All language subtitles for Wonder Boys (2000)

23.976 FPS

"The young girl sat perfectly
still in the confessional,

"listening to her father's
boots scrape like chalk

"on the ancient steps of the church,

"then grow faint,
then disappear altogether.

"She could sense the priest
beyond the grate--"

On that particular friday afternoon,

last february,

I was reading a story to
my advanced writer's workshop

by one James Leer,
junior lit major

and sole inhabitant
of his own gloomy gulag.

"She bit the flesh of her lip,

"closed her eyes, mute."

James' stories were about
as sunny as his disposition.

I was distracted.

Maybe it had something
to do with the fact

that my wife had
left me that morning.

So. Anyone?

Maybe not.
Wives had left me before.

- Carrie.
- As usual, James' classmates,

aware of a writer's
inherent vulnerability,

offered their sensitive,
gentle opinions.

I mean, Jesus, what is
it with you Catholics?

All right. All right.

Let's try to be
constructive here, shall we?

Howard, what about you?

I hated it.

His stories make me
want to kill myself.

That's not exactly what I meant
by being constructive, Howard.

Yes, Hannah?

I think maybe we're
missing the point.

Hannah Green.

A talented writer who
rented a room in my house.

I knew her to be
insightful, kind,

and compulsively clad
in red cowboy boots.

I had, in fact, never once
seen her without them.

He respects us enough to forget us,
and... that takes courage.

Well put, Hannah. And a good
note to end on, I think.

Oh, don't forget about
WordFest this weekend.

And those of you
who are driving VIPs

to the cocktail party this evening

should have them
at the chancellor's house

no later than 5:30.

Thank you for that.
Is he all right?

I think so.
How about you?

Me? Yeah. Why?

Just checking.

Turn off the light, please.

It felt good to be in the car.

Alone. Where I could clear my head.

Tonight was the
opening of WordFest,

the university's annual
three-day "gabathon"

for writers and wanna-bes.

My editor, Terry Crabtree,
was flying in for the event.

He alone had championed my
last novel, "Arsonist's Daughter,"

and its critical success
had put us both on the map.

But that was seven years ago,

and I still hadn't
finished my follow-up.

I knew Terry didn't give
a rat's ass about WordFest.

He was coming to town to get
a look at my long-overdue book.

I had to keep him at bay.

- Ah, Tripp.
- Crabtree, how are you, my friend?

- It's good to see you, Tripp.
- Let me help you with this here.

Say hello to my new friend.

- Miss Antonia Ss...
- Sloviak.

Nice to meet you.
This way.

I took the liberty of inviting
Antonia to tonight's festivities.

The more the merrier.

Terry was telling me
about you on the plane.

It was all so interesting.

I was just explaining how
a book comes to be published.

What you do as a writer,
what I do as an editor.

I sweat blood for five years,
and he corrects my spelling.

- That's exactly what he said.
- We know each other pretty well.

And actually,
it's seven years.

You know how many times I've
boarded an airplane just praying

that some gal like her would be
sitting down beside me?

- She's a transvestite.
- You're stoned.

- She's still a transvestite.
- So, how's the book?

Uh, it's... it's fine.
It's done.

Well, basically. I got a little
tinkering I've still got to do.

Great!
Great!

I was hoping I could get a look
at it sometime over the weekend.

It's gonna be a little tough. I'm
at a critical juncture right now.

I thought you were
just tinkering.

W-Well, I am, but I have little
details I've got to work on.

I'm not gonna pressure you.
I just got off the plane, you know?

I mean, I get pressure.
You know? I get--

Know what I mean?

What the hell in the hootenanny
do you suppose that would be?

That would be a tuba.

You didn't actually
purchase this car, did you?

No, I got it from Jerry Nathan.
He owed me some money.

Ah! He owes God money.

Including my commission
on that faux novel of his.

That perfume you're
wearing, Antonia,

that wouldn't happen
to be Cristalle, would it?

Um, uh, yes, it is.

- How did you know?
- Lucky guess.

The WordFest kickoff party

was always held at Sara
and Walter Gaskell's house.

She was the chancellor, which
meant she oversaw the university.

Her husband, Dr. Gaskell,

was the chairman
of the English Department,

which meant he oversaw me.

Isn't that a nice greenhouse?

It's Mrs. Gaskell's.
It's her hobby.

I thought you were
Mrs. Gaskell's hobby.

Piss off, will you, Crabs?
I lost a wife today.

You'll find another. She'll be
young, beautiful. They always are.

Oh, hello, everyone.
Terry, good to see you again.

Chancellor.
Don't you look ravishing.

- Oh, oh. Easy.
- I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

It's these goddamn shoes.

I don't know how anyone
can walk in these things.

Practice.

- I don't believe we've met.
- Antonia Sloviak.

Poe!

Poe! Poe!

Poe, stop! Poe!

That wouldn't be
Walter's dog, would it?

- Poe!
- Who's he barking at now?

He's still barking
at me. He's blind.

Stop this.

Honestly.

Excuse me, I need to talk to you
for a second, Chancellor.

I need to talk to you too.

Maybe you could help me take these coats
to the upstairs guest room, Professor Tripp.

I'd be happy to, Chancellor, if I knew
where the upstairs guest room was.

I could show you.

Terry.

Yeah. Oh, yeah. We'll
make ourselves at home.

We'll let Poe show
us around. Thanks.

That's new, isn't it?

Yeah, Walter just got
it back from the framer.

You first.

- This morning--
- I'm pregnant.

I'm sure.

Well, that's...
that's very surprising.

Does Walter know that, uh--

I think Walter would find this
a little more than surprising.

Emily left me this morning.

She's left before.

She's left the room before,
but she's always come back.

So,

I guess we just divorce
our spouses, marry each other,

and have this baby, right?

Simple.

Yeah, right. Simple.

Is that Cristalle?

- Mm-hmm.
- Oh, God.

I wear the same scent
as a transvestite.

She is a transvestite,
isn't she?

If she's not now,
Terry'll make sure she is

by the end of the evening.

Has he asked you
about the book yet?

Yes.

And?

Are you gonna tell him?

No. Maybe. I don't know
what I'm gonna do.

Me either.

DiMaggio's record

for hits in consecutive games

is probably the most impressive
feat in all of sports

and in my opinion,
will never be broken.

- Come here, big guy.
- His condition's so sad.

Yes, but even blind,
he still gets around.

I don't drink, normally,

but this was turning out
to be one fucked-up day.

And now I found myself in close
proximity to Sara's husband

and his dog, Poe.

- Walter, I see you've met my friend.
- Oh, yes. She's charming.

Despite his much-vaunted
Harvard education

Dr. Walter Gaskell didn't have
a clue about his wife and me.

Simply put, Di Maggio represented--
metaphorically speaking, of course,

the husband as slugger.

Poe had been on to
me since day one.

In fact, I personally believe

that every woman in some way
desires to be Marilyn Monroe.

Oh, I couldn't agree more.

