i'm going home. let's do the press fax tomorrow.
hey!
yo! officer!
your seatbelt.
hello.
my lawyer respectfully suggests you adjust the speaker-system volume.
they're practicing being cruel and unusual.
i need it for billy's appeal.
sorry. have a seat.
yeah, known benny most my life. met the summer after 4th grade, spent the day burning ants with his dad's magnifying glass. we called it playing 'execution.'
since i grew up in foster homes, he's become the only family i have.
we agreed minimal contact would be easier. please don't mention her, or my son.
how should we start?
think. what do you fantasize about? world peace? thought so. money-fame-ferrari? a pulitzer? nobel? m.t.v. music award? a genius hunk -- ostensibly bad but secretly simmering with noble passions, and willing to sleep on the wet spot?
a victoria's secret model -- just slumming between law school and running her family's vastly endowed foundation for tragically sad-eyed children?
okay, good, you see lucan's point. fantasies must be unrealistic. the minute you get something, you don't, you can't, want it anymore. to exist, desire needs absent objects. so desire supports itself with crazy fantasies.
this is what pascal means when he says the only time we're truly happy is when day-dreaming about future happiness.
or why we say, 'the hunt is sweeter than the kill' or 'be careful what you wish for.'
not because you'll get it, but because you're doomed not to want it if you do. think about it next time you're at a wedding.
there usually is, berlin.
anything, huh?
anything?
tell you what, i'll give you good grade, a really good grade, if you will.  . study.
hey.
'yes, virginia, the people of this state have overwhelmingly affirmed the reality of santa.'
tell me again why you aren't doing the debate.
i hadn't noticed.
that's not what i meant.
'governor, you bat a lovely lash for a woman who executed thirty eight last year.'
anything else?
i'm going to greer's party. fax them to sharon's number at the house.
apropos playing mother.
did you mark your calendar?
only three. that's great, huh?
what's he doing in here?
where's your laser gun?
that's 'cause you're a special-duper- super-quadruper boy. who's now going to sleep.
who loves you?
ooooh. good night, son.
good night, cloud dog.
back before midnight.
rest assured.
meinen herren.
spain.
looks like sharon's affair is an open secret.
yep.
he mentioned it.
it's called schmuck.
the part of the foreskin that gets thrown away. i think it's called schmuck.
black bush.
for what it's worth, i didn't know about the suspension.
more like a conciliation.
there once was a lesbian from canjuom, who took a young man to her room, and they argued all night, as to who had the right, to do what, how, and to whom.
enough. that's enough.
i'm done.
don't think i want to know what that means.
cute.
berlin, this, this is not.
what?
sorry. yeah.
and 'almost martyrs' don't count.
um-hum.
what?
i can listen and appear to listen at the same time. yeah, no. damn, i left it home.
nothing. everything. something profoundly stupid happened last night.
it was berlin.
constance, you're not my wife. thank god.
i didn't mean --
are you okay?
so you don't subscribe to the idea that 'a good state is one that protects its most despised members'?
it's a quote from you, governor, from your first state attorney campaign.
so, basically you feel, to choose another quote, 'society must be cleansed of elements which represent its own death.'
no, ma'am. that was hitler.
governor, can't we examine the possibility that capital punishment isn't working. that murderers aren't deterred by the law because they have about as much forethought as lemmings. that it's expensive, inequably administered, that.
that we may even be killing innocents.
dead men can't make a case.
thank you, governor.
of course.
look, i wanted you to do this anyway.
what's that supposed to mean?
look, guys, there's not much more to say --
what, arguing with the governor is a crime?
berlin had my bite marks, bruises, ripped clothing. my skin was beneath her nails. it didn't look like anything but rape. two days later she called the d.a., said she wouldn't testify, too drunk to be sure, etc. on the plane home, sharon read about her husband's rape case being dropped.
finger authority, show she was smarter than the powers that be.
first year in here i received a card postmarked san francisco. it wasn't signed, but i suspect it was from her -- the front had the text 'sex is power.'
yeah. it said, 'i'm sorrier than you can know.' see you tomorrow, ms. bloom.
off-the-record?
constance was murdered with what's called the securitat method. you're hand-cuffed, forced to swallow the key, taped at the mouth, a bag's sealed over your head and you're left to suffocate. the securitat did this to romanians who wouldn't inform or confess. sometimes the bag was ripped off at the last second, you got a second chance. if not, you die knowing the 'key' to your freedom was inside you the whole time. a cheap-but-effective metonym. problem is i mentioned the method in an early article. the prosecution never knew.
it's more than that.
there was a tripod.
not a single print was found on it. someone brought it, wiped it, left it. why? it's as if they wanted me to know that somewhere there's a record of what really happened that afternoon. as if they wanted me to die knowing the key to my freedom was.  out there.
ms. bloom. i'm an anti-death row activist on death row. doesn't that strike you as odd?
no.
but i have someone on it, someone i'm hoping will one day find an answer.
a journalist.
