The Boys in the Band Page #5

The last time I saw you,

you were on your way to...

California, or--

Or was it Europe?

Hollywood.

Which is not in Europe, and

which has nothing whatsoever

to do with

California.

Well, I've-- I've never

been there myself,

but I would imagine

it must be awful.

Everyone must be...

terribly cheap.

No. Not everyone.

Alan...

I'd like to try to

explain about tonight.

What's to explain?

Sometimes you can't invite

everyone to every party,

and some people

take it personally.

But I-- I'm not

one of them. I...

should apologize

for inviting myself.

Well, that's not

exactly what I meant.

Your friends,

uh...

Your friends all seem like

very nice guys.

That, uh...

That Hank, he's really

a very attractive fellow.

Yes, he is.

We've got a lot in common.

What's his roommate's name?

Larry.

And what does he do?

He's a fashion photographer.

And I like Donald too.

The only one I didn't seem to

care too much for is...

wh-wh-what's

his name? Uh...Emory?

Yes. Emory.

Well, I just can't

stand that kind of talk.

It just

grates on me.

Uh, what kind of talk, Alan?

You know what

I mean. His...

His brand of humor,

I suppose.

Well, he can be

quite funny sometimes.

I suppose so, if you find

that sort of thing amusing.

It's just that he seems like

such a goddamn little pansy.

I'm-- I'm s--

I'm sorry I said that. I--

I didn't mean to say that.

That's such an awful thing

to say about anyone.

You know what

I mean, Michael.

You must admit,

he is effeminate.

Yes, he is a bit.

A bit?

Why-- Why he's like a--

He's like

a butterfly in heat.

I mean, it's-- It's no wonder

that he was trying

to teach you all to dance.

He probably wanted to

dance with you.

Oh, come on, man. You--

You know me.

You know how I feel.

Your...

Your private life

is your own affair.

No, I don't know

that about you.

Well, I--

I couldn't care less

about what people do, as...

As long as they don't

do it in public,

or try to force their ways

on the whole damned world.

Alan, what were you

crying about on the telephone?

All I--

All I can say is,

please forgive me

for making

such an ass of myself.

You must have been upset,

or you wouldn't have said

that you were.

That you were upset

and that you wanted to see me.

Had to see me,

and talk to me.

Michael, please.

Is something wrong

between you and Fran?

Listen,

I've really got to go.

Why are you in New York?

I'm dreadfully late

for dinner, Michael.

Whose dinner?

Where are you going?

Oh, no!

Oh! Here.

Come on.

Here, I'll get the--

Uh-oh. Denise Deluge.

Oh, great.

Now it's stopped.

Oh, Hank.

Why don't you

come and join us?

Well, that's an interesting

suggestion. Whose idea was that?

Well, mine.

He means

in the conversation.

To your health.

Up yours.

Up my health?

Where's the gent?

In the gents' room.

If you can hang on

for five more minutes,

he's about to leave.

Well, at last.

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday, dear Harold

Happy birthday to you

Don't--

Who the hell are you?

Well, uh--

She's Harold's present

from me, and she's early.

And that's not even Harold,

you idiot!

Well, you said

whoever answered the door.

But not until

midnight.

He's supposed to be

a midnight cowboy.

He is a midnight

cowboy.

He looks right out of a

William Inge play, doesn't he?

Not until midnight,

and you're supposed to sing

to the right person,

for chrissakes. I told you,

Harold has very, very tight,

tight black curly hair.

This number's

practically bald.

Thank you, and f*** you.

Good thing I didn't

open the door.

Not that tight

and not that black.

Aw, I forgot.

And besides, I-I want to get

to the bars by midnight.

He's a class act,

all the way around.

What do you mean,

"get to the bars"?

Sweetie, I paid you for

the whole evening, remember?

Oh, I hurt my back

doing my exercises,

and I want to get

to bed early tonight.

Are you ready

for this one?

Well, that's too bad.

What happened?

I, uh... Heh.

I-I lost my grip

doing my chin-ups,

and I fell on my heels

and twisted my back.

You shouldn't wear heels

when you do chin-ups.

I-I shouldn't do

chin-ups.

I have a weak grip

to begin with.

A weak grip. In my day it used

to be called a limp wrist.

Who can remember

that far back?

Who was it who always

used to say,

"You show me Oscar Wilde

in a cowboy suit,

and I'll show you

a gay caballero"?

I don't know. Who was it

who always used to say that?

I don't know. Somebody.

What does your card say?

Uh, Y-you read it.

"Dear Harold, bang, bang, you're alive,

"but roll over

and play dead.

Happy birthday. Emory."

Sheer poetry, Emmy.

And in your

usual good taste.

Yes. And so conservative to have

resisted a sign in Times Square.

Cheese it! Here comes

the socialite nun.

Damn it, Emory, shut up.

Well, I'm off, Michael.

Thank you

for the drink.

You're entirely welcome,

Alan.

See you tomorrow?

No. I think I'm gonna

be awfully busy.

I...may even go back

to Washington.

Got a heavy date

in Lafayette Square?

Emory.

What?

Forget it.

Oh, are, uh--

Are you Harold?

No, he's not Harold.

He's for Harold.

Goodbye, Hank. It was

awfully nice meeting you.

Same here, Alan.

If you ever get to Washington,

I'd like you to meet my wife.

Right. Good.

Oh, that'd be fun,

wouldn't it, Hank?

Mm. They'd love to

meet him. Uh, her.

I have such

a problem with pronouns.

How many esses are there

in "pronoun"?

How'd you like to kiss my ass?

Got two or more esses in it.

How'd you like to blow me?

What's the matter?

Your wife got lockjaw?

F*ggot! Fairy!

Alan! Alan!

Get some ice.

Get some ice.

Oh, my God!

My nose is broken!

Oh, God! Oh, God!

Knock it off!

Hang on!

You f*ggot! F*ggot!

Aah! Keep him away from me!

Would you mind waiting

over there with the gifts?

I can't breathe!

Well, Harold. Happy Birthday.

You're just in time

for the floor show,

which, as you see,

is on the floor.

Oh, it's Harold.

Now, it's all right.

Hey you.

This is Harold.

Now, put this up on your chin.

Will it be ruined?

No, it'll be ruined if it swells up.

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday

Dear Harold

Happy birthday

To you

What's so f***ing funny?

Life.

Life's a goddamn

laugh riot.

You remember life.

You're stoned.

Happy Birthday, Harold.

You're stoned, and you're late.

You were supposed to

arrive at this location

at approximately 8:30,

dash 9:
00.

What I am, Michael,

is a 32-year-old

ugly, pockmarked,

Jew fairy.

And if it takes me a while

to pull myself together,

and if I smoke

a little grass

before I get up the nerve

to show my face to the world,

it's nobody's goddamn

business but my own.

And how are you

this evening?

Happy Birthday, Hallie.

What happened

to you?

Don't ask.

Your lips

are turning blue.

You look like you've been

rimming a snowman.

That piss-elegant

cooz in there hit me.

Careful, Emory.

That kind of talk just

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