Margaret Whitton: Vera Prescott

The Secret of My Success

Vera Prescott

[after sex]
Brantley Foster: Can I make a personal observation?
Vera Prescott: Um, anything but the thighs.
Brantley Foster: You know, somebody sold you a bill of goods and convinced you you had to be 21 forever. That's bullshit. I think you're terrific; I think the only thing wrong with you is your husband is a jerk. You're beautiful, you're intelligent, you're sensuous...
Vera Prescott: Say that again!
Brantley Foster: Which part?
Vera Prescott: All of it!
[sounds of car]
Vera Prescott: Oh, no.
Brantley Foster: What, what is it?
Vera Prescott: It's the jerk.
[Brantley rushes to the window]
Vera Prescott: My husband.
Brantley Foster: My uncle!
Vera Prescott: Your what?
Brantley Foster: Oh God, that makes you...
Vera Prescott: Auntie Vera?
Brantley Foster: Oh! God!
[Vera laughs]
Brantley Foster: Oh God, oh God, oh God! What's my mother going to say? I've disgraced my whole family!
Vera Prescott: Oh, the hell you did!

Brantley Foster: No, the question is how many people *did* you sleep with in order to get to the top?
[Christy throws a vase at Brantley, smashing it]
Vera Prescott: That was a very expensive vase, you BITCH!
Christy Wills: *SHUT UP*! What I did was my business, not yours!
Brantley Foster: No, you mean it was *company business*!
Christy Wills: [snarkily] That's right! And that's all it was. Business!
Brantley Foster: I'll tell you something, sweetheart. You're very good at your job.
[Brantley leaves, Christy starts crying]

Howard Prescott: Let me get this straight - Brantley is Whitfield?
Brantley Foster: That's right. Brantley is Whitfield; Whitfield is Brantley.
Vera Prescott: And Christy is the bimbo! Well, now that we've all had Mouseketeer roll call, I'm just going to go call my lawyer.
Howard Prescott: [lying] No, wait a minute. Christy is not the bimbo I was screwing around with at the office.
Christy Wills: People better stop calling me bimbo!
Howard Prescott: It was an entirely different bimbo altogether.
Vera Prescott: That's fine; how many bimbos would you say there were?
Howard Prescott: I misspoke myself. There weren't any bimbos at all.
Brantley Foster: Except Christy.
Howard Prescott: Right. No!

Howard Prescott: What you are doing in here?
Vera Prescott: [half naked] Feeling romantic...
Howard Prescott: Oh. What's for dinner?
Vera Prescott: Ohh, Howard! You really know how to sweep a girl back onto her feet.

Vera Prescott: Don't worry, Brantley. I don't wanna marry you. I'm already married. I just wanna love you. Love! I don't mean love as in two star-crossed virginettes running through the clover. Nothing icky like that. I'm a practical woman. You should be a practical young man. If you would just relax and let me, I could steer you through these shark-infested waters of this stupid company just like I steered Howard.
Brantley Foster: Look, I like you, I really like you, but I gotta tell you, I have become seriously and emotionally involved with someone who isn't my aunt.
Vera Prescott: I forgive you, Brantley.

Vera Prescott: I'm going to introduce you to the most powerful money men in New York, and if you can do to them what you've done to me...
Brantley Foster: I can't do that!
Vera Prescott: I mean bowl them over, darling! You're irresistible when you turn on that boyish charm.

Vera Prescott: [into phone] This is the third weekend in a row he's found an excuse not to come to the country... No, I don't know, but knowing him it's probably some teenage airhead from the steno pool. Hmph. The last one I caught him with was so dumb, she thought "dictation" was some kind of S&M trip.

Brantley Foster: We have a problem.
Vera Prescott: What?
Brantley Foster: It's your husband: he's my boss.
Vera Prescott: O-oh, him. We won't tell him. Besides, Howard's working late tonight - on whom, I have no idea.

Vera Prescott: I admit I felt *some* attraction towards Brantley at the beginning. But as you always told me, Howard, "Love is love, but business is business." You've run Daddy's company into the ground, Howard, and I believe these people here can bring it back to where it belongs again. So, UP Howard! Out of that chair!
Howard Prescott: Don't be ridiculous! I'm not about to resign my position!
Vera Prescott: Oh, you don't have to, Howard. You're fired!
Howard Prescott: Vera! You can't!
Vera Prescott: Oh, yes I can!
[to Davenport]
Vera Prescott: You see, Mr. Davenport, as of this afternoon *I* control 50.1% of the voting stock!
[to Art Thomas]
Vera Prescott: You too, Art! You're *history*!

[security arrives, having been called by Art Thomas at Howard Prescott's order]
Vera Prescott: Ah, gentlemen, just in time. Mr . Prescott and his aide have disrupted an important business meeting. Would you please escort them out of the building?

[at Brantley's apartment]
Brantley Foster: Oh, God. What are you doing here?
Vera Prescott: Brantley, darling, I heard you calling me telepathically - I'm VERY psychic - so of COURSE I rushed right over.
Brantley Foster: I would've used the phone...
Vera Prescott: Mental telepathy's much more reliable.

[Vera tries to seduce Brantley at the office]
Brantley Foster: Aunt Vera, listen, since the last time we met there's been a change.
Vera Prescott: Yes... nice suit, Brantley!
[she starts undressing him; he tries to escape]
Brantley Foster: Agh! Ow! Look, what I mean to say is... Oh, Christ! I'm not free any more!
Vera Prescott: What, you're going to charge me? Oh ho, you're getting awfully cynical - does your mother know about this?
Brantley Foster: Ohh, no, I am not available.
Vera Prescott: Oh, good, you're not going to charge me.

Vera Prescott: [to Brantley] I could spend a week inside those sweet unwrinkled eyes...

Vera Prescott: [Introducing Brantley to the money men of New York] Roland Owens, First Federal. Very rich. We start with him. He made his money the really old-fashioned way. He inherited it. And see the man playing tennis with the elbow brace, the knee strap and the glove? Vernon S. Fletcher, Wall Street's iron man. If he likes you, you can write your own ticket, and he'll like you.
Brantley Foster: Who's the tall guy over there with all the girls?
Vera Prescott: Good eye, Brantley. Harley McMasters, First Multinational. Recently divorced. They're all dying to be the second Mrs. First Multinational.
Brantley Foster: Listen, Vera, you're not gonna tell anybody I work in the mail room, are ya?
Vera Prescott: Trust me, Brantley. I got Howard his key to the executive washroom. I can do the same thing for you.