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- Hey... - Hey. - Hey.

George!

George!

George!

George!

Open the goddamn door!

George!

Stop it!

Jesus Christ, open the fucking door!

Come on!

I said just leave me alone!

George! Open the goddamn door!

George, talk to me.

Talk to me. Come on.

George!

George, let me in.

- George. - George, come on.

Let me in. Talk to me.

- George! Open! - George!

Shit.

- George, no! - No, no.

- No! - George! - George!

No, no, no, no, no!

No! No!

What?

Good morning. How are you?

Good morning. How are you?

Good morning. How are you?

Good morn...

Repeat.

Good morning. How are you?

Repeat.

Good morning. How are you?

Repeat.

Good morning. How are you?

I hope you slept well, sir.

Repeat. I hope you slept well, sir.

Ever anything useful on those records?

I want you to perform fellatio.

I know where the bodies are buried.

Don't lowball me, you slinty-eyed, little shit.

Know the Chinese for any of that, Bullimore?

I regret not, sir.

So, what have we got?

The preliminary report reveals

that George had amphetamines, alcohol, and...

various barbiturates in his system at the time of death.

If the wounds to his chest didn't kill him,

then that particular cocktail

likely would've done it for him, anyway.

Wounds?

Self-inflicted with...

a barbecue fork.

George!

Self-inflicted? What are you saying?

George killed himself, sir.

No, I will not have suicide.

- I will not have that. Do you hear me? - Yes, sir.

Leave it with me.

Towel.

Oh, my God.

How are you, Paul?

Same as yesterday.

But it-it is such a sad day, no?

Coffee.

- No milk. - Yes, sir.

If you'll excuse me, sir. The price of the Times

increased by a tuppence over the weekend.

So it has, goddamn it.

Hmm.

And has the quality

of their shoddy journalism improved

by tuppence?

A full 15%.

Do you suppose, Bullimore?

I regret I am unable to say, sir.

So, which of you... loves me best?

Aw...

King Lear. Very good, Paul, very good.

What?

King Lear, the play.

Shakespeare.

Well...

William Shakespeare wrote a tragedy called King Lear

about an old king

who divides up his kingdom between his daughters

according to their love.

An old king? Old?

I...

I'm not suggesting... you are-are

not so old.

I suppose. It's, um, a strange play.

It's not... it's not his best.

Overrated, Shakespeare.

Though his will amused me.

He left his wife his second-best bed.

To whom should I leave my second-best bed?

Along with a billion dollars, of course.

Hmm?

Paul, darling.

I don't think there's any doubt who loves you the most.

- Really, my dear? - Oh, please.

Is this really a day for one of your competitions, Paul?

Nothing will come of nothing.

Isn't that right, Von Block?

Very good, Paul.

Before you quote too much Lear,

you might remember how that particular family drama ended.

Murder, poisoning, suicide, and insanity, as I recall.

An educated lady.

Such a rarity at Sutton Place.

Speaking of which, when does Teresa get here?

- Teresa? - Not another one, for goodness' sake.

I do not wish to be referred to as "another one," thank you.

Wh-Wh-Who is Teresa?

Oh, you'll meet her soon enough.

She's very beautiful.

No.

No. No, this-this is too much.

Paul, this is too much.

No word, I'm afraid, sir.

Oh, too bad.

I was so looking forward to seeing her again.

The most bewitching eyes.

You know...

I have the feeling...

that Teresa loves me best.

Ladies.

Bullimore.

Who the fuck is Teresa?!

Yes, Bullimore, who the fuck is Teresa?

African, I believe, madam.

African?

Now I've heard it all.

Like myself,

George was an oil man through and through.

He worked hard.

He was diligent.

He loved the business.

Loved it so much he killed himself.

With a fork.

How do you even do that?

He was the son

on whom the future of Getty Oil rested.

With George lay all my hope

for a successor who would carry on my work

building the most financially successful company in the world.

But fate and a terrible accident...

...denied him that opportunity.

She never met him.

Speaking personally as his beloved father,

I shall miss our phone calls.

