SCENE: New York
GILBERT: Well, this is it: Winfield Publishing. Dont be nervous; youll be fine.
ANNE: Its unbearable to have insignificance ingrained into your very soul. No, Mr. Winfield is likely to reject my manuscript just like every other publisher Ive been to this week.
GILBERT: This is a much smaller company, and I doubt that he brought you in for a meeting just to say no. [seeing Dr. Powell] Morning, sir.
ANNE: Ive made up my mind to go to my grave unwept, unhonored, and unsung.
GILBERT: But not unpublished. Id like you to meet my fiance, Anne Shirley. This is Dr. Powell.
DR. POWELL: An honor, Miss Shirley.
ANNE: I very much appreciate the opportunity here, sir.
DR. POWELL: Ah, your book is marvelous. Ive just seen old Winfield. He assures me hell consider it. The least I can do for the fiance of our most important young surgeon, eh? [Anne begins to leave] Dont settle for anything less than 10% royalties from the old tyrant.
SCENE: Winfield Publishers
ANNE: Excuse me, I have an appointment to see a Mr. Palmer Winfield.
WINFIELD RECEPTIONIST: Name?
ANNE: Miss Anne Shirley.
WINFIELD RECEPTIONIST: [on phone] Theres a Miss Shirley to see Mr. Winfield. [to Anne] Those stairs to the sixth.
ANNE: Thank you.
SCENE: Mr. Winfields office
MR. WINFIELD: Ah, Miss Shirley.
ANNE: Hello.
MR. OWEN: Sit down, if you will.
ANNE: Its a lot of stairs. How do you do, sir?
MR. WINFIELD: Oh, miserably. Book sales are in a detestable slump. The overhead of this organization is a can of worms. This is Mr. Owen, in charge of our fiction department.
ANNE: Well, thank you both so much for taking the time to meet with me and--
MR. WINFIELD: Thank Dr. Powell. He cut a tumor out of me once, thereby prolonging my unfortunate existence. Perhaps you should get down to the short strokes, hmm, Miss Shirley?
MR. OWEN: Weve read the manuscript Dr. Powell submitted. Lively and engaging, I suppose.
MR. WINFIELD: Yes, you have some promise as a writer. But not here. I run a business, not a charity.
MR. OWEN: Weve never published stories for young women. Our specialty is adventures, detective novels, and all manner of books for a mans man.
MR. WINFIELD: However, since men are not buying so many books now with the war on, we really would like to develop womens adventures. Wanted to for years. We need someone to apprehend writers and stories that will appeal to women.
ANNE: Well, I can guarantee you: I can smell a good book before I even open the cover.
MR. WINFIELD: Yes, well Mr. Owen is prepared to train you in the position of a junior editor.
MR. OWEN: The process of finding material, however, is very subjective.
ANNE: Well, I can find writers that women will want to read. As long as it doesnt preclude me from submitting my own manuscripts amongst them.
MR. OWEN: Well, Miss Shirley, they would have to meet our criteria.
ANNE: And what is that?
MR. WINFIELD: Ive never published anything I didnt like. That served me well for 40 years.
ANNE: Well, youll like what I find, sir, as much as youll grow to have faith in me.
MR. OWEN: Ill find a small corner for Miss Shirley to work in, sir.
SCENE: Winfield Publishers main room
MR. OWEN: Come along, Miss Shirley. There ought to be a desk under all of that somewhere. Our research department will find you lists. Do what you can. My office is right there. Miss Shirley, please.
ANNE: Oh, Im sorry. I was just taking it all in.
MR. OWEN: Well, that is a portrait of Jack Garrison, Jr., Americas top mystery raconteur. A half million copies of his espionage novels guaranteed before he puts pen to paper. Youll have to find men who can write that way for women, or youll be wasting your time.
ANNE: Mr. Owen, I rarely waste my time. Besides, if I thought only men can write for women, I might not find anything interesting.
MR. OWEN: Yes, well, I should mention to you that we have never published a female author. Ever.
SCENE: Bellevue Hospital operating room
DR. POWELL: Blast!
GILBERT: Allow me, Doctor.
DR. POWELL: All right. Finish up, Gil. I want you in the board meeting in half an hour.
SCENE: Bellevue Hospital boardroom
DR. POWELL: Certainly, I no longer have the fortitude to continue serve this institution in light of my deteriorating eyesight. [Gil enters] Ah. This young fellow is the foremost surgeon in his class, and I might add in the entire institution. Hes been asked to stay on till the end of the year, but he has the talent and stamina to assume my duties as a permanent member of the administration within the month.
SCENE: Bellevue Hospital corridor
GILBERT: Sir, I am very flattered. I just wish you hadnt launched this without discussing with me first.
DR. POWELL: I needed to know where the board stood. I cant operate anymore, you know, lad. The prognosis for glaucoma is abysmal. Youll want to rise to the occasion and follow in my footsteps.
