The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer Page #2

I don't know if you work on schedule,

but this court does. 9:00 means 9:00.

Yes, sir. I mean, yes, Your Honor.

Let's get on with this.

-Did you go to the Vampire Club last night?

-Yes.

I'm doing a series of paintings

on Americana...

...and I'm including a nightclub scene.

Creating a nightclub scene

would seem more appropriate.

However, there's some doubt

as to how the fight actually started.

Well....

Agnes had finished her spot.

That's a theatrical term.

-It means her routine, her performance.

-Thank you.

Well, we were having a drink

when Florence...

-We've met.

-...appeared.

She.... On a couple occasions,

Florence has posed for me.

I merely stopped by his table

to say hello...

...and this cut-rate canary apparently

resented my appearance.

-I prefer to hear Mr. Nugent's version.

-Thank you.

Florence's escort appeared.

I suppose you met him too.

He objected to Florence coming to my table.

Florence insisted on not being disturbed.

One thing led to another.

Tony slapped Florence, and I slapped Tony.

He was only defending

American womanhood.

Get that.

Florence attempted to stop the fight.

Agnes scratched Florence. Florence....

Anyone who remembers a fight

punch for punch is lying. I don't remember.

Your Honor, Mr. Nugent's been

in escapades before...

...but never through any fault of his own.

The fact that he's a painter

of contemporary American life...

...often places him in circumstances

that may seem unusual.

This court should not give Mr. Nugent

privileges just because he's an artist.

I wasn't suggesting that, Your Honor.

The DA's office would like him held for trial.

Based on the evidence, I see no reason.

Everyone participated in this fight.

Everyone's equally guilty,

and everyone's equally innocent.

I suggest you all go home, nurse your

wounds and be less emotional in the future.

Thank you, Your Honor.

May I go?

You just got here.

Don't you like our court?

Sure, I like it fine,

only I'm due to give a lecture today.

Really? What are you lecturing on?

America as I see it.

Should be very interesting.

Mr. Nugent, I've met your type before.

In fact, I sentence them every day

in the week.

If you're brought here again,

you won't be dealt with so leniently.

In future, I suggest that you confine

your painting to still life.

Case dismissed.

-Next case.

-Don't press your luck.

I wish we didn't have to have

this thing today. I hate lectures.

Look, if your coach told you

to get plenty of exercise....

She's a lap-happy chick compared to that

square from Delaware you run around with.

Is it okay for Saturday night, Susie?

You promised.

Promises are the hollow shells

of undone deeds.

Well, for gosh sakes,

what's that supposed to mean?

You're a nice boy, Jerry,

but you're callow.

I'm not too callow to buy you sodas

when your allowance runs out.

Don't create a scene.

I'm not good enough because

you're looking for a knight in shining armor.

-I'm competing with something medieval.

-Don't be a stupe.

Students, members of the faculty,

our high school is honored...

...in having as guest lecturer

a man who will speak to us...

...about the classical tradition of painting.

He's well-qualified to speak

to us about painting...

...because, in my opinion...

...he is one of America's foremost

exponents of painting.

Students, I know you will express your

enthusiasm for his appearance here today.

And so, with no more ado,

I present Mr. Richard Nugent.

And, as we know, many people think

of art as something pretty stuffy.

Don't let them kid you.

True art has something for everyone.

Great art unites the masses

in every age in every country.

He's handsome.

I suppose so, for an older man.

If you think art isn't functional,

think in terms of history.

Each age, each era becomes visual

to us when the artist...

...recreates it in stone, bronze

or on canvas.

The essence of art is simplicity. If I wanted

to capture the feeling of America...

...it wouldn't be necessary to go looking

for mountains or fields of grain.

I'd try to put America on canvas

in a picture of one of you.

In your denims with the cuffs rolled up

and the shirt open at the neck.

You'd be young, eager and proud

because of what's ahead of you.

You're the kids who, in a few years, will run

our factories, our farms, our businesses.

You'll be voting to make this country

a place were there's good will...

-...freedom, opportunity and tolerance.

-You feeling all right?

So if I were going to do a portrait of you,

I'd try to convey all that. Thank you.

Mr. Nugent. Mr. Nugent.

My name is Susan Turner.

I'm a student here.

-No!

-Yes.

I loved your speech.

-Thank you.

-Goodbye, Mr. Nugent.

Well, nice to have met you.

But you don't understand.

I have to interview you.

-You what?

-For the school paper. I'm editor in chief.

-Shall we go somewhere private?

-I'd like to, but--

It isn't every day that we have

a famous artist here.

-I bet you've had a terribly interesting life.

-Not very.

Could we do this later? I have a date.

-Then you're not married.

-No.

I knew you weren't.

You just couldn't be.

Oh, I've had some offers.

It's this way.

-We can talk in here.

-Yes, but don't you see? l--

Please?

-Have you ever been married?

-No.

-Have you ever been in love?

-Yes, I have.

Tell me, what kind of paper

does this school run?

-All the students read it.

-I'll bet they do.

You probably have no idea

what an unusual person you are.

I can see it.

I'm really much older than I look.

These are merely the vestments I don...

...as a concession to our outworn

educational anachronism.

But I know what the artistic soul is like

and how keenly it can suffer.

Did you have many ordeals

before you became a success?

-No, l--

-You can talk to me.

I want you to think of me

not as a newspaperwoman...

...but as a friend.

Well, in that case, I'll tell you.

I did suffer.

When I was 10, my parents

had a double-suicide pact.

They made it.

I was sent to an orphanage.

Some days they didn't beat me.

Then one night I escaped.

I ran away to New York.

-I used to steal.

-What did you steal?

-Beg your pardon?

-What did you steal?

Crusts of bread and things.

One time I stole a valise.

There were paints and paintbrushes inside.

So I began to paint.

Then they got me.

I was sent to a reform school,

but I escaped again.

-Go on.

-Back to New York.

A wealthy society lady saw my work,

fell in love with me...

...and sent me to art school.

The rest is history.

How wonderful.

How terribly wonderful.

Well, now, if you'll excuse me,

I must rest.

Of course.

Goodbye, Miss Kilgallen.

Turner. Susan Turner.

By the way, remember what you said

about painting one of us?

-America and the waving grain?

-Yes, I do.

Well, do you think I'd make

a good model?

You're not quitting the newspaper game?

That's merely a stopgap.

My family wants me to study law...

-...but I don't wanna be a Portia.

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