"THE LOST WEEKEND" Screenplay by Charles Brackett and Billy Wilder Based on a novel by Charles R. Jackson SEQUENCE "A" FADE IN: A-1 THE MAN-MADE MOUNTAIN PEAKS OF MANHATTAN on a sunny day in October, 1938. THE CAMERA PANS ACROSS the distant ridge of midtown buildings, then slowly FINDS A FOREGROUND: THE REAR OF A SMALL APARTMENT HOUSE on East 55th Street. It is a 4-story affair of brick, housing some eight apartments, half of them giving on the garden or rather on the routine back yard with a sumac tree, a stone bench, and some mouldy flower boxes in which geraniums are dying. THE MOVING CAMERA CONCENTRATES on the 4th-floor apartment, which boasts three windows. Two of them give on the living room, one on the bedroom of the brothers Birnam. THE CAMERA NARROWS its interest to THE BEDROOM WINDOW. It is open, like a million other windows in New York that warm day. What gives it individuality is that from an awning cleat there dangles down the outside wall something which very few people hang from their windows: a bottle of whiskey. Through the window we can see the brothers Birnam packing. A-2 INT. BEDROOM It is a smallish room with twin beds in opposite corners, both of them unmade. There are books on the night tables, two chests of drawers with some of the drawers open, and the closet is open too. One door leads to the living room, another to the cramped entrance hall. (Maybe this is the time to describe the apartment. You've seen that living room a hundred times if you know literate, artistically inclined people. On one wall are bookshelves surrounding a marble fireplace, on which stands a tiny plaster bust of Shakespeare. In the shelves, art books and serious works of fiction: Thomas Mann, F. Scott Fitzgerald, James Joyce and the like. There are Picasso, Van Gogh and Utrillo reproductions on the other walls. A comfortable, elderly armchair stands near one of the windows. There is a studio couch, a low, tiled table -- oh, you know. Off the living room is the familiar kitchenette for the light housekeeping of two bachelors -- i.e. coffee and coffee. The bathroom, inconveniently enough, is off the entrance hall. A floor plan, authenticated by the author of the book, will be furnished on request). To get back to the bedroom and the Birnam brothers: a small suitcase lies open on each bed. DON, the brother nearest the window, is bent over one, putting in socks, shirts, etc. He is thirty-three, an extremely attractive guy, but ten pounds underweight, and in his eye there is something rebellious, something sly. WICK, two years younger, is much sturdier, kindly, sympathetic, solid gold. He wears glasses and is smoking a cigarette. He is on his way from the closet to his suitcase with some stuff. He throws a sweater across to Don. WICK Better take this along, Don. It's going to be cold on the farm. DON Okay. WICK How many shirts are you taking? DON Three. WICK I'm taking five. DON Five? WICK I told them at the office I might not be back till Tuesday. We'll get there this afternoon. That'll give us all Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday. We'll make it a long weekend. DON Sounds long, all right. WICK It'll do you good, Don, after what you've been through. Don has crossed to the chest of drawers and fished out more shirts and socks. WICK Trees and grass and sweet cider and buttermilk and water from that well that's colder than any other water. DON Wick, please, why this emphasis on liquids? Noble, upstanding, nauseating liquids. WICK Sorry, Don. DON, his back toward Wick, is bent over the suitcase, packing. His eyes travel to the window. DON Think it would be a good idea if we took my typewriter? WICK What for? DON (Indignantly) To write. To write there. I'm going to get started on my novel. WICK You really feel up to writing? DON Why not? WICK I mean, after what you've been through. DON I haven't touched the stuff for ten days now. WICK I know you haven't. Where's the portable? DON In the living room closet, kind of towards the back. Bent forward tensely, he watches Wick go into the living room. Left alone, he acts with lightning rapidity. He takes the sweater, goes over to the window, pulls up the whiskey bottle, wraps the sweater around it so that only the top with the string around it shows. He tries to loosen the noose but he's nervous and loses a precious second. From the living room has been coming the sound of Wick opening the closet door and ransacking. Now comes: WICK'S VOICE You sure it's in the closet? I can't find it. DON (Working desperately) Look by the big chair. WICK'S VOICE (Approaching fast) Isn't it under your bed? Don sees he can't loosen the string in time. In the last fraction of a second before Wick enters, he manages to lower the bottle back down the wall. With what nonchalance he can muster he bends down and looks under the bed just as Wick enters, a sheaf of white paper in his hand. DON Of course. Here it is. He pulls out a Remington portable, 1930 model. WICK Here's some paper. He puts it in Don's suitcase. WICK We'll fix a table on the south porch. Nobody to disturb you -- I'll see to it. Except maybe Saturday night we'll go over to the Country Club. DON I'm not going near that Country Club. WICK Why not? DON Because they're a bunch of hypocrites and I don't like to be whispered about: Look who's here from New York. The Birnam brothers -- or rather the nurse and the invalid. WICK Stop that, Don. Nobody there knows about you. DON No? We get off the train and the alarm is sounded: The leper is back. Better hide your liquor. Footsteps have been racing up the stairs outside the flat, and now there is a distinctive ring of the doorbell: short, short, long, short. DON Helen. WICK I'll take it. He goes toward the door while the bell resumes short, short, long, short. From the bedroom we see him open the door. It's HELEN, all right. She is a clean-cut, good looking girl of twenty-six. Her face is brave, gay piquant. She's wearing a three-quarter- length leopard coat. The Indian Summer day is a good ten degrees too warm for the coat, but that doesn't stop Helen from wearing her beloved. In her hand are two books wrapped, and another small package. She enters breathlessly. HELEN Hello, Wick. Where's Don? Seeing him, she crosses to the bedroom. HELEN Glad I made it. I was afraid you might be gone. Presents. She puts the packages in the suitcase. HELEN The new Thurber book, with comical jokes and pictures, and a quiet little double murder by Agatha Christie. (Putting in the second package) Cigarettes and chewing gum. DON Thanks, Helen. HELEN Now have a good time, darling. And remember -- lots of sleep, lots of milk -- DON And sweet cider and some of that nice cold water from the well. HELEN Bend down. It's a running gag between these two. Don bends so that she can kiss him on the cheek. HELEN I'd better be going. I've missed ten minutes of the concert already. DON What concert? HELEN Carnegie Hall. Barbirolli conducting. They gave me two tickets at the office. DON Who are you going with? HELEN Nobody. Something flickers in Don's eye. DON What are they playing? HELEN Brahms' Second Symphony, something by Beethoven, something by Handel, and not one note of Grieg. DON Sounds wonderful. HELEN Goodbye, boys. See you Monday. WICK Tuesday. DON (Holding Helen by the arm) Just a minute. Wick -- Wick looks up. DON I just had a crazy idea. WICK As for instance. DON Who says we have to take the two- forty-five train? We could go on the six-thirty. WICK What are you talking about? DON I just thought we could take a later train and Helen wouldn't have to go alone to the concert. She's got two tickets, hasn't she? HELEN No. I'm not upsetting any plans. You're going on that two-forty-five. DON But Helen, it's so silly! A whale of a concert and an empty seat next you. WICK No, Don. Everything's all set. They'll be at the station to meet us. Dinner'll be waiting. DON So what? We put in a call that we're taking the late train, have supper at nine o'clock, be in bed by ten. WICK Nothing doing. We're going. HELEN Wick's right. And don't worry about that empty seat. I'll find myself a very handsome South American millionaire. DON There. Did you hear her? And now we'd have to break our necks to catch the train anyway. HELEN (Looking at her wrist watch) Two-twenty. DON See? WICK (Giving up) All right. Go ahead. DON Wait a minute. I'm not going. WICK Then what are we talking about? DON I want you to go. You and Helen. WICK Me and Helen? DON Yes. That was the idea. Who likes Brahms, you or I? WICK Since when don't you like Brahms? DON I'll stay right here and finish packing. Take a little nap maybe. WICK