Original subtitles

Houston College was first founded in the early 1800s by Elijah Houston,

primarily to educate his six sons and seven daughters.

Why he felt the need to educate them at a college

this isolated and inbred isn't readily available.

As a novelist with one moderately successful book under my belt,

I arrived at this well-paying but lower tier institution with wife and child in

tow, the promise of health insurance beckoning.

A short-term gig, I thought, fully expecting my second

novel to offer me a reprieve and save me from obscurity.

That was a decade ago.

I had been touted as an author to watch.

Little did I realize that that christening would turn into my eulogy.

Okay, so what did everybody think?

What did anybody think?

Look at them.

They're shell-shocked.

They look like cartoon characters hearing birdies tweet.

What engaged you?

Maybe it's a conspiracy.

Three stories about sex with animals and the term has just begun.

Meg, why don't you jump in?

I thought it was disgusting.

Positives first, please.

You can always find something nice to say.

Unless you're a critic or my first editor.

His spelling wasn't offensive.

Up yours.

He wanted something positive.

That was the only positive thing I had to say.

I didn't mean to say the least of your words.

Then again, maybe I should be grateful for any student work with

a shred of vitality in life, even if it is about bestiality.

No, it's more than I seem to have at the moment.

Is something wrong, Professor Swenson?

Why do you ask?

You groaned.

Twice.

Did I?

Can you blame him?

That part where Danny did what he did to that chicken was just really, really gross.

I agree with Meg.

I thought the scene in the kitchen came out of nowhere.

It seemed totally bogus.

Okay, so then what would we do to make it not seem totally bogus, as Carlos says?

Always quote the students if possible.

Makes them feel like they're being taken seriously.

I'd change the boy's character so that we know he's

the kind of person who'd do something like that.

He should be really pissed at the waitress so when he goes home...

And here we go.

The quote unquote suggestions would make a bad story worse.

When I first started teaching, I'd settle for nothing

less than the whole class falling in love with me.

I couldn't get through the hour without major psychic damage.

Okay, alright, okay, so then does everyone agree with these suggestions?

I think they kinda suck.

Alright, Angela, will you tell us why you think they kinda suck?

I guess I just kind of liked the way that it

ended, that it was so weird, and unexpected.

I mean, that's like the whole point, isn't it?

That anyone can do something like that.

This guy is getting home from like a really shitty date.

He just goes home, opens the fridge, sees the chicken there, and does nothing.

Right?

Guys are always surprising themselves doing crazy shit like that, even if they

think that they're not the kind of guy that would do crazy shit like that.

Most guys would not bone a chicken.

Yeah.

I know what most guys would do.

Okay, well Angela does bring up a good point.

She has a point.

Ryan doesn't do what he does because he's a naturally violent person or because his

girlfriend bought chicken and he hates chicken.

It's the rejection that has caused him to do crazy shit, as Angela says.

Right?

Now we've all been there, which is why we can see that he is like us.

Okay.

To be continued next week.

Very good.

Who's on the hot seat next week?

Who is it?

Angela.

Okay, great.

So this will be your first time, I think, right?

Excellent.

So we promise to go easy on you, don't we?

Maybe.

No?

Actually, I'm not finished yet.

I was hoping I could come talk to you during your office hours tomorrow.

Yeah.

Just remind me when I have office hours.

Tomorrow morning.

Really?

I have morning office hours?

I'm more devoted than I thought I was.

That's great.

Then I will see you tomorrow morning in my office during my office hours.

Thank you.

Thank you, Professor.

All right.

Good luck.

Class dismissed.

Thank you.

Get out.

Thanks.

I'll see you tomorrow.

Looking forward.

Hello?

Nurse, I need some help.

Quick.

Shit.

Sorry.

Sorry.

You scared me.

I'm sorry.

Oh, my God.

Sorry.

Sorry.

Come here for one second.

What are you doing?

We're going to have a little quickie.

You can't do that.

Why not?

Because I haven't worked in a while.

We'll say it's therapeutic.

It's good.

No.

There's a patient right next door who's been vomiting nonstop since this morning.

Oh, great.

My erection is gone.

Our jobs are safe.

She's like the fifth kid I've seen today.

Must be something going around.

Well, let's go back home and get under the covers where there are no germs.

We can't.

We've got that meeting.

Remember?

Oh, shit.

Which we're already late for.

You just tell Arlene that I'm leaving.

Later, though.

I'll throw a jack up.

I promise.

Okay.

Good.

I have here a copy of the Euston College policy on sexual harassment.

Every September, one receives this in one's mailbox,

along with changes to the health plan and cafeteria hours.

And every September, one immediately tosses it all into the trash.

I know I do, and it's my unfortunate duty to write with her.

Such an asshole.

But I thought we might all spend a moment or two going over it together.

Oh, I had a dream about Ruby last night.

Oh?

Yeah, we were driving and I told her that I'm her father and

that I loved her and that I only wanted what was best for her.

What did she say?

She told me that she forgave me and that she

was actually relieved that I broke them up.

Wow.

A wonderful dream.

I know.

And then this huge semi-truck came hurtling towards us.

She screamed and I slammed on the brakes, and then I woke up.

Oh, God.

Maybe not such a wonderful dream.

No.

Call her again.

No.

I think she just deletes my messages without even listening to them.

Surprise her.

Drive down and take her out for dinner.

I'm sure she could use a good meal.

But someplace within walking distance.

You don't want to take any chances.

Love you.

Me, you too.

I'm still up.

What are you wearing?

Excuse me?

It's Angela,

but I think we were supposed to meet at nine.

Oh, shit.

I mean, yes, of course.

I'll be there in 15.

Are you sure?

Because if you're busy writing or something... No, no.

The writing can wait.

I will see you in 15.

Okay, bye.

Bye.

Hi.

Hi.

Hi.

I'm so sorry I'm late.

Oh, it's okay.

Don't worry about it.

I was kind of liking it, actually.

You know, sitting here, hiding out.

It's like when I was a kid, I'd sit and read under

the porch when I was supposed to be at school.

Oh.

Good.

You're a reader, huh?

Yes.

Good.

Come on, then.

I won't bite.

You're reading Jane Eyre?

You liking it?

Yeah.

Oh, yeah.

Yeah, I love it.

It's cool.

I love that she's in this mad rage the whole time, and then she finally gets to

marry the blind guy who's just toasted his wife in the attic.

It's wild.

Yeah.

The trouble is, I'm reading it for Professor Healy's class, Text Studies and

Gender Warfare, and it just kind of feels like

everything that we read is the same thing, you know?

Yeah.

Like the male patriarchy sticking it to women, and I understand that you can say

that, but I also think that, you know, not everything is the same.

True.

Please, have a seat.

Um, anyway, it is...

It's like my favorite book.

Good.

Except for yours.

Phoenix Time is, like, my favorite book in the universe.

Oh.

Well, I'm very flattered.

Thanks.

Yeah.

It saved my life, actually.

How do you mean?

Well, my therapist gave it to me after my father killed himself.

And I won't bore you with the details of the whole story or anything, but,

um, it just really showed me that people can get through stuff like that.

I read it, like, a million times.

And also, it's just a really great book.

It's up there with Bronte and Stendhal.

Stendhal?

The Red and the Black.

It's another favorite of mine.

Really?

Mm-hmm.

I'm actually working on a postmodern retelling of that story.

