Bluebeard's Eighth Wife Page #3

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Did you pay him?

What do you think?

You know, the same thing happened

to me once with a doctor,

in the middle of an operation.

Do you realize I'm probably the only

living man with just one tonsil?

(LAUGHS) Albert, I'd like

to talk to you seriously.

Do you think that's

possible, by any chance?

Money troubles?

Let's sit down.

(PEOPLE CHATTERING)

Oh, it's terrible.

We owe everybody.

Have you ever had a waiter look

at you with un-tipped eyes?

And the elevator boy.

When I say, "Fourth floor,"

he says, "Yes, mademoiselle,"

and makes a detour

through the basement.

It's humiliating.

Oh, I wish I could help you.

You can. You're the only

person I know who works.

Albert, how does one get a job?

Well, what can you do, Nicole?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You know,

it's incredible how useless I am.

I was thinking about it last night,

and I got terribly depressed.

And then I remembered that you found

a job, and that encouraged me a lot.

Hello.

Hello.

Someone you know?

I met him once.

Who is he?

All I know is he only sleeps

in the tops of his pajamas.

Oh, I see.

Hey, you.

Are you speaking to me?

(CHUCKLES) I beg your pardon.

I mean him.

Oh, he can't talk

to me like that.

I should hope not.

Well, don't worry,

I'll show him.

Good.

Well? Well?

Well, good morning.

(CLEARS THROAT) Morning.

Mind if I sit down? Sit down.

You know, I was just saying

to the lady I'm with, I said,

"Look, who's that good-looking

chap over there?" Yes.

You know, your face

looks familiar to me.

Oh, I know where we met. At the

races at Deauville last summer.

I wasn't at Deauville last

year, and neither were you.

I beg your pardon. You can't speak

to me like that. How dare you?

(RAISING VOICE) I said I was at the

races last summer. You weren't.

I wasn't? No.

(EXCLAIMS)

(GROANS)

(SOFTLY) How do you know?

I know everything about you.

You're the Count de Regnier.

You're a bank clerk, Paris branch

of the New York Discount Bank.

You get 2,000 francs a month,

and you're not worth it.

You work in Room Six

at the desk by the window,

and you spend most of your

time looking out the window.

Are you a detective?

No, I own the bank.

(STUTTERING) Oh, Mr. Brandon.

It's my boss.

Better not be

too rough with him.

Well, I don't know.

At your service, Mr. Brandon.

What are you doing

on the Riviera anyway,

when your vacation

was over last Friday?

Oh, was it? It's amazing

how time flies, isn't it?

Since you're here, you might

as well act as my secretary.

Yes, sir.

Take a letter. Yes, sir.

"Museum of Fine Arts, Hannibal,

Michigan." That's my hometown.

"Gentlemen,

within the next few days,"

"I am shipping you

the bathtub of Louis XIV."

You bought it?

Soon as I saw

your father's pants.

"They tell me said

bathtub is genuine.

"I can't guarantee this because I

wasn't around when Louis was bathing.

"But, in any case, it cost plenty.

Yours truly," and so forth.

Go to Room 307, type that and wait for me.

Here's the key.

Yes, sir. Sorry, Nicole.

I understand.

Still crazy about me?

(LAUGHS) Oh, it would be hard to

resist a man of your natural charm

and finesse, Mr. Brandon.

I love the delicate way

you talk to your employees

and still indicate that you're

not quite pleased with them.

You seem to be

a man full of innuendos.

I just try to make myself clear.

Are you staying here long?

Well, you never can tell.

You know, I'm pretty glad

I came to the Riviera.

Oh, yes, it's a lovely place.

Beautiful.

But the class of people who come

here gets worse every year.

And this year we seem to have

next year's crowd already.

It's been interesting

to meet you, Mr. Brandon.

How about marrying me?

How did you get here?

Just called the French navy.

A battleship dropped me.

Oh, yes, I forgot.

You're an important person.

Say, can I talk business with you?

Business?

I have a complaint.

Czechoslovakia.

Didn't it work?

It made matters worse. It reminded

me of you, I never shut an eye.

I couldn't get

you out of my mind.

A couple more nights like that

and I'd be a nervous wreck.

I'm in a bad way. You know,

I'm crazy about you.

Why, poor Mr. Brandon.

It's no joke.

The minute I saw you in that

store, I said to myself,

"There's the girl

I'm going to marry."

Does that seem kind of sudden?

Oh, no, no. A man in your

position can't waste time.

I believe in snap judgments.

That's the foundation of my business

and the secret of my success.

I act on the spur of the moment.

I act on impulse.

Now, Mr. Brandon,

don't be too spontaneous.

I hate overtures. Lovemaking

is the red tape of marriage.

It doesn't get you anywhere. I could

take you out for three months

and send you flowers

and all that flapdoodle,

and I wouldn't know any more

about you than I do right now.

It's only after the

marriage that you find out.

That you've got the wrong girl.

Or the right one.

Love and business, it's just

the same, you have to gamble.

You have to take chances.

Only yesterday

I took a chance in oil.

(EXCLAIMS) How is oil?

Fine. Went up five points.

How's steel?

Not so good. Say, are you

interested in finance?

(LAUGHING) I should say I am.

Gee, that's swell. We're

going to have a great time.

Yes.

(BOTH LAUGHING)

What do you say?

Pardon me, Mr. Brandon.

Was it "Yours very truly"

or "Very truly yours"?

Make it "Sincerely." Yes, sir.

Now, where were we?

On the stock market.

Oh, stop kidding. I'm asking

you to marry me, seriously.

Oh, let's not be

too hasty, Mr. Brandon.

Don't you want to know a little

something more about me?

Ask me a few questions before you

definitely make up your mind?

No. Not even how I feel

about this matter?

(LAUGHS) Well, I...

Oh, no, perhaps that doesn't

occur to a man with $50 million.

I haven't $50 million.

You haven't $50 million?

Not quite.

Oh, well, Mr. Brandon.

A man with your manners can't possibly

afford to have less than $50 million.

You're behaving

beyond your income.

I'll make the rest

of it if you say so.

I'm sure you will, any

morning before breakfast.

I'-.-'Ir. Brandon, you're terrific.

You're gigantic. You're breathtaking.

I wish someone would tell you

what I really think of you.

(MOTOR WHIRRING)

(BELL DINGING)

Come in.

How do you do, Mr. Brandon?

(DOOR CLOSING)

BRANDON:
Hello, Albert.

(GROANING)

Don't you feel well, sir? Is

there anything I can do for you?

I'm all shot to pieces.

I can't sleep anymore.

Well, about that letter, I'-.-'Ir.

Brandon, to the Museum of Fine Arts...

Albert, if you want to

keep your job with me,

don't you ever remind me of it.

Never mention the Marquis

or that daughter of his.

No, sir.

Lay off of pajama pants.

Yes, sir. I don't

want to hear any more

about the Riviera. No, sir.

Don't speak to me about France, and

keep away from Czechoslovakia.

Well, if it meets with your approval,

sir, I won't say anything.

Albert, you're a very sweet guy.

I forget, how much

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