Sure, I've had a lot of
successes over the years.

Q.
Q was rich.

Q was famous.

Q completed a novel
every 18 months.

I hated him.

...finest work vanished
in less than five.

So I find myself conflicted.

Ask him if he's conflicted
about his house in the Hamptons.

- Grady.
- Well, Professor.

Q, for your information,

Hannah already has
two stories published

in The Paris Review, so you
better dust off your "A" material.

You didn't tell me
you were a writer.

You didn't ask.

How did you feel
about the adaptation?

I thought it was more
literary than cinematic.

Grady.

Douglas Triddley, Amherst.

I've had "Arsonist's Daughter"

on my graduate-studies
syllabus three years running.

No wonder it's still in print.

Long time since
"Arsonist's Daughter."

There you are.

I could have sworn I had a bottle
of 1975 Lafite Rothschild for Q.

Given that he's going to
be addressing 500 people

in less than an hour...

- You want to keep Q happy.
- If he's happy, I'm happy.

James?

It's fake.
It was my mother's.

She won it in a penny
arcade in Baltimore

when she went
to Catholic school.

Well, that's very convincing.

I used to shoot these
little paper caps,

but they don't make
them anymore. The caps.

It's just for good luck, you know?
Some people carry rabbit's feet.

You carry firearms.

No, thank you. I don't like
to lose control of my emotions.

I'm not supposed to be here,
in case you're wondering.

But the other night I was out
with Hannah at the movies

and she asked me since she was
coming, so I ended up coming too.

You and, uh, Hannah,
you're seeing each other?

- No! What gave you that idea?
- James, relax.

I'm not her father.
I just rent her a room.

She likes old movies
like I do, that's all.

- What's the movie you guys saw?
- "Son of Fury"

with Tyrone Power
and Frances Farmer.

She went crazy,
Frances Farmer.

So did Gene Tierney.
She's in it too.

- Sounds like a good one.
- It wasn't bad.

You're not like my other
teachers, Professor Tripp.

You're not like my
other students, James.

Look, James,

about this afternoon
in workshop, I'm sorry.

I think I let things
get a little out of hand.

They really hated it.

I think they hated it more
than any of the other ones.

- Well...
- Doesn't matter.

It only took me
an hour to write.

Really? That's remarkable.

I have trouble sleeping.

While I'm lying in bed,
I figure them out, the stories.

- Are you cold, James?
- Oh, a little.

Why don't we go inside?

It's colder in there.

I guess you're right.

Actually, I saw the greenhouse.

I thought I'd come outside and take
a look at it. It looks like heaven.

- Looks like heaven?
- I saw a movie once.

Part of it took place in
heaven. Everyone wore white.

Lived in crystal
houses like that.

I really should be going.

- Good-bye, Professor Tripp.
- Hey, James.

James, don't go. No.

There's something
I want you to see.

- I'll miss my bus.
- It's worth it.

Trust me.

Let me help you with that.

Thank you, dear.
Thank you.

Come on.

Hey, you two.
James, are you riding with me?

- No, I'm going home.
- No, he's going with me.

Why don't you take Crabtree
and his friend? All right?

- All right.
- Where are they anyway?

Here we are.

Hmm. Well, hello there.

James, this is my
editor, Terry Crabtree.

James.

James'll know
about George Sanders.

- George Sanders?
- Mr. Crabtree was saying

how George Sanders killed himself,
only he couldn't remember how.

Pills. April 25th, 1972,
in a Costa Brava hotel room.

- How comprehensive of you.
- James is amazing.

He knows all the movie suicides.
Go ahead, James. Tell him.

- There are so many.
- Well, just a few. The big ones.

Pier Angeli, 1971 or '72,
also pills.

Donald "Red" Barry,
shot himself in 1980.

Charles Boyer,
1978, pills again.

Charles Butterworth, 1946,
I think. In a car.

Supposedly, it was an accident,
but, you know, he was distraught.

Dorothy Dandridge, pills, 1965.
Albert Dekker, 1968,

he hung himself.

He wrote his suicide note
in lipstick on his stomach.

William Inge,
carbon monoxide, 1973.

Carole Landis, pills again.
I forget when.

George Reeves, "Superman"
on TV, shot himself.

Jean Seberg, pills,
of course, 1979.

Everett Sloane, he was good, pills.

Margaret Sullavan, pills.
Lupe Velez, a lot of pills.

Gig Young, he shot himself
and his wife in 1978.

There are tons more.

- I haven't heard of half of them.
- You did them alphabetically.

It's just how my
brain works, I guess.

Fascinating.

Say, why don't you come out
with us after the lecture.

There's this place
I always get Tripp to take me.

- Actually, I just want to go home.
- Don't be silly.

No one your age
just wants to go home.

Besides, faculty will be present.
Just consider it a field trip.

Is that really it?

That's really it.

The one she wore
on her wedding day.

So I'm told.

- Go ahead.
- Really?

Really.

She was small.

Most people don't know that.

The shoulders
are so small.

It looks so perfect.

I bet it's the only
time she wore it.

That day.

She must have felt so happy.

- Must've cost Dr. Gaskell a lot.
- I guess.

He also never tells
Sara the truth...

about how much he
pays for these things.

You're really good friends
with the chancellor, aren't you?

Pretty good.

I'm friends
with her husband too.

I guess you must be if you know
the combination to his closet

and he doesn't mind you being
in here in their bedroom.

- Right.

Drive carefully.

Stick close to me in
case it gets slippery.

We better skedaddle. James...

You all right, James?

Oh. I'm sorry,
Professor Tripp.

Maybe it's

seeing that jacket
that belonged to her.

It just looks
really lonely,

hanging there
in a closet.

Maybe I'm just a
little sad tonight.

I'm a little sad
tonight too, James.

You mean, with your wife
leaving you and all?

Hannah mentioned
something about it.

Yeah, well, it's
complicated, James.

I think we should go now.

Easy, easy.

He's a good boy, Poe.
Poe's a good boy. Easy, Poe.

Easy. Good dog.

Jesus Christ!
Get off!

Shit, James.

You shot Dr. Gaskell's dog.

But I, I had to, didn't I?

You could've
pulled him off me.

No, the dog was crazy, Professor Tripp.
The dog was attacking you!

Calm down, James.
Don't freak out, all right?

Okay. All right.
Do you have a mirror?

It's the best way to see
if someone's still breathing.

The dog is dead, James.
Believe me.

I know a dead dog
when I see one.

- Oh, shit.
- What are we supposed to do now?

First, you're gonna give me
that little cap gun of yours.

Come on.

Professor Tripp,
what are we gonna do with...

it?

I don't know.
I'm still trying to figure out...

how to tell the chancellor
that I murdered her husband's dog.

- You?
- Trust me, James.

When the family pet's
been assassinated...

the owner
does not want to hear...

that one of her students
was the triggerman.

Does she wanna hear
it was one of her professors?

I've got tenure.

Hang on.

It's still warm.

