The Swimmer Page #5

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-Where?

-Along a river of sapphire pools.

-I never heard anyone talk like you.

-Come with me, be my love.

-That I've heard bef ore.

-Not f rom me.

-You're no different than any other guy.

-But I am.

I'm a very special human being.

Noble and splendid.

Come on, Joan.

Hey, wait a minute.

This looks like my wagon.

I'm sure this is my wagon.

This is my wagon.

I wheel my kids around in it.

You see that?

That's where Ella put her f oot through,

and I mended it with plywood.

This is my wagon, man.

-What's the trouble here?

-This is my hot dog wagon.

-We bought it.

-You bought it?

-At a white elephant sale.

-What the hell was it doing there?

-Your wife must have donated it.

-She had no right.

-She knows I'm crazy about this thing.

-Take it up with her.

-I'll buy it back f rom you.

-Not interested.

I'll give you twice what you paid f or it.

I'll give you $100.

A hundred dollars?

For that piece of junk?

I wanna buy this wagon back.

Name a price, I'll send you a check.

He'll send me a check.

-I'm taking this thing home with me.

-Hands off, you.

You crashed in,

now crash the hell out.

Go on, beat it!

I'll have my lawyers

get in touch with you.

Yeah, you do that.

What are you doing here?

-What a great suit. New?

-Last year's.

-I don't remember that suit.

-You weren't around last year.

God, you look sensational.

-What the hell are you doing here?

-I'm swimming home.

-You're what?

-Pool by pool, across the county.

Good Christ, Ned,

will you ever grow up?

-Let me try.

-No.

Please, let me.

When I was a Boy Scout,

I passed the first-aid test...

...but there wasn't much

in it about splinters.

Now, if you broke something,

I could make you a beautiful splint.

I'm sorry.

There we are.

A regular redwood.

Cut a hole in it,

you could drive a car through.

-What did you do that f or?

-Keep away f rom me, will you, please?

You must be crazy.

Everybody's gone crazy today.

I just came f rom the Biswangers'.

They snubbed me.

Everybody at their party

snubbed me.

They've even got my hot dog wagon.

Your wagon?

I painted it myself

and put the little umbrella up.

I always kept it in the playroom,

remember?

I've never been to your house,

remember?

God, I'm tired.

You mind if I have a drink?

All right.

-How about you, you want a bullshot?

-No, thank you.

Oh, come on, now.

You love the way I make them.

We are running out of Tabasco.

"We"?

Aren't you a little confused

this afternoon?

-How goes it in Never Never Land?

-What?

Has the ideal all-American f amily

f ound happiness on the hill?

The hill?

I heard a rumour that you'd

changed your place of residence.

Of course not, that's ridiculous.

Well, how is the president

of the League of Women Voters?

-Who?

-How is your wife?

Oh, she's fine.

I've been away so long

I haven't kept up with the news.

I suppose by now all waitresses in

town must be certified nonvenereal.

Last I heard that was

your wife's latest project:

Physical checkups

f or f ood handlers.

Lucinda's always done

a lot of good in this town.

She just didn't do

so good at home, did she?

Here's to sugar on our strawberries.

Cheers.

Remember last winter in Toronto?

We called room service

and ordered bullshots.

I wasn't in Toronto last winter.

I came up f or the opening of your show.

Remember how it snowed?

I ordered a horse and sleigh to take

us f rom the hotel to the theatre.

I haven't been in Toronto

in three years now.

Was it Boston? What was

the name of that play in Boston?

I came up on a Saturday, remember?

You f aked a slipped disk.

Your standby went on f or the matinee.

I cured your aching back, didn't I?

You bastard.

Listen, Ned, I want you to get out

of here now, I mean it!

-Why?

-I'm expecting someone.

-Who?

-None of your business who.

A man?

Do you think I've been in a deep

f reeze while you've played house?

Yes, a man.

I'm cold.

What's the matter with that sun?

There's no heat in it.

Shirley...

...what happened?

What happened to what?

Nothing's turned out...

Nothing's turned out

the way I thought it would.

When I was a kid,

I used to believe in things.

People seemed happier

when I was a kid.

People used to love each other.

What happened?

You got tossed out of your golden

playpen, that's what happened.

My mother gave me 25 cents f or

mowing the lawn around our house.

Seems only a minute ago...

...I could smell the grass.

It's so f ast.

People grow up and then they...

We're all gonna die, Shirley.

That doesn't make

much sense, does it?

Sometimes it does.

Sometimes at 3:
00 in the morning.

Did you know I went to spy on you

once in the lobby of the theatre?

-Spy on me?

-lt was a long time ago.

You were meeting your f amily

to take them to the ballet.

I saw your daughters in their white

gloves and patent leather slippers...

...and that aging Vassar-girl

wife of yours...

...and her understated little suit.

And you...

There you were, shaking hands

with people, smiling, saying hello.

One hour bef ore that,

you'd been in bed with me.

I put that smile on your f ace,

you damned hypocrite!

I want you to get out of here now.

Swim the pool, do whatever

you have to do, but get out.

As soon as you tell me

who's coming over.

I told you that's

none of your business.

On a 10-point scale,

how would you rate him in bed?

What did I do to you, Shirley?

I'm sorry f or whatever I did.

The usual red-blooded

married man thing.

At lunch, you lectured me about

the duties of a f ather and a husband.

It's a classic by now, reprinted

yearly in the Reader's Digest.

I don't remember.

It's the first really chic restaurant

you took me to in New York.

Right out in f ront

of everyone who counts.

-You cried.

-I also raised my voice.

It tore me apart to see you crying.

You chose that place because you

thought I wouldn't make a fuss...

...in f ront of all those mink hats and

snobbish waiters and stylish f ags.

No, no.

Did you really think

you could get rid of me...

...in no more noise than

the sound of finger bowls tinkling?

I loved you.

I didn't know what to do.

So you went back to your wife whom

you didn't love. Well, it figures.

It's her real estate,

she owns all the pots and pans...

...knows where all

the lost shirt buttons are.

Why give up those comf orts? Well,

I had a few comf orts of my own.

When you were on that train

back to Connecticut...

...remember that groovy bellhop

in my hotel?

-Absolutely primitive, no hang-ups.

-You're lying.

You called me f rom the station.

I put the phone on the pillow

between us so we both could listen.

All that snivelling about

your innocent wife and children.

We laughed so hard,

we stuffed the sheets in our mouths.

You're lying.

You'll never know, will you?

Let me do your back.

-No.

-Please let me.

Shirley, let's go away

f or a couple of weeks.

I read about a great old castle

in Ireland.

A real one,

with a moat and a drawbridge.

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