Nonsense. If anybody goes... Helen's your girl. There is an exchange of suspicious looks between Wick and Helen. HELEN There's something in that, Don. WICK What's more, I don't think you should be left alone. DON I shouldn't? WICK No. HELEN Really, Don. DON Why? I can't be trusted. Is that it? WICK What I meant to say -- HELEN Wick. WICK After what Don's been through -- DON After what I've been through, I couldn't go to a concert. I couldn't face the crowd. I couldn't sit through it with all those people around. I want to be alone for a couple of hours and kind of assemble myself. Is that such an extraordinary thing to want? WICK Don't act so outraged, would you mind? DON All right. Anything else? HELEN Please, boys. Wick, who has been smoking a cigarette throughout the scene, throws it out the window. None of the three see, but we do, that it doesn't fall out the window but ricochets against the opened casement to the window sill, where it lies smouldering. WICK Come on, Helen. HELEN You'll stay right here, won't you? DON Where would I go? HELEN Then you'll be here when we come back? DON I told you I'm not leaving this apartment. WICK You've told us a good many things, Don. Furious, Don takes a bunch of keys from his pocket. DON All right, if you don't believe me, why don't you take my key and lock me in like a dog. HELEN (To Wick) We've got to trust Don. That's the only way. WICK Sorry, Don. (To Helen) Here we go. HELEN So long, Don. DON So long. HELEN (Pulling him by the lapel) Bend down. His face is now close to hers. She kisses him. Wick turns away. His eyes fall on the cigarette still smouldering on the sill. He goes toward the window. Don, held by Helen, watches him tensely. Wick flips the cigarette into the garden and is about to turn back into the room when his eyes fall on the cleat and the string. He leans from the window. Don lets Helen go, staring at Wick, panic in his eyes. Helen, sensing something amiss, looks from one brother to the other. WICK (Hauling up the bottle) What's this, Don? Helen and Wick watch Don. Don's face relaxes into an innocent grin. DON That? That's whiskey, isn't it? WICK How did it get there? DON I don't know. WICK I suppose it dropped from some cloud. Or someone was bouncing it against this wall and it got stuck. DON I must have put it there. WICK Yes, you must. DON Only I don't remember when. Probably during my last spell, or maybe the one before. His eyes meet Helen's. Hers are infinitely distressed. DON Don't look at me like that, Helen. Doesn't mean a thing. I didn't know it was there. And if I had, I wouldn't have touched it. Wick has twisted the string off the bottle. WICK Then you won't mind. DON Won't mind what? Wick, the bottle in his hand, goes through the living room toward the kitchenette. Don looks after him, then follows him, a stubborn smile on his lips. Helen trails after them, acutely embarrassed. A-3 KITCHENETTE Wick has stepped to the sink. He opens the bottle, turns it upside down and lets the whiskey run out. Don and Helen come to the door from the living room and stand watching. Don has something of the feeling of a man watching the execution of a very good friend, but he senses Helen's eyes upon him and preserves his nonchalant expression. The bottle emptied, Wick puts it in the sink. WICK Now you trot along with Helen. DON Why? On account of that? (Pointing at the bottle) You think I wanted you out of the apartment because of that? I resent that like the devil, and if there's one more word of discussion, I don't leave on your blasted weekend. HELEN Let's go. Wick shrugs and goes to the hall for his hat. HELEN (To Don) Be good, won't you, Don, darling? She turns to go, but Don holds her back. DON Of course, Helen. Just stop watching me all the time, you two. Let me work it out my way. I'm trying, I'm trying. HELEN We're both trying, Don. You're trying not to drink, and I'm trying not to love you. She kisses him on the mouth, a woman hopelessly in love. Then, so that he won't see her moist eyes, she turns and hurries into the entrance hall. A-4 LITTLE ENTRANCE HALL - BIRNAM APARTMENT Wick stands, hat in hand, holding the door open. Helen comes out quickly and taking a handkerchief from her bag, hurries past Wick into the hall. Wick turns toward Don, who has followed Helen to the entrance hall. WICK You call the farm, Don. Tell them we're taking the six-thirty train. DON Sure. WICK So long. He goes out, shutting the door behind him. Don steps quickly to the door, presses his ear against it to hear what the two are saying outside. A-5 FOURTH FLOOR HALL AND STAIRCASE - APARTMENT HOUSE It is narrow and simple. There is no elevator. A skylight, somewhat obscured by dirt and dust, lights the fourth floor back. Every so often down the stair there is a light bracket, always burning. Helen stands at the top of the stairs, blowing her nose. Wick takes her arm quickly. WICK Come on, Helen. HELEN Oh, Wick, what are we going to do about him ever. WICK He'll be all right. HELEN What if he goes out and buys another bottle? WICK With what? He hasn't a nickel. There isn't a store, there isn't a bar that'd give him five cents' worth of credit. They descend a few steps. HELEN Are you sure he hasn't another bottle hidden somewhere? WICK Not any more, he hasn't. I went through the apartment with a fine- toothed comb. The places he can figure out! They go on down the stairs. A-6 INT. THE APARTMENT Don stands at the door, panic in his face. Has his brother discovered the other two bottles? He puts the chain on the door to insure his privacy, then dashes into the bathroom. A-7 BATHROOM - BIRNAM APARTMENT It's old-fashioned, with a bath tub on claw feet, a shower cutain above it -- all the plumbing on that scale. Don dashes in, takes a nail file, kneels beside the grille of a register in the side wall, pries it out with the file, looks inside, puts his hand in. The bottle is gone. He looks at the hole wide-eyed, pushes back the grille and runs out. A-8 Don comes running in, goes to the couch, pulls it away from the wall, throws himself on his belly on the couch and reaches under the side of it which was towards the wall. His hand explores among the springs. There is no bottle there. He sits up. His face is covered with sweat. He takes out his handkerchief and wipes his face. Just then, from the direction of the entrance door, there is the noise of a key being turned in the lock. Don freezes, his eyes turning towards the door, horrified. A-9 ENTRANCE DOOR TO THE APARTMENT (FROM DON'S ANGLE) It opens as far as the chain will allow, stops with a sharp bite of metal on wood. There is another try. Then the doorbell is rung. He has not stirred. He rises slowly from the couch, takes a few steps towards the entrance door. DON Who is it? No answer. Just the doorbell being rung again. DON WHO IS IT? A-11 CORRIDOR OUTSIDE BIRNAM APARTMENT At the door stands MRS. FOLEY, a middle-aged charwoman with a large utility bag over her arm. Her key is in the door, which is open as far as the chain will permit. MRS. FOLEY Mrs. Foley. Come to clean up. A-12 DON DON (His nerves on edge) Not today. Does it have to be today? A-13 MRS. FOLEY MRS. FOLEY I ought to change the sheets, and today's my day to vacuum. A-14 DON DON You can't come in. I'm not dressed. A-15 MRS. FOLEY MRS. FOLEY Shall I wait, shall I come back, or what? DON'S VOICE You come on Monday. MRS. FOLEY All right, Mr. Birnam. Is your brother here? DON'S VOICE No, he isn't. MRS. FOLEY How about my money? Didn't he leave my money? A-16 DON He stands galvanized. The word "money" has sent an electric current through his mind. DON What money? MRS. FOLEY My five dollars. Didn't he leave it? DON (Stalking his prey) Probably. Where would he leave it? MRS. FOLEY'S VOICE In the kitchen. DON Where in the kitchen? MRS. FOLEY'S VOICE In the sugar bowl. Don breathes like one who's found the combination to the safe with the crown jewels. DON Just a minute. He goes to the kitchenette. A-17 KITCHENETTE On the counter under the cupboards stands the sugar bowl. Don lifts the lid. There's nothing but sugar in the bowl, but lining the lid is a folded five-dollar bill. Don takes it out, goes into the entrance hall and even though Mrs. Foley can't see him, instinctively holds the five dollars behind his back. DON Sorry, Mrs. Foley. It's not there. He must have forgotten. A-18 MRS. FOLEY MRS. FOLEY Oh, Putt! I wanted to do some shopping. DON'S VOICE You'll get it Monday all right. MRS. FOLEY Goodbye, Mr. Birnam. She closes the door, takes the key and starts down the stairs. A-19 DON He brings the five dollars from behind his back. He looks at