Marie-Helene Bertino - 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

Sarina has a flicker of hope when Bella turns to her, taking in a deep breath signifying an important thought. “Isn’t teaching grade school not far off from babysitting?”

Sarina forks the last of her salad. “These greens are transcendent.”

“Arugula!” Georgie says.

“Let’s admit,” Ben says. “We keep up with the Joneses to distract us from the fact that we are all going to die!”

“Hear, hear,” says Michael.

Dinner is over.

Bella pushes herself away from the table. She has spent the meal wanting more of everything and not taking more of anything. She and Georgie carry empty plates to the kitchen.

Michael says, “I can’t keep my hands away from the piano any longer.”

Ben says, “Would anyone mind if I stepped outside to call Annie?”

Claudia receives directions to the bathroom.

The room reshuffles and when it stills, Sarina is alone. She hears Michael in the next room fumbling in the pockets of the piano bench, setting up sheet music, and then the first few measures of a splashy intro.

When she saw Ben unwinding his scarf at the front door, Sarina wanted to remove her glasses. She removes her glasses when anything wonderful or embarrassing happens, like earlier today when her principal forced her to discipline Madeleine. Which would have been the Crucial Moment of her story.

Sarina has rebuilt her life one element at a time. The apartment, the job, the easel. It might be a plain life (she occasionally worries she is hiding out in it), but at least it is forged out of what she wants.

She doesn’t know the particulars of Ben’s wife’s job, but it involves legally representing poor kids with leukemia. Showoff. She’d hoped he wouldn’t marry the cardiganed girl he brought around four years ago. She’d hoped the girl would be one of the many partners his group rotated in and out. Certainly he would notice how Annie rolled her eyes at his ideas, especially the last idea, when he decided to quit law and pursue screenwriting. Certainly the girl with a flounder’s sense of style wouldn’t be the one he’d marry on an archipelago in the Caribbean, so Sarina had heard, accessible only by duck boat. But, he did. And, she wasn’t. And, he didn’t. So, she was.

Outside, the stars have been caught in the act. Ben paces the stoop “… later than I thought. More fun than I expected. No one thought it was strange. Well, yes, they asked how you were but they didn’t follow up.”

In the kitchen, Georgie and Bella pass a joint back and forth. Bella trains her eyes on the swinging door. “Claudia doesn’t know I still smoke. I’m sorry she’s acting like a bitch tonight.”

At the piano, Michael thinks, there should be words to classical songs.

In the bathroom, Claudia reads a newspaper article about a famous chef’s third restaurant opening.

Under the stars, Ben says, “I realize it doesn’t count as a separation if we talk on the phone, but you asked me to call you.”

In the kitchen, Bella says, “She cut out drama from her life. Now she gets dramatic about people being dramatic.”

Georgie says, “It’s like ex-smokers who hate smokers.”

“Exactly!” Bella says. “Have a cigarette and get over yourself.” She shakes her head and pretends to have a new thought. “Sarina has gotten so thin. Poor girl.” She wants Georgie to agree, but Georgie has outgrown camaraderie through cattiness.

At the piano, Michael sings, The more I see you …

Upstairs, Claudia washes her hands with the no-shenanigans soap of a second bathroom. Her interest in the evening’s goings-on ranks as follows:

1. How much did Michael’s new car cost? She wants to know so she can go home and hate him.

2. She is proud her girlfriend has the ability to introduce lively topics of conversation. Who are the Joneses, indeed?

3. If Alfred Hitchcock were to direct this dinner party, he would have the camera soar in through the window over the gardened patio, through the wings of the expressive drapes, panning to each guest in a way that would convey to the audience that something is terribly wrong.

4. Food is boring. People who use it to feel better than others are worthless. Like Ben’s half-hour explanation about the wine. Did he shit the bottle of wine out? That would garner an explanation.

KITCHEN: Georgie says, “I never thought I would get divorced. Never. Divorce is for sad people.”

PIANO: Michael sings, the more I want you …

FAMILY ROOM: Sarina sits, orphaned by the dinner party. What she holds most against these people is how obvious it is that they love each other. A substantive love that caulks the cracks of their personalities; Georgie’s oblivion, Bella’s self-obsession, Michael’s namby-pamby-ness. Sarina hates the part of herself that wants inside that love. A gray, whiskered face appears by her elbow. She replaces her glasses. “Hello, Pepper.”

STARS: Ben wipes his eyes with the hand that is not holding the phone. The conversation has ended. Across the street a dog sniffs a signpost. Connected to him via leash is a little boy. Connected to the little boy via hand is The Dad. Ben wants to call to them and wave. He wants the man to nudge his son to wave back. Then Ben could yell hello over the empty street. “What’s your dog’s name?” “Jeb,” the man would yell. “Jeb?” Ben would say, laughing. The man would point to his son. His idea . That man could be him, Ben thinks, that little boy could be his, the dog, too. He could be the one yelling “Jeb!” across the street to the man wincing through a phone call with his estranged wife. If she had ever liked dogs. Or kids.

Michael stumbles on a wrong note. He tries again. Still wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

In the first week of their marriage, Ben and Annie made three decisions: to install a home security system, to never have children, and to never, ever take salsa lessons. All three were meant to preserve what they owned.

The salsa lessons were Ben’s hard line. There was a dance studio on his walk home from the law office. At night it was filled with desperate, churning couples, wagging themselves across the floor.

Whose idea was the kids? Ben wonders, turning to walk inside. He recalls the subject of children being lobbed into the air, Annie saying her flat stomach was her greatest achievement, then taking a call in the other room. The following day the security service arrived to measure the walls.

Ben halts at the window. Inside, Sarina scratches the ears of an earnest-looking cat. Pretty hands, Ben thinks, pretty lap. His breath makes clouds. How long had she been divorced? What had she said about sending a child home for having lice? How was lice the child’s fault?

Michael has found the right note and, la-la-la-ing, rejoins the melody.

Claudia returns to the family room and drapes herself over a chair. “I’m sorry Bella is being such a bitch tonight.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Sarina says.

“You’re sweet.”

Georgie and Bella return holding plates and forks, with Ben following, clapping warmth into his arms and legs.

My arms won’t free you, Michael sings.

“Michael!” Georgie yells. “Quit the piano!” She unveils the key lime pie.

“Extraordinary!” says Sarina.

Michael pats his belly. “Full.”

Claudia says, “Couldn’t eat one more bite.”

Bella gazes at the pie. “Me too. Not another bite.”

Georgie frowns. “Sarina?”

“I’ll have a piece.”

“Me too!” says Ben. “Biggest slice you can.”

Sarina and Ben eat the pie. Those who want coffee drink coffee. Occasionally someone sighs. After everyone is finished, Georgie says, “Let’s dance.”

Bella and Claudia exchange a glance. Michael digs his hands into his pockets and Sarina scrutinizes the carpet.