Geoffrey: Surprise! [laughs]
Hilary: Jazz, what do you think you're doing?
Jazz: Looking after you, my pet. After all, you're a beautiful, desirable woman. Or you would be if you combed your hair once in a while. And some lipstick wouldn't kill you, either.
Hilary: Look, Jazz, go home. [a noise is heard in the kitchen]
Jazz: Ssh. Stand back. Let a man handle this.
Hilary: No. Jazz.
Jazz: What are you doing here?
Trevor: I'm cooking dinner.
Jazz: Good, I like my steak medium-rare. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to freshen up a bit.