Thursday, July 18, 2013
MALE - DEV
ON THE LINE
Joe Roland
twenties to thirties
Dev, a blue collar guy, is talking to his buddies about the power and the beauty of women's legs.
I love legs. I'm not saying I'm a legman. That would be crass. But rhere is a power, a true and real power thar a pair of beautiful legs wields over me. I can't breathe, my heart races, my palms sweat and I feci like I did right before I asked Alissa Liberati to the prom. On I he verge. Suddenly the universe and its possibilities no longer escape me. In fact it's just the opposite. In the presence of physical heauty suddenly everything makes sense. I am here to bear witness. Yes it's uue I have fallen in love with strippers, but not the ones at lh<.: places where you're charged twenty bucks to get in, twenty Bucks for some fruity fuckin' drink and they run a credit check if, god forbid, some girl should happen to wave her ass in your general
direction. No. These girls work in places with no cover, no frills and no upward mobility. This is the last house on the block for rhcse girls. And every once in a while there's this exquisite beauty, quiet, lonely, unobtrusive, you know, "Look at me if you want to, I'll be over here." And of course you can't look away. Because she served you coffee in the diner that morning, or she sat next to you on the bus, or checked your groceries or came to your door offering you a weekend with Jesus. She holds the irresistible lure of the attainable woman. It is love. It's as real as any other ... Who's to say whose love is better than the next guy's. Love is love.
Joe Roland
twenties to thirties
Dev, a blue collar guy, is talking to his buddies about the power and the beauty of women's legs.
I love legs. I'm not saying I'm a legman. That would be crass. But rhere is a power, a true and real power thar a pair of beautiful legs wields over me. I can't breathe, my heart races, my palms sweat and I feci like I did right before I asked Alissa Liberati to the prom. On I he verge. Suddenly the universe and its possibilities no longer escape me. In fact it's just the opposite. In the presence of physical heauty suddenly everything makes sense. I am here to bear witness. Yes it's uue I have fallen in love with strippers, but not the ones at lh<.: places where you're charged twenty bucks to get in, twenty Bucks for some fruity fuckin' drink and they run a credit check if, god forbid, some girl should happen to wave her ass in your general
direction. No. These girls work in places with no cover, no frills and no upward mobility. This is the last house on the block for rhcse girls. And every once in a while there's this exquisite beauty, quiet, lonely, unobtrusive, you know, "Look at me if you want to, I'll be over here." And of course you can't look away. Because she served you coffee in the diner that morning, or she sat next to you on the bus, or checked your groceries or came to your door offering you a weekend with Jesus. She holds the irresistible lure of the attainable woman. It is love. It's as real as any other ... Who's to say whose love is better than the next guy's. Love is love.
FEMALE - DONNA
DONNA
Donna unfolds the pitfalls ofseeing a married man.
There was never any secret. I knew from the first he was a married man. So, I can't blame him. And, at first, it worked out okay. I'd made up my mind to accept the fact that there was no future. But as time went on, and I fell more and more in love, it became harder and harder to accept the fact that it was a totally hopeless situation.
In the beginning you sell yourself on the realities. I mean, you're an adult, you're going into this thing with your eyes wide open, right? And all of this sounds good at first, you buy into all the cliches. But where there are really deep feelings involved, well ... you can't intellectualize when it comes to feelings.
We met once a week. At my apartment. We never had weekends together, that was understood from the first. His weekends were reserved for his family. Initially this was okay, but after a while I wanted more of him and I began to resent him for being with another woman, a woman who obviously still had a hold on him and he respected.
Little by little, I grew to resent him-the whole situation. Even though I loved him, I started to grow angry deep down inside. And, after a while, this anger begins to eat away at you and it takes over and things are said which lead to arguments and uglies. And even though you make up, there is this residual anger that continues to undercut and there are lingering resentments and psychological reprisals. And once this happens, it's the beginning of the end.
I haven't seen Dave in over six months. And I still love him. Maybe I always will. But the whole thing was a lie, false. A woman needs her self-respect, needs hope and something solid and love that's free and open. And besides, there's something just plain sick about being involved with another woman's man.
