"SOME LIKE IT HOT" Screenplay by Billy Wilder and I.A.L. Diamond November 12, 1958 FADE IN: CITY AT NIGHT A hearse of Late Twenties vintage is proceeding at a dignified pace along a half-deserted wintry street. Inside the hearse, there are four somber men in black -- and a coffin, of course, with a wreath of chrysanthemums on top. One of the men is driving, another is in the seat beside him. The other two are sitting in the rear of the hearse, flanking the coffin. All four seem fully aware of the solemnity of the occasion. Now they hear a SIREN, faint at first, but rapidly growing louder. The driver and the man next to him exchange a nervous glance. The other two men move tensely toward the rear door of the hearse, raise the black curtain over the glass panel, and peek out cautiously. Through the glass panel, they see a police car bearing down on them, the red light blinking, the SIREN screaming. The two men at the rear window gesture to the driver to step on it. He does. The hearse, obviously a souped-up job, instantly picks up speed, weaves crazily through traffic, the police car in hot pursuit. The hearse careens around a corner at eighty miles an hour, the police car right on its tail. By this time the policemen are leaning out of their car with drawn guns, firing at the hearse. The two men in the rear of the hearse, flattened against the sides, pull a couple of sawed-off shotguns out of a hidden overhead rack. Police bullets smash the glass panel and whistle through the hearse. The driver and the man next to him duck, but the hearse continues at the same breakneck speed. The two men in back shove their guns through the shattered glass, fire at the police car. Despite the hail of lead, the police car -- its windshield cobwebbed with bullet holes -- gains on the hearse. Suddenly the car skids out of control, jumps the curb, comes to a screeching stop. Policemen leap out, fire after the hearse. In the speeding hearse, the last of the police bullets thud into the coffin. Instantly three geysers of liquid spurt through the bullet holes. As the firing recedes, the two men in the back put away their guns, remove the wreath from the coffin, take the lid off. The inside is jam-packed with bottles of booze, some of them shattered by the bullets. As the men start to lift out the broken bottles -- SUPERIMPOSE: CHICAGO, 1929 DISSOLVE TO: EXT. INTERSECTION OF STREETS - NIGHT Traffic is light. All the shops are dark except one -- a dimly lit establishment, from which drift the mournful strains of an organ. A circumspect sign reads: MOZARELLA'S FUNERAL PARLOR 24 Hour Service In the window, a sample coffin is on display. There seem to be some rites going on inside, because a number of mourners, singly and in couples, are hurrying from the cold, windy street into Mozarella's parlor. Meanwhile, the hearse with the damp coffin draws up to the delivery entrance at the side of the building. The driver honks the horn -- one long and two short -- as the other men step down and start to slide the coffin out. The side door opens, and a dapper gent emerges. He wears a tight-fitting black suit, a black fedora, and gray spats. The spats are very important. He always wears spats. His name is SPATS COLOMBO. He cases the street, motions the men inside. As they carry the coffin past him, he removes his fedora, holds it reverently over his heart. Then he follows the men in, his head bowed. Across the street and around the corner, three police cars draw up silently, and about fifteen uniformed policemen and plain-clothes men spill out. A Captain gives whispered orders, and the men scatter and discreetly take up positions around the funeral parlor. Out of one of the cars steps MULLIGAN, a tough Federal Agent -- in plain clothes, of course. With him is a little weasel of a man, shivering with cold and fear. They call him TOOTHPICK CHARLIE for two reasons -- because his name is Charlie, and because he has never been seen without a toothpick in his mouth. MULLIGAN (indicating funeral parlor) All right, Charlie -- this the joint? TOOTHPICK CHARLIE Yes, sir. MULLIGAN And who runs it? TOOTHPICK CHARLIE I already told you. MULLIGAN Refresh my memory. TOOTHPICK CHARLIE (uneasily) Spats Colombo. MULLIGAN That's very refreshing. Now what's the password? TOOTHPICK CHARLIE I come to Grandma's funeral. (he hands him a folded piece of black crepe) Here's your admission card. MULLIGAN Thanks, Charlie. TOOTHPICK CHARLIE If you want a ringside table, tell 'em you're one of the pall bearers. MULLIGAN Okay, Charlie. The police captain joins Mulligan. CAPTAIN We're all set. When is the kickoff? As Mulligan consults his watch, Charlie, the toothpick working nervously in his mouth, tugs Mulligan's sleeve. TOOTHPICK CHARLIE Look, Chief -- I better blow now, because if Spats Colombo sees me, it's Goodbye Charlie. MULLIGAN Goodbye, Charlie. Charlie scoots up the dark street, disappears. MULLIGAN (to the police captain) Give me five minutes -- then hit 'em with everything you got. CAPTAIN You bet! They synchronize their watches. Then Mulligan crosses to Mozarella's parlor, unfolding the black crepe Charlie gave him. It is a mourning band, and he slips it over the left sleeve of his overcoat. INT. MOZARELLA'S FUNERAL PARLOR - NIGHT It looks legitimate enough -- with potted palms, urns and funeral statuary. A harmless gray-haired man is playing the organ with appropriate feeling. Daintily arranging a funeral spray is the proprietor himself, MR. MOZARELLA. His heavyweight build, bashed-in nose and cauliflower ears don't quite jibe with his mourning coat, striped pants, ascot and carnation. Dusting one of the marble angels is another funeral director, in the same somber uniform. Mulligan enters. MOZARELLA (with grave sympathy) Good evening, sir. MULLIGAN I come to the old lady's funeral. MOZARELLA (looking him over) I don't believe I've seen you at any of our services before. MULLIGAN That's because I've been on the wagon. MOZARELLA PLEASE! MULLIGAN (looking around) Where are they holding the wake? I'm supposed to be one of the pallbearers. MOZARELLA (to funeral director) Show the gentleman to the chapel -- pew number three. FUNERAL DIRECTOR This way, sir. He leads Mulligan past the organ toward the black-paneled wall, where there is no evidence of a door. The organist, without missing a note in his playing, reaches over to the end of the keyboard and pulls out a stop. One of the panels slides open, and there is a blast of MUSIC from the chapel. It's jazz -- and it's SWEET GEORGIA BROWN. Mulligan rears back momentarily, then follows the funeral director in. The organist pushes the stop in again, and the panel slides shut. INT. SPEAKEASY - NIGHT Grandma must have been quite a person, because she left a lot of condoling friends behind, and they are holding a very lively wake. The chapel is jumping. A small band is blaring out SWEET GEORGIA BROWN. The musicians are not the slick, well-fed instrumentalists you would find in Guy Lombardo's band -- they have all been through the wringer, and so have their threadbare tuxedos. On the stamp-sized dance floor, six girls in abbreviated costumes are doing a frenetic Charleston. Crowded around the small tables, mourners in black arm-bands are drowning their sorrows in whatever they drink out of their coffee cups. MULLIGAN (looking around) Well, if you gotta go -- this is the way to do it. The funeral director leads Mulligan to a table next to the bandstand. As he moves off, a waiter comes up. WAITER What'll it be, sir? MULLIGAN Booze. WAITER Sorry, sir, we only serve coffee. MULLIGAN Coffee? WAITER Scotch coffee, Canadian coffee, sour- mash coffee... MULLIGAN Make is Scotch. A demitasse. With a little soda on the side. As the waiter starts away, Mulligan stops him. MULLIGAN Haven't you got another pew -- not so close to the band? (points to a better table) How about that one? WAITER Sorry, sir. That's reserved for members of the immediate family. He winks, goes off. Mulligan scans the room. From a side door comes Spats Colombo, followed by the four hearsemen. They walk cockily toward the table 'reserved for the immediate family.' A DRUNK, standing with a cup of booze in his hand, is in their way. Colombo pushes him aside, and the contents of the cup slop over. Colombo freezes in his tracks, glances at his feet. The other four men have also stopped, and stare in the same direction, horrified. Spats Colombo's immaculate spats are no longer immaculate. There is a whiskey stain on one of them. Colombo throws his henchmen a sharp look. They grab the offending drunk, hustle him toward the exit. DRUNK (waving empty cup) Hey -- I want another cup of coffee. I want another cup of coffee. Colombo proceeds toward the table, seats himself, crosses his legs, takes a handkerchief out of his breast pocket, and meticulously mops the moist spat. His four companions, their mission accomplished, join him at the table. Mulligan, who has been studying Colombo, consults his wrist- watch. The waiter comes up with his order -- a demitasse half full of Scotch, and a split of club soda. MULLIGAN Better bring the check now -- in case the joint gets raided. WAITER Who's going to raid a funeral? MULLIGAN Some people got no respect for the dead. The waiter moves off. Mulligan sips from the cup, winces, takes a cigar out of his pocket and starts to light it. His eyes wander to the chorus girls. The girls have gone into a tap-dance. The captain of the chorus looks toward the bandstand, grins and winks at -- JOE, the saxophone player. He winks back. JERRY, who is thumping the bass-fiddle behind him, leans forward and taps Joe on the shoulder. JERRY Say, Joe -- tonight's the night, isn't it? JOE (eye on tap-dancer) I'll say. JERRY I mean, we get paid tonight, don't we? JOE Yeah. Why? He takes the mouthpiece out of his saxophone, wets the reed. JERRY Because I lost a filling in my back tooth. I gotta go to the dentist tomorrow. JOE Dentist? We been out of work for four months -- and you want to blow your first week's pay on your teeth? JERRY It's just a little inlay -- it doesn't even have to be gold -- JOE How can you be so selfish? We owe back rent -- we're in for eighty- nine bucks to Moe's Delicatessen -- we're being sued by three Chinese lawyers because our check bounced at the laundry -- we've borrowed money from every girl in the line -- JERRY You're right, Joe. JOE Of course I am. JERRY First thing tomorrow we're going to pay everybody a little something on account. JOE No, we're not. JERRY We're not? JOE First thing tomorrow we're going out to the dog track and put the whole bundle on Greased Lightning. JERRY You're going to bet my money on a dog? JOE He's a shoo-in. I got the word from Max the waiter -- his brother-in-law is the electrician who wires the rabbit -- JERRY What are you giving me with the rabbit? JOE (pulling form sheet out of pocket) Look at those odds -- ten to one. If he wins, we can pay everybody. JERRY But suppose he loses? JOE What are you worried about? This job is going to last a long time. JERRY But suppose it doesn't? JOE Jerry-boy -- why do you have to paint everything so black? Suppose you get hit by a truck? Suppose the stock market crashes? Jerry, slapping the bass, is no longer listening. His eyes have strayed to -- Mulligan, sitting at his table, puffing on the cigar. It isn't drawing too well. Mulligan reaches under his coat, unpins his Department of Justice badge from his vest. Using the pin of the shining badge, he pokes a hole in the wet end of the cigar. Jerry has stopped playing, and is watching Mulligan's operation with morbid fascination. Joe, completely unaware, continues talking. JOE Suppose Mary Pickford divorces Douglas Fairbanks? JERRY (nudging him) Hey, Joe! JOE (paying no attention) Suppose Lake Michigan overflows? JERRY Don't look now -- but the whole town is under water! He nods toward Mulligan. Joe looks off. Then, without a word, they both start packing their instruments. Mulligan pins the badge back on, checks his wrist-watch. MULLIGAN (to himself) ...four, three, two, one... He glances toward -- the door from the funeral parlor. Right on the dot, a pair of police axes smash through the door. Instant pandemonium breaks loose in the speakeasy. MUSIC stops, women scream, customers, chorus girls and waiter scramble toward the side doors. But they too are splintering under the assault of the police axes. The crowd falls back, milling around frantically. Mulligan stands up, cups his hands to his mouth, and roars at the top of his voice. MULLIGAN All right, everybody -- this is a raid. I'm a federal agent, and you're all under arrest. Policemen come streaming through the splintered doors. Carried in on the tide is the Drunk who was just tossed out, reeling unsteadily, and waving his empty coffee cup aloft. DRUNK I want another cup of coffee. The policemen start rounding up the customers and employees, are herding them toward the exits. On the bandstand, Joe and Jerry have packed their instruments, and start to fight their way through the melee, toward some stairs leading up. Mulligan, a couple of policemen in tow, comes up to Spats and his henchmen, sitting calmly at their table, with five glasses of white liquid in front of them. MULLIGAN Okay, Spats -- the services are over. Lets go. SPATS Go where? MULLIGAN A little country club we run for retired bootleggers. I'm gonna put your name up for membership. SPATS I never join nothin'. MULLIGAN You'll like it there. I'll have the prison tailor fit you with a pair of special spats -- striped! SPATS (to his companions, dead-pan) Big joke. (to Mulligan) Who's the rap this time? MULLIGAN Embalming people with coffee -- eighty- six proof. SPATS Me? I'm just a customer here. MULLIGAN Come on, Spats -- we know you own this joint. Mozarella is just fronting for you. SPATS Mozarella? Never heard of him. MULLIGAN We got different information. SPATS From who? Toothpick Charlie, maybe? MULLIGAN Toothpick Charlie? Never heard of him. He picks up Spats' glass, sniffs it suspiciously. SECOND HENCHMAN Buttermilk! MULLIGAN All right -- on your feet. SPATS (getting up slowly) You're wasting the taxpayers' money. MULLIGAN If you want to, you can call your lawyer. SPATS (pointing to his four hoods) These are my lawyers -- all Harvard men. Mulligan and the two policemen lead Spats and his Harvard men out. EXT. FUNERAL PARLOR - NIGHT Policemen, under the supervision of the captain, are herding customers into a paddy-wagon. Fighting his way out of the wagon is our Drunk, waving his coffee cup in the air. DRUNK I want another cup of coffee. He staggers into the alley, toward the side entrance of the speakeasy, CAMERA MOVING with him. Through the smashed-up side door, policemen are ushering more customers, waiters, musicians and the dancing girls. CAMERA MOVES UP TOWARD a fire escape on the second floor. Joe and Jerry, carrying their instruments and overcoats, have just climbed through a window onto the fire escape, and are inspecting the scene below. The shot-up hearse is parked directly beneath them. Stealthily they climb down the ladder, drop to the roof of the hearse. Then they scramble over the radiator, steal down the alley away from the street. They stop in the shadows to put on their coats. JERRY Well, that solves one problem. We don't have to worry about who to pay first. JOE Quiet -- I'm thinking. JERRY Of course, the landlady is going to lock us out. Moe said no more knackwurst on credit -- and we can't borrow any more from the girls, because they're on their way to jail -- JOE Shut up, will you? I wonder how much Sam the Bookie will give up for our overcoats? JERRY Sam the Bookie? Nothing doing! You're not putting my overcoat on that dog! JOE I told you -- it's a sure thing. JERRY But we'll freeze -- it's below zero -- we'll catch pneumonia. JOE Look, stupid, he's ten to one. Tomorrow, we'll have twenty overcoats! DISSOLVE TO: EXT. CHICAGO STREET - DAY The street is covered with snow. Joe and Jerry, without overcoats, the collars of their tuxedos turned up against the bitter cold, come down the steps of the elevated, carrying their instruments. The only thing that keeps Jerry from freezing is that he is boiling over inside. As they proceed along the sidewalk, Jerry finally can't hold it any more. JERRY Greased Lightning! Why do I listen to you? I ought to have my head examined! JOE I thought you weren't talking to me. JERRY Look at the bull fiddle -- it's dressed warmer than I am. They come up to a building in front of which are gathered