The Apartment
by
Billy Wilder
&
I.A.L. Diamond




Converted by D'Bear for pdfscreenplays.net
 FADE IN:

A DESK COMPUTER

A man's hand is punching out a series of figures on the
keyboard.

BUD (V.O.)
On November first, 1959, the
population of New York City was if
you laid all these people end to
end, figuring an average height of
five feet six and a half inches,
they would reach from Times Square
to the outskirts of Karachi,
Pakistan. I know facts like this
because I work for an insurance
company --

THE INSURANCE BUILDING - A WET, FALL DAY

It's a big mother, covering a square block in lower
Manhattan, all glass and aluminum, jutting into the leaden
sky.

BUD (V.O.)
-- Consolidated Life of New York.
We are one of the top five
companies in the country -- last
year we wrote nine-point-three
billion dollars worth of policies.
Our home office has 31,259
employees -- which is more than the
entire population of Natchez,
Mississippi, of Gallup, New Mexico.

INT. NINETEENTH FLOOR

Acres of gray steel desk, gray steel filing cabinets, and
steel-gray faces under indirect light. One wall is lined
with glass-enclosed cubicles for the supervisory personnel.
It is all very neat, antiseptic, impersonal. The only human
tough is supplied by a bank of IBM machines, clacking away
cheerfully in the background.

BUD (V.O.)
I work on the nineteenth floor --
Ordinary Policy Department -
Premium Accounting Division -
Section W -- desk number 861.




(CONTINUED)
 2.
CONTINUED:

DESK 861

Like every other desk, it has a small name plate attached to
the side. This one reads C.C. BAXTER.

BUD (V.O.) (CONT’D)
My name is C.C. Baxter - C. for
Calvin, C. for Clifford -- however,
most people call me Bud. I've been
with Consolidated Life for three
years and ten months. I started in
the branch office in Cincinnati,
then transferred to New York. My
take-home pay is $94.70 a week, and
there are the usual fringe
benefits.

BAXTER is about thirty, serious, hard-working, unobtrusive.
He wears a Brooks Brothers type suit, which he bought
somewhere on Seventh Avenue, upstairs. There is a stack of
perforated premium cards in front of him, and he is totaling
them on the computing machine. He looks off.

ELECTRIC WALL CLOCK

It shows 5:19. With a click, the minute hand jumps to 5:20,
and a piercing bell goes off.

BUD (V.O.)
The hours in our department are to
5:20 --

FULL SHOT - OFFICE

Instantly all work stops. Papers are being put away,
typewriters and computing machines are covered, and everybody
starts clearing out. Within ten seconds, the place is empty -
- except for Bud Baxter, still bent over his work, marooned
in a sea of abandoned desks.

BUD (V.O.)
-- they're staggered by floors, so
that sixteen elevators can handle
the 31,259 employees without a
serious traffic jam. As for
myself, I very often stay on at the
office and work for an extra hour
or two -- especially when the
weather is bad. It's not that I'm
overly ambitious -- it's just a way
of killing time, until it's all
right for me to go home.
(MORE)


(CONTINUED)
 3.
CONTINUED:
BUD (V.O.) (CONT'D)
You see, I have this little problem
with my apartment --

DISSOLVE TO:

STREET IN THE WEST SIXTIES - EVENING

Bud, wearing a weather-beaten Ivy League raincoat and a
narrow-brimmed brown hat, comes walking slowly down the
street skirting the puddles on the sidewalk. He stops in
front of a converted brownstone, looks up.

BUD (V.O.)
I live in the West Sixties - just
half a block from Central Park. My
rent is $84 a month. It used to be
eighty until last July when Mrs.
Lieberman, the landlady, put in a
second-hand air conditioning unit.

The windows on the second floor are lit, but the shades are
drawn. From inside drifts the sound of cha cha music.

BUD (V.O.) (CONT’D)
It's a real nice apartment -
nothing fancy -- but kind of cozy --
just right for a bachelor. The only
problem is - I can't always get in
when I want to.

INT. THE APARTMENT - EVENING

What used to be the upstairs parlor of a one-family house in
the early 1900's has been chopped up into living room,
bedroom, bathroom and kitchen. The wallpaper is faded, the
carpets are threadbare, and the upholstered furniture could
stand shampooing.

There are lots of books, a record player, stacks of records,
a television set (21 inches and 24 payments), unframed prints
from the Museum of Modern Art (Picasso, Braque, Klee) tacked
up on the walls. Only one lamp is lit, for mood, and a cha
cha record is spinning around on the phonograph.

On the coffee table in front of the couch are a couple of
cocktail glasses, a pitcher with some martini dregs, an
almost empty bottle of vodka, a soup bowl with a few melting
ice cubes at the bottom, some potato chips, an ashtray filled
with cigar stubs and lipstick-stained cigarette butts, and a
woman's handbag.




(CONTINUED)
 4.
CONTINUED:

MR. KIRKEBY, a dapper, middle-aged man, stands in front of
the mirror above the fake fireplace, buttoning up his vest.
He does not notice that the buttons are out of alignment.

KIRKEBY
(calling off)
Come on, Sylvia. It's getting
late.

SYLVIA, a first baseman of a dame, redheaded and saftig,
comes cha cha-ing into the room, trying to fasten a necklace
as she hums along with the music. She dances amorously up to
Kirkeby.

KIRKEBY (CONT’D)
Cut it out, Sylvia. We got to get
out of here.

He helps her with the necklace, then turns off the
phonograph.

SYLVIA
What's the panic? I'm going to
have another martooni.

She crosses to the coffee table, starts to pour the remnants
of the vodka into the pitcher.

KIRKEBY
Please, Sylvia! It's a quarter to
nine!

SYLVIA
(dropping slivers of ice
into the pitcher)
First you can't wait to get me up
here, and now -- rush, rush, rush!
Makes a person feel cheap.

KIRKEBY
Sylvia -- sweetie -- it's not that -
- but I promised the guy I'd be out
of here by eight o'clock,
positively.

SYLVIA
(pouring martini)
What guy? Whose apartment is this,
anyway?




(CONTINUED)
 5.
CONTINUED: (2)

KIRKEBY
(exasperated)
What's the difference? Some
schnook that works in the office.

EXT. BROWNSTONE HOUSE - EVENING

Bud is pacing back and forth, throwing an occasional glance
at the lit windows of his apartment. A middle-aged woman
with a dog on a leash approaches along the sidewalk. She is
MRS. LIEBERMAN, the dog is a Scottie, and they are both
wearing raincoats. Seeing them, Bud leans casually against
the stoop.

MRS. LIEBERMAN
Good evening, Mr. Baxter.

BUD
Good evening, Mrs. Lieberman.

MRS. LIEBERMAN
Some weather we're having. Must be
from all the meshugass at Cape
Canaveral.
(she is half-way up the
steps)
You locked out of your apartment?

