All language subtitles for feud 2x01

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Hi, Marc.

Thanks, Marc.

Honey, it's okay. It's okay.

I'm here.

Mrs. P. needs to be alone.

Go to the movies, would you, dear?

- Yes, sir.
- And you know what?

Get Janice and the
grandkids, take everyone

to Chitty Chitty Bang
Bang at the Paris Cinema,

- and then Serendipity, okay?
- Oh...

It's on me.

Dean, none of that fluffy shit, please.

Baby's breath is vomitous.

You have ten minutes, and out the door.

More delphinium.

Martha, leave us alone,
please, would you?

- Thank you, Martha.
- Thank you.

Tell me everything from the beginning.

Tell me what happened.

Well...

I was in Paris, as you know.

The Givenchy fittings, the shows.

It was perfect.

And-and Hubert,

he did something truly wonderful for me.

Well, he's such a master.

Yes, he's such a master.

It was really a great work of art.

I was struck.

Well, I... I just wished.

I wished someone had been there with me.

Bill, not because it's
romantic with him anymore,

but you want to... you
want to share these things.

Love him and hate him,
all in the same moment,

but somehow,

being in Paris just
brought it all to the fore.

Of course.

See, we have a life, and deep down,

I just keep finding
myself rather lonely.

I know.

He's done the worst thing you can do.

He's taken me for granted.

What is it? What did he do?

I told him I was coming. I
gave him just enough warning.

I found out Bill was still having

his grotesque little affair
with Happy Rockefeller.

- He was, still?
- Now,

- in... our... home.
- Go back.

We're talking the governor's
wildebeest wife here?

That was still going on?

I thought that was a one-time, at best.

So did I.

- Ew.
- But he just wanted

to keep screwing the governor's wife

because he got... he
gets a kick out of it.

And this is what is so humiliating.

And that fat-ankled harridan.

Yes!

It's so humiliating to me

because I still do... love him.

He lied to your face.

- Yes.
- Mm.

And even though that part

of our marriage has been over for years,

and God knows, I do
understand, but there are rules,

certain rules, aren't there,

about how much
humiliation one can stand?

- Sure.
- Because Happy Rockefeller...

She was always so jealous.

Oh, so jealous.

So jealous.

Here's what happened.

Don't you think we should have

at least one last hurrah

before she gets back, for God's sake?

Happy, she's flying back today.

Look, she and I talked,
and-and she's right.

It was fun, but... come on.

Well, she's not back yet, and
we've been relatively discreet.

I don't know. I don't know.

It's one last fuck for the road, okay?

To take with me.

I want to...

taste you in my mouth one last time.

Well, when you put it that way...

We have some time still.

- Come over.
- Happy?

Where you going?

Saks. My hat from Milan just came in.

Oh.

Anyway, I mean, big vision...

That shitty perfume she wears.

Caleche. Hermes.

So...

Too much sandalwood for
a woman with her face.

Hey, listen, what are
you making it so dark for?

I like looking at you. I'll see.

What the hell is this?

You ruined my life.

You used me to be the punch line
of some sick joke about what?

Being... better than Nelson?

All I know is, I get off the Concorde,

and I walked into that.

You think you can get that stain out

before your cunt wife gets back?

The evidence is all there.

Should I?

Hmm. Go look.

What happened?

Was someone shot in here?

Well...

you're gonna need a new mattress.

The menstruating, so calculated.

And you being in menopause.

Which he obviously discussed with...

I'm divorcing him. It's over.

Finally, the final humiliation.

I don't know.

No, no, you're not.

I'm not? What... what do you mean?

Honey, you're not a
sexual creature anymore.

Think about it. You have a great life.

He's the most powerful
man in America, really.

Fuck Richard Nixon. It's Bill Paley.

You have a house in Bermuda,
a mansion in Coral Gables,

a thing in London, and four kids.

Don't be another divorcée of Manhattan,

slowly going nuts up in Westchester,

where you'll end up moving
to get away from him,

because he's everywhere.

What do you want?

Figure out what it is you want, darling.

I know you've had your eye

on that Van Gogh sunflower painting.

Well, there's a Gauguin,

Seed of Areoi, coming up at Sotheby's.

And a nice Matisse Princess
Margaret's trying to lay off.

Take both.

Woman with a Veil.

