Original subtitles

Max: This is my boss, Jonathan Hart,

a self-made millionaire.

He's quite a guy.

This is Mrs. H. She's gorgeous.

She's one lady who knows how to take care of herself.

By the way, my name is Max.

I take care of both of them,

which ain't easy, 'cause when they met...

it was murder.

"As General Warden's Union troops

put the torch to Gray Oaks,

the once-glorious plantation,

Dabney Canfield, colonel of the Confederacy...

swore a silent oath of vengeance.

For him, the war would never end."

I meant every word of that oath, Alicia.

General Warden will never return here again.

A bit more wine, Alicia?

Why won't you answer me?

Max: "For six months after General Warden took Alicia away,

Dabney was consoled only by the bittersweet memory

of her kiss.

This was the kiss that the war forbade,

the kiss for which Dabney had waited.

As he relived its sweetness,

he came to know that Alicia was no mere mortal,

but a goddess descended from on high."

Just a mortal, Max.

But a very hungry one.

What's for lunch?

"She was more to him now than he had ever dreamed."

Never mind, Max. I'll get it myself.

Pretty hot stuff, huh, Freeway?

Jonathan.

I thought you were at the office.

Oh, darn it.

You caught me.

What are you doing?

I'm preparing for the first annual family barbecue.

As a matter of fact, I'm taking the whole week off

to celebrate a series of holidays.

What holidays are those?

Well, Groundhog Day.

That's one of my favorites.

That's when they see your shadow

and you have to go to bed for six weeks.

We already did that one.

Mmm.

- Oh, darling. - Mmm.

You know, it's gonna be a very special week.

- It is? - Yup.

It's gonna be Jennifer Hart week.

- Ohh. - And that means

that you can do anything you want

every day, whatever.

Oh, I like that.

I knew I loved you for something.

I'll get that.

- Hello? - Man: Is Mrs. Hart in?

This is Mrs. Hart. Who is this, please?

Jennifer, can you spell necessary, business, and successful?

Necessary?

Professor? Come on up.

Oh, it's the professor.

Professor Elliott Lawrence. I studied with him at Stanford.

Today he is one of the most important literary critics in the country.

- You'll love him. - Yeah.

You think he'll, uh, like barbecue?

I hope so.

- Professor! - Ahh!

Edwards, you're supposed to look

some years have passed since college.

You haven't changed a bit.

Still as feisty as ever.

This is my husband, Jonathan.

- How do you do? - How do you do?

You're just in time for the first

annual family barbecue.

You see, it's Jennifer Hart week.

Professor: Mm. That was good.

Jennifer: Delicious, darling.

Thank you. Glad you enjoyed it.

Well, now, here I am,

having the best hot dog I've ever had in my life,

and I have to ask you a favor.

Just name it, professor.

Have you ever heard of Victoria Gregory?

Victoria Gregory? She's my favorite writer.

Obviously, a man of questionable taste.

What are you talking about? She's fantastic.

I'm one of her biggest fans.

Well, then you'll be happy to know

that she has just won

the Romance Writer of the Year award.

Great!

Is that what's bothering you, Professor?

Not exactly.

As you know, there's never been a picture of her.

That's right.

Well, there couldn't have been,

because, you see.. I am Victoria Gregory.

You?! No way!

She's gotta be a she!

I've built an entire career

as a man of letters.

And if it were known that I've paid my bills

by writing... Garbage?

Garbage?! What are you talking about?

That's great writing. It won the award, didn't it?

Professor: No, no, no. Mr. Hart is right.

Nevertheless, my publisher insists

that this award be accepted.

And if I do, I lose my cover,

because, you see, readers will only buy

romantic novels written by women.

If I don't, I lose my publisher.

Now, I need the income

from a few more Victoria Gregory novels so I can retire

and write the book I've always wanted to write.

And you should write.

How can we help you?

Well, Jennifer,

I would like for you to accept the award as Victoria Gregory.

Impersonate her?

Well, it's no crime to impersonate someone who doesn't exist.

