Warming or The Modern Phoebus
ACT I
This is not a play.
EXTERIOR: We open on the WHITE TOWER, a high end apartment complex at the center of a city at the axis of the world. The globe moves like a gyroscope with this building as its foot, balancing.
Someone has started a small fire in the White Tower’s basement.
No one has smelled the smoke yet.
INTERIOR: The WHITE TOWER has 1,994 floors and at the top, shines its most expensive penthouse complex. It is the literal and figurative crown jewel of the White Tower. Its windows sparkle if the sun has set or not, thanks to the massive glittering incandescent flood lights that never dim, installed a decade ago along the window sills.
This penthouse at the top of the White Tower has been reserved by the same family for nearly six generations — the wealthy and morally dubious Tar family. Despite their hundreds of attempts at buying the building, each landlord has proven to be more tight-fisted than the last. This of course has driven the Tar family into near detrimental heel digging as they now refuse to give up the penthouse despite the rising cost of the rent.
TERRY TAR stands in the living room of the penthouse. The taste of scotch has ingrained itself into his teeth. He admires the massive portrait on his wall.
His wrinkling skin is pulled taught via clothespins at the back of his head. There are five.
His expensive dye job cannot hide his stubborn gray roots nor can his strip mall chic pleated suit disguise the continuous glucose monitoring device strapped to his hip in a designer holster. It reminds him when to take his insulin.
It hums quietly.
He stares at the portrait. It is of Terry’s great grandfather. The painter edged the subject’s fingers in black, dripping the oil he claimed to have clawed out of the very ground himself —
TERRY
You were a great man. A hard working man.
Terry does not know that his great great grandfather happened to win the family oil field in a standoff between him and two unarmed Mexicans.
Terry stares at the wall-sized painting. Most of all, Terry stares at his great great grandfather’s hard-worked and filthy hands.
He, like every Tar before him, thinks the painting to be of a good and honorable man. He smacks his lips and walks onword.
He walks into the penthouse entryway.
He has forgotten why.
In the penthouse entryway stands a life sized polished tree statue. This single tree took forty-three trees, seven-hundred man hours, and one dead elephant to create. The massive wooden tree statue is garnished with taxidermied bush meat set into wired poses. They hang down from branches and are midwalk with their babies wired to their back. The tree looms over all who find themselves lost in the entryway.
Terry Tar is tired. He sighs and with difficulty sits down on one of his turkish rugs beneath his tree statue. He pats his breast pocket and remembers why he’s there.
He pulls out a cigar and a lighter. He spins the wheel but the flint won’t catch. He seethes.
Enter CASANDRA CREE, the millennial cleaning lady who got this maid job at the White Tower almost entirely because she laminated her resume and also the landlady was her sister in law — a sister in law who hated her but hated coming across as jaded to her judgmental extended family even more. Casandra sighs, knocks, then pushes her cart into the penthouse.
TERRY
Cassy — would you be a sweetheart and help a guy out?
Terry holds out his lighter that won’t stay lit and the cigar that just won’t light. His smile strains against the clothespins clinging to his scalp.
CASANDRA
Mr. Tar, I —
Casandra shifts. Terry frowns the pitiful crestfallen frown of a 60 something old man who lives alone and is actually somewhere in the 100’s. She sighs.
CASANDRA (CONT’D)
Sure — oka— I mean, alright Mr. Tar.
She kneels down and holds out her hand. He gives her the lighter sheepishly. She raises a brow. He hands her the cigar too.
CASANDRA (CONT’D)
You’ve got to smoke these yourself one day.
TERRY
And have fussy Ms. Heft smell them through the garbage shoot? Might work since she smokes like a goddamn chimney. But they’re gifts — which means,
He spreads his arms wide.
TERRY (CONT’D)
Enjoy, whether you like it or not. And I clearly do not.
He laughs.
He smacks his lips.
She puffs at the cigar and coughs before going in again. It tastes expensive. This is a treat for her, a more common treat now that she’s worked nearly a year cleaning Terry’s penthouse, but a treat either way.
They sit there a moment in silence. Casandra puffs at the cigar quickly, like it’ll dissolve between her fingers if she doesn’t smoke it fast enough.
CASANDRA
I better not see your cast iron pan in your dishwasher again.
TERRY
I’ll get a new one.
Casandra raises her brow. Terry laughs.
TERRY
I kid. I kid. You know. I don’t know how to even use that pan. Should just give it to you. Swear I have four of ‘em, keep forgetting I’ve bought one already. Doc says they got meds to keep my face young but nothing for the noggin.
CASANDRA
What would I do with a fucking pan — sir. More dishes to do is what you’d be handing me.
Terry laughs. Casandra smiles. She sucks down a bit more of the cigar before putting it out on her apron. Its hem is full of holes from doing this. She stands and pulls her cleaning cart with her.
Terry tries to stand with some effort. She goes to help and he shoves her off.
His hands shake but he struggles again to get to his feet. This is not the first time he has demanded to suffer alone. She does not question him. She takes her cleaning cart with her to the kitchen and leaves Terry to shake and shiver to his feet on his own.
His knee locks up. He sits. He tries again. He grabs at the tree statue but his hand slips. He gasps.
His left leg seizes and he has to make the knee bend with one hand, keeping himself steady against the tree with the other.
As he moves, one of the clothespins shifts and falls to the floor. Terry’s face droops to the left side like a deflating balloon.
He makes a noise in the back of his throat. He stoops down again to get the pin. He gurgles.
Once he has the pin, Terry tries to stretch his face back in place but his hands shake too much. His lips are still drooping to one side by the time he has finished. Unknowingly, he has clipped the clothespin to one of the bush meat’s wired hands.
It takes an uncomfortable two minutes for him to stand.
Terry is angry. He is angry in that wealthy way, where the emotion has been whittled down to its center with nothing to fray its edges. The sort that makes rich people yell at waiters for no good reason. He holds this feeling.
Finally, he follows Casandra out of the entryway and into the kitchen. The dead bushmeat looks impossibly small against its dead home. It stares at nothing. It wishes for nothing. Its eyes are made of glass.
INTERIOR: Terry Tar’s kitchen is beautiful. Casandra can open the fridge and the oven at once and still walk from one side of the room to the other. Unlike her own kitchen, Terry’s is most definitely not a hallway crammed with kitchen-esque materials. Sometimes, Casandra thinks she is a woman doomed since childhood to squeeze and putter through hallway kitchens while cleaning much larger ones.
Casandra sometimes has nightmares of getting lost in this kitchen. Her mother calls this ‘being scared of having nice things’. Casandra thinks her mother is wrong.
Casandra thinks, as she empties the fridge of all the wet and molding take-out containers into a trash bag, that she’s scared of being in nothing but nice kitchens. That someday, she’ll walk into this man’s apartment and decide she doesn’t want to leave. That all she’ll have to do is ask to stay and the man will smile and say she doesn’t have to pay. That her company is just enough to cover rent.
TERRY
I swear you get more done in your two hours here than I do in a whole week.
Cassandra feels her smile crack at its corners.
CASANDRA
I — I don’t want to be in your hair too long Mr. Tar.
TERRY
Course course. Are you to blame then for why I’m going bald?
They laugh and hers is strained and his is not and he does not notice and never has and never thinks he should have to anyway.
He is standing too close. Somehow, in this very very large kitchen, Terry is standing too close and does not realize. He does not care to realize.
He smacks his lips.
CASANDRA
Guess I should get to work then.
TERRY
It’s Tuesday isn’t it? You’ve been working here almost a year then. That’s a big deal.
Casandra pauses in emptying the fridge of its spoiled contents. Her hands shake a moment, then still. A half used bottle of insulin sits on the shelf in the fridge door like a prize.
CASANDRA
Yeah, it’s, it’s a good job.
