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The Bachelor Party Movie Script

Writer(s) : Paddy Chayefsky

Genres : Drama

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                               THE BACHELOR PARTY
                               by Paddy Chayefsky

	Under the credits, the CAMERA PANS slowly across the project, 
	capturing the sober monotony, the endless straight apartment 
	houses. Seven o'clock in the morning.
	The bedroom of a two-and-a-half-room apartment in the housing 
	project. It is early morning, but the shades are drawn and 
	the room is dark. CAMERA moves slowly across the room, over 
	the large double bed on which Charlie and Helen Samson, a 
	young couple in their late twenties, are sleeping. They are 
	sleeping more or less on their sides, facing away from each 
	other. One of Helen's pajama-clad legs projects from under 
	the light covers. We close in on Charlie's sleeping face.
	The alarm clock at a distant end of the room suddenly bursts 
	into a soft relentless buzz. Charlie's eyes open. There is a 
	muffled movement at his side, and Helen gets up on one elbow. 
	Then she sits up, rises, and pads barefooted -- a rather 
	pretty girl in rumpled pajamas -- to the alarm clock and 
	turns it off. Charlie's head turns on the pillow so that he 
	can watch her. She pads back to the bed now and stands at the 
	foot, looking down at her husband. She produces a smile, then 
	turns and shuffles into the bathroom where she turns on the 
	wall switch. A shaft of light now pours into the bedroom.
	Charlie sits up in bed. His shoes and socks are on the floor 
	by his feet. He reaches down and starts to put them on. 
	Suddenly, from the recesses of the bathroom, Helen's rather 
	vague soprano lifts into the first lines of a popular song. 
	Then it stops as abruptly as it began. Charlie's head slowly 
	turns to look at the bathroom, back again to the business of 
	putting on his socks. His face is expressionless, but there 
	is no mistaking the sodden distaste he has for the world 
	He just sits on the bed, a young man of twenty-nine, clad 
	only in his pajama trousers, one sock dangling from his hand, 
	his head hanging, his shoulders slumped. Behind him, the 
	sudden noise of rushing tap water, then off. Then his wife 
	comes back into the bedroom. She is carrying a bath towel 
	with which she is drying her face. Finished, she drops the 
	towel on the bed and begins to dress. A moment later, she 
	pads around the corner of the bed to Charlie's front. She 
	is still barefooted and wears her pajama top, but she has 
	exchanged the trousers for a half-slip. Charlie hasn't moved 
	a muscle since the effort required to lift one sock from the 
		You think it's too early to call 
		my mother?
		I don't know.
	Charlie shrugs without looking up. Helen goes out of the 
	bedroom, into the little square of foyer where there is a 
	telephone table with a telephone on it. She dials, waits. In 
	the bedroom, Charlie rubs his eyes with two fingers.
			(on phone) 
		Hello, Ma, did I wake you up? This 
		is Helen.... Well, I'll be going to 
		work, and I wanted to get ahold of 
		you before I left. I called you last 
		night. Where were you and Pop anyway? 
		I kept calling you every half hour 
		up till one o'clock.... Oh, yeah? Did 
		you have a nice time? ...
	of Charlie in bedroom.
		Well, listen, Ma, I got something to 
		tell you. I'm pregnant.... Yeah, 
		pregnant.... Of course I'm sure. 
		I've got the report back from the 
		laboratory.... No, you wouldn't know 
		him, Doctor Axelrod.... Second month. 
		He says I can expect the baby in 
		February.... Well, Grandma, act a 
		little excited, will you? ... You 
		bet I'm excited....
	He is not excited. If anything he is miserable. His bowed 
	head rises slowly. The eyes open. He stares abstractedly 
	ahead for a moment. Then he sighs a profound sigh of 
	resignation. Then his eyes close again, and his head slowly 
	sinks back to its previous abjection. 

	Helen, dressed in skirt and blouse now, is preparing two 
	cups of instant coffee, pouring hot water from the saucepan 
	into the two cups. The toaster is ticking. A packaged loaf 
	of white bread is open on the cupboard shelf. Finished with 
	pouring the water, Helen sets the saucepan back on the stove 
	and comes out into the dining area. The dinette table is 
	covered from end to end by open textbooks, several very large 
	accounting worksheets on which are scrawled meticulous 
	numbers, a ruler, several pencils and a pen, an ash tray 
	glutted with cigarettes, a cup and saucer. 
			(calling to the bedroom)
		Do you need any of this or can I 
		take them off the table? 

	Charlie appears in the bedroom doorway, dressed and washed 
	now, a neat, clean young man in a white shirt and neatly 
	knotted tie.
		I'll clean that up in a minute.
	He disappears back into the bedroom. Helen picks up the ash 
	tray and the cup and saucer.
		How late were you up last night?
		About two.
	Charlie standing by the window, is picking up his keys, a 
	few dollar bills, a comb, etc., from a chair and putting 
	them into his trouser pockets. The blinds of the bedroom 
	window have been opened, and the high August sun streams in, 
	whitening Charlie's face. After he has pocketed his odds and 
	ends, he moves to the chest of drawers on which, among all 
	sorts of other things, there are several textbooks and an 
	opened notebook. He stands a moment looking down into the 
	open notebook, his lips moving ever so little, as he commits 
	some of his notes to memory. He turns a page of the notebook 
	back to check something and then goes back to the previous 
	page. Now he opens one of the smaller drawers in the chest 
	of drawers. The drawer contains wisps of his wife's stockings 
	and other feminine things. He finds a small roll of bills and 
	takes one of them, putting the bill in his pocket and closing 
	the dresser drawer. 

		I'm taking five bucks from your 

	He pauses now to affix a less frowning expression onto his 
	face and goes out into the little foyer and into the dining 

	Helen is seated at the dinette table, sipping coffee and 
	reading yesterday's newspaper. There are two cups of coffee 
	on the table.
		A guy in my office is getting 
		married, and I got clipped four 
		bucks for his wedding present.
	He begins assembling the mass of papers and textbooks on the 
		Who's getting married?
		Arnold. I told you about him. The 
		guy with the sick mother.
		Oh, yeah.
			(trying to decide 
			whether he needs a 
			certain worksheet) 
		The rest of the guys are giving him 
		a bachelor party tonight.
		Do you want to go, Charlie?
		I got class tonight.
		What have you got -- cost accounting?

		I think you ought to take off a 
		night. You ought to go, have a little 
		fun for yourself. I think you need 
		that. You go to work all day, you go 
		to school all night. You can miss one 
		night, Charlie.
		No, these bachelor parties get kind 
		of wild sometimes. The whole 
		philosophy is: it's the groom's last 
		night of freedom. So it gets kind of 
		wild sometimes.
		That's a good philosophy to start a 
		marriage with.
		Well, a bunch of guys get together, 
		they like to tear up the town a 
	He has assembled his notes and notebooks and texts in a pile 
	on the table, ready to take with him. He sits down and 
	begins sipping his coffee. Helen looks back to her newspaper, 
	frowning a little, then looks up at Charlie again.
		I think you oughta go, Charlie. I 
		know you're upset about the baby.
		I'm not upset about the baby.
		Come on, Charlie. I know how you 
		feel. Listen, you don't have to 
		pretend you're excited about the 
		baby. We weren't exactly planning 
		on a baby right now ...
		I'm not upset about the baby.
		It's a shock. I had some bad days 
		before I told you. I said: "Oh, boy, 
		that's all we need. A baby." Then I 
		said to myself: "If I'm having a 
		baby, I'm having a baby. That's all 
		there is to it." And I like the idea. 
		We're going to have a family, 
		Charlie. I like the idea.
		Well, give me a couple of days to 
		get used to the idea. I'll be all 
		I know you will, Charlie. That's why 
		I think you ought to go to this 
		bachelor party tonight.
			(bursting out) 
		I don't want to go to this bachelor 
	He looks down at his coffee, embarrassed at the outburst.
		I'm sorry I yelled.
		Don't be silly.
		I better get going. Kenny's probably 
		waiting for me now. I'm sorry I 
		yelled like that.
		What are you sorry about? Don't I 
		yell at you all the time?
	WE STAY ON HELEN, as she reads her newspaper, but there is 
	a faint frown on her face.

	An express train hurtles southward. We see it flashing by 
	through the concrete pillars of the subway. 
	Charlie and another young man, named Kenneth, are seated in 
	a crowded subway car. People are standing tightly in the 
	aisles. Kenneth is an amiable young man of thirty-odd. He 
	has his jacket off and his tie loosened as a concession to 
	the August heat. Charlie is neatly and coolly dressed. He 
	has two notebooks and a battered text in his lap. He is 
	reading the text. Two young white-collar workers on their 
	way to work. They ride along silently for a moment. Kenneth 
	is rather stealthily concerned with a full-busted young 
	woman who is standing directly in front of him, holding on 
	to a strap. It is summertime, and the girls all wear light 
	summer frocks. There is a feeling of wistful sensuality to 
	the scene.
		You going to Arnold's bachelor party?
		I don't think so, Kennie. 


		I got two classes tonight.

		Yeah, I was going to go, but I think 
		I better not, because my kid, the 
		young one, the girl, she's been 
		acting up again lately. She's got 
		some kind of allergy, the doctors 
		don't know what.
		These bachelor parties get kind of 
		wild sometimes. Eddie Watkins is 
		making all the arrangements. He's 
		probably got us lined up with a 
		bunch of chorus girls.

		Yeah, do you think so?
		You know Eddie.
		Yeah, boy, he really lives it up, 
		don't he? Did you see that blonde 
		who picked him up for lunch last 
		week? Boy, sometimes I wish I was a 
		bachelor. Well, you know what I mean. 
		I never seem to get out of the house 
		any more, you know what I mean? 
		About once a week, I go to the 
		movies. We never even see the whole 
		picture. My wife starts worrying 
		about the kids. My youngest kid, the 
		girl, she's got some kind of rash. 
		We don't know what it is. I never 
		seem to see anybody any more. Do you 
		know how long it is since I've seen 
		Willie Duff? I haven't seen Willie 
		in about six months. My wife can't 
		stand his wife. You ever seen her, 
		Willie's wife?
		No, I didn't know Willie too well. 

		Boy, wait'll you have kids, boy. 
		You'll never get out of the house.
		Helen's pregnant now.
		No kidding.
		Oh, that's wonderful, Charlie, 
		that's wonderful! 

	The two young husbands look down again at their hands and 
	ride along silently. Kenneth sneaks a quick look up at the 
	girl standing in front of him, and then lets his attention 
	drift down the length of the car.
		Hey, there's a guy down there, 
		trying to pick up a girl down there.
	He is referring to a Young Fellow who elbowed his way down 
	through the crowded aisle but who stopped abruptly when he 
	noticed an attractive girl, seated about three seats down 
	from Kenneth. The Girl is reading a newspaper. The Young 
	Fellow stares at her. The Girl, aware of this sudden 
	attention, looks briefly up from her newspaper. The Young 
	Fellow smiles pleasantly. The Girl, with a show of 
	annoyance, looks back to her newspaper.
		Were you with us about eight years 
		ago when I picked up that chick in 
		front of the bus stop in Paterson, 
		New Jersey?
		When was this?
		Yeah, you were there. You were with 
		that girl from Brooklyn. We just 
		came from Palisades Amusement Park, 
		and we were driving Frankie Klein's 
		girl home, and the car broke down 
		right in the middle of Route One.
			(beginning to laugh) 
		Oh, yeah.
		And Frankie opened up the hood and 
		the water cap blew right up in the 
		And the cop came over ... 
		That's right, the cop. He thought 
		Frankie shot off a gun....
	They are both laughing audibly now at the memory.
		He was going to pull us all in. Oh, 
		Frankie, he was funny.
		Oh, that was a lot of fun, those 
		Yeah, they were.
	The little spasm of laughter is over. A sort of ruefulness 
	settles down on the two young husbands. Kenneth looks lazily 
	down the aisle to see how the Young Fellow is making out 
	with The Girl. He seems to be making out all right. They are 
	looking steadily at each other now. Kenneth turns back to 
		Hey, this guy's making out all right. 
		She's giving him the eye now.

	Charlie leans forward to see this progress.
			(looking out the 
			window at the passing 
			local station) 
		Where are we now, Prince Street? I 
		bet you he picks her up before we 
		hit Chambers Street.
	Somehow this has a sobering effect on the two young husbands. 
	Again they sit silently as the train buckets along.
		Boy, I'm bushed today. I was up till 
		two o'clock last night on this thing 
		here. I'm getting to be a nervous 
		wreck. I snarled at Helen this 
		morning. I think this whole night 
		school business is getting me down. 

		I don't see how you do it.
		Neither do I. I thought I was 
		through with it. The plan was for me 
		to quit work and go to college full 
		time and cram through in a year or 
		so. But now we got this kid coming, 
		and Helen's going to have to quit 
		her job, and that sets me back where 
		I started from. Another five years 
		of this, summers included.
		I couldn't do it, man, I'll tell you 
		that. I wish I could, but I couldn't.
		Oh, what am I griping about? This is 
		the life I picked out for myself. 
		But it's a grind, boy, I tell you. 

	They sit silently again. The train hurtles along and then 
	suddenly slows as it approaches a stop. There is a rustle of 
	movement among the passengers in the subway car. A few 
	people start edging toward the doors. The Girl reading the 
	newspaper now folds her newspaper and stands almost directly 
	in the Young Fellow's face. They regard each other.
			(to the girl)
		Excuse me, can you tell me how to 
		get to the Nassau Street exit?
		Well ... well, at the top of the 
		stairs, you'll see all the signs.
		Are you getting off here?
		Well, I'll follow you then. That'll 
		be easier, if you don't mind.
		No, not at all.
	They start to crowd down the aisle. The train is chugging 
	into the Chambers Street station, and we can see the 
	yellowed lights of the platform and the quick blur of faces. 
	The two young husbands, who had been following the byplay 
	between The Girl and the Young Fellow, now watch them slowly 
	exit. There is an expression of poignant wistfulness on both 
	their faces.

