It began so innocently.
He said it was strange that a woman...
would want to publish a defense of D.H. Lawrence...
and that his words are considered an incitement to sex.
- Then he said, "You write about sex..." - ...with some authority, Miss Nin.
You must have led a rather free life.
- Free? - You must have had a lot of experience.
You know, affairs.
What I'm interested in is how you came to have such insights into the erotic.
Through literature. Yes, I love Proust, and...
But I suppose my real awakening came...
when my husband Hugo and I first arrived in Paris...
and rented a bachelor apartment for the summer.
One day, I was tidying up...
and as I was going through the closets...
where the owner had left his personal belongings...
I discovered...
In that closet...
I became familiar with the endless varieties of erotic experience.
Come here.
- Hugo! - I thought you might need a lift.
Are you all right, Pussywillow?
- He kissed me, Hugo. - What?
Oh, my God.
It was just one kiss.
He kisses me once...
then he caresses all of my body.
He seeks my breasts...
and my most secret, sensitive part.
His hands are deft.
I'm tempted by unknown pleasures.
When I see that I have let him be aroused...
I let him release his desire between my legs.
I just let him, out of pity.
I tell Hugo only part of the story.
Merci, Emilia.
Pussywillow!
Remember to meet me at 8:00 tonight.
Hugo, would you mind very much if I didn't go this evening?
Yes, I would mind.
I'm sorry, but all that crowd talks about is bad loans or trusts or estate planning.
Estate planning can be very creative.
Look, the bank is how we got to Paris.
I need this job.
I admit, I sometimes enjoy it. Why not?
Why not?
You're changing into someone else, Hugo.
You're even beginning to smell like the bank.
I'm working so that you can write.
I need to know people who are alive, Hugo.
No, no, no!
You are not concentrating. You are holding back. Do it again.
I can't seem to concentrate anymore, Eduardo.
My life...
Sometimes I think I need something else...
an older man, a man stronger than I am.
You like to make me suffer.
I've loved you since we were children, Anaïs, but I've always had a fear that...
- I wouldn't be able to... - No.
Look at them, Eduardo. They're so exquisite.
If I were a man, I'd be swept away.
They don't move me like you do.
Hell of a place you got here, Hugo.
Peaceful.
- Been here long? - Just since the Crash.
Since the Crash? How did you live before?
We lived well.
This is Henry Miller, the American writer Osborn is putting up.
My wife, Anaïs Nin.
How are you, Anaïs?
- Eduardo Sanchez, Anaïs' cousin. - Anaïs, you should read Henry's stuff.
For my money, he's got it over D.H. Lawrence.
- I'd love to read your writing. - He hasn't been published yet.
You're comparing him to Lawrence?
Don't compare me to Lawrence. Lawrence would've hated how I write.
- Henry writes for the common man. - Just like I don't like his writing.
Anaïs is writing a book about Lawrence.
Perhaps his sexuality is too strong for you.
Too strong? He's childish and prudish, if you ask me.
The French have written about this stuff all along. Rabelais, Flaubert...
I can't imagine a modern writer not to owe a debt to Lawrence.
Let's eat.
He makes too much out of sex. Makes a damn gospel out of it.
In my way of thinking, sex is natural, like birth or death.
Besides, I'm not interested in literature or poetry as we know it.
What are you interested in?
- Henry writes about fucking. - Fucking?
I'm writing about self-liberation.
Nope. It's definitely about fucking.
- Osborn! Hold on. - We should eat something.
- Emilia is waiting. - What are you doing?
I flip through a few more pages and I realize...
this is my own novel I'm reading, with some joker's name on it...
Written in French, being sold in the best bookstore in Paris.
- Unbelievable. How's that possible? - How's that possible?
Remember last year when some guy stole my briefcase with my manuscript in it?
This guy swiped my manuscript, but this joker doesn't realize I'll get him.
- The soufflé is from an old family recipe. - Soufflé? So this is a soufflé.
I hope it's substantial enough.
I'll get this joker because I'm a copyright lawyer.
I'll go after him like I went after the other joker.
- The guy who stole your play. - Yes.
- That's on Broadway. - That's on Broadway.
I told you this already?
About this guy who stole my play right out of my briefcase?
I'd be a well-received writer if it weren't for these jokers.
I'll get him. I'm not taking any chances. This is my new baby in here.
You laughing at me?
I just feel so good. Wonderful. What a fine moment we have.
A free lunch, a fire in the fireplace, wonderful wines...
the colors blue and orange. It's wonderful! Wonderful!
No other word for it.
