How about you put on your yellow dress, Eleanor? You look so nice in yellow. There’s your daughter outside the window now. What’s her name? Gina, right?

Bitch.

Now, Eleanor.

Maybe she’ll visit more often when all this is over.

Look at her waving at us like she’s Miss America.

Who’s that with her?

Her husband, Vic.

Not a bad looking guy.

She could have done better.

Let me get her attention and hold up a finger to let her know you’ll only be a minute getting dressed.

I have a finger to hold up for them.

Eleanor!

There’s your mother now, Gina.

Oh, my God, she’s wearing that hideous yellow dress.

How old is she?

Seventy-five.

Think she’ll get the virus?

Maybe.

These old people are most at risk. They ought to just let them pass. Thin the herd.

That’s my mother you’re talking about.

She got insurance?

Of course she does.

You a beneficiary?

I don’t know.

Living here at Tony Acres costs a nice buck, Gina. You in the will?

I don’t know, Vic.

I don’t think I’m buying a bar. I don’t think the small business loan will come through. I don’t think the prison will settle with me, either. I think we’re screwed.

Jesus, what will we do?

Bring the old bag home to live with us. She can help out with some expenses. Maybe she’ll get infected from pizza and wing deliveries and pass. Then we take the money and run when America has the big bang re-opening.

Margaritaville?

Sandals.

That resort in the TV commercials where the black butler in the tuxedo walks barefoot across the water to serve drinks?

I can see us in the hot tub now, Gina.

I don’t know, Vic, she’s pretty stubborn.

Your mother always hated me, Gina.

Me, too.

You hate me, too?

No, my mother hates me, too.

So what do you say, Gina? What do we have to lose?

With that corona bug flying around I feel like I have an obligation to her. Think she’ll really come home with us?

Sure, at this time in her life she’ll be thrilled to move into the basement. Tell her she can get a cat. They won’t let her have a cat at Tony Acres.

There she is at the window, Vic.

She’s waving at us, Gina.

That’s not a wave, Vic.