TERRY
And your mom’s doing well? You guys still live together? You must keep a clean house for her.
Casandra does not move. She’s staring at a moldy roast beef sandwich slowly decomposing at the back of the fridge. Not the insulin bottle. The insulin bottle is nothing. It’s a rat. It’s a stick of lit dynamite. Terry walks away and still Casandra does not move.
Terry starts mixing himself a drink behind Casandra. The liquor is clear and smells strongly even from a decanter. It should be chilled, whatever it is, but it isn’t.
Casandra turns and takes the insulin bottle with both hands before putting it into her apron pocket. She continues to clean out the fridge.
A sudden and familiar beep sounds from Terry’s belt and he stops with the glass half way to his lips.
TERRY
Damnit, already?
Terry laughs.
TERRY (CONT’D)
You’d think I wake up every morning eating candy bars or something.
To Casandra’s great relief, she hears Terry take a gulp of his drink.
TERRY
You mind fixing me a dose, Cassy? I think I still got a bottle open.
Casandra fists the bottle in her pocket. She stays quiet too long.
TERRY
You know how right? I’m sorry — I thought your mom was diabetic too? If you’d rather not, I understand, just — wait no …
Terry looks up and out and appears to be very far away. As if his train of thought had vanished behind one of his Egyptian cotton curtains.
TERRY (CONT’D)
You’ve helped me before, right? You okay to fix me a dose then?
CASANDRA
It’s no problem.
She smiles and slams the fridge shut with enough force to rattle the cabinets. She sets her trash bag aside and takes the bottle from her apron.
CASANDRA (CONT’D)
You take 2mls I’m guessing?
Terry laughs.
TERRY
What a pro — got it right on the nose. Needles are right — yeah that drawer right there.
Casandra cleans the bottle with the disinfection wipes from the drawer and fills the needle. She hands it off to Terry. He gives himself the shot without a wince.
Casandra grips the bottle so tight she worries it’ll slip right out onto the floor. There’s still some insulin left. Maybe 15mls.
Terry’s CGM beeps happily and Casandra sneers a bit like a dog, quietly, lips pulled around her teeth. She curses every prick of every finger on her mother’s hands. She does not regret the six other dregs of bottles she’s taken over the last year.
TERRY
Buddy of mine, Murphy, he made a killing off this shit.
He waves the needle, smiling. It looks garish with his still drooping lips.
TERRY (CONT’D)
Genius I’m telling you. I mean, it’s business 101 you know? Create demand and then scarcity. Swear he does the same thing in our poker game if you get my drift. The demand for aces is high and then boom — nothing but scarcity. Fella has all of ‘em every time.
CASANDRA
I should really take this trash out, before it starts to smell.
TERRY
Oh right, of course.
She can hear his lips smacking from a room away.
Casandra hauls the garbage out of the penthouse and into the hall, about to throw it down the shute. She opens the door and the smell of smoke wafts out.
CASANDRA
Bastard was right. Old bat on 1,993 smokes like a chimney doesn’t she?
Casandra drops the garbage down the chute. The bottle rests in her pocket, safe. A magic amulet. A gold bar. Her prize.
The elevator at the end of the hall dings and opens. Out struts LAURA LEND.
Laura is the owner and landlady of White Tower. She dresses like it, which means about ten years below her actual forty. The skirt is a hair too short. She wears only gold jewelry, sleek and styled. Laura is a self made woman who now pays people to do things like make her. Her handbag is sewn from the face of the last landlord of the White Tower. The face is caught mid scream. The forehead sports a polished gold zipper.
The staff are convinced the bag is a decent fake.
It isn’t.
LAURA
Is Mr. Tar in, Ms. Cree?
CASANDRA
No one’s around Laura, you can call me Cas.
LAURA
Is Mr. Tar in, Ms. Cree?
CASANDRA
Why of course Ms. Lend, Mr. Tar is serving refreshments in his kitchen.
LAURA
Don’t mock me. I’m your boss.
CASANDRA
Why whatever do you mean? This is how I always talk.
CASANDRA (UNDER HER BREATH)
Like I have a diamond studded stick up my ass.
LAURA
I’m leaving and you’re going to do your job while Mr. Tar and I have our meeting and you’re not going to bother us. Honestly Cas — Ms. Cree, have some respect for your job.
Casandra straightens.
CASANDRA
I’m wearing the apron aren’t I? Terry is —
Laura narrows her eyes.
CASANDRA (CONT’D)
— Mr. Tar is just drinking in the kitchen. Aren’t you supposed to warn tenants before you come by though? He’s not saying it but his hips are killing him. I don’t know if you’ll get any donations for your foundation out of him today.
LAURA
I’m not here for the foundation.
Laura moves to march past Casandra but pauses.
LAURA (CONT’D)
Please inform your roommates, on floor three, to pay their new rent rates by end of day or they’re out. A lot of people are trying to get a place here.
CASANDRA
You only sent the notice out yesterday. How can —
LAURA
Some cult on the news is going on about a flood caused by ice cubes.
Laura rolls her eyes.
LAURA (CONT’D)
Bunch of idiots think the world is ending. People like that will say anything to get on TV.
Casandra sobers and nods to her sister-in-law turned landlady-in-law. The third floor is where any and all in-house staff live. Crammed together around a pod style bathroom which means an average of one bath for every four people.
LAURA
That Sea Bream News place. Fish journalists don’t know what they’re talking about. Who cares about some bad plumbing in the arctic of all places? But, it’s good for business, tall building and all. Which means you and your roommates have to offer up better business or you’re out.
Cassandra nods. What did fish know about water?
LAURA
There’s no second warning here as you well know. While I'm more forgiving than …
Laura adjusts her human face bag.
LAURA
Than previous owners who would have had your friends strung up by their hair — that doesn't mean I'm a pushover.
CASANDRA
Right … that's — that's okay. I guess … I’ll let them know.
LAURA
That's me, fair and square. Now move aside Ms. Cree.
Laura raps her knuckles against the door three times but doesn’t wait for a reply before letting herself in. She closes the door behind her.
Casandra pulls out a strip of old receipt and writes out the warning to her roommates. Her handwriting is smeared in her haste.
At the end of the hall, on the 1,994th floor of the White Tower, there is a single window. Outside and nailed beside this window is a fire escape that spans the entire height of the slightly swaying building. A MESSENGER BOY sits on the fire escape a few floors down, dangling his legs over the sides. He is watching the clouds pass below him.
Casandra knocks against the railing a few times to get the boy’s attention. He glances up and scrambles up the stairs until he's face to face with Casandra.
CASANDRA
Third floor please.
She hands him the note.
MESSENGER BOY
That’s a long trip don’t you think? Ms. Lend doesn’t pay us to run all day you know.
CASANDRA
I know I —
She fishes in her pockets for a loose dollar and shoves it into the boy’s hand along with the note.
CASANDRA( CONT’D)
Floor three please, anyone is fine, no actually —
just room 45 B … please.
MESSENGER BOY
Alright, I’ll head down then.
CASANDRA
Be careful and … hold your breath around floor 1,993. Lady there likes to smoke.
ACT II
This is not a joke.
Laura breezes into Terry's apartment which is actually her apartment and appreciates the tree statue that is not her tree statue but is in an entryway that is actually in fact her entryway.
LAURA
Your designer really out did themselves.
No one answers.
LAURA (CONT’D)
I know you're here Mr. Tar. I ran into the cleaning lady on my way in.
Terry rounds the corner and smiles as he blocks any further exploration into the apartment.
TERRY
I wasn't expecting you Laura, sorry the place is a wreck. Casandra hasn't gotten ahold of it just yet.
LAURA
That’s alright. I’m not here to gawk.
Casandra enters quietly and pretends not to be obviously listening as she gets her cart.