So, what do you write? Poetry or something?
Most of my writing is in these diaries.
No.
No, I never let anyone read it.
I never show it to anyone...
except Hugo...
sometimes.
I've always wanted to read "The Captive". "La Prisonniere".
Please, I want you to have it.
I'll borrow it. Thanks.
Pussywillow!
I used to go to the six-day bike races we had in Brooklyn.
Yeah, I love bikes.
- But I couldn't take it. - I want you to have it.
- What will you use? - I'll borrow yours, Hugo.
You can't ride a man's bike. In that case, Henry should take mine.
Hey, thanks, Hugo.
That's swell of you.
Yeah, I can really use this. I'll come and visit.
Come on, Eduardo. I'll race you to town before it gets dark.
On your mark. Come on.
I don't race anymore. For me, a bike is just a means of getting home.
Get set.
- You're no match for me. - Are you set, Eduardo?
- I must warn you that I used to race. - Go!
- I'd love to read something he's written. - Fat chance. He'll never get published.
I've met Henry Miller.
He's virile... flamboyant.
He is a man life intoxicates.
He is like me...
but he doesn't know it yet.
Henry's quite a character.
- Good night, Pussywillow. - Good night, Hugo.
- Let me help you. - Hugo, I'll be fine.
Osborn is home, and I want to surprise Henry.
Just thought you could use a hand. Sure you're all right?
Yes, I'm fine.
I'll take the train and meet you home later.
I'll wait a minute, just in case.
I don't want you to wait.
I'll see you tonight.
See you tonight.
Henry?
Osborn?
Henry?
- Excuse me. - Oh, God, Anaïs. I forgot.
- I'm sorry. - No, I'm sorry.
- I'm sorry. I'm sorry. - I'm sorry.
- I'm sorry. Wait!
Henry!
Hiya, kid. Slumming?
I went to Osborn's place. He told me where to find you.
I brought my typewriter. I thought you should have it.
Can we go and sit down somewhere?
Why not?
There's a little café back here.
Come on.
That actress in the film... she reminds you of someone?
A woman who obsesses you?
I know that feeling.
I'm often obsessed.
You ought to eat something, kid. You eat like a bird.
All right, I'll tell you.
June appeared like an angel, and I offered her a fool's faith.
She was a taxi dancer.
I paid my dime...
she put her head on my shoulder...
but then the lies began.
She told me her mother was a gypsy...
and her father was a count. Later, I saw a film and realized...
she swiped her whole childhood right out of the film.
And so?
So I married her.
She gave me the courage to quit my job so I could write full-time.
She believed in me.
Somehow she got some money to buy strawberries in the winter.
We're broke, living in a dump in Brooklyn...
but we're living like kings.
Then one day she meets an artist, brings her home to live with us.
Pretty soon, we're supporting Jean, too.
How is she getting the money?
- Pop. - Pop?
Pop's her scam.
I find out about Pop only after she comes barging in one day...
with a fistful of money and suggests I go to Paris to write...
then she'll join me later.
I take one look into her lying eyes and say:
"Anything you say."
Pack my bag, and I'm off to Europe.
But...
I'm not quite the sap she takes me for.
Something tells me to double-back, do you see?
But when I confront her, she gets furious with me.
She says we would have starved without Pop. She says Pop's my patron saint.
- Your patron saint? - Yeah. That's what she calls him.
Only she's been telling Pop that it's her writing.
She says that's why Pop's been buying it, because of her.
How you doing?
And I should be grateful. That she's done it all for me.
Then she says, "I love you." And everything else vanishes.
In that moment, I live eternities.
Why does she get angry, hurt, jealous, and cruel?
I mean, why does she lie? That I can't understand.
Maybe you're not asking the right questions.
Yeah? What would you ask?
I'd ask, what makes her lies necessary?
What is she afraid of? Who is she afraid of?
- The kinds of things a woman would ask. - A woman?
Excuse me, pal. Could you spring for a few francs?
- I'm a little short today. - Beat it.
I'll give you some money if you need it.
Thanks. That's swell of you.
Careful.
- See you, kid. You'll get home okay? - Yes, of course. I'll be fine.
Should be taxis all the time.
A lot of your swanky types come down here. See ya.
I'm getting some interesting shadowy images here.
I like it.
You fall in love with people's minds.
I'm afraid I could lose you to Henry.
Don't be ridiculous.
He's so rough.
He calls me "kid."
I think I hate him.
He's a parasite, an egoist.
- Maybe it's just jealousy. - What are you jealous of?
His life seems so full of pain and chaos.
