Five Plays. Samuel D. Hunter

(Becky storms off to the bathroom.)

      ISABELLE: Wait, / wait, wait—

      MAX: Eddie, what the fuck is going on?!

       (Eddie suddenly attacks the crackling speaker, ripping it out of the wall with his bare hands and smashing it onto the ground. The music cuts off. Everyone looks at him. Silence. Eddie takes deep breaths.)

      EDDIE: I did everything I could, I— . . .

       (Pause.)

      MAX: Oh my God. When—when is it closing?

       (Pause.)

      EDDIE: The end of next week.

      MAX: / WHAT?!

      ISABELLE: Oh my God.

      TROY: When the fuck were you going to tell us this?!

      MAX: Eddie, this is the only place in town that’ll hire me, / the drug court says I have to hold down a job!

      EDDIE: I wanted to tell you guys—

      TROY: So why didn’t you?!

      EDDIE: I thought maybe I could keep us afloat for a while, I’ve been putting some money from my savings into the cash drop at the end of the night—

      TROY: You’ve been putting your / own money in the cash drop?

      ISABELLE: God, this was the one place I could stand to work in this town.

      EDDIE: I just thought if we all rallied and showed corporate that we could do better, maybe we / could’ve—

      ISABELLE: Oh just stop it, Eddie. God I’m fucked.

      MAX: You’re fucked?

       (Max slams the table. The tray of breadsticks falls to the ground. Silence. Tammy stands.)

      TAMMY (To Troy): I’m gonna check on Becky.

      TROY: It’s okay, you can go home, I can—. Just let her calm down a little.

       (Pause.)

      TAMMY: Okay.

       (Pause. Tammy moves toward the exit.)

      TROY: Tammy.

       (Tammy stops, looks at Troy. Pause.)

       We’ll see you at home.

       (Pause.)

      TAMMY: Yeah. Okay.

       (Tammy exits.)

      ISABELLE: I’m going home too.

      EDDIE: Guys—please.

       (Silence. Troy sits at one of the tables.)

      MAX: Isabelle you wanna ride?

      ISABELLE: No.

      MAX: Whatever.

       (Max exits. Isabelle looks at Eddie.)

      ISABELLE: You know, when you hired me I told you that the Applebee’s would pay me thirty cents more an hour. And people drink more there so the tips are a lot better. Now I’m gonna have to go back to the Conoco that my cousin Mandy manages. She calls me “Izzy,” I fucking hate her.

      EDDIE: I’m really sorry. I should have told you, I— . . .

       (Pause.)

      ISABELLE: Look—I know it’s not your fault. And don’t pay attention to Max, he’s a fucking moron, he listens to Dave Matthews. (Pause) I always thought you put too much effort into this job, anyway.

      EDDIE: Well not enough, I guess.

      ISABELLE: You think this place is closing down because you didn’t try hard enough? Eddie, the only reason to work at places like this is you don’t need to care. You just go to work, try to have fun, and go to the lake on the weekends. And if it closes, there’s plenty more places to work down the highway. (Pause) Anyway. Just mail me my last paycheck, okay? I’m gonna steal some silverware on my way out just so you know.

       (Isabelle exits. Troy and Eddie are left alone together. Troy looks at him.)

      EDDIE: What about you, you gonna beat me up?

      TROY: No, I’m not gonna— . . . Jesus, Eddie, why didn’t you just tell me?

      EDDIE: I just— . . . I thought maybe I could save it.

      TROY: Eddie, places like this don’t get “saved.” (Pause) Dammit, were you really putting your own money into the register?

      EDDIE: I thought if I could prove that we were making / money—

      TROY: That’s crazy, Eddie, that’s—. (Pause) I guess the McDonalds is always hiring. God, how did I get here?

       (Troy gets up, exiting briefly. He reenters with a carafe of wine and two glasses.)

       You want some?

      EDDIE: No, I—I’m fine. Should you check on Becky?

      TROY: She’s okay, just need to let her run out of steam.

       (Troy pours himself a large glass of wine, drinks.)

      EDDIE: Do you know what you’re gonna do?

       (Silence.)

      TROY: There’s a lumber yard outside Seattle, my cousin Jen is always saying she can get me a foreman job. It’d pay three times what I’m making here. Eight years ago when the paper mill closed, she offered me the same job. Tammy would’ve been totally willing to move, Becky would have been fine with it, she doesn’t— . . . I didn’t even tell them about it. (Pause) When I was little kid I thought all I wanted was to get out of Pocatello. I had the opportunity and I couldn’t even do it. Felt like I was going to have a panic attack just thinking about moving out of here. And I still don’t know why.

      EDDIE: It’s your home.

      TROY: More like my coffin. (Takes a long swig of wine) What about you? What are you gonna do?

       (Pause.)

      EDDIE: I don’t— . . .

       (Eddie trails off. Pause.)

      TROY: Look, I’m sorry for blowing up, we’re not—. It’s not about you, we all know that.

       (Pause.)

      EDDIE: Yeah.

       (Isabelle reenters quickly.)

      ISABELLE: Troy, you really need to come to the front—

      TROY: What?

       (Cole enters from behind Isabelle, looking a little gaunt, tired. He stares at Troy for a moment.)

       Dad, God. What are you—? What are you doing?

      COLE: Hm.

       (Cole goes to the speaker on the ground, picks it up, and places it on the table. He moves to the decorative wine bottles, starts arranging them.)

      ISABELLE: He was out in the parking lot, I didn’t know / what to—

      COLE: Go get him, would you?

      TROY: What?

      COLE: I’m not going to ask twice. I’m tired of doing shelves myself. I don’t pay people to smoke on the sidewalk.

      TROY: Shit.

      EDDIE: Should I call someone?

      TROY: No, he’s just—. He does this sometimes, wanders off, he’s okay. (To Isabelle) Thanks, Isabelle, you can— . . .

       (Isabelle exits. Troy goes to Cole.)

       Dad, c’mon. (Touching his arm) We’re going home, just—

       (Cole