I Love Lucy: The Untold Story (2 page)

“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”

“That’s great. Do you know Lucille?”

“I’ve never met her, Harry. But I’ll listen to the show this week. When’s it on?”

“Friday night, nine o’clock. Why don’t I send you over a couple of scripts so you can get a feel for the show?”

“Okay, that’d be fine. Uh, by the way, who is the sponsor?”

“We’re still looking for one.”

Well, the scripts arrived the next morning.
My Favorite Husband,
I learned from reading them, really sort of a society show. Lucy played Elizabeth Cugat, the gay, sophisticated socialite wife of a bank vice president. But instead of sticking to the pattern set in the previous episodes, I made what turned out to be a fortuitous decision. For five years I had been writing the
Baby Snooks
radio program, staring Fanny Brice as Snooks—a wise-beyond-her-years little girl who constantly drove her daddy crazy—and I decided to make Lucy's character a bit more loke Snooks—less sophisticated, more childlike and impulsive, a stage-struck schemer with an overactive imagination that got her into embarrassing situations. This would give me an excuse to
engage Lucy in some broad slapstick comedy.

The story line involved Liz’s scheme to get the lead in the Young Matrons League’s annual theater production, over husband George’s objections. And the opening scene set the tone:

LIZ.  Oh Katy?

KATY.  Yes, Mrs. Cugat.  What is it?

LIZ.  Katy, you don’t have to serve breakfast this morning.  I’ll serve Mr. Cugat myself.

KATY.  Don’t you feel well, Mrs. Cugat?

LIZ.  Yes, but there’s a special little favor I want from him, and if he thinks
I
cooked the breakfast it might put him in a better frame of mind.

KATY.  If he thinks
you
cooked it, Mrs. Cugat, I don’t think he’ll eat it.

LIZ.  Well, fix something real nice—liked scrambled eggs!

KATY.  I’ll make a nice omelette. 
(Laughs knowingly.)
  Oh, you can always get around a man with food.  I used to get anything I wanted from my first husband, Clarence.  I’d just cook him an omelette and put in a whole bottle of Tabasco sauce.

LIZ.  A whole bottle!?

KATY.  Uh huh...and I wouldn’t give him a glass of water till he said yes!

LIZ.  Well, just leave out the Tabasco.  I’ve done everything to keep George in a nice frame of mind this morning.

KATY. 
(Leaving.) 
All right.

GEORGE. 
(Off.) (Bellows.)
Liz!  Hey, Liz! Where are my clothes?  I can’t find them anywhere.

LIZ. 
(Calls.)
  They’re all there, George.  I hung them up.

GEORGE. 
(Off.)
  What did you do that for?  I had them all neatly laid out on the floor where I could find them!

SOUND.  (Phone ring. Pick up.)

LIZ.  Hello?  Oh, hello, Ann.  Lunch?  How can you
think
of it?  Aren’t you going to the tryouts for the play?  The Young Matrons League.  It’s in the paper this morning.  On the Society Page.  I just put it in front of George’s place at the table.  And you know what Ann?  Anatol Brodny is going to be in the audience on opening night.  Yes, the famous Hollywood director.  He used to live in town here.  Oh, I hope George will let me try out.  Oh, oh, here he comes.  I’ll call you later, Ann.

SOUND.  Hang up phone.

LIZ. 
(Hums gaily.)
  Good morning, dear.

GEORGE.  Good morning, dear.  Well, what’s for breakfast? 
(Calls.)
  Katy!

LIZ.  Uh—I told Katy to work around the house.

GEORGE. 
(Warily.)
  Are
you
cooking breakfast?

LIZ. 
(Tries to sneak by it without actually lying.)
 Well—you’re my favorite husband.

GEORGE. 
(He knows this attitude.)
  Okay, what do you want from me, Liz?

LIZ. 
(Shocked at the suggestion.)
  Me?  Want?

SOUND.  (Door open.)

KATY.  Mrs. Cugat.  Can I see you a minute?

GEORGE.  What is it Katy?  Something wrong?

KATY.  Well, er—

LIZ. 
(A brave front.)
  Go right ahead, Katy, tell me.  I have nothing to keep from Mr. Cugat.