Shh.

Thought I'd never get away. Hand it over.

- Haven't you got anything harder? - What, are you kidding?

I practically had to do a drug test

- before the old bastard would let me in the front door. - Shh.

Careful. Bullimore will rat us out.

Are you sticking around?

Why would I?

He's not gonna ask me to step into George's shoes, is he?

Barely even recognizes me.

"Oh,

"Ronald.

The family disappointment."

Anyway, I've got a movie shooting, probably.

- You on the other hand... - Uh-uh, no way.

I told him straight up, no way, Jose.

- I'm busy. - Brave.

Yeah, so brave he had to rent Carnegie Hall

- just to give himself an alibi. - Hey, guys.

I booked Carnegie Hall because it is the world premiere

- of my new symphony. - I'm busy that night.

How do you know? You don't even know...

Very funny.

So that leaves you.

Wha... oh, me? Come on, come on.

The old man hasn't said a word to me in almost two years.

Mm-mm.

I've done my time pumping gas.

I've got, uh, I've got stuff to do.

A lot of stuff.

Stuff?

- That's right. - A lot of stuff to do.

Yeah, I bet you do.

- Look at you, you're a mess. - Don't touch.

- Don't touch me. - You've got ashes all over...

The Rockefellers, the Vanderbilts,

the Hearsts, even the Kennedys.

Irish peasants, for God's sakes. They all managed it.

You think that bastard Joe Kennedy

would have countenanced simpering, idle wasters

for children?

No, sir.

His legacy was war heroes, presidents,

men with red blood and hot balls.

What's to be my legacy, hmm?

The Getty dynasty?

Timmy, dead.

George, dead.

Ronald, pissing away what meager talent he possesses

playing movie producer.

Paul, a spineless drug addict.

Gordon, you'll be delighted to learn, my dear,

is writing a symphony.

A fucking symphony!

Is it to spite me, do you think?

That they've so willfully turned their back to me,

to the man who begat them?

Who provided them with everything?

Everything!

Paul...

Is this to be my legacy? My feckless progeny.

Perfumed fucking wasters.

I'll cut them out, I tell you, the lot of them.

- Not a goddamn cent. - Paul, darling.

You're mourning your son.

Am I?

Of course.

Mm-hmm, it's okay.

It's okay.

It's okay.

Is it?

Yes. Yes.

Yes, it has been a very trying time...

Absolutely lovely.

£2.60, mate.

Hopefully we can catch up at some point.

- I hope so. - Absolutely.

- That would be fantastic. Thank you so much. - Excuse me.

- Okay, bye. - Good-bye.

Where do you get a drink around here?

He'd charge you for a glass of fucking water.

I've just, uh, I've just seen my brothers.

Gordon doesn't want it, and the old man's blanking Ronald.

Perfect. So?

- You have to pick your moment. - This is the moment, isn't it?

I guess, I just...

I don't want to blow it. He's not big on second chances.

He needs somebody.

If it's not's them, it's you.

Say what we agreed. Keep it simple.

Okay... Okay.

Are you clean?

Eight months and 17 days.

A new acquisition.

Oh. It's very... nice.

Nice?

It's a Rubens, boy.

Ah.

He had a team of assistants

who did all the hard work, and then he came in at the end

and touched it up with a few strokes of brilliance.

An assistant.

That'd be nice.

Well, that is what I wanted to talk to you about.

Now, I believe that I am ready to get back into the business.

Oh, my.

Who is he?

Fasten your seatbelt, darling.

Hey, Granddad.

I'm sorry I'm late.

Good gracious.

My grandson.

Bellissimo.

Hey, what's the big deal?

What's the big, the big deal? You just wander in,

late, looking like a-a something out of a-a disco,

- to your uncle's memorial. - The plane was delayed.

Showing no respect for your grandfather.

- I didn't have time to change. - Time to change?

What are you even doing here at all?

You're my dad. I haven't seen you in a year.

Oh, just like that, just like that, out of the blue?

Come on. You want something, don't you?

