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[music playing]

[typing sounds]

[music playing]

[typing sounds]

[knocking]

Lesser, I know you're in there.

I heard the tippity tap of your typewriter.

You know I have nothing but the greatest respect for writers.

[knocking]

I want you should finish your book, win the Nobel Prize.

Levenspiel.

Have mercy, Lesser.

I can't work with you making that fucking racket.

[knocking]

Lesser, let me in.

You're as pale as a dead fish, Lesser.

What kind of life is this?

I don't understand how you can stay

in this lousy flat all day.

Lesser, please move out.

So I can break up this rotten building that

weighs like a hunch on my back.

I can't leave in the middle of my book.

If I did, it would take me six months to get back to work.

You don't know what you're asking, Levenspiel.

Lesser, every other tenant has settled for a $400 buyout.

You, I offer $1,000 cash and you look at me

like I have a social disease.

Outside of your $72 monthly rent, which only half

pays for the oil you use, I have no other income

coming in from this place.

So if you are really a man, Lesser, a human being,

please understand my situation.

Levenspiel, I'm listening.

I've worked hard.

I'm going to finish soon.

Just please, have some patience with me.

My last book, for reasons I won't go into, was a bomb.

I need to redeem myself in my own eyes.

Once I hit it right, the book will

be off my chest and your bag and I'll leave overnight

and I'll go away.

For Christ sakes, you're eating up my writing time.

Let me work in peace.

Just go.

Go.

Fuck your book.

Mark my words, Lesser, in this world,

it's the heart that counts.

[typing]

[typing sounds]

[typing]

[distant typing sounds]

[knocking]

Hey, man, don't you see me writing on my book?

I'm sorry.

I'm a writer myself.

I live alone in this building, alone on this floor.

I'm writing a book myself.

Baby, it's a long, hard, lonely life.

But dig this.

From now on, I'll be here writing on my book daily.

You mean, Levenspiel is letting you?

And which cat is that?

He owns the building.

Haven't you met?

Didn't he tell you you could work here?

Look man, I ain't interested in no Jew landlord.

I was just looking for a place to finish writing my book,

and hey, I ended up here.

What sort of writing do you do,

if you don't mind me asking?

Now that's a personal question.

And what I'm writing is my personal business.

All I meant was out of curiosity,

are you writing fiction, prose, short stories, what?

It might be fiction, but nonetheless, it's real.

Nobody said it wasn't Harry, Harry Lesser is my name.

Willie Spearmint.

[typing]

Well, sorry for the interruption.

I better be getting back to my own book, my third novel.

It was a surprise to find somebody else up here typing.

I thought for a second I was going crazy.

I had gotten used to being the only man on the island.

Sorry again.

I hate interruptions myself.

If you need anything, I'm generally

free in the late afternoon, like you know, 5:00, 5:30.

You know what? Make it sixish.

[typing]

[knocking]

Say, man, can I leave this here until the morning?

I don't want nobody to steal it out of my office.

I've been hiding in the closet, but that ain't like hiding,

if you can dig what I'm saying.

Are you through for the day?

What's it to you?

Nothing.

I just thought I'd ask.

I work from like 8:00 to 12:00, four solid hours,

and then I'm out.

Huh.

Man, I tell you, this writing stuff is no joke.

How long you go for?

About six hours a day, sometimes more.

What about your manuscript?

You could leave it here.

Needless to say, I would respect your privacy.

No, sir.

This stays with Papa.

I understand.

About what time will you be coming for the machine?

Like 8:00 or 9:00.

But if I miss a day, don't even sweat it.

I'm up by then.

Except Sundays.

Sundays, I'm flipping my girl.

I envy you that.

No need, man. there's meat all around.

The women I meet generally want to get married.

Stay away from that type.

Lesser, is it cool if I leave typewrite under the table right

here?

Man, oh, man, Lesser, this is a groovy apartment.

I made some money on a movie sale about eight years ago.

I took it all in deferred payments.

I've done fine till now.

Shit, Lesser.

If I had that kind of bread, I'd be King of Shit Mountain.

What are you going to do when it's all gone?

Well, it's almost all gone now.

But my book will be finished by the summer.

The advance on that should carry me another two,

three years to the next one.

It take you that long to write a book?

Three years?

Longer.

I'm a slow writer.

Baby, you better to put the pedal to the metal.

Berlioz.