It's my new novel.

Oh, my God.

Yeah.

That's amazing.

Huh.

Can I ask you something?

Sure.

Um, what happened in your novel?

Did...did that really happen?

Well, I thought we had, um, discussed in class

that we wouldn't ask writers questions like that.

This isn't class.

Um...yes.

That is how my father died.

And my mother and I watched it on television.

He was protesting the Vietnam War.

It was a...celebrity death for about 15 minutes.

So...

Uh...

Yeah.

I'm writing a novel, too.

Oh, great.

Oh, God.

Not that I'm comparing it to yours or anything.

Mm-hmm.

I shouldn't even call it that.

It's not a novel.

It's just pages.

It's...it's, um...it's like chapters in search of a novel.

That's good.

Well put.

And what's it called, your novel?

Eggs.

Eggs?

Eggs.

It's very evocative.

Thanks.

And what is Eggs about?

Um, well...actually, I'd...

I'd like to just show it to you, if that's okay.

I brought, um, the first chapter here.

I thought, um, I could give you the first chapter and you could read it and let me

know what you think and we could go chapter by chapter or not.

And, um, it's about halfway done.

I started last summer.

Why don't I read the first chapter and then maybe we can

put it up and take a look at it in next week's workshop.

Whatever.

All right.

You decide.

Okay.

I just...I just can't believe Theodore

Svensson's gonna read something that I've read.

I should just take it back and start over and throw it away, probably.

It's, uh...I think my writing sucks.

No.

That's what every first-time writer thinks.

And actually quite a few second-time writers.

So just take a deep breath.

Just breathe.

It's all right.

Right.

Breathe.

Okay.

I will.

And also, I know that there are, like, four or five typos in there and I

was gonna go back and fix them, but I didn't have time.

But I know that... Don't worry about it.

Just...

Just breathe.

Yeah, yes.

There you go.

And I'm really sorry if before when I called you if I, um, interrupted

something, if you were writing or... Oh.

Oh, no.

Not at all.

Not at all.

Not at all.

Sorry I was late.

Oh, don't worry about it.

Thank you so much.

I really appreciate you meeting with me.

Okay, bye.

Okay.

The Black and the Black.

Inspired, of course, by Stendahl's The Red and the Black.

Only now, the character of Julian Sorel was a young

sculptor with a Black Panther dad and a social climbing mom.

A guy who uses everyone he meets in his ferocious scramble up the art world ladder.

Race.

Art.

Ambition.

Hey, buddy.

It's Len.

Your editor.

Remember me?

So when am I gonna see something?

You were supposed to send me a draft three months ago.

Call me.

I'm getting a letter.

Every night after dinner, I went out and sat with the eggs.

This was after my mother and I washed the dishes and loaded the washer, after my

father dozed off over his medical journals.

It was then that I slipped out the kitchen door and crossed the chilly backyard,

dark and loamy with the yeasty smell of leaves The leaves just beginning to

change, noisy with the rustle of them turning colors in the dark.

For a moment I looked back at the black frame of our house, the whole place

jumping and vibrating with the dishwasher hum.

Then I entered the tool shed, lit only by the incubator bulbs, silent but for the

whirring hearts inside the fertilized eggs.

This was my eleventh grade biology project.

Officially, that is.

But underneath those charts, those notebooks, the racks of fertilized eggs,

my real project was black magic.

Casting spells for things I shouldn't have wanted, and longed for, and finally got.

Like Mr. Raynaud, my science teacher.

Angela.

Angela.

Hi.

Hi.

I read your chapter.

Oh, shit.

You hated it.

I could tell by the way you were looking at me in class.

You thought it was funny, but I could feel it.

You thought it sucked.

No.

Actually, the opposite.

I think it's quite accomplished.

Really?

Yeah.

I do.

Yeah.

You're not just saying that because you're afraid if you tell me what you really

think I'm gonna go kill myself in my dorm room?

No.

No, that's not why I'm saying it.

I'm telling you the truth.

I really, really, really enjoyed it.

Ted!

Hi!

Hey, how are you?

I'm good.

Good.

Good.

We're on a break.

I left some papers in the office, as usual.

You know Angela.

I do know Angela.

It's nice to see you again.

You too, Professor.

Um, we're just talking about Angela's novel.

Her novel?

Yeah.

Wow.

That's impressive.

Yeah.

He's just being nice.

No, no.

Okay.

Well, please call me.

Let's have lunch.

Okay.

I will.

I will.

Okay.

I found the typos.

I made corrections.

Just... keep writing.

Do you want to discuss it in class?

Oh, God, no.

No.

You have to be very careful to whom you show this now.

Don't listen to what anyone says.

I mean it.

Not even me.

Especially me.

Wow.

Um... Oh, my God.

That makes me so... happy.

Just... thank you.

You're welcome.

Good job.

Can I give you another couple of pages?

I'm sorry?

I understand if you, like, need a break or something, but... and it's not like

reading a real writer's work, and I know that, but if...

it's... if you... I understand if you don't want to.

No.

It would be my pleasure.

It just... it means the world.

Okay, bye.

Bye.

A little known fact about eggs, Mr. Raynaud said.

During the equinox and solstice, you can actually balance one on its end.

I never tried to balance an egg during the equinox or the solstice.

I don't believe in astrology.

But I knew that my life was like that egg.

And the point it balanced on were the few minutes

I got to stay after class and talk to Mr. Raynaud.

Hi.

Hi.

I'm sorry I'm late.

Oh, hi.

No, no, no.

No problem.

Hi.

I had to go to Montpelier.

They were holding this book for me.

Oh.

Dog poem.

Yes.

Oh, this is one of my favorites.

One of my freshmen wrote a poem about his dog dying.

So I thought if I could show them something literary about animals,

we'd have some place to start.

See what a good teacher you are.

I mean, what you do for your students.

They write reviews of us.

Look what we all do.

Can I get a white wine, please?

See, if it were my students, they would be having

sex with the dead dogs or at least writing about it.

That's disgusting.

Yeah, but I can't say anything because I would

be repressing their creative self-expression.

So?

So what do you say?

I take the technical route.

If you have a chicken in a suburban refrigerator, what's the texture like?

What's the temperature?

What does it feel like?

Specificity.

Yeah.

Specificity.

Sure.

You make it seem so lascivious.

That is just a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to be filed.

Yeah.

Tell me about it.

Yeah.

Yeah.

So how's Angela Argo doing?

Do we know what we like?

Yes.

I'll have the usual.

Char-grilled steak sandwich, mashed potatoes and a salad on the side.

Yes.

And I will have the very same thing.

You got it.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Why do you ask?

Cheers.

Ask what?

About Angela Argo.

I'm just curious how her novel's going.

Oh, well, I have to say it's surprisingly good.

The stuff she wrote for me was awful.

And she wrote a collection of poetry for me that I

may be a bit prudish, but I found it terribly obscene.

Obscene?

Yikes.

Like how?

Dramatic monologues and dialogues about a phone sex worker.

Angela 911.

Really?

So Houston is now admitting former phone sex workers?

I don't know.

But do you think that she was actually?

I don't know.

I don't know.

I don't want to know.

All right.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you very much.

Thank you.

It's very confusing because there was also multiple

references to the phone sex workers' sexually abusive father.

And one time we had a conference and she intimated they were true.

I wonder if that's the reason he killed himself.

