The Apartment Page #5

BLONDE:

This the place?

DOBISCH:

Yeah.

(to cab driver)

How much?

CABBIE:

Seventy cents.

Dobisch, his hands full of stingers, turns to the blonde,

indicates his pants pocket.

DOBISCH:

Get the money, will you?

The blonde plants the hat on top of his head, unbuttons his

overcoat, reaches into his pants pocket. As she does so,

she jogs his elbow.

DOBISCH:

Watch those stingers!

The blonde has taken out Dobisch's money clip, with about a

hundred dollars in it.

DOBISCH:

Give him a buck.

The blonde peels a bill off, hands it to the cabbie, hangs

on to the rest of the roll just a second too long.

DOBISCH:

Now put it back, honey.

(she does)

Atta girl.

The cab drives off. Dobisch and the blonde start up the

steps to the house.

BLONDE:

You sure this is a good idea?

DOBISCH:

Can't think of a better one.

BLONDE:

(holding door open

for him)

I mean - barging in on your

mother -- in the middle of the night?

DOBISCH:

(edging past her with stingers)

Don't worry about the old lady.

One squawk from her, and she's out

of a job.

In the areaway, Bud has overheard them, and it doesn't make

him any happier. He steps out on the sidewalk, shuffles

down the street.

INT. SECOND FLOOR LANDING - NIGHT

The blonde and Dobisch, his hands full of stingers, come up

to Bud's door.

DOBISCH:

Get the key, will you.

Automatically, she reaches into his pocket.

DOBISCH:

Not there. Under the mat.

BLONDE:

(puzzled)

Under the mat?

(picks up key)

DOBISCH:

(impatiently)

Open up, open up -- we haven't got

all night.

The blonde unlocks the door to the apartment, opens it.

BLONDE:

(suspiciously)

So this is your mother's apartment?

DOBISCH:

That's right. Maria Ouspenskaya.

BLONDE:

(sticking her head in)

Hiya, Ouspenskaya.

Dobisch nudges her inside with his knee, kicks the door shut

behind him.

The landing is empty for a second. Then the door of the

rear apartment opens, and Dr. Dreyfuss, in a beaten bathrobe,

sets out a couple of empty milk bottles with a note in them.

Suddenly, from Bud's apartment, comes a shrill female giggle.

Dr. Dreyfuss reacts. Then the cha cha music starts full

blast.

DR. DREYFUSS

(calling to his wife,

off-screen)

Mildred -- he's at it again.

Shaking his head, he closes the door.

EXT. CENTRAL PARK - NIGHT

Bud, in raincoat and slippered feet, turns in off the

street, plods along a path in the deserted park. He stops

at a damp bench under a lamp post, sits. In the background,

lights shine from the towering buildings on Central Park

South.

Bud huddles inside his raincoat, shivering. He is very

sleepy by now. His eyes close and his head droops. A gust

of wind sends wet leaves swirling across the bench. Bud

doesn't stir. He is all in.

FADE OUT.

FADE IN:

INT. LOBBY INSURANCE BUILDING - DAY

It's a quarter to nine of a gray November morning, and work-

bound employees are piling in through the doors. Among them

is Bud, bundled up in a raincoat, hat, heavy muffler and

wool gloves, and carrying a box of Kleenex. He coughs,

pulls out a tissue, wipes his dripping nose. He has a bad

cold.

The lobby is an imposing, marbled affair, as befits a

company which last year wrote 9.3 billion dollars worth of

insurance. There are sixteen elevators, eight of them

marked LOCAL - FLOORS 1-18, and opposite them eight marked

EXPRESS - FLOORS 18-37. The starter, a uniformed Valkyrie

wielding a clicker, is directing the flow of traffic into

the various elevators.

Bud joins the crowd in front of one of the express elevators.

Also standing there is Mr. Kirkeby, reading the Herald-

Tribune.

BUD:

(hoarsely)

Good morning, Mr. Kirkeby.

KIRKEBY:

(as if he just knew

him vaguely)

Oh, how are you, Baxter. They

keeping you busy these days?

BUD:

Yes, sir. They are indeed.

(he sniffs)

The elevator doors open, revealing the operator. She is in

her middle twenties and her name is FRAN KUBELIK. Maybe

it's the way she's put together, maybe it's her face, or

maybe it's just the uniform -- in any case, there is

something very appealing about her. She is also an

individualist -- she wears a carnation in her lapel, which

is strictly against regulations. As the elevator loads, she

greets the passengers cheerfully.

FRAN:

(rattling it off)

Morning, Mr. Kessel -- Morning,

Miss Robinson -- Morning, Mr.

Kirkeby -- Morning, Mr. Williams --

Morning, Miss Livingston -- Morning,

Mr. McKellway -- Morning, Mr.

Pirelli -- Morning, Mrs. Schubert --

Interspersed is an occasional "Morning, Miss Kubelik" from

the passengers.

FRAN:

Morning, Mr. Baxter.

BUD:

Morning, Miss Kubelik.

He takes his hat off -- he is the only one. The express is

now loaded.

STARTER:

(working the clicker)

That's all. Take it away.

FRAN:

(shutting the door)

Watch the door, please. Blasting

off.

INT. ELEVATOR

Bud is standing right next to Fran as the packed express

shoots up.

BUD:

(studying her)

What did you do to your hair?

FRAN:

It was making me nervous, so I

chopped it off. Big mistake, huh?

BUD:

I sort of like it.

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