Speed-the-Plow Read Free Page B

cigarette. Oh, Man, I can't come down.
    G OULD : No need to. Huh . . .?
    F OX : Ross, Ross, Ross isn't going to fuck me out of this . . .?
    G OULD : No. Absolutely not. You have my word.
    F OX : I don't need your word, Bob. I know you . . . Drives right to my house. I need a cup of coffee.
    G OULD ( into phone ): Could we get a cup . .. well, where did you try? Why not try the coffee mach . . . well, it's right down at the. . . down the, no, it's unmarked, just go . . . that's right. ( Hangs up. )
    F OX : What, you got a new broad, go with the new job . . .
    G OULD : No. Cathy's just out sick.
    F OX : Cute broad, the new broad.
    G OULD : What? She's cute? The broad out there is cute? Baby, she's nothing. You wait ‘til we make this film.
    F OX : She's nothing?
    G OULD : Playing in this league? I'm saying, it's Boy's Choice: Skate in One Direction Only. ( Pause. )
    F OX : Oh, man, what am I going to do today?
    G OULD : Go to a movie, get your hair done.
    F OX : I'm jumping like a leaf.
    G OULD : It's a done deal. We walk in tomorrow . . .
    F OX ( picks up the book ): What's this, what's the thing you're reading I come in?
    G OULD : This thing?
    F OX : Uh huh . . .
    G OULD : From the East. An Eastern Sissy Writer. ( Passes the book to F OX .)
    F OX ( reads ): “The Bridge: or, Radiation and the Half-Life of Society. A Study of Decay.”
    G OULD : A Novel.
    F OX : Great.
    G OULD : A cover note from Richard Ross: “Give this a Courtesy Read.”
    F OX ( reads ): “The wind against the Plains, but not a wind of change . . . a wind like that one which he'd been foretold, the rubbish of the world—swirling, swirling . . . two thousand years . . .” Hey I wouldn't just give it a courtesy read, I'd make this sucker.
    G OULD : Good idea.
    F OX : Drop a dime on western civilization.
    G OULD : . . . ‘Bout time.
    F OX : Why don't you do that? Make it.
    G OULD : I think that I will.
    F OX : Yeah. Instead of our Doug, Doug Brown's Buddy film.
    G OULD : Yeah. I could do that. You know why? Because my job, my new job is one thing: the capacity to make decisions.
    F OX : I know that it is.
    G OULD : Decide, decide, decide . . .
    F OX : It's lonely at the top.
    G OULD : But it ain't crowded.
    ( K AREN, the secretary, comes in with a tray of coffee .)
    K AREN : I'm sorry please, but how do you take your coffee . . . ?
    F OX : He takes his coffee like he makes his movies: nothing in it.
    G OULD : Very funny.
    F OX : ‘Cause he's an Old Whore.
    G OULD : . . . that's right. . .
    F OX : Bobby Gould . . .
    G OULD : . . . Huh . . .
    F OX : You're just an Old Whore.
    G OULD : Proud of it. Yes, yes.
    F OX : They kick you upstairs and you're still just some old whore.
    G OULD : You're an old whore, too.
    F OX : I never said I wasn't. Soon to be a rich old whore.
    G OULD : That's right.
    F OX : And I deserve it.
    G OULD : That you do, Babe, that you do.
    F OX : Because, Miss, lemme tell you something, I've been loyal to this guy, you know, you know . . . what's your name?
    K AREN : Karen . . .
    F OX : Karen, lemme tell you: since the mail room . . . you know? Step-by-step. Yes, in his shadow, yes, why not. Never forgot him, and he never forgot me.
    G OULD : That's absolutely right.
    F OX : You know why I never forgot him?
    K AREN : . . . I. . .
    F OX : . . . Because the shit of his I had to eat, how could I forget him?
    G OULD : . . . huh . . .
    F OX : Yes, but the Wheel Came Around. And here we are. Two Whores. ( To GOULD :) You're gonna decorate your office. Make it a bordello. You'll feel more at home.
    G OULD : You , you sonofabitch . . .
    F OX : . . . and come to work in a soiled nightgown.
    G OULD : Hey, after the Doug Brown thing, I come to work in that same nightgown, I say “kiss the hem,” then every swinging dick in this man's studio will kiss that hem.
    F OX : They will.
    G OULD : They'll french that jolly jolly hem.
    F OX : Uh huh, uh huh . . . you, you, you fucken’ whore, on his deathbed, St. Peter'll come for him, his dying