Lorraine: So, how's it going over in Burbank with you guys?
Michael': Well, it got real exciting one night - Sullivan had Presley on. It could be worse... I guess.
Lorraine': Well, Michael, hardly any of my friends - probably none -were married at 18 and had a kid at 19. That's got to be hard.
Michael: You live with those sick beatniks in Venice. Most of my friends who grew up with me are married. That's how we all became men.
Lorraine: We're not sick. We're just horny.
Michael: Well, maybe I'll come and visit you one day... if you promise me that you won't play that record.
Lorraine: You don't like Chet Baker?
Michael: I don't understand it. It has no beat. I mean, how do you dance to it?
Lorraine: Try listening to the feelings, Michael.
Joannie: Listen, Roslyn, I've been thinking.
Roslyn: After what I just heard, you were not thinking.
Joannie: Come on, come on. This is serious. This is our lives, not some dress rehearsal. I'm tired of being some slave. I spent my whole life watching my mother cook and clean, never leave the house, never leave the valley. She died looking a hundred. She was only 45. She started out just like us - love in Hollywood High. Next thing you know, there's no money, no love, nothing. She raised all of us. So what? She broke her ass like a Mexican maid, and maybe every two weeks, she'd scrape together a few pennies for a hair set and wash, reading her Hollywood magazines for her high on Hollywood boulevard next to the studios. Big deal.
Roslyn: You're having an affair, aren't you?
Joannie: We have to live before we die. We're kids playing mothers to kids... and that includes our so-called husbands.
[Michael is watching TV when the phone rings]
Joey: I'm gonna take her clothes off real slow... till she's begging for it. And then I'm only going to give it to her... when she admits that you're a piece of shit -
[Michael hangs the phone up]
Michael: [after seeing her sniff a line of cocaine] What kind of dinner is that?
Michael: What are you doing?
Lorraine: I'm going to New York to open a whorehouse, Michael.
Michael: Look, Lorraine, I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said before.
Lorraine: I know you didn't, Michael. But I'm going to New York with Jack. It got too stuffy here.
Michael: I don't get it, Lorraine.
Lorraine: You really want to know?
Lorraine: You've got these rules, Michael... but whose rules are they? Whose dream are you buying into? You've been angry for so long you don't even know it. We're all scared... but somehow we don't believe that babies, TV sets, two-car garages and McCarthy are going to make us happy. You think Roslyn did something wrong. Maybe in your world she did, but in our world she's just fighting for some sort of freedom - freedom from slavery she can't even explain. Don't you see, Michael? Life is not wall-to-wall carpeting with half down and the rest of your life to pay. You and I had a good time, some tenderness... but you can't even enjoy it because somewhere in your mind it was dirty... un-American. Figure out what you want, Michael. I'm not sure time is on your side. At any rate... adios. I'll send you the bill.