Act I

They charge admission. Remember the way I used to figure when Paul first came along? I thought marrying a songwriter meant going to all the first nights, meeting everybody that was worthwhile, going down to Palm Beach⁠—

You would, too, if Paul was any good.

I wonder what it’d be like if we’d stayed in Stroudsburg. I’d probably be married to Will Broderick, and we’d have a car⁠—

To drive over to Scranton in.

I suppose I ought to get consolation out of one thing. I never expect a phone call or a mash note or an invitation or even a half pound box of candy. Whatever happens is velvet.

You’re a fool if you keep it up. You ought to break away while there’s still time.

That’s an easy thing to say. I haven’t got any grounds, in the first place.

You wouldn’t need grounds. Just get him up in court and let the judge look at him.