Crystal, left: “Do you have any idea what we’re supposed to be doing in this scene?”

Methal, right: “Beats me. Something about innocent virgins in the forest being stalked by men with unresolved childhood issues. They had ten-cent drinks at Piero’s last night, so I barely looked at the script.”

Crystal: “I hear ya, girl. I was right in that mess as well. Did you see that one waiter with the biceps? I could eat him with a spoon. Still, I suppose we should get into character. How do virgins act? It’s been a while.”

Methal: “Yeah, me too. Maybe we should cross our legs? It seems like I remember my Sunday School teacher telling me that a good girl never uncrosses until she signs a pre-nup. But Sister Bitter-Ette also drank a lot, nipping from a bottle shaped like Pope Wilbur the IV’s head, so I didn’t really care for her too much.”

Crystal: “Oh, honey, you can’t keep your legs crossed the whole time. That little garden has got to get some fresh air or you’re going to end up with some Wonder Bread action going on. Besides, if I cross my legs, I’m gonna fall off this stupid wall and land on somebody in the orchestra. Sure, I’ve landed on some of them before, but I usually get a nice dinner before I play squat tag.”

Methal: “Wait, they’re supposed to buy you dinner first?”

Crystal: “It sounds like you didn’t get away from Sister Bitter-Ette in time. You never let them tend the garden unless they’ve proven that they will take ownership of the landscaping.”

Methal: “You are so wise, Sister Crystal. I’ve learned so much from you that… hold up, the director seems to be hollering something at us.”

Crystal: “Directors are so annoying, acting like they run the show, when we all know that the true power depends on the squat-tagging. And sometimes the choreographer. No one cares how good the story is as long as people spontaneously dance for no apparent reason.”

Methal: “He’s saying something about going on a break but we should stay in place so they don’t have to re-do the lighting. The nerve of him! And he’s carrying a Wilbur flask that looks just like Sister Bitter-Ette’s. Why do so many people disappoint me with where they get their liquor?”

Crystal: “I’m disappointed as well. And a little perplexed. I mean, my first instinct is to cut him, because I went to Sunday School in the Bronx. But my next instinct is to stay on this wall, because I have rent due and I spent way too many dimes at Piero’s trying to get Bicep-Waiter to follow me home for some personal hedge-trimming.”

Methal: “So we should just sit here and submit to the will of men who have no regard for our personal comfort?”

Crystal: “Ah, now I remember what it’s like to be a virgin. I think I know how to act out this scene once the director is done with Wilbur. Just follow my lead.”

Sister Bitter-Ette, offstage: “Hey there, Director Man. Is that a Wilbur in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?”

Somewhere on another plane, Edward Albee and Mae West weep openly and console each other on what has become of American Theater. Then they get over it and head to Piero’s, because how can you argue with ten-cent drinks?

Pope Wilbur the IV, on a different plane than Edward and Mae, because people who have been elected via smoke from a chimney deserve a special place: “Don’t look at me. We’ve already had way too many false endings in this story and it’s become too bizarre.”

Choreographer: “Everybody dance now!”

Oscar Wilde: “Dancing is how the indiscreet try to hide their indiscretions.”

The Writer: “What? Did I cross a line?”

The Writer’s Mother: “This is why I can’t go out in public.”

The stage suddenly goes dark.

Crystal: “Do you ever get the impression the nobody is in control at Bonnywood Manor?”

Methal: “With every breaking dawn.”

Previously published. Some changes made for this post.

Marcel Proust: “When all else fails, celebrate the failure.”

Donald Trump: “I do that every day. I have always depended on the idiotic behavior of strangers.”

Covid-19: “So do I.”