And the Oscar goes to . . .

Hymie, deep thinker, explain to me the ethical structure of the universe.

Oh, there’s nothing wrong with building a dream castle, unless you try to move into it.

Kay, why don’t you go to bed? It’s almost three a.m.

Because my bed is empty of husband. You know what I do, Hymie? I count nights. I found a Freudian substitute for counting sheep. I count empty nights. Where is he, Hymie?

Well, there was a late call on the set, and he said he’d have a sandwich and be home right away.

You’re lying. You’re lying, Hymie. Why does everybody lie for him? You, Sam, Kappy, all of you. Frankie’s company finished at nine fifteen. I called the studio. You see, you turned me into something I always hated, a sneaking kind of woman, a jealous woman, a checking-up-on-him kind of woman.

Well, he may have stopped off for a couple of belts with the troops. You know Frankie, he needs to unlax after a work day.

Oh, I am sorry, Sir, but you will have to go. My husband is expected back from the Punic Wars any moment now, and he’s insanely jealous.

Sam, go run me a tub of hot water, huh?

Want something to eat?

No, I’ve eaten.

I don’t see very much of you these days, Frankie.

They’re keeping me hopping at the studio.

No, no, I mean afterwards. You seem to be able to keep hopping right through the night.

Hymie, get me an aspirin, my head’s splitting.

And so is our marriage. Finding excuses not to come home at night until I’m asleep and leaving in the morning before I get up, no matter how early I get up. I am married to you, Frankie. It means that you come home after work and that we go out together, and that we raise babies, and make a marriage. Whatever you have inside of you, Frankie, doesn’t apply to me. I am your wife. There are different kinds of women.

What do you mean whatever I have inside me?

Uh, oh, this time I’m not in the middle. I have nothin’ to do with it. I’m splittin’, I’ll see you tomorrow.

Frankie, it is like heat lightning just before a storm. I can smell the rain in the air. Terrible things will happen, Frankie. Please listen to me now, please.

I’m beat. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.

But we’re running out of tomorrows.

I’m going to take a bath and get some sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

I’ll phone for an appointment, my love.