Interview Page #6

I am sick of your little games.

It's not a game. I...

I'm sorry. I lied. Okay?

I don't have anything to tell you.

No. You're lying now.

Katya. Don't...!

Don't what?

Don't what?

Act like I'm crazy?

I'm not crazy, Pierre.

I just wanna kill you.

I wanna rip your insides out.

You filthy, sleazy, disgusting,

lying son of a b*tch.

Stop it.

Get your hands off me.

Let it go.

Okay. Go.

Marica, the whore...

She did lose the baby, but...

They never cut her open and ripped

out the fetus and put it in a pot.

I just said that to make

the story more interesting.

I do that a lot lately.

Past few years.

Especially in my reporting.

I have a lot of non-existent sources.

And that's why I was not in Washington

when the scandal broke.

Because Larry, my editor at the magazine,

doesn't trust me anymore.

'Pierre.'

'I think you should start

doing people profiles.'

And that's why I get stuck doing

these God-awful fluff pieces.

Sorry.

Oh, is that it?

Is that your secret?

Just getting warmed up.

My real secret.

My real shame.

Is after Lisa died.

It's my daughter.

It's like I said.

I was never really there for her.

But neither was my wife, Brenda.

Even though she got sole custody.

We were divorced

when Lisa was three.

Anyway.

After Lisa's death...

Brenda and I...

In our grief or whatever,

we sort of got back together.

And things were

starting to look up.

Till she started drinking again.

And I started to resent her,

and blame her for Lisa's death.

And we would have

these horrible fights.

I mean really ugly.

And physical.

Well, one day I got this....

Desperate call from Brenda

when I was at work.

'Please, Pierre, come over.

I'm scared. I'm really scared.'

I could tell she was out of it.

But I took my sweet time

getting over there.

In fact, it was hours later.

And when I got there, she was...

Passed out on the floor.

I mean she'd obviously been drinking.

But I also saw a bottle of her pills...

An empty bottle

of pills on the couch.

I didn't touch anything.

And I didn't even get close enough

to her to see if she was breathing.

You murdered your wife?

Well.

I went home and I drank

myself to sleep.

In fact I was still drunk

the next day.

When the police informed me that I was

the last person that she had called.

So. Yeah, I guess you can say

I murdered my wife.

I'm very tired, Pierre.

Yeah. Me too.

Katya.

What the hell

happened here tonight?

I don't know.

Things did get

a little crazy, huh?

A little?

I'll get your things.

I have one more confession.

If I don't get some sleep, Pierre,

I'm gonna kill myself.

Just finish your drink.

I'll get your things. Okay?

Hey, did you find my...?

Camcorder and your palm?

You wanna check?

No. I trust you.

Pierre, do you mind

taking the stairs?

I just get scared in the elevator

on my own at this time of night.

You have been very

gracious this evening.

But I have one more

question, if you will.

What do we have in common?

We don't believe in relationships.

I knew it.

You're right.

There is no equality.

No. There is always a winner.

And a loser.

Exactly.

One more thing.

Hey, Larry. It's me.

No. I just... I wanted to give

you a heads up on the Katya-piece.

'First, you don't wanna go....'

Wait a minute.

No. Listen to me.

She's got cancer.

Yes, of course, she told me.

She told me everything.

We should get this in soon,

before she tells anybody else.

'We're not going with that.'

Why not?

Maybe it's some kind of weird

coincidence. I don't know.

Look.

I know what she told me.

Plus I have a copy of her diary.

- How did you get that?

Never mind how I got it.

I just do.

Yeah. We'll see about that.

I gotta go, Larry. Bye.

Changed your mind?

About what?

Hey!

I'm up here.

Hi, Pierre.

What's up?

I forgot to tell you something.

I hope you'll forgive me.

Shoot.

My boyfriend's name is Ray.

Ray?

Yeah.

Ray.

I just wanted to be

clear about that.

So who's Evan?

Amy's boyfriend.

And Amy would be...?

City Girls?

Your favorite show.

Remember?

So your diary is just

a script from your show?

No, I wrote that. Thank you.

As Amy, of course.

It was one of

my acting exercises.

And you know,

she's the one who is sick.

With cancer.

Pierre?

No. No. Wait!

Pierre. Pierre.

You have my tape.

Well, I guess it's my tape now.

You took my rehearsal tape.

I have your confession

right here.

Should I send it to your editor?

Or the police?

Should we run at it again?

Sh*t. I'm late.

For what?

Another interview.

With who?

I have no idea.

And that's why I get stuck

doing these God-awful fluff pieces.

I'm sorry.

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