The Public Eye Page #3

We begin to hear Big Band music over the hissing as we

CUT TO:

EXT. CAFE SOCIETY - NIGHT

We hear the Big Band music as we see a red awning lettered

LOU LEVITZ'S CAFE SOCIETY. It shows the club's trademark

since the 30's:
a squat coffee cup (a remnant of Prohibition,

when gin was served in the guise of legal beverages).

On the sidewalk outside the polished revolving doors, there

is a crush of out-of-towners who wait to enter, dressed in

their best. But they'll never be let in.

A few Tabloid Photographers, behind a velvet rope, grip their

big cameras, waiting for celebrities to come or go. One of

them spots Bernzy as he threads his way through the crowd.

PHOTOGRAPHER:

Hey, Bernzy, y'just missed Eleanor

Roosevelt French-kissin' the Aga

Kahn.

BERNZY:

(still moving)

I'll catch 'em inside.

PHOTOGRAPHER:

That'll be the day.

Bernzy approaches the beefy Irish doorman, in red livery,

who mans the ropes.

DOORMAN:

Behind the ropes, Bernstein.

Bernzy parks his cigar in his mouth and extracts a piece of

paper from the inside pocket of his ill-fitting suit.

The Doorman reads a handwritten note on Lou Levitz's personal

stationery. In a woman's hand: "Danny, Please direct Mr.

Bernstein to my office, Mrs. Levitz."

As the Doorman reads, a patrician-looking Couple in evening

clothes push their way to the front.

DOORMAN:

Evening, Mister-missus Armstrong.

The Doorman lifts the rope. Mr. Armstrong slips him a bill

as they pass through. Bernzy starts to follow, but the Doorman

hooks the rope before he can pass.

He looks over at the other Photographers, as he hands Bernzy

back the note.

DOORMAN:

Kitchen door. Check the camera.

CUT TO:

INT. CAFE SOCIETY - NIGHT

The band music swells, O.S., as the kitchen door swings open

and a Waiter exits, tray in hand. It stays open as a Chinese

Bus Boy points Bernzy in the direction of the hat check,

across the front of the club.

CAFE SOCIETY - HAT CHECK

Bernzy, all eyes in this New York Mecca, takes up the claim

ticket for his camera, steps down into

CAFE SOCIETY - MAIN ROOM

The big band plays on a bandstand, raised and set back from

the tables. A black SINGER is performing, whose double

entendres and risque stage manner lend a cultivated air of

the illicit to things.

In Cafe Society, as in The Stork Club or El Morocco, the

seating arrangements clearly denote the "importance" of

guests:

The dreaded Outer Circle belongs to rich but garrulous

businessmen with flashy dates or wives in furs. The Middle

Circle is for show biz types, pretty women, professionals,

the up-and-coming. The coveted Inner Circles comprises the

well-born and the famous, e.g., Social Register types, stars

of Broadway, prize-fighters and movie stars.

Every table has a white cloth, a red rose and a ceramic

ashtray that says LOU LEVITZ'S CAFE SOCIETY. Those who eat

eat steaks or chops. Everyone drinks champagne or Scotch.

Everyone smokes.

Bernzy's eyes drink in the rich atmosphere. They seem to be

taking photographs without benefit of a camera: DOYENNE WITH

GIGOLO, FAT MAN OGLING CIGARETTE GIRL, ACTRESS IN SUNGLASSES,

etc., again through the black and white of Bernzy's trained

eye, overcranked.

The MAITRE D' approaches Bernzy, intending to evict him; his

eyes scornfully size up Bernzy's clothes, his overall

demeanour. He has an Italian accent.

MAITRE D'

You have reservations, sir?

BERNZY:

I can see you got some.

The Italian looks at him, utterly perplexed by the idiom.

BERNZY:

Forget it.

Bernzy shows him the note from Kay. Recovering from his gaffe,

the Maitre d' bows his head graciously. He crosses to a

section at the back of the room where The club's Hostess --

a beauty -- is pointing out salient features of the room to

a delegation of men in business suits (not evening clothes.)

She charms them all with some witty remark. As they laugh,

the Maitre d' points out Bernzy.

She excuses herself, crosses to Bernzy. She looks impossibly

elegant next to him, or he looks impossibly unkempt next to

her.

KAY:

Thanks for coming, Mr. Bernstein.

BERNZY:

Bernzy.

KAY (Mrs. Lou) LEVITZ is in her early 30's, a dancer/actress

plucked from some show or chorus by her husband years ago,

now groomed like a rich lady.

Bernzy follows her toward a set of stairs at the back of the

club. As they move, she looks across at the men in suits.

KAY:

Those're Publicity men from the War

Department. They wanna shoot a

newsreel in here for War Bonds.

INT. NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - SAME

They enter. She closes the door behind them. The music is

still audible from downstairs, but muted.

A professional Hostess, in full control of her charm, she

immediately crosses to a drinks caddy and pours him a Scotch.

KAY:

There's never been a camera inside.

Lou always said "It's like Heaven,

that way:
they're dyin' to see it."

Bernzy smiles, but he looks ill-at-ease, holding his hat.

The back wall of the office has a big curtained window that

looks down on the nightclub. Memorabilia lines the other

walls.

Bernzy is studying a photo-portrait of Kay -- a professional

glamour shot from her show business days. He looks at a framed

photo of Kay with the late Lou Levitz -- squat, bald, nattily

dressed.

She hands him the Scotch and indicates the short couch.

KAY:

Please.

He sits at one end. She sits at the other. The shabbiness of

his clothes is especially apparent in these sleek

surroundings. He's still uncomfortable. It shows.

KAY:

Is everything alright, Bernzy?

BERNZY:

I'm still in shock.

She doesn't understand...

BERNZY:

If I'd of snuck in, I'd feel more

comfortable.

KAY:

(a slow smile)

Me too. Half the people down there

feel more sure they belong than I

do.

Now he smiles, half-disbelieving. He takes a cigar out of

his pocket.

BERNZY:

You mind?

KAY:

(she shakes her head)

Lou told me you know everybody in

New York, Bernzy: all the crooks and

all the cops...

He shrugs modestly as he unwraps his cheap cigar.

KAY:

And he said you never take sides,

because all you care about is getting

pictures:
taking sides might get in

the way. Please -- take one of Lou's.

They're just going t'hell here.

She opens a humidor on the coffee table and takes out a big

Cuban. As she hands it to him, she seems to study him.

BERNZY:

Thanks.

KAY:

I guess you've read about Lou's

brother contesting the will. If

Lou'd've wanted to leave Cafe Society

to a rug salesman, he'd of left it

to him.

BERNZY:

He sells toupees? or carpets.

KAY:

It's hard to tell.

He smiles, she smiles... She grows more serious.

KAY:

People say some pretty lousy things

about me, Bernzy: she's a cold-hearted

girl who married and buried an old

man. You've heard that?

Bernzy looks at her. He shrugs.

KAY:

I loved my husband. I love this place.

It's mine now... It's mine.

She seems to want some affirmation of this fact.

BERNZY:

Right. It's yours, now.

She gets up abruptly and walks to the window overlooking the

club. She draws back the curtain with her hand.

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