BUD
No, no. Just waiting for a friend.
Good night, Mrs. Lieberman.

MRS. LIEBERMAN
Good night, Mr. Baxter.

She and the Scottie disappear into the house. Bud resumes
pacing, his eyes on the apartment windows. Suddenly he stops
-- the lights have gone out.

INT. SECOND FLOOR LANDING - EVENING

Kirkeby, in coat and hat, stands in the open doorway of the
darkened apartment.

KIRKEBY
Come on -- come on, Sylvia!

Sylvia comes cha cha-ing out, wearing an imitation Persian
lamb coat, her hat askew on her head, bag, gloves, and an
umbrella in her hand.




(CONTINUED)
 6.
CONTINUED:

SYLVIA
Some setup you got here. A real,
honest-to-goodness love nest.

KIRKEBY
Sssssh.

He locks the door, slips the key under the doormat.

SYLVIA
(still cha cha-ing)
You're one button off, Mr. Kirkeby.

She points to his exposed vest. Kirkeby looks down, sees
that the buttons are out of line. He starts to rebutton them
as they move down the narrow, dimly-lit stairs.

SYLVIA (CONT’D)
You got to watch those things.
Wives are getting smarter all the
time. Take Mr. Bernheim -- in the
Claims Department -- came home one
night with lipstick on his shirt --
told his wife he had a shrimp
cocktail for lunch -- so she took
it out to the lab and had it
analyzed -- so now she has the
house in Great Neck and the
children and the new Jaguar --

KIRKEBY
Don't you ever stop talking?

EXT. BROWNSTONE HOUSE - EVENING

Bud, standing on the sidewalk, sees the front door start to
open. He moves quickly into the areaway, almost bumping into
the ashcans, stands in the shadow of the stoop with his back
turned discreetly toward Kirkeby and Sylvia as they come down
the steps.

KIRKEBY
Where do you live?

SYLVIA
I told you -- with my mother.

KIRKEBY
Where does she live?

SYLVIA
A hundred and seventy-ninth street -
- the Bronx.


(CONTINUED)
 7.
CONTINUED:

KIRKEBY
All right -- I'll take you to the
subway.

SYLVIA
Like hell you will. You'll buy me
a cab.

KIRKEBY
Why do all you dames have to live
in the Bronx?

SYLVIA
You mean you bring other girls up
here?

KIRKEBY
Certainly not. I'm a happily
married man.

They move down the street. Bud appears from the areaway,
glances after them, then mounts the steps, goes through the
front door.

INT. VESTIBULE - EVENING

There are eight mailboxes. Bud opens his, takes out a
magazine in a paper wrapper and a few letters, proceeds up
the staircase.

INT. SECOND FLOOR LANDING - EVENING

Bud, glancing through his mail, comes up to the door of his
apartment. As he bends down to lift the doormat, the door of
the rear apartment opens and MRS. DREYFUSS, a jovial well-fed
middle-aged woman, puts out a receptacle full of old papers
and empty cans. Bud looks around from his bent position.

BUD
Oh. Hello there, Mrs. Dreyfuss.

MRS. DREYFUSS
Something the matter?

BUD
I seem to have dropped my key.
(faking a little search)
Oh -- here it is.

He slides it out from under the mat, straightens up.




(CONTINUED)
 8.
CONTINUED:

MRS. DREYFUSS
Such a racket I heard in your place
-- maybe you had burglars.

BUD
Oh, you don't have to worry about
that -- nothing in there that
anybody would want to steal...
(unlocking door quickly)
Good night, Mrs. Dreyfuss.

He ducks into the apartment.

INT. THE APARTMENT - EVENING

Bud snaps on the lights, drops the mail and the key on a
small table, looks around with distaste at the mess his
visitors have left behind. He sniffs the stale air, crosses
to the window, pulls up the shade, opens it wide.

Now he takes off his hat and raincoat, gathers up the remains
of the cocktail party from the coffee table. Loaded down
with glasses, pitcher, empty vodka bottle, ice bowl and
potato chips, he starts toward the kitchen.

The doorbell rings. Bud stops, undecided what to do with the
stuff in his hands, then crosses to the hall door, barely
manages to get it open. Mr. Kirkeby barges in past him.

KIRKEBY
The little lady forgot her
galoshes.

He scours the room for the missing galoshes.

BUD
Mr. Kirkeby, I don't like to
complain -- but you were supposed
to be out of here by eight.

KIRKEBY
I know, Buddy-boy, I know. But
those things don't always run on
schedule -- like a Greyhound bus.

BUD
I don't mind in the summer -- but
on a rainy night -- and I haven't
had any dinner yet --




(CONTINUED)
 9.
CONTINUED:

KIRKEBY
Sure, sure. Look, kid -- I put in
a good word for you with Sheldrake,
in Personnel.

BUD
(perking up)
Mr. Sheldrake?

KIRKEBY
That's right. We were discussing
our department -- manpower-wise --
and promotion-wise --
(finds the galoshes behind
a chair)
-- and I told him what a bright boy
you were. They're always on the
lookout for young executives.

BUD
Thank you, Mr. Kirkeby.

KIRKEBY
(starting toward door)
You're on your way up, Buddy-boy.
And you're practically out of
liquor.

BUD
I know. Mr. Eichelberger -- in the
Mortgage Loan Department -- last
night he had a little Halloween
party here --

KIRKEBY
Well, lay in some vodka and some
vermouth -- and put my name on it.

BUD
Yes, Mr. Kirkeby. You still owe me
for the last two bottles --

KIRKEBY
I'll pay you on Friday.
(in the open doorwaY)
And whatever happened to those
little cheese crackers you used to
have around?

He exits, shutting the door.




(CONTINUED)
 10.
CONTINUED: (2)

BUD
(making a mental note)
Cheese crackers.

He carries his load into the kitchen. The kitchen is minute
and cluttered. On the drainboard are an empty vermouth
bottle, some ice-cube trays, a jar with one olive in it, and
a crumpled potato-chip bag. Bud comes in, dumps his load on
the drainboard, opens the old-fashioned refrigerator. He
takes out a frozen chicken dinner, turns the oven on, lights
it with a match, rips the protective paper off the aluminum
tray and shoves it in. Now he starts to clean up the mess on
the drainboard.

He rinses the cocktail glasses, is about to empty the martini
pitcher into the sink, thinks better of it. He pours the
contents into a glass, plops the lone olive out of the jar,
scoops up the last handful of potato chips, toasts an
imaginary companion, and drinks up.

Then he pulls a wastebasket from under the sink. It is
brimful of liquor bottles, and Bud adds the empty vodka and
vermouth bottles and the olive jar. Picking up the heavy
receptacle, he carries it through the living room toward the
hall door.