He killed himself?

Yeah.

She never mentioned that.

At the end of spring semester, I get a call from Betty Hester at the library.

Mother Hubbard.

That's mean.

I'm sorry.

I didn't say old.

In any event.

All right.

She called to say that Angela wanted to donate a

volume of her poems to the Houston Library as a gift.

Mm-hmm.

So Betty reads some of these.

And she is totally freaked out.

So what did you say?

I told her just catalog the goddamn things.

Nobody's ever going to check it out except Angela.

Hmm.

I'm the father of four daughters.

Three of them are sleeping.

One is awake and waiting for me.

I keep thinking of her tiny breasts, my fingers between her legs.

Ted?

Huh?

Can I help you with something?

Oh, no.

I'm good.

Thank you.

Thanks.

Hello.

Oh.

So good to see you, Ted.

Likewise.

Yeah.

It's been ages.

Yeah.

Too busy writing to read?

I wish.

Oh.

My Dog Tulip.

Hmm.

Oh.

I don't think I know this one.

Professor Moynihan recommended it.

Oh.

Well, it must be good then.

I think so.

Yeah.

Okay.

Thanks.

Uh-uh.

Hmm?

What about that one?

Oh.

I forgot.

Oh, dear.

I believe I know this author.

Really?

Yeah.

She's one of your students?

Yeah.

She is.

Uh-huh.

Oh.

How fortunate.

How fortunate for her.

Okay.

Okay.

Send my love to Sherry.

I will.

And to Ruby.

Mm-hmm.

We're late.

Oh.

Who cares?

Oh, I have missed these dinners, these gatherings of lost souls pretending

that they're not dying of boredom and angst in some provincial outpost.

Behave or I'll take you home before dessert.

Promise?

Mm.

Ugh.

I hope she doesn't serve jam trifle again.

Be nice.

And no English accents.

Yes, Mom.

It slipped out.

Can I interest you in some Marmite?

Marmite?

I love Marmite.

I haven't had Marmite since my Vonderjaar at Oxford.

Oh.

Vonderjaar.

I'm so glad you like it.

Most Americans don't.

Oh.

Hello.

Sherry.

How are you?

Hello.

Hello.

How are you?

How are you?

Hello.

Hi.

Lovely to see you.

Lovely to see you, too, sir.

How are you?

Good to see you.

Everyone?

Good to see you, too.

Can I interest you in some Marmite hors d 'oeuvre?

I never say no to Marmite.

Unless, of course, you're serving it with steak and kidney pie.

There he is.

Hello, Ted.

Sir.

Splendid of you to come.

So I'm going to wash that down, my little man.

Yes.

Vodka, please.

On the rocks.

A double.

Pellegrino.

No ice, please.

Thank you.

We were just talking about the rigors of the creative pursuit.

That's right.

Now we can hear what our author in residence has to say on the subject.

How is your work going these days?

Well, sometimes fast, sometimes slow.

You know.

The creative process is very challenging.

But rewarding when it's good.

What are you working on?

Or is talking about when writing verboten?

Only to those who have yet to read my previous work.

It's on my nightstand.

Scout's honor.

Third from the top.

You're working on another novel?

Yes.

But actually, I'd rather extol the virtues of Marmite.

Don't let the sarcasm fool you.

He's very excited about it.

What's it about?

Oh, have you told us?

Sorry if I've forgotten.

No, actually, no, I don't think I did tell you.

I don't think I really told anyone.

Not even my nearest and dearest.

Writers are a secretive bunch.

As if Roger's dying to steal their ideas.

Oh, we are.

What's the title?

Throw us a breadcrumb.

Come on.

Tease us.

We would love to be teased.

Eggs.

It's called Eggs.

What an interesting title.

Yeah.

I thought it was The Black and the Black.

The wife's always the last to know, isn't she?

Well, I think they're both great titles.

Thank you.

Well, whatever it's called, I've got no doubt

it's going to be another smashing success.

Absolutely.

Good for us.

Yeah.

Cheers.

Cheers.

So how do Houston's best and brightest strike you this year?

Well, I don't suppose it'll come as a shock to say that each year's entering

class seems to have read less than last year's worst students.

The high schools are definitely slacking off on the Dryden and Pope.

You know, I sort of had an interesting thing happen the other day.

It was in my intro to American Lit.

We're doing Poe.

So I thought I'd give them a little bio, a little

gossip really, to make things more immediate.

Give it personal touch.

Well, that's what we've been reduced to.

Fodder for the talk shows.

Poe and his 13-year-old child bride cousin

discussing their marital arrangements with Ellen.

I'm sure everyone would tune in.

They would.

They would, though.

Yeah.

So anyway, as I'm talking about Poe's marriage, the entire class gets quiet.

And when I asked them what the matter was, none of them would answer.

Until one young woman says, Are you telling us that

we've been studying the work of a child molester?

Oh, you've got to be kidding.

Poor Edgar Allan.

It's fascinating that the rest of you found this

heightened consciousness about those issues.

I never talk to a female student alone in my office without the door wide open.

And I keep a tape recorder in my desk, just in case things get dicey.

Last week, we were doing Great Expectations, and one of my students,

a big beefy jock, asked me if Dickens meant there

to be a homosexual thing between Pip and Magwitch.

He was definitely trying to bait me.

Maybe he was just looking for a classically sanctioned way to come out.

I told him I didn't think Dickens meant us to read a gay subtext into the book,

and we should consider what the writer had intended.

The next day, a female student told me that the

discussion had made her feel very unsettled.

Safe.

The way she said that word, unsafe, gave me the chills.

It's a perfectly ordinary word with a perfectly valid meaning.

So, Lauren, do these things come up with you?

Yeah, of course they come up.

I bring them up.

I want the students to feel safe.

This word that Dave finds so chilling.

I want the students to be able to come to me if

they are experiencing harassment or anything.

Really, I really take them very seriously.

I have an idea.

What's that?

I think that we have been given, giving in without a fight, that we have

been knuckling under to the most neurotic forces of repression and censorship.

I think we need to help these people get over their problems.

We should desensitize them the way the Scientologists do.

Lock them in a room and shout dirty words at them until they grow up.

Shit, shit, shit.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Cogsucker.

Motherfucker.

Asshole.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Throw in a couple of cunts while you're at it.

I mean, just good old time tested Anglo-Saxonism.

And we will be doing these people a favor.

Emotionally, spiritually, educationally.

We'll be helping them grow up a lot faster than if we

just coddle them and indulge every whim and neurosis.

It's just...

Ted's got Tourette's.

Late onset.

Adult Tourette's.

A very rare condition.

Oh, good.

Dessert.

I hope everyone has room for a little jam trifle.

Yum.

Late onset Tourette's.

That's what... I have to say something.

My God, Ted.

What the hell got into you?

Throw in a couple of cunts.

I kept expecting your head to swivel around and for you to projectile vomit.

I don't know.

I think it was the whole Poe on Ellen thing that just pushed me over the edge.

It's just... Oh, you're driving.

Yes, I'm driving.

God, what a bunch of spineless idiots.

Imagine my father seeing me wind up here.

Oh.

He would have staged a hunger strike.

He would have shut this place down.

Magda's got a huge crush on you, you know?

Nobody gets a crush on me anymore.

I'm too old.

He says, Is this 859-6732?

Is this Angela 911?

