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Roman Holiday PART 5
(still working on her buttons) How terribly nice.
Hey, hey:
these are pyjamas; they're to sleep in; you're to climb into them, you understand?
(taking them) Thank you.
And you do your sleeping on the couch, see?--not on the bed, not on the chair: on the couch; is that clear?
Do you know my favorite poem?
Ah, you already recited that for me.
(as he lays them out on the ottoman) Aritheuso* rose from a couch of snows in the Aquasaromian* Mountains. Keats.
Shelley.
Keats!
If you just keep your mind off the poetry and on the pyjamas, everything'll be alright; see?
It's Keats.
I'll be-- it's Shelley. I'll be back in about ten minutes.
(to her back as he goes to the door) Keats.
You have my permission to
withdraw.
(stopping in the doorway) Thank you very much.
Well?
No trace, Your Excellency.
Have you searched the grounds?
Every inch, Sir, from the attics to the cellar.
I must put you on your honor not to speak of this to anyone. I must remind you that the Princess is the direct heir to the throne. This must be classified as top-crisis secret. Have I your pledge?
Yes, Sir.
Very well.
Now we must notify Their Majesties. (The General looks up at him, worried; the Countess looks up at the General, standing, and turning to the Ambassador who looks at them, waiting for an affirmation. Receiving none, he stands up himself and walks from behind the desk.)
(about to say something) A--.
Oh... (Looking at her, he slams the door shut, hard, but she doesn't move a muscle. He goes over to the other side of the bed and moves the table out of the way, making room. Then brings the ottoman over and places it next to her. He takes off his jacket, puts it down and loosens his tie. Then he grabs the undersheet beneath her and then, calculating, lifts it up quickly, throwing her from the bed and onto the ottoman. She stirs slightly after the disturbance, resuming her comfortable position.)
(muttering) So happy.
The pleasure's mine.
Ah, screwball. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- (The newspapers are turning out reports. A machine types out the following bulletin: "A SPECIAL EMBASSY BULLETIN REPORTS THE SUDDEN ILLNESS OF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS ANN.")
Holy smoke, the Princess interview-- (Ann stirs, half-asleep, with a questioning "hmmm?") eleven forty-five.
Oh, shut up. (Joe jumps up, pulling the curtain back to see outside. He rushes to the wardrobe but stops, going through his clothes laid over the chair, retrieving a piece of paper. He puts it back as goes back to the wardrobe to get his clothes.)
(Joe arrives in the newsroom, reaching for a phone on a desk.)
Hi, Joe.
Good morning, Joe.
Hello, honey.
Mr. Hennessy has been looking for you.
Uh-oh.
Thanks a lot, hon.
(from inside, angrily) Come in. (Joe braces himself, exchanging a worried glance with the secretary, and then marches confidently into the office.)
(taking a mouthful as he shuts the door behind him; walking to Hennessy's desk) You've been looking for me?
Just coming to work?
(innocently) Who, me?
We start our days at eight-thirty in this office; we pick up our assignments--.
I picked up mine last night.
What assignment was that?
The Princess, eleven forty-five.
(mouth open) You've already been to the interview?
Well, sure; I just got back.
Well, well, well; all my apologies.
(turning to leave) 'S alright.
(stopping him) Er, this is very interesting.
(trying to get away again) Nah, just routine.
Tell me, tell me: did she answer all the questions on the list?
Well, of course she did.
I've got 'em right here, somewhere.
Er, don't disturb yourself; I have a copy here.
How did Her Highness react to the idea of a European Federation?
She thought it was just fine.
She did?
(seeing the need to flesh it out, leaning against the desk in thought) Well, she thought that there'd be...two effects. |
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