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Cheers Finale, Revisited
He sees her on the tv one night after his sexaholics meeting, looking more glamorous, more Hollywood than he could ever hope to imagine. Frasier tells him to look to her right, and… there’s Diane, rambling on about something—it’s what she’s good at. His soul flutters. Carla thinks she’s a hallucination. Maybe she is.
They lost touch six or so years ago. She left. He quit calling. And she didn’t come back. Part of him, for a while, thought—maybe hoped —she would come waltzing back into his life, into Cheers, and they’d go back to how they once were. Sometimes he lingers on the front door, thinking he sees her face out the window. And when the door opens and it’s not her, a brief wave of sadness fills him.
He moves behind the bar and reaches for the phone without thinking, his heart, not any of his other parts, controlling him. He sends the telegram, then moves on with his day.
The phone call comes right before closing. He’s wiping down the bar. Norm, not wanting to go home, keeps him company. He picks it up, does his usual greeting but her voice catches him off guard.
“Is life okay for you?” she asks him.
Is life okay for him?
He lies, says that it is. Says his business is great. Tells her about a family he doesn’t have. Even talks about how good his hair is—Carla keeps saying how he needs to lose the rug, be honest with everybody about it. God, he’s a sham. A liar addicted to sex. She really dodged a bullet there, didn’t she?
“Family?” she questions, and his gut twists. “You have a family?”
“Well, you didn’t think I was gonna wait around for you for the rest of my life, did ya?” Harsh words meant only to make her bleed. An anger boils inside him still. She didn’t come back.
“I didn’t say that.”
“I didn’t say you did,” he says.
They both fall silent. He paces the bar as he listens to her breathe. And then after a moment, she sighs. “Sam, I’m calling to say…” She trails off quickly, unable to say whatever it is—a first for her, he’s sure. And he hears movement. Then, a child’s voice.
“Mummy’s busy on the phone right now, darling,” Diane says, though muffled. His heart sinks. “Why don’t you go into the other room and play with your train.”
He freezes in place as the kid babbles about something. She’s married. She’s moved on. “You got a kid, huh?” He tries to act casual about it, hoping she doesn’t see right through him.
“Oh… um, yes, Sam,” she says quietly. “That’s actually what I wanted to discuss—”
“Hey, me too,” he tells her quickly, before she can rip his heart out again. “About three or four of them.”
“Three or four, Sam?” she questions, and he kicks himself at his wording.
“Four,” he says firmly.
“Oh?”
“Uh, yeah, one’s just a baby. Sometimes he gets overlooked. You know how it is.”
“Oh… um, yes.”
He pauses; he panics. “Hey, listen, Diane… if you and your family are ever in Boston, bring them by the bar sometime.”
He’s stupid, that’s what he is. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
“Really, Sam?”
He nods. But realizing she can’t see him, he says, “Sure. Yeah, why not? It’ll give you the chance to meet my old lady and… and our kiddos.”
“Yes, of course,” she says softly. There’s a sadness in her voice and he thinks to confess. Tell her that he's a liar. Her kid starts screaming or something on the other end; he tenses at the sound. “Um, I have to go now, Sam.”
“All right, then. Give your husband my best.”
“Wait, Sam, I…” And she hesitates, then begins as if she wants to say something more. But whatever it is, she decides against it. “I… look forward to seeing you in person.”
“Oh um, likewise.”
He hangs up the phone, his heart pounding. He feels like scum. No, he feels worse than scum. She’s moved on. He hasn’t. And he hates her for it.
“Sammy?” questions Norm. He kind of forgot he was here. “Why did you invite her here when you’re lying about being married?”
He says nothing, just moves to the back to think. What the hell is wrong with him?
She’s not gonna really come back, he decides the next day. Too many old wounds. Too many bad memories that are better left in the past.
Maybe he’ll meet some hot babe tonight. She’ll end up being the love of his life. He’ll stop thinking about sex so much. He’ll stop thinking about Diane. He’ll finally move on.
Rebecca comes in looking like a hot mess and, briefly, he feels better about his own situation. She crumbles at the very mention of Don. At least he can act like his heart hasn’t been torn to shreds. Maybe they can move on together, eventually. After he’s gotten some help. After he’s no longer thinking so much about sex. And about Diane. It’s a thought he keeps in the back of his mind. She’s demented, yeah, but he does love her.
He’s preparing drinks for Carla’s table when the scream comes. He jumps. Beer nuts are thrown everywhere.
“Hello, Sam,” she says.
“Diane.”
Carla screams again. He covers her mouth. She looks exactly the same. Maybe a little more leggy. She changed her hair a little. But—he gets a big whiff of lavender—her perfume’s the exact same.
“We’re just here visiting,” she assures Carla. She almost sounds nervous.
His stomach twists as he moves to hand Carla off to Woody. “Ah, you’re with your family. Right.” She makes him nuts. She does. No other girl makes him lie like this.
