Some Like It Hot Page #18

As Sugar heads for the water fountain, Joe starts to pull

the other girls out.

GIRLS:

Aw, don't be a flat tire. Have a

Manhattan. Come on in. There's lots

of room in the back.

JOE:

Ssh. Pipe down. We'll all be fired.

Jerry sticks his head out, looks after Sugar.

JERRY:

(plaintively)

Sugar -- don't you leave me here

alone, Sugar.

Sugar has pried open the panel under the water fountain, and

reaching inside, drags out a huge cake of ice. Not quite

knowing what to do with it, she thrusts it into Joe's hands,

and turns quickly to the pile of instruments stashed between

some empty seats.

JOE:

(unaware of the cake

of ice in his hands)

Come on, kids. Give up, will you?

The party's over. Everybody go home.

(suddenly notices the

ice)

What's this?

By this time, Sugar has unscrewed a cymbal from the drum,

and is holding the drummer's metal brush.

SUGAR:

(beckoning to Joe)

Josephine, over here. Before it melts.

She heads for the women's lounge. Joe looks at her, looks at

the ice, and not knowing what else to do with it, follows

her through the curtains.

INT. WOMEN'S LOUNGE - NIGHT

Sugar comes in, followed by Josephine with the cake of ice.

SUGAR:

(pointing to sunken

washbowl)

Put it here.

JOE:

(dropping the ice in

the bowl)

Sugar, you're going to get yourself

into a lot of trouble.

SUGAR:

Better keep a lookout.

Joe crosses to the curtain, peers out. Sugar, using the handle

of the metal brush, starts to chop ice into the upturned

cymbal.

JOE:

If Bienstock catches you again --

What's the matter with you, anyway?

SUGAR:

I'm not very bright, I guess.

JOE:

I wouldn't say that. Careless, maybe.

SUGAR:

No, just dumb. If I had any brains,

I wouldn't be on this crummy train

with this crummy girls' band.

JOE:

Then why did you take this job?

SUGAR:

I used to sing with male bands. But

I can't afford it any more.

JOE:

Afford it?

SUGAR:

Have you ever been with a male band?

JOE:

Me?

SUGAR:

That's what I'm running away from. I

worked with six different ones in

the last two years. Oh, brother!

JOE:

Rough?

SUGAR:

I'll say.

JOE:

You can't trust those guys.

SUGAR:

I can't trust myself. The moment I'd

start with a new band -- bingo!

JOE:

Bingo?

SUGAR:

You see, I have this thing about

saxophone players.

JOE:

(abandoning his lookout

post)

Really?

SUGAR:

Especially tenor sax. I don't know

what it is, but they just curdle me.

All they have to do is play eight

bars of "Come to Me My Melancholy

Baby" -- and my spine turns to

custard, and I get goose-pimply all

over -- and I come to them.

JOE:

That so?

SUGAR:

(hitting her head)

Every time!

JOE:

(nonchalantly)

You know -- I play tenor sax.

SUGAR:

But you're a girl, thank goodness.

JOE:

(his throat drying up)

Yeah.

SUGAR:

That's why I joined this band. Safety

first. Anything to get away from

those bums.

JOE:

(drier yet)

Yeah.

SUGAR:

(hacking the ice

viciously)

You don't know what they're like.

You fall for them and you love 'em --

you think it's going to be the biggest

thing since the Graf Zeppelin -- and

the next thing you know they're

borrowing money from you and spending

it on other dames and betting on the

horses --

JOE:

You don't say?

SUGAR:

Then one morning you wake up and the

saxophone is gone and the guy is

gone, and all that's left behind is

a pair of old socks and a tube of

toothpaste, all squeezed out.

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