I say, What would you like to do tonight?

He says, I'm coming up to you from behind.

My hand is over your mouth.

I'm bending you over a trash can, making you open your legs.

You push your ass against me.

Ted?

Yeah?

I'm going to bed.

Okay.

All right.

I'll be up in a bit.

Just then, Eddie really started to hate mirrors.

Eddie was glad there were no mirrors on the bottom of the toilet bowls.

He would have had to see his fat, pale, jellyfish face.

He says, Is this Angela 911?

I say, What would you like to do tonight?

He says, Listen to what I'm doing.

I'm pulling up your skirt, slapping your thighs just lightly.

You feel my hardness straining to find release.

You unbutton my... Coach.

Yeah?

That's it.

That's great.

Really.

Very brave work, Carlos.

Thank you.

Good.

What did everyone think?

Oh, yeah.

Sure.

Somebody understanding.

That part where the guy goes on and on about the dog, that was amazing.

Doofy.

Yes, right.

Doofy.

You walking across the quad?

I got like half an hour before Western Day.

We could grab a coffee.

Hey, I can't.

I've, um...

I gotta see what he thought about my chapter.

I'm really nervous about it.

I think he probably hated it.

Okay.

Well, good luck.

Thanks.

I'll see you around.

Okay.

Looks like you made his day.

Wow.

I was just telling the truth.

His story wasn't bad.

Yeah.

And thank you for not letting another class devolve into civil war.

Well, don't thank me too fast.

Nothing's for free, you know?

Oh.

What's it gonna cost me?

Time.

Hard time.

This one really sucks.

Great.

I can't wait to read it.

It's from the mother's perspective, and it's about when the parents first meet.

And I know I've been giving you so much stuff,

so if it's too much for you, it's too much.

Just let me know.

No, no.

It's my pleasure.

Really.

I, um...

Uh, just don't be upset with me if it takes me, you know, a few days to read it.

Yeah, yeah.

No rush.

Okay.

I'll just be waiting by the phone.

All right.

All right.

Thanks.

I'll see you.

Okay.

All right.

See you.

It was a morning like any other.

The alarm went off.

But when I tried to stand, the room spun until it threw me onto the floor.

I was terrified.

I called a cab and went to the hospital.

The doctor looked in my eyes, my throat, and said I had an ear infection.

Nothing to worry about.

But as soon as I stood up to leave, I collapsed again on the examining room floor.

Nurses ran in.

I woke up as the young doctor was taking my pulse.

You all right?

Reader, we're married now.

I'm sorry.

How the hell could she have known that?

Hey, I read your chapter.

Already?

Wow.

Yeah.

I'm flattered.

I'm just not so sure that you need it.

You know, the parents meeting, how they meet.

It just seems a little bit extraneous to me.

The reader needs to hear it for what's coming later.

But how did you come up with the whole thing anyway?

I'm curious.

I mean, the earache and the falling down.

And the meeting in the hospital.

It happened to someone I knew in high school.

Why?

You sound upset.

Is something wrong?

Oh, no.

Oh, no.

No.

But we'll talk about it tomorrow.

Okay.

Okay.

Bye-bye.

Who was that?

Magda.

You're leading her on, you know.

She won't appreciate it in the end.

Will you help me with the groceries?

Of course.

I would love to.

Yes.

Danny is, uh... He's doing just wonderfully.

His narrative skills are growing better by the day.

And I must say, he has a very vivid imagination.

Well, he's always loved creative writing.

Especially about animals.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Excuse me.

Is this Professor Swenson?

Yes.

Our Angela is in your class?

Oh, yes.

Of course.

Yes.

Well, I'll let you go.

I just wanted to see in general how he was doing.

Thank you for your inspiration.

Okay.

Thank you.

Hi.

Hi.

Hi.

Amy.

Amy.

I'm sorry we're late.

We left Jersey at 5.30 this morning, so we

didn't have to pay for another night's motel.

Oh, sure.

Okay.

That's a little more information than a professor needs.

Hi.

Mark.

Hi, Mark.

How are you?

Good.

Good.

Please have a seat.

Oh, thank you.

Thank you.

So...

How's Angela doing?

I mean, she told us that we must come see you.

That you're the only teacher that would have anything nice to say about her.

Well, I'm sure you'll find that that is not true.

No.

She talks about your class all the time.

You're like her hero.

Mm-hmm.

She thinks you're the greatest writer that ever lived.

Well, that's very flattering.

It's always good to have a fan.

Especially such a talented one.

Oh, thank you.

Well, she's always wanted to be a writer.

You know, I remember when she started, I bought her this computer.

And she used to print up this little family newspaper.

Stuff like how long she'd have to wait in the morning to get in the bathroom.

You know.

Hmm.

Is something the matter?

Oh, no.

No.

I... I...

She told... It's just...

I had no idea that her literary aspirations went back to early childhood.

Oh, yeah.

She's always had a way with words, Ellen, you know.

That was your stepfather, right?

Of course.

Why?

Oh, no.

I was just, um...

I was curious, because the way he was talking, he...

And he spoke as though he had known you your whole life.

Since you were, like, a baby.

Oh, well, he did.

Um, he lived next door to us my whole life.

Him and his wife.

And then, after my dad killed himself, um, about a year after, him and his wife

split up and he married my mom, it was a big neighborhood scandal.

Ah.

You know, I...

I did lie about something, though.

Um, my dad wasn't crazy.

He was...

He was sick.

He had emphysema.

Oh.

Sorry.

Thanks.

I remember this, um, time he took me grocery shopping.

And...

He got so winded, he was wheezing and stuff.

He had to sit down.

And then I saw the checkout guy who I thought was really cute.

Um...

I saw him roll his eyes at the girl that was bagging groceries.

And...

I was embarrassed.

I was...

And ever since he killed himself, I think about that every day and I feel so guilty.

Why was I so mad at him?

But you weren't.

You weren't mad at him.

You were angry at the situation.

You were angry because life is cruel and unfair.

I mean, there are no other people that are as angry as you.

perfectly...

normal.

You guys are crooked.

Sorry.

Thanks.

That's OK.

Mr. Raynod looked closely.

His voice was calm, full of compassion and tenderness

as he held the damaged egg up to the light.

I started to cry.

They're all dead and it's my fault, I said to him.

I told him I was going to kill myself in the camp.

They were supposed to hatch ten days ago.

I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know what to do, so I did nothing.

Don't blame yourself, he said, soothing me with his gentle touch.

Don't cry.

He wiped my tears, his fingers caressing my face.

Our bodies melting together, our lips, our tongues.

As his hand slipped under my jeans, I made a sound so low

in my throat that even the unborn chicks must have heard me.

Angela, Argo here.

Hey, give me that, you jerk.

I'll stop.

You hated it, didn't you?

That's why you didn't call.

No, actually, I quite admired it.

Really?

Yeah.

Because it was like...

What?

I don't know.

It was weird, I guess, knowing you were reading those pages.

They were, like, really intimate and I was so nervous I didn't sleep all night.

Angela, I'm a professor of literature.

A little eroticism doesn't frighten me.

Good.

Because now I can breathe.

I was just, you know, I was imagining you getting home and getting ready for bed or

eating dinner and knowing you were reading those

pages and wondering if you were, like, you know...

You know.

Anyway, I'm just really glad you liked it.

That's great.

Um, sorry to bother you without an appointment.