“Sam, I wonder—”
“I’ll just, um, go get… my wife. Uh, Rebecca.”
He moves swiftly toward his office and spends the next few moments trying to make her look… human.
He jumps at the knocking of the door and Rebecca melts back down onto the floor as Diane enters. “Diane—uh, this is my wife, Rebecca,” he says, bending to lift her up. “Rebecca, this is… well, this is Diane.”
“Hi,” greets Rebecca meekly. He brings her to his feet, and lifts her arm so the two can shake hands.
“Hello,” Diane says, a look of concern on her face. She clears her throat, turns her attention back onto Sam. “May I speak with you privately, Sam?”
“Hey, sure—um, Rebecca?” He lets go of her and she drops again to the floor. When she makes no effort to move, he uses his foot to slide her out the door.
“What a… lovely woman,” Diane observes after a moment, masking her distaste easily.
All he can do is shake his head, flee to his desk and sit. “Look, Diane… Rebecca and I, we’re not together. I made the whole thing up to—well, I don’t know why I made it up. I guess I didn’t want you getting the wrong idea about me.”
“What idea is that, Sam?”
“That I’m still thinking about you—because I’m not,” he says. “That my life is empty without you. It’s not. I live a completely full life without you in it.”
He lifts his feet up as if to emphasize his uncaring nature and pretends her look of pity doesn’t bother him. She moves toward him, touches his shoe with her gentle hand. He doesn’t pull away.
“I didn’t come back here to make you feel any sort of way about yourself, Sam,” she says, and he almost believes her. “I understand our relationship is in the past and you’ve moved on, but… but there is something important I came here to tell you.”
She sits on his desk, like she used to in the old days when he needed just the right distraction. He resists the urge to touch her thigh. “Yeah, what?”
She huffs, looks away from him; his stomach clenches. “I thought it was stress. I left here in such a hurry. And those first few months out there were difficult. The entire year proved challenging, actually. I was in over my head...”
All he can do is hum. He told her to go. Encouraged it. He didn’t want to be her anchor, keeping her in one place for the rest of her life. She needed to be more than a bartender’s wife. The both of them knew that, deep down.
“I quit sending you letters.” The ones he keeps safely in a shoebox in the back of his closet, along with the rest of the stuff she’s given him throughout their time together. “You stopped calling.” She sniffles, then wipes the tear rolling down her cheek. He moves to get her a couple tissues. “By the time I found out, Sam, it was already too late. We had both already moved on.”
“What… what’re trying to say here, Diane?”
Another knock on the door brings her abruptly to her feet. The door opens and some guy enters. “Oh, Reed,” she says, collecting herself.
Sam stands too. “Reed?” he questions.
“Reed Manchester,” she introduces. They shake hands. “Reed, this is Sam.”
“Hey, nice meeting ya.” There’s that twist in his gut again, jealousy—envy.
“I’ve heard a great deal about you, Sam,” Reed says.
“Reed,” she says, touching his arm. “I just need a few more minutes with Sam here.” They share a look and Diane gestures with her eyes. “I haven’t told him yet,” she says after a moment of awkward silence between them.
Reed excuses himself quickly. Sam crosses to plop down onto his couch, deciding to be the bigger person—despite his humiliation. She’s married. She has a family. She’s moved on. “Hey, your husband seems like a real nice guy, Diane.”
There’s a pause and she blinks, then laughs at his comment. Mocking him. His stomach tightens.
“Reed is not my husband, Sam,” she assures. “He’s my dog groomer. My gay dog groomer.”
“You came all this way just to introduce me to your… your gay dog groomer?”
She sits beside him. “He’s here as a favor. I’m helping him write this play, you see. It will likely never see the light of day. His amateur writing mirrors Albert Dunley.” She laughs. He’s just trying to keep up with her rambling. “But Isadore’s fond of him. And, Kevin, his partner—”
The room starts spinning; his head throbs. Why does she always feel the need to do this to him? He’s wasted so many years of his life just trying to understand her. “Diane. Why… why the hell did you come back?”
“I came back because you have the right to know…” Again, she stops and takes a deep breath. “You have a son, Sam.”
“A son?” He cackles at the absurdity. But her face says she’s serious, so he stops. He sits up. “A son, Diane? You mean… you mean, I got a kid out there?” Realization kicks in. He stands, moves far away from her. “ We got a kid.”
“I tried telling you. Honestly, I did. But each time I picked up the phone to call or a pen to write… oh Sam, I couldn’t. The words never came. My voice became mute.” She pauses, her eyes studying him. He’s just trying not to pass out. “I have been rotting with guilt for quite some time about this, Sam. A parabolic scarlet letter permanently ingrained itself into my chest the moment I decided to keep sweet Isadore from you.”
She’s muffled, background noise to his beating heart. Maybe he shouldn’t have given up so easily. Called more often. Visited a time or two. Maybe he should have made her marry him. Anger and sadness fight within him. He rubs his face, wipes the sweat away. “So, what? I’ve just had a kid for seven years without you telling me?”