He has someone who drives him to pain and chaos.
Anaïs, meet my wife June.
Thanks for taking care of Henry.
He didn't describe you right. You didn't, Henry.
The colors you've used.
It's as if you painted each room for a different mood, Anaïs.
It's Anaïs.
Henry gets everything wrong...
Anaïs.
Sorry.
- Always merry and bright. - You said it.
- So, what's the title of your book going to be? - I'm knocking around a couple:
"I Sing the Equator", and "Tropic of Cancer".
- I like "Sing the Equator". - No. "Tropic of Cancer".
Without question.
Anaïs, you are so absolutely right.
You see, Henry?
I told you so.
So?
- What do you think of her, Hugo? - June? Not much.
- You're afraid of her? - No. I just don't trust her. Do you?
Trust her?
Of course not.
But, you do think she's beautiful, don't you?
No.
That's the truth.
You have no aberrations.
- No cruelty. - I don't want to be cruel.
I hate men who are afraid of a woman's strength.
I'm not afraid of your strength. I love it.
The stronger, the better.
Come here.
You don't hate me, do you?
Tell me some more truth, Hugo.
Or some lies.
Whisper to me.
How would you lie to June?
If you were making love to her.
- Making love to her? - Yes.
To her body.
Her voluptuous body.
She's so perverse. So naked.
Tell her that you love her.
- I love you. - I love you.
I love you.
Hold tighter. Possess her like a man.
- I want to fuck her like a man. - No...
- Fuck her, Hugo. - I am.
I am fucking her, Pussywillow.
- I am fucking her, Pussywillow. - Yes...
I...
Pretty good, Hugo.
Pretty good.
Yeah, I used to pace the six-day bike races in Brooklyn.
- You're pretty good to keep up. - Let's go.
Guess it's just natural with me. I've always loved sports.
Hey... hey... come on.
That was fun.
Not bad.
You call this a tie?
It's a tie.
Okay. It's a tie.
You're like the schoolteacher. I'm like the young girl.
Always merry and bright, Anaïs.
What's your name?
I'm Count Bruga.
Where do you come from, Count Bruga?
Count Bruga's been on the stage. That's why he's so spoiled.
- Count Bruga is not spoiled! - Jean made Count Bruga.
She's an artist. Her hands are incredible.
Her beauty's more like a man's. She's no ordinary woman.
No ordinary woman could make Count Bruga!
- Quiet, Bruga. We're talking. - Shut up, yourself.
You shut up, too!
- Where did you learn how to do this? - My parents were show people.
My father was a magician in the circus. My mother was a trapezist.
I was born on the road.
What has Henry told you?
Nothing. Really.
He mentioned Pop?
No. Who's Pop?
Pop is a patron saint of the arts I know.
Henry's jealous of him because Pop's rich.
Henry sees a lecher under every rock. You know how men get.
Do you love women?
What do you mean?
- What about Jean? - Did Henry tell you about Jean and I?
No. You've been telling me about her.
Sometimes he has a way of making everything ugly.
- He's not sleeping with you, is he? - What?
Nah, I guess not.
- Did we pay? - Let me get it.
- Good, 'cause I got to book my passage. - Passage? To where?
Home to New York.
Come on, Bruga. I got my own life to lead.
So many things up in the air: my friends, my acting.
There's an audition I don't want to miss.
Excuse me. This is all the money you have?
- Well, yes. - Sorry. I can't do anything for you.
What do you want me to do, swim?
Of course not.
We'll find a solution.
Something's happened. I don't know.
The price has gone up, or the exchange rate's gone down.
I tried to get a reduction, but I don't have enough even for third class.
- Here. - No, no. I couldn't.
Please. Take this.
It's swell of you. Thanks.
About that boat...
So, did you find a solution?
I hope so.
- I'd really like to travel first class. - It's possible.
Maybe you know a place where we could meet for a drink.
Let's say 6:00?
- 7:00 is better. - 7:00.
- Thanks. - See you then.
Here I am.
This character, Mona. Is she supposed to be me?
Why?
Nothing.
Henry, it's so good.
I always wanted you to be...
Dostoevsky.
- Is that good? - Good?
I struggled, suffered...
for this?
This isn't me.
This is not me.
Of course it's you. It's the you inside me.
It's a distortion.
Henry, look at me.
Look!
You can't see me or anyone as they are.
I wanted...
Dostojevskij.
Who could be Dostoevsky with you? You make that impossible! What do you want?
- What I want? - Yes!
After I brought the world to you.
After I told you all of my stories!
Sing my praises!