KATY.  Well—breakfast won’t be ready for a while because the omelette
you
were cooking spoiled and you had to make another one!

LIZ. 
(Trying to carry it off.)
  Thank you, Katy.

GEORGE. 
(Pause.) 
I hope you didn’t put too much salt in it, Liz.

LIZ.  Don’t be funny.  Hey, why don’t you read your paper, George?

GEORGE.  You mean you’ll
let
me?

LIZ.  Certainly, dear.  See it’s all set for you.  All you have to do is read.

GEORGE. 
(Put out
)  Who opened this paper to the society page?

LIZ.  You could do worse than read the society page.  There are some interesting things there.

GEORGE.  There are?  Well, let’s see.  Well!  I should say.  Just look at this. 
(Reads.)
  At a late afternoon ceremony, Deborah Ann Rasmussen became the bride of Arthur Spondulik Cranfeather Jr.

LIZ.  Uh…why don’t you read something else, dear?

GEORGE.  No, this is
exciting.
  The bride wore a bouffant gown of white Chantilly lace and her head was covered by a lace cap from which fell a large veal.

LIZ.  That’s
veil!

GEORGE.  Veal, veil.  They all look silly. 
(Continues reading.)
  The bridesmaids wore aqua taffeta gowns, and—

LIZ.  Oh, why don’t you try somewhere around the middle of the page, darling? Down there.

GEORGE.  Oh yes, here.
(Reads.) 
Overheard at tea—People wouldn’t be so incompatable if the men had more income and the girls were more pattable! 
(Laughs.)
  Oh that’s
very
good.

LIZ.  Here.  Give me the paper. I’ll see if
I
can find something.

GEORGE.  Oh now wait a minute, dear wife.  What’s all this interest in the society page? Oh, ho!
(Reads.)
Young Matrons League to present annual play.

LIZ.  Oh, really?  I didn’t see that.

GEORGE. 
(Winding up on a pet hate.)
Hmm. If there’s one thing I can’t understand it’s why a bunch of respectable married women want to get up on a stage and make jackasses out of themselves.

LIZ.  I don’t see anything wrong with it...
(Take.)
They
don’t
make Jackasses out of themselves.

GEORGE.  Oh, come now, Liz. You
know
they do.

LIZ.  You didn’t feel this way last year.  You let me be in the play.

GEORGE.  That’s what started me feeling this way.

LIZ.  Oh, you think I’m a jackass.

GEORGE.  I didn’t say that.

LIZ.  Well you implied it. Didn’t you?

GEORGE.  No comment.

LIZ.  George Cugat.  You are calling your wife a jackass by keeping your mouth shut.

GEORGE.  Think of the trouble I’d get into if I opened it. 
(Suddenly cajoling.)
 Aw look—why don’t you forget it, Honey.  I know what you’re leading to.  You want to be in the play.

LIZ.  I do not.  I didn’t even hear about it until you happened to find it in the paper.

GEORGE.  Really?

LIZ.  Don’t you believe me?

GEORGE.  Oh, certainly, dear.  I wonder what play they’re going to do?

LIZ.  John Loves Mary. 
(Suddenly realizes what she’s done.)
 
(Gasps.)

GEORGE.  Well, forget it, Liz. The answer is no! Not after
last
year
(Laughter gets the better of him.)

LIZ.  That wasn’t my fault.

GEORGE.  Well, you’re supposed to feel at ease on the stage.  Move around. Oh, I almost died when that fellow came bounding in and called “RUN FOR YOUR LIFE, THE DAM HAS BROKEN” and you just sat there.  I know how you felt.  I’ve had stage fright, too.

LIZ.  I didn’t have stage fright.

GEORGE.  Then why didn’t you get up when the dam broke?

LIZ.  Because when I sat down a
strap
broke!

GEORGE.  Oh.

LIZ.  And I’ll tell you something else, George Cugat.  There’s going to be a famous Hollywood director in the audience on opening night and I’ll bet you if he sees me he’ll offer me a contract.

GEORGE.  Oh Liz, stop it.  You’re talking like a child.

