What if you were called to serve in the restoration of polygamy? PILOT PROGRAM is the story of Abigail Husten, a writer and professor whose life is turned upside down when she and her husband Jacob are called to participate in a pilot program restoring polygamy to current LDS practice.
Please enjoy the following excerpt from PILOT PROGRAM by Melissa Leilani Larson. If you'd like to find out what happens next, mark your calendars for April 30, 2025, when the Roadshow Theater Company will produce a reading performance of PILOT PROGRAM in its entirety. Visit thecompassgallery.com for tickets.
ABIGAIL writes another blog post.
ABIGAIL: I called Heather and left a voicemail. Just like that. I couldn’t help myself. She was working in San Francisco, at a publishing house where I’d helped her get an internship during grad school. It was less than an hour before she called me back, and the next thing I knew she was on a plane. I didn’t know what I expected her to say. I didn’t even know what I was going to ask her. I just thought, if there needs to be someone else— Why not someone just like me?
The doorbell rings.
HEATHER enters.
HEATHER: Oh my gosh, it’s freezing.
ABIGAIL: Yeah, it’s terrible. Ice on everything. I’m amazed you made it up the walk. We keep waiting for the icicles to drop and kill someone.
HEATHER: They’re huge.
ABIGAIL: Right? Anyway, come on in.
The two women regard each other.
HEATHER: Wow. Hi.
ABIGAIL: You’re here. I can’t believe it.
HEATHER: Why are we being awkward? So strange. Come here.
They hug.
ABIGAIL: It’s so good to see you.
HEATHER: It’s good to be seen.
ABIGAIL: Come in. Have a seat. Jake will be home any minute.
HEATHER: Thanks.
ABIGAIL: You’ve been busy.
HEATHER: So have you. I love your blog. It’s my sanctuary. I read it every day and think, “Wow, I know her.”
ABIGAIL: Hush.
HEATHER: It’s true. I’ve converted people to reading your stuff. You’ve made me start my own.
ABIGAIL: AmidTheHeather.com. It’s clever.
HEATHER: Not too precious?
ABIGAIL: It’s perfect. What else could you possibly call it?
HEATHER: I’m just getting started, of course. Nowhere near your level. Oh, Abby. Your book—
ABIGAIL: It’s not that big a deal.
HEATHER: It’s an amazingly big deal. A huge deal. It’s colossal.
ABIGAIL: It’s just a book.
HEATHER: Right. It’s just a book published by Vintage. Abby, the early reviews are killer.
ABIGAIL: I don’t dare read them. I get too nervous.
HEATHER: Still?
ABIGAIL: I don’t write for other people to read it; that’s just a lucky by-product. I write because I have to. To clear my head, or work through a problem. It’s just how my mind works. It’ll probably always be strange to know someone other than me wants to read something of mine.
HEATHER: I hadn’t realized how much I miss this place. You have the same lamps. This rug—
ABIGAIL: I’m sure everything is pretty much the same. More books, if such a thing is possible. How was your flight?
HEATHER: Fine. Quick, which was a blessing. Feels like it’s been ages since I’ve been in Salt Lake.
ABIGAIL: Almost three years.
HEATHER: And yet everything feels the same.
ABIGAIL: That’s the funny thing about this place. It always feels like home. I’m sorry, I should have come to get you.
HEATHER: Oh, no. I got a rental. I have to drive myself. I’m guessing the trains are still running blithely on their own timetable.
ABIGAIL: At least you can take the FrontRunner from Ogden to Cedar City. If you’re so inclined.
HEATHER: Abby— Are you— Is everything okay?
ABIGAIL: Yes. Why shouldn’t it be?
HEATHER: The other night on the phone. You sounded distant. Away. I mean, I was thrilled to hear from you. But it felt so out of the blue.
ABIGAIL: I know. I’m sorry. Things have been so busy lately. The book has been taking up a lot of time. I’ve been exiling poor Jake while I’ve been working. But I don’t think he minds too much since he got his new Playstation.
HEATHER: Are you and Jake . . .?
ABIGAIL: Jake and I are fine. Promise. I just wanted to see you. Tell me about you. About work.
HEATHER: Oh, work is work. I don’t think anyone really understands how satisfying it is to copyedit a manuscript. And when the book hits its second printing, you can point out the pages where you fought tooth and nail for those paragraph breaks and say, “I did this.”
ABIGAIL: That’s great. Really. I’m very proud.
