The V.I.P.s

Paul Andros:
Pay no attention. Drunks cry very easily. It's only the whiskey.

Frances Andros:
I know it is foolishly sentimental to want to sit next to the man that you are eloping with.

Frances Andros:
For most of those thirteen years I've loved him. But I don't know him.

Marc Champselle:
You? Why should you be scared of him?

Frances Andros:
As a child I was scared of the dark.

Max Buda:
[They are playing cards, watched by a reporter] Not that one. *That* one!

Gloria Gritti:
How do you know what is in my hand?

Max Buda:
Because I know what is in your head.

Gloria Gritti:
So, I have nothing in my head.

Max Buda:
[to the reporter] Don't quote that.

Gloria Gritti:
Well, I give you something you can quote. From Tiempo, the movie critic, it said, Gloria Gritti is an actress who's talent is equal to her intelligence.

Max Buda:
How unkind. Gin, I think.

The Duchess of Brighton:
[waiting for the plane to take off] I have two enormous pills to steady me down and the two pep-pills I took this morning - the pep-up pills. I'm flying already!

Frances Andros:
That is what I love you for. That I can make fun of you.

Frances Andros:
I love you for what you are. Not what you think you are.

Marc Champselle:
"No" is not a word that I recognise.

Frances Andros:
You've recognised it for the past three months.

Les Mangrum:
A hundred years ago, top people were top people because they were born top people, but you know something, love? A hundred years from now, top people will be top people because they deserve to be.

The Duchess of Brighton:
What a ridiculous form of locomotion flying is. They tie you to your chair and tell you you're going, then they make scarifying noises with their engines, then they untie you and tell you're not going at all. Can you imagine the Queen Mary behaving like that?

The Duchess of Brighton:
300 pounds a day. I can keep my home now.

Sanders:
Your plane, your grace.

The Duchess of Brighton:
Tell it, it can go without me.

Max Buda:
Tell me, eh, with Room With No View, how much did we gross?

Dr. Schwatzbacher:
12,363,000.

Max Buda:
Oh, without Tokyo?

Dr. Schwatzbacher:
Yes.

Max Buda:
You brought the agreements?

Dr. Schwatzbacher:
Yes.

Max Buda:
With my Lichtenstein or my Hong Kong company?

Dr. Schwatzbacher:
A new one. The friendly Isles. No taxes at all!

Max Buda:
No taxes? Ha-ha-ha. My darling, Dr. Schwartzbacher!

Sanders:
Is everything in order?

The Duchess of Brighton:
Eh, well not all together, I'm afraid.

Sanders:
Your grace is traveling on Flight 905 to Miami.

B.O.A.C. Officer:
The, Duchess of Brighton, oh yes, it's under D. Ha-ha. Would that be it?

The Duchess of Brighton:
[to Sanders] He does mix his tenses, though, would it, was it. It is.

The Duchess of Brighton:
Why do I have to travel with this ridiculous bag. It's like a bottomless pit. Oh! You know, I'm sure I had it when I left home.

B.O.A.C. Officer:
Yes, but I'm afraid you can't travel to America without a vaccination certificate, madame.

The Duchess of Brighton:
Why not? I once came through an epidemic of black water fever in Uganda and I hadn't been inoculated or anything? I'm really not afraid of a little small pox.

B.O.A.C. Officer:
Yes, well I'm afraid its a regulation, madame.

The Duchess of Brighton:
It's a very idiotic one.

The Duchess of Brighton:
The truth is, I'm a little strung out. You see, its the first time I've ever flown. And this morning I had to borrow one of my maid Armstrong's pep-up pills. Ha. It pepped me up, alright, but, not just up, but in all directions, it seems.

B.O.A.C. Airplane Announcer:
Ladies and Gentlemen, would you kindly fasten your seat belts, please.

The Duchess of Brighton:
I haven't brought a seat belt with me.

Jamaican Passenger:
You must be sitting on it.

The Duchess of Brighton:
Oh, well, have you got one?