And besides, no one has ever seen her, so it'll be easy.

Jonathan: Well, I'm not so sure about that.

Jennifer is very well known in the literary field.

Someone's bound to recognize her.

Not with a change of hairdo

and a bit of makeup,

and maybe a picture hat.

Look. Look, I know I'm asking a lot.

But you're uniquely qualified to bring this off.

You were always a quick study.

Oh. Thank you very much, professor.

It's all here, Jennifer.

Selected works, and a crash course on her background.

What do you think, darling?

Where does the ceremony take place?

In New Orleans, Victoria Gregory country.

New Orleans?

What do you think?

Jennifer Hart week on Bourbon Street?

Hmm?

But how?

How could Victoria Gregory

turn up in New Orleans with Jonathan Hart?

- J. Hartley. - Who?

You're J. Hartley, her secretary.

Now, look, I've got it all worked out.

I've never been a secretary before.

Well, I've never been a romantic novelist before.

On the other hand...

bouillabaisse, chicken gumbo,

shrimp creole... Shoofly pie.

Mmm.

Tell me something, Professor.

Was Hemingway a dame?

Jonathan: What page are you on?

What? Um, 73.

Turn to the last page and listen to this.

I don't want to know the ending.

Just listen to this:

"Alicia moved nearer to the dashing Union general,

her sworn enemy,

and looked up, her eyes shining through tears

as she whispered, 'I love you so much

that nothing... nothing matters.

Not even Gray Oaks,

even though it's part of me and always will be"...

"Just as Dabney Canfield is part of me,

because he is Gray Oaks and all it stands for.

But that's all gone now,

and I am now Alicia Raleigh Warden.

Till death do us part."

Whew. What an ending.

Jonathan: Sweetheart, That's only the beginning.

Man: Alicia...

Alicia!

Why won't you answer?

In two days, Victoria Gregory will be in New Orleans.

She wrote our story. She'll know where to find you.

And I will force her to tell me.

I swear it.

I swear it on my commission

as an officer of the Confederacy.

Victoria Gregory, whoever she is...

will tell me her secrets or she'll die.

Jennifer: I can't figure out what to wear,

I thought something pastel.

You know, like one of the characters in her book.

Yeah.

If you're thinking about that

for Victoria Gregory, scrap it, Mrs. H.

- Victoria can't wear pink. - Why not?

Because Morgana Meredith always wears pink.

She's America's answer to Barbara Cartland.

Oh, well, that explains everything.

Morgana is her competitor.

You, Victoria,

have just beaten her out of the grand prize.

Oh.

Well, scrap the pink.

Morgana's got enough problems.

Actually, I was thinking of something more tweedy.

Forget it. Victoria don't wear tweeds.

She's gotta be classy, romantic, glamorous.

Like you, Mrs. H.

Well, thank you, Max.

Only, maybe blonde.

Oh, what about my, uh, secretary?

J. Hartley.

Don't get cute, Max. Don't get cute.

I see Hartley as a conservative type...

With-it, but not flashy.

Narrow collar, thin tie,

shell-rimmed spectacles.

You need work, Mr. H.

Thanks, Max.

Woman: Morgana, darling,

you look like the last rose of summer.

The summer of '65.

Morgana: Ah, tell me.

What are you planning to wear to the costume ball?

Oh, something simple, historical.

Oh, a Confederate flag.

And what are you coming as, sweetheart,

a sharecropper, a cotton-picker,

or just poor white trash?

Oh, I'll leave the trash to you and your word processor.

Uh, Miss Meredith, Miss Wentworth, may I?

Of course.

Thanks,

Just wanted to get a picture of the runners-up.

So you know, darling, I never did mind

coming in second to you all these years

because I always figured when you died

and went to your royalties in the sky,

I'd have my just desserts.

Morgana: Well, it looks like you've already been having

"just desserts."

And now that Victoria Gregory

has beaten you out for the prize,

I shall simply have to wait a little bit longer.

And that's not fiction.

No, indeed, it is not fiction.