Look, he'll buy you
anything you want right now,

so make him pay.

But follow my advice.

Don't tell anyone.

What are you talking about?

You want me to live with this?

- No. Listen to me.
- How?

Play this right. This is our secret.

Come on. You had a terrible, long day.

You're exhausted. I know what you need.

- Nice little whopper of a Valium for Baby.
- Oh.

- Oh...
- Swallow it. Come on.

No, I promised I'd have
dinner with the kids.

- I can't take...
- No.

I sent them to Chitty
Chitty and Serendipity

with Sylvia and Janice
for burgers and shakes.

Come on.

Nice, big sip of Scotch

to wash it down.

There you go.

Little more.

Good girl.

Come with me.

Come on.

You're a terrible influence, Tru.

Follow me.

Now...

You're gonna take a nice nap now.

- Are you sure they're gone?
- Mm.

And when you wake up,

you're going to realize

that everything I said is true.

Meet him at the door with a drink.

Be the great lady that you are.

Okay, I'll take a nap if
you'll lay here with me.

Oh.

- Well, Tru?
- Mm.

I'm so, so, so hurt.

No. Let's be honest.

It's your ego wounded here.

He didn't really hurt you.

You've not been in love for years.

It's your pride.

You're right.

The only person who could
ever really hurt me is you.

And that would never
happen in a million years.

Now close your eyes.

Just think about that.
Yeah, 7:30 for that.

- Uh, maybe...
- I'm not moving Dragnet.

It's fine where it is.

Oh, and tell General Mills to pay up.

We sell their cereal, so pay up.

Mr. Paley, sorry to interrupt,

but David Selznick
needs to speak with you.

Hmm.

David, you better not be canceling on me

at the last minute.

I have the plane, Babe is excited,

we're playing tennis, and
it's 82 degrees in Montego Bay.

Jesus, Bill, no.

Jennifer and I are coming.

But, look, wouldn't it be
great to have Truman come?

Y-You don't really know him, do you?

Uh, Truman? No. I mean,
well, we-we've met.

Yeah, sure, bring him.

Okay, I'll see you at the plane.

Oh, David, David. Is he fun?

Fun? Are you kidding? Truman?

The most fun there is.

Wait till you hear him tell stories.

All right, I'll see you.

Harry Truman is fun?

Here he comes.

Sir.

- Of course, thank you.
- Yes, sir.

Thank you.

Who the fuck is that?

Hi. So lovely of you to invite me.

I love Jamaica.

I once had a weekend there

with that wonderful actor dancer fellow.

- Jennifer. Look at you.
- Truman.

David.

I'm mad at you but I don't remember why.

Mrs. Paley, I've wanted
to meet you forever.

It's Babe.

As have I. Finally, Mr. President.

Bill.

This is our dear, dear
friend Truman Capote.

Did you think it was
the other Truman, Bill?

- I did.
- That happens.

You did?

Yes.

What would I be doing
with Harry fucking Truman?

Well, thank your lucky stars it isn't.

I hear two hours in a plane with
him and his economic theories

and you want to plunge
into the Bermuda Triangle.

- Cheers.
- Lovely to have you.

What a pretty plane.

Oh, please, are you kidding?

He had ten boys stashed all
over the eastern seaboard

and nobody knew.

He was extorted five times.

Cost him a Picasso.

The most expensive hustlers ever.

You think he'd be more careful.

People are not careful, though.

He had a brief flirt
with the Nazi party.

And when I say "flirt," I
mean he fucked everything

with blond hair and
blue eyes and a cock.

Well, I could never trust a writer.

And why not?

I mean, I agree, but... why not?

The storytellers have
the last word, don't you?

And I would never let a
storyteller have the last word.

Louisa, how fascinating.

But you tell me, dear, who
should have the last word?

That is perfectly obvious.

Anyone who's lived through
World War II could tell you.

The person who has the most power.

America, for instance.

She had the last word.

Two bombs and it was all over.

Kaboom.

That is the last word.

Not those of a writer of clever stories.

But the ones with the power.

What a unique point of view.

Would anyone like some more rosé?

Hear, hear.

Thank you.

How do you get all of
this gossip, Truman?

On Beat the Devil, he
knew more than everyone

in hair and makeup combined,

and that's usually
where all the gossip is.

But Truman, holed up in his
hotel miles from the set,

he knew everything.