- Make me an admirable character. - I'm not a portrait painter.
I'll say you're not. Look what you've done to Anaïs.
You make everything ugly.
Beauty is a joke to you.
You're so negative. You're a failure as a writer.
You're not a man. You're a child! You use women!
You used me, you fucker!
You fucker!
June!
Get rid of her. I'll drive you wild.
I love you.
I want to be drunk.
And make you drunk.
'Cause I'm intimidated by you.
And I need to feel free to say anything and know that you'll forgive me.
I want to tell you things so you won't stumble through life.
I've done the vilest things...
foulest things.
But I've done them superbly.
I feel innocent now.
- Do you believe that, Anaïs? - You are innocent.
I want to be innocent like you.
I want to experience everything you've experienced.
Anaïs...
take care of Henry for me.
- I'll be leaving in the morning. - What?
The morning?
- But when will you come back? - Maybe soon. Maybe never.
There's so much I wish I could have done with you.
I wish I could have taken opium with you
Give me your wrist.
No. You have so few things.
I wanted to give you more.
I wanted to hold you.
She's crazy.
- Don't you see? - No, I don't see.
- I don't care. - She's just using you.
No.
You just don't understand.
You're jealous of her.
No, I'm not.
Besides...
you'll never see her again.
Where did you get this?
Show me.
Does she think she can love anything in you I haven't loved?
Henry, you may have genius and passion...
but something is definitely missing.
Oh, yeah? What?
Compassion.
- Compassion for whom? - June, for instance.
Might as well have compassion for the moon.
I'm going to write a book about June.
I'm writing about her.
I know more than anybody will ever know about her.
But I'm talking about something totally different. As a woman.
From the inside out.
I can get into the poetry of June.
She's my fucking wife.
You don't understand your own fucking wife.
I kissed her.
Write about whatever you want to write about, for Christ's sake.
And more power to you.
- Got to get back to work. - Stay a while longer if you can, Henry.
She's been under stress. She's just getting back on her feet.
They've got some Haitian drums up there. That fellow said I might sit in.
I saw your true nature when you were dancing out there.
You don't understand.
Maybe I'm just a peasant and only whores can understand me.
You want to dance?
Dance.
Open your legs. Wider.
I love you.
- I need you. I love you - I love you. I love you. Henry...
I love you... Hugo.
What are you doing? You're driving me wild.
Perhaps I am a demon...
to be able to pass from Henry's arms into Hugo's.
Hugo lies next to me as I write this.
I love Hugo...
and I feel innocent.
Did I ever tell you, Anaïs, about when I was a little boy...
growing up in Puerto Rico?
My father used to take me to the carnival.
There were wild drums beating and frightening masks.
There was something going on that was terrifying, and I didn't understand.
And I said to my father, "I'm not afraid...
but give me your hand."
I have to go.
Hello, Mr. Richards!
Hello, Hugo.
Mr. Grant can't join us till Friday at Deauville.
Anaïs, I don't know how much I dare write you.
I'd call you, only I'm afraid Hugo would answer.
God forgive if this letter is ever opened by mistake.
I can't help it.
I want you. I love you.
I've been living with you constantly...
but I've been afraid to tell you.
I thought it would terrify you.
But today as I watched Dreyer's "Passion of Joan of Arc"...
I saw the mad monk played by Antonin Artaud.
I thought of you, like Joan...
in all your youth and purity and single-minded madness.
And I saw myself in Artaud a hungering monk in love with you...
and in love with my madness and your madness.
And the demon in Artaud's eyes was like the demon in your eyes.
We fit so well together.
With Hugo, it's so difficult sometimes.
We have to use Vaseline.
His penis is so big.
But you and I fit so well.
Henry, I want to know what you know.
I want my life to match your life.
Look at that, will you? Isn't that something?
Yeah...
Yeah.
Just read your goddamn book on D.H. Lawrence.
And, my, it's one hell of a book, Miss Nin.
Shows me I didn't know shit about Lawrence when I spoke.
Who am I to go shooting off at the mouth about him?
He was much greater, finer than I ever thought.
Never mind how he failed or triumphed as a man.
As an artist, did he succeed?
I say... magnificently.
He tried to liberate literature. And that's our task.
Liberation. Freedom.
Let's toast to Lawrence. Let's toast to our defects.
Toast...
to our friendship.
- Drink cold, piss warm. - To Henry.
To Henry.
Fuck the Huns.
You know who I really am?
