High Society Page #3

TRACY:

How do you do?

I'm Tracy Lord.

You must be -- Oh, of course, you are.

I adore strangers.

Do sit down, please.

FRANK:

That sister of yours --

TRACY:

Isn't she a dear? And so talented. But

we're afraid she has a homicidal streak.

Did you get lost finding us?

FRANK:

No. We had good directions.

LIZZY:

I hope you don't mind

our being here.

TRACY:

Oh, but I'm delighted.

We have so much cake.

What is your name, dear?

LIZZY:

No, thank you.

TRACY:

I'm so sensitive to names.

LIZZY:

My name is Elizabeth Imbrie.

TRACY:

Elizabeth Imbrie.

It sounds like a medieval saint who

was burned to death. And you?

FRANK:

I'm Mike Connor.

TRACY:

Michael. What a lovely musical name.

Now, you mustn't be ashamed of it.

FRANK:

I'm not. Mike is for Macaulay.

TRACY:

And what's the Macaulay for?

My father taught English history.

My friends call me Mike.

TRACY:

Of whom you have many, I'm sure.

English history has

always fascinated me.

Cromwell and Robin Hood.

And Jack the Ripper. Where did he teach?

Your father, I mean.

FRANK:

South Bend, Indiana.

TRACY:

South Bend. It sounds

like dancing, doesn't it?

You must have had a most

happy childhood there.

FRANK:

It was screams.

TRACY:

I'm so glad.

FRANK:

I didn't mean it that way.

TRACY:

Sorry.

FRANK:

It's a natural mistake.

TRACY:

Are you the photographer or the...?

LIZZY:

I take pictures.

TRACY:

Great art. Did you bring your Brownie?

You must be sort of a writer, Mr. Connor.

FRANK:

Sort of, yes.

TRACY:

Have I read your novels?

I doubt it.

FRANK:

I haven't written any.

TRACY:

But you must.

Why, Mozart composed at 13.

You must be at least 30.

Time is flying. Where were you born,

Miss Imbrie?

LIZZY:

Duluth.

TRACY:

Duluth.

That's west of here, isn't it?

LIZZY:

Sort of.

But we occasionally get

the eastern breezes.

TRACY:

Are you two going together?

FRANK:

Now, look, Miss Lord.

LIZZY:

That's an odd question, I must say.

TRACY:

I don't see why. I think it's fascinating.

Like birds in spring. It's --

Well, it's the sort of intimate detail you

Like to write about, isn't it, Mr. Connor?

But if you'd rather not have

your privacy invaded

I will certainly respect your wishes.

Please.

If you'll excuse me, I'll see

what's keeping Mama.

Mama is so eager to see you.

Mama?

-----

LIZZY:

You know, professor, I think you

dropped a loop.

FRANK:

She can't be for real.

LIZZY:

Who was doing the interviewing?

FRANK:

Do you think she was born that way?

LIZZY:

No. Takes years.

FRANK:

I know we're being taken for a ride.

LIZZY:

Well, if we are, let's enjoy the scenery.

FRANK:

I'm scared. I wanna go home.

TRACY:

Mama. Mama, this is

Miss Imbrie of Duluth

and the young man she goes with at

SPY magazine, Mr. Mike Macaulay Connor.

He's the son of an English teacher.

MOTHER:

How do you do?

Sorry to keep you waiting.

LIZZY:

Not at all.

FRANK:

We enjoyed the floor show.

MOTHER:

You must mean Caroline.

Well, then, you've met us all, haven't you?

LIZZY:

Except Mr. Lord.

MOTHER:

Look at the pretty way she does her hair.

TRACY:

It's lovely. Is it lacquered?

LIZZY:

No.

FRANK:

Will Mr. Lord be here for the wedding?

MOTHER:

We're about to have lunch. Join us.

LIZZY:

Thank you.

MOTHER:

Good. I'll tell Edward.

LIZZY:

We wondered about Mr. Lord

because I was hoping to be able to get --

We wondered about Mr. Lord --

TRACY:

We usually have box lunches on the lawn.

But today it's sit-down.

Come to the garden.

Do you like your sherry dry or sweet?

FRANK:

Scotch on the rocks.

TRACY:

George, Mr. Connor of SPY magazine.

He's going to cover our wedding.

GEORGE:

How do you do?

TRACY:

And Miss Imbrie of Duluth.

GEORGE:

How do you do?

Splendid. I'm a great admirer

of your magazine, Mr. Connor.

FRANK:

Really? Why?

GEORGE:

It has its finger on the pulse of the public

and its ear to the ground.

LIZZY:

That's a vulnerable position,

don't you think?

MOTHER:

I asked Edward to set two extra places.

BING:

Make it three. Hello, sweetheart!

FRANK:

Who he?

MOTHER:

This is Miss Imbrie and Mr. Connor

from SPY magazine.

BING:

SPY?

Your tastes have changed a little,

haven't they, Sam?

FRANK:

Sam?

CAROLINE:

Her middle name's Samantha.

She hates it. Hi.

BING:

Hi.

TRACY:

Isn't it time for your milk

and arsenic, darling?

FRANK:

Are you the same Dexter-Haven

that wrote a song called "Samantha"?

LIZZY:

And unless I'm mistaken,

weren't you once married to Miss Lord?

BING:

Guilty on both counts.

FRANK:

I remember. Two years ago.

Elopement, headlines,

divorce, headlines

and now you're back for the wedding?

BING:

I'm here for this jazz festival

but I expect to pitch a little rice

on the side.

TRACY:

Mr. Haven has become

quite famous since our divorce.

Undoubtedly you know of his

piano concerto "Choo Choo Mama."

FRANK:

Yes, I know it very well.

Tell me, how did you

and Mr. Kittredge meet?

BING:

Heaven brought them together.

TRACY:

My father took me to inspect

one of his mines

and Mr. Kittredge was there

To guide us.

FRANK:

How romantic.

BING:

Yes, they met in a hole in the ground.

MOTHER:

We're all very friendly.

It's the only civilized way to behave.

LIZZY:

Could I have a picture of the bride

between her first and second husband?

TRACY:

Really, I don't -- Darling.

BING:

Is something like this thrilling?

FRANK:

May the two gentlemen

look at each other?

BING:

You don't look as well

as the last time I saw you.

LIZZY:

Ready?

BING:

You've got a lot on your mind.

But it's too late to back out, old boy.

MOTHER:

They grew up together.

LIZZY:

Miss Lord

would you look at your first husband

in this one, please?

BING:

You don't look old enough

to marry anybody. You never did.

LIZZY:

Ready?

One more, please.

BING:

Naturally.

She needs trouble to mature, Kittredge.

Give her a lot of it.

GEORGE:

I'm afraid she can't count on me for that.

BING:

That's a pity. I gave her plenty.

LIZZY:

Ready?

FRANK:

Mr. Kittredge, could you smile?

You're the groom, you know.

GEORGE:

There.

LIZZY:

Thank you.

FRANK:

Good.

LIZZY:

Miss Lord, please lift your chin.

TRACY:

I thought I was sticking it out.

BING:

Say, that's some rock you got there, Sam.

Did you mine that yourself, George?

CAROLINE:

Father sent her a diamond necklace.

LIZZY:

Yes, when will I be able to get a picture

of the family united with Mr. Lord?

MOTHER:

My husband loathes publicity.

FRANK:

He will be here a little later, won't he?

TRACY:

Papa!

Papa. It's Papa!

BING:

Oh, capital, it's Papa!

TRACY:

Dear Papa, you came at last.

WILLY:

Papa? Have you by any chance

slipped a cog?

TRACY:

Uncle Willie, for the time being,

you have to be Father.

WILLY:

Why?

TRACY:

I shall explain later.

Look, it's Papa!

CAROLINE:

It's Papa!

FRANK:

It's Papa.

LIZZY:

Yes.

MOTHER:

Tell Edward to set another place for lunch.

BING:

You're looking clever today, Papa.

WILLY:

Thank you.

TRACY:

Papa, this is Miss lmbrie and Mr. Connor.

BING:

They're from SPY.

WILLY:

Spy? Yes, of course, the magazine.

I believe I know your editor.

Dreadful fellow.

FRANK:

He's wretched.

TRACY:

Papa, these two charming people

were beginning to doubt your existence.

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