The Lost Weekend Page #5

DON:

Quarter of six. Don't forget. My

brother must find me at home, ready

and packed.

Gloria is back from the powder room. On her way to her

gentleman friend at the table, she runs her finger through

the neckline of Don's hair. She is almost past him when he

catches her hand and pulls her towards him.

DON:

Shall we dance?

GLORIA:

You're awfully pretty, Mr. Birnam.

DON:

You say that to all the boys.

GLORIA:

Why, natch. Only with you it's on

the level.

DON:

Is it? Whatever became of your

manicurist job?

GLORIA:

I've still got it. Only I find I

can't work more than four hours a

day, three days a week. It's too

tough on your eyes, all those little

hangnails.

DON:

Sit down.

GLORIA:

No thanks. Thanks a lot, but no

thanks. There's somebody waiting.

Don looks off toward the table.

DON:

Him? I bet he wears arch supporters.

GLORIA:

He's just an old friend of the folks.

Lovely gentleman. Buys me dimpled

Scotch.

DON:

He should buy you Indian rubies, and

a villa in Calcutta overlooking the

Ganges.

GLORIA:

Don't be ridic.

DON:

Gloria, please, why imperil our

friendship with these loathsome

abbreviations.

GLORIA:

I could make myself free for later

on if you want.

DON:

I'm leaving for the weekend, Gloria.

Maybe another time.

GLORIA:

Any time.

And as she leans over, she runs her forefinger again through

the neckline of his hair.

GLORIA:

Just crazy about the back of your

hair.

She returns to the table. Don drinks his drink, puts down

the glass.

DON:

(To Nat)

Nat, weave me another.

NAT:

You'd better take it easy.

DON:

Don't worry about me. Just let me

know when it's a quarter of six.

NAT:

Okay.

He pours.

DON:

And have one yourself, Nat.

NAT:

Not me, Mr. Birnam.

DON:

I often wonder what the barman buys,

one-half so precious as the stuff he

sells.

Nat has poured the drink. Don points at it.

DON:

Come on, Nat. One little jigger of

dreams.

NAT:

Nope.

DON:

You don't approve of drinking?

NAT:

Not the way you drink.

DON:

It shrinks my liver, doesn't it,

Nat? It pickles my kidneys. Yes. But

what does it do to my mind? It tosses

the sandbags overboard so the balloon

can soar. Suddenly I'm above the

ordinary. I'm competent, supremely

competent. I'm walking a tightrope

over Niagara Falls. I'm one of the

great ones. I'm Michelangelo moulding

the beard of Moses. I'm Van Gogh,

painting pure sunlight. I'm Horowitz

playing the Emperor Concerto. I'm

John Barrymore before the movies got

him by the throat. I'm a holdup man --

I'm Jesse James and his two brothers,

all three of them. I'm W. Shakespeare.

And out there it's not Third Avenue

any longer. It's the Nile. The Nile,

Nat, and down it moves the barge of

Cleopatra. Listen: Purple the sails,

and so perfumed that The winds were

love-sick with them; the oars were

silver, Which to the tune of flutes

kept stroke, and made The water which

they beat to follow faster, As amorous

of their strokes. For her own person,

It beggar'd all description.

During the last two lines he has picked up the jigger of

rye. THE CAMERA is on the wet rings which the wet glass has

left on the bar.

Gradually the music swells under the Shakespearean quotation

and drowns it out. In two QUICK DISSOLVES we see the five

rings, then six, then nine. Over the last, the light has

changed.

DISSOLVE TO:

A-26 THE BAR AGAIN

It is dusk. The electric lights are on. The place is about

half filled -- eight customers at the bar, five tables

occupied. Gloria and her friend are still there.

Don, an empty jigger in his hand, stands at the same spot,

only now leaning with his back against the bar. He is doggedly

quoting Shakespeare, more to himself than to the others at

the bar, who are ignoring him.

DON:

The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous

palaces, The solemn temples, the

great globe itself --

Nat puts drinks before some other customers, then goes over

to Don, taps him on the shoulder.

NAT:

Mr. Birnam, you ought to go home.

You're late.

DON:

Yea, all which it inherit shall

dissolve --

Nat leans forward as tactfully as possible.

NAT:

You ought to be home, on account of

your brother.

Don half turns to him.

DON:

Who says so?

NAT:

You said so yourself. On account of

you're going away somewheres.

DON:

Huh?

NAT:

Don't you remember?

He pushes the bag with the bottles and the apples towards

Don. Don looks at them. Suddenly it penetrates. He is seized

by alarm.

DON:

What time is it?

NAT:

Ten past six.

DON:

Why didn't you tell me?

NAT:

What do you think I've been doing

for half an hour?

Don snatches up the bag, the apples spilling out as he does

so. He turns to go. Nat points at the few coins which is all

that is left of Don's money.

NAT:

Take your change.

Don scoops up the money, a few dollar bills and some silver,

and hurries out.

A-27 THIRD AVENUE, CORNER OF 55TH STREET - (EVENING)

Don comes from Nat's bar, runs around the corner to his house.

A-28 APARTMENT HOUSE WHERE THE BIRNAMS LIVE

Don, clutching the bag with the bottles, runs into the house.

A-29 FIRST FLOOR HALL, APARTMENT HOUSE

Don dashes in and starts upstairs. After a few steps he stops.

What if his brother is up there already? He stands undecided,

then sneaks down the steps and walks to the rear of the

entrance hall, where there's a glass door leading into the

shabby garden.

A-30 GARDEN IN BACK OF APARTMENT HOUSE - (DARK)

Don comes out, walks far enough to be able to look up at the

back of the building. Are the lights on in their apartment

on the fourth floor? There is a light on the second floor,

nothing on the third, and on the fourth the lights are on in

the living room and the bedroom windows, all of which are

open.

Don stands looking up. What shall he do? Go up and face the

music? Run away? Weakly he walks over to the stone bench and

sits down, putting the bottles on the bench next him. He

takes out his handkerchief, mops his forehead. His eyes go

up to the lighted windows again.

A-31 THE LIGHTED WINDOWS, FROM DOWN BELOW

Someone has stepped to the bedroom window. It's Helen. He

can recognize her, silhouetted against the light of the room.

A-32 DON, SITTING ON THE BENCH

His eyes fixed on the window above. Instinctively, he draws

back into the shadow of the sumac tree, as though Helen could

see him through the darkness.

A-33 EXT. BEDROOM WINDOW, FROM DON'S POINT OF VIEW

Helen disappears from the window into the room.

A-34 INT. BEDROOM

Helen is moving away from the window. Wick stands before his

suitcase, which is open and all packed save for slippers and

bathrobe, which he is rolling together.

HELEN:

Do you suppose he's at Morandi's, or

Nat's bar, or that place on Forty-

second Street?

WICK:

What difference does it make?

HELEN:

You're not really going, Wick.

WICK:

I certainly am.

He puts the robe with the slippers inside it into the case.

HELEN:

You can't leave him alone. Not for

four days.

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