Feud (2017) s02e08 Episode Script
Phantasm Forgiveness
1
♪
Knock, knock.
Everybody decent?
Oh, for fuck's sake carnations?
Who would dare?
Brooke Astor.
Relentless.
There.
Hellebores, your favorite.
Better.
Oh.
I'm so tired.
No, it's not a hangover.
In fact, you'll be proud to know
I haven't had a drink in three months.
The first weeks were
agony, but now I swear
I really don't even crave it.
Just the thought of a
drink makes me squirm.
Serenity, courage and wisdom.
There are many wonderful
things about sobriety.
The little catchphrases
are not among them.
Scooch over, dear, let me lay down.
Oh.
[SIGHS]
[SNIFFLES] You're
positively frigid, Babe.
Everything's frigid without you.
Is it better in there?
I may be joining you before too long.
Knock, knock.
May I come in?
Let me in, please.
Let me in.
[INTERCOM BUZZING]
- [JACK] Hello?
- Hey, Jack.
Let me in.
Let me in, Jack. Please let me in, Jack.
- Tru?
- Please let me in.
[DOOR BUZZES]
- Are you okay?
- I just w
wanted to come in.
I need to
Something smells very good.
Is that garlic? You like garlic now?
I like a lot of things now,
but I've always liked
garlic. Are you drunk?
I am as sober as Pat Boone on a Sunday.
May I please come in?
I'm seeing someone, Truman,
and I would prefer not
to inflict you on him.
- Even sober.
- Well,
I certainly can't blame you. [LAUGHS]
Mmm, it smells so good.
What is that, tomatoes, rosemary?
It's a Bolognese sauce, Mr. Capote.
- Oh.
- I made pasta, too.
Please stay.
- I've always wanted to meet you.
- [CHUCKLES]
All right, come in.
[CHUCKLES]
No, no, Nick,
the drugs, the drink I can't anymore,
it led to real problems,
as I'm sure poor Jack
has no doubt told you.
He only says glowing things about you.
Is that true, Jack?
In fact, it is.
Oh, and yet here we are,
trying to live without each other.
- [CHUCKLES]
- [LAUGHS] Oh. Hey.
I get along without you very well.
I think Nick is
too young to know that tune.
Are you writing now, Truman?
I know everybody asks you that,
but I've read everything you've ever
I'm going to finish
Answered Prayers, actually.
But and-and Jack
may like to hear this
it's going to be, uh, my apology
for Cote Basque.
An apology, really?
You, Truman?
Mm, and a kind of a masterpiece.
An apology and an explanation
to all the people that I hurt.
The swans and
a confession of my misdeeds
and the reasons and
how I hurt them.
But fiction, you know, as was Cote.
Well, it's, uh,
too late for Babe to forgive you.
And Bill Paley
won't.
Just forget that and
what if, uh, Lee and Slim say,
"Too little, too late, fuck off"?
Well, let me ask you a question, Jack.
Why do you always forgive me?
Who says I do?
Well, I'll tell you
why. Because apologies,
when heartfelt, matter.
Because that is how the heart is built.
It wants to forgive.
Hmm, does it?
I think this may be wishful
thinking on your part.
No. I've seen it.
On death row, with those boys in Kansas.
I've seen
You know, people want both to
forgive and to be forgiven.
Well, what do you think, Nick?
Uh, well, uh
I'm a bishop's son.
"Do not judge, and
you will not be judged.
Do not condemn, and you
will not be condemned.
Forgive, and you will be forgiven."
Hold on.
Thank you for letting me in.
At the door,
you looked so stricken. Why?
Oh, just old ghosts, you know.
No, I'm happy for you.
You deserve someone good to love you.
And so do you.
Sober, writing
you're just, uh, you're
very easy to love like this.
No, but I don't want love.
I want forgiveness.
And not just for what I wrote, but f
for what I have done.
Whether these people
forgive you or not may have
more to do with who they
are than anything else.
It's
When you're apologizing,
there's only one person
to be thinking of, and that is yourself.
Everybody else can figure
it out on their own.
♪
♪
♪
♪
♪
[SIGHS]
♪
[TRUMAN] It was the end of the world,
and I couldn't decide what to eat.
Some version of life would go on,
for some, but for myself,
P.B. Jones, the closing
of La Cote Basque
was an event of cataclysmic proportions.
Usually when an
institution is shuttered,
it takes years for the
spirits and poltergeists
to creep from their hiding places,
but at La Cote, they just couldn't wait.
All the ghosts had come for lunch.
There was Sidney Dillon
with his wife Cleo.
The murderess herself, Ann Hopkins,
at a table with her mother-in-law,
Hilda Hopkins.
Lee and Jackie were there.
And in a far corner was none other
than Lady Ina Coolbirth herself.
Ina was shunting my gaze.
She was still bitter over how
I'd bandied about her story
of Sidney and the governor's wife.
In fact, everyone in the dining room
had been a victim at one time or another
of the author's indiscretions.
I had come this very afternoon to dine
with one such embittered soul,
Kiki Kasperzak.
Kiki entered with the flushed look
of one just in from a polo match.
She wore a red number she'd
picked up in Palm Beach,
that only a certain kind of
woman could get away with.
She was one of them.
Hello, P.B. Jones.
Kiki.
What does one order for a last supper?
The answer to your question, P.B.,
is all of it.
- We'll take everything, Jules.
- Thank you.
We passed the afternoon
gossiping and eavesdropping.
At the far table, Lady
Ina was being stood up,
though she tried to play it off.
[WAITER] Would you care
to order, Ms. Coolbirth,
or prefer to wait for your companion?
Companion? I'm not waiting for anyone.
Of course I'll order.
Companion. Please.
[TRUMAN] Though it was
plain to see she'd ordered
her champagne with two glasses.
Meanwhile
I'll have a numbingly
cold glass of Limoncello
with a sprig of mint.
Mm, how refreshing.
I'll do the same thing.
In that case, just
bring me a Campari soda.
[TRUMAN] Poor Jackie.
She can't even help herself
stealing her sister's drink order.
And at the best table, Cleo Dillon
was writing something on a napkin.
A room number at a hotel in midtown.
♪
Out with it.
Something on your mind, P.B.?
I'm sorry, Kiki.
[SCOFFS] You should be.
[TRUMAN] She had spent
the last five years
waiting to hear only those words.
What I wrote
was cruel.
