All language subtitles for The Boys In the Band_1970_track3_eng

♪ Times have changed ♪

♪ And we've often
Rewound the clock ♪

♪ Since the Puritans
Got a shock ♪

♪ When they landed on
Plymouth Rock ♪

♪ If today any shock
They should try to stem ♪

♪ Instead of landing on
Plymouth Rock ♪

♪ Plymouth Rock
Would land on them ♪

♪ In olden days
A glimpse of stocking ♪

♪ Was looked on
As something shocking ♪

♪ Now heaven knows ♪

♪ Anything goes ♪

Motherfucking son of a bitch!

♪ Good authors too
Who once knew better words ♪

♪ Now only use
Four-letter words ♪

♪ Writing prose
Anything goes ♪

♪ Anything ♪

♪ The world has gone
Mad today ♪

♪ And good's bad today
And black's white today ♪

♪ And day's night today
And most guys today ♪

♪ That women prize today
Are just silly gigolos ♪

♪ So though I'm not
A great romancer ♪

♪ I know that
You're bound to answer ♪

♪ When I propose
Anything goes ♪

♪ Anything goes ♪

♪ Anything goes ♪

♪ Anything goes ♪

♪ Anything goes ♪

♪ Anything goes ♪

♪ Anything goes ♪

♪ Anything will do ♪

♪ Just think of those
Shocks you got ♪

♪ And those knocks you've got
And those blues you've got ♪

♪ From that news you've got
And those pains you've got ♪

♪ If any brains you've got ♪

♪ From those little radios ♪

♪ So though I'm not
A great romancer ♪

♪ I know that
You're bound to answer ♪

♪ When I propose ♪

♪ Anything goes ♪

♪ Anything goes ♪

♪ Anything goes ♪

♪ And it's more than gold ♪

♪ That's what you got ♪

♪ Oh, oh ♪

♪ Oh ♪

♪ It ain't easy... ♪

♪ It ain't easy, no ♪

♪ It ain't easy... ♪

Shit.

Hello? Hello?

Hello? Merde!

Here you go.

Hello.

What do you recommend
for a catatonic fit

in a parking garage?

Ask your doctor.

Did you just call a minute ago?

Mm. It must have be Harold.

My doctor just canceled.
Can I come over?

You're about
a day and a half early.

I just got in. I don't think
I'm ready for you yet.

Why did the prick cancel?

Oh, a virus or something.

He said he was
just too sick.

Why didn't you tell him
you're sicker than he is?

Huh. He already knows that.

Okay, come on over.
And bring some ice.

Oh, Michael, don't give me
any responsibility.

At the moment, I can't
cope with anything weightier

than the directions
to your apartment.

Look, if you want a cold martini
when you get over here,

you better cope
with some ice.

I'll cope with some ice.

I thought you said
I was too early.

You heard what I said.
You're too early, and hurry up.

Goodbye-aye-aye.

Seventy-five.

Keep it.

How'd you get in?

The street door was open.
Want a drink?

Nope. Not until
I've had my shower.

I want something
to work out today.

I wanna try to relax
and enjoy something.

I see you managed
to cope with Doubleday.

Or did you meet
a bookmobile on the way?

Ha, ha, ha.

Excuse me.

Are you in a blue funk
because of the doctor?

Christ, no.

I was depressed
long before I got there.

Well, this'll
pick you up.

I went shopping today and
bought all kinds of goodies:

sandalwood soap...

Oh, I feel better already.

Your very own toothbrush,

because I'm sick to death
of you using mine.

Well, how do you think
I feel?

You've had worse things
in your mouth.

And also for you,
something called Control.

Now, notice.

Nowhere on the label
is it called hair spray.

Just simply Control.

And the words "for men"
are written about 37 times

all over the goddamn can.

Hm. And it's called
butch assurance.

Still hair spray,

no matter if
they call it "Balls."

It's all on your very own shelf,
which is to be labeled

"Donald's Saturday Night
Douche Kit."

By the way, are you
spending the night?

Nope. I'm driving back.

Why didn't the prick
call you and cancel?

Suppose you'd driven
all this way for nothing?

Why do you keep
calling him a prick?

Whoever heard of an analyst
having a session with a patient

for two hours
on Saturday evening.

He simply prefers
to take Mondays off.

Works late Saturdays
and takes Mondays off?

What is he, a psychiatrist
or a hairdresser?

Well, actually, he's both.

He shrinks my head
and then combs me out.

Besides, I had to
come in town

to a birthday
party anyway.

Right?
You had to remind me.

If there's one thing
I'm not ready for,

it's five screaming queens
singing "Happy Birthday."

Who's coming?

Well, they're really
all Harold's friends.

It's his birthday,
and I want everything to be

just the way he'd want it.

I don't wanna have to
listen to him kvetch about how

"Nobody ever does anything

for anybody but themselves."

"Himself."

Himself.

I think you know
everybody anyway.

It's the same old
tired fairies

you've seen around
since the day one.

Actually, there'll be seven,
counting Harold and you. And me.

Are you calling me a screaming
queen or a tired fairy?

I beg your pardon.

There'll be six tired,
screaming fairy queens

and one anxious queer.

Listen, I'll be out of
your way in one second.

I've just got
one more thing to do here.

Surgery, so early
in the evening?

"Cunt."

That's French, with a cedilla.

I just have to
comb my hair again.

For the 37th time.

Hair. That's singular.

My hair,
without exaggeration,

is clearly falling
on the floor, baby.

And fast.

You're totally paranoid.
You've got plenty of hair.

No. What you see
before you

is a masterpiece
of deception.

My hairline
starts about here.

All this is just
tortured forward.

Well, I hope for your sake,
no strong wind comes up.

Well, if one does,
I'll be in terrible trouble.

I will then have a bald head
and shoulder-length fringe.

Look.

Not good, huh?

Hm. Not the greatest.
Tsk.

It's called getting old.

Well, there's one thing
to be said for masturbation:

you certainly don't have to
look your best.

Oh. Will you get
out of here?

What are you
so depressed about?

Other than the usual
everything, I mean.

I really don't wanna
get into it.

Well, if you're
not gonna tell me,

how can we have
a conversation in-depth?

A warm, rewarding,
meaningful friendship?

Up yours!

Why, Captain Butler, how you talk.

It's just that, today,
I finally realized

that I was raised
to be a failure.

I was groomed for it.

Naturally, it all goes
back to Evelyn and Walt.

Christ. How sick analysts
must get of hearing

how Mama and Daddy made
their darling into a fairy.

It's beyond just that now.

Today, I finally began to see

how some of the other pieces
of the puzzle relate to them.

Like why I never
finished anything

I've started in my life.

My neurotic compulsion
to not succeed.

Donald, you're
so serious this evening.

♪ Forget your troubles
Come on, get happy ♪

♪ You better chase
All your cares away ♪

What's more boring than a queen

doing a Judy Garland imitation?

A queen doing
a Bette Davis imitation.

Meanwhile, back at
the Evelyn and Walt syndrome.

Failure is the only thing
with which I feel at home,

because...that's what
I was taught at home.

Where did you get
that sweater?

This clever little shop
on the Right Bank called Hermès.

I work my ass off
for 45 lousy dollars a week,

scrubbing floors,
and you waltz around

throwing cashmere sweaters on.

The one on the floor
in the john is vicuña.

Why, I beg your pardon.

You can get a job doing
something else, you know.

Nobody's holding a gun
to your head to be a charwoman.

And that is, how you say,
your neurosis.

Gee, and I thought
it's why I was born.

Besides, just because
I wear expensive clothes

does not necessarily mean
they're paid for.

Oh, that is, how you say,
your neurosis.

I'm a spoiled brat. So, what
do I know about maturity?

The only thing "mature" means
to me is Victor Mature.

I can understand people having
an affinity for the stage,

but movies are such garbage,
who can take them seriously?

Well, I'm sorry if
your sense of art is offended.

Odd as it may seem,

there was no Shubert Theatre
in Hot Coffee, Mississippi.

However, thanks to
the silver screen,

your neurosis has got...style.

It takes a certain flair

to squander one's unemployment
check at Pavilion.

What's so snappy about being
head over heels in debt?

The only thing smart about it
is the ingenious ways

I dodge the bill collectors.

Come to think of it,
you're the type

that gives faggots
a bad name.

And you, Donald...

you are a credit
to the homosexual.

A reliable, hardworking,

floor-scrubbing,

bill-paying fag, who don't
owe nothin' to nobody.

I am a model fairy.

You think it's just nifty...

how I've always flitted
from Beverly Hills

to Rome to Acapulco
to Amsterdam...

picking up a lot of
one night stands.

And a lot of custom-made duds
along the trail.

Well, I'm here to tell you

that the only place
in all those miles--

The only place I've ever been
happy was on the goddamn plane.

Run, charge,
run.

Borrow, make.

Spend...run.

Waste, waste, waste.

And why?

And why?

Fini. Applause.

There's nothing
quite as good

as feeling sorry
for yourself, is there?

Nothing.

I adore cheap sentiment.

Backstage, New Moon.

Alan. My God!
I don't believe it.

How are you?

Uh, listen, Michael,
w-what are you doing tonight?

Oh, I'm all tied up tonight.

Uh, no, tonight's
no good for me.

Oh, I'm all tied up too,

but I...

I thought I might just
drop by for a drink?

Oh, you mean now?

Oh, um...

well, Alan,
old buddy, um...

well, you see,
it's a friend's birthday,

and I'm having some people in.

I'm sorry I can't ask you
to join us,

but I'm afraid it just
wouldn't work out, kiddo.

Is it place cards?