Let's try feet first.

Yuck! That is a big trunk.

It holds a tuba, a suitcase...

a dead dog and a garment bag
almost perfectly.

Yep. That's just what they
used to say in the ads.

Come on, Crabtree.
I know you're holding.

Whose tuba is that anyway?

- Miss Sloviak's.
- Can I ask you something about her?

- Yes, she is.
- So is your friend Crabtree,

is he, is he gay?

Most of the time he is, James.
Some of the time he isn't.

What do we have here?

This looks like,

that's our old friend Mr. Codeine.

That should take the old pinch
out of the ankle. You want one?

- No, thanks. I'm fine without them.
- Right.

That's why you were standing
in the chancellor's backyard,

spinning that cap gun of yours.

You're fine. Yeah, you're just
as fit as a fucking fiddle.

I'm sorry, James.
I'm sorry I said that.

How about we try that again?

It is a great pleasure to introduce

best-selling author Quentin Morewood,

known to his friends simply as Q.

I am a writer.

As a writer, you learn that
everyone you meet has a story.

Every bartender,
every taxi driver

has an idea that would make
a great book.

Presumably each of you has an idea.

But how do you get
from there to here?

What is the bridge from
the water's edge of inspiration

to the far shore
of accomplishment?

Faith.

Faith that your story
is worth the telling.

Faith that you have
the wherewithal to tell it.

And faith that the carefully
woven structure that you create

won't collapse beneath you.

And faith that when you
get to the other side

there will be someone waiting

who gives a damn about
the tale you have to tell.

- I'll be back in a minute.
- Like Whitman, I admit

I worship at the shrine
of formal construction.

But like Conrad, I confess that
I have a secret sharer in my work.

My double, my other self.

I am haunted by this
malignant, remorseless shadow...

Grady.

Grady.

You had another one
again, didn't you?

Is the thing,

is it over?

Almost. Wanna sit up?

What's wrong?

Nothing, I just twisted...

Sara, there's something
I've gotta tell you.

Something hard.

Stand up then. I'm too old for all
this rolling around on the floor.

Give me a hand?

- Well, this evening--
- Don't.

I know what you're gonna say.

I don't think you do know
what I'm gonna say, Sara.

You love Emily. Of course you love
Emily. She's young, beautiful.

She's your wife.
You have to stay with her.

But I don't have a choice.
Emily left me.

She'll come back.
That's why I'm going to,

to not have this baby.

You're not gonna have it?

No, there's no way. I mean,
don't you think there's no way?

Well, I don't see any,
but I know what it means to you.

No, you don't.

And fuck you for saying you do, and
fuck you for saying that there's no way.

Because there could
be a way, Grady.

They must be finishing.
We should go.

Whose gun is that?

A souvenir from Baltimore.

It's heavy. Smells like

- gunpowder.
- Caps.

Pow.

You got me.

I love you, Grady.

The doors made so much noise.

It was so embarrassing.
They had to carry him out.

- Is he all right?
- He's fine. He's narrating.

They were going
to the men's room

but would they
make it in time?

Terry Crabtree and James Leer.

Leave it to you to make
that mistake. Wait here.

- I need a ride.
- I'm your man.

There's an explanation.

Couldn't he have just thrown
a shoe at the poor thing?

- Antonia, listen--
- Tony. Now that I'm home.

Tony...

I'm sorry tonight didn't work out
the way you'd hoped to with Terry.

Forget it.
Your friend is just,

I don't know, into
collecting weird tricks.

I think he'd call it a habit.

I do get the feeling he's going
through the motions a little bit.

You mean because his
career is ruined and all?

Is that what he told you?

He said he hasn't had a success
in over five years, and

everyone in New York
thinks he's kind of a loser.

But he said he's sure
your book's so good that

he'll be able to keep his job.

And you're not one of those
writers who has a success and then

freezes up and never has another one.

You can turn here.

Gotta go. I think I may
have to rescue James Leer.

You know, Grady, maybe

you should think about going home.

You look like you need
a little rescuing yourself.

- Hey, Grady.
- How are you?

Can I get a double Dickel
on the rocks, please?

I'm right over here.

Double Dickel.

- Is that just beer?
- Primarily.

Although I gather that the two
of you staged a little raid

on the Crabtree pharmacopoeia.

So where is everybody?

Sara and Walter declined.
I guess they just wanted

to go home and curl up
on the couch with Poe.

- Jesus, he's out.
- He has a book.

I know. He started it
in fall semester.

Finished it winter break.

So is he any good?

- No, not yet he isn't.
- Well, I'm gonna read it anyway.

Oh, Crabs, come on, will ya?

He's one of my students,
for Christ's sakes.

- Besides, I'm not sure if he's, uh--
- He is.

I'm sure. Take my word for it.
I see myself in him.

I'm sure you do, but it's a little
more complicated than that.

Besides, he's a little
scattered right now.

He almost did something
really stupid tonight.

I don't think he needs
sexual confusion

to mix up the stew a little more.

On the contrary, I think
it might be just the ticket.

Double Dickel on the rocks.

"Oola"?

Thanks, Oola.

Cheers.

Cheers.

Oh, my goodness.
Do you see what I see?

Look, there.
Let's go, you first!

President of the
James Brown Hair Club for Men.

He's a boxer, a flyweight.

No, no, he's a jockey. His name
is Curtis. Curtis Hardapple.

Not Curtis.

Okay then, Vernon.
Vernon Hardapple.

The scars are from a horse. He fell
during a race. He got trampled.

He's addicted to painkillers.

He can't even piss
standing up anymore.

- Lives with his mother.
- That's right.

And he's got a younger
brother who's a...

- Who's a groom named Claudelle.
- Yeah.

His mother blames Vernon
for Claudelle's death.

Great!

- Because...
- Because...

- Because...
- Because... why?

He was killed when
a gangster named Freddy Nostrils

tried to shoot his favorite horse.

Claudelle took the bullet himself.

Vernon, over there,

was in on the hit.

That was good.

Yeah, he heard
everything we said.

Come on, Teach.
I want you to dance with me.

- No.
- Come on.

So I've been rereading
"Arsonist's Daughter."

It's so beautiful, Grady.

It's so natural.

It's like all of your
sentences always existed, just

waiting for up there in style
heaven for you to fetch them down.

I thank you.

And I love the inscription
you wrote to me.

Only I'm not quite the downy
innocent you think I am.

I hope that's not true.

We need all the downy
innocents we can get.

What this boy could use
is a nice, tall Coca-Cola.

- Let me help.
- No, we got him.

- I'll meet you two at the car.
- Oh, I see.

All right. Well, give me
the keys to the trunk.

I gotta get my property
out of there.

The trunk's a little sticky,
Crabs. I gotta do it.

Whatever.

Professor Tripp.

Hannah, when you get James
back to his apartment,

make sure he's all right
before you leave, okay?

I would if I knew
where I was taking him.

Are you telling me you don't
know where James lives?