TERRY
Feel free to vacuum like you wanted Cassy, Laura isn't staying to chat.
LAURA
Ms. Cree, we’ll be in the living room.
Laura glares at Casandra.
LAURA (CONT’D)
Try and keep things quiet, won't you?
Casandra, deciding that listening to her boss is normally not her speed, does want to hear what these two are about to duke out about. She counts herself lucky as she gets her yellow duster. Some people pay to watch rich people fight. She was getting paid to watch.
Laura and Terry sit in the living room which is also the kitchen which is also an art room. It's open concept. The room is lined with massive floor to ceiling windows nearly white with the force of the incandescent flood lights outside.
In the middle of this wall, hangs the portrait of Terry’s great great grandfather filthy with black oil. The painting stares down at the meeting and both think the man in the painting would be proud of them.
Laura leans her garish handbag against her chair and crosses her legs like an origami crane folding itself into a violent bitch.
LAURA
Thank you for letting me bend your ear Mr. Tar. I know you're very busy but I won't be long.
Terry sips from his glass. It's the same glass from the kitchen but fuller than before. His face has started to droop more dramatically. His left eye bulges from under the loose skin.
TERRY
Water? It's mineral you know. Good for digestion.
Laura eyes the glass as though she very much knows what her tenant is actually drinking, but shakes her head anyway.
Casandra begins to dust the art easel in the far corner of the kitchen/living room/art room. She pretends to admire the skillful dick portrait still in the shading process.
LAURA
Mr. Tar, I want to begin with thanking your family for their generous donation to my foundation.
TERRY
It was my sister's idea. She's always been a fan of … helping the elderly. Those less fortunate and all that.
Terry reaches to tighten one of his clothes pins but stops himself halfway to his face. He puts his hand back in his lap.
LAURA
Yes, now my foundation can reach even more people in need. Even more elderly people will be able to have their own assistant exclusively tasked with opening difficult pickle jars. But I do have some bad news.
TERRY
Has the foundation run out of super-glued lids at last?
LAURA
The check your sister wrote on behalf of your family has bounced.
Casandra knocks over a bottle of half hardened red acrylic paint. She bites off her furious cursing at the last second. The powdery paint drifts onto the floor in slow wafts.
LAURA
Ms. Cree honestly. Mr. Tar I'm so sorry, this will be coming out of her paycheck.
TERRY
For what exactly? Your ruined delivery? Cassy relax, please. You've frightened the poor thing she's about to choke from the stress. Look at her.
He takes a long sip of his drink.
TERRY (CONT’D)
Maddie told me about the check. It's a filing error. Nothing to worry about. It'll be solved in a few days. Business days, of course.
LAURA
If it was just the donation check I wouldn't have waited in my elevator for so long to come here.
TERRY
That's right, you've got your own place down below don't you? It's like, the tenth floor? Real small and humble of you Laura. Way to stay relatable.
LAURA
We're not discussing my living situation here.
TERRY
Wait, we're not discussing that beautiful unit you actually live in on floor 744? Cassy, you've gotta see it sometime. Place has the best lighting.
LAURA
Mr. Tar, your rent check bounced as well.
Casandra managed to not drop everything at that. She did however let out a less than proud squeak.
TERRY
That’s less than desirable.
Terry swishes his glass and tosses the rest down his throat.
TERRY
Can’t be helped. Must be some paper error with the business. The oil fields last forever. Which means there will always be oil which means — drum roll — my account will always have money. It’s just some floozy secretary forgetting to dot her i’s. You know how that is.
LAURA
No, I do not, Mr. Tar. You have to pay rent and I expect it to be paid.
TERRY
You know I’m good for it. My family’s lived here forever. It’s an accounting error is all. Don’t be such a hard ass. My cousin Carle, you never met him, he lived here before me, he always raved about the old landlord. That man knew how to treat people with money. Money understands money, know what I mean?
Laura sits up a bit straighter at that. She grips the hem of her pencil skirt to ground herself. The handbag stares at the dust along the crown molding.
LAURA
Mr. Tar, I run a business. Your rent is due. Everyone’s rent is due or you’ll be out on the street. I hear it’s about to get very dangerous out there.
Casandra does not miss the stink eye Laura sends her. She grabs the first cleaning supply she can reach from her cart (a toilet brush) and scurries away.
TERRY
A bunch of media lies that flood. Say someone came down into their ocean and cracked a water pipe. So now they’re calling wolf on a flood scare. What do a bunch of fish know about the weather?
INTERIOR: The BATHROOM is huge, even for a half bath although half bath is interpreted on the blueprints here as meaning a half bath with a bathtub.
The bathtub, clearly the centerpiece of the room, is carved from whale bone and decorated with delicate imprints of a pod of whales. Inside, the bathtub is etched with the outline of rib bones. So if someone were to lie back during their bath, they might feel as though they were inside of a whale carcass, feeling ribs against ribs.
The lights were already on before Casandra entered. A speaker looping quiet whale song sets her teeth on edge. A shallow moat circles the entire room with sparkling blue dyed water. She steps over it.
CASANDRA
Crazy bitch.
Casandra did not know exactly who was more crazy — the rich man who couldn’t pay rent or the landlady who thought asking would help the situation.
The porthole window above the tub rattles for a moment. Casandra notices the small hand rapping at the window. She climbs into the tub and reaches up to open the window. It’s the messenger boy.
The messenger boy could not use the fire escape to reach the bathroom on floor 1,994 and so had to balance a ladder from two floors down, on the edge of the fire escape of the apartment on floor 1,993. He does not look down.
MESSENGER BOY
A response from floor 3 miss.
He holds out a piece of paper. It smells heavily of smoke. It reads:
RENT PAID
AC BROKE
HOT
HELP
CASANDRA
Why is it so short? Were they rushing or something?
MESSENGER BOY
We charge by the letter now. New policy.
CASANDRA
Since when?
MESSENGER BOY
Since this morning.
CASANDRA
Well they didn’t sign their name. You know who sent this?
MESSENGER BOY
That’s a new feature. Costs extra.
CASANDRA
You saw them! They handed you the paper. Just tell me.
The boy shakes his head. Casandra fishes out another dollar.
MESSENGER BOY
It was Mrs. Cree who sent it. She was sweating up a storm. Anything below the fifth floor is roasting right now. Already six people have sent ‘help’ messages today. Fainting I’m guessing.
CASANDRA
Shit. Okay, boss lady is here so I’ll ask her and see if she can get the handyman down there.
The messenger boy leaves down his ladder and Casandra makes sure to lock the window behind her. Something smelled awful outside, like burnt pork brisket.
Casandra enters the living room, toilet brush brandished like a sword.
LAURA
It is not my job to call your secretary Mr. Tar. You need to settle this debt as soon as possible.
TERRY
You understand this stuff more than me Laura. What if I mess it up even more? This junk is all automated normally. Whatever went wrong could even be on your end!
LAURA
It is most definitely not —
CASANDRA
Laura — Ms. Lend … I mean. I —
Casandra lowers the toilet brush under the dual gaze of the world.
CASANDRA
There’s something — something’s wrong with the AC units downstairs. A messenger just —
TERRY
This whole place is falling to pieces. Honestly, I should call an inspector. Have them inspect all this disrespect and respect all these specs. My great great grandfather would have fixed these faulty air conditioners with his own hands. Unlike you Laura.
CASANDRA
Ms. Lend —
LAURA
Cass — Ms. Cree, I hoped you knew not to interrupt a meeting, you wonder how people move up in the ranks here, well it’s not by being rude and barging into other people’s living rooms.
TERRY
Laura —
LAURA
It’s Ms. Lend, Mr. Tar. Honestly.
TERRY
Stop with the damn straight lace act.
LAURA
Stop dodging rent. I came here to inform you of your missed payment as a form of good will. And instead of being thanked and apologized and all sorts of reasonable begging, you’re cursing at me and talking like we’re two friends at a bar.
