(The
backroom of Panera Bread. Writers dispute.)
MOCHA TCHOKHA ROSE
You dare question my right to the proceeds from Butch Gardens?
(The
WOMAN IN THE SHADOWS emerges into the light. She is in
her sixties. A grandchild dangles over her arm in a car seat.)
MOCHA TCHOKHA ROSE (Continued)
Mrs. Ho, my patron!
(The women prostrate themselves on the crummy ground.)
MRS. HO
Get up, all of you.
I come to see how Plays: Short and Strange is going.
MOCHA TCHOKHA ROSE
I’m dismissing my writers. Butch Gardens will
be mine again---mine alone.
MRS. HO
Fine. I don’t
care.
(The
baby makes a noise and MRS. HO addresses its troubles.)
MOCHA TCHOKHA ROSE
(To
the WRITERS)
Get out of here, all of you!
WRITER 1
What will become of us?
MOCHA TCHOKHA ROSE
Sell your organs!
WRITER 3
Mrs. Ho, won’t you help? Mocha---
(MRS.
HO looks up momentarily from her grandchild.)
MRS. HO
I don’t care.
MOCHA TCHOKHA ROSE
You see, when a woman becomes a grandmother, she is no longer concerned with the things of this world.
Good-bye! Go to Hell!
(The
WRITERS slink off. WRITER 2
collects crumbs as she goes for a later
meal. When they are gone, MOCHA sits down and
turns her attention to her
patron.)
MOCHA TCHOKHA ROSE (Continued)
What brings you here?
END OF “DISSOLUTION, PART II.”
