The Man Who Wasn't There Page #7

DAVE:

I only work here! And the lady's

husband would know... Oh, Jesus.

ED:

How much to they want, Dave?

DAVE:

$10,000! I don't know what to do,

Ed. I don't know what I *can* do.

Even though I know who the sonofabitch

is.

ED:

...You know... who *who* is?

DAVE:

The sonofabitch. The blackmailer.

It's, uh, it's no one you know. It's

a businessman from Sacramento. A

goddamn pansy, Ed. He tried to rope

me into some crackpot scheme; I heard

him out and then told him to go to

hell. And the very next day, the

very next day, Ed, I get blackmailed

for the same amount.

ED:

Would he... it sounds pretty obvious.

DAVE:

Well, I guess he don't care that

it's obvious.

ED:

Mm. How, uh... how did he know that--

DAVE:

He's staying at the hotel I've gone

to with, uh, with the lady in

question. Must've seen us.

Big Dave blows his nose, reaches to take his cigar from Ed.

DAVE:

...Thanks...

He exhales with a long sigh.

DAVE:

...Oh, Jesus.

ED:

...Why don't you just pay him, Dave?

DAVE:

That's my capitalization on the Annex!

*My* operation, Ed! Christ almighty.

That's what I was just talking to

Doris about, a way of getting the

money from the store that we could

hide from Ann.

ED:

Mm.

DAVE:

Embezzling, Ed. From my own goddamn

wife!

He give a tearful chuckle.

DAVE:

...Doris, she was pretty hot about

that. God bless her. She doesn't

know I'm telling you this--she's mad

enough already. But Jesus, Ed, you're

the only one I can talk to. I'm, I'm

sorry I... I better get back to the

party.

He rises and clears his throat as he rubs the tears from his

face.

DAVE:

...I look all right?

PULLING ED:

He has left the office to wander through an adjacent room

lit only by spill from the party. It is the music department;

pianos and spinets are arranged across the floor.

ED (V.O.)

In a way I felt bad for Big Dave. I

knew the ten grand was going to pinch

him where it hurt...

Ed sits on a piano stool next to a standing ashtray. He takes

out a cigarette, lights it off his cigar, stubs out the cigar.

ED (V.O.)

...But Doris was two-timing me and I

guess, somewhere, that pinched a

little too.

His attention is caught by a distant knock of wood. Someone

is raising the key-guard on a piano across the room.

The person can only be seen only obscurely, from three-

quarters behind, through the sales floor's jumble of

haphazardly arranged instruments. The person begins to play.

Ed listens. The piece is slow, sweet, almost a lullaby.

The player, unaware that there is an audience, plays on, and

Ed listens, eyes narrowed against the smoke curling past his

face.

The piece ends.

ED:

That was pretty.

The player turns, surprised. It is a young woman.

ED:

...Did you make that up?

YOUNG WOMAN:

Oh, no. That was written by Mr Ludwig

van Beethoven.

Ed nods recognition of the name.

ED:

That was quite something.

YOUNG WOMAN:

He wrote some beautiful piano sonatas.

ED:

That was something. I'm Ed Crane.

YOUNG WOMAN:

I know who you are, Mr Crane.

His look shows surprise.

YOUNG WOMAN:

...My father used to take me with

him when he got his hair cut. Walter

Abundas?

Ed's head tilts back in acknowledgment.

YOUNG WOMAN:

...I'm Rachel Abundas. Everyone calls

me Birdy.

ED:

Sorry, I just didn't remember.

BIRDY:

Oh, that's all right. You can't be

expected to remember every skinny

girl who comes in with her dad.

Ed give a wry smile.

ED:

...You don't like the music out there?

BIRDY:

It's OK, I guess. No, I don't really.

I'm not big on music, ordinarily.

A woman calls sharply from offscreen:

VOICE:

Ed.

He looks.

Silhouetted in the doorway to the party room is Doris, coat

over her arm, purse in hand.

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