Just a minute. I’ll be with you shortly, madam.
AMARA
(whispers in discomfort) Who has a minute?
Amara takes in a deep breath.
WAITRESS #2 (O.S.)
What do you care for, madam?
AMARA (breathing heavily)
Where’s the ladies’ room, please?
Amara appears unwell.
WAITRESS #2
Are you alright, madam?
Amara closes her eyes TIGHTLY, both hands fisted, still breathing heavily, like she’s in labor. She opens her eyes and looks at the Waitress.
AMARA
For the love of God, will you just tell me where the ladies’ room is? God!
WAITRESS #2 (in panic)
You see that ally?
The Waitress points with her forefinger.
AMARA (impatient)
Yes!
Amara CURTLY replies as she draws another quick breath.
WAITRESS #2
Walk straight in, the door on your right is the ladies’ room. I’m so sorry, madam.
The waitress turns away quickly and leaves. Amara fails to say ‘thank you’, but the Waitress leaves in PANIC, seeming not to care for gratitude, not even for a bit.
Amara reaches for the tissue pack at the center of the table, and pulls out a tissue. She wipes her mouth clean with it, aggressively pushes her chair backwards, lifts herself up gracefully, and with POISE, heads for the ladies’ room.