INT. SECOND FLOOR LANDING - EVENING

The door of Bud's apartment opens, and Bud comes out with the
wastebasket full of empty bottles. Just then, DR. DAVID
DREYFUSS, whose wife we met earlier, comes trudging up the
stairs. He is a tall, heavy-set man of fifty, with a bushy
mustache, wearing a bulky overcoat and carrying an aged
medical bag.

DR. DREYFUSS
Good evening, Baxter.

BUD
Hi, Doc. Had a late call?

DR. DREYFUSS
Yeah. Some clown at Schrafft's
Street ate a club sandwich, and
forgot to take out the toothpick.

BUD
Oh.
(sets down wastebasket)
'Bye, Doc.




(CONTINUED)
 11.
CONTINUED:

DR. DREYFUSS
(indicating bottles)
Say, Baxter -- the way you're
belting that stuff, you must have a
pair of cast-iron kidneys.

BUD
Oh, that's not me. It's just that
once in a while, I have some people
in for a drink.

DR. DREYFUSS
As a matter of fact, you must be an
iron man all around. From what I
hear through the walls, you got
something going for you every
night.

BUD
I'm sorry if it gets noisy --

DR. DREYFUSS
Sometimes, there's a twi-night
double-header.
(shaking his head)
A nebbish like you!

BUD
(uncomfortable)
Yeah. Well -- see you, Doc.
(starts to back through
door)

DR. DREYFUSS
You know, Baxter -- I'm doing some
research at the Columbia Medical
Center -- and I wonder if you could
do us a favor?

BUD
Me?

DR. DREYFUSS
When you make out your will -- and
the way you're going, you should --
would you mind leaving your body to
the University?

BUD
My body? I'm afraid you guys would
be disappointed. Good night, Doc.




(CONTINUED)
 12.
CONTINUED: (2)

DR. DREYFUSS
Slow down, kid.

He starts into the rear apartment as Bud closes the door.

INT. THE APARTMENT - EVENING

Bud, loosening his tie, goes into the kitchen, opens the
oven, turns off the gas. He takes a coke out of the
refrigerator, uncaps it, gets a knife and fork from a drawer,
and using his handkerchief as a potholder, pulls the hot
aluminum tray out of the oven. He carries everything out
into the living room. In the living room, Bud sets his dinner
down on the coffee table, settles himself on the couch.

He rears up as something stabs him, reaches under his
buttocks, pulls out a hairpin. He drops it into an ashtray,
tackles his dinner. Without even looking, he reaches over to
the end table and presses the remote TV station-selector.

He takes a sip from the coke bottle, his eyes on the TV
screen across the room. The picture on the TV set jells
quickly. Against a background of crisscrossing searchlights,
a pompous announcer is making his spiel.

ANNOUNCER
-- from the world's greatest
library of film classics, we
proudly present --
(fanfare)
Greta Garbo -- John Barrymore --
Joan Crawford -- Wallace Beery --
and Lionel Barrymore in --
(fanfare)

GRAND HOTEL!

There is an extended fanfare. Bud leans forward, chewing
excitedly on a chicken leg.

ANNOUNCER
But first, a word from our sponsor.
If you smoke the modern way, don't
be fooled by phony filter claims --


Bud, still eating, automatically reaches for the station-
selector, pushes the button. A new channel pops on. It
features a Western -- Cockamamie Indians are attacking a
stagecoach. That's not for Bud.

He switches to another station. In a frontier saloon, Gower
Street cowboys are dismantling the furniture and each other.


(CONTINUED)
 13.
CONTINUED:

Bud wearily changes channels. But he can't get away from
Westerns -- on this station, the U.S. Cavalry is riding to
the rescue. Will they get there in time? Bud doesn't wait to
find out.

He switches channels again, and is back where he started. On
the screen, once more, is the announcer standing in front of
the crisscrossing searchlights.

ANNOUNCER (CONT’D)
And now, Grand Hotel -- starring
Greta Garbo, John Barrymore, Joan
Crawford --
(Bud is all eyes and ears
again)
-- Wallace Beery, and Lionel
Barrymore. But first -- a word
from our alternate sponsor.
(unctuously)
Friends, do you have wobbly
dentures -- ?

That does it. Bud turns the set off in disgust. The TV
screen blacks out, except for a small pinpoint of light in
the center, which gradually fades away.

In the bathroom, Bud, in pajamas by now, is brushing his
teeth. From the shower rod hang three pairs of socks on
stretchers. Bud takes a vial from the medicine shelf, shakes
out a sleeping pill, washes it down with a glass of water.
He turns the light off, walks into the bedroom.

In the bedroom, the single bed is made, and the lamp on the
night table is on. Bud plugs in the electric blanket, turns
the dial on. Then he climbs into bed, props up the pillow
behind him. From the night table, he picks up the magazine
that arrived in the mail, slides it out of the wrapper, opens
it.

It's the new issue of PLAYBOY. Bud leafs through it till he
comes to the piece de resistance of the magazine. He unfolds
the overleaf, glances at it casually, refolds it, then turns
to the back of the magazine and starts to read.

What he is so avidly interested in is the men's fashion
section. There is a layout titled WHAT THE YOUNG EXECUTIVE
WILL WEAR with a sub-head reading The Bowler is Back.

Illustrating the article are several photographs of male
models wearing various styles of bowlers. Bud is definitely
in the market for a bowler, but somehow his mind starts
wandering.



(CONTINUED)
 14.
CONTINUED: (2)

He turns back to the overleaf again, unfolds it, studies it,
then holds the magazine up vertically to get a different
perspective on the subject. By now the sleeping pill is
beginning to take effect, and he yawns.

He drops the magazine on the floor, kills the light, settles
down to sleep. The room is dark except for the glow from the
dial of the electric blanket. Three seconds.

Then the phone jangles shrilly in the living room. Bud
stumbles groggily out of bed, and putting on his slippers,
makes his way into the living room. He switches on the
light, picks up the phone.

BUD
Hello? -- Hello? -- yes, this is
Baxter.

INT. PHONE BOOTH IN A MANHATTAN BAR - NIGHT

On the night is a hearty man of about forty-five, nothing gut
personality, most of it obnoxious. His name is DOBISCH.
Outside the booth is a blonde babe, slightly boozed, and
beyond there is a suggestion of the packed, smoky joint.

DOBISCH
Hiya, Buddy-boy. I'm in this bar
on Sixty-first Street -- and I got
to thinking about you -- and I
figured I'd give you a little buzz.

BUD - ON PHONE

BUD
Well, that's very nice of you --
but who is this?

INT. PHONE BOOTH

DOBISCH
Dobisch -- Joe Dobisch, in
Administration.

BUD - ON PHONE

BUD
(snapping to attention)
Oh, yes, Mr. Dobisch. I didn't
recognize your voice --
 15.