It's only me from over the sea I'm Barnacle Bill, the sailor
I'm all lit up like a Christmas tree, I'm Barnacle Bill, the sailor
I'll sail the seas until I croak, I'll fight, swear, drink and smoke
But I can't swim bloody stroke I'm Barnacle Bill, the sailor
I'll put my mast in whom I please I'm Barnacle Bill, the sailor
I'll drink, fight, fuck and smoke, but I can't swim a bloody stroke
I'm Barnacle Bill, the sailor Barnacle Bill, the sailor
Perverts!
Perverts yourselves!
- Fuck you. - Jack.
- What? - Say, "Fuck you, Jack!"
Fuck you, Jack!
Come on.
Hurry.
Twelve meters.
Here, pull it.
Hey, Brassai!
Yeah, scram.
Everybody says sex is obscene, but the only true obscenity is war.
I believe...
only in a God who understood how to dance.
Isn't that something?
Nietzsche says that at the same time...
the Huns in Germany are gearing up, perverting what he says.
We're given this gift, don't you know? The ability to understand.
Yet no one wants to understand.
We're given the ability to read.
I mean, read Nietzsche, read Thomas Mann...
read Spengler, Joyce, Rimbaud.
Hell, read fucking "Alice In Wonderland".
Everything's out of whack.
People just worry about money now, and deny their inner self.
What the hell's money anyway?
There's an old Portuguese saying:
"If shit had value, the poor wouldn't have asses."
Money, money, money.
They walk through the night crowd protected by money...
lulled by money, dulled by money.
No least single object anywhere that is not money, money, everywhere...
and still not enough.
And then no money or little money or less money...
or more money. But money, always money.
If you have money or you don't, it's the money that counts, and money makes money.
But what makes money make money?
I say, what the hell?
We got to die to the world like the clowns. Right, clowns?
Right.
I've never seen the sunrise in Paris.
I've never been up all night.
I've never been with a woman I could be so sincere with.
I feel so free to write now.
I'll help you.
And I'll help you.
I feel so pure...
so strong...
so new, Henry.
You and I together, not any man or woman together.
Anaïs...
I'm going to demand everything of you.
Even the impossible...
because you encourage it.
Maybe I should get down on my knees and worship you.
I'm going to undress you...
vulgarize you a bit.
- Lift up your dress. - No, Henry, not here.
Don't look around.
You little aristocrat.
Don't care.
I want to fuck you, and teach you things.
Humiliate you a little.
Wrap your leg around me.
I'm going to make you come with me.
Remarkable.
This is one of the most beautiful things I've ever read.
I've never shown this diary to anyone before.
No one will ever know these things...
but you.
You're becoming all the things you wished to be as a little girl.
- I had a cricket. - What?
A little pet cricket in a cage.
I love your accent.
And I carried it everywhere with me.
But when we arrived in America they took it away at the Immigration.
The only thing they let me keep in America was my diary.
And my accent.
I love you at 11.
I love you now.
I will love you at 100.
Here.
Take a look.
What have we got here?
This is good.
- Powerful. - Yours, too.
You tell the truth with such...
delicacy.
- I hope you don't mind. - Mind?
Why should I mind? I welcome constructive criticism.
Good.
If it's constructive.
- What are you doing? - Just a few things.
See, here it's all shrieks and...
abstracts.
It's too melodramatic. You got to take time to expand.
You're enjoying this.
- What? - Cutting me up.
I don't want to write the way you write.
I don't want you to write the way I write.
You've got to write in your own voice. I'm just making a few suggestions.
It's tight in places. Here.
- Read it out loud and see how it sounds. - I'm not going to give you that pleasure.
Pleasure? Hold on a minute here.
Can't you take it? You got to take a few taps on the chin.
"A few taps on the chin"? Amuse yourself with someone else.
- A prizefighter, for instance. - You're right. Exactly. A prizefighter.
You got to get knocked down occasionally to acquire the necessary ring tactics...
the strategy, the art of fighting.
You can't just shadowbox in your room.
You won't last two minutes when you step into the ring.
I am not interested in stepping into a ring with you.
The world will give us plenty of beatings. What we need is each other's support.
Should I criticize you like an outsider?
Should I say you write caricatures?
That you write only from a man's point of view...
and you can't understand women?
Should I say that sometimes there's a touch of the brute in your writing?
That you're too much of a realist?
What's the matter? Can't you take it?
- Like a prizefighter? - Hey, knock it off.
- You want to fight, huh? - No!
Don't.
Leave it. It looks nice that way.
Wild.
Loose.
You never like the way I look.
I do. I do love your hair.
I just think it shouldn't be so severe.
- So tight. - Like my writing?
