Mean(s)

Act 3 Scene 4 - Mean(s)

(on the back lawn, The Smoker has just gotten off the phone)

TS: This sickness has been really kicking my ass.
C: Yeah, I know. And I'm not helping it any.
TS: No. No, you're not.(pauses) I was thinking of throwing a BBQ/pool party this weekend.
C: You think you're gonna be healthy by then?
TS: Yeah, I've been feeling a lot better in the last 24 hours.
C: So what's the big deal, then?
TS: Well, I don't want to spend all this time on the phone, calling all these people.
C: "These people"?!? Aren't they your friends?
TS: Yeah. But it's annoying calling number after number, leaving the same mechanical-sounding message. And besides, I don't have everybody's number. I need something more far-reaching.
C: (staring at The Smoker) You son-of-a-bitch! Has that been what this entire conversation has been about?!? Just so you can let your friends that read your blog know about your goddamn party!?!
TS: Well, uh, umm...sorta.
C: Fuck you, man. Fuck. You. That's low.(long pause) Well, are you gonna to say it, or not?
TS:(rushedly) Party at my place. Friday and Saturday afternoon/evening. Caribou and boar steaks/burgers provided. Jacuzzi. Pool. Bocce Ball. Billiards. Darts. BYOB. RSVP what day you'll be coming by email.
C: You're a bastard. You know that, don't you?
TS: The ends justify the means. Sorry.

(Cigarette burns out with the righteous indignation of a thousand righteously-indignant persons. The Smoker discards Cigarette into the ashtray)