The Apartment

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
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?

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.
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
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.

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.


alignment- wyrównanie, ustawienie
ashcan- śmietnik, pojemnik na śmiecie
askew- przekrzywiony
back and forth-w tę i z powrotem
bump- wpadać (na)
Cut it out- Przestań
dapper- wytworny
exasperated- poirytowany
fake- lipny, podrabiany
first baseman- pierwszy obrońca przy bazie (baseball)
hum- nucić
meshugass- wariactwo
pace- chodzić, przemierzać
pitcher- dzbanek, amfora
remnants- resztki
resume- wznawiać
saftig- soczysty, dosadny
schnook- naiwniak
sliver- mały kawałek

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