HUMANITIS
329
PSYCHIATRIST:
Does he have that kind of money?
WINKLEMAN:
(Sitting)
Who knows? Not even me. The way I figure,
he must be practically ruined already.
PSYCHIATRIST:
Does he have the five hundred thousand?
WINKLEMAN:
I can't tell. He's such a big shot. I could get
him
a
con–
tract worth a million tomorrow,
if
he'd say yes.
PSYCHIATRIST:
I wish I could see his system at work. Is it funny? He's
a great comic. I laughed myself sick at his last movie.
The Handler
... He.
WINKLEMAN:
Oh, you're a fan? Well, there's nothing funny about
him
to
his
mind when he does his action-therapy. I'll show you. He
was
reconstructing the other day . . . His father used to own a candy
store in Williamsburg. Took bets, on the side. They lived behind the
store. Now, Bummidge, trying to recapture certain traumas of his
puberty. Now, he's fingering his sister's underwear in the dresser, and
she catches him. He acts just like a twelve-year-old. Voice cracking.
What a repulsive kid he was. He had green pimples, his ears stank,
his teeth were foul. He used to come to our house to masturbate.
There wasn't enough privacy at his . . . Anyway, he has a scene. He
gets
Imogen, his secretary to play his sister . . .
PSYCHIATRIST:
The secretary?
WINKLEMAN:
What do you think, I came to waste time about trifles?
Imogen, the secretary does stenotyping. A sweet kid. He keeps a body–
guard, too. In the old days, that meant class.
PSYCHIATRIST:
Fascinating. Yes? Well, show me.
WINKLEMAN:
You must grab me, as a sister would.
An
older sister.
Pretty mean, my cousin Madge. YeIling, "Ma, look what I caught
him
doing. Look what he's doing."
PSYCHIATRIST:
(Clutching
WINKLEMAN)
"Ma, look what I caught him
doing. Look what he's doing."
WINKLEMAN:
Excuse me, Doctor.
(He steps on his foot, heavily)
PSYCHIATRIST:
Ow! Yes, I see. You did that rather hard. Yes, yes, I
see.
(Takes off his shoe and sock, and rubs the injured plaCe)
WINKLEMAN:
Sorry, Doc. Now, I'm Bummidge, remember. "Oh, you
lousy sibling bitch. It's a trauma. It's a trauma."
(Staggers)-Then,
Doctor, he sits down. He recaptures the emotions. He fits them into
a general framework. He thinks, and thinks, and talks and talks,
and the girl takes it all down, and types it in triplicate, in leather
binders.
PSYCHIATRIST:
Yes. My, my. Quite elaborate, eh. I'd like to see
that
material.
