Last Call (2002) - full transcript

Zelda.

Zelda?

Where are you?

Zelda!

Come out! I know you're...

Zelda.

Hello, goofo.

Would you like a ham sandwich?

Why are you doing this to me again, Zelda?

Why are you...

Oh, sweetheart, sit down.



You look a little pale.

Leave me alone! Leave me alone!

I just want to write!

Oh, darling, you know
you'll never write again.

You're finished.

Fuck you!

Well, you spent all your money.

You overdrew your account.

There's nothing left.

You're just jealous 'cause I have talent.

Speaking of jealousy, goofo,

I know you've never forgiven me

for that sweet little
French lieutenant in nice.

My aviator.



If not for him,

I might have had to go
and be myself forever.

You're a whore.

You're a whore!

Maybe it would be nicer
if we ate in the garden.

♪ when you're there

♪ you make me feel so fine ♪

♪ when you're there

♪ I get a certain sign

♪ that you love me

♪ the same as I love you ♪

♪ that you'll help me

♪ to make it all through

♪ when you're there

♪ there's nothing I can do ♪

♪ 'cause when you care

♪ you fill me through
and through ♪

♪ with a feeling...

Can I help you?

Yes, please. My
name is Frances kroll.

I'm here for the job interview.

- Come on in, hon.
- Thank you.

I'll go tell him you're here.

You just make yourself comfortable.

All right. Thank you.

Miss kroll?

He's ready. You can go on up.

Up?

He's in his bedroom.

It's all right.

He wouldn't hurt a flea.

Gentlest man I ever met.

Besides, I'll be right here.

First door on your right.

Okay.

Enter.

I'm Frances kroll.

Come on in, Frances.

Forgive me for not getting up, but...

I have a fever.

Not to worry, though.

I'm not contagious.

I can type 60 words a minute,

and I can take dictation as
well as anyone you've ever met.

Have you worked for any
other writers in Hollywood?

No.

Well, Frances, this is very important.

Have you ever worked for anyone at mgm?

No.

I'm about to start a new novel

about the motion picture industry,

and I don't want it getting around.

I particularly don't want
anyone at mgm to hear about it.

My hero will be based on Irving thalberg.

You don't know who thalberg was?

No, I'm sorry. Should I?

No.

Frances, come a little closer.

Come. Over.

Sit there. Down. At the end.

Frances,

do you hereby pledge

that if you work for
f. Scott Fitzgerald,

you will speak to no
one about this project,

so help you god?

Mr. Fitzgerald, I'm afraid

I don't know what you're talking about.

I'm talking about swearing

to a code of silence on your mother's life.

You have a mother?
Alive, I mean?

- Yes.
- Good.

So, swear you won't
mention this project to no one.

I swear.

No, raise your right hand.

I swear.

Right. Will you open the bottom
drawer of the dresser there?

Do you know why those bottles are there?

You like gin?

Does that bother you?

No.

How old are you, Frances?

I'm 23.

That's about my
daughter's age. Scottie.

She's at vassar, junior year.

I didn't get to go to college.

But I read...

A lot more than anyone
I know... and I write.

Fellow scrivener, eh?

Yes.

Well, beware of the pitfalls, scrivener.

Now if you'd hand me
my wallet from the bureau.

Thank you.

Here's $40.

I need you to wire it to scottie.

Oh. All right.

Here's the address.

Use five to pay.

Does this mean I'm hired?

I'll let you know tomorrow.

Call me.

Please...

Not before noon.

Of course.

You sure this will get there?

I'm sure.

You don't sound sure.

I'm sure. Here's your change.

Next.

No one's taken these
out in more than 10 years.

When I was young,

which wasn't that long ago,

Fitzgerald was quite the thing.

He was famous, like a movie star.

He had a beautiful wife.

Strange name.

Zanda? Zendella?

Oh, I can't remember.

Anyway, here you go.

Thank you.

♪ Every day

♪ though you're gone

♪ our love lives on, it seems ♪

♪ dear...

"The lights grow brighter

as the earth lurches away from the sun,

and now the orchestra is
playing yellow cocktail music,

and the opera of voices
pitches a key higher.

Gatsby believed in the green light,

the orgiastic future

that year by year recedes before us.

It eluded us then, but that's no matter.

Tomorrow we will run faster,

stretch out our arms farther.

And one fine morning...

So we beat on,

boats against the current,

borne back ceaselessly
into the past."

Yes?

Hello?

Uh, this is Frances kroll.
You asked me to call.

Oh, Frances.

Yeah, good morning.

Oh, uh, I heard from scottie.

Just now.

She got the money.

How-how would $35 a week sound?

Are you offering me the job?

What job?

Yes.

Really?

Yes, Frances. Yes. Really.

