Even Cowgirls Get The Blues Page #8

Howard hails a cab and Carla and Marie flutter around Sissy.

MARIE:

This is dreadful.

(lowering her voice

confidentially)

You know, asthma attacks are brought

on by emotional stress. Poor Julian

is so high strung. The excitement of

meeting you -- my dear, you look so

stunning! -- must have upset his

chemical balance.

Carla nods. Everyone is piling into the taxi.

RUPERT:

Come on, Sissy, don't be afraid of

us.

SISSY:

I've never ridden in a cab. The whole

idea of paying for a ride makes my

thumbs hurt.

Sissy is forced to suffer the indignity of riding in a vehicle

she wasn't responsible for flagging with her own thumbs.

CARLA:

It'll be all right, dear. It isn't

as serious as it sounds.

INT. CAB NIGHT

Carla starts to pat Sissy's hand, then decides to leave the

thumbs to themselves.

The six of them are squeezed into the taxi. Sissy looks out

the window of the taxi:

SISSY'S VIEW as the taxi stops at a light, she can see a

newsstand headline on the front page of the New York Daily

News:

THE CHINK SUMS IT UP, SAYS LIFE IS HARD IF YOU THINK IT'S

HARD.

EXT. JULIAN'S APARTMENT NIGHT

THE TAXI stops in front of Julian's building. It discharges

its passengers.

INT. JULIAN'S APARTMENT NIGHT

INSIDE Howard mixes Scotch and sodas, Rupert fills a syringe

from a vial of aminophylline he has taken from its place

behind a gelatin salad mold in the refrigerator. He gives

Julian an injection.

RUPERT:

There, that ought to beat them

bronchial buggers into submission.

He turns to Sissy.

RUPERT:

I was a medic in the Army. I really

should have become a doctor.

Sometimes, though, I feel that pushing

books is a whole lot like pushing

medicine. Think of books as pills. I

have pills that cure ignorance and

pills that cure boredom. I have pills

to elevate moods and pills to open

people's eyes to the awful truth...

CARLA:

Too bad you don't have a pill for

bullshit.

Carla smiles as if she were joking, but she'd said it tartly.

Rupert glares and takes a big bite of Scotch.

HOWARD:

(changing the subject)

Where do you live, Miss Hankshaw?

SISSY:

I'm staying with the Countess.

HOWARD:

I know, but where do you reside when

you aren't visiting New York?

SISSY:

I don't.

HOWARD:

You don't?

SISSY:

Well, no, I don't reside anywhere in

particular. I just keep moving.

Everyone looks a bit astonished including the recumbent

Julian.

HOWARD:

A traveler, eh?

SISSY:

You might say that, although I don't

think of it as traveling.

CARLA:

How do you think of it?

SISSY:

As moving.

CARLA:

Oh.

MARIE:

How... unusual...

HOWARD:

Mmmmm...

Rupert bites into his Scotch again. Julian issues a watery

wheeze. Then, silence.

CARLA:

Rupert, before you get too engrossed

in your research on Scotch as a cure

for aging, don't you think you'd

better phone Elaine's and cancel our

dinner reservations?

Sissy leaves her chair and wanders about the apartment. Which

is full of books and shelves.

RUPERT (O.S.)

What would we do without you, Carla?

Without our little efficiency expert,

Carla, everything would just go to

hell. Carla is thinking about running

for mayor next year, aren't you,

Carla?

CARLA (O.S.)

Up yours, Herr Doktor Book Salesman.

Will the demands of your medical

practice allow you to call Elaine's

or shall I?

MARIE (O.S.)

Oh let me do it.

Sissy is intrigued by an antique here and an object d'art

there, but she knows she is in an alien environment.

INT. JULIAN'S BEDROOM NIGHT

Sissy enters a bedroom There is a covered birdcage. She sits

upon the bed listening for a 'cheep' from the birds.

And gradually she reclines. Then turning her head to the

side against the bedspread:

SISSY:

No Indian blankets... no Indian

blankets...

And she blacks out. And the sound drifts away in waves, so

there is only the whistle of a distant wind through the mortar

of the apartment building...

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