The Boys in the Band

Come on.

Asshole!

Hey!

Sorry about that.

Enjoy your stay.

Coming!

Come on. Coming, coming, coming, coming.

Hello. Hello?

Shoot. God!

Hello! Oh, Jesus Christ!

Listen, what do you recommend for a catatonic fit in a parking garage?

I… Ugh, ask your doctor.

That's why I'm calling. He just canceled.

Can I come over?

Donald, you're about a day and a half early.

-What am I supposed to do? -I just got in.

I'm not ready for you yet. Why did the prick cancel?

I don't know. He said he was just too sick.

Why don't you tell him you're sicker than he is?

He already knows that.

Okay, Donald, come on over, but bring a bag of ice.

Please do not give me any responsibility.

At this moment, I cannot cope with anything weightier

than the directions to your apartment.

If you want a cold martini when you get here, you'll cope with some ice.

-I'll cope with some ice. -And hurry up.

I gotta go.

I was saying hello to an old friend.

What?

10th and Broadway, please.

Coming! Jesus Christ.

-How did you get inside? -The street door was open.

-You want a drink? -Not until I've had my shower.

I want something to work out today.

I'm gonna try to relax and enjoy something.

You in a blue funk because of the doctor?

Christ, no. I was depressed long before I got there.

This should pick you up.

I went shopping today, and I bought all sorts of goodies. Look.

-Sandalwood soap. -I feel better already.

-Mm-hmm. -What we got here?

Oh! Your very own toothbrush,

because I am sick to death of you using mine.

-How do you think I feel? -You've had worse things in your mouth.

Oh, also for you, something called "Control."

Notice nowhere is it called "hairspray."

Just simply "Control" and the words "for men"

written about 37 times all over the goddamn can.

Yeah, it's called Butch Assurance.

Well, it's still hairspray, no matter if they call it "balls."

It's all on your very own shelf,

which is to be labeled Donald's Saturday Night Douche Kit.

By the way, are you spending the night?

Nope, I'm driving back.

I still get very itchy when I'm in this town too long.

Why didn't the prick call you and cancel?

Suppose you'd driven all this way for nothing?

Why do you keep calling him a prick?

Who ever heard of an analyst

having a session with a patient for two hours on a Saturday evening?

He simply prefers to take Mondays off.

He works late on Saturday taking Monday off?

What is he, a psychiatrist or a hairdresser?

Actually, he's both.

He shrinks my head and then combs me out.

Besides, I had to come in town for a birthday party anyway, right?

Oh, you had to remind me.

God, if there is one thing I'm not ready for,

it is five screaming queens singing "Happy Birthday."

-Who's coming? -I think you know everybody anyway.

I mean, the same old tired fairies you've seen around since day one.

Actually, you know what?

There will be seven, counting Harold and you and me.

Are you calling me a screaming queen or a tired fairy?

Oh, I beg your pardon.

There will be six tired, screaming fairy queens

and one anxious queer.

I'll be out of your way in a second. I've only got one more thing to do.

Surgery? So early in the evening?

Sunt.

That's French with a cedilla.

I've got to comb my hair for the 37th time.

Hair, that's singular.

My hair, without exaggeration, is clearly falling on the floor.

You're totally paranoid. You've got plenty of hair.

No, what you see before you is a masterpiece of deception.

My hairline starts about here.

All this is just tortured forward.

Look.

That's not good, huh?

It's not the greatest.

It's called getting old.

Oh, well. One thing you can say for masturbation:

you certainly don't have to look your best.

So what are you so depressed about? I mean, other than the usual everything?

I really don't want to get into it.

Well, Donald, if you're not going to tell me,

then how can we have a conversation in depth?

A warm, rewarding, meaningful friendship.

Up yours.

It's just that today I finally realized I was raised to be a failure.

I was groomed for it.

Oh, Christ. How sick analysts must get

of hearing how Mommy and Daddy made their darlin' into a fairy.

It's beyond just that now.

Today I finally began to see

how some of the other pieces of the puzzle relate to them.

My neurotic compulsion to not succeed.

I realize it was always when I failed that Evelyn loved me the most.

Because it displeased Walt, who wanted perfection.

I began to fail on purpose to get love.

Failure is the only thing with which I feel at home

because it's what I was taught at home.

No.

What is more boring than a queen doing a Judy Garland imitation?

A queen doing a Bette Davis imitation.

Where'd you get that sweater?

Oh, this clever little shop on the Right Bank called Hermès.

I work my ass off

for 45 lousy dollars a week, scrubbing floors,

and you waltz around throwing cashmere sweaters on them.

The one on the floor in the john is vicuña.

Oh, I beg your pardon.

You could get a job doing something else.

Nobody holds a gun to your head to be a charwoman.

That is, how you say, your neurosis.

Gee, and I thought it's why I was born.

Besides, just because I wear expensive clothes,

doesn't mean they're paid for.

That is, how you say, your neurosis.

However, thanks to the silver screen, your neurosis has got style.

It takes a certain flair to squander one's unemployment check at Joe Allen.

What's so snappy about being head over heels in debt?

The only thing smart about it

is the ingenious ways I dodge the bill collectors.

Yep, come to think of it,

you're the type that gives faggots a bad name.

Oh, and you, Donald, you are a credit to the homosexual.

You're a reliable, hard-working, floor-scrubbing, bill-paying fag

who don't owe nothing to nobody.

I am a model fairy.

You think it's just nifty

how I've always flitted from Beverly Hills to Rome to Acapulco to Amsterdam,

picking up a lot of one-night stands,

a lot of custom-made duds along the trail?

I'm here to tell you the only place in all those miles,

the only place that I've ever been happy was on the goddamn plane.

Run, charge.

Run, buy, borrow, make, spend.

Run, squander, beg.

Run, run, run. Waste, waste…

waste.

And why?

Finis. Applause.

-Hey. -Don't. You don't have to.

Hey, come on.

Oh, there's nothing quite as good as feeling sorry for yourself, is there?

Nothing.

Okay.

I adore cheap sentiment.

Backstage, Funny Girl.

-Hi, it's Alan. -Alan?

Oh, my God.

Alan, oh, I don't believe it. How are you? Where are you?

I'm here… on business.

Listen, what are you doing tonight?

Oh, I'm tied up tonight. Alan, tonight's no good for me.

Oh, I'm tied up, too, but I thought I might just drop by for a drink.

What, you mean now?

Well, Alan, old boy, listen to me.

It is a friend's birthday, and I am having a few people in.

-Oh. -And I'm sorry

I can't ask you to join us. It's just…

It just wouldn't work out, kiddo, you know?

And I'd hate to just see you for ten minutes

-and then have to say goodbye. - Mickey, please?

Alan?

-Mickey? -Alan…

What's wrong?

I've gotta see you about something right away.

Okay, Alan, come on over.