It is evening. The downtown apartment of Kate and Rob Feinmore. Kate’s eyes are glinting, her anger as fresh now as three hours ago when she first confronted Rob about his latest infidelity. Rob is tired, stoic. He stares at the fireplace mantle as Kate stands just left of where his eyes are fixed.
KATE: You’re not listening. You never listen. I don’t even know why I bother.
ROB: Okay, so I don’t listen. Well, I’m listening now. Talk.
KATE: Why? Exactly what good would that do now? Tell me, please. What could I possibly say now that
will change any of this?
ROB: Well, you’ve obviously made up your mind.
KATE: I’ve made up my mind? Really? That’s the line you’re going with?
ROB: Yeah. Maybe.
KATE: Classic. Just classic. Don’t you dare try to pin this on me.
ROB: Kate, how many times do I have to tell you this? For crying out loud, I didn’t sleep with her.
KATE: You never sleep with them, Rob. It’s always so perfectly innocent, it never means anything.
KATE: We took an oath, Rob. A solemn vow. To love, to cherish. Or have you forgotten the part where you promised to forsake all others? Forsake, Rob. Not jump into bed with.
ROB: You know what, you’re right. We did take a vow. And as I recall, you promised to take me for better or worse. Obviously this is worse. So how are you feeling about your solemn vow, Kate?
(Kate is silent. Rob leans back into the couch, runs his hands through his hair and sighs.)
ROB: Look, Kate. I told you. We hit a rough patch, and I messed up. But we can get through this.
KATE: Yeah? How many more rough patches can we make it through? And how many more phone calls do I have to get? How many more of my girlfriends, coworkers, family members, practically perfect strangers, are going to call just to tell me that they saw you with some woman in the lobby of St. Regis, or standing under the same umbrella in the park, or close-talking outside the door of your office building?
ROB: (angry now) Hell, I don’t know, Kate. I guess that depends on how soon you plan to change your number.
KATE: You are such a jackass. You know what? Forget it. I’m out.
(She grabs her purse and keys from the dining room table, heads for the door.)
ROB: Kate…no. Listen. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do here. Just tell me what to do.
(Kate pauses, turns to face him. Tears are streaming down her face.)
KATE: Go to hell.
(The door slams.)