Prick Up Your Ears Page #3

for the Beatles that final summer.

Darling Joe.

Im about to get Brian Epstein on the phone.

When do you think

we could set up a meeting?

Not there, Ms. Ramsay. On the Coast.

When you say he's on the Coast, dear,

do you mean he's in Brighton?

When he gets back

and has shaken the sand out of his shoes...

perhaps you could get him to call me.

Slut.

Joe, dear.

Ive started on the script for the Beatles.

Im using some of a novel I wrote years ago.

Im surprised how good it is.

You didn't write that. We wrote it.

So what were you planning on doing?

Selling it to Warner Brothers?

I wouldn't care, if you gave me some credit.

If you only told people I helped you.

- Tell the Beatles I help you.

- You're not being much help now.

- Have you nothing to do?

- You do it!

Try a spot of post-coital dusting yourself.

It always has to be me.

Who's this?

Its the police. Its one of your pickups.

Your sex life has caught up with you.

Now you're going to have to pay.

I thought you might like

a preview of my frock.

Its for the firm's annual get-together

in a month or two's time.

The actual venue is not definite yet...

but it's thought to be

one of the leading London hotels.

There's been some dispute

about the design.

Its a floral motif, obviously, all hand-done.

Only, I say these are roses.

And Mr. Sugden will insist they're peonies.

This could be a lily.

- Looks more of a rhododendron to me.

- That's a thought.

Ill go try that one out on Clifford.

Do you notice Im limping?

Spilled a hot drink down my dress.

My vagina came up like a football.

If you were successful...

so successful

that you couldn't walk down the street...

what would you do?

Im thinking of the Beatles.

Id have a home.

In the country. With servants.

I wouldn't.

Id just shag everything in sight.

No.

Have a wank.

I can't just have a wank.

I need three days' notice to have a wank!

You can just stand there and do it.

Me, it's like organizing D-day.

Forces have to be assembled,

magazines bought...

the past dredged

for some suitably unsavory episode...

the dogged thought of which

can still produce a faint flicker of desire.

"Have a wank."

It'd be easier to raise the Titanic.

- And don't write it down.

- Its only my diary.

- Do you read it?

- Ive told you, no.

My mom did. I used to have to put

the dirty bits in shorthand.

Only time it's been of any use.

Im sorry, I can't help you.

My secretary does shorthand,

but Im on my own here.

Well, dear,

you'll just have to use your imagination.

Mother, didn't you once do shorthand?

Yes, for about five minutes.

Its this playwright John's working on.

He went to secretarial school as a boy

and took shorthand.

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