Some Like It Hot Page #37

JOE:

Gee, I wish I'd been there.

SUGAR:

I'm going to see him again tonight --

and every night -- I think he's going

to propose to me -- as soon as he

gets up his nerve.

JERRY:

(looking at Joe)

That's some nerve!

JOE:

(covering up quickly)

Daphne got a proposal tonight.

JERRY:

Really?

SUGAR:

From a rich millionaire.

JERRY:

That's wonderful.

(suddenly turning to

Joe)

Poor Josephine.

JOE:

(startled)

Me?

SUGAR:

Daphne has a beau -- I have a beau --

if we could only find somebody for

you.

The door opens, and in strides the fresh Bellhop, gin bottle

in one hand and the passkey in the other.

BELLHOP:

Here I am, doll!

Joe disappears under the covers.

FADE OUT:

FADE IN:

INT. LOBBY SEMINOLE-RITZ HOTEL - DAY

We are CLOSE on a doormat bearing the name SEMINOLE-RITZ

HOTEL. A pair of men's feet step across the mat, the shoes

encased in white linen spats.

CAMERA PULLS BACK TO REVEAL Spats Colombo entering the lobby,

surrounded by his four henchmen and followed by bellhops

carrying their luggage. The henchmen are all dolled up for

Florida -- knickers, Panamas, two-toned shoes -- and one of

them is carrying a golf bag.

Spats is somewhat more conservatively dressed in a light

gray business suit. They stop and look around.

Draped across the rear wall is an impressive banner reading:

WELCOME DELEGATES

10TH ANNUAL CONVENTION

FRIENDS OF ITALIAN OPERA

SECOND HENCHMAN:

(reading banner)

Friends of Eye-talian Opera -- hey,

that's us!

A convention official, wearing a badge and ribbon identifying

him as a committee member, comes up to Spats.

FIRST OFFICIAL:

Register over there.

Spats nods to his boys, and they move toward the registration

desk, past other groups of delegates. You would hate to meet

any of these mugs in a dark alley, but what makes it

heartwarming is that they all have a cauliflower ear for

good music.

Sitting on a settee is a gentleman reading the Police Gazette.

As he lowers the paper, we see it's our friend Mulligan, the

Federal agent. He looks after Spats and his boys with a wry

smile.

At the desk, Spats and his group are identifying themselves

to the registrar. Leaning against a column, supervising the

proceedings, is a dark, menacing young hoodlum, JOHNNY

PARADISE. He is insolently flipping a half dollar in the

air.

SPATS:

(to registrar)

Spats Colombo -- delegate from Chicago --

South Side chapter.

The registrar pins an identification tag on his lapel.

PARADISE:

Hi, Spats. We was laying eight to

one you wouldn't show.

SPATS:

Why wouldn't I?

PARADISE:

We thought you was all broken up

about Toothpick Charlie.

SPATS:

Well, we all got to go sometime.

PARADISE:

Yeah. You never know who's going to

be next.

(jerks his thumb toward

screen)

Okay, Spats. Report to the Sergeant-

at-Arms.

SPATS:

What for?

PARADISE:

Orders from Little Bonaparte.

Spats has now been joined by the four henchmen, who have

also received their identification tags, and Paradise motions

them behind the screen.

Behind the screen, a couple of officials are waiting.

SECOND OFFICIAL:

Put 'em up, Spats.

SPATS:

What's the idea?

SECOND OFFICIAL:

Little Bonaparte don't want no

hardware around.

Spats reluctantly complies and the official frisks him.

SECOND OFFICIAL:

(continues)

Okay -- you're clean.

SPATS:

(tapping official's

pocket)

You're not.

He pulls an automatic out of the official's shoulder holster,

tosses it into a wire basket which already holds a large

collection of hardware.

The official glares at him, then turns and runs his hands

down the First Henchman. He feels something at the bottom of

one of his knickers, pulls elastic cuff. A gun drops out.

FIRST HENCHMAN:

It ain't loaded.

The official pulls the elastic of the other knicker, and

several dozen bullets drop to the floor. The official kicks

them away, faces the henchman with the golf bag.

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