INT. PHONE BOOTH

DOBISCH
That's okay, Buddy-boy. Now like I
was saying, I'm in this joint on
Sixty-first -- and I think I got
lucky --
(glances toward blonde)
-- she's a skater with the Ice Show
(he chuckles)
-- and I thought maybe I could
bring her up for a quiet drink.

BUD - ON PHONE

BUD
I'm sorry, Mr. Dobisch. You know I
like to help you guys out -- but
it's sort of late -- so why don't
we make it some other time?

INT. PHONE BOOTH

DOBISCH
Buddy-boy -- she won't keep that
long -- not even on ice. Listen,
kid, I can't pass this up -- she
looks like Marilyn Monroe.

BUD - ON PHONE

BUD
I don't care if it is Marilyn
Monroe -- I'm already in bed -- and
I've taken a sleeping pill -- so
I'm afraid the answer is no.

INT. PHONE BOOTH

DOBISCH
(pulling rank)
Look, Baxter -- we're making out
the monthly efficiency rating --
and I'm putting you in the top ten.
Now you don't want to louse
yourself up, do you?

BUD - ON PHONE

BUD
Of course not. But -- how can I be
efficient in the office if I don't
get enough sleep at night?
 16.


INT. PHONE BOOTH

DOBISCH
It's only eleven -- and I just want
the place for forty-five minutes.

The blonde opens the door of the phone booth, leans in.

BLONDE
I'm getting lonely. Who are you
talking to, anyway?

DOBISCH
My mother.

BLONDE
That's sweet. That's real sweet.

Dobisch shuts the door in her face.

DOBISCH
(into phone again)
Make it thirty minutes. What do
you say, Bud?

BUD - ON PHONE

BUD
(a last stand)
I'm all out of liquor -- and
there's no clean glasses -- no
cheese crackers -- no nothing.

INT. PHONE BOOTH

DOBISCH
Let me worry about that. Just
leave the key under the mat and
clear out.

INT. THE APARTMENT

BUD
(into phone; resigned)
Yes, Mr. Dobisch.

He hangs up, shuffles back into the bedroom.

BUD (CONT’D)
(muttering to himself)
Anything you say, Mr. Dobisch -- no
trouble at all, Mr. Dobisch -- be
my guest --


(CONTINUED)
 17.
CONTINUED:

He reappears from the bedroom, pulling his trousers on over
his pajama pants.

BUD (CONT’D)
-- We never close at Buddy-boy's --
looks like Marilyn Monroe --
(he chuckles a la Dobisch)

Putting on his raincoat and hat, Bud opens the hall door,
takes the key from the table, shoves it under the doormat.
His eyes fall on the Dreyfuss apartment, and there is some
concern on his face. He picks up a pad and pencil from the
table, prints something in block letters.

Tearing off the top sheet, he impales it on the spindle of
the phonograph, then walks out, closing the door behind him.
The note reads: NOT TOO LOUD

THE NEIGHBORS ARE COMPLAINING

EXT. BROWNSTONE HOUSE - NIGHT

Bud comes out the door, in slippered feet, pants and raincoat
over his pajamas. As he sleep-walks down the steps, a cab
pulls up in front of the house. Bud ducks discreetly into
the areaway.

Mr. Dobisch, bareheaded, emerges cautiously from the cab.
Between the fingers of his hands he is carrying four long-
stemmed glasses, brimful of stingers. The blonde steps out,
holding his hat.

BLONDE
This the place?

DOBISCH
Yeah.
(to cab driver)
How much?

CABBIE
Seventy cents.

Dobisch, his hands full of stingers, turns to the blonde,
indicates his pants pocket.

DOBISCH
Get the money, will you?

The blonde plants the hat on top of his head, unbuttons his
overcoat, reaches into his pants pocket. As she does so, she
jogs his elbow.



(CONTINUED)
 18.
CONTINUED:

DOBISCH (CONT’D)
Watch those stingers!

The blonde has taken out Dobisch's money clip, with about a
hundred dollars in it.

DOBISCH (CONT’D)
Give him a buck.

The blonde peels a bill off, hands it to the cabbie, hangs on
to the rest of the roll just a second too long.

DOBISCH (CONT’D)
Now put it back, honey.
(she does)
Atta girl.

The cab drives off. Dobisch and the blonde start up the
steps to the house.

BLONDE
You sure this is a good idea?

DOBISCH
Can't think of a better one.

BLONDE
(holding door open for
him)
I mean - barging in on your mother -
- in the middle of the night?

DOBISCH
(edging past her with
stingers)
Don't worry about the old lady. One
squawk from her, and she's out of a
job.

In the areaway, Bud has overheard them, and it doesn't make
him any happier. He steps out on the sidewalk, shuffles down
the street.

INT. SECOND FLOOR LANDING - NIGHT

The blonde and Dobisch, his hands full of stingers, come up
to Bud's door.

DOBISCH
Get the key, will you.

Automatically, she reaches into his pocket.



(CONTINUED)
 19.
CONTINUED:

DOBISCH (CONT’D)
Not there. Under the mat.

BLONDE
(puzzled)
Under the mat?
(picks up key)

DOBISCH
(impatiently)
Open up, open up -- we haven't got
all night.

The blonde unlocks the door to the apartment, opens it.

BLONDE
(suspiciously)
So this is your mother's apartment?

DOBISCH
That's right. Maria Ouspenskaya.

BLONDE
(sticking her head in)
Hiya, Ouspenskaya.

Dobisch nudges her inside with his knee, kicks the door shut
behind him. The landing is empty for a second. Then the
door of the rear apartment opens, and Dr. Dreyfuss, in a
beaten bathrobe, sets out a couple of empty milk bottles with
a note in them. Suddenly, from Bud's apartment, comes a
shrill female giggle. Dr. Dreyfuss reacts. Then the cha cha
music starts full blast.

DR. DREYFUSS
(calling to his wife, off-
screen)
Mildred -- he's at it again.

Shaking his head, he closes the door.

EXT. CENTRAL PARK - NIGHT

Bud, in raincoat and slippered feet, turns in off the street,
plods along a path in the deserted park. He stops at a damp
bench under a lamp post, sits.

In the background, lights shine from the towering buildings
on Central Park South. Bud huddles inside his raincoat,
shivering. He is very sleepy by now.




(CONTINUED)
 20.
CONTINUED:

His eyes close and his head droops. A gust of wind sends wet
leaves swirling across the bench. Bud doesn't stir. He is
all in.

FADE OUT.