MRS. TWEED: Dr. Blythe! Dr. Blythe!
MR. TWEED: I dont know if you remember my wife--
GILBERT: Of course.
MR. TWEED: Weve been waiting eight hours for anyone to see us.
DR. POWELL: The admitting nurse should assist you.
GILBERT: Mrs. Tweed, has your baby not turned?
MRS. TWEED: Somethings not right.
GILBERT: Come on, lets sit down.
CHILD: Mom, maybe you should walk.
GILBERT: Are you having rapid contractions?
CHILD: Are you okay?
GILBERT: Mrs. Cunningham, this woman is in labor. See that she be admitted immediately. She may require surgery.
DR. POWELL: You neednt concern yourself with indigent cases. Let me speak to Dr. Moore in obstetrics.
GILBERT: Oh, I can speak Moore. But, sir, I am obligated to this patient, by virtue of having examined her in the clinic a week ago, at which time I requested that she be admitted into the hospital. The delivery may be a footling breech. If she continues in labor any longer she may lose the child.
DR. POWELL: Choose where you use your scalpel. Remember, weve scheduled Mrs. Hamilton this afternoon. You just met her husband, on the board.
GILBERT: I cant let her condition go unsupervised. We can reschedule Mrs. Hamiltons gallbladder operation. Excuse me.
SCENE: Bellevue Hospital waiting room
ANNE: Dr. Blythe?
NURSE: Oh, he cant be disturbed. Please, take a seat in the waiting area, maam.
GILBERT: Mr. Tweed? Your wife is in stable condition, but there was a problem with the babys cord. We did everything we could, but Im afraid it was too late.
MR. TWEED: Too late? We waited and waited!
GILBERT: Im so sorry.
MR. TWEED: You heedless--!
DR. POWELL: Take this man out onto the street!
DOCTORS: Come on. Stop it! Come on you three!
MR. TWEED: You call yourselves doctors!
ANNE: What happened Gil?
GILBERT: Lost the baby.
DR. POWELL: A word with you, lad.
SCENE: Bellevue Hospital terrace
DR. POWELL: Youll get used to this, if youre to spend your lives together. The woman came to us too late.
GILBERT: She should have been hospitalized a week ago.
DR. POWELL: [to Anne] Excuse us. [to Gil] This is part of your lot as a surgeon. There are some you can afford to save, and some who--. This is a large institution. Youre what I was 30 years ago, Gil. Think! Think of the potential you have, the lives you should save, huh? [to Anne] Oh, take him home, woman. Give him a good stiff drink of whiskey.
SCENE: New York park
ANNE: I feel like weve been walking in circles.
GILBERT: You cant expect life to be normal here, Anne.
ANNE: I knew that when I agreed to come. Thats why I wanted you to promise me that someday wed go home to raise our family. I dont think I can walk anymore without something to eat, Gil.
GILBERT: Im sorry. Ill take you for a fine meal somewhere.
ANNE: A wiener in a bun would be fine.
GILBERT: You know, I forgot to ask you how things went for you this morning. [to vendor] Two, please.
VENDOR: Mm-hmm.
ANNE: Well, they offered me an important editorial position.
GILBERT: Dr. Powell assured me that they were interested in publishing you.
VENDOR: Here you go, sir.
ANNE: Can I have two for me, sir?
VENDOR: Yes, maam.
GILBERT: Youve got to continue your own writing, not working on someone elses material.
ANNE: Its all right. I really want this job. I intend to have Winfield publish a book of mine if its the last thing I do.
SCENE: Winfield Publishers main room
ANNE: [testing book titles] Forever and Forever. Always Forever. Now and Forever. Forever into Eternity, by Anne Blythe. By Anne Shirley. Forever into Eternity.
JACK: Youll jinx yourself with insipid titles like that, Miss Shirley. Oh, dont be embarrassed; half the people in this building are writing books on their lunch hour.
ANNE: You are--. Arent you?
JACK: Jack Garrison.
ANNE: Its a pleasure to meet you. All Mr. Owen ever talks about is your latest manuscript. A real page-turner, according to him.
JACK: Yeah, thats one way of putting it, seeing he hasnt even seen it yet. Will you pass this material on to Mr. Owen? Its the story outline of my latest book, according to the terms of my contract.
ANNE: Certainly.
JACK: My lawyer will be following up before I go to draft. You know, I have a few moments. Why dont you tell me about your story? Maybe I can help you come up with a decent title.
ANNE: Well, um, I havent finished it yet. I was hoping, if I came up with a really gripping title, it might tweak further ideas.
JACK: Oh, no, no, no. Youre going about it all topsy-turvy. You must absolutely always start with a firm premise and a solid ending.
