The World of Henry Orient Page #3

Somebody get a cab.

Taxi!

- Open her collar, quick!

- Don't open it. She'll catch pneumonia.

You want her to choke to death?

It's no skin off my nose

one way or the other,

but the way that kid's sweating, you'll

have a case of pneumonia on your hands.

I'll open her collar, I'll close her collar.

Somebody make up their mind.

- I'm a physician. Can I help?

- There's a girl over here very sick.

- I'm feeling a little better now.

- Take it easy.

- I'll do what I can. I'm a physician.

- Doctor, she's dying!

- I'm feeling a little better now.

- We'll take a look anyway. Hold her still.

You don't mind having a little checkup?

But she's all right, Doctor.

Honestly, it was all a joke.

Joke, huh? You know what doctors do

with people who make jokes like that?

We take them straight to the hospital

and pump their stomachs out.

Ever have your stomach pumped out

by a real good pumper?

I once pumped out a joker

until he couldn't get out of bed.

- We didn't mean anything.

- If I don't find anything...

I got a cop! There's a cop car on the way.

He's at the office.

You just talked to him on the telephone.

- He couldn't possibly be around here.

- I know, but...

Look out!

Hey, you!

Taxi!

You little punks!

Someday we'll come here to see you.

- Not me, I'm afraid.

- I'll bet you.

I'm no musician, not a real one.

Just playing the piano isn't enough.

You have to have something special

and I haven't got it.

Just 10 more feet, 12 at the outside,

and I'd have been home.

Maestro.

They don't like it when

you don't show for two rehearsals.

You don't think it's peculiar

that they were the same little punks?

They live in the neighbourhood

and they play in the park.

- But twice with the same dame.

- It's the only dame you ever go out with.

I tell you, she's nervous as a whippet.

- They're ready, Mr Orient.

- All right, all right, all right.

I think next time I'll drop

a couple of Miltowns in her drink.

What's this avant-garde stuff it says here?

Sure, way out. It said it in The Times.

- No tune?

- Are you kidding?

I hope I don't throw up.

- You shaved your legs.

- You are the biggest blabbermouth.

- You didn't tell me.

- I don't have to tell you everything.

- What is it?

- She shaved her legs.

Louder. Some of the people

on the balcony can't hear you.

- You're gonna have bristles.

- Not if I keep shaving.

Please, girls.

But why'd you do it? You're not so hairy.

- I'm old enough if I want to.

- It's not as if you were as hairy as Kafritz.

Talbot's hairier than Kafritz,

arms and legs.

It doesn't show so much on her.

She's a blonde.

A brunette always looks hairier

than a blonde. Kafritz is the hairiest.

- It's him, isn't it?

- Of course.

Don't you remember those eyes?

If this is music,

what's that stuff Cole Porter writes?

Val? Val!

What is it?

I'm in love.

- With that creep?

- What do you mean, creep?

Isn't that him?

Isn't it awful?

Boothy read all about him in a magazine.

He's been married about a dozen times.

- Still got the magazine?

- I'll ask her.

Not that it matters.

I love him anyway. I adore him.

You can tell the whole world if you want to

that I, Valerie Campbell Boyd,

love and adore the great and beautiful

and wonderful Henry Orient,

world without end, amen.

- But look.

- No, you look.

Isn't he absolutely divine?

Yeah, he really is cute,

but I thought you said he needed practice.

Gilbert, have you no soul? Of course he

needs practice, especially on the scales.

But... this is love, Gilbert.

My dreamy dream of dreams,

my beautiful, adorable, Oriental Henry.

How can I prove to you that I'm yours?

What am I gonna do, Gil?

- You mean it's real?

- I don't know what else.

I can't eat, I can't sleep,

I can't even think of anything else.

Next day I went

to the record shop when it opened

and I bought his only two records.

That's all he's got out, poor darling.

I've been playing them ever since.

Are you gonna tell him?

You've got to, Val. He's got to know.

- I wouldn't dare.

- Why not?

You're not a little child any longer.

We're practically adolescents.

And I'll bet you Mr Orient

would be proud to know you love him.

You mean just walk right up to him

and tell him in person?

You've got to.

- What are you doing?

- It's the most important thing in the world.

- But it's got to be a secret.

- It's got to be.

Then we'll make a blood pact

never to betray our secret.

And we'll have a secret language.

His language.

- The mysterious language of the Orient.

- That's it, O mysterious Cherry Blossom.

- Do we have to draw blood?

- That's what makes it important.

It means that we'll help each other

as long as we live, especially in love.

I'll help you now and you'll help me

later on when I find my true love.

Wow.

Now jab yours. But be careful. It hurts.

Now together like this.

And we take a solemn oath.

I do solemnly swear...

that...

What?

That whereas love is the most

important thing in the whole world,

especially true love, hereby be it resolved

that Marian Gilbert and Valerie Boyd

do solemnly swear that

we will live a secret life for ever

and eternally dedicated

to the one Henry Orient,

the truly beloved of Miss Boyd.

On pain of human sacrifice.

I do.

And from this minute on, we will devote

our whole lives, both day and night,

except during homework,

to the study of the aforesaid Henry Orient.

- His life both public and private.

- Where he lives.

Who he sees and what life means to him

when he's not practising his art.

Exactly where is your husband

at this very moment?

In New Rochelle, I suppose.

Playing golf.

And New Rochelle is on this side

of Stanford, is that not right?

Yes.

On finishing a game of golf

in New Rochelle,

has your husband

ever been known to return to Stanford

by way of East 64th Street, New York?

- No, but...

- Right.

So you grant that it would be

a most peculiar thing for a man to do,

to go home to Stanford

from New Rochelle, New York,

by way of East 64th Street,

New York City?

- Yes, but...

- Now, now, now...

Now comes a very important question.

Does Paul know anything about me?

No, but I was going to tell him

that I had met you.

- No, no.

- No?

My darling, that has never yet been known

to lead to anything else but...

misunderstandings.

Never mention my name to him, right?

You want me to set your poem

to music, don't you?

So much!

And why shouldn't you? It is

unquestionably the finest poem for music

since... well, since

Only God Can Make a Tree.

It cannot fail to become a classic.

My darling, a composer has to compose.

Even Only God Can Make a Tree.

The fella didn't compose it in a tree.

He went right home and he sat down

at the piano to compose it.

You understand what I mean?

- I know, but...

- All right, then.

What are we gonna do?

Are we going to pass up a chance

at a song that could live for ever?

Or... shall we nip up to my place

and take a hack at it on the piano?

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