Truman's secret is
seduction, isn't it, Truman?

No, it's memory.

Well, I think it's wonderful
to know a good story.

To have a good story, to
love a good story, personally.

Well, so do I. I think it's everything.

But it's not all fun and games.

You know...

we've been talking about society,

but I'm interested in what
it all means, really...

to be important.

Is there anything you
know that we don't, Truman?

Because we know an awful lot.

Bill...

Well, you don't know this.

There's a murderer walking
free and you all know her.

And I'm gonna tell her story.

Socialite, B-level.

She married up.

He was going to divorce
her, she blew him away.

Wait, who is it? Is that Ann Woodward?

I'm not saying.

I thought it was a tragic accident.

She thought it was a burglar.

Oh, come on, come out of the trenches.

The war is over. That
was murder, my dear.

She killed Billy with malice.
The police are well aware of it.

Well, how did she get away with it?

Are you saying you couldn't?

Billy's mother paid for it to go away.

You know, it's Oyster
Bay, they're old money.

They can do that there.

There had been a string of
burglaries all along the beach.

They slept in separate bedrooms,

he'd had it with her.

He'd found out with
the help of a detective

that there was another husband

out there somewhere in
an oil field, in Oklahoma.

It was over.

It's cold between them.

She doesn't think she has much chance

out there in the world if it gets out

she's a bigamist.

Poor William Woodward Jr.

A virgin GI when they met, I'm sure.

And she was a jazzy
little curly-haired killer

from some country slum.

She knew she'd hooked a
big one when she met him.

But she never pressed him.

No fancy gifts. Just a letter.

Every day to him, a cozy little note.

He comes back on leave
and finds her pregnant.

And of course they get married.

They were at a Wallis Simpson
affair the night in question.

Billy Boy needed some Seconal.

It's so funny, it usually
was right beside his bed.

Never mind, he knew there was
more in the medicine cabinet

in the master bedroom.

A bother, he'll have to
go past his estranged wife,

and they'd had a fight at the party.

It was very frosty.

He'd just told her, it seems,

in the car, they were done.

And...

bang, bang, he was dead.

"She thought it was a burglar"?

Oh, my.

Let's call her Bang Bang, shall we?

Bang Bang!

But let me inform you that
is not what happened, at all.

Because the cops did not
find him in the bedroom,

they'd found him in the shower.

That's the real story.

And the police knew this?

How is it possible?

The mother, she paid
to have it covered up.

No scandal. The children.

Exactly, Bill.

Mr. Bill Paley, ladies and gentlemen.

It was the children.

Tragic enough to have lost their father,

what purpose could it
serve to see their mother...

go to jail for murder?

The grandparents wanted
Ann to go scot-free

and within their terrain,
they have the power

to brainwash cops, reweave minds,

move corpses from shower
stalls to hallways.

The very power to control inquests.

His death was declared an accident

in an inquest that
lasted less than a day.

And Bang Bang got away with it.

And I'm gonna write it.

And Bill, you should tell
your boys over at 60 Minutes

'cause it's a killer story.
But let me sell it first.

No.

No, no.

Shall we adjourn?

My God, he's dazzling.

Invite him to everything we ever have.

Next weekend.

Yes, yes, do it, do it.

Oh, hello, how are you?

You know.

Yes, I do.

Yes, you do, don't you?

Tell me about your little
locked golden notebook.

What fabulous secrets it must hold.

Actually, this is just
a list of everything I...

do wrong and everything
I could do better,

the next time.

"Better"? "Wrong"?

Whoever put that idea in your head?

Babe, don't you see?

Our mistakes are what
makes us interesting.

Do you not worry about anything, Truman?

Oh, sure, money, aloneness, calories...

But never about perfection.

Now, open your golden notebook

and put down this word to the wise.

Tell me.

Next time, seat me next to you.

That's all you need to do.

I need to tell you something.

I think we're going to be close friends.

I know these things.

How?

Oh, I don't know, I just do.

I'm witchy.

"Witchy."

Well, tell me, Mr. Witch, did you see...

my husband and Miss Europe 1952?

I did.

I saw him take her to
one of the cottages.

What do you suggest I do about it?

Oh, I don't know...

Rise above?

I know about you, I know
about your car accident.

Shattered your cheekbones...

