High Society Page #2

CAROLINE:

Why does he always have to walk

Like he owned the world?

And the way he stiffs the air?

Like he was looking for breakfast.

BING:

For a minute there, I thought

you were George Kittredge himself.

No, you're Caroline.

TRACY:

Hi.

GEORGE:

Hello, beautiful.

TRACY:

Hello, handsome.

GEORGE:

Did you miss me?

TRACY:

Miserably.

GEORGE:

You happy now?

TRACY:

Ecstatic.

GEORGE:

Didn't expect to find

you coming from the garden.

TRACY:

Dexter's back. He's turned his

house over to those musicians.

GEORGE:

Yes, I know.

The posters are all over town.

TRACY:

George? You don't really

mind him, do you?

GEORGE:

Dexter? Well, how do you mean?

TRACY:

Well, I mean, the fact of him.

GEORGE:

I still don't understand, dear.

TRACY:

You know, that he was...

Well, my lord and master.

GEORGE:

No one has ever been

your lord and master.

TRACY:

Until now.

GEORGE:

Poor Dexter is the sort of man whose

inheritance robbed him of his heritage.

He never earned you, so how could

he be expected to appreciate you?

TRACY:

George, you're so good for me.

GEORGE:

I hope so.

-

CAROLINE:

Dexter?

Are you ever gonna

get married again?

BING:

Sure I am. But I'm waiting

for you to grow up.

CAROLINE:

Dexter, for you I'll hurry.

BING:

Yes, you're gonna have to.

TRACY:

I wouldn't have acted the way Tracy did

when you published your song about her.

I wish you'd write a song about me.

BING:

Would you like that? Really?

Well, we ought to be able

to whip something up here.

CAROLINE:

Dexter, that was beautiful.

I consider us engaged.

ARMSTRONG:

Right song, but the wrong girl.

-

MOTHER:

Hello? Oh, hello,

Willie, I'm glad you called.

Cousin Martha just phoned.

She wants me to give you lunch.

She wants you out of the house.

Well, where are you?

WILLY:

I'm in the office

of the editor of SPY magazine.

No, no, no.

Spy. lt rhymes with lie.

Right. Now, he wants to send a couple

of reporters up to cover Tracy's wedding.

Now, don't explode, my dear.

I have just read an article right

here on the editor's desk

about your husband and that dancer.

You know.

MOTHER:

But it's blackmail.

Beside, Tracy would never allow it.

WILLY:

Now, if you will allow

a reporter and a photographer

Into your home to

cover Tracy's wedding

I have the editor's word

as a gentleman

that he will withhold

the article on your husband.

MOTHER:

All right, Willie,

I suppose we have no choice.

Tracy'll hit the ceiling.

Goodbye.

TRACY:

Mother!

George came early. I'll tell Edward

to set another place for lunch.

CAROLINE:

I'm pooped.

MOTHER:

No, dear, you're enervated.

CAROLINE:

I'm pooped too.

TRACY:

There is one thing

I want understood right now.

No member of my family is to

invite Dexter-Haven into this house

until after I am married and gone.

I will not have my wedding

spoiled by intruders.

MOTHER:

Tracy.

TRACY:

Yes?

MOTHER:

I'm afraid we'll have to endure

a couple of intruders.

I've just talked to Uncle Willie.

CAROLINE:

Uncle Willie's an evil old man.

Did he invite a couple painted ladies?

MOTHER:

Please, Caroline. Run along, dear.

And roll down your trousers.

Your Uncle Willie wants us to

have a photographer and reporter

from SPY magazine cover your wedding.

TRACY:

Is he out of his mind?

Intimate pictures of my wedding

In that barbershop magazine?

He can't be serious.

MOTHER:

He's quite serious.

If we don't allow them

this magazine will publish a rather

unsavory article about your father.

TRACY:

Good. I couldn't be happier.

It serves him right.

MOTHER:

You mustn't be vindictive.

As Uncle Willie points out,

you'll only make George suffer.

You owe it to him to suppress

this if you possibly can.

