TONI: Well, it’s Dan.

DAN: Hi, Toni. (They embrace)

TONI: You’re almost a stranger. Find new friends?

DAN: No I haven’t, Toni. But I have felt like a stranger. I couldn’t take Olympia or Philip greeting me with another Political Pamphlet Dan. And I didn’t want to get in their way.

TONI: That’s been Philip’s sole concern for the past months — that the commune not get in the way of his Expo.

DAN: I heard it took place this past weekend.

TONI: Didn’t they invite you? No, I guess they wouldn’t have. They know how you feel about the friends Philip has been waiting for all his life.

DAN: How did it go?

TONI: I didn’t go either, although they did invite me. Have you seen the brochure? (Hands him one from a surface)

DAN: I see they left Lyman’s texts. I thought it was supposed to be a women’s project.

TONI: That’s news to me. I thought it was Philip’s coming out party. He acted like a kid all last week; it must have been the greatest experience of his life. Remember when he used to melt down his objects and you could only see them in pictures? That’s ancient history. Now he’s prolific. He produces art objects by the crate. What are you typing?

DAN: Can’t you guess?

TONI: “Another political pamphlet, Dan? When will you political people learn to put your ideology into practice?” That’s exactly what she puts into practice: her ideology.

DAN: That’s actually more than I’ve been doing.

TONI: Something happened?

DAN: Not exactly. My unemployment ran out and I had to get a part time job. In a print shop, with no window facing the outside. I really like it here now. I thought there’d be some interesting things to set, but it’s all ads. And you?

TONI: The same. I heard that Lisa started school.

DAN: Just this year. And Leon?

TONI: We’re still holding out. But it’s impossible with no other kids around. Leon has the TV schedule memorized and he’s glued to the tube all day. It’s ten times worse than school. At least in school you’re with others and you can rebel. He just sits and watches.

DAN: What about all the projects he and Alec had going?

TONI: Alec’s in boarding school.

DAN: Really? I didn’t know.

TONI: Philip didn’t want anyone or anything between him and the Expo.

DAN: Did Donna take part in the preparations?

TONI: Are you kidding? Donna’s like a ghost. She lives here but no one sees her.

DAN: She used to be such a lively person.

TONI: She was a real trip when I first came here. I’ll never forget her “Gosh, is that marijuana? I’ve heard so much about it — what do you do?”

DAN: That’s cute.

TONI: It’s true. She used to be excited by everything and interested in everyone. Funny how people change. She still cares for the garden; she comes alive once a year, when the seeds get planted. The rest of the time she goes from her job to the bar and back.

DAN: I remember she was already a little like that years ago, that night Ben wrote a poem to her.

TONI: I remember that night too, and I’ve always regretted missing Ben’s reading because of Grover’s antics. At that time I thought those two would make a go of it.

DAN: Ben and Donna? Are you kidding? The radical hippie and the straight secretary?

TONI: It wasn’t so ridiculous then.

DAN: I remember she thought him “sweet.”

TONI: After her miserable high school marriage, Donna apparently didn’t want to get involved. But around the time of Ben’s poem, I know she would have accompanied Ben to a farm commune in Saskatchewan or Mongolia. But except for his poem, Ben never made a move nor said a word, and over the years they drifted apart.

DAN: I saw Ben a couple of weeks ago; I had some research to do at the underground paper. I hadn’t seen him in over a year. He hasn’t changed. He still thinks a revolution would only make things worse, so why do anything? Maybe that’s why he never approached Donna, because that’s pointless too if you practice the politics of despair.

TONI: At one time I agreed with you, Dan, but now I know you’re wrong. I was very close to Ben for almost two years. He’s someone who doesn’t just talk about independent human beings — he actually believes it. He thinks a revolution will be significant only if it’s made by independent individuals who act on their own. If they can be talked into it then they can be talked out of it, and worse, they can be talked into believing they got it when they didn’t. That’s why he rejects all kinds of propaganda. And that’s why he never tried to convince Donna to quit her job or join us in our projects or move to Mount Tabor or wherever. Poor Donna was dying to be convinced, to be invited, but Ben wanted her to decide on her own. His poem wasn’t an invitation. It was a gift, a love offering; Donna accepted it as that and disappointed Ben by continuing to repeat her crummy routine. She waited for his invitation to make a move, but the invitation never came. Donna remained the “Cool Lady” to Ben and Ben remained “sweet” to Donna.

DAN: You’re a generous person, Toni. I’m sorry I never really got to know either of them. I never even knew about you and Ben.

TONI: We never loved each other. Ben and I are too much alike; we’re too movementy for each other’s tastes. Ben and Donna loved each other. It’s sad.

DAN: When did you break up with Ben?

TONI: I didn’t. Ben broke up with the house when the new friends started dropping by. I guess Ben expected me to drop out too, or to spark a confrontation or make a scene or at least let him know he wasn’t alone. And I guess I disappointed him the same way Donna did. Nothing was clear to me.

DAN: Does Ben really have nothing to do with the commune?

TONI: It’s just a house now, Dan. And it’s a hotel to Ben. He leaves in the morning and comes back at night. If he runs into any of us he greets us the way he’d greet the hotel receptionist or elevator operator. It isn’t what you call despair. Ben is full of hope, but his hope is constantly disappointed.

(BARRY enters from left)