it, folds it neatly, pockets it, puts on his hat, then, with an afterthought, goes into the living room. He pushes the couch back against the wall with his foot, then goes out. A-20 FOURTH FLOOR HALL AND STAIRS Don goes to the balustrade, looks down. A-21 STEEP SHOT OF THE STAIRS Don's head in the foreground. The coast is clear of Mrs. Foley. Like a convict escaping, Don slips down the stairs. SLOW DISSOLVE TO: A-22 BROPHY'S LIQUOR STORE - (TRANSP.) - CLOSE SHOT OF LIQUOR BOTTLES A rackful of them, filling the screen. THE CAMERA IS BEHIND the rack of liquor in a store on Third Avenue. THE CAMERA MOVES slowly toward them so that only about eight bottles fill the screen and we can see, between them, the shop, its window on Third Avenue, its entrance door. No one is visible in the shop. Through the glass door we see Don Birnam hurrying up. He gives a quick glance in each direction, to see that he's not observed. He peers into the shop to make sure there are no other customers, then quickly steps inside and stands breathing heavily. A salesman rises in the foreground, his back to the CAMERA. Don points to two bottles in the foreground. DON (With all the nonchalance he can scrape together) Two bottles of rye. SALESMAN I'm sorry, Mr. Birnam. DON What are you sorry about? SALESMAN Your brother was in here. He said he's not going to pay for you any more. That was the last time. DON He won't, huh? He takes the five dollars from his pocket and unfurls it, like a card trickster. DON Two bottles of rye. SALESMAN What brand? DON You know what brand, Mr. Brophy. The cheapest. SALESMAN All right. DON None of that twelve-year-old, aged- in-the-wood chichi. Not for me. Liquor is all one, anyway. The salesman has taken two bottles from the rack in the foreground and put them on the counter. Don gives him the money and picks up the bottles like a miser grabbing gold. SALESMAN Don't you want a bag? DON Yes, I want a bag. The salesman hands him a bag and steps out of the shot towards the cash register. We hear the ping of its bell, the opening of its drawer. Meanwhile, Don thrusts the bottles in the bag. It is a little short and the necks of the bottles protrude. The salesman hands him his change. Don pockets it. SALESMAN You know, your brother asked me not to sell you anything even if you had money, but I can't stop nobody, can I, not unless you're a minor. DON I'm not a minor, Mr. Brophy, and just to quiet your conscience, I'm buying this as a refill for my cigarette lighter. Another customer enters the shop. Don takes the package and walks past the newcomer towards the door, hiding it from him gracefully, like a football in a sneak play. A-23 THIRD AVENUE, OUTSIDE BROPHY'S LIQUOR SHOP Don comes out with the bottles in the paper bag. He wants to start down the street but about twenty-five feet away stand two middle-aged Hokinson ladies, one of them kerbing her dog on a leash. They are chatting. Don stops. He'll have to pass them if he goes down the street and he doesn't want to, not with these bottles peeking out of that bag. He turns back and approaches the grocery store next door to Brophy's. In front of it is a fruit stand. Screening his gesture from the ladies with his back, he picks up three apples and puts them in the top of the bag, to camouflage the bottles. He puts down a coin, then walks down the street toward the ladies, flaunting a paper bag which is obviously full of apples. The lady with the dog sees him. Don removes his hat in a courtly bow, very much at ease with the apples. DON Good afternoon, Mrs. Deveridge. MRS. DEVERIDGE Hello, Mr. Birnam. Don passes the ladies. MRS. DEVERIDGE (Confidentially, to her companion) That's that nice young man that drinks. The other lady tsk-tsks. They both look after Don. Don is about ten feet beyond them. Perhaps he has overheard the remark. In any case, he is looking back. His look meets theirs. Embarrassed, they turn. Mrs. Deveridge jerks on the leash. MRS. DEVERIDGE Come on, Sophie. Let's go. They walk down the street in the opposite direction from Don. A-24 DON He looks after them. He is just in front of NAT'S BAR. He steps hurriedly into the bar. A-25 INT. NAT'S BAR A typical dingy Third Avenue bar. The sun slants dustily into the walnut-brown room. There is a long bar with a mirror behind it, some marble-topped tables and bentwood chairs. The woodwork, the furniture, the plaster of the place have absorbed and give forth a sour breath of hard liquor, a stale smell of flat beer. As Don enters with the two bottles and the apples, there are three people in the bar. Nat, the bartender, a broad- shouldered, no-nonsense type of guy, squeezing lemons in preparation for the evening trade; and, sitting at a table in the corner, a girl named GLORIA, with an out-of-towner who hasn't bothered to take off his hat. He's about fifty and the manager of a hardware store in Elizabeth, New Jersey. Gloria is a shopworn twenty-three. She's brunette, wears net stockings and a small patent leather hat, and is a little below the standards of the St. Moritz lobby trade. Don crosses to the bar. DON And how is my very good friend Nat today? NAT (On guard) Yes, Mr. Birnam. Don sits on a bar stool, putting down the paper bag. DON This being an especially fine afternoon, I have decided to ask for your hand in marriage. NAT (Wiping his hands) Look, Mr. Birnam -- DON If that is your attitude, Nat, I shall have to drown my sorrows in a jigger of rye. Just one, that's all. NAT Can't be done, Mr. Birnam. DON Can't? Let me guess why. My brother was here, undermining my financial structure. NAT I didn't tell him nothing about the wrist watch you left here, or your cuff links. DON Thank you, Nat. Today, you'll be glad to know, we can barter on a cash basis. He takes the bills and change from his pocket, puts it on the bar. NAT (Reaching for the bottle and the jigger) One straight rye. DON That was the idea. Nat pours the drink, then returns to squeezing lemons. Don picks up the glass, is suddenly acutely aware of the people at the table, of Nat's eyes. The glass freezes halfway to his mouth. He puts it down and starts playing the nonchalant, casual drinker -- the man who can take it or leave it. He fingers the glass, turning it round and round. He takes a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and shakes one out, lights it. As he puts the match in the ashtray, his eyes fall on that jigger of whiskey. It's hard to resist it any longer. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket, wipes his forehead, then his parched mouth. The time has come now. He puts the handkerchief back in his pocket, lifts the glass and drains it in one gulp. Actually, Don doesn't like the taste of liquor, actively hates it indeed, as a one-legged man might hate the sight of his crutches but need them in order to walk. Now that he has the drink in him, a kind of relieved grin comes back to Don's face. He holds the empty jigger in his hand. Nat has come up with the bar towel to wipe off the wet ring left by the glass. DON Don't wipe it away, Nat. Let me have my little vicious circle. The circle is the perfect geometric figure. No end, no beginning... What time is it? NAT Quarter of four. DON Good. That gives us the whole afternoon together. (He holds out his glass for another drink) Only remind me when it's a quarter of six. Very important. We're going to the country for a weekend, my brother and I. From the table in the background comes Gloria, headed for the powder room. Passing Don, she runs her finger through the neckline of his hair. GLORIA Hello, Mr. Birnam. Glad to have you back with the organization. DON Hello, Gloria. She goes on. Don turns back to Nat. DON Not just a Saturday-Sunday weekend. A very long weekend. I wish I could take you along, Nat. You -- (With a gesture towards the liquor shelves) and all that goes with you. Without a change of expression, Nat pours the second drink. DON Not that I'm cutting myself off from civilization altogether. He points at the bag with the apples showing. Nat looks, but doesn't get it. Like a magician, Don takes two apples out, revealing the necks of the bottles. DON (Gulping down the whiskey) Now of course there arises the problem of transportation into the country. How to smuggle these two time bombs past the royal guard. I shall tell you how, Nat, because I'm so fond of you. Only give me another drink. Nat pours one. DON I'm going to roll one bottle in a copy of the Saturday Evening Post, so my brother can discover it like that. (He snaps his fingers) And I want him to discover it, because that'll set his mind at rest. The other bottle -- (Confidentially to