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

Oh, well, I'd hate to see you
for just for ten minutes.

Oh, Mickey, please.

Alan? What's wrong?

Mickey, I've gotta see you
about something right away.

W-well, um-- Now, look, um--
Come on over.

Oh, no. That's
perfectly okay.

Um...just come on over,
and we'll have a quick drink.

It's the same old address?

Okay.

Well, am I stunning?

You're absolutely
stunning.

You look like shit,
but I'm absolutely stunned.

Your grapes are,
how you say, sour?

Listen, you won't believe
what just happened.

Hey, where's my drink?
Oh, I didn't make it.

I've been
on the phone.

It was my old roommate
from Georgetown just called.

Oh, Alan, um,
what's-his-name?

McCarthy. He's up here
from Washington.

On business or something.

And he's on
his way over here.

Well, I hope he knows
the lyrics to "Happy Birthday."

Listen, asshole,
what am I gonna do?

He's straight.

Square City.

I mean, he's really terribly proper.

Awfully good family.

Oh, that's so important.

I mean, his family looks down on people in the theater.

So, what do you think
he'll feel about

this freak show I've got
booked in for dinner?

Oh, Christ,
is that good.

He really lost his spring
on the telephone.

He started crying. And
that's not his style at all.

He's so goddamn pulled together,
he wouldn't show any emotion

if he was in a plane crash.

What am I gonna do?

Are you suddenly ashamed
of your friends?

Donald, you are the only person
I know whom I'm truly ashamed.

Now, look, some people have
different standards,

and we have to
acknowledge them.

You know what you are,
Michael?

You're a real person.

Thank you, and fuck you.

Want some cracked crab?
No thanks.

How could you ever
have been friends

with a bore
like that?

Well, believe it or not,
there was a time in my life

when I didn't go around
announcing that I was a faggot.

Well, that must have been before
speech replaced sign language.

Now, don't give me
any static on that score.

I did not come out until after
I graduated from college.

It seems to me,
the first time we tricked,

we met in a gay bar
on Third Avenue,

during your, uh,
junior year.

Cunt.

Oh, I thought
you'd never say it.

Are you sure you don't want
some cracked crab?

Not yet. If you don't mind.

Might know you'd be
working the streets.

You want my body, you're
gonna have to pay for it.

The last time
I saw a leg like that,

it had a message
attached to it.

Get in.

Hi, big boy.
You like Chinese laundress?

Heh, heh.
Hello, Emory.

No tickee,
no nooky.

Well, that's all we need,
for it to rain.

You want some more
club soda?

What?

There's nothing but
club soda in that glass.

I've been watching you
for several Saturdays now.

You've actually stopped
drinking, haven't you?

And smoking too.

How long's it been?

Five weeks.

That's amazing.
I've found God.

Or is God dead?

Yes. Thank God.

I could always tell when
you were getting high.

One way.

I'd get hostile.

What made you stop?
The analyst?

Well...certainly had
a lot to do with it.

But mainly, I just didn't
think I could survive

another hangover,
that's all.

Didn't think I could
get through one more

morning-after
ick attack.

"Morning-after" what?
Icks.

Anxiety. Guilt.

Hm.

From that split second
when your eyes pop open,

and you say,

"My God, what did I do
last night?"

And then suddenly,
zap.

Total recall.

Tell me
about it.

And then that struggle
to survive until lunchtime,

when you have
a double bloody mary.

That is, if you've
waited till lunch.

And then you're half pissed
and useless

for the rest of
the afternoon.

So you hang on
till cocktail time.

And by then, you're ready
for what the evening holds,

which hopefully
is another party,

where the whole goddamn cycle
starts all over again.

Yeah, well, I've been on that
merry-go-round long enough.

And I either had to get off
or die of centrifugal force.

Joe College has
finally arrived.

And suddenly,
I've gotten such icks.

Oh, um-- Now, Donald,
when he gets up here--

Michael, don't insult me
by giving me any lecture

on acceptable social behavior.

I promise to sit with
my legs spread apart

and keep my voice
in a deep register.

Donald, you are
a real card-carrying cunt.

All right, this is a raid.
Everyone's under arrest.

Hi, darling. Connie Casserole.
Oh, Mary, don't ask.

Hello, Emory. Put
that in the kitchen. Okay.

Hello, Larry. How are you?

Are we the first?
No, you're not.

Who is this exotic
woman over here?

Hi, Emory.

My dear, I thought
you'd perished.

Where have you
been hiding

your classically chiseled
features?

I don't live
in the city anymore.

Emory, where's your gift?

Oh. It's arriving later.

Larry. Larry.

What?
Give Michael the gift.

Oh, here.

Uh, louder,
so my mother

in Philadelphia
can hear you.

Well, you were just standing
there in a trance, weren't you?

Um, I think
you both know Donald.

Nice to see you.
It's nice to meet you.

Hi.
Hi.

I thought
you'd met.

Well, we haven't
exactly met, but we've--

Hi.
Hi.

But you've what?

Oh, we've seen
each other before.

Well, that sounds murky.
Where?

I think they're having
their first fight.

Yeah. The first one
since the last one. Oh.

Where did you find
this trash?

Second Avenue. Leaning
against a lamppost.

With an orchid
behind my ear,

and big red lips
painted over the lip line.

Just like Maria Montez.

Oh, please.

What have you got against Maria?
She was a good woman.

Now, look,
uh, everybody.

Uh, this old college friend
of mine is in town,

and he's on his way
over here,

for a quick drink on his way
to dinner or someplace.

But, now, look,
he's straight.

Straight?
If he's the one I met,

he's about as straight as
the Yellow Brick Road.

No. You met
Justin Stuart.

I don't remember meeting
anybody named Justin Stuart.

Well, of course you don't,
dope. I met him.

Uh, well, this is
somebody else.

Yeah. Alan McCarthy.
A very close total stranger.

Now, it's not that
I care what

he would think
of me. Really.

It's just that he's not ready
for it, and he never will be.

You understand that,
don't you, Hank?

Yeah, sure.

Now, you honestly believe
he doesn't know about you?

Well, if there's
the slightest suspicion,

he's never
let on one bit.

What's he had? A lobotomy?

Well, I was super-careful
when I was in college.

And I still am.

Whenever I see him.
I don't know why, but I am.

Tilt.

When I was in college, I was just like Alan:

very large in
the dating department.

I wore nothing but those
constipated Ivy League clothes,

and those ten-pound
cordovan shoe--

No offense.

Quite all right.
Quite all right.

Who do you have to fuck
to get a drink around here?

Ah. Will you light
somewhere?

I know damn well
I did not come out

until after I graduated.

What about all those weekends
up from school?

Well, I still
wasn't out.

I was still in the "Christ-was-
I-drunk-last-night" syndrome.

Mm. "Man, was I drunk
last night."

"Christ, I don't
remember a thing."

You were just guilty
because

you were Catholic,
that's all.

Now, that's not true.

The "Christ-was-I-drunk-
last-night" syndrome

knows no religion.
It has to do with immaturity.

Although I will admit,

there's a high percentage
of it among Mormons.

Trollop.

Ah, somehow we all managed
to justify our actions

in those days.

Why, later, I found out
that Justin Stuart,

my closet friend--
Oh, other than Alan McCarthy.

--was doing the same thing.

Only he was going up
to Boston for weekends.

You see, in the "Christ-was-I-
drunk-last-night" syndrome,

you really are drunk.
That much of it's true.

It's just that you do
remember everything.

A lot of guys have to get loaded
before they can have sex.

Oh, uh, so I've been told.

Uh, Donald, if you recall, the first time we made it,

I was so drunk,
I could hardly stand up.

You were so drunk,
you could hardly get it up.

Christ, I was so drunk,
I don't remember a thing.

Oh, bullshit. You remember.

♪ Just friends
Lovers no more ♪

You might as well be.
Everyone thinks you are anyway.

Yeah, well,
we never were, really.

No, we didn't
have time to be.

We got to know
each other too fast.

Oh, Jesus, that must be Alan.

Oh, um, now, look, everybody.
Please do me a favor

and cool it for
the few minutes he's here. Okay?

Anything for a sis, Mary.

Now, that's exactly what
I'm talking about, Emory.

No camping.

Sorry.

Think the Giants are gonna win
the pennant this year?

Yeah, fuckin' A,
mac.

Hey, Bernard.
Hey, baby. What's shaking?

My knees.

Oh, it's only another queen.

And it ain't
the red one, either.

It's the queen
of spades.

Hi, Bernadette.
Anyone ever tell you

you'd look divine
in a hammock

surrounded by
louvers

and ceiling fans
and lots and lots

of lush
tropical ferns?

You're such a fag.

You take the cake.

Oh, what about the cake?
Whose job was that?

Mine. I ordered one
to be delivered. What?

How many candles did you say
to put on it? Eighty?

I can't hear, there's noise.
I'm going to the other phone.

Michael? May I use the private line?

Go ahead.

Could I have the number for the Marseilles Bakery in Manhattan?

Everybody ready for a drink?
I guess so.

Ready? I'll be your
topless cocktail waitress.

Please. Spare us the sight
of your sagging tits.

What are you having, kids?

Do you have any beer?
No, in the fridge.

I'll get it.
Who has beer before dinner?

Beer drinkers.
That's telling him.

Well, maybe truck drivers do,
or wall paperers,

but not schoolteachers.
They have sherry.

Yeah? Well, this one
has beer.

Maybe schoolteachers
in public schools.

How can a sensitive
artist like you

live with such an insensitive
bull like that?

I can't.
Emory, you'd live with Hank

in a minute if he'd ask you.
In 58 seconds.

Lord knows
you're sensitive.

