Remington Steele (1982) s02e12 Episode Script

Steele Eligible

Please welcome Bachelor Number Four, Remington Steele.
Aprivate investigator, Remington tells us he loves old movies especially those connected with murder- Are you all ri- mystery and mayhem.
Somebody's going around killing bachelors.
In that case, will you marry me, Laura? I was the closest person to him.
Why shouldn't I get everything? Including a five million-dollar life insurance policy? - Good boy.
- Dr.
Ridley? - Yes.
- Congratulations.
For what? Being selected one of the five most eligible bachelors in Los Angeles.
Now, how'd you hear about that? It's not supposed to be announced until this afternoon.
Remington Steele, Laura Holt.
Remington Steele and guest.
The clubhouse is up the hill and to your left.
- Thank you.
- "And guest.
" That certainly is an improvement.
Usually when I'm with you it's "unidentified woman.
" Now, Laura, petulance is uncalled for.
After all, you created Remington Steele to stand in the limelight while you work behind the scenes in mole-like anonymity.
And I've succeeded admirably, especially in the mole-like anonymity department.
Thanks.
Come on, Miss Holt.
Ah, here we are, eh? I wish you'd stop being so damn effusive.
Laura, this wasn't my idea.
Can I help it if I was chosen as one of the five most eligible bachelors in Los Angeles? - Thank you so much.
- Quite an accomplishment- honored for being unable to make a commitment.
I'm only going through with this to generate some publicity for the agency.
Do you think I enjoy this shallow adulation being flung into the world of hot tubs and saunas, surrounded by women subjected to casual, meaningless sex? How do I look, eh? Hmm? - Mr.
Steele.
- Mmm.
Moriah Taylor, editor of L.
A.
Upbeat Magazine.
It was my delightful duty to personally select all the finalists.
Oh, Miss Taylor, I'm flattered and humbled by this- this unique honor.
- Pictures don't do you justice.
- Oh.
Mr.
Steele always looks better under fluorescent.
May I present my associate, Laura Holt.
A distinct pleasure.
I need you.
Oh.
Don't go away, Miss Holt.
I'm rooted to the spot, Mr.
Steele.
If you'd be so kind as to nestle behind these curtains.
I want to give the mob the full impact of your introduction.
Oh, certainly.
Yes.
Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please? Could you please all find a seat? Thank you.
Now that you've sampled the appetizers, I think it's time you feasted on the main course.
Ladies, feel free to drool and, men, don't be ashamed of feeling inadequate.
Bachelor Number One- Chip Carstairs.
A stockbroker, Chip enjoys volleyball on the beach and long walks in the rain.
He lists his favorite books as The Money Game and The Prophet.
Bachelor Number Two, Arnold Baskin.
An attorney, Arnold loves sushi for two and Ingmar Bergman films.
Arnold's favorite books are Winning Through Intimidation and The Prophet.
And now we have Bachelor Number Three, Butch Moran.
I'm sure we're all familiar with Butch, the star forward of our L.
A.
Owls hockey team.
Besides his rugged good looks, Butch is gifted with a fine sense of humor.
His favorite reading material is Sports Illustrated and The Prophet.
And now, if you will, please welcome Bachelor Number Four, Remington Steele.
Aprivate investigator, Remington tells us he loves old movies especially those concerned with murder, mystery and mayhem.
The ideal lady for him is one he can work with as well as play with.
He's never read The Prophet, but he's promised to run out and buy a copy.
Don't bother, Remington.
I have one, right beside my bed.
Our fifth bachelor, Dr.
Harold Ridley, noted plastic surgeon is unable to join us at this time.
No doubt dispatched on an urgent medical matter.
And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen the most eligible bachelors in Los Angeles, courtesy of Upbeat Magazine.
All right, boys and girls.
That's enough for now.
You'll get plenty of opportunities as the day wears on because we've planned an action-packed agenda crammed with tennis, golf, swimming, sauna and hot tub.
