Gods and Monsters Page #5

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I like it.

Yes.

But do be careful,

Mr. Boone.

Freedom is a drug, you know,

much like any other.

Too much can be

a very bad thing.

Is that why you and, uh,

your friend split up?

- 'Cause he wanted to be free?

- Yes, I suppose.

I know it's why I stopped

making pictures.

You might not think it

to look at me now,

but there was a time when I was

at the very pinnacle of my profession.

The horror movies

were behind me.

I'd made Showboat.

Major success. Big box office.

So now I was to do

something important.

The picture was called

The Road Back.

It was an indictment of the Great War

and what it did to Germany.

It was going to be

my masterpiece.

- What happened?

- The f***ing studio butchered it.

They took the guts

out of my picture.

They brought in another director

to add some slapstick...

and the movie

laid an egg.

A great, expensive bomb

for which I was blamed.

And after that

I was out of fashion.

I could no longer command the

best projects, so I walked away.

Why should I spend my time working

in this dreadful business?

- Do you miss it?

- Mmm.

Oh, it was all so long ago.

Fifteen years.

Making movies is the most

wonderful thing in the world.

Working with friends,

entertaining people.

Yes,

I suppose I miss it.

But I chose freedom.

David, of course,

was still in the thick of it,

a life chockablock with anxiety

and studio intrigue.

I didn't fancy spending my

golden years as "the friend,"

so I finally drew down the

curtain and closed the show.

And, um,

when the fetters

are loosened,

a certain hedonism creeps in,

don't you think?

Oh, there was a time when this

house was full of young men.

Some of them even posed for me,

right where you're sitting now.

Of course, they weren't

nearly so bashful.

Oh, no, this studio was full

of bare buttocks and pricks...

Mmm.

Hard, arrogant pricks.

Okay, just cut it out.

Okay?

Isn't it bad enough that you've

told me you're a f***in' fairy?

- Now you're gonna rub my face in it?

- I assure you, I didn't mean...

F*** this!

I can't do this anymore!

From now on, I'm just the

guy that cuts your lawn.

Got it?

Jimmy?

Come on, Jimmy.

Watch me dive.

Hey, Harry.

Set me up.

- Where's Betty?

- Took the night off.

Heavy date.

Some guy she's had

her eye on for a while.

Hey!

Hi!

Hello, Helen.

It's Clay.

No, I'm not in jail.

No, I don't need any money.

Thanks.

Is Sis there? Put her on.

There's this movie guy I met out here.

She'd get a real bang out of it.

Let me talk... Where is she?

You don't know.

I'd give you my phone number

if I had a phone, wouldn't I?

Put the old man on.

Yeah, you know, forget it.

Just let him sleep it off.

Yeah.

Time's up, Helen, now.

I'm out of dimes.

Uh-huh.

Have one for me.

Mr. Boone.

Thank you, Hanna.

I wanna sit for you again.

Only if you promise to ease up

on the locker room talk, okay?

Scout's honor.

I'm curious, Mr. Boone.

What convinced you

to come back?

I don't know.

I like your stories, I guess.

Oh, everyone's

got stories to tell.

Not me.

Hmm.

And the fear that you displayed at our

last session... how did you overcome that?

More like disgust.

Oh, same difference,

Mr. Boone.

Disgust, fear of the unknown... all part of

the great gulf that stands between us two.

Am I right in assuming that you have little

experience with men of my persuasion?

- No teammates in football?

- No.

No comrades in Korea?

You must think that

the whole world is queer.

Well, you know what?

It's not.

And war certainly isn't.

Oh, there may be no

atheists in the foxholes,

but there are,

occasionally, lovers.

You're talkin' through

your hat now.

- No, I'm not. I was in the foxholes myself.

- You were a soldier?

I was an officer

in the trenches.

- Was this World War I? - No, my dear,

the Crimean War. Well, what do you think?

The Great War.

There were trenches when I arrived and

trenches when I left two years later.

Just like in the movies,

only the movies, ahh...

They never get

the stench of it all.

The world reduced to mud and sandbags

and a narrow strip of rainy sky.

What were we talking about?

Oh.

Love.

Love in the trenches.

Barnett.

Was that his name?

Leonard Barnett.

He'd come straight to

the front from school.

From Harrow.

And he looked up to me.

Wasn't like the others.

He didn't care that I was a working-class

man impersonating my betters.

How strange to be

admired so blindly.

I suppose he loved me.

I remember one morning

in particular,

a morning when

the sun came out.

It's odd how, even there,

there were days when the weather

was enough to make one happy.

He and I stood

on the fire step.

I was showing him the sights of

no-man's-land. It was beautiful.

Beautiful.

And I was shoulder-to-shoulder with a tall,

apple-cheeked schoolboy who loved me...

and trusted me.

You will not do this to me again,

Mr... Mr. Boone.

- You will not set me on another

walk down memory lane. - I...

I won't.

I absolutely refuse.

Why do I tell you all this?

I never told David.

- I never even remembered it till you

got me going. - You started in on this...

You can't understand.

You just sit there. You let me talk.

"Yes, the poor old man," you're thinking

to yourself. "The crazy old poof. "

Why are you here? Let's get this straight.

What do you want from me?

You wanted me to model.

Remember?

Well, of course I remember. What do

you think I am, so f***ing senile?

Uh, uh, Mr. Whale?

Oh, I'm so stupid.

Stupid, stupid.

Mr. Whale, you all right?

What was I thinking about?

Oh, would you go?

I'm sorry.

Please.

Why don't you just go?

I just don't get it.

First you creep me out

with this homo sh*t.

Then you hit me

with war stories.

And now you're upset with me because

I listened to you? What do you want?

I want...

More than anything else,

I want a glass of water.

Sick.

Thank you.

I do apologize.

I'm...

No harm done.

I have no business

snapping at you.

It was foolishness to start

this portrait, you know.

You don't want me to

sit for you anymore?

No.

Would you like to come

to a party with me?

A reception for

Princess Margaret.

I thought you said

you weren't gonna go.

If you don't mind driving,

I'd like to take you as my guest.

Yeah, sure, I'm game.

Why not?

Very good, Clayton.

May I call you Clayton?

Clayton?

Yeah, sure.

Clayton's fine.

Mr. Boone,

he's an interesting friend.

I'd hardly call our

yardman a friend.

Oh, no, but someone

you can talk to.

That needs pressing, hmm?

Do you miss having someone

to talk to, Hanna?

I have my family.

Also our Lord, Jesus Christ.

Ah. Tell me, how is

the old boy these days?

We need a hat with that.

There's a panama.

Maybe in your old room.

No, no,

in the storage closet.

Hello.

Oh, Eva. Mmm.

Hmm.

Gas masks on!

Oh, Mr. Jimmy.

That is my daughter.

She and her husband are

coming to town this afternoon.

Here.

I'm sorry, Mr. Jimmy.

I will make it short.

I will be out myself this afternoon.

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