I know what it is,

but I'm too much of a lady to say it.

You sound like you'd like to teach Miss Gregory a lesson or two.

Morgana: Oh, I could give her a plot... a nice family one.

Well, let's drink up.

I can't wait to get over to the riverboat

and see what she looks like.

I hear she's as old as Agatha was at the end.

Oh, my dear, that's the nicest thing you've said all afternoon.

Well, to us, and to next year's contest.

Excuse me.

Did I hear you say

that Victoria Gregory will be on the riverboat?

Yes, there's going to be a conference at the riverboat.

You sound as though you know Victoria Gregory.

She may be someone I've known all my life.

Well, are you a writer?

Well, you could say

I've got a very vivid imagination.

Oh, uh, see you at the riverboat.

Bye.

Jonathan, couldn't we go to the hotel

before we go to the press conference?

My stomach's doing flip-flops.

No, we'd be late. It sounds to me

like you've got a classic case of butterflies.

Oh, well, I have mosquitoes.

I'm beginning to forget everything I learned.

Oh, have no fear, Hartley is here.

Let's go over it again, all right?

What did you write after "Rebel Lady"?

- "Rebel Lady." - "Rebel Lady."

"Rebel Lady"...uh, "When Cotton Was King."

Oh, that's very good.

Very good. And after that, you wrote, uh...

Jonathan, maybe Victoria doesn't have to go

to this press conference after all.

You could just say that...

she came down with a case of the vapors.

Darling, you're doing fine. Really, just fine.

Hartley, how much do I pay you?

It ain't the money that keeps me around, honey.

It's the hospitality.

Oh, look, look! There's Victoria Gregory!

Man: Are you sure? Nobody's supposed to know what she looks like.

Oh, I'm sure. That's Victoria Gregory.

I once met her secretary.

She's beautiful, isn't she?

How do you feel about being here in New Orleans?

Miss Gregory can't answer any questions right now.

We're having a press conference onboard the boat.

She's gorgeous.

Hi, y'all.

Here she is. Miss Gregory.

My goodness gracious, such a beautiful, lovely reception.

Welcome, Miss Gregory.

This way to the press conference.

Please, follow me.

I would say that the rumors about her age

are greatly exaggerated.

I hope she's electrocuted by her typewriter.

Yeah, not if I can get her first.

Miss Gregory, Miss Gregory,

why haven't you been seen in public before?

Ah, well, that is because I'm a very private person.

Hartley: Miss Gregory.

Oh, thank you.

Where do you get your characters?

Uh, where do I get my characters?

Well, I get my characters from...

where every writer gets their characters:

from life experiences and... and from my imagination.

Reporter: Then you are your characters?

Jennifer: Oh, well, yes, I suppose so.

Reporter: All of them?

I suppose... yes, I suppose so.

Frances Maxwell, "Tomorrow's Woman."

Why do you have a male secretary?

Oh, well, that is because

I am an equal opportunity employer.

Excuse me. Did you say

you really are the characters you write about?

Oh, well, yes, I suppose I am, Mr...

Canfield.

Jennifer: Canfield. Yes, Mr. Canfield.

Why, isn't that a happy coincidence?

I have a character called Canfield in one of my books,

"Heart's Desire." Do you remember that?

Oh, yes. And even Alicia?

Alicia? Yes, I suppose there is part of me that is Alicia.

I love Alicia.

Why, thank you, Mr. Canfield.

I ought to tell you, there's someone here...

Uh, Miss Gregory.

Excuse us. There's some more questions.

Uh, perhaps we can talk later.

Yes, don't you worry.

I'll take care of everything.

Jennifer: Thank you.

- Miss Gregory! - Please, Miss Gregory.

Elliott Lawrence, Miss Gregory.

Could I interview you someplace quiet?

Professor: Miss Gregory, do you consider

what you write to be literature?

Oh, well, now, Mr. Lawrence, you are the critic.

It is up to you to make that judgment.

Oh, very well, uh...

then let me put it this way:

I believe you write purely commercial tripe.

