Lights up on a wheelchair-bound, middle-aged man pouring himself a glass of Scotch. His collar sags. His tie is unfurled. A small table sits to his left, a large, oaken office desk looms behind him. He takes a hard swallow.
Miles: (to audience) Good evening. A man of my means can afford anything, real estate, travel, anything except a new spinal cord. True it was I who bought the Massarati, but I was not the one who got into a pissing contest with a trucker on the PCH... That was my wife Genna, who emerged from the inferno unscathed.
Genna barges in.
Genna: Miles, what the hell is that big box doing in the hallway?
Miles never turns to make eye contact.
Miles: It's a gift for your niece.
Genna: Shit! When is -
Miles: Sunday.
Genna: This Sunday?! Today's Friday! Why didn't you have it shipped?
Miles: I thought you would want to choose the card -
Genna: Jesus Christ Miles! You thought I'd rather her present show up late than show up without a fucking card?! From now on leave the thinking to me!
Genna slams the door as she stomps out. Miles conspicuously sets the ring on his wristwatch forward.
Miles: Breathtaking, isn't she? She spends an hour a day every day working up a sweat with her personal trainer Paolo.
Miles becomes distracted by the photograph next to his Scotch bottle.
Miles: Before I was her spouse I was her best friend - she told me so the day I drove her to Chatsworth to terminate a fetus of unknown paternity. I implored her to consider adoption, but she wanted the procedure performed before the process unflattered her figure.
Miles drains his drink in one long, drawn-out swallow.
Miles: In early 2000, Genna phoned me in dire straits. She and her lover were being held without bail. Robert Ranzulli, a career truck driver, had established a nationwide network for moving methamphetamine. Even after losing his job for a DUI they continued living the High Life, buying a bigger home in a nicer neighborhood. Neighbors grew increasingly curious and one day federal agents barged in unannounced. While Genna's lover was building his wealth selling speed, I was building mine selling Intel, Cisco and Google on my unpopular conviction that tech was a bubble soon to burst. My first extravagant purchase was Morris Nejame, Esquire. I wrote him a blank check and ordered him to fight for Genna as he would his own mother. She agreed to testify against Ranzulli in exchange for immunity. We were married on the first day of his eighteen-year sentence.
Miles stares at the photo for a few additional seconds before returning it to the table. He lays it face down and returns his attention to the audience. He glances at his watch and smiles ruefully.
Miles: Genna should be pulling up to the posh night spot she frequents on her nightly girls night out. Paolo tends the bar. But not tonight. You see, countless nights of silent solitude allow one to see the forest through the trees and to react accordingly, such as liquidating my assets and wiring the proceeds to Peru - one hour ago. Thinking of how many textbooks and tennis courts my donation will buy those orphans is the closest I've come to achieving a hard-on since the accident.
Miles leisurely pours himself another Scotch. He raises a toast.
Miles: Salud!
Miles drowns his Scotch with one gulp. The tonic rejuvenates him.
Miles: Now where was I? Ah yes, Paolo. When you have my kind of wealth you can have people followed and photographed, you can even bribe their piss poor cousins in Brazil for secrets. It seems that in his teens, Paolo spent a few summers in Bailo Horizonti, home to several Islamic terrorist training camps…
The phone rings. Miles rapidly relocates to the desk. He calmly raises the receiver.
Miles: Meriwether household.
Genna's panicked voice pours through the house sound system.
Genna: Miles, I'm at Lulabelle's; they said Paolo got picked up by the FBI!
Miles: The FBI? (feigning sincerity) Good heavens!
Genna: Send Morris to the INS detention center ASAP!
Miles: Impossible Love, he left for Saint Croix an hour ago.
Genna: Saint Croix! What the fuck for?!
Miles: A lengthy powder, my treat. It's time those close to me got what they deserved.
Genna: You call him right now and tell him to get on the next flight to LA!
Miles: I cannot call him Love -
Genna: - Why the hell not?!
Miles: Because I vowed to fire him if he answered his phone. (a beat) Perhaps Bill Bernake could be of assistance.
One second of silence follows.
Genna: Who the hell is Bill Bernake?
Miles: Why, he's your travel agent dear! You were in his office just this morning.
Cornered, Genna attempts diplomacy.
Genna: I - I guess I forgot to tell you that I'm visiting my mom next month!
Miles: Las Vegas is a long way from Little Rock.
Genna makes a last ditch effort to manipulate Miles with tears.
Genna: I was gonna break it off Miles, I swear…
Miles: Jesus Genna, I own the Bainbridge Tower, did you really think you could rent a room there under my nose?
She cracks.
Genna: Fuck you, you limp-dick motherfucker!!
Miles moves the phone from his ear.
Genna: (continued) I'll take you for every dime!! You hear me?! I never loved you!!!
Miles: I know.
Miles hangs up. He looks directly at the audience while casually opening his desk drawer and reaching inside -
Miles: Care to know the quickest way to void a life insurance policy?
- In a flash Miles puts a revolver to his head. The lights slam to black with the blast.
The End
