Casanova Brown Page #4

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- Well, of course, Cas.

Trouble is, I don't know.

I just can't be sure.

Yes, yes.

I mean, why Chicago?

I don't know. Why?

- Lf it had been New York...

- Yes?

But Chicago.

If you don't mind my saying so, Cas.

I don't seem to have anything

to keep my mouth shut on.

Well, look,

last year I wrote a book about that

scandalous ancestor of mine

called Casanova in Spain.

I wrote it because I wanted

to prove to the world

that I had something to look forward to

beside a schoolteacher's future.

Well, Cas, don't you think that we can skip

the high-minded aspects of this situation

and get strictly down to the nubbin?

Well, so I...

I took the manuscript to New York.

And while I was there I met a girl.

Well, now we're getting somewhere.

- Isabel.

- Isabel, eh?

What was she like?

Well, have you ever seen the sun

come up at dawn?

I have. It nauseated me.

I liked the way she walked,

the way she held her head

and her eyes...

Her eyes were like burned,

charred embers in a field of snow.

Big face, eh?

Little girl, almost childlike. We met...

Well, what was the score at this point?

Well, I took her back

to school one night in a taxi.

Thunderation, is this a schoolgirl?

No, college. Barnard.

She didn't want to get out,

so we drove on into the country.

- Yeah?

- On and on.

Then almost before we realized it...

And so, by the authority vested in me

by the laws of the state,

I pronounce you, Casanova,

and you, Isabel, man and wife.

Kiss the bride.

No, kiss her good.

How did you meet him?

Who introduced you?

Nobody. We just met at the library.

We asked for the same book

at the same time

- and then we got to talking.

- Talking.

- What does he do?

- He's an author, Dad.

Like Mr. Louis Bromfield?

Oh, well, not exactly.

See, they didn't accept Cas's book.

Oh, but it's wonderful, Mother.

All about his ancestor, Casanova.

Casanova?

Is this an Italian fellow?

A historical character, Father.

Rather fast.

But, Mother, he's nothing like that,

believe me.

Oh, he's kind and he's gentle.

What good is all this?

Just meeting him and talking to him

will tell you everything.

Why I fell in love with him.

Why I married him.

- Wait, just a minute, I'll get him.

- No.

Not yet.

At moments like this

when the way is not clear,

let us not forget that there is one place

where we can always find the answer.

In the stars.

Oh, Mother!

You're not going to drag

that stuff in again.

Oh, Dad.

Now, now, now, dear. Mother knows best.

And the stars know better still.

- Mr. Brown?

- Yes?

Would you be good enough

to tell me your birthday?

- Why, April the 8th, 1907.

- Thank you, sir.

You wouldn't remember the exact hour,

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