“Five,” she says with a look of concern. “Your math really is atrocious.”
A kid. An actual living, breathing… kid. Isadore. His son’s name is Isadore. He can toss a ball with him; he can take him to the batting cages. Hope suddenly fills him. He clears his throat, tries to hide the emotion in his voice. “What’s, uh, Isadore like?”
Her eyes brighten. “He is intelligent, compassionate, gallant and, oftentimes, quite silly. Absolutely perfect in every way, Sam.”
“What about sports? What kind of sports is he into?”
“He enjoys a casual game of chess every now and again,” she tells him, “and has taken a keen interest in tennis our last few visits to the country club.”
He’ll have to introduce him to the real stuff. Take him to his first ball game. Maybe even one day coach a team he’s on…
Is he really doing this? Is this really happening now? He moves to sit again at his desk, not really wanting to look at her. Not really wanting to look at anyone yet.
“Sam?” he hears her say. Her eyes burn the back of his neck. “How are you feeling about all of this?”
It’s what he wants, isn’t it? “I… don’t know. Still trying to process everything, you know?” he answers honestly. He wanted nothing more, for a while there. But it wasn’t the right time. Rebecca wasn’t the right girl. They were doing it for the wrong reasons. “I think maybe I wanna meet him. I think maybe I wanna be in his life.”
“Oh, yes, of course…” she says, moving quickly to the door. “He’s just outside with Reed. I’ll go fetch him.”
He moves to look at himself in the mirror as she exits. He fixes his hair, adjusts the collar on his shirt, then takes a deep breath. He mumbles to himself, practicing his introduction: “Hey, kid… how’s life? I’m Sam Malone…” He shakes, slaps his cheeks to look more alert. His stomach aches with nerves. “I’m dad… I’m pop. I’m your dad, kid.” What the hell is he even doing? The kid’s smart. He’ll probably come in here and start lecturing him about literature or science… or something, like Diane always did. “God. I’m in over my head, aren’t I?” he tells himself as the door opens.
Diane enters again—he jumps slightly—holding the kid’s hand. She’s got him wearing some dorky sweater vest and slicked his hair back, but he sees Malone in him. The gleam in his eyes. The mischievous grin.
“Isadore,” she starts gently, kneeling to match his height. Sam follows her down. “This is Sa—” She stops, not sure how to introduce him. Is he still just Sam… or is he dad now? He’s wondering the same thing. She clears her throat and starts again, “Sam this is Isadore.”
“Hey there, Issy,” he says, almost breathlessly. He looks at Diane, who nods encouragingly. And realization hits him. This is his son. He’s his dad. “I’m… well, I guess I’m your dad, kiddo.” He shakes the hand Issy puts out for him. “Hey, I bet you’re the kind of kid who really likes ice cream sundaes, huh?” Isadore’s eyes bulge out in a child-like manner as he nods. “I happen to know a great place just down the street.” He turns to his mother for approval.
She laughs at his excitement. “You may have ice cream after you’ve had lunch.”
Sam picks him up, moves with him to the door. Diane follows them out. “We’re in luck. There’s a pizza joint nearby.”
Carla’s waiting on a nearby table. Rebecca found her way over to the bar, next to Norm. Woody’s pouring her a cup of coffee. And Cliff’s talking Reed’s ear off. He gets the bar’s attention: “Hey, uh, everybody—I want you to meet somebody. This is… Issy. He’s my son.”
There’s a beat of awkward, unsure silence, so he whispers something into his son’s ear. “A round on the house!” Issy shouts, echoing Sam’s words. And the whole bar erupts into cheers.
He moves to the bar where Woody begins pouring. “I always thought you’d make a great father, Sam,” Woody tells him.
“Hey thanks, Woody,” he says, crossing to pull cash out of the register.
“All that’s left to do now is make Miss Chambers an honest woman.”
He rolls his eyes at the comment. They’re not getting back together if he has any say in it–and he does. Deep down they both know they don’t work. That’s why he stopped calling; that’s why she didn’t write. Diane reaches for Issy over the bar and he hands him off to her. She moves to help Reed break free from Cliff’s banter.
Carla’s there in an instant, an urgency in her fiery eyes. “Sammy…” He ignores her, moving toward Diane, who’s waving him over. Carla blocks the bar exit. “Don’t leave this bar with that woman, Sammy. You know what she does to you.”
“C’mon, Carla–it’s not like that,” he tries to assure. She’s not buying it. “He’s my kid…”
“Yeah, but she’s Diane.”
“We’re not getting back together, all right?” He finds an opening and pushes past her. “You have my word,” he adds, feeling something other than hunger rumble inside him.
“They’re getting back together,” he hears Norm say as they exit. Something like hope fills him. His new self walks out the door. His new life starts now.