Barefoot in the Park Page #6

La la

la la la la la

La la la la

la la-la la la

La la

la la la la la

Hey

Hey hey

Hey hey

Hey!

Hot shama

El kema ma

Hey! Wait!

I'll race you

up the stairs!

No! No! No!

Oh, you!

Oh!

Ha ha ha ha!

Oh!

Ha ha!

No, you don't!

No! No!

Aah! Aah!

Ha ha!

Whoo!

Ohhh, no.

I won!

I won. Ha ha

ha ha ha!

That was not a fair race.

You tickled me.

Hey, how do you

say it again?

Say what?

Waiter, there's

a fly in my soup.

Oh. Poopla,

sirca al mercoori.

Sirca, poopla

al mercoori.

No, no.

No?

That's, "fly,

you have a waiter in my soup. "

I did. He put his hand in

to take out the fly.

Ha ha ha!

Ooh! How's my head

going to feel tomorrow?

Wonderful!

No headache?

No, but

you won't be able

to make a fist

for three days.

Hey!

Look at that!

Coffee. We promised

to make coffee.

Oh! And a promise

is a promise!

I forgot the stove

doesn't work.

Hey, upstairs,

everybody, for coffee.

Don't you two

want coffee?

Oh, they'll drink it

if we make it.

Don't you two go away.

Shama shama el mal kema ma.

I feel like

we've died...

and gone to heaven...

only we had

to climb up.

Struck down

in the prime of life.

It isn't exactly

that I feel sick, just...

kind of numb...

and I can't

make a fist.

Mom, you want to hear

something frightening?

My teeth feel soft.

Huh. It's funny.

The best thing we had all night

was the knichi.

Ohh... anyway, Corie

had a good time.

She seems to get

such a terrific kick out of living.

You've got to admire that,

don't you, Paul?

Yes, yes.

I admire anybody

who has three portions

of pelenchki.

I tried, Paul.

I just couldn't seem

to work up an appetite

the way they did.

No, you mustn't blame

yourself, Mom.

We're not used

to that kind of food, that's all.

You don't...

pick up a fork

and dig

into a black salad.

You got to play

with it.

I don't think I could get through

coffee tonight.

I'm all out

of pink pills.

Where you going?

Home. I'd like to die

in my own bed.

What will I

tell them?

Make up some

clever little lie.

Tell Corie I'm not

really her mother.

We've decided to have

flaming brandy.

I'm afraid you must

excuse me, darling,

but it is

a little late.

You can't go.

It's early.

I know, but I have a 10:00

dentist appointment at 9:00,

and it's been

a very long evening,

and I don't know

what I'm saying.

You can't do that.

Darling.

Good night, Paul.

Good night,

Mr. Velasco.

Good night,

Paul.

Good night.

Good night,

Corie.

You're not

going, too?

Certainly. I'm driving

Mrs. Banks home.

Oh, no. I mean,

it's too late.

For what?

The buses stop at 2:00.

How would you get home?

Why worry about that?

I'll meet that problem in New Jersey.

Really, Mr. Velasco,

it's very sweet...

Victor.

What?

If we're spending

the rest of the evening together,

it must be Victor. And I insist

the arrangement be reciprocal.

What is it?

What

is what?

Your name,

Mother.

It's Ethel.

Oh, yes. Ethel, that's right.

My name is Ethel.

That's better.

Are you ready... Ethel?

If you insist...

Walter.

Victor. It's Victor.

Yes, Victor.

Good night, Paul.

Shama shama, Corie.

Shama shama.

If you don't hear

from us in a week,

we'll be at the Nacional Hotel

in Mexico City...

Room 703.

Come on, Ethel.

What did he mean

by that?

Stop worrying, Mother.

Call me in the morning.

Oh...

How about that?

He likes her!

He likes my mother!

He'll probably

have to sleep over.

Paul, do you

suppose that...

Not my mother.

Boy, what a night!

I got an idea. Let's take the bottle

of Scotch downstairs

and ring all the bells

and yell "police. "

Huh? Just to see who comes out

of whose apartment?

What's the matter, darling?

Don't you feel well?

What a rotten

thing to do,

dragging your mother out like that

into the middle of the harbor

for a bowl

of sheep dip.

It was Greek bean soup.

And at least

she tasted it.

She didn't jab at it

with her knife

throwing cute

little epigrams like,

"Ho, ho, ho. I think

there's somebody in there. "

That's, um... quite

a match you made.

I can just hear the conversation.

Sparkling dialogue.

He's telling her about some great

Japanese restaurant

in East Berlin,

and she's describing

the joys of having

a root canal job.

Give me your

hand, Ethel.

My what?

Your hand. There is ice

on the stoop.

Don't worry about me.

I can manage.

Ohhh!

Ethel.

Are you all right?

Uhhh...

Ohhh...

Well.

I just can't

understand

how you can be so unconcerned

about all this.

- Unconcerned?

- I really...

Do you think

I'll get one wink of sleep

until that phone

rings tomorrow?

I'm scared to death

for my mother.

And I'm grateful there's finally

something to be scared about.

What I'm really

concerned about is you.

Me?

Me?

Yeah. I'm beginning

to wonder

if you're capable

of having a good time.

Why? Because I like

to wear my gloves in winter?

No. Because there isn't the least bit

of adventure in you.

You know what you are, Paul?

You're a watcher.

You're a watcher.

There are watchers in this world,

and there are doers.

And the watchers

sit around watching the doers do.

Tonight you watched,

and I did.

It was a little harder

to watch what you did

than it was for you to do

what I was watching.

You can't even relax

for one evening.

I don't know, Paul,

sometimes you act like a...

What? Hmm? A stuffed shirt?

Is that it?

I didn't say that.

That's what you

were implying.

That's what

you're anticipating.

I didn't say

stuffed shirt.

Mm-hmm.

But you're extremely

proper and dignified.

Proper and dignified?

When was I proper and dignified?

The other night at Delfino's,

you were drunk, right?

Right.

I was stoned.

Exactly. I didn't

even know it

until you told me

in the morning.

Uhh... I mean, you're a funny kind

of drunk, Paul.

You just sat around looking unhappy,

watching your coat.

I was watching

my coat

because I saw someone else

watching my coat.

If you want, I'll get drunk

for you sometime,

make your hair

stand on end.

In Harry's Bar last New Year's Eve,

I punched an old woman.

Don't tell me

about drunk.

When else? When else

was I proper and dignified?

All the time.

You're always

dressed right.

You always look right.

You always say

the right thing.

You're very nearly

perfect.

That's a rotten

thing to say.

Before we were married,

I thought you slept with a tie.

Just for formal sleeps.

You have absolutely no sense

of the ridiculous.

Like last

Thursday night,

you wouldn't walk barefoot with me in

Washington Square Park.

Why not?

Simple answer.

It was 17 degrees.

Exactly. It's very logical,

it's very sensible,

and it's no fun.

Maybe you're right.

Maybe I am

a little bit too proper

and dignified for you.

Maybe you would've

been happier

with somebody a little more colorful and

flamboyant... like the geek.

It'd be a lot more laughs than

a stuffed shirt.

You said I wasn't.

Well, you are now.

I'm not listening

to this.

I have a court case

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