The Boys in the Band Page #9

He said he'd be glad

to be my friend.

And any time I wanted to

see him or call him

to just call him

and he'd see me.

Shook my trembling wet hand,

and I left on a cloud.

One of the ones

you made yourself?

And the next day I went out

and bought him

a gold-plated

cigarette lighter,

and had his initials

monogrammed on it.

And I wrote him

a card that said,

"From your

friend, Emory."

Seventeen years old

and already big

with the gifts.

And the night of the prom

I found out.

Found out

what?

I heard Loraine and another girl

I knew giggling together.

Pretty soon everyone at

the dance had heard about it.

They were all laughing

and making jokes.

Everyone knew I had a crush

on Dr. Delbert Botts

and that I asked him

to be my friend.

And what they didn't know

was that I loved him.

And that I'd go on

loving him years after

they had all forgotten

my funny secret.

Well, I for one, need

an insulin injection.

Call him.

Don't, Emory.

Since when are you

telling him what to do?

What do I care? I'm pissed.

I'll do anything three times.

Don't, please.

I said call him.

Don't. You'll be sorry.

Take my word for it.

What have I got to lose?

Your dignity. That's

what you've got to lose.

Well, that's a knee-slapper.

I love your telling him

about dignity,

when you allow him

to degrade you constantly

by Uncle Tomming

you to death.

He can do it, Michael.

I can do it.

You can't do it.

Isn't that discrimination?

I don't like it from him.

I don't like it

from me.

I do it to myself,

and I let him do it.

I let him do it because

it's the only thing that,

to him, makes him

my equal.

You all want to hear

a polite little parlor jest

from the liberal Deep South?

You know why nigras

have such big lips?

'Cause they're always going:

You son of a b*tch!

Jesus Christ, Michael!

Michael, why don't you lay off.

And I can do without

your goddamn spit

all over my telephone,

you nelly coward.

I may be nelly, Michael,

but I'm no coward.

B.Y.

Mm, it's busy?

Loraine is probably

speaking to her mother.

Oh, yes. Delbert

married Loraine.

Well, I'm sorry.

We can't wait.

You forfeit

your turn.

Well, you're not

wasting any time.

Who are you

calling?

Charlie.

I refuse to forfeit my turn.

It's my turn

and I'm taking it.

That's the spirit, Emory.

Hit that iceberg.

Don't miss it!

Hit it, goddamn it!

I want a smash of a finale!

God, I'm drunk.

A falling-down drunk

nelly queen.

Well, that's the pot

calling the kettle beige.

I am not drunk!

You cannot tell that I am drunk.

Donald, I'm not drunk, am I?

I'm drunk.

So am I. I'm

a major drunk.

Shut up

and dial.

I'm a major drunk of

this or any other season.

It's ringing.

It's no longer B.Y.

Hello, who's speaking?

One point.

Who?

Dr. Delbert Botts.

Two points.

Del, is this

really you?

Nobody.

You don't know me.

You wouldn't remember me.

I'm just a friend.

Falling-down drunken friend.

Hello?

He hung up.

Three points total.

You're winning.

He said I must have

the wrong party.

He's right.

We have the wrong party.

It's your party, Hallie.

Aren't you having

a good time?

Simply fabulous.

What about you?

You having

a good time, Emory?

Are you having as good a time

as you thought you would?

If you're bored, Harold,

we could sing

"Happy Birthday" again

to the tune of

"Hava Nagila."

Not for all the tea

in Mexico.

My turn now.

No, it's my turn

to call Charlie.

Nope. Let me.

You gonna call

Charlie?

The score

is three to two.

Emory's favor.

Don't, Hank.

Don't you see

Bernard was right?

I want to.

Larry.

Be my eager guest.

Is he gonna call

Charlie for you?

Charlie is all the people

I cheat on Hank with.

"With whom"

I cheat on Hank.

The butcher,

the baker,

the candlestick maker.

Right.

I love 'em all.

And what Hank refuses

to understand

is that I've got to

have them all.

I'm not the marrying kind,

and I never will be.

Gypsy feet.

Who you calling?

Did it ever occur to you

that Hank might be

doing behind your back

the same thing

that you do behind his?

Oh, I wish to Christ

he would.

It would make life

a hell of a lot easier.

Who are you calling?

Whoever it is,

they're not

sitting on top of

the telephone.

Hello.

Oh, uh, they must have been in the tub.

Eighty-six. One point.

I'd like to leave

a message please.

Not in?

One point.

Would you say that Hank called?

Yes, it is.

Oh. Good evening.

How are you?

Oh, who the hell is that?

Yes, that's right. The message

is for my roommate, Larry.

Would you just...say

that I called?

It's our answering service.

Said, "I love you."

Hank, are you crazy?

You didn't hear me

incorrectly,

that's what

I said.

The message is for Larry,

and it's from me, Hank,

and it's just

as I said, "I love you."

Thank you.

Seven points total.

You're way ahead,

Hank, baby.

You're way ahead

of everybody.

Why, Hank?

Why did you do that?

I do love him.

And I don't care

who knows it.

Don't say that.

Why not?

It's the truth.

I can't believe you.

I left my wife and family

for Larry, Alan.

I'm really not very interested

in hearing about it.

Sure you are.

Go on, Hankola,

tell him all about it.

No, I don't want to

hear it. It's disgusting.

Some men do it

for another woman.

Well, I can understand

that. That's normal.

Well, it just

doesn't always

work out

that way, Alan.

No matter how much

we might want it to.

God knows, nobody

ever wanted it to

more than

I did.

I mean, I really

and truly believed

I was in love with my wife

when I married her.

It wasn't

entirely my trying

to prove something

to myself.

No, I didn't...

love her. She

loved me. But, uh...

there was always

that something there.

Always?

I don't know.

I suppose so.

I've known what I was

since I was 4 years old.

I don't know when it was

that I first started

admitting it to myself.

For a long time, I either...

labeled it something else or...

denied it completely.

Christ, was I drunk last night.

But there did

come a time

when I just couldn't

lie to myself anymore.

I thought about it.

But I never did

anything about it.

I think...

the first time I ever really

did anything about it

was...during my wife's

last pregnancy.

There was a, uh...

teacher's meeting

here in New York.

My wife didn't

feel up to the trip,

so I said I would

come alone.

That day on the train,

I started to think about it.

And think about it, and...

think about it.

The whole trip I didn't

think about anything else.

Within 15 minutes

after I had arrived,

I'd picked up a guy

in the men's room

of Grand Central Station.

Jesus.

I'd never done anything

like that in my life before.

I was scared

to death.

But he turned out

to be a nice fellow.

I haven't seen him since,

of course.

And the funny

thing is...

I can't remember

his name anymore.

Anyway, after that,

it got easier.

Practice

makes perfect.

And then, not

too long after that,

Larry and I

met at a party

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