	We look down on the bookkeeping department of a life 
	insurance company in downtown Manhattan area around Pine 
	Street. It is a fairly large room, large enough to hold 
	eleven desks. But you get the feeling that this is one of 
	the smaller offices on the floor. You get the feeling that 
	this company occupies three or four floors of this building. 
	Despite the size of the office, it has a cluttered look. 
	Each desk has piles of paper on it, and all the impedimenta 
	of the bookkeeper -- the pens and pencils, the adding 
	machine, the telephone. Some of the desks have typewriters. 
	Along the walls there are rows of filing cabinets and wall 
	bins stocked with large worksheets and thick ledgers. At 
	the far end of the room, there is a row of windows, but it 
	is still necessary to keep the overhead fluorescent lights 
	on all day. They are on now. There are two middle-aged 
	women standing, murmuring to each other, and a rather 
	heavy-set balding man in his late forties, sitting at a 
	desk in his shirt sleeves, already hard at work, although 
	it is still ten minutes shy of eight-thirty.
	Kenneth and Charlie enter. Ad lib hellos between them and 
	the two middle-aged women. Charlie moves to the coat rack to 
	hang up his jacket, drops off his books on his desk, starts 
	for the coat rack. Behind Charlie, we see Kenneth, carrying 
	his jacket, moving to his desk, up where the middle-aged man 
	is working.
		Hiya, Walter.
		Hiya, Walter.
	Walter, the middle-aged man, nods his good mornings.
			(poking in his desk 
			drawer; amiably) 
		Walter, what time do you come in in 
		the mornings? You're making us all 
		look lousy, you know that? I get 
		the feeling sometimes, you stay here 

	Walter merely nods, doesn't bother to look up from the work. 
	Kenneth finds a stick of gum in his drawer, unwraps it. Two 
	more women, gray-haired and bespectacled, come into the 
	office. There is an ad lib mumble of hellos in background. 
	Charlie hangs up his jacket on the coat rack.
		Arnold in yet?
		He starts his vacation today. He's 
		getting married Sunday, you know.
	CLOSEUP of Charlie looking out the window into the bright 
	August morning. His face is just a little ruffled by a 
	frown, and there is a kind of pain in his eyes. Behind him, 
	Walter and Kenneth.
			(a nervous, anxious man) 
		Well, the doctor was over last night. 
		Brought over the X rays; brought 
		over the allergy tests. Brought over 
		a bill for sixty-eight dollars.  I 
		said to him: "Doctor, you're a young 
		man, professional, highly educated, 
		four years of college, two years of 
		premedical training, several years 
		of interning, of residency. If 
		you're so smart, how can you charge 
		me sixty-eight dollars? One thing 
		they apparently didn't teach you in 
		medical school. You can't get blood 
		from a stone."
		So what's wrong with you, Walter?
		What's wrong? I have to go to 
		Arizona, that's what's wrong. I have 
		asthma. When I was a kid, they 
		called it hay fever, and you carried
		a bag around your neck. Asafetida. 
		Now, they call it asthma, and you 
		have to go to Arizona. I said to him: 
		"Doctor, you're a professional man, 
		four years of college, premedical 
		school, Bellevue, several diplomas. 
		Answer me a question. Who's going to 
		pay for Arizona?" I said to him: 
		"Doctor," I said, "perhaps you have 
		the illusion I am the Aga Khan. I 
		have a bearing about me, perhaps, 
		that misleads you to believe I have 
		blood ties with the Whitneys and the 
		Rockefellers. This isn't true." 
		Arizona. Did you ever hear of such 
		How serious is it, Walter?
		Serious. Nothing serious. I have hay 
		fever, I sneeze a couple of times. 
		The idiot told my wife I have to go 
		to Arizona, and she wouldn't leave 
		me alone all night. She's already 
		packing the bags. I said: "For 
		heaven's sakes, you listen to 
		doctors, we'll all be dead." My son, 
		Harold, believe me, he's going to be 
		a doctor. That's some racket, boy. 
		Sixty-eight dollars.
	CLOSEUP of Charlie, still at the window, when a bell 
	suddenly clangs, indicating the start of the workday. The 
	sudden jangle makes him start, and he closes his eyes 
	briefly against the noise.  Walter, in background, who had 
	risen and was bent over Kenneth's desk, darts nervously back 
	to his own desk.
		You better get to work. Hey, Charlie, 
		that was the bell. I think Flaherty 
		is here this morning. We'll all be 
		fired today. I have a feeling.
	He hunches over his ledgers again, his anxious, harried face 
	drawn into intense wrinkles of concentration. Several other 
	women have come into the office by now, and there is a 
	general movement to the desks. There is the click of a 
	typewriter, and Walter runs his fingers glibly over the 
	adding machine on his desk. The day has started.
	After a moment, Charlie turns from the window and comes back 
	to his desk, sinks down onto his chair.

	We look down on the bookkeeping department. All the desks 
	are occupied but two. There are six women and our three men. 
	The office is silent with industry, everybody's head bent 
	over his desk. There is the occasional punctuation of an 
	adding machine or a typewriter or a phone ringing.
	Our three men are bent over their tally sheets, worksheets, 
	and ledgers, occasionally reaching up to quickly tabulate 
	something on the adding machine. After a moment, Walter says:
			(without looking 
			up from his work) 
		You fellows going to Arnold's party 
			(without looking up) 
		No, I'm not going, are you?
		No. Eddie already hooked me for four 
		bucks for Arnold's present. This 
		dinner is going to cost another 
		couple of good dollars.
		It looks like nobody's going to 
		Arnold's bachelor party.
		You ain't going?
		No, I'm not going. 

		Eddie's going to be mad. 

		I told Eddie last week I couldn't 
		make it. I've got school. Eddie's a 
		bachelor. It's all right for him to 
		go rooting around town, picking up 
		Yeah, you get married you give that 
		kind of thing up.
		Yeah, Charlie says Eddie has a whole 
		bunch of chorus girls lined up for 
		us tonight.
	Walter's head comes up for the first time.
		No kidding. 

		I didn't say that. I just said that 
		if I knew Eddie, we'd probably wind 
		up with some of his crazy girl 

	Walter looks back down to his work again. 
		I don't know where he gets all these 
		girls. He's a screwy looking jerk.
		Did you see that blonde who was up 
		here looking for him last week?

		Yeah. He told me she was a 
		television actress. I think I saw 
		her once on "Studio One." She was in 
		a coal mine with some stir-crazy 
		coalminer who was trying to strangle 
		her with a necktie.
		I'd like to strangle her with a 
		Now, Walter, an old married man like 
		you, with asthma and everything.
	Walter looks up suddenly from his work, a strange sting of 
	pain crossing his face.
		I get real jealous of Eddie 
		sometimes. He's as free as a bird. 
		Did you see that convertible he's 
		Yeah, he really banged it up I hear.
		You ought to see the old heap I've 
		got. He walks out of here on payday, 
		he can spend the whole works on 
		having himself a good time. I walk 
		out of here, and I got three kids 
		and a wife, all of them with their 
		palms out. I lost two bucks playing 
		poker at my house last week. It was 
		an economic catastrophe. My wife 
		didn't sleep all night.

		He's late again.
		He'll be twenty minutes late again. 
		If Flaherty walked in now, he'd fire 
		him. If that ever happened to me, I 
		think I'd kill myself. What does 
		Eddie care? So he scrambles around 
		for another job. Flaherty told me 
		last week I had too many days off. 
		I told him I was sick in bed. What 
		do you want me to do?
	He turns back again to his work, his face creased with 
	anxiety. The three men work silently for a moment. Then the 
	office door opens, and a man of about thirty-five, a little 
	stout, but rather casual in his dress, wearing steel-rimmed 
	glasses, enters. This is Eddie Watkins, the office bachelor. 
	He seems to have had very little sleep the night before. His 
	eyes, behind the wire-rimmed glasses, are heavy-lidded. A 
	cigarette dangles listlessly, from his mouth. There is 
	something of the bacchanalian libertine about Eddie. There 
	is a perfunctory exchange of hellos and good mornings, 
	establishing that this is Eddie. He shuffles with ineffable 
	weariness to his desk.
		Hi, Eddie, you're early today, only 
		twenty minutes late, what happened?
			(muttering through 
			reluctant lips) 
		Flaherty come in yet?
	Eddie sits down at his desk, pulls his cigarette 
	automatically for a moment. Then he reaches over to a pile 
	of telephone directories on the floor beside his desk, pulls 
	up the Manhattan one, flips through the pages, finding the 
	number he wants. He picks up the phone. 
		Mary, give me an outside line....
			(he pauses, checks 
			the number in the 
			phone book again, 
			dials, waits) 
		Hello, is this Leathercraft on 
		Madison Avenue? ... This is Mr. 
		Watkins. I was in about a week ago. 
		I ordered a military set and a 
		wallet. They were supposed to be 
		ready yesterday.... Yes, please, 
		would you? ... 
			(he is searching 
			his pockets while 
			he waits, finds a 
			piece of paper, 
			pulls it out) 
		Yeah, a military set and a wallet....
		Is that what we bought poor Arnold?
			(on phone) 
		That's right. The following 
		inscriptions should be on them:
			(reads from the paper) 
		On the military set: "To Arnold: 
		Best wishes on your marriage from 
		Alice, Charlie, Eddie, Evelyn, 
		Jeanette with two t's, Kenneth, 
		Lucy, Mary, Olga, Walter, and 
		Flaherty." Now on the wallet ... 
		Yeah, what? .... Yeah, that's right 
		-- Flaherty. Now, on the wallet, 
		the following inscription: "To my 
		Best Friend Arnold from his Best Man 
		Eddie." ... No, to my best friend 
		Arnold. ... That's right. "From his 
		best man Eddie" ... Now, can I come 
		in at lunch and pick them up? ... 

	A young woman comes into the office, goes to Walter's desk 
	and drops some papers before him.
		What's this, Jeanette?
		It's from finance, don't ask me.
	This is the girl in the office who goes to the water cooler 
	three times a morning and all the men covertly watch her. 
	She is cute, but attractive more by comparison to the other 
	women in the office. Nevertheless, all the men, including 
	Eddie and Charlie, let their eyes cautiously watch her as 
	she leaves, her sheath dress tight on her hips.
	Eddie, who has hung up, now rubs his eyes with two fingers to 
	clear his head and picks up the phone again.
			(on phone) 
		Mary, give me the Hotel Westmore. 
		Circle 7-0598.
			(hands Kennie paper) 
		This isn't for me -- it's for you.
			(to the others) 
		Now who owes me on the presents? 
		Charlie, you owe me?
		I gave you four bucks yesterday....
		I owe you, Eddie. I'll pay you 
		tomorrow, payday.
			(on phone) 
		Miss Frances Kelley, please. I 
		think it's room 417.... 

	The three heads around him look slowly up from their 
	respective work, naked interest manifest on their faces.
			(calling to one 
			of the women in 
			the office) 
		Hey, Evelyn, you owe me four bucks. 

			(calling back) 
		All right. I know.
			(on phone) 
		Hello, Frances, this is Eddie.... 
		All right, wait a minute. Give me a 
		chance to explain.... I know I woke 
		you up.... All right, let me tell 
		you. You know I'm supposed to be the 
		best man at this fellow Arnold's 
		wedding. So I called him up last 
		night because I didn't know whether 
		I was supposed to wear tuxedo or 
		tails. Well, he didn't know either, 
		so he said: "Come on over to my 
		girl's house with me tonight. 
		They're making all the arrangements 
		for the wedding now." So I called 
		you and left a message at the desk 
		saying I couldn't get over till 
		about ten o'clock.... All right! 
		That's what I'm going to explain! 
		... Thank you.
			(holds receiver 
			against his chest 
			and looks at his 
			colleagues with 
			air of a man being 
			tried just a little 
			too much. Returns 
			receiver to his ear, 
			listens for a moment) 
		All right, so I had to go over to 
		Arnold's girl's house with Arnold 
		last night. Well, there was about 
		thirty people there, and, man, you 
		never saw such a crazy mess. There 
		was this little bald-headed guy 
		there. He's the bride's uncle. He's 
		come all the way down from Boston 
		with his whole family to go to the 
		wedding. The only trouble was, he 
		wasn't invited. Well, this crazy 
		uncle, he grabs ahold of me, he 
		starts shaking me by the lapels. So 
		I said: "What do you want from me? 
		I ain't the groom! I'm just trying 
		to find out whether I'm supposed to 
		wear tuxedo or tails." 
			(apparently this got 
			a laugh. Eddie breaks 
			into a smile) 
		Funny, huh? ... Look, Frances. I 
		have to go to work now. I'm calling 
		you from the office. How about 
		letting me make this up to you? I'll 
		take you out to dinner Saturday 
		night.... I can't make it tonight. 
		The bachelor party's tonight.... 
		All right, Saturday night.... It's a 
		date.... S'help me.... I swear, right 
		on time. Eight-thirty, okay? ... 
		Okay, we'll have a ball. Goodbye, go 
		back to sleep.
	He hangs up. The three married men look down again to their 
	ledgers and tap away again on their adding machines. Eddie 
	sits slumped in his seat for a moment.
		What did I just tell that girl, 
		Saturday night?
			(picks up phone)
		Mary, give me Columbus 5-1098.... 
		What do you mean personal calls! 
		These are business calls! Well, stop 
		listening to other people's 
		conversations.... What have you got, 
		stock in the company? Columbus 
		Listen, Eddie, I don't think I can 
		go tonight. My father-in-law's in 
		from Akron, Ohio, and----
			(all sweetness) 
		Hello, who is this, Mrs. Stebbins? 
		... This is Eddie, Mrs. Stebbins. I 
		wonder if I can talk to Muriel.... 
		Could I speak to her? ... Thank 

	The three married men each look up slowly again, naked envy 
	on each face.
			(on phone) 
		Muriel, baby, listen, sweetie, I 
		can't make it Saturday night.... I'm 
		all loused up with this wedding I'm 
		supposed to be the best man at.... 
		We have to rehearse the ceremony. 
		You'd think they were getting 
		married on television.... Yes, 
		sweetie, why don't I call you Monday. 
		Maybe, we'll work out something 
		before you go back to California.... 
		All right, sweetie, good-bye.

	He hangs up, sits a moment, then finally removes the 
	cigarette from his mouth, crushes it in his ash tray, and 
	turns to the others.
		Well, what do you say? I'm going to 
		call Louie and make a reservation 
		for a table for tonight. Who's 
		coming and who isn't? Walter, you're 
		coming, right? It won't cost you 
		more than three-fifty for the whole 
		meal. What do you say, Walter? You 
		only live once.
			(strangely sad) 
		That's right. You only live once.
		Well, yes or no?
		All right, I'll come.
		Yeah, I'll get out of the house for 
		a change.
		How about you, Charlie?
	Charlie is frowning down at a sheaf of adding machine totals 
	in front of him.
		I don't think so, Eddie.
		Ah, come on, Charlie, you got to 
		bust loose every now and then. We'll 
		have a couple of drinks.
			(picks up phone) 
		Mary, give me an outside line and 
		don't give me no trouble.... 
		Chickering 4-5099. 
		Come on, Charlie, it's a short life, 
		believe me. 

	Move in for CLOSEUP of Charlie, frowning. Over this, Eddie's 
		Hello, hello, Louie? Is this Louie? 
		... Louie, this is Eddie Watkins. 
		I'd like to reserve a table for 
		four for tonight.... For four ...

		Hey, Eddie ...
		Count me in.
	He immediately bends back to his work, takes his pencil up 
	again. CAMERA PULLS QUICKLY UP AND AWAY until we have an 
	ANGLE SHOT looking down at their desks in various positions 
	of work.
			(on phone) 
		Louie, make that five.... Five guys 
		... Yeah, a bachelor party ...
						FADE OUT


	FADE IN with a big loud blare on Eighth Street in Greenwich 
	Village on a warm August night. Packed sidewalks, jammed 
	traffic, taxis, trucks, buses, honking of horns, etc. 
	Man-we're-going-to-have-a-ball type feeling.

	Thirteenth Street off Sixth Avenue not so blary and lit up 
	as the main drags, but traffic is heavy, and there are lots 
	of people on the sidewalks. There are a number of restaurants 
	dotting the street with their little striped awnings and 
	modest neons. If we are on our toes, we notice one neon that 
	reads: "LOUIE'S."
	The entire interior isn't too much to show, really. It's a 
	small restaurant, but it is packed. Waiters scurry here and 
	there. People jammer and jab. Hustle and bustle. In 
	background, we can pick out our bachelor party, five men now, 
	clustered around a table, yakking it up.
	WIDE SHOT of our bachelor party, showing all five. They all 
	seem to be in the best of spirits. The new member of the cast 
	is Arnold, the groom, a towheaded, pleasant-looking young man 
	of thirty, shy to the point of being noticeable. Of all the 
	men at the party, he is the quietest. He sits, a smile nailed 
	onto his face, turning his head from one friend to another as 
	they talk, enjoying the rare privilege of being liked. The 
	dinner is over. During the ensuing scene, a bus boy continues 
	to remove the used dishes. Several large bottles of beer and 
	two fifths of Scotch are on the table. There is a welter of 
	variously assorted glasses. Eddie, Walter, and Kenneth are 
	smoking cigars, Charlie a cigarette. The Groom is not 
	smoking.  We have cut into the scene during a jumble of 
	conversation. Walter is talking to Charlie, whose head is 
	bent toward the older man. Kenneth is trying to tell the 
	Groom a joke, but the Groom's attention is being distracted
	by Eddie, who is leaning across the table trying to get 
	Charlie's attention. Ad libs.
			(finishing story) 
		Three hundred pounds! Isn't she kind 
		of fat? No, man, tall! Hey, waiter! 
		Hey, Charlie ...
			(to Charlie) 
		... so we were stationed right 
		outside Paris, about eight miles, a 
		town called Chatou ...
		... hey, Charlie ...
			(to Charlie) 
		... so the first night, a whole 
		bunch of us swiped a jeep out of the 
		motor court. We had a feller there 
		who was a tech sergeant in the motor 
		court. Oh, what a character he was! 
		He used to get loaded every night on 
		that vanilla extract.
		Hey, Charlie ...
		What do you want, Eddie?
		Hey, Charlie, did I ever tell you 
		about the time I was stationed at 
		Buckley Field in Denver, and I 
		picked up this girl in Lakeside 
		Amusement Park?
		Hey, Eddie, listen to this story 
		I'm telling Charlie. Hey, Arnold, 
		I'm telling Charlie about the time 
		me and that crazy tech sergeant 
		from the motor court got loaded on 
		vanilla extract and went to Paris 
		... Hey, Kenneth ...
		When do the Giants come back from 
		their road trip, does anybody know?
		Hey, let's give out the presents now.
		Hey, Kenneth, listen to this story. 
		I was stationed outside of Paris, 
		about eight miles ...
		Oh, that Paris! I was there for two 
		days! Clubs! You had to beat the 
		women off with clubs! ...
			(to people at 
			another table) 
		What ...? Oh, it's a bachelor party 
		-- this guy's getting married.
		Listen, I want to give the 
		presents ...
		Well, let me tell you what 
		happened ...
		Hey, you know what was a great town 
		for women, Hamburg!
		Hamburg! Clubs! Clubs! You had to 
		beat them off with clubs! Hey, 
		waiter -- who's our waiter?  
		Hey, Arnold, enjoying yourself?
		The first night I was in Hamburg, 
		two Frauleins come walking right in 
		the barracks. So I said to the 
		lieutenant ...
	Walter, who is pretty lit, suddenly stands and bangs the 
	table mightily with his fist.
			(bellowing out) 
		The best fighting outfit in the 
		whole fighting army was the fighting 
		Hundred and Fourth Infantry Division, 
		General Terry Allen commanding!
	This brings the jumbled conversation to a halt. Walter 
	surveys the other four, looking for possible challenges, 
	then sits heavily down.
		Well, now that we got that settled....
		I'm with you, Walter.
		We believe you, Walter.
		I'd like to make a little speech to 
		our guest of honor and mutual friend, 
		Arnold Craig. Arnold, a bunch of us 
		down the office, the girls too, all 
		chipped in, and we got you a couple 
		of small gifts....
	Eddie crosses to extra chair, picks up wrapped gifts, crosses 
	back to his place.
			(whispering to Kenneth) 
		These are the gag gifts. 
		Let's see, what's this one? Oh, yeah. 
		Arnold, we figured Louise might be 
		very sleepy on your wedding night, 
		so we thought you might want 
		something to keep you warm.
	Walter leans forward to see what the tissue-wrapped parcel 
	Arnold is now unwrapping is.
		What is it? What is it?
	Arnold holds a hot-water bottle aloft. Walter is seized with 
	a paroxysm of laughter at this immensely Rabelaisian gift.
		It's a hot-water bottle!
		Okay, Walter, okay.
		Hey, did you see that? Hey, he bought 
		him a hot-water bottle for his 
		wedding night. Hey, that's funny ...
		Hey, Eddie, you should have bought 
		him an ice pack for after tonight.
			(holding a 
			second parcel)
		Walter, take it easy.... Now, this 
		one, Arnold, this one is something 
		to keep you busy on cold winter 
			(crosses to Arnold; 
			to the others) 
		This ought to be good.
		Look at Walter.
	Walter has come around behind Arnold's chair and can hardly 
	wait to see what the next joke is.

		Hey, these are funny. Who bought 
		these? You buy these, Eddie? These 
		are funny. You got a good sense of 
	Arnold unwraps the parcel, holds out a miniature baby bottle. 
	This is too much for Walter; how funny can you get? He 
	clutches his sides.
		Hey, did you guys see that? Hey, did 
		you guys see that?
		Come on, Walter, sit down.
	Charlie and Kenneth are smiling appreciatively. Walter 
	crosses with bottle, sits, starts pouring whisky into baby 
		Eddie got a good sense of humor, you 
			(to Charlie) 
		Boy, old Walter is crocked.
			(smiling, rising 
			halfway in his chair) 
		Listen, I want to thank you. Really. 
		I really want to thank you fellows.
		We haven't got to the serious 
		presents yet, Arnold. 

	A hush falls over the assembled guests. Arnold composes his 
	face into a solemn expression and looks down at the 
	cluttered table.
		Well, in all seriousness, Arnold, 
		seriously, I don't know why you 
		picked me to be your best man, but I 
		am deeply honored. I guess it's 
		because we're both Dodger fans, and 
		I'm going to miss you at next 
		Tuesday's night game when the 
		Pittsburgh Pirates invade Ebbets 
		Field. We always had a lot of fun 
		together, and, seriously, Arnold, 
		in all seriousness, good luck on 
		your wedding, but see if you can't 
		get out of the house occasionally, 
		see a night game or even a Sunday 
		doubleheader with your old buddy, 
	This touching address has brought a note of sadness to the 
	gathering. Indeed, there are tears in Walter's and Arnold's 
			(handing Arnold 
			two neatly wrapped 
		Well, anyway, in all seriousness, 
		here are a couple of presents from 
		all of us in the office and good 

	Arnold takes the presents, stands, head bowed. Eddie sits 
	and all faces turn to Arnold.
		Well, I just want to thank you 
		fellows. I don't know what to say. 
		I just want to thank you.
		Open the presents, Arnold.
		I will. I just want to say, Eddie, 
		that when the Pirates invade Ebbets 
		Field next Tuesday night, I'm going 
		to be sitting right there in Section 
		37 there right with you.
		You'll be on your honeymoon next 
		Tuesday, Arnold. 

	This interesting information gives Arnold pause.
		Gee, that's right. 

		Arnold, you're getting married 
		Sunday, did you forget?
		Look at him blush.
			(frowning fuzzily) 
		No, I didn't forget. It's just that 
		... Gee, that's right. Sunday. 
		What's today, Thursday? 

		All day!
		Boy, it's here, isn't it? I guess 
		I've been running around so much the 
		last couple of weeks, I guess the 
		wedding snuck up on me.
		I think Arnold's having a little 
		buck fever. Does anyone know what 
		our waiter looks like?
			(to Kenneth) 
		You know who didn't want to chip in 
		for Arnold's presents? ... 

		Arnold'll be all right. Have a drink, 
		I had my basic training in Camp Croft, 
		South Carolina, near Spartanburg.
		I was at Maxwell Field, what a 
		Walter, what ever happened when you 
		and that tech sergeant from the
		motor pool got loaded on vanilla 
		What tech sergeant?
		Walter, you're crocked. 
			(to Arnold) 
		Open up the presents -- see what you 
		Hey, are you our waiter? Bring us 
		some ice. I got him -- I got our 
		It was sure nice of you fellows.
	The voices have risen again into the jumbled high spirits 
	that opened the scene.
		Hey, man, we're having a ball!
	We look down on Eighth Street in Greenwich Village. It is 
	eight thirty at night. It is a fairly active and well-lit 
	street, bright with neons and movie marquees and lit-up 
	shops. Our five carousers are marching down the sidewalk, 
	that is four of them are on the sidewalk. Walter can't quite 
	decide whether he wants to walk on the sidewalk or in the 
	street. He keeps hopping in and out between the parked cars, 
	running to catch up when he falls behind. They are all 
	feeling pretty good. Arnold is singing in a wavering 
		De-Witt C-l-i-n-t-o-n
		Oh, Cli-inton! 
		Ever to theeeee!
	CLOSER SHOT of the five carousers.

		Fairest of high schools ...
		How did he ever get on this alma 
		mater kick?
		... Give her three times three 
		Oh, fellows ...
		Rah! Rah! Rah!
	ANOTHER SHOT of the five carousers, Walter whistling at two 
	passing girls.
		Long may we cherish thee 
		Faithful we'll be. 
		Clinton, oh, Clinton 
		For you and me ... 
		Da-da-da-da-da ...
		Crash through that line of blue 
		And send the backs around the end.
		There he goes with those fullbacks 
		Rah! Rah! Rah!
	GROUP SHOT of our five carousers paused on the curb, waiting 
	for the lights to change in their favor. Greenwich Avenue 
	traffic is pretty heavy, going in both directions. The five 
	men are kind of strung out along the curb with Charlie being 
	the last in line. Standing beside him, also waiting for the 
	light to change, is a good-looking, well-dressed, chic young 
	woman of twenty-four or five.
		Where we going? Eddie's place to 
		see movies?
		What movies?
		Boy, just wait till you see these 
		movies! Hey, Charlie, hey Charlie ...
			(indicating the 
			young woman) 
		Who's your beautiful friend, Charlie?
	Charlie turns and regards the pretty young woman.
			(to the girl) 
		Excuse me. My friend down there 
		wants to know who you are.
	The young woman, who for our own mysterious purposes we shall 
	refer to as The Existentialist, regards the five reasonably 
	tight young men all staring at her. Kenneth has already begun 
	to giggle.
			(with a Mona Lisa smile) 
		Where are you all from, out-of-town?
			(turning to 
			the others) 
		Isn't that right, fellers? We're 
		from Indiana, right?
		Indiana! Indiana, man!