How, when they rebuilt your face,

you were suddenly more
beautiful than ever,

you became a swan

from an ugly duckling, am I right?

How do you know about all that?

Well, my point is...

the accident was a blessing.

And now there's something else.

You have a new best friend.

Now let's have a cigarette.

Mm.

May I?

Irving, you have to go back

to them and explain.

I need to be given some
benefit of the doubt.

I have earned that.

I'm not giving Random
House back my advance

for Answered Prayers
for failure to deliver.

I will deliver it one
day, you know that.

How much do they want from me?

$400,000?!

Yes, I know it's the
third deadline I've missed.

Well, I'm close, I'm very close,

but this one...

Irving, I'm telling you,
you have to explain to them

this is so much harder than Cold Blood.

Well, because I'm writing about society.

It's New York society,

it's a very small needle to thread.

You do not want to get one thing wrong.

What do you mean, Irving,
you've heard it all before?

How much have they
made from me worldwide?

They'll sue me?

I cannot give back money I don't have!

Tell them that!

Oh...

Were you listening?

Why is your coat on?
Do we have a dinner?

Actually, no.

No dinner, I just don't want to...

be here for this.

It's very clear to everyone

what's happening here
while you're stuck.

Oh, go on, Jack.

Why don't you enlighten me... ?

- The reason that you can't write the book...
- Oh.

... is that you are
now no longer a writer,

but rather a full-time, 60-hour-a-week

high-level drunk.

Mm. Well, you may be right,

but that's just the surface, Jack.

Which is what you do so well.

The surface.

But why, why am I doing this to myself?

Is it because it hurts more
than you could ever comprehend

to lose something so rare?

Oh, yes, your elite pain is so singular

that no one but you could
bear it. Please. Really?

And it's just out of
sight, too, I can smell it.

You don't know what the
stakes are, you have no stakes.

But for me, it's all
of it or none of it.

And maybe, just maybe I lost everything

that made me Truman Capote.

Maybe... Cold Blood
took everything I had.

Don't tell me I'm a drunk.

I know it.

But tell me why.

Tell me how to stop it.

Tell me how to be Truman
Capote again and I'll do it.

Can you tell me how to be him again?

No.

But you won't find it this way.

Not with gin or vodka or pills.

No one ever has and no one ever will.

There, I've done my bit.

Well, we can't be sure, can we?

Because sometimes...

after the third wine and...

a couple of pills...

I do feel him right next to me.

The old me.

No, and I'm not going
to stop chasing him

till he's returned to Mama.

Maybe it's that I haven't drunk enough.

I intend to investigate
that, dear heart.

Okay?

Okay?

You're Truman Capote.

You're not worried
about being recognized?

I'm not him anymore.

Oh. Okay.

You reserve the right
not to be molested.

Oh...

I want to be molested.

That's why I'm here.

I want to be molested into oblivion.

Uh-huh.

Well...

We can do oblivion no matter
who you are or used to be.

If this is your hustle,
don't waste your time on me.

I'm... broken and empty.

Oh, yeah?

You don't think you got
a little something for me?

Well, maybe that's my kink.

You're not gay, are you?

This is your thing, right?

I'm not a fag.

I'm not straight.

I just love to come.

My shrink told me I'm
a sexual sociopath.

Once, I came nine times in a
row going from room to room here.

I went home for dinner
and fucked my wife

without any problems.

- What was dinner?
- Well...

It was a Friday.

So, fish sticks.

Mmm, I love a good Catholic lapse.

Mm-hmm.

I used to loathe myself for
all this crummy scuzziness,

but now I don't.

I remind myself that...

I used to be beautiful and...

all these louts and
tricks and closet cases

are lucky to even be with me in decay.

Because...

I was something.

Yeah.

Do you always take trade
to meet your swans, huh?

Why do you call them that?

Because they are swans, you...

Beautiful and unruffled
above the waters,

stunning, singular, gliding
through the ponds of society.

But God gave them too
much baggage, you see.

Underneath the crisp surface
of the water, they have to...

paddle twice as fast and vigorously

as an ordinary duck just to stay afloat.

It's a great burden only some can bear.

Oh, yeah? That sounds awful.

It is.

You know, some swans actually
drown under the beauty

and weight of their
fantastical superficial plumage?

- So what?
- They just can't keep going.

Yeah? They all gonna be there today?