Shoot me.

Careful with those.

Those are pretty expensive.

What's this girl to you?

Oh, she's real.

She talks to me.

Talking ain't telling.

Are you an expert on the black experience?

I'm an expert at writing.

.

Good because I hate all that black like me bull shit.

White folks trying to tell me what it's like to be black.

Nice crib, Lesser.

We going to have to throw a party in here.

Not this week, maybe next.

Say, baby, let's just have a good time tonight.

I don't need you to be fronting down like that.

Come on, girl, stop being so uptight.

Put a smile on your face.

You're too beautiful for that.

Say, Lesser, what's happening, baby?

Come on, Linda, come on.

How you doing this evening?

Willie's white chick.

Say, Lesser, I would have brought more people,

but it's cold as fuck outside.

And you know, black people don't do well in those conditions.

Say, Lesser, man, what is this shit you're listening to?

That's, that's my music.

I've got some righteousness here for you.

Not that watered down shit you're used to.

Hm.

[music playing]

You know, I only live a few blocks away on Court

and Fourth.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

It's OK, Don't worry about it, Harry.

I like you just fine.

[sniffing]

You smell white.

What does while smell like?

No smell at all.

Say, Lesser, have a seat, man.

Come take a hit of this.

It's part Lebanese hashish.

Don't smell it, boy, suck it in your gut.

Hey, give me that.

What's your book about?

Love, I guess.

It's about this guy who writes because he was

never really told the truth.

Now he's dying to.

What's yours about, Willie?

Shit, me.

How's it coming?

Smooth.

How's yours?

Slow.

Shit, I'm going to win the fucking Nobel Peace Prize.

They're going to give me $1 million in cash, baby.

After me, Willie.

I'm writing my best book.

It's a small masterpiece, this book.

This book is gonna, it's gonna grant me immortality.

Harry Lesser.

I'll be remembered.

Pile on the shit, man, pile it on.

Pile on the coals till you see the smoke.

You can have that immortality shit.

Me, I'm going to shovel up the bread.

It's only money, Willie.

That's all I want.

Fuck everything else.

No.

Art's the glory.

Art is the glory, Willie.

Only a schmuck thinks otherwise.

Say, Lesser, don't bug me with that Jew word.

I know what you're thinking about.

Don't think I don't.

My book will be dynamite.

And I'm going to drop it on the first white prick I see.

Fuck off.

I'm Willie's girl.

Sorry.

Do you bite your nails?

Yes.

My real name is Belinski, not Bill

and I've been Willie's girl for two years.

Anything else you want to know?

What's your book about, Lesser?

Love.

What do you know about love?

Say, Lesser, man, cool it.

Don't go pulling that ape shit on me.

Say, Lesser, thanks for the good time tonight, baby.

We groove on art.

You my man, my favorite man.

We going to be real tight, baby.

[typing]

[door opens]

Say, Lesser, let me pull your coat about something, man.

Willie, I know.

I'm so sorry last night.

It was the hashish.

I was stoned.

I wasn't myself.

I'm sorry.

I was thinking I could leave my manuscript here tonight.

Sure.

Sure.

Don't worry about anybody reading it.

You have my word on that.

Look, I'm asking you to read it.

I sat in my office today, reading over my book,

I got a funny feeling I fell off track some fucking where.

I don't know why, where, or when all I know

is that my vision got blurred up.

You need some distance, Willie.

Just walk away from it for a minute.

Man, I tried that bullshit already.

You could save me a lot of worry and a lot of trouble

if you tell me where I went wrong.

You want me to read your manuscript?

Nobody else I know has two novels published.

I will if you really want me to.

Now, would I be asking you, if I didn't want you to?

[knocking]

Willie.

I'm ready to talk about it whenever you are.

I thank you, Lesser, for reading it.

Drink?

Let's cut the preliminary bullshit, Lesser,

and get right down to it.

Look, Willie, you asked me to read your book.

If you think you're going to be uptight by what

I say, then maybe we ought to call it off right now.

I am uptight, man, because that's my nature, as

well as my personal privilege.

Well, I got my own nature to consider

and it likes to live in peace.

All I'm saying is that if we can't have a reasonable talk,

then let's just forget it.

I've been on my book for years, and finally want

to get it done.

And for that I need peace and quiet.

That's why I like it up here, no serious disturbances.

