Mildred Pierce Page #9

You know, big-sister type.

''Good old lda...

...you can talk it over

with her, man-to-man!''

l'm getting tired of men talking

to me ''man-to-man.''

-l'll have a drink myself.

-l'll take mine straight.

Well, if you can take it, l can.

-Seen anyone l know lately?

-You mean Veda.

l wondered how long it would take you

to get to that.

Yes, l mean Veda. Have you seen her?

ls she all right?

-Why don't you forget about her?

-l can't. l've tried, but l can't.

Well, try, try again. That's my motto.

You don't know what it's like being

a mother, lda. Veda's a part of me.

Maybe she didn't turn out as well

as l hoped she would...

...but she's still my daughter,

and l can't forget that.

l went away to try. l was so mixed-up,

l didn't know where l was or what l wanted.

But now l know.

Now l'm sure of one thing at least.

l want my daughter back.

Personally, Veda's convinced me

that alligators have the right idea.

They eat their young.

l'm slightly drunk.

-Hello?

-Is Mildred there?

-Yes. Who is it?

-This is Bert.

Hold on. lt's Bert. He's been calling

every day on the hour for a month.

-Hello.

-How are you? Just get in?

l'm fine. l got back this morning.

-How about dinner?

-What?

-Dinner tomorrow?

-Tomorrow night?

Don't you want to?

Of course, but what

about Mrs. Biederhof?

-She's married.

-She is?

Yeah, a couple of weeks ago.

Okay, you pick me up

at the house at 7:30. Goodbye.

Somebody married Mrs. Biederhof.

Well, that's a novelty. Remind me

to bake a cake. How's Bert?

-He's fine. He's working now.

-No kidding.

-He has a job with Condor Aircraft.

-Manpower shortage must be pretty bad.

To the men we have loved.

The stinkers.

l never did like this place.

Does Wally still own it?

-Two rum Collins, please.

-Yes, sir.

-l don't know why you insisted on coming here.

-l thought it was a good idea. Now l'm not sure.

l am sorry l did it like this,

but l didn't know how to tell you.

Mildred.

-Hello, Wally.

-Hello, Mildred.

-Here to see me?

-l'm going to take Veda home.

-Veda know about that?

-No. l want you to help me, Wally.

Not me. She's your daughter.

l've never been a father.

Veda's been here for about a month,

and l know the best way to handle her.

lf you want her to do anything for you,

just hit her on the head first.

l'm telling you. What could he say?

He was floored.

''Are you kidding?'' he says.

''No,'' l says.

-The powder room's down the hall.

-lt's all right. She's my mother.

-l didn't know you had a mother.

-Everybody has a mother.

Yeah. l guess you're right.

-This is Miriam. She sings.

-That's what they tell me anyhow.

-l'm glad to know you.

-lt's mutual, l'm sure.

l guess this calls for a celebration.

Maybe l'd better send out for a beer.

-None for me.

-What can l do for you?

-l want to talk to you.

-Go ahead.

Well--

-Go see if Wally wants you.

-He won't.

Pardon me, l'm sure.

Won't you sit down, Mother?

Well?

l want you to come home, Veda.

This isn't your kind of life.

-No? What is my kind of life, Mother?

-Well, l don't know.

Whatever makes you happy, l guess.

That's all l've ever wanted for you.

-Do you think l was happy in Glendale?

-Are you happy here?

When l first came here, l used to cry

occasionally. l've gotten over that.

-You're very fortunate.

-l know l've made you unhappy--

lt isn't easy for me to beg like this,

but won't you please come home?

No. You must think l'm on a string.

''Go away, Veda.'' ''Come back, Veda.''

lt isn't that easy. l'm free now.

No one tells me what to do. l do

what l think best, and l like it that way.

l've had the house redecorated. All new

furniture. Even a new piano. You'd like it.

You still don't understand, do you?

You think new curtains

are enough to make me happy.

l want more than that.

l want the kind of life Monte taught me,

and you won't give it to me.

l'm sorry for the trouble l've caused.

lf l went home, it would start again.

You know that. You know how l am.

The way you want to live

isn't good enough for me.

lf l could give you the life

Monte taught you...

...would you be willing

to come home then?

But you couldn't, could you, Mother?

You can powder your nose just so long.

Then people look at you funny.

-Your number's coming up.

-All right.

Sorry, Mother. l'm on next.

l have to change.

-Do you mind?

-Not at all.

-When will l see you again, Veda?

-Just drop around. l'll be here. Bye.

Goodbye.

So much for the upstairs.

lt's a little gloomy, isn't it?

Not quite so bad down here,

with the exception of the entrance hall.

As you can see, the pride of the

Beragons isn't rolling in wealth.

-You're not exhausted?

-Not at all.

-You can't be serious about buying it.

-You're not a very good salesman.

No, l suppose l'm not.

ln here used to be a sitting room.

Still is. l do all my sitting here.

Becoming quite an expert at it.

-Do you live here alone?

-There are complete living quarters.

Somebody has to be on the premises

to show the place.

-Won't you sit down?

-Yes.

-Can l fix you a drink?

-Please.

l have the heel of a bottle,

no ice or seltzer.

-Sorry l can't be more hospitable.

-That's all right. l prefer it straight.

-l beg your pardon?

-l said, l prefer it straight.

-Say when.

-When.

-What happened to your orange grove?

-Sold for taxes.

-The beach house too?

-No, not the beach house.

An uncle with a little money

wouldn't let me sell it.

He's hoping to foreclose on it instead.

Sounds like a nice uncle.

Now, Mildred, what do you want?

-Well, l don't understand.

-Yes, you do.

You don't really want to buy

this antiquated tomb.

You'd be out of your mind.

l don't know. lt isn't such a bad

house. Remodeling would do wonders.

Take off some of that gingerbread

and redecorate the inside and--

My businesslike air

isn't fooling you much, is it?

No, l remember too well. l remember

how it was with us once, and so do you.

lt isn't something either of us

can forget.

-You haven't forgotten?

-Not for an hour.

-Even this doesn't help.

-Then you can do me a great kindness.

-lf l can.

-Ask me to marry you.

Why?

l must say, your attitude isn't

exactly enthusiastic.

You went to considerable trouble

to get rid of me once...

...so naturally, l'm startled by your proposal

of marriage. This is a little sudden.

l have my own reason

for wanting to marry you.

-A reason named Veda.

-Why should it be?

Because your reason for doing anything

is usually Veda.

Well, whether it is or isn't,

what's your answer?

l can't afford you.

You have money, and l haven't.

All l have is pride and a name,

and l can't sell either.

-l see.

-l'm not enjoying this.

Things are very different now

from the way they were.

-l know. l haven't forgotten.

-Neither have l.

l want you to love me again

the way you did then.

l need that more than anything else.

l told you then you were

the only woman in the world for me.

-l loved you then, and l love you now.

-Then why--?

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