A Letter to Three Wives Page #7

But why? To what purpose?

Well, if you must know,

there are editors leaving,

and I thought you'd be perfect for the job.

$175 a week to start.

Come here.

Sit down for a minute.

Look, Reet, let's put aside my nausea

at the idea of working for the Manleighs.

Let's put aside my personal likes

and dislikes. They're not important.

Im willing to admit

that to a majority of my fellow citizens,

Im a slightly comic figure,

an educated man.

Nobody's asking you not to be.

Think of the good you could do.

- Maybe raise the standard.

- Of commercial radio?

What's the phrase, "Wait for your laugh"?

Im a schoolteacher. That's even worse

than being an intellectual.

Schoolteachers are not only comic,

they're often cold and hungry

in this richest land on Earth.

And thousands are quitting every year

to take jobs that pay them a decent living.

- That is unhappily true.

- Then why not you?

Because I can't think of myself

doing anything else.

What would happen,

do ya think, if we all quit?

Who'll teach the kids?

Who'd open their minds and hearts

to the real glories of the human spirit

past and present.

Who'd help them along to the future?

Radio sponsors? Comic strips?

At that, Ive been luckier than most.

Even without what you earn, Ive managed

to keep our heads above water.

Its quite a strain over a period of time

with the water lapping at your chin.

That's where you've been a great help.

You've made it a lot easier for both of us.

Ill admit is has upset

my male ego from time to time.

And your overdeveloped

sense of taste and discrimination,

which is apparently equaled

only by that of Addie Ross.

Let's try to keep Addie out of this one.

I am fed up with taste and discrimination.

You're not making sense.

Im fed up with your nobility

and wisdom and superiority

and your contempt for me

in everything I try to do.

You're talking nonsense.

Everything I say is nonsense.

Its all this work. You're overtired.

You do too much.

What do you suggest I stop doing,

this moronic radio trash

- with which I pay most of your bills?

- Now calm down.

And what do I go back to,

washing, scrubbing, ironing,

and a life of taste and discrimination?

Im fed up with Addie Ross!

- What's it all about, really?

- "If music be the food of love, play on."

"Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,

the appetite may sicken, and so die."

From Twelfth Night, by Mr. Shakespeare,

which Addie and I played in high school.

I thought it was a very clever note.

And there was more to it

than a childhood memory.

Yes, there was,

but we won't go into that.

We're going to get a few things

straightened out once and for all. Sit down.

- Yes, professor.

- Sit down!

Seven years ago I made the most perfect

marriage ever devised

by man, heaven or radio.

My wife was an independent,

understanding woman.

We thought the same thing

about everything, from baseball to Brahms.

In those seven years, I was never

contemptuous of you. I was proud.

But when that drooling pap

began to change you,

when your independence turned to fear,

when I watched you snivel and grovel

around those two walking commercials,

I didn't like it, and I don't like it.

I don't want to be married to Linda Gray,

Brenda Brown or even Myrtle Tippet.

I want my own wife back.

Why didn't George

go fishing?

Why the blue suit?

Lora Mae?

Lora Mae, are you ready?

Oh.

My, all that running, hiking and baseball,

your feet must be ready to drop off.

Ive covered more ground in Porter's store

from the notion's counter,

- just back and forth to the water cooler.

- How's it feel, Lora Mae?

Porter spreading out on a national scale,

gonna be a big merchant prince.

How's it supposed to feel?

No more small towns for Porter.

He'll be after the big cities.

He'll be after, what is it

he always calls it, class?

Look, why don't I save you a lot of trouble

and tell you what you want to know,

and you can tell Debby and that'll

keep you busy until Im dressed.

I don't know whether Porter ran off

with Addie, but get this, I don't care.

Ive got everything I want.

For instance?

Some time we'll spend a week

at the old Finney mansion

down by the tracks and Ill go into detail.

Right now, Id better get dressed.

You know what?

I think you're worried.

I think you're just as worried

as the rest of us.

Ive got everything I want.

Maybe you haven't

got everything you wanted after all.

Maybe you haven't got

everything that you wanted after all.

- Your bet.

- How much you got in front of you?

About $11,000.

That's my bet.

- Okay, what do you got?

- Ace high.

- Your next?

- Jack.

Nine. You win. Beer?

Yeah, if you're all out of champagne.

Ma! Just because she's going out

with Mr. Porter Hollingsway,

does she have to stay in the bathroom

for almost an hour?

You oughtn't to run around like that.

You'll get consumption.

Lora Mae, let your sister

get in the bathroom!

After all, Ive got a date,

too, a respectable date.

- That's your sister you're talking about.

- I don't care.

I think it's disgusting.

He's 35 if he's a day.

I wish I was that disgusting again.

- Your sister knows what she's doing.

- They all know what they're doing.

They're always going to wind up

being supervisors or buyers or something.

Well, Porter Hollingsway

knows what he's doing too.

Lora Mae, didn't you hear

what Ma said?

And how do you think I feel

having my friends talk about my sister?

Your sister's a decent girl,

like I hope you are.

And there's nothing wrong

in going out with the boss,

if it'll bring a couple of bucks

into the house.

Nothing wrong?

No, nothing wrong.

Then she'll wind up with a steak dinner

and that's all.

Are you looking for another smack?

Ma, will you please make her get out?

- Oh, all right. Lora Mae...

- Yes, Mother?

You don't own that bathroom, you know.

There's other people in this house.

But you're such a quiet little thing, dear,

one never knows you're about.

I still think it's disgusting.

How do I look?

If I was you,

Id show more of what I got.

- Maybe wear something with beads.

- What I got don't need beads.

What's your new job gonna be,

something secret, like a spy?

Something you can't

talk about in the office?

All right, so Im gonna disgrace

the fair name of Finney.

Wait till it snows and throw me

out in the street.

Im beginning to think your sister's right.

And to think a daughter of mine...

How many payments are you

behind on that icebox?

Not for all the iceboxes.

They can come and take it away,

though heaven knows

it's one of the few joys I have in life.

They're not gonna take it away,

and I know what Im doing.

Remember, you're my daughter

and a decent girl.

Come on, Ruby, lay off her.

- Its him.

- I guess so.

Have you got everything?

Where's your purse?

Right there.

He's out in front in a car a block long.

- Well, what are you waiting for?

- Relax.

He just blew his horn again.

- It ain't Gabriel. Relax.

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