Instead of preaching to me, Lesser,

need to get off your white ass and speak your true peace.

I don't want you to bullshit with me,

nor do I want to argue with you.

I heartily agree.

Willie, what can I tell you?

I mean, what can I say to a man who has seen

the things that you have seen?

First off, there's no question that you're a writer.

Both parts of the book, the autobiography and the story,

both strong and moving.

I especially like the last story.

I write for black freedom, the one

about Efram, Harry, and the white girl, stunning.

Whatever the writing lacks, there's obviously a talent

at work here.

Oh come on now, Lesser.

Who are you talking to?

You ain't telling me nothing.

Get down to the cold shit truth of it all.

OK, Willie.

The truth is, the book is good, but it could be better.

I told you that myself.

Now tell me what I really asked you,

where did I steer off track?

Um, I would say that the form of the whole

really isn't sufficient.

There's a flawed quality which you

call blurred that gives it that shifting effect that

seems to bother you.

Lesser, I'm going to show you how completely full of shit

you are in what you just said.

First off, the way you classify my work, dead wrong.

The part you call autobiography, made up.

I made that shit up. It's pure fiction.

I made it up as I was going along.

The guy narrating, that ain't me.

Shit, I was born in Harlem, 129th Street

and I moved to Bed-Stuy with my moms when I was six years old.

The closest I've been down South is swimming at Coney Island.

I never lived in Detroit, Michigan,

despite my father did for three years working at a shitty job

cleaning out toilets.

On the other hand, the four short stories that I wrote,

that shit was real.

It's about brothers like me that live a hard life.

They've got to deal with redneck motherfuckers

like yourself every day.

That's the only autobiography this book had to bring.

That's it, end of story.

Well, the book has the tone of an autobiography.

But even if it's pure fiction, the point

is something's not coming off right

or you wouldn't have asked me to read it.

Lesser, how can you be so fucking sure about what you say

if my book turns out to be two different things

than you thought.

In any case, we both agree it needs more work.

Work?

I worked my ass off to the flat bone.

I worked past misery, man.

This is my fourth draft.

How many more I got to do?

Maybe try one more.

Fuck that!

Listen, Willie, I've got to get back to my own book now.

Hey look, man, don't give me that grief shit.

I know how you feel, Willie.

I've been in your shoes.

Ain't no white motherfucker been in my shoes.

This book is about a black man.

White fiction is completely different.

You don't understand this shit.

You can't turn the black experience into literature

just by writing it down.

Black fiction ain't white.

It can't be.

We feel different.

We write different.

Our chemistry is different.

Dig.

I write for the souls of all the black people crying out,

we ain't going to be slaves in this motherfucking country

no more.

We ain't going to deal with you redneck motherfuckers no more.

You wouldn't understand that though, Lesser,

because your brain is white.

Willie, a million black men can have

the same appalling experience.

It takes one unique man to write it down.

Then it's not a black thing.

It's not a white thing.

It's a human thing.

It's your job to make it my experience.

That's what a writer does, Willie.

That's what a writer does.

Being human ain't shit.

It ain't never nothing for us.

Willie, why don't you just find yourself a publisher

and let them read it, OK?

Let them read it.

Them red head motherfuckers don't want to hear

what my book has to say.

They scared of it.

What a fool, what a black ass fool I was letting

you read my fucking book.

[door slams]

[typing]

Willie.

Where you been?

I was worried about you, Willie.

Call me Bill, Lesser.

My writing name is my real one from now on.

Bill Speer.

OK, Bill it is then.

Lesser, I want to say something

going back to that rap we had the other day.

Won't take but a minute.

What is it, Willie.

I'm sorry, Bill.

I went by the library by my girl's house

and checked out your books, both of them, I might add,

the second book gives off a bad smell, but the first one

you wrote, classic.

It's the truth.

Irene said I be talking to myself.

Wasn't expecting nothing like that from you, Lesser,

such a square like yourself.

Well, thanks anyway, Bill.

But there was one thing.

What?

The sister in the book, the chick, to me, she wasn't black

but I liked her attitude and I wouldn't mind

laying some pipe in her pants.

At least she was real enough to want to fuck.

Yeah, she was real, but not like anybody

I know, leastways nobody black.

But I will admit, it got me thinking.

After reading your book, , both of them

I understand what you was talking

about with that form shit.

What's the matter, man, you all right?

