first.
He always wants us to have a drink first.
The flop suicide of a flop writer.
All right, maybe you're not a writer.
Why don't you do something else?
Sure, take a nice job.
Public accountant, real estate salesman.
I haven't the guts, Helen.
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation.
I can't take quiet desperation.
But you are a writer. You have every quality for it.
Imagination, wit, pity...
Come on, let's face reality.
I'm thirty-three, I'm living on the charity of my brother.
Room and board free. Fifty cents a week for cigarettes.
An occasional ticket to a show or concert,
all out of the bigness of his heart.
And it is a big heart and a patient one.
-I've only been carrying you along for the time being.
-Shut up, Wick
I've never done anything, I'm not doing anything,
I never will do anything.
Zero, zero, zero.
-Now you shut up. We'll straighten it out.
-Look.
Wick has the misfortune to be my brother.
You just happened to walk in on this.
Now if you know what's good for you, you'll turn around
and walk out again and walk fast and don't turn back.
Why don't you make some coffee, Wick? Strong, three cups.
Look, Helen.
Do yourself a favor. Go on, clear out.
Because I've got a rival? Because you're in love with this?
You don't know me, Don.
I'm going to fight and fight and fight.
Bend down.
All right.
That was three years ago, Nat.
That's a long time to keep fighting, to keep believing.
She knows she's clutching a razor blade but she won't let go.
Three years of it.
And what? How does it come out?
I don't know. Haven't figured that far.
Want me to tell ya?
One day your guy gets wise to himself and gets back that gun.
Or, if he's only got a buck then, he goes up
to the Empire State Building, way up on top and then...
or he can do it for a nickel, in a subway under a train.
You think so, Nat?
What if Helen is right, and this guy sits down...
and turns out something good... but good...
and that pulls him up and snaps him out of it?
This guy? Not from where I sit.
Oh, shut up, Nat. I'm going to do it.
I'm going to do it now. It's all there. You heard it.
Yes, Mr. Birnam.
That's why I didn't go away on that weekend, see,
so I can be alone up there and sit down at my typewriter.
This time I'm going to do it, Nat. I'm going to do it.
-Maybe you will.
-Thank you, Nat.
-Am I all paid up?
-Yes, Mr. Birnam.
Goodbye, Nat.
I'm going home. This time I've got it. I'm going to write.
Good luck to you.
THE BOTTLE A Novel by Don Birnam
To Helen - With All My Love
You had another bottle, you know you did.
Where did you put it? You're not crazy. Where did you put it?
It was so beautiful, so wonderful,
the stars above us shone, we were alone,
we were alone...
Check please.
Right here, sir.
Yes sir?
Another gin vermouth, please.
Yes, sir.
Thank you.
-Where's your wash room?
-Over there, sir.
-How about a carnation for your buttonhole?
-No thank you.
Thank you, sir.
Wash your hands?
-Would you wipe my shoes?
-Yes, sir.
-Carnation, sir?
-I already took one.
-You did?
-For a very kind lady.
Yes, sir.
Thank you, sir.
That's him.
You were sitting here, sir?
I beg your pardon.
You took this lady's bag, didntcha?
All right, let's have it.
Of course.
Somebody call a cop.
No, George, no. It doesn't matter as long as I have the bag.
Well, look in it. Maybe he took something.
Ten dollars, to be exact.
-Why I ought to kick your teeth in.
-George, George! He's drunk.
Come on. Get out of here.
How about the check?
That's why I had to borrow from the lady.
I didn't have enough. I'll come back and pay the rest.
Don't you show your face in here again ever.
Mike! Take him out of here.
Somebody stole the purse, Everybody, Somebody stole the purse
I assure you, I'm not a thief. I'm not a thief!
Somebody came and...
he didn't even...
Stop it, Helen, stop it, stop it.
I'm all right. I just can't talk.
Please, stop it.
You'll never make it.
You'll never