The Lost Weekend Page #10

DON:

How do you like New York?

HELEN:

Love it.

DON:

How long are you going to stay?

HELEN:

Oh, sixty years, perhaps.

Don doesn't get it.

HELEN:

I live here now. I've got a job.

DON:

Doing what?

HELEN:

I'm on Time Magazine.

DON:

Time Magazine? In that case perhaps

you could do something for me.

HELEN:

Yes.

DON:

Could you help me to become Man of

the Year?

HELEN:

Delighted. What do you do?

DON:

Yes, what do I do? I'm a writer.

I've just started a novel. I've

started quite a few novels. I never

seem to finish one.

HELEN:

In that case, why not write short

stories.

DON:

I have some of those. The first

paragraph. Then there's one-half of

the opening scene of a play. It all

takes place in the leaning tower of

Pisa and explains why it leans. And

why all sensible buildings should

lean.

HELEN:

They'll love that in Toledo.

DON:

Are you by any chance coming here to

Lohengrin next week?

HELEN:

I don't know.

DON:

Because if you are, I'm not going to

let this coat out of my hands.

HELEN:

Don't worry.

DON:

I do, though. To be really safe,

maybe we should go together.

HELEN:

We could.

DON:

Are you in the telephone book?

HELEN:

Yes, but I'm not home very much.

DON:

Then I'll call you at the office.

HELEN:

Editorial Research. If Henry Luce

answers the phone, hang up.

They have reached the curb outside the Metropolitan. It is

dark and the rain has settled to a drizzle.

DON:

Taxi?

HELEN:

No, thank you. I'm taking the subway.

DON:

Very sensible.

HELEN:

As a matter of fact, I'm going to an

extremely crazy party on Washington

Square. If you want, I'll take you

along.

There is a split second of indecision but it is ended by

Don's awareness of the bottle in his raincoat.

DON:

Thank you very much, Miss St. James,

but I have to see a friend uptown.

HELEN:

Goodbye, Mr. Birnam.

DON:

Goodbye.

He is unfurling his raincoat in order to put it on before he

steps from under the marquee. Helen is about a step and a

half away when there is a crash. She stops and looks down,

as does Don. On the sidewalk lies the pint of whiskey, broken.

HELEN:

Who threw that?

DON:

(Casually)

It fell out of my pocket.

HELEN:

Do you always carry those things?

DON:

You see... that friend, the one

uptown, he has a cold. I thought I'd

take this along and make him a hot

toddy.

HELEN:

Now he gets hot lemonade and some

aspirin.

DON:

I shall.

HELEN:

Goodbye.

She goes. Don looks at the broken bottle, then after Helen.

With sudden decision he calls after her.

DON:

Miss St. James!

HELEN:

(Turning)

Yes?

DON:

What kind of a party was that you

asked me to?

HELEN:

A cocktail party.

DON:

Invitation still stand?

HELEN:

Of course. Come on.

He joins her, takes the umbrella out of her hand and holds

it over them both as they go down the street.

DISSOLVE TO:

B-24 NAT'S BAR

As we have left it, empty save for Nat and Don. Sunlight

outside. Nat is now taking the chairs from the tables and

arranging the bar for the afternoon and evening trade, while

Don leans back against the bar, the jigger of whiskey in his

hand, and goes on talking.

DON:

How's that for a first meeting, Nat?

Cute, full of laughs. A charming

girl, an extra special girl. Her

coat-check might just as well have

been mixed up with the coat-check of

a solid citizen, the son of the

chairman of some insurance company,

highly eligible, no vices except

that sometimes he plays the cello.

But oh no, that would have made

everything too simple. It had to be

that young man with the bottle.

NAT:

Listen, once that bottle smashes,

doesn't she catch on?

DON:

No, she doesn't.

NAT:

Okay. So they go to that cocktail

party and he gets stinko and falls

flat on his face.

DON:

He doesn't. He's crazy about that

girl by then. He drinks tomato juice.

Doesn't touch liquor for that whole

week -- for two weeks, for six weeks.

NAT:

He's in love, huh?

DON:

That's what's going to be hard to

write. Love's the hardest thing in

the world to write about. So simple.

You've got to catch it through

details, like the early morning

sunlight hitting the gray tin of the

ashcans in front of her house. A

ringing telephone that sounds like

Beethoven's Pastoral. A letter

scribbled on her office stationery

that you carry in your pocket because

it smells of all the lilacs in Ohio.

NAT:

And no drinking?

DON:

He thinks he's cured. If he can get

a job now, they can be married and

that's that. Only it's not, Nat. Not

quite. Because one day, one terrible

day --

(He taps the jigger)

Pour it, Nat.

Nat does.

NAT:

Yeah?

Don drinks.

NAT:

Well, go on.

DON:

You see, that girl's been writing to

her family in Toledo They want to

meet this young man. So they come to

New York. They stay at the Hotel

Manhattan. Their very first day,

she's to introduce him to her parents.

One o'clock. Lobby of the hotel...

SLOW DISSOLVE TO:

B-25 INT. LOBBY OF THE MANHATTAN HOTEL - (MIDDAY)

It is filled with the routine activity of a big commercial

hotel on a hot summer day.

Don Birnam, in a light summer suit, paces up and down the

lobby. Under his arm is a florist's box. He keeps eyeing the

doors to the elevators. He walks toward one of those circular

plush settees common to hotels, sits down, puts the flower

box next to him and adjusts the knot of his tie, his eye

still on the elevator doors.

On the other side of the settee are a middle-aged couple.

Don can't see them, they can't see him, as he overhears their

conversation, and it takes him a little time to realize that

they are Helen's parents.

MR. ST. JAMES is wearing a linen suit and a good but yellowing

panama hat, the brim turned up. MRS. ST. JAMES is a cheerful

little woman with glasses pinned to her dress, the kind that

pull. Mr. St. James is fuming a little.

MR. ST. JAMES

Just walked in for a simple haircut.

No, that wasn't enough, not for New

York. They gave me a shampoo, a scalp

massage, a manicure. Thought they'd

tear my shoes off and paint my

toenails.

Mrs. St. James laughs comfortably.

MRS. ST. JAMES

I had a lovely morning. Just did a

little window shopping. I didn't

want to get all tired out.

MR. ST. JAMES

On account of meeting that young

man? Now, Mother.

MRS. ST. JAMES

Who did you get a haircut for?

MR. ST. JAMES

Wonder what's keeping Helen.

MRS. ST. JAMES

She'll be here.

MR. ST. JAMES

This Birnam fellow went to Cornell,

didn't he?

MRS. ST. JAMES

I believe so, but Helen says he never

graduated.

MR. ST. JAMES

I wonder why. How old is he?

MRS. ST. JAMES

Thirty-three.

MR. ST. JAMES

He has no job. As far as I can find

out, he never had one. I wish Helen

wasn't so vague.

By now Don knows only too well that he is the subject of

their discussion. He leans his head against the back of the

settee, acutely uncomfortable.

MRS. ST. JAMES

Maybe he has a little money. Some

people do, you know, Father.

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