But these activities wouldn't be very meaningful without someone to share them with.
And Upbeat Magazine wants this to be one of the most meaningful days of your lives so we've taken the liberty of selecting companions for our fortunate four each of them chosen for their unique gifts of beauty, poise and intelligence and each, incidentally, members of the famous L.
A.
Owls cheerleaders, the Owlets! Ladies.
! Grab your guys, girls, and let's get to it! - Hi, I'm Millicent Fairbush.
- Mmm.
Of course you are.
- Dreadful bore.
- Ooh.
Ooh.
Aren't you joining the hedonistic horde? I'm sure they won't miss me.
You don't seem to be in the spirit of these festivities.
Well, watching grown men act like a bunch of adolescent schoolboys isn't my idea of a stimulating afternoon.
- I agree.
- Although I'm sure it sells magazines.
All of us liberated ladies fighting for a copy so we can ogle the bachelors and dream of entrapping one of them.
- Don't you have those fantasies? - Sometimes.
- Are you connected with any of this? - In a way, yes.
- You work for Upbeat Magazine? - Not really.
Unfortunately, I publish it.
- VictorJanoff.
- Laura Holt.
If the foot protruding from my mouth is a size six, it's mine.
If it's any consolation to you, Miss Holt, I totally agree.
This entire bachelor campaign is merely a tawdry excuse to promote sales.
- Oh.
- I wouldn't do that if I were you.
The water reaches over 100 degrees.
If you're not prepared for it, it can give you quite a jolt.
Thanks for the warning.
I'm sure our paths will cross again.
Could we get one of you hitting the ball, Mr.
Steele? Oh, yes, of course.
Yes.
Magnificent form, Mr.
Steele! All right, Millicent.
He's just whipped Jimmy Connors six-love.
Give him a great big victory kiss! Such enthusiasm is to be commended, Miss Fairbush.
Perhaps even, uh, rewarded.
Okay, everyone, on to the hot tub.
Uh, Butch, please.
You're supposed to be in the hot tub! We mustn't keep the photographers waiting! Is that the fine sense of humor Miss Taylor was talking about? It's just the way he plays hockey- all brawn, no brains.
Oh, Mr.
Steele, what a hairy chest you have.
So macho, so manly.
Laura, I find this as distasteful and degrading as you do.
- Yoo-hoo, Mr.
Steele.
! - Hello, Millicent.
Are you ready to try the hot tub experience? I know.
It's a dirty job, but somebody's gotta do it.
Last call, Butch.
! Miss Taylor, I'd be happy to take Mr.
Moran's place.
In fact, I'd consider it a blessing.
Anything to speed this up.
- You just lost your turn, Butch! - No! No, no! No! The last one in is a rotten egg! It's so senseless, so tragic.
Nothing like this has ever happened to Upbeat Magazine.
When did you first learn of Dr.
Ridley's death, Miss Taylor? Shortly before the ceremonies.
His office called said he'd been killed in a riding accident.
Kicked to death by his horse.
Then they called back and said, "No, all signs pointed to murder.
" - Why didn't you say something? - I didn't want to dampen the festivities.
Besides, there was nothing any of us could do for poor Dr.
Ridley.
Or now Butch.
You said you personally selected the finalists, Miss Taylor.
Was there any connection between them? Well, their paths cross occasionally.
These type of men tend to travel in the same circles.
All, that is, except for Mr.
Steele.
The circles he travels in are quite obscure.
Frankly, that's one of the reasons I picked you.
That element of mystery was quite alluring.
Hmm.
Yes, the mystery of Mr.
Steele has intrigued a great many people.
Ladies, could we get back to the case? You may be the case.
Are you saying someone killed these men because they're bachelors? At the moment, it's the only link we have.
Dear Lord, what'll that do to our photo session? You're supposed to be cooking dinner for your companion tonight.
Canard au vin rouge, as I recall.
Under the circumstances, I think that's out of the question.
