Tom Ripley:
I want to tell you my plan.
Dickie Greenleaf:
So tell me.
Tom Ripley:
Well, I thought... I'd come back in the new year, under my own steam.
Dickie Greenleaf:
Really? To Italy?
Tom Ripley:
Of course. And I figured, just for argument's sake, say I got a place. Or say we split the rent on a house. I could get a job, or, better still, if I got a place in Rome, and then when we're there, we could be there, and when we're here, we could be here.
Dickie Greenleaf:
[uncomfortable] I don't think so.
Tom Ripley:
See, particularly with the Marge problem. You just blame me.
Dickie Greenleaf:
Marge and I are getting married.
Tom Ripley:
How?
Dickie Greenelaf:
[laughs] How?
Tom Ripley:
Yesterday, you were ogling girls on the terrace. Today you're getting married? That's absurd.
Dickie Greenleaf:
I love Marge.
Tom Ripley:
You love me. You're not marrying me.
Dickie Greenleaf:
Tom, I don't love you.
Tom Ripley:
No, I don't mean that as a threat.
Dickie Greenleaf:
To be honest, I'm-I'm a little relieved you're going. I think we've seen enough of each other for a while.
Tom Ripley:
What?
Dickie Greenleaf:
You can be leech! You know that. It's boring. You can be quite boring.
[long pause]
Tom Ripley:
The funny thing is I'm not pretending to be somebody else and you are...
Dickie Greenleaf:
Boring.
Tom Ripley:
I've been absolutely honest with you...about my feelings.
Dickie Greenleaf:
Boring..
Tom Ripley:
But you... first of all, I know there's something. That evening when we played chess, for instance, it was obvious.
Dickie Greenleaf:
[scoffs] What evening?
Tom Ripley:
Oh sure, no, no, it's too dangerous for you to take on. Oh, no, no, we're brothers. Hey. And then you do this sordid thing with Marge. Fucking her on the boat so we all had to listen. Which was excruciating! And you follow your cock around and now you're getting married! I'm bewildered, forgive me. You're lying to Marge and then you're getting married to her. You're knocking up Silvana. You're ruining everybody. You wanna play the sax, you wanna play the drums. I mean, which is it, Dickie? What do you actually play?!
Dickie Greenleaf:
[enraged] Who are you? Huh? Some third class mooch? Who are you? Who are you to say anything to me? Who are you to tell me anything?! [slaps Tom in the face] Actually I really, really do not want to be on this boat with you. I can't move without you moving. And it gives me the creeps. You give me the creeps! I can't move without you moving...
Tom Ripley:
Shut up...
Dickie Greenleaf:
...I can't breathe without you following me around! You move without [mocks Tom with a falsetto voice] "Dickie, Dickie, Dickie!", like a little girl all the time!
Tom Ripley:
SHUT UP! [hits Dickie in the side of the face with the oar he just grabbed. Dickie grabs his face with both hands. Tom, shocked, puts the oar down] Oh God, Dickie...
Dickie Greenleaf:
[with an unmarked cut on his face, suddenly split open causing his face to be disfigured with blood] For God's sake...
Tom Ripley:
Oh, God! OK. OK. We have to get... OK.
[Dickie suddenly lunges at him]
Dickie Greeneleaf:
You're dead! You're dead!
[Panicked, Tom hits Dickie several times with the oar, until he is finally still]
Tom Ripley':
Stop it! Stop it!