What job is she talking about?

Um, $35 sounds fine.
Should I start today?

Uh, no, no. Uh,
not today, Frances.

No, I... you must surely
have arrangements to make.

No. No, not at all.
I'll be right over.

- $35.
- Not bad, kiddo.

It's not her job to make
the money around here.

That's your job.

Pop, I'm sorry. Can I
borrow the car again?

Keys are in the hallway.

Mr. Fitzgerald?

"My dear miss kroll,

you will find on the
desk of the living room

a number of letters that I would appreciate

your typing and mailing.

Also, could you balance my checkbook?

I will be down
presently. Scott."

"Darling pie,

I'm sorry about the tone
of the telegram I sent you,

but it represents a most terrific worry.

You were doing exactly
what I did at Princeton."

Who are you?

- I'm Frances kroll.
- What are you doing here?

I'm Mr. Fitzgerald's secretary.

I'm helping him with his new novel.

Where is he?

Upstairs.

Scott?

You're piss drunk.
Scott, you promised.

I cannot believe you.

Sheilah, you walk into my bathroom

while I'm having a bath...

Scott, put the gun down.

My grandfather carried this gun

into the battle of gettysburg.

If you don't stop drinking,

I'm gonna stop seeing you, Scott.

I mean it.

I should shoot you between the eyes.

Oh, shoot yourself, you son of a bitch.

I don't need to waste my life...

Uhh! Uhh!

You're pathetic!

Frances.

Good morning.

So, your father tells me
he's some kind of writer,

this man you're working for, huh?

That's right.

Does he have a name?

F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Never heard of him.

So what is he writing these days?

Well, he's not exactly writing right now.

He's getting ready to write.

On this muddy field...

October 23rd...

1913.

Rain pelting down on the heads

of America's only true aristocrats,

the warriors of Princeton and Yale,

face-to-face in battle.

Princeton...

On the bulldogs' 10-yard line.

30 seconds to go.

Sam white drops back.

Hobey baker shoots
past the defensive backs.

White lets the ball fly.

Baker fakes to the left,

fakes to the right.

Shakes off his attackers...

And touchdown!

Morning.

Good morning.

I called someone to come and fix the...

Window as well as the cabinet door.

Have you paid all the bills?

Yes, I have.

What happened to your face?

Uh, sporting accident.

Sorry about yesterday,

the pistol and...

And my state of undress.

Is that pretty much a
normal thing around here?

Sheilah and I have our spats, but...

I don't usually shoot at her.

Who is she?

She's a friend.

Sheilah Graham.

She's a gossip columnist.

From england.

Oh.

She's very pretty.

- You think so?
- Yes.

Well, now she's not talking to me.

Who's that?

Oh, that's my wife Zelda,

and the little girl's
our daughter, scottie.

Is Zelda away?

Zelda's in an institution.

Has been for several years now.

North Carolina.

She's been clinically
diagnosed as a schizophrenic.

Oh, I'm sorry.

I'm very fond of sheilah,

despite appearances,

but she's not my wife.

I understand.

I wonder if you do.
You're very young.

How old are you again?

23.

When I was your age, I
had published my first novel,

"this side of paradise."

It made me famous.

Don't ever get famous, Frances.

I don't think there's much
chance of that, Mr. Fitzgerald.

Scott.

Scott.

Can I ask you, why in "tender is the night"

does dick diver feel like such an outsider?

It's 'cause he's not rich.

Take some dictation.

My dear miss Graham.

I am taking the Liberty

of writing to you...

to tell you that Mr. Fitzgerald

is appalled by his behavior yesterday.

I have never seen a man so...

Distraught and ashamed.

He has said to me repeatedly

that he will never bother you again

and that he will even
move away from Hollywood

if that would help.

Please, miss Graham,

consider forgiving him,

for he is contrite

and sober.

Sincerely, Frances...

Kroll?

Kroll.

Will you sign that and, uh,

drop it into sheilah's mailbox?

151 Hayworth in Hollywood.

- Actually, I'm not...
- Thank you.

That's excellent.

That will be all for today.

I'm not feeling too well.

Will you come by
tomorrow about 10:00?

We'll get started.

On the novel?

Yes, on the novel.

Will you bring some things with you?

Some fudge, the extra-chocolaty kind,

and a crate of Pepsi.

No, Henry, listen.

Yes, you tell that Jeff

I've got two pieces for the columns.

Right. One on
Davis, one on colbert.

Yes. Thank god it's spicy.

Yes, I'd like to save it.

I'm thinking next week.

Okay. Can you manage that?

Oh, that would be fabulous.

Okay, we'll see you then.

Thanks. Bye-bye.

It's hopeless, goofo.

You can't stop. You know that.

Yes, I can.

