The Last Word Page #5

write about famous people

when they eventually die or...

No. No.

I'm really good with

where I'm at right now.

Oh, no.

What?

No. No, no.

This is not healthy,

for you to lie while you're...

I know it's not

technically a date,

but don't lie at the

beginning of a relationship.

Harriet, wha...

What are you doing?

What are you doing here?

I am...

Did she tell you

she wants to be a writer?

Yes, she is a writer.

No, no. A real writer.

She wants to be an essayist.

Harriet, don't do that.

An essayist is someone

who has a unifying

view, a worldview.

Tell me something, Anne,

what is your...

What are your collection

of essays saying?

I don't know.

Well, I don't believe you.

Do you believe her?

You know what, Anne,

let's get out of here.

No, no. Ms. Sherman,

I really am just

looking for an answer.

What is it that you want

to say in your essays?

Nothing. I don't want

to say anything.

I have nothing

interesting to say.

Oh, that's such bullshit.

Harriet, knock it off.

No. Mmm-mmm.

Don't you protect her like

some kind of wounded animal.

No, no. If she wants

to be a writer,

she has got to learn

to express her mind.

You don't have to listen

to any of this, Anne.

No, don't listen.

He's right.

Don't listen. Go back in your

little bubble. No problem.

Man, what is your problem?

Ambition neutered

by self-doubt.

Desire.

Desire. Desire is what

my essays are about.

It's, um...

It's, uh... They're about

the sacrifice that we make

in order to fulfill our desires.

I'm so sorry I asked.

Oh, f*** off. All right.

Oh, life! I see some life!

You bait me into

talking about sh*t

that I don't want to talk about

and then when I talk

about it, you mock me!

What's wrong with you?

Why don't you calm down?

I just want to understand

what is in your essays

and what you're trying to do.

They're just so very

precious it seems.

Oh, really? Are they?

I... I need. I yearn.

I long. I deserve.

Oh... And the world,

the world is so much

harder than you've dreamed.

And my trophies...

I don't have any trophies.

I was supposed to get trophies.

You know, in hindsight,

this all makes some sense.

Oh, really? Go ahead.

Should be good.

I think you're trying

to write about yourself

and you haven't got a goddamn

idea of the subject matter.

Go f*** yourself, Harriet.

So, uh...

Did you have a title

for your collection of essays?

Uh...

Does it have a title?

Andalusia Now.

Andalusia Now.

Does it mean something to you?

Or is it just, like,

something you came up with?

When I was three,

my mom gave me this globe,

and every night

we would play a game.

Close your eyes.

Spin the globe.

Touch the globe and wherever

your finger would land,

that's where you would

someday live.

And one night, my finger

landed on this place

in the southern coast of Spain,

and my mom told me

it was Andalusia.

And I just thought that was the most

beautiful word I had ever heard.

So that was the last time we

played that game before she...

She left.

Thank you for telling me that.

Which way are you going?

This way?

Yeah. Up that way.

We laid out four things

essential to a good obituary.

I'd say I have

more than enough material

to make three of them work.

All that is left is family.

You need to see your daughter.

And you need to make it right,

because that is all that's left.

And that is the only thing

keeping me

from ever having

to see you again.

Oh, I see.

I spoke to your ex-husband.

He told me that Elizabeth lives

a few hours north of here.

We're going. I'm driving.

In your car?

Yes, in my car.

And Brenda's coming too.

I need a buffer.

I already called her mother.

Hey. How's everybody

doing this morning?

Mr. Sands, would you please

make me a mixed CD?

Anne and Brenda and I

are going on a road trip.

Great.

A compilation of songs

perfectly suited

for the occasion, please.

And what's the occasion?

We're visiting my daughter

and she hates me.

Okay. So let me

get this straight.

Senior-citizen control freak,

estranged daughter,

the obituary writer is driving,

and the nine-year-old intern

from the projects

is in the back seat.

Yeah, I can get

37 songs out of that.

Very good.

Perfect.

I agree.

Me too.

Harriet, it's a one-day trip.

It's a day trip.

Yeah, in your

filth-mobile.

I've packed a change of clothes

and I've packed some

smoked salmon tartines

with fresh dill capers

and a sprinkling

of goat cheese. Ah!

What the hell is a tartine?

It's a fancy name

for a sandwich.

We're going to hit McDonald's, Brenda.

Don't worry.

Okay.

No, we're not.

Who wants McDonald's?

I do.

Here you go, darling.

Harriet?

Yeah. I don't

want anything, really.

Oh, God.

Oh! Yes.

Road food.

This is better than

any f***ing tartines.

Whoa!

Amen, sister.

"I was five when

the circus came to town.

"I was six when it left.

"I was seven when I realized

it was never coming back.

"The ringleader spun plates,

sailed through rings of fire,

"creating a world

of magic and mystery.

"And then,

in a puff of diesel smoke,

"the ringleader was gone.

"Three rings, two rings,

one ring, nothing.

"There's nothing

like a circus."

Very evocative.

Lyrical. I like it.

Who wrote it?

Me.

I don't get it.

It's okay.

It's about

mothers and daughters.

So basically you're a poet.

I don't know what I am, Brenda.

Well, you got to be something.

God put you into the world

so you can be something.

You got to be something.

I got to pee.

Go ahead.

No problem in this car.

Please don't do that.

I got to pee all over the place!

Now I gots to pee!

I've gots to pee.

This is not funny, Harriet!

I can hear you!

Tiny dancer outside.

You know, I used to have

this recurring nightmare

that I'd be wrapping Elizabeth

in blankets, pillows,

and swaddling her,

and loving her,

and protecting her.

And then I would

look down and realize

I was so overprotective

that I smothered her to death.

Whoa, Jesus.

Well...

I wonder what she's like now.

What she'll think of me.

It's kind of great

that we get to find out.

Thank you.

You're welcome.

So this is where

she wanted to meet?

Your ex-husband said

she eats lunch here

every Thursday at 12:35.

Thirty-five?

It's a little gauche,

don't you think?

Let's just focus

on your daughter.

Oh, my God.

Hello, Mother.

Hello.

I didn't know we were going

to have an audience.

Oh, no. This is a young

woman I know named Anne.

And this is Brenda.

Well, I don't have much time.

Maybe enough for a salad.

But you just got here.

Mother, relax. Have a drink.

Why don't we order?

Excuse me.

Okay, Brenda.

How's the lobster?

No. No lobster. No.

Chicken parm.

Same.

Mother.

I will have a salad Nicoise,

not raw, just seared,

and some beans, yellow and

not red, and some capers.

I'll have the panzanella.

Capers instead of olives.

White onions instead of red.

Make sure the heirloom

tomatoes are ripe.

And I want

some basil. Fresh.

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