LIZ.  Come on.  We’ll make a bet.  How much?

GEORGE.  Oh no. No you don’t.  This is just a trick so I’ll let you be in the play.  Well, I have to go to the office, dear.  Sorry I had to deprive you of a Hollywood career.

LIZ.  Very funny.  What has Betty Grable got that I haven’t got? Or Lana Turner.

GEORGE.  Nothing, dear.  In fact, you have something they haven’t got.

LIZ. 
(Pleased.)
I have? What?

GEORGE.  Me.  Well, see you later, dear.  If you want me, I’ll be at the bank.
(Sound.  Door open and close—telephone dialing.)

LIZ.  Hello, Ann? Liz.  I just spoke to George about being in the play.  Yes, he put his foot down.  Absolutely no.  He was really definite about it.  What time are we going to the tryouts? Of course I am.  It’s a challenge now.  If I get the part think how surprised George will be on opening night.  To say nothing of that Hollywood director. Who, me?  Don’t be silly.  A Hollywood contract is the last thing in the world I want—I’d just like to show George I could get one if I wanted to.  Goodbye, Ann.

SOUND.  (Hang up phone)

Liz goes to the auditions, and to her delight the theater group’s amateur director tells her that with a little practice she’ll be a strong contender for the lead. Later, when Liz is in her bedroom rehearsing a love scene, George comes home unexpectedly and hears her from the hallway. When he enters the bedroom and realizes she was talking to herself, he thinks she’s having a breakdown. He secretly arranges for a psychiatrist, Dr. Schweinkampf, to come over to the house to observe Liz, posing as an old college chum. Meanwhile, Liz discovers that the famous Hollywood director, Anatol Brodny, was an old college classmate of George’s. And when George tells Liz he’s bringing an old college friend home to dinner, she assumes their guest is really the movie director, and proceeds to “audition” for him by going
into a series of virtuoso performances:

GEORGE.  Well, here we are, Doctor.

SCHWEIN.  One moment before we go in.  Don’t be nervous, Mr. Nougat.

GEORGE.  That’s Cugat.

SCHWEIN.  It doesn’t matter.  Now don’t worry if she seems to act normal.  I can tell her condition by subtle little actions and movements.  Don’t do anything to arouse her.

GEORGE.  All right.  Here we go.
(Sound.  Door open.)

GEORGE. 
(Oversweet singsong.)
Liz.  Li-i-i-zzz.  Oh, there you are.  Liz, I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine—Uh—Art Jones.

SCHWEIN.  How do you do, Mrs. Cugat..

LIZ. 
(Oversexy, almost Mae West.)
Hullooo, boys.  Say—I’m certainly glad you came up to see me.

GEORGE.  What!?

LIZ.  How about a drink, boys?

GEORGE.  Now Liz, please!

LIZ.  There’s a sofa over there, Mr. Jones.  Why don’t you get out of that hard chair and slip into something more comfortable?

GEORGE.  Well, maybe Mr. Jones likes that chair, darling.

LIZ. 
(Suddenly switching into high hysterical drama.)
  Darling?  Now you call me darling
(Dramatic laugh.)
  But what am I when we’re alone?  Your slave. 
(Starts crying)
You beat me with a cane and push my poor broken body down the stairs.  Oh, I don’t care for myself, but you pushed the children after me!

GEORGE.  The children?  I did not.

LIZ.  Then where are they? 
(Breaking down.)
Oh, I can’t stand it, putting on this sham in front of your friends
(Fading)
  I’m leaving, leaving this life of hypocrisy.
(Hysterical.)
  Leaving, do you hear?
(Trails off in laughter and tears.)

GEORGE. 
(Pause.)
  Well, Doctor, what do you think?

SCHWEIN.  Don’t speak to me, you cad!

GEORGE.  Now wait a minute!

SCHWEIN.  I would suggest you come to see me every day, Mr. Cugat.  You have a
serious
condition.

GEORGE.  I tell you this is
ridiculous
.  We have
no
children!

SOUND. 
(Door bell rings.)

GEORGE.  Oh, she’s making all this up. Oh, wait a minute till I get the door.

