Design for Living Page #3

Very fine, but which chapeau

do you want, Madame?

Both.

You see, George, you're sort of like

a ragged straw hat

with a very soft lining.

A little bit out of shape,

very dashing to look at,

and very comfortable

to wear.

And you, Tom.

Chic, piquant,

perched over one eye,

and has to be watched

on windy days.

And both so becoming.

Oh.

Oh, I'm the most unhappy woman

in the worid.

Poor girl,

she's in rather a tough spot.

Hmm.

George.

Dear George, there's no use pretending

you could make me forget Tom.

I'd miss him.

You would not.

But for the sake

of argument, okay.

And Tom, if I went with you

up hill and down dale,

he would haunt me

like a bogeyman.

It's a

pitiful situation.

Well, if it'll make you happy,

I'm willin' to step out.

Never mind

the grandstand gesture.

I know how you'd step out,

with a club!

On the other hand, if you feel

that you can't get along without her,

it wouldn't be the first sacrifice

I've made for you.

What sacrifice?

What have you

ever done for me?

Look who's talkin',

little Rollo!

Why, you're

the most self-centered,

egotistical double-crosser

I ever knew!

Now, listen, if I could...

Shh. There you have it.

You hate him,

he hates you,

and you both end up

by hating me.

Boys, let's sit down.

Now let's talk it over

from every angle,

without any excitement,

like a disarmament

conference.

Well?

What do you think?

I think it can be

worked out, providing...

Yes, you're right.

Providing.

Well, boys, it's the only thing we can do.

Let's forget sex.

Okay.

Agreed.

It may be a bit difficult

in the beginning.

But it can be

worked out.

Oh, it'll be grand.

Saves lots of time.

And confusin.

We're going to

concentrate on work.

Your work.

My work doesn't count.

I think both you boys have a great

deal of talent, but too much ego.

You spend one day working,

and a whole month bragging.

Gentlemen, there are going to be

a few changes.

I'm going to jump up

and down on your ego.

I'm going to criticize your work

with a baseball bat.

I'll tell you everyday how bad your stuff

is till you get something good,

and if it's good, I'm going to tell

you it's rotten till you get something better.

I'm going to be a mother

of the arts.

No sex.

Uh-uh.

It's a gentleman's agreement.

Rotten, eh?

Listen, my dear girl,

when it comes to playwriting,

you don't know your... your dear

little elbow from a barrel of flour.

The third act is marvelous.

I've never written anything better.

It's rotten.

Fortunately, I know that intellectually,

you're still in rompers.

You should have realized

by now, my dear,

that I hate stupidity

masquerading as criticism.

Rotten.

I've had enough of that.

You're ruining me. You're ruining my work.

You're just being

cheap and malicious.

Rotten.

Very well.

It's the last time

you're going to tell me that.

Goodbye, my dear.

...a complete flop in London.

I'm sorry,

but I don't...

I beg your pardon.

Forgive me for

entering unannounced.

Mr. Douglas

is very busy.

So they were kind enough

to tell me downstairs. Mr. Douglas?

Yes.

Mr. Douglas,

I consider you

the greatest theatrical producer in London.

In fact, in the worid.

My dear young lady,

what precisely do you want?

Well, I read your list of productions

for the next London season.

Yes? They're very bad.

But believe me,

there's no need

for you to despair.

The situation isn't entirely black,

Mr. Douglas.

Have you ever heard of a playwright

called Thomas Chambers?

No, never.

You've never read a play called

Good Night, Bassington?

Heavens, no. Never.

Well, here it is. Read it.

I'm sure

you'll adore it.

It's a woman's play.

Goodbye.

Those faking art dealers!

Peanut brains! Parasites!

Maybe he's right.

Maybe they are...

No, they are not!

I don't know, Gilda.

I know.

Those paintings are great,

and don't let anybody tell you they aren't.

Three of 'em have.

Well, they're all fools.

They'll be breaking their necks

to get hold of your work.

Maybe when I'm dead.

Stop it. If you can't believe

in yourself, believe in me.

I'm no good.

It's getting obvious.

George,

you're a fine painter.

You're an artist.

You're going to be

one of the great ones.

And if you lie down

in the middle of the road,

I'll hate you.

Well, friends,

the gentleman addressing you

is none other than the illustrious

Mr. Thomas B. Chambers,

the new dramatic thunderbolt

of the London theater.

Good Night, Bassington

has been accepted.

You don't mean it.

Did you sign

the contract?

In letters of fire.

100 pounds advance.

It's colossal.

The Bank of England?

Uh-huh.

That's a good bank, huh?

It's the best.

By the way, Gilda,

I, uh, I neglected to mention

I'm supposed to go to London.

To London?

Tonight.

Uh, Mr. Douglas seems to think

that I might be

of great help

during rehearsals.

You know,

half the play

depends on someone...

Bringing out its brittle quality.

Oh, yes.

What do you... what do you think?

Should I go?

Well, you could do a lot in London,

no doubt about that.

And it would help

the publicity, of course.

But on the other hand,

if you stayed here,

you could finish

your new play.

And yet, you might make some

valuable connections in London.

Oh, but I'm just wondering

if you could do as good work

in the midst of

all that hullabaloo,

as you could

if you stayed here.

Oh, well, Tom, I...

Oh, Gilda

I couldn't do good work

anywhere without you,

and you know it.

And if there should be any curtain calls

after that third act,

how could I take

the bows alone?

You're nice, Tom.

I'm not going!

Well, drop me a line from London,

old boy, will you?

Righto.

Step a little more forward,

Mr. Chambers.

That's it.

Smile, please.

Take off your hat,

Mr. Douglas.

Oh.

That's it.

Hold it.

Well, in five weeks, you'll be taking

the same train

and the three of us will sit

in the Royal Box at the opening.

Goodbye, boy.

Goodbye, pal.

Goodbye, Gilda.

Keep that old typewriter of mine

booted and spurred.

I will.

So long.

You've had enough today.

Please.

Okay, teacher.

I'll have to sew

a button on there.

Gilda, I'm a pretty

gloomy guy tonight.

I have an idea I'm going to be

rather bad company.

Why don't you...

why don't you go out

to a movie or something?

Tarzan is playing

at the Adelphia Theater.

Go on, like a good girl.

Everything seems different,

doesn't it?

You'd better go,

Gilda, to Tarzan.

I fancy this, um,

what you might call tensin,

would keep up for some weeks.

Wouldn't it be wiser

if I moved to a hotel?

Yes, ma'am.

I love you, Gilda.

Why lie about it?

You can't change love

by shaking hands with somebody.

We're unreal, the three of us,

trying to play jokes on nature.

This is real.

A million times more honest

than all the art in the worid.

I love you.

It's true we have

a gentleman's agreement,

but unfortunately,

I am no gentleman.

My dearest Gilda,

and dear George.

This is the first letter

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