Genius Page #6

he's exuberant.

Bullshit.

He's starting to believe

what they say about him.

Same thing that happened

to Fitzgerald.

Gets to hear

he's the great man

of letters so many times,

he starts to believe it.

Then he's got

to live up to it and

then he stops writing.

Tom has to write,

it's in his blood.

Well, they said

the same thing about

Scott five years ago.

Most elegant writer

i ever knew.

Now the poor

son of a b*tch

can't string

five words together

to save his own life.

You know tom

will leave you soon.

I don't think so.

You don't think

those bastards

at Harper's and MacMillan

aren't pouring poison

in his ear already?

Tom won't listen.

You saw the dedication

in time and the river.

Yeah, I did.

A bit like something

on a tombstone.

Come on,

let's take a photo

with your catch.

I'll get him mounted

and send him to you.

Our daughter's going

gangbusters at vassar,

she, uh...

She seems to have

developed an affection

for drama.

She might even

be an actress.

She wants to talk

to you about it, Louise.

Oh, I would love to.

That must be tom.

I'll get it.

It's tom, honey.

He's come to see you.

Come on, Maxwell!

Let me in, now.

- Tom, easy.

- Where is Scott?

You might have waited

to start drinking.

I... I have

to see Scott.

Tom.

Scott. Scott!

Tom! Look at me.

Zelda's just out

of the hospital

and she's not well,

so for god's sake,

don't start in.

Listen to you.

I'm not some

rude mechanical.

Scott!

You old bastard.

Tom!

I tried to tell that

to Max. I mean...

Tell me, Scott.

Does...

Does he...

Does he make you

take a lot out?

He doesn't make me

do anything.

Well, does he

"advise" you

to take a lot out?

We're different

writers, tom.

How's that?

I don't write

such long books.

Don't or can't?

Tom!

Just say it,

Scotty.

There's no shame

in writing short,

though I think

you've taken it

a bit too far.

I mean, come on.

Are you gonna write

another novel? Hmm?

Max, I hear you finally

went fishing with Ernest.

Yes, in the wilds

of darkest key west.

Don't ignore me.

That's enough.

Don't pretend

I'm not here.

Jesus Christ!

I know goddamn well

you ain't written

a word in years.

Don't blame me

for that.

Come on, get up!

What? What? Why?

- You're leaving.

- Where are we going?

- Get out.

- Why?

It's all right,

my sweetheart,

it's all right.

Stay calm.

It's all right.

You should tell him

to put her away somewhere

and get back to work.

He... he's probably

past it now.

Couldn't make

a whole book,

but he's still

got some talent

around the edges.

Faded grandeur,

i suppose you'd call it.

Or he'd call it.

But that...

Would you shut up?

It amazes me, still,

after all these years,

how cruel you can be.

I... I'm only

being honest.

Did you ever

once try to imagine

how it is for Scott?

Why...

Why would I?

How many words

did you write today?

What?

How many words

did you write today?

Maybe 5,000.

Scott wrote

maybe 100.

If today was a good day.

If today was a great day.

And he needs to write

as much as you do.

He fights

over every word.

Then, he should

fight more.

His wife

is going mad!

Nobody cares about

what he writes or even

remembers him anymore.

Can you imagine

what that's like?

Don't blame me

for his weakness.

It hurts me to

see you so cruel.

So I've disappointed you,

yet again.

Yes, very much.

Well, I'm sorry

I'm not decent enough

for your fine dinner parties

and your fine friends.

But before

you drag me out

to the woodshed,

I think you ought to look

at who's giving the lesson.

Am I supposed to

grow up like you?

No, tom, but you're

supposed to grow up.

How dare you?

You, of all people.

You, of all goddamn people!

You're nothing

but a coward!

Stuck in that

sterile little office.

Every beautiful thing

in you stunted.

You don't have

the first idea

what it is to be alive!

You don't know

what it is to wake up

and grab hold

of life every day

and fight with it.

You're just so

goddamn scared to live.

There are other

ways to live!

There's loving your children

and seeing them grow up right.

There's providing

for your family.

There's doing work

that's important and

giving to other people.

That's enough.

No, I've taken

your abuse

'cause I told

myself you were worth it.

That the work was worth it.

But god help anyone

who loves you, tom.

Because for all

your talk

and all your millions

of beautiful words,

you haven't the slightest

idea of what it means

to be alive.

To look into

another person's eyes

and ache for him.

I hope someday

you will.

And then maybe

all your words will be

worth five of Scott's.

Max thinks

he created me.

You know that?

Like pygmalion.

He thinks... he thinks

he found this ugly lump

of Carolina Clay

and molded it into me.

They say

i don't even write

my own books.

They say I can't

write my own books.

It's all because of Max

and his brilliant editing.

I hear it

everywhere I go.

Wouldn't I be lost

without Max?

What would I do without

the great Maxwell Perkins?

So he finally

stood up to you.

Good for him.

You wouldn't believe how much

the folks at Harper's offered

me for my new book.

There it is.

I told them no.

You told them maybe.

You tell everyone maybe.

And now you're going

to tell them yes.

Hey, I'm thinking

of taking a trip.

A vacation, like.

Buying an old car

and just driving off.

Maybe see California.

All those

sun-kissed locales.

Why don't you come?

I mean it.

Let's hit the road

and have some fun again.

You and me.

Like it used to be.

No one else in

the world even exists.

Mmm... we're in our

own private cathedral.

Doesn't that sound like

a momentous journey?

You need

to spend time alone.

I'm a writer.

All I do

is spend time alone.

No, you spend time

with your characters.

You've never been alone.

First you had your family,

then you had me,

then you had Max.

You need

to spend time alone.

You need to look

at how you move

through your life.

You hurt me.

You're going to hurt Max.

You shouldn't hurt

anyone else.

Human beings

aren't fiction.

You have no idea

what I had to go through

to get to where

i am now.

So I can look at you

and feel

nothing.

You know the way out.

The last time

i saw my father,

I was standing

at a train window,

when I went north

to college.

He just got

smaller and smaller

as we pulled away,

until I couldn't

see him anymore.

That train

carried me to my life.

Beyond the hills

and over the rivers.

And always,

the rivers run.

Sometimes they flow

away from my father

and sometimes they

flow back to his door.

I have to prove

i can do it

by myself.

Then prove it.

Scott.

I know it was

a while ago

but I'm sorry.

I was a damn brute.

I wouldn't blame you

if you slammed

the door in my face.

You don't know how sorry

i am for talking to you

and Zelda like that.

Please, say

you forgive me.

Believe it or not,

I've been drunk

myself once or twice.

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