D.O.A. Page #2

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Bye-bye.

Uh, yeah, hi, Professor.

It's, uh, Nick Lang calling. Uh--

Mm-hmm.

Oh, sh*t.

If you don't like my novel,

I'll die.

No, I will.

I'll stop writing.

Shut that, will you?

- Sh*t.

- Why?

Time of year, isn't it?

Holiday depression and all that.

And this heat. Makes a guy

do all sorts of insane things.

Pretty grim.

- So's this.

- Yeah. Well, next semester...

I'm on the best-seller list and

we are up to our asses in Dewar's.

What the hell kind of problem could

a college kid have that he thinks

only a swan dive could solve?

That was no ordinary college kid.

You wanna talk about problems?

His father was a thief.

One night about four years ago,

he breaks into the Fitzwaring mansion...

killed the husband.

So what does the widow do? She puts

the thief's son through college.

- The Fitzwaring murder? That's the kid?

- Was.

Guess all the money in the world

can't buy Nick a happy ending, huh?

He was a poetic little f***er, though.

- That's Nick's independent project.

- Good read, huh?

- I don't know. I didn't read it.

- You didn't read it?

Mm-mmm.

Well, then what's the A for?

- Ambitious?

- I don't believe you didn't read it.

What, were you uptight that

one of your students might actually

produce something of quality?

No. I was uptight about having

to wade through 400 pages...

of flatulent student fiiction.

Now I don't have to.

Oh, God.

Now I do have to.

Not necessarily sober, though.

Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas.

Less egg, Gail, more nog.

Who's this card from?

Uncle Charlie.

- Mine or yours?

- It's yours.

- I thought he was dead.

- No. The dead one's mine.

- Student suicide on campus today.

- I left that box of records

of yours by the door.

We, uh, mailing out

joint Christmas cards this year?

- I already sent mine out.

- Guess not.

Oh, I forgot.

I've got a gift for you.

Oh, God, Dex. Why?

Well, don't worry.

It's nothing much.

Hot date? Didn't think you'd dress

like that to trim a tree.

Anybody I know?

- Stop sounding like a husband.

- Well, I'm sorry.

I thought I still was one.

Thank you.

Well, it's a little nicer than

what I got you, I'm afraid.

Couldn't you have thought

of something more pleasant?

A lump of coal, perhaps?

Come on.

'Tis the season to be jolly.

Uh, you know, this thing would be

a lot easier to take

if only you'd act a little hurt.

I hurt, Dex. And I think

you know how long I've hurt.

Why? What have I done?

Hmm? Have I cheated on you?

I mean, I'm probably

the only professor on campus

who's not screwing a sophomore.

Maybe you oughta be. At least it'd be

a sign of life, a longing for something.

Okay, Gail, I tell you what.

You wait here.

I'm gonna go out and fiind myself a coed

for a quickie. I'll be right back.

- Can we resume our marriage?

- This hasn't been a marriage

in four years, Dex.

It's funny how that kind of coincides

with the publication of my last novel.

So that's my great sin, huh?

I'm not prolifiic enough.

Perhaps you should've married

Harold Robbins.

- One for the road, Dex?

- Subtle hint to exit?

No. I'm exiting.

Make yourself at home.

You are, after all.

- Because I stopped writing?

- Because you stopped caring.

Goddam it, Gail, don't run out on me!

What did I do to you?

You did it to yourself.

Oh, God, Dex.

You were so good,

and you just gave up on everything

that mattered to you, including me.

You know, marriage can't always be

as hot as the honeymoon.

There's ups and downs.

- Two people,

when they live together, they--

- You know, you are so smart...

and you don't have the faintest idea

what I'm talking about, do you?

The fact that making love became

a matter of just going through

the motions was hard enough.

But I could take it,

if you'd have only talked to me.

Talk? I talk all day, every day.

It's what I do.

No, it's ironic banter.

It's not intimacy.

And after a while, it's abuse.

I'm sorry. I lied when I said,

''For better or worse.''

I'm not gonna stick around and watch

someone I love just wither away.

Gail.

- Don't.

- I've got to. Mistletoe.

Sign those papers before you go.

Ah, a mistake.

It's unclear where the light

is coming from. There is no scope!

- Oh, thank you, Graham.

- Excuse me.

We've gotta stop meeting like this.

Hey, Dex.

Quit staring, will you?

I got a bashful bladder.

What's the matter, Hal?

You look like you've seen a ghost.

No, no, no.Just your wife.

She know you're here?

- She's here?

- Yeah.

Uh-oh.

- I know. It's been

a long time, hasn't it?

- I didn't know you were still

attending faculty functions.

Yeah, it gives me a chance

to see folks I don't see much any more.

- Anyone special?

- You found him.

- Hey.

- Look what I picked up in the john.

- Yeah, isn't it awful what

you can get from a toilet seat?

- Did you enjoy your egg nog, Dex?

- Not enough nog.

- Elaine, could you flag me down

one of those?

- Oh, God. Don't encourage him.

- Graham, could you--

- Thought you had a hot date.

- Did you sign those papers?

- Gail, you know I gave up writing.

Writer's block can get awfully

expensive with my lawyers, Dex.

If I could have

everyone's attention, please.

Despite the tragic event

that happened on campus today...

our benefactress,

Mrs Michael Fitzwaring...

insisted that we proceed

with the dedication as scheduled.

This gallery was long the dream

of my late husband.

Four years ago,

when I arranged for the son...

of my husband's murderer

to come to this college...

it shocked many people.

But Nicholas Lang was not responsible

for the sins of his father.

And I believed

that he deserved a chance.

Over these last four years,

Nick proved worthy of my faith.

He triumphed over the past,

or so it seemed.

But sometimes,

the past is inexorable.

- I saw his body at the med centre.

- Who?

- Nick Lang, the student who jumped.

- Erstwhile student.

- What?

- Plummeted right past my window.

I had a front row seat.

-Jeez, Dex.

- There will be a memorial service

for Nicholas.

Gail.

- I'm coming.

- Hey, hey, we'll--

We'll take care of her.

- We'll take care of her.

- Now, look, I'm coming--

-Just leave it to Elaine. No, Dex.

Please, don't complicate it.

And don't hurt yourself.

It's okay.

We'll take you home.

Gail, you and Nick Lang?

Gail.

- Talk to me.

- Please, just leave me alone.

Scene of a crime

A body in the bag

0ne gets to die

0ne gets the flag

- A slave to desire

- Bartender.

The pain of rejection

Too much sex

and not enough affection

Read it in the paper

0r watch it on TV

Cry for a stranger

but turn your back on me

- Try another line

- Bartender?

And still no connection

Too much sex

and not enough affection

Bartender!

- Thank you.

- My pleasure.

More where that came from.

You drinking to forget?

To oblivion.

What sorrow are you drowning?

Maybe I just drink because I like it.

Always a sorrow. Lost hope.

Lost love.

Hey, hey, are you all right?

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