Twelve Page #2

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- What the f*** is the matter with you, Charles?

- I'm gonna need some more.

Think I got time

to be out here bullshitting with you?

- Man, What?

- I'll get it to you tomorrow.

Come here with that bullshit.

Where my money, Charlie?

No, I'm sorry. You're right. No, I f***ed up.

Get the f*** over here.

Give me the f***ing money,

you White junkie-ass b*tch.

I got your money.

Give me the f***ing money.

- Oh, sh*t.

- Get back, all right?

- Chill out, man.

- Just give me the sh*t, Lionel. Just give me the sh*t.

Relax, man. You got What you want.

Here's the TWelve, man. Take it.

Relax, man.

- Yo, it's Charlie. Not here.

Yo, Charlie. It's your cousin.

Call me back, man.

Hey.

Chris Kenten throws parties for people...

he doesn't really know

and doesn't really like...

and pretends to enjoy them

because he thinks he should.

Hey, you want to come in?

Uh- No. I'm good.

You guys have fun. Call me.

Oh, sh*t.

That's White Mike.

No sh*t.

- Oh, Ludlow, I love you so much!

- Ladies.

Yo, White Mike. Hold up, man. Hold up.

- What's up, buddy?

- Yo, We gotta smoke some bowls tonight.

- Rothko. Cool it.

- And then We can find some hos.

You thuglings gotta quit smoking Weed.

Mark Rothko is called Mark Rothko...

- because on a school trip to the Met-

- Hey!

He careened into

the real Mark Rothko's Untitled #12.

Oh, sh*t!

The painting had to be restored.

He has no ideq

who the real Mark Rothko was...

but he likes the name.

- ##

- You're Sara Ludlow.

- You know me?

- Everyone knows Who you are.

It's not too packed.

It's early. Where's your boyfriend?

Driving in from Southampton.

- Is your brother here?

- No.

Alissa Royston Reade...

thought there were only two people

at this party she'd want to talk to-

Roy Llewelyn Frowick,

who is the last word on fashion...

and Tobias, the hot male model.

Hi.

- How are you?

- Good. How are you?

Yo, White Mike is a douche bag.

They developed it.

It's really not that complicated.

Toxic sludge spills over Cte d'Ivoire,

a bunch of Africans fall over dead.

- Hey.

- Hi.

How are ya?

Who was driving that boat?

A Greek tanker flying a Panamanian flag.

- Molly, What are you doing?

- Hey, Michael.

Molly Norton.

Her father had once worked

for White Mike's father as a waiter.

They've been friends ever since childhood.

He always kept her separate

from the privileged world he grew up in.

Now he lies about his current career.

How is working for your dad?

Are you glad you took the year off?

Yeah, no. It's good, you know.

I'm just, um- I'm learning a lot, Which is nice.

And l- I'm working so much...

I can practically run the place

with my eyes closed, so that's good.

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