Donna unfolds the pitfalls ofseeing a married man.
There was never any secret. I knew from the first he was a married man. So, I can't blame him. And, at first, it worked out okay. I'd made up my mind to accept the fact that there was no future. But as time went on, and I fell more and more in love, it became harder and harder to accept the fact that it was a totally hopeless situation.
In the beginning you sell yourself on the realities. I mean, you're an adult, you're going into this thing with your eyes wide open, right? And all of this sounds good at first, you buy into all the cliches. But where there are really deep feelings involved, well ... you can't intellectualize when it comes to feelings.
We met once a week. At my apartment. We never had weekends together, that was understood from the first. His weekends were reserved for his family. Initially this was okay, but after a while I wanted more of him and I began to resent him for being with another woman, a woman who obviously still had a hold on him and he respected.
Little by little, I grew to resent him-the whole situation. Even though I loved him, I started to grow angry deep down inside. And, after a while, this anger begins to eat away at you and it takes over and things are said which lead to arguments and uglies. And even though you make up, there is this residual anger that continues to undercut and there are lingering resentments and psychological reprisals. And once this happens, it's the beginning of the end.
I haven't seen Dave in over six months. And I still love him. Maybe I always will. But the whole thing was a lie, false. A woman needs her self-respect, needs hope and something solid and love that's free and open. And besides, there's something just plain sick about being involved with another woman's man.
FEMALE- PAULA
PAULA
Paula, a waitress, speaks of the time when hopes for a successful acting career were a consuming, driving passion.
I was going to be famous. And rich, of course, oh sure. Anyway, this is what I'd promised myself. I think a lot of us set goals like that when everything is new and untarnished. But as time wears on, and the years slip into history, you learn to settle for less, to lower your expectations for ruling the world. I mean, after all, there are realities. When I carne to work here the idea was for it to be like a temporary thing, kind of a stopover on my way to stardom.
At first, for a heck of a long time, I didn't take the job seriously. I fluffed it, goofed off, you know. My mind wasn't in it. I don't know how they put up with me. I was lazy and flip and a terrible waitress. On my days off I'd go around to agents and casting directors and production companies trying to make connections and pick up acting work. I was in a little theatre group, a workshop, you name it. Every now and then I'd get work in a feature or something on TV. Nothing big, just in a background shot or a group or maybe I'd have a line or two. Just enough to keep me going because people would see me and compliment me and tell me I was this great type. But the jobs were few and far between. Most of the time-nothing. After a few years of living on the edge and hearing a lot of false flattery and phony promises I began to tire of it. It was a hopeless, frustrating life.
Little by little I began to settle in here. Started to get more into the job, got to be a better waitress, became professional. Now, I'm the best here. And the best paid. And I make the biggest tips. I do all right. And I like the job and the people. Especially myoId, steady customers. It's like-like they're family, you know. Occasionally, though, I wonder if I could have made it. I was a great-looking girl. And I had talent, I think. Who knows?
Would either of you like dessert?
Paula, a waitress, speaks of the time when hopes for a successful acting career were a consuming, driving passion.
I was going to be famous. And rich, of course, oh sure. Anyway, this is what I'd promised myself. I think a lot of us set goals like that when everything is new and untarnished. But as time wears on, and the years slip into history, you learn to settle for less, to lower your expectations for ruling the world. I mean, after all, there are realities. When I carne to work here the idea was for it to be like a temporary thing, kind of a stopover on my way to stardom.
At first, for a heck of a long time, I didn't take the job seriously. I fluffed it, goofed off, you know. My mind wasn't in it. I don't know how they put up with me. I was lazy and flip and a terrible waitress. On my days off I'd go around to agents and casting directors and production companies trying to make connections and pick up acting work. I was in a little theatre group, a workshop, you name it. Every now and then I'd get work in a feature or something on TV. Nothing big, just in a background shot or a group or maybe I'd have a line or two. Just enough to keep me going because people would see me and compliment me and tell me I was this great type. But the jobs were few and far between. Most of the time-nothing. After a few years of living on the edge and hearing a lot of false flattery and phony promises I began to tire of it. It was a hopeless, frustrating life.
