You called me honey at midnight. You called me angel at two. You called me “the only woman who has ever understood you.” That phrase is lovely, darling. It shimmers. It appeals. But your prepaid card was declined, so let’s discuss what’s real. Don’t call me baby for free. Don’t pour your heartbreak on me. If you need comfort, guidance, truth, or someone to validate your youth, select a package, choose option three. [Ensemble] No free samples. No unpaid tears. No emotional layaway for thirty-seven years. You found my public profile. You sent “Hey” at half past four. Then “Hey?” Then “Are you mad?” Then thirteen roses and a photo of your floor. You said, “I thought we had something.” We did. A billing arrangement. You paid for twenty minutes. I provided engagement. Don’t call me baby for free. Don’t make your crisis my fee. You cannot turn a purchased sigh into a lifelong alibi. That isn’t love. That’s customer dependency. Brenda: Viv, soften the message. Viv: Fine. Dear valued caller, your affection has exceeded the boundaries of your current plan. Brenda: Better. Viv: Upgrade, you emotionally ambitious man. [Ensemble] Boundaries. Beautiful boundaries. Glorious billable lines. Nothing protects a tender heart like terms, conditions, and signs. Viv: I’m not your girlfriend, therapist, mother, muse, or fate. I’m a woman in a folding chair who clocks in seven to eight. I can tell you you’re magnificent. I can gasp and call you strong. I can murmur, “No one gets you,” for the duration of the song. But when the timer reaches zero, when the little green light dies, I don’t owe you one more whisper, one more promise, one more lie. Kevin: What if I don’t want the fantasy? Viv: Then why are you calling? Kevin: I like talking to you. Viv: That is the fantasy. Kevin: What if it isn’t? [Music drops] Viv: Then it’s worse. Don’t call me baby for free. Don’t make sincerity cheap. If something real is happening here, say it without purchasing fear, and don’t confuse possession with something you get to keep. [Ensemble] No free samples. No unpaid years. No building a relationship from automated cheers. Viv: Call me cynical, call me cruel, call me guarded, call me smart. Nobody gets a backstage pass because they rented out my heart. So don’t call me baby— Kevin: Viv. Viv: That isn’t my name. Kevin: I know. [Silence] Viv: Please remain on the line. [Hold tone]
