Wait, if there is, in fact, a confidentiality issue here, Patrick, please don’t say anything else for a moment. Foster? Are you comfortable with this?
FJ:
Look, I don’t give a fuck. He calls me Jim because my real name is James Foster. I changed it because I thought Foster James sounded better for a writer. All right?
OMNES:
Indecipherable with some chuckles.
DP:
Nothing wrong with changing your name. Hell, I changed my name.
EH:
That’s because you were a kike.
DP:
I’m still a kike, Ernie, it was just my name that converted.
STC:
Kike? What is that?
EH:
A kike, my friend, is a yid. You know what that is, Sam?
STC:
So, a disparaging reference to members of the Hebrew faith?
FJ:
My God – are you Coleridge?
STC:
Your servant, sir.
FJ:
Fuck me!
EH:
He won’t, but Dottie probably will. She’ll fuck anyone.
Dr WH:
Sorry, but—
DP:
I didn’t fuck you, did I, Ernie?
WC:
If I may I interject here—
EH:
You didn’t fuck me because I wouldn’t let you. God knows you tried.
DP:
Why would I want to fuck a miserable, self-pitying bore like—
Dr WH:
Stop! Is this really a fruitful way to spend this session?
OMNES:
Yes.
EH:
See, doc? They all want to hear the fun.
Dr WH:
Nonetheless, it’s not the best use of our time.
EH:
You keep telling us we should use these powwows to help our personal growth. Well, Jesus, I can feel myself growing by the inch when I tell that bitch what I think of her.
DP:
Growing by the inch, Ernie? That’ll double the size of your cock, anyway.
EH:
You’ve never seen my cock. Not for want of trying.
DP:
I didn’t have to see it, its minuscule size was the talk of the town.
Dr WH:
Please, I really feel—
PW:
Overruled, Doctor. We all want to hear this. We’re writers, remember.
Dr WH:
But surely …
WC:
I must confess I find it diverting, although I am thrown into confusion by the participation of a lady in the discussion of a topic of this nature.
EH:
(sotto) Jesus Christ.
STC:
I find, Mr Collins, that often a lady’s sensibilities in reference to the act of copulation may be far more robust than we gentlemen suspect. So, let us hear more of who fucked whom, or not.
Dr WH:
Look, the wish of the majority is an important principle, but—
PW:
Wait, we have an abstention. What about you, Hunter?
(Silence.)
STC:
Hunter?
WC:
I believe he’s asleep.
PW:
Those fucking shades.
STC:
I was acquainted with a man in Bristol who wore tinted spectacles in order to deceive his wife that he was attending to her improving discourse while all the time was adrift in the bosom of Morpheus. Ha ha!
EH:
Okay. This is for the record. I never wanted to fuck Dorothy Parker.
DP:
And she never wanted to fuck you.
EH:
What about all those reviews? You called me ‘the first American artist’.
DP:
I was probably drunk.
EH:
You were in love with me.
DP:
No, I admired you as an artist, a writer and a dipsomaniac, but I never loved you. You were too full of yourself, Ernie, too full of shit – which amounts to the same thing. And always obsessed with death. All those fucking bullfights.
EH:
You ran away from that one I took you to. You started crying.
DP:
You think I’m ashamed of that? Just because your idea of a swell time is to kill everything in sight, that doesn’t make you a man, Ernie, in fact it just proves you’re still a little boy. My God, everyone, here’s a guy who liked killing things so much that when he couldn’t think of anything else to kill, he killed himself!
EH:
At least I made a good job of it! Not like those phoney suicide stunts you were always staging. You think any of us were fooled?
DP:
I was in pain, you idiot, but you wouldn’t know what that feels like because you never felt any pain, you only caused it.
EH:
Your bank balance was in pain! Sheila Graham told me when you couldn’t pay the bill at the Lowell that time, you ordered an ambulance before you took the pills, so they’d see you being carried out on a stretcher, and lay off you.
DP:
That’s not true, you bastard!
EH:
It was a standing joke, Dottie, just like you.
Dr WH:
Right, that’s enough.
FJ:
Yes, you’re clearly upsetting her.
EH:
You stupid limey prick, she can turn that on any time she wants. She’s just buying some time while she thinks up her next lame crack.
DP:
Why do you assume everyone is as much of a louse as you are, Ernie?
EH:
Hell, Dottie, that outraged virtue routine is tired.