I knew it.

You're out of cash, aren't you? You come begging.

Hey, it's not that. I'm here to see you.

Well, don't come to me. Wrong guy.

You want cash, you are in exactly the right place.

You ask him in there.

Dad. Dad, come on.

See his jeans?

Bell-bottoms like a hippie.

Paul will hate that more than anything.

Poor boy doesn't seem to get on with his father at all.

- No surprise there. - But why is he here?

Do we really have to play for money?

Hey, hey! Hey, oh! He-He's coming.

- Ooh. - He's coming.

- Oh, how fun. - My God, my hair is a mess.

Whoa, hey.

- Is my grandfather around? - Mr. Getty is working, sir.

Oh, cool.

Do you think I could maybe stay a bit? Just, like, a day or two?

Is there a bedroom spare?

17, sir.

I suggest you ask the lady of the house.

Okay.

You, darling, you have to nominate.

That's just wonderful.

- Luciana, I can see your cards. - Oh.

Oh.

Uh, hi.

I'm Paul. Paul's grandson.

Which one of you is Paul's girlfriend?

- I am. - Wow, really?

They're only teasing.

Come, let's get you dried off.

But they are, right? His girlfriends?

I am his girlfriend. They are decoration.

But, yes, your grandfather has adopted

some of the Middle East's more arcane customs,

if that's what you're asking.

So, are you staying with us?

Uh, I'd like to, yeah.

You know, it didn't go so well with my dad, though.

I am sorry about that.

I'll talk to your grandfather. He'll be delighted.

- You think? - I'll tell him to be delighted.

Oh, thanks.

Now, if you're hungry, the kitchen is just through there.

Fucking damn it.

That was my moment,

and he waltzes in, in jeans. He hates jeans.

He absolutely hates them.

It wasn't your fault.

No, you don't understand how the old man works.

He will never forgive me now.

He blew my shot.

We'll find a way.

- You have to stay strong, Paul. - I am strong.

I am.

He's grown.

Well, now, you must be Master Paul.

Washed up out of a rain cloud. I'm Cook.

Hello.

And wet right through to the skin, so you are.

I'm fine.

- Come on, off with that T-shirt. - Okay.

And the trousers.

Think I haven't seen it all before?

Two boys, I've got, back in Cork.

Big lumps, so they are.

Now up on the stove with you.

That's where the lost lambs go on the farm back home.

Go on with you.

- Thank you. - What?

- Oh, I just said thank you. - Huh.

Not a word you hear much around here.

This is going to be

a very bleak winter for the British.

Strikes by public transport and power workers

are becoming almost an annual winter routine.

Last Monday, an unofficial one-day strike by about

500 train drivers caused chaos in London.

About 150,000 commuters were affected.

The drivers were protesting delaying

the settlements of wage claims.

Britain consumes 100 million tons of oil a year.

Of this, over 20 million tons is used by private

or commercial vehicles,

that keep to a 50-mile-an-hour speed limit

and not drive on Sundays if they can avoid doing so.

Tuesday night, the government passed a bill

through Parliament, giving it new powers...

Is this a Henry Moore?

Oh, yes, some Saudi prince gave it to Paul.

He won't even use it as a doorstop.

I thought we'd gotten rid of that.

- Not really your type of woman, Granddad? - Indeed.

- Too curvy, right? - Oh, curvy's fine.

20 minutes.

That's how it's done?

"Kneeling on the bed,

"she plucked the thin black straps from her shoulders,

"one at a time.

"The silk slip fell to her waist,

"revealing, pert, eager breasts

"and hard nipples.

"'Turn around, ' said Fox.

"She obeyed,

"the globes of her perfect, round buttocks

- pushing towards Fox." - Enough.

Hi, sweetie.

Paulie.

Are you okay?

Baby, is it... is it...?

Y-You want me to...?

No. No.

- Well, it's okay, sweetie. - Hmm.

Happens to everyone now and again.

Maybe you want to talk?

With you? No.

Leave.

Oh.

Hey.

Ah. Good morning, sir.

