The Moderns Page #5

Perfect timing.

What have we here?

Distinguished.

- I'm sorry, Bertie. I didn't know...

- Rachel, come here.

- All, Rachel.

- Hello, Libby.

What do you think of Hart's painting?

Yeah. I'd like to know.

- Hello.

- Afternoon.

It's nice.

Should I buy it?

If you like it, Bertie.

Yes, I think I have just the right spot for it.

- I'll give you $100.

- Done.

I did it.

Did it, dear boy.

We started at $2,500,

and I suckered him up to $3,000.

- Let's go to the bank.

- No, let's go to the bar.

We have to talk about something.

I'm not interested.

What are you interested in,

besides yourself?

Not much.

But I'm looking.

Writing about yourself can be very lonely.

- What are you writing?

- It's my obituary.

It's too important a job to leave

to those hacks in the obituary department.

Why don't you just quit

the goddamn paper?

This'll interest you. I've decided on poison.

Drowning was my second choice.

I mean, it's better than asphyxiation.

I saw a man once who'd been hung.

He looked a bit disappointed.

You can't kill yourself, Oiseau.

We're going to Hollywood.

I'm gonna tell you why Carlos beat you

in the ring a couple days ago.

- Who?

- Carlos. Stone.

I'm working on something.

It doesn't matter.

- Right, let's have it.

- Scruples.

- Scruples?

- You can't win Andrea with scruples.

- Who?

- Andrea.

Rachel. Forget it.

I'm sitting there, watching him

waltz around you like he owns you.

He doesn't own me. He does not own me.

He thinks because he buys something,

he owns it.

It's the same to him.

A piece of ass, property.

It's about ownership.

He doesn't own me, he doesn't own Rachel,

and he never will.

Guys like that are bad for all of us, Clark.

- Nick.

- Nick.

Who?

You know,

writing about yourself can be very lonely.

- What are you writing?

- It's my obituary.

It's too important a job to leave

to those hacks in the obituary department.

Why don't you quit that goddamn paper

like I did?

This'll interest you. I've decided on pills.

He doesn't own me.

- Who?

- Stone.

- Carlos.

- Who?

Sex is all about power.

Champagne, monsieur?

You can't help but make a mess.

- What do you mean?

- Take Nathalie de Ville, for instance.

She's as cool as

somebody else's cucumber.

Armand.

Merci.

Les critiques.

You look stunning tonight, my dear.

I look stunning every night, Bertie.

Have you had a chance

to look over my collection?

Come, I'll give you a tour.

My latest acquisition...

...should impress even someone

as formidable as you.

Bertie. You really did it.

Outside of a museum, I've never seen

such a fascinating collection of pictures.

A museum?

- Oh, l...

- It doesn't matter.

What do you think?

Get a hold of yourself. It's only a painting.

These are forgeries, Bertie.

They simply have to be.

Nonsense. I bought them from the estate

of the late Comte de Polignac.

Then you bought forgeries.

I own the originals

of these three paintings.

In fact, I shipped them to America

only the other day.

And Bertie,

my papers have been authenticated.

You've been had.

That painting is no more of a fake

than you are.

Look at the nipples in the Matisse.

Henri would have never painted nipples

in that manner.

They look like cones...

...or warts.

Perhaps I should have framed

the money I spent on them instead.

- Bertie, I'm afraid you've been had.

- Shut up!

Monsieur Stone, I think we've had enough.

No! I've had enough.

I don't give a tuppenny damn for

your silly opinions on the value of art.

There is no value,

except what I choose to put on it.

This is art...

...because I paid hard cash for it.

Don't you understand?

Your precious painters

mean nothing to me.

I could have Nathalie's mutt

sh*t on a canvas.

And if I paid $5,000 for it...

...you critics would call it a masterpiece.

I'm afraid not, monsieur Stone.

I'm afraid you have missed the entire point.

- Have I?

- Yes.

Fakes is what we have called them...

...and fakes is what they are,

fit only for the fire.

The fire?

I see what you mean about the nipple.

Au revoir.

- Laloux?

- Oui, monsieur.

- Take that picture down.

- Bien, monsieur.

- Look at this nipple.

- This one is not so bad.

It's worse.

- The shape, the form...

- The shape is...

- It's all wrong.

- But the color...

The masterpiece.

I should throw all of you in as well.

- Looking for the toilet, Hem?

- Art is never the whole story.

It's upstairs.

There's more to you than meets the eye.

Piss off, or I'll barbecue your dog.

What happened, Bertie?

Didn't anybody like your paintings?

You're drunk.

Did you really think

you could buy your way in?

I feel so sorry for you, Bertie.

Clean up the mess.

All of it.

I'm going out.

- Bonjour.

- Merci.

What?

No!

The son of a b*tch actually did it.

You know,

he kept telling me he was gonna do it.

I thought he was just...

I didn't believe him.

I believed him.

It makes me feel like a coward, you know?

But we're not the cowards, are we, Hart?

The dead are the real cowards, right?

I don't know.

The dead are not the cowards.

Rachel?

Rachel, is that you?

It's me.

- You son of a b*tch!

- It was the only thing I could do.

I'm dead, and I'll soon be gone.

And now I can be anybody I want to be.

Jesus! I need a drink.

Did you see my obituaries?

They're all raves.

And I'm gonna be buried tomorrow

afternoon at Pere-Lachaise.

Racine has made me

the most charming coffin.

- I think we ought to look in.

- Naturally.

We've got plenty of time.

The train doesn't leave till 4:00.

Aprs vous, madame.

Could I lean on you?

These heels are just killing me.

Yeah, sure.

We'll have a beautiful boat ride

to New York.

And then Hollywood!

- I'm just dying to get there.

- I ought to kill you myself.

No.

Really, we can't go in there.

I'll be recognized.

Why don't we go

and have a tasse de verveine?

- No, I need a drink.

- All right. I'll come by at 1:00 tomorrow.

- I'll pick you up in a taxi.

- All right. Don't talk to strangers.

Since we're living in Paris,

does that make us Parisian?

Pal. How you doing?

I think I miss the little bastard.

Yeah, I know what you mean.

You know what time it is?

Time? Too late. That's the time.

He loved you.

I didn't even like him, but he loved you.

"I love you, I swear I do

"Even if I can't find the right words

"Believe me, it is true

"I love you

"Believe me, it is true

"I love you

"Believe me, it is true

"I love you"

Rachel. Where the hell have you...

Don't worry, Nicky.

At least, when they find us,

our skeletons will be embracing.

I forgot to tell you. Oiseau is still alive.

I didn't know he was dead.

He's gonna meet us at the boat train

tomorrow at 4:
00, right after his funeral.

- I thought you said he was alive.

- Ain't it great?

Hart.

- Libby, what are you doing here?

- I shadowed you here.

Stone's men came into the gallery,

slashed all the paintings.

Not just your paintings,

but valuable ones as well.

What?

I never expected violence.

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