Head Over Heels

Yeah, I live with models.
I was their science project tonight.

So, you're a model.
Oh, yeah. Supermodel.
I meant to say that I hope you're not a model.
You're not like most of the women I see
at these parties.

What is it you do?
I restore paintings at the Met.

- Really?
- Yeah. That's why I'm leaving.

I wish I could leave.
- Why? You seemed like you were having a great time.
- Oh--

Well, my job basically consists of kissing ass
and smiling while I do it.

- Ah.
- But that's not really me.

So the split personality emerges.
You're really two different people.

You could look at it that way.
We'd, uh, both like to talk to you.
Well, I don't want to keep
you two from your party, so--

Hey, as far as we're concerned,
you are the party.


But why did she leave you?
I mean, you're practically perfect.

I mean, it sounds like you two were a great couple.
You know what my problem is?
I think everybody's basically good.
Then I fall for them right away.

And then I get disappointed.
I know exactly what you mean.
Not saying that I was ever the best boyfriend.
Work kept me away for long hours.
She thought it was dangerous.

She thought the fashion business was dangerous?
Dangerous. To my health.
You know, stressful.
Well, I'd hate to see anything happen to you,
and I onlyjust met you.