Some Like It Hot Page #12

ROSELLA:

Take your corsets off and spread

out.

JERRY:

Oh, I never wear one.

OLGA:

Don't you bulge?

JERRY:

Oh, no. I have the most divine little

seamstress that comes in once a month --

and my dear, she's so inexpensive --

JOE:

Come on, Daphne.

DOLORES:

Say, kids, have you heard the one

about the girl tuba player that was

stranded on a desert island with a

one-legged jockey?

JERRY:

No -- how does it go?

BIENSTOCK:

(coming up)

Now cut that out, girls -- none of

that rough talk.

(as Joe and Jerry

move off)

They went to a conservatory.

There is a general horse-laugh from the girls. Joe and Jerry

have now reached their seats, and are taking off their coats.

JERRY:

(in a delighted whisper)

How about that talent? This is like

falling into a tub of butter.

JOE:

Watch it, Daphne!

JERRY:

When I was a kid, I used to have a

dream -- I was locked up in this

pastry shop overnight -- with all

kinds of goodies around -- jelly

rolls and mocha eclairs and sponge

cake and Boston cream pie and cherry

tarts --

JOE:

Listen, stupe -- no butter and no

pastry. We're on a diet!

Jerry starts to hang his coat across a cord running above

the window.

JOE:

(grabbing him)

Not there -- that's the emergency

brake.

JERRY:

(clutching bosom)

Now you've done it!

JOE:

Done what?

JERRY:

Tore off one of my chests.

JOE:

You'd better go fix it.

JERRY:

You better come help me.

Jerry leads the way toward the rest rooms, which are just

beyond their seat. Instinctively he heads for the one marked

MEN. Joe grabs him, steers him back toward the one marked

WOMEN.

JOE:

This way, Daphne.

JERRY:

(clasping his chest

desperately)

Now you tore the other one.

Joe opens the curtain, propels him inside.

INT. WOMEN'S LOUNGE

There is another customer there -- Sugar. She has one leg up

on the leather settee, her skirt is slightly raised, and she

is about to remove a small silver flask tucked under her

garter. As Jerry and Joe come in, she guiltily pulls her

skirt down.

SUGAR:

OH!

JERRY:

(arms folded across

chest)

Terribly sorry.

SUGAR:

(relieved)

That's all right. I was afraid it

was Sweet Sue. You won't tell anybody,

will you?

JOE:

Tell what?

SUGAR:

(taking the flask out

and unscrewing the

cap)

If they catch me once more, they'll

boot me out of the band.

(pours a drink into a

paper cup)

You the replacement for the bass and

the sax?

JERRY:

That's us. I'm Daphne -- and this is

Josephine.

SUGAR:

I'm Sugar Cane. I changed it. It

used to be Sugar Kowalczyk.

JERRY:

Polish?

SUGAR:

Yes. I come from a very musical

family. My mother is a piano teacher

and my father was a conductor.

JOE:

Where did he conduct?

SUGAR:

On the Baltimore and Ohio.

JOE:

Oh.

SUGAR:

I play the ukulele. And I sing too.

JERRY:

(to Joe)

She sings, too.

SUGAR:

I don't really have much of a voice --

but then it's not much of a band,

either. I'm only with 'em because

I'm running away.

JOE:

Running away? From what?

SUGAR:

Don't get me started on that.

(extending flask)

Want a drink? It's bourbon.

As Jerry reaches for it, his bosom starts to slip again, and

he quickly refolds his arms.

JERRY:

We'll take a rain check.

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