Infamous Page #6

And I thought:

"Thank heavens he is such a bad liar...

...or I would have been most unjust

to Mary Lee."

It doesn't seem possible that a man

who owns a television network...

...can be such a bad liar.

It seems so essential to his success.

What am I gonna do?

You are going to call me

whenever you need me...

...even if it's 3 in the morning

and war has broken out...

...between Brooklyn and Manhattan.

I'll come over the bridge, bullets flying...

...to let you know you have

a lifelong friend in me.

T-bone, you are so dear.

I can't picture Bill Paley washing sheets!

He must have been frantic.

- Poor Babe.

- I know, I know. Bless her.

Check.

Will you come while I find a newsstand?

I'm trying to bribe Perry into liking me

so I'm sending Dick and him dirty magazines.

Sure.

Oh, I wish I'd find a man like you.

Sex and the money, I wouldn't care.

We could always have fun like this.

- Oh, thank you, Big Mama. I love you.

- I love you too.

- Do you?

- Well, how can you even ask?

- You never confide in me.

- No, I don't darling. You're right.

Why don't you?

- It's very simple. I can't trust you.

- What? I'm speechless.

Paralyzed and speechless.

Good afternoon.

I need two copies of Playboy,

Party Doll, Stag Night...

... Baby Doll, Hotsy Totsy, French Flip,

Pink Lace, Busty and Juggle.

Jiggle.

Why on earth can you not trust me?

Well, you know why.

Because someday you'll use it.

That will never be true.

I may not be a monk,

but I certainly have a moral code.

Good heavens!

Look at this! This is revolting.

Women look much better in clothes,

much, much, better.

Goodness gracious,

look at this messy thing.

I'm glad to see you've recovered.

How are things coming?

I found a superb structure,

going back and forth...

...between the Clutters

and Dick and Perry drawing near.

But if I don't find some emotional depth

it's just another police drama.

Who needs it?

Well, face it, without Perry, you're dead.

- I'd cut your losses.

- Nelle!

Here's your mail.

Something from The New Yorker.

Something that looks like invitations,

and something...

Do you know anyone

at the Kansas State Penitentiary?

He must be writing to thank me

for that revolting pornography.

Well, you won't believe this.

What?

Dear Mr. Capote...

...it was extremely solicitous of you

to send me those periodicals.

He reads the dictionary.

But I regret to inform you

that the reading material was repellent.

My future will soon be determined.

But there are only two outcomes:

Life in prison or death.

So, whether I have a short time remaining

or a long time to come...

...I owe it to my mind to fill it

with things of beauty and intelligence.

And how about that handwriting?

Well, if he wants beauty and intelligence...

...you're his man.

I waited so we could open it together.

Dear Mr. Capote:

Thank you for the reading material.

It was much more intellectual

than the p*ssy pictures you sent before.

However...

However?

Though the stories are told well...

...l, ultimately, did not like them, because

I thought the writing lacked kindness.

I have never!

Maybe you should go back

to sending him porn.

Imagine being told your work

lacked kindness by a four-time killer!

My writing is dispassionate

and unsentimental...

...but I wouldn't say it's unkind.

I've never thought about it

in those terms exactly.

- What a thing to say.

- Yes.

I came all this way back,

three days on the train...

...because there's something

I want you to know.

I have given my whole life

to one effort...

...the creation of a great work of art.

Please don't laugh at me.

My whole life...

...all I've wanted was

to create a work of art.

I sang, nobody listened.

I painted, nobody looked.

Now, Dick and me,

we murder four people.

And what's gonna come out of it?

A work of art.

I'm laughing at me.

You want me to open up,

but I don't think you can understand me.

- Why not?

- It was your books.

I thought you looked down on the people

you were writing about...

...like you were sneering at them.

I would never sneer at my characters.

If I'm gonna put my heart in front of you...

...I need to know I'm doing it with someone

who will listen to it...

...and not make a joke out of it

like you did with Holly Go-f***ing-lightly.

You can't write my story...

...because your idea of suffering

is so far from mine.

It's not. I promise.

Goodbye.

Okay.

The reason this is hard

for me to say is that...

...l've never said it out loud before.

He told everyone she was sick, but...

...my mother committed suicide.

- Is this a trick?

- No!

- Are you bullshitting me?

- No!

Have you been talking to Dick?

No.

What happened?

Why'd she do it?

All my mother ever wanted...

...was to be a Park Avenue lady...

...which isn't easy when you're in Alabama

with no money.

So she married my father to get out.

But before they could go, I came.

So she deserted me...

...leaving me with my aunts.

And when my father failed to deliver

her to Park Avenue...

...she deserted him too.

Because she was beautiful...

...so beautiful.

She married again,

this time to Joe Capote.

He had a job in New York...

...and worked all hours

until her dream came true.

We moved to 1060 Park Avenue.

Mother was thrilled.

It seemed to extinguish

some sort of anxiety in her.

But the way Joe got us there

couldn't keep us there.

He'd embezzled the money...

...a hundred thousand dollars.

He was fired and tainted.

He told Mother we'd have to move.

But not to a smaller place

on Park Avenue...

...but to a cold-water flat

in the Bronx.

She couldn't take it.

She frantically tried to save money

in any way so they could stay...

...eating less, not buying lipstick.

She'd stopped drinking when they moved

to 1060, but now she stopped stopping.

And when that failed

to restore a sense of calm...

...she swallowed

a bottle of sleeping pills.

I'm sorry about before.

I thought you were trying to trick me.

Trick you?

My mother killed herself too.

How?

The slow way. Drank herself to death.

Drinking.

Suicide for the faint of heart.

My brother couldn't wait.

He killed himself too.

My God.

- So you're all alone?

- No.

I have a sister.

You want to know what I think about her?

I think she's one evil bastard.

You want to see the ball-busting letter

she sent me?

Pay attention.

This could be good for our book.

I don't feel like talking.

I thought we were off to a good start.

After you left, that a**hole next door said:

"Hey, Smith, how come your mother

and brother never visit?" He'd heard.

F*** him, who cares?

You see, when I'm talking to you,

I forget other people are gonna read it.

And then I think abut how you

stabbed Brando in the back.

Perry, what I'm gonna write about you

will help people think more of you.

You're not thinking clearly.

How can you?

You're under the most

unimaginable pressure.

Aw, doesn't wittle Perry wike it here?

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