FADE IN:

INT. LOBBY INSURANCE BUILDING - DAY

It's a quarter to nine of a gray November morning, and work-
bound employees are piling in through the doors. Among them
is Bud, bundled up in a raincoat, hat, heavy muffler and wool
gloves, and carrying a box of Kleenex. He coughs, pulls out
a tissue, wipes his dripping nose. He has a bad cold. The
lobby is an imposing, marbled affair, as befits a company
which last year wrote 9.3 billion dollars worth of insurance.
There are sixteen elevators, eight of them marked LOCAL -
FLOORS 1-18, and opposite them eight marked EXPRESS - FLOORS
18-37. The starter, a uniformed Valkyrie wielding a clicker,
is directing the flow of traffic into the various elevators.
Bud joins the crowd in front of one of the express elevators.
Also standing there is Mr. Kirkeby, reading the Herald-
Tribune.

BUD
(hoarsely)
Good morning, Mr. Kirkeby.

KIRKEBY
(as if he just knew him
vaguely)
Oh, how are you, Baxter. They
keeping you busy these days?

BUD
Yes, sir. They are indeed.
(he sniffs)

The elevator doors open, revealing the operator. She is in
her middle twenties and her name is FRAN KUBELIK. Maybe it's
the way she's put together, maybe it's her face, or maybe
it's just the uniform -- in any case, there is something very
appealing about her. She is also an individualist -- she
wears a carnation in her lapel, which is strictly against
regulations. As the elevator loads, she greets the
passengers cheerfully.




(CONTINUED)
 21.
CONTINUED:

FRAN
(rattling it off)
Morning, Mr. Kessel -- Morning,
Miss Robinson -- Morning, Mr.
Kirkeby -- Morning, Mr. Williams --
Morning, Miss Livingston --
Morning, Mr. McKellway -- Morning,
Mr. Pirelli -- Morning, Mrs.
Schubert --

Interspersed is an occasional "Morning, Miss Kubelik" from
the passengers.

FRAN (CONT’D)
Morning, Mr. Baxter.

BUD
Morning, Miss Kubelik.

He takes his hat off -- he is the only one. The express is
now loaded.

STARTER
(working the clicker)
That's all. Take it away.

FRAN
(shutting the door)
Watch the door, please. Blasting
off.

INT. ELEVATOR

Bud is standing right next to Fran as the packed express
shoots up.

BUD
(studying her)
What did you do to your hair?

FRAN
It was making me nervous, so I
chopped it off. Big mistake, huh?

BUD
I sort of like it.

He sniffs, takes out a Kleenex, wipes his nose.

FRAN
Say, you got a lulu.




(CONTINUED)
 22.
CONTINUED:

BUD
Yeah. I better not get too close.

FRAN
Oh, I never catch colds.

BUD
Really? I was looking at some
figures from the Sickness and
Accident Claims Division -- do you
know that the average New Yorker
between the ages of twenty and
fifty has two and a half colds a
year?

FRAN
That makes me feel just terrible.

BUD
Why?

FRAN
Well, to make the figures come out
even -- since I have no colds a
year -- some poor slob must have
five colds a year.

BUD
That's me.
(dabs his nose)

FRAN
You should have stayed in bed this
morning.

BUD
I should have stayed in bed last
night.

The elevator has slowed down, now stops. Fran opens the
door.

FRAN
Nineteen. Watch your step.

About a third of the passengers get out, including Bud and
Mr. Kirkeby. As Kirkeby passes Fran, he slaps her behind
with his folded newspaper. Fran jumps slightly.

FRAN (CONT’D)
(all in the day's work)
And watch your hand, Mr. Kirkeby!



(CONTINUED)
 23.
CONTINUED: (2)

KIRKEBY
(innocently)
I beg your pardon?

FRAN
One of these days I'm going to shut
those doors on you and --

She withdraws her hand into the sleeve of her uniform, and
waves the "amputated" arm at him.

FRAN (CONT’D)
Twenty next.

The doors close.

INT. NINETEENTH FLOOR - DAY

Kirkeby turns away from the elevator, and grinning smugly,
falls in beside Bud.

KIRKEBY
That Kubelik -- boy! Would I like
to get her on a slow elevator to
China.

BUD
Oh, yes. She's the best operator
in the building.

KIRKEBY
I'm a pretty good operator myself --
but she just won't give me a tumble
-- date-wise.

BUD
Maybe you're using the wrong
approach.

KIRKEBY
A lot of guys around here have
tried it -- all kinds of approaches
-- no dice. What is she trying to
prove?

BUD
Could be she's just a nice,
respectable girl -- there are
millions of them.

KIRKEBY
Listen to him. Little Lord
Fauntleroy!


(CONTINUED)
 24.
CONTINUED:

Leaving Bud at the employees' coat-racks, Kirkeby heads
toward his office, one of the glass-enclosed cubicles. Bud
hangs up his hat and raincoat, stows away the gloves and
muffler.

Out of his coat pocket he takes a plastic anti- histamine
sprayer and a box of cough drops, and still carrying the
Kleenex, threads his way to his desk. Most of the desks are
already occupied, and the others are filling rapidly. Once
seated at his desk, Bud arranges his medicaments neatly in
front of him.

He takes a Kleenex out of the box, blows his nose, then
leaning back in his swivel chair sprays first one nostril,
then the other. Suddenly the piercing bell goes off -- the
workday has begun.

Being the ultra-conscientious type, Bud instantly sits
upright in his chair, removes the cover from his computing
machine, picks up a batch of perforated premium cards, starts
entering figures on his computer. After a few seconds, he
glances around to make sure that everybody in the vicinity is
busy. Then he looks up a number in the company telephone
directory, dials furtively.

BUD
(cupping hand over phone
mouthpiece)
Hello, Mr. Dobisch? This is Baxter,
on the nineteenth floor.

INT. DOBISCH'S OFFICE - DAY

It is a glass-enclosed cubicle on the twenty-first floor.
Through the glass we see another enormous layout of desks,
everybody working away. Dobisch is holding the phone in one
hand, running an electric shaver over his face with the
other.

DOBISCH
Oh, Buddy-boy. I was just about to
call you.
(shuts off electric
shaver)
I'm sorry about that mess on the
living room wall. You see, my
little friend, she kept insisting
Picasso was a bum -- so she started
to do that mural -- but I'm sure it
will wash off -- just eyebrow
pencil.
 25.


BUD - ON PHONE

BUD
It's not Picasso I'm calling about.
It's the key -- to my apartment --
you were supposed to leave it under
the mat.

DOBISCH - ON PHONE

DOBISCH
I did, didn't I? I distinctly
remember bending over and putting
it there --

BUD - ON PHONE

BUD
Oh, I found a key there, all right -
- only it's the wrong key.

DOBISCH - ON PHONE

DOBISCH
It is?
(takes Bud's key out of
his pocket)
Well, how about that? No wonder I
couldn't get into the executive
washroom this morning.