Nat) Come here. Nat leans over the bar towards -- DON That one I'm tucking into my dear brother's suitcase. He'll transport it himself, without knowing it, of course. While he's greeting the care- taker, I'll sneak it out and hide it in a hollow of the old apple tree. NAT Aw, Mr. Birnam, why don't you lay off the stuff for a while. DON I may never touch it while I'm there. Not a drop. What you don't understand, all of you, is that I've got to know it's around. That I can have it if I need it. I can't be cut off completely. That's the devil. That's what drives you crazy. NAT Yeah. I know a lot of guys like that. They take a bottle and put it on the shelf. All they want is just to look at it. They won't even carry a cork- screw along, just to be sure. Only all of a sudden they grab the bottle and bite off the neck. DON Nat, one more reproving word and I shall consult our lawyer about a divorce. He points to the empty glass for Nat to fill it. Nat pours another jigger. DON Quarter of six. Don't forget. My brother must find me at home, ready and packed. Gloria is back from the powder room. On her way to her gentleman friend at the table, she runs her finger through the neckline of Don's hair. She is almost past him when he catches her hand and pulls her towards him. DON Shall we dance? GLORIA You're awfully pretty, Mr. Birnam. DON You say that to all the boys. GLORIA Why, natch. Only with you it's on the level. DON Is it? Whatever became of your manicurist job? GLORIA I've still got it. Only I find I can't work more than four hours a day, three days a week. It's too tough on your eyes, all those little hangnails. DON Sit down. GLORIA No thanks. Thanks a lot, but no thanks. There's somebody waiting. Don looks off toward the table. DON Him? I bet he wears arch supporters. GLORIA He's just an old friend of the folks. Lovely gentleman. Buys me dimpled Scotch. DON He should buy you Indian rubies, and a villa in Calcutta overlooking the Ganges. GLORIA Don't be ridic. DON Gloria, please, why imperil our friendship with these loathsome abbreviations. GLORIA I could make myself free for later on if you want. DON I'm leaving for the weekend, Gloria. Maybe another time. GLORIA Any time. And as she leans over, she runs her forefinger again through the neckline of his hair. GLORIA Just crazy about the back of your hair. She returns to the table. Don drinks his drink, puts down the glass. DON (To Nat) Nat, weave me another. NAT You'd better take it easy. DON Don't worry about me. Just let me know when it's a quarter of six. NAT Okay. He pours. DON And have one yourself, Nat. NAT Not me, Mr. Birnam. DON I often wonder what the barman buys, one-half so precious as the stuff he sells. Nat has poured the drink. Don points at it. DON Come on, Nat. One little jigger of dreams. NAT Nope. DON You don't approve of drinking? NAT Not the way you drink. DON It shrinks my liver, doesn't it, Nat? It pickles my kidneys. Yes. But what does it do to my mind? It tosses the sandbags overboard so the balloon can soar. Suddenly I'm above the ordinary. I'm competent, supremely competent. I'm walking a tightrope over Niagara Falls. I'm one of the great ones. I'm Michelangelo moulding the beard of Moses. I'm Van Gogh, painting pure sunlight. I'm Horowitz playing the Emperor Concerto. I'm John Barrymore before the movies got him by the throat. I'm a holdup man -- I'm Jesse James and his two brothers, all three of them. I'm W. Shakespeare. And out there it's not Third Avenue any longer. It's the Nile. The Nile, Nat, and down it moves the barge of Cleopatra. Listen: Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, It beggar'd all description. During the last two lines he has picked up the jigger of rye. THE CAMERA is on the wet rings which the wet glass has left on the bar. Gradually the music swells under the Shakespearean quotation and drowns it out. In two QUICK DISSOLVES we see the five rings, then six, then nine. Over the last, the light has changed. DISSOLVE TO: A-26 THE BAR AGAIN It is dusk. The electric lights are on. The place is about half filled -- eight customers at the bar, five tables occupied. Gloria and her friend are still there. Don, an empty jigger in his hand, stands at the same spot, only now leaning with his back against the bar. He is doggedly quoting Shakespeare, more to himself than to the others at the bar, who are ignoring him. DON The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself -- Nat puts drinks before some other customers, then goes over to Don, taps him on the shoulder. NAT Mr. Birnam, you ought to go home. You're late. DON Yea, all which it inherit shall dissolve -- Nat leans forward as tactfully as possible. NAT You ought to be home, on account of your brother. Don half turns to him. DON Who says so? NAT You said so yourself. On account of you're going away somewheres. DON Huh? NAT Don't you remember? He pushes the bag with the bottles and the apples towards Don. Don looks at them. Suddenly it penetrates. He is seized by alarm. DON What time is it? NAT Ten past six. DON Why didn't you tell me? NAT What do you think I've been doing for half an hour? Don snatches up the bag, the apples spilling out as he does so. He turns to go. Nat points at the few coins which is all that is left of Don's money. NAT Take your change. Don scoops up the money, a few dollar bills and some silver, and hurries out. A-27 THIRD AVENUE, CORNER OF 55TH STREET - (EVENING) Don comes from Nat's bar, runs around the corner to his house. A-28 APARTMENT HOUSE WHERE THE BIRNAMS LIVE Don, clutching the bag with the bottles, runs into the house. A-29 FIRST FLOOR HALL, APARTMENT HOUSE Don dashes in and starts upstairs. After a few steps he stops. What if his brother is up there already? He stands undecided, then sneaks down the steps and walks to the rear of the entrance hall, where there's a glass door leading into the shabby garden. A-30 GARDEN IN BACK OF APARTMENT HOUSE - (DARK) Don comes out, walks far enough to be able to look up at the back of the building. Are the lights on in their apartment on the fourth floor? There is a light on the second floor, nothing on the third, and on the fourth the lights are on in the living room and the bedroom windows, all of which are open. Don stands looking up. What shall he do? Go up and face the music? Run away? Weakly he walks over to the stone bench and sits down, putting the bottles on the bench next him. He takes out his handkerchief, mops his forehead. His eyes go up to the lighted windows again. A-31 THE LIGHTED WINDOWS, FROM DOWN BELOW Someone has stepped to the bedroom window. It's Helen. He can recognize her, silhouetted against the light of the room. A-32 DON, SITTING ON THE BENCH His eyes fixed on the window above. Instinctively, he draws back into the shadow of the sumac tree, as though Helen could see him through the darkness. A-33 EXT. BEDROOM WINDOW, FROM DON'S POINT OF VIEW Helen disappears from the window into the room. A-34 INT. BEDROOM Helen is moving away from the window. Wick stands before his suitcase, which is open and all packed save for slippers and bathrobe, which he is rolling together. HELEN Do you suppose he's at Morandi's, or Nat's bar, or that place on Forty- second Street? WICK What difference does it make? HELEN You're not really going, Wick. WICK I certainly am. He puts the robe with the slippers inside it into the case. HELEN You can't leave him alone. Not for four days. Wick slams shut the suitcase, snaps the lock. HELEN Wick, for heaven's sake, if he's left alone anything can happen! I'll be tied up at the office every minute, All Saturday. All Sunday. I can't look out for him. You know how he gets. He'll be run over by a car. He'll be arrested. He doesn't know what he's doing. A cigarette will fall out of his mouth and he'll burn in his bed -- WICK Oh Helen, if it happens, it happens. And I hope it does. I've had six years of this. I've had my bellyful. HELEN You can't mean that. Wick takes his suitcase, goes into the living room. WICK Yes, I do. It's terrible, I know, but I mean it. Helen follows him. A-35 LIVING ROOM Wick comes into the living room, sets down the suitcase and during the ensuing scene takes a topcoat from the closet. HELEN For heaven's sake, Wick -- WICK Who are we fooling? We've tried everything, haven't we? We've reasoned with him, we've babied him. We've watched him like a hawk. We've tried trusting him. How often have you cried? How often have I beaten him up? We scrape him out of the gutter and pump some kind of self-respect into him, and back he falls, back in, every time. HELEN He's a sick person. It's as though he had something