I just got a lot of stuff on my mind.

But you see what I mean.

Because I don't want to become some half-assed white writer

or some black writer who writes what

the white man tells him to write.

I got to write from the heart.

I mean we're different from you, Lesser.

We write different.

We feel different.

We are different.

What I want to do is take what you know add on to what I know,

put them both together and write black art

as a black man should.

And if I got to learn from you or any other white man,

then so be it.

That's what it's going to be.

That's what the purpose is all about.

So I want you to take everything that I gave you

and throw it away.

I got some new shit.

Got this story I'm working on where this kid and his mom,

they just go out and kill white people all day

in the South Yeah.

I'm thinking about calling it, Kill Whitey, A Revenge Story.

But check this out, Les.

Here's what I want you to do for me,

and I wouldn't be asking this if we both wasn't writers, tell me

how can I write the same things, the same ideas,

but only better.

I don't know if that's such a good idea considering

how things went the other day.

Well, baby, if you don't want to read what I show you,

fuck your white ass.

Who's the gorilla in old timers old flat?

Friend of yours?

Which gorilla do you have in mind?

Don't get cute with me, Lesser.

I found a typewriter on the table in the living room, also

an apple, less a few bites.

And a piss-smelling mattress in the middle of the floor.

Where's he hiding?

I'll take your word for it.

Who is this son of a bitch.

I don't know.

He comes and goes.

Well, he's some kind of writer,

because I read some of the rolled

up paper balls he throws on the floor,

one begins with a small little boy in Harlem.

Who is he? Colored?

I don't know.

Well, you tell him whoever he is, that he's trespassing

and I'm going to throw him out on his ass.

You're trespassing on my writing time.

Hey.

So how's the work coming along?

On and off.

Too many interruptions.

Let me ask you, would you take 1,500 if I made the offer?

I'd take it.

It's pure gold.

I'll keep it in mind.

I'm riding as fast as I can.

You rush, you distort.

That your final offer?

Final once removed.

What's final I seek, I can't find.

Tell that nigger I'm coming back with a cop.

Tell him yourself.

[knocking]

I went to get a typewriter.

Who took my stuff?

Les, did you?

Levenspiel found your setup.

Went to get a cop.

What the fuck for?

What harm am I doing him?

Trespassing.

In this shit hole?

He had one writer to get rid of and now he's got two

and you don't pay rent.

Jew slum lord bastard.

Cut out the Jew stuff, Willie.

Bill is my name, Lesser.

OK, Bill, cut out the Jew stuff.

[knocking]

Shit.

In the bathroom.

Police.

What's your business?

Our business is legal, Lesser.

We broke up your friend's furniture in the apartment

in which he was trespassing.

But I know you were in possession of his typewriter.

That I already saw.

I hope you're proud of yourself.

What are my rights?

Not that a landlord has many in this fakakta city.

They're my rights.

I don't owe you any apologies, Lesser.

I'm about to search every apartment in this building,

and if we don't find your black friend anywhere else,

I'll know that you're hiding him here.

Bring a search warrant if you want to get it.

We will.

What are your plans, Willie?

Don't got no fucking plans.

Look at this shit.

Me and my girl just got in a fucking argument

the other night.

I can't go back to her place.

God damn.

Listen, you can work in my kitchen tomorrow.

Of if it makes you feel claustrophobic,

we can move the table into the living room.

In a couple of days, we'll find you a new place.

I know a second hand store on Third Avenue.

We can pick a few things there.

Listen, man, I ain't got no bread.

It's what me and Irene keep on arguing about.

She wants me to get a gig.

Well, don't worry about it.

I still have a few dollars in the bank.

My man.

You all right, Lesser.

Right on, Lesser, right on.

I know the artist.

His name was Lazar Cohen.

I knew the woman too.

She was his girlfriend at the time.

He worked on it for many years and then gave up.

He never thought he got it right.

His friends persuaded him to release it for sale,

but didn't do him any good.

He's dead.

He hit a truck with his motorcycle on Hudson Street.

Is Willie a good writer?

I mean will he be?

Well, he could be if he stays with it.

There's no half-assed way to be a good writer.

There's nothing half-assed about Willie.

You know, you really hurt him what he said about his book.

I didn't mean to.

Well, you said you didn't think much of it.

I liked the stories better than The Life.

They are a lot more original.

But it isn't just autobiographical.

