How to Murder Your Wife Page #3

# Happy days are here again #

Your Honour...

You better...

You better sit down, Your Honour.

You're smashed!

Smashed? Nonsense, my boy.

I'm as sober as a judge.

Hence the origin of the phrase.

No, no, no, don't do it, sir!

Don't do it!

Good morning, Charles.

Good morning, sir.

Good morning.

Lady in the bedroom.

Oh.

I, uh... don't know

exactly how to break this to you.

Uh...

I met her last night.

She came out of a cake.

I, uh...

seem to be married to her.

Ch-Charles!

- Oh.

- Oh.

You're awake. Well, that's fine.

Good, good, good, good, good.

Look... Before anything happens...

Before anything else happens,

we have to have a little talk. No...

No, a serious talk.

Look, very, very serious... talk.

Now, um... first of all,

I would like to apologise for last night.

Quite obviously, a mistake has been made.

On my part!

It's nothing that can't be rectified.

It can be rectified if we keep our heads.

Uh...

Let's, uh...

begin by very calmly

discussing the facts, huh?

Last night

at old Tobey's bachelor dinner, you...

came out of a cake.

That's natural. Young ladies

often come out of cakes at bachelor dinners.

So far, so good.

You and I were attracted to each other.

That's also natural. We happen to be

two extremely attractive people.

At any rate,

I followed you to your dressing room,

and, on some insane impulse,

I asked you to marry me...

while I was intoxicated, quite obviously.

And, apparently, you accepted.

I remember we went back to the dining room

to announce our betrothal,

which was greeted with enthusiasm

by my friends. Friends? Huh!

So, the mayor wakes up the licence clerk

and waives the blood tests

and, before I knew what hit me, there's

Judge Blackstone, two guys holding him up...

"Now pronouncing you man and wife."

Anyway, that's where things stand, my dear,

at the moment.

As I say, it's nothing

that can't be rectified quite simply.

And you'll get a handsome settlement.

I happen to be very well off.

Si weeks in Las Vegas. Ooh, boy.

All there is to it.

My God, you're Italian.

Vous ne parlez... You don't sp...

No speaka da English?

No.

- Italian?

- Yes!

Oh, my God. Excuse me, I'll be right back.

You, uh... get-um dressed.

Me go talk-um butler.

Oh, oh, Stanley?

Vieni qui.

Sure.

Charles?!

Charles?! Charles?

Charles.

You can't do this!

Sorry, but I do not work

for married couples.

You knew that before you entered

into this curious alliance.

Now, Charles... Now, please, Charles...

Will you look at me?!

Good God, sir, how did it happen?

It wasn't my fault. I swear!

You've got to believe me.

Of course, I believe you, sir.

- Poor sir.

- Oh, poor Charles.

Good heavens. What is to become of us now?

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