several small groups of shivering musicians, also equipped with instruments. Joe and Jerry exchange frozen waves with their colleagues, start through the entrance. DISSOLVE TO: INT. CORRIDOR OF MUSIC BUILDING - DAY Joe moves down the corridor, Jerry tagging along grimly beside him. Other job-seeking musicians mill around, and a melange of musical sounds and singing voices issues from the various offices, studios and rehearsal halls. Joe and Jerry come up to a door marked: KEYNOTE MUSICAL AGENCY -- BANDS, SOLOISTS, SINGERS. Joe opens the door, revealing a crummy office, with a secretary behind a desk. JOE Anything today? FIRST SECRETARY Nothing. JOE Thank you. Joe shuts the door, and they shuffle along to the next agency, which is marked: JULES STEIN -- MUSIC CORPORATION OF AMERICA. Joe opens the door. This is like the other office -- except a little crummier. There is a secretary behind the desk. JOE Anything today? SECOND SECRETARY Nothing. JOE Thank you. He opens the door to the next agency. On the door it says: SIG POLIAKOFF -- BANDS FOR ALL OCCASIONS. There is the usual secretary behind the usual desk, and her name is NELLIE. She is a brunette, somewhat past her prime, but still attractive. JOE Anything today? NELLIE (looking up) Oh, it's you! You got a lot of nerve -- JOE Thank you. He shuts the door quickly, starts to move on. NELLIE'S VOICE (from inside) Joe -- come back here! Joe stops in his tracks. With a resigned shrug to Jerry, he opens the door again, and the two of them start in. INT. POLIAKOFF'S OUTER OFFICE - DAY Beside Nellie, there is another secretary pecking away at a typewriter. Nellie's face is grim as Joe and Jerry come up. JOE Now look, Nellie -- if it's about last Saturday night -- I can explain everything. NELLIE (to Jerry; pointing at Joe) What a heel! I spend four dollars to get my hair marcelled, I buy me a new negligee, I bake him a great big pizza pie... (to Joe) -- and where were you? JERRY Yeah -- where were you? JOE With you. JERRY With me? JOE Don't you remember? (to Nellie) He has this bad tooth -- it got impacted -- the whole jaw swole up -- JERRY It did? (Joe throws him a look) Boy, did it ever! JOE So I had to rush him to the hospital and give him a transfusion... (to Jerry) Right? JERRY Right. We have the same blood type... JOE -- Type O. NELLIE Oh? JOE Nellie baby, I'll make it up to you. NELLIE You're making it up pretty good so far. JOE The minute we get a job, I'm going to take you out to the swellest restaurant -- JERRY How about it, Nellie? Has Poliakoff got anything for us? We're desperate. NELLIE (slyly) Well, it just so happens he is looking for a bass and a sax -- (to the other secretary) Right? (she winks at her) OTHER SECRETARY (going along) Right. JERRY (all excited) Did you hear that, Joe? JOE What's the job? NELLIE It's three weeks in Florida -- JERRY Florida? NELLIE The Seminole-Ritz, in Miami. Transportation and all expenses paid... JOE Isn't she a bit of terrific? (busses Nellie on the cheek; to Jerry) Come on -- let's talk to Poliakoff. They start toward the door of the inner office. NELLIE You better wait a minute, boys -- he's got some people in there with him. That stops them. INT. POLIAKOFF'S INNER OFFICE - DAY The room is small and cluttered, and the walls are covered with photographs of Poliakoff's clients -- bands, vocalists, trios, radio personalities. Sitting behind the desk, speaking urgently into the phone, is SIG POLIAKOFF, a gruff, likable man in his fifties. Pacing up and down on the other side of the desk is SWEET SUE, flashily-dressed broad, who has seen thirty summers and a few hard winters. As she paces, she nervously flips a large white pill from one hand to the other. Slouched in a chair is BIENSTOCK, a somewhat prissy man of forty wearing thick glasses. He has a card file on his lap, is thumbing through it. POLIAKOFF (into phone) Look, Gladys, it's three weeks in Florida -- Sweet Sue and Her Society Syncopators -- they need a couple of girls on sax and bass -- what do you mean, who is this? Sig Poliakoff. I got a job for you -- Gladys, are you there? (hangs up) Meshugeh! Played for a hundred and twelve hours at a marathon dance, and now she's in bed with a nervous collapse. SUE Tell her to move over. She has poured herself a glass of water from a pitcher on the desk, and now she plops the pill into her mouth, washes it down. BIENSTOCK (looking up from file) What about Cora Jackson? POLIAKOFF The last I heard, she was playing with the Salvation Army, yet. (consulting list on desk; into phone) Drexel 9044. Sue has wandered over to one of the framed photos on the wall. It shows Sue posed in front of her band -- sixteen girls, all blonde, all in identical gowns. On the drum it says SWEET SUE AND HER SOCIETY SYNCOPATORS. SUE Those idiot broads! Here we are all packed to go to Miami, and what happens? The saxophone runs off with a Bible salesman, and the bass fiddle gets herself pregnant. (turning to Bienstock) I ought to fire you, Bienstock. BIENSTOCK Me? I'm the manager of the band -- not the night watchman. POLIAKOFF (into phone) Hello? Let me talk to Bessie Malone -- what's she doing in Philadelphia? -- on the level? (hangs up) Bessie let her hair grow and is playing with Stokowski. SUE Black Bottom Bessie? POLIAKOFF Schpielt zich mit der Philharmonic. BIENSTOCK How about Rosemary Schultz? POLIAKOFF Did you hear? She slashed her wrists when Valentino died! SUE We might as well all slash our wrists if we don't round up two dames by this evening. She picks up her handbag. Bienstock rises, takes his glasses off, puts them in his pocket. BIENSTOCK Look, Sig, you know the kind of girls we need. We don't care where you find them -- just get them on that train by eight o'clock. POLIAKOFF Be nonchalant. Trust Poliakoff. The moment anything turns up, I'll give you a little tingle. SUE Bye, Sig. (feels her tummy) I wonder if I have room for another ulcer? Bienstock opens the door, and follows Sue into the outer office. Joe and Jerry, who have been biding their time outside, slip in and shut the door after them. JOE Hey, Sig -- can we talk to you? POLIAKOFF (into phone) Nellie, get me long distance. (to the boys) What is it? JERRY It's about the Florida job. POLIAKOFF The Florida job? JOE Nellie told us about it. JERRY We're not too late, are we? POLIAKOFF What are you -- a couple of comedians? Get out of here! (into phone) Long distance? Get me the William Morris Agency in New York. JOE You need a bass and a sax, don't you? POLIAKOFF The instruments are right, but you are not. (into phone) I want to speak to Mr. Morris. JERRY What's wrong with us? POLIAKOFF You're the wrong shape. Goodbye. JOE The wrong shape? You looking for hunchbacks or something? POLIAKOFF It's not the backs that worry me. JOE What kind of band is this, anyway? POLIAKOFF You got to be under twenty-five -- JERRY We could pass for that. POLIAKOFF you got to be blonde -- JERRY We could dye our hair. POLIAKOFF -- and you got to be girls. JERRY We could -- JOE No, we couldn't! POLIAKOFF (into phone) William Morris! JERRY You mean it's a girls' band? JOE Yeah, that's what he means. Good old Nellie! (starting toward door) I ought to wring her neck! POLIAKOFF (into phone) Yes, I'm holding on. JERRY Wait a minute, Joe. Lets talk this over. (to Poliakoff) Why couldn't we do it? Last year, when we played in that gypsy tea room, we wore gold earrings. And you remember when you booked us with that Hawaiian band? (pantomiming) Grass skirts! POLIAKOFF (to Joe) What's with him -- he drinks? JOE No. And he ain't been eating so good, either. He's got an empty stomach and it's gone to his head. JERRY But, Joe -- three weeks in Florida! We could borrow some clothes from the girls in the chorus -- JOE You've flipped your wig! JERRY Now you're talking! We pick up a couple of second-hand wigs -- a little padding here and there -- call ourselves Josephine and Geraldine -- JOE Josephine and Geraldine! (disgustedly) Come on! He drags Jerry toward the door. POLIAKOFF Look, if you boys want to pick up a little money tonight -- (they stop and turn) At the University of Illinois they are having -- you should excuse the expression -- a St. Valentine's dance. JOE We'll take it! POLIAKOFF You got it. It's six dollars a man. Be on the campus in Urbana at eight o'clock -- JERRY (protesting) All the way to Urbana -- for a one night stand? JOE It's twelve bucks. We can get one of the overcoats out of hock. POLIAKOFF (into phone) Hello, Mr. Morris? This is Poliakoff, in Chicago. Say, you wouldn't have a couple of girl musicians available? A sax player and a base? JERRY (at the door) Look, if William Morris doesn't come through -- JOE Come on, Geraldine! He pulls him into the outer office. INT. POLIAKOFF'S OUTER OFFICE - DAY Joe leads Jerry out. JERRY It's a hundred miles, Joe -- it's snowing -- how are we going to get there? JOE I'll think of something. Don't crowd me. NELLIE (brightly) How did it go, girls? JERRY We ought to wring your neck. JOE Please, Jerry -- that's no way to talk. (turning on the charm) Nellie baby -- what are you doing tonight? NELLIE (suspiciously) Why? JOE Because I got some plans -- NELLIE I'm not doing anything. I just thought I'd go home and have some cold pizza -- JOE And you'll be in all evening? NELLIE (melted by now) Yes, Joe. JOE (brightly) Good! Then you won't be needing your car. NELLIE My car? Why, you -- Joe silences her protest with a kiss. Jerry shakes his head with mock admiration. JERRY Isn't he a bit of terrific? DISSOLVE TO: EXT. CLARK STREET - DAY Joe and Jerry, carrying their instruments, are coming along the snow-covered sidewalk toward a garage entrance, above which is a sign reading: CHARLIE'S GARAGE. Their shoulders are hunched up against the cold. JERRY We could've had three weeks in Florida -- all expenses paid. Lying around in the sun -- palm trees -- frying fish... JOE Knock it off, will you? They step over the chain blocking the entrance, start into the garage. INT. CHARLIE'S GARAGE - DAY There are rows of parked cars, a lube rack and a gas pump. Against the wall under a naked electric light bulb hanging from a cord, five men are playing stud poker. A couple of mechanics, in grease-stained coveralls, are watching the game. The dealer is Toothpick Charlie, the inevitable toothpick in his mouth. TOOTHPICK CHARLIE (dealing) King high -- pair of bullets -- possible straight -- possible nothing -- pair of eights -- Joe and Jerry come in from the street. One of the mechanics notices them, nudges Toothpick Charlie. Charlie looks up, and seeing the instrument cases, leaps to his feet, drawing a gun from his shoulder holster. The other four players also jump up, and pulling their guns, level them at Joe and Jerry. TOOTHPICK CHARLIE All right, you two -- drop 'em. JERRY (stops; puzzled) Drop what? JOE We came to pick up a car. TOOTHPICK CHARLIE Oh, yeah? He nods to one of the mechanics, who steps up to Joe and Jerry, starts to open the instrument cases. JOE Nellie Weinmeyer's car. MECHANIC (as the bass and sax are revealed) Musicians. TOOTHPICK CHARLIE Wise guys! He mops his brow with the back of his sleeve, and putting his gun back in the holster, picks up the deck of cards again. TOOTHPICK CHARLIE Let's go. Pair of aces bets. The other players resume their seats. Joe and Jerry follow the mechanic toward the parked cars. JOE It's a '25 Hupmobile coupe. Green. The mechanic leads them up to the car, which is parked near the gas pump. MECHANIC Need some gas? JERRY Yeah. (takes some coins out of pocket) Like about forty cents' worth. The mechanic unscrews the cap of the gas tank, inserts the rubber hose from the pump. MECHANIC Put it on Miss Weinmeyer's bill? JOE Why not? (signals Jerry to put coins away) And while you're at it -- fill 'er up. From the street outside comes the loud squeal of tires. Jerry glances off casually toward the entrance. A black Dusenberg bursts the chain hanging across the street entrance, skids into the garage, takes to a screeching stop some ten feet from the card players. Toothpick Charlie and his cronies leap up and reach for their guns. Too late. Four men have scrambled out of the car, two armed with submachine guns, the other two with sawed-off shotguns. We recognize them as Spats Colombo's henchmen. FIRST HENCHMAN All right, everybody hands up and face the wall. The frightened poker players start to obey. Jerry is watching the scene, open-mouthed. Joe grabs his shoulder, pulls him down behind the Hupmobile. The Second Henchman notices the mechanic standing petrified beside the gas pump. SECOND HENCHMAN (waving machine gun) Hey -- join us! The mechanic raises his hands, moves reluctantly toward the six men lined up against the wall. SECOND HENCHMAN (continues) Okay, boss. A pair of men's feet step down from the limousine. They are encased in immaculate spats. Jerry, crouching behind the Hupmobile with Joe, grabs his arm. JERRY (whispering) It's Spats Colombo -- Joe clamps his hand over Jerry's mouth. Spats Colombo joins his armed henchmen, who are covering the seven men facing the wall with their hands up. SPATS (very blasé) Hello, Charlie. Long time no see. TOOTHPICK CHARLIE (glancing over his shoulder nervously) What is it, Spats? What do you want here? SPATS Just dropped in to pay my respects. TOOTHPICK CHARLIE You don't owe me no nothing. SPATS Oh, I wouldn't say that. You were nice enough to recommend my mortuary to some of your friends... He has strolled over to the table, and picking up the deck of cards, starts to deal out another round to the abandoned poker hands. TOOTHPICK CHARLIE (sweating) I don't know what you're talking about. SPATS So now I got all those coffins on my hands -- and I hate to see them go to waste. TOOTHPICK CHARLIE Honest, Spats. I had nothing to do with it. Spats deals Toothpick Charlie's fifth card, then turns up the hole card. SPATS Too bad, Charlie. You would have had three eights. (flips cards away) Goodbye, Charlie! TOOTHPICK CHARLIE (knowing what's coming) No, Spats -- no, no, no -- (a scream) NO! Spats nods, and the two machine-gunners raise their weapons, start to fire methodically at their off-scene victims. Behind the Hupmobile, Jerry screws his eyes shut painfully as the steady chatter of bullets continues. JERRY I think I'm going to be sick. The machine guns stop firing. There is a moment's silence. Suddenly, the bas tank of the Hupmobile overflows, and the rubber hose from the pump whips out, gushing gasoline over the floor. Spats and his henchmen, hearing the SOUND, whirl around and catch sight of Joe and Jerry squatting behind the car. SPATS All right -- come on out of there. Joe and Jerry emerge quakingly from behind the Hupmobile. They try to raise their hands, but find this rather difficult to manage while holding on to their instruments. Jerry darts a horrified glance toward the foot of the wall. JOE (quickly) We didn't see anything -- (to Jerry) -- did we? JERRY (to Spats) No -- nothing. Besides, it's none of our business if you guys want to knock each other off -- Joe nudges him violently with his elbow, and he breaks off. SPATS (studying them) Don't I know you two from somewhere? JOE We're just a couple of musicians -- we come to pick up a car -- Nellie Weinmeyer's car -- there's a dance tonight -- (starting to edge away) Come on, Jerry. SPATS Wait a minute. Where do you think you're going? JOE To Urbana. It's a hundred miles. SPATS You ain't going nowhere. JERRY (quavering) We're not? SPATS The only way you'll get to Urbana is feet first. During this, one of the bodies huddled grotesquely against the foot of the wall begins to stir. It is Toothpick Charlie. He is covered with blood, but there is still a spark of life in him, and his toothpick is still clutched between his teeth. Painfully, he starts to worm his way across the floor toward a phone on a wooden shelf. Spats and his gang, facing Joe and Jerry, are not aware of Charlie's activity. SPATS I don't like no witnesses. JOE We won't breathe a word. SPATS You won't breathe nothing' -- not even air. He motions lazily to the Second Henchman. The henchman slowly levels his machine gun at Joe and Jerry, who stand frozen. At that very moment, Toothpick Charlie reaches up for the phone. But he is too weak to hold on, and the receiver drops from his limp hand, and clatters to the asphalt floor. Instantly, Spats and his henchman wheel around. Spats grabs the machine gun from the Second Henchman, and perforates what is left of Charlie with a hail of lead. Toothpick Charlie crumbles in a heap. He