Oh, no. No.

That would be too much for you to bear,

a little mortal mallard like you, no.

Only three of the swans
will be in attendance today.

The number one swan in
the pecking order, Babe.

The most perfect woman ever made.

Her only flaw is her perfection.

She's almost too beautiful to look at.

And her eyes...

they're so smart, they see so much.

And there's no greater WASP.

Just to be around her
smooths the rough edges off.

Anyone in her orbit glows.

Her husband Bill Paley treats her

precisely like an
employee with no time off.

Even while he's fucking someone else

in a hotel a block from home.

She offered to buy me a house.

But you can't take too many gifts

from these beautiful
creatures, or they own you.

And Slim, Slim Keith,
came out of dusty poverty

in the middle of rust-fuck California

to marry Howard Hawks

and then Leland Hayward

and then an even sweller swell
with all the money in the world

and no discernable personality
to interfere with any of it.

There is no one smarter

or as many steps ahead of you at chess.

And she knows Hollywood
like she knows London,

like she knows Paris and Capri,

with her eyes closed.

- You keeping up, John?
- Mm.

'Cause you're gonna need
to be on your toes, sweetie.

- Please?
- All right.

Tell them about the book
you're writing, but not too much

'cause they're easily bored.

Anyway, also, there will
be the breath of fresh air

that is C.Z. Guest.

The most exemplary of the swans.

Really, my dear, she gardens

the way Jascha Heifetz plays violin.

You know, C.Z.'s been able
to stretch the marigold season

way into late fall.

The marigolds she grows don't
want to fade as summer ends.

They just want to share their
great sunlike beauty for her,

as though they were wonderful
pets eager to please.

She does this with anything that lives.

Like magic.

It's done through love.

Keep the meter running,
please, would you?

We don't want to go in quite yet.

Timing is everything.

Anita, hi.

Ian, hi. Take my glasses, thank you.

- Thank you.
- This is my friend John.

Hey.

Watch this.

My darlings, this is the man
I've been telling you all about.

The absolutely delightful, entrancing,

marvelous John O'Shea.

How do you do, ladies?

See you started refreshments already.

I can't wait to catch up.

- Thank you, Ian.
- Welcome to the club.

- Let's get the boy a drink.
- Yes, ma'am.

Or two.

Thanks. Uh, I will
take... Oh, it's for me.

It's so good to finally
meet the great John O'Shea.

It is? Okay.

- Thanks.
- Sir.

Cheers.

When I was in London last week,

I went to a party at Drue Heinz's.

And I got stuck with Princess Margaret.

- Oh, dear.
- Hell on Earth, let me tell you.

She's tough sledding.
How did you deal with her?

Well, I asked her about
Mick Jagger and Mustique.

Her mother's a darling,

- but the rest of that family?
- Ah.

Well, Prince Charles
may amount to something.

Hopefully. He likes growing stuff.

He gave me a gorgeous
courgette once, though.

Is that a car?

It's a zucchini, sweetie.

Oh.

But nothing like the ones grown by C.Z.

She bathes the little things in milk

while they're still
nesting in the ground.

Yes, but it's skim milk, kiddo.

It's the secret to a good green.

You know basically royals think
there are just three categories.

Colored folk, white folk, and royals.

I mean, you spend any
time with his family

and you just wonder how the
fuck did they get the prize?

Thank God for these lunches.

I-I swear I really do,
I really actually do.

Well, we'll always have these, won't we?

Always because it keeps me sane.

Or semi, as much as it can.

Are you sane, though, Slim?

Well, the chow in the Navy is
not as bad as you might think.

It's not, uh, it's not, it's not this,

but what is that? Whatever that...

- That is a piece of chicken.
- That's...

Poulet something.

Oh, poulet? Okay, it's not that.

But I... it's where I learned to cook.

And, uh, my, uh... my wife,

she doesn't mind if I
go ahead in the kitchen.

I-I make something
called a country captain.

It's a chicken dish,
but it has, uh, peppers

- and tomatoes, and, uh, it's...
- Excuse me.

Before you continue, please, Fierro,

a-another bottle of
the Sangiovese, my dear?

And a Chablis. Mm.

Yes, go on and tell us more
about the country, uh, colonel?

It's, uh...

It's "captain."

When I come back from the
men's room, it's a good recipe.