Oh, for a few days maybe, or weeks.

You made it for three
months once, didn't you?

That winter in Rome?

But not forever.

You could never do that.

Get out, Zelda.

Oh, darling.

Booze has always kept us together.

Your booze and my craziness.

Get out, Zelda, before
I do something I regret.

Like what?

Kill me? Rape me?

What could you possibly do
to me that you would regret?

Good morning.

I've been reading keats.

I'm trying to memorize
"ode to a nightingale."

"Adieu! Adieu!

Thy plaintive anthem fades

past the near Meadow,

over the still stream,

up the hillside;

and now 'Tis buried deep

in the far valley-glades:

Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

Fled is that music:

Do I wake

or sleep?"

You should also read lord
Byron as soon as possible.

"She walks in beauty, like the night

of cloudless climes and starry skies;

and all that's best of dark and bright

meet in her aspect
and her eyes."

What other poets do you like,
apart from Byron and keats?

Emily Dickinson. Wordsworth.

"There was a time

when Meadow, grove, and stream,

the earth, and every
common sight..."

"to me did seem
apparelled in celestial light."

You brought the things I asked for?

The fudge and the Pepsi?

Yes, they're in the kitchen.

The extra-chocolaty kind?

Yes. Double
delicious, it's called.

Maybe we should take a little
break and cook up a batch.

We haven't done any work yet.

Well, that's true.

What if we worked for a couple of hours

and then rewarded ourselves with the fudge?

Okay.

Frances.

Yes.

If I'm acting odd...

Confession.

I used to be able to drink and write,

but I've lost that talent,

among others.

And in preparation for our work today,

I've not had a drink since...

Tuesday.

Yesterday.

Is that all it's been?

Tuesday was yesterday?

I'm afraid so.

Good god almighty.

Okay.

This novel...

Is to be called "Stahr,"

or "the last of the tycoons."

It is the story

of Monroe Stahr,

who will be loosely based

on Irving thalberg,

child genius at mgm

in the '20s.

You don't have to write this part.

Stahr has a genius for the
moving-picture business.

In an odd way, he is more of an artist

and not a businessman.

And this will prove his undoing.

Did you drop the letter
into sheilah's mailbox?

Um, yes.

I called...

Laura's flowers on ventura
boulevard this morning,

asked them to prepare a dozen red roses.

Will you please pick them up this afternoon

and drive them over to sheilah's apartment?

All right.

And while you're there,
will you speak on my behalf?

To sheilah?

Just say I didn't mean it and...

That I'm sorry.

Would you?

Please...

Francoise.

All right.

That's just terrific. Thank you.

Oh. Just one more request.

In the course of going on the wagon,

I took all the gin bottles,

empty and full, stored around the house,

and threw them into the trash can outside.

I'm a little embarrassed
about the garbageman

seeing all those bottles,

so I took the Liberty of buying

some burlap sacks at the market,

and I was thinking maybe you could

haul the empties away and dispose of them.

Dispose of them?

Please.

And try to be discreet.

Now?

Please.

Mr. Fitzgerald...

Scott.

I thought I was supposed
to be your secretary.

I thought I was supposed to
help you out with your novel.

Oh, I'm asking too much, aren't I?

Yes is the answer, I am.

Forget that I asked.

My apologies. Request retracted.

Now I think I'll go and lie down.

We made a good start today.

I'm very pleased.

Coming.

Hi.

Hello.

Um, these are from Scott.

He asked me to give them to you.

Did you get my letter?

Yes, I did.

And I know that he dictated it to you,

and my answer is no.

I will not see him ever again...

Unless he stops drinking.

Well, he-he did stop... Today.

Actually... yesterday.

Promises, promises. Good night.

"Across the four feet of moonlight,

the eyes he knew
looked back at him."

Zelda, what are you doing here?

I'm not drinking. I'm sober.

Shh.

Shh, shh, shh, shh.

"A curl blew a little
on a familiar forehead.

The smile lingered,

changed a little according to pattern.

The lips parted... The same."

Is that me, darling?

Is he seeing me?

"An awful fear went over him,

and he wanted to cry aloud.

Back from the still sour room,

the muffled glide of the limousine hearse,

the falling concealing flowers

from out there in the dark

here now warm and glowing."

I'm not dead, goofo.

I'm just in a loony bin.

"The river passed
him in a rush."

Oh, god.

"And then he heard another voice speak.

It was not minna's voice.

'We're sorry, ' said the voice.

'We followed a truck
in through the gate.'"

I'm not coming out, Zelda.

I'm not coming out till you go away.

You know, you shouldn't smoke so much.

I know.

You look awful.

Well, I didn't sleep too well.

But you didn't drink.

No, I didn't drink.

So the night was a triumph, then.