Willie came to Harlem from Georgia when he was

16 with his mom and kid sister.

I thought it was Mississippi.

Changes his birthplace every time he talks about it.

There's a lot of stuff he just really

doesn't like to remember.

Did he really do a stretch in prison?

Two years.

But most of it's made up.

Willie's a very imaginative.

He enjoys being imaginative.

You should hear when he gets to talking about himself.

That's the tone I'd like to see in his next book.

What do you think of it so far?

I think if he stays with it seriously, it ought to be good.

How seriously?

You have to break your balls to be a good writer?

Everything WITH you is so fucking serious, Lesser.

When do you laugh?

I laugh when I write, which is what I should be doing now.

You know, I read your novel, the first one.

It was good.

It was much better than I thought it would be.

The girl in it, she reminded me of myself actually, when I was

her age, very fucked up girl.

What do you mean?

Well, I had just quit college and I thought

I wanted to be an actress.

But really I was just looking for a way to skip being myself.

A lot of this came out in therapy.

Anyway, I was fucked up kid.

I was having a rough time.

And then I met Willie.

At first we got along really badly.

But then things got better.

And he moved in with me.

How do you and Willie stand as of now?

What do you mean?

You seem to be together, but you seem to be apart.

Yeah, that's a good description of us.

Do you love him?

Why do you want to know?

Cause we're sitting here.

I think if Willie loved me, we would

probably be married by now.

But outside of his love for black people,

I don't think he loves anything except his work.

We talk an awful lot about race and color.

One thing about loving a black man,

there's times when you feel black yourself.

Yeah.

Well, maybe you should find yourself another.

I gotta get back to work.

Hey, Lesser, where you been, man?

You holding me up.

I've been looking for you.

I just went for a walk.

I went up town to a museum.

I left a note on your desk.

Man, I can't rap to you right now.

It's the weekend, I gotta see my girl.

I'll see you Monday.

Lesser, man for Christ sakes, cross over.

I got some soul people over here with me.

Say, man, we having a shing-ding at Mary's house tonight.

How'd you like to come along?

Yeah, sure.

- Well, join the train. - Oh, no, no, no.

Hold up, man. Hold up.

What's up with this?

He's a fucking good writer.

Join the train.

Hi.

Good to see you.

Thought you might come by.

Seeing as you live so close and everything.

[background party chatter]

I'm really glad you came.

I'm glad I came too.

I was happy to see you.

Listen, I have the key to a friend's

apartment across the hall.

As soon as everybody gets a little higher,

I'm going in there.

You should come too, if you're in the mood to.

Only give me about 10 minutes so no one

sees us get up walk right out of here,

one right after the other.

Sam might take offense.

[knocking]

Mary?

In here.

I hope you don't mind me getting undressed first.

Just thought I'd be a little warmer under here.

My god, you're lovely.

You've never been with a black woman before.

No.

Don't make too much of it.

Now, come on.

Get into bed with me.

Salaam alaykum.

If you think you're white, you're wrong.

You're really black.

All white people are.

But the blacks are the true whites.

Lesser, get your pale face ass over here.

Chum, we going to play a little game,

a game of nothing but naked words.

You throw yours on me, I throw mines on you.

The one that cries momma loses.

And we shit on them, you dig?

What's the point of that?

The point is the point.

I thought we were friends, Bill.

You've got no friends here.

Suppose I don't play.

You gonna fuck back, you gonna face black.

Off this motherfucker.

Lesser, I'm going to go easy on you.

So you can join in on the fun.

Now I'm not going to go on your mom or your sister

like we normally do, but, get down to the tough shit

funk of it, special for you.

Lesser, you think you're so hot.

You've got the look of a shit pot.

Now raise me on that.

Oh, and if you don't, you might have to play a different game.

Poker.

Motherfucker, have you lost your nuts down the can?

OK.

OK, Willie, Bill.

Bill, your mouth is a place of excrement.

Lesser, you a mammy rammer, shit for brains,

no good, red neck motherfucker.

Oh.

What good is a contest of imprecation?

All this does is raise bad feelings.

Would you listen to this soft bull shit.

Sam, Sam, Sam.

This honky belongs to me.

Chill out.

This is my guest.

Willie, baby, can we go home?

Go.

Go, git.

Can't you come with me?

Irene, go fuck yourself.