No. You've got it wrong.
That's not what you
should apologize for.
What really stung, P.B., was
where you lied for profit.
On purpose.
You cheapened the nuance of our lives.
You understood how
imprisoned I felt in my life.
Trapped.
And what you wrote
didn't acknowledge any of that.
It was a two-dimensional cave scratching
saying, "We ate, we drank, we fucked,
and, God, we hated each other."
I trusted you
to show me I was more than that.
You knew how I felt.
I wanted to go back.
Back to the person I was before
life happened to us all.
To me.
You're right.
And I will never do that again.
It may be too late.
But maybe not.
I do have
one other small thing I could offer.
["WALKING DREAM" BY PATSY CLINE PLAYING]
What I had was a plan.
A way to set free, in some small way,
the spirit of that
goddess in the gilded cage.
To let her be the
girl she had once been.
To hide the great symbol of her wildness
somewhere the judges and
whisperers could never see it,
but the dreamers and
poets and cowboys might.
The farther we drove,
the more she changed.
She was becoming herself.
Raw, uncut,
pure, concentrated, happy.
She was America.
[WHOOPS]
The hotel it hung in in
Mexico City was shuttered.
A ruin, but I figured this
place had some life in it.
I used to drink and fuck here.
That's another story.
And suddenly, I understood
what freedom was.
Real freedom.
It was something that
could only be experienced
by those who had
suffered and been stifled,
silenced, forced to pretend, ached.
Hey, Diego Phan,
we'd like to sell you
this gorgeous nude.
Yeah? How much?
Two whiskies.
I like it.
It'll look good over the juke.
Next to the armadillo.
The cowboys'll love it.
Who's the girl? She's a real killer.
Oh.
Beautiful women.
Women stay beautiful forever,
unless they're evil.
So many evil beauties.
I wasn't evil.
Well then. Cheers.
- To late freedom.
- To late freedom.
♪
It was the product of years and years
and years of longing,
hoping,
and when freedom came
it washed over you like a tidal wave,
all at once,
when the universe decided
it was your time.
Maybe it wasn't the end
of the world after all.
Maybe, for Kiki, the
world was just beginning.
[SIGHS]
[ICE CUBES CLINKING]
What you think?
[SIGHS] I don't know.
It's out of character for you.
More like your
juvenilia, frilly.
The kind of stuff you used to pound out
before you found your voice.
[LAUGHS]
What a load of shit.
It's not very kind, mother.
- Here. Take this.
- I'm on the wagon.
Your writing is a little stiff.
It'll loosen you up, okay?
The warmth, that's
what you're looking for.
Now, take it. Jesus.
[SIGHS]
[SIGHS]
That's funny.
The drink how it helps.
Now your criticisms,
which sting like a wasp
I can barely feel them anymore.
I have to criticize you, Tru.
You represent me.
You always have.
Come on.
If it weren't for me reminding you,
would you ever strive to do better?
- [CHUCKLES SOFTLY]
- [CHUCKLES] No.
Let's get to work on the next part.
And let's try to make it
a little less fruity.
- Right.
- [CHUCKLING]
- Less fruity.
- Mm-hmm.
You really never change, Nina.
[CHUCKLES]
Well, I think the muse
has revealed herself.
Oh, you're gonna like
this next part, Mama.
[TRUMAN] Lady Ina's string
had run out in the late
middle part of her
life amongst the famous
and the rich,
and whatever society
was left at the apex.
She was now hungry,
bitter, and she sure was lonely.
It was young hustlers, navy boys
and gigolos in assignations
at the Wales Hotel in Carnegie Hill,
but she wanted love again.
Or if not love, at least
power. And if not power, well,
security would do in a pinch.
No, no, no. Not you.
- Stop, please. Just stop.
- Fuck off. Leave me alone.
My legs are shorter than
yours. I can't keep this up.
- I saw you come out of the Whitney.
- [SIGHS]
Stop, please, would you?
What's on at the Whitney
is it the Claes Oldenburg
giant ice pack sculpture?
I met a girlfriend for
soup in the cafeteria.
Who has time for art now?
- What is it you want?
- To
be able to talk again.
Talk?! Are you insane?
Why didn't you think of that
before you turned me into
Lady Coolbirth
that person I am now?
Ow!
Ow.
And then the venom from
his deadly snakebite
finally just drained out of her.
And what was left was a
lingering, sorrowful anger
comingled with a yearning.
And a bone-deep exhaustion.
Maybe she was just tired.
Maybe she realized
how much he regretted.
Maybe she suddenly felt
how much energy it had
taken to loathe him.
But for whatever the reasons,
she let him follow her home.
You're not packing
like Cleo taught us all.
These should all be
delicately wrapped
Who has the fucking
energy for tissue paper?
Cleo's gone.
And where I'm going,
nobody's watching me unpack.
Are you really gonna
stay mad at me forever?
You know where I'm moving to?
To a little one bedroom
"cottage" in Santa Barbara,
A place called Hope Ranch.
- Ha! Hopeless ranch.
- Oh, fuck.
- It's always foggy there.
- Perfect.
Another old broad on the beach
collecting sand dollars
drinking cheap vodka.
Nobody around because you
made me unlovable. Unfuckable.
No, you're so fuckable, dear.
Nobody even liked your goddamn story,
so it's not like it
could have been worth it.
It didn't even get you
out of financial trouble.
You gained nothing.
But you made me a joke.
You made my dreams and
ambitions seem so ugly,
when it was all I had.
I consisted of my ambitions, you fuck!
Why am I even taking these?
[GROANS] They're from Japan.
I got them, then Betty Bacall did
and everyone said hers were prettier.
Your story cast its spell and
took away everything I had!
Throw it.
Throw the dish at me.
At me, at Cleo, at Bacall, and everyone,
but for Christ's sake,
you've got to get rid of this anger!
Throw it!
It's worth a fortune.
And, after I picked up and flung
the first priceless piece
of china against the wall,
it was open season.
Lady Ina went berserk.
[CACKLING]
[EXCLAIMS, LAUGHS]
Enough plates. I've missed you.
- [PANTING]
- And I you.
And I know exactly what you need.
To be the special one for once.
[GASPS] My own Black and White Ball?
- But you'll wear red.
- Really?
Bill Blass is waiting
to design it for us.
The second Black and White Ball.
And it is to honor Lady Ina Coolbirth!
