The Real Wife

The Real Wife

Characters
Lydia
Christopher

SCENE I:

[Lydia stands at the sink in her kitchen, doing the dishes that have piled up over the busy week. Behind her is a kitchen table, already set. She is dressed in a gray pinstripe suit, covered by an apron. Her feet bear a pair of fuzzy slippers, a sign that she has traded her work heels for the comfort of home. She is obviously hurrying to finish the dishes. As she works, her husband Christopher walks in dressed in a dark gray pair of slacks, a jacket, and a tie. He carries a large brief case.]

CHRISTOPHER: [as he comes in the door] Will dinner be ready soon? I had a long day at work, and I’m starving.

[Lydia continues to wash dishes, looking a bit more deflated than a moment prior. Christopher walks over to her, assuming that she didn’t hear him.]

CHRISTOPHER: [leaning his face in near hers, and putting his weight on the counter, frustrated] Dinner?

LYDIA: What do you want to eat, dear?

CHRISTOPHER: I’m really in the mood for biscuits—the homemade kind, not the ones out of those cans. I get so tired of having canned food all the time. I know you’re a good cook. I wish you’d actually cook more often.

LYDIA: [speaking softly, looking even more deflated] Sorry.

CHRISTOPHER: Anyway, homemade biscuits and gravy, and chicken—chicken breasts, but not the ones you make in the microwave. Chicken gets a funny texture when you put it in the microwave.

LYDIA: Alright. Let me finish a few more of these dishes, then I’ll make dinner.

[Christopher leaves the kitchen, and Lydia continues to wash dishes. The pile of dishes is getting smaller, but still takes up the majority of the countertop on the right hand side of the sink. Lydia begins to hum a relaxing tune—something from Enya, perhaps. Christopher returns a moment later. He has changed. He now wears a pair of boxers and a white t-shirt, and his feet bear his own pair of slippers. Lydia continues to hum, and does not look up as her husband walks into the room.]

CHRISTOPHER: How long is it going to be before dinner? Today was a long day at work, I saw a lot of clients, and I’m really hungry.

[Lydia does not respond. She appears to be zoning out, and is looking more and more exhausted with every dish she washes.]

CHRISTOPHER: [getting more upset as he questions] Lydia, how long before dinner? I’m starved.

LYDIA: I’ll start cooking now. I’ll finish the dishes later.

CHRISTOPHER: But how long will it be?

LYDIA: I don’t know, an hour?

CHRISTOPHER: [grunting] An hour? I’m so hungry.

LYDIA: There are granola bars in the cupboard. I got the kind you like, the peanut butter ones.

CHRISTOPHER: I’m tired of the peanut butter ones. I prefer the almond ones now.

LYDIA: Sorry, hun. We have crackers, too, and cheese sticks in the fridge.

[Christopher walks to the cupboard that Lydia had pointed out, opens it, and reaches for a granola bar. He bumps the spaghetti jar, and the noodles spill onto the floor.]

CHRISTOPHER: Shit! Shit, shit, shit. God damn all of these fucking noodles. Why would you put them here? Why, Lydia?

LYDIA: I’m sorry. I didn’t know you would bump them—they were in a sealed container.

CHRISTOPHER: [holding up the jar] Does it look like this container was sealed? Look! All of the noodles are on the floor. They’re everywhere. Now we have to throw them all away.

LYDIA: Why? You have to put them in boiling water, anyway. The heat will kill the germs.

CHRISTOPHER: Are you trying to make me sick? Whatever. This is wasted money.

[Christopher begins to stomp out of the room, scowling the whole time, and leaves the noodles covering the corner of the kitchen.]

LYDIA: [barely audible, putting the chicken breasts in the microwave to thaw] They’re only two fifty a package.

CHRISTOPHER: [sternly] I hear the microwave.

LYDIA: Yes, I’m …

CHRISTOPHER: Making the chicken? I said I wanted it cooked, not microwaved.

[Lydia stops the microwave, and pulls the chicken breasts out. She grabs a plastic bag and puts the frozen chicken into it. She goes to the sink and turns on the hot water, placing the bag of chicken under it to thaw. She then goes to her cupboard to retrieve the ingredients needed to make biscuits.]

LIGHTS FADE

Scene Change: About an hour later, the food is ready. The partially-cooked food disappears, and is replaced by finished food on serving platters.

LIGHTS UP

SCENE II:

[Lydia is seen in the kitchen, carrying platters of food to the already set kitchen table. She carries in the chicken breasts, then the gravy bowl, then the plate of steaming biscuits.]

LYDIA: [raising her voice to be heard, but still speaking in a sweet tone] Christopher, dinner is ready, dear.

[Lydia gets a bottle of wine from the rack on the left side of the sink, and pours a glass for herself and one for her husband. She sits at the table, and sips her wine as she waits for Christopher.]

LYDIA: Hunny? Do you want to come to dinner?

CHRISTOPHER: [gruffly] I’ll be there in a moment. I’m working on something.

[Lydia continues to sip her wine, finishing her first glass. She pours another, then stands up to put a cloth over each of the platters to keep the food warm. A few moments later, Christopher walks in, still wearing his boxers and a t-shirt, but now with bare feet. He slumps into his chair, and immediately grabs two biscuits, a chicken breast, and some gravy, grabbing the biscuits and chicken with his bare hands, even though there are serving utensils sitting next to each dish. Lydia delicately dishes her food, carefully placing each item to make her plate aesthetically pleasing. Christopher shoves his fork into the chicken breast and takes his first bite.]

CHRISTOPHER: [speaking under his breath] Cold.

LYDIA: What, dear?

[Christopher is silent.]

LYDIA: Is something wrong, hunny?

CHRISTOPHER: How long ago did you finish cooking? The food is cold. How long has this been sitting out?

LYDIA: Well, a few minutes. I’m sorry; I’ll microwave it for you.

[Lydia stands, and reaches out her hand to grab his plate.]

CHRISTOPHER: [shoving her hand away] I hate microwaved food. I’m so tired of that damn microwave. It’s like an excuse for you to not be a real wife. You never cook anymore.

[He stands up, grabbing his plate. He stomps across the kitchen to the trash can, and throws out the food on his plate, of which he has only eaten one bite. He leaves the room. Lydia is seen staring at her food, slowly cutting the chicken with her fork and knife.]

BLACKOUT