The Apartment Page #11

FRAN:

Just tell 'em -- now and then.

BUD:

This date -- is it just a date --

or is it something serious?

FRAN:

It used to be serious -- at least I

was -- but he wasn't -- so the

whole thing is more or less kaputt.

BUD:

Well, in that case, couldn't you -- ?

FRAN:

I'm afraid not. I promised to have

a drink with him -- he's been

calling me all week --

BUD:

Oh, I understand.

He follows her out through the revolving doors.

EXT. INSURANCE BUILDING - EVENING

Fran and Bud come out.

BUD:

(putting his hat on)

Well, it was just an idea -- I hate

to see a ticket go to waste --

FRAN:

(stops)

What time does the show go on?

BUD:

Eight-thirty.

FRAN:

(looks at her watch)

Well -- I could meet you at the

theatre -- if that's all right.

BUD:

All right? That's wonderful! It's

the Majestic -- 44th Street.

FRAN:

Meet you in the lobby. Okay?

Bud nods happily, falls in beside her as she starts down the

street.

BUD:

You know, I felt so lousy this

morning -- a hundred and one

fever -- then my promotion came

up -- now you and I -- eleventh row

center -- and you said I should

have stayed in bed.

FRAN:

How is your cold?

BUD:

(high as a kite)

What cold? And after the show, we

could go out on the town --

(does a little cha

cha step)

I've been taking from Arthur Murray.

FRAN:

So I see.

BUD:

They got a great little band at El

Chico, in the Village -- it's

practically around the corner from

where you live.

FRAN:

Sounds good.

(a sudden thought)

How do you know where I live?

BUD:

Oh, I even know who you live

with -- your sister and brother-in-

law -- I know when you were born --

and where -- I know all sorts of

things about you.

FRAN:

How come?

BUD:

A couple of months ago I looked up

your card in the group insurance

file.

FRAN:

Oh.

BUD:

I know your height, your weight and

your Social Security number -- you

had mumps, you had measles, and you

had your appendix out.

They have now reached the corner, and Fran stops.

FRAN:

Well, don't tell the fellows in the

office about the appendix. They may

get the wrong idea how you found

out.

(turning the corner)

'Bye.

BUD:

(calling after her)

Eight-thirty!

He watches her walk away, an idiot grin on his face. Despite

what he told Fran, his nose is stuffed up, so he takes out

the anti-histamine and sprays his nostrils. Then, carried

away, he squirts some of the stuff on the carnation in his

buttonhole, moves off in the opposite direction.

EXT. DOWNTOWN STREET - EVENING

Fran comes hurrying along the street. She is late. Her

objective is a small Chinese restaurant, with a neon sign

reading THE RICKSHAW - COCKTAILS - CANTONESE FOOD. She

starts down a flight of steps leading to the entrance.

INT. CHINESE RESTAURANT - EVENING

The bar is a long, narrow, dimly-lit room with booths along

one side. Beyond a bamboo curtain is the main dining room,

which does not concern us. The place is decorated in Early

Beachcomber style rattan, fish-nets, conch-shells, etc.

The help is Chinese. At this early hour, there are only half

a dozen customers in the place -- all at the bar except for

one man, sitting in the last booth with his back toward

camera. At a piano, a Chinese member of Local 808 is

improvising mood music.

Fran comes through the door, and without looking around,

heads straight for the last booth. The bartender nods to

her -- they know her there. As she passes the piano player,

he gives her a big smile, segues into JEALOUS LOVER.

Fran comes up to the man sitting in the last booth.

FRAN:

(a wistful smile)

Good evening, Mr. Sheldrake.

Sheldrake, for that's who it is, looks around nervously to

make sure no one has heard her.

SHELDRAKE:

Please, Fran -- not so loud.

(he gets up)

FRAN:

Still afraid somebody may see us

together?

SHELDRAKE:

(reaching for her coat)

Let me take that.

FRAN:

No, Jeff. I can't stay very long.

(sits opposite him,

with her coat on)

Can I have a frozen daiquiri?

SHELDRAKE:

It's on the way.

(sits down)

I see you went ahead and cut your

hair.

FRAN:

That's right.

SHELDRAKE:

You know I liked it better long.

FRAN:

Yes, I know. You want a lock to

carry in your wallet?

A waiter comes up with a tray: two daiquiris, fried shrimp,

eggrolls, and a bowl of sauce.

WAITER:

(showing all his teeth)

Evening, lady. Nice see you again.

FRAN:

Thank you.

The waiter has set everything on the table, leaves.

SHELDRAKE:

How long has it been -- a month?

FRAN:

Six weeks. But who's counting?

SHELDRAKE:

I missed you, Fran.

FRAN:

Like old times. Same booth, same

song --

SHELDRAKE:

It's been hell.

FRAN:

(dipping shrimp)

-- same sauce -- sweet and sour.

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