TERRY
I’m being casual, Laura, because you waltzed into my fucking home without any kind of warning and keep screaming at my poor cleaning lady. You’re here in a tizzy about some missing rent that is clearly a filing error on some other person’s part but you’ve marched all the way up here angry as a bull like I did this to purposefully ruffle your oh so neat and tidy feathers. Trust me Laura, I try to avoid you and your lot at all costs.
Laura stands. The hem of her skirt has started to fray. Casandra realizes that she’s never seen Laura in any other suit when around the building.
LAURA
While this is your place of living, this is also my place of business and I refuse to sit and be spoken to as if I do nothing to keep you living comfortably. And Ms. Cree is not your cleaning lady. She’s mine. I just let you borrow her. Something I am currently reconsidering.
Casandra stills. The bottle of insulin feels warm in her pocket.
CASANDRA
Ms. Lend, don’t you think that’s a bit harsh? I mean … isn’t my working here part of his contract?
LAURA
Paying rent is also part of his contract but clearly that piece of paper doesn’t matter.
TERRY
Why do you need this money so bad? I can’t be the first person to miss a rent payment in this building. Do you come up and twist their ears too or is it just me?
LAURA
I’ll send my lawyer to collect your late rent Mr. Tar.
CASANDRA
Ms. Lend, please, you’re not serious right? I mean, Mr. Tar — I really — I’m very attached to … cleaning the … the bathtub here …
LAURA
I’ll be asking you what you really mean by that statement later. However, I will remind you that relationships with the residents are strictly off limits for staff.
Laura picks up her bag and turns to leave.
TERRY
You really think this’ll go well? It’s a filing error. No lawyer in their right mind would help you. I’ll pay the late fee and be done with it.
LAURA
I've recently decided to triple the late fee.
TERRY
Fine then. I don't care. What's it now, $300? $400? This scare tactic might work for your third floor dust patrol but you're talking pennies here.
Laura seethes and perhaps, on someone with broader shoulders she might have looked intimidating.
LAURA
And I'll be reassigning Ms. Cree to the 1,993rd floor. I can't have my staff getting distracted or … causing distraction.
TERRY
Fine. Take her away for no reason.
CASANDRA
Do you really think that's necessary? I’d really rather not be transferred.
Terry pauses and glances over at Casandra. Something flickers over his face but then it’s gone. He sucks his teeth and his lopsided face breaks into a wide grin.
TERRY
Cassy! You do like me. I knew it.
LAURA
Ms. Cree —
CASANDRA
It’s not like that! I mean. I don't. It's the principle of the thing. I'm getting punished for him not following the rules. That's not fair Ms. Lend.
LAURA
I don't think you understand the meaning of fairness Ms. Cree, or punishment.
Laura walks over to Casandra. Casandra mistakes the smell of smoke for Laura's perfume.
LAURA (CONT’D)
Unfair would be me not hiring you and instead giving your position to someone with actual experience. Unfair would be reassigning you to unclog every shower drain between floors 12 and 49.
Laura is very close now. Casandra grips her toilet brush and pretends to herself that it is a sword. The smell of smoke is unmistakable. Perhaps even, the room looks a bit hazy to Casandra.
LAURA
But I remember what it was like thinking everything was unfair when in reality everything is just very very difficult, Ms. Cree. It's important that you learn that. If you learn it now then you won’t have to learn it later, by someone else’s hand. Right now you might think me harsh but trust me there are people in this world far worse than me, worse than this place, and you’re lucky to be here instead of struggling and drowning. At least this high up your head is above water.
LAURA (CONT’D)
Now why don't you tell me the real reason you so desperately want to stay cleaning this penthouse in particular? Is he tipping you? Maybe he gives you presents from time to time? Or is it worse Ms. Cree? Because it's not so difficult to guess now that I'm looking. Our aprons don't have pockets Ms. Cree. Turn them out. Now.
The FIREFIGHTER appears at the row of tall windows in sight of Laura who rolls her eyes. The firefighter is shrouded in heavy canvas pants and matching jacket. They wear heavy boots, a hat, gloves, and what appears to be three separate pairs of suspenders. No one can see their face. Hearing the firefighter is difficult. The firefighter bangs on the window with both heavily gloved fists.
FIREFIGHTER
—— fire —— please —— fire.
LAURA
Excuse me, I will decide when I fire my own staff.
TERRY
Now Laura, is that polite? The firefighters in this city are public servants and you should listen to what they have to say. Go on son.
Terry gestured to the firefighter, who responds with further banging. The window shakes. The firefighter is cast in shadow as one of the floodlights catches their outline. Casandra hates those damn lights.
LAURA
Mr. Tar please stay out of this. Cassandra, turn out your pockets right now or you’re fired.
TERRY
It’s solid advice. See, she’s doing just like you asked, no questions, no squabbling.
LAURA
Mr. Tar —
Casandra turns out her pockets, the ones her mother had sewn into her apron. Casandra had scoured the craft store until she found a fabric nearly the right shade of blue. It is this aspect weirdly that saddens her most as she palms the bottle of insulin.
LAURA (CONT’D)
Open your hand now Casandra. You’re acting like a child, hiding your stained sheets.
Laura grabs Casandra’s wrist, forcing the bottle into view. Its patient name damns her in black blocky letters.
LAURA
You little thief.
Terry tries to stand to see but his hip locks. He struggles and a bit of help would allow him to stand quickly but instead Terry grits his teeth.
CASANDRA
I just — I just keep it on me in case he needs it. He said it was okay. He can’t always get to the fridge in time.
Laura turns to a still hunched and struggling Terry. She lets Casandra go.
LAURA
Is this true?
Terry watches Casandra for a long moment.
A stillness falls amidst the banging of the firefighter.
TERRY
Course, she just gave me a dose when she walked in. She helps me out from time to time. I can forget sometimes you know. It’s really sweet of her to keep me on my doses. Do you have a rule about your staff being helpful now?
LAURA
I didn’t know you were diabetic.
TERRY
So you’re barging into my home and asking for my medical history now. What are you, my insurance?
The firefighter, angry at being forgotten, bangs harder on the window. The glass shakes and warbles under the force. Terry at last, manages to stand.
FIREFIGHTER
Heat —— warn —
TERRY
The man’s right. I’ve been sweating through my briefs for nearly an hour. Cassy, could you help an old man and get me some of that custard — yes it’s in the fridge.
LAURA
And put that insulin back where you found it Ms. Cree! I don’t need a lawsuit on top of my lawsuit against Mr. Tar. I don’t care how sweet it makes you.
TERRY
You’d never win —
But Casandra isn’t listening. She is sweating clean through her apron at this point. She clutches the insulin and shoves it back into her pocket.
Casandra is quick to scurry away to the kitchen and brings back the custard that is nearly frozen solid and a weak looking spoon. The freezer is stuffed with the came packs of custard, all half opened and forgotten and frozen again. She finds one still with a seal and returns to the living room.
The painting shakes under the force of the firefighter’s fists. It makes the late Tar grandfather look like he’s sweating oil.
She hands Terry the custard.
Terry foregoes the spoon and holds the ice block against his aching hip.
TERRY
Got a doctor slash prince friend in India who says this sucks out the pain. Never felt better in my life you know. The man is a genius. Pain pills got nothing on this imported custard.
FIREFIGHTER
— please —— spread —— evac —
TERRY
You’ve used this stuff before?
Terry holds up the custard to the possibly furious, possibly exasperated firefighter. Their face is hidden behind a fogging set of goggles and a gas mask.
TERRY (CONT’D)
You are the authority here. My prince friend always told me to eat this stuff but if you think spreading it would work better ...
Terry opens the custard and scrapes at the brick of frozen milk to try spreading it over this beslacked hip.
