Threads

Threads
by
Pam C

THE SCENE: Baby Red is three years old and doing fine. That ol' rapscallion Fletcher, however, has reverted to his former wanderlust ways and decided to retrace the paths of his former reportorial glory. Holly has agreed to let Fletch have his way and take Baby Red with him on a brief round-the-world tour while she stays home knitting afghans.

(Roger softly knocks on Holly's door and, upon hearing no response, enters.)

Holly: (barely looking up) Oh you again. How many times do I have to keep telling you not to stop in unannounced?

Roger: (screwdriver in hand) How many times do you keep calling me to come by and fix your front door so that it stays unlocked?

(Holly shrugs and goes back to her knitting)

Roger: Any news about your peripathetic husband and your little girl?

Holly: (continuing to focus attention on her afghan) Last I heard they were sipping Vichy water on the Champs Elysees, where my wonderful husband fought against the Germans and single- handedly liberated France.

Roger: (glancing around the now-shabby house) Now Holly, last you told me was that they were in Tienamen Square where your wonderful husband stood in front of that tank and became the symbol of the thwarted Chinese revolution.

Holly: Whatever. But you're wrong, Roger, I just remembered! ... There's a postcard from them over there on the mantel ... right next to that picture of you and me from 20 years ago, which I'm going to burn as soon as I finish
this knitting.

Roger: (studying the postcard) The one where Fletcher's giving the rabbit sign over Eva Peron's head? What does it say on the back ... don't cry for me Venezuela, the truth is I never left you?

Holly: I think he meant Argentina. My husband's been to so many places, I'm sure he gets them mixed up.

Roger: (with a concerned smile) I'm sure, Holly. So, how's Baby Red holding up during this trip?

Holly: (looking slightly disconcerted) Baby Red?

Roger: You know, your daughter? I'm sorry, you've probably given her another name by now..

Holly: Oh, Fletchie and I wanted to, but when she was born with black hair and then immediately developed gray sideburns, well, we had to change our plans and ...

Roger: ... I understand. Speaking of changing plans, why don't I take you out for dinner at the Towers. You look like you could use a break.

Holly: (suddenly enraged) Who are YOU to tell me what I look like?

Roger: Nobody. I'm nobody, Holly. I just thought you might want to get out of that bathrobe you bought for me after I proposed to you five years ago. Maybe run a comb through your hair. And that afghan you're knitting is getting big enough to house a family of ten. C'mon, just a night out between friends, okay?

Holly: (exasperated but standing up, letting the afghan slide off her lap) Roger, you'll never change! But I suppose I could use a meal. We could stop by at Chrissie's and see the quints. Where's that sexy black dress I used to
wear for you...?

Roger: Now there's my girl ... You always change!

(As Roger and Holly are walking out the door)

Roger: By the way, darling ...

Holly: yes, d... Roger?

Roger: When is your husband coming home?

Holly: (looking distractedly out at the starry sky) Yes, I recall that Fletchie said he'd leave Baby ... Whatsername ... with a friend named Claire, and then he wanted to see one more city that he won awards reporting about.

Roger: (tenderly slipping his coat over her shoulders) Which city would that be?

Holly: (smiling up at Roger while stepping over a telegram left under her door) Beirut.