Some apartment somewhere.
I've never seen it.

- That strikes me as very odd.
- James is odd.

I know his aunt lives in Sewickley
Heights. I dropped him there once.

Come to think of it,
it wasn't his aunt's house.

He said she worked there or something.

- I don't remember.
- I need my knapsack.

What's he saying?

His bag. You know that ugly green
thing he's always carrying around?

He must've left it inside.

Aw, shit. He left it at Thaw.
The auditorium.

- Knapsack!
- All right.

- Let him crash at my house.
- Where should I put him?

In the shape that he's in,
you could stand him up

in the garage next to the snow
shovels, and he'd be all right.

Grady, if you wanna talk later,

I'll be up.

Hey, guy! Tripp, the trunk.
You're killing me.

- I'm gonna get it!
- Killin' me!

- You drivin' this car?
- Excuse me?

This 1966 maroon Ford Galaxy 500.

- You drivin' this car?
- This is my car.

- Bullshit! It's mine, motherfucker!
- I'm afraid you're mistaken.

- Bullshit!
- Who is that?

Oh, Vernon, go home
to your mother, will you?

- What are you lookin' at?
- I'm lookin' at you, fella.

Hit it, will you?
Come on, killjoy, go!

- Can we go now, den mother?
- What's with you?

I wonder.

Come on, Crabs.
The kid was comatose.

- Who started that?
- I was trying to calm him down.

Oh, yeah, you calmed
him down, Dr. Feelgood.

Grady!

- Hit the brakes!
- Stop the car!

- Stop! Hey!
- What's his problem?

- Back up!
- Get out of the car! Hey!

Go around, go around him.

- I'm stopping you!
- I don't think so!

Come back here!

- What's this?
- It's a one-way, guy.

- Go, go, go!

Look out! He's back!

- Now what?
- You owe him a book too?

You could always
drive over him.

What the hell was that?

I just got my hood jumped on.

- Wait here. I'll be right back.
- Where would we go?

Hold on a second.

Professor Tripp.

I guess you're here
for the backpack.

It's Traxler. Sam.

I saw the manuscript inside,
so when you showed up I figured...

"The Love Parade." So it was true.

The little prick
had finished his book.

- Is it good?
- I don't know. It might be.

So there it was.

Somewhere in the night
a Manhattan book editor

was prowling the
streets of Pittsburgh,

best-selling author at his side,

dead dog in his trunk.

Say, Professor Tripp,

is all that stuff true
about Errol Flynn?

How he used to put
paprika on his dick

to make it, you know, like,

more stimulating for the chick?

Christ, Traxler, how the
hell should I know?

You're reading his
biography, aren't you?

Oh.

No, it's true. He used to
rub all sorts of things on it.

Salad dressing, ground lamb.

Sick.

Whenever I wondered
what Sara saw in me,

and I wondered more than once,

I always came back to the fact
that she loved to read.

She read everything,
every spare moment.

She was a junkie
for the printed word.

And lucky for me

I manufactured her drug of choice.

Is that your wife?

No, my wife's out of town.

What exactly are we doing here,

Professor Tripp?

Taking the long way home.

- Take it easy, Professor Tripp.
- Thanks for the ride.

I told myself

I needed to put everything
aside for the moment,

Emily, Sara, the
purloined jacket,

and the dead dog,
and work on my book.

It was started out
as a small book.

Probably about 250... 300 pages.

It had gotten a
little larger in scope.

And the ending, it kept
getting further away.

But the ending was there,
I knew it.

I could almost see it.

James?
I'm okay.

I just lost my balance.

I put you on the floor.

Oh. Thank you.

I thought you might swallow
your tongue or something.

I guess you must
really miss her, huh?

Hmm?
Oh, this. No.

No, I just write in this.
This wasn't Emily's.

I guess there's probably
a story behind that.

There is, but it's
not very interesting.

Is all of that
single spaced?

I'm afraid so, yeah.

That's a really big
book you're writing.

Wow. Hannah always swore
you were working, but...

- But?
- Nothing.

It's just... It's been a while
since "Arsonist's Daughter"

and some people, some of
the kids in workshop thought

- maybe you were...
- Washed up?

Blocked.

Well, I don't believe
in writer's block.

- No kidding.

- You want me to get that?
- Please. Could you?

- Glasses.
- Thank you.

Hello?

- He didn't give his name.
- Who?

- The guy on the phone.
- Well, what did he want?

He wanted to know if a
Grady Tripp lived here

and drove a dark maroon 1966 Ford
Galaxy 500 with black interior.

- Well, what'd you tell him?
- Yes.

- Oh, good, James.
- Well, I just thought maybe...

Good morning, boys.

- Good morning, James.
- Good morning.

Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy.

I'm gonna take a shower.

- Professor Tripp?
- Hmm?

How did I get here last night?

No one knows where you live, James.

Hannah thought
you'd like my couch.

And before that,
did I do anything?

I mean, did I do anything bad?

Well, James, you did shoot the head
of the English Department's dog

and steal his most prized
piece of memorabilia.

Aw, shit.

Do yourself a favor, hide!

- Good morning.
- Good morning.

- Professor Tripp?
- That's right.

I understand you attended an event

at Sara and Walter Gaskell's
house last night.

What's this all about, anyway?

Somebody pulled a B&E
on Dr. Gaskell's closet

and the dog's missing.

I was just wondering if you saw
someone who seemed suspicious.

I wouldn't say there was
anybody particularly suspicious.

About this kid, student of yours, Leer?

James Leer?
You wouldn't happen to know

how I could get in touch
with him, would you?

I think I have his number on campus.

That's all right.
We'll find him.

- Morning.
- You have a good one.

There you are. I thought
we were going to talk.

- W-Well, I was--
- Professor Tripp?

- I heard what he said.

What time's breakfast?

- What do we do now?
- Just one minute. Hello?

- Grady?
- Sara.

Thank God you're there.
You won't believe what's happened.

Could you hold on
just a minute, honey?

May I ask you something,
Professor Tripp?

- Sure, James.
- Where exactly are we going?

There's a few things
I've got to do today.

- See my wife...
- The one that left you?

Yes, that's the one.

Ow! Oh, shit!
Son of a bitch!

Oh, you're bleeding,
Professor Tripp.

No shit, James.

So where exactly
do you live, James?

Apparently, not even
Hannah Green has a clue

as to the location
of your apartment.

I got kicked out.

Well, not exactly kicked out.
I was asked to leave.

I guess there's
probably a story there.

There is, but it's
not very interesting.

So where are you staying?

At the,

the bus station.

It's not so bad.
I know the night janitor

and there's a broken locker
I can put my stuff.

Jesus, James.
I mean, for how long?

A couple of weeks.
That's why,

that's why I had the
gun. For protection.

- You should've told someone.
- Who?

I don't know. Me?

James' story was the
stuff of bad fiction

and under other circumstances,
I might've wondered

where the page ended with
him and real life began.

But I had other
things on my mind.