CASANDRA
I don’t think that’s what they meant.
LAURA
This is ridiculous.
Laura marches up to the window until she is nearly eye to goggle with the firefighter.
LAURA
I need to speak to whoever's in charge. This is an abuse of power if I’ve ever seen one, coming right up to someone’s home like this. It’s terribly impolite. You should have at least knocked.
The firefighter bangs against the window again.
FIREFIGHTER
Please —
LAURA
Begging won’t get you out of this. Who do I speak to, a chief ... a CEO?
TERRY
I don’t think this method is working.
The custard starts to melt and drip off Terry’s hip and onto his gold embossed carpet. Terry’s face droops with the force of his frown. A second clothespin pings off of his scalp and bounces near the platinum end table. His cheeks wrinkle and deflate like juiced prunes.
Terry stares at the clothespin.
TERRY
Goodness, must be a little stressed. I’m sure my laugh lines are coming out. Shit. Cassy, could you mop up this custard, thank you baby doll. I don’t think this firefighter knows what they’re talking about.
CASANDRA
Don’t call me that please.
TERRY
What, Cassy?
LAURA
A pet name? Really Ms. Cree. You grovel so easily don’t you? This world will be inherited by a bunch of spineless children.
Casandra finishes wiping up the melted custard. The carpet is hopelessly stained.
TERRY
Laura, lay off the poor girl. You pay her what, seven bucks to listen to you screech?
CASANDRA
It’s ten fifteen actually.
TERRY
Oh well, that’s plenty actually. Goodness Laura you’re running two charities.
FIREFIGHTER
Go — don’t — floor 1,994.
Casandra is the youngest of our triad and as such, is the first to perk up, nose in the air, pulled on a thread that is the smell of smoke.
CASANDRA
Do you smell that?
LAURA
It’s Mr. Tar’s signature scent, don’t pay any mind to —
CASANDRA
Something’s burning. It’s … yeah something’s burning.
Casandra rounds on Laura.
CASANDRA
Did you send your guy to fix the AC on three? I told you it was busted.
LAURA
Think for a minute before wasting my time Ms. Cree. How in the world could I have sent anyone anywhere when I’m here trying to get Mr. Tar to pay his fair share?
TERRY
In short no, no she’s done nothing and is angry and so continues to do nothing.
CASANDRA
You don’t think it could have busted a fuse or something, caught fire? Can AC’s catch fire?
Terry shrugs and pours himself another drink from a flask hidden in his jacket pocket. Laura ignores her. The firefighter tries to pull something out of their belt but fumbles it. Whatever it was, it fell to the sidewalk in a minute long whistling suicide.
Casandra marches out of the living room and back to the porthole window in the bathroom.
She opens the bathroom window wide as it could go and scans the fire escape it led to.
The fire escape is empty as far as she can tell — needs her eyes checked for sure. Glasses aren’t cheap though. Something flickers down below like a fish flashing scales under dark water. Then it’s gone. The smell of smoke floats in the air. She coughs and bends low. The cough shakes her whole chest.
She tells herself it’s the clouds she’s seeing.
She doesn’t believe her own lie.
ACT III
This is not a drill.
Casandra marches back into the living room. The firefighter manages to pull out a marker and start writing on the window to Laura’s horror, but the letters are shaky and backwards. No one but the firefighter can read it. Terry has nearly finished his drink.
LAURA
These windows cost more than your car! Stop now and I might leave you with the clothes covering your ass.
The firefighter does not stop.
CASANDRA
I think the building is on fire.
TERRY
That’s just the old bat below us. I told you she smokes that one. All day and night. I’m sure her walls are yellow and sweating. Laura, you know about her right? Why don’t you go down there and bother her instead.
LAURA
It’s a medical necessity that she smokes. She has a doctor’s note. I said stop writing!
TERRY
I don’t think he can hear you.
LAURA
This is most definitely a woman, excuse you.
TERRY
I’m not so sure. Cassy you're young, should we ask?
CASANDRA
I saw something, near the fire escape. I think something’s wrong. We should check it out, or one of us should.
LAURA
Fine fine, go take an unauthorized break in front of your boss. Don’t expect to be welcomed back into the building. Now Terry, the rent really should have been paid last week —
CASANDRA
I smelled smoke. I saw something, flames I think.
LAURA
Wouldn’t that be convenient for you?
CASANDRA
Convenient?
LAURA
It’s obvious something is going on here. You and Mr. Tar are in cahoots —
TERRY
No one says cahoots anymore.
LAURA
You’re covering for him or he’s covering for you and it wouldn’t surprise me if that woman —
CASANDRA
Why don’t you just ask? Just ask how they identify. It isn’t hard —
Laura points dramatically at the still scribbling firefighter.
LAURA
— was part of this. You get me out of this building, so you can what, Mr. Tar gets to keep on treating the landlady like she’s just a tin can in his way. Kick her aside and nothing will happen. You think you can do whatever you want Ms. Cree just because you’ve got this powerful man beside you.
CASANDRA
We’re not even friends! I don’t —
TERRY
We are too friends.
CASANDRA
I didn’t even know his name was Terry!
TERRY
You wrote it on my birthday card!
CASANDRA
Your sister sent you that card. For the last time I have never sent a card in my life. I don't even know how to mail a card!
LAURA
And now there’s apparently a fire that threatens my life’s work! No. There’s something going on. You’re both hiding something. I can smell it. I can feel it in the air. It’s disgusting. So just pay me the rent Mr. Tar! Write the check. I know you have the means. I know you have the money. Just own up and give me what you owe. But no, you just keep drinking. How many is that today?
Terry finishes his drink with a smack of his lips.
TERRY
You’re acting like you’ve never had a drink with brunch. While you’re over here being a nasty bitch, I’m over here making sense. I’m not going to pay you. I refuse. This is ridiculous. A man of my — my stature, shouldn’t have to, to stoop and do whatever you demand of me. Cassy, my family has lived in this building longer than this woman has been alive. But because she dotted an ‘I’ and crossed a ‘T’, that means that I have to pay her for the roof and the floor and the beautiful floodlights that had been promised to me by my great great grandfather. I own a company that does things and I foster it into growing by continuing to be alive. I sign my name when my secretary asks and my hand cramps you know. What do you do Laura? What do you add to the complex? Nothing. Cassy here, she cleans the place. Me, I require my living space to be cleaned. But you don’t do anything Laura. All you do is march up here and claim to rule this place like a king without knights to call to a war that doesn’t exist to claim people for a religion you fucking made up one day.
The machine at Terry’s hip beeps twice and a light flashes through the silk of his shirt. He is low on insulin.
TERRY (CONT’D)
Shit. Gimme a minute. I just need, no I don’t need help I can do it myself. Christ. Don’t look at me — just — just don’t look. I just need a minute.
Terry takes an uncomfortably long moment to start his slow walk to his kitchen. There are only three clothespins left struggling to hold onto the wrinkled skin at the back of his head.
CASANDRA
You’re not listening to me. I think there’s a fire.
LAURA
There is no fire! I don’t know how stupid you think I am but a fire couldn’t happen and us just not know about it. The alarms would have gone off.
Laura pauses, hand raised. There is only silence. No alarm. No flashing lights. Casandra worries her lip. She sets the toilet brush in her cart awkwardly.
Casandra does not remember that she is holding the last bottle of insulin in Terry’s fridge.
The firefighter’s banging on the window has become background noise, like the beating of a second heart.
CASANDRA
Maybe the alarm isn’t working?
Laura scoffs and turns back to the firefighter. Laura stands on her tiptoes against the window to reach the safety locks for the seven foot tall windows.
CASANDRA
I know what I saw. I’m not crazy. Maybe I don’t even care if you fire me. Maybe I should just leave.