Little by little I began to settle in here. Started to get more into the job, got to be a better waitress, became professional. Now, I'm the best here. And the best paid. And I make the biggest tips. I do all right. And I like the job and the people. Especially myoId, steady customers. It's like-like they're family, you know. Occasionally, though, I wonder if I could have made it. I was a great-looking girl. And I had talent, I think. Who knows?
Would either of you like dessert?
FEMALE - JULIE
JULIE
Julie remonstrates regarding her lesbianism during this parental confrontation.
You've really never accepted it, have you, Mother? You, the family-any of you. You're still all so embarrassed, so damned ashamed. It's so glaringly obvious in your attitudes.
And how do you think it makes me feel? And Sandi? You think that she can't tell, that she doesn't feel ill at ease because of your condescending manners, your devastating sidelong glances, your sweet smugness, your, "I guess we'll just have to grin and bear it," attitudes? Please, Mother, don't do us any favors,
okay?
Is it so terrible to love another woman? Is it? Does it make me some kind of far-out freak, or something? Is lesbianism something so unusual, so terrible, so sinful? (Pause.) Yes, I suppose for this family it is. It squares with all you've ever heard and imagined about the evilness of "queers" and "homos."
You're all so damned threatened, it seems, so weak. Like your religion. If your faith was valid it would have room for growth and enlightenment, wouldn't it, instead of having to protect itself through fear?
You're all so terribly afraid. Afraid of truth, afraid of honest feelings. You're all so hopelessly, terribly, goddamned afraid! And you know what? I pity you. Yes, I pity you, I really do. Because you're all so narrow-minded and unbelievably small and because your prejudices shut out love.
Julie remonstrates regarding her lesbianism during this parental confrontation.
You've really never accepted it, have you, Mother? You, the family-any of you. You're still all so embarrassed, so damned ashamed. It's so glaringly obvious in your attitudes.
And how do you think it makes me feel? And Sandi? You think that she can't tell, that she doesn't feel ill at ease because of your condescending manners, your devastating sidelong glances, your sweet smugness, your, "I guess we'll just have to grin and bear it," attitudes? Please, Mother, don't do us any favors,
okay?
Is it so terrible to love another woman? Is it? Does it make me some kind of far-out freak, or something? Is lesbianism something so unusual, so terrible, so sinful? (Pause.) Yes, I suppose for this family it is. It squares with all you've ever heard and imagined about the evilness of "queers" and "homos."
You're all so damned threatened, it seems, so weak. Like your religion. If your faith was valid it would have room for growth and enlightenment, wouldn't it, instead of having to protect itself through fear?
You're all so terribly afraid. Afraid of truth, afraid of honest feelings. You're all so hopelessly, terribly, goddamned afraid! And you know what? I pity you. Yes, I pity you, I really do. Because you're all so narrow-minded and unbelievably small and because your prejudices shut out love.
FEMALE - LISA
LISA
Lisa speaks before her chapter of AA.
I started drinking about seven years ago. Casually, at first. Beer and wine. Harmless enough, I thought. At least it seemed so at the time. I mean ... I was having fun, so-so why not, okay?
The habit crept up on me subtly, slowly taking over my life. I first realized I had a serious problem when drinking was no longer enjoyable. And afterward I felt flat and depressed. By then, though, I needed it. I had to have it. I was hooked.
At first, I thought I could shake it. But I couldn't. I tried but ... I couldn't. Every commitment I made to quit, I broke.
I was slipping more and more into the alcoholic pattern: Reckless behavior, car wrecks, trouble with relationships, murderoushangovers, waking up in strange beds. And my job was going straight to hell, too. Then there were the overpowering feelings of guilt and remorse and hating myself and all of that. Which became this terrible nightmare of a cycle, you know. Repeating itself over and over until I was on the bottom emotionally, constantly depressed, feeling utterly worthless and afraid.
Then finally, thank God, I called AA. I finally got up the nerve to face up, to come to grips with my problem. And that was the turning point; that's when I started coming back, regaining my self-respect.