The Gaskell house looked deserted

which figured since WordFest
was in full swing on campus.

What are we--

You oughta ease off on that stuff,
James. It's pretty acidic.

I can't help myself. I don't
know what's the matter with me.

James, you're hung over. What do
you think's the matter with you?

I'll be right back.

I knew I needed to have

a heart-to-heart with Sara.

But until then, I'd just
make a little gesture.

- Feeling guilty?

I can't believe you
hung up on me, you dick.

Sara, I am so sorry
about this morning.

There was a lot going on.

Walter's a basket case. Someone
stole Marilyn's jacket last night.

And Poe's missing.

- Oh, I heard.
- You heard? How?

A 12-year-old policeman came
by my house this morning.

Did you confess? Your fingerprints
were all over the bedroom.

Really? That was fast.

I'm joking. Hello!

Oh, right, right, right.

Look, about last night,

there's something I have
to talk to you about.

Okay.

Uh, I,

well, I, uhm,

I want to be with you.

Gee, Grady, that
sounded so heartfelt.

No, really, Sara, I do.

No, I believe you want to be with me

- but it's just not good enough.
- I know that.

- I know what's at stake here.
- No, I don't think you do.

Besides, it doesn't matter.
I haven't decided yet.

- About the baby?
- That... and you.

I'm not gonna
draw you a map, Grady.

Times like these, you have
to do your own navigating.

Why is your car over there?
And who's that sitting in it?

- James Leer.
- What's he doing here?

I'm sort of helping him
through some issues.

Isn't he lucky?

She seemed to take it pretty well.

Yeah, yeah, well, the moment
didn't actually present itself.

You feel like taking
a ride, James?

Yes.

Humboldt County?

Maybe.

My father, he gets
it from his doctor.

- Glaucoma?
- Colon cancer.

Jesus, James. Wow.

It's a bit of a scandal.
My parents live in a small town.

It's a bit of a scandal.
My parents live in a small town.

- Where's that?
- Carvel.

- Carvel? Where's Carvel?
- Outside Scranton.

I've never heard of it.

It's a hellhole. Three motels
and a mannequin factory.

My dad worked there for 35 years.

Your father worked
in mannequin factory?

Seitz Plastics.
It's where he met my mom.

She was a fry cook
in the cafeteria.

Before that, she'd been a dancer.

What kind of dancer?

Whatever kind they
wanted her to be.

Didn't you say that your
mom went to Catholic school?

When we fall, we fall hard.

I thought you were the guy

that didn't like to lose
control of his emotions.

Maybe I just needed the
moment to present itself.

- Mmm. Mmm!

- Mmm. Mmm!

I had come to the childhood home

of my soon-to-be ex-wife
to set things straight,

to say something that would
end things on the right note,

to make Emily feel
better about it all.

Or maybe to make me feel better.

Truthfully, I wasn't
really sure why I was there.

Someone jumped on your
car with their butt.

How can you tell?

Well, you can see
the outline of a butt.

You want one? They're
incredible. Incredible!

Smoke the rest of that joint, James,
you can start chewing on the box.

- Hey, maybe she didn't come here.
- She came here.

We'll just wait.

In the meantime, I'm gonna need
you to shimmy right through there.

Relax, James. Emily hasn't used
her keys since she was 15 years old.

Besides, your hips aren't
much bigger than hers.

It's not that.

Just reminded me of
what's in the car.

In the trunk?

Oh, right, right.

Let's try not to think
about that, okay?

- Thank you.
- Mm-hmm.

Feels really good in here.

Yeah, I know.

It's the kind of house

you like to wake up in
on Christmas morning.

I'll be right back.
Uh, make yourself at home.

I'm gonna make
a phone call.

Ah.

Mmm.

There's no such thing as a
good influence, Mr. Gray.

- All influence is immoral.
- Why?

Because the aim of life
is self-development,

to realize one's nature perfectly.

That's what we're here for.

A man should live out his
life fully and completely

give form to every feeling,
reality to every dream.

Sitting there among her things

I was reminded, I didn't
really know Emily at all.

Even though we had lived
together as man and wife

it was when I left the house,
when I was with Sara,

that I felt like I was home.

- University.
- Chancellor, please.

There's only one way to
get rid of a temptation

and that's to yield to it.

Resist it, and the soul
grows sick with longing

for the things it has
forbidden to itself.

Thank you.

- Hello?
- Sara? Hi, it's Grady.

- Where are you?
- Kinship.

Listen, Sara, there's something
I gotta talk to you about.

You're in Kinship.

Yes, but that's not
why I'm calling you.

- You're with Emily.
- What?

No, no, no. There's
no one here. I'm just...

...doing a little dusting?

...Good mornin'

We've danced the whole night through

Good mornin', good mornin' to you

Good mornin',

good mornin'!
It's great to stay up late.

Good mornin',

Sara, I am not here... I'm not
here to reconcile with Emily.

It doesn't matter.

How you choose to live your
own life is your business.

...to say good night.
So good mornin',

good mornin'!

Sunbeams will soon smile through

Sara, you don't understand.

Probably not, but I have
something to say.

And I want you to listen
carefully, Grady.

Yes.

I can't wait for you.
Because if I do

I could end up waiting
forever, so...

I'm going to make this
decision on my own.

Good-bye, Grady.

Makin' a comeback.

Gee, it must be terrible
to be a has-been.

Don't talk like that.
It scares me.

We gotta work harder.
Make a lotta dough--

Hello.
Hi.

- Ow.
- It's infected. I can clean it up.

But then you need to see someone
who knows what he's doing.

How would you like
some hot chocolate

and fresh cookies to go with it?

- That sounds nice. Thank you.
- You're welcome.

This is really good hot chocolate.

He's one of your
students, this boy?

Yeah, he's a good kid.

He's just a little messed up.

Oh, then I'm sure he'll be fine.
With the proper guidance...

So, you're at the
University in Pittsburgh?

I'm working in a steel mill
while I finish my first novel.

So where's Emily, Hank?

I don't know if I should
tell you that, Grady.

I don't wanna stalk her.
I just wanna--

I wanna tell her
that I'm sorry.

I'm not trying
to get her back.

Things haven't been right
with us for a while.

Well, all I know is Emily felt
you weren't there for her.

And she's felt that
for a long time, Grady.

Right now, she's...

she's in Philadelphia
visiting Linda Ashby.

For Christ's sakes, they
went to Wellesley together.

Linda spent a week
at your house...

- Oh, Linda! Oh, oh.
- Yes.

I haven't been sleeping
a whole lot lately.

And I got my editor in town.

- I'm trying to finish my book.
- Ah, right.

The book.

I hope it's really good, Grady.

I'm having a really good
time, Professor Tripp.

I'm really happy for you, James.

Do me a favor, lay off my dope!

That stuff's not for amateurs.

You're mad at me, aren't you?

You're mad because I shot
your girlfriend's dog.

It wasn't her dog,
it was her husband's.

Who said anything
about a girlfriend?