On the contrary.
If you are the target, then you'll beJohnny-on-the-spot.
Really? And what will you be doing while I'm playing clay pigeon over my dead duck, eh? Checking out the two remaining bachelors.
Perhaps they can provide us with a more tangible motive than misogamy.
- Oh, Mr.
Steele, you're so very, very brave.
- Mmm.
Now, could we go over some of the details? For instance, what color are your walls? For instance, what color are your walls? I wouldn't want Millicent to wear something that would make her blend into the background.
I'm sure Millicent would stand out in anything she wore.
- Call me if something turns up, will you? - You'll hear from me.
- Count on it.
- Good night, Mr.
Steele.
Night, Mildred.
That's a barracuda.
Looking for a hot lunch.
Aren't you gonna do anything about it? Unfortunately, there's a case to pursue.
- Not for me.
- Where are you going? I think Mr.
Steele needs a little help with his canard au vin rouge.
- Mildred! - Don't worry, Miss Holt.
The only thing that gets sampled tonight is the duck.
- Hello there! - I'm Laura Holt, Mr.
Carstairs.
Call me Chip.
Have you eaten? - Not yet.
- Neither have I.
- Am I interrupting anything? - This is for the picture session.
- You know, Upbeat Magazine.
- Mm-hmm.
Have a look at this.
Lemon chicken.
I'll just, uh, warm it up a little.
I'm beginning to see why they chose you for Upbeat Magazine.
Women are attracted to me, Laura because I understand them.
Did you know Dr.
Ridley or Butch Moran? Terrible about Butch, huh? What a way to go.
The guy who really has to be in mourning is VictorJanoff.
The publisher of Upbeat Magazine? Let's have some wine.
It's bottled in small quantities by a private vintner in Napa.
I only open it on very special occasions.
- Why would Butch Moran's death affect VictorJanoff? - Janoff owns the L.
A.
Owls.
- Ah.
Listen.
- What do you hear? - Violins.
Spring.
Rebirth.
The newness of life.
The earth thawing and then blossoming.
- You're a very beautiful woman.
- I'm here on a case, Mr.
Carstairs.
Call me Chip.
Talk to me about VictorJanoff.
The brokerage firm I work for handled the stock issue when he went public.
Do you, uh, like capers? - Not really.
- Neither do I.
Are you able to talk and cook at the same time? I got a peek atJanoff's financial report.
No matter what you've read, he's skating on thin ice.
- A little, uh, cracked pepper? - Suit yourself.
Butch Moran was the only real asset he had.
He was the franchise.
Without him, it's over and out.
- Hardly a motive for murder.
- Who said it was? Here.
Wrap your tongue around this.
It'll tingle your taste buds.
I'm not particularly interested in having my taste buds tingled, thank you.
After all the trouble I've gone to? Believe me, one bite and you're in heaven.
Oh! Are you all ri- Ah, voilĂ ! - Oh, wonderful.
! - Hey! There we go, my little- You don't have to eat it, Millicent.
People don't look good with food in their mouths.
Just make like you're feeding her, please.
Do you know how the tradition of the host taking the first sip of wine came about? - It began with the Borgias.
- Oh, I've eaten there! These Borgias lived in the 15th century.
- Oh.
- They poisoned anybody who stood in their way so that whenever somebody shared a meal with them they insisted that one of the Borgias take the first sip or the first bite to prove it wasn't poisoned.
And in their honor- Mmm.
- Well? - Mmm.
I think I'll live.
All right.
Let's pack it in.
We still have Arnold Baskin to shoot.
- Oh, good.
I'll let you out.
- Oh, call me sometime.
I'll read you selected passages from The Prophet.
I hope you don't think me piggy but I would love to devour your duck.
- Mm-hmm.
- Here's your wrap, honey.
Sorry you have to rush.
- But, I haven't eaten yet.
- I'll pack you a doggy bag.
Mildred, please.
Miss Fairbush is our guest.
