Scent of a Woman

I wish you wouldn't do that around me. It's so filthy!

Don't give me a problem about the cigarettes.

It's such a filthy habit.

Oh, my God!

Look at this.

Oh, Jesus. Oh, this is so appalling.

Oh, I can't believe it.

I can't believe they gave it to him.

Ah, this is pathetic.

Now he's a loser with a Jaguar.

Seriously, who did he have to blow to get that thing?

- Good morning, sir. - Mr. Willis.

It's really a...

Mr. Trask!

Quite a piece of machinery.

- Good morning, Havemeyer. - Morning to you, sir.

Bene!

- Bene? - Bene! Fabulous!

What's fabulous?

That fine piece of steel you have back there.

Ah, you don't think I deserve it.

No, sir. On the contrary.

I think it's great.

Why should the headmaster of Baird be seen putt-putting

around in some junker?

In fact, I think the board of trustees have had

their first true stroke of inspiration in some time.

Well, thank you, Havemeyer.

I'll take that at face value.

I'd expect nothing less, sir.

Have a good day.

- Morning, Mrs. Hunsaker. - Good morning.

What have we here, Murderer's Row?

What was that about?

Nothing. Just saying hello.

I like to say hello to Headmaster Trask.

Sugarbush. Lift tickets and condo vouchers.

I thought we were going to Stowe.

Sugarbush is Stowe, Jimmy.

This year we're doing it right.

Thanksgiving in Vermont, Christmas in Switzerland...

- Christmas in Gstaad is gonna cost us... - "Staad."

The "G" is silent.

"Staad." George?

- "Staad." - Trent?

- "Staad," man. - So what about Staad?

Fine. The "G" may be silent,

but it's gonna take at least three grand to get there.

I'll have to talk to my father.

Better yet, have my father talk to your father.

Or my father talk to your father.

You going home this weekend, Chas?

I don't know.

You going home to fuckin' Idaho for Thanksgiving?

I'm from Oregon.

I meant fuckin' Oregon.

Charlie, how do you feel about skiing?

You in the mood for the white-bosomed slopes of Vermont?

Got a deal going.

20% off for my friends.

My father set it up.

Christmas in Switzerland.

- Staad. - Gstaad. Dropping the "G" is phony.

You said everybody says "Staad."

Not if you've been there.

Easter in Bermuda, then Kentucky Derby weekend.

We could fit you in, kid.

Well, how much are these white-bosomed slopes of Vermont?

1,200.

Includes a nine-course, champagne Thanksgiving dinner.

$1,200 is a little rich for my blood, Harry.

Well, how short are you?

How short, Harry?

So short it wouldn't be worth the trouble of you and George to measure.

But thanks for askin', all right?

Mmm-hmm.

If you change your mind...

What'd you do that for? You know he's on aid.

On major holidays, Willis, it's customary for the lord of the manor

to offer drippings to the poor.

You're so full of shit!

Hi. Mrs. Rossi?

Yes?

I'm here about the weekend job.

Come on in.

Does he got pimples? He hates pimples.

Francine, be quiet.

Pimples. Pimples. Yeah.

Shush!

I'm sorry. The school gave me your name, but I've forgotten it.

It's Charlie Simms.

- How are you, Charlie? - Fine, thanks.

Right this way.

You're available the whole weekend?

Yeah.

- Not going home for Thanksgiving? - No.

Good.

They put him in a veteran's home, but he hated it,

so I told my dad that we'd take him.

Before you go in, do you mind my telling you a few things?

Don't "sir" him and don't ask him too many questions.

And if he staggers a little when he gets up, don't pay any attention.

Charlie, I can tell you're the right person for the job.

And Uncle Frank's gonna like you a lot, too.

Where you gonna be this weekend?

Oh, we're driving to Albany.

Donny, my husband, has family there.

Do you want Tommy in or out?

Leave him out!

He's chasing that Calico ginch from the track houses again!

Down deep, the man is a lump of sugar.

Sir?

Don't call me sir.

I'm sorry.

I mean mister, sir.

Uh-oh, we got a moron here, is that it?

No, mister...

That is...

Lieutenant. Yes, sir...

Lieutenant Colonel.

Twenty-six years on the line, nobody ever busted me four grades before.

Get in here, you idiot!

Come a little closer. I wanna get a better look at you.

How's your skin, son?

My skin, sir?

Oh, for Christ's sake.

- I'm sorry, I don... - Just call me Frank.

Call me Mr. Slade.

Call me Colonel, if you must. Just don't call me sir.

All right, Colonel.

Simms, Charles.

A senior.

You on student aid, Simms?

Yes, I am.

For "student aid" read "crook."

Your father peddles car telephones at a 300% markup.

Your mother works on heavy commission in a camera store.

Graduated to it from espresso machines.

What are you, dying of some wasting disease?

No, I'm right... I'm right here.

I know exactly where your body is.

What I'm lookin' for is some indication of a brain.

Too much football without a helmet?

Hah! Lyndon's line on Gerry Ford.

Deputy Debriefer, Paris, Peace Talks, '68.

Snagged the Silver Star and a silver bar. Threw me into G-2.

G-2?

Intelligence, of which you have none.

Where you from?

Gresham, Oregon,

Colonel.

What does your daddy do in Gresham, Oregon?

Hmm? Count wood chips?

My stepfather and my mom run a convenience store.

How convenient. What time they open?

5:00 a.m.

Close?

1:00 a.m.

Hard workers.

You got me all misty-eyed!

So, what are you doing here in this sparrow-fart town?

I attend Baird.

Attend Baird!

I know you go to the Baird school.

Point is, how do you afford it,

even with the student aid and the folks back home hustlin' corn nuts?

I won a Young American merit scholarship.

Hoo-ah!

Glory, glory Hallelujah

Glory, glory Hallelujah

Who's there?

That little piece of tail?

Get her outta here!

Yeah.

Can't believe they're my blood.

IQ of sloths and the manners of banshees.

He's a mechanic, she's a homemaker.

He knows as much about cars as a beauty queen,

and she bakes cookies, taste like wing nuts.

As for the tots, they're twits.

How's your skin, son? I like my aides to be presentable.

Well, I...

I've had a few zits.

But my roommate, he lent me his Clinique

because he's from Chestnut Hill and he's got...

"The History of My Skin," by Charles Simms.

You patronizing me, peewee? Hmm?

You givin' me that old prep school palaver?

Baird School!

A bunch of runny-nosed snots in tweed jackets

all studyin' to be George Bush.

Well...

I believe President Bush went to Andover, Colonel.

You sharpshootin' me, punk?

Is that what you're doin'?

Don't you sharpshoot me.

You'll give me 40.

Then you're gonna give me 40 more.

Then you're gonna pull K.P., the grease pit!

I'll rub your nose in enlisted men's crud till you don't know which end is up!