Marty Page #14

He has reached the street landing and waits for Clara to

catch up with him. They stand in front of the glass doors

leading to the street.

BALLROOM VESTIBULE. GLASS DOORS.

MARTY:

(prattling on)

I was pretty good in high school. I

sound like a jerk now, but I was

pretty good. I graduated with an

eighty-two average. That ain't bad.

I was accepted at City College. I

filled out the application and

everything, but my old man died, so

I hadda go to work. My best class

was German. That was my first

language. Der, die, das -- des, der,

des. There you are, I still

remember...

He pushes the glass door open to...

THE STREET OUTSIDE THE STARDUST BALLROOM.

As Marty and Clara emerge onto the sidewalk of West Farms

Square, they pause again.

It is about nine o'clock, and the busy street is brightly

lit from the stores.

PASSERSBY hurry on their way. The elevated subway RUMBLES

over-head intermittently.

MARTY:

(chattering on)

You know what I was good at in high

school? I was good in Math. You know

how long ago I graduated high school?

June, nineteen-thirty-seven. Holy

cow! June, nineteen-thirty-seven!

What is that? Fifteen, seventeen

years ago! Holy cow! Seventeen years

ago! Is that right? Seventeen, that's

right. Where did it all go? I'm

getting old. I'm gonna be thirty-

five November eighth. Thirty-five.

Wow. Time goes on, boy.

He takes her arm, and they start walking.

MARTY:

Nineteen-thirty-seven... that's right.

My old man died December, nineteen-

thirty-seven.

SIDEWALK.

MOVING SHOT as they stroll toward the corner of Jerome and

Burnside Avenues.

MARTY:

Two o'clock in the morning he died.

The doorbell rings, and I knew

something was wrong right away.

Because my room is onna ground floor

inna front, you see, and I got outta

bed, and I answered the door...

CAMERA HOLDS as Marty, caught in his story, stops and

continues intently.

MARTY:

There was Mr. Stern. He had a house

down about a block from us. He moved

out though. My old man, he used to

play cards with him and some other

old guys. He's a Jewish feller. So

he said, "Is your mother home?" So I

knew right away there was something

wrong. I was only eighteen, exactly

eighteen years old, just the month

before. So I said, "Is something

wrong, Mr. Stern?" I was in my

pajamas, you know? So he said, "Marty,

your father died." My father died

right inna middle of playing cards,

right at the table. He had a heart

attack. He had low blood pressure,

my old man. He used to faint a lot.

Suddenly he looks at Clara, rather startled.

MARTY:

Boy, am I talking, I never talked so

much in my life. Usually, everybody

comes to me and tells me all their

troubles. Well, I'm gonna shut up

now, and I'm gonna let you get a

word in...

He takes her arm again, and they continue strolling toward

the corner intersection in silence.

MARTY:

Seventeen years ago. What I been

doing with myself all that time?...

Well, I'm talking again. I must be

driving you crazy. Mosta the time

I'm with a girl, I can't find a word

to say. Well, I'm gonna shut up now.

Because I'm not like this usually.

Usually, I... well, here I go again.

They reach the corner intersection. CAMERA HOLDS on Marty as

he pauses again. He stares at Clara, confused at his strange

loquacity.

MARTY:

I can't shut my mouth... I'm on a

jag, for Pete's sake. You'd think I

was loaded...

Marty stares at Clara, absolutely aghast at his inability to

stop talking.

MARTY:

I can't stop talking! Isn't this

stupid?!

He stands there in the middle of the sidewalk with PEOPLE

moving past, back and forth. Marty continues to stare at

Clara, his broad face widened by a foolish, confused smile.

Clara regards him affectionately.

MARTY:

(with sudden sincerity)

You gotta real nice face, you know?

It's really a nice face.

CLARA:

Thank you.

They stroll along farther up the noisy, jangled, trafficked

Saturday night avenue.

GRAND CONCOURSE LUNCHEONETTE. NIGHT.

Rate this script:3.5 / 2 votes