Previously: Ayn Rand’s The Breakfast Club.
INFERIOR MAN: Hey.
ANDREA: Happy birthday. Nate, I’m so sorry. I kept trying to leave, but there was a lot going on. And, you know, I didn’t have a choice.
INFERIOR MAN: Don’t worry about it. I’m gonna go to bed.
ANDREA: You are a grown man with a demanding job of your own, yet you seek to punish me for missing several hours of a completely arbitrary event in order to excel in my chosen career?
INFERIOR MAN: I said don’t worry about it.
ANDREA: And you lack even the common manly courage to fight with me about this matter? You would rather slink off to bed, stinking of jealousy and defeat, than argue with the woman you call your mate? You are so lost to your higher self that you would resent me for my achievements, rather than celebrate them with me, sexually?
INFERIOR MAN: I guess.
ANDREA: You disgust me. You are not my sexual equal. You make expensive cheeses for idlers, triflers, and non-producers. I create value in a billion-dollar industry. Your good opinion is utterly meaningless. I will find myself a man who is a captain of industry and buys diamonds to wrap around my throat. You will die in squalid poverty, surrounded by greasy snacks. Good-bye forever.
INFERIOR MAN: Andrea, wait.
ANDREA [over her shoulder]: If you ever make something of value by yourself, take a picture and send it to me. My address will be the tallest skyscraper in the world.
JEALOUS COWORKER: I don’t care if she was gonna fire you or beat you with a red-hot poker! You should have said no.
ANDREA: That is an absurdity. What could Miranda possibly gain in beating me with a red-hot poker? Under the free market, there is no reason to exploit or mistreat the laborer. Doing so would go against one’s self-interest.
JEALOUS COWORKER: You should have said no.
ANDREA: You truly believe I should have allowed myself to be fired because you wanted to go on vacation to Paris?
JEALOUS COWORKER: That’s not how I would put it.
ANDREA: You deserved to be hit by that car. You have no sense of the value of others. I will go to Paris, and I will continue to surpass you professionally, and you will have no one to blame but yourself.
DEAD WEIGHT FRIEND: Who were you talking to?
ANDREA: Lily, he’s just a guy I know from work.
DEAD WEIGHT FRIEND: Yeah, that looked like work.
ANDREA: Are you truly suggesting I do not have the right to speak to talented, professional men in art galleries?
DEAD WEIGHT FRIEND: You know, the Andy I know is madly in love with Nate, is always five minutes early, and thinks, I don’t know, Club Monaco is couture. For the last 16 years, I’ve known everything about that Andy. But this person? This “glamazon” who skulks around in corners with some random hot fashion guy? I don’t get her.
ANDREA: Why should I remain static and frozen in the past simply because it is the Andrea you are the most used to? Is it not my obligation to learn about fashion if I work in the fashion industry? Should I purposely fail at my job in order to make you feel more comfortable in your own mediocrity?
DEAD WEIGHT FRIEND: I didn’t mean it like that —
ANDREA: If I recall, you were perfectly happy about my newfound knowledge of couture when I got you that Marc Jacobs bag. You appear to be carrying it now. Was this wrong of me?
DEAD WEIGHT FRIEND: I —
ANDREA: Be silent. I do not require explanations. I will never apologize for my newfound excellence. I will speak to whatever man I consider fit to talk to. And I would describe him as more “weirdly ugly-cute” than “hot.” He has no eyebrows.
DEAD WEIGHT FRIEND: Look, I’m —
ANDREA: If you can think of a better way to stand in a corner, I am happy to hear it. But I will not sacrifice myself for you. Perhaps someday you will learn that my success is not a threat to you unless you wish it to be.
MIRANDA: Andrea. Everybody wants this. Everybody wants to be us.
ANDREA: You are quite right. [Gets in the limo] Let us buy a helicopter, that we may float above the poor.
Mallory is an Editor of The Toast.