Constancy: Not a Cloak Romie Wears Well.

Patrick and I are permanent.

That just hit me.

I mean, I've known it for quite a while: people have told me (EVERYONE has told me) and I've even told you. "He's my priority," I've said. "He's my job. He's why I'm Dallas." I've just kind of been thinking short term anyway, even though most times when I picture my future, we're living together.





It's kind of flipping me out.

Moving (again)

/HOLE IN THE WALL. 10:30 PM./

/It is RAINING, and has been all day. Specifically, it is raining in the PARKING LOT of the apartment complex, where the CARS are, and not in the rear. The apartment is empty, save for some empty TRASH BAGS and the UGLY YELLOW CHAIR which sits unsteadily on the porch. ROMIE and VAL stand over it, clothes disheveled and hair in damp ringlets. Romie wears a CLOCHE HAT which really shouldn't go with a t-shirt and blue jeans./

VAL: There's no more room in the car, you know.

ROMIE: I know.

VAL: Clinton House has hardwood floors.

ROMIE: I know.

VAL: You never, ever, use this chair.

ROMIE: I know.

VAL: It's time.

ROMIE: (impassioned) I brought this chair all the way from D.C.!

/VAL is impassive./

ROMIE: I dragged it across state lines and timezones!

/VAL is impassive./

ROMIE: This chair has been with us from the beginning! I've written journal entries about this chair! This chair is the spirit of our friendship!

VAL: God. I hope not.

ROMIE: (getting progressively more worked up) This chair is who I am: ugly, yellow, and legless!

VAL: (losing patience) Then keep the fucking chair!

ROMIE: No -- there's really no room and I never use it.

/They look down on the chair for several minutes. A swarm of MUTANT CRICKETS promenade from behind it, some white, some blind, some with several extra legs./

ROMIE: (sighs) This day will live on in infamy.

VAL: If you need a few moments. . .

/ROMIE pulls a BOX OF MATCHES from her pocket and solemnly lights one after the other in a six-matchstick salute./

ROMIE: May you blaze on like a beacon for those who need lumbar support. . .

/The LAST MATCH falls to join the expired pile at Romie's feet./

ROMIE: . . . not that I will ever forget.



/LATER. EXTERIOR, NIGHT./

/ROMIE is performing the final checks on the CARS before she and VAL drive off. Testing the MIGHTY PILE OF STUFF in the back seat to make sure it won't hit her in the head while she's driving, she nods, satisfied. She shuts the car door. On her RIGHT INDEX FINGER./

ROMIE: (stares at trapped finger)

ROMIE: (transfers keys to other hand)

ROMIE: (unlocks door. opens door. removes finger.)

ROMIE: (re-enters the empty shell of Hole in the Wall and thrusts hand into SINK FULL OF ICE)

ROMIE: (jauntily) Hey, I just shut my finger in the car door and so I'm not going to be able to drive for another ten minutes.

VAL: (reacting) Oh my god.

ROMIE: (cheery) Look, I'm fine. I'm in no pain, which I take to mean that I'm in shock; I'm just kind of dizzy, so I'm going to sit down for a few minites.

VAL: Oh my god.

ROMIE: (trying to be reassuring) Really, I'll be good to drive in another ten minutes.

VAL: (shaky, but pulling self together) Um. . . Do we know anybody else who can drive a stick shift?

ROMIE: (chirpy) No. Not that we can reach right now, anyway.

VAL: But--

ROMIE: Seriously. Just fill a garbage bag with some ice, tie it off, and I'll be good to go.

/MONTAGE. ROMIE and VAL drive to their respective HOUSES. Romie unloads her stuff left-handed, still holding on to the TRASHBAG OF ICE with her right. Romie drives to Val's, and helps unload her stuff. Val is concerned and continues to try and minister to Romie, who is excessively macho and will have none of it./

/They finish at a little past midnight./

VAL: Now you need to get some sleep.

ROMIE: But it's like seven o'clock!

VAL: (sighs)

/ROMIE goes to CAFE BRAZIL where she reads VONNEGUT until three in the morning and eats a SALMON SANDWICH which she pays for with NICKLES. It is GOOD./