- [LAUGHS]
- Yay!
It surpassed the prior ball
in terms of splash, publicity,
exclusivity and glamour.
The guest list was even grander.
The champagne flowed freer.
This time, no soggy chicken hash,
but beluga caviar from
a Russian in Paris.
And Lady Ina Coolbirth was
a dazzling vision, a triumph.
It was rumored that she
was about to be named
chief of protocol at the White House
or ambassador to the
Court of St. James's
or at very least head of the
Academy of Motion Pictures.
Maybe all the above.
And it was also the night
she met her final and
most deeply felt love,
the love story she
had always been denied.
- What do you think?
- [NINA] Yeah.
This Lady Ina Coolbirth
she's a trouper.
You've always been drawn
to strong women like me.
I'm not sure you were all that strong.
I think it was a very dry teat
I was suckling at, Mother.
Let me in!
Let me in. Please!
Let
[NINA CHUCKLING]
[CHUCKLES] Hey, Fredrick, Freddie?
Would you, uh, run down to the lobby
and get me some smokes?
I'm almost out.
Chesterfields, hon.
Stop fucking me.
Jesus Christ, what is
the matter with you?
What?!
They're gonna bill me for this.
Why can't I come dance, too? Like this.
And do my special thing.
Oh, stop it, for God's sake.
Jesus, you are a basket case.
Doesn't it ever bother
you, the way people stare?
Mama, I don't like that man.
Let's just be me and you.
Oh, you don't like that man, huh?
You like your little
bow tie, don't you? Huh?
And your gingham shirt
and your Fauntleroy trousers
and those suspenders?
You like those, don't you?
- Huh?
- Mm-hmm.
Well, they all cost money,
and money is what Mama doesn't have.
That's why I have to woo and marry
a man like that
without you messing everything up.
A boy. [SHORT CHUCKLE]
That's the last thing
they always say when they're
running for the hills.
"Oh, I didn't know you had a boy."
I want to tell them, "I don't.
Have you seen the little
thing, the way he flounces?
It's not a boy at all."
Lucky me, I got myself
a sideshow attraction.
I told him you were my nephew.
I said I was doing a good
turn for my wayward sister
who's on a boxcar train
somewhere between
here and San Francisco.
[LAUGHS] It was pretty good, wasn't it?
Huh?
All right, now, listen to me.
You stay in here and be just
as quiet as a little mouse.
And then,
Mama's gonna give you
the very last dance of the night, okay?
Shut up and just stay in here.
All right? Don't make any more noise.
[MUTTERS]
[LOCK CLICKS]
♪
[MUFFLED] [FREDRICK LAUGHING]
Ooh, you look beautiful.
[MUFFLED] [FREDERICK LAUGHING]
[POUNDING]
Let me in!
[NINA] I will say
this chapter is superior to the other.
Stronger.
Here, have another drink.
You're onto something.
Don't lose the flow.
Oh, oh. Wait.
And here.
Boy.
Here.
Try a few of these.
Hm? They'll keep you going.
Look at these pills, huh? [CHUCKLING]
Like lozenges of pure relief.
What a century.
The meds, boy, oh boy.
But you
you just sit here and write.
Come on.
Make them love you again.
Oh, and here,
take a few more bennies.
Keep you going.
[TRUMAN] P.B. Jones
walked into the restaurant
and there wasn't the usual
collective frisson of worry. Just ease.
- He spotted Lee.
- Why are you so down on California, for chrissake?
You used to love it, and
- Hi.
- Oh, Jesus.
HER LATEST HUSBAND: a famously gay
minor moviemaker with an acid tongue
more acid even than hers
specializing in ballet flicks
and flimsy celluloid smart-assery,
Burt Moss. Nobody's idea of a good guy.
- No, I've got something for you.
- Oh, what could you possibly
have for me, you snail-darter?
Look. Read it. It's your memoir.
- Wh
- I know you're stuck.
It's got your voice.
I am giving you this book, and
it'll be as if you wrote it.
- [LEE GASPS QUIETLY]
- I know you wanted literary credibility.
I've found it very easy
to write in your voice
because I know you so well.
She knew she had not been
blessed with the talent
or even the force of will
to finish such a book,
but that didn't matter because
he was doing it for her,
and it was as true and right
as if she had done it herself
because P.B. knew where
all the bodies were buried.
And she would finally
be better at something
than her fairy-tale sister.
It's utterly beautiful.
- It's me.
- [BOB] No, it's, uh
Okay, fine. What's the shrink's number?
[TRUMAN] "And I can give
you something else you want,"
says P.B. Jones, quietly.
She looked at P.B.
"I can help you get
rid of that mistake."
"What mistake?" "The
film director," he says.
- Yes, yeah.
- "I can help you
kill the smarmy little fucker."
How did you know?
- That was a mistake.
- Mm.
He likes chorus boys and
Bijan of Beverly Hills
and Jerry Robbins and yachts, that's it.
Well, we can get rid of him.
Woke up this morning ♪
Wanting to cry ♪
Then I remembered ♪
Yes, I knew why ♪
[TRUMAN] Now he was going to help
his aggrieved friend
remove the latest grief,
and in so doing,
reestablish his own primacy in her life.
A friend again.
A friend to warm the phone lines
and have someone to gossip with again.
A friend indeed.
There had been too many small
and large humiliations to
bear in this life of hers.
Enough was enough.
And now she had accidentally
on purpose married a
viperous homosexual,
and everyone knew, a
dancer turned director,
and how that stung.
But P.B. had,
in his travels, learned a lot, including
how to poison someone using nicotine.
A Russian sailor had taught him
that parlor trick in a flophouse
in the seaport of Split, in Croatia.
It was a matter of taking the
liquid form of the substance,
at a very high concentrate,
and finding the right delivery system.
Will this really work?
And after feeding the victim
some sort of sleeping pill,
in this case, a nicely ground-up
fistful of Seconal
another good title
in some very good single malt whiskey,
injecting the concentrate
of tobacco behind the ear.
[NINA SIGHS]
I read your latest story
while you were napping.
Did you read the Lee stuff?
The book isn't working for one reason,
and I'll tell you what that is.
You may be writing
about the end of society,
the last gasp of a dying class,
their habits and foibles.
But there is no discernible
raison d'être
because you are not in touch
with your hatred.
All these stories about the Swans
it's all about them letting you
back into their hearts,
you bringing a gift to make up for it.
