September

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J'aime beaucoup

de choses la campagne.

J'aime les fleurs, j'aime les arbres.

Um...

Et quoi d'autre?

Quoi d'autre?

Oui, les collines peut-tre?

Les animaux, les oiseaux.

Oui, oui.

Et pensez-vous que la campagne est

plus tranquille que la ville? Par exemple.

Oui, mais pas assez excitante.

- Uh, quand j'ai venu ici...

- Quand je suis venue.

Oh, gosh. How many times

have I made that mistake?

It's common among my pupils.

It's what they most often get wrong.

Oh, what's the difference?

If and when I ever get to visit Paris again,

I'll have long forgotten all my French.

- I must be going.

- No!

Stay. It's still early.

- I mean, what are you gonna do at home?

- Nothing special.

Right. I mean, how many times

can you putter around the garden?

God!

I can't believe my mother.

She's out there...

She's made friends with Peter and

is trying to get him to write her biography.

Her stupid life. "As told to."

Oh, come on, now.

She'll be gone in a couple of days.

Yeah, that's what you said last week.

Time passes and she's still here.

Oh, look at this. She will not stop picking

the flowers, which I asked her not to do.

She doesn't even put them in water,

so of course they die.

Walking around in a snit

is not gonna make the time go any faster.

When I ask Peter if he wants to go for a

drive or walk, he's busy writing his novel.

But he's got plenty of time

to stroll around the lake with her.

- You must admit she tells funny stories.

- See? Men.

She certainly hasn't lost her knack.

- Somehow I thought Peter'd be different.

- Lane, it's your mother.

- Is that when you dated Errol Flynn?

- Oh, I was too old for Errol Flynn.

I mean, I met him when I was 16.

For Errol, 15 was over the hill.

Lane, I invited the Richmonds for drinks

tonight. I thought we might have a party.

What did you do that for? Peter and I were

supposed to see the new Kurosawa film.

- Sorry. Why didn't you say something?

- I did.

That's OK. We can catch it another night.

OK, but it's only there tonight.

- Where was I?

- How we met.

Oh! lt was like a bad movie.

We both hailed the same taxicab.

- We shared a cab and fell in love.

- And I know nothing about physics.

- So what did you talk about?

- Talk? By the time the meter hit $3...

- ..she had her tongue in my ear.

- Oh! Lloyd!

How nice. I drop in to visit my daughter

and she has a writer renting her cottage.

I'm trying to write.

I think my life story

would make a sure-fire bestseller.

I know. I remember reading

about your exploits in the paper.

You're too young, but anything,

whatever your dad read, it's all true.

No, I remember your picture in the long

defunct New York Journal-American...

..with an actor named

Jeff Chandler, who you dated.

What a memory.

What a memory! That was Palm Beach!

I love Palm Beach!

That's where Lloyd and I were heading

when I decided to stop off to see Lane.

Um... I hadn't seen her, you know,

since she... took the pills.

God, that had to be six, eight months ago.

Boy, what some people will do for love.

Or the lack of it.

Of course, I understand.

I mean, if you've never had something...

..and then you experience it

and then it's taken away...

Wow. Poor kid.

Try and stroke the ball to the rhythm of

the music. It'll give you a smooth motion.

- Yeah, but the music's so fast.

- Keep it rhythmic, and keep your eye...

Steffie, Mrs Mason thinks

she's got me an offer on the house.

That's great. Congratulations.

Two. Not great. But,

after everything's paid off,...

..there'd be something to put a down

payment on an apartment in New York.

I can get two for mine,

and it's half your acreage.

Well, I can't really afford to be choosy.

At least I have a customer.

I think. I hope, at least.

Don't give it away.

I can lend you what you need.

No, Howard. Oh, God, no.

Thank you, though.

No. You've been... You've been

incredible to me through all this,...

- ..but I've gotta try and get my own life...

- What can you do in New York?

I don't know. I...

Maybe my photography again. I was...

Or sometimes I think

about writing, but I don't know.

It's awful, isn't it, at my age

to be floundering around so?

I just... I don't know what I want.

A child. I'd love to have a child.

Lane, did you, by any chance,

finish those chapters I gave you?

- Yeah, almost. They're wonderful.

- I thought about them. I'm discouraged.

- You shouldn't be. You're wrong.

- I just wanna start over, again.

You can't tear up

everything you write, you know.

Otherwise of course you have

to take tranquillisers to calm down.

It seems so futile.

I was supposed to be finished by now.

Next week is Labor Day.

I have to be back at my job the day after.

If you wouldn't let

my mother seduce you...

Now, her life would make

a fascinating book.

Why? What's so fascinating

about her frivolous existence?

That she left my father,

who was a wonderful man,...

..for a gangster who beat her up?

You think that's compelling?

Was it the shooting? That wasn't

fascinating. That was pathetic.

Maybe it's that she's a survivor, and

the book I'm writing is about surviving.

You're right. She went on with her life,

but I get stuck with the nightmares.

Excuse me. Uh...

Diane wanted some ice cubes

and you seem to be out.

Um, there's a... there's an ice machine

just outside the back door.

And you're wrong to think your mother

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