'she's a smart one.'
who's your hero?
call me when you get to boston?
i wish you --
after awhile, crocodile.
okey-dokey, artichokey.
okay?
well?
how did ross vote?
and you?
so, i wanted to get your feedback on the idea.
so my chances of getting partial custody aren't good?
i feel.  washed.
nothing like i need you, both. you're all i have.
jo ann will be commuted and you'll only prove the system works.
where'd you get those?
hey! she ever not make you work when you come by?
what's her story?
constance, who did she kill?
she admit to it?
you're a crazy woman. not your medium grade thinks-she's-teddy roosevelt's- bathrobe, but stark-raving-loose- screws-in-the-belfry insane.
a real danger to flora and fauna.
and how.
you're burning up.
hello, folks.
gladly.
latte on your left, partner.
sharon, pick up. for once just pick up the goddamn phone! if you keep him in spain, i'll.  i'm begging you. he's my son! please! please.  please.
we're seeking refuse, refuge, uge.
we fell off our wagon.
know why saint jude is the patron saint of lost causes? 'cause his real name was judas. there were two judases, judai, the saint guy and the bad judas who ratted on jesus, and tried to kiss him. medievalers wouldn't pray to good judas for fear of getting bad judas on the line by mistake. ergo, they only gave him business when really desperate. that's why. then they changed his name.
constance?
your mail's blowing.
fine. how's constance?
what?
constance has leukemia?
no, no.
when i asked why she hadn't told me, she muttered, 'too busy.' i guess she figured as long as death was chasing her, she could help others escape.
constance left the world better than she found it. it's a small, difficult thing.
okay, okay. calm down. you have to sit.
sorry. look at me. he's not your man. his name is dusty wright, deathwatch director before constance. he's a 'bullhorner,' a zealot who thinks a good demonstration has to end in a riot and arrests. 'almost martyrs don't mean shit.' they fired him. constance kept him in the organization, and he loved her for it. the man adored her.
he and benny used to work a.c.l.u. cases together, until dusty punched a clansman in a federal court. benny sometimes still gives him work, probably had him follow you.
to make sure you honored your agreement, one for which there's no contract.
he's a lawyer, ms. bloom.
i wasn't 'seeing' constance.
it's more complicated than that.
denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. where are you?
denial's my personal favorite.
mending bridges.
no regrets?
me, too.
how much.  how many lovers have you had?
including college.
well, it's.  not every.  yeah, you should have had more sex.
i see you.
want to make it five? finish the hand?
it wouldn't be pity.
are you okay?
i'm here. happy. i'm very happy.
i'm here.
it's okay.
okay.
shhh. i'm staying.
it's okay. i'm inside. i'm not pulling out.
i know, i know.
shhh.
i'm here. it's okay.
shhh. i'm here. i'm here.
rescued. you?
let's say they move back from spain, that i somehow got my one weekend a month. would it matter? by high school, i'd be his weak spot, the focus of locker room jabs, embarrassed pride. in college there'd be late- night angst: 'what if i turn out like the old man?' holidays would be forced smiles and unscheduled exits. i mean, what girl comes home with you if there's talk that pops is a rapist?
i can't stand the idea of being his model of failure. without him, i drink. to cover the hole. to prove to myself he's better off without me.
sorry, just leaving.
if i could answer.  we wouldn't be having this conversation. it's why i need you, why i chose you. you have my story, now.  'go.'
you'll find time.
you're not here to save me. you're here to save my son's memory of his father -- that's all i want.
we live to stop death. eating, inventing, loving, praying, fighting, killing -- choose a verb. all to stall this evil, job's 'king of terrors.' but what do we really know about it? nobody comes back. there's a point, when your mind out-lives its obsessions, when your habits survive your dreams, when your losses.  you wonder, maybe death is a gift. all i know is that by this time tomorrow, i'll be better off. what i don't know is why. goodbye, bitsey.
i couldn't watch.
it helped her to think her death would save me.
yeah. almost martyrs don't count.