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♪ 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 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 ♪
♪ 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?
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.
♪ 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, 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.
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?
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.
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 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.
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