Heaven Can Wait

- How do you do, Mr. Van Cleve? - Good afternoon, Your Excellency.

- It's very kind of you to receive me. - Not at all.

- Oh, please, sit down. - Thank you.

I hope you'll forgive me, but we're so busy down here.

Really, sometimes it looks as if the whole world is coming to hell.

Frankly, I haven't had an opportunity to familiarize myself with your case.

When did it happen, Mr. Van Cleve?

Tuesday. To be exact, I died at 9:36 in the evening.

I trust you didn't suffer much.

Oh, no, no. Not in the least.

- I had finished my dinner – - A good one, I hope.

Oh, excellent, excellent.

I ate everything the doctor forbade, and then –

Well, to make a long story short,

shall we say, I fell asleep without realizing it.

And when I awakened, there were all my relatives speaking in low tones

and saying nothing but the kindest things about me.

Then I knew I was dead.

I presume your funeral was satisfactory.

Well, there was a lot of crying,

so I believe everybody had a good time.

It would have been an ideal funeral if Mrs. Cooper-Cooper, a friend of the family,

hadn't volunteered to sing "The End of a Perfect Day."

You see, all my life I had succeeded in avoiding Mrs. Cooper-Cooper's coloratura,

and this undoubtedly was her revenge.

Mr. Van Cleve, I can see that you have a sensitive, cultivated ear.

Oh, thank you.

Then let me warn you.

The music down here is anything but pleasant.

Beethoven, Bach, Mozart –

You hear them only...

above.

Yes. I know.

It won't be easy not to hear the old masters again.

And there are several people up there I would love to see.

Particularly one.

A very dear one.

- But I haven't a chance. - Have you tried?

No, Your Excellency. I have no illusions.

I know the life I lived. I know where I belong.

I would like to get it over as quickly as possible.

Very well. If you meet our requirements, we'll be only too glad to accommodate you.

Would you be good enough to mention, for instance, some outstanding crime you've committed?

Crime? Crime?

I'm afraid I can't think of any.

But I can safely say my whole life was one continuous misdemeanor.

My dear Mr. Van Cleve, a passport to hell is not issued on generalities.

No. I'm afraid you'll have to wait until I have time to study your record.

Now look here. I have to see His Excellency, and no office boy's going to stop me.

- I beg your pardon, Your Excellency. - Just a moment.

- I'm Edna Craig. - Oh, yes. I have your record here.

You'll be taken care of in just a moment.

Really, I don't want to seem rude, but I don't think I belong here.

- In just a moment – - Please don't misunderstand me.

I think it's a charming place, isn't it?

Henry Van Cleve.

You know Edna Craig?

I'm sorry, madam. I seem to be at a loss.

Oh, Henry. Think back many, many years.

The little brownstone house around the corner from the old Waldorf?

Oh.

Marmaduke Harrison's party.

We were all dressed as children.

And you came as, uh, Little Lord Fauntleroy.

And they wheeled you in in a baby carriage.

Little Constantinople.

Oh, Henry.

No girl in New York walked on two more beautiful legs than you.

Little Constantinople.

Well, Henry, I still walk, and on the same two legs.

And I'm sure they're still as beautiful.

Well, Henry, I'll let you be the judge of that.

Those things are better left to memory.

But I must admit you're beginning to interest me, Mr. Van Cleve.

I think I can spare the time to listen to your story.

- Thank you, Your Excellency. - Please sit down.

Perhaps the best way to tell you the story of my life

is to tell you about the women in my life.

Well, let's start with the first woman.

My mother.

A lovely lady, but prejudiced.

She thought I was wonderful.

She was the first woman I ever fooled.

Then there was my grandmother.

She was just as prejudiced as my mother.

How is the little darling? Let me hold him.

No. Please, Mother Van Cleve. Let the baby rest.

- You're just jealous, Bertha. - I can't stand this any longer.

- I'm going to speak to Randolph about this. - Yes, Randolph.

First you take my son away, and now you want to alienate my grandchild.

My diapers needed changing, and already women were fighting for me.

What a way to start a man on the road of life.

I was not even two, and I already got involved in a triangle.

At home, in the presence of my family, I was the only man in my nurse's life.

I was her honeybunch, her "oogi-woogi-woo."

But the minute we got to the park –

Hello, Bedelia.

Well, if it isn't Patrick himself.

Ah, shut up, you nasty little brat.

No wonder I became a cynic.