It's been nearly a year since I've had a drink. A year this next Tuesday, to be exact. I'm making it. By God, I'm making it. One day at a time.
Lisa speaks before her chapter of AA.
I started drinking about seven years ago. Casually, at first. Beer and wine. Harmless enough, I thought. At least it seemed so at the time. I mean ... I was having fun, so-so why not, okay?
The habit crept up on me subtly, slowly taking over my life. I first realized I had a serious problem when drinking was no longer enjoyable. And afterward I felt flat and depressed. By then, though, I needed it. I had to have it. I was hooked.
At first, I thought I could shake it. But I couldn't. I tried but ... I couldn't. Every commitment I made to quit, I broke.
I was slipping more and more into the alcoholic pattern: Reckless behavior, car wrecks, trouble with relationships, murderoushangovers, waking up in strange beds. And my job was going straight to hell, too. Then there were the overpowering feelings of guilt and remorse and hating myself and all of that. Which became this terrible nightmare of a cycle, you know. Repeating itself over and over until I was on the bottom emotionally, constantly depressed, feeling utterly worthless and afraid.
Then finally, thank God, I called AA. I finally got up the nerve to face up, to come to grips with my problem. And that was the turning point; that's when I started coming back, regaining my self-respect.
It's been nearly a year since I've had a drink. A year this next Tuesday, to be exact. I'm making it. By God, I'm making it. One day at a time.
FEMALE - ANNA
ANNA
AlIlla has the inside track on Doris Lehman's meteoric rise
within the film.
You really wanna know how she's gotten there? Well, I'll tell
you real quick how she's gotten there. She's screwed her way
to the top, that's how. She's made it with everyone from the
stock boy to the chairman. In fact, just between you and me, at
the convention in Cincinnatti last fall, you know-Joe Easton
saw her sneaking into the president's suite. The sly old boy
nailed her at the Hilton.
There must be at least twenty guys in this company who've balled her. They pass her around like chip dip. How do you think she got upstairs so quickly? Brains? No way. She's lame. But if you allow yourself to be on the bottom often enough-if you know what I mean-you're gonna make it to the top. And Doris Lehman would do it with a garden hose at halftime at the Super Bowl if she thought it would do her some good.
Sometimes I think it doesn't pay to be straight. Like me. What's being straight arrow gotten me? Zilch, that's what. Here I am, stuck down here in the computer pool with an old model Macintosh and a low-tech salary. And Lehman? Here she is making a bundle upstairs. And have you seen her office? An abstract desk, carpet a foot thick, original prints on the walls, three windows overlooking the river, and this steno chair from outer space.
And the couch in her boss' office? A hide-a-bed. (Pause.) Nope, I'm not kidding. One of the janitorial guys told me. The thing opens out and right away you've got instant motel. And knowing Lehman as I do, it probably has a built-in vibrator. The ambitious little bitch is screwing the balls off Ralph Humble, you can bet on it.
At the rate she's going she'll own this company some day. Hey, God only knows what she'll achieve. Doris Lehman could wind up humping her way into Forbes magazine.
AlIlla has the inside track on Doris Lehman's meteoric rise
within the film.
You really wanna know how she's gotten there? Well, I'll tell
you real quick how she's gotten there. She's screwed her way
to the top, that's how. She's made it with everyone from the
stock boy to the chairman. In fact, just between you and me, at
the convention in Cincinnatti last fall, you know-Joe Easton
saw her sneaking into the president's suite. The sly old boy
nailed her at the Hilton.
There must be at least twenty guys in this company who've balled her. They pass her around like chip dip. How do you think she got upstairs so quickly? Brains? No way. She's lame. But if you allow yourself to be on the bottom often enough-if you know what I mean-you're gonna make it to the top. And Doris Lehman would do it with a garden hose at halftime at the Super Bowl if she thought it would do her some good.
Sometimes I think it doesn't pay to be straight. Like me. What's being straight arrow gotten me? Zilch, that's what. Here I am, stuck down here in the computer pool with an old model Macintosh and a low-tech salary. And Lehman? Here she is making a bundle upstairs. And have you seen her office? An abstract desk, carpet a foot thick, original prints on the walls, three windows overlooking the river, and this steno chair from outer space.