When do I get more?

Um, well, at this point, probably never.

Yeah, well, writer's block gets the best of us sometimes, doesn't it?

No, it's not that.

Um, my hard drive just crashed, so I've got to get a new computer.

Oh.

Sorry to hear that.

Yeah.

Hey, listen, maybe this is a stupid idea, um, and you can absolutely say no.

In fact, I expect you to say no, but I just really need a ride to Burlington.

My stepdad said I could buy a new computer on his credit card.

I really want to buy it in person because last time I bought it online and it was

defective and returning it was a total nightmare.

Yeah, um, look, it's not impossible, but, um, I...

When I'm not here, I'm writing.

So I don't know that it will...

Right, I'm sure, yeah.

Um...

I figured that was why you'd say no.

Well, can't your boyfriend drive you, or...?

I don't have a boyfriend.

Ah.

Oh, I thought you'd, yeah.

It's no big deal.

Um, I'll just put it on the shelf for a little while.

Probably not such a bad idea anyway.

Thanks again.

All right.

What about tomorrow at 10?

Really?

Yeah.

Yeah.

Oh, my God.

Thank you so much.

Thank you.

That would be great.

Um, yeah, I live in Hughes.

Do you want to just pick me up outside of my dorm?

Yeah, perfect.

Great.

We'll just go.

We'll go...

We'll do it quickly and then, uh, it'll be done.

Okay?

Perfect.

All right, great.

Okay.

Thank you so much.

Okay, see you.

Yep, all right.

I'll see you tomorrow.

Thank you.

So have you decided what your major is going to be yet?

Or...

Uh, well, I have till the end of the year to

declare, but I was thinking creative writing.

Mm-hmm.

Unless you think I should major in something else?

No, no, I think... no, I think it's a great idea.

Okay.

No, I, I, um, I just didn't want to assume that it was what you wanted to do.

Oh, good.

Cause writing is really the only thing that interests me.

Mm-hmm.

It's all I care about, really.

If I wake up that day and I'm writing, then I'm in a good mood.

I'm happy.

I know what you mean.

It's better than anything.

It's better than sex.

Well...

Maybe not that.

No,

no, I don't want external speakers.

I just need to make sure it has the new Intel Core i5 and i7 processors.

Absolutely.

And I don't want an in-store service one because

it never breaks before it expires anyway.

Your daughter is very charming.

That was easy.

Everything should be that easy.

Thank you.

It's just one writer helping another writer.

Thanks.

No, sorry, go ahead.

No, you go ahead.

Yeah?

Okay.

Alrighty.

Alright.

Um, you wouldn't be willing by any chance to help me carry this stuff up to my room,

would you?

Or help set it up?

I understand if you have to get going I've taken up enough of your day already.

Oh, you know, actually, I don't think I'd be much help setting up a computer.

My wife had to set mine up.

I'm, like, totally useless.

Well, that's cool.

I can probably do it.

Okay.

You can just be moral support.

Did you do these drawings?

Um, yeah.

Mostly.

Very good.

Thanks.

I've been doing it forever.

I just kind of pass the time that way, you know?

Impressive.

I think we got it!

Oh!

Putting together my last computer was, like, total hell.

You must be my good luck charm.

Well, I'm glad to hear it.

Hey, um, let me print out the new pages for you.

Son of a bitch.

Shit.

Not the papers, Jan.

Yeah, no shit.

Sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

It's just, you know, I just...

I really wanted to give you these pages before you went and... Don't worry about it.

You know what?

Just email them to me, because I should really... No, no.

No, I think also we just... Sometimes it happens at jams.

Let me just try this one other thing, okay?

Shit!

Okay, all right.

No, it's...

Relax, relax.

It's okay.

It's not... No, it's just... It's okay.

It's okay.

Hey, it's all right.

Don't...

Oh, Clarice!

Hi!

Hi, Professor Swenson.

How are you?

Good, how are you?

Good, good, good.

I'll see you in class.

Yeah, see you there.

All right, okay.

Oh, goody!

You're home!

I can't decide.

What would you like?

Uh, I don't know.

That's a tough one.

Maybe roll back the clock?

How about that?

For dinner, silly.

Uh, how about some oatmeal?

I broke that tooth today.

Oh, no!

Yeah.

How'd you do that?

On an olive.

An olive?

At Houston Commons?

That sounds exotic.

No, I...

I had this craving, so I went over to the minute mark quickly, and I, um...

I bought a whole jar, and I... I...

ate practically the whole thing.

You know how you take when you eat, you put, like, the pits in the side of

your mouth, and then I... which I do, and then I bit on it, and... stupid.

Maybe you're pregnant.

What?

What?

Weird food cravings.

For a second, you look scared you might actually be pregnant.

No, it's not funny.

I really, um...

When you're 20-something, you think everything is replaceable, or it'll...

But when you're 49, you know it isn't.

Aww.

I'm sorry.

It's okay.

You should've come to the clinic.

We could've fixed you up.

Does it hurt?

Only when I do this.

Ow.

Don't do that.

Stupid.

I'm gonna make you some very soft, very delicious scrambled eggs with cheese.

Oh, good.

Okay.

Ooh.

Ow.

That did not hurt.

No, no.

Not really.

Don't you want something else, or... No.

I don't mind.

He pressed until the egg cracked, its slimy

yolk slipping over our intertwined fingers.

My fingers slid against his fingers until our hands were

joined, and I no longer knew which fingers were whose.

He took my hand, still slippery from the egg, and wrapped it around his penis.

His spit tasted like an old person's food.

Liver and onions.

Fried fish.

His stomach pillowed into me.

Maybe he knew what I was thinking, because he

got rougher as he pushed himself hard inside me.

I began to cry because it hurt.

But at the same time, I felt happy that he wanted me.

That I alone had the power to make a grown

man risk everything to do what we were doing.

In the warm light of the shed, with the trays of eggs humming around us.

I know dudes who do that, okay?

I'm just not convinced this dude would do that.

It doesn't matter whether or not someone would do something like that.

What matters is whether Meg's made us believe that the guy in her story did it.

So... Hey Meg, the guy in your story, what does he do for a living?

I don't know.

I mean, wait, he's a contractor.

Is that in the story?

I mean, it was and then I took it out.

It's not in the story because the guy's not in the story.

We don't believe it for a fucking second.

We don't believe one thing he says or anything that he does.

Certainly not that he takes a cat up to the roof to kill it.

A guy like that is more likely to be nice to the cat than he is to the woman.

It's like he didn't even investigate it.

You were too busy thinking of some vicious thing

for this asshole to do than actually write a story.

Well, it appears that Angela did not care for Meg's writing this week.

I'm sorry, uh, but I think it's unfair that Angela gets to shoot her mouth off

about everybody else's stuff and we never talk about her work.

She should have to play by the same rules we do.

However, I did make it clear at the beginning of the course that no one is

obligated... Fine.

Whatever.

I'll bring my stuff into class.

I'm not scared.

I just don't see the point.

But, if it'll make you happy, I'll do it next week.

Okay, great.

Thank you, Angela, for volunteering and for,

um, extricating us from this little snafu.

Uh-huh.

Snafu.

Beautiful.

Hmm.

It's one of my favorites.

All right, there we are.

So, uh, we'll see you next week.

Angela, would you stay so that we could just talk

about what you would indeed like to read next week?

