The Lost Weekend Page #14

WAITER:

Yes, sir.

DON:

(A little stiffly)

One more gin vermouth.

WAITER:

Yes, sir.

Taking the check, the waiter leaves. Don has gained a little

time, but what shall he do with it? He considers the

situation. The door is some thirty feet away, and the check-

room girl stands in front of it. Don looks around. Nobody in

the bar he knows. Next him the couple is cooing away like

Spring, -- but on the bench between him and the girl lies

her bag. It's a handsome leather bag with gold initials, M.

M. It's about a foot and a half away from him, but it seems

like a mile and a half to Don. There must be some money in

that bag. Don looks around the room, his plan forming. No

one is looking at him. As though inadvertently, he drops his

hand on the bench beside the bag.

The man is whispering something into the girl's ear. She is

shaking her head. Don pulls the purse imperceptibly closer

to himself. Guests and waiters are passing by. Very calmly

Don smokes his cigarette, a great gentleman. The bag moves

very close to his coat. Now, switching his cigarette, Don

crosses his other arm so he can pull the bag up under his

coat. He pulls it to his armpit and holds it there, tucked

close to his ribs. Nothing in his face betrays him.

The lovers are still at it. The waiter comes back with the

drink.

DON:

(The young Duke)

Thank you. Where is your wash room?

WAITER:

Over there, sir.

He points to a door at the other end of the room. On its

panel is the stylized profile of a gentleman with a top hat.

Don starts to rise. The waiter pulls the table away for him.

Don carries the bag under his open coat by the pressure of

his upper arm. Between his fingers is a cigarette, so that

the whole thing looks fairly natural. There is a tiny puzzled

look from the waiter as Don walks slowly towards the wash

room.

B-43 INT. WASHROOM

It's a two-wash-basin affair, with a colored attendant who,

as Don enters, is brushing a customer.

ATTENDANT:

How's about a carnation, sir?

CUSTOMER:

What for?

ATTENDANT:

(Chuckling)

For your buttonhole, sir.

CUSTOMER:

Okay.

On the shelf above the washstand between talcum powder, nail

files and brushes, there stands a tumbler with carnations.

The attendant takes one, puts it into the customer's lapel.

The customer tips him and walks out.

Don is left alone with the attendant, who points to the other

bowl, runs fresh water in it.

ATTENDANT:

Right here, sir.

Don steps to the wash bowl. His brain is functioning

perfectly.

DON:

Wipe my shoes, will you?

ATTENDANT:

Yes, sir.

As Don picks up the cake of soap, he watches the attendant

get a polishing rag and bend down to dust off his shoes. Now

Don doesn't lose a split second. He plays his cards like a

master. He puts down the cake of soap, pulls out the bag,

opens it. There, between a compact, lipstick and keyes, are

some bills. He fishes out a ten-dollar bill, thrusts it in

his pocket and is about to close the purse when he sees the

carnations. He can't help smiling at the idea which flashes

into his mind. He takes one of the carnations, puts it into

the purse, closes the purse and thrusts it back under his

coat. Just as the attendant straightens up, Don puts both

hands into the water. The attendant holds out a towel, Don

wipes his hands.

ATTENDANT:

How's about a carnation?

DON:

(Raffles by now)

I took one.

ATTENDANT:

You did, sir?

He looks at Don's lapel, mystified,

DON:

Yes, for a very kind lady.

Don tips the attendant with a fifty-cent piece. The attendant

doesn't get the joke but chuckles automatically and opens

the door into the bar.

B-44 THE BAR

The piano isn't being played and the place is strangely quiet.

Don walks from the wash room, slowly towards his table.

Suddenly he stops. The space where the lovers sat is empty

now. That's the storm signal. Don looks around. Near the

little piano stands Don's waiter, the head waiter, the piano

player and the lovers. They're staring at Don. In fact, he's

suddenly aware that he is the focus of every eye in the room.

In the next second the storm breaks.

WAITER:

That's him. That's the man.

HEADWAITER:

You were sitting here, sir?

DON:

I beg your pardon.

He doesn't play it very well now. M.M.'s escort is right at

him, grabbing him by the coat.

M.M.'S ESCORT

You took this lady's bag, didntcha?

Come on, give it back.

DON:

(With very little

hesitation and a wan

smile)

Of course.

He takes the bag out from under his coat and hands it to the

lady.

M.M.'S ESCORT

Somebody call a cop.

M.M.

No, George, no. It doesn't matter as

long as I have the bag.

M.M.'S ESCORT

Well, look in it. Maybe he's taken

something.

DON:

Ten dollars, to be exact.

Don holds out the bill. M. M.'s escort snatches it from his

hand.

M.M.'S ESCORT

I ought to kick your teeth in.

M.M.

George, George! He's drunk.

HEADWAITER:

(Grabbing Don)

Get out of here.

WAITER:

How about the check?

DON:

Exactly. That's why I had to borrow

from the lady. I didn't have enough.

He fishes what money he has left from his pocket. The waiter

snaps it up.

DON:

I'll come back and pay the rest.

HEADWAITER:

Don't you show your face here again

ever.

(Shouting towards the

entrance door)

Mike! Mike!

(To waiter)

Come on, Charlie.

He and the waiter grab Don, start him towards the door. From

the street comes Mike, the huge doorman-bouncer. He helps

with the ejection.

DON:

(To the entire bar)

I assure you I'm not a thief. I'm

not a thief!

As they drag him toward the entrance door, the pianist, in

an access of delicate humor, begins to pound the piano and

sing, "Somebody stole my purse, Somebody stole my purse."

By this time they've got Don to the door. The headwaiter

gets Don's hat from the checkroom girl's hand. He puts it on

Don's head, the bouncer pulls him through the door.

B-45 EXT. FIFTY SECOND STREET (NIGHT)

A line of waiting taxis along the brilliantly lighted night

club street. The bouncer, dragging Don from Harry's and Joe's,

gives him one last shove down the street.

Don comes to a stop and leans heavily against an iron railing,

wiping his face with his hand. He straightens his hat, looks

back. The doorman and the taxi drivers are staring after

him. Don turns, straightens himself as best he can and starts

for home, shame weighing down every limb.

DISSOLVE TO:

B-46 STAIRCASE & FOURTH FLOOR LANDING, BIRNAM APT. HOUSE

(NIGHT)

It is meanly lighted by the wall brackets. The newspaper,

the bottle of milk, Helen's note -- are all as they were.

Don drags himself up the last few steps, unlocks the door

and goes in, leaving paper, bottle and note untouched.

B-47 INT. BIRNAM APARTMENT - DARK

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