Some Like It Hot Page #21

In Upper 2, Joe lies facing the window. The curtains part

gingerly, and Jerry sticks his head in.

JERRY:

(a honeyed whisper)

Sugar -- Sugar baby --

Joe opens his eyes wide, and is about to turn around, but

Jerry puts a restraining hand on his shoulder.

JERRY:

(continuing)

Sssh. Don't move. It's me -- Daphne.

We don't want to wake up Bienstock.

He slips into the berth, and the curtains close behind him.

It's pretty dark now. Jerry stretches out on top of the

covers, addresses the back of Joe's head. Joe, a grim

expression on his face, is waiting to see how far Jerry will

go.

JERRY:

(continuing; the big

moment)

You know what I promised you before --

that surprise -- well, I better break

it to you gently. In the first place,

I'm not a natural blonde -- as a

matter of fact, there are all sorts

of things about me that are not

natural -- you see, my friend and I --

the reason we're on the train with

you girls -- well, you know those

holes in the bull-fiddle -- that

wasn't mice -- what I'm trying to

say is -- my name isn't really Daphne --

it's Geraldine -- I mean, Jerry --

and you know why it's Jerry? --

because I'm a boy!

He sweeps his blonde wig off. Joe, who's had enough, makes a

move to sit up, but Jerry pushes him back gently.

JERRY:

(continuing)

Don't scream, please. Don't spoil it --

it's too beautiful. Just think of

it, you and I -- same berth, opposite

sexes -- male and female -- he and

she -- the moth and the flame --

(takes Joe's hand,

puts it on his heart)

Feel my heart -- like a crazy drum.

(starts kissing Joe's

hand)

I'm mad for you, Sugar.

(breathing heavily)

What are we going to do about it?

Joe has had it. Wheeling around, he grabs Jerry by the front

of his nightgown, starts to shake him like a terrier shaking

a rat.

JERRY:

(continuing; nonplussed)

Sugar, what are you doing?

Don't get sore, baby --

Beginning to realize something may be wrong, Jerry reaches

up and switches on the light. There is something wrong.

JOE:

(holding Jerry with

one hand, cocking

the other)

Male and female -- the moth and the

flame -- I ought to slug you!

JERRY:

(slapping wig back on

his head)

You wouldn't hit a girl, would you?

FADE OUT:

FADE IN:

EXT. SEMINOLE-RITZ HOTEL - DAY

The sprawling gingerbread structure basks in the warm Florida

sun, fanned by towering palm trees, and lulled by waves

breaking lazily on the exclusive beach frontage.

Wintertime and the livin' is easy, fish are jumpin' and the

market is high.

The hotel bus chugs up the curved driveway toward the main

entrance, hauling the Society Syncopators fromt he station.

The rear of the bus is loaded with luggage and instruments.

From inside comes the SOUND of girls' voices, singing DOWN

AMONG THE SHELTERING PALMS.

On the hotel veranda, creaking in their rocking chairs, are

a dozen elderly gentlemen. They are all in resort clothes --

white flannels, striped flannels, knickers, Panama hats,

white linen caps -- and they are all reading the Wall Street

Journal. Their combined age must be about a thousand years,

and their combined bank balance just about as many millions.

As they hear the bus drawing up, they stop rocking, and slowly

lower their Wall Street Journals. They are all wearing

sunglasses, and leaning forward, they peer through them at

the new arrivals.

In the driveway, the girls are climbing out of the bus,

luggage and instruments are being unloaded. Jerry helps Sugar

down, while Joe gets their instruments out of the pile. He

hands the bull-fiddle case to Jerry, the ukulele case to

Sugar.

JERRY:

(taking the ukulele

from Sugar)

I'll carry the instruments.

SUGAR:

Thank you, Daphne.

JOE:

(handing Jerry the

saxophone case)

Thank you, Daphne.

(to Sugar)

Isn't she a sweetheart?

He leads her toward the entrance. Jerry, loaded down with

bass fiddle, ukulele and sax, glares after them -- angrily,

then follows them, balancing precariously on his high heels.

On the veranda, the twelve rich dodos remove their sunglasses

to get a better look at the girls. The one nearest to the

steps is OSGOOD FIELDING III.

He is a bit younger than the others, but that still puts him

in his late fifties. He wears white plus-fours, argyle socks,

two-toned shoes, and a gleam in his eye. He tips his Panama

hat rakishly as the girl musicians mount the steps.

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