	Kenneth and Arnold, to whom this incident is already 
	unbearably funny, have turned away and are clutching their 
	sides, trying to suppress a fit of giggles.
			(to The Existentialist) 
		We're from the Hoosier State, ma'am...
		Terre Haute! We're from Terre Haute!
			(to The Existentialist) 
		We're from Terre Haute, and we've 
		come to the big city looking for a 
		good time, and we just don't know 
		what to do with ourselves, ma'am.
			(to Walter) 
		Look at that Charlie operate.
		Must be a convention in town.
		We've just come off the ranch there, 
		honey, and we're just raring. Is 
		that right, men? Are we raring?
		We're raring, boy, we're raring!
			(beside himself 
			with laughter) 
		Hey, Charlie, cut it out, will you?
	The lights change and The Existentialist starts off across 
	Greenwich Avenue to the west side of the street. The five 
	carousers follow right along after her.  That is, Charlie 
	dogs along behind The Existentialist as they cross the 
	street. Walter and Eddie are close behind him, listening to 
	Charlie's pitch. Kenneth and Arnold, embarrassed and 
	giggling, stagger along behind. 
			(chugging along behind 
			The Existentialist) 
		We're down here in Greenwich Village 
		looking for some wild bohemians. Do 
		you happen to know any wild 
		All right, fellows, enough's enough, 
	She steps up to the sidewalk on the west side of Greenwich 
	Avenue and hurries along down Tenth Street to a little house 
	about four doors down, the five carousers on her heels like 
	a pack of puppies.
			(hurrying along after 
			The Existentialist) 
		I'm something of a poet myself, 
		ma'am. Many's the long night in the
		bunkhouse where I sat by myself and 
		wrote by the flickering light of a 
		kerosene lamp. Could I read you some 
		of my poems, ma'am? I know they 
		ain't much, but they're from the 
		heart, ma'am. 

	The Existentialist pauses in her hurried walk down Tenth 
	Street to examine Charlie with some interest.
		You have a sense of humor, don't you?
			(to Charlie) 
		You're going great, man, don't stop 

	The Existentialist goes up the two little steps to the front 
	door of the house and rings the bell.
			(to The Existentialist) 
		Where are you going, honey? 

	The Existentialist waits composed and patient for someone to 
	answer her ring. Charlie has wandered back to Arnold and 
	Kenneth, and the three of them are now suffused with 
	laughter. Kenneth has been laughing so much, tears are 
	coming out of his eyes. He walks around in little circles 
	clutching his sides. Several passersby hurry by, noting the 
	strange little group on the sidewalk.
			(to The Existentialist) 
		What's going on in there, honey?
		 	(patiently bored)
 		There's a party going on. I'm not sure 
		I'm invited myself, so I can't really 
		invite you.
		Sure you can.
	The door opens and a woman in a tea gown stands there 
	looking at The Existentialist and then at the five men on 
	the sidewalk. Behind her, there is evidence of a party going 
		How nice to see you, darling. Who 
		are your friends?
		I haven't the vaguest idea. I was 
		ambushed crossing Greenwich Avenue 
		by a tribe of the Terre Haute 
			(she waves a vague 
			hand in a sort of 
			shooing motion at 
			the five men on 
			the sidewalk) 
		Go away, you men. Go back to the 
		Biltmore Hotel and put on your red 
		I always thought you city people 
		were more hospitable to us poor 
		farm boys.
	The other four carousers are laughing too much to even talk. 
	Charlie has ambled up to The Existentialist, who is peering 
	over her hostess into the room behind her. 
			(to The Existentialist,
			smiling amiably) 
		I'm sorry, miss. A friend of ours is 
		getting married here, and we're just 
		horsing around.
	The Existentialist looks into the young man's smiling, 
	rather winning face.
		Why don't you come back after you 
		get rid of your friends.
		He'll be back!
	She turns abruptly and disappears past the hostess into the 
			(to Charlie) 
		Man, she likes you, man!
		Now, you boys go away.
	She backs into her house and closes the door. Eddie starts 
	up the steps to the door. The other four just roar with 
	laughter, clutch their sides, and giggle and snort.
		Well, what do you say, men, are we 
		going to this party, or aren't we?
		Come on, Eddie. I thought you had 
		some movies you want to show us.
		What do you want to see movies for? 
		You got the real thing right here.

		Eddie, we're married men here.
		Come on, let's crash this party. 
		I've been to these Greenwich Village 
		parties. Man, they're wild.
		Come on, Eddie, let's go up to your 
		place, see these movies.

			(coming reluctantly 
			back to the others, 
			says to Charlie) 
		Man, you were going strong with that 
		girl. You could have scored. She's 
		just waiting for you. Go in after 
		Come on, Eddie. Let's go see the 
			(to the others) 
		All right, I live about three blocks 
		down. You guys want to see movies, 
		all right, let's go see movies.
	Eddie is scowling over a home-style movie projector, 
	muttering over the intricacies of fitting a reel into the 
	ratchets. Arnold has suddenly become voluble and is gabbing 
	away at him. CAMERA DOLLIES AROUND THEM during the scene so 
	that we can see into the living room of the apartment, 
	appointed in simple but neat masculine taste, where the 
	other three men move in and out of view. Right now, we are 
	concerned only with Arnold and Eddie.
		... we're moving in with her mother 
		and father. I don't know if that's 
		such a good idea. What do you think? 
		We haven't got an apartment yet, and 
		we figure we'll live a year with her 
		folks, save on the rent, see? 

	Kenneth comes back from the kitchen with three open bottles 
	of beer.
		Anybody want a bottle of beer?
			(to Eddie) 
		She's a widow, and that bothers me a 
		little. I don't know why. She's two 
		years older than me. I don't know if 
		you know that. Her husband got killed 
		in Korea. She's a cousin of mine, you 
			(moving into 
			the living room) 
		Who wants a bottle of beer?
		I'll take a bottle.
		Yeah, give me one.
		A third cousin, something like that. 
		It's not good for cousins to marry, 
		is it? What do you think of her? I 
		know she's not terribly pretty, but 
		I mean ...
			(muttering imprecations 
			at the projector) 
		Arnold, leave me alone a minute, 
		will you?
			(turns to the others in 
			living room, plants a 
			huge smile on his face) 
		Well, I'm getting married Sunday. 
		Having fun, Walter?
		Fun. A bunch of grown men sitting 
		around waiting to look at college 
		boy pictures.
		I swear, I never thought two months 
		ago I was ever going to get married. 
		I still don't know how it happened....
		Hey, somebody turn off the lights. 

	Walter is promptly up to turn off the lights.
		Hey, you know, you've got a nice 
		place here. 

	The room is abruptly flooded in darkness. A beam of light 
	shoots out from the projector. It seems pointed at the 
	window. Arnold stands up directly in the shaft of light.
		I was just taking her out. I didn't 
		know it was so serious.

		Arnold, get out of the way, will 
		Oh, sure.
	Arnold moves a step, still in the shaft of light, his shadow 
	huge on the wall. Eddie, muttering, jockeys the projector 
	around trying to focus it on the screen. The square of light 
	and some flickering images wander up and down a wall.
		... We're sitting in the car, so she 
		says: "Well, Arnold, we've been 
		going together six months now. I 
		think it's time we decided whether 
		we were being serious." 

		Hey, Eddie, you got it on the window.
		I didn't know it was so serious. I 
		didn't even know we were going 
		together. I just took her out every 
		now and then.
		Arnold, you're funny.
		Turn on the lights again, will you, 
		What's the matter?
		I forgot to loop it over this loop 
	Walter crosses to light switch. The room is flooded in light 

		Oh, for crying out loud.
			(small panic) 
		I can't even remember what she looks 
		like! I just saw her this afternoon!
		Arnold, have a bottle of beer. It's 
		not so terrible.
		Boy, I tell you. It's for the rest 
		of your life when you get married. 
		This is a big decision to make.
		Does anybody seriously want to see 
		these movies? 

	Eddie is furiously winding and unwinding spools. CAMERA HAS 
	DOLLIED AROUND so that we are looking back up the living 
	room toward the projector and the men.
		I could be making a serious mistake.
		Arnold, you're in the way again. 
		Come on now. All right, put off the 
	The room is flooded in darkness again. Walter hurries to a 
	chair. The square of light is reasonably focused, just an 
	edge trailing off onto the drapes of the window. Numbers 
	flicker quickly on on the screen. The rest of the scene we 
	see looking into the whitened faces of the five men at their 
	various posts. Arnold crosses, stands back of Walter.
		Here we go.
		Hey, Arnold, if this is the one I 
		think it is, there's one part here I 
		want you to see.
			(a picture of determined 
			boredom, but putting on 
			his glasses) 
		This is for kids.
		Says he -- putting on his glasses.
		"The Baseball Game." That's a nice 
		title, don't you think?
		This is the one, Arnold. There's a 
		guy in here who looks just like 
		Hey, she's not bad. Usually, the 
		girls in these things look like 
			(his eyes glued 
			to the screen) 
		A bunch of grown men ...
	He breaks off as apparently some interesting action has 
	started on screen. An involuntary grunt of acknowledgment 
	escapes him.
		I got these pictures off my dentist. 
		I don't know where be got them. 
		There you are, Arnold, that's you.
		Yeah, it does look like Arnold.

		Doesn't that look like Arnold?
		Who's looking at the guy?
		Arnold, you've got a great career 
		ahead of you.
		That girl looks like the girl 
		Charlie picked up just before.
		Probably is.
		That fellow there is not a bad actor.
		Actor. You could play that part 
		pretty easy yourself.
		I think the Daily News gave this one 
		four stars.

		I'd like to see this in Three-D.
	The side comments drift off for a moment, and a sort of 
	frozen attention settles on the white faces. Each face is 
	sort of set in a mold of determined disinterest, but the 
	eyes are all watching.
		Well, I'll just watch one of them. 
		Then, I think I'll just go home.
	He wets his lips, lifts the bottle of beer to his mouth and 
	takes a swallow. His eyes never leave the screen.

	Helen standing in front of the laundry part of the sink, 
	doing her private laundry. She has on a house smock and her 
	sleeves are rolled up. The doorbell rings. Helen takes a 
	towel off the doorknob behind her and, wiping her hands, 
	comes down across the dining area to the front door. She 
	opens the door to admit a young woman, about eight years 
	older than Helen.
		Hiya, Julie. I was beginning to 
		think you weren't coming.
			(coming in) 
		I was at my mother's house. Did they 
		call you? They said they were going 
		to call you.
		Yeah, your mother was very sweet.
		You should have seen my father. I 
		said, "Pa, you have another 
		grandchild coming." So he said, 
		"Who?" So I said, "Charlie." So he 
		said, "That little Helen?" So I said, 
		"If it isn't that little Helen, 
		Charlie better leave town." So out 
		came the beer. Well, they've been 
		after Charlie to have a baby for a 
		long time now. I said, "Pa, leave 
		him alone. Let him get established 
		before he saddles himself with a 
		baby." Anyway, I want you to know 
		joy reigns supreme in your in-laws' 
			(she moves into 
			the kitchen) 
		How's Charlie taking it?
			(following her 
			into the kitchen) 
		Listen, let me make you a cup of 
		tea or something.
		No, no, I've been drinking beer for 
		the last two hours, celebrating your 
		Soda, anything like that?
		No, honey, you go on with your wash. 
		Is that what you're doing? 
			(she sits) 
		When I had my first baby, Mike was 
		ashamed to be seen on the streets 
		with me. Well, listen, he was 
		interning at the time. We needed a 
		baby like a hole in the head. That's 
		why he's a general practitioner now, 
		because of that baby. He was 
		studying to be a surgeon. He 
		absolutely refused to admit I was 
		pregnant. Even in my ninth month, 
		and I was as big as a house. He 
		used to walk ten paces in front of 
		me in the street like he didn't 
		know who that woman with the belly 
		was. Where is Charlie anyway?
		I told you he--
		Oh, yeah. I wouldn't let my Mike go 
		on a bachelor party.
			(turning back 
			to her wash) 
		What are they going to do, get a 
		little drunk?
		Are you kidding? What do you think 
		these bachelor parties are for, 
		bachelors? This is for the married 
		men. It's a good excuse to get 
		drunk and find some girls. 

		Can you picture Charlie getting 
		drunk and picking up a girl? 
		Charlie's old sobersides. You 
		should have seen what I went through 
		to get him to make a pass at me. 
		He's so sweet. Nobody knows how 
		really sweet he is, he's so quiet 
		all the time. My brother died in 
		September, he used to stay up with 
		me till three, four o'clock every 
		night. I used to cry all night, and 
		he used to sit on the bed and talk 
		with me. I used to look at him 
		talking there, and I used to think: 
		"What would I do without this sweet 
		man here? I'd go crazy." You know, 
		you like to be a little cynical 
		sometimes, Julie.
		Wait'll you've been married eleven 
		You like to talk about all the 
		affairs everybody's husband is 
		having. Do you know actually one 
		woman whose husband is actually 
		playing around?
	An abrupt, sad expression, tinged with pain, has come over 
	Julie's face. She looks down at the table.
		Wait'll you've been married eleven 
	Helen, aware that she has perhaps touched on a sensitive 
	subject, frowns and turns back to her washing. A quick, 
	thick silence dips into the room. 
			(looking down) 
		Wait'll Charlie gets to be forty-two. 
		My Mike's having an affair right now 
		with one of his patients right now. 
		We don't talk about it -- don't you, 
		either, not even to Charlie. But 
		Mike knows I know about it. I even 
		know the patient. A married woman 
		with a hyperthyroid problem. My 
		Mike's a good doctor with a pretty 
		good practice. The kids are crazy 
		about him. But every now and then 
		he has to go out and get involved 
		with a woman. 

	She looks down at her hands in her lap.
		Listen, I will take a cup of tea if 
		you've got one. 

