Heat

Setting: Low light, a steamy afternoon in a small apartment in Rio under a slowly rotating ceiling fan. A lady (Dd) sits happily at a desk, centre stage rear, fiddling with a mini-iPad. A man (Bb) slumps on the sofa, left front stage, wearing nothing but a towel, staring into space.

Bb: (languidly) Are you on?
Dd: Just about...you got something?
Bb: Nothing...(the fan rotates at least four times)...any ideas?
Dd: I've always thought something could be done with the view across the road.
Bb: What? That?
Dd: You'd have to tart it up a bit.

The man rises, tightens his towel (lights kept very low at this point), crosses to right of stage and opens the window (flood of golden light), snaps off his own iPad cover, and a stream of electronic clicks is heard. The audience can't see what he's shooting. He returns and flops back onto the sofa, before muttering a stream of light oaths as he seems to struggle with thick fingers on his own device.

Bb: (visibly perspiring) Like that?
Dd: (pauses just perceptibly) Wow! Told you there was something there, darling!
Bb: (suddenly aglow with satisfaction) Hey, heh! I'll shove it on, then!

Minutes pass. The man (somehow lighter) rises and almost skips to the loo (exit stage left - towel drop optional depending on whether matinée), sound of shower taps being turned on, followed by a strangled version of 'Copa, Copacabana' being sung. Dd, apparently well practiced, quickly puts ear plugs in.

Dd: (shaking head) Doubt he'll get many comments on that one! Poor, poor Bb, so misunderstood!