Waitress Page #5

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Maybe we could have

a coffee or something.

I can't have coffee.

It's on the bad food list you gave me.

- What kind of doctor are you?

- Well, you don't have to have coffee.

You could have water or fruit juice.

That's a bad idea.

I'm married. You're married.

I'm pregnant.

- You're my doctor.

- Uh...

You're right, it's crazy.

It's unethical

on my part. I...

Wait!

No kissing in the street.

I have a very jealous husband.

He'd kill you

if he ever saw us.

He don't like when other men

- even look at me.

- Is he large?

He's large enough,

and he drives

- right past here on the way to work.

- Well, maybe we

shouldn't be standing

in the street then.

I've got to go make pies.

It'll take me time to walk

the five blocks,

wait for the bus.

I don't want to be late.

- Cal gets mad when I'm late.

- Let me drive you.

No. Yes.

Please.

Well, thank you for the tarts.

They were unbelievably delicious.

"Delicious" is not even

a good enough word

for what they are. They...

I mean, what you do with food is...

unearthly.

It's sensual.

Does anybody else appreciate?

You're welcome.

So, um...

Do we? I mean, what do we?

- Dr. Pomatter, I'll call you

- Can I...

if I have any questions or concerns.

"Earl Murders Me

'Cause I'm Having an Affair Pie. "

You smash blackberries and raspberries

into a chocolate crust.

"I Can't Have No Affair

Because It's Wrong

And I Don't Want Earl

To Kill Me Pie. "

Vanilla custard with banana.

Hold the banana.

Don't you have no home?

Excuse me. What?

I'm wondering if you have

to sleep outside my diner,

'cause maybe you don't have no home.

I have a home.

Right,

and a bad husband, I remember.

You got lipstick all over your face.

What?

Your lipstick

is all smudged,

like someone gave you a good one.

I'm going inside now.

Once you're done wiping away

all your indiscretions,

I'll be sitting in my booth

wanting fresh-squeezed

orange juice, no ice,

and a "Spanish Dancer Pie"

with potato crust.

Here you go.

"Dear Elizabeth... "

Do you know this column?

It's for the lonely hearts.

"Dear Elizabeth.

"My husband fell in love

with another woman

"from his workplace.

"I want to kill myself.

"I want to write

"the perfect suicide note

"that would let him know just

how much pain he has caused me.

"I'm wondering if you can

dispense any advice

"on composing

a suicide note

"that would harm

my snake of a husband

"and his slut girlfriend the most.

Yours truly... Betrayed in Biloxi. "

Elizabeth just gives her

some nonsense

about not killing herself.

I love living vicariously

through the pain and suffering

of others.

I don't believe for one second

you're as mean as you play.

You tip me better than anyone.

Oh, what do you know?

Bring me more water

for this empty glass.

Mm-hmm.

No!

No. No.

Mommy!

What did I say?

No.

All right, now stop it, sugar, please?

Okay, you can have chocolate milk, okay?

I'm sorry. You can have

as much chocolate milk as you want.

Okay, all right, you little...

Okay.

Jenna, come on.

Listen, you can have

chocolate milk, okay?

Here, darling,

we bought you something,

a present.

That's sweet.

You shouldn't have.

Open it.

Okay.

Oh, it's a book.

What a Mama You're Going to Be.

Oh, look at that.

We know you didn't initially

have a strong happiness

about this whole baby thing,

but she is coming anyway.

We don't know it's a she.

We figured we'd give you something

that every woman

is supposed to read.

And every woman is supposed

to read something like that...

we think.

Well, thanks.

- You best read and absorb it.

- Hey, you know,

I was thinking. Have you ever

heard about those people

who sell their babies

for lots of money

through, like, lawyers and stuff?

Jenna, you can't sell your baby.

That's a horrible thought.

I was just thinking,

if I did, I might

make enough money

to finally get away from Earl.

I mean, at this point, the baby

is the only real financial asset

I have if I don't win

that pie contest.

I am going to pretend

that you are not saying this.

Not everybody wants

to be a mama, Dawn.

That don't make me a bad person.

You're not getting

any more affectionate

towards that little baby?

Not at all?

I respect this baby's right to thrive.

I do nothing harmful to it.

I don't drink,

I watch my diet, but no.

I feel nothing like affection.

Maybe that man smothered

all the affection out of me.

I don't know.

Well, I got to get back to work.

Yeah, uh, breakfast crowd's

heating up.

Yeah.

Hey, thanks for the book.

All right.

Jenna, there's all these

cool things to do in here.

Um, there's a little scrapbook

section in the back,

where you can put pictures

of your pregnant belly as it develops.

Oh, and there's a place where

you can write your first letter to your baby.

- Oh.

- Right here.

Right in the middle.

Okay, Dawn, thanks.

First Letter To My Baby.

First letter.

Where's my water?

Dear baby...

Dear baby,

if I was writing you a letter,

it would probably sound

something like an apology.

I know everyone deserves a mama

who'd want a nice baby

such as yourself...

who was also a good wife,

a fine member of society.

And I can't rightly say

that I'm any of that,

and I'm not sure the world

is such a fine place

to be bringing you.

Many of the people I've met

are not worth meeting.

Many of the things that happen

are not worth living through.

And you shouldn't take it

personal, baby,

if I don't seem like all the

other mamas-to-be,

jumping all over themselves

with joy.

I frankly don't know

what I got to give you, baby.

What if I leave Earl and don't

win that contest next week

and don't have no money?

What the hell am I going to do

with you then?

You sure is getting fat, baby.

All my life, baby,

the only thing I ever want

to do is run away.

What kind of mama is that?

(singing hum in background) Baby don't you cry, gonna make a pie, gonna make a pie with a heart in the middle

I wish I could feel other things, baby.

Like excitement

that you're with me now

or faith that I'll be a good mama,

even if my life

ain't such a good place

and the world as I see it

ain't so pretty

like they'd have you believe

in this book.

Anyway, I'm writing

this letter to you.

It sounds more like a letter

to me, don't it?

Love, Mama.

Where you going, Jenna?

Nowhere, Earl.

L- I mean, to work.

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