	She stands, opens the pantry, looks around among the cans 
	and packages for a box of tea bags.
			(quite shocked) 
		You're kidding, aren't you?
			(finds the box 
			of tea bags) 
		Would I kid about something like 
	She puts the box of tea bags an the workshelf, unhooks a 
	saucepan hanging over the stove, turns to the sink and fills 
	it with water. Helen regards her, not quite knowing what to 
	say. Julie sets the saucepan going on the stove, stares at 
		I don't know why I told you. Don't 
		tell anybody, not even Charlie. I 
		don't want the family to know. But 
		this woman isn't the first one. I 
		know that much. About three years 
		ago, the doorbell rings. I open the 
		door. There's a man there. He says: 
		"Tell your husband to stay away from 
		my sister." How would you like to 
		open the door and have somebody say 
		that to you? I cried for two weeks. 
		I don't know what to do about it, 
		Helen. Should I bring it out in the 
		open with Mike or should I just keep 
		my mouth shut like the other time? 
		Because he's not going to leave me. 
		Even if he doesn't care about me, 
		he has his kids to think about. We 
		married too young. That was our big 
		mistake. We married too young. 

	Her face, her whole body suddenly tightens to forestall any 
	possibility of breaking into tears, and she sits down 
	abruptly on the kitchen stool, her eyes clenched tight and 
	her face rigidly impassive. Helen remains nervously silent.
			(her voice rising just 
			a little from the 
			suppressed emotion 
			within her) 
		We should have waited till he 
		finished his internship. What kind 
		of married life is that? Twenty-two 
		dollars a month he was earning. 
		Every other day, he had to sleep in 
		the hospital. The first two years of 
		our marriage, we didn't even see 
		each other. And then I'm pregnant. 
		He had to quit, what do you think? 
		He wanted to be a surgeon, he wound 
		up being a G.P. From that day he 
		hated me. I had two other children 
		by him, but he hated me. He told me 
		in just so many words. Why do you 
		think I kept telling you, Helen, why 
		do you think I kept telling you: 
		"Don't have a baby till Charlie finds 
			(suddenly cries out) 
		It hurts! Even after eleven years, 
		it hurts!
	She stands abruptly and moves quickly past Helen out the 
	kitchen doorway into the dark living room, leaving Helen 
	standing troubled, concerned, in the kitchen. After a moment, 
	Helen moves to the kitchen doorway and a step out into the 
	dining area. She looks through the dark living room to the 
	gray silhouette of Julie standing by the living room window, 
	her form lightly outlined by a tracing of moonlight.
		Are you all right, Julie?
		I'm all right. I'm all right.
	We are looking back up the living room as we were at the 
	close of the last scene in this apartment. The room is 
	absolutely dark now, but a light pours in from the foyer. In 
	this shaft of light, we can see Eddie moving from behind the 
	projector to the wall switch and turning on the lights. The 
	room is abruptly bright with light, and our five men squint 
	against the sudden glare. They have all changed their 
	positions and taken off their jackets and loosened their 
	ties. They are lolling about. CAMERA LOOKS DOWN TO THE FLOOR 
	to take particular note of eight empty beer bottles, an 
	opened fifth of bourbon, ash trays, crumpled packs of 
	cigarettes, a cup and saucer, somebody's shoes, somebody's 
	jacket that has fallen off the back of a chair. Over this 
	we hear Walter's voice:

		Is that the last one?
	A thick silence fills the room. There is a kind of sodden 
	feeling to this scene. After a long moment, Walter's voice 
		Ah, you've seen one, you've seen 
		them all. 
		Yeah, they're all alike.
		I don't know -- I think the first 
		one was all right.
		Yeah, I was so bored by the rest of 
		them. I nearly fell asleep during 
		the last one.
		You in the habit of sleeping with 
		your eyes open? 

	We look down on the room now, at all five of the men, Eddie 
	rewinding the last reel, the little motor of the projector 
	humming. The others loll about, their legs dangling over the 
	armrests of the soft chairs and sofas. There is a heavy, 
	dense mood that no one seems willing to break.
		What time's it about, anybody know?
			(glancing at his watch) 
		I got a quarter to nine.
		No, it's later than that, about a 
		quarter after. 

	Again the silence falls upon the five men. Only the humming 
	little motor interrupts the thick silence. Nobody moves.
			(after a moment) 
		Ah, you see one, you've seen them 
	Again the silence. Charlie stretches over for his bottle of 
	beer on the floor beside his chair. He pours what's left of 
	the bottle into the glass standing beside it. Otherwise 
	nobody moves.

			(after a moment) 
		So that's the last one you've got to 
		show us, Eddie?
		Yeah. You want to run them backwards?
		I wonder where they get the girls to 
		make these movies?
		Might as well go home, I guess.
	The idea doesn't seem to propel anybody to any decisive 
	movement. Walter shifts his position on the sofa, stretches 
	out his legs, regards his shoes with a sudden sadness.
			(after a moment) 
		Life is short.
	This gives everybody something to think about for a moment.
			(hunched over 
			the projector, 
			dismantling it) 
		You guys feel like going down to 
		have a drink for Arnold?
	This brings a reaction. Walter stands.
		Yeah! What do you say? One last 
		drink for Arnold!
		Okay with me.
	Suddenly life is back in the room, the men ad-lib: "Where's 
	my coat?" "Let's get out of here," etc. 
			(unwinding himself 
			from his slouched 
			position on a chair) 
		You can say what you want to about 
		these pictures -- they're really 
		pretty bad -- but they get you.
		Don't you think we ought to clean up 
		the place?
		No, I got a woman comes in.
			(grabbing up 
			his jacket) 
		I almost fell asleep during the 
		last one. 
			(he looks at 
			the others) 
		Well, what do you say, huh? Let's 
		go! One last drink! 

	Ad libs on exit.
	Helen and Julie. A corner lamp in the living room is lit, 
	lending a soft but not too effective light to the room. The 
	two young women are on the couch. Helen sits curled at one 
	end, head down listening to Julie, who has been talking and 
	probably crying a little since we last saw them forty-five 
	minutes ago. Julie is seated with her legs stretched out in 
	front of her, her head resting back on the back of the couch. 
	She is talking more freely and easily now, the first hard 
	outburst over with.
		... He's a boy, my Mike. Till the 
		day he dies, he'll never be more 
		than fifteen. Perpetual adolescence, 
		that's the curse of the professional 
		man. He spends his whole youth trying 
		to be a doctor, a lawyer, an 
		accountant. Then he spends the rest 
		of his life looking for the fun he 
		should have had when he was a boy.
		Oh, I know. Charlie and I hardly 
		even see each other.
		It's very hard on the wife, Helen. 
		These are the years when you should 
		be building your marriage. Instead, 
		you grow away from each other. I've 
		seen it happen with my friends. In 
		the end, they have nice homes in New 
		Rochelle, and a maid, and their 
		maids are happier than they are. But 
		sometimes it does work. It can be 
		done, Helen. Encourage Charlie to 
		stay with his school because...
		Oh, I will, Julie ...
		... he's an ambitious boy ...
		... oh, it's not just he's 
		ambitious ...
		... and if he doesn't fulfill 
		himself, he'll resent you and your 
		baby the rest of his life.
		Oh, I don't want him to quit. He 
		loves accounting, Julie. I see him 
		sometimes, sitting over his homework. 
		He's got his ledgers out, and he's 
		adding up columns of figures as long 
		as his arm. And he's chuckling. 
		You'd think he was reading the 
		comics. He has a book there, 
		Business Law. How he can read it I 
		don't know. But I'll be watching 
		television or something, and he'll 
		come over, and he'll start telling 
		me about some fine legal point. I 
		don't know what he's talking about, 
		but it's enough for me to see how 
		excited it makes him. He loves it,
		Julie. You can't take something like 
		that away from him. It's just -- 
		it's just I feel we're not really 
		close any more. I mean, he comes 
		home from school, lots of times I'm 
		asleep already. And, when I do see 
		him, he seems all involved with 
		himself. He looks at me sometimes as 
		if I were a stranger to him, and I 
		feel sometimes I am. I'm afraid of 
		that, Julie.
		Then get rid of the baby.
	It is said simply, inevitably, even innocently. It brings 
	only a frown to Helen's face and a short silence.
		If I had it to do again, believe me, 
		that's what I would do.
			(slowly becoming aware 
			of the depth of what 
			they are talking about) 
		You don't mean that, Julie.
		Yes, I do. My children are the only 
		things in my life now, but I would 
		rather have a husband.
		I wouldn't even think about it.
		That's what I said, too.
		Let's not even think about it. If I 
		even mentioned it, he'd -- he'd hit 
		me, I think.
		All right.
	Now, the thick, tense silence falls between them. They both 
	occupy themselves with their own troubled thoughts. 
		I want this baby, Julie. I've wanted 
		this baby for a long time. It's the 
		only thing I've ever asked of 
		Charlie. If I mentioned that to him 
		-- I don't know what he'd do. 

	Again, they sink into silence. Then in the thick silence, 
	the telephone rings. The two young women are so deep within 
	their thoughts that neither of them moves. It rings again, 
	and Helen slides off the couch and goes to the phone. It 
	rings again. She picks it up.
			(on phone) 
		Hello.... Hello, Charlie, where are 
		you calling from? ... You sound like 
		you're having a nice time.... Oh, 
		you're having a ball, huh? ... Well, 
		what time do you think you'll be 
		coming home?
	Charlie in the phone booth, smiling broadly. He seems in 
	wonderful spirits. Through the glass of the phone booth we 
	can see part of the bar and some of the barflies.
			(on phone) 
		Well, that's what I wanted to call 
		you about, honey. I think a couple 
		of the guys are cutting out now. I 
		think Kennie's going home. But I was 
		wondering if you wanted me home for 
		any special reason.
			(on phone) 
		Just a minute, Charlie....
	She rises, goes to kitchen door, still holding the phone. 
			(to Julie) 
		Excuse me a minute, Julie. It's 

	She goes into the kitchen. A little embarrassed, she closes 
	the kitchen door.
			(on phone) 
		Charlie? ... 
		Charlie, come on home now.... No, I 
		feel all right. I just miss you. 
		Julie's here, and we were talking 
		about you, and I just miss you.... 
		Ah, come on.... 
			(frowns a little) 
		Well, no, if you're having such a 
		good time, stay out and enjoy 
		yourself.... No, Charlie, I don't 
		want you to come home if you're 
		having a good time.... I'm not 
		lonely. Julie's here. We're talking. 
		I was washing some things.... I 
		know, that's what I told you this 
		morning. You've finally got a night 
		off for yourself. I don't want you 
		to feel guilty about it.... 
		Charlie, do you love me? ... You 
		sound angry.... No, come home any 
		time you want....
			(she wets her 
			lips nervously) 
		Charlie ...
			(she lets her head 
			sink down onto the 
			palm of her free hand) 
		Charlie, there's no girls at this 
		party, are there? ... I'm not 
		checking up on you, Charlie. I just 
		miss you, that's all.... All right, 
		Charlie, please, I don't want to 
		argue with you. Julie's in the 
		living room. ... All right, have a 
		good time, stay out as long as you 
		want.... All right, Charlie, good-
	She slowly hangs up the receiver, sits slumped and abject.

	Charlie in booth. The broad grin has disappeared from his 
	face. As seen through the closed glass doors of the booth, 
	he is a very sullen and despondent young man. He stands now, 
	pushes the doors open, and comes out. CAMERA PULLS BACK so 
	that we can see the whole area of the bar near the phone 
	booths. Next to the phone booth are two doors marked GUYS 
	and DOLLS. Kenneth is coming in from the deeper recesses of 
	the bar where the other members of the bachelor party are 
	grouped in a booth. He is headed for the door marked GUYS. 
	Charlie regards Kenneth bleakly as he approaches.
		The party breaking up?
			(pushing into 
			the men's room) 
		I don't know. I'm going home. You 
		going home?
		Yeah, I think so.
	He pushes into the men's room after Kenneth.
	A small, white-tiled, yet somehow not too clean, men's room, 
	two-urinal size. There is one washbowl with a small mirror 
	over it, and two water closets with doors, separated from 
	each other by a steel partition. Charlie perches on the edge 
	of the washbowl; he apparently came in just to talk. Kenneth 
	moves off camera for more practical use of the room. CAMERA 
	stays on Charlie who seems depressed, pensive, sad. Stay on 
	him for a long moment. Then ...
		You love your wife, Kennie?
		Well, I've been married six years. 
		I've got two kids that keep me awake 
		all night long. Every Sunday, we go 
		out driving in Long Island looking 
		for a house that's going to take 
		one, probably two mortgages. I better 
		love my wife.
	Kenneth appears now, edges Charlie away from the wash basin, 
	so he can wash his hands.
		I don't feel like going home. Are 
		you going? Hang around, Kennie. It's 
		only about nine thirty, ten.
		It's after ten. It's about ten after 
	Kenneth rips off a paper towel. The only noise for a moment 
	is the soft crumpling of paper as Kenneth dries his hands.
		The party's getting a little wild in 
		there anyway. Eddie and Walter got 
		poor Arnold nailed in there, they're 
		trying to talk him into getting a 
		girl. This party's going to wind up 
		in a joint, let me tell you. This is 
		a good time to blow.
		Yeah.... I should have gone to class 
		tonight. I'm paying twenty bucks a 
		credit. The least I can do is go to 
	He breaks off abruptly, turning away with a sudden frown.
		I take one night off, I can't even 
		enjoy myself. Did you know Eddie 
		went back to Europe? 
		No, I didn't know that.
		He was telling me he lived in Paris 
		for three months. I'd like to do 