is quite dead. Spats' be-spatted foot comes into SHOT, disdainfully kicks the toothpick out of Charlie's mouth. Joe and Jerry have taken advantage of this momentary diversion. Like scalded jackasses, they are sprinting toward the entrance, hanging on to their instruments. Spats and his boys pivot, see the two running. They let go with a salvo of shots, just as Joe and Jerry scoot through the garage door and disappear down the street. A couple of henchmen start after them. There is the SOUND of an approaching police SIREN. SPATS Come on -- let's blow. We'll take care of those guys later. They all pile into the black Dussenberg. The driver shifts into reverse and the car shoots backwards out of the garage. EXT. ALLEY - DAY Joe and Jerry come skidding around the corner from Clark Street, race down the snow-covered alley. In b.g. there is the SOUND of squealing tires and police sirens. JERRY (as they run) I think they got me. JOE They got the bull-fiddle. JERRY (feeling himself all over) You don't see any blood? JOE Not yet. But if those guys catch us, there'll be blood all over. Type O. They start running even faster. JERRY Where are we running, Joe? JOE As far away as possible. JERRY That's not far enough. You don't know those guys! But they know us. Every hood in Chicago will be looking for us -- They reach the end of the alley. A couple of motorcycle policemen, their sirens wailing, flash by in the direction of the garage. The word must have spread, because pedestrians are also running in the same direction. Joe stops, looks around quickly, and seeing a cigar store on the corner drags Jerry inside. INT. CIGAR STORE - DAY Joe hurries to a wall telephone near the entrance. Jerry follows breathlessly. JOE Got a nickel? He sets the saxophone case down, and taking a coin from Jerry, inserts it in the slot. JERRY You going to call the police? JOE The police? We'd never live to testify. Not against Spats Colombo. (into phone) Wabash 1098. JERRY We got to get out of town. Maybe we ought to grow beards. JOE We are going out of town. But we're going to shave. JERRY Shave? At a time like this? Those guys got machine guns -- they're going to blast our heads off -- and you want to shave? JOE Shave our legs, stupid. Stupid is right. Jerry still doesn't get it. JOE (into phone; his voice a tremulous soprano) Hello? Mr. Poliakoff? I understand you're looking for a couple of girl musicians. Now Jerry gets it. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. CHICAGO RAILROAD PLATFORM - NIGHT Two pairs of high-heeled shoes, unusually large in size, are hurrying along the platform. CAMERA FOLLOWS them and PANS UP gradually, revealing rather hefty legs in rolled stockings, short dresses, coats with cheap fur pieces, and rakish cloche hats. One of the pair carries a saxophone case, the other a bull-fiddle case, and each has a Gladstone bag. A train, with steam up, is loading for departure. Redcaps, passengers, baggage carts. ANNOUNCER'S VOICE Florida Limited leaving on Track Seven for Washington, Charleston, Savannah, Jacksonville and Miami. All aboard. All aboard. Our two passenger accelerate their pace. But evidently they are not too adept at navigating in high heels. Suddenly the one with the bull-fiddle twists her ankle -- or we should say his ankle -- because it's Jerry. He stops and faces his girlfriend -- Joe. JERRY (rubbing his ankle) How can they walk on these things? How do they keep their balance? JOE Must be the way their weight is distributed. Come on. As they proceed along the platform, a gust of wind sends their skirts billowing. Jerry stops again and pulls his skirt down. JERRY And it's so drafty. They must be catching colds all the time. JOE (urging him on) Quit stalling. We'll miss the train. JERRY I feel so naked. Like everybody's looking at me. JOE With those legs? Are you crazy? They are now approaching the Pullman car reserved for the girls' orchestra. Girl musicians, with instruments and luggage, are boarding the car, supervised by Sweet Sue and Bienstock. JERRY (stopping in his tracks) It's no use. We'll never get away with it, Joe. JOE The name is Josephine. And it was your idea in the first place. Just then, a member of the girls' band comes hurrying past them, carrying a valise and ukulele case. Her name is SUGAR. What can we say about Sugar, except that she is the dream girl of every red-blooded American male who ever read College Humor? As she undulates past them, Jerry looks after her with dismay. JERRY Who are we kidding? Look at that -- look how she moves -- it's like jello on springs -- they must have some sort of a built-in motor. I tell you it's a whole different sex. JOE What are you afraid of? Nobody's asking you to have a baby. This is just to get out of town. The minute we hit Florida, we'll blow this set-up. JERRY This time I'm not going to let you talk me into something that... A newsboy approaches along the platform, peddling his papers. NEWSBOY Extra! Extra! Seven Slaughtered in North Side Garage! Fear Blood Aftermath! JERRY (to Joe, promptly) You talked me into it! Come on, Josephine. JOE Attagirl, Geraldine. They hurry toward the Pullman car, imitating the jello-on- springs movement as well as they can. At the Pullman car, Sue and Bienstock are checking in the girl musicians as they are boarding. SUE Hi, Mary Lou -- Rosella -- Okay, Dolores, get a move on -- How's your back, Olga? BIENSTOCK (checking list) Clarinet -- drums -- trumpet -- trombone -- Joe and Jerry come mincing up. (NOTE: From here on in, the two will speak with girls' voices whenever the situation calls for it.) JOE Well, here we are. SUE You two from the Poliakoff Agency? JOE Yes, we're the new girls. JERRY Brand new. SUE This is our manager, Mr. Bienstock. I'm Sweet Sue. JOE My name is Josephine. JERRY And I'm Daphne. This is completely out of left field. Joe throws him a sharp look. Jerry smiles back brightly. BIENSTOCK (checking list) Saxophone, bass -- Am I glad to see you girls. You saved our lives. JOE Likewise, I'm sure. SUE Where did you girls play before? JERRY Oh -- here and there -- and around. JOE We spent three years at the Sheboygan Conservatory of Music. From OFF comes the voice of the Conductor: "All aboard!" BIENSTOCK You're in Berths 7 and 7A. JERRY (his idea of a lady) Thank you ever so. BIENSTOCK You're welcome. JERRY It's entirely mutual. Joe has already boarded the car. As Jerry starts up the steps, he stumbles. Bienstock helps him up, with a little pat on the behind. BIENSTOCK Upsy-daisy. JERRY (coyly) Fresh! Joe jerks him up into the vestibule before this nonsense gets out of hand. BIENSTOCK (takes off glasses, puts them in pocket) Looks like Poliakoff came through with a couple of real ladies. JOE You better tell the other girls to watch their language. She and Bienstock mount the steps of the Pullman. The porter picks up the yellow footstep, hops aboard as the train starts moving. INT. PULLMAN CAR - NIGHT As Joe and Jerry come in from the vestibule, Joe grabs Jerry, holds him against the baggage rack. JOE (an angry whisper) DAPHNE? JERRY I never did like the name Geraldine. As Sue and Bienstock appear from the vestibule, Joe lets go of Jerry, and they move down the aisle into the Pullman car proper. The girl musicians are all there, except for Sugar. They are removing their coats, settling themselves in their seats, putting away their instruments and baggage. They are all blonde, they are young, and most of them are pretty. They look like a band of angels -- but don't you believe it. JERRY (the good neighbor) Hello, everybody. I'm the bass fiddle. Just call me Daphne. JOE I'm Josephine. Sax. There is a slew of general hellos. MARY LOU Welcome to No Man's Land. GIRLS (in chorus) You'll be sor-ry! ROSELLA Take your corsets off and spread out. JERRY Oh, I never wear one. OLGA Don't you bulge? JERRY Oh, no. I have the most divine little seamstress that comes in once a month -- and my dear, she's so inexpensive -- JOE Come on, Daphne. DOLORES Say, kids, have you heard the one about the girl tuba player that was stranded on a desert island with a one-legged jockey? JERRY No -- how does it go? BIENSTOCK (coming up) Now cut that out, girls -- none of that rough talk. (as Joe and Jerry move off) They went to a conservatory. There