The Flame

You didn't really expect to get away with a thing like that, did you?

Frankly, officer, I didn't.

Then why try it?

If you don't care about yourself think about other people.

Drivin' through traffic at 50 miles an hour.

Traffic?

You. Oh.

I'm sorry, officer.

Now you keep it up and this will be the last New Year's you'll ever see.

Unpleasant thought, isn't it?

Isn't it though?

Okay, go ahead, but take it easy.

I don't want to hand out any tickets tonight unless I have to.

Oh, Mr. MacAllister.

A letter for you, and a Happy New Year.

Happy New Year, Mr. MacAllister.

Something wrong, Mr. Boss?

No.

You going to spend New Year Eve alone?

Yeah.

You want Chang to stay?

Maybe mix drink, keep you company.

No, just close the door from the outside.

Chang do something wrong?

You wish him unhappy New Year?

All right. Happy New Year, Chang.

Goodnight. No hurry. It's all right.

Chinese New Year not for long time yet.

Operator...

Police Department.

Thank you.

Police Department,

my name is George MacAllister.

I live at 150 West, 59th.

I just killed...

I just killed a man.

You'll find his body at Rossmore Apartments,

East, 7th,

Apartment 14.

What's that?

Yes.

Yeah, he's quite dead.

"My dear George.

"I should've known sooner

"that the hate that you bore your half brother

"was one day bring you this point.

"Crime and passion are a bad mixture at best, George.

"When the passion is hate,

"nothing but evil and violence can result.

"It was shortly after Dr. Mitchell had pronounced his death sentence

"on your brother, Barry,

"given him only a little more time to live.

"A few months at the most, he said.

"And sent him deeper into seclusion

"of that place he called home.

"And deeper in the dark room that seemed to find comfort

"only in that unhappy organ music of his."

[ORGAN PLAYING MELANCHOLY TUNE]

"Your Aunt Margaret was there.

"And Barry.

"And I, Carlotta Duval."

Stop it, please! Please.

Are you ill, Ms. Duval?

Don't you care for my music?

It's... It's your bedtime, that's all.

Why, it's just 8:30.

8:30? Yes, it's 8:30 outside, but not here.

In this house, it's midnight all the time.

Aren't you being a little dramatic, Ms. Duval?

Perhaps I am. Sorry.

Barry's music relaxes him.

Relaxes him? It's killing him.

Ms. Duval.

Barry, my poor boy.

So, it is my music?

I'm sorry, Mr. MacAllister.

That's all right.

Why don't you like it?

I don't like it for what it's doing to you.

Those depressing indulges you call music are as ugly as...

As what you're waiting for.

The girl is insane.

No. No, I'm not.

But I will be if I stay here any longer.

Just a moment, Ms. Duval.

It seems you have an opinion of me.

I'd like to hear it.

Yes. Yes, I have an opinion of you.

Barry, let her go.

Ms. Duval, you're exciting him, I warn you.

His pulse is very firm.

And it'll take more than my opinion to get through that blanket of

self pity you've thrown around yourself.

Self pity.

Isn't a dying man entitled even to that?

A dying man?

To be a dying man you must first be a living man.

You're not living. You have already abandoned life.

I'm going to call Dr. Mitchell.

I'll save you the trouble.

I'll call Dr. Mitchell and ask him to send another nurse tonight.

Hello? Dr. Mitchell?

Ms. Duval speaking.

Dr. Mitchell, I'm quit...

Hello, Uncle Joe.

Wrong? Oh, no.

No, I think Ms. Duval just wanted to report

that her patient is feeling exceptionally well tonight.

Quitting?

No, I uh, I think she wanted to quit giving me the brown pills.

The big ones.

Can you imagine, MS. Duval?

He thought you were quitting.

No, Uncle Joe.

No, I think she's very happy here.

As for myself,

I couldn't get along without her.

She's very happy here.

As for myself,

I couldn't get along without her.

I couldn't get along without her.

Now do you like my music, Ms. Duval?

It's wonderful.

But why aren't you in bed?

I couldn't sleep.

Did I upset you?

Yes.

Yes, you did.

I was thinking about you.

There's one thing I didn't think about you though.

Of course I did note that

was how lovely you would look coming down a staircase

wearing... just that.

But, Mr. MacAllister, you're not supposed...

Not supposed to think about fair ladies and romance, Ms. Duval?

That's exactly what I was thinking about.

Carlotta...

Yes, Mr. MacAllister?

I, uh, know I haven't much to offer you except, uh...

Companionship, money,

love.

It's not much to trade for the...

Happiness I know that you can give me

during whatever time's left.

Carlotta...

Yes?

Will you marry me?

You poor, poor man.

Now you'll never know why.

I would have married you if you hadn't a penny to your name.

Carlotta?

It worked, darling, it worked.

He went for it?

We'll be married Monday.

Great! Where's the happy event going to take place?

In his apartment here in New York?

No, he wants to be married in the family chapel.

Oh, you were wonderful.

And I love you. It's about time you said so.

Never doubt it.

It was my lucky day when I met nurse Duval at that French hospital.

Nurse Duval.

You know, you were the only good thing

that happened to me in the whole war?

It was my lucky day, too.

Oh, it's good to be here, if I could only stay forever.

Poor kitten, you're tired, aren't you?

No, I'm not tired exactly.

At least not from the work.

It was a strain, darling.

It took such a long time I was about ready to propose to him.

Mmm-mmm, wouldn't have worked, you know the guy.

I bet when the icing had burst, Ms. Duval

finally let him have the burst of temper, he fell off the organ bench.

Practically.

But I'm glad it's over.

I wasn't joking when I told him I was going insane out there.

I wouldn't mind a wife who was a little nuts.

As long as she has a few million dollars.

Come on.

This calls for a celebration.

Here, we'll drink to the future Mrs. MacAllister.

To the future which Mrs. MacAllister, huh?

The Mrs. George MacAllister, of course.

Most certainly not the wealthy widow MacAllister...

Yet.

Don't, George.

What was that for?

I don't know. It's just that he doesn't seem so bad.

Well, you better take another look at him.

But out of respect for your pain,

I'll send the biggest wreath I can find to his funeral.

Please don't, it's...

It's bad enough that our happiness depends on that.

Is it our fault that he's got a body that doesn't want stay

wrapped around at that penny-pinching, shriveled up,

little soul of his any longer?

No. No, of course not.

And don't be angry with me.

Especially not just now when I have to leave.