Morning. Um, my bag.

You unpack it?

I took that liberty, yes, sir.

He doesn't even like it.

No, he hates modern art.

I-I mean, shit.

- Property's theft, right? - I think you'll find

the attitude at Sutton Place is that property

- is tax deductible, sir. - Bullimore?!

Yes, sir!

Wait, please, don't tell him, I beg you, please.

I have no intention of telling him, sir.

Why?

May I be frank?

Oh, I get it.

Go on, be oh-so-fucking-frank.

What do you want, Bullimore?

Mr. Getty's children

are a source of disappointment to him, sir.

It would be a sadness if that opinion

came to include his grandchildren as well.

You don't want anything?

No, sir.

- Bullimore! - Immediately, sir.

If you are in need of funds, might I suggest

a simpler way is to ask.

You don't ask, you don't get, right?

Hey.

Thank you.

Sir.

Come on, boy.

Come on.

Yes, the statue of Hera...

What is that noise?

The young gentleman, sir.

Oh, sorry, Granddad.

Hey, cool model.

You do know the adage

about guests and fish, young man?

Uh...

After three days, they both begin to smell.

- Oh. - So, yes, the statue of Herakles

in the west corner with the Elgin fragments.

The Elgin fragments?

Wait, do you have some of the Elgin Marbles?

You know about them?

Yeah, yeah, the Parthenon frieze. Who doesn't?

Everyone in this building.

Stephen, the photographs.

Come look.

Oh, check that out.

Oh, I always liked the one with the centaur best.

You know, the one fighting the guy.

The Lapith, yes.

I agree.

Yeah, these are amazing.

Well, I ju... I just have these two fragments.

The rest resides in the British Museum.

For now.

"For now"?

Jesus, Granddad, you're gonna lift the Elgin Marbles

from the British Museum?

I wouldn't put it quite like that,

but, uh, let's just say I have an idea.

Man, you're the coolest dude.

I take it that's a good thing.

Yeah, you bet.

I have a fellow enthusiast for my project.

Yeah.

Love old stuff.

- Actually, I've got a project of my own, sir. - Oh?

Yeah, I've been thinking of going to Morocco.

No oil in Morocco.

And being there didn't do your father any good.

Uh, true,

but, you know, with respect, sir, my father's an idiot.

And, uh, you know, Tangiers is filled

with Carthaginian and Roman artifacts.

- Is it, indeed? - Sure.

Half of them are just lying there in the desert.

Why don't I know that?

I don't know.

I guess you haven't talked to me.

I guess I haven't.

How very remiss.

Do you have any other clothes?

- Not really. - Bullimore,

find the young man an overcoat, a hat, gloves, and a scarf.

- Yes, sir. - Oh, it's not that cold

on the terrace. I think I'm okay.

Depends on which terrace.

I have three exploratory wells in this sector.

Hamish,

Rob Roy, and Ivanhoe.

Struck oil?

Not yet.

But we will.

Probably the most expensive oil

in the world to get out of the ground and onshore,

but not for long.

No?

Any day now, the Arabs are gonna stop selling us their oil.

Which will make this more valuable than gold.

Oh, wait, didn't they already try that in 1967?

They did, young man, they did.

Yeah, it didn't work, though, right?

Not that time.

But Arabs...

very quick learners in my experience.

There she goes.

Say what you like about the rotten teeth

and the dubious sexual habits of the English.

They knew a thing or two about succession,

keeping the money and the power close,

and passing it on down the line.

They've lost all that, the English.

Gone limp with democracy and unions and human rights,

flower power, ban the bomb.

They're an old, spent nation; they don't even know it.

They still think oil is just stuff that makes their cars go.

Oil is everything.

Everything.

You got up this morning and washed your hair.

The shampoo was derived from oil.

Your toothbrush is made entirely of oil-based plastic.

The jacket's polyester.

Made from ethylene.

Your sneakers:

plastic tops, synthetic rubber soles.

All stuck together with an oil-based adhesive.

Cotton underpants.

And they got to the store, how?