My next lesson came from little Mary.

- Hello, Mary. - Don't speak to me, Henry Van Cleve.

You're a bad boy, and my mother says I shouldn't talk to bad boys.

I bet you don't know what I've got in this box.

And I'm not interested, Henry Van Cleve.

Then I won't tell you it's a beetle.

A beetle?

- Do you like it? - Oh, who doesn't like beetles?

- It's yours. - Thank you.

Oh, thank you, Henry.

- I wonder if I should take it. - If you don't want it –

Oh, I didn't mean it that way. I was just wondering.

Don't worry. I've got another one.

- Another beetle? - Uh-huh.

Oh, it's beautiful. It looks rather lonely though.

You know what I think? I think it wants to be together with mine.

You mean you want this one too?

Henry Van Cleve! Do you think I'm the kind of girl that would take a boy's last beetle?

Aw, that's all right. You can have it.

Thank you, Henry. Now, if you want to, you can walk with me to the corner.

From that moment on, one thing was clear to me.

If you want to win a girl, you have to have lots of beetles.

I was growing rapidly, and so was New York.

Yes. New York was becoming cosmopolitan,

and no household was considered fashionable without a French maid.

So, one day a Fifth Avenue coach stopped in front of our house,

and out of the coach and into my life came Mademoiselle.

Mrs. Van Cleve will be here shortly.

Merci.

That's Mr. Van Cleve.

Oh, Monsieur. Charmant, charmant.

This is Mr. Van Cleve's father. He lives here too.

Grandpapa. Sweet. Very sweet.

And who is this darling little boy?

That's the young master. He's not so darling.

- Bad boy? - Not good.

- Good morning. - Bonjour, madame.

How do you do, mademoiselle?

- Your name is, uh – - Yvette Blanchard.

- Yvette Blanchard. - Oui.

The agency tells me that you've just arrived from France.

- Oui. - And are seeking employment in this country.

- Oui, madame. - Uh, you have references?

- Oui, madame. - May I see them, please?

Naturellement.

- Voilà. - Thank you.

Oh. Uh, they're in French.

Oui, madame. But believe me – toutes les références – excellentes.

Here, my last employer – Baroness Lalotte –

wishes me to be such grand success in America

that I shall never have desire to return to France.

Ah. The French have such a... continental way of expressing their gratitude.

Um, and here a référence from the duc de Polignac.

He considers the two years I spent in his house

the two most happy years of his life.

Oh, it sounds just like a duke.

Um, what about your wages?

Uh, maybe in beginning $20 a month would give satisfaction?

Twenty dollars a month!

You see, I've never gone higher than $14 a month for a personal maid.

If I could only justify the difference. Let me see.

Oh, Mother?

Come here, dear.

- Mademoiselle, this is my little boy. - Bonjour, mon petit.

- Hello. - He studies French.

Oh, mademoiselle, you must ask him something in French. But not too difficult.

Oui. Avez-vous bien travaillé aujourd'hui, mon chéri?

Huh?

That's what I was afraid of.

Now be a nice boy and go. I have an idea that I want to discuss with Mademoiselle.

A brilliant child, but a little backward in his French.

- And it just occurred to me that – - Oh, madame.

It will be pleasure talk only French to little fellow.

My whole vocabulaire I make present to your baby.

With me in house, in one month I assure Madame will not recognize own son.

And only for $20.

Of course, that's six dollars more than I ever paid before.

- But let's try it. - Merci, madame.

- Au revoir, madame. - Good-bye, mademoiselle.

Psst! Hey.

Oui?

You're not gonna work here. I'll see to that.

What is the matter? Did I make little boy angry?

Now see here. That's the last time anybody's gonna call me "little boy."

Oh, so sorry if I hurt feelings, but maman –

Yes. Mama. That's the trouble.

Mama and Papa. And Grandpapa and Grandmama.

It's a conspiracy to keep me in short pants.

They think they own me, body and soul.

Ah, je comprends. My understanding for young man is perfect.

Your soul is bigger than your pants.

Oh, you need very warm friend with sympathy.

Moi. I will be. Oui?

I bet you couldn't guess in a million years what I have in my pocket.

No, I do not know, but I am sure it is something very bad, oui?

- Here. - Oh, you smoke big black cigar?

Sure, I'm gonna smoke it – any day now.

Now we have very bad secret together, oui?

That's nothing.

I can tell you things that would rock Fifth Avenue to its foundations.