So write about my suicide.
Why is that so hard for you?
You were in your late
twenties when I did it.
You weren't a baby.
Do you think that made it hurt less?
Did you ever even read
the police report, huh?
- Don't you walk out on me!
- You're drunk, Nina.
Of course I'm having affairs.
How else would I survive you?
[NINA] You walk out on
me and you will never
stop paying the bills for it,
do you understand?
[MOANING]
No!
Accidental overdose?
How did they know?
There was nobody there.
That's the story you should tell.
The story of the black swan.
I don't want to tell that story.
Please.
I'm not asking.
I'm demanding.
I'm your mother.
You show some goddamn respect.
[CRYING]
She's getting ready.
I can smell it.
I know this scene.
Oh, boy.
I hope you're prepared.
Please, don't.
Please.
[ANN] You know, you told
me that of all your swans
of which I was only
an honorary member
that I was the one that
reminded you most of your mother.
[TRUMAN] well, you
had the same exhausted
look of terror in your eyes.
[ANN] Which you have, too.
I recognized it.
Maybe that's why you
were so cruel to me.
Could you ever forgive me
for what I wrote about you?
[CHUCKLES SOFTLY]
Never.
There are some things that
are beyond forgiveness.
And the others won't
forgive you, either.
If you publish the
finished Answered Prayers
even if you think you're being kind
it'll just make it worse.
Those friendships died
with Cote Basque
the golden age of society.
Which you you helped kill.
Perhaps it was a
a subconscious
final gift to your mother.
And to yourself, for never feeling
like you truly belonged.
So, what can I do now?
[ANN] I think you know.
Poor Nina.
Don't you want to say goodbye?
I'm not good at goodbyes.
[NINA EXHALES]
♪
♪
♪
[GRUNTS SOFTLY]
[LIGHTER CLICKS]
I can't.
My masterpiece.
The book or your soul.
It's up to you.
Light it.
Go on.
♪
[JOANNE] You comfortable?
You got your notepads,
your pencils, erasers,
alcohol, tobacco, firearms
[BOTH LAUGH]
You need anything else?
Uh, just a muse to whisper
in my ear. [CHUCKLES]
Mwah, mwah.
♪
[MUFFLED VOICES]
[JOANNE] Truman, what
have you done? [PANTING]
What did you do?
I'm gonna get some towels.
[TRUMAN] Why did you come? My mother.
Oh, Truman.
[CRYING] Truman. Truman.
Mama.
It's so cold.
I'm so cold.
How could this be California?
Beautiful.
What are you saying?
Beautiful. Babe.
♪
[QUIETLY] Beautiful.
No.
[CRYING]
Jack, are you still there?
Yes, I'm still here.
So, the book is it there?
He said he was gonna
finish it out there.
Huh?
The last time I saw him,
he said he had a grand plan
- for Answered Prayers.
- Oh, Jack.
- He was in no shape.
- I know, I know.
Truman grand plans.
Just seemed like there might
be something to it this time.
No.
I picked up one of his notebooks
- by the pool.
- What was in it?
Gibberish.
Just one thing written over and over.
"A dream, a dream, a dream.
A dream that's as real
as stubbing your toe."
Whatever that means.
Oh, what are we gonna do, Jack,
now that he's not here
anymore to tell us what to do?
Do you want to plan the memorial?
Uh
No. You should do it.
He was closest to you at the end.
He
He wanted to be cremated.
I'll take care of it.
Bye.
[AUCTIONEER] Up next,
this very special item.
From the estate of
the late Joanne Carson,
the second wife of Johnny Carson,
this very unusual item.
Mrs. Carson was a great and loyal friend
of the great writer Truman Capote,
who died at her home in Bel Air in 1984.
And today, we're selling his ashes.
And this is an historic lot, friends.
This is the first time in the modern era
that a celebrity's ashes
have been at auction.
And we're gonna start the
bidding right now at just $2,000.
2,000 right there in the
back of the room, 2,000.
2,500 will be the next
bid, I have 25 right here.
3,000 is the bid right
now, 3,000 on the phone.
3,500 is the bid right now.
Friends, remember you
are bidding against
an entire world on the phone right now.
3,500 is the bid I'm looking for now.
35 is the bid.
Friends, think about this,
Mrs. Carson famously said
that these ashes having
them gave her great comfort.
In fact, she kept them beside her bed.
4,000 is the bid I'm looking
for now, 4,000 right now.
4,500'll be the bid.
45 is the bid right there. Thank you.
5,000 is the bid.
I have 5,000 right
there number 110. Darby?
$6,000 from a bidder from Hong Kong.
6,000 is the bid, looking for 6,500
The lady in green, thank you.
7,000 is the bid, looking for seven.
Now I have 7,000, looking for eight.
- 7,500 from Berlin.
- 7,500 from Berlin.
And now we have eight.
Now looking for nine.
9,000, the lady in green. She's back.
9,000 is the bid right
now. Looking for $9,500.
Friends, think about this:
if Truman were here right now,
he'd be loving this. I
mean, this is a scene,
and he loved to cause a
scene. How about $10,000?
- 10,000 to the lady in orange right there.
- Can I keep going?
- [AUCTIONEER CONTINUING]
- Yes, it's fine, you can afford it.
Tell me when to stop.
11,500 from the lady
in green right there.
12,000 right behind her. Thank you.
12,500 for Mr. Capote's ashes.
[AUCTIONEER] 12,500
is the bid right now.
13,000 from the lady in green.
13, five. 14,000. 14,500
in the back, there.
15,000 right there. 15 and a half.
16,000 is the bid I'm looking for now.
[VOICE FACES]
♪
Mr. Capote's ashes
going once, for $45,000.
Going twice. Going three times
to a mystery buyer in
New York. Confirmed.
And, at $45,000
- [BANGS GAVEL]
- Sold!
For $45,000.
I wonder who bought them.
Some oligarch for his library, maybe?
- I'm just glad we got out when we did.
- Oh.
Look at all these flip-flops
people are wearing.
God, to a formal auction.
The world is so graceless now.
I never thought society
would simply evaporate.
What happened?
Everything ends.
[SIGHS] Shall we go have lunch?
The Polo Lounge.
It's the only place left
that's a little like New York.
Mm, nothing's a little
like New York anymore.
Not even New York.
Jesus, what a dump.
Let's get out of here, hmm?
Amen to that.
