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Jaime Sommers: [on phone to Oscar] Nineteen thousand dollars a year for MY services? What do you think I am - - some kind of a BIONIC COCKTAIL WAITRESS? Look - - don't call me back until you're ready to talk some big money, and I mean some - - BIG - - MONEY!Oscar Goldman: [winces at Jaime's fake fury and deafening tirade, and flinchingly holds the phone away from his ear, while also looking grimly pleased that Jaime is really "doing her charade up brown" for him]Jaime Sommers: [slams down the phone, then gives a short "regretful to have to do that to such a sweet friend" giggle and blows a kiss at the phone] Sorry, Oscar.

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