Golden Boy Page #6

Good speech.

Ain't he a riot?

Happy New Year in May!

Sit down, Siggie,

before you make another speech.

Twelve in one night is enough.

Speech, speech...

Nowadays, where have we

got freedom of speech?

It's a free country.

You can talk. I talk.

Even him, look

how much he talks.

It's a delusion.

America itself is a mirage.

And Europe.

Every time I read what

goes on in the papers,

I feel so bad I have to

close my shop and go see

a double feature.

Well, everybody,

you have enough to eat?

Let's go in the other room.

All right. Good.

Miss Moon, you're not hungry?

Oh, no.

I've eaten so much.

Beauty first, Miss Moon.

Thank you.

I think I've had too much to eat.

Oh, Miss Moon, look.

How do you like Joe?

What are you trying to

do, embarrass me?

That was his first violin.

You were a lovely kid. I would

like to have known you then.

Look, here's another one,

when he was 1 year old.

That one's censored.

Here.

No, no, Anna! Give me that.

Here, here.

Give me that, Anna!

Joe!

Give me that picture!

- Here, here!

- Joe, no, no!

Papa! Papa!

- Anna!

- Joe!

I've got it.

No, you don't!

Now, now. That's enough.

Come on, come on.

He's afraid of

the naked truth.

- Anna, how about some music, huh?

- Sure!

Yeah, music.

You like to sing?

Sure.

Come on, Anna, sit at the piano.

Come on, everybody.

You sit there, Mr. Carp.

All right, all right.

What do you like?

You know what I like. "Funiculi."

"Funiculi."

"Funiculi."

Everybody!

Beautiful!

Mr. Carp. Learn the words.

I know the words.

No, no. Leave him alone.

He's doing fine.

I know what we gonna do.

What?

Miss Moon, how you like

hear Joe play violin?

I'd love to.

Don't start that now, Papa.

I don't wanna play.

It's a good time for playing,

and Miss Moon must hear.

- No, Papa, no.

- Go on, play for him, Joey.

Please, no.

You shouldn't do this.

Here, Joe.

I haven't touched it for months.

Go on, Joe.

Please, Joey.

Come on, Anna.

Come on, everybody.

Come on, sit down.

This is big concert by

Joe Bonaparte, violin.

What shall I play?

Play...

Paganini Variations.

Oh, no, I couldn't do that.

Why, you play beautiful

eight months ago.

Eight months is a lifetime.

All right, play

Brahms' Cradle Song.

I'll try.

He play that when he

was 12 years old.

Try again, Joe.

What's the use?

But you haven't

played in so long.

Double notes is difficult.

He needs practise.

It was wonderful, Joe.

Joe, don't worry.

Play some...

I'm not worried, Papa.

Music and fighting just

don't mix, that's all.

We've got to go now.

Come on, Lorna.

We had a swell time,

Papa. Good night.

Joe, stay longer.

Good night, Papa.

Goodbye, Mr. Bonaparte.

Miss Moon...

you sweet, gentle girl.

You friend of my son.

He's got big trouble

in his heart.

He's musician.

He's no prizefight.

I ask you, look out for him.

Help him find what's right.

I'll try.

Joe, you're the luckiest

boy I've ever known.

What do you mean?

What a home,

what a family you have.

I've never seen such

happy people.

I've never been so

happy in all my life.

And your father,

he's wonderful.

The way he looked at you

when you picked up that violin.

Joe, I was wrong about you.

How?

I made a mistake, Joe.

Watching you become a fighter

taught me something.

I've seen you get

hard-shelled and tough.

You shouldn't be

in the ring, Joe.

You belong in your home,

with your violin.

Say, that's funny, coming from you.

I know.

Oh, Joe, do you remember

the night you spoke of music

and what it meant to you?

You knew what was right then,

how people should live.

Joe...

maybe you ought to

give up fighting.

Give up fighting?

You were the girl

that liked champions.

You were the girl that...

Stop it, Joe.

Don't try to get even with me.

Well, I've made up my mind

to win the middleweight crown.

But your heart's in music,

Joe. You know that.

I can't play anymore.

I've got the hands of a fighter.

No.

They've been soaked in brine for a year

and they're tough as nails.

No.

They're good for only one thing now:

Slugging.

Slugging my way to the title.

Oh, no, no, Joe.

You've got money now.

You can afford to practise

for months, years.

Your hands can

get right again.

Oh, you've got to try. You've got to.

No. Not now.

Then when?

After I'm champ.

First, I'm gonna

finish what I started.

I'm on my way. I can

get Fuseli to help me.

Joe...

do you know what

you're saying?

If you get mixed up with

Fuseli, it's the end of you.

Lorna, you're trembling. What is it?

Joe, listen.

I'll tell you the truth.

Moody asked me to keep

you away from Fuseli.

Now I'm here to beg you,

but not for Moody's sake.

It's for yours.

Fuseli's a gangster.

You'll find yourself

getting dirty inside.

Before you know it, he'll

put a gun in your hands.

Oh, don't do that to me.

Does it mean that much to you?

Say you won't tie up with

Fuseli. Promise me.

I don't need Fuseli.

I don't need anything

but you, Lorna.

You're real to me,

the way music was real.

Why don't you

belong to me?

Don't, Joe.

Don't.

Why not, Lorna? Why?

Tom loves me.

I love you.

Lorna, why can't you leave him?

What has he ever done for you?

Would you like to know?

He loved me in a world of enemies,

and I loved him for that.

He picked me up in Jackto's Hotel

on 39th Street.

I was nine weeks behind

in the rent.

I hadn't hit the gutter yet...

but I was near.

He washed my face

and combed my hair.

He stiffened the space

between my shoulder blades.

Misery reached out to misery.

And now you're dead.

If I am, I don't mind.

I'm tired.

All I want is peace

and quiet. Not love.

Once I was in love and

took a terrible beating.

I don't want it again.

I want you to stop it.

Don't devil me, Joe.

Let me alone.

Now I know you love me.

I'll tell Moody.

No, not yet.

When? Swiftly. Everything's easy

when you do it swiftly.

I'll tell him.

Tomorrow.

Gee. It's the beginning

of a wonderful new life.

A man and his girl.

A girl who shares

your home.

I'll share your home, Joe.

A home somewhere far away.

Lorna...

Lorna!

Honey, I've got terrific news.

At last we can get married.

I spoke to my beloved

wife last night.

She's begun to run around

with a retired brewer

and now she wants the divorce.

She's going to Reno.

Watch out, my hair.

Oh, that isn't all.

I signed a fight with Harrison today.

They meet six weeks from tonight.

That's nice.

A Harrison win clinches everything.

And then you and I,

Lorna, baby, we're set.

What do you

think of that?

You draw beautiful pictures.

Well, you're not

very gay about it.

What goes on?

You still wanna marry me?

Tell the truth. Love doesn't last.

What's got into you, Lorna?

I'm trying to tell you

how cynical I am.

Honest, you're so dumb.

Love lasts, if you want it to.

I want it to last.

I need it to last.

Why am I struggling to make a living,

if not for you and a home?

I don't kid myself.

Don't say that to me, Tom.

Why not? Why, in no time, we'll be

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