♪
Come on, dear.
♪
♪
Knock, knock.
Everybody decent?
Oh, for fuck's sake carnations?
Who would dare?
Brooke Astor.
Relentless.
There.
Hellebores, your favorite.
Better.
Oh.
I'm so tired.
No, it's not a hangover.
In fact, you'll be proud to know
I haven't had a drink in three months.
The first weeks were
agony, but now I swear
I really don't even crave it.
Just the thought of a
drink makes me squirm.
Serenity, courage and wisdom.
There are many wonderful
things about sobriety.
The little catchphrases
are not among them.
Scooch over, dear, let me lay down.
Oh.
[SIGHS]
[SNIFFLES] You're
positively frigid, Babe.
Everything's frigid without you.
Is it better in there?
I may be joining you before too long.
Knock, knock.
May I come in?
Let me in, please.
Let me in.
[INTERCOM BUZZING]
- [JACK] Hello?
- Hey, Jack.
Let me in.
Let me in, Jack. Please let me in, Jack.
- Tru?
- Please let me in.
[DOOR BUZZES]
- Are you okay?
- I just w
wanted to come in.
I need to
Something smells very good.
Is that garlic? You like garlic now?
I like a lot of things now,
but I've always liked
garlic. Are you drunk?
I am as sober as Pat Boone on a Sunday.
May I please come in?
I'm seeing someone, Truman,
and I would prefer not
to inflict you on him.
- Even sober.
- Well,
I certainly can't blame you. [LAUGHS]
Mmm, it smells so good.
What is that, tomatoes, rosemary?
It's a Bolognese sauce, Mr. Capote.
- Oh.
- I made pasta, too.
Please stay.
- I've always wanted to meet you.
- [CHUCKLES]
All right, come in.
[CHUCKLES]
No, no, Nick,
the drugs, the drink I can't anymore,
it led to real problems,
as I'm sure poor Jack
has no doubt told you.
He only says glowing things about you.
Is that true, Jack?
In fact, it is.
Oh, and yet here we are,
trying to live without each other.
- [CHUCKLES]
- [LAUGHS] Oh. Hey.
I get along without you very well.
I think Nick is
too young to know that tune.
Are you writing now, Truman?
I know everybody asks you that,
but I've read everything you've ever
I'm going to finish
Answered Prayers, actually.
But and-and Jack
may like to hear this
it's going to be, uh, my apology
for Cote Basque.
An apology, really?
You, Truman?
Mm, and a kind of a masterpiece.
An apology and an explanation
to all the people that I hurt.
The swans and
a confession of my misdeeds
and the reasons and
how I hurt them.
But fiction, you know, as was Cote.
Well, it's, uh,
too late for Babe to forgive you.
And Bill Paley
won't.
Just forget that and
what if, uh, Lee and Slim say,
"Too little, too late, fuck off"?
Well, let me ask you a question, Jack.
Why do you always forgive me?
Who says I do?
Well, I'll tell you
why. Because apologies,
when heartfelt, matter.
Because that is how the heart is built.
It wants to forgive.
Hmm, does it?
I think this may be wishful
thinking on your part.
No. I've seen it.
On death row, with those boys in Kansas.
I've seen
You know, people want both to
forgive and to be forgiven.
Well, what do you think, Nick?
Uh, well, uh
I'm a bishop's son.
"Do not judge, and
you will not be judged.
Do not condemn, and you
will not be condemned.
Forgive, and you will be forgiven."
Hold on.
Thank you for letting me in.
At the door,
you looked so stricken. Why?
Oh, just old ghosts, you know.
No, I'm happy for you.
You deserve someone good to love you.
And so do you.
Sober, writing
you're just, uh, you're
very easy to love like this.
No, but I don't want love.
I want forgiveness.
And not just for what I wrote, but f
for what I have done.
Whether these people
forgive you or not may have
more to do with who they
are than anything else.
It's
When you're apologizing,
there's only one person
to be thinking of, and that is yourself.
Everybody else can figure
it out on their own.
♪
♪
♪
♪
♪
[SIGHS]
♪
[TRUMAN] It was the end of the world,
and I couldn't decide what to eat.
Some version of life would go on,
for some, but for myself,
P.B. Jones, the closing
of La Cote Basque
was an event of cataclysmic proportions.
Usually when an
institution is shuttered,
it takes years for the
spirits and poltergeists
to creep from their hiding places,
but at La Cote, they just couldn't wait.
All the ghosts had come for lunch.
There was Sidney Dillon
with his wife Cleo.
The murderess herself, Ann Hopkins,
at a table with her mother-in-law,
Hilda Hopkins.
Lee and Jackie were there.
And in a far corner was none other
than Lady Ina Coolbirth herself.
Ina was shunting my gaze.
She was still bitter over how
I'd bandied about her story
of Sidney and the governor's wife.
In fact, everyone in the dining room
had been a victim at one time or another
of the author's indiscretions.
I had come this very afternoon to dine
with one such embittered soul,
Kiki Kasperzak.
Kiki entered with the flushed look
of one just in from a polo match.
She wore a red number she'd
picked up in Palm Beach,
that only a certain kind of
woman could get away with.
She was one of them.
Hello, P.B. Jones.
Kiki.
What does one order for a last supper?
The answer to your question, P.B.,
is all of it.
- We'll take everything, Jules.
- Thank you.
We passed the afternoon
gossiping and eavesdropping.
At the far table, Lady
Ina was being stood up,
though she tried to play it off.
[WAITER] Would you care
to order, Ms. Coolbirth,
or prefer to wait for your companion?
Companion? I'm not waiting for anyone.
Of course I'll order.
Companion. Please.
[TRUMAN] Though it was
plain to see she'd ordered
her champagne with two glasses.
Meanwhile
I'll have a numbingly
cold glass of Limoncello
with a sprig of mint.
Mm, how refreshing.
I'll do the same thing.
In that case, just
bring me a Campari soda.
[TRUMAN] Poor Jackie.
She can't even help herself
stealing her sister's drink order.
And at the best table, Cleo Dillon
was writing something on a napkin.
A room number at a hotel in midtown.
♪
Out with it.
Something on your mind, P.B.?
I'm sorry, Kiki.
[SCOFFS] You should be.
[TRUMAN] She had spent
the last five years
waiting to hear only those words.
What I wrote
was cruel.
No. You've got it wrong.
