Midnight Cowboy Page #11

JOE (CONT'D)

Property of the YMCA. You make me

wanna puke sometimes, Ratso.

Ratso blows out the candle and wraps himself in blankets.

RATSO:

Joe -- do me one favor -- this is

my place, am I wrong? You know, in

my own place my name ain't Ratso. I

mean it so happens my name is

Enrico Salvatore Rizzo.

JOE:

Shee-it, man, I can't say all that.

RATSO:

Rico then, at least call me Rico in

my own goddam place.

JOE:

Rico! Rico! Rico! Is that enough?

(then)

And keep your meat hooks off my

radio.

EXT. VEGETABLE MARKET - DAY

Ratso wears a threadbare raincoat of faded black, several

sizes too large, as he shops with housewives at a sidewalk

vegetable stand -- elbowing his way through the ladies,

testing fruit, picking up vegetables and putting them back --

till the GREENGROCER spots him.

GREENGROCER:

You! Out! Out! I told you, I calla

cops!

The other shoppers deliberately turn their backs, avoiding

involvement. As the Greengrocer grabs Ratso, Joe ambles into

the scene, wearing his dangerous little smile.

JOE:

Hey, looka here, that ain't nice,

picking on a cripple...

Joe intervenes just long enough for Ratso to escape, then

ambles on, leaving the Greengrocer in frustrated fury. Camera

holds on a tray of coconuts.

INT. X FLAT - DAY

Joe lies on his cot, watching Ratso struggle to penetrate the

fibrous husk of a coconut, experimenting with a variety of

rusty tools in an old cigar box.

RATSO:

The two basic items necessary to

sustain life are sunshine and

coconut milk. That's a known fact.

If I can find the goddam hole the

milk squirts out.

JOE:

This is an okay setup you got here,

but I'd say you ain't just exactly,

uh, flush, is that right or not?

RATSO:

I been sick. Hold this, will ya?

Joe takes his time rising to hold the coconut while Ratso

tries to poke a hole with a bent ice-pick.

RATSO (CONT'D)

In Florida, they come smooth, ready

to eat.

Down there, your only problem is,

diet-wise, you gotta lift an arm to

wipe warm milk off your chin.

Tough, hey?

JOE:

I think finding you's the smartest

thing I ever did, for both of us.

You just the crooked kinda sneaky

little sidewinder I need to get me

hustling in this town. Hey!

Joe jerks his hand away just in time to avoid the ice-pick.

The coconut bounces on the floor. Ratso picks it up, holds

it, while Joe tries to crack it, swinging his boot like a

hammer.

RATSO:

Miami Beach is the only place for a

real hustler. Florida has more rich

chicks per square yard than any

resort spot in the world. They lie

out in their pagodas and pergolas

waiting to grab the first jockstrap

that passes.

JOE:

What's all this sweet talk about

Florida? Your friend O'Daniel got a

stable down there now?

Joe swings violently. Ratso yelps, hopping on his one good

leg, sucking his thumb.

RATSO:

Cowboy killers! Break my finger,

Christ! I got news for you, baby,

no chick with any class buys that

big dumb cowboy crap...

Ratso holds his thumb under the tub-sink faucet.

RATSO (CONT'D)

... the cowboy bit's out, except

among fags of a certain type, which

take a certain, type hustler to

exploit. Like I could handle it --

being a stealing operation

basically -- but take your average

fag, very few of them want a

cripple.

Joe holds the coconut like Yorick's skull, thinking hard.*

JOE:

Well, I am dumb, that's for sure. I

don't talk right. I can't think too

good. Just only one thing I ever

been good for's loving. Women go

crazy for me. Fact. Crazy Annie.

Had to send her away. So I don't

cash in on that, what am I? I'm

shee-it. May's well flush me down

that hole with the dishwater.

Joe sets the coconut on the floor, holding it with both hands

while he tries to smash it with the heel of his boot.

JOE (CONT'D)

That's why you gonna stop crapping

about Florida and get your skinny

butt moving to earn twenty bucks

worth of management you owe me...

INT. ROOM 1014 - DAY

The suitcase lies open, displaying Joe's wardrobe.

JOE'S VOICE

Make that twenty-three bucks.

INT. X FLAT - DAY

Joe slams his heel down. The coconut shoots out from under

him and he lands on his ass.

RATSO:

Look at yourself, Joe, no offense,

but frankly, you're beginning to

smell. For a stud in this town

that's a handicap.

JOE:

You talk like a man with a tin

twat.

Ratso sets the coconut on the window sill, balancing it as he

raises the X window.

RATSO:

You ain't got a chance in hell. You

need threads and glitter, baby. A

front, hey?

JOE:

Well, uh, my manager's gonna manage

all that crap, or else he gonna get

a coconut up his flue.

Joe slams, the window down. The coconut flies down to crash

O.S. on the sidewalk below.

EXT. SIDEWALK - DAY

An alley cat laps up the milk of the broken coconut.

EXT. TIMES SQUARE - FANTASY

Joe stands naked in the middle of traffic. A siren shrills.

Anastasia, catatonic in a hospital smock, moves toward Joe

like a sleepwalker, passing through him.

INT. LAUNDROMAT - DAY

Wearing only his boots, Joe sits like an Indian chief,

wrapped in a blanket -- angle widening to show Ratso,

spotting Joe's jacket, slacks and shirt with cleaning fluid --

his eyes on a very pregnant Italian lady. As she starts to

load a coin cleaning machine, Ratso intervenes solicitously,

speaking in Italian...

RATSO:

A woman in your condition shouldn't

do that. Let me help...

... adroitly slipping Joe's cleaning in with her load as she

turns to seat herself beside Joe.

JOE'S VOICE

It ain't right, stealing from a

pregnant lady.

INT. HAT CLEANERS - DAY

Joe and Ratso stand waiting at the counter.

RATSO:

What did it cost her? The

laundromat syndicate lost a couple

coins. I'm crying.

The owner brings Joe's clean and blocked Stetson from the

rear of the shop. Joe sets it on his head and examines

himself in a mirror as the owner hands Ratso, the bill.

RATSO (CONT'D)

Where's mine? The black homburg? I

brought it in the same time.

The owner glances at the slip, puzzled, returns to the rear

of the shop to search for the nonexistent homburg. Ratso

quickly drags Joe away from the mirror and out of the shop.

INT. SUBWAY ARCADE - NIGHT

The rhythmic duet of boots and loafers follows Joe and Ratso

- checking coin boxes and telephone booths -- till they reach

a shoeshine stand, locked for the night. They loiter till a

young couple has disappeared, then Joe kicks loose 'the

padlock on the equipment drawer, mounts one of the chairs and

Ratso goes to work on his boots with furious expertise,

flourishing double brushes, snapping the rag like a jazz

drummer.

JOE:

Hey, you're good! I bet you could

pick up a living at this if you

tried.

RATSO:

And end up a hunchback like my old

man? You think I'm crippled? You

shoulda caught him the end of a

day.

Ratso demonstrates a chimpanzee walk. Joe laughs. Ratso turns

back in panic as another man takes a chair next to Joe. Ratso

is about to retuse when a cop takes the third chair, swinging

his handcuffs around to the front, tapping his shoe with his

night stick. Ratso quickly drops a rag over the broken

padlock, cursing under his breath as he starts working on all

three customers at the same time.

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