HEATHER: I have you to thank for it. Your recommendation opened so many doors.
ABIGAIL: You deserve everything good that’s come your way. Once they met you it was just a matter of time before they made an offer.
HEATHER: How’s the department?
ABIGAIL: Oh, political and dramatic. As per always.
HEATHER: Always.
ABIGAIL: Teaching is— I mean, it’s always rewarding. But there are days when you wonder if any of them are even listening.
HEATHER: When your book takes off, you can retire from teaching all famous and independently wealthy.
ABIGAIL: A likely story.
HEATHER: It’s going to happen. And then you can hire me to be your assistant and help with your memoirs.
ABIGAIL: Ha!
HEATHER: You think I’m joking.
ABIGAIL: It’s a very pretty possibility. Prettier for its unlikelihood.
HEATHER: Well, if you ever needed me, you know I’d drop everything to run over. You know I would.
ABIGAIL: I know.
HEATHER: I mean it. I should have called.
ABIGAIL: Sorry?
HEATHER: When I read your post about your miscarriage. I should have called.
ABIGAIL: Oh. Yes. Which one?
HEATHER: Which—?
ABIGAIL: I’ve had three.
HEATHER: Abby—
ABIGAIL: Don’t. I didn’t say it to—Don’t feel bad. It’s no one’s fault. I want you to know. I don’t want us to have any . . . secrets.
HEATHER: I had no idea.
ABIGAIL: I didn’t post about all of them. It’s a stupid reason, but . . . They all sounded the same. The same words all came out in the same order. How many different ways can you say “heartbreak”? English is funny that way. A dozen ways to say something is wonderful but the ways to say “sad”. . . They all sound the same. Heartbroken. Heartrending. Heartsick. Everything comes back to the heart. No one ever says, “I’m heart-happy.” Anyway, I was sad. What else is there to say? I was frustrated that I couldn’t write about it differently. I didn’t want to repeat myself. Didn’t want to think about it anymore.
HEATHER: I wish you had told me sooner.
ABIGAIL: I didn’t want to distract you. You have your own life to lead. Your own projects, your own path. I just— Oh, this was a terrible idea.
HEATHER: What is?
JACOB enters, just home from work.
ABIGAIL: Jake.
JACOB: Hey.
He kisses her. It’s nice. He tries for another, but—
ABIGAIL: Jake . . .
JACOB: What?
ABIGAIL: Heather’s here.
JACOB: Oh. Right. Sorry. Heather. Hi.
We could possibly have one of the most awkward handshakes of all time happening right now. Just saying.
HEATHER: Hi.
JACOB: Hi.
Silence.
ABIGAIL: He remembers.
JACOB: I remember. I didn’t think—Thanks for coming.
HEATHER: Of course. I’m glad for the excuse to visit. If there was ever a professor who changed my life, it was Abby.
JACOB: I’m not surprised.
ABIGAIL: Heather’s very talented in her own right.
JACOB: She would have to be. To keep up with you.
ABIGAIL: Don’t.
HEATHER: It’s true.
JACOB: I knew it.
ABIGAIL: Stop it. Both of you.
JACOB: Sorry I’m late. Can I get you anything, Heather? Water? Pellegrino?
HEATHER: Sure, that’d be great. Whatever’s easiest.
He exits into the kitchen.
HEATHER watches him go.
HEATHER: You guys. You two. You don’t look like you’ve changed a bit.
ABIGAIL: I don’t know that we have.
HEATHER: That’s fabulous.
ABIGAIL: You think so?
HEATHER: So many people get married for the wrong reasons. Too fast, outside pressure . . . You guys are the real deal.
ABIGAIL: Have you—Is there someone? In your life?
HEATHER (Lightly): That trail of shattered dreams goes off in a direction I no longer choose to travel.
ABIGAIL: Really.
HEATHER: I have things to do. Places to visit. I’m doing three months in the Alps come June. Just me, Margaret Atwood, and Switzerland.
ABIGAIL: Sounds lovely.
JACOB re-enters with water glasses for all.
HEATHER (To JACOB): You know, I used to have the biggest crush on you.
JACOB and ABIGAIL exchange a look.
JACOB: Did you know about this?
ABIGAIL: I did not.
HEATHER: I remember days you would come to campus. Just to say hi, or drop off lunch, or bring flowers . . . I used to think about what it would be like to date a guy like you.
Awkwardness.