is a general horse-laugh from the girls. Joe and Jerry have now reached their seats, and are taking off their coats. JERRY (in a delighted whisper) How about that talent? This is like falling into a tub of butter. JOE Watch it, Daphne! JERRY When I was a kid, I used to have a dream -- I was locked up in this pastry shop overnight -- with all kinds of goodies around -- jelly rolls and mocha eclairs and sponge cake and Boston cream pie and cherry tarts -- JOE Listen, stupe -- no butter and no pastry. We're on a diet! Jerry starts to hang his coat across a cord running above the window. JOE (grabbing him) Not there -- that's the emergency brake. JERRY (clutching bosom) Now you've done it! JOE Done what? JERRY Tore off one of my chests. JOE You'd better go fix it. JERRY You better come help me. Jerry leads the way toward the rest rooms, which are just beyond their seat. Instinctively he heads for the one marked MEN. Joe grabs him, steers him back toward the one marked WOMEN. JOE This way, Daphne. JERRY (clasping his chest desperately) Now you tore the other one. Joe opens the curtain, propels him inside. INT. WOMEN'S LOUNGE There is another customer there -- Sugar. She has one leg up on the leather settee, her skirt is slightly raised, and she is about to remove a small silver flask tucked under her garter. As Jerry and Joe come in, she guiltily pulls her skirt down. SUGAR OH! JERRY (arms folded across chest) Terribly sorry. SUGAR (relieved) That's all right. I was afraid it was Sweet Sue. You won't tell anybody, will you? JOE Tell what? SUGAR (taking the flask out and unscrewing the cap) If they catch me once more, they'll boot me out of the band. (pours a drink into a paper cup) You the replacement for the bass and the sax? JERRY That's us. I'm Daphne -- and this is Josephine. SUGAR I'm Sugar Cane. I changed it. It used to be Sugar Kowalczyk. JERRY Polish? SUGAR Yes. I come from a very musical family. My mother is a piano teacher and my father was a conductor. JOE Where did he conduct? SUGAR On the Baltimore and Ohio. JOE Oh. SUGAR I play the ukulele. And I sing too. JERRY (to Joe) She sings, too. SUGAR I don't really have much of a voice -- but then it's not much of a band, either. I'm only with 'em because I'm running away. JOE Running away? From what? SUGAR Don't get me started on that. (extending flask) Want a drink? It's bourbon. As Jerry reaches for it, his bosom starts to slip again, and he quickly refolds his arms. JERRY We'll take a rain check. SUGAR (downs cupful of bourbon) I don't want you to think that I'm a drinker. I can stop any time I want to -- only I don't want to. Especially when I'm blue. JOE We understand. SUGAR All the girls drink -- but I'm the one that gets caught. That's the story of my life. I always get the fuzzy end of the lollipop. She has screwed the cap back on the flask, and now slips it under her garter. SUGAR Are my seams straight? JERRY (examining her legs) I'll say. SUGAR See you around, girls. She waves and exits into the Pullman car. JERRY Bye, Sugar. (to Joe) We been playing with the wrong bands. JOE Down, Daphne! JERRY How about the shape of that liquor cabinet? Joe spins him around, and unbuttoning the back of his dress, starts to fix the slipped brassiere. JOE Forget it. One false move, and they'll toss us off the train -- there'll be the police, and the papers, and the mob in Chicago... JERRY (not listening) Boy, would I like to borrow a cup of that Sugar. JOE (whirling him around, grabbing the front of his dress) Look -- no butter, no pastry, and no Sugar! JERRY (looking down at his chest, pathetically) You tore it again! DISSOLVE: EXT. LOCOMOTIVE WHEELS - NIGHT The wheels are pounding along the track, accompanied by a spirited rendition of RUNNING WILD. INT. PULLMAN CAR - NIGHT At one end of the car, Sweet Sue and her Society Syncopators are beating out RUNNING WILD. It is a special rehearsal to break in the two new girls, Josephine and Daphne. The other girls, including Sugar on the ukulele, are really swinging. But Joe and Jerry are playing in a dainty ultra-refined manner, so as not to give themselves away. Sue, who is conducting from the aisle, raps her baton against a seat. The girls stop playing. SUE (to Joe and Jerry) Hey, Sheboygan -- you two -- what was your last job -- playing square dances? JOE No -- funerals. SUE Would you mind rejoining the living? Goose it up a little. JERRY We'll try. Sue is about to give the downbeat, when her eyes fall on Jerry's bass fiddle. There is a neat row of bullet holes across the face of the instrument. SUE How did those holes get there? JERRY (looking down) Oh -- those. I don't know. (tentatively) Mice? JOE (quickly) We got it second-hand. SUE All right -- lets take it from the top. And put a little heat under it, will you? She brings the baton down, and the girls start playing again. This time Joe and Jerry give it both knees -- Joe going for a wild ride on the sax, and Jerry slapping and twirling the bass like a girl possessed. Sue cocks her eyebrows, amazed by the hepness of the two conservatory cats. Now it is time for Sugar's solo. She steps forward with the ukulele, and starts to sing a hot chorus of RUNNING WILD. Holding on to the bull-fiddle, Jerry leans forward to get a better view of Sugar's backfield in motion. As Sugar shimmies through the number, the hidden flask slips out from under her garter, and falls to the floor with a clank. She freezes. Sue raps her baton furiously against the seat, stopping the music. SUE BIENSTOCK! Bienstock, with his glasses on, is sitting father back in the car reading Variety. He leaps up. BIENSTOCK Yes, Sue? What is it? SUE (pointing at flask) I thought I made it clear I don't want any drinking in this outfit. BIENSTOCK (picking up flask) All right, girls. Who does this belong to? (no answer) Come on, now. Speak up. (still no answer; his eyes fall on Sugar, who stands there frozen) Sugar, I warned you! SUGAR Please, Mr. Bienstock -- BIENSTOCK This is the last straw. In Kansas City you were smuggling liquor in a shampoo bottle. Before that I caught you with a pint in your ukulele -- Jerry has squeezed himself between the girls, and steps forward. JERRY Pardon me, Mr. Bienstock -- can I have my flask back? BIENSTOCK (automatically) Sure. (hands it to him, turns back to Sugar) Pack your things, and the next station we come to -- (he does a take, turns to Jerry) Your flask? JERRY Uh-huh. Just a little bourbon. He starts to slip it down the neck of his dress. BIENSTOCK Give me that! He grabs the flask. Sugar is looking at Jerry gratefully. Joe glares at Jerry, ready to hit him with the saxophone. SUE (to Joe and Jerry; dryly) Didn't you girls say you went to a conservatory? JERRY Yes. For a whole year. SUE I thought you said three years. JOE (lightly) We got time off for good behavior. SUE There are two things I will not put up with during working hours. One is liquor -- and the other one is men. JERRY (a blinking angel) Men? JOE Oh, you don't have to worry about that. JERRY We would be caught dead with men. Those rough, hairy beasts with eight hands -- (looking at Bienstock) They all want just one thing from a girl. BIENSTOCK (drawing himself up) I beg your pardon. SUE (rapping baton) All right, girls -- from the top again. Once more the Society Syncopators wade into RUNNING WILD. Sugar, strumming the ukulele, smiles warmly at Daphne, a true blue pal; Daphne smiles back, his mouth watering a little, like a kid in a pastry shop. DISSOLVE: EXT. LOCOMOTIVE WHEELS - NIGHT The wheels are still pounding away -- but there's no more music. INT. PULLMAN CAR - NIGHT The berths are made up, and the girls are getting ready for bed. Joe, in pajamas, is standing in the aisle beside Lower 7, draping his dress neatly on a hanger. Jerry, in a nightgown, is lying in Upper 7 with the curtains open, watching the broads go by. Girls in negligees, in pajamas, in nightgowns, are scurrying with their wash-kits in and out of the ladies' room, climbing into lowers and uppers. JERRY (the young sultan) Good night, Mary Lou -- Dolores dear, sleep tight -- Nighty-night, Emily. EMILY (climbing into an upper) Toodle-oo. JERRY (to Joe) How about that toodle-oo? JOE Steady, boy. Just keep telling yourself you're a girl. JERRY (to himself) I'm