TERRY from the kitchen
Cassy, where’s my medicine? I can’t find it. You didn’t throw it out by mistake did you?
Casandra stalls in the middle of hauling her cleaning cart with her. Laura unlocks the window and swings it open. The wind is cataclysmic and keeps her from hearing Terry.
The firefighter clings to their window as it swings out. Their gloved fingers slip against the glass.
FIREFIGHTER
You — need to — evacuate. Now.
LAURA
Is that right? How much did they pay you? What are you, some adrenaline junkie from the improv cult? You can stop the act.
FIREFIGHTER
The fire has spread past the 600th floor. You need to — it’s not — please.
The wind drowns out some of their words.
The smell of smoke burns Casandra’s nose.
CASANDRA
I’m leaving.
Casandra turns and slams into Terry. He’s sweating and pale around the eyes.
TERRY
Where’d I put my meds? You know, the bottle the, the — you know what it’s called. It’s the —
The machine at Terry’s hip lets out a frustrated beep. With the window open, the smell of smoke hits everyone in earnest. Even through his drooping face, Terry’s pain is clear.
CASANDRA
Terry, are you, your hip must be killing you. Come on, sit down.
TERRY
Where’d, I must have set them down somewhere. You’re always straightening up after me, baby doll. I checked the kitchen and the study but it’s not there.
Casandra peers past Terry and catches the nearly destroyed corner of the kitchen. The cupboards are all open and what must have been napkins have been tossed to the side. An entire jar of salsa has spilled onto the counter.
The bottle feels hot in her pocket.
CASANDRA
How much do you need, do you think?
TERRY
I don’t … I don’t remember.
The window cracks and the firefighter screeches as they swing for a moment above the sidewalk. Laura reaches out and hauls the firefighter into the penthouse by one of their many sweater vests. The firefighter reeks of smoke.
FIREFIGHTER
We need to leave. The fire escape’s this way.
LAURA
I’m gonna need some ID.
FIREFIGHTER
It’s — we don’t have time for this. You must not have been able to see me too well through the glass.
LAURA
We saw you plenty and I’m disappointed in the fire department for their shoddy work, if that’s even who you really work for.
The firefighter fumbles through a belt then a pocket and inside of that pocket a small box and after inputting a code through a decoder ring, opens this box, which finally presents their ID. It is the size of a gum wrapper.
FIREFIGHTER
Here, here's my badge. Now we really don't have time. The fire hoses all have leaks and all we had on hand was a tea set to try and carry water.
LAURA
This badge doesn't even look real.
CASANDRA
Have you ever seen a firefighter's badge?
TERRY
Oh! I have. I remember. It was six, maybe seven years ago. I called the fire department because of little-miss-chimney-smoke downstairs. Thought the whole place was gonna come down on me.
CASANDRA
Then you look at it then.
TERRY
Jesus, my eyes are not what they used to be. Cassy, do you remember where you put my readers? If I had my readers then I’d be more than willing. But, the cruel irony of it is that I need to see to find my readers and need my readers to see.
CASANDRA
If your eyes are that bad you should just get some proper glasses. But, I wouldn’t touch your glasses, not that I’ve ever seen them Terry.
TERRY
So now you remember my name.
The machine at Terry’s hip gives three sharp beeps not dissimilar from a fire alarm.
LAURA
Mr. Tar, please shut that thing up. I can’t think with all this noise. Honestly, this firefighter is sounding more and more like a quack or worse — a trespasser.
TERRY
Cassy dear, Shit,I forgot to take my insulin this morning. Could you give me a dose? Machine says it’s a three-er.
CASANDRA
Can’t it wait? I’m starting to smell smoke now that we’re talking about this fire. I really think we should leave.
FIREFIGHTER
Right. Yes. Let’s go.
TERRY
You’re not a very convincing firefighter. You aren’t screaming or on fire or anything. Laura for once you might be right. This man might be trying to rob me or worse, seduce me! In my own home —
FIREFIGHTER
My job is to fight the fire, not be on fire. Here, miss, I think you could fit through this bathroom window down the hall for the fire escape. I had the blueprints on hand.
The air starts to gray out with smoke. Something rumbles down below. The firefighter urges Casandra to enter the bathroom in hopes of escaping through the porthole window. Terry’s insulin censor beeps and does not stop. It is horrible.
FIREFIGHTER
Miss, come on.
Casandra dithers. She shoves her hands in her pockets as though thinking it over.
LAURA
Come on Ms. Cree. Run away with the thief. I’m sure Mr. Tar here won’t miss what you’ve stolen.
CASANDRA
I haven’t stolen anything.
LAURA
Then give him the damn shot.
TERRY
Cassy dear, I think I left the oven on again. Could you check it? It’s — oh wait it’s me. I must. I must have forgotten to take my — my shot.
FIREFIGHTER
The building is on fire. I insist. All of you must evacuate right now.
LAURA
My building is not on fire. It wouldn’t dare be on fire.
The fire reaches the elevator hallway. It can be heard outside. Flames begin to flick underneath the front door.
FIREFIGHTER
Then what’s that? There’s smoke seeping under the door there.
LAURA
It’s a trick. A bit of smog caught in the light.You’re crazy.
CASANDRA
There’s — Laura come on. It’s a fire. I —
The smoke has started to fill the room in coils now. It billows from under the front door and rises to the ceiling before falling down on top of them.
FIREFIGHTER
This is my final warning. I’m leaving without you.
LAURA
If you leave you’re fired Casandra. Only a guilty, no good, lazy, thief would run away and with an old man’s medicine. I knew I shouldn’t have hired you. I have enough layabouts as it is.
Laura steps closer to Casandra and the firefighter. Terry leans heavily against his couch. His face droops down to his collar. His breathing is not right.
The sound of flames can be heard now. It crackles and hisses like vipers beneath their feet.
LAURA (CONT’D)
I worked hard for everything my entire life. I clawed up the ranks of this building with my god damn fingernails and teeth. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t question what I was told. Throw this away Laura — consider it done. Eat this Laura — finished without complaint. Don’t sit down Laura. Don’t go to the dentist Laura. You have to hurt him, Laura. You have to show him who’s boss. Take diving lessons. Go and break some stupid pipes, Laura. Well I did it. I took my lumps and now that it’s your turn it’s all suddenly too difficult. You young people are all the same. Too difficult to grit your teeth and do the hard jobs. Too difficult to keep your hands out of the till for one day. Suddenly no one can remember to pay rent when it’s Ms. Lend who’s cashing the check.
TERRY
I didn’t — forget.
Another clothespin pings off and lands on the polished floor. Terry can hardly see out from under the folds of skin melting off of him now.
LAURA
My building isn’t on fire. It wouldn’t fucking dare be on fire.
LAURA (CONT'D)
This building is the only staff member worth keeping.
Laura marches over to the front door, just behind the wooden statue of the Brazilian tree. The bushmeat stare at the front door, at Laura.
The tree blocks the view of Laura and the front door. The hinges creak as the door opens. Smoke pours from the hallway. Heat fills the room.
ACT IV
This is not a pipe.
The door is open. Laura lets out a small noise. Then a hiss.
It takes a moment for Laura to appear from behind the statue. At first it looks like she’s covered in dark ash. She is too far away.
Laura opens her mouth and we realize, everyone in the room, that she isn’t blinking, perhaps in shock. In fact. Laura’s face hardly moves beyond her lips as they suck for the moisture that doesn’t exist along her stark white teeth. Laura does not have any eyelids. What first appeared to be ash is skin, cooked to a crisp.
LAURA
There —
TERRY
Laura, god almighty. Cassy can you open a window maybe? It’s a bit — it’s a bit stuffy.
LAURA
There — There is … no fire.