Why don't you have a piece
of watermelon and hush up?

Oh, shit, they don't answer.

Well, what are
you having, Emory?

A pink lady.

I'll make my own,
thank you.

Well, let's just hope.

Order, please.

Um...vodka and tonic.

Vod and ton, coming up.

What the hell
is that? Windex?

It's a blue whale.
Oh, Mary, don't ask.

Don't be silly, Alan. There's
nothing to apologize for.

Well, it's just that
I feel like such a fool. I--

I could shoot myself,
letting myself act that way.

Look, it's just as well
that you're not coming.

There are people here, and, uh,
it wouldn't be good to talk.

Look, what about
lunch tomorrow?

Fine. Why don't you, uh--

Why don't you meet me
at the--

The Oak Room, about 1:00?

And listen, Michael...

can you just
forget about tonight?

Pretend it never happened?
I know I have, okay?

♪ Listen, huh ♪

Hey, Bernard?

♪ You've got to see
And don't see ♪

That's exactly what we need,
is some music around here.

♪ You've got to hear
And don't hear ♪

Yeah, baby. Let's
hear that sound.

The drum beat. And their
eyes sparkle like Cartiers.

Here.
Oh.

Don't get those
mixed up with mine.

He's not coming.

He'll never know
what he missed.

You know, one of
these days,

you're gonna get
my ass fired.

Hey, thanks, Bernard.
I just read a review of this

in last Sunday's Times.

Just be careful of
the finger smudges.

And no cigarette ashes
on the pages. Sorry.

I didn't know Doubleday's
had a lending library.

Well, they
don't. Hm. Oh.

Well, anyway, looks
like you're stocked up

for the summer, here.

Are you kidding? Last week,
he did the complete works

of Doris Lessing.
That'll last him two days.

It would
last me two years.

I still haven't finished
Atlas Shrugged,

which I started in 1912.

Some people eat, some drink,
and some take drugs.

Yeah, well,
I read.

And read
and read and read.

It's a wonder your eyes
don't turn back in your head

at the sight of
a dust jacket.

Well, at least he's
a constructive escapist.

Yeah. What do I do?
Take planes.

No. I don't
do that anymore.

I don't have the money
to do that anymore.

I go to the baths.
That's about it.

I'm about to do both.
I'm flying to the West Coast.

You still have that act
with a donkey in Tijuana?

I'm going to San Francisco
on a well-earned vacation.

I'm going to the club baths,
and I'm not coming out

till they announce the departure
of TWA one week later.

You'll never learn to stay
out of the baths, will you?

The last time "Emily"
was taking the vapors,

this big hairy number
strolls in.

So Emily says,
"I'm just resting."

And the big, hairy number
says, "I'm just arresting."

It was the Vice.
You have to tell everything,

don't you?
Emory, here.

Thanks, sonny.
You live with your parents?

Yeah, but it's
all right. They're gay.

What happened to Alan?
Oh, he got terrible icks

about having broken down
on the telephone.

He kept apologizing
over and over and over.

He did a big about-face
and turned into the old Alan

right in front of
my very eyes.

Ears.
Ears.

'Scuse me.

Well, obviously the cracked
crab did not work out.

Just put that down, if you
don't want your hand slapped.

I'm about to
have some.

I just wanna pour off
the melted ice.

You know, sometimes
you remind me

of the Chinese
water torture.

No, no, no.
I take that back.

Sometimes you remind me
of the relentless

Chinese water
torture.

Bitch.

Hey, I wonder where
Harold is.

Yeah, where is
the frozen fruit?

Emory refers to Harold as the frozen fruit

because of his former profession
as an ice skater.

She used to be the Vera Hruba
Ralston of the borscht circuit.

Time for your
rhythm injection.

Now, how did you guess I didn't
want to lie down, Bernard?

You know, if your mother
could see you now,

she'd have a stroke.

You got a camera
on you?

All right, Emily,
up here right now.

Look
out.

Look at those
twinkle toes. Heh.

Oh, my God, it's Lilly Law.

Everyone
three feet apart.

Quiet. Quiet!
It may be Harold.

No, it's the delivery boy
from the bakery.

Ask him if he's got
any hot-crossed buns.

Come on, Emory.
Knock it off, will you?

You can take her
anywhere but out.

You remind me of
an old maid schoolteacher.

You remind me of a chicken wing.

I'm sure you meant that
as a compliment.

Um, thank you.
Good night.

Hey, Bernard? Do you
remember that dance

we used to do
at Fire Island?

Man, that was in so far back,
I think I've forgotten it.

I remember it.

One, two.
One, two.

Oh, Christ.

Single, single.
Dance.

All right.
Whoo!

Wait a minute.
One, two, three, four.

It's the geriatrics
Rockettes.

Get 'em up there,
huh, babe. Whoo!

One, two.
Who dreamed this up?

Emory.

It's the sensational
Menstruations.

Come on, Donald.
Get in here.

Ah!

Get your hand
off my ass.

Very funny.

Whoa!

Look, baby.

Is Mike in?

♪ Like a heat wave ♪

♪ Burning in my heart ♪

♪ Like a heat wave ♪

Michael!

Michael!
Michael.

♪ Heat wave ♪

Um-- I, uh--

I thought you weren't coming.
I'm sorry.

Um. We were-- We were
just acting silly.

Actually, when
I called,

I-- I was in a phone booth
just around the corner.

My dinner party's
not far from here.

Um, Emory was just showing us--
When I walked past,

the downstairs door
was open,

so I just--
Oh, excuse me. This is Emory.

Hello.

Everybody, this is
Alan McCarthy.

Alan, um--
Counterclockwise.

Larry and Emory,
and Bernard...

How are you?
...Donald and Hank.

Hello, it's nice to meet you.
It's nice to meet you.

Uh, well, can I get you
a drink?

Uh, Scotch, please.

Fine.
Uh-- I'll get it.

Oh. Thank you,
Donald.

Well, I guess I'm the only
beer drinker here tonight.

Whose, uh--
Whose birthday is it?

Oh, it's--
Harold's.

Harold.

He's not here yet.
She's never been on time--

He's never been on time
in his life.

Uh, H-Hank.
Alan is from Washington.

Washington.
We went to college together.

Georgetown.

Isn't that
fascinating?

Here. If that's too strong,

I'll put some
water in it.

No. It's fine, thanks.
Fine.

Well, Alan, are you in the government then--?

No, I'm a lawyer.
What do you do?

Oh, I teach
school.

Oh, I would've taken you for
an athlete of some sort.

You look like you might
play sports of some sort.

Well, I'm
no professional.

I was on the basketball team in
college, and I do play tennis.

Well, I play tennis too.
It's a great game.

Yeah, that's great.

Uh, yeah, it's a great game.

What, uh... W-- What do
you teach?

Math.
Math?

Yeah.
Math, well...

Makes you wanna rush out and buy
a slide rule, doesn't it?

Uh, excuse me, Alan,
I'll be right back.

Come on, Emory. I'm gonna need
some help in the kitchen.

You're elected.

I'm always elected.
You're a natural-born domestic.

Said the African
queen.

You come on too. You can fan me
while I make the salad dressing.

Right this way,
Emory. Come on.

Oh, hey,
look, uh...

why don't we all
sit down over here?

Sure.

I, uh... I really feel terrible
about barging in

on you fellows
this way.

Well, that's perfectly
all right, Alan.

Hi.
Hi.

Hey, you're married?

What?
I see you're married.

Oh. Yes.

Yes, Hank's married.

Donald.

Come up with some ice.

Excuse me.

Oh!

Do you, uh--
Do you have any kids?

Yes. Yes, I have two.

I have a boy, nine,
and a girl, seven.

They're great kids too.

You should see my boy
play tennis.

He really puts
his dad to shame.

I've got two kids too.
Both girls.

Hey, that's great.
How are the girls, Alan?

Oh, they're just sensational.
They're...

really something, those kids.
God, I'm--

I'm nuts
about them.

Well, Alan, um, how long have
you been married, then?

Nine years.
Mm-hm.

Can you believe it, Mickey?
No.

Mickey used to go with my wife
when we were all in school.

Can you believe that?

Do you, uh...

Do you live
in the city?

Uh, yes, we do.

I'm in the process
of getting a divorce. Uh...

Larry and I are roommates
for the moment.

Yes.

I'm sorry, I-I--
I didn't mean to--

No, no, it's perfectly
all right. I understand.

Oh, I'm sorry.
Here. Let--

Oh. Can I
help you, Alan?

I can't seem to find
the Scotch. Uh...

Well, you've got it
in your hand.

Oh, where the hell
could Harold be?

He's always
late.

But why does it take Harold
hours to get ready

before he can go out?

Because she's a sick lady,
that's why.

Alan, we can go
to my bedroom and talk.

I'm just gonna
finish this and go.

Come on, bring
your drink.

I've finished it.

Oh.

Excuse us. We'll be down
in just a minute.

Sure. Sure.

Oh, um...he'll still
be here.

This way, Alan.

Now, just what was that
supposed to mean?

What was what
supposed to mean?

You know, that little--
Hey, you want another beer?

Hey. You're jealous,
aren't you?

No.

I'm Larry.
You're jealous.

The last time I saw you,
you were on your way to...

California, or--
Or was it Europe?

Hollywood.

Which is not in Europe, and
which has nothing whatsoever

to do with
California.

Well, I've-- I've never
been there myself,

but I would imagine
it must be awful.

Everyone must be...

terribly cheap.

No. Not everyone.

Alan...

I'd like to try to
explain about tonight.

What's to explain?

Sometimes you can't invite
everyone to every party,

and some people
take it personally.

