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Though the lonely, out-of-work truck driver Eddie continued to text love notes to his estranged wife's cell phone number long after her death, he never expect to get an answer.
So one evening, when his message "Thinkin' of you" received the reply, "Thinkin' of you, too," it took a moment for him to realize that her number was assigned to another customer; one who invited the North Jerseyite to come join her at a bar in Williamsburg.
This is all explained in the lovely monologue that opens Martyna Majok's bittersweet and humorous drama, Cost of Living, where four people look to mend their various wounds.
Eddie, played with irresistible sincerity and optimism by Victor Williams, nurses his seltzer while chatting with an unseen, presumed hipster as he waits for his impromptu date, who has probably left.
Through flashback scenes, we see how he reaches out to care for his ex, Ari (Katy Sullivan), who became quadriplegic with heR Lower legs amputated after an accident. Sullivan, who plays the role with plenty of Jersey attitude, was born without lower legs.
Their story alternates with (and eventually connects with) scenes in the home of snarky Princeton grad student, John, who, like the actor playing him (Gregg Mozgala), has cerebral palsy.
The considerably well-off John has just hired financially struggling Jess (Jolly Abraham), to help him with everyday needs like shaving, showering and dressing. She puts up with his intellectually elitist attitude for both the money and the opportunity to spend part of the day in the comfort of his luxurious home.
The mixture of physical challenges and emotional challenges is what fuels the 100-minute play. Director Jo Bonny's warm, embracing production is highlighted by two perfectly played scenes involving the cared-for characters at their most vulnerable. Ari soaks in a bathtub quietly as Eddie shows simple, playful affection, playing her arm like a piano, contrasting with the building resentment Jess feels as she helps John shower.
One of the more interesting aspects of Cost of Living is that Majok draws more empathy for the two caretakers and their emotional challenges than for the physically challenged characters, who aggressively reject sympathy.
When Jess makes it a point to refer to people like John as being "differently-abled," her new employer shoots back, "Don't call it that... It's f-ing retarded."
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