	He ambles around the men's room, studying himself with 
	unseeing eyes in the little mirror, poking the trash can 
	into which Kenneth is now dropping his wadded paper towel. 
	He suddenly turns to Kenneth, stares at him. Kenneth looks 
	at him in mirror.
		What's the matter?
		I'm going to quit. What am I 
		killing myself for?
		Quit what?
		Quit night school. Tonight was the 
		first laughs I've had in years. I 
		can't remember the last time I had 
		so much fun. Look what I'm missing. 
		I'm making a pretty good living. I 
		can support a wife and baby on what 
		I make. I'm going to quit! I mean 
		it. I'm going to quit. Boy, what a 
		time to have a baby.
		You don't have to quit school 
		because you're having a baby, 
		Charlie. There are lots of guys go 
		to night school with two, three 
		You ought to meet some of these guys. 
		They're just grinding their lives 
		away. It's an obsession with some of 
		these guys. I mean, what's the point? 
		So I'll go five more years to night 
		school. So I'll get my degree. So 
		I'll get a job as a junior accountant 
		for three years at seventy-five bucks 
		a week. I'm making better than that 
		now. And then it just starts. The 
		CPA exams. By the time I'm fifty, I 
		can start living. At this point, I 
		get a heart attack and an ulcer, and 
		they bury me in the ground, and they 
		say: "That was Charlie Samson, the 
		man who didn't see a movie in fifty 
		years." Why go through all that? 
		I'll quit. I feel so mad right now, 
		you better keep an eye on me, Kennie, 
		because I'm going to wind up punching 

	The door opens. Man enters to clean a spot off his tie.
		Come on, let's go home.
		What do I want to go home for?
		You're in a lousy mood.
	The man, finished with his tie, exits.
			(after a moment) 
		Charlie, go home. I can see you're 
		going to get fried tonight and wind 
		up picking up a tramp and you're 
		going to wake up in the morning 
		feeling like two-bits.
		It'd be a profit.
		Charlie, about five years ago, I 
		went without a job for seven months. 
		Alice was carrying our first baby. 
		We were living on money I borrowed 
		from my brother. I don't know if you 
		remember me in those days, but it 
		was rough. I used to go out every 
		night, put a load on, and make a 
		pass at any girl who looked at me. 
		And I mean any. Big, tall, short, 
		fat, anything. Well, one night I 
		picked up some tomato somewheres, 
		and we were sitting in a bar or 
		somewheres, and I kept calling her 
		Alice all night. So she says to me: 
		"My name ain't Alice. Who's Alice?" 
		So I said: "Alice is my wife," and 
		I got up and I went home.
	Charlie waits a moment for Kenneth to continue, but 
	apparently this is all Kenneth has to offer at the moment.
		What does that mean?
		I don't know. I had a point when I 
		started telling that story.
		I'm not looking for another woman.
		Yes, you are, Charlie. You may not 
		know it, but you are. So go on home, 
		Charlie, before you get any drunker 
		than you are. Charlie, you start 
		messing with other women, something 
		goes. It'll kill your marriage. 
		It'll kill your wife. It'll just 
		kill her. What my wife went through 
		-- well, I don't even want to 
		remember it. It's never the same 
		with your wife again, Charlie.
		I'm not looking for any woman.
		I think what I was trying to say 
		was you stick with your night school. 
		Some guys have to make peace with 
		themselves that they're never going 
		to amount to too much. A guy like me. 
		Once I made that peace with myself, 
		I found out it doesn't really matter 
		what you amount to. I got a nice 
		wife and two children I complain 
		about all the time, but if anything 
		ever happened to either one of them, 
		I think I'd die. But you don't have 
		to make that kind of peace, and 
		you'd be crazy to settle for less 
		than what you want. You want 
		something, Charlie. I think that's 
			(Charlie's eyes go 
			toward Kenneth) 
		You're a little drunk now, and 
		you're fed up to the teeth. 
		Everybody gets fed up, Charlie. You 
		stick with it. You're going to be all 
		You're a nice guy, Kennie.
		Sure. You're a nice guy too.
	The door to the men's room opens, and a Young Man comes in, 
	looks around quickly at Kenneth and Charlie -- bumps into 
		Watch it -- will you, Mac?
	Charlie regards this statement a moment. Then advances to 
	the Young Man.
		Wait a minute.... What are you, a 
		wise guy? 

	He is all set to bust the Young Man one in the nose, but 
	Kenneth takes him by the arm.
		Come on, Charlie, let's go home. 

	Charlie allows himself to be led to the door.
		I'm just about drunk enough right 
		now to bust somebody right in the 
	Kenneth reaches for the knob of the door, opens it, and the 
	two men go out. They find themselves in the crowded, noisy 
	bar. A jagged kind of intensity to the atmosphere as if some 
	of the men at the bar might be gangsters. Booths filled with 
	men and women and some mixed-up types. Kenneth and Charlie 
	make their way through the bodies down to one of the booths 
	where Eddie and Arnold are sitting and Walter is standing, 
	heavily drunk. Eddie is expostulating to Walter:
			(to Walter) 
		... Come on, will you? Look Walter, 
		it's just the shank of the evening! 
		What's so special in your home? You 
		got a floor show every night? Who 
		are you married to, Jayne Mansfield? 
		Come on, it's not even half past 
	Walter sits heavily down.
			(smiling amiably) 
		We got to get up tomorrow, go to 
		work, Eddie.
		We're just starting! We got to get 
		Arnold a girl yet!
		Eddie, please ...
		That's the whole point to a bachelor 
		party! You got to get the guy a girl!
		Look, fellows, it's been a nice 
		clean party ...
		Well, Arnold, since I'm not going to 
		see you again before the wedding, 
		congratulations and best wishes in 
		the coming future to both you and 
		the bride.
		Thanks a lot, Kennie....
	Eddie turns to Charlie, who is still glowering.
		You're not going, are you, Charlie? 
		We're just starting! We got to get 
		Arnold a girl yet! 

			(to Kenneth) 
		I want to thank you for the 
		presents, Kennie....
		...No, I'll stick around another 
		hour or so....
		... That's my boy....
			(to Kenneth, who is 
			looking at Charlie) 
		... Honestly, I never expected any 
			(to Charlie) 
		... Aren't you coming home? ...
		... What for? Sit around talking to 
		my sister Julie? ...
		... I want to thank all you 
		fellows ...
		All right, stop thanking them, 
		Arnold. They just gave you a party, 
		they didn't elect you President.
		... This has been one of the nicest 
		nights of my life....
		Let's go someplace ... let's go to 
		a nightclub.
		That's great with me.
		Come on, Ken.
		Thanks a lot.
		... Well, listen, fellows, I'm 
		cutting out.... Good night, Walter, 
			(to Charlie) 
		... You coming, Charlie? ...
		... No, I'll kill another hour.... 
		Come on, Kennie....
		No, you go ahead. I'll see you in 
		the morning, Charlie.
		Okay, I'll see you.
	The little stretch of strip-joints on Third Street. Bright 
	little cluster of honky-tonks.
	Our bachelor party, now down to four carousers, ambles along 
	the rather filled sidewalk, looking at the cardboard cutouts 
	of the strippers in the windows of the night clubs.
	The four men pause before one of the strip-joints, examining 
	the cardboard cutout and billboard which promises first-rate 
	entertainment inside.
	We look down on the whole night club, showing the dark, 
	dingy, crowded, smallness of it. There is a strip going on. 
	It doesn't look very interesting. 

	Our four men are huddled over a very small table in one of 
	those Third Street clip-joints. It is a dark little hovel, 
	but a blue stage light drifts across the table, vaguely 
	illuminating our four celebrators. Behind them, a strip 
	tease is in progress. Every now and then, an almost stout 
	woman in her forties, garish in the blue spotlight, dressed 
	in a white satin ill-fitting gown, moves in and out of our 
	view. Half the tables and wall booths are occupied. There is 
	a horseshoe bar off in the recesses of the club. A three-
	piece band is playing spiritlessly.
	Walter is gone, deep in some painful, drunken world of his 
	own. Charlie rubs his eyes as if to keep his senses awake. 
	Arnold, who is soggy, is leaning toward Eddie, who alone of 
	the four men is giving any attention to the show.
		So what do you think of my girl, 
		Eddie? You met her. Be honest with 
		me. Tell me the truth. I had the 
		feeling you didn't like her.
		Come on, come on, Arnold. What do 
		you want from me. 

	Arnold turns to Charlie.
		Listen, Charlie, I'd like to ask you 
		a little advice. I mean, you're a 
		married man. This girl, I'm supposed 
		to marry, she's all right, but I'm 
		not really attracted to her, you 
		know what I mean? That's important,
		isn't it? I kissed her a couple of 
		times, but I ... I don't know why 
		I'm getting married, Charlie.
		What did you say, Arnold?
		I said, I don't know why I'm getting 
		married. I did pretty good for 
		thirty-two years without getting 
		married. I get along fine at home. 
		My mother's a good cook. I have a 
		nice life. What do I want to break 
		it all up for?
		Well, Arnold, everybody feels that 
		way before they get married.
		Yeah? Did I ever show you a picture 
		of my girl?
		No, you didn't, Arnold.
		Do you want to see a picture?
	Arnold clumsily hauls out his wallet and extracts a picture. 
	He gives it to Charlie who twists at an angle in order to 
	get some light on it.
		I want you to give me your honest 
		impression, Charlie. She isn't much, 
		is she?
		I can't see much in this light, but 
		she looks like a nice pretty girl.
		Well, I wouldn't say that. We were 
		matched up, you know. The families 
		kind of agreed on it. I was brought 
		over to her by my mother and father. 
		That's how I met her. She's some 
		kind of tenth cousin. She's all 
		right. She's quiet. I kissed her a 
		couple of times. She just sat there 
		and I kissed her. I think she 
		expected more. She even asked me 
		that. She said to me: "Are you 
		afraid of me?" I really don't go out 
		with women much. You know. Don't 
		tell nobody this, Charlie, but you 
		aren't going to believe this, but I 
		never ... I mean, you wouldn't 
		believe that a guy of my age, I 
		never ... Don't tell anybody I ever 
		told you this, but I never-- I mean, 
		Charlie, she's a widow. She's been 
		married already -- she's going to 
		expect a lot -- and I never ---- 
		What do you think I ought to do?
		What do you mean, Arnold?
		I mean, you think I ought to marry 
		Well, Arnold, even if I knew the 
		girl, I wouldn't answer that 
		question. I may not like her, but 
		she may be fine for you.
		Because I'm thinking of calling the 
		whole thing off.
		It's kind of late for that, isn't 
		I'm scared stiff, Charlie.
		What are you scared about?
		I'm not much of a talker, and she's 
		one of those quiet ones. What are 
		you supposed to do with your wife? 
		I mean, most of the time.
			(has to think) 
		Most of the time, Arnold, you don't 
		even see her. You're away working. 
		You come home, she fixes you supper. 
		Then one of you washes the dishes. 
		Then if you're not tired, you can go 
		to the movies or visit somebody. Or 
		you watch teevee.
		I do that now with my mother. 

	This gives Charlie pause.
		I don't know what there is to 
		marriage. I suppose it's to have 
		So what do you think I ought to do? 
		You think I ought to go through with 
		this marriage?
		Arnold, I can't answer that! 

	He stands abruptly.


	Our four amble along Washington Square North, headed west. 
	In the background, the high apartment houses. It is about 
	midnight now, and there are a number of people around, and 
	there are lots of lights in the windows. There is still the 
	feeling of life. However, some of the wind has gone out of 
	our bachelor party since we last saw them carousing on 
	Lexington Avenue. Now, of course, there are only four of 
	them, and there is somewhat a feeling of straggling about 
	The four men straggle along Tenth Street east of Seventh 
	Avenue. This is a dark little street. Off at the 
	intersection, you can see Seventh Avenue and an occasional 
	car moving downtown, but West Tenth Street right now seems 
	an empty, sleeping street of dark and old little apartment 
	houses. The houses sometimes have little stoops. On one of 
	the stoops, there is a woman sitting. She is in her thirties, 
	not attractive nor unattractive. She wears a light summer 
	frock, and she has one shoe off, and she is toying with the 
	idea of pushing the other one off too. As the four men 
	approach her, she looks up, half quizzically, half 
	questioningly. The four men note her in passing and seem to 
	continue on, but then come to a dragging halt about ten 
	paces down.
		I think we've got one for you, 
		One what?
	Eddie looks back to the woman on the stoop. They all turn to 
	look. Actually, Charlie has ambled a few paces even further 
	down and doesn't know quite why they've stopped. They look 
	at the woman; the woman looks at them a little warily. Rest 
	of the scene from her point of view.
		Ah, come on, Eddie.
		She ain't bad.
			(calling from a 
			few paces down) 
		What's the matter?
		We've got a live one.
			(starting to walk) 
		Come on, let's go.

		Arnold, for Pete's sake.
		Ah, leave him alone! He doesn't want 
		Come on. We've been walking around 
		all night here -- are you a man, or 
		ain't you? 

	Arnold frowns.
		All right, all right.
	With a scowl, he assumes the responsibility of being a man. 
	The four men, Charlie bringing up the rear, move down toward 
	The Woman, who now looks down at her feet and begins wiggling 
	her bare foot back into the unused shoe.
			(not looking up) 
		I don't know who you fellows think 
		I am, but you fellows have the 
		wrong idea about me.
		Yeah, I know. Arnold, see that bar 
		down the corner. That's where we'll 
		I'm afraid you fellows have the 
		wrong idea about me.

		She says we have the wrong idea.
		Ah, leave him alone.

		You fellows are working under a 

	Eddie and Walter have already started down the street to 
	the bar.
		We'll be in the bar, Arnold.
		You all right, Arnold?
		Yeah, I'm all right, it's just ...
		Look, I'm just sitting here, fellows. 
		Did I say anything? I was just 
		sitting here.
		You want to come with me, Charlie?
		No, Arnold.
	Charlie scowls at the suggestion, but there is something 
	pleading in Arnold's face.
		You want me to? All right. I'll go 
		up with you.
			(from halfway down 
			the street) 
		Where you going, Charlie?
		I'll go up with him. Moral support.
		What the---- we'll all go with you. 

	Charlie waves him away.