But I-- I'm not
one of them. I...

should apologize
for inviting myself.

Well, that's not
exactly what I meant.

Your friends,
uh...

Your friends all seem like
very nice guys.

That, uh...

That Hank, he's really
a very attractive fellow.

Yes, he is.

We've got a lot in common.

What's his roommate's name?

Larry.

And what does he do?

He's a fashion photographer.

And I like Donald too.

The only one I didn't seem to
care too much for is...

wh-wh-what's
his name? Uh...Emory?

Yes. Emory.

Well, I just can't
stand that kind of talk.

It just
grates on me.

Uh, what kind of talk, Alan?

You know what
I mean. His...

His brand of humor,
I suppose.

Well, he can be
quite funny sometimes.

I suppose so, if you find
that sort of thing amusing.

It's just that he seems like
such a goddamn little pansy.

I'm-- I'm s--
I'm sorry I said that. I--

I didn't mean to say that.
That's such an awful thing

to say about anyone.

You know what
I mean, Michael.

You must admit,
he is effeminate.

Yes, he is a bit.

A bit?

Why-- Why he's like a--

He's like
a butterfly in heat.

I mean, it's-- It's no wonder
that he was trying

to teach you all to dance.

He probably wanted to
dance with you.

Oh, come on, man. You--

You know me.
You know how I feel.

Your...

Your private life
is your own affair.

No, I don't know
that about you.

Well, I--

I couldn't care less
about what people do, as...

As long as they don't
do it in public,

or try to force their ways
on the whole damned world.

Alan, what were you
crying about on the telephone?

All I--

All I can say is,
please forgive me

for making
such an ass of myself.

You must have been upset,

or you wouldn't have said
that you were.

That you were upset
and that you wanted to see me.

Had to see me,
and talk to me.

Michael, please.

Is something wrong
between you and Fran?

Listen,
I've really got to go.

Why are you in New York?

I'm dreadfully late
for dinner, Michael.

Whose dinner?
Where are you going?

Oh, no!
Oh! Here.

Come on.

Here, I'll get the--

Uh-oh. Denise Deluge.

Oh, great.
Now it's stopped.

Oh, Hank.

Why don't you
come and join us?

Well, that's an interesting
suggestion. Whose idea was that?

Well, mine.

He means
in the conversation.

To your health.

Up yours.

Up my health?

Where's the gent?

In the gents' room.

If you can hang on
for five more minutes,

he's about to leave.

Well, at last.

♪ Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you ♪

♪ Happy birthday, dear Harold
Happy birthday to you ♪

Don't--

Who the hell are you?
Well, uh--

She's Harold's present
from me, and she's early.

And that's not even Harold,
you idiot!

Well, you said
whoever answered the door.

But not until
midnight.

He's supposed to be
a midnight cowboy.

He is a midnight
cowboy.

He looks right out of a
William Inge play, doesn't he?

Not until midnight,
and you're supposed to sing

to the right person,
for chrissakes. I told you,

Harold has very, very tight,
tight black curly hair.

This number's
practically bald.

Thank you, and fuck you.

Good thing I didn't
open the door.

Not that tight
and not that black.

Aw, I forgot.

And besides, I-I want to get
to the bars by midnight.

He's a class act,
all the way around.

What do you mean,
"get to the bars"?

Sweetie, I paid you for
the whole evening, remember?

Oh, I hurt my back
doing my exercises,

and I want to get
to bed early tonight.

Are you ready
for this one?

Well, that's too bad.
What happened?

I, uh... Heh.

I-I lost my grip
doing my chin-ups,

and I fell on my heels
and twisted my back.

You shouldn't wear heels
when you do chin-ups.

I-I shouldn't do
chin-ups.

I have a weak grip
to begin with.

A weak grip. In my day it used
to be called a limp wrist.

Who can remember
that far back?

Who was it who always
used to say,

"You show me Oscar Wilde
in a cowboy suit,

and I'll show you
a gay caballero"?

I don't know. Who was it
who always used to say that?

I don't know. Somebody.

What does your card say?

Uh, Y-you read it.

"Dear Harold, bang, bang, you're alive,

"but roll over
and play dead.

Happy birthday. Emory."

Sheer poetry, Emmy.

And in your
usual good taste.

Yes. And so conservative to have
resisted a sign in Times Square.

Cheese it! Here comes
the socialite nun.

Damn it, Emory, shut up.

Well, I'm off, Michael.

Thank you
for the drink.

You're entirely welcome,
Alan.

See you tomorrow?

No. I think I'm gonna
be awfully busy.

I...may even go back
to Washington.

Got a heavy date
in Lafayette Square?

Emory.
What?

Forget it.

Oh, are, uh--
Are you Harold?

No, he's not Harold.
He's for Harold.

Goodbye, Hank. It was
awfully nice meeting you.

Same here, Alan.
If you ever get to Washington,

I'd like you to meet my wife.
Right. Good.

Oh, that'd be fun,
wouldn't it, Hank?

Mm. They'd love to
meet him. Uh, her.

I have such
a problem with pronouns.

How many esses are there
in "pronoun"?

How'd you like to kiss my ass?
Got two or more esses in it.

How'd you like to blow me?

What's the matter?
Your wife got lockjaw?

Faggot! Fairy!

Alan! Alan!

Get some ice.
Get some ice.

Oh, my God!
My nose is broken!

Oh, God! Oh, God!

Knock it off!

Hang on!
You faggot! Faggot!

Aah! Keep him away from me!

Would you mind waiting
over there with the gifts?

I can't breathe!

Well, Harold. Happy Birthday.

You're just in time
for the floor show,

which, as you see,
is on the floor.

Oh, it's Harold.
Now, it's all right.

Hey you.
This is Harold.

Now, put this up on your chin.

Will it be ruined?

No, it'll be ruined if it swells up.

♪ Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you ♪

♪ Happy birthday
Dear Harold ♪

♪ Happy birthday
To you ♪

What's so fucking funny?

Life.

Life's a goddamn
laugh riot.

You remember life.

You're stoned.

Happy Birthday, Harold.

You're stoned, and you're late.

You were supposed to
arrive at this location

at approximately 8:30,
dash 9:00.

What I am, Michael,
is a 32-year-old

ugly, pockmarked,
Jew fairy.

And if it takes me a while
to pull myself together,

and if I smoke
a little grass

before I get up the nerve
to show my face to the world,

it's nobody's goddamn
business but my own.

And how are you
this evening?

Happy Birthday, Hallie.

What happened
to you?

Don't ask.

Your lips
are turning blue.

You look like you've been
rimming a snowman.

That piss-elegant
cooz in there hit me.

Careful, Emory.

That kind of talk just
makes him so nervous.

Who is she?

Who was she?

Who does she hope to be?

Who knows, who cares.

His name is Alan McCarthy.

Not the famous
college chum?

Is this my surprise
from you, Michael?

I think Alan's the one
who got the surprise.

And if you'll notice,
he's absolutely speechless.

Oh, she's in shock.
She's a beast.

That's your surprise.

Uh, speaking of beasts.

From me to you, darling.
How do you like it?

Well, I suppose he has an
interesting face and body,

but it turns me right off,

because he can't talk
intelligently about art.

Yeah, ain't it a shame?

I could never
love anyone like that.

Never. Who could?

I could and you could.
That's who could.

Mary, she's gorgeous.

She may be dumb,
but she's all yours.

In affairs of the heart,
there are no rules.

I'm so thrilled to get it,
I could kiss you.

But I don't wanna
get blood all over me.

Oh, look at
my sweater.

Wait'll you see
your face.

Come on, Emory,
let's get you cleaned up.

Happy birthday, Harold.
Thanks, love.

My sweater's ruined.

Take one of mine
in the bedroom.

Oh, the one on
the floor is vicuña.

My sweater's ruined.

Come on. You'll feel better after I bathe your face.

Just another birthday party
with the folks.

Here's a cold bottle
of pouilly-fuissé

I bought especially
for you, kiddo.

Pussycat.

All is forgiven.
You can stay.

Ah.

No, you can stay,
but not all is forgiven.

Cheers.

I feel sick. I think
I'm gonna throw up.

Wait a minute.
Say that again,

and I won't have to take
my appetite depressant.

All right, up the steps,
to the john. Right?

Easy does it.
One step at a time.

There.
Feel better?

I'm not ready for my close-up,
Mr. DeMille.

Nor will I be
for the next two weeks.

Oh, my God,
he's after me again!

Turning on.

Anybody care to join me?

Many thanks. No.

How about
you, Tex?

Yeah.

Michael, I left
the casserole in the oven.

You can
take it out anytime.

You're not going.

I couldn't
eat now anyway.

Well, I'm absolutely
ravenous.

I'm going to eat until
I have a fat attack.

I said, you're not going.

Beware the hostile fag.

When he's sober,
he's dangerous.

When he drinks, he's lethal.

Attention must not be paid.

I'm starved, Em.

I'm ready for some of your

Alice B. Toklas
opium-baked lasagna.

Are you really?
Oh, that makes me so happy.

Maybe I'll just
serve before I leave.

Nobody's
going anywhere.

You are going to have
schmertz tomorrow

you wouldn't believe.
Do a figure eight on that.

I'm turning on,
and you're just turning.

Michael, is there
any air spray?

Hair spray? You're supposed
to be holding his head,

not doing his hair.

"Air" spray. Not hair spray.

There's a can of floral spray
right on top of the john.

Right. Thanks.

I keep my grass
in the medicine cabinet,

in the Band-Aid
box.

Somebody told me
it's the safest place.

If the cops arrive,

you can always lock yourself
in the bathroom

and flush it down the john.

Very cagey.