- Maybe a glass of wine? - Perhaps the living room would be less crowded.
This way, Millicent.
- Does she live in? - It seems that way, doesn't it? Okay, here you go, honey.
- Take it home with you.
- Thank you, Mildred for your extraordinary sense of presence.
You can leave now with a sense of achievement.
- I have dishes to do.
- They can wait until morning.
They might attract bugs.
And I never leave anything around that can cause problems.
Tragic turn of events today, wouldn't you say? Oh, you mean Butchy getting fried.
I suppose that's as concise a way of putting it as any.
Poor Butchy.
He had some great moves.
And he wasn't a bad hockey player either.
I take it you were acquainted with Mr.
Moran.
Oh, sure.
I was acquainted with the whole starting lineup.
That's one of the great things about being an Owlet.
- A who? - A cheerleader for the Owls hockey team.
I see.
Then you weren't acquainted with the other bachelors, were you? Not yet.
But there's one I'd like to get to know better.
So, don't you feel a little like a slut parading around in those skimpy costumes in front of all those people? - Mildred! - I was just trying to make conversation.
Would you excuse us? Miss Krebs and I have to confer on dessert.
Mincemeat pie, wasn't it? - What do you think you're doing? - I have two words for you.
- I hope they're "good night.
" - "Miss Holt!" Ah, so that's it! - She cares for you.
- And I care for her.
What are you cavorting around with that bimbo for? You're trying to protect me from betraying her, are you? Let me tell you about my relationship with Miss Holt.
On second thought, let me not tell you.
- I know all I need to know.
- Oh, really? Did you know that Miss Holt and I are merely friends? - Friends? - Well, more than friends.
- How much more? - Not that much.
What kind of a relationship is it? The kind that's filled with promise, but otherwise unfulfilled.
I love you, Mr.
Steele, and I love Miss Holt.
I just don't wanna see either one of you get hurt.
An admirable intent, but standing guard over me isn't the way to accomplish that.
Whatever course our relationship takes must be set by Laura and me! Should I apologize to the bimbo? Finish the dishes.
Don't want to attract bugs, do we? You leaving so soon? It's getting late, and I have pom-pom practice tomorrow.
Oh.
Well, at least let me drive you home.
- I was counting on it.
- Good.
Be back shortly, Mildred.
Uh, leave a light on in the window.
Well, Millicent, uh- I'll see you around, eh? - Next time I'll fix you a meal.
- Okay.
Hopefully breakfast.
Here.
Wha- Where's the keys? Come on.
Excuse me.
Do you have a patient, Remington Steele? Uh, he's in Emergency.
Doctor- Oh, thank God! - How is he? - Lucky.
No internal bleeding, no apparent concussion.
What you see is what you got.
A broken leg, three broken ribs and lots of cuts and abrasions.
We spent the last 20 minutes picking glass out ofhim.
Well, I was certainly Johnny-on-the-spot, eh? - What happened? - I was engaged in a game of follow the bouncing ball.
- I played the part of the ball.
- Did you see who it was? Ow.
It's very difficult to see anything when you're running for your life.
- Can he go home? - Yeah.
I'll prescribe some pain pills.
But I do want whoever's staying with him to wake him every couple hours just to make sure he's all right.
I'll call Mildred.
We can take turns.
Oh, that's okay.
I'm gonna stay with him.
Here's your tea.
I didn't know how you want it so I put in a little lemon and a little sugar and a lot of milk.
- Thank you, Millicent.
- You're going to stay with Mr.
Steele? Well, it happened practically on my doorstep.
- I kind of feel responsible.
- Why is that? It wouldn't have happened if I'd accepted Remy's invitation to spend the night.
Millicent, would you be kind enough to make a cup of tea? - Whatever you want.
- And this time, don't put anything in it.
Ouch! Oh! Oh, steady, Laura, please.
Oh, my bed.
- Are you all right? - Oh, yes.
Thank you.
Here you go.