By donkey or diesel truck?

- Damn. - You try doing anything,

or being anything, young man, without oil.

It's possible.

Granddad?

Come.

So,

Sarah Getty, your great-grandmother.

This is her trust.

I buy oil fields.

The money from which

I invest in shipping.

Why pay someone else to transport your own oil?

The money from which I invest in refineries.

Why pay someone else to process your own oil?

The money from which I invest in gas stations.

Why pay someone else to pump your own gas?

The money from which I invest in hotels,

to house my workforce. The money from which

I invest back into the trust.

The money from which

I invest in...

Buying more oil fields.

You see the beauty of it?

- It's like a spider's web. - Exactly.

For the money spider that just keeps getting bigger

and bigger and bigger.

It's a self-sustaining system

that never pays a cent in tax

because it never goes a cent into profit.

For the purposes of accounting,

Getty Oil runs at a loss, my boy.

At a loss.

We're so poor, we could get milk tokens

from the goddamn British government.

So... so there's no way of drawing on the trust?

Not unless you want to pay 70% in taxes.

Haven't you been listening?

Yeah, it's just...

Oh, God.

- What's wrong? - I can always tell

when one of my brood

wants money.

You're right.

No, you're right.

Hey, to be straight, I am kind of short on money.

At the moment, son,

you're probably one of the ten richest people in England.

Yeah, but I don't actually have it.

No, nor do I, not a cent.

The Gettys and the queen of England: we don't do cash.

Okay, but, sir, just leveling with you here.

I, uh, I ran up

some debts in Rome.

I made some mistakes.

I-I, I really need to just pay them off

so I can... move on.

Live more wisely.

How much?

About $6,000.

What sort of mistakes?

I just went out too much, drank too much,

you know, that sort of thing.

- Drugs? - No, sir. No way.

You know what drugs have done to our family.

To your Uncle George.

To your father.

I have no time for that nonsense at all.

- At all! You understand? - Yeah,

I totally understand, yeah.

Women?

- Yeah. - Yeah.

That's a Getty weakness.

I get my women to sign a contract before sex,

renouncing all rights.

What is it, like, a financial condom?

I never thought of it that way.

Come on, we have a helicopter to catch.

Afternoon.

Overnight telexes from the U.S.

about the Dakota pipeline... no progress there.

18 random begging letters.

Here's a long-lost relative from Jamaica

wanting a quarter of a million dollars

to set up a school in Kingston,

and a woman claiming to know you intimately.

No.

No. Uh... no.

There are no Gettys in Jamaica.

And this is a possibility.

Did she specify a date for the encounter?

Two years ago in London at a Shell Oil dinner.

Apparently, you promised her the world.

- I don't own the world. - Not yet, anyway.

Send her a cease-and-desist with the usual

defamation of character stuff.

Oh, and I need more copies of that waiver.

For him.

Oh, and apparently somebody called Teresa...

- Teresa? - Teresa... arrives tomorrow.

Does she indeed?

Well, we have to celebrate. We'll have a party.

- Do you like parties? - Sure.

We'll have a party.

- Hi. - Hello.

You wouldn't say no, would you?

Under other circumstances.

Oh, please, he's just a boy.

A boy who's got center spread in this month's

Playman magazine.

- Really? - No.

Apparently.

I think a trip to the newsagents

is in order, don't you?

Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm-hmm.

I like you, young man.

I like you, too.

I'm a businessman. I propose a business deal.

Okay.

I'll give you your $6,000.

In return, you do six months on Rob Roy.

Now, there's a new start for you.

Wait, you want me to work on the rig?

Well, that's how your father and your Uncle George started,

pumping gas, roughnecking in the field.

Six months. You don't like it, you quit.

Just, I'm not sure I'm an oil man, Granddad.

Let me tell you something, Paul.

A few years working for me,

you won't just visit Morocco...

...you'll buy Morocco.

Think about it.

Wait, cash up front?

Never.

But I'll write you a check.

Paul, are you in England?

Yeah, yeah, I'm here. I'm in England.