That's not what you
should apologize for.
What really stung, P.B., was
where you lied for profit.
On purpose.
You cheapened the nuance of our lives.
You understood how
imprisoned I felt in my life.
Trapped.
And what you wrote
didn't acknowledge any of that.
It was a two-dimensional cave scratching
saying, "We ate, we drank, we fucked,
and, God, we hated each other."
I trusted you
to show me I was more than that.
You knew how I felt.
I wanted to go back.
Back to the person I was before
life happened to us all.
To me.
You're right.
And I will never do that again.
It may be too late.
But maybe not.
I do have
one other small thing I could offer.
["WALKING DREAM" BY PATSY CLINE PLAYING]
What I had was a plan.
A way to set free, in some small way,
the spirit of that
goddess in the gilded cage.
To let her be the
girl she had once been.
To hide the great symbol of her wildness
somewhere the judges and
whisperers could never see it,
but the dreamers and
poets and cowboys might.
The farther we drove,
the more she changed.
She was becoming herself.
Raw, uncut,
pure, concentrated, happy.
She was America.
[WHOOPS]
The hotel it hung in in
Mexico City was shuttered.
A ruin, but I figured this
place had some life in it.
I used to drink and fuck here.
That's another story.
And suddenly, I understood
what freedom was.
Real freedom.
It was something that
could only be experienced
by those who had
suffered and been stifled,
silenced, forced to pretend, ached.
Hey, Diego Phan,
we'd like to sell you
this gorgeous nude.
Yeah? How much?
Two whiskies.
I like it.
It'll look good over the juke.
Next to the armadillo.
The cowboys'll love it.
Who's the girl? She's a real killer.
Oh.
Beautiful women.
Women stay beautiful forever,
unless they're evil.
So many evil beauties.
I wasn't evil.
Well then. Cheers.
- To late freedom.
- To late freedom.
♪
It was the product of years and years
and years of longing,
hoping,
and when freedom came
it washed over you like a tidal wave,
all at once,
when the universe decided
it was your time.
Maybe it wasn't the end
of the world after all.
Maybe, for Kiki, the
world was just beginning.
[SIGHS]
[ICE CUBES CLINKING]
What you think?
[SIGHS] I don't know.
It's out of character for you.
More like your
juvenilia, frilly.
The kind of stuff you used to pound out
before you found your voice.
[LAUGHS]
What a load of shit.
It's not very kind, mother.
- Here. Take this.
- I'm on the wagon.
Your writing is a little stiff.
It'll loosen you up, okay?
The warmth, that's
what you're looking for.
Now, take it. Jesus.
[SIGHS]
[SIGHS]
That's funny.
The drink how it helps.
Now your criticisms,
which sting like a wasp
I can barely feel them anymore.
I have to criticize you, Tru.
You represent me.
You always have.
Come on.
If it weren't for me reminding you,
would you ever strive to do better?
- [CHUCKLES SOFTLY]
- [CHUCKLES] No.
Let's get to work on the next part.
And let's try to make it
a little less fruity.
- Right.
- [CHUCKLING]
- Less fruity.
- Mm-hmm.
You really never change, Nina.
[CHUCKLES]
Well, I think the muse
has revealed herself.
Oh, you're gonna like
this next part, Mama.
[TRUMAN] Lady Ina's string
had run out in the late
middle part of her
life amongst the famous
and the rich,
and whatever society
was left at the apex.
She was now hungry,
bitter, and she sure was lonely.
It was young hustlers, navy boys
and gigolos in assignations
at the Wales Hotel in Carnegie Hill,
but she wanted love again.
Or if not love, at least
power. And if not power, well,
security would do in a pinch.
No, no, no. Not you.
- Stop, please. Just stop.
- Fuck off. Leave me alone.
My legs are shorter than
yours. I can't keep this up.
- I saw you come out of the Whitney.
- [SIGHS]
Stop, please, would you?
What's on at the Whitney
is it the Claes Oldenburg
giant ice pack sculpture?
I met a girlfriend for
soup in the cafeteria.
Who has time for art now?
- What is it you want?
- To
be able to talk again.
Talk?! Are you insane?
Why didn't you think of that
before you turned me into
Lady Coolbirth
that person I am now?
Ow!
Ow.
And then the venom from
his deadly snakebite
finally just drained out of her.
And what was left was a
lingering, sorrowful anger
comingled with a yearning.
And a bone-deep exhaustion.
Maybe she was just tired.
Maybe she realized
how much he regretted.
Maybe she suddenly felt
how much energy it had
taken to loathe him.
But for whatever the reasons,
she let him follow her home.
You're not packing
like Cleo taught us all.
These should all be
delicately wrapped
Who has the fucking
energy for tissue paper?
Cleo's gone.
And where I'm going,
nobody's watching me unpack.
Are you really gonna
stay mad at me forever?
You know where I'm moving to?
To a little one bedroom
"cottage" in Santa Barbara,
A place called Hope Ranch.
- Ha! Hopeless ranch.
- Oh, fuck.
- It's always foggy there.
- Perfect.
Another old broad on the beach
collecting sand dollars
drinking cheap vodka.
Nobody around because you
made me unlovable. Unfuckable.
No, you're so fuckable, dear.
Nobody even liked your goddamn story,
so it's not like it
could have been worth it.
It didn't even get you
out of financial trouble.
You gained nothing.
But you made me a joke.
You made my dreams and
ambitions seem so ugly,
when it was all I had.
I consisted of my ambitions, you fuck!
Why am I even taking these?
[GROANS] They're from Japan.
I got them, then Betty Bacall did
and everyone said hers were prettier.
Your story cast its spell and
took away everything I had!
Throw it.
Throw the dish at me.
At me, at Cleo, at Bacall, and everyone,
but for Christ's sake,
you've got to get rid of this anger!
Throw it!
It's worth a fortune.
And, after I picked up and flung
the first priceless piece
of china against the wall,
it was open season.
Lady Ina went berserk.
[CACKLING]
[EXCLAIMS, LAUGHS]
Enough plates. I've missed you.
- [PANTING]
- And I you.
And I know exactly what you need.
To be the special one for once.
[GASPS] My own Black and White Ball?
- But you'll wear red.
- Really?
Bill Blass is waiting
to design it for us.
The second Black and White Ball.
And it is to honor Lady Ina Coolbirth!
- [LAUGHS]
- Yay!
