The Apartment Page #10

BUD:

Not yet. But I hear it's one swell

show.

SHELDRAKE:

How would you like to go tonight?

BUD:

You mean -- you and me? I thought

you were taking the branch manager

from Kansas City --

SHELDRAKE:

I made other plans. You can have

both tickets.

BUD:

Well, that's very kind of you --

only I'm not feeling well -- you

see, I have this cold -- and I

thought I'd go straight home.

SHELDRAKE:

Baxter, you're not reading me. I

told you I have plans.

BUD:

So do I -- I'm going to take four

aspirins and get into bed -- so you

better give the tickets to somebody

else --

SHELDRAKE:

I'm not just giving those tickets,

Baxter -- I want to swap them.

BUD:

Swap them? For what?

Sheldrake picks up the Dobisch reports, puts on his glasses,

turns a page.

SHELDRAKE:

It also says here -- that you are

alert, astute, and quite

imaginative --

BUD:

Oh?

(the dawn is breaking)

Oh!

He reaches into his coat pocket, fishes out a handful of

Kleenex, and then finally the key to his apartment. He holds

it up.

BUD:

This?

SHELDRAKE:

That's good thinking, Baxter. Next

month there's going to be a shift

in personnel around here -- and as

far as I'm concerned, you're

executive material.

BUD:

I am?

SHELDRAKE:

Now put down the key --

(pushing a pad toward him)

-- and put down the address.

Bud lays the key on the desk, unclips what he thinks is his

fountain pen, uncaps it, starts writing on the pad.

BUD:

It's on the second floor - my name

is not on the door -- it just says

2A --

Suddenly he realizes that he has been trying to write the

address with the thermometer.

BUD:

Oh -- terribly sorry. It's that

cold --

SHELDRAKE:

Relax, Baxter.

BUD:

Thank you, sir.

He has replaced the thermometer with the fountain pen, and

is scribbling the address.

BUD:

You'll be careful with the record

player, won't you? And about the

liquor -- I ordered some this

morning -- but I'm not sure when

they'll deliver it --

He has finished writing the address, shoves the pad over to

Sheldrake.

SHELDRAKE:

Now remember, Baxter -- this is

going to be our little secret.

BUD:

Yes, of course.

SHELDRAKE:

You know how people talk.

BUD:

Oh, you don't have to worry --

SHELDRAKE:

Not that I have anything to hide.

BUD:

Oh, no sir. Certainly not. Anyway,

it's none of my business -- four

apples, five apples -- what's the

difference -- percentage-wise?

SHELDRAKE:

(holding out the tickets)

Here you are, Baxter. Have a nice

time.

BUD:

You too, sir.

Clutching the tickets, he backs out of the office.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. LOBBY INSURANCE BUILDING - EVENING

It is about 6:
30, and the building has pretty well emptied

out by now. Bud, in raincoat and hat, is leaning against one

of the marble pillars beyond the elevators. His raincoat is

unbuttoned, and Fran's carnation is still in his lapel. He

is looking off expectantly toward a door marked EMPLOYEES'

LOUNGE - WOMEN.

Some of the female employees are emerging, dressed for the

street. Among them are Sylvia and her colleague from the

switchboard.

SYLVIA:

So I figure, a man in his position,

he's going to take me to 21 and El

Morocco -- instead, he takes me to

Hamburg Heaven and some schnook's

apartment --

They pass Bud without paying any attention to him. Bud has

heard the crack, and looks after Sylvia, a little hurt. Then

he glances back toward the door of the lounge, as it opens

and Fran Kubelik comes out. She is wearing a wool coat over

a street dress, no hat.

FRAN:

(passing Bud)

Good night.

BUD:

(casually)

Good night.

She is about three paces beyond him when he suddenly realizes

who it is.

BUD:

Oh -- Miss Kubelik.

(he rushes after her,

taking off his hat)

I've been waiting for you.

FRAN:

You have?

BUD:

I almost didn't recognize you --

this is the first time I've ever

seen you in civilian clothes.

FRAN:

How'd you make out on the twenty-

seventh floor?

BUD:

Great. Look -- have you seen The

Music Man?

FRAN:

No.

BUD:

Would you like to?

FRAN:

Sure.

BUD:

I thought maybe we could have a

bite to eat first -- and then --

FRAN:

You mean tonight?

BUD:

Yeah.

FRAN:

I'm sorry, but I can't tonight. I'm

meeting somebody.

BUD:

Oh.

(a beat)

You mean -- like a girl-friend?

FRAN:

No. Like a man.

She proceeds across the lobby toward the street entrance,

Bud following her.

BUD:

I wasn't trying to be personal --

it's just that the fellows in the

office were -- whether you wondering

about you ever --

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