From the open door, air allows the fire in the hall to grow. It quickly catches onto the highly flammable bourbon soaked tree statue. It goes up like an oil barrel lit on purpose to collect the insurance money at a family oil field.
The bushmeat stare. The clothespin Terry had left pinned to one of the monkeys, pings and lands at Laura’s feet.
Laura folds herself under the tree. She does not blink. She fingers a loose thread in her skirt. There are embers winking in her hair.
CASANDRA
Laura, come on. You’re family. Please just come with me.
LAURA
It’s … safe … here.
FIREFIGHTER
Come on.
The firefighter grabs for Casandra’s wrist, the one still deep in her pocket, fingers firmly around the bottle of stolen insulin. She holds her ground.
FIREFIGHTER
The room is gonna go up soon. We have to go. I’ll shove you through this window if I have to.
Casandra looks into the firefighter’s mask. She pauses. The smoke fills the room and Casandra lifts one foot to move towards the bathroom and the window and the fire escape and possibly safe ground that isn’t on fire, to her mother who has far less insulin than is in her pocket at this moment and will be needing it soon.
The insulin in her pocket will save her mom, if she even makes it out, for another day. Casandra can figure it out after that. Maybe insurance will replace a few things they’ve lost. The firefighter will explain how they tried to get Laura out. That they tried to do good, enough good.
Laura does not move. Her eyes stare at nothing. They are made of glass.
Terry’s machine cuts out suddenly. And the beeping that had been the soundtrack to mounting tension is cut to silence.
The wail of a sound startles some people into action.
Some people startle like a frightened deer, unable to move out of the way of a force all parties know to be far more powerful than deer skeletons.
But the failure of a sound is the step you thought to be at the top of a stair — but in the dark you miscounted. It isn’t there. And you freefall.
Casandra looks back to Terry. He has slumped over his gold embossed couch. He is not moving. The last clothespin is caught in the dregs of his thinning hair. The skin pools around his ears. Smoke.
CASANDRA
Help me carry him.
FIREFIGHTER
We don’t have time. We have to go.
Casandra rips her free hand from her pocket and pulls the firefighter by their mask.
CASANDRA
Please — Help me.
ACT VI
This is Phoebus in the driver’s seat.
Casandra is not strong. She is a cleaning lady. She bemoans the weight of her vacuum cleaner let alone the dead weight of an old man she needs to be able to possibly continue to steal from who has passed out from smoke inhalation or because he is officially too old to stand and stay awake at the same time.
Casandra holds Terry from under his arms while the firefighter fights with Terry’s slippery silk slippers.
FIREFIGHTER
Go back, no, wait, yes, there now just walk back. Jesus, watch where you’re walking.
CASANDRA
I am! Not my fault this bathroom has a moat.
She pauses to cough. The smoke slips across the ceiling like snakes.
Terry’s arm falls and takes the upper half of his body with him. He lands headfirst into his moat.
CASANDRA
Shit.
She jumps into the shallow moat to haul Terry out before he drowns.
It takes a fearful minute before she gets Terry out of the water. At this point the fire has eaten through the living room. She can hear the crackling of flames. She can hardly see. The heat presses down on them.
CASANDRA
There’s cash in that couch you know. I saw him hide some there, under the cushions.
FIREFIGHTER
Focus.
TERRY
What … what’s — I feel —
CASANDRA
The place is on fire, Terry. We need to leave. You’re not doing well.
TERRY
I’m fine.
CASANDRA
You passed out. Come on, let’s go.
TERRY
I told you I’m fine. Where’s Laura?
FIREFIGHTER
Terry … she’s, you saw her. I know you saw her.
TERRY
I have a meeting with her today and this place smells like smoke. How am I gonna talk to the landlady when you two have been smoking enough to kill anyone who walks in.
FIREFIGHTER
The building is on fire. We have to evacuate. Ms. Lend … Laura, she’s …
CASANDRA
She’s already evacuated. Got caught in the stairwell on the way up.
TERRY
Oh … alright then. Sure. I guess. I should just grab some …
The firefighter pulls Terry by the shoulder and the old man nearly buckles. His face folds swing.
TERRY
Watch the knee.
FIREFIGHTER
There’s no time. You have to go. Now.
TERRY
I’d imagine the bathroom wouldn’t be the best place to escape then. What, are you going to flush us to safety?
CASANDRA
No, we’re using the fire escapes.
TERRY
The what? You mean — that ugly metal thing on the side of this glorious building? The messenger boys use those.
Flames begin to creep past the carpet of the living room and make their way to the bathroom. Casandra hopes the moat will protect them some. The smoke however cares little for water and climbs the walls. It falls over them in suffocating waves.
CASANDRA
Well you’re going first. You’re gonna take the longest.
TERRY
The — longest how so?
It is at this point that Terry realizes, with ever growing panic, just how small the window is to the fire escape.
TERRY
Are you sure you can’t just run the faucet? The pipes here are sturdy. Water is really the best bet we’ve got. In fact, see,
Terry kneels down and begins scooping water over the flames on the other side of the mote.
TERRY (CONT’D)
See, die flames! Behold my hydraulic power!
Terry then begins to cough. It is a deep cough, the sort that breaks up flem inside the chest like a chisel to pottery.
The firefighter turns to Casandra.
FIREFIGHTER
You should leave first.
CASANDRA
I can’t. He’s the oldest. He — he should get out first.
FIREFIGHTER
I agree but he mentioned — his knees. He won’t. There’s a bit of a drop out the window. He might fall. I need you to catch him.
CASANDRA
Alright alright. Okay. You’re right.
Casandra steps into the bathtub and curls up for a moment. The air is a bit cleaner this low, sweeter almost. She imagines the whale carved into this tub is protecting her. She wished she’d taken a bath in this tub. She wished she had felt its ribs against her ribs. She wished she was warm with soap and jetted-water instead of smoke. She wished she had seen the whale when it had lived. When it was doing what it was meant to do and not cleaning toilets. The bottle of insulin hums in her pocket.
Casandra stands and shoves the window open.
The wind is powerful and it yanks the smokes out of the room for a moment only to quickly be replaced by the furnace at their backs.
She looks down at the corner of the fire escape she can see. Instead of the casual messenger boy traffic she’s used to, the path down is blocked by spouts of flames or plumes of smoke. She cannot see the bottom. She can hardly see the platform she has to jump to. Through the smoke, there might be metal grating? Or was that the guardrail? The angle was awkward since this tiny porthole window wasn’t supposed to be the escape route.
But Casandra remembers where it is. She remembers the messenger boy staring up at her and smiling at his tip. Where his ladder had been planted, firm and easy. She could make that jump.
Casandra hauls herself up by the shower rod and slips through the window feet first. She closes her eyes.
She slams stomach first into the guardrail of the fire escape. She feels it creek underneath her. It shakes. It holds.
FIREFIGHTER
Okay, he’s coming. Get ready to catch him.
The firefighter launches Terry through the tiny window.
Terry slams hard into Casandra and she shrieks more out of surprise than pain. The sound gets whipped away by the wind. Her skin prickles at the deflated skin folds pressed against her neck. Terry’s face is nearly liquid.
TERRY
Good catch Cassy.
Casandra feels the insulin bottle between them like a corn in a heel.
Terry eyes Casandra from under his folded skin. His thinning hair drips down the sides of his face, his chin, nearing his shoulders. He is covered in soot.
FIREFIGHTER
Incoming!
The firefighter lands with near acrobatic grace onto the fire escape. It is a much softer landing than Terry’s. But it is still too much.
Instead of the settling of metal, the sound of creaking and grinding metal evolves into the twisting of iron. The firefighter appears to be quite solid and unmoving. Casandra and Terry’s portion of the grate splits and begins to tilt off the side of the building.
CASANDRA
It’s detaching. It’s —
FIREFIGHTER
Hold on. Grab my hand.