HEATHER looks at JACOB; the look is loaded. But she is the first to break it off.
HEATHER: I’m sorry. That was a crazy thing to say.
ABIGAIL: Don’t worry about it. We were—I was thinking about something else, is all. I got distracted.
What happens now? All three take a sip.
Such a silence.
ABIGAIL looks at JACOB, a little pleading. He moves to sit closer to her. Takes her hand. She prompts him with a look.
JACOB: . . . Heather.
HEATHER: Yeah.
JACOB: You’re a fine editor, Abby tells me.
HEATHER: Well, that’s a bit of flattery.
JACOB: Congrats.
HEATHER: Thanks.
JACOB: Yes. Well.
ABIGAIL: Well.
HEATHER: . . . Well?
JACOB looks to ABIGAIL.
ABIGAIL: Um. Well. We’re so glad you’re here. We have something to—ask you.
HEATHER: Really.
ABIGAIL: Yes.
HEATHER: Okay.
ABIGAIL: We—Jacob and I—we’ve been asked to a part of something potentially—
JACOB: Unprecedented?
ABIGAIL: Oh, there’s precedent.
HEATHER: Now I’m intrigued.
ABIGAIL (To JACOB): Do you want to—?
JACOB: You’re doing just fine.
ABIGAIL: But shouldn’t you— Shouldn’t it be you? Who asks?
JACOB: It’s coming from both of us. I think it has to.
ABIGAIL (To HEATHER): What would you think about coming back to Salt Lake? Permanently?
HEATHER: I’m pretty sure I would loathe it.
JACOB: Not exactly what we were hoping for.
ABIGAIL: It could wait. Until after your trip. After Switzerland. When you’re ready.
JACOB: We’d want you to be ready.
HEATHER: What exactly— You said “hoping for.” And you’re both so on edge. What’s going on?
ABIGAIL: A really awkward question, and a peculiar request. Margaret Atwood would probably love to write about it.
HEATHER: Not like I haven’t already scored points in the awkward department.
JACOB: Well, there’s the baby thing.
ABIGAIL: We’ve been thinking about how to—About other things to try.
JACOB: And we’ve tried. We’ve tried so many. I worry that we—
(ABIGAIL shoots him a look.)
I can’t help it. I worry about hurting you. How much experimenting can a body take?
ABIGAIL (To HEATHER): I bruise easily.
HEATHER: I’ll do it.
ABIGAIL: You will?
HEATHER: You want to have a baby. And you need a surrogate. I can do that. I think I can, anyway.
ABIGAIL: No—I mean, thank you, but—
JACOB: I didn’t even think—Wow.
HEATHER: Isn’t that what you want?
ABIGAIL: Not exactly.
JACOB: It’s very thoughtful.
ABIGAIL: Yes. Incredibly sweet. But nine months—
(To JACOB) I don’t know if I can say it.
JACOB: Of course you can.
HEATHER: Moving back to Salt Lake, though. That’s another thing altogether.
ABIGAIL: Heather, I’m asking—we’re asking—for something considerably more.
HEATHER: . . . More?
ABIGAIL: We’ve been asked—Jacob and I have been called to be part of a new program in the Church. We want you to do it with us. I guess—What we’re asking is if you’d be interested—willing, I suppose—to, um, marry us. Him. But it would also be me.
HEATHER is at a loss.
ABIGAIL: We don’t need an answer now.
JACOB: You can think about it.
ABIGAIL: We would rather you thought about it.
JACOB: Of course. Take your time.
HEATHER: You’re saying—What you’re saying—It’s not possible.
(She laughs; she can’t help it.)
I just—You’re asking me to marry you? Both of you? That’s nuts.
ABIGAIL: It is what it is.
HEATHER: . . . So this is happening.
ABIGAIL: Pretty much.
HEATHER (To JACOB): And you’re all right with this? I’m assuming they asked you first.
JACOB: They asked us together. We decided together.
HEATHER: You decided together. That must be nice.
JACOB: We thought—
HEATHER: You thought I was desperate. Lonely.
ABIGAIL AND JACOB: No—
HEATHER: What makes you think I want to be your second wife? Anyone’s second wife?
ABIGAIL: I thought it would be better to ask someone I knew. Someone I already loved and admired.
HEATHER: You admire me?
ABIGAIL: Of course I do. You have ambition. Drive. You’re a force to be reckoned with. It’s only a matter of time before you have a book contract of your own.