Would you care to comment?

No, I would not.

But come to think of it,

isn't that what James Earlington of Leitchfield

said about Shakespeare?

Are you comparing yourself

to Shakespeare, Miss Gregory?

Oh, no, Mr. Lawrence.

I'm comparing you to Mr. Earlington.

Thank you. Thank you.

Morgana: Haven't you read any of my books?

Oh, now, really, Mr. Canfield,

who do you work for, anyway, the "Times-Picayune"?

Did you mean what you said about her?

Are you jealous of her?

Oh, Mr. Canfield!

Would you kill her?

Well, I mean, I'd be perfectly justified if I did.

She slaughters history and murders the King's English.

Would you kill her?

Well, I might, if I could get away with it.

Even if you knew she was really Alicia Raleigh?

Would you kill Alicia Raleigh?

Well, Alicia Raleigh is only a character in a book.

And... and... and so...

And so is Dabney Canfield.

Oh! Oh, my...

Croissants, tea cakes.

That's coffee. We ordered tea.

Clairborne Manor only serves coffee at high tea, sir.

Oh, of course.

Well, I'm sure that there is chicory in the coffee?

Clairborne Manor never forgets to add the chicory, sir.

There you go, Mr. Hartley.

Thank you.

And there you go.

Thank you, sir.

Oh, Mr. Hartley, I have here

a copy of "Chattanooga Dawn."

I wrote it myself, and if perhaps you could show it to Miss Gregory,

any help that she could give would be greatly appreciated.

Well, I'll see that she gets it.

Oh, thank you very much, sir.

I really do appreciate it.

See, I have visions of a movie sale...

I'm sure that there's one in there and I'll discuss it with her.

Oh, thank you very much, sir.

Thank you.

Coast is clear.

Ah, tea for two for three.

Sorry, Elliott.

We didn't want anybody to think

we were fraternizing with the enemy.

Well, a phony female author

hiding in a hotel room with an acerbic,

yet very handsome literary critic.

I feel a new story coming on.

I feel chicory coming on.

That's because they serve coffee for tea.

Oh.

Mmm, thank you.

What's that?

Oh, that is a manuscript called "Chattanooga Dawn."

One of your admirers wrote that.

They'd like to have your professional opinion.

Oh. Elliott.

"Chattanooga Dawn"?

Well, there's a certain shallowness about it.

Well, it's so bad, it could be good.

However...

to the most beautiful and convincing romance writer

the world will ever know.

Oh.

- Here. - Thanks.

Oh, by the way, I hope you didn't mind

what I said at the press conference.

Jennifer: Not at all.

Did I do all right?

- A+. - Thank you.

James Earlington of Leitchfield.

Isn't that funny? I never heard of him.

I would have been surprised if you had.

I made him up.

- You did? - Mm-hmm.

Well, you'll have to take credit for that, professor.

You're the one that taught her how to use her imagination.

All you have to do now is get through the ball tonight

and we're home free.

After we finish our tea,

we're going to have to disappear into our own rooms.

Oh, yes.

Separate rooms.

With connecting balconies.

A lot of good that does.

Well, that's more than Romeo and Juliet had.

Huh.

Canfield: That Yankee will never take you away again.

You'll be safe back here at Gray Oaks.

Yes? Who is it?

Flowers, Miss Gregory.

Oh!

Ah, why, thank you very much.

"Your servant, Col. Dabney Canfield at Gray Oaks."

Hmm.

Black roses?

I thought we were supposed to have adjoining balconies.

So did I!

I may get hoarse.

Your room or mine?

Oh, do excuse me.

Am I interrupting your creative flow?

Hi, Rosemary.

Oh, no, no, I was, uh...

I was just dictating something from my new novel.

Dictating?

My dear, you need two tin cans and a string.

Well, I just have to work whenever inspiration strikes.

Uh-huh. How fascinating.

I don't suppose you'd care to divulge the storyline,

or is it a deep, dark secret?

Well, it's, uh...

It's a sort of gothic murder story.