It surpassed the prior ball
in terms of splash, publicity,
exclusivity and glamour.
The guest list was even grander.
The champagne flowed freer.
This time, no soggy chicken hash,
but beluga caviar from
a Russian in Paris.
And Lady Ina Coolbirth was
a dazzling vision, a triumph.
It was rumored that she
was about to be named
chief of protocol at the White House
or ambassador to the
Court of St. James's
or at very least head of the
Academy of Motion Pictures.
Maybe all the above.
And it was also the night
she met her final and
most deeply felt love,
the love story she
had always been denied.
- What do you think?
- [NINA] Yeah.
This Lady Ina Coolbirth
she's a trouper.
You've always been drawn
to strong women like me.
I'm not sure you were all that strong.
I think it was a very dry teat
I was suckling at, Mother.
Let me in!
Let me in. Please!
Let
[NINA CHUCKLING]
[CHUCKLES] Hey, Fredrick, Freddie?
Would you, uh, run down to the lobby
and get me some smokes?
I'm almost out.
Chesterfields, hon.
Stop fucking me.
Jesus Christ, what is
the matter with you?
What?!
They're gonna bill me for this.
Why can't I come dance, too? Like this.
And do my special thing.
Oh, stop it, for God's sake.
Jesus, you are a basket case.
Doesn't it ever bother
you, the way people stare?
Mama, I don't like that man.
Let's just be me and you.
Oh, you don't like that man, huh?
You like your little
bow tie, don't you? Huh?
And your gingham shirt
and your Fauntleroy trousers
and those suspenders?
You like those, don't you?
- Huh?
- Mm-hmm.
Well, they all cost money,
and money is what Mama doesn't have.
That's why I have to woo and marry
a man like that
without you messing everything up.
A boy. [SHORT CHUCKLE]
That's the last thing
they always say when they're
running for the hills.
"Oh, I didn't know you had a boy."
I want to tell them, "I don't.
Have you seen the little
thing, the way he flounces?
It's not a boy at all."
Lucky me, I got myself
a sideshow attraction.
I told him you were my nephew.
I said I was doing a good
turn for my wayward sister
who's on a boxcar train
somewhere between
here and San Francisco.
[LAUGHS] It was pretty good, wasn't it?
Huh?
All right, now, listen to me.
You stay in here and be just
as quiet as a little mouse.
And then,
Mama's gonna give you
the very last dance of the night, okay?
Shut up and just stay in here.
All right? Don't make any more noise.
[MUTTERS]
[LOCK CLICKS]
♪
[MUFFLED] [FREDRICK LAUGHING]
Ooh, you look beautiful.
[MUFFLED] [FREDERICK LAUGHING]
[POUNDING]
Let me in!
[NINA] I will say
this chapter is superior to the other.
Stronger.
Here, have another drink.
You're onto something.
Don't lose the flow.
Oh, oh. Wait.
And here.
Boy.
Here.
Try a few of these.
Hm? They'll keep you going.
Look at these pills, huh? [CHUCKLING]
Like lozenges of pure relief.
What a century.
The meds, boy, oh boy.
But you
you just sit here and write.
Come on.
Make them love you again.
Oh, and here,
take a few more bennies.
Keep you going.
[TRUMAN] P.B. Jones
walked into the restaurant
and there wasn't the usual
collective frisson of worry. Just ease.
- He spotted Lee.
- Why are you so down on California, for chrissake?
You used to love it, and
- Hi.
- Oh, Jesus.
HER LATEST HUSBAND: a famously gay
minor moviemaker with an acid tongue
more acid even than hers
specializing in ballet flicks
and flimsy celluloid smart-assery,
Burt Moss. Nobody's idea of a good guy.
- No, I've got something for you.
- Oh, what could you possibly
have for me, you snail-darter?
Look. Read it. It's your memoir.
- Wh
- I know you're stuck.
It's got your voice.
I am giving you this book, and
it'll be as if you wrote it.
- [LEE GASPS QUIETLY]
- I know you wanted literary credibility.
I've found it very easy
to write in your voice
because I know you so well.
She knew she had not been
blessed with the talent
or even the force of will
to finish such a book,
but that didn't matter because
he was doing it for her,
and it was as true and right
as if she had done it herself
because P.B. knew where
all the bodies were buried.
And she would finally
be better at something
than her fairy-tale sister.
It's utterly beautiful.
- It's me.
- [BOB] No, it's, uh
Okay, fine. What's the shrink's number?
[TRUMAN] "And I can give
you something else you want,"
says P.B. Jones, quietly.
She looked at P.B.
"I can help you get
rid of that mistake."
"What mistake?" "The
film director," he says.
- Yes, yeah.
- "I can help you
kill the smarmy little fucker."
How did you know?
- That was a mistake.
- Mm.
He likes chorus boys and
Bijan of Beverly Hills
and Jerry Robbins and yachts, that's it.
Well, we can get rid of him.
Woke up this morning ♪
Wanting to cry ♪
Then I remembered ♪
Yes, I knew why ♪
[TRUMAN] Now he was going to help
his aggrieved friend
remove the latest grief,
and in so doing,
reestablish his own primacy in her life.
A friend again.
A friend to warm the phone lines
and have someone to gossip with again.
A friend indeed.
There had been too many small
and large humiliations to
bear in this life of hers.
Enough was enough.
And now she had accidentally
on purpose married a
viperous homosexual,
and everyone knew, a
dancer turned director,
and how that stung.
But P.B. had,
in his travels, learned a lot, including
how to poison someone using nicotine.
A Russian sailor had taught him
that parlor trick in a flophouse
in the seaport of Split, in Croatia.
It was a matter of taking the
liquid form of the substance,
at a very high concentrate,
and finding the right delivery system.
Will this really work?
And after feeding the victim
some sort of sleeping pill,
in this case, a nicely ground-up
fistful of Seconal
another good title
in some very good single malt whiskey,
injecting the concentrate
of tobacco behind the ear.
[NINA SIGHS]
I read your latest story
while you were napping.
Did you read the Lee stuff?
The book isn't working for one reason,
and I'll tell you what that is.
You may be writing
about the end of society,
the last gasp of a dying class,
their habits and foibles.
But there is no discernible
raison d'être
because you are not in touch
with your hatred.
All these stories about the Swans
it's all about them letting you
back into their hearts,
you bringing a gift to make up for it.
So write about my suicide.