ANNE: Well, actually, I do have that. Its the story of a young teacher, a missionary, set in the Himalayas, who tames the heart of a British colonel.
JACK: [laughs] Oh, please. I dont mean to laugh, but youve got better ham in your sandwich.
ANNE: Well, Ive been reading all of your works. They tell me they want to find the female bookend to you.
JACK: But Im also condemned as a hack in any literary circle. Aim much higher, creatively, if you want my opinion, Miss Shirley.
MR. OWEN: Mr. Garrisons father was the top writer for firm for years before he died, Miss Shirley. Luckily, young Mr. Garrison has followed in his fathers success.
JACK: No, true success requires passion and a vision, not just dollars and cents, Mr. Owen. [Mr. Owen clears his throat] Delightful as it has been, Miss Shirley. I do hope we get to do this again. Good day.
ANNE: Good day.
JACK: Good luck.
ANNE: This is the story outline according to the terms of his contract. He said you will hear from his lawyers shortly.
GILBERT: Yes, Im sure that I will. Thank you.
SCENE: The next day. Anne rifles through her desk.
MR. OWEN: Why the long face, Miss Shirley?
ANNE: Uh, this is very frustrating. I misplaced something yesterday. Its nothing, really.
MR. OWEN: Well, you better put a smile on. Mr. Winfield wants you up in his office, immediately. Ill be along in a minute.
SCENE: Mr. Winfields office
MR. WINFIELD: [leafing through Garrisons manuscript] Yuck. Apparently, Jack Garrison has taken quite a liking to you Miss Shirley. Oh, dont ask me what sort of antics hes up to now, but, uh, apparently his lawyers have requested that you -- and only you -- act as his editor for his new book. So, wed like you to read the material and meet with him to discuss it. Hmmm?
ANNE: Ive never edited anyones book other than my own. Isnt there someone with more experience?
MR. WINFIELD: No, not really. And besides, the materials unpublishable, at least by this firm. So, we want you to meet with him, humor him, but by all means make clear to him in no uncertain terms that unless hes prepared to deliver us a new adventure plot instead of this intellectual, political manifesto, Im going to drop him as an author. Full stop. Not another word. Do we understand each other?
ANNE: Isnt that rather drastic, sir?
MR. WINFIELD: This [handing her a paper] will clearly articulate our position.
ANNE: Are you sure I should be the one delivering this message?
MR. WINFIELD: Oh, yes. Mr. Owen agrees that this is the best way to keep the situation cheerful. So, off you go. And remember: we want adventure, not art. And, by the way, dont you let him lay a finger on you.
MR. OWEN: We go through this ridiculous dance every year, Miss Shirley. He believes hes writing the great American classic or some such nonsense.
ANNE: [nods] Goodnight.
MR. OWEN: And you are a valued employee, Miss Shirley.
SCENE: Lobby of Garrisons apartment building
ANNE: Could you please ring Mr. Jack Garrisons room? Tell him that Miss Shirley is here to meet him in the lobby.
CONCIERGE: Right away, miss. [on phone] Mr. Garrisons room, please. Hello, Mr. Garrison. Theres a Miss Shirley here at the desk to meet you. Oh! Why, yes, sir. As you wish, sir. [hangs up phone] Mr. Garrison is indisposed at the moment. He wants you to go up and wait. Hell only be a few more minutes.
ANNE: Id prefer to wait here, in the lobby.
CONCIERGE: Uh, he said he wasnt coming down. Its the third floor, suite 308.
SCENE: Outside Garrisons room
ANNE: Oh, dear. Ive disturbed you, Mr. Garrison. I was told you were expecting me.
JACK: No need to apologize; its entirely my fault. I, uh. I dozed off. Why dont you come on inside and you can give me Winfields notes and your own notes.
ANNE: Ill wait out here in the hall, sir, while you read the letter.
JACK: It would be rude of me to leave you in the hallway. Please. [he pulls her into the room]
SCENE: Jack Garrisons room
JACK: That manipulative, old, desperate--. What were his exact words, again?
ANNE: I heard him say if you didnt deliver another adventure instead of this political piece, youd be dropped by Winfield publishing. Full stop.
JACK: Ive spent the better part of the bloody advance.
ANNE: Well, it seems to me that one more book off the top of your head is better than getting involved with some legal wrangle, especially if they force you to give back such a large advance.
JACK: I just dont have it in me. One more leads to one more leads to one--.
ANNE: This current piece is genius, sir. But how could they possibly publish a chronicle on the poverty-stricken in Mexico living in the wake of Teddy Roosevelts Rough Riders?
JACK: They can sell a telephone book with my name and the right cover. Books are packaged goods to them.
ANNE: [backing up] Sales are down because of the war. Your reading public is diminishing. I could make up some excuse for you, if you more time to reflect.
JACK: No, dont! Dont go! Dont! Dont! I have a
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