Try Seventeen Page #4

I'm sorry about the kiss.

So, what do you know about Jane and Steve?

Can't do it. Sorry.

-Can't do what?-Can't say.

It's one of those upstairs stories, partner. Sorry.

-But you know?-Can't say.

But there's something to know, right?

Is there?

Damn.

Partner.

She's at your door.

Hi!

-I didn't think you were home.-I'm not. I wasn't.

But I am now. Now I am.

Want to go for a ride?

In a half an hour?

Blanche is in Texas.

-Who?-Blanche, my mother.

You asked me about my parents.

She lives alone. Drinks. Dates mostly men from the country club.

She ran my father off when I was 3. Or 4.

Her story always changes.

What?

This is the part where you tell me about Steve.

Is that right?

I used to working this shitty little bar.

Steve came with his band, like...

...they were playing a stadium shower something.

And for the next three nights, he sang every song for me.

I had never met anybody like him.

He said all the right things, did all the right things.

Everything was so right.

Then he f***ed it all up. Me especially.

You seem okay to me.

I used to be better than okay.

Oh, sh*t! F***!

New in Town.

How are you?

How do I look?

You look great.

How's your arm?

I'll pull through, I think.

Thank God.

I'm miserable, Jones.

That must hurt pretty badly.

No. I'm so bored.

Right. Maybe you should get a record player.

Shut up.

You know what I want?

I want you to write me a letter.

A letter?

Yeah, like the ones you write to your girlfriends.

But just a "letter" letter, not a love letter.

I don't have any girlfriends.

-I write them to someone else.-Well, I'm someone else.

-Write one to me.-No, I mean.... I don't send them.

It's complicated.

Jones, I'm in the hospital, for Chris sake.

I think I deserve at least a letter.

I knew that something like this was going to happen to you.

No, Blanche, really, I'm fine. Im going to pull through.

You see, Jones, this is what happens.

I tell you things, and you don't listen.

You don't ever listen to me, do you?

Well, you don't ever tell me what I want to hear.

Don't you start. This is about you, Jones. This is about reality.

I'm going to have to hang up. Ive got breakfast coming.

There's a place that delivers bagels and belly dancers.

-It's fantastic.-Are you drunk, Jones?

What are you talking about?

-Here she is.-Jones?

You can set that down anywhere.

-How did he find out?-I called him.

You were bored, so you called.

Wrong. I missed him, and I wanted to call him, so I did.

Didn't he f*** you up or something?

What's your problem, Jones?

I thought we were friends.

He came 2000 miles, Jones.

She can't help herself, Jones. Its a biological weakness...

...for the black-leather/guitar-player type.

I've experienced bouts of it myself.

It's powerful stuff.

Well, it's good. Really.

I'm happy for her.

She seems happy too, which is good.

It's great.

Grab your hammer, partner.

-Hi, Jones.-Hi, Lisa.

Did you see Jane's car?

What happened to your arm?

You were with her.

Well, I'm glad you're okay.

What about Jane?

-She's okay.-I'm glad.

You know, when something like this happens...

...it kind of makes me wonder if I should tell her I'm sorry.

Well, it was the deer's fault, mostly.

Is that for me?

I write them to my father.

I don't send them, because don't know his address.

Because I don't know if he's alive or dead or anything else.

Nothing.

Only you.

Okay.

Say it.

Only me.

Jones?

I'll be leaving soon.

I know.

I don't mean just from the hospital.

I know.

-Hey, guy.-Hey, Steve.

Oh, the famous copilot.

-Jones, right?-Right.

Yeah. How's the arm?

You f***ed her, didn't you?

-What?-Lisa.

Oh, yeah.

You?

But it was nothing.

-Nothing?-Yeah.

Jane took pictures of her.

Sexy stuff, where she was wrapped in these scarves...

...and I wanted to find out what was under there.

But...

...it was nothing. And I mean, Jane took it pretty hard.

I mean, Jane takes everything pretty hard.

What am I telling you for?

You don't even have a CD player.

Dear Dad:

You'll be glad to know I'm recovering from the accident.

And that girl I told you about?

She's as good as new.

What I can't figure out is, how could I have been so stupid?

How?

You're listed.

That Brad person downstairs, he told me which apartment, so....

That Brad person?

Yeah. Do you know he made a pass at me? Wouldn't you know it?

-You look nice, Blanche.-Well...

...then ask me to sit down.

Well, thank you, Mr. Sophisticated.

I got a motorcycle.

Well, isn't that nice.

Maybe I should throw myself off this roof...

...save the trouble of having to bury you.

I don't think the fall would kill you, but you could try it.

Tell me about this Jane person.

Skip the part about her being lousy driver, though.

I don't know.

-She's a lot like you, actually.-That's exactly what happens.

Boys always chase after girls that remind them of their mothers.

She drinks, she's rude, and shes loud--

Yeah, okay. Shut up, will you?

Is she pretty?

She's beautiful.

What about you, Blanche?

Are you making anyone miserable on a regular basis?

If that's your cute way of asking if I'm in love with anybody...

...the answer is no.

Come on, Blanche.

Well, sure, there might be times when I'm sweet on a man.

I like to feel good as mochas the next girl.

But don't confuse feeling good with being in love, Jones.

No, those two roads, they rarely cross.

Rarely or never?

Why are you still dragging around that beat-up trunk?

That's all I have. That and his typewriter.

Well, why don't you see if youve got a blanket in there for me.

I guess it's getting late.

We'll talk tomorrow.

Okay.

Tomorrow.

Jones, watch the road!

It's beautiful. You guys are unbelievable.

Well, all I did was beat on it.

How would you like to drive it?

Around the block, or 2000 miles one-way?

Okay.

I'll do it.

Why would you do it?

We're friends, right?

Yeah, we're friends.

Poor guy. He's crying.

Crying, wow. I'll only be gone for a couple of days.

-Shut up, Jones, and drive.-Right.

"I'm sorry, Jones. I don't have any answers.

"I'm sorry, Jones. I don't have any answers.

Not many anyway, and probably none that would make you very happy.

No one ever looked at menthe way your father did.

He didn't see a pretty girl with a rich daddy."

He saw someone with hopes and dreams of her own.

And I would have followed him anywhere.

Well, we only got as far as a little cabin in a motor court.

I made eggs and toast in the kitchen, and we laughed, made love...

...and drank whiskey.

I wasn't more than 50 miles from home, but it felt like 5000.

And those two little rooms, they felt like the whole wide world to me.

But for him, I think it was just another dot on another map.

I'm sorry, Jones.

I know I told you a lot of pretty things about your father...

... things I wanted to believe too.

But the truth is, you never met your daddy.

One day he went out for cigarettes, and he never came back.

These letters of yours are hilarious.

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