Well, if I could, what are you going to do for kicks?

Yeah, whatever, bitch.

Now, Lesser, I called you a two bit, good for nothing, redneck,

motherfucker.

Now aren't you going to answer back?

If you have to do this, why don't you write it?

I thought you were a writer.

Look, motherfucker, don't tell me how to write.

I don't need no Jew motherfuckers trying to tell me

how and what to write.

If you have some sort of complaint with me,

why don't you say it directly?

If what you have to say is none of your business

in the first place, then let Sam say it.

I told you not to let this redneck shit eater come

along here in the first place.

How much more of a motherfucking coward

are you going to be?

Just answer the question that I laid down.

OK, Bill, OK.

I could call you a filthy prick.

I withdraw that.

No you're not, motherfucker.

You ain't withdrawing nothing.

That's the rules to this shit.

Now the reason why you want to withdraw

is because you really want to call me a filthy nigger prick,

but you ain't got the balls to say it, do you?

I didn't say that word.

I didn't say that.

I thought of that because I knew that that's

what you wanted to hear.

Yeah, fine and dandy.

Now I will call you a motherfucking,

redneck, Jew, shit-eating, dick-sucking,

dyke-faced motherfucker.

I get the message, Bill.

I get the message.

And I concede the game.

That's my last word.

Say, brothers, let the white spook exit.

Get the fuck out of here, Lesser.

Damn, Lesser, I didn't get shit done.

Not one fucking sentence.

I tell you, I'm hung over like a motherfucker.

I want you to know, Lesser, that I saved your ass last night.

Saved whose ass?

Sam wanted the brothers to beat up on you

for putting meat to his girl.

But I cooled them out with that game.

In that case, thanks.

I'm grateful

You sure as shit don't look it.

Trust me.

I just wanted you to know that.

[typing]

Listen, Torvald, I have heard when a wife abandons

her husband's house as I'm doing now,

he's legally free from all obligations towards her.

In any case I set you free from any obligation.

You're not to feel yourself bound to me in the slightest

way, any more than I shall.

There must be perfect freedom on both sides.

Here is your ring back.

Give me mine.

All over.

Moira, shall you never think of me again?

I know I shall often think of you and the children

and this house.

Irene.

Irene, it's Lesser.

What are you doing here?

I came to tell you I love you, Irene.

I thought you'd want to know.

I thought you liked Mary.

I slept with her for want of you.

You're in love with me because I'm Willie's Jewish white girl.

You'd try to save me from a life of poverty and crime

with a black man, an ex-con.

My love professes no more than love.

I love you.

I want you.

What kind of want?

A long want.

Say it plainly.

I'm not very subtle.

I want to marry you after I finish my book.

You're both alike.

My feet are cold.

Let's go upstairs.

Take off your coat.

Why a black Jesus?

Well, Willie won't let me hang any pictures of whites.

And I won't hang pictures of flowers.

I like real flowers.

But why Jesus?

Rather than H. Rap Brown?

Is there a black Moses?

Believe in God.

I'm afraid of what we;re doing,

even though I want to do it.

You worried about Willie.

And myself.

I'm also really afraid of getting

involved with another writer.

I love you, Irene.

[typing]

Would you consider moving to San Francisco?

Sure.

After I finish my book.

I made up my mind.

I'm giving up acting.

I'm not a natural.

This is my last play.

I'm fed up with my life here.

I'm fed up with New York.

Yeah.

OK.

So, could we say, three, four, maybe

five months at the latest.

Sure.

Just worried about Willie.

What do you mean?

He doesn't really have anybody and I've

been pretty much supporting him since he moved in with me.

He has very little to live on as it is

and I just, I don't want him to go back

to running numbers, dealing.

He'll get a job.

I worked plenty of shitty jobs writing my first book.

And I still had time to write.

Yeah, but any job he got would pay him half as much

as what you earned and make him work twice as hard.

I worked my ass off.

I know we're not, but I just feel

like we're a couple of whities giving

some nigger a kick in the ass.

Come on.

I don't feel that way.

All this amounts to is two people, you and Willie finally

agreeing to end an affair.

That's all.

Forget about that whitey thing.

[phone rings]

Hello?

WILLIE: Irene, I won't be coming around this Friday.

This chapter's giving me a hard time right now

and I've got to stay on.

I'm sorry to hear that.

WILLIE: I will be around in about a week or two.

