Mo' Better Blues Page #6

l'm supposed to be the leader|of this motherf***er, not Bleek.

But l'm not,|so l have to get my own thing.

You know...

l know you love Bleek, and that's|beautiful, black people in love.

l'd be the last person|to come between you and him.

But at some point,|you have to let this love sh*t go,

and you have to think about respect.

lf he doesn't respect you,|then you don't need him.

OK?

All l ask is that you think about|what l'm saying.

- Yeah, l'll think about it.|- No. Think about it.

- Promise?|- Yes.

Promise, promise?

l got to go. Er...

lt's getting a little crowded over here.

Oh, er, by the way,...|l like your dress.

lt's hot.

You got to let them know|who the boss is.

How you doing?|You should watch the company you keep.

- l could say the same for you.|- But you won't.

Erm...

- What are you thinking about?|- Right now?

l'm thinking about you.|She came in on her own accord.

lt's a free country.|Want me to ask her to leave?

- Yeah. Send her home.|- Come on, baby. l can't do that.

The point is this.|l asked you to come. You're here.

You're the one l'm leaving with.|That's what counts, OK?

OK?

l like her dress.

Enjoy the set.

Shadow, my man, my main man,|how you doing?

- What's up, Bleek?|- l'm good. Everything's...

Listen, last time l looked|at Olarke's naked body,

l didn't see my name on it anywhere.

l mean, l didn't see it on her...

l didn't see it anywhere.

So if you're trying to push up on her,|don't sweat yourself, everything's OK.

- Nobody owns anybody.|- You're absolutely right, Bleek.

You know, you really|should listen to Olarke sing,

or is it that you can only hear|your own music?

What are you doing?|lndigo, that tickles.

Get off! What did you call me?

- l called you your name.|- The hell you did.

l ain't deaf! You called me lndigo.

What? No, come on.|l didn't call you lndigo.

- l called you your name.|- Motherf***er, you called me lndigo.

l can't even believe|you would have the audacity

to call me by your other woman's name.

l ain't no fool.|l do know you have another woman.

- l ain't going for this sh*t.|- What is your name?

Get off, Bleek!

How in the hell|can you call me by her name?

l am in your bed, Bleek...|lndigo, not Olarke.

- l'm Olarke, not lndigo.|- l called you Olarke.

You can practise|for eight hours straight

and can't spend|the little bit of time it takes

to learn the difference|between me and your other woman.

Listen to me, Bleek.|l don't like it, l don't appreciate it,

and l don't want to be|disrespected by you!

l've had it!|And you say that you love me?

- l never said that.|- You did say that.

- l don't remember it.|- Do you remember saying you care?

Yeah, l remember that.

lf you say you care, then why in|the f*** are you still f***ing lndigo?

Don't give me that|''lt's a dick thing'' sh*t, either.

Don't give me that|''lt's a dick thing'' sh*t, either.

Look at me!

Look at me, Bleek!

What are you looking at?

Why can't you look at me?|That's where the real me is.

You always avoid direct eye contact,|you know that?

Are you afraid of something?|Are you afraid l might see the real you?

Answer me. Come on, answer me.

Think about that.

Are you thinking, Bleek?

Are you thinking?

You don't know what to say, do you?

There you go.|You can't face me, can you?

Whenever you get in a jam,|you grab your trumpet.

Let's cut the bullshit.|lf you can hang, fine. lf you can't...

Let's not pretend anymore.

Fine. Let's not pretend anymore!

l can't hang.

Bleek, l want to know|how many laps you're going to do today.

How many laps?

You look good.

Bleek.

You're not talking today, huh?

- You want to talk?|- You're quiet.

Usually, you're running your damn mouth.

Want to race?

Bleek!

Come on, Bleek! Hold up!

- Come on.|- Hold up!

Whoo!

You like that, huh?

- Want some water?|- Nah.

G, you're doing a half-assed job, man.

You OK'd the deal.|You said get you the Dog, and l did.

l got you the best terms possible|at the time.

- You do it down the line.|- This is down the line.

- l'm working on it.|- You're taking advantage of me.

We grew up together.

l'd rather chop off my left hand|than take advantage of you.

This is about more than friendship.

l'm breaking my friggin' neck for you.|Do l look rich?

- Somebody's been talking to you.|- Nobody's been talking to me.

All l'm saying is,|you got to do a betterjob.

How many ass-whippings|have you saved me from? A lot.

One of these days, l won't be around.|You'll have to take that ass-whipping.

- What do you want me to say?|- l don't want you to say anything.

- l just want you to do it.|- l'll do a betterjob.

All right, man.

- What about that loan?|- What?

- l need a loan.|- What about that loan?

What did we just talk about?|Now you're going to ask for a loan?

- Are you gambling again?|- l got it. lt's under control.

You got it? Good.

How much you owe?

Just a little bit.

- Nah?|- Nah.

- Nah.|- Nah.

l'm spacing.

Thls ls your Mr Senor Love Daddy

comlng to you from We-Love radlo,

108.5, last on your dlal|and flrst ln your hearts,

and that's the truth, Ruth.

Wlshlng l was outdoors wlth you.

l'm gonna brlng you|a blast from the past

from Mlss Fontella Bass, Rescue Me.

- Where you taking me?|- We're not going to kill you.

We don't believe in killing|our brothers and sisters,

but we got to do something,|it's only right.

You going to get our money?

- Huh?|- Yes.

Yes only means something|when you said...

Rod, wouldn't it be black of us to take|our brother to Brooklyn Hospital?

Afro-American.

Big Stop, what's taking you so long?|l'm hungry.

Butterbean, quit f***ing with me.|Get out of the kitchen.

Big Stop Oreole, y'all couldn't cook.

You two n*ggers would burn cornflakes.

Bleek, come get this n*gger.

So you fell off a bike, huh?|l don't believe your story.

l hit a pothole.

And l was born yesterday,|but l stayed up all night.

- Food's ready. Come on!|- l hit a pothole.

Mon cherl, you can get me|a glass of wine. That's not good.

Look at y'all. lt looks delicious.

Butterbean, don't do that.

- l'm freaky. l'll suck a wet doorknob.|- You'll suck a what?

You can get me a napkin.|lt's so messy.

Oul, mon cherl. Mal Ma cherle.

No.

l got to watch you,|cos you are loose.

You're just one of them yellow gals.

Watch it, Butterbean.|l could slap you right in your mouth.

But you ain't,|cos l'll kick your ass.

Sweatln'my gang|Whlle l'm chlllln'ln my shack

And searchln'my car for what...

Bottom?

Hey, man, you already owe me|$300, home slice.

- Branford?|- Hell, no!

Left Hand, l need this solid, man.

- l wouldn't ask if l didn't need it.|

Jeanne. Jeanne.

Look, sllence.

You got five? Give me five.

Jeanne.

- l need to get it back.|- You'll get it back.

l don't appreciate|you calling me white b*tch.

Here we are. This is our music, right?|Jazz is our music. lt's black music.

We will go and watch some crossover|stuff that's created by other people,

but we don't come to see our own, man.

But the jazz...

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