Okay, James, I wish you
hadn't shot my girlfriend's dog

Even though Poe and I were not
exactly what you call simpatico,

that's no reason he should've
taken two in the chest.

I don't know.

You just keep acting like a
goddamn spook all the time, James.

Well, I guess that explains why
all the kids in workshop hate me.

All the kids in workshop
hate you because right now

you're ten times the writer
any one of them will ever be.

My stuff stinks.

You said so yourself last
night to your friend Crabtree.

I didn't mean it like that.

And what does it
matter what I think?

I mean, what does it
matter what anybody thinks?

Most people don't think, James.

And if they do, it's
not about writing.

Books... they don't mean anything.

Not to anybody.

Not anymore.

"Arsonist's Daughter"
meant something.

It meant something to me.

It's the reason
I came to school here.

To be taught by you.

It's one of the reasons
I wanted to become a writer.

Well, for that, James,
if nothing else,

I'm really sorry.

- What are we doing?
- I'm gonna get you a nice meal

a couple of cups of coffee,
then I'm taking you home.

- Take me now.
- What?

- I'm not hungry.
- James, you gotta eat.

I'll get something out
of the vending machine.

Vending machine? What
are you talking about?

At the bus station, they
have these cheese sandwiches.

They're pretty good.
It's better if you take me now.

That way, Carl won't get my spot.

Carl?

- Never mind.
- James, go get us a table, will ya?

I'm not letting the most
talented writer in my class

eat some week-old
cheese sandwich, okay?

I'm not letting him sleep
on some bench in a bus station.

So go on inside. I'll
be there in a minute.

C-A-R-V-E-I.

Yes, I'm sure, ma'am.
It's outside of Scranton.

You have no listing.

Okay, well,

Lady, as we speak, I am looking at
a resident of Carvel, Pennsylvania.

I'm sure he'd be pretty
interested to learn

that the good people
at Bell Atlantic

have misplaced his entire hometown.

It's not like I'm making
this up as we go...

Never mind.
It's my mistake.

- You want a bite?
- No, thanks.

That's why you're
having them, your spells.

Spells? Jesus, James,

you make it sound like we're in
a Tennessee Williams play.

I don't get spells.

What would you
call them then?

I don't know.
Episodes.

Uh-huh. I just worry
about you, that's all.

You just worry
about yourself, okay?

- Where you going?
- Nowhere.

You just stay here and eat.
I'll be right back.

Good evening.

- Professor Tripp.
- Grady.

Fred Leer.
This is my wife Amanda.

Well, looks like I dashed
a wonderful evening here.

We were on our way to a benefit,
but as luck would have it

the club was on the way, so we
were able to put in an appearance.

I just thought
it would be good for James

to be with his family this weekend.

Oh, well, of course we
can understand that.

Right. Okay, I guess,
I'll go get James.

Uhm...

I hope you don't find this forward,
Amanda, but I wonder if I might ask.

Did you ever go to Catholic school?

Excuse me?

I'm not going with them.

Things are a little weird
for me right now, James.

Things are a little weird
for me right now too.

I know, but I got my editor
in town, I gotta finish my book,

and there's some
extenuating circumstances--

I won't bother you.
I won't even talk to you.

Like it or not, those people
out there are your parents.

- They're not my parents.
- What?

They're my grandparents.
My parents are dead.

James, the man is obviously
your father. You look just like him.

There's a reason for that.

- Oh, get out of here.
- No. That's why she hates me.

That's why she makes me
sleep in the basement.

Crawl space. With the rats and
the cask of amontillado, right?

It's true!
They treat me like a freak!

Well, you are a freak, James.
All right? Welcome to the club.

You don't understand.
You don't know what it's like.

You're right, I don't.

Don't expect me to feel
sorry for you, all right?

Because I don't know who you are.

Let me ask you something, James.

In the past 36 hours, have you
told me one thing that's true?

One thing that comes from you?

I just wanted to stay with you
for a little while, that's all.

I'm a teacher, James.
I'm not a Holiday Inn.

Thank you, Professor Tripp.

Hey!

Hey.

Crabtree...
Jesus!

Do you mind?

- Grady!

- Hey.
- Uh, I know I shouldn't have.

But there it was just in
the open, and I couldn't resist.

No, no. I just can't believe
that I left it out like this.

Tripp, where are you?

Has Crabtree been in here?
Has he been snooping around?

I don't know. Maybe.
I don't think so.

Let's put this away.

Tripp!

- Oh, shit.
- No. Uhm...

Don't go. I've been
waiting all night for you.

I'm really flattered,
honey, but this just isn't--

I'm sorry. Am I interrupting
a teacher-student conference?

No offense, Tripp. You're not
exactly the most attentive host.

Well, you've been taking
good care of that, huh, Crabs?

Sometimes we have to improvise.

Where the hell
have you been anyway?

I took a drive with James Leer.

He popped the chancellor's
dog, didn't he?

- What?
- Yeah.

First the police thought
he just ran away.

But this afternoon, Dr. Gaskell
found blood spots on the carpet.

Oh, Jesus.

Most everyone figured it was
an intruder, but right off.

Terry said it sounded like something
James would be messed up in.

Has anybody else come up
with this brilliant deduction?

Well, not yet, but they will.
It's just a matter of time.

Come on. You don't even know James.

Who does?

I do. I do now.

I spent some time with him.

And I read something of his.

- His book? You read his book?
- Yes.

- Is it good?
- It's good. It's very, very good.

It's true.

I knew it. So where is he now?

I sent him home with his parents.

What? What? His parents?

- Mm-hmm.
- Why? Why did you do that for?

Because under the circumstances

I thought it was the
best thing for him, but

I'm beginning to think maybe
it was the best thing for me.

I just... I wasn't there for him.

Imagine that.

Hannah, don't you remember
where you took James that day?

Was it his aunt's?

- Yes.
- I told you. Sewickley Heights.

- What was the address?
- Mm-hmm.

I don't know. He had me
drop him on a corner.

Call the university.
I'm sure they know his address.

Little late to call Admissions.

Is it a little late to call
the chancellor, hmm?

- I don't know. Maybe.
- Hmm?

God, you really have
just made an awful

stinky little mess of
everything, haven't you?

Is that it?

Do not even think about it.

- Don't go near it.
- No, no, no.

Never without your permission,
but that is a lot of book.

262 Baxter Drive.

They're in the book.

- I'll drive.
- I'll drive.

"The Love Parade."

I got a feeling about this.
I feel this kid in my bones.

Only in your bones.

I've had this feeling before.

Remember?

It's been a long time, but...

How bad is it for you, Crabs?

It's pretty bad.

They've had enough of me.

They look at me like
I don't work there anymore.

I guess I just don't fit
the new corporate profile.

- Which is?
- Uh, gosh,

competence.

This is it.

I had no business

trudging up to James
Leer's parents' house

in the middle of the night.
Not when all that really mattered

was trying to make
things right with Sara.

