Breakfast at Tiffany's Page #7

Hey, did you ever steal anything

from a five-and-ten

when you were a kid, I mean?

No. I'm the sensitive, bookish type.

Did you?

I used to. I still do every now and then,

sort of to keep my hand in.

Come on. Don't be chicken.

Anyway, you've never done it,

and it's your turn.

I can't see.

Hi, cat.

Lady of the house at home?

Holly?

Trick or treat.

You're crazy. You know that, don't you?

But I love you anyway.

-2-E.

-Yeah?

I've got to talk to you.

All right.

You want a drink?

If this is going to be

a serious discussion

and suddenly I'm terribly afraid it is,

you're going to have to take off

that ridiculous mask

or else I'm going to have to

wear one, too.

2-E, look, please.

What's the matter? Girl trouble?

Is that it, darling?

Oh, I see.

Well, that's not so serious.

As a matter of fact,

I've been expecting it.

I can't say I like it,

but I've been expecting it.

-Who is she?

-Hasn't got anything to do with her.

This is between you and me.

Then it is serious.

Well, now.

2-E, you're a very stylish girl.

Can't we end this stylishly?

-End it?

-Yes.

Well...

I do believe love has found Andy Hardy.

Let's see,

a waitress?

A salesgirl?

No. She'd have to be someone rich,

wouldn't she, Paul?

Someone who could help you.

Curiously enough,

she's a girl who can't help anyone,

not even herself.

Thing is, I can help her,

and it's a nice feeling for a change.

All right.

I understand.

I'll tell you what, Paul.

I am a very stylish girl.

-What are you doing?

-Writing a cheque.

Don't look so bewildered.

Surely you've noticed me

writing cheques before.

"Pay to the order

of Paul Varjak, $1,000."

Take her away somewhere for a week.

You're entitled to a vacation with pay.

Simply a matter of fair labour practise,

darling.

Of course, if you were really smart,

you'd get some of the other boys

together and organise a union.

That way you'd get

all the fringe benefits,

hospitalisation, a pension plan

and unemployment insurance

when you're,

how shall I put it,

between engagements?

Thanks for making it easier for me.

Don't be ridiculous, darling.

Take the cheque.

And call your girl.

No, thanks.

I've got a cheque of my own.

When you get yourself

a new writer to help,

try and find one my size.

That way you won't have to even

shorten the sleeves.

Holly!

Hey.

-What are you doing?

-Excuse me.

I'm sorry.

You look just like a girl I know

named Holly.

Really?

I'm sorry.

Hi.

What do you want?

I want to talk to you.

I'm busy.

-What are you doing?

-Reading.

"South America:

Land of Wealth and Promise"?

It's very interesting.

Let's get out of here.

I said let's get out of here.

I want to talk to you.

What's the matter with you, anyway?

What's happened?

Fred, will you please

just leave me alone?

Holly,

I love you.

-Where are you going?

-To the ladies' room.

-What's the matter with you, anyway?

-Let me go.

-No.

-Fred, please let me go.

Let's get something straight.

I am not now,

nor have I ever been, Fred.

Nor am I Benny Shacklett,

whoever he may be.

My name is Paul, Paul Varjak,

and I love you.

-Let me go.

-Not till we get this settled.

Now what's all this jazz

about South America?

I thought if I'm going to marry

a South American,

I'd better find out something

about the country.

-Marry? What South American?

-Jos.

-Who the hell is Jos?

-Jos da Silva Pereira.

Who the hell's Jos da Silva Pereira?

Darling, you met him. I know you did.

Mag Wildwood's friend.

The tall, good-looking one

who came to the party with Rusty?

Well, my dear, you won't believe this,

but it turns out not only is he handsome

and wildly rich,

he's absolutely cuckoo for me.

-You're crazy.

-What? Do you think you own me?

That's exactly what I think.

I know, I know.

That's what everybody always thinks,

but everybody happens to be wrong.

Look, I am not everybody.

Or am I?

Is that what you really think?

That I'm no different from

all your other rats and super-rats?

Wait a minute.

If that's it,

if that's what you really think,

there's something I want to give you.

What's that?

$50 for the powder room.

I wouldn't ask you in,

except the place is in such a mess

-I couldn't bear to face it alone.

-You have a message.

No.

Ol.

Good evening, Mr Yunioshi.

Good evening, Paul.

Good evening.

Please, you must help me.

Holly.

Holly. Holly.

Holly.

-Holly. Holly.

-Let me go. No!

Holly.

-Holly.

-Fred. Fred.

Holly.

No, no.

Fred.

-What did you do to her?

-Nothing.

There was a telegram, and then this.

Crashing everything, conducting

like a crazy. It's appalling.

I can't have a public scandal.

It's too delicate.

My name, my position, my family.

Will there be the police again,

do you think?

I don't see why. There's no law against

busting up your own apartment.

-Where is the telegram?

-There it is.

"Received notice. Young Fred killed

"in jeep accident, Fort Riley, Kansas.

"Your husband and children

join in the sorrow of our mutual loss.

"Letter following. Love, Doc."

Her brother Fred.

This brother,

was she very close to him?

Yeah.

What can one do?

Try to help her.

I tried. It didn't do much good.

You got a ranch or something

down in Brazil, don't you?

Yes.

That's good. She'll like that.

Well, you better get in there.

-Hi.

-Hello.

Got your wire.

How did you know where to reach me?

Oh, I tried everything.

Called people, asked around

and suddenly thought of looking

in the phone book.

Anyway, I'm glad you could come.

-You look fine.

-You think so?

I'm fat as a pig, and I haven't had

my hair done in months.

But I'm happy, really happy.

It probably shows.

You look trs distingu yourself.

I got a job. I've been writing a little.

I know. I've read three of your stories.

Two in The New Yorker

and one in that funny little magazine.

Won't you sit down?

Thank you.

-I've taken up knitting.

-So I see.

It'll probably look very nice

once it's finished.

Actually, I'm a little nervous about it.

Jos brought up the blueprints

for a new ranch house he's building

and I have this strange feeling

that maybe the blueprints and

my knitting instructions got switched.

I mean, it isn't impossible

that I'm knitting a ranch house.

Really, darling, I can't tell you

how divinely happy I am.

What is that, anyhow?

Portuguese.

A very complicated language.

Four thousand irregular verbs.

Very impressive. What's it mean?

"I believe you are in league

with the butcher."

Holly, what's this about?

Why did you want to see me?

Jos's in Washington for the night

so I thought if I asked you over,

you might come.

And, well, I've said goodbye

to everyone else I care about.

You're going somewhere?

I'm going to Rio tomorrow.

I've got the plane ticket,

and I've even said goodbye to old Sally.

Jos is flying down with you?

We're going on separate planes,

of course.

He doesn't think it would look right

for us to be travelling together.

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