Makes more sense
than where I was keeping it:

in an oregano jar
in the spice rack.

I kept forgetting
and accidentally

turning my hateful mother on
with the salad. Hm.

But I think she liked it.

No matter what meal
she comes over for,

even if it's breakfast,
she says:

"Let's have a salad."

I bet you move your lips
when you read.

I bet you sit in the steam room
and say things like,

"Hot enough for you?"

I don't use the steam room
when I go to the gym.

It's bad for you after
a workout. Flattens you down.

Just after you've broken
your back to blow yourself up.

Like a poisoned dog.

Yeah.

Oh, Harold,
he's beautiful.

Yeah. Beautiful.

He has unnatural
natural beauty.

Not that
that means anything.

It doesn't mean everything.

Keep telling yourself that as
your hair drops out in handfuls.

Faggots are worse than
women about their age.

They think their lives
are over at 30.

Physical beauty is not
all that goddamn important.

Of course not,
how could it be?

It's only in the eye
of the beholder.

And it's only skin deep.

Only skin deep.

And it's transitory too.

It's terribly transitory.

Oh, yes. It's too bad about
this poor boy's face.

It's tragic.

He's absolutely cursed.

How could his beauty
ever compare with my soul?

And although
I've never seen my soul,

I understand
from my mother's rabbi

that it's a knockout.

I, however, cannot seem
to locate it for a gander.

And if I could...

I'd sell it in a flash...

for some skin-deep,
transitory,

meaningless beauty.

Forgive him, father,
for he know not what he do.

Michael, you don't know what
side of the fence you're on.

Say something pro-religion,
you're against it.

Deny God, you're
against that.

One might say you have
some problem in that area.

You can't live with it,
and you can't live without it.

Hot stuff coming through.

One could murder you
with very little effort.

You hang on to that
great insurance policy

called the Church.

That's right.
I believe in God.

And if it turns out there
isn't one, okay, nothing's lost.

But if it turns out
there really is, I'm covered.

Harriet Hypocrite,
that's who you are.

Right. I'm one of those
truly rotten Catholics

who gets drunk,
sins all night,

and then goes to Mass
the next morning.

Gilda Guilt. It all depends
on what you think sin is.

Will you just shut up
your goddamn minty mouth

and get back
in the goddamn kitchen?

Say anything you want.
Just don't hit me.

Well. Is it bigger
than a bread stick?

He's lying down
for a minute, Michael.

How does
the bathroom smell?

Better.

Before, it smelled like
somebody puked.

Now it smells like somebody
puked in a gardenia patch.

Dinner is served.

Bread. Isn't that great?

Emory, it looks
absolutely fabulous.

I'd make somebody
a good wife.

I could cook. I could
do an apartment and, um...

I could entertain.

Kiss me quick, I'm Carmen.

One really needs castanets
for that sort of thing.

And a getaway car.

What are you having,
big boy?

Alan McCarthy,
and don't hold the mayo.

Oh, I can't keep up with you two.

First you're mad at him, now
he's bitchin' you. What gives?

Never mind.

W-what is it?
Lasagna.

Uh, it looks like
spaghetti and meatballs,

all sort of flattened out.

It's been
in the steam room.

It has?

It looks like spaghetti
and meatballs,

all sort of
flattened out.

Oh, yes, Harold.
Truly enviable.

As opposed to you, who knows
so much about haute cuisine.

Raconteur, gourmet, troll.

It's good.
You like it? Eat it.

Stuff your mouth
so you can't say anything.

Turning!

Wine?
No, thanks. Water.

Oh, go on, kiddo,
force yourself.

Have a little
vin ordinaire

to wash down all
that depressed pasta.

Sommelier,
connoisseur, pig.

Aren't you gonna have some of that fantastic sauce you made?

No. My lip hurts
too much to eat.

I hear that if you puts a knife under the bed,

it cuts the pain.

I hear if you put
a knife under your chin,

it cuts your throat.

Is anyone going to
bring a plate up to Alan?

The punching bag has now
dissolved into Flo Nightingale.

Ladies and gentlemen.

Oh, correction.

Ladies and ladies.

I would like to announce
that you have just eaten

Sebastian Venable.

Uh, just eaten what?

Well, not what,
stupid. Who.

A character in a play.

A fairy who got eaten alive.

I mean the chop, chop variety.

Hm. Jesus.

Emory, how much
did you pay for him?

He was a steal.

He's a ham sandwich.

Fifty cents, any time
of the day or night.

King of the pig people.

Would you like
some more, Donald?

Uh, no thanks, Emory.
It was very good though.

Did you like it?

I'm not a steal.
I cost $20.

The cake?

Well, you go get it.

Isn't anyone going to have seconds?

I'm having seconds,
and thirds,

and maybe even
fifths.

I'm absolutely desperate
to keep the weight up.

You're absolutely paranoid
about absolutely everything.

Oh, yeah?

Well, why don't you
not tell me about it?

You starve yourself
all day,

living on coffee
and cottage cheese,

so that you can gorge
yourself at one meal.

And then you feel guilty,
and moan and piss

about how fat you are,
and how ugly you are.

When the truth is,
you're not fatter

and no thinner
than you ever are.

Polly Paranoia.

Just great, Emory.
Thank you.

Connie Casserole,
no trouble at all.

Oh, Mary, don't ask.

And this
pathological lateness.

It's downright
crazy.

Turning.

Standing in front of a bathroom
mirror for hours and hours

before you can walk out
onto the street?

And then looking
no different.

After Christ knows
how many applications

of Christ knows
how many ointments,

and salves
and creams and masks.

I've got bad skin.
What can I tell you?

Who wouldn't after
they deliberately

take a pair of tweezers

and deliberately
mutilate their pores.

No wonder you've got
holes in your face,

after the hack job
you've done on yourself.

Year in and
year out.

You hateful sow.

Yes, you've got scars
on your face,

but they're not that bad.

And if you'd
leave yourself alone,

you wouldn't have any more than
you've already awarded yourself.

You'd really like me
to compliment you now

for being so honest,
wouldn't you?

For being my best friend,

who will tell me what even
my best friends won't tell me.

Slut.

And the pills.

Harold has been
gathering and storing

and saving up barbiturates
for the past year

like a goddamn squirrel.

Hundreds of Nembutals,
hundreds of Seconals.

All in preparation for
and anticipation of

the long winter
of his death.

Well, I'll tell you
something, Hallie.

When the time comes,
you won't have the guts.

It's not always
like it happens in plays.

Not all faggots bump themselves
off at the end of the story.

What you're saying
may be true.

Time will
undoubtedly tell.

In the meantime,
you've left out one detail.

The cosmetics and astringents
are paid for.

The bathroom is paid for.
The tweezers are paid for.

And the pills are paid for.

♪ Happy birthday to you ♪

♪ Happy birthday to you ♪

♪ Happy birthday, dear Harold ♪

♪ Happy birthday to you ♪

Blow out your candles,
Mary, and make a wish.

Aw, he's 32 years young!

Come over here, Harold.

Surprise!

- Oh, my God, they're beautiful.
- Take one.

All right,
I'll take the red one.

I'll take...

Where's the card?

Oh, what'd you
do with it, Emory?

It's between
my legs. Heh.

"From Larry."

Ohh!

Oh, it's heaven.
I love it, Larry.

What is it?

It's the deed
to Boardwalk.

Gay pop art.

Butchest thing
you've ever seen.

It is super, Larry.
Did you blow it up yourself?

It goes up
the minute I get home.

I don't get it. You cruise
Atlantic City or something?

Will somebody

get him out of here?

Oh.

What a nifty sweater.

Thank you, Hank.

Well, you know, if you
don't like it, I--

You can always
take it back and--

And exchange it
for something else.

No, I think this one's
just nifty.

It's gorgeous.

Who wanted cake?

Everyone for cake?
Quick.

Oh, none for me, please.

No, I'd just like to sleep
on mine, thank you.

Oh, Bernard,

how divine.

Look, everybody.
Bejeweled kneepads.

Monogrammed.

Bernard,
you're a camp.

You all heard of Gloria De Haven
and Billy De Wolfe?

Well, this here is
Rosemary De Camp.

Into the sack.

Thank you, Michael.

What?

Oh. You're welcome.

Well, what is it, Harold?

It's a photograph of him...

in a silver frame.

And there's an inscription
engraved, and the date.

What's it say?

Just something personal.

Say, Bernard, what do you say
we have a little music

to liven things up?

Okay.

Yeah, I feel like dancing.

Uh-oh.

How about something
good and ethnic, Emory.

Uh, one of
your specialties.

Like a military toe-tap
with sparklers.

I don't do that
at birthdays.

Only on the Fourth
of July.

Come on, Michael.

I only lead.

Well, I can follow.

No, thanks. I'll just
sit this one out.

Come on, Tex.
You're on.

Later.

Come on. Let's get this stuff
off the terrace.

Hey.

Come on, Cowboy.

Whoo-hoo.

Wanna dance?

Uh-oh. Ivan
the terrible is back.

Oh, hello, Alan.
Feel better?

This is where you came in,
isn't it?

Don't rush off in
this inclement weather.

You'll never
get a cab.

Revolution complete.

You've missed the cake...

and you've missed
the opening of the gifts...

but you're still
in luck.

You're just in time
for a little party game.

Hey, everybody. Game time.

Why don't you just
let him go, Michael?

Oh, he can go
if he wants to...

but not until we've played
a little game.

movie-star gin?

No. That's too faggy
for Alan to play.

He wouldn't be
any good at it.

What do you
wanna play, Michael?

The Truth Game?

Cute, Hallie.

Or do you wanna play Murder?