I'm sorry for going off like that.

You know, one minute I'm minding my business

and the next I'm ripping Meg's heart out.

Yeah, no, it's okay.

I mean, you were right.

It's just the mood I'm in.

I was pissed before I came in here.

Why is that?

Because you didn't call.

About the pages.

Oh, yeah, no, I know.

I'm sorry.

I didn't get the chance.

It's just those were really extreme scenes, you know?

And I needed to know what you thought.

It was driving me crazy.

And here I am defending male behavior against Meg's bullshit.

But here you are exhibiting the worst type of male behavior.

And honestly, I'd rather you throw my cat off the roof and kill it than have you

read these really tough and hard to write pages and not even call.

I'm sorry.

It was thoughtless.

Apology accepted.

Good.

So then next week, I think you should just, let's just start with the first chapter.

Alright?

Um, yeah, sure.

You know, I don't know if I'll get much out of it.

No offense, but you know, I just really need to get my stuff out in the world to

someone that doesn't know me and they can tell me if I suck or if I should keep

going or if I should just burn it all and rip it up and never write again.

I don't think you'd have to do that.

Was that Blue Angel?

Did you watch Blue Angel?

Yeah.

I don't think I've ever seen it.

Marlena Dietrich's great, though, right?

Pretty boring, actually.

It was hard to get through.

I've got to return it or else I might as well buy it.

Okay.

Hey, uh, what if the next time you talk to your editor in

New York, you sort of mention my novel to him, you know?

Have him just read a chapter, a couple pages

even, and then he'll tell you and you can tell me.

Um...

Let me think about it.

Thanks.

I really appreciate it.

No problem.

See ya.

Okay.

See ya later.

So, let's talk about what we liked before we tear it down as usual.

I thought some of the egg stuff was okay.

Oh, come on, Carlos.

It was all so obvious and symbolic.

Thank you.

I mean, this egg shit, really?

It's cliche.

I didn't believe the voice.

I mean, teenage girls don't think like that.

There were no teenage expressions in it.

It was like, it was totally unrealistic.

And the narrator's so, oof, I don't know.

I just kept waiting to learn something about her as a character.

I feel ya.

Okay, but it is the first part of the first chapter of a novel.

A novel's got to have something to keep you reading.

We're not staying with the story about some chick

hatching eggs and having fantasies about her teacher.

This is like the worst thing we've read in class all year.

You know, sometimes, sometimes, there comes along

something that is new and fresh and original.

It's unlike anything that's ever been written before.

I'm not saying what Angela has written is Ulysses.

But what I am saying is what she has written is very original.

And the rest of you need to see that.

Because if there's one thing that I want you to take away from this class,

it's the ability, it's the generosity to see the real deal.

And that's the real deal.

It should be painfully obvious to all of you that what Angela has written is more

sophisticated, more profound, more nuanced, and more compelling than anything

any one of you has written for this entire semester.

And I'm shocked that you don't see it.

Hello, hi, it's Ted Swenson calling for, uh, Len Curry.

One minute, Mr. Swenson.

Ted, finally.

How are you, man?

Hey, how are you?

Jesus, you're hard to get a hold of.

You coming to New York?

Yes.

In fact, that's why I'm calling.

I want to talk to you about a couple things.

Maybe the week after next?

The week of Thanksgiving.

Uh, no.

Actually, I meant...

That Friday is perfect.

It's actually the only slot I've got free on my schedule for the next year.

Not really, but just about.

And by lunchtime, I'll be climbing the walls to get away from the wife and kids.

Don't tell anyone I said that.

Norm, it's 22nd and Park Avenue South.

See you at 1.

Can't wait to finally read what you've got.

Hello?

Oh, my God!

Ted, she's here!

Hello?

Oh!

I did not expect you so early!

Oh, I thought you did all that traffic.

It wasn't too bad, actually.

Oh, good.

Smells good, Mom.

Hey, how are you?

She's back and badder than ever.

You look great.

You look great.

Thanks, Dad.

You don't need to say it a third time.

Alright.

I'm taking this course on the abnormal personality.

It's for my psych major.

Sounds interesting.

A lot of these studies say that first-degree relatives of affected

individuals have a higher risk of developing symptoms themselves.

Makes you think about Grandpa.

You know, it makes perfect sense.

This is absolutely delicious, honey.

Although a child of a bipolar has less than 15% chance of developing it himself.

Well, there you go.

15%.

Spare it.

Unless there are other members of the family

who suffer from some kind of mood disorder, too.

I remember your mother was depressed a lot, as well.

Honey, would it be alright if we didn't talk about my

inherited mental illness during Thanksgiving dinner?

It's pretty fascinating, though.

Bipolar is rampant.

My father wasn't bipolar.

He was angry about the state of our country.

I just think his underlying emotional state must have had a big effect on you,

and I'm surprised you never went into therapy.

Why?

I'm a writer.

To me, it's all grist for the emotional mill.

Why shrink it away?

He set himself on fire.

Yes, I know that.

I know.

But I don't think political outrage is inherited, so I wouldn't worry.

Okay.

Let's change the subject.

How's your book coming?

So, how's the novel coming?

Well, it's coming.

You know, it's coming.

It's slow.

It's coming slowly.

But actually, I didn't want to talk to you about my novel.

I wanted to talk to you about a novel that one of my students is writing.

God help us.

No, no, no.

Len, listen.

It's about a high school girl who has an affair with her teacher.

Yeah, let me... I want to give it to you.

You're fucking her.

What?

No, I'm not.

You want to.

No, I don't want to...

It's not about sex.

It's about that this kid is really, really talented.

I believe you.

I really... I'm sure she's very good.

But I don't have time to look at some chick novel

about a girl with a hots for a high school teacher.

Why don't you just look at the first few pages?

Ted.

First few pages.

Ted.

First few pages.

Ted.

Do yourself a favor.

Take the manuscript back.

Tell her you'll show it to me if she lets you fuck her.

...

Now, what about your book?

Let's get serious here.

I've had a thought.

Have you ever considered a memoir?

Len...

You don't need me to tell you that what's selling these

days has the juicy gleam, the bloody smell of truth.

Yes, I know.

How many people do you think read a novel?

About 5,000.

Out of the 5,000 people that read your novel, 2,000 of them are dead.

And the other three, they've forgotten.

But it'd be a hot new memoirist and a middlest middle-aged novelist.

I'm not doing this as your publisher.

I'm doing this as your friend.

Well, I appreciate that.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Now, look.

I don't know you that well.

But the best thing, the really good thing, would be if there was something that had

been going on since your father's death so that you

could tell me that there was some ongoing problem.

A problem?

Like what?

Drinking, drugs, spousal abuse, sex addiction, compulsively fucking your students.

That would be great.

Len?

Something that's directly traceable to your dysfunctional

childhood and something that you've recovered from, of course.

Yeah.

Well, I'll think about it.

Yeah.

What are you doing sitting in the dark?

I don't know.

Just thinking.

Everything okay?

Is Ruby all right?

Is she pissed that I went?

No.

No, not at all.

I told you, she's fine.

What did Len have to say?

Oh, well, you know, his kid's got ADD and they're

medicating him into a stupor and, you know...

I mean about the chapters that you gave him.

Well, he's, um...

You know, he's excited.

You know, but it's probably gonna take him a

little while to read it, he said, so... Okay.