You see, this lady author checks into a hotel room

in between the two prime suspects.

One of whom is a homicidal maniac.

Good night, Miss Wentworth.

Sleep tight, Rosemary.

Is that you?

I think we're adding quite a bit of color to Victoria's character.

I hope that Rosemary's peeping through a keyhole.

I don't think there are any keyholes in this hotel.

I'll bet she brought one of her own.

Oh!

What was that for?

That's for being such a terrific boss.

Oh, what do I get for being an award-winning novelist?

Is that it?

Oh, you're going to have to do better than that.

My fans are already sending me flowers.

Very strange flowers, but...

nonetheless, flowers.

Interesting fan.

Col. Dabney Canfield of Gray Oaks.

One of the characters from "Heart's Desire."

Also the same fellow on the boat.

Well, he probably knows we're going to the ball

dressed as the characters from the book,

and he just wants to play along.

We have about an hour until the ball.

- We do? - Mm-hmm.

I love you as a blonde.

Aww.

Well, maybe we should see if blondes have more fun.

Yeah, maybe we should.

Darling, whether you're Jennifer,

Victoria or Alicia,

I'm glad I am Jonathan or J.

- You know why? - Why?

Jonathan: Because we're as close as two pages in a book.

Jennifer: Ooh.

- Oh, Mr. Lawrence. - Yes?

Rosemary Wentworth.

You reviewed my novel "Whispers by Candlelight."

Well, I have to call them as I see them.

Oh, don't apologize.

You said it was steamy sex from cover to cover.

That line sold 50,000 copies.

May I have this dance?

It seems Victoria Gregory made quite an impression upon the press.

A very bright and attractive woman.

Coming from you, that's a rave review.

Have you seen Morgana?

Uh, not since this afternoon.

Neither have I.

I'm beginning to get a little bit worried about her.

Huh. I suppose she'll show up.

Well, shut my little old mouth.

My, my, my, my, my.

Why, this looks like the beginning of a truly gothic romance.

You be careful now, Rosemary.

He is truly lethal with a pen in his hand.

Hartley, shall we?

Shall I?

Be my guest.

Excuse us.

Mr. Lawrence!

Incredible, isn't she?

You could swear she was Alicia.

Straight from the pages of her own book.

She's come to life.

My Alicia, here in New Orleans.

Just like it was written.

Oh, yeah, I get it.

You're dressed as Col. Canfield from the book.

The book is the truth.

Hartley, I bet she barely pays you enough to cover the rent.

I'll pay you double what she pays you.

Actually, my typing is the hunt-and-peck method.

Wonderful. We'll hunt and peck together.

Now that we have a moment,

I want you to know I'm proud of you.

Why, Mr. Lawrence, you do go on.

No, no, no, I'm not talking to Victoria.

I mean you, Jennifer.

Your husband's a wonderful man,

and it's a good marriage.

I'd say great.

But you're not just great together.

As I've tried to point out in my reviews of your work,

you are also very good on your own.

Oh, that's because I had a very good teacher.

Oh, come on, give me a hint.

Is it really a mystery?

I can't really tell you.

You'll have to wait until publication.

Oh, I may wait a couple of weeks longer

and pick it up from the remainder pile.

You haven't seen Morgana, have you?

No, I haven't.

Excuse me.

She's all yours.

Thank you.

Well, how'd you do with Rosemary?

Interesting.

But cold.

Oh, well, I suspect

that beneath that cold exterior

is a truly cold interior.

You're right.

First she tried to steal me,

then she tried to steal the plot of your book.

Oh, how'd she do?

I didn't say a word about the book.

Good boy.

Aah! Aah!

Aah! Aah!

Someone! Help!

Help, help!

Look, it's Morgana!

Oh, oh!

Alicia, it's time.

What?

Oh, you're the gentleman from this afternoon.

Where are we going?

Col. Canfield at your service.

We have to hurry before he comes back.

Who?

The Yankee general.

What Yankee general?

Oh.

You sent me the roses.

Canfield: Hurry, Alicia.