Triumph's like that,

I'd happily welcome
back my old friend failure.

Zelda?

I know you're here somewhere,

so you might as well...

Zelda?

Zelda, are you in there?

Zelda, my love,

my darling wife.

We have to talk.

I know you're not really here, but...

It scares me, to be completely honest,

that I think you're here,
even though I'm sober.

And that's why...

Why you have to go.

That's why we have to say good-bye.

We have to, Zelda, or I will die.

I don't want to
die. I want to...

I want to write my novel,

prove that I still got it in me.

I want to stay sober

so that when scottie leaves vassar,

she can come out here and...

And live with me,

actually live with her dad if she wants to.

I want to be free to love sheilah.

What about that sweet
young thing who types for you?

What's her name? Frances?

Don't you want to love her, too?

You've got to go.

You've got to go, Zelda.

Oh, goofo.

I'm so sorry for what I've become.

You tried so hard.

But we had fun, didn't we?

Yes. We did.

And now there isn't any more happiness.

And home is gone.

There isn't even any past.

And I wish you had a little
house with hollyhocks...

And a sycamore tree.

And the afternoon sun would...

I do.

Here.

Except it's roses, not hollyhocks.

It's fine.

I'm fine.

I love you, goofo.

Nice night, huh?

- Jasmine.
- Yeah.

Don't get that in New York.

So, uh...

What's it about?

What?

The guy Fitzgerald's novel.

I can't tell you.

- Why not?
- I'm sworn to secrecy.

I'm your father, for god's sake.

I know, but I promised him I wouldn't
tell anyone, not even my father.

He specified this?
Don't tell your father?

No, of course not, but he did
make me swear on mom's life.

Oh, then please tell me.

Put me out of my misery.

I'm just kidding.

So, what's he like, this man Fitzgerald?

Is he a nice man?

Yeah, he is.

How old is he?

I don't know. In
his forties. 44?

Married?

He's separated.

Oh.

Well, as long as he
treats you professionally.

Of course he treats me professionally.

Good.

"Though...

I have never been on the screen...

I was brought up in pictures.

Rudolph Valentino came
to my fifth birthday party.

Hmm.

Or so I was told.

I put this down only to indicate

that even before the age of reason,

I was in a position

to watch the wheels go 'round.

You can take Hollywood
for granted, like I did,

or you can dismiss it with a contempt

we reserve for what
we don't understand."

Mmm!

"I would rather think that in a long shot,

Stahr saw a new way of measuring

our jerky hopes and graceful rogueries

and awkward sorrows

and that he came here from choice

to be with us to the end,

like the plane coming
down into the glendale airport

into the warm darkness."

So?

I don't know what to say.

It's beautiful.

Truly beautiful.

Cecelia Brady's in love
with Stahr, isn't she?

Mum's the word.

But Stahr doesn't love
her, not in that way.

She's too young, too gawky.

I wouldn't say "gawky," Frances.

Who does Stahr love?

A woman named Kathleen.

She looks just like his dead wife.

Is Kathleen sheilah?

On sheilah's better days, yes.

I gave her the roses.

She said she won't see
you unless you stop drinking.

I told her you had, but I
don't think she believed me.

But she accepted the roses?

Yes.

Then everything will be fine.

I'm about to be rude.

Feel free.

Are you ever gonna ask me about my writing?

I'm sorry, Frances.

Of course.

I've been preoccupied.

I should love to...

See something you've written.

Don't do it if you don't really want to.

If you don't have the time, I understand.

Frances, please,

may I see a sample of your writing?

Here it is.

Oh, thank you, Frances.

You're welcome.

I'm honored.

Good.

Yeah.

I'll read it tonight.

Thank you.

Frances...

Am I correct in thinking
that you're Jewish?

Yes, I am. Why?

And your father...

He's a self-made man?

Yes.

Very much so.

He's intelligent, but uneducated.

The only education he's had
is reading the Bible in Hebrew.

Hmm. Perfect. Where was he born?

Russia. Why?

And what was his trade?
What does he do for a living?

He's a furrier.

You see, Cecilia's dad, Brady,

would probably be Jewish in reality,

but I've made him Irish,
because he's a bad guy.

I don't want to make the bad guy a Jew.

- Why not?
- Hitler.

Monroe Stahr, of course, is Jewish

because Hollywood's a Jewish business,

just as investment banking is episcopalian.

The big difference being

Jews had to make it on their own.

No andover and Yale for them.

You know,

Monroe's background

would not be that much
different from your father's.

I want to get his jewishness right,

the tone of it.

I was thinking...

Maybe I should talk to your father.

So, my father, he said to me,

"Samuel, go."

- And you were 16?
- My sister was 14.

Hmm.

More Pepsi, Scott?

