True Colors Page #4

- I know she'll want to talk to you.

- Say hi to her...

Baby! Janine, honey!

Baby! Janine!

Come on! We're married now.

We got two kids and it's good.

Hey, Peter.

Hey, Janine. You look good.

You, too. Different.

Happy New Year.

It's good seeing you guys.

- Nice to meet you.

- Nice to meet you, too.

Happy New Year. Let's belly up here.

Couple of beers!

- Just don't judge me, OK?

- I don't even know your name.

Peter Michael Bertkowski.

Born, New Haven, March 91959,

to Mike and Irene.

The mother left when he was ten.

The father, a Cutty Sark fan,

raised the boy, working sporadically

around the holidays.

People got the charitable urge.

Where were you Christmas?

School.

- Why did you lie to me?

- I thought you wouldn't be my friend.

Why would you think that

I'd give a sh*t about stuff like that?

Most people don't see the world

with the same eyes you do.

They're not so sure who they are,

not so happy with who they are.

You don't have to lie to me.

- You don't understand, man.

- Why don't you let me try?

I'm sorry, Tim.

The thing is,

these personal traits of your father's,

some you can't stand,

these come out in you.

There's nothing you can do,

any more than you can

about getting his ears

or his hairline...

You know, last weekend, right.

Diana, little thing.

Dinner before the movie.

Turns into a fight, no other reason

than me sticking to a goddamn plan.

My father exactly.

How?

He ran his house the same way

he runs his courtroom:

Confusing stubbornness with strength.

I knew what she meant.

Got even madder denying it.

Do you have any idea

what I'm talking about?

But you don't have

to become your old man.

It's not inevitable.

Not if you fight it with everything you got.

- Hey, Tim. Timmy!

- Yeah?

- Mine came!

- You got it!

All right. OK, on three.

Good luck! One, two, three!

- OK. "Department of Justice..."

- "After a considerable number..."

- "inform you of your acceptance..."!

- "...staff of Senator James B Stiles"!

Washington!

Yes. Look around. Here we are.

A lady writes, "Dear Senator,

My Oscar is a great admirer of yours,

"and every time you come on the TV

he sits in front to watch.

"And when they applaud your speech

he barks right along."

Oscar's her f***ing dog!

Now, "Oscar has been sick.

"Could the senator find time

to have a photograph taken with him?

"It would mean so much, you know."

Don't everybody look at once.

Senator Frank Steubens with

an unidentified blonde. Laminated.

Jesus!

- Jesus!

- She's a lobbyist.

America's family man toasted

with a blonde at Wah Fong's.

I like the papers on the table.

Nice touch. Working dinner.

They're drawing up a proposal

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