The Seven Year Itch Page #2

No dogs, no children,

just two interior decorators.

And you, and of course, me.

- You all right?

- Oh, sure, fine.

Well, good night.

Good night.

Well, now.

Maybe I should have

asked her in for a drink.

Make her feel at home.

After all, we're one big family here.

Oh, no, no.

I've got to get to work

on the Brubaker book.

I'm gonna talk to him

about it tomorrow, so I better.

Of Man and the Unconscious,

by Dr. Ludwig Brubaker.

Some title.

We'll have to soup this one up,

that's for sure.

Ten o'clock.

Helen's not gonna call till 10:00.

I hope this thing

keeps me awake till 10:00.

Chapter three:

"The Repressed Urge

in the Middle-Aged Male.

Its Roots and Its Consequences."

Helen has a lot of nerve

calling me at 10:00.

It shows a definite lack of trust.

What does she think I'm gonna do?

Start smoking? Get drunk?

Or tattooed? Charlie...

Big, green dragon.

I bet she thinks I'll have

girls up here.

That's terrible.

Seven years we've been married.

I've never done anything like that.

Don't think I couldn't have either.

Because I could have, plenty.

Plenty.

Don't laugh, Helen.

I happen to be very attractive

to women.

You're attractive to me,

but I'm used to you.

This isn't a thing one likes

to tell his wife...

...but women have been throwing

themselves at me for years.

That's right, beautiful ones,

plenty of them.

- Acres and acres of them.

- Name one.

It's hard just offhand,

but there have been plenty of them.

You asked for it.

Take my secretary, for instance.

To you, she's just Miss Morris,

a piece of office furniture.

Ten fingers to type my letters.

Well, let me tell you.

- Did you type this letter?

- Yes, Mr. Sherman.

There are six errors

in the first paragraph.

What is the matter with you?

- What's the matter with you?

- I'll tell you what's the matter.

I'm in love with you.

I have been since the day I came here.

Deeply, madly, desperately,

all-consumingly.

And to you I'm nothing,

just a piece of furniture.

Ten fingers to type your letters with.

Mr. Sherman, take a look at me.

I'm a woman, do you hear?

With flesh and blood

and nerves and feelings!

I'm in love with you.

I need you, I want you. I want you

That will be all, Miss Morris.

You remember that torn shirt, Helen?

Now you know how it happened.

It got torn at the laundry, that's

how it happened. What an imagination!

You don't realize this

about women and me:

I walk into a room

and they sense it.

I arouse something in them,

I bother them.

It's a kind of animal thing I've got.

It's quite extraordinary.

The only extraordinary thing

is your imagination.

Last winter when I had

my appendix out...

...do you remember the nurse?

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