Thank you, Sarah.

So where did you go?

West, to the border. We walked.

We walked.

- Walked and walked.
- Always at night.

Never during the day.

Too many cossacks.

How did you get across the border?

Well, my father, he said to go to visit

a rabbi who lived in
one of the small villages,

a rabbi sudikovich.

The rabbi put us into a hay cart,

you know, underneath the hay.

My sister and I were lying side by side,

and then the farmer,
who was a friend of his,

took us to the border.

Now, it's not so easy to
get across the border, right?

The guards, they would
check everything with pitchforks,

and they would stick the pitchforks...

- Pop.
- Into the hay,

you know, very, very hard.

And, uh...

It hit my sister in-in the stomach.

She didn't say anything.

She didn't make a sound.

The pitchfork, it had gone
right through her stomach.

The next day the farmer,
he took us across the border,

helped me to Bury my sister...

Then he walked to France.

You walked?

- Yes.
- Yeah, sure.

From Russia to France?

Yeah. Yeah.

And then a boat to New York.

Steerage.

And we met in New York, Elizabeth street,

at my friend Irene's wedding.

I knew her husband, Saul.

Did you ever see your parents again?

Oh, no.

No. They were killed.

May they rest in peace.

Samuel,

what you went through,

what you suffered to get here

to be part of this great
experiment we call America

is no less heroic and worthy of history

than the pioneers who came before you.

The puritans in their little boats

landing in Massachusetts.

Frontiersmen...

Crossing the great plains.

Samuel kroll, I salute you.

You're a goddamned hero, Samuel.

A goddamned hero.

Excuse my Latin, Sarah.

Yeah.

I-I didn't think...

Uh...

What do you call them?

He doesn't know the names.

He's never been to Hollywood before.

Uh...

I didn't think you people...

Understand... no.

No, he...

I didn't think you people read things.

Uh, the men, uh...

I didn't think you people read things.

See, what he means is they don't read.

You know what he's saying?
He's saying you don't read.

You don't know anything.

I didn't think you people read things.

We did good work today, francoise.

Yes, we did.

How many pages?

15.

15!

Yes.

Oh!

I think we deserve a little drink.

You're on the wagon.

Says who?

How about if we have
something to eat instead?

Eat?

Mm-hmm.

You're right,
Frances. Let's eat.

Frances kroll,

I would like to take you out to dinner.

What, tonight?

Yes, tonight. Right now.

I'll just go put on a jacket and tie.

You're not doing anything
else tonight, are you?

No.

I'll be right back.

What can I get you to drink, ma'am?

Ice water, please.

Sir?

Let's see. What mood
are we in tonight?

I think a very dry Martini,

straight up, two olives.

Good, sir.

Just one Martini, Frances.

No need to act like sheilah.

I spent many, too many, nights at that bar

some years ago with bill faulkner.

You think I have a drinking problem?

I just think you should
be careful, that's all.

You're looking beautiful
tonight, francoise.

Thank you.

You have beautiful cheekbones.

Anyone ever tell you that?

No.

Well, you do.

Thank you.

Frances, I read your story last night.

It stinks.

I'm sorry, francoise, but...

It does.

What's taking them so long?

What do you mean, it stinks?

The characters, they're
flat and unbelievable.

And the dialogue is stilted and artificial,

and the plot, which I
guess is supposed to be

some kind of chekhovian slice of life,

is trite and... Predictable.

Where are you going?

Home.

You're just gonna leave me here?

- Take a cab.
- Frances.

Frances, come here.

Look, if you really want to be a writer,

you have to get used
to being treated like one.

Come on.

Everyone's staring at you.

Look, I think your story doesn't work

because you're just borrowing everything,

from other books, other writers.

I don't hear any Frances in there,

except once or twice in little hints.

Little hints?

Yes. The line...

"She believed in herself
because she had no choice."

That's good.

And the way Mary can't explain

why she fights with
her mother all the time,

that rings true.

That's good.

That's it?

Yeah, that's it...
In my opinion.

- Here you go.
- Oh.

One ice water.

Thanks.

And one Martini.

Thank you.

I'll be back for your
order in a few minutes, sir.

We had a good day today, francoise.

It was a very good day.

Come on.

Oh, that's good.

That's really excellent.

You didn't think I could do it, did you?

What?

Just that one drink.

One Martini.

Doubting Frances.

Frankly, no, I didn't
think you could do it.

But you're still mad at me

for criticizing your story.

It's not a question of being mad,

it's a question of being hurt.

I can't believe I have
to explain that to you.

I told you, if you want to
be a writer, get used to it.

You didn't have to be so brutal.

You just wait till the "New
York times book review"

calls a novel you've spent 10 years writing

"flaccid and predictable."

They did that?