You all remember that one,
don't you?

Very, very cute.

As I recall,
they're similar.

The rules are the same
in both. You kill somebody.

Mickey, I'm leaving.

Stay where
you are.

Michael,
let him go.

He doesn't
really want to.

If he did, he'd have
left a long time ago.

Or he wouldn't have come
in the first place.

Mickey, I don't
feel well.

My name is Michael.

I am called Michael.

You must never call anyone
called Michael, Mickey.

Those of us
who are named Michael

get very nervous
about it.

I'm sorry. I can't think.

You can think. What
you can't do is leave.

It's like watching
an accident on the highway.

You can't look at it
and you can't look away.

Well, now...

who's gonna play
with Alan and me?

Everybody?

I have no intention
of playing.

Nor do I.

Well, not everybody's
a participant in life.

There are those who just stand
on the sidelines and watch.

Well, what's
the game?

Simply this.

We all have to call
on the telephone the one person

we truly believed
we have loved.

Oh, well,
I'm not playing then.

Oh, yes, you are.

Oh, you'd like me to,
wouldn't you?

You bet I would.

I'd like to know
who you'd call

after all those fancy speeches
I've been hearing lately.

Who would
you call?

Would you call me?

And who would you call?

Don't think
I think for one minute

it would be me
or that one call would do it.

You'd have to make several,
wouldn't you?

About three long-distance...

and God only knows
how many locals.

I-I-I'm glad I don't
have to pay the bill.

Quiet.
Oh, don't worry.

Michael won't
pay it either.

Now, here's
how it works.

If you make the call,
you get one point.

If the person you're calling
answers, you get two points.

If somebody else answers,
you only get one point.

And if nobody answers
at all, you're screwed.

You're screwed if
you make the call.

You're a fool
if you screw yourself.

And when you get the person
you've called on the line,

if you tell them who you are,
you get two more points.

And then if you tell them
that you love them,

you get a bonus
of five more points.

Hateful.

Therefore, you can get as many
as ten points and as few as one.

You can get
as few as none

if you know how
to work it.

Hank, leave with me.

You don't understand,
Alan. I can't.

Well, if he doesn't
understand it,

why don't you
explain it to him?

I'll explain it
to him.

I had a feeling
you might.

Although I doubt that
it'll make any difference.

That type refuses
to understand

that which they do not
wish to accept.

They reject
certain facts.

Alan...

Hank and Larry
are lovers.

Not just roommates,
bedmates.

Lovers.
Michael--

No man has a roommate
after he's 30 years old.

If they're not lovers,
they're sisters.

Hank's the one
who's over 30.

You're pushing it.

Hank?

Yes, Alan. Larry is my lover.

But you're married.

I think you said
the wrong thing.

Don't you just love
that quaint little idea?

If a man is married, he's
automatically heterosexual.

Alan, Hank swings
both ways...

but with a decided
preference.

Well, now...

who's gonna make
the first call?

Emory.

You go, Bernard.

I don't want to.

I don't want to either.
I don't want to at all.

There are no accidents.

Then may I say,

that on your way home,

I hope you will yourself
over an embankment.

Go on. Call up
Peter Dahlbeck.

That's who you'd like
to call, isn't it?

Who is Peter Dahlbeck?

Boy in Detroit whose family
Bernard's mother

has been a laundress for
since he was a pickaninny.

I worked for them, too...

after school and every summer.

I think I've loved him
all my life.

Hmm.

But he never knew I was alive.

Besides, he's straight.

Oh, so nothing ever
happened between you?

Oh, they finally
made it...

in the pool house
one night

after a drunken
swimming party.

With the right wine
and the right music,

there are damn few
that aren't curious.

And afterwards, we went
swimming in the nude.

How romantic.

And the next morning you took
his coffee and Alka-Seltzer

up to him on a tray.

It was in
the afternoon.

I remember that I was
worried sick all morning

about having to face him.

He pretended like nothing
at all had happened.

Christ, he must have
been so drunk,

he didn't remember
a thing.

Yeah. Heh.
I was sure relieved.

Odd how that works.

Now, for ten points,
get that liar on the phone.

You know
the number?

Sure. He's back in
Grosse Pointe, living at home.

He just got separated
from his third wife.

D.A. or B.Y.?

He didn't even
give it time to find out.

Come on, Bernard.
Pick up the phone and dial.

You'll think
of something.

You know you
want to call him.

You know that,
don't you?

Well, go ahead.

Your curiosity has
got the best of you now,

so go on. Call him.

Hateful.

Oh, what's "D.A. or B.Y."?

Operator lingo for
"doesn't answer" or "busy."

Hello.
One point.

Who's speaking?

Oh, Mrs. Dahlbeck,
um--

One point.

It's Bernard.
Francine's boy.

Son, not boy.

How are you?

Good.

Oh, just fine,
thank you.

Um...Mrs. Dahlbeck,
is...

Peter at home?

Oh. Oh, I-- I see.

Bullshit.

No, no, it's
nothing important. I--

I just wanted to tell him
that I, um...

That I love him.
I've always loved him.

I just wanted to tell him
that I was sorry to hear

about him and his wife.

No points.

My-- My mother wrote me, yes.

Yes, it is.
It really is.

Well...would you just
tell him that I called

and said I was very,
very sorry to hear,

and I hope they can
get it straightened out.

Yes.

Yes.

Goodbye.

Two points total.
Terrible.

Next?

Are you all right,
Bernard?

Why did I call?

Why did I do that?

Where
was he?

Out on a date.

Come on, Emory.
Punch in.

Can I have the number
in the Bronx

for a Delbert Botts,
please?

A Delbert Botts.
How many can there be?

I wish I hadn't called now.

No, the residence number, please.

Tha-- Thank you.

I wish information would
stop calling me "ma'am."

By all means,

scribble all over
my telephone.

Comes off with a little spit.

Like a lot of things.

Who in the hell

is Delbert Botts?

He's the one person
I've always loved.

That's who you said
to call, isn't it?

That's right,
Emory Board.

Look, how could you love anybody
with a name like that?

Yes, Emory. You couldn't
love anybody

with a name
like that.

It wouldn't look good
on a place card.

Isn't that right, Alan?

I admit his name
is not so good,

but he's absolutely
beautiful.

At least he was
when I was in school.

Of course, I haven't
seen him since,

and he was about seven years
older than I, even then.

Christ, you'd better call him
quick before he dies.

I've loved him
ever since the first day

I laid eyes on him...

which was when
I was in the fifth grade

and he was a senior.

And then he went away
to college,

and by the time
he got out,

I was in high school,
and he had become a dentist.

A dentist?

Yes. Delbert Botts, D.D.S.

He opened his office
in a bank building.

So you went and had every tooth
in your head pulled out, right?

No, I just had my teeth
cleaned, that's all.

I shouldn't have called.

Bernard, will you
shut up and go take

your boring, sleep-making icks
somewhere else?

I remember I looked
right into his eyes

the whole time.

Kept wanting to bite
his fingers.

Well, it's absolutely
mind-boggling.

Phyllis
Phallic.

It absolutely
boggles the mind.

Alan.

Thank you,
Donald.

Sara Samaritan.

I told him I was having my teeth cleaned

for the junior-senior
prom,

for which I was in charge
of decorations.

I told him it was
a celestial theme,

and I was cutting stars
out of tinfoil,

and making clouds
from angel's hair

and chicken wire.

Mary, it takes a fairy
to make something pretty.

He was engaged to this
stupid-ass girl named Loraine,

whose mother was
truly Supercunt.

Don't
digress.

Anyway,
I was a wreck.

I mean, I was
a total mess.

Finally, I called him
on the telephone

and asked him if I could
see him alone.

Clearly not
the coolest of moves.

He said okay and told me
to come by his house.

I was so nervous this time,
my voice was shaking

and my hands
were unsteady.

I couldn't even
look at him.

I just stared straight
ahead in space

and blurted out
why I'd come.

And I asked him to be my friend.

Poor bastard.
Shh!

He said he'd be glad
to be my friend.

And any time I wanted to
see him or call him

to just call him
and he'd see me.

Shook my trembling wet hand,
and I left on a cloud.

One of the ones
you made yourself?

And the next day I went out
and bought him

a gold-plated
cigarette lighter,

and had his initials
monogrammed on it.

And I wrote him
a card that said,

"From your
friend, Emory."

Seventeen years old

and already big
with the gifts.

And the night of the prom
I found out.

Found out
what?

I heard Loraine and another girl
I knew giggling together.

Pretty soon everyone at
the dance had heard about it.

They were all laughing
and making jokes.

Everyone knew I had a crush
on Dr. Delbert Botts

and that I asked him
to be my friend.

And what they didn't know
was that I loved him.

And that I'd go on
loving him years after

they had all forgotten
my funny secret.

Well, I for one, need
an insulin injection.

Call him.
Don't, Emory.

Since when are you
telling him what to do?

What do I care? I'm pissed.
I'll do anything three times.

Don't, please.
I said call him.

Don't. You'll be sorry.
Take my word for it.

What have I got to lose?

Your dignity. That's
what you've got to lose.

Well, that's a knee-slapper.

I love your telling him
about dignity,

when you allow him
to degrade you constantly

by Uncle Tomming
you to death.

He can do it, Michael.

I can do it.
You can't do it.

Isn't that discrimination?
I don't like it from him.

I don't like it
from me.

I do it to myself,
and I let him do it.

I let him do it because
it's the only thing that,

to him, makes him
my equal.

You all want to hear

a polite little parlor jest
from the liberal Deep South?

You know why nigras
have such big lips?

'Cause they're always going:

You son of a bitch!
Jesus Christ, Michael!