- Can you take this? And these? - Certainly.
Easy.
Watch the leg.
Don't jostle the ribs.
Careful.
Find my shoes.
Very expensive shoes.
Laura, I did not invite that woman to spend the night.
Please.
We have more important things to talk about.
There's nothing more important than the- - You want a pill? - No.
I need to talk to you.
Look, you're a grown man.
I'm a grown woman.
- Then why are we acting like two children? - Will you listen to me? Somebody poisoned Chip Carstairs's lemon chicken.
That's three out of five dead.
Now this.
Obviously, something is emerging here- a pattern.
Somebody's going around killing bachelors.
In that case, will you marry me, Laura? - It doesn't make sense.
- Perhaps it's not supposed to make sense.
- What does that mean? - The A.
B.
C.
Murders.
I think I saw that one.
William Powell and Myrna Loy, right? I'm afraid it was never made into a movie.
It's an Agatha Christie novel in which "A" wants to kill "C" but kills "B" first to divert suspicion.
- Because he has no motive to kill "B.
" - Precisely.
- The police attempt to connect the two deaths- - And "A" gets away with murder.
If your theory is correct, we still have to figure out what would make one of these men a victim.
- Oh, my God! - What? The fifth bachelor, Arnold Baskin.
I was supposed to see him after I saw Carstairs only I had to talk to the police, and then the hospital called.
Busy.
- At least you know he's at home.
- He may be next on the list.
I've got to warn him.
I'll be back as soon as I can.
Just try to stay away from lemon chicken.
I never invited Millicent to spend the night.
- We'll talk about it later.
- All right.
I have to go out for a while.
The pain pills are on the stand next to the bed.
If he falls asleep, make sure you wake him every few hours.
If you can't, call an ambulance.
That's a lot to remember.
I'm sure you can handle it.
Stay close to him.
But not too close.
All right, all right.
I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, Mr.
Baskin.
- Call me Arnold.
- I don't mean to shock you but three of your fellow bachelors have been murdered.
You could be next.
That kind of news calls for a drink.
- Join me? - No.
No, thanks.
Is there any connection, no matter how vague how prosaic, with the other bachelors? My law firm has a department that specializes in sports figures.
Contract negotiations, commercial endorsements, that sort of thing.
Was Butch Moran a client? Oh, yes, and he was gonna pay off handsomely too.
You're sure you don't want to join me? This is very special.
It's bottled in small quantities by a private vintner in Mendocino.
How was Butch going to pay off? Janoff didn't have the bucks to pay Butch so he was gonna go the free agency route anyway.
He even gaveJanoff a letter of intent.
What is the significance of that? I read once that when the atom bomb was dropped on Hiroshima the shadows of people who were vaporized were etched permanently into the concrete sides of the buildings.
You can still see them now.
I'm trying to keep you alive, Mr.
Baskin.
Call me Arnold.
Won't you give me a sporting chance, Arnold? The letter meant that Butch had officially taken the first step in making a deal elsewhere.
Leaving Mr.
Janoff without a star attraction for his team.
- Don't you see the implications? - I'm beginning to.
If nuclear war comes- and it could come at any time- imagine the two of us locked together in those final moments our death bittersweet, but the image of us intertwined living for all eternity.
- On a wall? Like graffiti? - Think of it.
I'd rather think ofJanoff's motive.
With Butch dead, he still has nothing.
Well, if you call five million dollars nothing.
- Five million? - Hmm.
The insurance policy he had on Butch's life.
It's common when you have a piece of merchandise that valuable to insure it.
So that's the motive.
Well, maybe for killing Butch, but what about the other two? Or me? It's as simple as A.
B.
C.
, Mr.
Baskin.
Lock your windows.
Where are you going? Hey, we were just getting into the significance of nuclear love! - Who's there? Oh! - Go back to sleep.
Oh, Laura.
Oh! I took one of those pain pills.
I hate pills.
- Where's Miss Fairbush? - Huh? I sent her home.
