Under The Tuscan Sun

Before I start signing these,

I need to thank somebody

who's here tonight.

When I had her at State--

That didn't sound right.

I never had her.

I wanted her, but never had her.

What I meant was

when I took her class.

I had the worst case

of writer's block in the world.

All I had were terrible ideas.

I hated them all.

I was just about

to drop the class

when she said something to me

that changed everything.

She said, "Terrible ideas

are like playground scapegoats.

Given the right encouragement,

they grow up to be geniuses."

She told me to take one,

and work on it.

Well, I did.

Frances Mayes,

who loves terrible ideas,

may I please French kiss

you now?

Go for it, Willie boy!

Married, William.

Sorry.

Proud of me?

Ridiculously.

Frances, these are amazing.

What did you do?

Chocolate is timing, my friend.

- The rest is magic.

- Hey, Professor.

- Where is the wine?

- Over there.

Tom is one lucky bastard.

A literary wife

who makes brownies.

I swear, if you tell me

you cook in the nude,

I'll go home and kill myself.

Never in the nude.

Always in a thong.

Actually, if you knew Frances,

you'd know these are avoidance.

Thanks.

- How's the novel going?

- Not so well.

But the procrastination

is coming along fabulously.

Soon it will breed

abject self-loathing,

and then I'll just become

a writing machine.

What about Tom?

How's his book going?

Fine.

He's home writing right now.

You know Tom?

I met him recently,

sort of by coincidence.

The other coincidence is that

you reviewed a book of mine.

I did?

Did I like it?

You didn't.

Well, I'm sorry.

I'm sure there were a lot

of other critics who loved it.

And I really hope

you didn't take it personally.

You called my lead character

"unrealistic."

I think bad reviews

should just be forgotten.

Give him a brownie.

I would like to give you this.

It comes in peace.

You said you just couldn't

get interested in a novel

where the protagonist was a guy

who spent all of his time living

out his horny teenage fantasies.

I just find that ironic.

Ironic. Why?

Ask your husband.

What did he just say?

Frances?

Frances?

I've got some

unfortunate news for you.

I just got off the phone

with your husband's attorney,

and they're going to

pursue alimony.

How can we be talking

about alimony

when I hardly make enough money?

But you supported him

during the marriage.

Yes.

But while he was researching

and writing his book,

I worked while

he pretended to be...

Unfortunately,

this is just about the math.

He was having an affair.

California's a no-fault state.

His attorney indicated

your husband

would prefer an alimony buy-out.

Since you two were living

rather modestly,

I don't think

the number should be too bad.

They're probably talking about

something like $200,000.

I don't have that money.

Unfortunately, you do.

The house?

Its value went through the roof

since you bought it.

And renovated it

with my mother's money.

Well, it's all

community property now.

So he gets

half the house and alimony.

There's leeway, and we'll make

all the arguments we can.

But there is a bargaining chip.

He wants the house.

- He wants to keep living there?

- Yeah.

And if you let him have it,

you could end up with

a lot of money in your pocket.

I understand he wants it

pretty badly.

I'm sorry.

This is so surreal.

How would he even find the money

to buy me out of my half?

Oh.

Oh.

Wow.

Apparently, she likes the place.

It's near the right schools.

Schools?

She's...

You're gonna get over this.

You will, Frances.

Someday,

you're gonna be happy again.

Right.

And the desk?

The desk goes.

No, the desk can stay.

- The couch?

- Yes, please.

Wait a minute.

No, the sofas can stay.

How about the chairs?

They stay, too.

Actually, everything's going

to stay except those boxes.

Those boxes

with the books in them.

If you don't mind.

You're sure?

Yeah.

The bedroom?

Nope.

- Kitchen?

- No.

So then we're done.

We're done.

You getting a divorce?

It shows?

These are furnished,

short-term apartments.

That's who we get.

Your neighbor in 2-B.

He's an attorney.

His divorce has been

dragging on for three years.

Nice guy.

Gives free legal advice

to the other tenants.

If his crying gets on your

nerves, just bang on the wall.

- He'll stop.

- Sorry.

Guy above you is a doctor.

He hands out the sleeping pills.

- What do you do?

- I'm a writer.

So you can help the others

with their suicide notes.

Wow.

You're one of those

funny landlords.

Not really.

Well, here's your keys.

Have a good stay.

Thanks.

Home.

Ta-da!

You start a marriage

with cake and champagne.

Finish it that way, too.

The beginning and the end

should be fun, fun, fun.

Too bad about those years

in the middle.

- Sorry.

- Make a wish.

Things got crazy

at the hospital.

Hi. You made it

in time for the toast.

Bravo.

And it only took a year.

- To freedom.

- To freedom.

Thanks.

You're not drinking.

You're not drinking.

Fifth time was a charm.

Oh, my God!

Patti!

When are you due?

- May.

- May!

Oh, my God!

I'm going to be an auntie!

I'm going to be an auntie.

Yes.

It changes our plans a bit.

Well, of course.

We were about to take a 10-day

tour to romantic Tuscany.

But I don't want Patti flying.

Small sacrifice.

We decided to change

our coach tickets

into an upgraded ticket for you.

Oh.

This is amazing.

Really generous.

Thank you, but no.

How can you say no to Tuscany?

No.

Like that.

That's your depression speaking.

It doesn't speak Italian.

It speaks high-school French.

Besides,

I'm not depressed anymore.

Then what are you still doing

living with those losers?

- Those are my people.

- That's not a place you live.

Guys, come on.

Thank you so much.

But there is no way I can go

on a romantic tour of Tuscany.

- I'm not ready to meet anyone.

- You won't.

- We can assure you.

- Oh?

It's a gay tour

of romantic Tuscany.

So it would be

very relaxing for you.

You know, mostly couples.

No one would be there

to hit on you.

And you could concentrate and

listen to your own inner voice.

My inner voice?

My inner voice

that would be saying,

"What am I doing

on a gay tour of Tuscany?"

Frances, it's Italy!

Italy.

Plus, you could use it

as a time to start writing.

Well, I'm busy. I have to

review all those books.

Instead of working

on your own book.

Wow.

Are you being mean

or just hormonal?

Okay. Don't kill each other

until I get back.

Can we please just talk

about the baby?

I think you're in danger.

Of?

Of never recovering.

You know when you come across

one of those empty-shell people?

And you think,

"What the hell happened to you?"

Well, there came a time

in each one of those lives

where they were at a crossroads.

Crossroads.

God, that is so "Oprah."

Someplace where they had to

decide to turn left or right.

This is no time to be

a chickenshit, Frances.

I'm not being a chickenshit.

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