Michael, why don't you lay off.

And I can do without
your goddamn spit

all over my telephone,

you nelly coward.

I may be nelly, Michael,
but I'm no coward.

B.Y.
Mm, it's busy?

Loraine is probably
speaking to her mother.

Oh, yes. Delbert
married Loraine.

Well, I'm sorry.
We can't wait.

You forfeit
your turn.

Well, you're not
wasting any time.

Who are you
calling?

Charlie.
I refuse to forfeit my turn.

It's my turn
and I'm taking it.

That's the spirit, Emory.

Hit that iceberg.
Don't miss it!

Hit it, goddamn it!

I want a smash of a finale!

God, I'm drunk.

A falling-down drunk
nelly queen.

Well, that's the pot
calling the kettle beige.

I am not drunk!

You cannot tell that I am drunk.

Donald, I'm not drunk, am I?

I'm drunk.

So am I. I'm
a major drunk.

Shut up
and dial.

I'm a major drunk of
this or any other season.

It's ringing.

It's no longer B.Y.

Hello, who's speaking?

One point.
Who?

Dr. Delbert Botts.

Two points.

Del, is this
really you?

Nobody.

You don't know me.

You wouldn't remember me.

I'm just a friend.

Falling-down drunken friend.

Hello?

He hung up.

Three points total.

You're winning.

He said I must have
the wrong party.

He's right.

We have the wrong party.

It's your party, Hallie.

Aren't you having
a good time?

Simply fabulous.

What about you?

You having
a good time, Emory?

Are you having as good a time
as you thought you would?

If you're bored, Harold,

we could sing
"Happy Birthday" again

to the tune of
"Hava Nagila."

Not for all the tea
in Mexico.

My turn now.

No, it's my turn
to call Charlie.

Nope. Let me.

You gonna call
Charlie?

The score
is three to two.

Emory's favor.
Don't, Hank.

Don't you see
Bernard was right?

I want to.

Larry.

Be my eager guest.

Is he gonna call
Charlie for you?

Charlie is all the people
I cheat on Hank with.

"With whom"
I cheat on Hank.

The butcher,
the baker,

the candlestick maker.
Right.

I love 'em all.

And what Hank refuses
to understand

is that I've got to
have them all.

I'm not the marrying kind,
and I never will be.

Gypsy feet.

Who you calling?
Did it ever occur to you

that Hank might be
doing behind your back

the same thing
that you do behind his?

Oh, I wish to Christ
he would.

It would make life
a hell of a lot easier.

Who are you calling?

Whoever it is,
they're not

sitting on top of
the telephone.

Hello.
Oh, uh, they must have been in the tub.

Eighty-six. One point.

I'd like to leave
a message please.

Not in?

One point.

Would you say that Hank called?

Yes, it is.

Oh. Good evening.

How are you?

Oh, who the hell is that?

Yes, that's right. The message
is for my roommate, Larry.

Would you just...say
that I called?

It's our answering service.

Said, "I love you."

Hank, are you crazy?

You didn't hear me
incorrectly,

that's what
I said.

The message is for Larry,
and it's from me, Hank,

and it's just
as I said, "I love you."

Thank you.

Seven points total.

You're way ahead,
Hank, baby.

You're way ahead
of everybody.

Why, Hank?
Why did you do that?

I do love him.

And I don't care
who knows it.

Don't say that.

Why not?

It's the truth.

I can't believe you.

I left my wife and family
for Larry, Alan.

I'm really not very interested
in hearing about it.

Sure you are.

Go on, Hankola,
tell him all about it.

No, I don't want to
hear it. It's disgusting.

Some men do it
for another woman.

Well, I can understand
that. That's normal.

Well, it just
doesn't always

work out
that way, Alan.

No matter how much
we might want it to.

God knows, nobody
ever wanted it to

more than
I did.

I mean, I really
and truly believed

I was in love with my wife
when I married her.

It wasn't
entirely my trying

to prove something
to myself.

No, I didn't...

love her. She
loved me. But, uh...

there was always
that something there.

Always?

I don't know.

I suppose so.

I've known what I was
since I was 4 years old.

I don't know when it was

that I first started
admitting it to myself.

For a long time, I either...

labeled it something else or...

denied it completely.

Christ, was I drunk last night.

But there did
come a time

when I just couldn't
lie to myself anymore.

I thought about it.

But I never did
anything about it.

I think...

the first time I ever really
did anything about it

was...during my wife's
last pregnancy.

There was a, uh...

teacher's meeting
here in New York.

My wife didn't
feel up to the trip,

so I said I would
come alone.

That day on the train,
I started to think about it.

And think about it, and...

think about it.

The whole trip I didn't
think about anything else.

Within 15 minutes
after I had arrived,

I'd picked up a guy
in the men's room

of Grand Central Station.

Jesus.

I'd never done anything
like that in my life before.

I was scared
to death.

But he turned out
to be a nice fellow.

I haven't seen him since,
of course.

And the funny
thing is...

I can't remember
his name anymore.

Anyway, after that,
it got easier.

Practice
makes perfect.

And then, not
too long after that,

Larry and I
met at a party

that my wife and I
had come into town for.

Then your real troubles began.

You know that was--

Was nearly
two years ago.

Why am I always the goddamn
villain in the piece.

If I'm not thought of
as a happy-home wrecker,

I'm an impossible
son of a bitch to live with.

Guilt turns
to hostility.

Isn't that right,
Michael?

Go stick your tweezers
in your cheek.

I'm fed up to my teeth
with everybody

feeling so goddamn sorry
for poor shat-upon Hank.

Oh, Larry. Everybody knows
you're Freda Fickle.

Look.

I've never made any promises,
and I don't intend to.

It's my right to lead
my sex life

without answering to anybody.

Hank included.

And if those terms
are not acceptable,

then we must not
live together.

Numerous relations is
a part of the way I am.

You don't have to be gay
to be wanton.

By "the way I am,"
I don't mean "being gay."

I mean my sexual appetite.

And I don't think of
myself as a wanton.

Oh, Emory, you're the most
promiscuous person I know.

I'm not promiscuous
at all.

Not by choice.

By design.

Who would want to go to bed with
a flaming little sissy like you?

Michael.

Who'd make
a pass at you?

I'll tell you who,
nobody.

Except some fugitive
from the Braille Institute.

Why do you let him
talk to you that way?

"Physical beauty
isn't everything."

Thank you, Quasimodo.

Do you know what it's like
living with the goddamn gestapo?

I can't breathe without
getting the third degree.

Larry, it's your turn to call.

You know, I can't
take all this

let's-be-faithful-and-never-
look-at-another-person routine,

because it just doesn't work.

If you want to
promise that, fine.

Then you do it
and you stick to it.

But if you have to promise it,
as far as I'm concerned,

nothing finishes
a relationship faster.

Give me Librium
or give me meth.

Yeah, freedom, baby.
Freedom.

You gotta have it.

It-- It just doesn't
work any other way.

Oh, and the ones who swear their
undying fidelity are lying.

90 percent of them anyway.

They cheat on
each other constantly

and lie through
their teeth.

Well, I'm sorry,
I can't be like that,

and it drives Hank
up the wall.

Yeah, well, there is
that 10 percent, Larry.

Well, the only way
that stands a chance

is with some sort of
an understanding.

Yeah, well, I've tried
to go along with that.

Oh, come on.
I agreed to an agreement.

Your agreement.

What agreement?

A ménage.

Oh, now, look, I know a lot of
people think that's the answer.

They don't consider
that cheating.

But it's not my style.

Well, I certainly
never wanted it.

Well, then
who suggested it?

Well, it was
a compromise.

Exactly.
And you agreed!

I didn't agree to anything.

You agreed to your own proposal
and informed me that I agreed.

Uh, I don't
understand.

What's a me--

A ménage à
trois, baby.

Two's company,
three's a ménage.

Well, it...

works for some.

Well, I'm not one
for group therapy.

I can't relate to anything
or anyone that way.

I'm old-fashioned.
I like 'em all,

but I like 'em
one at .

And did you like Donald
as a single side attraction?

Yes, I did.

So did I, Larry.

Did you tell him?

No.

It was obvious from the moment
you walked in the door.

What was this song and dance
about never having met

but having seen
each other?

It was true.

We saw each other at the baths
and went to bed together,

but we never spoke
a word, and we--

We never knew
each other's names.

You had better luck
than I do.

If I don't
get arrested,

my trick announces
on departure

that he's been
exposed to hepatitis.

What kind of an understanding
do you want?

Respect for
one another's freedom.

With no need to lie or pretend.

Hank, in my own way,
I love you.

But you've got to understand
that even though I do want to

go on living with you, that
sometimes there may be others.

Now, I don't want to
flaunt it in your face,

and I know if
it ever happens,

I'll never
mention it to you.

But if you ask me,
I'll tell you.

He gets points.

What?

He said it.

He said I love you to Hank,
he gets the bonus.

He didn't
call him.

Uh, he called him. He just
didn't use the telephone.

Then he doesn't get any points.

He gets five points.

He didn't use
the goddamn telephone!

He doesn't get a goddamn thing.

Hank.
It's for you.

Hello.

One point.

Hello, Hank.

Two points.

This is
Larry.

Two more points.

For what it's worth...

I love you.

Five points bonus.

I'll try.

I will too.

Larry's the winner.

Well, that wasn't as much fun
as I thought it would be.

The game isn't over yet.

Your turn,
Alan.

Pick up the telephone,
buster.

Michael, don't.

You keep out of this.

You don't
have to, Alan.

You don't have to.

Emory, I'm sorry
for what I did before.

Oh, forget it.