Everyone would love to see you finish eggs.

Mm-hmm.

Oh, by the way, one of your students called.

She sounded upset.

Did she leave her name?

No.

She said she wanted to talk about her novel.

She thought it was your cell.

Or novel.

Oh, great.

Her novel.

She's back in New Jersey.

She left her number.

She said to call her any time.

Unbelievable.

Hey, students, you know...

You say, don't call me unless it's a life-threatening emergency.

And, of course, everything to them is a life-threatening emergency.

You know, you're at their beck and call.

It's just...

I'm sure it's nothing that can't wait until Monday.

Okay.

I'm going up.

All right.

I'll see you up in a minute.

Good morning.

Good morning.

Happy Thanksgiving.

I hate it when you look at me like that.

Like what?

Like dinner.

I'm sorry.

I didn't think I was looking at you like dinner.

I don't usually think about dinner until I've had lunch.

So, I'm guessing it didn't go very well.

Otherwise, you would have called.

No, I...

I talked to him about it, and he said, you know, he's a very busy man.

He said he'll read it.

Of course, he could be so busy that he just

pretends to read it and then sends it back.

But, unfortunately, we have no control over that.

So, when can I call him?

You're welcome.

How was your Thanksgiving?

Grizzly.

So, when can I call and see if he's ready?

I don't think he would like that.

That might make him want to not read it.

You didn't give it to him, did you?

Okay, look.

I didn't leave it with Len.

It's not that I didn't try.

I did.

It's just that he's not reading any new novels now.

And you shouldn't take it personally.

It's not...

You know, it's not like he read it and he didn't like it.

It's just...

That's all.

I mean, come on.

You're young.

You haven't even finished the novel yet.

You and I both know that this is all bullshit.

None of it matters.

When am I going to be published?

My reputation and then my fame and it's bullshit.

The only thing that matters is the work.

That's all.

The work.

Fuck you.

No.

Fuck you.

I went out of my fucking way for you.

I went down to Manhattan to see my editor so he could

take me out to lunch so he could treat me like shit.

So he could tell me that I had to write a memoir about my early years.

Everything that I covered already in Phoenix Time.

But now I'm supposed to write it in a different

way and it's supposed to be the actual truth.

Fuck me.

Fuck you.

Why did you tell him?

I told him no.

I'm a novelist.

Plain and simple.

I still have some standards.

It's easy for you to have standards with your nice

fat teaching job and your tenure forever and ever.

You'll always have time to write.

Even if you don't.

Whereas if I end up working at a drugstore, which with my parents'

connections is the best case scenario, I'll never have the time while you sit

here making your little moral distinctions about not selling out your fabulous talent.

I can't believe you let this happen.

I can't believe you didn't fight harder for me.

Angela.

The only reason why I let you fuck me was so you could

get my novel to someone who could actually do something.

I did not think that that's what that was about.

I did not think this was about you letting me fuck you.

I thought that was something that we both wanted.

Well now you know.

Hello?

Professor Swenson.

It's Hillary from Dr. Bentham's office.

Yes?

Dr. Bentham would like to see you as soon as you arrive this morning if possible.

Um, yeah.

I should be there in about 10-15 minutes.

Will it take long?

Because, um, I have office hours this morning.

I'll tell him you'll be here shortly.

Thank you so much.

Okay.

Ted.

Hey, sir.

Thank you for coming in on such short notice.

Oh, yeah.

Well, office hours this early aren't very popular, so...

Ted, maybe we could dispense with the small talk

if that's alright and get directly to the point.

You know, I talked to him about it and he said you know, he's a very busy man.

He said he'll read it.

Of course, he could be so busy that he just pretends to read it and then sends it

back, but unfortunately, we have no control over that.

I can't believe you let this happen.

I can't believe you didn't fight harder for me.

Angela...

The only reason why I let you fuck me was so you could

get my novel to someone who could actually do something.

I did not think this was about you letting me fuck you.

I thought that was something that we both wanted.

Francis.

Look.

I did not make this girl sleep with me in exchange for pimping out her novel.

Ted, maybe it's premature to warn you that everything you say can be used against

you, but... Are you arresting me?

Is that what's happening?

Are you reading me my Miranda rights to the cops here?

Of course not.

But the evidence against you, it does look pretty damning.

Meaning what?

The student is charging you with sexual harassment.

Ugh.

She's threatening to sue the school.

And given what she's presented us with, I really think you might consider,

for everybody's sake, resigning.

I wouldn't ask you to do it just for the college, old chap.

I'd say go ahead.

Fight.

That's what you want.

But you do have a family to consider.

And a professional reputation.

And my so-called options?

Well, I suppose we'd have to form a committee to look into this.

Gather testimony.

Hold a hearing.

If necessary.

And I assume it would be.

It's all spelled out in the faculty handbook under sexual harassment.

This is not sexual harassment.

Actually, Ted, this sounds like the textbook case of sexual harassment.

Yeah, but that's not what it is.

Incidentally, Miss Argo has asked me to ask you to

not contact her until after this matter is settled.

So what do you say, Ted?

Want to go out to dinner?

Are we celebrating something?

Uh, a day without disaster.

Oh.

That's worth celebrating.

Emilio's?

We might want to wait for a month without disasters for that.

Well, there won't be any of those anytime soon, so let's go tonight.

Alright.

Alright.

Let me just go take a shower.

Okay.

In my dread and confusion, I reverted to the conventional wisdom.

That if you're going to deliver shattering information to a loved one, it's best to

do it in a crowded place that will preempt murders, recriminations, murder attempts,

and so forth.

I guess I should have known that at seven on

a weekday night, the place would be empty.

I'll have the venison.

And I'll have the salmon.

Even though it's probably exhausted after swimming all the way to Vermont.

We made it through Thanksgiving.

Not too bad.

Not too bad.

Not too bad.

I barely remember it.

What do you think?

Do you think she'll come home for Christmas?

Yeah, I hope so.

I'm so glad we're in this together.

Me too.

So if I...

If I tell you something, will you promise not to be mad at me no matter what?

I recognize a lose-lose deal when I hear one.

No, I mean it.

Have you been sleeping with a student?

No.

Oh my god, I was kidding.

I didn't really...

I didn't sleep with her.

My tooth broke.

Oh, okay.

So you were going to sleep with her except your tooth broke?

Well, something like that.

Not really.

I mean... What did she do?

Punch you in the face?

No.

Is she the one who called when you were supposedly in New York?

Um, I think so.

And do you think that's who you went to see when

you told us you were going to see your editor?

No.

Look at me!

God damn it!

What are you looking at them for?

No.

I was in New York.

I saw Len.

I wouldn't lie about something like that.

I'm very superstitious.

You know that.

What if the plane went down?

Too bad it didn't.

Is she pretty?

No.

No.

Not really.

No.

Then what?

Youth?

Great body?

What?

No.

No.

None of that.

Nothing.

It's just...

She can write, you know.

She can write?

This is about writing?

And it never once crossed your mind that you're wanting to sleep with this kid?

Might have clouded your literary judgement?

It's just that this novel that she's writing is just...

It's stupid.

I know it's stupid.

That's what attracted me.

Oh.

Oh, I get it.

So you didn't fuck a student.

You fucked a book.

You're like some groupie.

Like one of those chicks who used to come up to you after

one of your readings and thought you were some famous writer.

You know what?

