Act I

I’d go out with the janitor if he asked me. God, I’m sick of this place!

Why don’t you go to a picture?

They charge admission. Remember the way I used to figure when Paul first came along? I thought marrying a songwriter meant going to all the first nights, meeting everybody that was worthwhile, going down to Palm Beach⁠—

You would, too, if Paul was any good.

I wonder what it’d be like if we’d stayed in Stroudsburg. I’d probably be married to Will Broderick, and we’d have a car⁠—