BUD - ON PHONE

BUD
And I couldn't get into my
apartment -- so at four a. m. I had
to wake up the landlady and give
her a whole song and dance about
going out to mail a letter and the
door slamming shut.

DOBISCH - ON PHONE

DOBISCH
That's a shame. I'll send the key
right down. And about your
promotion --
(leafs through report on
desk)
-- I'm sending that efficiency
report right up to Mr. Sheldrake,
in Personnel.
(MORE)


(CONTINUED)
 26.
CONTINUED:
DOBISCH (CONT'D)
I wouldn't be surprised if you
heard from him before the day is
over.

BUD - ON PHONE

BUD
Thank you, Mr. Dobisch.

He hangs up, feels his forehead. It is warm. Clipped to his
handkerchief pocket are a black fountain pen and, next to it,
a thermometer in a black case. Bud unclips the thermometer
case, unscrews the cap, shakes the thermometer out, puts it
under his tongue. He resumes work.

A messenger comes up to his desk with an interoffice
envelope.

MESSENGER
From Mr. Dobisch.

BUD
(thermometer in mouth)
Wait.

He turns away from the messenger, unties the string of the
envelope, takes his key out, puts it in a coat pocket. From a
trouser pocket, he extracts Dobisch's key to the executive
washroom, slips it discreetly into the envelope, reties it,
hands it to the messenger.

BUD (CONT’D)
(thermometer in mouth)
To Mr. Dobisch.

Puzzled by the whole procedure, the messenger leaves. Bud now
removes the thermometer from his mouth, reads it. It's worse
than he thought. He puts the thermometer back in the case,
clips it to his pocket, takes his desk calendar out of a
drawer, turns a leaf.

Under the date WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 4 there is an entry in his
handwriting -- MR. VANDERHOF. Bud consults the telephone
directory again, picks up the phone, dials.

INT. VANDERHOF'S OFFICE - DAY

This is another glass-enclosed cubicle on another floor. MR.
VANDERHOF, a Junior Chamber of Commerce type, is dictating to
an elderly secretary who sits across the desk from him.




(CONTINUED)
 27.
CONTINUED:

VANDERHOF
Dear Mr. MacIntosh --
(phone rings and he picks
it up)
Vanderhof, Public Relations. Oh,
yes, Baxter. Just a minute.
(to secretary)
All right, Miss Finch -- type up
what we got so far.
(he waits till she is out
of the office; then, into
phone)
Now what is it, Baxter?

BUD - ON PHONE

BUD
Look, Mr. Vanderhof -- I've got you
down here for tonight -- but I'm
going to be using the place myself -
- so I'll have to cancel.

VANDERHOF - ON PHONE

VANDERHOF
Cancel? But it's her birthday -- I
already ordered the cake --

BUD - ON PHONE

BUD
I hate to disappoint you -- I mean,
many happy returns -- but not
tonight --

VANDERHOF - ON PHONE

VANDERHOF
That's not like you, Baxter. Just
the other day, at the staff
meeting, I was telling Mr.
Sheldrake what a reliable man you
were.

BUD - ON PHONE

BUD
Thank you, Mr. Vanderhof. But I'm
sick -- I have this terrible cold --
and a fever -- and I got to go to
bed right after work.
 28.


VANDERHOF - ON PHONE

VANDERHOF
Buddy-boy, that's the worst thing
you can do. If you got a cold, you
should go to a Turkish bath --
spend the night there -- sweat it
out --

BUD - ON PHONE

BUD
Oh, no. I'd get pneumonia -- and if
I got pneumonia, I'd be in bed for
a month -- and if I were in bed for
a month --

VANDERHOF - ON PHONE

VANDERHOF
Okay, you made your point. We'll
just have to do it next Wednesday --
that's the only night of the week I
can get away.

BUD - ON PHONE

BUD
Wednesday -- Wednesday --
(leafing through calendar)
I got somebody penciled in -- let
me see what I can do -- I'll get
back to you.

He hangs up, riffles through the directory, finds the number,
and with a furtive look around, dials again.

BUD (CONT’D)
(into phone)
Mr. Eichelberger? Is this Mortgage
and Loan? I'd like to speak to Mr.
Eichelberger. Yes, it is urgent.

INT. EICHELBERGER'S OFFICE - DAY

Also glass-enclosed, but slightly larger than the others. MR.
EICHELBERGER, a solid citizen of about fifty, is displaying
some mortgage graphs to three associates. A fourth one has
answered the phone.




(CONTINUED)
 29.
CONTINUED:

ASSOCIATE
(holding out phone to
Eichelberger)
For you, Mel.

Eichelberger puts the charts down, takes the phone.

EIGHELBERGER
Eichelberger here -- oh, yes,
Baxter --
(a glance at his
associates; then
continues, as though it
were a business call)
What's your problem? -- Wednesday
is out? -- oh -- that throws a
little monkey wrench into my agenda
-- Thursday? No, I'm all tied up on
Thursday -- let's schedule that
meeting for Friday.

BUD - ON PHONE

BUD
Friday?
(checks calendar)
Let me see what I can do. I'll get
back to you.

He hangs up, consults the directory, starts to dial a number.

INT. KIRKEBY'S OFFICE - DAY

It's another of those glass-enclosed cubicles, on the
nineteenth floor. Kirkeby is talking into a dictaphone.

KIRKEBY
Premium-wise and billing-wise, we
are eighteen percent ahead of last
year, October-wise.

The phone has been ringing. Kirkeby switches off the machine,
picks up the phone.

KIRKEBY (CONT’D)
Hello? Yeah, Baxter. What's up?

BUD - ON PHONE

BUD
Instead of Friday -- could you
possibly switch to Thursday? You'd
be doing me a great favor --
 30.


KIRKEBY - ON PHONE

KIRKEBY
Well -- it's all right with me,
Bud. Let me check. I'll get back to
you.

He presses down the button on the cradle, dials Operator.

INT. SWITCHBOARD ROOM

There is a double switchboard in the center, with nine girls
on each side, all busy as beavers. In the foreground we
recognize Sylvia, Kirkeby's date of last night.

SYLVIA
Consolidated Life -- I'll connect
you -- Consolidated Life --

The girl next to her turns and holds out a line.

SWITCHBOARD GIRL
Sylvia -- it's for you.

Sylvia plugs the call into her own switchboard.

SYLVIA
Yes? Oh, hello -- sure I got home
all right -- you owe me forty-five
cents.

KIRKEBY - ON PHONE

KIRKEBY
Okay, okay. Look, Sylvia -- instead
of Friday - could we make it
Thursday night?

SYLVIA - AT SWITCHBOARD

SYLVIA
Thursday? That's The Untouchables --
with Bob Stack.

KIRKEBY - ON PHONE

KIRKEBY
Bob WHO? -- all right, so we'll
watch it at the apartment. Big
deal.
(he hangs up, dials)
Baxter? It's okay for Thursday.
 31.


