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Le Week-End Page #5
Mmm.
I know it's awful.
I can't wait to be with him
every minute of the day.
He knows everything.
Suppose he's bored by you?
Really? You think?
I don't believe in that.
"The one."
There are many ones.
That's the problem.
You have to be ruthless.
My husband claimed
I was unfaithful.
And what did you say?
I thought,
"What a waste.
whore and to be so innocent."
I'm sorry.
When's the baby due?
Oh, it's for April.
Sorry.
Who are you?
Nick. I'm Nick.
Do you like that music?
Uh... I like all music.
I give it a go.
Good for you.
Do you want a drink?
Aren't you, um, enjoying the party?
I'm not sure enjoyment's
really my thing.
I don't quite fit in.
Even on my own, I don't fit in,
- You live here?
- Oh, I'm just here for the weekend.
I live in New York.
- Crikey.
- Yeah, Morgan's my dad.
Oh, right.
How's that? Not too bad?
Does he talk in a loud
voice all the time?
Even his emails are loud.
Hi.
- Hi.
- Can I join you?
Please do.
- It's high up, yes?
- Yeah.
It is.
Do you know Paris well?
No. No, not well.
So we have, over there, the Louvre,
la Gare d'Orsay and the Tour
Montparnasse over there.
- Mmm-hmm.
- Les Invalides.
- L'Assemble nationale.
- Oh, yes.
L'Obelisk.
- You see l'Obelisk?
- It's pretty.
I mean, a weekend in Paris.
What a drag!
The more out of it
I am, the better.
You've obviously never
been to Birmingham.
I'd make the most of this
city, if I were you.
- That's what my dad says.
- He does?
He and I don't really
share that many interests.
That's not unusual.
I mean, he likes the
idea of me being around.
He sends me air tickets,
but he really freaks out if we're
ever stuck in the same room together.
He feels bad, guilty, I suppose.
What about your mum?
She's okay.
She tried to, you
know, kill herself.
Oh, f***!
Yeah, she, like,
threw herself out of a window.
Oh, my God!
Yeah, but she's okay.
She's over that now.
What are you thinking?
Sorry?
What are you thinking
at this moment?
The, um, situation
of a woman like me.
Boredom, dissatisfaction...
Fury.
What a great thing.
What?
To be so attuned to
your own unhappiness.
Look...
You see La... La Rue de Rivoli?
Around the corner,
there is a little bar
where we could have a
drink, if you like.
When?
Now, if you like.
What do you do?
- I'm a teacher.
- A teacher?
Yes, really.
Jesus!
Is that a f***ing
monkey I see before me?
Do you know what my
problem has been?
I am one of those
unfortunate people
who is congenitally
faithful to his wife.
Unlike the rest of the population, I
don't want to go to bed with strangers.
I only like her.
For me, there's never been sex
without an attempt at love.
Uh-huh?
Love is the only interesting thing.
It's far, far more
difficult to do than sex.
What is wrong with me?
What's he telling you?
Um, to be honest, it's
difficult to make sense of it.
They want us to eat.
Having a good time?
A man asked me to have
a drink with him.
Did he?
What did you say?
I said yes.
When?
Later tonight.
Don't do that.
Please don't do that.
I want to go.
Um... Here, you should take these.
You might need them.
We are all here to celebrate
the brilliance of this.
Ah!
Bravo!
Bravo! Bravo!
No...
working, while running our lives,
attending to me,
buying art and learning Russian.
Yeah, that's true.
Yeah, he has the energy
of 100 teenagers.
Yes.
But wait. He's dark. He's moody.
Moody?
Yes.
He talks all the time,
all through breakfast.
In fact, he talks even
when he's on the toilet.
I'm stunned. That's dessert talk.
Yeah, he has more exes,
I think, than Pre-Lachaise.
But I... I agreed to take him on.
Mmm, pourquoi? Pourquoi?
Idiocy.
Idiocy? Idiocy?
No, love.
Yes, love.
To you, my love.
To Morgan.
Cheers. Sant.
- Sant. Cheers.
Thank you, sweet. Let me say it quick.
Let me get this over with.
Thank you. What have I done to deserve
such love, and from my wife of all people?
Oh, my golly!
Well, just very quickly,
thank you all for coming.
Those books, by the way, they're
gonna be in a box in the hall.
So on your way out, take five
or ten, as many as you want.
Some are even unsigned. I think
that makes them more valuable.
But may I take this opportunity not to say
anything more about that lousy little book,
which already is, frankly,
wildly out of date,
but about this fella right here?
Nick Burrows, who I found yesterday,
as you do so often with old friends,
kissing a woman
passionately in the street.
that woman was his wife.
But, no, you know.
I'm thinking back right now, uh, on a
time when you and I were skulking around
and loitering in
gloomy Cambridge pubs,
presuming to figure out
how to fix the world.
I made him take me
on as his disciple
and stalked him at meetings
and followed him around
to these little bring-your-own-bottle
parties in bedsits
with names like Eros
and The Whim.
into reading real things.
You made me concentrate for more
than five minutes at a time.
And he made me say true things
for the first time in my short and
well-upholstered Yankee life.
My gosh.
keeping the torch burning,
as you have done so
magnificently over these years.
Ladies and gents, may
we raise a glass
to my friend Nick Burrows.
Thank you, Nick.
To Nick Burrows.
Sant.
Thank you, my friend.
F***.
Sh*t... Um...
F***ing hell.
Thank you for that, Morgan.
I'm grateful for what you said.
Um...
I'm surprised, too, and taken
aback, quite far back.
But I was reminded of something.
Of myself.
Of the self
I hide in myself.
I'm still an anarchist
of the left, I suppose.
I'm still a fool for the truth.
Always my weak point.
So I suppose I should,
on that basis, point out
that the university where I teach
is not a proper university,
but it's an ex-polytechnic, which is now
a factory on the outskirts of Birmingham,
set up to produce only idiocy.
I have just been sacked
for apparently speaking inappropriately
My older son is a pot-head with rats
in the house that we bought for him
with the last of our savings.
His chosen profession is to watch
television in the afternoons.
I'm broke.
Every bone and muscle in
my body screams with agony
when I attempt to tie my shoelaces.
I'm near shitting myself with fear
and anxiety every moment of the day.
Plus the fact my wife is well aware
that I only cling to her like a
drowning man to a shelf of melting ice
because no one else would touch me.
She's planning, in fact, to give
me the slip later this evening
in order to be with another man.
Well, good for her.
And good for him, too.
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"Le Week-End" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 1 Sep. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/le_week-end_12350>.
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