I noticed you have a police dog in your house.
I saw its long snout and hairy prick.
It was carrying a gun and had a pot belly.
When I tried to pet him, he snarled and barked.
Jesus Christ. What’s up?
You having bad dreams? You expecting trouble?
It’s not what people normally see in the home of a ballerina,
That and the loaded shot gun. I notice too that you’re putting on weight.
Saw you out last night with your dog. That was him squatting over
the Palladino’s petunias.
I take it you don’t like flowers. You didn’t bother to pick it up.
The Italians threatened your life? How so?
You think the German Shepherd will protect you?
Tell me you had it trained to tear out the jugular; otherwise
you might as well forget it.
What do you mean he promised to cut off our genitals?
I’m not involved.
He thinks we’re lovers? He called me your husband?
Jesus Christ. How’d that happen? I barely know you.
No, I don’t think I’m prepared to sleep with you. Why
must we pretend to be married? You’re kidding.
You want a black eye so we look like we’re fighting?
But I don’t love you.
Okay, you can hang my underwear on your clothes line.
Fair enough. I’ll come over and you can do it with the lights on.
I’ll take the dog out right after.
I’m not leaving anything on the Palladino’s stairs. Absolutely not.
Look, you may have to get rid of it.
No, not divorce. An annulment. Right.
I’m not Catholic.
Howard Hughes is paying something like $100,000.
I have no problem with that.
You should be so lucky.
I’d guess three inches, no more than four.
It is against the law. Absolutely. And it should be.