The Public Eye Page #4

KAY:

D'you know this man?

He joins her at the window. He looks down:

A young, dark-faced Man, whose heavy, thuggish features

contrast with the fine cut of his suit, sits at a table with

a woman in decolette. They laugh in an ugly way.

BERNZY:

Never saw him. I'd take a stab in

the dark he ain't Society League.

On the desk blotter, Kay finds a legal paper, then comes

back to the window.

KAY:

He says he was my husband's partner.

She hands him the pages. A vulgar, gilt embossed business

card is clipped to the top page with a name -- EMILIO

PORTIFINO -- and an East Side address.

KAY:

He says Lou owed him money, and now

he's my partner.

BERNZY:

Never heard of him.

KAY:

(disappointed)

No?...

Bernzy shakes his head.

KAY:

Lou didn't need money --

BERNZY:

(examining the pages)

'Offered as collateral in exchange

for services rendered.'

KAY:

-- and he didn't keep secrets from

me.

BERNZY:

How would you know?

KAY:

Hm?

BERNZY:

I mean if they're secrets.

He smiles.

KAY:

You know how it is -- when you're

intimate with someone.

Bernzy's smile freezes; he doesn't know.

BERNZY:

Yeah, right.

KAY:

I know Lou bootlegged in the old

days. Who didn't? And I know every

booking agent who comes in here isn't

strictly on the up and up. But Lou

was a reputable businessman.

BERNZY:

This is his signature?

She nods. She looks out the window, again, at Portifino.

KAY:

He's here every night, not ten feet

from the Governor or Walter Winchell.

BERNZY:

Couldn't you just -- ?

KAY:

Throw him out? I want to. But he

says he'll go to my brother-in-law,

and help him prove Lou's will is

invalid.

BERNZY:

Is it?

KAY:

No! but -- I'm a second wife, there

aren't any women in this business,

and we both know what people say

about me. I can't take the chance.

As she looks out the window, staring at Portifino, she bites

her lip, fretfully -- nothing like the cool elegant hostess

she was on the floor of the club. This unnerves Bernzy. If

she's just acting (vulnerable) she's doing a good job.

BERNZY:

(clearing his throat)

I could find out who he is.

She takes his hand in hers.

KAY:

Please.

He looks at his hand in hers. Either feeling that she is

being over-emotional, or sensing he is uncomfortable being

touched, she lets go of him, grows more matter-of-fact.

KAY:

I really don't know what's

appropriate, but I'd like to pay you

someth --

BERNZY:

No.

KAY:

I just thought --

He shakes his head. A beat.

BERNZY:

Danny, downstairs, 'suggested' I

come in through the back.

Looking at Bernzy, she can understand why the Doorman

insisted:
anybody could.

KAY:

I'm sorry. I'll talk to him about

it...

He nods. This doesn't seem like quite enough.

KAY:

Why don't you stay and have dinner?

She indicates the club, below.

BERNZY:

It's alright.

(he smiles, starts to

exit)

It ain't that big a favor.

KAY:

Next time, then.

BERNZY:

(as he goes out)

Yeah, right.

CUT TO:

CAFE SOCIETY - MAIN FLOOR - LATER

Bernzy, rather amazed, wearing a half-smile, stands waiting

for his camera at the hat-check, looking out over the club.

He looks up to the office window where Kay stands, looking

down, smoking unhappily.

Bernzy's smile fades: he's enjoying this too much.

CUT TO:

EXT./INT. BERNZY'S SEDAN/N.Y. STREETS - NIGHT

Bernzy drives up lower Broadway, his eyes scanning the street,

a steady low hiss being emitted by the police radio...

CUT TO:

EXT. MEAT DISTRICT - NIGHT

A Butcher hauls a bloody carcass on his back. He looks over

when the flashbulb fires.

Bernzy has planted himself among a row of bloody carcasses

hanging on hooks to get the shot.

EXT./INT. BERNZY'S SEDAN/STREETS - NIGHT

It's nearly dawn. Bernzy is still driving. His jacket is

soaked in beef blood.