Why is that so hard for you?
You were in your late
twenties when I did it.
You weren't a baby.
Do you think that made it hurt less?
Did you ever even read
the police report, huh?
- Don't you walk out on me!
- You're drunk, Nina.
Of course I'm having affairs.
How else would I survive you?
[NINA] You walk out on
me and you will never
stop paying the bills for it,
do you understand?
[MOANING]
No!
Accidental overdose?
How did they know?
There was nobody there.
That's the story you should tell.
The story of the black swan.
I don't want to tell that story.
Please.
I'm not asking.
I'm demanding.
I'm your mother.
You show some goddamn respect.
[CRYING]
She's getting ready.
I can smell it.
I know this scene.
Oh, boy.
I hope you're prepared.
Please, don't.
Please.
[ANN] You know, you told
me that of all your swans
of which I was only
an honorary member
that I was the one that
reminded you most of your mother.
[TRUMAN] well, you
had the same exhausted
look of terror in your eyes.
[ANN] Which you have, too.
I recognized it.
Maybe that's why you
were so cruel to me.
Could you ever forgive me
for what I wrote about you?
[CHUCKLES SOFTLY]
Never.
There are some things that
are beyond forgiveness.
And the others won't
forgive you, either.
If you publish the
finished Answered Prayers
even if you think you're being kind
it'll just make it worse.
Those friendships died
with Cote Basque
the golden age of society.
Which you you helped kill.
Perhaps it was a
a subconscious
final gift to your mother.
And to yourself, for never feeling
like you truly belonged.
So, what can I do now?
[ANN] I think you know.
Poor Nina.
Don't you want to say goodbye?
I'm not good at goodbyes.
[NINA EXHALES]
♪
♪
♪
[GRUNTS SOFTLY]
[LIGHTER CLICKS]
I can't.
My masterpiece.
The book or your soul.
It's up to you.
Light it.
Go on.
♪
[JOANNE] You comfortable?
You got your notepads,
your pencils, erasers,
alcohol, tobacco, firearms
[BOTH LAUGH]
You need anything else?
Uh, just a muse to whisper
in my ear. [CHUCKLES]
Mwah, mwah.
♪
[MUFFLED VOICES]
[JOANNE] Truman, what
have you done? [PANTING]
What did you do?
I'm gonna get some towels.
[TRUMAN] Why did you come? My mother.
Oh, Truman.
[CRYING] Truman. Truman.
Mama.
It's so cold.
I'm so cold.
How could this be California?
Beautiful.
What are you saying?
Beautiful. Babe.
♪
[QUIETLY] Beautiful.
No.
[CRYING]
Jack, are you still there?
Yes, I'm still here.
So, the book is it there?
He said he was gonna
finish it out there.
Huh?
The last time I saw him,
he said he had a grand plan
- for Answered Prayers.
- Oh, Jack.
- He was in no shape.
- I know, I know.
Truman grand plans.
Just seemed like there might
be something to it this time.
No.
I picked up one of his notebooks
- by the pool.
- What was in it?
Gibberish.
Just one thing written over and over.
"A dream, a dream, a dream.
A dream that's as real
as stubbing your toe."
Whatever that means.
Oh, what are we gonna do, Jack,
now that he's not here
anymore to tell us what to do?
Do you want to plan the memorial?
Uh
No. You should do it.
He was closest to you at the end.
He
He wanted to be cremated.
I'll take care of it.
Bye.
[AUCTIONEER] Up next,
this very special item.
From the estate of
the late Joanne Carson,
the second wife of Johnny Carson,
this very unusual item.
Mrs. Carson was a great and loyal friend
of the great writer Truman Capote,
who died at her home in Bel Air in 1984.
And today, we're selling his ashes.
And this is an historic lot, friends.
This is the first time in the modern era
that a celebrity's ashes
have been at auction.
And we're gonna start the
bidding right now at just $2,000.
2,000 right there in the
back of the room, 2,000.
2,500 will be the next
bid, I have 25 right here.
3,000 is the bid right
now, 3,000 on the phone.
3,500 is the bid right now.
Friends, remember you
are bidding against
an entire world on the phone right now.
3,500 is the bid I'm looking for now.
35 is the bid.
Friends, think about this,
Mrs. Carson famously said
that these ashes having
them gave her great comfort.
In fact, she kept them beside her bed.
4,000 is the bid I'm looking
for now, 4,000 right now.
4,500'll be the bid.
45 is the bid right there. Thank you.
5,000 is the bid.
I have 5,000 right
there number 110. Darby?
$6,000 from a bidder from Hong Kong.
6,000 is the bid, looking for 6,500
The lady in green, thank you.
7,000 is the bid, looking for seven.
Now I have 7,000, looking for eight.
- 7,500 from Berlin.
- 7,500 from Berlin.
And now we have eight.
Now looking for nine.
9,000, the lady in green. She's back.
9,000 is the bid right
now. Looking for $9,500.
Friends, think about this:
if Truman were here right now,
he'd be loving this. I
mean, this is a scene,
and he loved to cause a
scene. How about $10,000?
- 10,000 to the lady in orange right there.
- Can I keep going?
- [AUCTIONEER CONTINUING]
- Yes, it's fine, you can afford it.
Tell me when to stop.
11,500 from the lady
in green right there.
12,000 right behind her. Thank you.
12,500 for Mr. Capote's ashes.
[AUCTIONEER] 12,500
is the bid right now.
13,000 from the lady in green.
13, five. 14,000. 14,500
in the back, there.
15,000 right there. 15 and a half.
16,000 is the bid I'm looking for now.
[VOICE FACES]
♪
Mr. Capote's ashes
going once, for $45,000.
Going twice. Going three times
to a mystery buyer in
New York. Confirmed.
And, at $45,000
- [BANGS GAVEL]
- Sold!
For $45,000.
I wonder who bought them.
Some oligarch for his library, maybe?
- I'm just glad we got out when we did.
- Oh.
Look at all these flip-flops
people are wearing.
God, to a formal auction.
The world is so graceless now.
I never thought society
would simply evaporate.
What happened?
Everything ends.
[SIGHS] Shall we go have lunch?
The Polo Lounge.
It's the only place left
that's a little like New York.
Mm, nothing's a little
like New York anymore.
Not even New York.
Jesus, what a dump.
Let's get out of here, hmm?
Amen to that.
♪
Come on, dear.
♪