Heat

The bedroom.  OLIVER and AMY are in bed.

OLIVER:  We have to turn on the heat.

AMY:  Oliver—

OLIVER:  I can’t feel anything.

AMY:  Stop being dramatic.

OLIVER:  A toe broke off, Amy.

AMY:  Were you using that toe?

OLIVER:  Amy—

AMY:  Was it an essential toe, Oliver?

OLIVER:  It was my pinky toe.

AMY:  Which is useless.  You’re acting like you lost a kidney.

OLIVER:  Just turn on the heat.

AMY:  Oliver—

OLIVER:  Amy—

AMY:  We talked about this.

OLIVER:  It’s freezing.

AMY:  It’s not freezing.  It’s chilly.

OLIVER:  It’s thirty-four degrees outside.

AMY:  It’s nippy.

OLIVER:  I can see my breath and it’s blood-colored.

AMY:  It’s chilly and nippy.  It’s chippy.  Isn’t that cute?  Chippy?  I just made that up.

OLIVER:  Amy—

AMY:  Oliver, when we got married, we made a few decisions together, didn’t we?

OLIVER:  Yes.

AMY:  I promised to never tell you not to buy a boat if you ever wanted one and you promised me that one day I could let a large dog come between us.

OLIVER:  And you promised I would never have to talk to your father and I promised you would never have to talk to my sister.

AMY:  And you promised to never lose your hair--(She shoots him a look, indicating that this promise might be in danger of not being met.)—and I promised that any child I bore you would be exceptionally creative.

OLIVER:  And you promised to let me flirt with women online who are probably men and I promised to let you subscribe to bride magazines for the rest of your life.

AMY:  And you promised—

OLIVER:  Oh god.

AMY:  --That we would never turn on the heat until after Christmas.

OLIVER:  But I’m freezing!

AMY:  Oliver, temperature is freezing?

OLIVER:  Thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit.

AMY:  And what temperature is it outside?

OLIVER:  Thirty-four degrees Fahrenheit.

AMY:  Exactly.  So you’re not freezing.  You’re nearly freezing, but you’re not actually freezing.  There’s a big difference.

OLIVER:  Why are we living like this?  Is it because of my gambling addiction?

AMY:  You have a gambling addiction?

OLIVER:  Didn’t you get my e-mail?

AMY:  Oh that was actually from you?  I thought that was from one of those people trapped in Europe who needs you to send them money.

OLIVER:  Why did you think that?

AMY:  Because it said ‘I’m trapped in Europe.  Send me money.’

OLIVER:  I was trapped in Europe and I did need money!  I was on that business trip in Spain and—

AMY:  Well, the point is you made it back.

OLIVER:  But don’t you want to know how I—

AMY:  The point is you’re fine.

OLIVER:  But they hit me so many times and now I have dreams where I’m underwater and—

AMY:  The point is thank god everything turned out okay and we never have to talk about it again.

OLIVER:  Amy, I think I just lost another toe.

AMY:  We’re not turning on the heat.

OLIVER:  Aren’t you cold?

AMY:  Oliver, I was raised by German ice skating coaches.  The cold is my brother.  He is my soul.  He lives in me like a dead lion’s father.  I am not afraid of him.

OLIVER:  You told me your parents were CPA’s.

AMY:  That was one of my three marriage lies.

OLIVER:  What were the other two?

AMY:  I’ve never liked contemporary blues music.

OLIVER:  And?

AMY:  I did think you were famous when I first met you and I probably wouldn’t have agreed to go out with you if I knew you only looked like Rufus Wainwright but that you weren’t, in fact, him.

OLIVER:  The fact that Rufus Wainwright is gay didn’t tip you off?

AMY:  You seemed confused when I met you.  I thought maybe you were Rufus and he was confused and I wanted to help and also love him.  I was also drinking a lot at the time.

OLIVER:  Do you know what my three marriage lies were?

AMY:  Well, I know two of them.  One was that you were Rufus Wainwright and the other was that you do always look confused even though you swore that eventually you would stop looking that way.

OLIVER:  And the third one was that I wouldn’t make you turn on the heat until after Christmas.

(OLIVER gets out of bed.)

AMY:  Oliver, if you do this, it will fundamentally change our marriage forever.

OLIVER:  You’ll divorce me?

AMY:  No.  I’ll just silently hate you until one of us dies.

OLIVER:  If I don’t turn on the heat, I might be the one who dies tonight.

AMY:  That’s a chance I’m willing to take.

OLIVER:  It’s just heat, Amy.

AMY:  Oliver, I’ve lost so many battles in my life.  My battle with expectation.  My battle with my own hopes.  My own dreams.  My battle to win an Olympic medal in figure skating.  My battle with disappointment.  My battle with letting down my parents.  My battle with that dog you didn’t like who finally ran away even though I begged him not to.  Every day I lose.  I lose, and I lose, and I lose—but tonight?  Tonight I’m going to win.  Because I am not going to turn on the heat.  You—are not going to turn on the heat.  We are going to lay here, in the cold, and shiver, and shake, and possibly lose a few more toes, but we are not going to lose this battle, Oliver.  I—am not going to lose this battle.  This one I can win.  Because it is a battle with Nature.  And she is the easiest opponent I have ever faced.  Especially when you consider that every other opponent has been myself.  So get back in this bed, and fight with me, Oliver.  Fight.  With.  Me.

                (A beat.)

OLIVER:  You know what I don’t understand?

AMY:  Why that e-mail you sent me from Spain didn’t go to spam when I specifically instructed my computer to not allow—

OLIVER:  No!  No—no.

                (A beat.)

We’re lying in bed together, and we’re…cold.  We’re both so cold.  Shouldn’t we be warm?  I mean, shouldn’t we be giving off, you know, body heat or—

AMY:  Oh.  Well…yes.  But I guess for that to work, we’d have to, you know—touch.

OLIVER:  Oh.  Well…yes.  But…couldn’t we?  …Touch?

AMY:  I…I guess we…could.

OLIVER:  I mean, because then, I wouldn’t have to…you know…turn on…the heat.

AMY:  Oh.  Well…yes.  But…okay then.

                (A beat.  OLIVER gets back into bed.)

OLIVER:  I’m going to hold you now.

AMY:  All right.  That’s…okay.

                (He holds her.)

OLIVER:  It’s going to be all right.

AMY:  What is?

OLIVER:  I don’t know.  Us?

AMY:  Oh.

OLIVER:  We—you and I—we’re going to be all right.

AMY:  Okay.

OLIVER:  We won’t be warm, but…we’ll be all right.

AMY:  After Christmas.

OLIVER:  What?

AMY:  After Christmas, we’ll be warm.  We’ll turn on the heat, and…we’ll be warm.

OLIVER:  Yes.

AMY:  And we’ll have that.

OLIVER:  Yes.  We’ll have that.

AMY:  And—

OLIVER:  What?

AMY:  Each other.

OLIVER:  Oh.  Well…yes.

                (She puts her head on his shoulder.)

AMY:  You know, Oliver—

OLIVER:  Yes?

AMY:  I never knew you could be this…warm.

OLIVER:  Huh.

                (A beat.)

What a nice surprise.

                End of Play