she puts the "cheese" in "cheesecake."
Well, Jane Eyre has been selling popcorn
for over a hundred years, L.B.
Hello.
Hello.
Could you reach me a towel?
I...
I really can't do that.
I'm sorry.
I'm an idiot. I'm a complete idiot,
and I'm sorry.
- Forget it.
- No, no. I'm a vain, preening ass...
...without a single redeeming feature.
- That's not true. You have very good teeth.
Come on.
I've got a better idea. Take me flying.
Or better yet, I'll take you flying.
Do your worst, Miss Hepburn.
Don't be so squirmy. You're gonna
get on famously with Father and Mother.
And I'm sure they'll like you too.
Once they get to know you.
- Hello! Hello!
- Kath, hello.
Kathy.
- Who's that with the camera right there?
- That's my ex-husband, Ludlow.
Father and Mother are just mad
about Luddie.
- What the hell's he doing here?
- Oh, he's here all the time.
Hello!
Sorry we're late.
- Mom.
- Oh. Oh, thank you.
- Dad.
- Darling.
- Uncle Willy.
- Oh, who have we got here?
- Don't feel self-conscious.
- Hepburns! Hepburns!
Attention, please. This is Howard.
Howard, welcome.
Don't worry, he's had his lunch.
He likes you. That's unusual.
We pay our devotion to the arts here.
A colony we created.
Julian's a painter. Abstract, of course.
What's the point of painting...
...something real when you can just
take a picture nowadays?
Where do you stand on politics,
Mr. Hughes?
- Excuse me?
- We're all socialists here.
We are not.
You've met Mr. Roosevelt.
What make you of him?
What are you sniggering at?
- What? What was that?
- You just sniggered.
No, no. The dog.
It seems to be crushing my feet.
- Oh, my God!
- Buster!
Hey. Hey!
Don't you like dogs?
I will not have you sniggering
at Mr. Roosevelt.
- Please leave.
- No. I wasn't.
- I thought everybody liked dogs.
- Perhaps he had a bad experience.
Does it upset you
that Howard gets more press?
- A bad experience with a dog?
- No, no.
- You are such a shy creature, aren't you?
- Perhaps it was a very large dog.
- The press can be a damned nuisance.
- Was it a Doberman?
- A Doberman, Mr. Hughes? Or a dachshund?
- Neither, sir.
- Dachshunds are little dogs, Hep dear.
- They should all be lined up and shot.
- What's that Spanish painting?
- The Goya.
Goya. Of course. Yes.
- Yes, Mexican.
- What was that called?
Anyway, that's the vulgar press, I'm sure.
Do you read much, Mr. Hughes?
I try to stay up to snuff
on the trade journals, yeah.
- Snuff?
- These would be flying magazines?
- What was that?
- Oh, he's a little deaf.
- Pass the goddamn butter, I beg you.
- You read flying magazines?
Trade journals. On engineering. Aviation.
We read books.
Howard has to read the trade pieces, Mom,
because he's designing a new airplane.
Oh, really? Do tell.
Well...
...it's quite exciting, actually.
It's a spy plane for the Air Corps.
A twin-engine plane with some...
...I must admit,
some rather unique design features.
You see,
it has these two booms at the back...
Luddie built a birdhouse once.
You remember that, dear?
- Yes, well, a mere trifle, darling.
- I remember the painting!
The painting, it's called
May 18-0- something.
Anyway, Goya's vastly overrated.
All the Spaniards are.
- Nonsense! Picasso is sacred.
- I'm a urologist.
- It was quite aesthetic, really.
- A sacred monster.
The birds don't care for it much,
but the bats do.
- I'll bet.
- That's such bunk!
- Do speak up, dear.
- Nothing, nothing, Mrs. Hepburn. Nothing.
Why did you speak? I can't abide people
who speak but have nothing to say.
Did you go to mechanic school
to learn all this airplane guff?
No, no, I didn't, Luddie. No.
Well, Howard just flew round
the world in three days.
- I think we've had enough about airplanes.
- And dogs.
- Then how did you make all that money?
- We don't care about money here.
Well, that's because you have it.
Would you repeat that?
You don't care about money