Chick-fil-A Dramatic Theatre presents:Scenes from a Marriage, Part III -- A Streetcar Named Resentment.

In Part I of "Scenes from a Marriage," the seeds of a forbidden love were sown. In Part II, secret passions simmering beneath the surface put the first cracks in a relationship that should never have been. And now, in Part III, desperate lives collide in a storm of ancient rivalries and passive aggression . . . as "Scenes from a Marriage" continues.

October, 2018. The kitchen of a house in some upper-middle-class cookie-cutter subdivision in a suburb just east of Atlanta, where yuppie families with young kids move so that they can tell people, “Oh, no, it's cool, I still live inside the perimeter.” DOUG, a mid-level ad exec just on the wrong side of 40, edges his way in through the back door, his arms full, a GoogleNokia Tangent 8.0 cellular phone wedged against his ear. He yaks into it obliviously as he stands in the doorway.

DOUG

Just drop the Penske file on my desk tomorrow and

I'll give it a look — when's the presentation? (pause) Oh, yeah,

I'll be able to get with you on it way before then. No problem. Bye.

DOUG folds up the phone and puts down his work bags down, and for the first time notices his wife, HOLLY, at the kitchen table, feeding their infant daughter — while wearing an orange seersucker jacket. DOUG waits for his wife to notice him; she doesn't, so he sighs audibly.

DOUG

So it's that time of year again, isn't it.

HOLLY

(not turning around)

Like you don't know. Thanks for letting me know

you'd be late, by the way.

DOUG

Uh, did you not get my e-mail?

HOLLY

Sorry, I'm not surgically attached to the computer all day.

Why couldn't you just pick up the phone?

DOUG

Because I — you know what? Forget it. Fine.

It's my fault. I don't suppose you —

DOUG happens to glance over HOLLY's shoulder into the family room, where orange Gucci-striped curtains have been hung and an orange Alcantara slipcover has been fitted onto the couch. His eyes grow wide as dinner plates for a moment, then he sighs again and shakes his head.

DOUG

For Christ's fucking sake, Holly —

HOLLY

I made a vow not to use that word in front of the children

anymore, I don't see why you can't make the same effort.

DOUG

Oh, I'm sorry, sweetheart, I just didn't know our living room

was in the middle of an Air Force bombing range, or else we

wouldn't need to mark our furniture in high-visibility blaze --

HOLLY

(puts spoon down)

You know what, Doug? You know what? Don't bother.

You haven't shown a lick of interest in keeping this house

looking nice, you've been rolling in from the office

at nine o'clock at night, so you've officially forfeited your right

to complain about what I do around here.

DOUG

Oh, silly me, I thought earning an income and providing

you the money to go galavanting off with your

Volunteer Club buddies might get taken into account

somewhere along the line. Believe me, I won't

make the same mistake again.

HOLLY

Oh, and I don't make a contribution?

DOUG

Right, I forgot the “freelance editing” you did on that

25th-anniversary video for Fulmer. What was it called again?

“One Of These Days, We'll Win Another SEC Title”?

HOLLY

That's some nerve coming from someone whose team

had to sweat out a last-second field-goal attempt

by Mississippi State the other day.

DOUG

RICHT DOESN'T LIKE TO RUN UP THE SCORE!

WHY IS THAT SO HARD FOR YOU TO UNDERSTAND?!?

HOLLY

Oooh, look who's angry. Guess it's still a little too early

to bring the toaster oven out of hiding, huh?

DOUG

(trying to compose himself)

Dr. Blyer says that that kind of sarcasm is just your way

of trying to assert the upper hand in our relationship,

but that it's only driving a wedge between —

HOLLY

Well, if Dr. Blyer is so brilliant, maybe you should schedule

a session for this Saturday and watch the game with her.

(to their daughter, ignoring DOUG)

C'mon, baby doll. Just one more bite. (beat) Come on, Payt . . .

DOUG

What did you just call her?

HOLLY

(feigning ignorance)

Beg pardon?

DOUG

Our daughter. You just called her “Payt,” didn't you?

Short for . . . ?

Excruciating pause.

HOLLY

I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about.

DOUG

Oh, don't play dumb with me, Holly. You think I don't

hear these little references peppered all over the place?

That's not her name. She's nine months old,

and you're only confusing her --

HOLLY

Jesus, it's a nickname. Don't get your pantaloons in a wad.

DOUG stalks over to the kitchen table and sits next to his daughter's high chair.

DOUG

Hi, baby girl. Hi, baby girl! It's Daddy! Daddy's home!

You're my little girl, you know that? And your name is

Knowshauna. Knowshauna Ann Gillett —

HOLLY

(shaking her head again)

I wish someone else was here to hear

how ridiculous you sound right now.

DOUG

Why, just because I don't want my daughter

to be confused about her own name?

HOLLY

Oh, and let's talk about that name, why don't we,

because you should see the looks on the other mothers' faces

at play group when I introduce her to —

DOUG

Christ, are we still not done with this? You can complain

about it all you want, but we both know I won that coin flip

in the maternity ward fair and square.

HOLLY

Yeah, and now we've got kids named Champ and Knowshauna

to show for it. Let me remind you, just for the record, that I

didn't even want to do the coin flip — I would've been

perfectly happy with naming her something nice and

neutral, like Erika . . .

DOUG

Oh, yeah, I remember that one. “Erika Aingela”?

Real neutral, Holly. You must think I'm

some kind of complete fool —

HOLLY

Well, if the shoe fits.

DOUG

(stands up)

Fine. Fine. You know what? Warp our child's mind

however you want. You just better hope there's a

fiftieth-anniversary Fulmer video to make, 'cause

that's where the money for her therapy is coming from.

HOLLY

That sounds great. That's exactly what I'll do, thanks.

Frustrated at his inability to get a rise out of his wife with his last comment, DOUG casts a jaundiced eye toward the refrigerator.

DOUG

So do I dare ask whether there are any

leftovers in the fridge?

HOLLY

I got takeout. And I only got enough for me.

DOUG

Of course. How silly of me.

DOUG walks over to the refrigerator and begins scavenging through the freezer. His gaze settles on a box of Lean Pockets, and his expression contorts itself into a contemptuous scowl as he excavates it from a thin layer of ice.

HOLLY

You sure I can't get you anything?

Maybe a nice tall glass of orange juice?

DOUG puts the box down on the kitchen counter and stares daggers at his wife.

DOUG

You're sapping my will to live.

(turns back to the kitchen counter)

OK, seriously, where's the toaster?

END SCENE

ADDED: The touching and poignant conclusion to our saga can be found here.