George:
[on phone] Hey gorgeous, having a good time?
Julianne:
[on phone] Not particularly. But, I did what I came to do.
George:
[on phone] What, you split them up?
Julianne:
[on phone] No, I said goodbye.
George:
[on phone] Good girl. I'm proud of you. I'd be prouder still if you were dancing.
Julianne:
[on phone] I have big plans for dancing, just give me 30, 35 years.
George:
[on phone] Oh, the misery, the exquisite tragedy, the Susan Haywood of it all. I can just picture you there, sitting alone at your table in your lavender gown.
Julianne:
[on phone] Did I tell you my gown was lavender?
George:
[on phone] Hair swept up, haven't touched your cake, probably drumming your fingernails on the white linen tablecloth. The way you do when you're really feeling down. [she stop drumming her fingers and looks at her hand] Perhaps even looking at those fingernails and thinking, 'God, I should have stopped in all my evil plotting to have that manicure', it's too late now.
Julianne:
[on phone] George... I didn't tell you my dress was lavender.
...
George:
[on phone] Has God heard your little prayer? Will Cinderella dance again? And then... suddenly, the crowds part. And there he is, sleek, stylish, radiant with charisma. Bizarrely, he's on the telephone. But then, so are you. And he comes towards you... the moves of a jungle cat. And although you, quite correctly, sense that he is... gay, like most devastating handsome single men of his age are, you think, what the hell, life goes on. Maybe there won't be marriage, maybe there won't be sex, but, by God, there'll be dancing.
