The Grass Is Greener Page #3

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You're the perfect type-casting.

I'll bet you go to psychiatrists

and you take tranquilizers

and you're frightened of ulcers

and you eat to many salads.

Lady Rhyall's report of the social

activities of the American male.

You subscribe to the Reader's Digest

and you belong to the Racquet Club and

you worked your way through college,

or did you win a football scholarship?

No, I worked my way through college.

As a crooner, believe it or not.

- And played halfback on the football team.

- Correct.

- And were in the Marines during the war.

- No.

Army Air Corps.

Finished up a one-star General.

You're wrong again. I was

a Colonel. Anything else?

Yes, you always call your

girlfriends either sugar or honey.

Now when is it my

turn to be rude to you?

And you wouldn't feel properly dressed unless

you had a camera slung around your neck.

You mean like a...

Englishman and his umbrella?

That is our climate.

You don't mean to tell me that those

things are actually constructed to unroll

I though they were just for...

hailing taxis.

Oh no, we unroll them at all

sporting events and most weddings.

Sporting events.

Alright. I'll be fair.

It's your turn now.

To be rude to me, I mean.

Go on. Go ahead.

Well...

let me see, uh...

I'd say you were an only child.

Very spoiled.

You were called Hilary because your

mother and father were disappointed

that you were not a boy.

I have three brothers.

Ah well, they spoiled you.

Well, they bullied me.

Teased me.

Tricked me out of my pocket money,

cut my head open, and destroyed

my faith in Santa Claus.

And I simply adored them.

I was called Hilary

after someone my father hoped would leave

me something in his Will, but he never did.

And you wore braces on your teeth

and were considered the ugly duckling.

No.

But that didn't bother you because what

you really wanted was to go up to Oxford.

No, Cambridge.

And you majored in History and finished the

Times crossword puzzle over your breakfast.

Yes, and no.

What do you mean yes and no.

Well yes, I majored in History, and no I read

what you call the Tabloids at breakfast.

What else do you read?

Ooh, anything from

poetry to cookery books.

And being a romantic,

you prefer the poetry.

I'm not a romantic, I'm a realist.

Oh, why do you shake your head.

Because of the evidence

I have before me.

Well, what evidence

do you have before you?

Your eyes.

Very prettily said.

I thought you were

supposed to be rude to me.

Nope.

- A rip-roaring, grade-A, romantic.

- Oh, no.

You, uh, ever come up to London?

Mmm hmm, once a week.

Will you have lunch with me?

No, thank you.

Why not?

Because I always have a

sandwich at my hairdressers.

What kind of sandwiches do you like?

Smoked salmon.

Well, if I brought some to the

hairdressers, could we have a picnic?

No, thank you.

Am I disturbing you, my lord?

Yes, you are.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Now I've forgotten how much

143 entrance tickets are.

How much are 143 half-crowns, Sellers?

I make it 17 pounds, 17

shillings, and six-pence.

I wonder if I might have

a word with you, my lord.

So do I.

So were both probably right.

Now what's the matter, Sellers?

As I told you, my lord.

I haven't any work to do.

What about your novel. Why

aren't you working on that?

I'm stuck badly.

Nearly tore the whole

thing up last night.

Oh, now, now, you mustn't

do that. What's the trouble?

Almost certain that the

basic trouble is myself.

I'm fundamentally happy and contented.

That's bad enough, of course.

But on top of that, I'm normal.

That's fatal.

Hmm, you mean you prefer

to be unhappy and abnormal.

Of course.

You see, I want to be a success.

And to be a success

One must indeed start

off as being modern.

And like yourself, my lord, I'm not.

It means I have no feeling

of insecurity or frustration.

No despair.

And that's essential.

The first essential.

And I feel perfectly contented,

really rather blameless,

and hardly resent anything at all.

Well, you are in a pickle, aren't you?

Well now, you must of known all that

when you gave up teaching

to become a writer?

You answered my

advertisement for a butler

when I asked you what

your qualifications were.

You said you had a degree in science.

Well, in spite of such a ludricrous

recommendation, I engaged you.

Partly because you told me

you wanted to write a novel.

Luckily you turned out very well.

Now why don't you go

back to your typewriter

and take another crack at it,

Sellers. It might do you good.

You might feel better now.

I've got to look for something.

Some way or other, I lost my Bible.

You know by rights, you should

be in the library by now.

Enjoying Portrait of a

Burgermeister by van Dyck,

Lady Rhyall and Children by

Naysmyth circa 1800 unfinished,

Henrietta Maria, the Wife

of Charles I by Rowlandson,

and Two Mirrors by Robert Adam.

Why don't you go and look at them?

Because I'd rather look at you.

Well, I'm not on exhibition.

May I take a picture of you?

Portrait of the 20th

Century Lady of Fashion.

By Delacro.

Well, it's not fair. I've

been packing mushrooms.

Or shall we call it just uh...

Hilary.

Well, I think subject unknown.

You know I shall want these pictures.

To prove that the last 20

minutes actually have happened.

I may tell myself that they haven't

but the pictures will prove me wrong.

Well, what do you mean?

You know exactly what I mean.

No I don't.

Well, you know what they

say. The camera cannot lie.

Well, neither it seems can you.

Not very well at least.

It's not good enough for

any to avoid the truth.

Would you like me to

say the truth out loud?

So that you can deny it.

Will that make you feel better?

May I say it?

May I whisper it?

No, please no.

Why not? Are you frightened?

Yes, I am.

Oh, but what of, darling?

Don't call me that.

Why because it's so sudden?

You know there really ought to be some

sort of warning so that you can run away.

But there wasn't any.

Just the simple thing of a man coming

through a door. Now look what's happened.

It's like that game he said to her, she

said to him, and the consequences were...

What are the consequences?

None.

I'm staying at the

Savoy, will you call me?

No.

Please?

No.

I shall stay in all the time

in case you change your mind.

I shan't.

Well, women do sometimes, you know.

I shall hope. For two

whole weeks, I shall hope.

Here's your half-crown back.

Now, then...

You get on back home to America.

And there's no fountain

here for you to throw it in.

I shall treasure it. Always.

I think you better go.

Turn left outside this door and go

along to the head of the staircase.

At the bottom of the

staircase turn left again.

That will take you out to the car park.

Goodbye, Hilary.

Goodbye, Mr. Delacro.

It's been nice knowing you.

Well, then say goodbye nicely.

Goodbye, Charles.

Goodbye, my love.

I'm not your love.

Maybe it's not goodbye, either.

Wait a minute. Don't move.

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