No, not like your writing. I love your writing. I believe in you.
Last night I thought that you were the woman I should've been married to.
You're always ironizing with me.
"Ironizing"? There's no such word. It's "to be ironic."
- Look it up. - Hey, hey!
Then he steals my ideas and puts them in his novels.
- Henry wouldn't do that, Richard. - I'm sure of it.
Somehow he got into my briefcase and swiped my ideas.
Those phrases are mine.
That way of expression, that rhapsodizing, it's mine.
Nietzsche? I introduced him to Nietzsche.
I introduced him to Hugo and you.
- He stole you from Hugo. - Don't, Richard...
And he stole you from me.
That's true.
It was my idea to become your lover.
He betrayed me by stealing you from me and from my best friend, your husband.
This man is treacherous to the core.
This Neanderthal from Brooklyn is trying to murder me.
For all his pretended friendship, his most intimate friends are nothing but fodder...
for the unrolling of his own sanctified destiny...
his own creative urges.
I leave the two of you to your destiny.
And one more thing:
No more sex in my apartment. I won't stand for it.
I love that guy. He understands me.
Even though he is...
Later.
Even though he is "ironizing."
I have only three desires now:
To eat.
To sleep.
And...
And?
- Jerks out there. - It's just the Art Students' Ball.
Maybe you just don't want to tonight.
It's fine.
Fine, I understand.
It's natural.
I've read about such moments.
It happens to women, too, only women can conceal it.
Sorry.
Don't be.
You feel that you have to fuck me or I'll be disappointed.
- But you don't always have to fuck me. - Don't say that word.
What word?
"Fuck"?
It just bothers me now.
Maybe it's the accent.
Maybe it's just because you can't fuck.
It's important not to imagine terrible things...
like being impotent from now on.
It's nothing. We should just laugh about it.
I love you, Pussywillow.
I love you, too, Hugo.
I gave myself with such feelings against Henry...
that I experienced a great physical pleasure.
My first infidelity to Henry...
was with my own husband.
I've changed.
I feel restless, spirited, adventurous.
To be absolutely truthful, I hope secretly to meet someone else.
I have erotic imaginings.
I want pleasure.
Every time I go out with you I love you more than ever.
- You seemed so wild tonight. - Tonight I could do anything.
I could, too.
We need to think of something that would stimulate us both.
Anything you say, kiddo.
- Henry told me about this place. - This ought to be something.
Wait here.
- I'm with you. - We'll just look.
What's an exhibition?
Then you must choose two.
An exhibition is us watching a man and a woman doing it?
No man. Only women.
One pretends to be the man.
- It's better that way, n'est-ce pas? - Of course.
You will not be disappointed. You will see everything.
And now you must choose.
Her.
And...
There are 66 ways in which to make love.
Really?
They will show you love in a taxi, love when one of the partners is sleepy...
love in the street, etc., etc.
You like something else?
Yes. Stop pretending to be a man.
Would you like to join us?
As you wish. You're the boss.
- Anaïs. What.. - I love your green eyes, Eduardo.
Anaïs...
I want to show you things.
I want to teach you things.
I want you to relax.
Anaïs...
Relax, Eduardo.
I had a dream.
A nightmare.
June had suddenly returned.
We shut ourselves in a room.
I began to undress.
I begged her to undress.
I asked to let me see between her legs.
As she lay over me...
I felt a penis touching me.
Aren't you glad?
I'm passing through a crisis, Eduardo.
Be careful, Anaïs.
Abnormal pleasures kill the taste for normal ones.
I hate you, Henry.
Because I now realize I love you as I have never loved anyone.
I miss your voice, your hands, your body, your tenderness...
your bearishness, and your goodness.
Most of all, I miss our friendship.
Finished.
Pussywillow!
I'm home!
Pussywillow.
Henry, he's exhausted. He hasn't slept for two days.
He's just finished his novel.
Henry!
Henry.
This is wonderful.
Stupendous. Come and join us.
Yes. Come and lie down with us, Henry.
I hope you don't mind. Anaïs was just reading this...
and I'm a pretty nosy guy, so I took a peek.
- I just love it. - I've been trying to write something about...
about how necessary this book is for our times.
You give us a blood transfusion.
- Beautiful. - Thanks.
Wait till June reads this.
She'll be so thrilled that you've finished your book.
Each mention of her name, each page I read, is painful.
Well, this was the swan song.
It's a way to understand her so I could free myself from her.
It's finished now.
Not yet.
- Now we've got to get it published. - Published?
Who will publish it? I know what they'll say.
There's even laws against what I've written.