HEATHER: He’s your husband.
ABIGAIL: I’m not giving him to you.
HEATHER: Then what are you doing?
ABIGAIL: Sharing. Him.
JACOB: Still in the room.
HEATHER: How does this work exactly? I’ll tell you, I was the kid on the playground who didn’t want to take turns on the swings. I’d run out of class first to claim mine, and then I wouldn’t give it up, all recess long, until someone pulled me out of it. I suck at sharing.
ABIGAIL: I don’t know. I guess that’s what we have to figure out.
HEATHER: What do you mean, you don’t know?
ABIGAIL: I mean, I don’t know.
HEATHER: You’re asking me to—How can you not have a plan?
ABIGAIL: This is all new to me too. All right? We all know what the ideal would be, and that this is not it. I thought, What can I do to make this situation more tolerable?
HEATHER: And the answer was to call me.
ABIGAIL: I can’t explain it. But yes.
JACOB: Look. We know how crazy this all sounds. I don’t know that we’ve completely come to grips with it ourselves. But you’re the closest thing Abby has to family. Her students are her children.
HEATHER: . . . I used to wish you were my sister. I looked for excuses to visit you in your office almost every day. Coming here was like—Are you saying this is my only chance? To get married?
ABIGAIL: Of course not.
HEATHER: I wanted it a long time ago, when I was an undergrad and a fairy tale wedding was what everyone wanted. But finishing BYU single was liberating in a way. I didn’t need to get married to be whole. I was—I am me. I have a job. I support myself. I go to church on Sunday and I think how blessed I am to be in complete control of my life. To only have to worry about what I want. Sometimes, though, there is that little nagging feeling that something—someone is missing. I’ll come home late from work, and my apartment is dark and quiet. Most days, I relish the quiet. But now and then I can’t help but wonder what those floors would sound like with more than one person walking across them. I sit on the couch and pull a blanket around myself and wish I could be—held.
ABIGAIL: Honey—
HEATHER: It’s nothing new. I’m fine. Marriage is not part of my plan right now. It hasn’t been for a while. I’m thirty-three. So what? There’s nothing wrong with being single at thirty-three.
JACOB: No. Of course not.
ABIGAIL: This was a bad idea. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have presumed. I was being selfish. I didn’t think—I didn’t mean to insult you.
JACOB: Not at all. We were trying to figure out who would work best with us. Abby thought of you first.
ABIGAIL: I miss you. I miss our talks. I thought that if we were crazy enough to do this thing, Jacob and I, then you were the natural choice to do it with us. The thought just came into my head, an item to check off on a to-do list. Like it was ordinary. Expected.
HEATHER: “Kindred spirits.” That’s what you used to call us.
ABIGAIL: Yes. I still believe it.
HEATHER: It’s always been a comfort to me. . . . I should go.
But she stops, her expression thoughtful.
ABIGAIL: You’re exhausted, I’m sure. Where are you staying? We have a spare room upstairs. I should have told you that in the first place.
JACOB: We’ll pay for the room.
HEATHER: . . . Abby . . .
(ABIGAIL looks up at her tone.) Abby, I— What happens if I say yes?
ABIGAIL: Are you— Did you—feel something? Just now?
HEATHER sucks in a breath. She is blinking back tears. Somehow she manages to nod.
ABIGAIL takes HEATHER’S hand in both of hers.
ABIGAIL: Okay, then. Okay.
Still holding hands, they sit on the couch together.
HEATHER: . . . Wow. Can we, I don’t know—Go to dinner or something? Catch a movie, maybe? Are there rules? For dating?
ABIGAIL: I guess we make them up.
*Please contact the playwright for permission before producing this play.
Melissa Leilani Larson is a mixed-race Filipino American writer based in Salt Lake City. Her work has been produced nationwide. Plays include Relative Space; A Form of Flattery; Sweetheart, Come; Gin Mummy; Pride and Prejudice; Bitter Lemon; Mestiza, or Mixed; Persuasion; The Post Office; Little Happy Secrets; Pilot Program; and Martyrs’ Crossing. Film: Jane and Emma and Freetown. Mel was a contributing writer on Saints. In 2019 she was honored with the AML Smith-Pettit Foundation Award for Outstanding Contribution to Mormon Letters. She’s a member of Plan-B Theatre’s Lab, Honor Roll!, and the Dramatists Guild. MFA, Iowa Playwrights Workshop.
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