You're worse than a groupie.

You're like a vampire sucking this kid's blood.

Okay.

A guy whose own daughter barely talks to him because he forgot she existed.

He was so self-involved, so in love with your own little problems that the only way

that she can get your attention is to start dating a guy whose reputation is so bad.

Even you will have heard of it.

Even with your head so far up your ass.

Okay.

That's...

Sherry... A pathetic little crush used to get on students.

Always simpering about how little miss such and such is really very talented and

always asking me if anyone would still think you were attractive.

I should have known better.

You know, serves me right for thinking that we were different.

We weren't like everybody else.

We weren't the cliche.

The aging, insecure writer and his pathetic, supportive wife.

Okay.

God, what could possibly be more cliche than thinking you're not one?

Whatever the fuck you are looking for, it is not out there.

It is not in me, and it's not in the pussy of one of

your students who just happens to be able to write.

I know that.

Don't you think that I know that?

She's filing a sexual harassment suit against me.

Good.

I hope they crucify you.

I hope they fucking make you pay.

Ruby.

Hi, honey.

I was going to call you.

I think it sucks what you did to mom.

You should feel like shit.

That's how you made her feel.

No, I know that.

I know.

And I can offer up no worthy defense.

I...

Nice talking to you, too.

I am sorry, my friend.

But you have left me no choice.

I must request your resignation.

All sold out.

Standing in one.

I will not go on.

What happened to you?

Are you mad?

You've got to run.

Put on this wig.

Don't get excited, Professor.

We can't believe it.

Ladies and gentlemen, get in.

Come on.

Take a key.

Take a key, man.

We all know why we're here.

To investigate the charges brought by Miss

Angela Argo against Professor Theodore Swenson.

This committee has already taken a number of depositions under advisement.

Do you have any questions, Ted?

Ted.

No.

No.

I suppose we should just begin.

Can you tell us in your own words what happened

at Dean Bentham's on the evening of November 6th?

Well...

Did you ever notice anything unusual in

Professor Swenson's behavior toward Miss Argo?

Well...

Did he do anything in class that led you to suspect

that he was involved inappropriately with Miss Argo?

Did you ever see him with Miss Argo in a venue that surprised you?

Well, thank you for coming in.

We appreciate your honesty.

Thank you for your courage, Miss Swenson.

The committee appreciates your help.

And could you tell us the reason for Miss Argo's visits to the health clinic?

This one time she came in, Sherri Swenson and I were on

duty and she said she had been having suicidal thoughts.

She was worried that she'd never meet a man she could love.

How did you respond?

She wanted to know how we met our husbands.

So we told her.

And it seemed to give her comfort.

Well, thank you so much for coming.

Okay, Angela.

Do you feel ready?

Let us start by saying that everybody understands

how difficult it has been for you to do this.

How brave you are for helping to make sure that this kind of thing is stopped.

I want to start by asking, when did you first realize that Professor Swenson was

interested in something beyond the ordinary student-teacher relationship?

Well, I caught him looking at me in class a lot.

And...

then I found out he checked out my book of poems from the library.

And, um...

I figured something was going on.

How did that make you feel?

It creeped me out.

Big time.

And how did things between you progress?

I guess it's when I told him that my computer crashed and he

offered to take me down to Burlington to the computer store.

Objection, your honors.

I did not offer.

She asked.

Ted, you'll get your chance.

And this isn't the court of law addressing us as your honors isn't necessary.

All right, okay.

Then what happened?

Nothing at first.

He seemed really nervous, like he was scared he would see us.

And then?

When we were on our way back, he started talking about his editor in New York and.

..

asked if I would like the guy to look at my novel.

And that's when he put his hand on mine and moved it to my leg.

Oh, my God.

That is bullshit, Angela.

That is complete and total bullshit.

Ted.

It's bullshit.

You'll get your say.

Bullshit.

Please.

Excuse the interruption.

Please continue.

Anyway, when we got back to the dorm, he offered

to help me carry the computer up to my room.

And you told him...

yes?

I was feeling totally passive.

Like...

I was totally out of control of everything.

And what happened next, Angela?

I know this is hard for you.

But we do have to know.

Well...

Um...

Then we sort of had sex.

Or we began to.

And then his tooth cracked.

And?

That ended it.

How did you feel?

Relieved.

I shouldn't have done it.

But... I guess what he was offering in exchange was too tempting.

Did he offer the bar again?

He lied.

He said his editor wasn't interested and didn't want to take a look at my book.

Go ahead, honey.

Tell him.

Tell him the good news.

Good news.

Please.

About a week ago, I got a call from a guy named Len Curry.

Professor Swenson's editor.

He said he found my manuscript on the chair where they had

had lunch and read it on his way home in a cab and that he...

he's offered me a contract to publish it.

That is wonderful.

Am I done?

Yes, of course.

Thank you.

And congratulations on your book.

Thanks.

I guess.

Now I have to finish it.

Ted.

I imagine there are now some things that you would want to say.

First of all, I'd like to say that I'm sorry.

Sorrier than you can even ever imagine.

I'm sorry that I ruined my marriage.

I'm sorry that I ruined my career.

I'm sorry that I sacrificed my extraordinary wife for an adolescent idea of romance.

Sorry that I can't seem to write a novel that's nearly as good as my first.

Sorry that my daughter won't speak to me.

Sorry that my father set himself on fire.

And I'm sorry that I've spent the better part of a

decade, which I will never get back, among all of you.

I admit that my behavior towards Angela was inappropriate and unprofessional.

I regret it.

And I regret it so much.

But I do not agree with the way it's been presented here today.

The truth has been twisted.

What happened between Angela and me was personal and it was complicated.

But it was never, ever a business transaction.

That's a lie.

That's it.

Excellent.

Thank you.

And thank you all.

The committee will be letting you know its

decision within, let's say, the next two weeks.

In The Blue Angel, Professor Wrath, mad with grief, wanders through the snowy

streets broken and humiliated because of his own undoing.

He died in his classroom alone, forsaken, clinging in vain to a life no longer his.

But I'm not Professor Wrath.

Yes, we both destroyed the lives we had.

We're manipulated by forces unexplored, feelings repressed, ghosts from our past.

But I destroyed the lives of others, too.

Those I loved the most.

Those who trusted me.

And that is something I have to live with.

Why did I let it happen?

I still ask myself.

Did I set myself on fire to protest my own complacency?

Was it the only way I could shake off my inertia and leap into the unknown?

I don't know.

All I do know is that I'm writing again.

And for the moment, that is enough.

Excuse me.

How is that?

Sit beside the breakfast table.

Think about your troubles.

Pour yourself a cup of tea.

And think about the bubbles.

You can take your teardrops and drop them in a teacup.

Take them down to the riverside.

And throw them over these heights.

To be swept up by a current.

Then taken to the ocean.

To be eaten by some fishes.

Who were eaten by some fishes.

And swallowed by a whale.

Who grew so old.

He decomposed.

You.

Do.

Do.

Do.

He died.

He left his body.

To the bottom of the ocean.

Now everybody knows that when a body decomposes.

The basic elements are given back to the ocean.

And the sea does what it ought to.

And soon this salty water is not too good for a drink.

It's just like a teardrop.

So you're under too much love.

And it comes out from a faucet.

And it pours into a teapot.

Which is just about to bubble.

Now.

Think about your trouble.