Oh, no, please, now.

Jonathan!

Elliott.

Call the police.

Where's Jennifer?

She's on the dance floor, why?

One of her admirers

has left one calling card too many,

Canfield: Manassas, Gettysburg, Vicksburg.

Bull Run.

I bled. I watched my friends die.

All because of him.

But I survived all because of you, Alicia.

No.

No?

But you are Alicia.

Either that, or some cunning impostor.

An agent of the enemy,

delivered into my hands to deceive me.

In which case...

But that won't be necessary, will it?

You are Alicia, aren't you?

You got here about 9:00, you were on the dance floor,

and you heard the scream coming from that area over there?

Okay.

Thank you very much, sir.

- Have you seen Jennifer? - No.

Officer, my wife is missing.

Mine likewise, sir. I haven't seen my wife since the Mardi Gras.

If you'll stand right over there,

I'll get to you in just a few seconds.

All right, sir?

Canfield: The Yankees burnt the outbuildings

years ago, my love.

They cut down the grove,

but I swear to you as a Canfield,

I shall replant that grove as it was.

Let us drink to Gray Oaks.

To Gray Oaks.

As it was, and as it shall be again.

Gray Oaks?

Mr. H, Gray Oaks ain't real.

It's a place in a story.

I know that, Max.

It's in "Heart's Desire."

It's near New Orleans, but where?

Lemme think.

Would you think fast, Max?

It's important.

I am thinking fast.

I think it's, uh,

a little bit south of the city.

South of the city?

In a swamp near the river,

and there's a Parish cemetery right next to it.

Thanks, Max. Thanks.

Look, Mr. H, this ain't real. It's all make-believe.

Mr. H? Mr. H?

Do you remember the night...

the night of the cotillion,

when Major Howard was high as a Georgia pine?

He even brought his horse out onto the dance floor.

Mr. Canfield... I mean...

Mr. Canfield, I'm not Alicia.

I'm just dressed up to look like her.

Don't try to deceive me.

But you never used to wear gloves.

Oh...

A lady always wear gloves to a ball.

This ring, he must've give you this ring.

You married him. Why?

Because... There can only be one reason,

because you wanted to.

He's here in New Orleans.

He's the one you were dancing with on the riverboat.

That's him, that's General Warden.

Canfield.

General Warden.

I promised Alicia you'd never set foot in Gray Oaks again.

Canfield: Hurry, Alicia.

Jonathan!

Canfield!

Come on, darling.

Jonathan!

Keep going, don't look back.

Come on.

Oh!

Well, the plantation's gonna need a fire department.

What about James?

With a doctor and the police,

I don't think he'll lack attention.

What should we do now?

I don't know about you,

but I could use a bourbon and branch water.

Wait till we get home.

Tomorrow?

Well, look at it this way:

Tomorrow is another day.

Mail call.

Thanks, Max.

Great. Thanks, Max.

Oh, here it is.

A letter from the professor.

I hope it's good news.

I wonder what he's up to now.

Well, it's not exactly what he's been up to.

It's what I've been up to.

Darling, I wrote the first chapter of a romance novel,

just like "Heart's Desire"!

No kidding! When did you have time to do that?

Oh, I fit it in.

That's great, Mrs. H.

Well, we'll see how great it is

when I read what the professor has to say.

He's the expert.

I wanted his expert advice

on whether or not I should continue.

Well, what does he have to say?

"Dear Jennifer,

your style is crisp, clear and clean

and will appeal to every admirer of Fitzgerald,

Hemingway and Twain." Ha!

- Oh. - Not bad.

"However, admirers of these authors

simply do not read romance novels.

I suggest you abandon this project

and return to the kind of writing taught in my class.

In other words:

Don't do as I do. Do as I say.

Much love, Elliott."

What does he know?

Well, he did sell millions of paperbacks.

Well, darling,

maybe you're the hardcover type.

Don't worry, Mrs. H.

If he can write like Victoria Gregory,

you can write like... like...

Mickey Spillane.