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You have my word.<br />
BRIAN<br />
ERICA<br />
It must be a child. A girl. She should have imaginary tea<br />
parties, friends, feuds. She should climb a tree. But not<br />
too high. Not so high she tumbles and scrapes her perfect<br />
fingers on the way down. Life will fill the Davidoff. She<br />
will have a big tone. She will play it like she means it.<br />
BRIAN<br />
She’ll call it the <strong>Morini</strong> <strong>Strad</strong>.<br />
ERICA<br />
Do you think so?<br />
I do.<br />
BRIAN<br />
ERICA<br />
I do, too.<br />
(SHE has a pain in her chest. <strong>The</strong> silent blip<br />
becomes more frequent.)<br />
BRIAN<br />
I’ll ring the nurse’s station.<br />
ERICA<br />
No. <strong>The</strong>y don’t have what I want.<br />
(beat)<br />
Did you bring me anything?<br />
BRIAN<br />
You have to ask?<br />
(Pulls a jar of marmalade out of his coat.)<br />
Good boy.<br />
ERICA<br />
BRIAN<br />
Grand Marnier! Would you like a taste?<br />
ERICA<br />
I have no appetite. A speck, perhaps.<br />
(BRIAN removes the lid. HE looks around for a<br />
spoon, any utensil. Seeing none, HE dips his baby<br />
finger into the marmalade and touches it<br />
to her lips.)<br />
ERICA (continued)<br />
Take the rest to your wife. Is it macrobiotic?<br />
BRIAN<br />
49
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