Some Like It Hot Page #6

JOE:

Isn't she a bit of terrific?

(busses Nellie on the

cheek; to Jerry)

Come on -- let's talk to Poliakoff.

They start toward the door of the inner office.

NELLIE:

You better wait a minute, boys --

he's got some people in there with

him.

That stops them.

INT. POLIAKOFF'S INNER OFFICE - DAY

The room is small and cluttered, and the walls are covered

with photographs of Poliakoff's clients -- bands, vocalists,

trios, radio personalities.

Sitting behind the desk, speaking urgently into the phone,

is SIG POLIAKOFF, a gruff, likable man in his fifties. Pacing

up and down on the other side of the desk is SWEET SUE,

flashily-dressed broad, who has seen thirty summers and a

few hard winters. As she paces, she nervously flips a large

white pill from one hand to the other. Slouched in a chair

is BIENSTOCK, a somewhat prissy man of forty wearing thick

glasses. He has a card file on his lap, is thumbing through

it.

POLIAKOFF:

(into phone)

Look, Gladys, it's three weeks in

Florida -- Sweet Sue and Her Society

Syncopators -- they need a couple of

girls on sax and bass -- what do you

mean, who is this? Sig Poliakoff. I

got a job for you -- Gladys, are you

there?

(hangs up)

Meshugeh! Played for a hundred and

twelve hours at a marathon dance,

and now she's in bed with a nervous

collapse.

SUE:

Tell her to move over.

She has poured herself a glass of water from a pitcher on

the desk, and now she plops the pill into her mouth, washes

it down.

BIENSTOCK:

(looking up from file)

What about Cora Jackson?

POLIAKOFF:

The last I heard, she was playing

with the Salvation Army, yet.

(consulting list on

desk; into phone)

Drexel 9044.

Sue has wandered over to one of the framed photos on the

wall. It shows Sue posed in front of her band -- sixteen

girls, all blonde, all in identical gowns. On the drum it

says SWEET SUE AND HER SOCIETY SYNCOPATORS.

SUE:

Those idiot broads! Here we are all

packed to go to Miami, and what

happens? The saxophone runs off with

a Bible salesman, and the bass fiddle

gets herself pregnant.

(turning to Bienstock)

I ought to fire you, Bienstock.

BIENSTOCK:

Me? I'm the manager of the band --

not the night watchman.

POLIAKOFF:

(into phone)

Hello? Let me talk to Bessie Malone --

what's she doing in Philadelphia? --

on the level?

(hangs up)

Bessie let her hair grow and is

playing with Stokowski.

SUE:

Black Bottom Bessie?

POLIAKOFF:

Schpielt zich mit der Philharmonic.

BIENSTOCK:

How about Rosemary Schultz?

POLIAKOFF:

Did you hear? She slashed her wrists

when Valentino died!

SUE:

We might as well all slash our wrists

if we don't round up two dames by

this evening.

She picks up her handbag. Bienstock rises, takes his glasses

off, puts them in his pocket.

BIENSTOCK:

Look, Sig, you know the kind of girls

we need. We don't care where you

find them -- just get them on that

train by eight o'clock.

POLIAKOFF:

Be nonchalant. Trust Poliakoff. The

moment anything turns up, I'll give

you a little tingle.

SUE:

Bye, Sig.

(feels her tummy)

I wonder if I have room for another

ulcer?

Bienstock opens the door, and follows Sue into the outer

office. Joe and Jerry, who have been biding their time

outside, slip in and shut the door after them.

JOE:

Hey, Sig -- can we talk to you?

POLIAKOFF:

(into phone)

Nellie, get me long distance.

(to the boys)

What is it?

JERRY:

It's about the Florida job.

POLIAKOFF:

The Florida job?

JOE:

Nellie told us about it.

JERRY:

We're not too late, are we?

POLIAKOFF:

What are you -- a couple of comedians?

Get out of here!

(into phone)

Long distance? Get me the William

Morris Agency in New York.

JOE:

You need a bass and a sax, don't

you?

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