Some Like It Hot Page #34

SUGAR:

You poor, poor boy.

JOE:

Yes -- all the money in the world --

but what good is it?

(holding out serving

plate)

Mint sauce or cranberries?

SUGAR:

How can you think about food at a

time like this?

JOE:

What else is there for me?

(tears off leg of

pheasant)

SUGAR:

Is it that hopeless?

JOE:

(eating)

My family did everything they could --

hired the most beautiful French

upstairs maids -- got a special tutor

to read me all the books that were

banned in Boston -- imported a whole

troupe of Balinese dancers with bells

on their ankles and those long

fingernails -- what a waste of money!

SUGAR:

Have you ever tried American girls?

JOE:

Why?

She kisses him -- pretty good, but nothing spectacular.

SUGAR:

Is that anything?

JOE:

(shaking his head)

Thanks just the same.

He resumes nibbling on the pheasant leg, sits on the couch.

SUGAR:

Maybe if you saw a good doctor...

JOE:

I have. Spent six months in Vienna

with Professor Freud -- flat on my

back --

(stretches out the

couch, still eating)

then there were the Mayo Brothers --

and injections and hypnosis and

mineral baths -- if I weren't such a

coward, I'd kill myself.

SUGAR:

Don't talk like that. I'm sure there

must be some girl some place that

could --

JOE:

If I ever found a girl that could --

I'd marry her like that.

He snaps his fingers. The word "marriage" makes something

snap inside Sugar, too.

SUGAR:

Would you do me a favor?

JOE:

What is it?

SUGAR:

I may not be Dr. Freud or a Mayo

Brother or one of those French

upstairs girls -- but could I take

another crack at it?

JOE:

(blase)

All right -- if you insist.

She bends over him, gives him a kiss of slightly higher

voltage.

SUGAR:

Anything this time?

JOE:

I'm afraid not. Terribly sorry.

SUGAR:

(undaunted)

Would you like a little more

champagne?

(proceeds to refill

glasses)

And maybe if we had some music --

(indicating lights)

-- how do you dim these lights?

JOE:

Look, it's terribly sweet of you to

want to help out -- but it's no use.

(pointing)

think the light switch is over there --

(Sugar dims lights)

-- and that's the radio.

(Sugar switches it on)

It's like taking somebody to a concert

when he's tone deaf.

By this time there is only candlelight in the salon, and

from the radio comes soft music -- STAIRWAY TO THE STARS.

Sugar crosses to the couch with two champagne glasses, hands

one to Joe, sits beside him. Joe drinks down the champagne,

and Sugar hands him the second glass. He drains that, too.

SUGAR:

You're not giving yourself a chance.

Don't fight it. Relax.

(she kisses him again)

JOE:

(shaking his head)

It's like smoking without inhaling.

SUGAR:

So inhale!

This kiss is the real McCoy. As they stay locked in each

other's arms --

WIPE TO:

INT. ROADHOUSE - NIGHT

It is small, dark, and practically deserted. The Cuban band

is playing LA CUMPARSITA. Among the dancers on the floor are

Osgood and Jerry, easily the most stylish couple in the joint.

Jerry has the flower tucked in his cleavage. As they tango --

OSGOOD:

Daphne...

JERRY:

Yes, Osgood?

OSGOOD:

You're leading again.

JERRY:

Sorry.

They tango on.

WIPE BACK TO:

INT. SALON OF CALEDONIA - NIGHT

Joe and Sugar are still in the same embrace. The radio music

continues. Finally they break.

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