Uh-huh.

"Tender is the night."

Frances, rewrite your story.

Start all over.

Only this time,

write the dialogue with
your ear, not your brain.

And try writing description that's simpler,

based more on verbs
than nouns and adjectives.

And when you use adjectives,

make sure they're very, very specific.

Never generalize...

He says, generalizing.

And make sure that you know

what Mary and her
mother are feeling inside,

what they want.

That way, you'll learn who they really are.

Rewrite your story, Frances.

This song was popular when
Zelda and I were your age.

We used to love to go
dancing to music like this.

Moonlight and champagne music.

Slipper music.

Beautiful woman, slender ankles,

sliding into her silver slipper music.

Scott, tell me about Zelda.

I met her at a dance when I was 21.

She was the most
beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

When she looked at me,

she looked right inside me, way deep,

with a look that said,

"well, hello there, old thing.

Where have you been all these years?

What's been keeping you?"

I proposed.

She turned me down,

'cause I had no prospects.

So I retired to the attic of
my parents' house in St. Paul,

and I wrote "this side of paradise,"

which made me rich.

I proposed again.

This time, she accepted.

Then...

We were very bad
together for about 10 years,

in New York, Paris, Rome,

the French riviera.

I... drank,

and she slowly went mad.

So here's the truth,
here's the really odd thing.

I still love her so much,
it makes my heart crack.

She's my girl, you know?

There's something delicious and smart

inside all that craziness.

We did so much together.

That never goes away, what you do together.

It's...

I should go home.

Why? The night is young.

Stay, and I'll regale you
with stories of the jazz age.

That's my phrase, you know.

- Yeah?
- Mm-hmm.

No. No, I should really go.

My pop will worry.

If you go, I'll start drinking.

That is blackmail.

Damn straight.

I'm sorry, Frances.

I was way out of line.

You're practically scottie's age.

I'd kill an old drunk like
me if he made a pass at her.

No, it's okay. It's okay.

It was a beautiful evening, Frances.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

I'm sorry I had to go and spoil it all.

You didn't spoil it.

I'm just a... Pathetic old man.

You're not a pathetic old man.

- Yes, I am.
- Scott, please stop it.

You're just...

It's fine. I'm fine.

I'm fine.

You're a peach, Frances.

It'll never happen again.

My word as a gentleman.

Are you all right?

Of course. I'm fine.

Where were you?

We worked late, got something to eat.

You couldn't call?

I didn't think I needed your permission.

Frances, sit-sit down.

- Pop, I'm tired.
- Frances, sit!

It's got nothing to do with permission.

It's got to do with your mother
and me worrying ourselves sick.

Terrible things can happen

to a young girl in a city like this.

You like him, don't you, huh?

Your Mr. Fitzgerald.

Yeah.

But you can't love him.

You know that, don't you?

Yeah.

Good night, pop.

There you go.

Thank you.

You know, you drink all those,

you're gonna get in trouble.

I understand.

A word to the wise.

Thanks.

Ah.

Ah.

Hmm!

You know,

I did something really bad tonight.

I behaved like a jerk.

A real asshole.

Ah.

Nice place you've got here.

Cozy.

Where's your shoe?

I don't know.

♪ Davenports and kettledrums ♪

♪ and swallowtail coats

♪ tablecloths and
patent-leather shoes ♪

♪ bathing suits, bowling balls ♪

♪ and clarinets and rings ♪

♪ and all this
radio really needs ♪

♪ is a fuse

♪ a tinker, a tailor

♪ a soldier's things...

Hi.

Feeling better?

I was thinking we should, uh...

We should redo the scene with Monroe Stahr

and brimmer, the union man.

I was thinking it might
add a nice dimension

of fear and pathos,

maybe even a little humor

if Stahr got drunk.

Do you have that chapter?

Please find the part where
they go to the trocadero.

Um...

"Bernie, the photographer

who was waiting for some big game or other,

came up to our table.

He looked trapped.

Stahr made Bernie go away,

and I would like to
have had the picture."

That's... it.

Then to my surprise... no.

Then to my astonishment,

Stahr had three cocktails,

one after the other.

Stahr never drinks.

What better way to show
how stupidly he's behaving?

Good morning, Frances.

I put some fresh coffee
on. It's in the kitchen.

Come on in.

Now,

there are new pages on the desk.

If you could type those up

while I work on the
remainder of the chapter.

Thank you.

Oh, Frances, how are you today?

Fine. Good.

Have you started work on the rewrite?

Not yet.

Get cracking,
Frances. Get cracking.

Come on in, Frances.
I'm very excited.

I think I know how to do the scene

with Brady after the earthquake.

Absolutely nothing should be said

about political machinations

going on behind the scenes.

I started my rewrite.

How's it going?

Not well.

You hate me?

Deeply.

Keep at it, Frances. Keep at it.

Now...

Oh, before I forget,

scottie's coming to visit.

I need your help again.

What?

I need you to go and see sheilah

and beg her to come out to dinner with us.

Us?

You, me, scottie, and sheilah.

I want to take us all out
to dinner and dancing.

So will you talk to sheilah,

use your charms on her?

Please?

What do you mean Scott needs me?

Scottie's coming to visit,

and he'd like to take you all...

Actually, um...

Us all out for dinner and dancing.

Did he send you?

No, he doesn't know I'm here.

Is he drinking?

No.

No, he's not drinking,

and he's working very hard.

The novel's going well.
He's about halfway through.

It's got a new title even:
"The last tycoon."

Did he script everything you just said?

No. I told you, he doesn't
even know I'm here.

Well, how long has he not been drinking?

He's been sober since you left...

Mostly.

A few episodes, but
he's trying really hard.

Thank you.

I'm sure we've got the table reserved.

This way, please.

You know, darling, I simply
must have a Manhattan.

Then you shall have one.

Here we are.

Pie, why don't you go sit
over there next to Frances?

My dear.

Thank you, darling.

One Manhattan,

two pepsis, and an ice water, please.

If you can be able to drive with Frances...

Terrible. Terrifying.

Thought I was gonna die.

Come on.

Let's burn some leather.

Daddy looks so happy.

You sound surprised.

Happiness is not my father's usual state,

unless it's drunken happiness,

which isn't really happiness at all, is it?

No, it isn't.

He's been on the wagon.

It shows.

Thank you, Frances.

For what?

Helping him.

I know you have.

It certainly couldn't have been sheilah.

She's been doing her best.

Your father's...

Your father isn't exactly easy, you know?

Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?

Look out, ginger Rogers.

Whew.

Come on, pie.

Dance with your old papa.

He's not done yet.

Last time I danced with you,

you had your arm around my waist.

My god.

The energy that man has when he is sober.

Are you and scottie getting along?

She's very nice.

And you're practically
the same age, aren't you?

Practically.

You know, Frances,

you have helped Scott so much.

And I don't just mean
with the novel writing,

I mean in general.

You've kept him steady.

You've cheered him up.

You understand, I had
to keep myself distant.

It was the only way.

Of course. I understand.

Otherwise, he never would
have faced his problems.

He'd have kept turning
to me for help, and...

I'm afraid I can never refuse anyone help.

Anyway,

thank you from the bottom of my heart.

You don't have to thank me.

But I do.

No, you don't.

Despite what you might think,

I'm not the goddamned
good-natured servant girl.

Oh, Frances.

I'd forgotten how much I liked to dance.

- Waiter.
- Yes, sir.

One more Pepsi and the check, please.

Right away.

You are a regular Fred Astaire, darling.

You two girls make me
feel like a worn-out rag.

You silly old thing.

Dr. Mahoney? Is everything okay?

Scott. Did you hear?

No, I just talked to the doctor.

He's sleeping.

I think we should move him to my apartment.

I can keep an eye on him there.

Dr. Mahoney said we've
got to keep him rested.

No excitement.
He's to stay in bed.

All right.

Frances, I have to go to the office.

I have a deadline today.

I've left my number on the
pad by the phone in the kitchen.

But if you need me for
any reason, call, will you?

Yes.

Will you pack him up a suitcase

and drive him to my apartment,

say, around about 6:00?

Of course. Don't
worry, I'll call you.

Go to work.

All right.

I don't know what I would
do without you, Frances,

but I want to say thank you.

Right.

Frances.

Morning.

It's afternoon.

You hungry?

Not really, thanks, but thank you.

How do you feel?

Fine.

A little tired, that's all.

You should really have something to eat.

Just have some toast or something.

What happened?

I felt...

A tingling in my arms.

I was a little dizzy.

I guess I passed out.

Well, I'm glad you're all right.

You think I'm all right?

Yes.

Sheilah thinks it would be better

if you moved in with her.

Ha!

Not only is she talking to me,

she's inviting me home.

I should get sick more often.

I'll pack a suitcase for you

and take you over there tonight.

What about this place?

Get rid of it.

We've done some good
writing here, francoise. We...

You can write at sheilah's
when she's at work.

I'll come over every day.

Nothing's gonna change that much.

What are you doing?

Getting out of bed.

Sit down.

- Scott...
- I'm okay.

Sit down, please.

You're not okay, Scott.

You almost had a heart attack.

People die of heart attacks.

I just wanted to take a pee.

Oh.

Your slippers.

Let me get your housecoat.

I can't stay in bed all day, francoise.

I've got a novel to write.

