Born Yesterday

1

Captain!

- Eddie, where's my briefcase?

- Here.

Hang on to it.

All right, already.

Come on.

This way, Mr. Brock.

Sorry I missed your arrival, Mr. Brock.

Welcome to the Washington Statler.

- I've been inspecting your wing...

- I ain't got a whole floor?

You've got an entire wing.

I want the whole floor. I don't

want one wing, I want the whole bird!

Your private elevator.

Private, huh?

That's more like it.

Hello, Mr. Brock.

Mr. Devery asked me to...

I thought you said this was private.

What are you waitin' for? Take off.

You'll be more than satisfied. This

is the public corridor and elevators.

There's no need to use them,

but you may if...

The west, east and south suites,

all duplex.

- Which one's mine?

- The south suite.

Each one a completely private

and separate apartment.

This is it.

Sleeping quarters upstairs.

Terrace overlooks

half of Washington.

- I would like to point out...

- It's all right.

I would like to point out, Mr. Brock,

that this suite is one we...

that this suite is usually

reserved for foreign diplomats.

Oh, I almost forgot.

We thought you might like this.

- Compliments of the management.

- Okay. Don't bother me.

May I?

May I show you

the rest of the accommodations?

Hey, Billie!

What?

Not bad, huh?

It's all right.

"All right"? Do you know

what this place costs a day?

Four hundred.

You told me.

Mrs. Brock seems delighted

with the arrangements.

- It's not Mrs. Brock.

- Oh?

There ain't no Mrs. Brock

except my mother, and she's dead.

- I see.

- Look, don't get nosy.

Oh, not at all.

She's a fiance.

Mine, in fact.

Eddie, take care of him.

Pardon me, sir.

- Thank you. Thank you, Mr. Brock.

- Okay. Don't bother me.

How's the monarch

of all he surveys?

- You plastered again?

- Still.

- Welcome to our city.

- I got some things that can't wait.

- Hey, I got this ticket to get fixed.

- What's it about?

Some louse

just as we blew into town.

Just because I'm a lawyer

does not mean I own the law.

- What'd I do?

- All right, I'll see what I can manage.

- What did we make out?

- It may cost more than we estimated.

- How much more?

- It's negligible.

- Why more?

- Supply and demand, Harry.

Crooks are becoming rare

in these parts.

- Don't worry.

- What do you mean?

- This stuff ain't deductible, you know.

- I'm not so sure.

Item:
one bribe, $80,000.

Eighty? You're very handy

with my dough, you know it.

Oh, and you're gonna be interviewed.

Fella's comin' up here any minute.

Name's Paul Verrall.

He's a writer.

Freelance snoop. Political stuff.

You know, think pieces.

I don't wanna talk to no writers.

I gotta get shaved. Eddie!

- You'd better talk to this one.

- Why?

This is one of the few fellas

in Washington to look out for.

The thing to do is take him in.

Then he doesn't go pokey.

What's so important?

What we're after here

is pretty important.

Listen, Harry, to get by in this town

takes power. You got some.

Takes money.

You got plenty.

But above all,

it takes judgement and intelligence.

That's why you pay me

100,000 a year.

- What's all the excitement?

- Nothing.

I'm just trying to make it clear

where I fit in.

- Eddie, get me a shave up here.

- Right.

- What?

- Barber shop.

Tell Billie to wear something plain for

the congressman. He may bring his wife.

Tell her yourself.

You ain't pregnant.

This is Harry Brock's apartment.

Send a barber and a manicure right away.

Harry Brock.

That's right.

- Make it snappy.

- And a shine.

And a shine!

Be right up.

Look, don't you worry about Billie.

One thing,

she knows how to dress.

Probably Verrall.

- Hello, Paul.

- Hello, Jim.

Harry Brock, Paul Verrall.

- How do you do, sir?

- How are you?

Ain't I seen you

someplace before lately?

- I'll leave you gentlemen.

- Come in. What'll you drink?

- Scotch, please, if you've got it.

- If I got it. Eddie!

I got everything.

Where do you think you are?

Where you been? Stick around

and get this man a scotch and... soda?

- Plain water.

- Right. Ginger ale for you?

Right.

He always knows what I feel to drink.

Worked for me many years now.

Also, he's my cousin.

He knows me inside out.

- That's right.

- Maybe I should be interviewing Eddie.

That's pretty good. Maybe you got

something there. Sit down, sit down.

What's it gonna be, pal?

A plug or a pan?

I know how to talk

if I know your angle.

- No angle. Just the facts.

- Oh, a pan, huh?

- Not exactly.

- That's okay. Write whatever you want.

Go on upstairs.

I wanna get shaved.

I look at it this way:

you can't hurt me, you can't help me.

I'm only talking to you

'cause Jim Devery asked me to.

I pay a guy 100 grand a year for advice,

I'm a sucker if I don't take it. Right?

- That's right.

- Butt out, will ya!

Devery likes it

when I get wrote about.

Well, fella,

what do you want to know?

- How much money you got?

- What?

- How much money you got?

- What am I, an accountant?

- You don't know?

- Not exactly.

- Fifty million?

- I don't know.

- Ten million?

- Maybe.

- One million?

- More!

- How much more?

- Plenty.

And I made every nickel of it.

Nobody ever gave me nothin'.

- Nice work.

- So you're gonna give me the business.

- Wait a minute.

- Go ahead. I like it.

- You got me all wrong.

- Pan me. Tell 'em I'm a roughneck.

Everybody gets scared.

That's good. Everybody scares easy.

- Not everybody.

- Enough.

You can't hurt me. All you can do

is build me up or shut up.

Hey, Eddie.

Have a drink.

No, thanks, really.

Do what I'm tellin' ya!

Who pays ya around here?

When we're home

he shaves me every day.

- I got my own barber chair. Right?

- That's right.

I thought you wanted

to interview me.

Where were you born?

Jersey.

Plainfield, New Jersey, 1907.

I went to work when I was 12 years old.

I been workin' ever since.

I'll tell you,

my first job was a paper route.

I bought another kid out

with a swift kick in the keister.

- And you've been workin' ever since.

- Yeah.

I'm top man in my racket.

Been in it over 25 years, same racket.

- Steel.

- Junk.

Not steel, junk.

Don't butter me up. I'm a junk man.

I ain't ashamed to admit it.

Let me give you

a little advice, sonny boy.

Never bull a bull artist.

I can sling it with the best of 'em.

- For 25 years, you say?

- Yeah.

I tell ya,

I'm a kid with a paper route.

I got this wagon, and goin' home nights

I go through alleys pickin' up junk.

I'm not the only one.

The other kids are doing it too.

Only difference is, they keep it.

Not me. I sell it.

First thing you know, I'm makin' eight

bucks from junk and three from papers.

I can see which is the right racket.

I'm just a kid, but I can see that.

Pretty soon the guy I'm selling to

is handing me 15-20 a week.

Then he turns around

and offers me a job for ten. Dumb jerk.

I'd be selling him his own stuff back,

and he never knew.

- How do you mean?

- Look. Look.

In the night I'm under the fence,

I drag it out, I load it up.

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