I'm, uh, I'm at a pay phone,

but it's-it's inside of his house.

So I'm trying to feed it quarters, or two pences.

Whatever.

Did you ask him, your dad?

He's not gonna give me a cent.

But it's okay. I'm at my, uh, granddad's place.

He's the one with the money, so it's crazy here.

- He's got a harem. - A what?

A harem. You know, like, um, women.

Lots of them, too.

Aw, shit. Hey, can you call me back?

- You got a pen? - Mm-hmm.

- 0-4-8-3... - 0-4-8-3.

- 9-6-0... - 9-6-0.

- 9-6. - 9-6.

Paul, Bertolini's men are watching the house.

Have you got the money?

Don't worry, I got it sorted. It's gonna be fine.

He's literally writing me a check.

I'll be back in a couple days.

Pay Bertolini, and then we're gone.

Just you and me, you know? New life, new everything.

Martine, listen, I'm gonna take care of you.

I'm coming, baby, I promise.

- I love you, okay? - I love you, too.

Hurry.

We've been invited to Sutton Place.

Why?

I don't know.

But it's another chance.

No, no, no. That is gone now.

It hasn't. And we're invited.

- That means he wants to see you. - You still don't get him,

do you?

That job is your way back, Paul.

It's what you want more than anything, isn't it?

It's yours for the asking.

All you have to do is to go and ask.

Keep going, keep going!

Thank you.

Mary Tessier.

Ambassador Liu Xihong.

Imagine my surprise.

Naughty boy.

Takes after his father, no doubt.

Lady Ursula d'Abo.

Rosabella Burch.

Ah, Paul. Good. I'm glad you could come.

Oh, right.

See, you've done it.

You're in. We're in.

Huan ying ni men lai dao Sutton Place.

Is, uh... is there a lot of oil in China, Paul?

None at all.

No oil, a billion people.

Work it out.

Ladies and gentlemen,

thank you for coming

to celebrate the arrival of my new friend, Teresa.

Well, whoop-e-do.

I'm gonna scratch her eyes out.

The bloody beauty pageant begins.

Ladies of Sutton Place,

follow me, and I will introduce you.

Penelope?

Must we, Paul?

Please.

Teresa.

Meet Teresa.

I knew you wouldn't run.

That's what I like about you, Pen.

You're brave.

And loyal.

As you know, I value loyalty above all else.

Sometimes you're such a bastard, Paul.

Dinner, I think, Penelope.

Bullimore.

No, no, no, just water. Thanks.

I mean, I could go to America if-if that's,

if that's what's needed or I could stay here in the U.K.

now that the North Sea is coming on stream.

I mean, I can be wherever you want me to be.

And I know in the past that I wasn't, uh, that-that was...

I mean, I was younger. I was a bit out of my depth

and, and I had distractions, but I am focused now.

I am completely focused.

Please do not be alarmed, ladies and gentlemen.

The backup generator will start in a moment.

It's those goddamn unions.

This is why we need to move away from coal.

More power to Getty Oil.

Oh, oh. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh.

Where were we?

Oh, yes.

I think you've been a surprise success, Paul.

- Oh. Thank you. - Yeah. Yes.

You've produced a fine boy.

I mean, you might not have the strength of character

for business, but your son certainly does.

And you'll be proud to hear that

he's taking on George's role in the company.

I mean, not in the immediate future, but that's the plan.

Him?

Him.

He's not even out of school.

Precisely.

The young man hasn't had time to fall prey to the addictions

that, alas, afflicted you and your brother George.

Ladies and gentlemen,

honored guests...

please raise your glasses...

...in honor of my successor in Getty Oil,

my grandson John Paul Getty III.

John Paul Getty III.

Xie xie.

Lovely to see you.

Thank you for coming.

- Completely fucking humiliated me. - Sir. Sir.

- I know... I know, I know. - Completely humiliated.

He is a fucking child.

- But let's just think about this. - Think about what?

- Let's sleep on it. - Sleep on what?

What is there to sleep on?

Darling, what do you hope to achieve by showing this now?