wrong with his lungs or his heart. You wouldn't walk out on him because he had an attack. He needs our help. WICK He won't accept our help. Not Don. He hates us. He wants to be alone with that bottle of his. It's the only thing he gives a hang about. Helen turns away from Wick, leans against the wall, hoping he won't see that she's crying. WICK Why kid ourselves? He's one of the lost ones. (OR, ALTERNATE LINE:) Why kid ourselves? He's a hopeless alcoholic. Wick leans into the bedroom, snaps off the light. He picks up the suitcase, puts the topcoat over his arm, takes her very gently by the arm. WICK Come, Helen. He leads her towards the entrance door. A-36 DON, ON THE BENCH IN THE DARK GARDEN He stares towards the windows. A-37 THE WINDOWS, FROM BELOW The bedroom window is dark. In the next second the lights in the living room go off. A-38 DON, IN THE GARDEN He picks up the bottles, rises, walks across the garden towards the glass door to the hall, peers through it cautiously. A-39 STAIRCASE AND HALL, FIRST FLOOR OF THE APARTMENT HOUSE (FROM DON'S POINT OF VIEW) Wick and Helen come down the stairs, Wick carrying the suitcase and topcoat. They go out the front door. A-40 EXT. APARTMENT HOUSE Wick and Helen have come out. Wick is hailing a taxi. WICK Taxi! Taxi! (To Helen) I'll give you a lift as far as Grand Central. HELEN No thanks, Wick. I'm going to wait here. WICK You're crazy. HELEN Because I won't give up? Maybe I am. A taxi drives up. WICK Oh Helen, give yourself a chance. Let go of him. HELEN Goodbye, Wick. Wick opens the door of the taxi. A-41 DON, AT THE GLASS DOOR TO THE GARDEN He stands with the bag of bottles in his hand, peering through the entrance hall out to the street. A-42 STREET (SHOT FROM BEHIND DON) Wick gets in the taxi, it drives off. Helen paces up and down in front of the house. Don opens the glass door, steps cautiously into the entrance hall. A-43 ENTRANCE HALL Squeezing close to the staircase wall so that Helen won't see him, Don gets to the staircase, then leaps up the stairs as though pursued. A-44 EXT. APARTMENT HOUSE Helen waits outside the house. A couple of kids chasing each other on roller skates almost run into her. She steps back and stands in the doorway, looking up and down the street. A-45 STAIRS BETWEEN THE THIRD AND FOURTH FLOORS Don is hurrying up on tiptoe, two steps at a time. Suddenly the door of a third-floor apartment toward the street is opened. Don flattens himself against the wall, not to be seen by Mrs. Deveridge, who is coming out with her dog, Sophie, to give Sophie her evening airing. Sophie gives one bark in the direction of Don, but Mrs. Deveridge pays no attention and descends the stairs. Don starts up the stairs again, as silently and as fast as he can. A-46 FOURTH-FLOOR LANDING Don gets to his door, opens it cautiously, slips inside. A-47 INT. LITTLE ENTRANCE HALL OF BIRNAM APARTMENT The only light is the light from outside, coming from living room and bedroom. Don steps inside, closes the door. He doesn't turn on the light but very carefully adjusts the chain on the door, puts his hat away. A-48 LIVING ROOM Dim but for the light outside. As Don enters, he slips the bottles from the paper bag and puts them on a table next the armchair. He crumples the bag and throws it in the fireplace. He takes one bottle, starts towards a bookcase and is about to hide it behind the books when he changes his mind. He looks around the room. His eyes fall on the ceiling. He goes to the table next the couch, pulls it into the middle of the room, brushes some magazines to the floor, takes a small chair, puts it on the table, climbs to the table, from the table to the chair. He is now directly below the ceiling lighting fixture, an inverted metal bowl about two and a half feet in diameter. Don reaches over the edge and deposits the bottle inside the bowl so it can't be seen from the room. He climbs down, readjusts the table, the chair, and puts the magazines back. Don picks up a glass which is over a carafe on the mantelpiece. He puts it next the bottle by the wing chair. He opens the bottle, pours a glass about three quarters full, puts the glass down. He loosens his tie and lets himself fall into the easy chair. He looks through the open window on the lights of New York. His eyes slowly wander to the glass. He smiles. It's a smile of relief, of contentment at being alone with his vice. There's a little pain in his smile, too. A-49 THE GLASS OF WHISKEY THE CAMERA MOVES TOWARD IT until the glass isn't visible any more -- just a smooth sea of alcohol, with a little light playing on it. THE CAMERA plunges deep into that sea. FADE OUT: END OF SEQUENCE "A" SEQUENCE "B" FADE IN: B-1 STAIRCASE AND LANDING, FOURTH FLOOR - DAY Through the skylight streams a dazzling shaft of sunlight, falling square on the door to the Birnams' apartment. On the threshold lies a copy of the New York Times, and beside it stands a quart of milk. Pinned to the door is a piece of paper from a notebook. From inside there is the sound of the chain being detached, and the door opens slowly. Don emerges. He is dressed exactly as he was the day before -- same suit, same shirt, same tie. He has slept in them and they are wrinkled. He hasn't shaved. As he comes out and the sun hits his face, he squints in agony. As he carefully closes the door, his eyes fall on the note. He reads it. "Don dear: I waited for you to come home. Please be careful. Get some sleep. Eat. And call me, call me, call me. Helen" There's a sly expression on Don's face as he closes the door, leaving everything just where it is -- note, milk bottle, paper. Peering down, he assures himself that the coast is clear, slips down the stairs. DISSOLVE TO: B-2 EXT. APARTMENT HOUSE - DAY, SUNNY - LIGHT TRAFFIC The entrance door is half open and Dave, the janitor, an Italian-looking man about fifty-five, is sweeping the side- walk in front of the house. Don comes to the doorway, waits until Dave's back is turned, then hurries out and slips down the street, CAMERA WITH HIM. Two houses down, in a semi-basement, is MRS. WERTHEIM'S HAND LAUNDRY. Don goes down the steps into it. B-3 INT. MRS. WERTHEIM'S LAUNDRY The outer room is a kind of office, with a counter and shelves of clean laundry in boxes and paper packages. Steam issues from the actual laundry at the rear. MRS. WERTHEIM, a gray-haired, stocky woman, is sorting laundry. The shop's bell rings as Don comes in. His nerves are on edge but he manages to work up a little nonchalance. DON Guten Tag, Mrs. Wertheim. How's business? MRS. WERTHEIM Business he is good, thank you. There isn't a fortune in it, but you know: small fish, good fish. And I keep young and healthy. Why shouldn't I, sitting in a Turkish bath all day for free? She has picked a package from the shelf, puts it on the counter. MRS. WERTHEIM Three dollars and ninety. DON I wonder if you could do me a favor, gnaedige Frau? MRS. WERTHEIM Always glad, Mr. Birnam. DON My brother's gone away for the weekend and he took the checkbook along... MRS. WERTHEIM Oh, you want a blank check? DON It's not that. It's just that I'm a little short. MRS. WERTHEIM (Sizing up his stature) What do you mean, you're short? DON I wonder if you could let me have a little cash, bitte schoen? MRS. WERTHEIM A little cash? DON I thought about twenty dollars, maybe. Only till Monday, when my brother comes back. MRS. WERTHEIM You thought... No, Mr. Birnam. I cannot. Not that I don't want to, because I want to, but I cannot. And when I say not, I mean absolutely not. Her eyes fall on his tortured face. It's too much for her. She rings open the cash register. MRS. WERTHEIM I'll let you have five dollars. DON That's all right. She hands him the five dollars. DON Danke schoen, Mrs. Wertheim. He turns and leaves, doesn't even hear: MRS. WERTHEIM Your laundry, Mr. Birnam! How about your laundry? She looks after him but there's only the ringing of the shop bell as he leaves. DISSOLVE TO: B-4 NAT'S BAR - BRILLIANT SUNSHINE OUTSIDE No one is in the bar but Nat: he is cooking some ham and eggs for himself on an electric plate behind the bar. The floor has been mopped and is still shiny. The chairs are piled on the tables. Into the bar comes Don. He is walking rather slowly but it's a tremendous effort not to race in and yell for what he needs so desperately. NAT Hi. Don goes to the bar and sits. He takes the five dollars from his pocket, puts it on the bar. NAT Thought you were going away for the weekend. No answer from Don. He sits holding his head in his hands. The bar is silent except for the sizzling noise of the eggs and ham. Suddenly Don pounds the bar and