Mike Todd: “Wow, they’ll run any kind of gossip on this news ticker in Times Square. Are you seeing this?”

Elizabeth Taylor: “Of course I’m seeing it, dear. Just because I have violet eyes doesn’t mean I can’t see the same things other people see.”

Mike: “You have violet eyes? I never noticed that.”

Elizabeth: “It’s because the paparazzi is always shooting us in black and white. Don’t worry, Ted Turner will colorize all of this later and then you’ll know.”

Mike: “Interesting. Anyway, the ticker says that Hedda Hopper thinks you will get married two more times after me.”

Elizabeth: “Hedda is a wretched fool. I’m thinking there will be at least four more marriages.”

Mike: “Four? Who has time for that? Besides, I thought you promised in your wedding vows that you would love me forever.”

Elizabeth: “Did I? Hmm. I read for so many parts these days that sometimes things get a bit muddled.”

Mike: “Well, if I wasn’t so confident in my masculinity, I would think you’re being cruel.”

Elizabeth: “Cruel? Of course not, Number Three. In fact, to counteract the hint of cruelty, I should warn you that my violet non-Bette Davis eyes have foreseen the future, and I think it’s best that you not get on that plane in New Mexico.”

Mike: “What on earth?”

Suddenly, Elizabeth’s publicist, who had been hiding in nearby bushes because that’s what quality publicists do, came rushing up. “And I must warn you, Liz, that this dialogue is getting too arcane and trivia-heavy that only your most ardent fans will know what you are talking about at this point.”

Elizabeth: “Fine with me, publicist whose name I don’t recall because there have been so many of them. The ardent fans should always get a little something extra.”

Publicist, pulling a bit of foliage out of her hair: “But, Liz, this could backfire on you in the gossip columns and I can only spin so much and-”

Elizabeth: “Take a deep breath, Nameless. Gaze into my eyes. My vibrant violet eyes. Are you feeling sleepy?”

Publicist: “Yes, I do feel the need for a quick nap. In fact, I could do it right now if you would move some of these scripts out of the way.”

Elizabeth: “Good girl. Just lay your head on that budget-destroying copy of Cleopatra over there. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Publicist, doing so: “I just want the lambs to stop screaming.”

Mike: “I have no idea what’s going on here.”

Elizabeth: “And you don’t need to. Just remember that Hedda Hopper doesn’t always get it right. And make sure you opt for the extra flight insurance in New Mexico when you don’t listen to me.”

Note 1: This is Exhibit #26 in Bonnywood’s March Madness. Details found here.

Note 2: This story only makes complete sense if you know what eventually happened to Mike Todd, and even then it’s questionable. And if you DO know what happened, you might find this tale rather inconsiderate and morbid, but sometimes I just need to scratch my dark humor itch, and this was one of those moments…