SOUND. 
(Door open.)

LIZ. 
(Pathetic old lady, but old.)
  Violets?  Will you buy a poor old lady’s violets, Sonny?  I haven’t eaten in three weeks.

GEORGE.  Liz, you sound like a
goat!
Now, take that shawl off your head and come in here.

SCHWEIN.  Just a moment, sir.  Here you are, Old Lady.  Fifty cents.  Keep it. 

LIZ.  Blessings on you, sir.
(Fading.)
  Blessings.  Blessings.

SOUND. 
(Door close slightly off.)

SCHWEIN.  I apologize, Mr. Cugat.

GEORGE.  Now things sound different, don’t they?

SCHWEIN.  Oh, yeah, yeah.  You should
both
come to see me.  Now, now quickly.  You have a maid?

GEORGE.  Yes.

SCHWEIN.  Ring for the maid.  We’re gonna find out how your wife has been acting around the house today.

GEORGE.  Well, I
am
ringing.  I don’t know why she doesn’t answer.  Oh, darn this bell, maybe it’s broken.

SOUND. 
(Door open.)

LIZ. 
(Coming in.) (Broad Cockney.)
  All right, All right, I’m comin’, Guvnor, Don’t get ‘ot about it.

GEORGE. Oh, no! Liz,
stop
this.  It’s ridiculous!

LIZ. 
(Cockney.)
  Oh, you don’t like me as a Cockney, eh?  Per’aps you’d like me better as a South Sea Island Native?

GEORGE.  Liz! Get up off the floor! What are you doing?!

LIZ. 
(Deep sexy voice.)
  Me Tondeleyo!

GEORGE.  That does it.

LIZ.  Me love white man.  You don’t love me?

SOUND.
  (Door bell rings.)

GEORGE.  Me answer doorbell.

SOUND. 
(Door opens.)

COREY.  Well, here’s Cartwright, a man of his word.

GEORGE.  Oh, hello, Corey.

COREY.  Uh, where’s Liz?

GEORGE.  Over there on the floor.

COREY.  Oh, yes. 
(Laughs sort of embarrassedly.)
  Well I—I don’t know what you’re doing on the floor, Liz — but let me present this fellow with me.  Mrs. George Cugat — Anatol Brodny.

LIZ.  I’m pleased to—ANATOL BRODNEY? 
(Shrieks.)
  Then who’s
this
character?

SCHWEIN.  Allow me to present myself, Mrs. Cugat.  Rheinhold Schweinkampf, Psychiatrist.

LIZ.  Ooooh!

SOUND. 
(Body fall.)

GEORGE.  Oh, help me with her, Corey.  She’s fainted.

MUSIC
.  (Bridge.)

SOUND
.  (Telephone dialing.) (Buzz on filter.)

GEORGE. 
(Filter.)
  Hello.

WIRTH.  Hello, may I speak to Mrs. Cugat, please?

GEORGE. 
(Filter.)
  Mrs. Cugat is upstairs resting.  This is her husband.  May I help you?

WIRTH.  This is Mrs. Wirthingill, the director of the Young Matrons Play.  I called to tell Mrs. Cugat that she got the main part.  Congratulations, Mr. Cugat.

GEORGE. 
(Filter.)
  Well, I think you’d better forget about my wife for that part, Mrs. Wirthingill.  After the experience she had tonight she assured me she has given up the theater for good.

WIRTH.  Oh, that’s too bad.

GEORGE.  Well, goodbye, Mrs. Wirthingill

WIRTH.  Goodbye, Mr. Cugat.

SOUND. 
(Phone click on filter.)

LIZ. 
(Filter.) (Whispering loudly.)
  Mrs. Wirthingill.  Mrs. Wirthingill.

WIRTH.  What?  Hello?

LIZ.  This is Liz Cugat.  I’ve been listening on the telephone upstairs in the bedroom.

WIRTH.  Oh, then you heard what your husband said.

LIZ.  Yes, but don’t pay any attention to it.  I’ll see you at rehearsal in the morning.

MUSIC. 
(Curtain.) (Applause.)