Couldn't make tea worth a damn.
- Where've you been? - Getting the goods on the murderer.
- Congratulations, Laura.
Whodunit? - VictorJanoff.
Excellent work.
Excellent work, Laura.
What proof did you come up with? Butch Moran sent something called a letter of intent toJanoff.
If we can find it, it'll go a long way in establishing motive.
If a man's clever enough to conceive of a plan like this he would've destroyed that letter by now.
- Not necessarily.
- Why not? Because without it, we can't prove he's the killer.
Hmm.
- Rear Window.
- I know that was made into a movie.
James Stewart, Grace Kelly, Paramount, 1954.
All I can remember is Stewart had a broken leg.
And he passes the time watching his neighbors.
Slowly, he begins to believe one of them's a killer.
When the killer realizes that Stewart knows, he tries to kill him.
You wantJanoff to try to kill you? It would certainly prove his guilt.
Would you hand me over the directory there, please? I'll tell him I've located a witness- someone who saw him kill Dr.
Ridley at the stables someone who saw him rig th-th-that hot tub at the country club and someone who saw him run me down.
Okay, here we go.
Here we go.
See? We've located three witnesses already and we haven't even left the apartment.
Ouch.
Uh, Mr.
Janoff? - Yes? - Remington Steele.
- Really? - Surprised to hear from me? I'd be surprised to hear from anyone at this hour.
- Do you know what time it is? - Yes.
I couldn't sleep either.
Perhaps we both have the same thing on our mind, eh? - How's the leg? - Broken.
- And the ribs? - Uh, the same.
Shouldn't you be trying to get as much rest as possible? What would you say if I told you I'd found a witness who saw you kill Dr.
Harold Ridley the other day? I'd say I haven't the vaguest idea what you're talking about, Mr.
Steele and I suspect neither do you.
- Aha.
- Well? Well, he was shaken but determined to bluff it off.
- Well, then, it's time to launch plan "B.
" - Which is? I sneak intoJanoff's apartment and try to find the letter.
I just woke the man up.
He's wide awake.
He has to sleep sometime.
Oh! Oh! Ah, Laura.
! Just in time.
I'm beginning to run out of glasses.
- What are you doing? - I'll admit.
It's a little early for champagne, but this is a special occasion.
It's not every day we solve a case by phone call.
You mean Janoff's suicide? Obviously, the thought that the great Remington Steele had unearthed a witness pushed him over the edge.
- I'm having a tough time swallowing that one.
- Wash it down with this.
He doesn't even ask who the witness is where you found him or her, why this person hasn't come forward before.
He just says to himself, "He has a witness? Aw, hell, guess I'll kill myself"? The man is found with a bullet hole in his head, a gun in his hand.
That hardly qualifies as one of the century's most puzzling mysteries.
There's something missing here.
I just don't have a bead on it.
Laura, I don't mean to be overly critical but you have an exasperating habit of not letting go.
- Sort of the bulldog-terrier syndrome.
- Wait a minute.
IfJanoff is beneficiary to a five million-dollar policy then who's his beneficiary? I've been asking myself the same question.
See- Doing a little housecleaning, Miss Taylor? - What are you doing here? - Probably looking for the same thing you are.
- I doubt that.
- You and VictorJanoff were more than editor and publisher, weren't you? I suppose there's no harm in admitting that now.
Why did you keep your relationship secret? Victor didn't want it to look as if he was starting a magazine for his girlfriend.
But as soon as it was successful, we were gonna be married.
Now all I've got is Victor's promise that if anything ever happened to him, I'd be taken care of.
Just looking for confirmation.
Then you were the beneficiary, so to speak? Victor didn't have any close family.
I was the closest person to him.
Why shouldn't I get everything? Including a five million-dollar life insurance policy? Oh, my God! Why, that rotten two-faced slimeball! A marriage license? VictorJanoff and Millicent Fairbush? He strings me along for eight years and then runs off and marries that pom-pom girl! What the hell am I supposed to do now? I'm 36 years old! Thirty-two.