And the couch in her boss' office? A hide-a-bed. (Pause.) Nope, I'm not kidding. One of the janitorial guys told me. The thing opens out and right away you've got instant motel. And knowing Lehman as I do, it probably has a built-in vibrator. The ambitious little bitch is screwing the balls off Ralph Humble, you can bet on it.
At the rate she's going she'll own this company some day. Hey, God only knows what she'll achieve. Doris Lehman could wind up humping her way into Forbes magazine.
MALE - DRAMATIC
STEWART
Stewart, a young, terminal AIDS patient, unloads his anger.
Yes, I'm bitter! And why shouldn't I be? How would you feel?
How would you like to give it up, all of this-your life? Christ,
I haven't even lived. (He turns away for a few seconds.) Death
is something that happens to other people, not you. You don't
consider it; it's out of the question, an abstract thing.
I don't want to die! I don't want to leave you and the sky,
the trees-people. You think about all of this, you know. You
think about how it'll be without you around and how things
will be still going on like always and how you're not going to
be part of it. That's one of the tragedies of it. You're gone and
you're nothing but an occasional memory or an old photo in a
shoebox in someone's closet.
You know you're not the first to die. You know this, and it
makes sense. And you know there's nothing you can do,
anyway. You repeat this logic to yourself over and over, try to
sell yourself. But you don't buy it.
Right now, I don't know if I'll be able to face death with
dignity or not. Right now I'm afraid. And I'm damned mad!
Stewart, a young, terminal AIDS patient, unloads his anger.
Yes, I'm bitter! And why shouldn't I be? How would you feel?
How would you like to give it up, all of this-your life? Christ,
I haven't even lived. (He turns away for a few seconds.) Death
is something that happens to other people, not you. You don't
consider it; it's out of the question, an abstract thing.
I don't want to die! I don't want to leave you and the sky,
the trees-people. You think about all of this, you know. You
think about how it'll be without you around and how things
will be still going on like always and how you're not going to
be part of it. That's one of the tragedies of it. You're gone and
you're nothing but an occasional memory or an old photo in a
shoebox in someone's closet.
You know you're not the first to die. You know this, and it
makes sense. And you know there's nothing you can do,
anyway. You repeat this logic to yourself over and over, try to
sell yourself. But you don't buy it.
Right now, I don't know if I'll be able to face death with
dignity or not. Right now I'm afraid. And I'm damned mad!
MALE - Dramatic Dar, mid-thirties, black
Dramatic Dar, mid-thirties, black
Darius McReele, on death row fOr sixteen years, has recently been exonerated because ofa series ofarticles written bya whitejournalist. He is a brilliant man, highly articulate, with deep political convictions,
some ofwhich he expresses here.
DAR: The problem is that we make our decisions based on news obtained from corporate-owned media outlets. What we need is Ted Tumer to finance a free-standing U.N. media division so that world crises receive air time appropriate to their level of trauma. That way, Palestinian refugee camps getting razed receive just as much air time as suicide bombers .. I'm saying that Israeli lobbyisrs have more influence than Palestinian ones and that neither side should receive more news coverage than a two-week slaughter of a million people in Botswana. · .. Our interest is in humanity .. -it's calling for intervention based on need as opposed to self-interest. And if we can only peace-keep three times a year, we should choose based on empathy and care. Because human beings care, Gerry, and our political beliefs are based on that care. Read the Bill of Rights -it's why we have identity politics to begin with -because our Founding Fathers based this sucker on humanistprinciples. So when it comes to foreign policy we need to fOllow those principles.
We need to ask ourselves, "What does that mean? -to be a part of the human race?" -independent of all other identity. What is it to be human?" And if it feels inherently inhumane to sit back and watch people die in Botswana while millions get spent chasing oil, then that's where my politics will fall; before I'm American or black or an SUV driver. I'll vote how I'm human. Period. Because politics does go that deep.