Forgive us
our trespasses.

Christ, now you're both
joined at the goddamn hip.

You can decorate his house
for him, Emory,

and he can get you out of jail
the next time you're arrested

on a morals charge.

Who are you gonna
call, Alan?

Can't remember anyone?

Well, maybe you need
a minute to think.

Is that it?

I believe this will be
the final round.

Aren't you gonna
call anyone, Michael?

How could he?

He's never loved
anyone.

♪ No matter how you figure
It's tough to be a nigger ♪

♪ But it's tougher
To be a Jew ♪

My God, Michael.

You're a charming host.

Michael doesn't have charm, Donald.

Michael has
counter-charm.

You going somewhere?

Yes, you're gonna
have to excuse me.

You're gonna miss
the end of the game.

You'll have to tell me
how it comes out.

I never reveal an ending.

And no one will be reseated
during the climactic revelation.

What do you suppose
is going on up there?

Hm, Alan?

What do you imagine Hank and
Larry are doing up there? Hm?

Whatever they're doing,
they're not hurting anyone.

And they're minding
their own business.

And you mind
yours, Harold!

I'm warning you.

Are you now?

You warning me?

Me?

I'm Harold.

I'm the one person
you don't warn, Michael.

Because you and I
are a match.

And we tread very softly
with each other

because we both play
each other's game too well.

I know this game
you're playing.

I know it very well,
and I play it very well.

You play it very well too,
but you know what?

I'm the only one who's
better at it than you are.

I can beat you at it,
so don't push me.

I'm warning you.

You're funny, Hallie.

A laugh riot.

Isn't he funny, Alan?

Or as you might say,
"Isn't he amusing?"

He's an amusing
faggot, isn't he?

Or as you might say,
"freak."

That's what you called
Emory, wasn't it?

A "freak"?

A "pansy."

My, what an antiquated
vocabulary you have.

I'm surprised
you didn't say "sodomite."

Or "pederast."

You better let me
bring you up to date.

Now, this isn't so new,
but it might be new to you.

Have you heard the term,
"closet queen"?

You know what
that means?

Do you know what it means
to be in the closet?

Don't, Michael. It won't help
to explain what it means.

He already knows
what it means.

He knows very, very well
what a closet queen is.

Don't you, Alan?
Michael,

if you're insinuating
that I'm homosexual,

I can only say
that you're mistaken.

Am I?

What about Justin Stuart?

What about
Justin Stuart?

You were in love with him.
That's what about him.

And that's who
you're gonna call.

Justin and I were
very good friends.

That's all.

According to Justin,

the friendship was
quite passionate.

What do you mean?
I mean that you slept

with him in college...

several times.

That's not true.
Several times.

Once is youth.

Twice, a phase
maybe.

Several times,
you like it.

That's not true.
It is true!

Because Justin Stuart
is homosexual.

He comes to
New York occasionally.

He calls me. I've
taken him to parties.

Larry's had him once.

I've slept with Justin!

And he's told me
all about you!

Then he told you a lie.
You were obsessed with Justin.

That's all
you could talk about,

morning, noon and night.

You began it tonight
upstairs about Hank,

what an attractive
fellow he was,

and all the rest of
that transparent crap.

I said he was attractive.
That's all.

How many times
do you have to say it?

And how many times did you
have to say it about Justin?

What a good
tennis player he was,

what a good dancer he was,
what a good body he had.

How amusing he was,
how bright he was.

How the girls were
all mad about him.

What close
friends you were!

We were. We were very good,
very close friends. That's all.

It was obvious!

When you did it
in front of Fran,

it was downright
embarrassing.

Even she must have
had her doubts about you.

Justin lied.

If he told you that,
he lied.

And it is a lie.
A vicious lie.

He'd say anything
about me now to get even,

because he could never get over
the fact that I dropped him.

But I had to.

I had to because he told me
all about himself.

He told me that he--

He told me that he wanted me
to be his lover.

And I told him
that he made me sick.

I told him that I pitied him.

You ended the friendship,
Alan,

because you couldn't face
the truth about yourself.

Oh, you could go on
sleeping with Justin...

as long as he lied
to himself,

and you lied
to yourself.

And you both dated girls
and labeled yourselves men,

and called yourselves
just fond friends.

But Justin finally
had to be honest!

And you couldn't
take it.

You-- You couldn't take it,
and so you destroyed

the friendship...

and your friend
along with it.

Justin could never
understand

what he had done wrong
to make you drop him.

He blamed himself.
No.

He did that, yes,
until he discovered

who he was
and what he was.

No.
But to this day

he remembers the treatment,

the scars he got from you.

No!
Pick up this phone

and call Justin.

Call him and apologize,

and tell him what you should've
told him 12 years ago.

Call him.

No, Michael.

He lied.
Not a word is true.

Call him!

Very well.

I'll dial.

You're so helpful.

Give it to me.

Hello.
One point.

It's Alan.
Two points.

Yes.

Yes, it's me.
Is that Justin?

You sound surprised.
I should hope to think

he would be after 12 years.

No, I'm-- I'm
in New York.

I, uh--
I won't explain now.

I-I-- I just called
to tell you that--

I just called to
tell you that I'm here--

"That I love you," goddamn it!

I love you!

And I love you.

You get the goddamn bonus.

Ten points, jackpot.

I love you and I beg you
to forgive me.

Give me that telephone.

Justin, did you hear
what that son of--?

F-Fran?

W-- Well, of course
I knew it was you.

How are you doing?

Uh, fine.

Uh...yes, me too.

Fine.

Um, uh, yes.

He told me all about it.

No, don't thank me,
please. Uh--

Uh, look, I'll-- I'll put him
back on the line.

Give my love to the kids.

Darling.

I'll catch the first
plane I can get.

Yes.

I love you very much.

Yes.

Thank you, Michael.

Who won?

It was a tie.

Now, it's my turn.

And ready or not,
Michael, here goes.

You're a sad
and pathetic man.

You're a homosexual,
and you don't want to be.

But there's nothing
you can do to change it.

Not all your prayers
to your God...

not all the analysis
you can buy

in all the years
you've got left to live.

You may very well
one day be able to know

a heterosexual life...

if you want it
desperately enough.

If you pursue it with the fervor
with which you annihilate.

But you'll always be
homosexual as well.

Always, Michael.

Always.

Until the day you die.

Friends.

Oh.

Thanks for
the nifty party...

and the super gift.

It's just what I needed.

Bernard,...thank you.

Will you
get him home?

Don't worry about her. I'll
take care of everything.

Donald, good to see you.

Good night, Harold.
See you again sometime.

Yeah. How about
a year from Shevouth?

Come on, Tex.

Let's go to my place.

Oh, Michael...

thanks for the laughs.

Call you tomorrow.

Thank you, Michael.

Good night,
Donald.

Goodbye, Emory.

Come on, Bernard.

Time to go home.

Oh, Mary. You're
a heavy mother.

Why did I call?
Why'd I--?

Donald?

Donald. Donald!

What have I done?

My God.
What have I d--?

Michael. Michael.

It's beginning.

The anxiety.

I feel it.

Donald. Don't leave.

Please, don't leave me.

Oh, Jesus.

I can't handle it.

I won't make it.

I won't make it!
Michael--

I won't make it!
Michael, stop it.

Stop it.

Look, I'll-- I'll
give you a Valium.

I've got some in my pocket.
No. No. No.

Pills and alcohol,
I'll die.

I'm not gonna give you
the whole bottle.

Come on, let go of me.
No.

Let go of me long enough for me
to get my hand in my pocket.

No. Don't leave.

Come on.

Come on.

I d-- I don't have any water

to take it with.

Well, if you'll wait
one goddamn minute,

I'll get you some.

Uh, your water,
Your Majesty.

Come on.

Michael, stop that goddamn
crying and take the pill.

I--

I--

I feel like
Old Man River.

I'm tired of living
and I'm scared of dying.

Shh.

Shh. Michael.

Come on. Come on.

Shh.

Michael.

Shh. Shh.

I'm sorry.

If we could just not
hate ourselves so much.

That's it, you know.

If we could just learn
not to hate ourselves...

quite so very much.

I know. I know.

Um-- Inconceivable as
it may be...

you used to be worse
than you are now.

Maybe with
a lot more work, you--

You'll be able to help
yourself some more.

If you try, huh?

Who was it who
always used to say...

"You show me
a happy homosexual,

and I'll show you
a gay corpse."

I don't know. Who was it
that always used to say that?

And how dare you come on

with that holier-than-thou
attitude with me.

With a lot more work, indeed.

You've got
a long row to hoe

before you're perfect,
you know.

I never said
I didn't.

And while we're
on the subject,

I think your analyst
is a quack.

Earlier, you said
he was a prick.

That's right.
He's a quack prick.

Or a prick quack,
whichever you prefer.

Oh, icks,
icks, icks.

Terrible icks.

Tomorrow is gonna be
an ick-packed day.

Do you suppose there's
any possibility

of just flushing
this place?

Where are you going?

There's a midnight Mass
at St. Malachy's.

I thought I'd
walk over and catch it.

Well, pray for me.

Maybe they'll be gone
when I get back.

Well, I will be...

just as soon as I knock off
this bottle of brandy.

Will I see you
next Saturday?

Unless you have other plans.

No.

Michael.

What?

Did he ever tell you why
he was crying on the phone?

What it was
he had to tell you?

No.

It must have been
that he'd left Fran.

Or maybe it was
something else,

and he changed
his mind.

Uh, maybe so.

I wonder why he left her.

As my father said to me
when he died in my arms...

"I don't understand any of it.

I never did."

Turn the lights off
when you leave.