VIOLET: Oh, it’s no use, we might as well come clean; he’s going to get us anyway. But before we get arrested and spend the next thirty years in prison, making pen pals in Nebraska, I want to say a few things: This place was hell until we fixed it.
Beat. SHE looks at HART, quietly furious and growing stronger and more certain.
We all do the work of keeping things running around here as best we can, Mr. Tinsworthy, not him. He plays golf and drinks scotch and takes the credit. Any why? ‘Cause he’s “The Guy”.
No, you wait a minute! I’ve been waiting my whole life! See – we’re not The Guy. We’re just the “Little Guy”. The little guy doesn’t play golf… he plays catch up. The little guy is late picking the kids up from school because of work – and late getting to work because of the kids. The little guy cooks and coaches ball and balances budgets and squeezes a dollar as far as it can go, and works her ass off, and if that doesn’t qualify her to be heard and seen and respected, well WHAT DOES?
And so, yeah, we kidnapped Mr. Hart and threw him in the back of my Buick… We tried to make everything better and now he’s going to get all the credit and we’re gonna get ten to life.