Strangers When We Meet Page #3

to some friends of mine.

They said I'd have to be nuts

to live in a house like that.

Who's going to live in it,

you or your friends?

That's not the point.

Nobody lives in a vacuum.

I don't want people pointing

to this oddball house:

"That's where that kooky writer lives. "

What do you want?

A house like everybody else's?

The house in the magazine

wasn't like everyone else's.

I designed that house

for a Fresno lawyer with kids.

This house is for you.

Sure. What if I have to get rid of it?

Suppose my next book flops?

And the book after that? What do I do then?

Wait for a 36-year-old writer...

...with a mustache to come along

so I can unload it?

What do you want? A guarantee

that you'll be successful always?

What difference does it make?

You design a house, up it goes,

you get 10%, good or bad.

With a book it's different.

I've got readers, I get reviews.

Shall I call your girlfriend back?

Maybe you'd like to slap her around

as I'm too busy to play scapegoat.

What do you mean?

I'm discussing your house.

Your house, Altar.

Forget it.

All right, I made a mistake.

When I met you, I told my wife:

"Here's a guy who'll be willing

to try something different. "

- Boy, was I wrong. You want to play it safe.

- That's not true.

What are you afraid of?

That some critic won't like your house?

This has nothing to do

with the lousy critics!

You know, Rog,

we both start with the same thing:

...a blank piece of paper.

But every time I try to play it safe,

I come up empty.

So now I just sit down at that drawing board

and do what I want to do.

And I hope what I like,

somebody else will like.

Maybe this isn't a great house,

I don't know.

Maybe somebody will think it's an oddball...

...but we can't try to please them all.

- You trying to say this is what I do?

- No, Rog, I don't know what you do.

I read both your books.

I like them pretty well, but...

Boy, I'd love to see what would happen

if you really broke loose.

Don't you think that's what I want to do?

Then do it. Write a book that you like,

and to hell with the critics.

You don't know.

Rog, I know one thing.

You've got to find out

what's important to you.

Sure, now this house is important to me.

And I was hoping you'd like it, but...

If you don't like it, we shake hands

and say goodbye. It's as simple as that.

You know something?

I think it's a great house.

Are you sure

I haven't talked you into anything?

Yeah, I think you did. Thanks.

There are a few improvements

I'd like to make.

- You know, this is an oddball house.

- You're an oddball character.

Look, let's take it one room at a time.

Hey, Maggie.

What did you call me?

Maggie. Why, something wrong with that?

No, nothing. How are you?

Fine. I feel just like I own

Southern California.

Altar just gave me the green light

on the house.

Of course, he doesn't know

it's going to roll down into the street.

That's wonderful. Congratulations.

I couldn't have done it without you

holding the tape. I owe you a commission.

How about an ice-cream cone

or a Coke or something?

Thanks, but I can't, really. I'm late now.

I'll owe it to you.

- It's going to be a very exciting house.

- Thanks, Maggie.

I'll see you.

- Margaret, are you home?

- Yes, I'll be out in a minute.

- Where's the mail?

- I guess I left it on the hall table.

- Hi. Did you just get home?

- No.

Why don't you get dressed?

Where's Patrick?

Betty's keeping him overnight.

I thought we could be alone.

I'm going to wash and change my shirt.

Telephone.

Margaret, telephone.

- Leave it.

- It might be important.

Don't answer it.

What's with you tonight?

Please.

Okay.

That phone's still ringing.

It's getting dark outside.

Tell me you love me.

Now, you know I love you, Margaret.

Don't you think I'm pretty?

- Of course.

- Then why don't...

Do you think of me

when you're working, Ken?

- Yes.

- What do you think?

- I don't know. I think of you.

- Do you think of making love to me?

- Now don't talk like that...

- How do you think of me, then?

Margaret, this is silly.

You know perfectly well

how I feel about you.

Tell me you want me.

Do you want me?

- You know I want you, Margaret.

- Then tell me. Talk to me, Ken.

- Honey.

- Tell me.

Don't you want to hold me? Hold me.

Margaret, we can't just...

- Why can't...

- Please, Margaret.

I'm sorry to rush things, but boy...

I've still got two hours of work tonight.

Always changes.

I tell you what.

Just give us a layout of the plan site...

...and a schematic

of one of the factory buildings...

...and after that, Martin can do the rest.

- Why don't you let him handle everything?

- Because it's right down your alley.

You won a prize

for doing almost the same thing.

- We're back to that again.

- I just wanted to illustrate a point.

That is the point. I've had it.

I don't want to keep doing

the same commercial designs.

I think the location alone

would interest you.

Look, I'm working on a house. I like it.

I can't go hopping off to Hawaii.

That wouldn't be necessary,

would it, Mr. Baxter?

Aren't there photographs

of the proposed site?

Sure there are. Some good ones, too.

I prefer to get a feel of the terrain.

You know that.

Actually, the terrain is no problem here.

We've got a good flat parcel of land.

- Good night, Mr. Baxter.

- Good night.

What do you say, Larry?

We figure the job is worth $3,000.

I think it's worth more than that.

What Larry means is

he's been getting the work...

What I mean is that I'll be working

on two jobs simultaneously...

...and trying to give them both my best.

More than $3,000.

Thank you, sir. Good night.

How much would you want?

I think the job's worth $5,000.

Isn't that a shade high

for something like this, darling?

I think we can go to $4,000.

What do you say, Larry?

- Let me think about it, Stan.

- What's there to think about?

Are two grown men

going to start bargaining like fishwives?

I like you, Eve. $4,500, Larry. Top offer.

- Have we got a deal?

- All right, it's a deal.

- Thanks a lot for dinner.

- My pleasure. I'll phone you Monday.

- Will you send the photos over?

- As soon as I can get them to you.

Why do I let myself get trapped

into doing unimportant...

Trapped? What do you mean?

What do you think happened tonight?

You knew I didn't want that job.

I knew nothing of the sort.

Why do you think I left Baxter and Baxter?

I was beginning to feel like a machine

turning out plastic practical jokes.

So again I let myself get forced

into a job that doesn't excite me.

Doesn't offer any challenge.

It's something any architect could handle.

I didn't force you into anything.

You're right, honey. I'm a big boy.

I could have said no.

Honey, have you any concept

of what I'm actually trying to do?

Apparently not. I'm just a pushy housewife.

Do you think it pleases me

that I won a prize back in 1952...

...eight years ago, and that lousy prize

has been the high point of my career?

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