The firefighter holds out their hands.
Casandra is pinned behind Terry still and can’t reach. Terry is crouched and without standing won’t reach the firefighter either.
TERRY
I can’t. My knee’s locked up. I can’t move. Stop staring at me alright. Just stop staring. I need a minute.
Casandra goes to climb over Terry but the movement only dislodges the fire escape more. She’s standing, one foot on the guard rail, one foot balanced on Terry’s shoulder.
TERRY
Get off me you dumb bitch. I can’t move. I can’t.
Terry huffs and tries to stand.
CASANDRA
Here, let me help you!
TERRY
Don’t touch me.
His knee clicks and something snaps as Terry stands.
Casandra begins to slip at the change.
Her fingers brush the firefighter’s.
Terry yanks Casandra down by her collar.
The crumbling part of the fire escape gives way and falls out from underneath them.
There’s a moment when Casandra thinks that the firefighter had managed it, had reached out and caught her.
They didn’t.
EXTERIER: The WHITE TOWER is a high end apartment complex at the center of a city at the axis of the world. The globe moves like a gyroscope with this building as its foot, balancing. It sways at times, so far one might think it will finally fall. It never does.
Someone has started a small fire in the White Tower’s basement. It has spread.
Clever people do not trust in things like fire or smoke or firefighters. As anyone who finds themselves in a burning building can attest, clever people trust in more pessimistic things.
They trust in fire escapes.
Casandra falls. She can see the smoke as she falls through it. The dusted remains of the floors, of lives, of entire generations most likely. All gone. Easy.
Terry falls beside her, howling. His skin trails after him like a faulty parachute. He grapples for her, as though she can slow his fall.
TERRY
Don’t look at me. Don’t look —
CASANDRA
Let go of me. Let go.
Something hits her. She twists in the air and catches a flash of pudgy flesh. Terry'S fingers are in her mouth. His leg is twined with hers. She gags.
She can hear him sucking his teeth right in her ear.
Something hits her again, but it's not Terry.
She’s falling too fast to notice, maybe some debris from a room?
Then again.
It hits again. It caught her wrist and jolted her a moment only to slip out right away. Terry has caught the end of her apron and holds it in a tight fist.
Casandra is screaming because it makes her feel better. But the scream is quickly ripped away. Another jolt lasts much longer. Instead of just a blur she sees nearly an entire figure. A person. Terry holds on for dear life.
TERRY
We're slowing down.
Against the forceful wind, Casandra manages to sneak a glance down.
The messenger boys, on their stomachs, arms held out at the edge of every fire escape, are trying to slow their fall. She manages to pull one arm free of Terry's grip and holds it out to be caught.
Casandra’s wrists are already aching but she doesn’t pull away when another boy grazes her hands between his. But they're too heavy, falling too fast.
He nearly got a lock on her that time. In fact. The wind isn’t so loud anymore. The smoke isn’t rushing away from her anymore like a jet trail. It’s billowing. It’s rising slowly and they're falling slow.
Another hand grabs her wrists and is nearly able to hold her before dropping her and Terry to the next level.
Nearly level twenty at this point, she thinks. It’s difficult to tell through the smoke.
Another set of hands. This one catches and it holds. Casandra swings her feet a moment. The sudden drop knocks the wind out of her and again they're falling. She feels something tear in her shoulder. They're too heavy.
CASANDRA
Terry, let go. You gotta let go.
TERRY
Are you crazy I can't - they'll drop me. Please, I’ll pay you. I’ll pay you just don’t let me fall. Don’t let me die.
CASANDRA
Terry please. They can’t hold both of us.
She starts to shove at Terry. Another messenger boy tries for the grab but can't keep their grip on her sore wrist. Casandra kicks Terry in the jaw and he screeches. His grip loosens but doesn't fail.
A messenger boy's grip holds.
MESSENGER BOY
You're too heavy I can't —
Casandra kicks at Terry. Terry slips. He clutches at a handhold in one of the cigar holes in her apron. Casandra can still feel the insulin bottle in the pocket.
MESSENGER BOY
Slipping.
Casandra reaches behind for her apron.
TERRY
No — no don’t. Please, anything, I’ll give you anything. You want the — the kitchen? The bathtub, it’s yours. I’ll pay you please just don’t —
Terry fumbles for the pocket in the apron with the insulin bottle. He pulls the bottle out.
TERRY
You drop me, you drop this too. You need it right? For … for someone. You drop me, you drop them. Just how heartless are you?
Cassandra looks at him and his drooping skin, a melting man.
TERRY
You need me. What are you without me? Without people like me. You’re nothing. You’re aimless and it’s for your own good, what I do, what I did. This building had to come down —
CASANDRA
You know how people see you? People don’t see a beautiful powerful man. I cleaned your toilets. When I remember you, it won’t be glamorous, just pathetic.
Terry scrambled for a better grip but Casandra just shook her head.
CASANDRA (CONT’D)
This isn’t about me changing your mind, or stopping you. Because it's already happened. It's about the people below you. They're burning up. We're all burning up, and now you're just extra fuel.
Casandra unties her apron. Terry falls still holding the apron in one hand, the bottle in the other. Casandra watches.
MESSENGER BOY
Grab him!
But Terry in his flailing, swings too wide. He falls just out of reach of the boys and vanishes down below. Casandra closes her eyes. She is in pain.
The messenger boy hauls her up to the fire escape at last.
MESSENGER BOY
There you are.
Casandra is crying. Her arms ache and are torn in places or shoulders or joints. She can't feel her arm anymore. She doesn’t care much.
MESSENGER BOY
Some help over here. Don’t worry Casandra, you’re alright. Your mom’s down on the lawn. We got all the staff out, we think. It was easy since they were so low already. Just a few floors. We couldn’t really do much for you since the routes got busted round 740 but we got you. We didn’t forget you were up there.
CASANDRA
I thought. I thought I was going to. They were crazy. I dropped him, oh my god, I dropped Terry.
MESSENGER BOY
It's ok, it's ok he —
CASANDRA
I was stealing and he found out and. Oh my god. He’s dead. I’m sure of it. He’s dead isn’t he?
MESSENGER BOY
Come on, we need to get down. We can use the escapes the normal way.
Casandra and the messenger boy walk hand and hand down the fire escape. Her apron is gone, leaving her in a plain shirt and slacks. She feels scared and light and mostly in shock. The EMT will explain it’s shock later. They exit the building.
Because the White Tower is the axis of the world it is not the world entire.
As the pair exit the White Tower for what is unknowingly their last time, instead of the lush green lawn or the busy boulevard outside the tower, Casandra and the messenger boy are met with water.
Waist deep water.
The ambulances can’t move because their engines are flooded. People are holed up on porch steps or the tops of cars. Any available surface has become an operating room, an oxygen tank storage space, a childcare huddle with metallic blanket forts.
Far off she can hear someone crying.
CASANDRA
It’s all like this isn’t it?
MESSENGER BOY
Yeah, yeah it’s all like this, far as the eye can see.
Casandra goes to shove her hands in her pockets but remembers at the last second that her apron is gone. She takes a deep breath — the air is sweeter down here, clearer.
She imagines the whale carved into the tub. She pretends her deep breath is its breath. Its ribs are her ribs. It's probably ashes now.
CASANDRA
Have you ever seen a whale?
MESSENGER BOY
No … are you okay? You probably hit your head pretty hard back there.
CASSANDRA
I really just — I want to see a whale.
CASANDRA (CONT’D)
A real one.
THE END
Gillian Herrin is a 4th grade English teacher in Columbus, Ohio. With a BA from the University of Iowa in English and Creative Writing she has been writing for many years. Her writing can be found in Beyond Words and is a winner of the Iowa Chapbook Prize (2019). She has lived all over the world and recently returned from teaching in Fukushima, Japan.