October, 1953. New York City.
Record Exec: So Eartha, we just heard the preliminary recordings for “Santa Baby.”
Eartha: Lucky you.
Exec: Uh, yes. Thank you.
Eartha: You’re welcome. I assume we’re done here.
Exec: Uh, no. There’s more that we need to discuss.
Eartha: Well, lets make it snappy. I promised Orson Welles we’d eat canapes off of Marlon Brando at 3 and I can’t be late.
Eartha: The canapes get soggy.
Eartha: Orson hates soggy canapes.
Exec: So, uh, … the vocals are great.
Eartha: Of course they are.
Exec: The issue is that … well, the mood of song.
Eartha: The mood is perfect. It’s Christmassy, or whatever. It’ll make people feel (she flutters her hands dismissively).
Exec: Yes, but … some of the lyrics. You tell Santa to, uh, ‘hurry down the chimney.’
Eartha: (Lights a cigarette, takes a long drag.) Yes. He’d
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