Designing Woman

My name's Mike Hagen.

I'm a sportswriter.

If you read the papers,

maybe you've heard of me.

I was involved in that ruckus up in Boston.

A lot of people have asked me

for the facts about that affair.

I certainly have no objection

to telling my side of it.

Still, the story wouldn't be complete...

...unless you heard from some

of the others involved, like...

...Marilla.

I imagine Marilla

might have something to say.

I have a good deaI to say.

Not only about my side of it,

but about Mike's, too.

Because Mike doesn't always tell the truth.

Not that he means to lie or anything,

but, well, you have to know Mike.

Then, of course, there's someone else...

...who could shed considerable light

on things...

...if she will.

I'm Lori Shannon.

I really have very little to tell.

I was involved, of course,

but in quite an innocent way.

Not everybody believed that.

But I'm sure Zachary Wilde does.

Look, frankly,

I'd like to keep out of the whole mess.

However, there is another witness.

A man named Maxie Stulz.

I'm sure he could be very informative.

Yeah, I want to tell everything I know,

the whole truth.

Because I was always a good standup boy.

Honest fighter.

I was champion for three years.

I'm making a comeback now.

So...

...I want to tell everything I know,

everything.

Let me think now.

I don't know anything.

The whole thing began out in Beverly Hills,

the night of the California Invitational...

...a golf tournament.

I'd picked Johnny Strawn

in the sportswriters' Calcutta...

...a sort of lottery.

And I'd won myself $1,200.

So I was buying that night and feeling fine.

Just fine.

Hey, Mike. I want to ask Mike.

Come here.

Mike, tell the guy about the guy

that wears the glasses and the umpire...

I say Johnny Strawn will be the best golfer

in America in 10 years.

What do you think of that?

I was feeling just fine the next morning.

It was noon.

I'd been up about half an hour...

...showering, shaving and breakfasting

on a small tin of aspirin.

Nothing helped.

Let's see now.

Up until 10:
00 the night before,

everything was crystal clear.

I was having some drinks

with some newspaper friends...

...celebrating the $1,200 I'd won.

$1,200.

All I had now was three $10s

and a handful of silver.

Going down.

Some newspapermen drink too much.

Hi, boy.

Hi, Larry.

- How do you feeI?

- Yeah.

How did you handle the story yesterday?

The story. The California InvitationaI.

Remember?

You didn't forget to file your copy?

Since when have I ever forgotten

to file my copy?

There's always a first time.

My copy. Had I forgotten it?

A lead flashed in front of my eyes.

"Johnny Strawn...

"... the Gill-Sized Giant of Golfdom...

"... Smashes His Way to Victory

With a Sizzling 66. "

Had I written those words somewhere,

sometime?

Had I dreamed them?

Miss.

- Yes, sir?

- I'd like to see a copy of a long wire...

...that I sent to The New York Record

late last night or 2:00 or 3:00 this morning.

- Are you sick, mister?

- The wire, please.

Yes, sir.

Well, let's see:
The New York Times,

The New York Herald Tribune.

The New York Record.

The greatest golf story of the decade,

and I'd fluffed it.

My career was ruined.

Coffee. That's what I needed, coffee.

Seven or eight pots of coffee,

in a quiet locale...

...where I could think up a good lie

for my editor.

Coffee. Please.

There he was.

My character of the night before.

Mr. Michael Hagen.

I thought he saw me, too,

so I gave him a friendly wave.

My character seemed

a little subdued this morning.

It never occurred to me

that my character...

...didn't have the slightest idea who I was.

Well.

- Good morning. How do you feeI?

- Great. Tiptop.

Did you sleep all right?

Fine, I'm not even awake yet.

Your eyes are red.

I bathed them in Alka-Fizz.

Well, anyway, it's a beautifuI morning.

Look. Isn't it lovely?

May I make a suggestion?

Why don't you jump into a swimsuit

and take a quick plunge?

- May I make a suggestion?

- What?

You take a plunge.

Sorry.

I guess you're not feeling very sociable.

Here, I've been waiting all morning.

Why? What's that?

$700. You gave it to me.

- When?

- Last night.

- What for?

- You liked me.

- That much, huh?

- Now.

- Here, you keep it.

- Don't be ridiculous.

- I gave it to you, it's yours.

- Please.

If I gave it to you, I must have meant it-

- Call for Mr. Hagen.

- Just a minute.

- Boy.

- Yes, sir?

- If you think-

- Mr. Hagen? New York is calling.

- Where?

- You can take it in that booth there.

Now, listen, Mr. Hagen. Listen...

I had to stay, if only to straighten

Mr. Hagen out on a few facts.

- Mike Hagen here.

- Mr. Hagen?

Ned Hammerstein

of The New York Record calling.

Yeah, put him on.

- Hello, Mike?

- Hello, Ned. Listen, about that copy.

I can't understand what happened.

I spoke to Western Union-

Never mind about the copy.

You're in a little trouble, boy.

What do you mean, trouble?

I'm trying to explain why my copy-

Forget it. The copy was okay. Now, look.

You mean you liked my copy?

The copy that I sent? Last night?

Yes, it was all right.

Now what is the matter with you?

Nothing, Ned. Everything is great.

Well, everything is not so great back here.

That column you did on Mart Daylor

and the fight racket.

He was here twice about a retraction,

he's plenty burned.

Fine, fine. Good morning.

- Are you listening to me?

- Certainly. Why?

I want to remind you, my friend...

...that Mart Daylor knows

some very influentiaI people.

Especially a bevy of thugs...

...who'd like to see you laid out in an alley

with your face bashed in.

Okay, great, I'll take care of it right away.

You liked my copy?

Yes, I told you twice! I liked the copy!

Okay, all right, Ned. Bye-bye.

I was a new man.

My hangover was gone. I felt like singing.

I loved the whole world and all its people.

I would even, I decided, be nice

to that ugly girl who'd been annoying me.

It must have been a different girl.

Well, how would you like some breakfast?

Waiter.

A breakfast menu, please.

I'd like to apologize for the way I acted.

I was a little revved up about something.

There was a story that I was supposed

to send to New York and I was afraid...

It's nothing that would interest you much.

It was a story that-

You mean the "Johnny Strawn,

the Gill-Sized Giant of Golfdom" story?

- How did you know?

- We wrote it together. The two of us.

Where?

In a very small and quite dirty bar and grill

about 40 miles north.

- You wired the story from Santa Barbara.

- Then that's when... That's why-

That's when you gave me $700.

- I'm sorry.

- It's all right.

- What happened after that?

- Nothing.

We drove home and I took you

to your door about 6:00.

- You really don't remember?

- Go on.

Well, nothing.

You shook my hand and told me

if I was ever in New York...

...to look you up and you'd find me a spot

in the sports-writing field.

All right. When can you start?

I really wrote it?

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