My Old Lady Page #6

about is, you know...

It's got a kind of historical,

hysterical sadness to it.

But this bottle is now.

This is... this is now.

This is an incontrovertible fact,

my dear, darling...

Mademoiselle Girard.

Bottle's a dead soldier.

I remember when I was 10.

I saw my mother out on our

balcony through our doors.

She was leaning over the balcony.

She was looking down on Park Avenue.

She was crying.

There's no question about what

she was thinking about doing.

She was leaning way, way over.

And I knew I had about five

seconds to do something,

so I... so I ran...

as fast as I could, right...

And I... And I put my arm right through

the glass on the door, and I...

I cut it wide open. See?

My mother snapped immediately

into serious mother mode.

She wrapped my arm up in a towel...

and took me off to the hospital.

I bled for her.

She bled for me.

Nine years later, I came home

one Saturday from college.

I... I used the key to let myself in.

I threw my duffel bag on the bed.

I called, "Hey, Ma! I'm home."

She called back, "I'm in my room"...

in this strange, throaty voice.

I go in, and she has this gun.

Not a hearty hunting rifle like

your dad's. No, hers was a...

snub-nosed,

chrome kind of pistoly thing...

that my father...

gave her to keep by her bed...

just in case an intruder were

to wander in while he was away.

My father.

She puts it in her mouth

and she kills herself.

No words. No complications. Just...

boom!

Terrible mess all over.

I sat on the floor.

I held her.

She died.

My mother said she died from an illness.

A bullet in the throat can

make a person extremely ill.

I'm so sorry.

She was wrong to do that to you.

You're right.

It wasn't very nice.

I...

I'm so upset.

No.

Chlo?

I got it!

- Monsieur Gold?

- Yeah.

I'm Franois Roy's assistant.

Yeah, give me that.

Am I disturbing you?

Are you disturbing me?

That's a bit of politesse

that boggles the brain.

Do you mind if I close these curtains?

Headache.

Oh. If you wish.

Has Chlo left for school?

That's my guess. I don't know for sure.

I can't, you know...

Who can say?

You know how it is with kids today.

You and my daughter were

awake together last night.

Very precise.

Usually a mother wants to know,

"Did you sleep with my daughter?"

Which actually describes

a perfectly innocent act.

But "Were you awake with my daughter?"

That's a 64-euro mother of a question.

I was awake most of the night

thinking about your mother.

Really? And?

I was thinking that she didn't

know about me is naive.

She must have known. I mean, nothing

passes unnoticed in a marriage, I think.

No, I think she knew,

and I think somehow she approved.

Approved?

You really believe that?

She did nothing to stop it.

She was stuck in a marriage

with a kid. She was trapped.

I stayed in my marriage by choice.

I was pregnant at the

same time as your mother.

Hold on. Is it... Is it possible that...

Max got two birds with one stone?

If you know what I mean.

No, I don't know what you mean.

Did Chlo have her own father?

Of course. Of course

Chlo had her own father.

You had your father.

Chlo had her father.

I think you're an old

French fibber, Mrs. G.

What went on between your father

and me concerned nobody but us.

We were discreet. We were cautious.

We were considerate.

I don't wish to cloud your

delusions in any way, Mrs. G,

but what went on between

you and my father...

concerned me and your daughter

quite significantly.

You were hardly discreet,

not at all cautious.

And considerate? Well...

In view of the 10 to 15 suicide

failures of my mother...

and the ultimate suicide success,

I just don't see

- how the word "considerate" fits in, exactly.

- Your mother killed herself?

Y...

- You didn't know? He didn't tell you?

- No.

No, I did not know.

I knew she was ill.

I... That's why he never came back.

That's so considerate.

Madame G?

- Doctor gone?

- Gone.

Is she dead or alive? She must be alive.

I didn't hear any hideous screams.

What are you staring at?

Do I have spinach between my teeth?

I can't have spinach between my teeth.

It's Chteauneuf-du-Pape

between my teeth.

Do you want my mother to outlive you?

Oh, a reference to my drinking.

Yes. I've been drinking with my...

little friend here. He's not...

not very good company.

He drinks not at all

and he says even less.

A boar... is a bore.

Speaking of wordplay, I've...

been doing a little ink sport myself.

It's... it's for you. It's a gift.

It's a... It's a small...

memoir.

Mostly my anec-dotage.

But I think you'll be amused

and engaged from cover to cover.

Should I...

Please don't... don't read it

while I'm in the room.

It'll be embarrassing, for both of us.

Do you mind if I ask you

something personal?

Of course.

What's...

what's happening with your friend?

My friend?

He has a wife and two children

and a granddaughter

from his first marriage.

I thought that just having

him in my life was...

was worth it, but I was wrong.

I was wrong.

He's gone now. I asked him to go.

What you said to me...

hurt me,

because it was true.

I was doing to those children...

exactly what our parents did to us.

It's a pity we didn't meet

before we were born.

What your mother did to you...

was unthinkably cruel,

unforgivable.

No. No, you really... No. We can't.

If you kiss me, I'll just drag you down.

I do that to people.

Once they kiss me,

their lives change for the worse.

You're so beautiful.

I'm not beautiful. I'm nearly old.

No. You're beautiful.

- You've been warned.

- I know.

My name is Mathias Gold.

When I used to have friends,

they called me Jim,

and I would answer.

I grew up on Park Avenue

in New York City.

My parents were wealthy.

I was born with a silver

knife in my back.

Anytime anyone follows their heart,

someone else gets their heart broken.

There's always detritus,

always hurt, always pain.

Love is a limited substance.

When you give love to someone new,

you have to take it away from someone old.

My father took every ounce of love

he had and dumped it in Paris.

People like us think we've been

cursed by God, but, in fact,

we've been cursed by our parents.

You look in the mirror,

and you see an adult.

But you have to look more carefully.

There's a big piece of you

that never grew up.

It may have grown tall, but not up.

You spend your life waiting

for your parents to come back

and make it all right.

But they don't come back.

It's not all right.

You have to somehow move past them.

You have to somehow convince yourself

that you don't need those people.

Because you don't.

Couldn't you sleep?

- No.

- Nor could I.

I called to you in the night.

- Why?

- I wanted to talk to you.

- Why?

- Oh, I've lived too long, Chlo.

I've only the dead to talk to.

Everyone I've ever loved is gone.

- How can you s-say that?

- Oh, you know I didn't mean you.

I know that I...

spent my entire childhood

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