			(walks back to fellows) 
		We'll be down at the bar.
	Charlie nods. Arnold looks briefly at The Woman and then 
	away again.
	She turns and goes up the steps into the building, her 
	leather heels clicking on the stone steps. Arnold, head 
	down, and Charlie, a little sheepishly, follow her.
	A dark, ill-lit hallway. A flight of stairs going up, wooden 
	railings, worn carpeting. The Woman starts up the stairs, 
	the two men following her.
			(as she goes) 
	Arnold, wetting his lips, nods. The Woman reaches the first 
	The Woman has come around to one of the three doors on the 
	landing and is inserting a key into a lock. Arnold and 
	Charlie appear now at the head of the stairway. The Woman 
	goes into her room, leaving the door open. A moment later, 
	a shaft of light streams out into the landing. For a moment, 
	nothing happens. Then Arnold and Charlie amble slowly down 
	the landing to the open doorway and shaft of light.
		Hey, Arnold, you don't have to go 
		through with this.
		I think I should.
		I'll wait out here for you, okay?
	Arnold nods and goes into the room. He closes the door. 
	Charlie takes out a cigarette and lights it and inhales 
	deeply. He feels a little sordid. There is the sound of 
	steps, muffled by the carpeting, coming down the stairs. A 
	man appears coming down from the floor above. He gives 
	Charlie a quick look and continues on down the landing to 
	the stairs and down again. Charlie scowls at the floor. He 
	smokes his cigarette.
	It is a furnished room for which the woman pays eleven 
	dollars a week. It is not particularly unkempt or tarty. 
	There is a print slipcover on the soft chair and flowers on 
	an end table. There is a studio couch with a neat spread and 
	throw pillows on it. The Woman stands expressionlessly in 
	front of the old chest of drawers. She has kicked off one 
	shoe and she is now kicking off the other. She starts to say 
		Listen, I don't want you to think I 
		don't have a job. I got a job. I 
	She stops abruptly as Arnold, who is sitting, eyes averted, 
	on a straight-back wooden chair, suddenly stands up and 
	moves toward the door.
		What's the matter?
	Arnold's lips open to form words, but nothing comes out, and 
	he clamps his mouth tight and just stands, miserable and 
	wretched. His hand makes a nervous, spasmodic, involuntary 
	gesture, and he quickly clenches his fist. Beads of sweat 
	are on his forehead. 
		Are you afraid of me?
	Arnold's head has started to shake nervously, and he opens 
	the door and steps out into the landing. The Woman, 
	beginning to get angry, follows him.
	Charlie looks up at the opening of the door and Arnold's 
	entrance. The Woman stands in the doorway. Arnold moves 
	quickly past Charlie about halfway down the landing, white-
	faced and trembling.
			(getting a 
			little shrill) 
		What's the matter? Hey. Hey, you. 
		Hey, you, what's the matter?
		Let's go.
			(to The Woman) 
		What's the trouble?
		I don't know. Ask him. What's the 
		matter? Hey, you. You, what's the 
		Go back inside.... All right, all 
		How about that, huh?
	She turns angrily, goes back into her room (ad libbing as 
	she crosses) and slams the door. Charlie moves down the 
	landing to Arnold, who looks at him wide-eyed, almost in 
		What happened, Arnold?
		I don't know. I'm just scared.
		Yeah, I don't blame you, I'd be 
		scared too like this. I don't know 
		why we dragged you up here in the 
		first place. It's a barbaric custom. 
		Come on.
	He has taken Arnold's arm and would lead him down the 
	stairs, but Arnold pauses again at the first step.
		Don't tell Eddie.
		No I won't, Arnold.
		Why don't we just sit here for ten
		minutes or so? 

	Charlie frowns, then shrugs.
		All right, Arnold.
	They both sit slowly on the steps. Arnold is still trembling 
	from the whole terrifying experience.
		Don't ever tell anybody.
		It's nothing to be ashamed of.
		Please, Charlie.
		I won't tell anybody.
	A man's voice suddenly calls down from an upper floor.
		Anything wrong down there? 
			(calling back) 
		No. No. Nothing wrong.
	Charlie sits. CAMERA MOVES UP CLOSER to both men. The whole 
	experience has depressed Charlie, and it shows on his face.
	CAMERA PULLS SLOWLY BACK so that we get the small, sordid 
	feeling of the two men, somewhat tight, sitting on a dirty 
	ill-lit staircase outside a whore's bedroom.

	Neighborhood bar with about ten people in it. Eddie and 
	Walter are two of them. Eddie is playing on one of those 
	bowling machines. He seems surly, ill-tempered, restless.
		Hey Walter -- you know what we 
		ought to do, don't you? We ought to 
		go to that party. Remember that girl 
		Charlie picked up on Tenth Street?
	Walter, who is so drunk he is sober, looks up at Eddie with 
	blurred eyes.
		I'm going to die, do you know that?
		Not tonight, Walter. Tonight you're 
		going to live. Ah, these things are 
			(crosses to bar) 
		I'm down to my last buck. Got any 
		money on you? 

	He turns as the door to the bar opens and Charlie and Arnold 
	come in.
			(to Charlie) 
			(to Arnold) 
		How'd it go, lover?
			(Arnold smiles a 
			mysterious smile, 
			pregnant with 
			sensual meaning) 
		Hey, Charlie, let's go to this party. 
		It's only twelve o'clock. Oh, these 
		parties are mad, man. All the women 
		wear pajamas, and all the men wear 
		beards. Everybody sits on the floor. 
		Arnold, you got any money? I spent 
		my last buck on those drinks. How 
		about you, Charlie?
			(assessing his assets) 
		I got a little over a buck.
		What are we, all out? So let's go to 
		this party then. 
			(punches Charlie's arm) 
		Hey, Charlie, come on.
			(himself sullen and angry)
		Cut it out.
		You can have that girl you picked up 
		on Tenth Street. Come on.... All 
		right, you married men want to be so 
		married that's all right with me. 
		But I'd like to see some women 
			(punching Charlie's 
			arm with more hostility 
			than he knows) 
		Come on.
		Lay off.
		I'd like to see some women tonight, 
		you know. Do you mind?
		Cut it out, Eddie. You keep punching 
		me, I swear I'm going to belt you 
		What's the matter with you?
	Charlie is off his seat and ready to belt Eddie one right on 
	the spot. There is abruptly the imminent reality of a fist 
	fight. The two men are just sullen enough. Arnold hurriedly 
		All right, all right, fellows.
		Look, don't get so tough with me, 
		All right, all right, come on.
		I don't want to see any other women!
			(just as angry) 
		All right! Go on home! Who's holding 
		you?! You want to call it a night? 
		Because I'm tired of grousing from 
		one bar to another. You guys go home, 
		and I'll go about my merry way. All 
		right? And don't get so tough with 
		Well, don't poke me.
			(turning Charlie 
			back to his seat) 
		Come on, let's go ... gee ...
	For a moment, the sudden, thick hostility fills the silence 
	in the room. Nobody says anything. Walter is soddenly 
	preoccupied with his own thoughts. Arnold is shaken from his 
	recent experience with The Woman and from the flaring of 
	tempers. Charlie just sits bleakly examining a book of 
	matches he is toying with, trying to bring his temper down. 
	After a moment, he mutters:
		You mess around with other women, it 
		kills your wife and it kills your 
	Eddie suddenly, sulkily strides for the door of the bar.
		All right, you guys go home, and 
		I'll go on my merry way. 
			(gets to the door, 
			pauses, then turns, 
			his sudden hot temper 
			gone as quickly as 
			it had come) 
		Hey, you guys, you guys want to go 
		to a nutty night club, look at the 
		nuts? There's a nutty night club 
		over on Second Avenue. You know 
		what we can do? Charlie, you live in 
		Stuyvesant Town, don't you?
		You know what we can do? We'll take 
		the crosstown. We'll go over to 
		Charlie's house, he'll get some 
		money, and we'll go to this nutty 
		night club. It's right down on 
		Second Avenue. You got any money 
		home, Charlie?
		What do you say, Arnold? You want to 

	Arnold shrugs. Eddie has started for the door already. 
	Charlie wearily gets off his stool, starts to follow Eddie 
	out. Walter takes his arm.
		Charlie, get Walter.
		Come on, Walter....
	CLOSEUP of Walter
		I'm going to die, you know what I 

	The sad little party files wearily out of the bar, Arnold 
	pausing at the bar to pay for the drinks.
	LONG SHOT looking down through the length of one almost 
	empty car, through the open door at the end of the car, 
	down into the next almost empty car. Just a few people 
	riding the subway at this hour, half past eleven on a 
	week-day. But down in the second car, we can see our four 
	cavaliers. Eddie, Arnold, and Charlie are sitting. Our 
	attention is most caught by Walter, who is heavily drunk and 
	weaves and lurches up and down the central aisle of the car. 
	We cannot hear if he is saying anything.
	CLOSE SHOT Walter weaving up and down the aisle of the car. 
	He stumbles on the toes of a man in a windbreaker, sitting 
	in the car.
		Excuse me ... excuse me ...
			(turns his blurred 
			attention to Charlie, 
			who, alone of the 
			three, seems painfully 
			interested in what 
			Walter is talking 
		So what'll I do? I mean, he says, 
		I'm going to die. I mean, the man's 
		a specialist. He says: "Go to 
		Arizona, go to Colorado," he says. 
		"You got to get out of New York or 
		you're going to die." He tells my 
		wife, the stupid idiot. My wife 
		cried all night. I'm going to die, 
		you know that? You understand that? 
		I'm going to die? You know what an 
		asthma attack is like? Your heart 
		starts beating like a drum! I passed 
		out the last time!
			(deeply compassionate) 
		Walter, why don't you just quit the 
		job and pack your bags and get out 
		of here?
	Walter stands in front of Charlie, his lips moving, but no 
	words coming out for a moment. There are tears in his eyes, 
	and all the pain and anguish of the man's forty-eight years 
	are clear on his face.
			(getting the words out) 
		I can't quit. Don't you understand? 
		You don't understand. I can't quit! 
		I got a fourteen-year-old girl, I 
		don't know what time she comes in at 
		night any more. She's so wild, these 
		kids. I got a nineteen-year-old boy 
		in college; he's going to be a 
		doctor if I have to die. He's not 
		going to quit school. You hear me! 
		I worked hard to put that kid in 
		school! I don't care if I die! I 
		don't care! What am I going to do 
		in Arizona? Who wants me? Who's 
		going to give me a job? What kind 
		of a job am I going to get? I'm 
		forty-eight years old. They don't 
		want no forty-eight-year-old 
		bookkeeper. They got machines from 
		IBM. You ever been up on the ninth 
		floor? You ever see all those IBM 
		machines? What am I going to do out 
		in Arizona? You look in the Help 
		Wanted lately? You see any jobs 
		listed for Bookkeeper, Male? What 
		are you talking about? Do you know 
		what you're talking about?
	Charlie reaches up to steady Walter, who has worked himself 
	up into a lurching fury.
		Easy, Walter.
			(flinging Charlie's 
			hand aside) 
		Take your hand off me. You don't 
		know nothing! You're just a kid! 
		You don't know! I've seen death, 
		kid. I've seen it, boy. I know what 
		it looks like.
			(he staggers away a 
			few paces down the 
			aisle, stumbles over 
			the man's toe again) 
		Excuse me.... Forty-eight years old 
		and so what? What does it mean? What
		happened? What have I got? What did 
		I make? Who needs me? So this is it. 
		A man's life, nothing. Worry about 
		being sick, worry about making money, 
		worry about your wife, worry about 
		your kids, and you're on your way to 
		the grave from the day you're born. 
		The days drag on, and the years fly 
		by, and so what?
			(cries out to 
			the whole world) 
		What is it all about? Will you tell 

	The train is slowing up for a station now.
		Life is nothing! It's a gag! It's a 
		joke! It's a mortgage! It's a 
		bankrupt! It's a lot of noise over 
		nothing! Sound and fury! Isn't that 
		what the man said? What do you 
		think, I never read a book? I read a 
		book! Don't worry! I was a bright 
		kid! Everybody thought I was going 
		to be the first Catholic to be 
		President! Where did it all go?! 

	He turns to look at the station they are edging into, the 
	yellow lights, the dark shadows, the few blurred faces. His 
	face is wet with the tiny rivulets left by tears. 
		Where did it all go? 

	The train stops, the green doors slide open.
			(looking out, 
			in a low voice) 
		Where are we, Third Avenue?
			(low voice) 
		Where are we getting off? Next stop?
			(low voice)
	A few people come into the car. Walter stands, shoulders 
	hunched and sagging, in front of the open doors.
		I'm going home.
			(looking up) 
		What did you say, Walter?
		I'm going home.
	Walter steps out onto the platform. Just in time, because 
	the doors are beginning to slide closed again.
		Walter, where are you going? Come 
		here ... 

	On the platform, Walter has started to weave slowly up the 
	platform toward the stairway.
		What, did Walter get out?

			(calling through 
			the open window) 
		Walter, stay there, we'll come back 
		on the next train. Stay there.
	But Walter has already reached the stairway and, clinging to 
	the handrail, has started slowly climbing the steps. The 
	train starts slowly up. Arnold has stood now too. He is 
	pretty soggy himself.
		Poor Walter, huh?
			(bellowing through 
			the window) 
		Walter! ...
		He'll be all right, Charlie. God 
		protects drunks and fools.
	The train is sweeping by the stairway now. Charlie bellows 
		Walter! Grab a cab if you're going 

	The train has swept by, and in a moment they have been 
	plunged into the tunnel of the subway, the bleak dirty white 
	walls, and the small yellow lights flashing by. Charlie sits 
	down, somehow greatly shaken and disturbed.
		Poor Walter, I didn't know he was so 
		sick. I thought there was something 
		wrong with him, though. He's been 
		out so much.
			(sitting drunkenly down) 
		I didn't know he was so sick. 

