An Unmarried Woman Page #7

- Do you want to know how I really feel?

- Yes, I do.

As soon as the sex was over,

I wanted to leave.

- That's very hostile.

- I don't feel hostile. I like you.

Perhaps you'd better go home.

I'm getting a very big headache.

My husband used to get headaches

whenever I didn't want to have sex.

Poor bugger must have had migraines.

- You-You got a coat?

- Yeah.

I'll see you later.

- Behave yourselves, ladies.

- Oh, yeah?

- We'll try.

- I'm always good.

Just show me the bar.

- Ah.

- That did it.

I've gotta go home pretty soon.

- Hello, Erica.

- Hi, Edward.

Nice to see you.

- These are my friends.

This is Elaine Liebowitz.

- How do you do?

- Edward Thoreaux. And Sue Miller.

- How do you do?

- And Jeannette Lewin.

- Nice to meet you.

- Hi, Erica.

- Can I take your coats?

- You look wonderful!

- Thanks.

I'm Jean Starret.

Erica has told me about your, uh, club.

This is Jeannette and Elaine and Sue.

- What club?

- Do you know anything

about consciousness raising?

- Not really.

- Neither do we.

Wejust kind of get together

once a week and complain a lot.

- That's very American.

- Aren't you an American?

I'm from Cleveland,

but I try to forget it.

- I was hoping you'd show up.

- How's your headache?

I had it ever since you left.

How's the party?

Usual.

Well, whenever you put

about 50 artists together in one room...

you get a really

pleasant combination...

of gossip, paranoia,

envy, fear, trembling...

hatred, lust and pretense.

It's, uh, wonderful.

Tell me some good gossip.

Good gossip, eh? Hmm.

Oh. You see the short,

wiry fellow in the corner?

The one with his arm

around Lady MacBeth?

Well, his name is Conrad Zweiback.

He's Hungarian. Very intense. Very ambitious.

- Can't paint for sh*t.

- Who's the woman?

She's the wife

of Henry Gebhart, the critic.

- Oh, I've never met him.

- Oh, he's a spider.

Sets traps for young artists,

using his wife as bait.

- Is he gay?

- Oh, no. No, not at all.

That would make sense.

No, it appears he likes to watch

his wife make love to other men.

Now, if the other man

is pleasing to Lady MacBeth...

he becomes the new

discovery of Gebhart.

- How do you know all this?

- I was discovered by Henry Gebhart.

I'm kidding.

No, but it's true.

The story's true.

- You're very beautiful tonight.

- You look very good yourself.

Shall we dance?

You're full of surprises.

Remember, we don't

really know each other.

- Tanya!

- Erica!

- How great to see you here.

- What are you doing here?

- I'm an old friend ofJean Starret's.

- Ohh.

And I'd like to have you meet

my friend, Sophie Windham.

- Hello.

- Erica Benton.

Uh, this is Saul Kaplan.

Tanya Berkel.

- Hi, Saul.

- Hello. Hi. Hi.

- Nice to meet you.

- And we're looking around

forJean, so we'll go along.

- I think she's back there.

- Okay, but I see something to eat

in there, so we'll go in there.

- Okay.

- See you later. Have fun.

- Who was that woman?

- Oh, that was no woman.

That was my therapist.

- Having a good time?

- Yeah. You?

- Hey, what do you say, babe?

- Charlie! God.

- Do you know each other?

- Yeah.

Charlie tells me

he's a great artist.

Uh, this is Elaine,

and this is Jeannette.

- Hello.

- This is Charlie.

- Hello.

- This is Saul Kaplan.

Saul Kaplan? The Saul Kaplan?

Oh, let me get over there.

Hey, this is a real honor.

I mean, really!

Hey, I bow at your feet, man.

Now, this guy's a real f***ing artist.

Thank you. You may rise.

- Thank you.

- You're drunk, Charlie.

Yes, and stoned.

Great combo.

- Is he dangerous?

- Oh, ask her if I'm good, babe.

- Shut up, Charlie. Jesus!

- Ohhh, we really got it on one night.

I mean, dynamite.

And she slams the door in my face.

What did I do to deserve such a rotten fate?

I balled my ass off;

the lady won't see me again.

- It's getting to be a '60's party.

- What, is it raining?

What happened? What happened?

- Why don't you go home, Charlie.

- Why don't you f*** off!

- I'll wipe the floor with you.

- Up yours!

- Come on. Let's leave.

- No, no. No. He leaves. We stay.

Oh, I get it.

You're ballin' her too.

If you don't mind

your dumb f***in' manners

I thought you were gonna kill him.

No, I wouldn't give the bastard

the satisfaction.

If he made the front page

of the Daily News, he'd end up famous.

His work is good, actually.

I was surprised.

Well, you can be a bastard

and have talent.

Where'd you see his work, eh?

His place. You disappointed in me?

I don't know you well enough

to be disappointed in you.

But if you ever do it again,

I'll kill you.

You're a strange man.

No, I'm a simple man really.

Got very simple tastes.

I like Titian, Rembrandt,

Botticelli, Kojak...

Camembert cheese...

expensive shoes

I have bad feet

London, Vermont,

New York about half the time.

And being madly in love.

And I've been without that

for a long time now.

What's so funny, eh?

What the hell are you laughing at, eh?

I bare my soul, and you laugh at me.

What is it?

You stepped in dog sh*t!

I think this is poodle sh*t.

Oh, yes, after a while, you can tell

one kind from another.

I can even tell the difference

between an East Side dog...

an uptown dog and a Village dog.

Now, East Side dogs

sh*t only the best...

and Village dogs sh*t art.

In London, they don't

sh*t at all, you know.

I don't think they're

allowed to, no, no.

In London, I think they have an underground

passage where all the dogs sh*t.

I was born in London, you know.

My mother and my father

had a shop near Stepney Green.

That's the Lower East Side

of London.

One day when I was about six,

my parents had a row, you know.

My mother, she threw a pickled herring

at my dad, and it, uh, missed.

Splattered all against the wall.

I took one look

at that pickled herring...

and that's when I decided

to become an abstract expressionist.

Your work does remind me

of pickled herring.

Mmm.

Hey, I want to know

about that man you lived with.

Were you passionate

with each other?

- You mean sexually?

- I mean in every way.

Well, we were married

for a very long time.

- Well, I was married for nine years.

- Really?

Eight of those years

were very passionate.

Well, "passion's" a mild word for it, really.

It'sWell, it was more like war.

How did your marriage end?

Not with a whimper, but with a bang.

Matilda Her name is Matilda

She wrote poetry for her soul, and she swam

a hundred laps a day for her body.

Now, this was after we had

the two children.

- Boys?

- My son is 12. My daughter's nine.

Well, one day I came home,

and I found her in bed...

with a high diver

from the local pool.

- Oh, God.

- I wanted to kill the poor sap,

but something kept me from it.

- What?

- He was about seven feet tall.

Oh, you know something? L

I wasn't angry.

I felt relief, really.

I was glad it was over

for both of us!

Well, I wasn't a very good husband.

My work means everything to me.

I don't think I believe that.

Don't you miss your children?

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