You didn't happen to see an insurance policy on Butch Moran anywhere, did you? I invested the best, most fertile years of my life in that creep! Miss Taylor, the insurance policy Victor took out on Butch Moran-Where can I find it? If it had anything to do with the hockey team he kept it in his office at the arena.
Without Victor's backing, the magazine'll fold and I'll be walking the streets.
- I'll kill him! - Sorry, Moriah.
Millicent beat you to that too.
If you don't stop running away from me, Miss Holt I'm gonna get the feeling you don't enjoy my company.
I just didn't wanna interrupt whatever it is you're doing.
You're so accommodating.
But then, I've always found women accommodating.
Including the ever-popular Miss Fairbush? Were you two engaged in a little nuclear love? A delightful girl, don't you think? So energetic.
And the only one able to get close enough to shootJanoff at point-blank range.
Who'd ever suspect a ditzy cheerleader of murder? Well, Millicent's deficiencies do have their advantages.
I should've realized she needed someone to plan this.
Actually, I think it's quite a wonderful plan.
You see, all the evidence, albeit circumstantial points toJanoff as the killer thanks in great part to your boss's expert sleuthing.
Hounded by the relentless Mr.
Steele, he commits suicide.
Leaving the grieving widow to collect on his estate along with a five million-dollar life insurance policy.
As soon as I rectify one slight technicality.
As you've already pointed out, Millicent is not the brightest lady in the world.
She mistakenly signed a prenuptial agreement limiting the amount of money she could get from Janoff.
Once that's destroyed I'll be what I've always wanted to be- a mogul.
- Get your boss over here.
- He doesn't know anything about Millicent or you.
You expect me to believe you're aware of something the great Remington Steele isn't? You're obviously just an errand girl.
Dial.
- Yes.
Steele here.
- Laura Holt, Mr.
Steele.
I've come across something I think you might find very interesting.
- Fine.
Bring it over.
- I'm not able to do that, sir.
Uh, perhaps you could come down to the arena.
Perhaps you haven't noticed, but I'm somewhat incapacitated at the moment.
It can't be helped, sir.
You sound very formal.
Is someone there? No.
I'm alone.
- Ow! - Laura! Laura! Oh, God! Come on, come on, come on.
The keys, the keys, the keys! Turn the chair! Turn the chair! - Open that door! Back up! - Hi, Remy.
Oh, Miss Fairbush! Oh, thank heavens! You're a godsend.
Please, get me to the car, quickly.
Quick.
Thank you.
Thank you so much.
Quick.
You know, Millicent, a few things have been nagging me all the way over here.
For instance, the car that ran me down.
- What about it? - It didn't follow us.
It was parked at the curb when we arrived, as though it were waiting for us.
No kidding? And then when I spoke toJanoff, and he inquired about my injuries.
It never dawned on me at the time, but I wonder how he knew so precisely, that I had broken my ribs and broken my leg.
Since there were only four people aware of that- myself, of course, the doctor who treated me, Miss Holt and you, Miss Fairbush.
Boy, you really are smart, Remy.
That's not the most eloquent confession I've heard but under the circumstances, I'll have to accept it.
Well, so much for lasting relationships.
Bye-bye, Remy.
No.
! All right! That's my girl, Laura! Get up, girl! Get up, please! Come on! That's it! Laura! Laura! Here we are.
Some fresh reading material - something to satisfy the sweet tooth- - Mmm.
and something to brighten the surroundings.
I'm really sorry about your other leg.
Oh.
You saved my life but broke my limb.
Some might call it poetic justice- the way you carried on with Millicent and Moriah.
That's all behind me now.
All I wanna do is stay at home with that special someone.
- When you find her, give her my best.
- Where are you going? Moriah's chosen another set of bachelors.
She wants me to check them out, see if they deserve the honor.
Laura! Don't wait up.