Arise, My Love Page #4

Cameras are delicate machinery.

I'll keep saying it.

Never mind him.

He's a bit crazy. Come sit down.

Now, about your early life.

My mother was a manic depressive

and my father was homicidal.

I'm not surprised.

If you think I'll going to tell you

the story of my dull life, you're...

- You were born in Cleveland?

- Yes, Miss Nash.

But today I'm in Paris

and they have a guillotine here

for people who work at this hour.

It's ten of eight.

Alright.

But on the Champs Elysees,

the lights are bursting in bloom,

the restaurant wines

are growing cold,

orchestras are limbering up

their fingers,

and women are putting

perfume behind their ears.

And you want me to tell you

about when I was in diapers?

Anything of interest?

- Have you ever been to Maxim's?

- Tourist stuff.

That doesn't mean anything to you?

Red plush and gilt,

women's shoulders, a waltz,

crepes suzette

and a wine card so big

you could hide behind it.

- L'amour.

- Alright, I'amour.

I'm devoting my first evening to it.

Also my second, third and fourth!

- That's a lot of amour.

- I was in jail a long time.

- I reserved a table for 21:00.

- I won't go, Mr. Martin.

You won't go! Who invited you?

I'm meeting somewhere there.

With perfume behind her ears?

In fact, she's a Romanian.

And she's got the cutest lisp.

- Really?

- That's enough. I'm getting dressed.

- I'll be back tomorrow morning.

- I'd better warn you.

Last time I stepped out in Paris

I left Monday and came back Thursday.

Tom, come on. This is no joke.

I've a deadline to meet.

And I have to meet life and love

with outstretched arms.

When we were in that plane,

I knew you were a stinker.

Just when I was about to make

a soft-hearted suggestion.

What?

- Do you know about Romanians?

- No.

They have no sense of time.

The lady I'm meeting

is notoriously late.

She always keeps me waiting.

You can come to Maxim's with me

until she arrives.

I take notes between

the plush and crepes suzette?

When the lady comes, I expect you

to run along quickly, okay?

Don't worry. There'll be

no Balkan entanglements.

Martini?

Emil, two Martinis.

When the hot dog stand got

tangled up with your landing gear,

was that your only serious accident?

- Except when I broke my legs.

- When was that?

When I jumped off the barn

with my mom's umbrella as parachute.

That's wonderful

That goes way back here.

Rather unusual that,

isn't it?

Undoubtedly, Your Lordship.

A secretary taking shorthand

in Maxim's.

I wonder what they do

in the office.

Monsieur's table has been ready

for 15 minutes already.

Excuse me.

- Did you ever meet Lindbergh?

- No.

Sir, your table's been ready

for some time.

I'm waiting for a lady.

- Then you will be three?

- No.

No, he's waiting for the feature.

I'm the newsreel.

Very well, Monsieur.

You never met Lindbergh, but where

were you when he made his flight?

Hunting in Canada.

Didn't hear about it for two months.

No... No.

No. You were in New York,

one of the million cheering throats

waving flags as he rolled up the avenue.

That's where you decided

to "fly or die", right?

- You don't mind a little embroidery?

- No, not a bit.

Thanks Consider the word

"stinker" withdrawn.

Chasseur!.

- Get me the flower girl.

- Yes, Monsieur. Thank you.

Gusto.

Do you believe in give and take?

Within limits.

How about me asking you

a question? For some advice?

Shoot.

The last time I saw the Romanian,

we had quite a row.

It was my fault. She thought

I was abrupt and out of control.

Not you.

How can I erase a footprint that

looks like it was left by a heel?

That sounds almost human.

You see, I'm crazy about her.

She's swell, but has standards

and I'm kind of heavy handed.

And I don't know

how to handle the situation.

- The flower girl, sir.

- Thank you.

- The gentleman wants flowers?

- Yes, please.

Roses, violets?

I don't know one from another.

What shall I get?

- Nothing routine.

- No.

- How about that jasmine?

- Those little bitty things?

Smell them.

- Wonderful. Chasseur!.

- Sir?

- Put these on my table, please.

- Yes, sir.

- How much?

- 50 francs.

- That's alright.

- Thank you, you're very kind.

- Thank you.

- That's alright.

Let's see. Commercial aviation,

stunt flying...

- Were you ever a test pilot?

- No, that was Gable.

Isn't that your lady?

- No, mine's much more attractive.

- Than?

Frankly, I don't think the flowers

are enough to change things.

- What do you suggest for drinks?

- I'm not an expert on alcohol.

I remember once,

on the le-de-France,

I met a beautiful London doctor.

A woman's specialist,

and that's just what he was.

He told me I was pale and prescribed

something for my blood pressure:

champagne with a dash

of creme de menthe.

Any good?

After two glasses,

I was taking his pressure.

I wanted to be his nurse.

I begged him to remove my tonsils.

- Fortunately, a storm came up.

- Champagne and creme de menthe?

- Emil!

- Yes, sir.

- Two champagne and creme de menthe.

- Yes, sir.

About what proportion?

Fill the stem and then

a little of the base.

About right?

Check that.

- Too much mint.

- More champagne. Mine, too.

That's perfect. Try it.

- Here's to your success.

- Here's to yours.

Tickles the spinal cord.

I was thinking, when she comes,

after dining and dancing,

why hide behind the wine card?

What do you suggest?

Change of pace.

Take her out of here,

where there's a breeze

and some stars.

Fine an old fiacre and drive

up a cobbled street to Montmartre.

Don't talk. Not a word.

Just sit and wait.

Count the clops of the hooves

on the cobbles.

Count to a thousand.

Then, just possibly,

kiss her.

- Chasseur!.

- Sir?

- Call me a fiacre.

- Yes, sir.

The Romanian lady may loathe horses

and jasmine and get sick on creme.

Do you think the dancing

is absolutely essential?

My waltz is bad but my rumba

is a public scandal.

Just hold her tight

and let the music tell you.

Would you help me

brush up a little?

- Sure, but if she comes?

- I'll watch the door.

- You're not bad at all.

- Wait 'til I hit an air pocket.

- Ask them for a waltz.

- Any particular one?

There's an old one I love,

but I don't think they'll know it.

Let's ask.

"Dream Lover".

Do you know an old tune

called "Dream Lover"?

"Dream Lover"?

How does it go?

Is this it?

- That's right.

- We call it "Ma Chrie".

- Number 22.

- They call everything chrie.

You want some good advice?

There's nothing like the sentiment

you get from an old song.

I've loved this one for years.

My big sister's beau

used to sing it.

He had a terrible voice

but a lot of feeling.

They used to dance

out on the porch.

There were fireflies

and hydrangea bushes.

- Wish I knew the words.

- lf I remember, they were awful.

Dream lover,

your romance has found me.

I...

No.

Dreams never tell.

We two can leave the world

behind us.

Nobody indiscreet can find us.

- It's 22:
00.

- Is it?

She's late,

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