Paris - When It Sizzles Page #2

Now, as we build

step by step to the climax,

the music soars.

And there, totally oblivious

of the torrential rain

pouring down upon them,

the two fall happily and tenderly

into each other's arms.

And as the audience drools

with sublimated sexual pleasure,

the two enormous and highly paid

heads come together

for that ultimate

and inevitable moment.

The final, earth-moving,

studio-rent-paying, theatre-filling,

popcorn-selling...

..kiss.

Fade out. The end.

That's it. 138 pages. Why make it

longer? We'd only have to cut later.

- Mr Benson...

- Yes?

This screenplay,

when does it have to be finished?

Well, let's see, today is Friday.

My friend and, in this case, patron

and producer Mr Alexander Meyerheim

arrives in Paris from Cannes

at ten o'clock on...

..Sunday morning.

Which happens to be Bastille Day.

Perfect! 10:
01 we hand him

the completed script,

and then you and l celebrate. Drink

champagne, dance in the streets,

whatever they do on July 14th.

You're very kind but l have a date.

You haven't written anything at all?

You have a date?

You mean this entire movie

has to be done in two days?

Miss Simpson, if you aren't up to

your part of thejob, tell me now.

- l can find someone else.

- No, l didn't mean that.

lt's just that it's,

well, rather unusual, isn't it?

Not for me.

l imagine you've given it

a great deal of thought.

No, l haven't.

So what have you been doing?

What any red-blooded

American screenwriter

would or should have been doing

for the first 19 and a fraction weeks

of his employment.

Water-skiing in St Tropez,

lying in the sun in Antibes,

studying Greek.

Greek?

There was this starlet

representing the Greek film industry

at the Cannes Festival.

Then, of course,

a few weeks unlearning Greek,

which involved

a considerable amount of vodka

and an unpremeditated trip to Madrid

for the bullfights,

which fortunately, since

l can't bear the sight of blood,

had long since gone on to Seville.

Weeks 17 and 18 were spent

in the casino at Monte Carlo,

in a somewhat ill-advised attempt

to win enough money

to buy back my $5,000-a-week,

plus expenses, contract

from my friend, employer and patron,

Mr Alexander Meyerheim,

thus not having to write the picture

at all. Take a note.

For the textbook l will someday do

on the art of screenwriting,

never play 13, 31

and the corners thereof

for any serious length of time for

any serious money. lt doesn't work.

And now l have to. Shall we begin?

An Alexander Meyerheim production.

Caps, quotes. The Girl Who Stole

the Eiffel Tower.

You do like the title?

Oh, yes,

it certainly sounds intriguing.

lt intrigued Meyerheim, too.

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