Platinum Blonde Page #16

STEW:

(grinning sheepishly)

Well, if it isn't old Fagin[9]

himself.

Conroy sits down at the table.

STEW:

Gallagher and myself just came

over here to do a little work on a

story -

CONROY:

(disgustedly)

Baloney!

(calls off)

Joe! Bring me a special!

CLOSER THREE SHOT

Gallagher tries to be very bright and smiling.

GALLAGHER:

(to Conroy)

Isn't it swell about Stew's

marriage?

CONROY:

(looking straight

at her)

Is it?

Gallagher, self-conscious, realizes this tough old buzzard

is on to her. She looks back at him for a moment - then

drops her head. Stew is oblivious to this by-play. Conroy

turns to Stew.

CONROY:

Well, when are you quitting?

STEW:

Quitting? I'm not thinking about

quitting.

Joe comes in with a drink for Conroy.

CONROY:

take it you don't have to work for

a living any more—

He takes a sip of his drink and looks over meaningfully.

CONROY:

—Mr. Schuyler .

STEW:

(in a flash of anger)

Now get this, Conroy. My name is

Smith. Always was Smith - and always

gonna be Smith.

CONROY:

Is that so?

STEW:

That's so.

CLOSEUP - CONROY

He shows that he is genuinely interested in Stew and his

problems, but can't help being a little sarcastic.

CONROY:

Anne Schuyler's in the Blue Book -

you're not even in the phone book.

Think that one over, sucker.

CAMERA PANS to CLOSEUP of GALLAGHER.

GALLAGHER:

(quickly in Stew's

defense)

That doesn't make any difference—

(QUIETLY)

—if they love each other.

CAMERA PANS BACK to CLOSEUP of CONROY.

CONROY:

Blah! It's like a giraffe marrying

a monkey.

(looking off at

Stew)

Listen - you'll never be anything

but just the reporter that married

the Schuyler's millions. Stew Smith

is dead and buried. From now on,

you'll be just Anne Schuyler's

husband. A rich wife's magnolia.

If you can smoke that without

getting sick, you're welcome to

it.

CAMERA PANS to CLOSEUP of STEW:

GALLAGHER'S VOICE

But that's perfectly ridiculous.

STEW:

(defensively)

Wait a minute. Now, Gallagher, let

me do the talking. Get this, Conroy -

Anne Schuyler has got a lot of

dough, all right - and I married

her, all right - but her dough and

me? No connection.

MED. CLOSE THREE SHOT

Gallagher is looking fixedly at Stew - very much worried

about Conroy's dismal prophecies. Conroy shakes his head

in sorrowful gloom.

CONROY:

(as if he had not

heard Stew)

Just a boid in a gilded cage -

STEW:

A what?

CONROY:

You heard me. A bird in a gilded

cage.

STEW:

Aw, you've been reading a lot of

cheap tabloids. Anne and myself

are going to move downtown in a

nice little flat, we're gonna forget

all about this social stuff, and

we're gonna be known as Mr. and

Mrs. Stew Smith. How do you like

that?

CONROY:

(sarcasm)

And live on your salary, I suppose?

STEW:

Yeah, live on my salary - that is,

until I finish writing my play.

CONROY:

(snorts)

What play?

STEW:

My play.

CONROY:

The one about the Siberian

bloodhound?

STEW:

Siberian bloodhound? No. That's

been all rewritten. It's laid in

Araby now.

CONROY:

Araby?

STEW:

Sure.

CONROY:

Araby, my eye—!

111. WIDER SHOT

Conroy, having finished his drink, pushes back his chair

and rises. He puts an affectionate hand on Stew's shoulder.

CONROY:

Well, I'm sorry to see a good

reporter go blooey—

(starts away)

Let me know when you're quitting.

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