explodes. DON For the love of Pete, what are you doing, Nat. Give me a drink! NAT Right with you, Mr. Birnam. Just fixing my lunch. DON Well, stop it and come on and give me a drink, for heaven's sake. (Banging the bar) Come on, come on! NAT Okay. He stirs the food once more and takes the skillet off the stove, snaps off the electricity with a slowness agonizing to Don. DON (Quietly, though his nerves are cracking) Can't you hurry it up a little, Nat? Nat pours a jiggerful. NAT Here you are, Mr. Birnam. DON Thank you, Nat. Don chokes it down and holds out the jigger for another. Nat pours it. NAT That young lady stopped in last night, looking for you. DON What young lady? NAT The one with the leopard coat. DON Yeah? NAT She was acting like she just happened to drop in, but I know she was making the rounds after you. DON (Panicky) What did you say to her? NAT I said you hadn't been in for two weeks. DON Good. I can't let her see me. Not now while I'm "off" like this. NAT Then why in the name of -- Why don't you cut it short? DON You're talking like a child. You can't cut it short! You're on that merry-go-round and you've got to ride it all the way, round and round, till the blasted music wears itself out and the thing dies down and clunks to a stop. Nat brings over the plate of ham and eggs. NAT How about you eating this? DON Take it away. NAT You got to eat something sometime. DON Give me another drink. NAT Look, Mr. Birnam, this is still morning. He pours another drink. Don downs it. DON That's when you need it most, in the morning. Haven't you learned that, Nat? At night this stuff's a drink. In the morning it's medicine. NAT Okay if I eat? DON Move it a little to one side. Don taps with the jigger. Nat fills it, then sits down to his ham and eggs. DON Nat, are you ever scared when you wake up? So scared the sweat starts out of you? No, not you. With you it's simple. Your alarm clock goes off and you open your eyes and brush your teeth and read the Daily Mirror. That's all. Do you ever lie in your bed looking at the window? A little daylight's coming through, and you start wondering: is it getting lighter, is it getting darker? Is it dawn or dusk? That's a terrifying problem, Nat. You hold your breath and you pray that it's dusk, so you can go out and get yourself some more liquor. Because if it's dawn, you're dead. The bars are closed and the liquor stores don't open till nine. You can't last till nine. Or it might be Sunday. That's the worst. No liquor stores at all, and you guys wouldn't open a bar, not until one o'clock. Why? Why, Nat? NAT Because we got to go to church once in a while. That's why. DON Yes, when a guy needs it most. He drinks his jiggerful. NAT How about those two quarts? Did you polish them off last night? DON What two quarts? NAT The two bottles you had. An electric current runs through Don. DON That's right, I did have two bottles, didn't I? I hid one of them. I've still got it. I'm a capitalist, Nat! I've got untapped reserves. I'm rich! He taps the glass on the bar. NAT (Pouring another drink) Mr. Birnam, if you had enough money you'd kill yourself in a month. From the street enters Gloria, wearing a shirtwaist and skirt, another foolish little hat, and high-heeled shoes with bows. GLORIA Say, Nat, was there a gentleman -- (She sees Don) Hello, Mr. Birnam. Didn't you go away for the weekend? DON Apparently not, Gloria. GLORIA (Back to Nat) Was there a gentleman in here asking for me? NAT Not to my knowledge there wasn't. He is drinking his coffee. GLORIA He was supposed to come around twelve o'clock. He's from Albany. DON Another friend of the folks? GLORIA More a friend of a friend of the folks type. A fellow telephoned me about him. Wants me to show him the town. NAT Like Grant's Tomb for instance? GLORIA But def. NAT Amazing, ain't it, how many guys run down from Albany just to see Grant's Tomb. GLORIA (To Don) Sometimes I wish you came from Albany. DON Where would you take me? GLORIA Oh, lots of places. The Music Hall, and then the New Yorker Roof maybe. DON There is now being presented at a theatre on Forty-fourth Street the uncut version of Hamlet. I see us as setting out for that. Do you know Hamlet? GLORIA I know Forty-fourth Street. DON I'd like to get your interpretation of Hamlet's character. GLORIA And I'd like to give it to you. DON Dinner afterwards, I think. Nothing before. Always see Shakespeare on an empty stomach. GLORIA Not even a pretzel? Don shakes his head. DON But afterwards, dozens of bluepoints in the Rainbow Room. And a very light wine. Vouvray perhaps. Do you care for Vouvray? GLORIA (Mystified) Why, natch. DON We may blindfold the orchestra so that I can dance with abandon. GLORIA Aren't you going to dance with me? DON Of course, little Gloria. A man has entered the bar, a round-faced, middle-aged man with pince-nez. There is a Guide of New York sticking from his pocket. He's the guy from Albany, all right. ALBANY (Rather loud) Could I have a glass of water? NAT Why, sure. And what shall it be for a chaser? ALBANY (Confidentially) Tell me: this is Nat's Bar, isn't it? NAT That's what the man said. ALBANY I'm looking for a young lady name of Gloria. With his thumb, Nat indicates Gloria. ALBANY (Beaming) Are you Miss Gloria? GLORIA Who, me? No, I'm not. I just live with Gloria. She's not here. ALBANY She isn't? GLORIA And she won't be. She's down to the Aquarium. ALBANY Aquarium? GLORIA Feeding bubble-gum to the jelly fish. ALBANY Beg pardon? GLORIA Ruptured appendix. Middle of last night. Went like that! (She lets out her breath with an exploding noise) Scared the life out of me. ALBANY That's terrible. GLORIA Goodbye. ALBANY Goodbye. He takes a couple of steps towards the door, turns. ALBANY Could I have a word with you? GLORIA No thanks. Thanks a lot, but no thanks. ALBANY You're welcome, I'm sure. He walks out, bewildered. DON Wasn't that rather rude, Gloria, to send that nice man all alone to Grant's Tomb? GLORIA When I have a chance to go out with you? Don't be ridic. DON Oh, is our engagement definite? GLORIA You meant it, didn't you? DON Surely, surely. He downs the jigger of rye. GLORIA I'm going to get a facial, a fingerwave, a manicure. The works. Right now. (With a sudden thought) You're going to call for me, aren't you? If you are, what time? DON What time do you suggest? GLORIA How about eight? DON Eight's fine. GLORIA I live right in the corner house. You know where the antique shop is, the one with the wooden Indian outside? They've got the Indian sign on me, I always say. DON I'll be there. GLORIA Second floor. Oh, Mr. Birnam, all I've got is a semi-formal. Will that be all right? DON That'll be fine. GLORIA (Happily) Goodbye, Not. She starts for the door, turns. GLORIA You know, this show you're taking me to. If it's too highbrow, I can just lean back and look at the back of your neck, can't I? Eight o'clock. She exits. DON One last one, Nat. Pour it softly, pour it gently, and pour it to the brim. NAT Look, Mr. Birnam, there's a lot of bars on Third Avenue. Do me a favor -- get out of here and buy it someplace else. DON What's the matter? NAT I don't like you much. What was the idea of pulling her leg? You know you're never going to take her out. DON Who says I'm not? NAT I say so. You're drunk and you're just making with your mouth. DON Give me a drink, Nat. NAT And that other dame -- I mean the lady. I don't like what you're doing to her either. DON Shut up. NAT You should've seen her last night, coming in here looking for you, with her eyes all rainy and the mascara all washed away. DON Give me a drink! NAT That's an awful high class young lady. DON You bet she is. NAT How the heck did she ever get mixed up with a guy that sops it up like you do? DON It's a problem, isn't it. That nice young man that drinks, and the high- class young lady, and how did she ever get mixed up with him, and why does he drink and why doesn't he stop. That's my novel, Nat. I wanted to start writing it out in the country. Morbid stuff. Nothing for the Book-of-the Month Club. A horror story. The confessions of a booze addict, the log book of an alcoholic. (Holding out the jigger) Come on, Nat. Break down. Nat does break down and pours a drink. DON Do you know what I'm going to call my novel? The Bottle -- that's all. Very simply, The Bottle. I've got it all in my mind. Let me tell you the first chapter. It all starts one wet afternoon about three years ago. There was a matinee of La Traviata at the Metropolitan -- SLOW DISSOLVE TO: B-5 EXT. METROPOLITAN OPERA HOUSE - AN AUTUMN AFTERNOON, HEAVY RAIN HIGH CAMERA, SHOOTING DOWN past the glass-and-iron