The Apartment Page #3

KIRKEBY:

(starting toward door)

You're on your way up, Buddy-boy.

And you're practically out of liquor.

BUD:

I know. Mr. Eichelberger -- in the

Mortgage Loan Department -- last

night he had a little Halloween

party here --

KIRKEBY:

Well, lay in some vodka and some

vermouth -- and put my name on it.

BUD:

Yes, Mr. Kirkeby. You still owe me

for the last two bottles --

KIRKEBY:

I'll pay you on Friday.

(in the open doorwaY)

And whatever happened to those

little cheese crackers you used to

have around?

He exits, shutting the door.

BUD:

(making a mental note)

Cheese crackers.

He carries his load into the kitchen.

The kitchen is minute and cluttered. On the drainboard are

an empty vermouth bottle, some ice-cube trays, a jar with

one olive in it, and a crumpled potato-chip bag.

Bud comes in, dumps his load on the drainboard, opens the

old-fashioned refrigerator. He takes out a frozen chicken

dinner, turns the oven on, lights it with a match, rips the

protective paper off the aluminum tray and shoves it in.

Now he starts to clean up the mess on the drainboard. He

rinses the cocktail glasses, is about to empty the martini

pitcher into the sink, thinks better of it. He pours the

contents into a glass, plops the lone olive out of the jar,

scoops up the last handful of potato chips, toasts an

imaginary companion, and drinks up. Then he pulls a

wastebasket from under the sink.

It is brimful of liquor bottles, and Bud adds the empty

vodka and vermouth bottles and the olive jar. Picking up

the heavy receptacle, he carries it through the living room

toward the hall door.

INT. SECOND FLOOR LANDING - EVENING

The door of Bud's apartment opens, and Bud comes out with

the wastebasket full of empty bottles. Just then, DR. DAVID

DREYFUSS, whose wife we met earlier, comes trudging up the

stairs. He is a tall, heavy-set man of fifty, with a bushy

mustache, wearing a bulky overcoat and carrying an aged

medical bag.

DR. DREYFUSS

Good evening, Baxter.

BUD:

Hi, Doc. Had a late call?

DR. DREYFUSS

Yeah. Some clown at Schrafft's

57th Street ate a club sandwich,

and forgot to take out the toothpick.

BUD:

Oh.

(sets down wastebasket)

'Bye, Doc.

DR. DREYFUSS

(indicating bottles)

Say, Baxter -- the way you're

belting that stuff, you must have a

pair of cast-iron kidneys.

BUD:

Oh, that's not me. It's just that

once in a while, I have some people

in for a drink.

DR. DREYFUSS

As a matter of fact, you must be an

iron man all around. From what I

hear through the walls, you got

something going for you every night.

BUD:

I'm sorry if it gets noisy --

DR. DREYFUSS

Sometimes, there's a twi-night

double-header.

(shaking his head)

A nebbish like you!

BUD:

(uncomfortable)

Yeah. Well -- see you, Doc.

(starts to back

through door)

DR. DREYFUSS

You know, Baxter -- I'm doing some

research at the Columbia Medical

Center -- and I wonder if you could

do us a favor?

BUD:

Me?

DR. DREYFUSS

When you make out your will -- and

the way you're going, you should --

would you mind leaving your body to

the University?

BUD:

My body? I'm afraid you guys would

be disappointed. Good night, Doc.

DR. DREYFUSS

Slow down, kid.

He starts into the rear apartment as Bud closes the door.

INT. THE APARTMENT - EVENING

Bud, loosening his tie, goes into the kitchen, opens the

oven, turns off the gas. He takes a coke out of the

refrigerator, uncaps it, gets a knife and fork from a

drawer, and using his handkerchief as a potholder, pulls the

hot aluminum tray out of the oven. He carries everything

out into the living room.

In the living room, Bud sets his dinner down on the coffee

table, settles himself on the couch. He rears up as

something stabs him, reaches under his buttocks, pulls out a

hairpin. He drops it into an ashtray, tackles his dinner.

Without even looking, he reaches over to the end table and

presses the remote TV station-selector. He takes a sip from

the coke bottle, his eyes on the TV screen across the room.

The picture on the TV set jells quickly. Against a

background of crisscrossing searchlights, a pompous announcer

is making his spiel.

ANNOUNCER:

-- from the world's greatest

library of film classics, we

proudly present --

(fanfare)

Greta Garbo -- John Barrymore --

Joan Crawford -- Wallace Beery --

and Lionel Barrymore in --

(fanfare)

GRAND HOTEL!

There is an extended fanfare. Bud leans forward, chewing

excitedly on a chicken leg.

ANNOUNCER:

But first, a word from our sponsor.

If you smoke the modern way, don't

be fooled by phony filter claims --

Bud, still eating, automatically reaches for the station-

selector, pushes the button.

A new channel pops on. It features a Western -- Cockamamie

Indians are attacking a stagecoach.

That's not for Bud. He switches to another station. In a

frontier saloon, Gower Street cowboys are dismantling the

furniture and each other.

Bud wearily changes channels. But he can't get away from

Westerns -- on this station, the U.S. Cavalry is riding to

the rescue. Will they get there in time?

Bud doesn't wait to find out. He switches channels again,

and is back where he started.

On the screen, once more, is the announcer standing in front

of the crisscrossing searchlights.

ANNOUNCER:

And now, Grand Hotel -- starring

Greta Garbo, John Barrymore, Joan

Crawford --

(Bud is all eyes and

ears again)

-- Wallace Beery, and Lionel

Barrymore. But first -- a word

from our alternate sponsor.

(unctuously)

Friends, do you have wobbly

dentures -- ?

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