TRACY:

And I'm to be examined, undressed and

generally humiliated at 15 cents a copy?

No.

MOTHER:

Have some compassion, Tracy.

TRACY:

But this is intolerable. The idea

of letting Father off scot-free.

No, I won't do it. And in

our house, watching every move.

Why, jotting down notes on how we sit

And talk and eat and move

just to save Father's face, no.

MOTHER:

Tracy --

TRACY:

No!

MOTHER:

For me, please?

TRACY:

Mother, I really think you're

sorry you ever let Father go.

MOTHER:

For George and for me, Tracy.

TRACY:

Oh, all right.

I can't stand seeing you hurt.

MOTHER:

Thank you, dear.

TRACY:

All right. Let them send their spies.

I'll give them a story.

MOTHER:

Now, Tracy.

TRACY:

I'll give them a slant on Newport home

life that will stand their hair on end.

MOTHER:

Tracy, promise me you'll behave

like a lady in front of these creatures.

TRACY:

I promise.

--------

LIZZY:

Looks like the sort of place

where treaties are signed.

FRANK:

Or wars declared.

LIZZY:

Maybe we should have gone

to the service entrance.

FRANK:

Maybe this is the service entrance.

LIZZY:

I don't understand how the Lords ever

got talked into letting us come down here.

FRANK:

lt's publicity, they love it.

It's a wonder they didn't roll

out the red carpet.

LIZZY:

Mike, I don't like this assignment.

FRANK:

Neither do I, Liz, but I like to eat.

LIZZY:

How do you do?

FRANK:

I think we're expected.

Mike Connor and Miss Imbrie.

We're from SPY magazine.

BUTLER:

I'll tell Mrs. Lord you're here.

Please wait in the south parlor.

FRANK:

The south parlor.

LIZZY:

But of course.

BUTLER:

The family will be here

directly to welcome you.

LIZZY:

I wonder what with.

FRANK:

The south parlor.

LIZZY:

That's right.

FRANK:

Would you have four footmen

bring me a large ashtray, please?

LIZZY:

Mike, be careful what you say.

We may be wired for sound.

FRANK:

They couldn't pay me to

live in a joint like this.

LIZZY:

You know, they won't.

FRANK:

I'd have more respect for this

dame if she'd throw us out.

LIZZY:

Don't make snap judgments.

You were wrong about me,

remember?

FRANK:

Yeah.

Hey, Liz.

Look at that loot that they collected.

LIZZY:

Wow. They must run a hockshop

on the side.

What's the matter?

FRANK:

The joint's full of spies.

LIZZY:

That ought to make us feel at home.

Move over.

Thank you.

FRANK:

Look at this, Liz. All the comforts.

Lousy with phones. South parlor,

sunroom, terrace, pool, stables. Stables?

LIZZY:

I always knew horses could talk.

Mike, don't!

*HE TAKES THE PHONE*

MOTHER:

Yes?

FRANK:

This is the voice of doom.

MOTHER:

What?

FRANK:

This is to tell you your days are numbered.

*HE SETS THE PHONE DOWN*

MOTHER:

Hello? Oh, dear.

One of the servants has been

At the sherry again.

LIZZY:

Look, Huckleberry, you'll get us tossed

out of here before we get a story.

FRANK:

Stop worrying.

You just watch the old master

put them through the loops.

LIZZY:

I'll watch, professor.

I assume these are

the Seth Lord ancestors.

There certainly can be no

other reason for hanging them.

Can't say they look very bright.

FRANK:

lnbreeding. Always produces idiots.

LIZZY:

Here. Open this.

CAROLINE:

How do you do? I believe you're

the lady and gentleman from the press.

I am Caroline Lord.

LIZZY:

Well, I'm Elizabeth lmbrie

and this is Mr. Macaulay Connor.

CAROLINE:

I spoke French before I spoke English.

My early childhood was spent in Paris,

where my father worked in a bank.

The House of Morgan.

FRANK:

You don't say.

CAROLINE:

Yes, I do say.

Can you play the piano?

I can.

I shall play and sing

at the same time.

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