Betsy

George, please. (Gets up and answers the phone.) Hello? What? (shocked) Oh my god!

George

Alright, maybe four.

Betsy

So, when's the funeral? Well, Aunt Clarice was so ill, I guess it was really a blessing. (George, on the couch behind Betsy, is impatiently waiting for her to get off the phone so he can continue putting the moves on her. He shrugs, and crosses himself.) Yeah, I'll fly home as soon as I can. (George waves goodbye, and mimics a plane flying through the air with his hand.) O.k. You, too. Get some sleep. (Betsy looks at George, and he manufactures a completely phony look of sorrow.)

Jerry

You're sure?

Elaine

Positive! This chick's playin' with confederate money.