Laura Page #3

- You begin to bore me.

- You're a poor man.

I'm very sorry for you.

Naturally,

I was annoyed by the incident...

but she had something

about her, that girl.

I had to speak to her again.

I had to see her.

- Miss, would you mind if I-

- Just a moment, please.

I'll tell Mr. Bullitt right away.

He's on the telephone.

Thank you.

Boy, Waldo Lydecker

to see Miss Laura Hunt.

Announce me.

Johnny, please tell

the gentleman I'm busy.

Miss Hunt, I have something

to say to you.

You've already said it,

Mr. Lydecker.

I wish to point out that you caught me

at my most difficult moment.

Ordinarily I am not

without a heart.

Really?

Shall I produce

X- ray pictures to prove it?

I wish to apologize.

Your apology is accepted.

Good-bye, Mr. Lydecker.

If you come

a little bit closer, my boy...

I can just crack your skull

with my stick.

And now, for reasons

which are too embarrassing to mention...

I'd like to endorse that pen.

Mr. Lydecker!

Thank you.

- You're a very strange man.

- What?

You're really sorry

for the way you acted, aren't you?

Let's not be psychiatric,

Miss Hunt...

but in a word, yes.

It's very kind of you,

you know.

I'm not kind. I'm vicious.

It's the secret of my charm.

But if you choose

to think me kind...

I'll call for you at 6:00.

All right?

All right.

Her career began

with my endorsement of the pen.

I secured other endorsements for her...

introduced her

to important clients.

I gave her her start...

but it was her own talent

and imagination...

that enabled her to rise

to the top of her profession...

and stay there.

She had an eager mind always.

She was always quick to seize upon

anything that would improve her mind...

or her appearance.

Laura had innate breeding.

But she deferred

to my judgment and taste.

I selected a more attractive

hair dress for her.

I taught her what clothes

were more becoming to her.

Through me, she met everyone.

The famous and the infamous.

Her youth and beauty, her poise

and charm of manner...

captivated them all.

She had warmth, vitality.

She had authentic magnetism.

Wherever we went,

she stood out.

Men admired her.

Women envied her.

She became as well known

as Waldo Lydecker's walking stick...

and his white carnation.

But Tuesday and Friday nights

we stayed home...

dining quietly,

listening to my records.

I read my articles to her.

The way she listened

was more eloquent than speech.

These were the best nights.

Then one Tuesday, she phoned

and said she couldn't come.

It didn't matter, really.

But when it happened again

the following Friday, I was disturbed.

I couldn't

understand it. I felt betrayed...

and yet I knew Laura

would never betray anyone.

I walked for a long time.

Then I found myself

before her apartment building.

The lights were on.

It pleased me to know she was home...

till I saw she was not alone.

But I waited.

I wanted to see who he was.

It was Jacoby, who had recently

painted her portrait.

I never liked the man.

He was so obviously conscious of looking

more like an athlete than an artist.

I sat up the rest of the night

writing a column about him.

I demolished his affectations...

exposed his camouflaged

imitations of better painters...

ridiculed his theories.

I did it for her,

knowing Jacoby was unworthy of her.

It was a masterpiece

because it was a labor of love.

Naturally, she could never

regard him seriously again.

There were others,

of course...

but her own discrimination

ruled them out...

before it became necessary

for me to intercede...

until one night at a party

at Ann Treadwell's.

It was one of her usual roundups

of bizarre and nondescript characters...

- corralled from every stratum of society.

- How are you this evening?

This is Mr. and Mrs. Preston.

They've been waiting to meet you.

How do you do?

- Hello, Shelby.

- Excuse me, honey.

You're Laura Hunt.

- Yes?

- Hello. I'm Shelby Carpenter.

- Want to dance?

- I'm not alone.

Oh, him? I'll bet

he's still doing the polka.

Excuse me, please. Yes.

Betsy Ross taught it to me.

- Hello, Waldo. Darling, how are you?

- Hello, darling.

- I see you've met Shelby.

- Hello, Ann.

- Unavoidably.

- He was awfully nice to me in Louisville at the Derby.

His family's from Kentucky.

Sharecroppers, no doubt.

Louise. Louise, for the last time,

will you marry me?

I won't, but I've saved

some chicken livers for you.

Oh, you're an angel.

In the meantime, darling...

you think you could

get this spot out for me?

I can afford a blemish on my character

but not on my clothes.

- Mmm. Couldn't eat another mouthful.

- I'm afraid it's rouge.

- I'm afraid it's liquor.

- Louise. Oh.

- May I have a glass of milk for Mr. Lydecker?

- Of course, Miss Hunt.

I forgot to tell you.

I also read palms.

I cook, I swallow swords, I mend my own

socks, I never eat garlic or onions.

What more can you want

of a man?

- Don't listen to that scalawag.

- I didn't expect to find him here, Louise.

What do you mean?

We're old friends.

She feeds me,

humors me, repairs me...

and refuses to marry me,

don't you, honey?

- I do.

- She has good sense.

- Now, wait just a minute. Thanks, Louise.

- You're wasting your time.

- She's got good sense too.

- You're jealous.

And what does it feel like,

Mr. Carpenter?

What does what feel like,

Miss Hunt?

Living on the income

from an estate.

- Well, I, uh-

- Or don't you know?

Well, I did, until the sheriff

took it over 10 years ago.

Why maintain the fiction?

Why not work?

Believe it or not, I asked

one of my many friends for a job once-

executive of a big company-

He could have pressed a button

and done it, but he just laughed.

- He thought I was joking.

- Weren't you?

No. When I convinced him, he got

embarrassed, said he'd phone me.

That was months ago. Now whenever

he sees me, he looks the other way.

- Do you really want a job?

- Yes.

Oh, here you are.

Laura, dear, I cannot stand

these morons any longer.

If you don't come with me

this instant, I shall run amok.

All right, Waldo.

Bullitt and Company.

You've got a job.

I concealed my

annoyance with masterly self-control...

but I sensed a situation

which would bear watching.

Laura, take a look at this.

Do you like it? Do you think it'll make

people want to bathe more often?

It should. It's excellent.

- There you are.

- Good night, Miss Hunt.

- Good night.

- Good night, Mr. Carpenter.

- Good night, honey.

- It's really very good. Who's the model?

A girl named Diane Redfern.

You hired her yourself last week.

- Don't you remember?

- Oh, yeah.

Well, let's go, moon of my delight.

I am starved.

You usually are.

- I approve of that hat.

- You do?

Mm-hmm.

And the girl in it too.

Thank you.

I knew there was

something on my mind.

What is it? Oh, yes.

Will you dine with me tomorrow night?

- Maybe.

- No, that isn't what's worrying me.

- It's the next night.

- But, Shelby, I can't be-

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