But I feel good now.
I'm ready to celebrate my failure.
I won't let you be a failure.
I'll make the world listen to you, I promise.
I'm ready now to call on the Pope, on all the kings...
all the editors and publishers in the world, to get them to support you.
It's Anaïs.
Anaïs. Anaïs
- Eduardo. - Hello, Henry.
- Where's Hugo? - Gone on business.
Osborn's gone, too. Gone crazy. Really.
Totally. We're celebrating Osborn's madness.
It's a rare occasion, don't you know? Doesn't happen every day.
I hope he's really insane and not just faking it.
- They came and took him away. - He was a monster.
And that was his best side.
We've got the whole place to ourselves.
You ever see what a good contortionist can do?
Come on. I'll get you something to drink.
June.
Sorry I couldn't keep in touch.
I thought of you every day.
But you know me with writing. I have a terrible time.
I don't have the gift like you and Henry.
I found your book lying around here.
I hope you don't mind.
I took a peek.
"House of Incest"?
It's nice.
This character Sabina's supposed to be me?
"The muffled, close, half-talk of soft-fleshed women.
Deep into each other, we turned our harlot eyes."
Seems like...
poetry, sort of.
It's so, I don't know, damn sweet of you to try to write something about me.
I really expected something more...
I don't know, more real.
- More real? - Yeah.
More about, you know, life.
Hey... Don't get upset.
Some of it's really beautiful.
I promise I'll read it again.
Things have been so damn tough for me.
The acting didn't pan out, and then Jean, my friend, left.
Anaïs, what's happened to Henry?
He's so changed.
June, I don't know.
I don't know what to say. I've been busy.
I've seen him occasionally. We work on our writing together sometimes.
But...
I don't know.
I've...
I've been seeing someone.
- You mean you have a lover? - Yes.
- That man you came with? - Yes. Eduardo.
Anaïs...
I'm so happy for you.
I don't know who I came back for.
Don't let her come between us, Anaïs. Please. I need your faith.
That could be good luck, too.
Could be.
Jack, you've come.
How are you?
June, I'd like you to meet Jack, the man who wants to publish my book.
- My wife, June. - Hiya, Jack.
Nice to meet you, Mrs. Miller.
I feel I know you intimately from reading Henry's book.
Oh, yeah? What do you think?
I think it's strong meat. That's how we'll market it.
- What's our cut? - Cut?
- Well, it'll be five percent. - A crummy five percent?
You mean, Henry spends years writing the book...
lives like a bum, busts his nuts...
- Stay out of this, June. - And I scrape by and do without...
and pour my heart and soul into making him some kind of Dostoevsky...
- and all we get is five percent? - With me, the percentage will mean something.
- What does "mean something" mean? - I believe it's a fair deal.
Well, I'll be.
- 'Course, if you don't want to publish it... - No. No, no.
Henry just doesn't get business.
Let us talk.
By all means.
But as I've said, before we can do anything...
it's absolutely necessary to have the money to print it.
- I think... - Jack, I've told you, I'll get the money.
Jack...
I guess I was naive about how things work in your business.
I hope I didn't upset you, Jack.
I was wondering if some sort of advance might be possible.
- No. - Maybe there's room to improve on the percentage.
Let's not discuss it now. Here is not the place.
Maybe you know a place where we could have lunch?
- I do. I certainly do. A marvelous place. - Do you?
Well, it's done, then.
It's been so good to meet you, Jack. Really.
- It's been wonderful having you. - You, too.
Good night.
Night.
- Yes... - See you.
Good-bye.
Who was he trying to kid?
Crummy five percent.
He hasn't dealt with this Brooklyn girl yet.
- The Dome for nightcaps, Henry? - Go ahead. We'll join you later.
- "Always merry and bright." - To you, too.
- Bye. - I should go now.
No. No, Anaïs, don't go.
You can catch up with Eduardo later. All right, Eduardo?
Say, you know...
I don't know.
I was thinking, maybe it's not time to publish Henry's book just now.
Not publish?
- What the hell are you talking about, June? - What I'm talking about is a crappy deal...
and the fact that you're taking advantage of Anaïs...
and Hugo, too.
They're not made of gold, Henry.
Am I right, Anaïs?
Yes, but... No. We really believe we have to publish it.
I'll get it published. The right way.
Just like I always have.
We've always managed to survive, you and me, Henry.
Besides...
it needs work.
- What? - It's not ready.
It's much better than when I first read it, but it could be even better.
There's too much anger in the book, Henry.
Too much anger?
Too much fucking anger?