CUT TO:

INT. BERNZY'S APARTMENT - DAWN

Bernzy sits at his desk. On it is one of his file boxes, the

cigar lid swung open. He's studying a picture from the box.

It is of Kay and Lou Levitz, taken at a Broadway opening

night. Under it is a typewritten caption that is yellowed

with age. It says "Beauty and the Beast."

As pins the picture on his bullet board we

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. BERNZY'S APT - AFTERNOON

In the bathroom, Bernzy is knotting a necktie, quickly but

poorly. The bathroom is also the kitchen: it has a hotplate

and a shelf of canned soup, canned chile, canned spaghetti.

The tiny

KITCHEN:

which Bernzy passes on his way out, has been turned into a

darkroom.

CUT TO:

EXT. STREET OUTSIDE BERNZY'S - DAY

Bernzy hurries up the street, fidgeting with his tie.

He is greeted by TOM HAYWARD, 30, a man in a seersucker suit

with a wry manner and an Ivy League air. He holds a furled

newspaper under his arm.

HAYWARD:

Bernzy! Just coming to see you.

BERNZY:

I'm late. Walk with me.

HAYWARD:

What's with the tie? Somebody die?

BERNZY:

Not yet.

Hayward unfurls the newspaper, a Daily Mirror. The banner

headline (no photo) reads: KILL MOTHER IN JERSEY WITH AX.

HAYWARD:

Seen this?

BERNZY:

Your work?

HAYWARD:

Came off the wires. Couple of

seventeen-year-old kids in Greenport,

New Jersey. They're screwing in the

girl's mother's kitchen, when who

should walk in but mom. She starts

screaming her head off and --

BERNZY:

Yeah, yeah:
everybody already guessed

what comes next.

HAYWARD:

The local police won't let anybody

near 'em:
no pictures, no interviews.

BERNZY:

I don't leave New York.

They approach Bernzy's parking garage. A long line of cars

extends out into the street, waiting to enter. But Bernzy

and Hayward take no notice of it; it's business as usual.

INT. GARAGE - SAME

Now we see that the cars are queuing for gasoline. In the

filling station of the garage's ground floor, a posted sign

reads:

HAVE YOUR GAS RATION COUPONS READY

(No Coupons, No Gas)

HAYWARD:

It's half an hour, over the bridge.

(hurrying to keep up)

There's gotta be 30 bucks in this

for each of us if the wires pick it

up. You telling me this thing's paid

for already?

He drags a finger through the dust atop Bernzy's sedan.

As Bernzy thinks about it, Hayward pulls a silver whisky

flask from his jacket, unstops it, drinks.

BERNZY:

Alright. Call Greenport. Find out

when the D.A.'s in court. Find out

when the arresting officer's in the

station house. In a two-bit town

like this, he might even work the

desk. When the cop's in and the D.A.'s

out, gimme a call.

HAYWARD:

Thanks, Bernzy.

Bernzy gets into the car.

HAYWARD:

Tell me where you're going dressed

like that.

Bernzy pulls the door shut without answering.

CUT TO:

INT. EASTSIDE OFFICE BLDG. - UPPER FLOOR CORRIDOR - DAY

In a panelled hallway, Bernzy reads the name on an oak door

as he adjusts his tie. He goes in; we read the name on the

door:

H.R. RINEMAN & SONS, PUBLISHERS

INT. ANTEROOM - RINEMAN PUBLISHING - SAME

Bernzy gives his name to a RECEPTIONIST.

RECEPTIONIST:

Is it a pick-up or a delivery?

BERNZY:

(put out)

I have an appointment.

The door to the inner offices and a sympathetic bespectacled

young man of 24, RICHARD RINEMAN, comes out, pulling into a

coat.

Bernzy approaches him, smiling.

YOUNG RINEMAN:

(flustered)

Mr. Bernstein. How are you. It's my

father who'll see you today. I've a

doctor's appointment, I'm afraid.

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