Reds Page #8

I think I might wanna call her "Jack."

No. No. Bad.

See, now this is why

I can't find anything.

You put things anywhere.

Dog! Dog!

She's still not housebroken.

You got to grab her

when she squats like that,

and then take her outside. That's right.

And then when she goes,

you've got to give her a reward.

All right. Now, stay, Dog.

Are we having garlic for dinner, honey?

No, no, no.

Why? Why, do you think

I'm using too much garlic?

I thought I'd put a little in the sauce.

Garlic doesn't bother me.

- That's from Gene.

- Sorry. I didn't mean to read it.

I didn't realize what it was.

He gave it to me in October.

I haven't seen him since.

- You don't have to explain.

- I'm not explaining.

- I'm just telling you it's over.

- Louise, look.

I don't expect you to tell me

everything you do.

What about if you tell me something,

just tell me the truth?

- Jack, I haven't seen him.

- Don't do that, Louise.

Don't tell me that Gene gave you

a love poem six or seven months ago,

but you put it in a book

and you haven't seen him since.

I don't care

whether you've seen him or not.

- I just care about dishonesty.

- Oh, I see.

You don't care

that I had an affair with another man,

you just care about dishonesty?

Look who's being dishonest.

You care. You care so much,

you won't even talk about it.

- You won't even mention...

- Wanna talk? I'll talk about it.

You want to be honest about it?

If I didn't wanna be honest about it,

do you think I'd be silly enough

to leave a poem he gave me

lying around in the house

in a book of Walt Whitman?

Why not Whitman?

I'm sure Gene would feel right at home

in that company.

Oh, no. You don't care.

Why the hell should I care that

you slept with somebody else?

Do you think I haven't?

I don't think we have to report

to each other

every time we go to bed with somebody.

It doesn't mean anything.

It doesn't mean that I love you any less.

Do you love me any less

'cause you went to bed with Gene?

What difference does it make?

I just don't think we should lie about it.

That's all.

- Who?

- What do you mean, "Who?"

- Who was it?

- Who was what?

Who was it?

What do you want, a list?

It doesn't mean anything.

Louise.

Louise.

- What are you doing?

- I'm not sure.

- I wanna know where you're going.

- I don't want to talk about it.

- Well, I wanna talk about it.

- You said it all, Jack.

What? What did I say now

that we both haven't said 100 times?

Please forward my mail

to John K. Wheeler,

Wheeler Bell Syndicate.

I'll have someone pick up

the rest of my things in the morning.

Didn't we say that people had to give

each other freedom

- if they were gonna live together?

- We said a lot of things.

I thought

we weren't going to be possessive.

- I thought you loved me!

- Who says I don't?

You love yourself! Me, you f***!

When you're not f***ing other people,

that is!

Freedom? You mean I should just be

like you and not give a damn, is that...

Is that what f***ing Gene means?

You don't give a damn about us?

I'm not packing my bag.

I wanna know where you're going.

- Get out of my...

- Where you going?

- Get out of my...

- You're not going...

Get away! Get out of my way.

- How many were there?

- Come on, Louise.

You don't know the first thing about

what living together means.

Go ahead. I know where you're going.

I thought you needed someone

to share your life with. But I was wrong.

As long as you get your two shots of

limelight every day.

You don't need a thing.

You go to hell! Both of you!

It could possibly have been

a matter of prestige, you know,

to say that you had an affair

with Louise Bryant.

I haven't been spared

the legends about men that are

supposed to have had affairs with me,

because I was known by name.

Affairs which never occurred at all.

It's very difficult to tell, you know.

Do you know there is nothing

more bewildering

than when you get a letter

from a loony who says,

"That marvelous week

we spent in Venice."

- Yeah.

- And it happens about every two years.

- Yes.

- It's most extraordinary.

One day, I was out walking

with my aunt in Portland.

And she was quite something.

She was six feet tall.

And I said to her,

"What is all this ado about Louise?

"What do you think of her, Aunt Belle?"

She said,

"Well, she had something

that just appeals."

That's my story.

- How you feeling?

- Oh, better.

- Here you are.

- Oh. Thanks, Harry.

Thanks.

Well, we got it out just in time.

But since God only knows what

condition the one you've got left is in,

you better treat it well.

That means, tell that goddamn Eastman

you got to be in bed by midnight.

If you get an infection now, that's it!

Absolutely no salt!

"Dear Jack,

I'm relieved you're feeling so well again.

"I talked to a specialist here in Paris.

"And he said you can lead

a perfectly normal life.

"I hope you're not neglecting

your writing.

"Please don't spend your energy

"getting caught up in things

you can't afford."

"Dear Jack, I'm enclosing a piece

I've written

"on a volunteer ambulance driver

"from the New York City

Police Department.

"Also, please don't keep asking me

if you can come over here.

"It just makes me think you have no..."

"Dear Jack, yes,

Wheeler's very happy with my work.

"Life here is so hectic and exhilarating

that I don't have a minute..."

"Dear Jack, don't worry, I'm well.

"My only problem is keeping up with

Wheeler's demands for more stories."

"...serial newsletter under the heading,

'Letters from France.'

"Please don't mention this to anyone.

"I promised Wheeler I wouldn't

say anything to you."

"Dear Jack, I feel I've really grown

through my work for Wheeler,

"and there's no reason to worry about

my being here alone."

Bolsheviks, Sandy. The Bolsheviks!

Jesus Christ,

if the Bolsheviks get in, Sandy,

you can just bend right over

and kiss your ass goodbye.

Because they'll pull Russia

right out of the war.

Right off the Eastern Front.

They quit, that's all.

Pete, the Bolsheviks are small potatoes.

Russia isn't gonna get out of the war.

You want to walk down

the Champs-Elyses someday

and see 500,000 Krauts

come barreling out of Fouquet's?

You better hope that the Bolsheviks

are small potatoes.

Now, let's have another drink. Waiter!

Waiter, another round here.

Hey! Oh, God. It's Red Emma, Jr!

Hey, come over here!

Speak up, Pete, speak up.

They can't hear you in the next room.

- How are you, Jack?

- Good to see you.

God. You look 20 pounds lighter

since you lost that kidney.

- Oh, yeah?

- I bet you only piss about half as much.

Yeah, but twice as often. Sarsaparilla.

Jack, can the Bolsheviks

overthrow Kerensky?

Okay. Why don't you ask

an impartial observer?

Goddamn it, Jack. What the hell

you got against this war anyway?

Sh*t, why don't you bury the hatchet

with Wilson?

Get back into print so we can all read

some decent writing, you know.

- I'll drink to that.

- You'll drink to anything.

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