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turning to page one
BARBARA FITTS stands at the stove, flipping bacon strips mechanically, her eyes focused elsewhere. At least ten years younger than her husband, she's pretty in a June Cleaver-ish way. The Colonel sits at a dinette reading The Wall Street Journal. Ricky enters.
RICKY
Mom.
Startled, Barbara turns to him.
BARBARA
Hello.
As she attempts to serve him bacon:
RICKY
I don't eat bacon, remember?
BARBARA
(unnerved)
I'm sorry, I must have forgotten.
Ricky serves himself scrambled eggs from another pan, then joins his father at the table.
RICKY
What's new in the world, Dad?
COLONEL
This country is going straight to
hell.
A DOORBELL rings. The Colonel and Barbara look at each other, alarmed.
COLONEL (CONT'D)
Are you expecting anyone?
BARBARA
No.
(thinks)
No.
The Colonel heads toward the living room, a little puffed up.