a girl. I'm a girl. I'm a girl -- Rosella and Olga come bouncing past from the ladies' room. JERRY (to Joe) Get a load of that rhythm section. (a glare from Joe) I'm a girl. I'm a girl. I'm a girl. His eyes stray down the aisle. In Upper 2, Sugar is getting ready for bed. All Jerry can see is her legs dangling out of the berth, as she removes her stockings. But that's all the identification Jerry needs. JERRY (calling down the aisle) Good night, Sugar. SUGAR (sticking her head out) Good night, honey. JERRY (to Joe; enraptured) Honey -- she called me honey. Without a word, Joe takes the ladder leaning against Jerry's berth, slides it under the lower. JERRY What are you doing? JOE I just want to make sure that honey stays in the hive. There'll be no buzzing around tonight. JERRY But suppose I got to go -- like for a drink of water? JOE Fight it. JERRY But suppose I lose? Suppose it's an emergency? JOE (points to cord running across the back of Jerry's berth) Then pull the emergency brake! Sitting on the edge of Lower 1, ready for bed, is Sue. She is looking off intently toward Joe and Jerry, flipping a stomach pill in one hand and holding a paper cup of water in the other. She turns to Bienstock, who is across the aisle in Lower 2, just buttoning his pajama tops. SUE You know, Bienstock, there's something funny about those two new girls. BIENSTOCK Funny? In what way? SUE I don't know -- but I can feel it right here. (pats tummy) That's one good thing about ulcers -- it's like a burglar alarm going off inside you. She swallows the pill, washes it down with water. BIENSTOCK All right, Sue. You watch your ulcers -- I'll watch those two. (rises, claps his hands) Okay. Everybody settle down and go to bed. Good night, girls. The last few girls climb into their births, lights are being extinguished, curtains are being closed. Joe, standing outside Berth 7, starts to close the curtains of Jerry's berth. JOE Good night, Daphne. JERRY (wretchedly) Good night, Josephine. Joe closes the curtains. Jerry, in the upper, extinguishes the light. He settles himself back on the pillow, closes his eyes. JERRY (muttering to himself) I'm a girl -- I'm a girl -- I wish I were dead -- I'm a girl -- I'm a girl -- EXT. LOCOMOTIVE WHEELS - NIGHT The wheels are pounding along the track in the rhythm of Jerry's 'I'm a girl, I'm a girl.' DISSOLVE: INT. PULLMAN CAR - NIGHT There are just a few dim lights illuminating the aisle. Everybody seems to be asleep, all is quiet -- except for Bienstock's steady snoring in Lower 2. After a moment, the curtains of Upper 2 open, and Sugar peeks out cautiously. She is wearing a negligee over her nightie. Seeing that all is clear, she slips quietly down the ladder, and tiptoes down the aisle. She arrives at Berth 7, and finding no ladder there, takes one from across the aisle, leans it against Jerry's berth, and climbs up. Jerry is asleep in Upper 7, as the curtains part and Sugar leans in. SUGAR (a whisper) Daphne... She taps his shoulder. Jerry sits bolt upright, hits his head against the top of the berth. JERRY Oh -- Sugar! SUGAR I wanted to thank you for covering for me. You're a real pal. JERRY It's nothing. I just think us girls should stick together. SUGAR If it hadn't been for you, they would have kicked me off the train. I'd be out there in the middle of nowhere, sitting on my ukulele. JERRY It must be freezing outside. When I think of you -- and your poor ukulele -- SUGAR If there's anything I can do for you -- JERRY Oh, I can think of a million things -- Sugar, looking off, sees something in the aisle, quickly climbs into the berth beside Jerry. JERRY And that's one of them. SUGAR (finger to her lips) Sssh. Sweet Sue. She peers through the slit in the curtains. Sue, in a wrapper, is padding sleepily down the aisle toward the ladies' room. Back in Upper 7, Sugar turns conspiratorially to Jerry. SUGAR I don't want her to know we're in cahoots. JERRY We won't tell anybody -- not even Josephine. SUGAR I'd better stay here till she goes back to sleep. JERRY Stay as long as you'd like. SUGAR (putting her legs under the covers) I'm not crowding you, am I? JERRY No. It's nice and cozy. SUGAR When I was a little girl, on cold nights like this, I used to crawl into bed with my sister. We'd cuddle up under the covers, and pretend we were lost in a dark cave, and were trying to find out way out. JERRY (mopping his brow) Interesting. SUGAR Anything wrong? JERRY No, no. SUGAR (putting a hand on his shoulder) Why you poor thing -- you're trembling all over. JERRY That's ridiculous. SUGAR And your head is hot. JERRY That's ridiculous. SUGAR (her feet touching his under the cover) And you've got cold feet. JERRY (a wan smile) Isn't that ridiculous? SUGAR Let me warm them a little. (rubbing her feet against his) There -- isn't that better? Jerry has turned his head away, and is now mumbling to himself. JERRY I'm a girl, I'm a girl, I'm a girl -- SUGAR What did you say? JERRY I'm a very sick girl. SUGAR (sitting up) Maybe I'd better go before I catch something. JERRY (holding her by the arm) I'm not that sick. SUGAR I have a very low resistance. JERRY Look, Sugar, if you feel you're coming down with something, the best thing is a shot of whiskey. SUGAR You got some? JERRY I know where to get some. (sitting up) Don't move. He climbs across her, and opening the curtains, leans all the way over the edge of the upper berth and down toward the berth below. In Lower 7, Joe is asleep, facing the window. The curtains part, and Jerry, dangling upside down, reaches toward the suitcase at the foot of the berth. He raises the lid of the suitcase, rummages around till he finds a bottle of bourbon. As he takes it out, Joe stirs. Jerry freezes, raises the bottle up, ready to conk Joe if he wakes up. Joe turns over, settles back to sleep, and Jerry swings his body through the curtains. Jerry, the bottle clutched in his hand, is hanging upside down, while Sugar in the upper berth holds on to his legs. As Jerry tries to raise himself back up, he slips out of Sugar's grasp, and sprawls in the aisle. He lies absolutely still, afraid that Joe may have heard him. SUGAR (a solicitous whisper) You all right? JERRY (getting up) I'm fine. SUGAR How's the bottle? JERRY Half-full. As he hands it up to her, the curtains of Upper 4 part, and Dolores, who has been awakened by the fall, peeks out. SUGAR (to Jerry) You better get some cups. Jerry pads over to the water fountain beside the rest rooms. He punches out a couple of paper cups from a dispense, flits back to Berth 7, and scurries up the ladder. Dolores watches all this with great interest. Back in Upper 7, Sugar has already opened the bottle. JERRY (handing her the paper cups) I tell you -- this is the only way to travel. SUGAR (pouring) You better put on the lights. I can't see what I'm doing. JERRY No -- no lights. We don't want anyone to know we're having a party. SUGAR I may spill something. JERRY (shifting into high) So spill it. Spills, thrills, laughs, games -- this may even turn out to be a surprise party. SUGAR What's the surprise? JERRY (coyly) Uh-uh. Not yet. SUGAR When? JERRY We better have a drink first. SUGAR (handing him cup) Here. This'll put hair on your chest. JERRY No fair guessing. They drink. The curtains open and Dolores, standing on the ladder outside, sticks her head in. DOLORES This a private clambake, or can anybody join? JERRY (turns, startled) It's private. Go away. SUGAR Say, Dolores -- you still got that bottle of vermouth? DOLORES Sure. JERRY Who needs vermouth? SUGAR (to Dolores) We have some bourbon -- lets make Manhattans. DOLORES Okay. (starts down the ladder) JERRY Manhattans? This time of night? SUGAR (calling after Dolores) And bring the cocktail shaker. JERRY (disgustedly) Oh, Sugar. You're going to spoil my surprise. Dolores has crossed the aisle, and getting a foot up on Lower 4, reaches up into her berth for the vermouth. The curtains of Lower 4 open, and Mary Lou sticks her head out. MARY LOU What's up? DOLORES Party in Upper 7. MARY LOU I got some cheese and crackers. DOLORES And get a corkscrew. Mary Lou gets out of her berth, steps across to Lower 3, wakes up Rosella. MARY LOU Party in Upper 7. Got a corkscrew? ROSELLA (wide awake) No. But Stella has. MARY LOU