Darius McReele, on death row fOr sixteen years, has recently been exonerated because ofa series ofarticles written bya whitejournalist. He is a brilliant man, highly articulate, with deep political convictions,
some ofwhich he expresses here.
DAR: The problem is that we make our decisions based on news obtained from corporate-owned media outlets. What we need is Ted Tumer to finance a free-standing U.N. media division so that world crises receive air time appropriate to their level of trauma. That way, Palestinian refugee camps getting razed receive just as much air time as suicide bombers .. I'm saying that Israeli lobbyisrs have more influence than Palestinian ones and that neither side should receive more news coverage than a two-week slaughter of a million people in Botswana. · .. Our interest is in humanity .. -it's calling for intervention based on need as opposed to self-interest. And if we can only peace-keep three times a year, we should choose based on empathy and care. Because human beings care, Gerry, and our political beliefs are based on that care. Read the Bill of Rights -it's why we have identity politics to begin with -because our Founding Fathers based this sucker on humanistprinciples. So when it comes to foreign policy we need to fOllow those principles.
We need to ask ourselves, "What does that mean? -to be a part of the human race?" -independent of all other identity. What is it to be human?" And if it feels inherently inhumane to sit back and watch people die in Botswana while millions get spent chasing oil, then that's where my politics will fall; before I'm American or black or an SUV driver. I'll vote how I'm human. Period. Because politics does go that deep.
FEMALE - LORRAINE
LORRAINE
Lorraine, a former battered wife, tells of the violence triggered by an incident of infidelity and of lingering psychological scars.
I don't know why I did it. I was bored, I guess. Or maybe I needed to get caught. Who knows. (A long pause.)
I met Sam after work, and we started drinking, and one thing led to another. The next thing I know I'm loaded, and I wake up at one in the morning in his apartment. I called Karen and told her what had happened and asked her if Steve had called. When she said he hadn't, I asked her to cover for me. Then I called Steve and told him I was at Karen's, that I'd gotten drunk and decided to spend the night in the city at her place.
He never bought it. The next day, he inquired around and found out that I'd gotten smashed with Sam at Landsdale's. I knew he knew that evening. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to, it was in his face. He had that sullen, cold look people get when they detest you. Then he came at me. It. ... (It's painful to recall.) It was terrible.
It took fourteen stitches to close up my cheek. Afterwards, he was remorseful and guilty and tried to make it up to me. But it was over. Something like that ends it. And he knew it. But he still had the rage. He was still burning inside because he couldn't get it out of his mind about Sam.
The second time it happened, we were at the dinner table. It started with him questioning me about Sam, and then, alluva sudden, he jumped up and started beating me. He beat me until I passed out. When I woke up later in the hospital, they told me I had multiple contusions and a shattered jawbone. It was a nightmare. After I was released, I got a restraining order and moved upstate.
It's all over between us, but I'm still not the same. I can't stand the thought of a man touching me.
I'm working on the problem. I'm in therapy. And gradually, I'm coming around, becoming more trusting. Hopefully, one day soon, I'll be able to love again.
Lorraine, a former battered wife, tells of the violence triggered by an incident of infidelity and of lingering psychological scars.
I don't know why I did it. I was bored, I guess. Or maybe I needed to get caught. Who knows. (A long pause.)
I met Sam after work, and we started drinking, and one thing led to another. The next thing I know I'm loaded, and I wake up at one in the morning in his apartment. I called Karen and told her what had happened and asked her if Steve had called. When she said he hadn't, I asked her to cover for me. Then I called Steve and told him I was at Karen's, that I'd gotten drunk and decided to spend the night in the city at her place.
He never bought it. The next day, he inquired around and found out that I'd gotten smashed with Sam at Landsdale's. I knew he knew that evening. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to, it was in his face. He had that sullen, cold look people get when they detest you. Then he came at me. It. ... (It's painful to recall.) It was terrible.
It took fourteen stitches to close up my cheek. Afterwards, he was remorseful and guilty and tried to make it up to me. But it was over. Something like that ends it. And he knew it. But he still had the rage. He was still burning inside because he couldn't get it out of his mind about Sam.