marquee towards the entrance, beside which is a billboard announcing Verdi's LA TRAVIATA. A crowd of people is streaming into the building. They are wearing raincoats, carrying umbrellas. B-6 THE VESTIBULE AND CLOAKROOM WINDOW AT THE METROPOLITAN It is doing a land-office business, checking dripping umbrellas and apparel. Among the crowd is Don Birnam. He is alone and wears a bowler and a straight raincoat. He takes off his hat and shakes the rain from it, then peels off his raincoat. In the side pocket of his suit is a pint of liquor. It bulges and the nose projects. For a second Don considers whether it'll pass muster, but it's a little too prominent. With a quick gesture he transfers the bottle to the pocket of the raincoat, rolls the raincoat up like swaddling clothes around a precious infant. Seeing an opening in the line at the cloak room counter, he steps into it. There is a great confusion of hands, coats, coat checks, customers and overworked attendants. Don hands his coat to an attendant. His eyes linger on its pocket with a certain tenderness, then he turns and starts towards the door of the auditorium. DISSOLVE TO: B-7 A SECTION OF SEATS AT THE METROPOLITAN Don sits about five seats from the aisle. He is under the pleasant spell of the overture of La Traviata. B-8 DON He sits between an elderly daughter and her age-old mother, and a middle-aged man and wife. He is glancing through the program as the curtain rises (changing the light on our group). Don looks up. B-9 THE STAGE The set is a Louis XIVth salon, in the year 1700. It's Violetta's supper. The guests are singing "Libiamo, libiamo," which is a drinking song in waltz time. B-10 DON He loves music and especially Italian opera, but maybe he'd have come late if he'd remembered the content of the first scene. B-11 ON THE STAGE Powdered footmen are pouring wine into the glasses of the over-vivacious guests. B-12 DON Thirst in his eyes, he looks away from the stage, tries to concentrate on the ceiling of the Metropolitan. No go. His eyes wander back to: B-13 THE STAGE Alfred and Violetta are batting the drinking song back and forth, as the chorus, glasses in hand, stands slowly swaying, echoing each couplet. B-14 DON That thirst is coming up again. The first drops of sweat are gathering on his forehead. As he looks at the stage, his imagination is working at top speed. B-15 STAGE The swaying echelon of choristers SLOWLY DISSOLVES to a row of raincoats, exactly like the one Don wore. They hang from hangers and sway slowly to Verdi's rhythm. B-16 DON'S FACE His eyes glued to what he sees on the stage. He takes the handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his forehead. B-17 THE STAGE The raincoats swaying slowly. THE CAMERA APPROACHES one of them. From the pocket projects a bottle of whiskey. B-18 DON He is wiping his parched mouth. He puts the handkerchief back. He fishes the coat check from his pocket, buries it in his fist, fighting the foolish impulse. It's a short struggle, which he loses. He rises and, to the irritation of his neighbors, leaves his seat amid some disapproving shushings from the row behind. DISSOLVE TO: B-19 CLOAK ROOM AND VESTIBULE It is completely empty save for the elderly attendant, who is dozing over his paper. From inside comes Verdi's music and Don Birnam. He puts the check on the counter. The attendant looks up from a newspaper. ATTENDANT Did you forget something? DON No. Going home, if it's all right with you. The attendant takes the check and leaves. Don rolls his program and sticks it into the sand of the cuspidor. He is filled with a nervous anticipation of the drink which is on its way. The attendant returns. ATTENDANT Say, this isn't yours. Don looks. The attendant holds a short leopard coat and a lady's small umbrella. DON No, it certainly isn't. ATTENDANT (Comparing the check with the number on the hanger) That's what it says though -- 417. DON I don't care what it says. ATTENDANT The checks must have got mixed up. DON Maybe they did. Find me my coat. It's a plain man's raincoat and a derby. ATTENDANT Are you kidding? Do you know how many plain men's raincoats we have on a day like this? About a thousand. DON Let me get back there. I can find it. ATTENDANT That's against regulations, sir. DON I'm not going to wait till the end of the performance. ATTENDANT You can get your coat tomorrow. Don's nervousness is mounting. He is searching his pockets. DON Look, man, there's something in the pocket of that coat I -- It so happens I find myself without any money and I need that coat. And I need it now. ATTENDANT Listen, if everybody went in there digging through those coats... There's regulations. There's got to be regulations. DON What do you suggest? ATTENDANT You just wait till the other party comes and then you can swap. DON I want my coat. ATTENDANT As far as I'm concerned, that's your coat. He shoves the leopard coat and umbrella close to Don. DON You're a great help. He is biting his lips, unable to find another argument. The attendant has returned to the other end of the counter and resumed his doze. Don gets out a cigarette. Without opening his eyes, the attendant calls it. ATTENDANT No smoking. DON (Sourly) I thought so. He puts the cigarette away, leans back on the counter, arms folded. DISSOLVE TO: B-20 VESITBULE, NEAR CLOAK ROOM Empty, save for Don, who paces up and down nervously, carrying the leopard coat and the umbrella. He glances over the coat a little, at the initials inside, at the label. Over the scene comes a muted aria from the second act. DISSOLVE TO: B-21 A STAIRCASE LEADING TO THE GALLERY Empty, save for Don, who sits on a step, the coat next him. With the umbrella he is nervously tracing the pattern in the carpet. Inside, the music rises to a finale and the first people start streaming down from the gallery. Don grabs up the coat and hurries towards the cloak room. B-22 VESTIBULE AND CLOAK ROOM People are streaming up from all sides to get their belongings. Don comes into the shot and, standing on his toes, tries to locate the claimant of his coat and hat. DISSOLVE TO: B-23 VESTIBULE AND CLOAK ROOM It is almost empty. Don still stands with the coat, looking. As the last few people leave, at the far end of the counter he sees Helen, in a little leopard hat, his coat over her arm, his derby in her hand. She sees him with her coat and her umbrella and the two approach slowly. DON (Trying to control his irritation) That's my coat you've got. HELEN And that's mine, thank heaven. They mixed up the checks. DON They certainly did. I thought you'd never come. He takes his coat rather brusquely, thrusts the leopard coat at her. HELEN You can't have been waiting so long. DON Only since the first aria of the first act. That's all. HELEN Do you always just drop in for the overture? Don takes the coat, feels it hurriedly to make sure the bottle is still there, and starts away. DON Goodbye. Helen is left with the leopard coat and his bowler. HELEN (Waving the hat toward Don) Hey, wait a minute! Don comes back, takes the hat, starts away again. HELEN My umbrella, if you don't mind. His patience exhausted, Don stops again, takes the umbrella and tosses it in Helen's direction. Helen, who is getting into her coat, can't catch it. It falls right next to her. HELEN Thank you very much. Don stands abashed. He goes back, picks up the umbrella. DON I'm terribly sorry. HELEN You're the rudest person I ever saw. What's the matter with you? DON Just rude, I guess. HELEN Really, somebody should talk to your mother. DON They tried, Miss St. John. HELEN My name's not St. John. DON St. Joseph, then. HELEN St. James. DON First name Hilda or Helen, or Harriet maybe? HELEN Helen. DON You come from Toledo, Ohio. HELEN How do you know? DON I've had three long acts to work you out from that coat of yours. Initials, label -- Alfred Spitzer, Fine Furs, Toledo, Ohio. HELEN Maybe I should have explored your coat. DON But you didn't. HELEN Didn't have time. DON Good. My name is Don Birnam. As they go on talking, they walk from the cloak room, through the vestibule, to the street, Don carrying his coat over his arm. DON How do you like New York? HELEN Love it. DON How long are you going to stay? HELEN Oh, sixty years, perhaps. Don doesn't get it. HELEN I live here now. I've got a job. DON Doing what? HELEN I'm on Time Magazine. DON Time Magazine? In that case perhaps you could do something for me. HELEN Yes. DON Could you help me to become Man of the Year? HELEN Delighted. What do you do? DON Yes, what do I do? I'm a writer. I've just started a novel. I've started quite a few novels. I never seem to finish