headlamps of a police cruiser interrupted him. She trembles to remember how she sobbed and clung to one of the cops all the way home to Baptiste and Phillipa, who played out Academy Award performances as happy, loving husband and wife for the cops.
She picks up a tiny dapper man-about-town doll, in frayed tuxedo, from the toy box. She turns it, frowning as she stares at its too delicate face profile. Almost identical to Melvin's she thinks. She wrings off the doll's head, collapses in a storm of weeping.
In Reba's bedroom, green satin pajamaed Baptiste and Erica are packing Reba's clothing and personal effects.
Erica says, 'Da Dee, I still feel uncomfortable about not letting Reba pack her own things. After all, she's a woman. And then too there's the question as to whether or not your assumption is valid that she will accept moving into my place, even temporarily.'
Baptiste says, 'This is an emergency. Look, you know the finance company will come at any moment today to repossess the furniture. The marshal is due to evict us today, no later than tomorrow.' He hitches his shoulders disconsolately. 'She has to accept your apartment. Like me, she has no place else to go until her marriage.'
Erica frowns. 'But Da Dee, just like a man, you're overlooking the dynamics of female territoriality. She'll probably have a natural reluctance to move from the spacious privacy of her own home into a cramped two bedroom apartment where I'm lady of the house. Surely you can't expect her to choke up at the chance to place herself in the position to daily witness her father sleeping with his mistress. She's possessive of you, you know.' She sighs, 'But we'll see, Da Dee, we'll see.'
They go to Baptiste's bedroom to pack his things. Reba leaves the playhouse somewhat composed. Baptiste spots her through his bedroom window. He hurries from the room to go downstairs to cushion the shock of her packed belongings. He races down the stairs. The fifth of whiskey he's guzzled since the heist stumbles him. Flat on his back, he stupidly stares up at Reba. She helps him pull himself to his feet. He shapes a crooked grin of embarrassment, dips his head toward the stairs.
He murmurs, 'There's a step with a split in the carpet ... I uh ...' Realizing the bad news he must break, he checks himself before he says, 'I have to fix it.' He follows her toward her bedroom door, says 'Mouse, what's wrong? Your eyes look like you've been crying.'
She says over her shoulder, 'I cut Melvin loose. And don't call me Mouse.'
'Don't tell me the marriage is off,' he gasps.
'You heard me!' she says harshly as she steps inside her bedroom.
She halts, reels at the threshold with a shocked face. She stares at the mini mountain of her luggage and possessions in cardboard boxes stacked on the stripped bed and strewn about the room. She whirls to face Baptiste in the hallway.
'Baptiste, what the hell does this mean!?'
'Now, now dear, I'll explain. Don't get upset,' he says gently as he pats her shoulder.
She jerks away, legs akimbo, green eyes afire. 'We've lost the house! Haven't we?'
He averts his eyes, mumbles, 'That's the heartbreak gritty of it, my dear. But nothing can stop stepper pals like us, baby.' He reaches to embrace her.
She jerks back with a hostile face. 'Stepper, you told me two weeks ago that you had won the money to save the house and furniture from those four men who came here to play cards. Is that right!?'
He collapses on the bedside, bent forward, palms pressed against his face. 'I lied, baby ... guess my touch played hooky ... they beat me, busted me out.' He peers pathetic eyes at her through the bars of his fingers.
'Stepper pal, why did you lie, fool me that everything was all right?' she pursues with a hateful face and merciless scorn in her voice.
He laments in a coarse whisper, 'I had a sweet back-up deal if there ever was one, set up for last night. Baby dear, it's best I don't tell you details. But last night I literally bet my life
She picks up a tiny dapper man-about-town doll, in frayed tuxedo, from the toy box. She turns it, frowning as she stares at its too delicate face profile. Almost identical to Melvin's she thinks. She wrings off the doll's head, collapses in a storm of weeping.
In Reba's bedroom, green satin pajamaed Baptiste and Erica are packing Reba's clothing and personal effects.
Erica says, 'Da Dee, I still feel uncomfortable about not letting Reba pack her own things. After all, she's a woman. And then too there's the question as to whether or not your assumption is valid that she will accept moving into my place, even temporarily.'
Baptiste says, 'This is an emergency. Look, you know the finance company will come at any moment today to repossess the furniture. The marshal is due to evict us today, no later than tomorrow.' He hitches his shoulders disconsolately. 'She has to accept your apartment. Like me, she has no place else to go until her marriage.'
Erica frowns. 'But Da Dee, just like a man, you're overlooking the dynamics of female territoriality. She'll probably have a natural reluctance to move from the spacious privacy of her own home into a cramped two bedroom apartment where I'm lady of the house. Surely you can't expect her to choke up at the chance to place herself in the position to daily witness her father sleeping with his mistress. She's possessive of you, you know.' She sighs, 'But we'll see, Da Dee, we'll see.'
They go to Baptiste's bedroom to pack his things. Reba leaves the playhouse somewhat composed. Baptiste spots her through his bedroom window. He hurries from the room to go downstairs to cushion the shock of her packed belongings. He races down the stairs. The fifth of whiskey he's guzzled since the heist stumbles him. Flat on his back, he stupidly stares up at Reba. She helps him pull himself to his feet. He shapes a crooked grin of embarrassment, dips his head toward the stairs.
He murmurs, 'There's a step with a split in the carpet ... I uh ...' Realizing the bad news he must break, he checks himself before he says, 'I have to fix it.' He follows her toward her bedroom door, says 'Mouse, what's wrong? Your eyes look like you've been crying.'
She says over her shoulder, 'I cut Melvin loose. And don't call me Mouse.'
'Don't tell me the marriage is off,' he gasps.
'You heard me!' she says harshly as she steps inside her bedroom.
She halts, reels at the threshold with a shocked face. She stares at the mini mountain of her luggage and possessions in cardboard boxes stacked on the stripped bed and strewn about the room. She whirls to face Baptiste in the hallway.
'Baptiste, what the hell does this mean!?'
'Now, now dear, I'll explain. Don't get upset,' he says gently as he pats her shoulder.
She jerks away, legs akimbo, green eyes afire. 'We've lost the house! Haven't we?'
He averts his eyes, mumbles, 'That's the heartbreak gritty of it, my dear. But nothing can stop stepper pals like us, baby.' He reaches to embrace her.
She jerks back with a hostile face. 'Stepper, you told me two weeks ago that you had won the money to save the house and furniture from those four men who came here to play cards. Is that right!?'
He collapses on the bedside, bent forward, palms pressed against his face. 'I lied, baby ... guess my touch played hooky ... they beat me, busted me out.' He peers pathetic eyes at her through the bars of his fingers.
'Stepper pal, why did you lie, fool me that everything was all right?' she pursues with a hateful face and merciless scorn in her voice.
He laments in a coarse whisper, 'I had a sweet back-up deal if there ever was one, set up for last night. Baby dear, it's best I don't tell you details. But last night I literally bet my life
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