It's, uh, it's a roux.

You ladies know what a roux is?

A street in Paris.

Ha.

Who wants to go first?

Truman, dear,

are you aware of what
a mistake you're making?

Explain yourself, Truman, quickly.

I find it rich that my having an affair,

something all your husbands
do without you saying a word...

We don't care about that.

Babe says you're
making him your manager?

Well, I need help, I tell you,

I need help with the foreign sales,

the book royalties.

Who knows what those
publishers are stiffing me on?

And Jack, what does
he say about all this?

He's tired, he wants
to sit in Sagaponack

and write those terribly
polite little books,

he's tired of me after all these years.

You're lucky Jack puts up with

all of your endless bullshit, Truman.

I mean, my God, really.

Oh, Jesus.

John is terrific.

This meat-and-potatoes ruddy,
healthy heathen is quite smart.

And he wants to write, too.

Of course he wants to write.

Anyone can tell he wants to write.

He's on his sixth glass of wine.

Never very good.

Hmm.

She's here, she's staring...

Forget Ann.

Pretend you don't see her.

You're gonna run into
her. It's not a surprise.

Look, Truman, we don't
care who you screw.

Just don't put them in charge
of your life, for God's sake.

It's bad mojo, kid.

- Keep it separate.
- Stop being an idiot, Truman.

A complete idiot.

He's a bank teller from
the middle of Long Island.

An alcoholic, clearly, who
can't dress and who, what,

left his wife and kids
to go on a ride with you?

Does that seem like anyone who can...

manage anything?

Why does she keep staring at me?

Maybe it's because you
keep telling everyone

she's a murderess and in your new book.

Could that possibly be why?

- All right, where was I? So, uh, the country captain.
- John...

Your, uh, tomatoes and peppers.

You like onions, put onions
in, I don't mind that.

- Mm, yum.
- Sometimes...

Truman, you fucking
little piece of shit.

You think I don't know?

I know what you're saying about me.

- "Bang Bang"?
- Ann,

you really don't want to do this.

- Whatever you're doing...
- No?

- ... just don't do it in public, dear, go sit down.
- No?

You're telling people that I
murdered my poor late husband?

Isn't that slander and libel?

And you're telling people
it's in your new book?

Well, if it were not true,
it would be libel, Ann,

but it is true.

And we all know it.

And it will be a very
interesting chapter.

I don't know why you started this.

I mean, we...

we were close.

Just tell me why.

No, l-let me go, Slim.

No, he's-he's...

I mean, it's... it's torture.

I hear it everywhere!

I don't even know how you
can be sitting here with him.

Just tell me why, Truman.

Well...

you know,

I liked you once.

I liked you quite a bit.

But then I heard behind my
back you called me a fag.

So...

I thought I'd...

be a fag.

And show you what a fag can do

when he's angry.

When he's very angry.

And when he's been betrayed
by someone he actually liked,

- even though I knew what you were.
- Truman, sit down.

Ann, you sit down, too.

Even if you are a killer as he says,

he has a typewriter and you don't.

I never...

I never called you a fag, Truman.

What I called you was a
venomous little faggot.

Now get your quotes right.

Isn't that what you're
supposed to be good at?

I mean, what else did he get wrong?

You miserable little faggot.

All right, that's quite enough.
You've had your scene, dear.

- Fuck you, Slim.
- That's enough now, really.

Please?

- Let's go out, out there.
- You're all a bunch of snakes.

Oh, Ann.

Uh, waiter, I think
we need a refill here.

Yes, sir.

Now, where were we?

John, you were saying
something about a roux?

- Yes, a country captain.
- I was, uh...

Just a moment, just a moment, C.Z.

Truman...

you're going to get it
wrong at some point, really.

I mean, what you do is
quite fucking dangerous.

You see what can happen.

I really want dessert.

And maybe let's stay for dinner, too.

I can't bear the thought of
going back into the real world.

I thought you said Babe
was getting us a car.

I'm sure it slipped her mind.

Hmm.

Don't humiliate me about the subway.

I told you my situation.

No, hold on.

Oh, excuse me.

Come on, sit down.

So you need to finish your book, huh?

Write about the world you're showing me.

Go on, please.

Truman...

that lunch...

it's gold.

All of it.

Just write it down, the lunch.

Nobody can show us these women, Truman.

