person I've ever seen.
What's the matter with you?
-Oh, just rude I guess.
-Oh, really. Somebody should talk to your mother.
-They tried, Miss St. John.
-My name's not St. John.
-Well, St. Joseph then.
-St. James.
First name Hilda or Helen, or Harriet, maybe?
Helen.
Alright, Helen.
I also know that you come from Toledo, Ohio.
-You do? How?
Well, I've had three long acts to work you out
from that coat of yours.
Initials, labels...
Alfred Spitzer, Fine Furs, Toledo, Ohio.
-Maybe I should have explored your coat.
-But you didn't though.
-Didn't have time.
-Good.
-My name is Don Birnam.
-How do you do?
-Well, how do you like New York?
-Love it.
-You intend to stay long?
-Oh, sixty years, perhaps.
-I live here now. I've got a job.
-Doing what?
-Time Magazine.
-Oh. Time Magazine?
Then perhaps you could do something for me.
Could you help me become Man of the Year?
-Delighted. What do you do?
-Yes, what do I do?
I'm a writer. I've just started a novel. As a matter of fact
I've started several. But, I never seem to finish one.
Well, in that case, why don't you write short stories.
Well, I have some of those. First paragraph.
Then there's one-half of the opening scene of a play
which takes place in the leaning tower of Pisa.
It tempts to explain why it leans.
And why all sensible buildings should lean.
They'll love that in Toledo.
-Oh, by the way, are you coming here to Lohengrin next week?
-I don't know.
Because if you are, I'm not going to let
this coat out of my hands.
-Don't worry.
-Oh, but I do.
You know, to be really safe, we should go together.
We could.
Are you in the phone book?
-Yes, but I'm not home very much.
-Well, I'll call you at your office.
Editorial Research. If Henry Luce answers, hang up.
-All right. Would you like a taxi?
-No, thanks. I'm taking the subway.
Oh, very sensible.
As a matter of fact, I'm going to an extremely crazy party
on Washington Square.
If you'll like, I'll take you along.
Oh. Thank you very much, Miss St. James,
but I have to see a friend uptown.
-Oh. Goodbye, Mr. Birnam.
-Goodbye.
Who threw that?
-It fell out of my pocket.
-Do you always carry those things?
That friend of mine, the one uptown, he has a slight cold
and I thought I'd take this along and make him a hot toddy.
-Well, see that he gets a hot lemonade and some asprin.
-I shall.
Bye. Oh, Miss St. James!
Yes?
-What kind of a party was that you asked me to?
-A cocktail party.
-Invitation still stand?
-Of course. Come on.
Okay. So they go to that cocktail party and...
he gets stinko and falls flat on his face.
He does not.
By this time, he's crazy about that girl by then.
He drinks tomato juice.
Doesn't touch liquor for that whole week...
for two weeks, for six weeks.
In love, huh?
That's what's going to be hard to write.
Love is the hardest thing in the world to write about.
It's so simple.
You've got to catch it through details...
like the early morning sunlight hitting the gray tin
of the rainspot in front of her house.
The ringing of a telephone that sounds like Beethoven's Pastoral.
A letter scribbled on her office stationery...
that you carry in your pocket
because it smells of all the lilacs in Ohio.
Pour it, Nat!
He thinks he's cured.
If he could only get a job now,
they could be married and that's that.
But it's not Nat. Not quite.
Because one day, one terrible day.
Yeah? Go on.
You see, this girl's been writing to her people in Toledo.
They want to meet the young man.
So they come to New York.
They stay at the Hotel Manhattan.
Their very first day, she's to introduce him to her parents.
One o'clock. Lobby of the hotel...
Just walked in for a simple haircut.
No, that wasn't enough, not for New York.
They gave me a shampoo, scalp massage and a manicure.
Thought they were going to tear my shoes off
and paint my toenails.
I had a lovely morning.
Just did a little window shopping.
Didn't want to get all tired out.
On