High Society Page #4

MOTHER:

Tracy --

TRACY:

No!

MOTHER:

For me, please?

TRACY:

Mother, I really think you're

sorry you ever let Father go.

MOTHER:

For George and for me, Tracy.

TRACY:

Oh, all right.

I can't stand seeing you hurt.

MOTHER:

Thank you, dear.

TRACY:

All right. Let them send their spies.

I'll give them a story.

MOTHER:

Now, Tracy.

TRACY:

I'll give them a slant on Newport home

life that will stand their hair on end.

MOTHER:

Tracy, promise me you'll behave

like a lady in front of these creatures.

TRACY:

I promise.

--------

LIZZY:

Looks like the sort of place

where treaties are signed.

FRANK:

Or wars declared.

LIZZY:

Maybe we should have gone

to the service entrance.

FRANK:

Maybe this is the service entrance.

LIZZY:

I don't understand how the Lords ever

got talked into letting us come down here.

FRANK:

lt's publicity, they love it.

It's a wonder they didn't roll

out the red carpet.

LIZZY:

Mike, I don't like this assignment.

FRANK:

Neither do I, Liz, but I like to eat.

LIZZY:

How do you do?

FRANK:

I think we're expected.

Mike Connor and Miss Imbrie.

We're from SPY magazine.

BUTLER:

I'll tell Mrs. Lord you're here.

Please wait in the south parlor.

FRANK:

The south parlor.

LIZZY:

But of course.

BUTLER:

The family will be here

directly to welcome you.

LIZZY:

I wonder what with.

FRANK:

The south parlor.

LIZZY:

That's right.

FRANK:

Would you have four footmen

bring me a large ashtray, please?

LIZZY:

Mike, be careful what you say.

We may be wired for sound.

FRANK:

They couldn't pay me to

live in a joint like this.

LIZZY:

You know, they won't.

FRANK:

I'd have more respect for this

dame if she'd throw us out.

LIZZY:

Don't make snap judgments.

You were wrong about me,

remember?

FRANK:

Yeah.

Hey, Liz.

Look at that loot that they collected.

LIZZY:

Wow. They must run a hockshop

on the side.

What's the matter?

FRANK:

The joint's full of spies.

LIZZY:

That ought to make us feel at home.

Move over.

Thank you.

FRANK:

Look at this, Liz. All the comforts.

Lousy with phones. South parlor,

sunroom, terrace, pool, stables. Stables?

LIZZY:

I always knew horses could talk.

Mike, don't!

*HE TAKES THE PHONE*

MOTHER:

Yes?

FRANK:

This is the voice of doom.

MOTHER:

What?

FRANK:

This is to tell you your days are numbered.

*HE SETS THE PHONE DOWN*

MOTHER:

Hello? Oh, dear.

One of the servants has been

At the sherry again.

LIZZY:

Look, Huckleberry, you'll get us tossed

out of here before we get a story.

FRANK:

Stop worrying.

You just watch the old master

put them through the loops.

LIZZY:

I'll watch, professor.

I assume these are

the Seth Lord ancestors.

There certainly can be no

other reason for hanging them.

Can't say they look very bright.

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