How they really are.

You're not blocked.

Just not looking at what you got.

"La Cote Basque."

- Mm-hmm.
- Mm-hmm.

Mm.

"That's why Ann Hopkins got
away with cold-blooded murder.

"Her mother-in-law is a Rhode
Island goddess and a saint.

"But it could have been an accident.

"As I remember,

"they'd just come home from
a dinner party in Watch Hill

"and gone to bed in separate rooms.

"Weren't there supposed to have been

a recent series of
burglaries thereabouts?"

"Ann, she kept a shotgun by her bed.

"And suddenly, in the dark,

"her bedroom door opened
and she grabbed the shotgun

and shot at what she
thought was a prowler."

"Only it was her husband David Hopkins

"with a bullet through his head.

The end."

Yay!

How bad is it? Is it true?

I'm sorry, Bill, I
don't know what to say.

There's no doubt

it's you and Babe.

The name, pronounced by Ina,

was a caressing hiss. To be sure.

Sidney Dillon.

Conglomateur, adviser to presidents...

Especially when he's
married to Cleo Dillon,

to my mind the most
beautiful creature alive...

Whether he confesses to it or not,

that is why he wanted to
fuck the governor's wife,

revenge himself on
that smug hog-bottom...

... covered with blood as it was.

- ... make her sweat and squeal...
- So was the bed,

the sheets bloodied with
stains the size of Brazil.

Doesn't he know who we are?

You read it?

Nobody...

nobody will know

that it's us.

Nobody will know?

Look, it feels terrible right now,

but it'll go away.

We have to do what we always do.

Pretend?

You think that's the smart move?

And you're right. You're always right.

You know the chess board.

You can... can see so
far into the future,

you're so many moves
ahead of Truman and me.

Did you see this moment

when you fucked the
governor's wife in...

our apartment?

And left me to quietly
throw out those sheets

and order new ones
from Porthault in Paris,

which I did, and it was all white again.

As it always is, always so...

perfect for you.

Babe, I understand how
betrayed you feel, I do...

I wonder which is worse.

You betraying me for years and years

and being so flagrant

and so profoundly
disrespectful towards me...

... or Truman's betrayal.

Because I don't know if what we do

is even close to love, you and me.

But I sure did love him.

And I let him in.

'Cause I had nobody.

Look, I promise you we can get
through this with our heads...

No.

I am... humiliated.

I am.

My heart is broken.

Don't you see?

It's all true.

His portrait of us, he got it right.

He got it right about
all of us, but mostly me.

Oh, my God.

How seriously I took this job,

this fucking religion of
us, dying of perfection.

But I have been so angry for so long

and I need you to tell
me why did I deserve this?

What did I do to deserve your contempt?

Because all those
affairs, Bill, they are,

they are contempt.

That's untrue, Babe, that's not true.

Yes, utter contempt for me!

No matter how perfect the pictures are,

the dinners I curated
for you, the guests...

all of it, all of it for you.

Because I did love you.

And you squandered that.

Like I was a television station
you just bought up and ignored.

Just another asset.

Like all the other
wives and slick husbands

in this... thing that he disembowels.

And he's right.

I turned to him for love.

This...

homosexual court jester

singing for his supper.

Don't know how I'm going
to get through this.

They're all staring.

Everyone knows.

Yes, they all know.

They all know...

that both of us are barely disguised.

- Do you have a light?
- Oh, sweetheart.

Every newsstand.

The phone calls. The Post.

Listen, I need to tell you something.

Please don't react.

Ann Woodward is dead.

She knew...

that Esquire was coming out today.

Do you understand what I'm saying, Babe?

Someone slipped her an advance copy.

Ann... committed suicide
because of Truman's story.

Cyanide.

At least we're still alive.

Well, I want to die, too.

I do.

No, no, no, no, no. No.

That's enough now.

Now we close ranks, my dear.

Now, no more being
deceived by these men.

Truman, the husbands, the men.

Enough.

What... ?

He killed Ann.

And we are going to kill him.

He will have nowhere, nothing.

Everyone will see it.

Everyone will watch.

He will have no door open to him.

He will have no oxygen.

And he will die.

Just like Ann Woodward died.

But it will be much slower.

- Oh.
- Excuse me, Mrs. Paley.

Thank you.

- And for you.
- Lovely.

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