Breakfast at Tiffany's Page #2

Bye, cat.

You mean he gives you $100

for an hour's conversation?

Well, Mr O'Shaughnessy does

as soon as I meet him

and give him the weather report.

Look, it's none of my business,

but it sounds to me

like you could get in a lot of trouble.

Hold this for me, will you?

And what do you mean,

"weather report"?

Oh, that's just a message I give

Mr O'Shaughnessy.

So he'll know I've really been up there.

Sally tells me things to say like

"There's a hurricane in Cuba"

and, "It's cloudy over Palermo."

Things like that.

You don't have to worry.

I've taken care of myself for a long time.

Taxi!

-I never could do that.

-It's easy.

Paul.

I'm late. I know it.

Don't tell me you were locked out?

Didn't you get the key?

Oh, darling. I'm so sorry.

No, I got the key, all right.

Miss Golightly, my neighbour,

was kind enough to let me in.

Miss Golightly's on her way

to Sing Sing.

-Oh?

-Just visiting, of course.

Miss Golightly,

Mrs Falenson, my decorator.

-How do you do?

-How do you do?

Darling. Let me look at you.

-Are you through?

-Was the flight absolutely ghastly?

I'm in a terrible rush.

Grand Central Station,

and step on it, darling.

Is it really only three weeks

since I left you in Rome?

Seems like years.

-You seen the apartment?

-Not yet.

I know it was wicked of me,

but I couldn't resist.

I went ahead and fixed it up without you.

I think it's darling of course

but if you absolutely hate it, we can rip

everything up and start from scratch.

Miss Golightly!

Hey, baby! Where you going?

Come on, baby. Open the door.

Be a pal.

You're breaking up a beautiful party.

Come on, baby. Open the door.

Hey, the band's swinging.

Come on, baby.

Miss Golightly.

Once again, I must protest!

If you don't stop that phonograph

right this minute,

I'm going to call the police department!

Yeah. That's more better.

What's the matter, baby?

Come on. You're a great kid.

Open the door.

Come on, baby. I'm waiting for you.

-It's all right. It's only me.

-Now, wait a minute. Miss...

Golightly. Holly Golightly.

I live downstairs.

We met this morning, remember?

Yeah.

It's all right. She's gone.

I must say,

she works late hours for a decorator.

The thing is, I have

the most terrifying man downstairs.

I mean,

he's sweet when he isn't drunk

but let him start lapping up the vino,

and oh, golly, quel beast.

It finally got so tiresome down there,

I just went out the window.

Look, you can throw me out

if you want to,

but you did look so cosy in here, and

your decorator friend had gone home

and it was beginning to get a bit cold

out there on the fire escape.

And I always heard

people in New York

never get to know their neighbours.

Well, how was Sing Sing?

Fine.

I made the train and everything.

And what's the weather report?

"Small-craft warnings

Block Island to Hatteras."

Whatever that means.

You know, you're sweet. You really are.

And you look

a little like my brother Fred.

Do you mind if I call you Fred?

Not at all.

$300, she's very generous.

Is it by the week, the hour or what?

Okay, the party's over. Out.

Oh, Fred. Darling Fred, I'm sorry.

I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.

Don't be angry.

I was just trying to let you know

I understand.

I understand completely.

It's okay, stick around.

Make yourself a drink.

Throw me my robe

and I'll make you one.

You stay right where you are.

You must be absolutely exhausted.

I mean, it is very late

and you were sound asleep

and everything.

I suppose you think I'm very brazen

or trs fou or something.

I don't think you're any fouer

than anybody else.

Yes, you do. Everybody does.

And I don't mind.

It's useful being top banana

in the shock department.

What do you do, anyway?

-I'm a writer, I guess.

-You guess? Don't you know?

Okay. Positive statement.

Ringing affirmative.

I'm a writer.

The only writer I've ever been out with

is Benny Shacklett.

He's written an awful lot

of television stuff, but quel rat.

Tell me, are you a real writer?

I mean, does anybody buy

what you write or publish it or anything?

They bought what's in that box.

Yours?

All these books?

Well, there's just the one book.

Twelve copies of it.

"Nine Lives by Paul Varjak."

They're stories.

Nine of them.

Tell me one.

They're not the kind of stories

you can really tell.

Too dirty?

Yeah, I suppose they're dirty, too,

but only incidentally.

Mainly they're angry, sensitive,

intensely felt

and that dirtiest of all dirty words,

promising.

Or so said The Times Book Review,

October 1st, 1956.

-1956?

-That's right.

I suppose this is kind of a ratty question,

but what have you written lately?

Lately I've been working on a novel.

-Lately, since 1956?

-Well, a novel takes a long time.

-I want to get it exactly right.

-So no more stories.

Well, the idea is

I'm supposed to not fritter

my talent away on little things.

I'm supposed to be saving it

for the big one.

Tell me, do you write every day?

Sure.

-Today?

-Sure.

-It's a beautiful typewriter.

-Of course.

It writes nothing but sensitive,

intensely felt, promising prose.

But there's no ribbon in it.

-There isn't?

-No.

Oh.

You know, something you said

this morning has been

bothering me all day.

What's that?

Do they really give you $50

whenever you go to the powder room?

Of course.

You must do very well.

I'm trying to save,

but I'm not very good at it.

You know,

you do look a lot like my brother Fred.

I haven't seen him, of course,

since I was 14. That's when I left home.

And he was already 6'2".

I guess it must have been

the peanut butter that did it.

Everybody thought he was dotty the way

he gorged himself on peanut butter.

But he wasn't dotty.

Just sweet and vague and terribly slow.

Poor Fred. He's in the army now.

It's really the best place for him

until I can get enough money saved.

-And then?

-And then Fred and I...

I went to Mexico once.

It's a wonderful place for raising horses.

I saw one place near the sea that...

Fred's very good with horses.

But even land in Mexico

costs something.

And no matter what I do,

there never seems to be more than

a couple of hundred dollars in the bank.

It can't be 4:
30.

It just can't.

Do you mind if I just get in with you

for a minute?

It's all right. Really, it is.

We're friends, that's all.

We are friends, aren't we?

Sure.

Okay.

Let's don't say another word.

Let's just go to sleep.

Where are you, Fred?

Because it's cold.

There's snow and wind.

What is it? What's the matter?

Why are you crying?

If we're going to be friends, let's just

get one thing straight right now.

I hate snoops.

-Yeah.

-Lucille, darling? 2-E.

I've been trying desperately

to reach you.

Bill just got back.

A day early, the beast.

So I'm afraid I'll have to beg off.

You'll explain to the rest of the girls?

You're a darling.

Maybe we can have

a long lunch tomorrow.

I'll phone you in the morning.

Whatever you say.

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