Charlotte for Ever Page #5

Lucky bastard. And you're here with your hand.

Scarlatti, Gershwin,

Cole Porter - everything in the past.

I see you know how to hit a raw nerve.

Son of a b*tch, I had enough already!

You can now play

one part for the left hand.

I know, Ravel.

I suggest something else.

"Jesus, may your joy remain".

This one?

This is for the left hand as well.

You can't do anything with just one left hand.

I can't even jerk off with one hand.

Enough. Stop talking!

What?

Enough already!

Damn it!

Look at yourself.

Charlotte!

Are you having fun here?

Hey, Leon the Fatty, is that a new perfume?

Well, it's Guerlain's Jicky

I thought it's for women.

Charlotte...

- What are you wearing?

- have some tact...

My natural fragrance.

It's better to wash

yourself sometimes, sweety.

Only dirty ones wash themselves.

Where is Stephen?

He's gone.

For work?

For pleasure.

For pleasure.

Dad, I'm going to a party tonight.

Ok.

Just don't take the moped.

I'll call a cab for you.

Be home by midnight.

Twelve o'clock,

no excuses.

Don't forget about Cinderella.

Yeah, or your pumpkin cracks.

I'm so sick of you two!

Shepherding me all the time!

You can only shepherd a cow.

So what are we going to do?

I've grown b*obs.

I touched them one night.

Drunk as hell.

With my hand, they were light...

like two lacy handkerchiefs

with the needle still in them.

Is that how you burned your hand?

What did you say, a**hole?

I know you don't like guys.

But you killed your wife.

Great! You too! Just like Charlotte.

Soon I'll believe it myself.

You still believe in God.

I'll tell you, sweety.

I saw how angels died -

beautiful like Praxiteles' statues.

Or Michelangelo's.

Young gods were writhing in agony.

Cancer - and I couldn't do anything...

to ease

their agonizing deaths.

but to give them

this f***ing morphine.

And your wife here.

What about my wife?

You want me to believe

in this God after that?

What do you think about it?

Listen, Stanly.

I'm listening, Oliver.

As far as I know, you didn't f*** me.

I don't remember that.

So I can tell you the truth.

You are depriving your daughter.

This baby...

is a real treasure.

A gift from God.

What she has in her head

is in your ass.

She thinks you're a murderer.

That's where your problems come from.

Problems my ass.

Kiss my hairy a**hole.

Translation?

Translation. - Kiss my hairy ass.

But, seriously.

Admit it.

You were driving.

And you want me to believe

that the tank truck caused the accident?

Tell it to someone else, sweety.

Do you want to see the police report?

There you go, moron.

Stop it. Stop it.

I know.

I've read the report about Stephen's accident.

And then you'll receive

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