Jamaican Passenger:
Yes, I have.

The Duchess of Brighton:
Oh, I see. What happens now?

Jamaican Passenger:
You should have another part.

The Duchess of Brighton:
Oh, here it is...

Jamaican Passenger:
Here, there we are. Here, this way.

The Duchess of Brighton:
I'll leave it to you.

Jamaican Passenger:
Now, you put that through there. That, that through there and you're fastened to your chair.

The Duchess of Brighton:
You can't be expected to know that. What are they going to do? Loop-the-loop, or something?

Marc Champselle:
This is a problem, darling. How am I going to fix adjoining rooms for us, without seeming too obvious?

Frances Andros:
Your past experience, should help you there, shouldn't it?

Marc Champselle:
Have I married, a Cat?

Frances Andros:
You haven't married anything yet?

Paul Andros:
Where do you want to go, Marc?

Marc Champselle:
What do you mean?

Paul Andros:
Cannes is a bit dead in January. What about the West Indies? No, of course, you'd miss your gambling, wouldn't you. What about Rio? That's pleasant at this time of year.

Marc Champselle:
I'm going to New York, Paul. With your wife.

Paul Andros:
I made this out for 10,000 pounds. That's at least twice your nuisance value. But, I don't enjoy haggling.

Max Buda:
The line to Borghamn is temporarily out of order. Can somebody please tell me how it is possible for a telephone to be disordered by a fog?

Frances Andros:
That word seems to have stuck in your throat, a bit.

Marc Champselle:
Gigolo or aging?

Frances Andros:
Not aging, we're all aging.

Marc Champselle:
But, yes, gigolo does hurt. I suppose because its kind of true. I have made love to women for, oh, not for money, really, really not for money, or for what I could get out of it, but, well,

Frances Andros:
Well?

Marc Champselle:
For fun! It's true. I'm just one of nature's lay-abouts, I suppose.

Frances Andros:
I love you very deeply, you know.

Marc Champselle:
Good. You haven't told me why?

Frances Andros:
You so much want looking after. And I so much want to look after you.

Frances Andros:
Darling, I simply have to get out of this dress and take a bath.

Marc Champselle:
What happened? You got lost in the fog?

Les Mangrum:
Well, let's have another go at this.

[Grabs a bottle of champagne]

Miss Mead:
Well, I'll be squiffy!

Les Mangrum:
Marvelous! That, I should like to see, Miss Mead. Just once. What am I talking about, just once? If I don't see it tonight, I don't suppose I ever will.

Les Mangrum:
Oh well, ha-ha, here's to better days.

Miss Mead:
Better days.

Miss Mead:
Mr, Mr, Andros? I-I don't suppose you've ever before been approached by a perfectly strange woman in a hotel lounge asking you for 153,750 pounds?

Paul Andros:
No, I, don't think I have.

Airport Director:
[Talking on the phone] No, I want to speak to Dawkins.

Sanders:
[Walks into the Director's office] Excuse me, sir.

Airport Director:
Shhh! [Talking on the phone] Dawkins? Airport Director, here. I want the royal lounge made ready by 10 hundred hours for the Russian delegation. Oh, about 20 of them, I think. Lay out caviar, champagne and cake. Oh, some kind of Russian-looking cake. Well, how should I know what makes a cake look Russian! Use your imagination, Dawkins.

Sanders:
May I speak to you sir? Its extremely urgent.

Airport Director:
[Still talking on the phone] Russians take-off is 10:25. By 10:45, the lounge must be ready for the American delegation. Oh, sandwiches, coffee and bourbon. Their take-off is 11 hundred hours.

[Hangs up phone]

Airport Director:
Yes, what is it?

Sanders:
It's my VIP list, sir. I thought perhaps you might know who Mr. Len Mason is?

Airport Director:
Why should I? Your VIPs, your own pigeon, Sanders. I've got my own to look after. And they're a great deal more important than your film stars and oil magnets!