Even Anaïs agreed that you distorted me in your book.
She had to write her own book.
- Isn't that right, Anaïs? - No, June.
I did tell June that you failed to perceive certain things...
- Anaïs, don't. - After all I've done for him, Anaïs.
He owes me for all the years I sacrificed!
Your sacrifices just add to your greatness. I don't owe you a thing.
- You don't what? - No, June. What Henry really means...
Anaïs, for Christ's sakes, can't you see what she's doing?
- Don't yell at me! - He treats you like a child.
- She's a woman, Henry. - I know she's a woman.
I'll bet you do.
- What the fuck do you mean by that? - I'm leaving.
How can you treat her this way?
You're drunk.
So what? You're weak.
I hate it when you get weak.
- Be a man! - God, you're a bitch!
Violence.
I hate your violence.
Men...
June!
Anaïs...
Don't go. I love you.
You're cruel and clever.
You're both cruel and clever.
I'm afraid of both of you.
I'm the wrong woman for you, Henry!
I'm the wrong woman for you, Anaïs.
Leave me alone. Don't touch me.
I'm so terribly sick.
Give me peace.
Anaïs...
I love you.
Get some sleep, Anaïs.
I don't know why I keep on thinking of this little Chinese restaurant...
Henry and I used to go to after I got off work.
He'd wait for me outside the dance hall at 2:00 in the morning.
Then we'd rush through the freezing cold...
holding each other tight.
We'd get there just before closing time...
sit in the booth by the window eating chow mein...
watching the snow swirl by.
There was some kind of unbelievable thrill in the air between us.
I feel kind of haunted by it now.
Chin Lee's.
It's funny.
It seems like a dream.
- Your eyes make me shy. - Don't be shy.
You're so lovely...
so small.
I burned myself out.
June, I worship you.
I don't want worship. I want understanding.
I understand you.
We should go away somewhere together...
where there's lots of snow.
How little you are...
so thin.
I could break you in two.
June, I feel innocent now.
Let yourself go. Let go.
Relax.
You're still holding back.
Let me see your body.
It isn't beautiful enough.
Beautiful? June...
No.
I heard a noise out there.
Henry was listening.
No. Once Henry falls asleep, nothing can wake him up.
Oh, yeah?
I'm sorry. I lost my head. I was drunk, I guess.
Don't be sorry.
This new lover of yours has really made you bloom.
- It's so chilly. - Tell me more about him.
Did you make curtains for him?
Did you give him books to read? Did you give him a typewriter?
No.
- June, no. You don't understand. - I don't understand? What don't I understand?
That I love you.
Love?
You just want experience. You're a writer.
You make love to whatever you need.
- You're just like Henry. - No. I'm just like you.
I can see exactly what you're doing. You're so slippery...
so slippery.
You bitch.
Liar! Trickster! You bought his love.
June, shut up.
You both robbed me blind. You stole everything.
- What do I care? I got plenty more to give. - Shut up.
To someone new. Some truly great writer.
Henry said you just took us in because you were bored.
That's a lie.
A lie.
I was just dreaming about you.
Anaïs...
Hey, what's wrong? What's wrong?
She lies. She lies.
What is she afraid of? I don't understand.
- I tried to give her everything. - I know.
Very pretty.
Just like I figured it.
Now I know everything.
I just wanted to return something before I leave...
some books I borrowed.
June, you're wrong.
- We're just friends. I never touched her. - Get rid of her, Henry.
Okay. All right. You made your choice.
I've only got one more thing I can give you:
Your last chapter. Watch closely.
June!
What are you doing out here? It's freezing.
I thought she'd do something crazy. I never know.
I looked all over for her.
She's gone.
Anaïs.
This is mine.
This is mine, too.
I feel like the war's over.
This is mine.
Hey, what are you doing? Come on.
Leave that there.
Stay with me, Anaïs, for Christ's sake. We've got to talk.
I can't.
- Where are you going? - Home.
What?
Yeah...
Hugo...
I love him, too. You married a great guy.
Fuck you, Jack.
That won't do it.
That won't get rid of me.
You're my friend.
I'm going to come after you.
Hey, hey, hey...
How can you leave me at a time like this? I need you.
I need you.
I thought you might need a lift.
Is everything all right?
Hey, Henry.
Anaïs...
give me your hand.
That morning I wept.
I wept because I loved the streets that took me away from Henry...
and would lead me back to him.
I wept because the process by which I had become a woman...
was painful.
I wept because from now on I would weep less.
I wept because I had lost my pain...
and I was not yet accustomed to its absence.