But we had decided
to rescue James Leer.

I wasn't quite sure from what,

because I was pretty much
convinced that everything

that came out of James' mouth
was basically horseshit.

- Yikes.
- Must be two dozen windows.

How are we supposed to find his?

I told you. They keep him
chained in the basement.

But maybe that didn't really matter.

Sometimes people just
need to be rescued.

- Rodgers and Hart?
- Yeah.

- James Leer.
- James Leer.

Hey. What are you
guys doing here?

Shh, we're springin' you,
Jimmy. Put on some clothes.

Whoa. Well, I love what
you've done with the place.

When's Captain Nemo moving in?

I cannot believe that you
made fun of my bathrobe.

The candelabras are my
great grandmother's.

Please. Don't start with
the family history, all right?

- Or I'll leave you right here.
- I just want you to know

I heard everything, the
parents and grandparents,

and the whole Chinatown thing.

I believe you. That's why
we're here. Now go get dressed.

I mean, do you mind if I wear
this again, Professor Tripp?

Wear whatever you want to.

- He's so modest.
- He's so sensitive.

Tripp, why don't you
cut the kid some slack?

These are all overdue
library books, every one of them.

Then it looks like our Mr. Leer
is facing some monster late fees.

I just can't believe
all the shit he spins.

Just once I'd like to know if the
little bastard's telling the truth.

Hey.

Check this out.

"Finally, the door opened.
It was a shock to see him

"shuffling into the room
like an aging prizefighter,

"limping, beaten."

Does that sound like
anyone we know?

"But it was later
when the great man

"squinted into the bitter
glow of twilight--"

'Twilight.'
This kid definitely needs an editor.

"And muttered simply,
'It means nothing.

"'All of it. Nothing.'
that the true shock came.

"It was then that the boy understood

"that his hero's true injuries
lay in a darker place.

"His heart--"

His heart what?

"His heart, once capable of
inspiring others so completely

"could no longer inspire
so much as itself.

"It beat now only out of habit.

"It beat now only

"because it could."

I'm ready.

- You all right, Professor Tripp?
- He's fine.

Can we go before Granny comes down
and boils your bones for breakfast?

That could be a problem.
She's been coming down here

every half-hour or so
to check up on me,

and if I'm not here, she might
call the police or something.

Okay. Decoy. We'll put your pillows
and a teddy bear under the spread.

- She won't know the difference.
- Like in "Against All Flags,"

only they used a couple
of gigantic hams.

No, no, no, no.
I got a better idea.

Good night, sweet prince.

Let's go upstairs.

Bad vibes down here.

Things must've picked up
after we left, huh, Grady?

Good night, bro.

You've reached the home
of Sara and Walter Gaskell.

Neither Walter or
I can take your--

- Hello.
- Walter?

Grady? Oh, Christ, Grady,
do you know what time it is?

Yeah. I got, uh, 8:15.

I don't think
that's right, though.

It's 3:30, Grady.

Well, this is important, Walter.

Oh?

I, uhm, I,

What is it, Grady?

I'm in love with your wife.

Excuse me?

Sara. I'm in love with her.

Are you drinking,
Professor Tripp, right now?

No.

Nevertheless, I'd like to see you
in my office Monday morning.

Oh, boy.

- Sara, what--
- I tried to call, but

it seems there's
something wrong

with your phone.

It appears one of our
students is missing

and his parents found
a dead dog in his bed.

It's my fault. I'm sorry.
I've been trying to tell you--

I'm not feeling very
happy with you right now.

And more importantly,
Walter isn't very happy.

He's gotten the police involved.

They seem to think James Leer is
somehow responsible for all this.

You wouldn't happen to know
where James Leer is, would you?

He's inside.

And Marilyn's jacket?

Oh, it's in my car.

- Somebody stole my car.
- Oh, man!

Honestly! Somebody stole my car!

I parked it right there last night!

- Are you sure it was parked there?
- Of course I'm sure! It was--

Oh, Christ. Here comes
the puberty police now.

Okay, okay, I'll deal with this.
You go dig up James.

Is he awake?

There's a police officer on the
porch, and he's not going away.

- That same guy?
- Same one.

No offense, Professor Tripp,
but you look sort of crappy.

He's right. I mean,
you do look horrible.

It's the chancellor.

- We're fine. We're just fine.
- Fine, right.

- Fit as a fuckin' fiddle.
- James,

come on!

James, this book of yours?

It's not bad.
It's not bad at all.

- Thank you.
- You're welcome.

I wanna publish this.

I think with the proper
editorial guidance

this could be brilliant.

Aw, that's great.
That's great.

Between Officer Pupcik and you,
he can be the next Jean Genet.

Been a long time since somebody
wrote a really good book in jail.

Don't you worry, James.
We're gonna figure something out.

I'm not worried. You're not worried,
are you, Professor Tripp?

I'm a little worried, James.

Don't be. I don't care
if they expel me.

I probably should be expelled.

Well, let's hope
it doesn't come to that.

Professor Tripp.

- Yes, James?
- Even if I end up going to jail,

you're still the best
teacher I ever had.

I wonder if this is what
the university has in mind

when it promises
a liberal education.

Walter wouldn't really
press charges, would he?

We'll know soon enough.

In a couple of hours

he's gonna sit down with
the police and James' parents

and he was a wee bit
prickly this morning.

You didn't happen to call
our house last night, did you?

I think I might have, yes.

What do you think
you might have said?

I think I might have said
I was in love with you.

He told you.

- He told me.
- And what did you say?

I said it didn't
sound like you.

Hey, Tripp!

So, what do we do now?

Find the jacket!

Exactly how do we do that?

I've got an idea where it is.

We could ask Hannah if
we could borrow her car.

Sure. Keys are on the desk,
next to your book.

I didn't finish it.
Fell asleep.

Oh, it's that good, huh?

It's not that. It's just...

It's just... what?

Grady, you know how in class,

how you're always telling us
that writers make choices?

Yeah.

And even though your book
is really beautiful,

I mean, amazingly
beautiful, it's...

It's, at times, it's, uh,

very detailed, uh,

you know, with the genealogies
of everyone's horses,

and the dental records,
and so on and,

and I could be wrong, but it just,
it sort of reads in places like,

you didn't really
make any choices.

At all.

And I was just wondering if
it might not be different if,

if when you wrote,
you weren't always

under the influence.

Well,

Well, uh, thank you
for the thought.

But shocking
as it may sound,

I am not the first writer
to sip a little weed.

Furthermore, it might
surprise you to know

that one book I wrote as you
say "under the influence"

just happened to win a little
something called the PEN Award,

which, by the way,
I accepted under the influence.

Hey, let me help you with that.

- Don't touch it.
- Okay. I'll drive.

Let me get this straight.
Jerry Nathan owes you money

so as collateral,
he gives you his car.

Only I'm beginning
to think that the car

wasn't exactly Jerry's to give.

Ah, so whose car was it?

- My guess? Vernon Hardapple.
- The hood jumper?

