DIANA: Well, Max, here we are. Middle-aged man reaffirming his middle-aged manhood and a terrified young woman with a father complex. What sort of script do you think we can make out of this? I’m the hip generation, man, right on, cool, groovy, the greening of America, man, remember all that? God, what humbugs we were. In my first year at college, I lived in a commune, dropped acid daily, joined four radical groups and f—d myself silly on a bare wooden floor while somebody chanted Sufi sutras. I lost six weeks of my sophomore year because they put me away for trying to jump off the top floor of the Administration Building. I’ve been on the top floor ever since. Don’t open any windows around me because I just might jump out. Am I scaring you off?
I was married for four years and pretended to be happy and had six years of analysis and pretended to be sane. My husband ran off with his boyfriend, and I had an affair with my analyst. He told me I was the worst lay he ever had. I can’t tell you how many men have told me what a lousy lay I am. I apparently have a masculine temperament. I arouse quickly, consummate prematurely, and can’t wait to get my clothes back on and get out of that bedroom. I seem to be inept at my work and so I confine myself to that. All I want out of life is a 30 share and a 20 rating.
Is your wife in town? Well, then, we better go to my place.