I was thinking about

Stahr's meeting with brimmer,

the union guy who's trying to organize

the writers into a union.

Mm-hmm.

You know what they should do

after dinner at the trocadero?

No. What?

Scott?

Scott?

Ping-pong.

Stahr should invite brimmer home,

should challenge him to ping-pong.

Don't forget, Stahr's drunk.

Because he never drinks,

he's not very good holding his booze.

So... ha! Ping-pong, francoise.

Come on. Let's work.

There's a pad there.

Pencils, uh, over...

I got it.

Okay.

So... Let's think.

Cecelia drives him
home after the trocadero.

Stahr is drunk.

So, when he gets to the house,

he turns on all the floodlights,

and they play ping-pong.

There's a table,

an outside table.

Only it isn't ping-pong, it's war.

And the problem is that Stahr's

not very good at playing ping-pong.

Scott, sit down.

So he's put himself in a position

where he's gotta lose to this guy he hates,

this guy who's trying
to destroy the studio.

Stahr loses?

That's right.

Then what?

I haven't a clue.

He's drunk, right?

Right.

So if he loses at ping-pong,

it's possible he may...

Do something stupid and out of character.

No.

What if he tries to hit brimmer?

Hit him?

You mean deck him?

Yeah.

But of course brimmer decks him,

being stronger and more physical.

He knocks Stahr out?

Yes.

Only when he finally comes to,

brimmer's gone already.

Yeah.

And Cecelia lies to him

and says that he got brimmer a good one.

Exactly.

That's good. Write that.

And then, of course,

Stahr has to face the ultimate indignity

of throwing up all over
Cecelia's beautiful bel air garden.

Oh, this is good, francoise!

This is really good!

Now...

Why can't we go tomorrow?

Sheilah's expecting you.

Anyways, you shouldn't be alone tonight.

We were getting good work done, Frances.

We'll get good work done tomorrow.

Not a word.

I hate Hollywood.

No, you don't.

Yes, I do.

Come on, it'll be fun.

God knows there's more to do around here.

Bookstores, movies.

You can walk to musso's.

I just want to work, Frances.

I've got bills to pay.

I want to finish the novel.

You will. You will.

I used to be sure of myself...

once upon a time

when I was young like you.

Scott, please stop with the
"tragic old man" business.

You're only 44,

and that's hardly ancient or decrepit.

How come I feel so tired all the time?

You just need to rest.

Like Dr. Mahoney said,
rest and you'll be fine.

You're right as always, francoise.

I know.

Well...

Let me take that.

No. No, it's fine.

So I'll call you in the morning.

You can tell me when to come by, okay?

Yes, fine. Thank you.

We'll just keep going as
though nothing had changed.

Absolutely right. Yeah, sure.

- Here.
- No.

How's the rewrite going?

I haven't finished it yet.

Keep going, Frances.

You've got to finish it.

Yeah.

You promise me?

I promise.

Okay. Good night.

Good night.

Oh, Frances?

Yeah?

I was wondering.

What?

Do you think maybe
Stahr shouldn't throw up?

I mean, it's a little disgusting.

There's a possibility

we'd lose sympathy for him at that moment.

Leave it.

Okay.

Okay.

Good night.

See you in the morning.

Yes, you will.

♪ You didn't say you loved me ♪

♪ I just knew...

He's gone.

Frances, he's gone.

What?

All right.

He couldn't sleep,

so we got up early.

I made him breakfast.

We were sitting and talking,

and he suddenly stood up,

and he grabbed the...

And he just...

Keeled over.

Frances, I have a small problem

I'm going to need your help solving.

You're going to have
to take care of things.

Funeral arrangements,

notifying his family,

clearing out his house.

I can't.

Do you understand?

♪ I will always love you ♪

♪ just the same

♪ as ever

♪ same

♪ as ever

♪ every day

♪ though you're gone

♪ our love lives on

♪ it seems, dear

♪ that I can see
you there with me ♪

♪ in dreams, dear

♪ never fear

♪ I'll hold you tightly ♪

♪ just the same

♪ as ever

♪ and you'll tell me

♪ that you'll leave me never ♪

♪ they may try to be unkind ♪

♪ claim you're only in my mind ♪

♪ but you'll be real

♪ always to me

♪ I'll hold you tightly

♪ just the same as ever

♪ and you'll tell me

♪ that you'll leave me never ♪

♪ they may try to be unkind ♪

♪ claim you're only in my mind ♪

♪ but you'll be real

♪ always to me.

♪ Where you going, boys?

♪ We're going trottin'

♪ yeah, but where
are you going, boys? ♪

♪ Trottin' at the troc

♪ how you going when
you ain't got no money? ♪

♪ I bought a little radio ♪

♪ we're trottin' at the troc. ♪