Two Much Page #2

---

- Well, no, not exactly.

- Uh-huh.

Everything is totally

high or low with her.

She'll be down on me soon enough,

and then it'll all be over.

Trust me. She's a girl

with big extremes.

So I see.

Manny's in there.

He's been in there

for an hour.

- Come on, Gloria.

- What do you want me to do?

I feel sorry for the guy.

We owe him for two paintings.

Is the I RS in there?

Maybe you feel sorry for everyone I owe.

Everyone? No.

I don't believe in self-pity.

Manny. Just the man

I wanted to see.

- Art.

- What's that?

Wow!

This is terrific.

- I can sell it in a week.

- Oh, no, no, no, no, no.

- It's been hanging here for three months.

- Really?

I'm taking them all home.

- Art?

- Yeah?

You still haven't paid me

for the last two.

Wha...

You should thank me.

Manny,

if Vincent van Gogh...

had been paid

for his paintings...

they would be worthless

today.

You shouldn't be thinking about money.

You're an artist.

You're a real one.

I can see that in your eyes.

Huh? Yeah, yeah!

Believe me. Yeah.

You know...

You know, Manny...

Manny, go home and paint.

Paint, Manny, paint.

Come on. Eh?

- Yeah, yeah. Maybe you're right.

- Yeah, I'm right.

- But what about you?

- What about me? What? What?

- You were good.

- Good is the same as bad.

It has to be brilliant.

Yeah. So why is it

hanging on your wall?

Well, it's just, uh...

reminding me not

to pick up a brush again.

Yeah. You like it?

Take it.

It's yours. Consider it an advance

on what I owe you.

Huh?

- I don't know what to say.

- Don't say anything.

Real artists

don't need words.

Eh?

All right.

Good-bye.

See you, huh?

- What's Manny doing with your painting?

- I'm redecorating.

It was the nicest thing

in here.

Excuse me, miss.

You have a provocative

work of art here.

May I take it home

and live with it for a few days...

before I make

my final decision?

And which work of art

would that be?

You. You're the most

beautiful one here.

No, I will not go home

with you, Mr. Dodge.

I'm sorry. Have we met?

See, sometimes my memory fails me.

I-I have...

Korsakov's Syndrome, which means...

If it means always hitting on me,

I'd say you have a terminal case.

- Art, your dad's here.

- l...

Dad, what are you doing here?

I told you I'd pick you up.

I wanted to save you

the trouble.

The last time you saved me the trouble, I

had to track you down at the police station.

I was not lost.

I was arrested for demonstrating against

the death penalty.

Me and my comrades

from the Lincoln Brigade.

Did I ever show you

my scar?

- She has seen it.

- It's a lovely scar, Mr. Dodge.

I'm the only man alive

with two navels.

What's this?

We live in a big, red,

horrible building.

That was in Madrid,

remember?

We moved here four years ago

when Mom died.

Your mother was a fine woman.

Don't drag her into this.

Come on.

Well, this is our home now.

I know that.

You got the big room.

- No, I don't.

- Yes, you do.

- You have the one with the best ventilation.

- That's true.

Mm-hmm. Yes. Yes.

Ooh, yes! Yes.

That is exactly what I want.

Hold on. Okay, one cake with the three

in Roman numerals.

That way each one

can be a different flavor.

One could be vanilla, one could be

carrot, and one could be strawberry.

What? Ooh, mocha.

Mmm, that sounds good.

Should we lose the vanilla

or the strawberry?

- Betty, we need to talk and...

- He wants to talk about it.

- I'll call you back. Good-bye.

- Excuse me.

I am not losing the carrot.

God, you are so gorgeous.

You know that? You're gonna look

so good with me up at the altar.

- Eh, excuse us a second. Can you come here?

- Yeah.

Eh...

Listen, Betty, um...

I-I couldn't sleep

last night, uh...

Um... I don't know where to begin.

You are so... special.

Mmm.

Yeah. One in a million.

A real lifesaver.

- I-I owe you big time.

- No.

But, you know,

I was thinking...

"Betty is just too good

for me."

It's like a voice

that says...

"Art, you don't

deserve her."

- It... um...

- What are you saying?

A-All I am saying...

is... is just... wow.

Two weeks. Is that long enough?

I mean, marriage.

Huge in the decision

department, right? Huh?

- What the hell did you do to my sister?

- Nothing, nothing.

- l...

- Don't you hurt her.

All I said to her was

that we were moving a little too fast.

I thought guys like you

always moved too fast.

If you're gonna play the stud,

at least have the common decency...

to do it well

and make her happy.

Betty...

I'm sorry.

- I really didn't mean to upset you.

- Oh, darling, I'm strong.

I spoke to Dr. Huffeyer...

and he said that as long as

I externalize my feelings...

without inhibition...

even my anger...

then everything is fine.

So I'm fine.

And I don't want you

to feel that you can't be...

completely honest with me...

because marriage needs to be based

on openness and trust...

as well as basic

sexual compatibility.

Everything is fine.

- Are you sure?

- Yeah.

Everything is fantastic.

- Good.

- Except for your sister.

Uh... I don't think

she's too crazy about me.

- Well, that's because you're not her type.

- Huh?

I mean, she teaches modern

art at the university, for God's sake.

She goes for those

quasi-intellectual types...

with the glasses

and the frown lines...

and Siberian movies.

Don't. I don't want

to hear it anymore.

You're not gonna leave her.

She knows it.

You know it.

And finally,

I know it.

Bye.

- What's this?

- Mrs. Doyle returned it.

What kind of country

is this...

where people don't even

respect the last wishes of the dead?

Shall I read you the mail or throw it

directly into the wastebasket?

You should only read

love letters.

But they are love letters.

Here's a love letter

from the bank...

and one from the

insurance company...

and, ooh,

very romantic.

A letter

from your optician...

accompanied, of course,

by the bill for your last contacts.

Bills, bills, bills.

Is that all people

ever think about?

What if I don't pay? What are

they gonna do, gouge my eyes out?

I wouldn't give them

any ideas.

Pay the man.

Is Mr. Dodge in?

Do me a favor and tell my brother Arthur

to stop playing hide-and-seek with me.

Tell him I need to

speak to him tonight, you understand?

- Uh, Mr. Dodge.

- You are looking for my brother too?

If you see him before I do,

please tell him I am in town.

Tell him I am in town.

Tell him...

Bart is in town.

Art Dodge, please.

Someone who sounds like Art

calling for Art.

- Hello?

- Hello. I'm calling Art Dodge.

His gallery said I could

reach him at this number.

Fifteen minutes?

I'll call back.

It's his brother, Bart.

All right. Fine.

Bye.

Fine, fine. Fine.

Gloria, it's me.

Listen, it's important.

Call me at Betty's

in exactly, uh...

twenty minutes.

Hi.

Hi.

- Oh, your brother called.

- What? What did you say?

She said your brother called.

What's the matter? Is he dead?

- Since when do you have a brother?

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes