Late afternoon. The next day. HUSBAND enters from the kitchen, cradling his beloved, a freshly baked brownie. In a mix of excruciating pain and giddy joy, he waddles sneakily to the couch. This probably takes longer than it should. WIFE enters the front door. She wears a blazer, very professional, all business.
W. What do you think you're doing? H. What? W. You know you are supposed to be laying down, the doctor said no up and down movement for at least two days and here you are baking? H. A man's gotta eat. W. There's left over pasta from last night, there's all kinds of snack foods. You don't need to be baking. H. I'm hungry. You went to work and left me here alone all day long. W. Well, I had to take the morning off to get you in to the doctor, I had to go in. I had a showing on the Mercanti place. That place is huge, great location, and if I can sell it, baby, we are going to the Poconos! H. Left me starving. Rotting. W. Honestly, dear. This sale could be big for me, big for us. If I can close this deal, I'll be in prime position to move up in the agency and even take over the top spot in the-- H. Wasting away like an old apple, being eaten by maggots. W. (giving up) You look good for a wrinkled piece of fruit. Now go lay down, I'll heat up some pasta for you. Let me get a bite of that brownie. H. No. You denounced its very existence. You get none. W. Fine. It's probably dry anyway. Wife disappears into the kitchen. Husband takes a bite. H. (over the top) MMMMMmmmm. So good. He lays back down on the couch, unwilling to put the brownie down or shove it all in his mouth, this task proves painful and difficult. W. (offstage) The Mercanti's say their place is haunted. That's why they want to sell it and get the hell out of dodge. At least, that's the wife's story. She says she'll come home from work sometimes and hear a horrendous moaning. Spirits of people killed long ago who just can't crossover to the other side, still roaming the halls, howling, pleading for release or something. But she says often times, she'll come home, hear the moaning, run up the stairs and into the room she suspects the sound to come from, and there will be nothing. Her husband, Mr. Mercanti sleeping soundly, or a television on with the volume cranked. The kid hasn't seen anything, but the maid says she's experienced similar weird things happening around there. The wife's starting to think she's going crazy. She's freaked out, so they are selling. Trying to get the hell out of dodge. But I tell you... (re-entering, with an orange rose petal clipped into her hair) Mrs. Mercanti is one blind broad. I'd be looking at that husband if I were her. "Moaning" she says she hears, that coincidentally stops right about the time she gets home? Husband soundly asleep, wrapped up in the covers like a pig in the blanket? He's banging the maid. I'll bet anything. He's banging the maid, and the wife is either too hurt to admit it or too stupid to realize it. But she says it's haunted and the husband is going along with it! I tell you, it's amazing what lies people will tell themselves when they're in love. But, regardless of whether it's true or not, because they said it, we have to put it in the listing. Haunted. "Beautiful three story home, fifty years old, four bedroom, two and a half bath, an office, kitchen, dining room, cozy family room, spacious backyard, and howling ghouls." I can't believe we don't have people lining up all the way down the block. H. What's that? In your hair? W. Oh, it's a rose petal. H. One of those petals from that death envelope? W. Death envelope? H. Yeah, I damn near broke my back trying to pick up that mess from the floor. W. Darling, you can hardly accuse an envelope full of flower petals of trying to kill you. H. I respectfully disagree. W. They are such a curious thing aren't they? The rose petals? I started looking up the meanings online today during my lunch break. Orange rose petals represent desire, enthusiasm and pride. I figure I need all the luck I can muster to sell this house, maybe a little extra desire, enthusiasm might help...I've already got the pride...It really is a curious thing. Who do you think could have left rose petals at our door? H. Do you always look this hot when you go to work? W. These are just work clothes. You have to look good and professional in order to be taken seriously. (beat) Who would have left these? H. Well, if you go in everyday looking like that...Mr. Mercanti. W. Stop it. H. What? Maybe the maid's not doing for him anymore. Maybe he wants to give the relator a little home inspection of his own. W. (flattered disgust) I cannot believe you are talking like this. H. You like it. W. Well...it's not bad, but still-- H. Come here. She crosses to him. He leans in for a kiss. W. Oh! I just remembered that Betty Sandborn is coming over for dinner tomorrow night. I completely forgot about that. Are you going to be able to join us, you think? H. (feigning) Oh, I don't know...my back.... W. You cannot leave me alone for an entire dinner with that woman. H. Why is she coming over? W. It's strictly business. She gets all the tips on the new bids going out, she's got the best property, she knows how to close. I want to get all I can out of her so I can crush her. H. God, you're sexy. She leans in for a kiss and starts to straddle him. He leans up. And jerks in pain. H. AH! My back. My back. Can't do that. W. Oh my God, sorry! So sorry! Black out. END OF PART 2 PART 1
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