Don't you want a drink, Don?

What are you up to?

Nothing. I'm just ashamed of the way I talk to you - like a narrow-minded, insensitive, small-town teetotaler.

I told you, I don't feel like a drink. Not now.

Oh come on, Don, just one. I'll have one with you. I'm in no hurry. This is my easy day at the office.

Look Helen, there are a few things I want to put in order before Wick comes.

Let me stay. Please!

No! I don't want to sound rude, but I'm afraid you'll have to leave now.

Here, Don. [She hands him a drink glass]

You're very sweet. Goodbye...

You need this, Don. Drink it. I want you to drink it. I'll get you some more. I'll get you all you want.

What kind of talk is that?

It's just that I'd rather have you drunk than dead.

Who wants to be dead?

Stop lying to me.

[He wrestles the gun from her]

'Cause it's best all around for everybody. For you, for Wick, and for me...Look at it this way, Helen: this business is just a formality. Don Birnam is dead already. He died over this weekend...of a lot of things - of alcohol, of moral anemia, of fear, shame, DT's.

There were two Dons. You told me so yourself. Don the Drunk and Don the Writer.

Let's not go back to a fancy figure of speech. There's only one Don. He's through...I'm all right. I still have enough strength left.

I know you have. I can see it. Don't waste it by pulling a trigger, Don.

Oh, let me get it over with. Or do you want me to give you another one of my promises that I never keep?

I don't want you to give me your promise. I don't want you to give your promise to anybody but Don Birnam.

It's too late. I wouldn't know how to start.

The only way to start is to stop. There is no cure besides just stopping.

Can't be done.

Other people have stopped.

People with a purpose, with something to do.

You've got talent and ambition.

Talent, ambition. That's dead long ago. That's drowned. That's drifting around in the bloated belly of a lake of alcohol.

No, it isn't. You still have it.

Quit trying to stall me, Helen, it's too late. There's no more writing left in me. It's gone. What do you expect - a miracle?

Yes, yes, yes - if I could just make you...

[the buzzer sounds]

I found this floating around on the Nile. She writes pretty good. I oiled her up a little. And I didn't oil her up so you can hock her.

Someone somewhere sent it back - why? Because he means you to stay alive. Because he wants you to write. I didn't ask for a big miracle.