You know, I'm telling you, I can think a whole lot of things

I want to do to you right now.

Well, don't depend on it.

WILLIE: Don't think I'm not thinking about you, baby.

All right. I'll see you later.

How are we going to tell him?

What do you mean?

You know what.

Either you tell him, or I tell him.

Or we tell him together.

Can't we just let it die naturally?

I'd like better if Willie tells himself

and then he tells me it's over.

But if it comes to actually having to tell him,

I'd like to do it myself.

The sooner, the better.

I'll be knocking on your door next Friday

expecting to sleep with you.

Sex isn't the important thing.

How's every little thing, Lesser.

I keep knocking at your fucking door,

but nobody gets up to open it.

You hiding on me? You find a girl?

I've been getting out more lately.

My book is moving and so am I.

So you got past your rough, swampy place, huh?

Yeah that's right.

Mines keeps jamming me up.

Every morning when I wake up, I see that big fucking

typewriter machine staring at me like a mother fucking eagle.

None but the brave deserve the fair.

Say what?

It's a poem.

Black or white?

John Dryden, Englishman.

Yeah, right on.

I will read it.

Anyway, why I came up here is I want you take

a look at this new chapter.

The mother in it is giving me trouble.

Can't seem to get her to die right.

I done wrote it like 20 times, and now thinks she's

expiring like she ought to be.

How do you feel about it yourself?

If I really knew, I wouldn't ask you.

Honest to God, I wouldn't.

But, Lesser, if you could give it a read for me

today, we can rap about it for about a half hour.

Every good book is written in uncertainty.

I'll take a look at it.

Thanks, Lesser.

It would be a real relief, especially to help me get

this part of the book finished.

I haven't seen my girl in about a month.

And I got blue balls.

I really need to spend some time with her.

Can you dig what I'm saying?

She pesterfies me, but mm, mm, mm, what a sweet lay.

Do you love her?

Man, that's my business.

And if I get to see her, depends on that chapter

you have over there.

Now if you tell me I got it right or halfway right,

then I get to fuck off my weekend with her.

But if you think it needs a little more work,

and I agree with you, then I have to bang it out some more.

So take a look at it and tell me what you think.

How did it go?

I am so over it.

Willie gave me his book today.

I can't do this.

I can't.

We gotta tell him something.

I know, I know.

He came by the house today.

What?

What?

Relax, Harry.

He just took a shower and he changed his underwear

and then he left.

He was gone before I was even out of the bathroom.

All he cares about is his book.

You gotta trust me on this one.

I trust you.

Let me tell him.

[knocking]

Bill, Bill, I read your chapter.

Speak your peace, Lesser.

Bill, I really don't think we ought to fool

around with your book anymore.

At this stage, whatever you think you're doing right,

you ought to go on doing.

You are a gifted writer.

Ultimately it's your book.

All I want to know, what I really need to know

is, did I get the boy and the mama right?

Are they for real, man?

And don't bullshit me on that?

For the first couple of pages, up to the mother's death.

Then after that, Bill, the stream of consciousness,

it just doesn't work.

You trying to fuck with my mind and confuse me, man?

Huh?

You trying to kill off my natural right

by pretending you interested in my fucking form of it all?

Knowing you are afraid of what my book has to say?

Which is, backs have to murder you white motherfuckers

for crippling our lives.

Get your ass up my mother fucking spot.

Can't believe I was believing in you.

Get your Jew ass out of motherfucking pad.

Fucker.

Bill, there's more to it than I told you, Bill.

Say, man, I'm quitting this writing thing.

It's no fault of yours.

I decided it ain't no gig for me.

I got to get off my broke ass and get to the true action.

Get out there with my brothers in the struggle.

Writing is action.

Don't give up on that, Bill.

Action is my action.

Forget what I said and write the way you have to.

What was you going to say when you first came in here, Lesser?

Listen, after I finish my book,

Irene and I are getting married.

We're in love, Bill.

We figured you wouldn't care one way or the other

because you had more or less broken up with her.

[groan]

You said so to both of us.

I wish I told you this before.

That was my girl.

I taught her everything she know.

She ain't even know how to fuck until I taught her.

[crashing, punching]

Fucker!

What are you doing?

[glass crashing]

Fuck you!

No!

Ah!

[punches]

[growling]

I'll teach you, motherfucker.

Dirty sons of bitches!

