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Molly and Monica’s dorm room at night. All is dark. Sound of a projector whirring.
Molly
Monica! Monica! What’s that sound?
Monica
What sound?
Molly
That clacking sound. Hear it?
Monica
It’s just the wind. Let’s get to sleep. We’ve gotta see Vic bright and early. What a character!
Molly
A character? Give me a break, Monica.
Monica
The man is magnificent. Such raw, working class energy! Such refreshing honesty, cutting through all the bourgeois conventions and grasping the essential truth of existence!
Molly
You gotta be kidding! That pervert?
Monica
But pervert by what standards? By the conventions of a repressive, unjust society that uh, uh, you know (breaks out in hysterical laughter, Molly joins in)
Molly
So you’d want Vic Vincent to move next door and marry your daughter?
Monica
Well, that little freak is our ticket to the big time. If we pull this off …
Molly
And the way he looks at us …
Monica
Well, we are both reasonably attractive …
Molly
I don’t mean that. I mean, that too, but there’s something else. The angle we’re sitting at, the way he tilts his head. It’s off. It’s just off. Like he was performing on camera even as we talk.
Monica
Molly, tell me this. How bad do you want this?
Molly
Hey, this whole thing was your idea, not mine!
Monica
Molly. How bad do you want this?
Molly
It’s not like I’ve had a whole lotta choice in the matter …
Monica
Molly. How bad do you want this?
Molly
What difference does it make? (long pause) I hadn’t thought about it that much. I mean, my fast answer is that I don’t want this at all. I can’t stand it. I don’t know. How bad do you want it?
Monica
More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life.
Molly
Why? Because it’ll make you rich and famous?
Monica
I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it that much either. But now there’s something in my gut that’s, oh, I don’t know either. Let’s sleep on it. Vic Vincent awaits us at dawn.
Molly
Do I get a blindfold and a last cigarette?
Monica
(Monica laughs) I thought you were trying to cut down. (laughs again)
Molly
Okay. Till tomorrow.
Long pause. Then the sound of knuckles on glass, to the rhythm of “shave and a haircut, six bits.”
Monica
What was that sound?
Another pause. Then the clacking of a projector as the film runs out. End.
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