He should know. He should know, shouldn't he?

Darling, he is going to blame us.

No, no, no, no, no. No, no, no. He's... he needs to know.

- Paul. - Fuck it.

Paul, please.

You're helping a boy out, are you?

A little loan?

Bullimore will call you, darling.

All right, darling.

Not a loan.

- A salary. - Oh, oh. I see.

And you know what he's gonna be doing with all that money?

- Do you? - That's his business.

Is it?

Well, since you are so keen to write me off

because of my addictions, how do you feel

about facilitating his?

It's just photos.

They're young. It doesn't mean...

For Christ's sake, Paul, no!

Just get in the car and just...

I mean, I couldn't let him fund his own grandson's drug habit.

I mean, I couldn't. What-what kind of...

what kind of father would do that?

Could I?

Dr. Clive Mackenzie. A pleasure to meet you finally.

Why do people take drugs?

You're a doctor.

Well, they're usually trying to make up

for some sort of loss in their life.

Loss?

My children have everything.

More of an emotional loss, I mean.

Well, I hope you've got

something better than that in your bag.

Well, I've managed to secure

a quantity of a drug called Gerontivirum.

Czechoslovakian, I believe.

Is that relevant?

Only that it's a totally unregulated substance,

- Mr. Getty. - Mm.

I have to warn you of that.

- Does it work? - I believe so.

You inject it?

Directly into the penis.

Penis.

Fuck.

This had better work.

That is to be attended to immediately.

- Yes, sir. - Get Belinda.

Will you be requiring Mr. Von Block?

No. Get Belinda now.

Ready for a cuddle, Paul?

A cuddle?

Are you all right, darling?

I am...

magnificent.

From Mr. Getty, sir.

Thanks, man.

Uh, what's this?

I believe it's the reservation number

for an airline ticket, sir.

To Rome.

Was there anything else? A check or...?

No, sir.

I need to speak to Paul.

Mr. Getty has retired for the night, sir.

Okay. I'll, uh...

I'll just speak to him in the morning.

Your car is at 7:00.

At Mr. Getty's request.

What happened to being...

head of Getty Oil?

I regret I am unable to say, sir.

We got in trouble in Rome, Bullimore.

Me, Martine... that's my girlfriend...

- some other guys. - I'm sorry to hear that, sir.

You don't understand.

They're criminals or Mafia, I don't know,

but I owe them.

I owe them money.

I-It's my fucking money. It's my inheritance.

He's got all this, he won't give me $6,000?

What's wrong with the old bastard?

Perhaps he thinks you should make your own way in the world

- like the rest of us. - That's what I've been doing.

I've been on the breadline swapping paintings

for food, for fuck's sake.

And running up a $6,000 debt

- on champagne and cocaine. - Fuck.

Shit. I know, all right?

You know, I-I never wanted to be a Getty.

Never. Fuck that.

I... I ran away from all that.

I tried to hide from all of that,

this family name, and I...

But it has somehow fucking chased me down.

You know that? It has chased me down

and it's fucking got its claws on me.

Now I'm really in the shit.

I'm really in the shit and I-I don't know what to do.

Really, wha... what do I do?

If you really don't want to be a Getty, Paul...

leave this place

and never, ever come back.

Good luck, sir.

Thanks.

Oh, you... oh!

Magnificent!

Oh, Paul!

For it is our responsibility as a government

to make sure that we have the stocks

to maintain an electricity supply...

You're very beautiful.

Your credit limit's up.

Can't a man buy a beautiful girl a drink anymore?

Cheers.

Are you okay?

Couldn't be better.

I'm free.

- I escaped. - Escaped what?

My life, my shoes.

I'm just me.

Is that good?

It's amazing.

Right down to my ten toes, I'm just...

I'm just me.

Can I kiss you?

I got to go.

- Che cosa? - I'm sorry.

Water's been running from his mouth

for more than 2,000 years.

Just think about that.

2,000 years.

I haven't even lived 16.

So, we go.

Yeah.

Yeah, we go.

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