Humoresque Page #2

- I know how you feel.

- Do you?

Really?

It's funny, you know, I never

open up like this to most people...

...not even Mom. It's only you.

You know what I mean?

I don't have to pose with you.

I don't have to fight or argue.

I can be what I am, no different.

No better, no worse. Just me.

- You know?

- I know.

Gee, I'm itching to get started.

A thousand concerts

in my fingers waiting to get out.

Nothing can stop me. Nothing can

get in my way. I don't feel alive until...

Hey.

If I told you I loved you...

...would you laugh?

- No.

Well, I do.

You see, I'm not laughing.

Evening paper!

Get your evening paper! Thank you, sir.

- Hey.

- Evening paper!

- Read all about it!

- Hi, Eddie, how did the Yanks do?

- They won both games.

- Great. Thanks.

- $ 18.62.

Thompson, $ 11.33.

Credit, credit, credit.

Nobody pays anymore.

I know they gotta eat, Esther,

but we gotta eat too.

The Depression is a Depression

for us and everybody.

What Depression?

With two chickens in every pot?

It's no joke, Flossie. It's no joke at all.

Who said it was funny? I got a run

in my stocking. Will you fix it?

It's the last decent pair I've got.

- Phil, is that you?

- Yeah. They got new signs in the park now.

Instead of saying, "Please keep off the

grass," they say, "Don't eat the grass."

- Any luck?

- There's nothing, Mom.

Not one job between

the Battery and the Palisades.

- It's like banging your head against a wall.

- Did you eat?

No, I'm not hungry. What are you

doing home? Get canned, did you?

- I could go and get your job.

- You're welcome to it.

They got a new idea.

I gotta go back to work tonight.

Open evenings for the rest

of the summer, three times a week.

The customer's always right.

Does he have to play

that violin all the time?

He's not bothering anybody.

I'll crawl in a hole till his nibs

gets the urge to stop playing.

I'll retire from the human race.

Don't make any noise,

Paul is practicing.

Don't go in the room, Paul is studying.

Don't do this, don't do that.

It's coming out of my ears.

- He's working hard.

- He's working hard?

Oh, I forgot. I'm the one who

isn't working. I'm on a vacation.

I go strolling every morning to smell

the flowers and look at the birds.

Sure, he's the busy bee in this hive.

Poor Paul, working his fingers to the bone

to support a no-good brother.

Philip is right, Esther.

We're one family.

- What's good for one is good for the other.

- Don't blame him, Rudy.

What can he do? Help like

everyone else. Is that too much to ask?

This practicing, these teachers.

He'll never amount to anything.

- It's not for us.

- But, Rudy...

Look at the Jeffers boy.

He plays music too.

But at least he's on the radio.

He gets paid.

- It's different with Paul.

- Don't he eat?

Don't he wear clothes?

What's different?

- What's wrong with getting a job?

- There's nothing wrong.

- But if you can be a...

- Statistics show...

...there's one of those in a million.

Philip, put your shoe on, please.

Paul Boray.

The genius who lives

over a grocery store?

- Now, Esther...

- Paul.

Happy days.

What's right is right.

I was just...

My father keeps saying

it's a waste of time.

He doesn't understand me

or my ambitions.

Nobody sits on my head.

I'm not gonna be a parasite.

From now on,

I pay my way. I want a job.

At 3:
00 in the morning?

What kind of a job?

Playing violin.

What else do I know?

That's just what this Depression needs,

another violin player. Cigarette?

No thanks, I've got one.

Hire a costume and play gypsy

variations in a Hungarian restaurant.

- Don't horse me around, Sid.

- I'm not, Paul. I'm not.

You're such a schnook. You think

decisions are made with flashlight bulbs.

Pop, and I'm a gypsy fiddler,

or pop, I'm a virtuoso.

Leave that cord alone,

you'll tear my shade.

You're no help. You're laughing.

- You're sensitive.

- I didn't come here to be analyzed.

That's the trouble. You want advice.

What makes you think I know?

I play piano in a monkey suit with a bunch

of other guys dressed up in monkey suits.

Piano.

Schmaltz. Listen, Paul,

I can be unhappy in any key.

Depressed is my favorite word.

You know why? Schmaltz.

That what you want?

I know what I don't want. I don't

wanna feel like a heel in my own house.

I don't wanna live

over a grocery store...

...while feeding on gum

and chocolate drops.

Hot in summer. Worrying

about the bill that wasn't paid...

...or the bill that's coming in today.

Not me, Sid. Not me.

And you want me

to tell you what to do.

You want me to tell you you're right.

Well, maybe you are. I don't know.

You can't advise talent.

Talent's a way of life.

Not something

you can decide in a minute.

Who knows if you're gifted

enough to be a concert violinist.

- That's the point.

- Is it? What?

Maybe I'll end up teaching kids

how to fiddle. There's no guarantee.

There's no guarantee

for anything real.

Would you say, "I'll marry you

if I have a guarantee"?

- You're a dead pigeon with guarantees.

- Don't give me any lectures.

I know you like a book by now.

You're proud and sensitive. A little

too intense and much too precocious.

Sincere but suffering

from the old American itch.

You wanna get there fast,

but you don't wanna pay for the ride.

All I'm asking you to do

is to help me get a job.

- You think you can take it?

- I can take it.

We're running overtime.

There will be a cut here, gentlemen.

Cut from letter D...

...to letter R. That'll be eight bars from

the end. Is that agreeable, Mr. Jeffers?

Why bring personalities

into the discussion? I'll do it.

- From letter D to letter R, gentlemen.

- Why don't we just play two chords?

One to open and close.

It'll sound just as good.

Even for me, and I don't acknowledge

myself to be the best pianist.

- That's quite a cut, doctor.

- Sid's right.

- I beg your pardon?

- I agreed. You're cutting out the best part.

- Let me be the judge of that.

- It's a matter of the composer's intention.

I apologize for making you unhappy, sir.

I take it you are displeased.

- Oh, I'll play it.

- Oh, you don't have to.

You'll be happier if you're not

forced to play in our company.

We will just have to struggle

along without you.

Hey, wait a minute.

Give the kid a chance.

He's never played on the radio.

Don't waste your breath, Sid.

Well?

- What'd you think?

- Coffee?

Look, I asked you a simple question.

Sugar?

You want me to blow kisses

and shout bravo?

- You sound promising.

- Thanks, that's a crushing compliment.

From now on, you can sign

your letters, "Paul Boray, fiddle player."

- I have spoken.

- Cut the gags. What'd you really think?

Little too brash, a little over-brilliant.

You need more restraint.

- You didn't like it?

- It's not important if I like it.

- The idea is for other people to share it.

- That's right. For once, we agree.

The point about an artist is the sound

he makes, the personal sound.

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