Dear Phoebe

Mickey Riley:
We're taking up a donation to hang you from the highest Christmas tree.

Bill Hastings:
We're over-subscribed now, but we know you wouldn't want to be left off.

Mr. Fosdick:
My mind is as closed as my wallet. There will be no Christmas party this year.

Bill Hastings:
The natives are restless.

Mr. Fosdick:
Disperse ye rebels!

[flips on intercom to address the office staff]

Mr. Fosdick:
Now hear this: I wish to announce there will be no Christmas Party this year. I have decided to give my usual generous donation to charity instead.

[turns off intercom and smiles]

Mr. Fosdick:
And charity begins at home.

Bill Hastings:
[narrating] Everyone wants someone or something for Christmas. I have my heart set on Mickey Riley, girl sportswriter on the Daily Star. The rest of my restless hours are spent writing the Phoebe Goodheart lovelorn column and shopping for Christmas cards.

[first lines]

Bill Hastings:
[narrating] Mother Nature does a wonderful job decorating most of the world for the holiday season, but here in Southern California, we have to give her a helping hand. Our snow is synthetic. The trees come in all colors, including old-fashioned green, and Santa Claus drives his sleigh over Beverly Hills with his sunglasses on.