He said a few things that lead me
to believe that the car was his.

- Such as?
- "That's my car, motherfucker."

All right, so we find
Vernon, we find the car.

- We find the car--
- We find the jacket.

Wow. Christ!
How'd you know, Tripp?

Oh, I don't know.

- Let's just call it a hunch.
- I call it genius.

Good to know I'm still
talented at something.

Careful.

Keep that motor running.

I know you.

Double Dickel
on the rocks.

Oola.

I never forget a drink.

I never forget an Oola.

Forget me?

- Vernon?
- Go inside, cupcake. He's got a gun.

- Who's got a gun?
- You've got a gun! Drop it!

- Uh-oh.
- Vernon, relax.

- Why is he calling you Vernon?
- Why is he sitting in my car?

He's crazy, that's why!
He probably calls everybody Vernon.

- Now drop that gun!
- Oh, dear.

It's a souvenir. They don't
even have caps for this thing.

- It's a souvenir.
- Bullshit!

I know a gun when I see one,
and that's a gun!

- No! No, really--

- Oh, God! Oh!

Gimme that gun!
Are you crazy?

Can't you see the condition
my girl's in? Get out! Get out!

Hey! Stop!

Cupcake, you okay?

Tripp, run!

Who in the hell is that?

- Oh, shit!
- Vernon, don't! No! Don't shoot!

- Oh, no! Don't!
- Don't shoot!

Come on, Tripp!
Jump in! Run!

He's a crazy man.

Oh, my God.

I take it back,

shoot him.

Naturally, you have copies.

I have an alternate version
of the first chapter.

You'll be all right,
then. Look at,

Look at Carlyle
when he lost his luggage.

- That was Macaulay.
- Oh.

Well, what about Hemingway
when Hadley lost all those stories?

He was never able
to reproduce them.

Look, Tripp, I don't wanna
depreciate the loss here,

but maybe, you know,
in a sense, it's for the best.

You suggesting
it's some kind of sign?

- In a sense.
- In my experience,

signs are usually
a little more subtle.

Let me get this straight. All that
paper that blew away back there,

that was the only copy?

I'm afraid so, yes.

And you, you're saying
that it's some kind of a sign?

Man, what in the fuck
the matter with you?

Don't.

All I'm saying is that
sometimes, subconsciously,

a person will put themselves
in a situation,

perhaps even create
that situation,

in order to have an arena in which
to work out an unresolved issue.

It's a covert way, if you will,
of addressing a problem.

I'll tell you the problem.

You behind the wheel,
there's your problem.

Did you or did you not
have a gun to his head?

- Watch the road, please.
- He was trying to steal my car.

Did you or did you not
have a gun to his head?

All right! All right!

That's enough!
That is enough!

What is done is done! I don't
wanna hear about it anymore, okay?

So what was it about, your book?

What was the story?

I don't know.

What he means is,

it's difficult to distill the
essence of a book sometimes,

because it lives in the mind.

But you got to know
what it was about, right?

If you didn't know what it was about,
why were you writing it?

I couldn't stop.

Vernon, can I
ask you a question?

Boy or girl?

As long as it looks like her,

I really don't care.

You know what I'm saying?

Yeah.

- Thanks for the ride, Vernon.
- Anytime.

- And another thing.
- Yeah?

- Stop calling me Vernon.
- Okay.

- Jacket, Tripp.
- What?

We need the jacket.

Oh, right.

Oola, about that jacket.

Yeah.

It used to belong
to Marilyn Monroe.

- Really?
- Mm-hmm.

She had small shoulders,

just like you.

A lot of people
don't know that.

Thank you.

Man, that book of yours
must have been one nutty ride.

Come on, baby. Let's go.

Would you mind explaining
to me what you just did?

Came to my senses.

Oh. Congratulations. Meanwhile,
what's James supposed to do?

Pray that Walter Gaskell
comes to his?

Walter Gaskell doesn't wanna
send James Leer to jail.

He's up in his
office right now.

He's talking to his
parents, local police,

trying to find a solution.

Tripp, the least they're
gonna do is expel him.

It doesn't matter.

That's very enlightening,
Professor.

It's comforting to know
that America's children

have you for a teacher.

Nobody teaches
a writer anything.

You tell 'em what you know.

You tell 'em to find their voice
and stay with it.

You tell the ones
that have it to keep at it.

You tell the ones that don't
have it to keep at it too,

because that's the only way they're
gonna get to where they're going.

Of course, it does help
if you know where you wanna go.

Helping my students
figure that out,

that and Sara,

that's what's made
these last years worthwhile.

As for James, well,
he doesn't really need me anymore.

He's got you.

Me?
What can I do?

Oh, I don't know, Crabs.

Improvise.

You're pretty good at that.

Tripp.

I'm sorry.

Improvise.

As for me,
I was through improvising.

I knew what I had to do.
I had to find Sara.

I had to convince her
that she was my choice,

that, in fact, she had been
from the very beginning.

And now, as those of you who've been
with us in previous years know,

we have a tradition of sorts
here at WordFest.

I'm speaking, of course,
of the Plums,

those fortunate local writers,

who have successfully
placed their manuscripts

with visiting publishers'
representatives.

This weekend, Susan Lowery
of North Braddock

found a publisher
for her children's book,

"The Loneliest Prawn."

Stand up, Susan.

Now, this next one is, I think,
very exciting to announce

because it concerns a student
here at the university.

Our own James Leer,

sophomore in English Literature,

has found a publisher
for his first novel

which I believe is called
"The Lovely Parade."

- Love Parade.
- Love Parade.

- James?
- Stand up. Go on.

He's a real alien probe,
if you know what I mean.

Take a bow, James!

Wonder boy.

And finally, and perhaps
not least importantly,

Terry Crabtree of Bartizan has also
decided to publish my own book,

a critical exploration of
the union of Joe DiMaggio

and Marilyn Monroe

and its function
in American mythopoetics

which, tentatively,
I have entitled

"The Last American Marriage."

So, until next year,
thank you, everyone.

Grady, I took another look

at "The Arsonist's Daughter"
the other night.

That description of the bald
cypress left me breathless.

Thanks, Q.
I appreciate that.

Sara!

Yo, Traxler.

Hey, Professor Tripp.

- You get high, Sam?
- Only when I'm workin'.

Holy shit.

Are you serious?

Careful there,
Professor Tripp.

Whoa.

I didn't fall.

Not then, not ever again.

Once the Monongahela River
swallowed my never-ending opus

there were no more spells.

James Leer didn't
get expelled or go to jail

thanks to Crabtree's
wheeling and dealing.

But he quit anyway,
went to New York

to rework his novel
for publication.

Hannah Green has decided to take
a position as a junior editor

when she graduates.

And Crabtree, well, Crabtree's
gone right on being Crabtree.

As for me,
I lost everything.

my wife, my book, my job,

everything that I thought
was important.

But I finally knew
where I wanted to go.

And now I had someone
to help me get there.