The Boys in the Band Page #3

Emory, where's your gift?

Oh. It's arriving later.

Larry. Larry.

What?

Give Michael the gift.

Oh, here.

Uh, louder,

so my mother

in Philadelphia

can hear you.

Well, you were just standing

there in a trance, weren't you?

Um, I think

you both know Donald.

Nice to see you.

It's nice to meet you.

Hi.

Hi.

I thought

you'd met.

Well, we haven't

exactly met, but we've--

Hi.

Hi.

But you've what?

Oh, we've seen

each other before.

Well, that sounds murky.

Where?

I think they're having

their first fight.

Yeah. The first one

since the last one. Oh.

Where did you find

this trash?

Second Avenue. Leaning

against a lamppost.

With an orchid

behind my ear,

and big red lips

painted over the lip line.

Just like Maria Montez.

Oh, please.

What have you got against Maria?

She was a good woman.

Now, look,

uh, everybody.

Uh, this old college friend

of mine is in town,

and he's on his way

over here,

for a quick drink on his way

to dinner or someplace.

But, now, look,

he's straight.

Straight?

If he's the one I met,

he's about as straight as

the Yellow Brick Road.

No. You met

Justin Stuart.

I don't remember meeting

anybody named Justin Stuart.

Well, of course you don't,

dope. I met him.

Uh, well, this is

somebody else.

Yeah. Alan McCarthy.

A very close total stranger.

Now, it's not that

I care what

he would think

of me. Really.

It's just that he's not ready

for it, and he never will be.

You understand that,

don't you, Hank?

Yeah, sure.

Now, you honestly believe

he doesn't know about you?

Well, if there's

the slightest suspicion,

he's never

let on one bit.

What's he had? A lobotomy?

Well, I was super-careful

when I was in college.

And I still am.

Whenever I see him.

I don't know why, but I am.

Tilt.

When I was in college, I was just like Alan:

very large in

the dating department.

I wore nothing but those

constipated Ivy League clothes,

and those ten-pound

cordovan shoe--

No offense.

Quite all right.

Quite all right.

Who do you have to f***

to get a drink around here?

Ah. Will you light

somewhere?

I know damn well

I did not come out

until after I graduated.

What about all those weekends

up from school?

Well, I still

wasn't out.

I was still in the "Christ-was-

I-drunk-last-night" syndrome.

Mm. "Man, was I drunk

last night."

"Christ, I don't

remember a thing."

You were just guilty

because

you were Catholic,

that's all.

Now, that's not true.

The "Christ-was-I-drunk-

last-night" syndrome

knows no religion.

It has to do with immaturity.

Although I will admit,

there's a high percentage

of it among Mormons.

Trollop.

Ah, somehow we all managed

to justify our actions

in those days.

Why, later, I found out

that Justin Stuart,

my closet friend--

Oh, other than Alan McCarthy.

--was doing the same thing.

Only he was going up

to Boston for weekends.

You see, in the "Christ-was-I-

drunk-last-night" syndrome,

you really are drunk.

That much of it's true.

It's just that you do

remember everything.

A lot of guys have to get loaded

before they can have sex.

Oh, uh, so I've been told.

Uh, Donald, if you recall, the first time we made it,

I was so drunk,

I could hardly stand up.

You were so drunk,

you could hardly get it up.

Christ, I was so drunk,

I don't remember a thing.

Oh, bullshit. You remember.

Just friends

Lovers no more

You might as well be.

Everyone thinks you are anyway.

Yeah, well,

we never were, really.

No, we didn't

have time to be.

We got to know

each other too fast.

Oh, Jesus, that must be Alan.

Oh, um, now, look, everybody.

Please do me a favor

and cool it for

the few minutes he's here. Okay?

Anything for a sis, Mary.

Now, that's exactly what

I'm talking about, Emory.

No camping.

Sorry.

Think the Giants are gonna win

the pennant this year?

Yeah, f***in' A,

mac.

Hey, Bernard.

Hey, baby. What's shaking?

My knees.

Oh, it's only another queen.

And it ain't

the red one, either.

It's the queen

of spades.

Hi, Bernadette.

Anyone ever tell you

you'd look divine

in a hammock

surrounded by

louvers

and ceiling fans

and lots and lots

of lush

tropical ferns?

You're such a fag.

You take the cake.

Oh, what about the cake?

Whose job was that?

Mine. I ordered one

to be delivered. What?

How many candles did you say

to put on it? Eighty?

I can't hear, there's noise.

I'm going to the other phone.

Michael? May I use the private line?

Go ahead.

Could I have the number for the Marseilles Bakery in Manhattan?

Everybody ready for a drink?

I guess so.

Ready? I'll be your

topless cocktail waitress.

Please. Spare us the sight

of your sagging tits.

What are you having, kids?

Do you have any beer?

No, in the fridge.

I'll get it.

Who has beer before dinner?

Beer drinkers.

That's telling him.

Well, maybe truck drivers do,

or wall paperers,

but not schoolteachers.

They have sherry.

Yeah? Well, this one

has beer.

Maybe schoolteachers

in public schools.

How can a sensitive

artist like you

live with such an insensitive

bull like that?

I can't.

Emory, you'd live with Hank

in a minute if he'd ask you.

In 58 seconds.

Lord knows

you're sensitive.

Why don't you have a piece

of watermelon and hush up?

Oh, sh*t, they don't answer.

Well, what are

you having, Emory?

A pink lady.

I'll make my own,

thank you.

Well, let's just hope.

Order, please.

Um...vodka and tonic.

Vod and ton, coming up.

What the hell

is that? Windex?

It's a blue whale.

Oh, Mary, don't ask.

Don't be silly, Alan. There's

nothing to apologize for.

Well, it's just that

I feel like such a fool. I--

I could shoot myself,

letting myself act that way.

Look, it's just as well

that you're not coming.

There are people here, and, uh,

it wouldn't be good to talk.

Look, what about

lunch tomorrow?

Fine. Why don't you, uh--

Why don't you meet me

at the--

The Oak Room, about 1:00?

And listen, Michael...

can you just

forget about tonight?

Pretend it never happened?

I know I have, okay?

Listen, huh

Hey, Bernard?

You've got to see

And don't see

That's exactly what we need,

is some music around here.

You've got to hear

And don't hear

Yeah, baby. Let's

hear that sound.

The drum beat. And their

eyes sparkle like Cartiers.

Here.

Oh.

Don't get those

mixed up with mine.

He's not coming.

He'll never know

what he missed.

You know, one of

these days,

you're gonna get

my ass fired.

Hey, thanks, Bernard.

I just read a review of this

in last Sunday's Times.

Just be careful of

the finger smudges.

And no cigarette ashes

on the pages. Sorry.

I didn't know Doubleday's

had a lending library.

Well, they

don't. Hm. Oh.

Well, anyway, looks

like you're stocked up

for the summer, here.

Are you kidding? Last week,

he did the complete works

of Doris Lessing.

That'll last him two days.

It would

last me two years.

I still haven't finished

Atlas Shrugged,

which I started in 1912.

Some people eat, some drink,

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