The second time it happened, we were at the dinner table. It started with him questioning me about Sam, and then, alluva sudden, he jumped up and started beating me. He beat me until I passed out. When I woke up later in the hospital, they told me I had multiple contusions and a shattered jawbone. It was a nightmare. After I was released, I got a restraining order and moved upstate.
It's all over between us, but I'm still not the same. I can't stand the thought of a man touching me.
I'm working on the problem. I'm in therapy. And gradually, I'm coming around, becoming more trusting. Hopefully, one day soon, I'll be able to love again.
FEMALE - JULIA
JULIA
Julia warns an employee that any attempt at blackmail will prove personally disastrous.
You have a helluva lot of nerve, coming in here threatening me! You actually thought I'd be intimidated by somebody like you? (A throaty laugh.) Besides, who would believe you? The truth is a strange thing, Joe, it's as valid as who speaks it. And we all know what you are-a nobody! You're a nothing bastard who drifted into town and were lucky enough to get hired by my husband, who gave you a clean shirt and some respectability. And now you have "information" and we should pay you to keep quiet? (Beat.)
Sure we take kickbacks. Hell, yes. Sure we make deals. How about that? (Beat.)
So, you actually think you're going to bleed us because you have this kind of information, huh? Jesus, you're a joke. A pitiful goddamned joke! You're in way over your head, friend. You think we don't take precautions? (A mocking laugh.) Whose name do you think is on those papers? Mine? Dewey's? Hell, no, Joe-yours! (A pause for his reaction.) Yes, that's right-yours! Maybe in the future you'll be more careful about what you sign, my friend.
So, now who's in trouble, Joe boy? You so much as blab a word to anyone, and we'll bury you so damned deep they'll never find you. Bury you! Understand!?
I had you pegged from the first, you know. You with your phony charm and unctuous good looks. I know your type; I've seen plenty. Uneducated, basically crude, with enough con to get by. And you're a user, I spotted that right off, and I told Dewey. And there's only one way to treat a user-you use him.
Now, I want you to go back to your little office and do your little job for which you're grossly overpaid. Continue to act important and wear decent clothes and have lunches on the expense account. I won't mention anything about this to Dewey. We'll just keep it between the two of us, okay? But don't ever threaten again, ever. Because next time, Joe, honey-it's back to the gutter. Do I make myself perfectly clear?
Julia warns an employee that any attempt at blackmail will prove personally disastrous.
You have a helluva lot of nerve, coming in here threatening me! You actually thought I'd be intimidated by somebody like you? (A throaty laugh.) Besides, who would believe you? The truth is a strange thing, Joe, it's as valid as who speaks it. And we all know what you are-a nobody! You're a nothing bastard who drifted into town and were lucky enough to get hired by my husband, who gave you a clean shirt and some respectability. And now you have "information" and we should pay you to keep quiet? (Beat.)
Sure we take kickbacks. Hell, yes. Sure we make deals. How about that? (Beat.)
So, you actually think you're going to bleed us because you have this kind of information, huh? Jesus, you're a joke. A pitiful goddamned joke! You're in way over your head, friend. You think we don't take precautions? (A mocking laugh.) Whose name do you think is on those papers? Mine? Dewey's? Hell, no, Joe-yours! (A pause for his reaction.) Yes, that's right-yours! Maybe in the future you'll be more careful about what you sign, my friend.
So, now who's in trouble, Joe boy? You so much as blab a word to anyone, and we'll bury you so damned deep they'll never find you. Bury you! Understand!?
I had you pegged from the first, you know. You with your phony charm and unctuous good looks. I know your type; I've seen plenty. Uneducated, basically crude, with enough con to get by. And you're a user, I spotted that right off, and I told Dewey. And there's only one way to treat a user-you use him.
Now, I want you to go back to your little office and do your little job for which you're grossly overpaid. Continue to act important and wear decent clothes and have lunches on the expense account. I won't mention anything about this to Dewey. We'll just keep it between the two of us, okay? But don't ever threaten again, ever. Because next time, Joe, honey-it's back to the gutter. Do I make myself perfectly clear?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)