one. HELEN In that case, why not write short stories. DON I have some of those. The first paragraph. Then there's one-half of the opening scene of a play. It all takes place in the leaning tower of Pisa and explains why it leans. And why all sensible buildings should lean. HELEN They'll love that in Toledo. DON Are you by any chance coming here to Lohengrin next week? HELEN I don't know. DON Because if you are, I'm not going to let this coat out of my hands. HELEN Don't worry. DON I do, though. To be really safe, maybe we should go together. HELEN We could. DON Are you in the telephone book? HELEN Yes, but I'm not home very much. DON Then I'll call you at the office. HELEN Editorial Research. If Henry Luce answers the phone, hang up. They have reached the curb outside the Metropolitan. It is dark and the rain has settled to a drizzle. DON Taxi? HELEN No, thank you. I'm taking the subway. DON Very sensible. HELEN As a matter of fact, I'm going to an extremely crazy party on Washington Square. If you want, I'll take you along. There is a split second of indecision but it is ended by Don's awareness of the bottle in his raincoat. DON Thank you very much, Miss St. James, but I have to see a friend uptown. HELEN Goodbye, Mr. Birnam. DON Goodbye. He is unfurling his raincoat in order to put it on before he steps from under the marquee. Helen is about a step and a half away when there is a crash. She stops and looks down, as does Don. On the sidewalk lies the pint of whiskey, broken. HELEN Who threw that? DON (Casually) It fell out of my pocket. HELEN Do you always carry those things? DON You see... that friend, the one uptown, he has a cold. I thought I'd take this along and make him a hot toddy. HELEN Now he gets hot lemonade and some aspirin. DON I shall. HELEN Goodbye. She goes. Don looks at the broken bottle, then after Helen. With sudden decision he calls after her. DON Miss St. James! HELEN (Turning) Yes? DON What kind of a party was that you asked me to? HELEN A cocktail party. DON Invitation still stand? HELEN Of course. Come on. He joins her, takes the umbrella out of her hand and holds it over them both as they go down the street. DISSOLVE TO: B-24 NAT'S BAR As we have left it, empty save for Nat and Don. Sunlight outside. Nat is now taking the chairs from the tables and arranging the bar for the afternoon and evening trade, while Don leans back against the bar, the jigger of whiskey in his hand, and goes on talking. DON How's that for a first meeting, Nat? Cute, full of laughs. A charming girl, an extra special girl. Her coat-check might just as well have been mixed up with the coat-check of a solid citizen, the son of the chairman of some insurance company, highly eligible, no vices except that sometimes he plays the cello. But oh no, that would have made everything too simple. It had to be that young man with the bottle. NAT Listen, once that bottle smashes, doesn't she catch on? DON No, she doesn't. NAT Okay. So they go to that cocktail party and he gets stinko and falls flat on his face. DON He doesn't. He's crazy about that girl by then. He drinks tomato juice. Doesn't touch liquor for that whole week -- for two weeks, for six weeks. NAT He's in love, huh? DON That's what's going to be hard to write. Love's the hardest thing in the world to write about. So simple. You've got to catch it through details, like the early morning sunlight hitting the gray tin of the ashcans in front of her house. A ringing telephone that sounds like Beethoven's Pastoral. A letter scribbled on her office stationery that you carry in your pocket because it smells of all the lilacs in Ohio. NAT And no drinking? DON He thinks he's cured. If he can get a job now, they can be married and that's that. Only it's not, Nat. Not quite. Because one day, one terrible day -- (He taps the jigger) Pour it, Nat. Nat does. NAT Yeah? Don drinks. NAT Well, go on. DON You see, that girl's been writing to her family in Toledo They want to meet this young man. So they come to New York. They stay at the Hotel Manhattan. Their very first day, she's to introduce him to her parents. One o'clock. Lobby of the hotel... SLOW DISSOLVE TO: B-25 INT. LOBBY OF THE MANHATTAN HOTEL - (MIDDAY) It is filled with the routine activity of a big commercial hotel on a hot summer day. Don Birnam, in a light summer suit, paces up and down the lobby. Under his arm is a florist's box. He keeps eyeing the doors to the elevators. He walks toward one of those circular plush settees common to hotels, sits down, puts the flower box next to him and adjusts the knot of his tie, his eye still on the elevator doors. On the other side of the settee are a middle-aged couple. Don can't see them, they can't see him, as he overhears their conversation, and it takes him a little time to realize that they are Helen's parents. MR. ST. JAMES is wearing a linen suit and a good but yellowing panama hat, the brim turned up. MRS. ST. JAMES is a cheerful little woman with glasses pinned to her dress, the kind that pull. Mr. St. James is fuming a little. MR. ST. JAMES Just walked in for a simple haircut. No, that wasn't enough, not for New York. They gave me a shampoo, a scalp massage, a manicure. Thought they'd tear my shoes off and paint my toenails. Mrs. St. James laughs comfortably. MRS. ST. JAMES I had a lovely morning. Just did a little window shopping. I didn't want to get all tired out. MR. ST. JAMES On account of meeting that young man? Now, Mother. MRS. ST. JAMES Who did you get a haircut for? MR. ST. JAMES Wonder what's keeping Helen. MRS. ST. JAMES She'll be here. MR. ST. JAMES This Birnam fellow went to Cornell, didn't he? MRS. ST. JAMES I believe so, but Helen says he never graduated. MR. ST. JAMES I wonder why. How old is he? MRS. ST. JAMES Thirty-three. MR. ST. JAMES He has no job. As far as I can find out, he never had one. I wish Helen wasn't so vague. By now Don knows only too well that he is the subject of their discussion. He leans his head against the back of the settee, acutely uncomfortable. MRS. ST. JAMES Maybe he has a little money. Some people do, you know, Father. MR. ST. JAMES He ought to have a job anyway. MRS. ST. JAMES He's a writer. MR. ST. JAMES A writer? What does he write? I never heard of his name. MRS. ST. JAMES Now Father, relax. You always expect the worst. I've made up my mind he's a well-brought-up young man who wipes his feet before he enters a house and doesn't even smoke. MR. ST. JAMES I hope he realizes Helen's our only daughter and we ought to know a few things about him. MRS. ST. JAMES Those'll all come out -- his background, his prospects, his church affiliations. Don can't take any more of this. He picks up the florist's box, rises and moves away from the settee. When he has reached the security of some potted palms, he looks back. Through one of the revolving doors comes Helen, in a new spring suit. She looks around, sees her parents, goes up to them. There is a greeting, some conversation apparently about Don and the fact that he'll get there any minute. She sits on the settee between her parents, all three of them waiting for Don. Don stands undecided, then looks around, locates the public telephone booths, steps into one of them. B-26 INT. TELEPHONE BOOTH Don deposits a nickel and dials the number of the Hotel Manhattan, which is above the mouthpiece of the phone. DON Manhattan Hotel?... Will you page Miss St. James? She must be in the lobby. He holds the phone and looks through the glass door of the telephone booth. B-27 LOBBY, FROM DON'S POINT OF VIEW - (SILENT, AS IT IS SHOT THROUGH THE GLASS OF THE PHONE BOOTH) A bell-hop crosses the lobby, paging Miss St. James. Helen rises and follows him over to the line of house phones on a shelf. She picks up the phone, speaks. B-28 DON, AT THE PHONE DON Helen?... Don. I'm terribly sorry but I can't get there for a while. Please go ahead with your lunch and apologize to your parents... No, nothing serious. I'll be there. Goodbye. B-29 LOBBY, FROM DON'S ANGLE, THROUGH THE GLASS OF THE PHONE BOOTH Helen has hung up too. She goes towards her parents, her face a little crestfallen. As she joins them she evidently starts to explain. B-30 EXT. TELEPHONE BOOTH Don emerges with the florist's box, careful not to be seen. He leaves through one of the side doors. DISSOLVE TO: B-31 LIVING ROOM, BIRNAM BROTHERS' APARTMENT - TWILIGHT SHOOTING TOWARDS hall and entrance door. In the dim fore- ground stands a small table, beyond it the vague contours of Don lying on the couch. On the floor beside him an empty bottle, in his hand a half-filled glass. There are footsteps from the stairs. A key is turned in the