I'll get a court order, god damn it.

My god, Lesser, look what you've done to yourself.

You're your own worst enemy.

Bringing a half naked nigger into this house?

You don't take my advice and move out,

you'll wake up one morning playing

a tambourine in your grave.

[repeated buzzing]

FEMALE VOICE: Yes.

Irene.

[door buzzes]

I begged you to let me tell him.

Why didn't you at least tell me that you were going to?

There was no chance.

It just came up suddenly.

Oh, shit there was no chance.

You had to tell him.

It's your profession to tell everybody everything.

You couldn't wait.

I waited.

I wait.

I waited too damn long for you to tell him.

You're crazy if you think he was about to leave you.

It would have gone on like this for years.

I had to tell him something.

I know him.

I know Willie wasn't happy with me anymore.

I know him.

Who are you concerned about, him or me?

I told you that I love you.

I'm concerned about Willie.

He tried to throw me out a fucking window!

Would you fucking get that!

[sobbing]

He called me all these filthy names

and then he told me he couldn't stand the sight of me anymore.

It's exactly the opposite of what I'd hoped.

I hoped he's still feel affection for me

when we broke up.

And that he'd remember the good times.

I just wish you'd let me tell him.

I wish you had.

Harry, I'm frightened for you.

Me?

Why?

Because they could easily get at you in that creepy,

empty tenement.

You know, Willie's friends are very loyal to him.

They could hide in the stairs or in the hall.

They couldn't do that here.

The elevator man would call the cops.

Why don't you just come and stay here with me

for a little while?

Anybody who's out to get me can get me, elevator man

or no elevator man.

How are you going to live in the same building with him?

No, he's was not going to stay.

He's not going to stay there.

There's no way because the landlord on this place again.

So he--

Harry, let's just get married.

We could just move to another city

or a different neighborhood.

That's what we'll do.

As soon as I finish my book.

[screaming]

No!

[raging screaming]

[sobbing screaming]

[banging]

[music playing]

[typing]

That's impossible, Harry.

Irene, I can do this.

This has happened to other people.

I mean, I'm not the first writer that this has happened to.

TE Lawrence left his entire manuscript of "Seven

Pillars Of Wisdom" on a train.

Carlyle accidentally chucked all of his "French Revolution"

into John Stewart Mill's fireplace.

I mean, I can do this, Irene.

I know, I know I can.

Listen I remember most of what I wrote.

I do.

I can do this.

How long is it going to take?

Six months at the most.

What about San Francisco?

Irene, Irene, I'm, I'm a creature of habit.

I need to finish the book where I started it.

I thought you wanted more from your life than your writing.

That's what you told me the first thing we slept together.

I do.

And I love you.

But for the time being, my first priority is my book.

You know, Harry, all you do all day

is sit on your ass writing.

And all you do all day when you come over here

is sit on your ass reading.

Why you just save time all around and go fuck your book.

[typing]

[knocking]

Lesser, I found out I'm a sick man.

My doctor gave me a warning.

I've given up cigars but it doesn't help.

$10,000 is my absolute top offer.

I've received in the mail a bid a money group, an offer

to take over this property for high rise construction.

I am considering that offer.

I know.

I know.

It was a little cold of me to send a letter,

but it's not easy to reach you since you

turned your phone off.

And I couldn't wait any longer.

I've waited long enough.

Irene.

Harry, don't bother.

I'm going to San Francisco without you.

You're free to finish your book now.

Irene, just wait for me.

I've waited long enough and I've waited once before.

I'm through waiting.

You know, I've always been attracted to these characters

like you and Willie who are more deeply involved with their work

than with me.

Maybe that's what I wanted then, but that isn't what I want now,

Harry.

I want a family.

Irene, you deserve that.

What bourgeois shit I've become.

Irene, Irene, I love you.

I love you.

I want to marry you.

You're already married, Harry, to your fucking book.

No book is as important as you are.

I know that.

I know that.

That's such bullshit.

It's you and your book forever, till death do you part.

If it's not this one, then it's the next.

I gotta go.

Good luck, Harry.

[slamming]

[crashing]

[crinkling papers]

[typing]

[banging]

[fast, furious typing]

[SHOUTING] Lesser!

Lesser!

Lesser!

[door creaks]

[smack]

[scream]

[groan]

[gunshot]

[cough]

[music playing]