INT. NINETEENTH FLOOR - DAY

Bud, at his desk, is on the phone.

BUD
Thank you, Mr. Kirkeby.
(hangs up, consults
directory, dials)
Mr. Eichelberger? It's okay for
Friday.
(hangs up, consults
directory, dials)
Mr. Vanderhof? It's okay for
Wednesday.

During this, the phone has rung at the next desk, and the
occupant, MR. MOFFETT, has picked it up. As Bud hangs up --

MOFFETT
(into phone)
All right -- I'll tell him.
(hangs up, turns to Bud)
Hey, Baxter -- that was Personnel.
Mr. Sheldrake's secretary.

BUD
Sheldrake?

MOFFETT
She's been trying to reach you for
the last twenty minutes. They want
you up stairs.

BUD
Oh!

He jumps up, stuffs the nose-spray into one pocket, a handful
of Kleenex into the other.

MOFFETT
What gives, Baxter? You getting
promoted or getting fired?

BUD
(cockily)
Care to make a small wager?

MOFFETT
I've been here twice as long as you
have --

BUD
Shall we say -- a dollar?


(CONTINUED)
 32.
CONTINUED:

MOFFETT
It's a bet.

Bud snake-hips between the desks like a broken-field runner.
At the elevator, Bud presses the UP button, paces nervously.
One of the elevator doors opens, and as Bud starts inside,
the doors of the adjoining elevator open, and Fran Kubelik
sticks her head out.

FRAN
Going up?

Hearing her voice, Bud throws a quick "Excuse me" to the
other operator, exits quickly and steps into Fran's elevator.

BUD
Twenty-seven, please. And drive
carefully. You're carrying precious
cargo -- I mean, manpower-wise.

Fran shuts the doors.

INT. ELEVATOR - DAY

Fran presses a button, and the elevator starts up.

FRAN
Twenty-seven.

BUD
You may not realize it, Miss
Kubelik, but I'm in the top ten --
efficiency-wise and this may be the
day -- promotion-wise.

FRAN
You're beginning to sound like Mr.
Kirkeby already.

BUD
Why not? Now that they're kicking
me upstairs --

FRAN
Couldn't happen to a nicer guy.
(Bud beams)
You know, you're the only one
around here who ever takes his hat
off in the elevator.

BUD
Really?



(CONTINUED)
 33.
CONTINUED:

FRAN
The characters you meet. Something
happens to men in elevators. Must
be the change of altitude -- the
blood rushes to their head, or
something -- boy, I could tell you
stories --

BUD
I'd love to hear them. Maybe we
could have lunch in the cafeteria
sometime -- or some evening, after
work --

The elevator has stopped, and Fran opens the doors.

FRAN
Twenty-seven.

INT. TWENTY-SEVENTH FLOOR FOYER - DAY

It is pretty plush up here -- soft carpeting and tall
mahogany doors leading to the executive offices. The elevator
door is open, and Bud steps out.

FRAN
I hope everything goes all right.

BUD
I hope so.
(turning back)
Wouldn't you know they'd call me on
a day like this -- with my cold and
everything --
(fumbling with his tie)
How do I look?

FRAN
Fine.
(stepping out of elevator)
Wait.

She takes the carnation out of her lapel, starts to put it in
Bud's buttonhole.

BUD
Thank you. That's the first thing I
ever noticed about you -- when you
were still on the local elevator --
you always wore a flower --

The elevator buzzer is now sounding insistently. Fran steps
back inside.


(CONTINUED)
 34.
CONTINUED:

FRAN
Good luck. And wipe your nose.

She shuts the doors. Bud looks after her, then takes a
Kleenex out of his pocket, and wiping his nose, crosses to a
glass door marked J. D. SHELDRAKE, DIRECTOR OF PERSONNEL. He
stashes the used Kleenex away in another pocket, enters.

INT. SHELDRAKE'S ANTEROOM - DAY

It is a sedate office with a secretary and a couple of
typists. The secretary's name is MISS OLSEN. She is in her
thirties, flaxen- haired, handsome, wears harlequin glasses,
and has an incisive manner. Bud comes up to her desk.

BUD
C. C. Baxter -- Ordinary Premium
Accounting -- Mr. Sheldrake called
me.

MISS OLSEN
I called you -- that is, I tried to
call you -- for twenty minutes.

BUD
I'm sorry, I --

MISS OLSEN
Go on in.

She indicates the door leading to the inner office. Bud
squares his shoulders and starts in.

INT. SHELDRAKE'S OFFICE - DAY

Mr. Sheldrake is a $14,000 a year man, and rates a four-
window office. It is not quite an executive suite, but it is
several pegs above the glass cubicles of the middle echelon.
There is lots of leather, and a large desk behind which sits
MR. SHELDRAKE.

He is a substantial looking, authoritative man in his middle
forties, a pillar of his suburban community, a blood donor
and a family man. The latter is attested to by a framed
photograph showing two boys, aged 8 and 10, in military
school uniforms. As Baxter comes through the door, Sheldrake
is leafing through Dobisch's efficiency report. He looks up
at Bud through a pair of heavy-rimmed reading glasses.

SHELDRAKE
Baxter?




(CONTINUED)
 35.
CONTINUED:

BUD
Yes, sir.

SHELDRAKE
(studying him)
I was sort of wondering what you
looked like. Sit down.

BUD
Yes, Mr. Sheldrake.

He seats himself on the very edge of the leather armchair
facing Sheldrake.

SHELDRAKE
Been hearing some very nice things
about you -- here's a report from
Mr. Dobisch -- loyal, cooperative,
resourceful --

BUD
Mr. Dobisch said that?

SHELDRAKE
And Mr. Kirkeby tells me that
several nights a week you work late
at the office -- without overtime.

BUD
(modestly)
Well, you know how it is -- things
pile up.

SHELDRAKE
Mr. Vanderhof, in Public Relations,
and Mr. Eichelberger, in Mortgage
and Loan -- they'd both like to
have you transferred to their
departments.

BUD
That's very flattering.

Sheldrake puts the report down, takes off his glasses, leans
across the desk toward Bud.

SHELDRAKE
Tell me, Baxter -- just what is it
that makes you so popular?

BUD
I don't know.



(CONTINUED)
 36.
CONTINUED: (2)

SHELDRAKE
Think.

Bud does so. For a moment, he is a picture of intense
concentration. Then --

BUD
Would you mind repeating the
question?

SHELDRAKE
Look, Baxter, I'm not stupid. I
know everything that goes on in
this building -- in every
department -- on every floor --
every day of the year.

BUD
(in a very small voice)
You do?

