Ready to Wear Page #9

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- I'm sick of all these models.

They're like walkin' implants.

- I'm so hot.

- C'mon, sit down.

Here, do you want a drink?

- Oh, God. I'd love one. Lovely.

- Do you like Irish whisky?

- I'd love it.

Can I have a glass, please?

- That's the good stuff.

No. Knock it back. You'll love it.

- Great.

- Go on, sit down. Relax.

Ah! Oh, you know.

I just love Ireland.

It's fantastic. It's so beautiful.

We landed in Shannon last year.

And we drove around the ring of Kerry,

which is unbelievably beautiful.

We stayed at a couple of hotels.

They weren't bad.

I think one was in the Relais

et Chateau, which is my bible.

The people were fantastic. I mean,

I don't think Irish people are thick.

- I think you're lyrical.

- Come here, you big animal!

- Give it to me.

- You have

no savoir faire, Milo.

- Come here. Come here,

and I'll show you my boudoir.

- Oh, your boudoir?

I love your use of the language.

- C'mon, get that Gaultier stuff off ya.

- What?

I'll never get it over

my Philip Treacy hat.

- Philip Treacy, the Galway charl...

- He's a genius.

- Uh, bonsoir.

- Bonsoir, madame.

F***ing photographs! Stop it!

No more! Stop taking

f***ing photographs, you animal!

Jesus! I wondered what

that clicking sound was.

You must be gay if you want me

in that position, anyway!

You little sh*t!

- Don't take any more f***ing

photographs! You!

- Stop it! That's it.

I'll get the camera off you. Stop it!

- Good night!

You Irish wanker!

You Irish, you are thick!

I take it back! You're f***ing stupid.

And you wouldn't know what to

do with your f***ing country

if we gave it back to you.

You bog-runner!

Where's my bag?

Jesus.

Non, merci.

Dane!

The telephone's ringing.

Dane?

Merde.

- Hello?

- What happened to my clothes?

What are you doing

with Milo O'Brannigan?

What's going on around here?

- I can explain everything, Mother.

- Oh, I doubt it.

Where have you been all night?

Huh?

- Hello?

- I'll call you back, Mother.

I'll call you back.

I want to know where

you've been all night. Dane!

I spent the night with my sister.

How about you?

- Hello.

- Mr Flynn? This is the concierge.

We have secured a room for you.

I am sending the key right away.

Oh. I don't want it.

Is 'at the laun'y

or our 'ags or a 'oom?

- My wife.

- The bell boy is bringing

the new room key now.

No, tell him I don't need it.

- We are sorry for the inconvenience.

- I... Uh, I-I don't want it!

- I hope you will enjoy

your stay at the Grand Hotel.

- Do you...

No ecoutez?

Come on, man. Hello?

Excuse me, you're on my cord.

Thank you.

My own cameraman.

This is Kitty Potter.

Are we rolling?

This is Kitty Potter live in Paris

with the queen of knit, Sonia Rykiel.

- And...

- Thank you. Thank you.

It was a wonderfully sensual show.

I just... The collection was beautiful.

Please, you speak too quick for me.

Because my English is not too good.

We need a translator here. I think we're

having a little problem right here.

Shh, shh, shh!

No. I don't want it.

Are you f***ing deaf?

Are you deaf?

I don't want it.

Je ne suis pas vous.

I don't want it.

It's not my room.

I don't want it. Je ne suis pas vous.

Understand? Goodbye. Au revoir.

- Oui, Monsieur Flynn.

- All right? Goodbye.

Goodbye.

Au revoir.

- Good mornin'.

- Paper. Great.

- Eh, oui.

- Tres bon.

- Uh...

- Uh...

Winnie?

Where's my coffee?

Gee, do I have to do

everything meself?

Jesus Christ.

What happened to the proofs?

Winnie!

The proofs!

What happened to the negatives?

Where else would an underground

designer go but underground?

I'm standin' in the crush

of Cy Bianco's fans...

who've gathered here in an

abandoned Metro station to see

what Generation X wants to wear.

- Wait a minute.

- Wait a minute, what?

- There's Cort Romney.

- Oh, wait a minute!

It's Cort Romney, who professes

never to look at a fashion magazine...

and never visits

anyone else's atelier.

Uh, Cort. To what do we owe

this delightful pleasure?

I must've missed my stop.

- This obviously isn't

Gare St. Lazare, is it?

- Uh, no, I don't believe it is.

I have only one thing to say

to the press in general and

to you, Potty, in particular.

How many G's are there

in "bugger off"? Excuse me.

Well... what

an artistic temperament!

At least I'm not f***ing

other people's husbands.

- So?

- Somebody's f***ing mine.

I think you're being a bit neurotic.

You don't know that anyway.

There's nothing neurotic about what I'm

saying. I'm not being overly sensitive.

- Oh, how do you know? How do you know?

- I can smell it on him...

and it smells

very close to home.

Waah!

Any spies out there?

Vogue. Harper's.

Well.

Wonder... who's gonna

sign Milo O'Brannigan.

Well, Vogue is very happy

that his contract's up...

so I guess that leaves

a clear track for you two.

Elle's not interested

in has-beens.

Really! I would have thought you'd

be on your hands and knees to sign him.

- In fact, I think you were.

- What did he tell you, Sissy?

Nothing.

Just something I saw.

- He showed you pictures of me?

- Let's just say I saw them.

I haven't seen yours yet, Nina.

I'm... sure they're wonderful.

- How do you know that

he took photographs of me?

- I was in the room.

What do you mean,

you were in the room?

Well, I wasn't actually in the room.

I was in the closet.

- He took photographs of all three of us?

- Yes, he did.

Oh, God. He's a misery.

- He's a menace. Psychopath.

- Well, not to worry, girls.

Not to worry.

I have the negatives

of the Lammeraux boot shoot.

Here we come Here we come

Here we come, here we come

Here come the sisters

with the stuff

Here come the sisters

with the stuff

Here it comes here it comes

Here it comes

Here it comes Hit it

Here come the sisters

with the stuff

Bringin' home the bacon

Fryin' it up in a pan

Here we come, sisters

Get rough

He would never let you

ever forget your man

- Here come the sisters

with the stuff

Here we come, sisters

Get rough

He would never let you

ever forget your man

- I'm a '90s girl

- That's what they call me

I work hard for my family

Doin' it all See, it just so happens

that I choose to rhyme

Like a homegirl

I gets busy with mine

Spending quality time

with my baby on the normal

When it's time to get the goods

yo, I'm goin' strong

Black, intelligent

wise beyond my years

No time for fightin'

No time for fears

You gots to get yours

I gots to get mine

Nine times outta ten

gotta fend...

You sold my company.

- You sold me to a Texan shoemaker?

- Boots.

A very rich boot maker.

Without my permission.

Without asking me.

But who are you?

You know, you're worse

than your father was.

- Whoever that was.

- You sell and buy everything.

Even your own mother.

- I did it for your own good, Mother.

- My own good?

- Yes.

- Who decide? A philanderer, a traitor...

a liar?

And where are these people?

They are here.

Oh. Here?

- They are outside.

- Oh!

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