Breakfast at Tiffany's Page #8

His family's very important down there,

so he has to worry

about things like that.

Anyway, I thought I'd show off

and cook dinner for us.

It'll be fun eating in.

Did I tell you how divinely

and utterly happy I am?

Yes.

You are getting married, then?

Well, he hasn't really asked me,

not in so many words.

Four, you mean?

Well, that's how many words it takes.

"Will you marry me?"

Oh, we'll get married, all right.

I know we will.

And in church and with his family there

and everything.

And that's why he's waiting

till we get to Rio, probably.

Do you think it's trying

to tell us something?

I hope you like chicken and saffron rice

served with chocolate sauce.

It's an East Indian classic, my dear.

Three months ago,

I couldn't scramble eggs.

Are you all right?

Golly, darling.

I did so want to impress you.

Look,

I'm not much for chicken with sauce,

anyway.

Why don't we go out somewhere?

Let me buy you a farewell dinner.

That would be fun, as long as

it's someplace I can go like this.

Years from now,

years and years, I'll be back.

Me and my nine Brazilian brats.

They'll be dark like Jos, of course,

but they'll have

bright, green, beautiful eyes.

I'll bring them back, all right,

'cause they must see this.

Oh, I love New York.

Then why are you leaving?

What's in it for you, anyway?

Look, I know what you're thinking,

and I don't blame you.

I've always thrown out such a jazzy line.

Really, except for Doc and yourself,

Jos's my first non-rat romance.

Not that he's my idea

of the absolute finito.

He's too prim and cautious

to be my absolute ideal.

Now if I could choose

from anybody alive, I wouldn't pick Jos.

Nehru, maybe, or Albert Schweitzer.

Or Leonard Bernstein.

But I am mad about Jos.

I honestly think I'd give up smoking

if he asked me.

Come on, darling, let's eat.

It's getting late.

I'm leaving tomorrow,

and I haven't even begun to pack.

Didn't want Jos to think I was

the kind of girl who loses her key,

so I had 26 of them made.

No, wait. I got a better idea.

Kind of a farewell gesture.

Somebody must have tripped the lock.

Crafty devil, that Yunioshi.

Wake up, wake up!

The British are coming!

-Or, in this case, the Brazilians.

-Exactly.

-Exactly.

-I've still got to clean up all that rice.

Hey, you know...

Hey!

There she are who did it!

The wanted woman! There!

Groenburger. Narcotics squad.

-What do you mean?

-What's going on?

-Why don't you ask your boss?

-What boss?

Sally Tomato. Why don't you ask him?

Come on.

Look around for narcotic.

They got plenty narcotic in there.

-What's your name?

-Varjak.

Hold it down over there!

Paul Varjak. V-A-R-J-A-K.

-Hey!

-Oh, get lost, will you?

Get out!

I'm a writer.

W-R-I-T-E-R.

-Please. One, one, please.

-One at a time. Please, one.

Good.

-Wait a minute. Wait a minute.

-I can't answer all your questions.

-Just one at a time.

-Knock it off!

Now, darling, why don't you start?

Is it true you carried messages

from Tomato in code?

Of course not.

I'd just meet Mr O'Shaughnessy

at Hamburger Heaven

and give him the weather report.

Simply do not ask me what this is

all about.

But you did used to visit Tomato?

I used to see him every week.

What's wrong with that?

Well, you must've known Tomato was

part of the narcotics syndicate.

Mr Tomato never mentioned

narcotics to me.

It makes me furious the way all these

wretched people keep persecuting him.

He's a deeply sensitive person.

-A darling old man.

-Then you're innocent.

-Of course I'm innocent.

-What are you going to do about it?

-What do you mean?

-Well, who's your lawyer?

I don't know.

Mr O'Shaughnessy, I guess.

Mr O'Shaughnessy!

Hey! Get out of here!

-All right, come on.

-Okay, move.

-Come on, then.

-Mr O'Shaughnessy?

-Shut up!

-Get in there.

-Yeah.

-Mr Paul Varjak?

-Yeah.

-Ready with Mr Berman in Hollywood.

Kindly deposit $3

for the first 3 minutes, please.

Hello?

O.J. Berman here. Who's calling?

-Mr Berman, this is Paul Varjak.

-Nice to talk to you, kid.

Varjak. V-A-R-J-A-K.

I'm a friend of Holly's.

I met you at a party in New York.

-Who?

-Paul. Paul Varjak.

V-A-R...

Mr Berman, this is Fred.

Oh, Fred baby, huh?

So you're calling about the kid, huh?

Everything's under control. Just relax.

I spoke to my lawyer in New York.

I told him to take care of everything,

send me the bill

but to keep my name anonymous.

-What?

-Unknown. I don't want any part of it.

-You hear me?

-You sound like you're in a tunnel.

It's this executive phone I have.

-What?

-Executive phone!

Fred baby, they only got her

on $10,000 bail.

My lawyer can get her out at 10:00

this morning. I'll tell you what you do.

You bust into that dump she lives in,

collect all her junk.

Go down to the jail. Get her out.

Take her straight over to a hotel

under a phoney name, right?

You wanna keep away from

the reporters as much as possible.

Do you know what I mean?

Will you do that?

Sure, Mr Berman.

-I can't tell you how much I appreciate...

-Forget it.

I owe her something.

Not that I owe her anything, I mean,

if you really get right down to it,

but she's a crazy.

She's a phoney.

But she's a real phoney.

-Know what I mean, kid?

-Yeah, I know what you mean.

-Thanks, Mr Berman. Thanks a lot.

-Right!

Why don't you behave?

Quel night.

I did a little housebreaking

while you were away.

Clayton Hotel, driver. 84th and Madison.

O.J. thinks it'd be a good idea

if you stayed out of sight for a while.

I got most of your stuff here,

including cat. Hope he's all right.

Yeah.

Hello, cat.

Poor no-name slob.

Listen, darling.

Did you find that plane ticket?

-Right here. We can cash it in.

-Cash it in? Are you kidding?

What time is it?

-A little after 10:00.

-Good.

Idlewild Airport, please, driver.

-Never mind. You can't do that.

-Why not?

You don't understand.

You're under indictment.

If they catch you jumping bail, they'll

lock you up and throw away the key.

Don't be ridiculous, darling.

By the day after tomorrow,

I'll be married to the future president

of Brazil.

And that'll give me diplomatic immunity

or something.

I wouldn't bet on it.

What is it, darling?

Message for you.

Oh, yes, I see.

Did he bring it in person, or was it,

just there, shoved under the door?

A cousin.

Hand me my purse, will you, darling?

A girl can't read that sort of thing

without her lipstick.

You read it to me, will you, darling?

I don't think I can quite bear...

Sure you want me to?

Okay.

"My dearest little girl,

"I have loved you knowing

you were not as others.

"But conceive of my despair

"upon discovering in such a brutal

and public style

"how very different you are

from the manner of woman

"a man of my position

could hope to make his wife.

"I grieve for the disgrace

of your present circumstances.

"And I do not find it in my heart

"to add my condemn

"to the condemn that surrounds you.

"So I hope you will find it in your heart

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