SHELDRAKE
(rises, starts pacing)
In 1957, we had an employee here,
name of Fowler. He was very
popular, too. Turned out he was
running a bookie joint right in the
Actuarial Department tying up the
switchboard, figuring the odds on
our I.B.M. machines -- so the day
before the Kentucky Derby, I called
in the Vice Squad and we raided the
thirteenth floor.

BUD
(worried)
The Vice Squad?

SHELDRAKE
That's right, Baxter.

BUD
What -- what's that got to do with
me? I'm not running any bookie
joint.

SHELDRAKE
What kind of joint are you running?

BUD
Sir?




(CONTINUED)
 37.
CONTINUED: (3)

SHELDRAKE
There's a certain key floating
around the office -- from Kirkeby
to Vanderhof to Eichelberger to
Dobisch -- it's the key to a
certain apartment -- and you know
who that apartment belongs to?

BUD
Who?

SHELDRAKE
Loyal, cooperative, resourceful C.
C. Baxter.

BUD
Oh.

SHELDRAKE
Are you going to deny it?

BUD
No, sir. I'm not going to deny it.
But if you'd just let me explain --

SHELDRAKE
You better.

BUD
(a deep breath)
Well, about six months ago -- I was
going to night school, taking this
course in Advanced Accounting --
and one of the guys in our
department -- he lives in Jersey --
he was going to a banquet at the
Biltmore -- his wife was meeting
him in town, and he needed
someplace to change into a tuxedo --
so I gave him the key and word
must have gotten around -- because
the next thing I knew, all sorts of
guys were suddenly going to
banquets -- and when you give the
key to one guy, you can't say no to
another and the whole thing got out
of hand -- pardon me.

He whips out the nasal-spray, administers a couple of quick
squirts up each nostril.




(CONTINUED)
 38.
CONTINUED: (4)

SHELDRAKE
Baxter, an insurance company is
founded on public trust. Any
employee who conducts himself in a
manner unbecoming --
(shifting into a new gear)
How many charter members are there
in this little club of yours?

BUD
Just those four -- out of a total
of 31,259 -- so actually, we can be
very proud of our personnel --
percentage-wise.

SHELDRAKE
That's not the point. Four rotten
apples in a barrel -- no matter how
large the barrel -- you realize
that if this ever leaked out --

BUD
Oh, it won't. Believe me. And it's
not going to happen again. From now
on, nobody is going to use my
apartment --

In his vehemence he squeezes the spray bottle, which squirts
all over the desk.

SHELDRAKE
Where is your apartment?

BUD
West 67th Street. You have no idea
what I've been going through --
with the neighbors and the landlady
and the liquor and the key --

SHELDRAKE
How do you work it with the key?

BUD
Well, usually I slip it to them in
the office and they leave it under
the mat -- but never again -- I can
promise you that --

The phone buzzer sounds, and Sheldrake picks up the phone.

SHELDRAKE
Yes, Miss Olsen.
 39.

INT. SHELDRAKE'S ANTEROOM - DAY

Miss Olsen is on the phone.

MISS OLSEN
Mrs. Sheldrake returning your call -
- on two --


She presses a button down, starts to hang the phone up,
glances around to see if the typists are watching, then
raises the receiver to her ear and eavesdrops on the
conversation.

INT. SHELDRAKE'S OFFICE - DAY

Sheldrake is talking into the phone.

SHELDRAKE
Yes, dear -- I called you earlier --
where were you? Oh, you took Tommy
to the dentist --

During this, Bud has risen from his chair, started inching
toward the door.

SHELDRAKE (CONT’D)
(turning to him)
Where are you going, Baxter?

BUD
Well, I don't want to intrude --
and I thought -- since it's all
straightened out anyway --

SHELDRAKE
I'm not through with you yet.

BUD
Yes, sir.

SHELDRAKE
(into phone)
The reason I called is -- I won't
be home for dinner tonight. The
branch manager from Kansas City is
in town -- I'm taking him to the
theatre Music Man, what else? No,
don't wait up for me -- 'bye,
darling.
(hangs up, turns to Bud)
Tell me something, Baxter -- have
you seen Music Man?


(CONTINUED)
 40.
CONTINUED:

BUD
Not yet. But I hear it's one swell
show.

SHELDRAKE
How would you like to go tonight?

BUD
You mean -- you and me? I thought
you were taking the branch manager
from Kansas City --

SHELDRAKE
I made other plans. You can have
both tickets.

BUD
Well, that's very kind of you --
only I'm not feeling well -- you
see, I have this cold -- and I
thought I'd go straight home.

SHELDRAKE
Baxter, you're not reading me. I
told you I have plans.

BUD
So do I -- I'm going to take four
aspirins and get into bed -- so you
better give the tickets to somebody
else --

SHELDRAKE
I'm not just giving those tickets,
Baxter -- I want to swap them.

BUD
Swap them? For what?

Sheldrake picks up the Dobisch reports, puts on his glasses,
turns a page.

SHELDRAKE
It also says here -- that you are
alert, astute, and quite
imaginative --

BUD
Oh?
(the dawn is breaking)
Oh!




(CONTINUED)
 41.
CONTINUED: (2)

He reaches into his coat pocket, fishes out a handful of
Kleenex, and then finally the key to his apartment. He holds
it up.

BUD (CONT’D)
This?

SHELDRAKE
That's good thinking, Baxter. Next
month there's going to be a shift
in personnel around here -- and as
far as I'm concerned, you're
executive material.

BUD
I am?

SHELDRAKE
Now put down the key --
(pushing a pad toward him)
-- and put down the address.

Bud lays the key on the desk, unclips what he thinks is his
fountain pen, uncaps it, starts writing on the pad.

BUD
It's on the second floor - my name
is not on the door -- it just says -

Suddenly he realizes that he has been trying to write the
address with the thermometer.

BUD (CONT’D)
Oh -- terribly sorry. It's that
cold --

SHELDRAKE
Relax, Baxter.

BUD
Thank you, sir.

He has replaced the thermometer with the fountain pen, and is
scribbling the address.

BUD (CONT’D)
You'll be careful with the record
player, won't you? And about the
liquor -- I ordered some this
morning -- but I'm not sure when
they'll deliver it --




(CONTINUED)
 42.
CONTINUED: (3)

He has finished writing the address, shoves the pad over to
Sheldrake.

SHELDRAKE
Now remember, Baxter -- this is
going to be our little secret.

BUD
Yes, of course.

SHELDRAKE
You know how people talk.

BUD
Oh, you don't have to worry --

SHELDRAKE
Not that I have anything to hide.

BUD
Oh, no sir. Certainly not. Anyway,
it's none of my business -- four
apples, five apples -- what's the
difference -- percentage-wise?

SHELDRAKE
(holding out the tickets)
Here you are, Baxter. Have a nice
time.

BUD
You too, sir.

Clutching the tickets, he backs out of the office.

DISSOLVE TO: