him in the hope that he’ll love her and acknowledge what she’s done for him. That, however, will never happen. Fran has endured a lot. She’s always known what she wants, but Julian is her ultimate weakness.

Pause

The Analyst wanders through the scene but without interacting with the characters.

HELEN. ― My head hurts.

FRAN. ― What?

HELEN. ― I feel sick. Disoriented. For some time now, at night, I wake up with an inexplicable pain, maybe in my stomach. I can’t quite place it.

FRAN. ― It’s called anxiety.

HELEN. ― (Approaches Fran, but Fran keeps eating). Fran, you... You’ve become a very important person to me.

FRAN. ― (Doesn't stand up) Thanks.

HELEN. ― I’ve come to care for you. You’re my best friend.

FRAN. ― I’m quite fond of you too.

[SOUND: Loud voices, clumsy footsteps, clinking bottles.]

JULIAN AND HENRY.

They are drunk.

JULIAN. ― We’re back!

HENRY. ― They’re gone.

JULIAN. ― What? They didn't wait for us? We weren't even that long!... (Screams) Fran!

FRAN. ― (Comes out of her room in a robe) You’re back? It took you three hours. Helen felt sick and took an Uber.

HENRY. ― She always feels sick.

JULIAN. ― Come here, babe. We brought some top-shelf tequila. Come have a drink.

FRAN. ― No, thanks. I’ll leave you two alone. Just let me sleep. That’s an order. (Goes back to bed).

JULIAN. ― Fine. (Pours a drink) Better. More for us. For just the two of us.

HENRY. ― Knock it off. Don’t take advantage just because I’m drunk.

JULIAN. ― Like bros. You’re right... (Pause) You look dry, man. Can I pour you one?

HENRY. ― Sure. I’m thirsty.

JULIAN. ― Me too.

[LIGHTING: UNREAL LIGHT. An amber or reddish glow floods the scene.]

UNREAL LIGHT

The following only happens in Julian’s mind.

FRAN. ― (Suddenly appears). I can’t sleep. Mind if I join you?

HENRY. ― Not at all. Julian was just... buying me a drink.

FRAN. ― Oh yeah?

HENRY. ― He wants to hit a club. What do you think?

FRAN. ― Don’t count on me. You two go. I’ll stay here and have a few glasses.

JULIAN. ― Sounds good to me. Let’s hit a club. You don’t mind, right?

FRAN. ― No, not at all.

HENRY. ― But first, a drink.

JULIAN. ― Cheers. To friendship.

HENRY. ― To our friendship.

FRAN. ― Cheers.

[SOUND: A sound "flash" or a snap.]

Change of light

Fran goes back to her room. The light and situation return to reality. Henry and Julian repeat the last lines of the previous scene.

JULIAN. ― Like bros. You look dry, man. Can I pour you one?

HENRY. ― Sure. I’m thirsty.

JULIAN. ― Me too.

HENRY. ― Well, cheers!

JULIAN. ― Cheers. Wouldn't you like to... I know this club that’s incredible.

HENRY. ― A club? I’m too wiped. Aren't you comfortable here?

JULIAN. ― Yeah, sure.

HENRY. ― Besides, Fran’s already asleep... and Helen’s gone.

JULIAN. ― You’re right. I think I better go.

HENRY. ― Suit yourself. I’m very comfortable here.

JULIAN. ― Later. Take care.

HENRY. ― See ya.

[LIGHTING: Return to the office. Soft sunset light coming through an imaginary window.]

The Analyst’s Office.

The Analyst and Fran.

FRAN. ― (After a long pause) ...I...

ANALYST. ― That’s a characteristic word for you. It’s always an “I”. Do you know that?

FRAN. ― I know...

ANALYST. ― When was the last time you were in analysis?

FRAN. ― I spent ten years in therapy, as you can imagine. But now...

ANALYST. ― You feel overwhelmed.

FRAN. ― More or less. Relationships can’t be broken overnight. There are many...

ANALYST. ― Do you feel tied to Julian?

FRAN. ― I’m not codependent. Do you think I am?

ANALYST. ― That’s not how this works, you know that.

FRAN. ― I am a profoundly independent woman, I always have been, and I know perfectly well that my destiny is to be alone. I know that.

ANALYST. ― I’m glad you have it so clear. Congratulations.

FRAN. ― I have it resolved. (Touches her head) It’s only a matter of time. You’ll find out soon enough.

[LIGHTING: Homey, messy, somber light.]

HELEN AND HENRY.

Their house.

HENRY. ― ...But Julian is our friend.

HELEN. ― I don’t care.

HENRY. ― It’s only for a few days. He can’t stay on the street.

HELEN. ― You know him.

HENRY. ― All the more reason. We have to support him. It’s Julian.

HELEN. ― That’s exactly why. He’s very...

HENRY. ― What.

HELEN. ― I don’t want him here in the house. That’s all.

[LIGHTING: Julian emerges from total shadow.]

Julian, who has been listening unnoticed, interjects.

HENRY. ― Did we wake you up?

JULIAN. ― Yeah. I think I’m leaving.

HELEN. ― Julian. You can’t stay, I’m sorry.

HENRY. ― Is that your final decision?

JULIAN. ― Would you mind putting me up for at least a few days? Can I at least stay tonight? What do you think?

HENRY. ― You can stay.

HELEN. ― (Agitated) What?... No, he can’t!

HENRY. ― Don’t shout at me! You have no right to get like this.

HELEN. ― And how do you want me to get!

Pause

JULIAN. ― So? Can I stay?

(Silence)

[SOUND: The piano blues plays strongly, marking a time jump. LIGHTING: Clear, clean daylight.]

Months later.

Fran’s House.

Fran is at her home bar. She cleans and tidies up until the doorbell rings. She goes to open the door. Helen enters.

FRAN. ― Come in, sit down. I’m sorry but I didn't make anything for dinner. The pizza should be here soon.

HELEN. — Thanks.

FRAN. ― So, what’s the news? I’m not going to say I’m happy about it, I’m sorry. Bringing children into this world... Is it Henry’s?

HELEN. — You’ve always been very honest.

FRAN. ― Well, what does it matter if you don’t know. Do you miss Henry?

HELEN. ― You can’t miss what you never had.

FRAN. ― I know the feeling.

[SOUND: Doorbell. Modern, persistent sound.]

(The doorbell rings. Fran is happy not to continue a conversation she dislikes).

HENRY. ― Or maybe it’s Julian.

FRAN. ― What? Why!

HELEN. — He found out I was coming here. Maybe he’s with Henry. (Seeing Fran’s disgusted reaction) Does it bother you?

FRAN. ― Can’t you tell? Do I look bothered? Do I look worried? Thanks, Helen.

Julian and Henry enter.

JULIAN. ― (Pause) Hey, Fran.

FRAN. ― (Always near the door) Hey, Henry. Excuse me, Julian... but...

JULIAN. ― You don’t want me to stay?

FRAN. ― I didn't invite you.

JULIAN. ― Helen invited me.

FRAN. ― To my house?

JULIAN. ― It was always your house.

FRAN. ― It has always been my house.

JULIAN. ― You’re right. Better if I go. Take care, Fran.

FRAN. ― No. You take care.

JULIAN. ― Bye, Helen. I’ll call you.

HENRY. ― None of that, Julian. Let’s have a drink. Fran’s treating. You aren't going to be rude to your friends.

FRAN. ― Whose friends?

HENRY. ― Yours?

FRAN. ― Henry. I decide who enters my house and in this case, neither you nor your little friend are welcome.

JULIAN. ― You heard her, man. Fran is the owner and the rich old lady of this house.

FRAN. ― I’m not old, and yes, I have enough money to have supported you for a long time.

JULIAN. ― You are old and you’re becoming bitter. I don’t know how you stand her, Helen. She always talked trash about you and now she uses you as a shoulder to cry on.

FRAN. ― What a pathetic specimen of a man you’ve become. I never spoke ill of Helen. And what? Are you two all close now?

JULIAN. ― We spend our time making bets. Along with Helen, of course.

HELEN. — Julian, please.

FRAN. ― I’m not interested in your riddles. Truly: I don’t care what you say or do.

JULIAN. ― We’re trying to guess if the child Helen is expecting is Henry’s, mine, or someone else’s... Even though Helen says she’s going to raise it alone, that she doesn't need a father... but we, we’re intrigued.

FRAN. ― Julian, if you’re implying that Helen might be expecting your child... if you’re trying to tell me, late as usual, that among your multiple flings, you had one with Helen... let me tell you that I don’t care. Indeed, the child she expects, she’ll raise alone, if she damn well pleases. I don’t care. Just understand that you are not welcome in my house. Neither you, nor you Henry. So if you’ll excuse us...

JULIAN. ― Fine. We’re leaving.

HELEN. ― I think I... I’m leaving too.

HENRY. ― No, Fran... we’re not just going to let you kick us out of your house. Deep down, you aren't a bitter bitch, I’m sure of it. Look. Buy us a drink and…

FRAN. ― (Explodes) What don’t you understand! I am throwing you out of my life and you won't listen! Why won't you just leave once and for all and leave me alone! None of you care about what I feel. I never mattered to you, Julian. You always told me, you made me feel it. Why do you keep looking for me? Why won't you just get out of my life for good, why won't you leave me in peace! Get out, all of you, get out!

Fran breaks into tears.

Pause

[LIGHTING: The light becomes soft, a golden sunset glow. The four physically group together.]

JULIAN. ― (Approaches and tries to touch her, but Fran rejects him violently) Don’t do this. You know I’ve never been able to stand tears... especially yours.

FRAN. ― Can you stop being an idiot?

JULIAN. ― I’m sorry, but... I’m an idiot who still loves you... as I understand it... in my own way, but I still... love you. Don’t push me away. Not like this.

FRAN. ― Hell of a way to love me.

JULIAN. ― It’s the only one I’ve got. You know that.

They share a tight hug. Henry and Helen remain moved at a distance.

HELEN. ― How about we all have a drink...

JULIAN. ― Helen... You can’t drink...

HELEN. ― I won't.

FRAN. ― Well, then... are we going to toast or not... To us!

HELEN. ― And to my baby!

HENRY. ― Sounds good to me!

FRAN. ― Then let’s toast! Because we’re here... together.

JULIAN. ― That’s right... Very together. But... Fran... are you going to let your guests starve?

FRAN. ― You’re right, the pizza should have been here by now! (The doorbell rings, the four characters look expectantly). Julian, be a dear and go open the door.

JULIAN. ― Like old times, Fran?

FRAN. ― What do you want me to say. Yes, Julian. Like old times. (They look at each other with affection. Henry and Helen share a knowing glance).

[SOUND: The doorbell rings with a strange, almost musical resonance. LIGHTING: Suddent switch to the surgical light of the Analyst upon the door.]

Julian opens the door. The Analyst enters and removes his mask.

The two couples stare at him with looks of total disbelief.

[SOUND: The piano blues plays a final, dry, powerful chord. TOTAL BLACKOUT.]

The End