Tippi Hedren: (Waiting for elevator)
Alma Hitchcock: (Approaches elevator bank. Looks at Tippi, looks down at her hands. Picks at a cuticle. Looks at Tippi for a second, look away. Twirls hair around her right pointer finger. Looks at Tippi, opens her mouth to speak, closes it and looks away. Clenches her nails into her palm and looks at Tippi again.) I’m so sorry you have to go through this.
Tippi: (Mouth opens in surprise, before closing. Eyes narrow.) Alma, you could stop it. You’re the only one who could.
Alma: (Turns and walks away. Speaks very softly, under her breath.) Stupid blonde bitch. You think Alfie would listen to me? The man doesn’t respect me enough to even pretend to keep it in his pants while in the company of all of our acquaintances, and you expect me to stop it? I’m not blonde, and I’m not a fucking model, which, as you should be all too well aware, is the body type of interest to the man in the bedroom. Stop him. You don’t think I would if I could? No, I love being embarrassed that everyone in fucking Hollywood knows my husband wants to screw some blonde bitch he saw in a commercial who has made it clear as day to anyone and everyone that she is not only not interested, but she’s offended. Stop him! He’s a powerful man in Hollywood; he doesn’t need to listen to me. And he’s not going to.