Get some cups. Rosella hurries toward the water fountain, while Mary Lou gets Stella and the corkscrew out of bed. Rapidly, the whole Pullman car springs into action. As silent as mice, the girls slip out of their berths, armed with various provisions. Their nighties billowing they scuttle down the aisle and up the ladder into Upper 7. In Upper 7, the party is building rapidly, as the mice pile in with their contributions. GIRLS Here's the vermouth. I brought some crackers and cheese. Will ten cups be enough? Can you use a bottle of Southern Comfort? Jerry is trying vainly to stem the invasion of gatecrashers. JERRY Please, girls -- this is a private party -- a party for two -- go away, no more room -- ssh, the neighbors downstairs -- you'll wake up Josephine -- please, no crackers in bed -- go someplace else, form your own party -- be careful with that corkscrew! Sugar -- where are you, Sugar? Sugar is greeting Olga, who has climbed into the berth clutching a hot water bottle. OLGA Here's the cocktail shaker. Sugar starts measuring bourbon and vermouth into it. GIRLS Easy on the vermouth. If we only had some ice -- Pass the peanut butter. Anybody for salami? JERRY (desperately) Thirteen girls in a berth -- that's bad luck! Twelve of you will have to get out!... Please, girls, no more food! I'll have ants in the morning! In Lower 7, Joe is stirring restlessly, while subdued noises float down from the party upstairs. The curtains part and Emily sticks her head in and shakes Joe. EMILY Hey -- you got any maraschino cherries on you? JOE (half asleep) Huh? EMILY Never mind. She disappears. Joe starts to close his eyes, then sits up with a jolt. JOE Maraschino cherries? Slowly he becomes aware of the sounds of revelry up above. His eyes wide as he sees a girl's bare leg through the curtains. The girl steps on the edge of his berth, hoists herself into the upper. Joe throws open the curtains, sees several other pairs of girls' legs dangling down from the upper, and still more legs climbing up the ladder. Frantically, Joe jumps out of his birth. He is confronted by a sight which knocks into a cocked hat the principle that two bodies cannot occupy the same space at the same time. In a triumph of engineering, fourteen girls have squeezed themselves into Upper 7 -- or to be exact, thirteen girls and Daphne -- not to mention the bourbon, the vermouth, the Southern Comfort, the paper cups, the corkscrew, the hot water bottle, the crackers and cheese, and the salami. There is a seething tangle of arms and legs and blonde heads -- like a snake pit at feeding time. JOE What's going on here? (trying to find a needle in the haystack) Daphne -- Daphne -- JERRY (sticking his head out) It's not my fault. I didn't invite them. JOE (pleading) Break it up, girls! Daphne! Come on, help me! He starts to tug at odd arms and legs. Jerry pulls himself back into the berth. JERRY All right, girls. You heard Josephine. Everybody out. Sugar starts to back out of the berth. JERRY Not you, Sugar. SUGAR I'm just going to get some ice. Joe has slipped on his robe as Sugar comes backing out of the berth and down the ladder. JOE Out, out! That's right, Sugar. Now the rest of you. As Sugar heads for the water fountain, Joe starts to pull the other girls out. GIRLS Aw, don't be a flat tire. Have a Manhattan. Come on in. There's lots of room in the back. JOE Ssh. Pipe down. We'll all be fired. Jerry sticks his head out, looks after Sugar. JERRY (plaintively) Sugar -- don't you leave me here alone, Sugar. Sugar has pried open the panel under the water fountain, and reaching inside, drags out a huge cake of ice. Not quite knowing what to do with it, she thrusts it into Joe's hands, and turns quickly to the pile of instruments stashed between some empty seats. JOE (unaware of the cake of ice in his hands) Come on, kids. Give up, will you? The party's over. Everybody go home. (suddenly notices the ice) What's this? By this time, Sugar has unscrewed a cymbal from the drum, and is holding the drummer's metal brush. SUGAR (beckoning to Joe) Josephine, over here. Before it melts. She heads for the women's lounge. Joe looks at her, looks at the ice, and not knowing what else to do with it, follows her through the curtains. INT. WOMEN'S LOUNGE - NIGHT Sugar comes in, followed by Josephine with the cake of ice. SUGAR (pointing to sunken washbowl) Put it here. JOE (dropping the ice in the bowl) Sugar, you're going to get yourself into a lot of trouble. SUGAR Better keep a lookout. Joe crosses to the curtain, peers out. Sugar, using the handle of the metal brush, starts to chop ice into the upturned cymbal. JOE If Bienstock catches you again -- What's the matter with you, anyway? SUGAR I'm not very bright, I guess. JOE I wouldn't say that. Careless, maybe. SUGAR No, just dumb. If I had any brains, I wouldn't be on this crummy train with this crummy girls' band. JOE Then why did you take this job? SUGAR I used to sing with male bands. But I can't afford it any more. JOE Afford it? SUGAR Have you ever been with a male band? JOE Me? SUGAR That's what I'm running away from. I worked with six different ones in the last two years. Oh, brother! JOE Rough? SUGAR I'll say. JOE You can't trust those guys. SUGAR I can't trust myself. The moment I'd start with a new band -- bingo! JOE Bingo? SUGAR You see, I have this thing about saxophone players. JOE (abandoning his lookout post) Really? SUGAR Especially tenor sax. I don't know what it is, but they just curdle me. All they have to do is play eight bars of "Come to Me My Melancholy Baby" -- and my spine turns to custard, and I get goose-pimply all over -- and I come to them. JOE That so? SUGAR (hitting her head) Every time! JOE (nonchalantly) You know -- I play tenor sax. SUGAR But you're a girl, thank goodness. JOE (his throat drying up) Yeah. SUGAR That's why I joined this band. Safety first. Anything to get away from those bums. JOE (drier yet) Yeah. SUGAR (hacking the ice viciously) You don't know what they're like. You fall for them and you love 'em -- you think it's going to be the biggest thing since the Graf Zeppelin -- and the next thing you know they're borrowing money from you and spending it on other dames and betting on the horses -- JOE You don't say? SUGAR Then one morning you wake up and the saxophone is gone and the guy is gone, and all that's left behind is a pair of old socks and a tube of toothpaste, all squeezed out. JOE Men! SUGAR So you pull yourself together and you go on to the next job, and the next saxophone player, and it's the same thing all over again. See what I mean? -- not very bright. JOE (looking her over) Brains aren't everything. SUGAR I can tell you one thing -- it's not going to happen to me again. Ever. I'm tired of getting the fuzzy end of the lollipop. Olga bursts in through the curtains. OLGA Ice! What's keeping the ice? The natives are getting restless. Joe hands her the cymbal piled with ice. JOE How about a couple of drinks for us? OLGA Sure. She scoots out. Joe and Sugar are alone again. SUGAR You know I'm going to be twenty-five in June? JOE You are? SUGAR That's a quarter of a century. Makes a girl think. JOE About what? SUGAR About the future. You know -- like a husband? That's why I'm glad we're going to Florida. JOE What's in Florida? SUGAR Millionaires. Flocks of them. They all go south for the winter. Like birds. JOE Going to catch yourself a rich bird? SUGAR Oh, I don't care how rich he is -- as long as he has a yacht and his own private railroad car and his own toothpaste. JOE You're entitled. SUGAR Maybe you'll meet one too, Josephine. JOE Yeah. With money like Rockefeller, and shoulders like Johnny Weismuller -- SUGAR I want mine to wear glasses. JOE Glasses? SUGAR Men who wear glasses are so much more gentle and sweet and helpless. Haven't you ever noticed? JOE Well, now that you've mentioned it -- SUGAR They get those weak eyes from reading -- you know, all those long columns of tiny figures in the Wall Street Journal. Olga is back again, carrying two Manhattans in paper cups on the cymbal. She hands them the drinks, starts to refill the cymbal with ice. OLGA That bass fiddle -- wow! She sure knows how to throw a party! She dashes out. Joe looks after her, worriedly. SUGAR (raising cup) Happy