	CLOSE IN on Charlie.

		That's me in fifteen years.
	CLOSEUP of Charlie. Hold for a moment.
	We look down at the subway kiosk as our sad little party of 
	three comes up the stairs to the sidewalk. It is midnight, 
	and the street is occasionally patrolled by a taxicab. The 
	sidewalks are pretty empty, just a few people walking. 
	Perhaps a drugstore is still open, and its lonely lit store 
	front catches the eye.
	Our three men stand at the head of the stairs at the subway 
	kiosk, drained, tired, a little despondent. Charlie looks up 
	at the dim silhouettes of the endless apartment houses of 
	Stuyvesant Town.
		That's where I live.
		Which one?
		In the back there. You can't see it 
		from here. 

	LONG SHOT of Stuyvesant Town as seen from their point of 
	view. PAN SLOWLY ACROSS, capturing the silent monotony of 
	the dark buildings. Only a few of the windows are still lit.
		It looks like a state hospital.
		It looks like a prison.
		Yeah, it does look a little like a 

	The three men just stand, worn out, tired.
		I'm going home.
	He starts to walk to the buildings, across the little street 
	that separates the corner of Fourteenth Street and First 
	Avenue from the parallel corner of the housing project.
			(calling after him) 
		Hey, Charlie ... 

	Charlie turns.
		Hey, Charlie! What about the money? 
		Have you got ten bucks?
			(after a moment) 
		All right, if you want to walk me to 
		the house, I'll get you ten bucks.
	Eddie has to take a moment to consider this. Then he 
	shuffles across the little street toward Charlie. Charlie 
	doesn't quite wait for him to catch up when he turns and 
	leads the way between two cars and up the sidewalk toward 
	the promenade that leads to the heart of the project. 
	Arnold, after a moment, follows Eddie. The three men 
	disappear single-file into the darkness of Stuyvesant Town.
	We are looking at the twin elevator doors. The light of an 
	elevator climbs into the little square window of one of the 
	elevator doors. The door opens, and Charlie, Eddie, and 
	Arnold shuffle out into the landing. They are all a little 
		I'll be right out.
	He moves around the turn of the wall, fishes in his pocket 
	for the key to his apartment. He finds it, brings it out, 
	opens the door carefully, goes into his apartment.
	Charlie comes in. The dining area is lit, and there is the 
	lamp lit in the living room. As Charlie moves to the living 
	room, we can see that Helen is seated on the couch, 
	watching television. The gray-white light of the television 
	set drifts out into the room. Helen is in her pajamas and 
	she has washed for bed; her face is devoid of make-up. She 
	is half-watching television; the rest of her attention is 
	devoted to cutting her fingernails and other aspects of 
	manicure. She looks up as Charlie comes into the living 
	room, smiles.
		Hiya, have a nice time?
	Charlie shrugs. He is depressed and can't conceal it.
		I'm taking ten bucks. A couple of 
		the guys are waiting outside. I 
		promised them I'd loan them ten 
	He stands by the couch now, without interest, automatically 
	watching the television set.
			(looking at the set)
		Tomorrow's payday. I'll get it back 
		It's in the drawer.
	A kind of ennui has engulfed him. He stands, watching the 
	television set out of which is now pouring the end of an 
	animated cartoon commercial. Then the familiar tinkling 
	music sets in, the inscription, "The Late Show" appears on 
	the screen, and the announcer's voice informs us that we are 
	now going back to the late show, starring Rex Harrison in 
	"Strictly Dishonorable." The whole thing brings a wince of 
	pain to Charlie's face, and he turns and moves wearily 
	through the little foyer into the darkened bedroom. Enough 
	light flows in from the other rooms to show Charlie going to 
	the drawer in the chest of drawers and taking out a 
	ten-dollar bill. He returns the other bills, closes the 
	drawer and just stands there, suddenly so weak and exhausted 
	that he has to steady himself with one hand on the chest of 
	Back in the living room, Helen still sits, a slight frown 
	now indicating she is sensitive to the deeply depressed mood 
	her husband is in. She continues with her nails for a moment. 
	Then, wondering what is keeping her husband, she stands and 
	goes to the bedroom doorway and looks in.
	Charlie is seated on the bed, hunched, in deep depression. 
	He is holding the ten-dollar bill. His eyes are open, but 
	there is a feeling of hurt and pain on his face. Helen moves 
	quietly into the bedroom and sits down on the bed beside him.
		What's the matter, Charlie? 

	He shrugs, even smiles briefly. 
		I don't know.
	She puts out her hand as if to take his head and press it 
	against her, but he takes her in his arms almost desperately, 
	and they lie back on the bed, clutching each other, their 
	faces pressed against each other, seeking some kind of
	strength just from the sheer physical closeness of each 
		It's not so bad, Charlie.
		I know. I know.
	They lie quietly, even stiffly, holding each other.
			(eyes wide open 
			but unseeing) 
		I don't know what's the matter with 
		me, I keep getting so depressed. I'm 
		going to quit night school, Helen. 
		My nerves are shot.
	He releases himself from his wife's embrace and sits up.
		Those guys are waiting outside. I 
		better give them their money.
	He stands and starts out the bedroom.
		Charlie ... Maybe I shouldn't have 
		the baby?
		What do you mean? ...
	She doesn't answer. She doesn't have to. They both know what 
	she means.
		Isn't that dangerous? ... Well, I 
		don't know ... maybe ... Well, you 
		brought it up. 

			(shocked -- after 
			a moment) 
		You really don't want this baby....
	She turns away on the bed to hide the sudden flush of tears.
		You're my husband, Charlie. This is 
		your baby too. That doesn't mean 
		anything to you. For the first time 
		in our marriage I feel I can't 
		depend on you, Charlie -- I'm not 
		important to you.
			(she has to stop 
			because she can no 
			longer trust her 
			voice. After a 
			moment she continues) 
		I could make my life sound hard, too, 
		Charlie. I work all day, I rush home, 
		I make you dinner. I sit home alone 
		four nights a week, I'm even alone 
		when you're here because when do I 
		see you? But it was easy for me 
		because I loved you. Do you think I 
		care whether you're an accountant or 
		a ditch digger, or even out of work? 
		All I ever wanted was you. And this 
		baby because it's you, too.
	She closes her eyes again to hide the warm flow of tears in 
	her eyes and stops talking rather than cry. Charlie sits, 
	unmoved and wretched, his shoulders hunched, his head 
	slumped forward. After a moment, he turns and reaches 
	forward, quite frightened, to touch her arm.
		Leave me alone, Charlie.
	He stands and goes to the bedroom window and looks out. 
	Helen turns on her side so that her back is to him. At the 
	sound of her moving, Charlie turns his head, but sensing the 
	rejection in her back, he turns back and looks out the 
	window again. The silence is thick between them.
			(looking out 
			the window) 
		I decided I'd quit school and ...
		I don't care ...
		I decided I'd quit school and come 
		home in the evenings like everybody 
		else and live a normal life.
			(staring at the 
			wall ahead of her) 
		I don't care what you do, Charlie. 

	He stands another moment.
		I don't care what I do either.
	Helen neither moves nor makes a response. Charlie goes on 
	into the living room and shuffles to the front door, his 
	long body heavy with pain and guilt and dense, unknown 
	terrors. He opens the door and goes out onto the landing.
	Eddie and Arnold, looking up as the door opens and Charlie 
	comes out.
		What took you so long? What did you 
		do, blow open the safe?
			(giving Eddie the 
			ten-dollar bill) 
			(taking it)
		I'll give it to you tomorrow. I'll 
		see you in the morning, Charlie.

		I'll see you.
	Eddie takes Arnold's arm and guides him back around the turn 
	of the wall to the elevators. Charlie follows a few paces 
	behind. Eddie pushes both elevator buttons. Charlie nods, 
	looks down at the tiling at his feet, fairly sick within 
	himself, oppressed and guilty. The light in the elevator 
	window shows, and Eddie opens the door.
		Wait a minute. I'll go with you.
		Let's go to that party -- we'll 
		have a ball!
	Charlie shuffles the few paces forward and follows Eddie and 
	Arnold into the elevator. The door closes, and, a moment 
	later, the light of the elevator cage disappears downward.
	This is one of those duplex apartments on West Tenth Street 
	which consists of one huge living room that is two stories 
	high and you need a little rolling stepladder to reach the 
	books on the upper shelves of the built-in bookcases. There 
	is a little wrought-iron stairway that leads to the second 
	floor, which consists of two tiny little bedrooms. 

	Apartments like these, as is the case in this one, are 
	usually lived in by two girls, one of whom is a secretary in 
	an advertising agency and the other a model for a garment 
	manufacturing firm. Both girls are in their early thirties 
	and are milling about somewhere in the mass of people in the 
	living room, carrying drinks, laughing up a storm, pausing 
	at the little knots of discussion groups with an apt phrase. 
	They rather think of themselves as Madame de Sta´┐Żls with 
	their own salon of bright young people, for most of the men 
	and women at the party are in some way connected with the 
	arts, probably in an avant garde way. It is a little 
	difficult to tell this by looking at them because avant 
	garde artists have become obsessed with dressing like 
	businessmen, but if you can hear the talk as we can, you get 
	the point fast enough. We pick up phrases like: "I really 
	find it difficult to think of Tennessee Williams as a 
	serious artist," or "My teacher thinks all tenors are frogs 
	except Gigli," or "I don't see how you can say that; his 
	designs fairly throb with sex." There are, as Eddie 
	predicted, a number of people sitting on the floor, mostly 
	girls, circled in the swirl of their Ann Fogarty dresses, 
	and there is one obvious ballerina, with her black hair 
	pulled tightly back into a severe pony tail, using the 
	wrought-iron railing that separates the dropped living room 
	from the small entrance foyer to demonstrate something about 
	positions at the dancing bar. There is someone at the piano 
	banging away, shouting his songs, but he is completely 
	inaudible five feet away. A few people lean over the piano, 
	apparently exhilarated by the songs. Thin blankets of smoke 
	wreathe their way up to the two-story-high ceiling. We catch 
	some more phrases: "I thought Truman Capote was supposed to 
	be here." -- "Truman's in Russia, I think." -- "Good 
	heavens, what can the Russians want with Truman Capote?" -- 
	"Oh, I never read anything published in this country." "Oh, 
	I mean, the paper-bound Paris edition." In short, this is a 
	real chi-chi wingding where all the furniture is too low, 
	and the hostess is very proud of the fact that her end table 
	is made out of an orange crate.

	Somewhere, through the jumble of the party, we can hear the 
	doorbell chime. A young woman, at one of the little knots of 
	people, perks her ears and says: 

		I'm sure that's the police again.
	She's very proud of this. She turns and weaves her way 
	through the crowded room, carrying her drink. She goes up 
	the step to the entrance foyer, turns to her left, picks her 
	way over two middle-aged men who are both throwing a pitch 
	at a fairly tight girl of eighteen, past the kitchen, which 
	is a bedlam of ice cubes and kitchen towels and which is 
	occupied at the moment by two intense women in their late 
	thirties wrapped in deep discussion, up past two young men 
	who have no immediate use for girls, to the front door of 
	the apartment. She opens the door.
	GROUP SHOT of Eddie, Arnold, and Charlie from the Hostess's 
	point of view. Not exactly a heartening sight to most 
	hostesses, three fairly loaded young men with their collars 
	unbuttoned and their ties limp and dangling.
		Are you coming to complain about the 
		Do we look like complainers?
		I don't know who you are, but come 
		in, come in. I don't know half the 
		people who are here tonight. 

	They enter a little warily and ill-at-ease, peering into the 
	jammed room.
		The police have been here twice. The 
		first fellow was just adorable. We 
		gave him a drink, and he's upstairs 
		in a bedroom now, for all I know.
		Is that right?

		If you want something to drink, 
		you'll just have to go into the 
		kitchen and get it yourself. The 
		place is just mad. Do you write, 
		paint or sing?
	Eddie spreads his arms in all-inclusive expansiveness.
	But the hostess has already bent to chat with two women, one 
	old, one young, sitting on the floor. Our three cavaliers 
	look at each other and then look out over the wild, jumbled 
		Boy, do you get invited to a party 
		like this or do you get committed?
	A passing young man who overhears this, pokes his head into 
	the group and says to Charlie with a flashing smile:
		I heard that. It's awfully funny. 

	Charlie regards the smiling young chap.
		Beat it.
	The chap's smile flashes off and he scurries away. Eddie 
	rubs his palms and surveys the women in the crowded room 
	with a measuring eye.
		This is going to be like shooting 
		ducks. Pick out your duck, men.
	Wetting his lips, he starts out for some girl he has decided 
	on across the room.

	HIGH SHOT showing progress of party, still crowded, still 
	high. If we look sharp we can see Charlie seated on the 
	floor in the rear of the shot, his back against the wall.
	CLOSER SHOT of Charlie sitting morosely, back against the 
	wall, regarding his drink with sodden eyes. The chatter of 
	the party, an occasional shrill laugh.

	FULL SHOT of Eddie coming out of the kitchen, carrying two 
	drinks. He picks his way through the people to the living 
	room with the general intention of getting to the 
	arrangement of divans around the coffee table, when he spots 
	Charlie and moves across to him.
		Hey, what's the matter, Charlie? 
			(squats down 
			beside Charlie)
			(without looking up) 
		Let's get out of here, Eddie.
		The last time I saw you, you was 
		with that girl you picked up. What 
		She's over there talking to that 
		old guy with the glasses. 

	Their point of view, The Existentialist on steps with 
		I didn't like her. She's one of 
		these real Greenwich Village phonies. 
		If I added up all the guys she told 
		me about, she must have had her 
		first boy friend when she was two 
		years old. Where are you going, 
		Eddie. Stick around a minute.
			(who has stood) 
		I'm with that one over there -- not 
		bad, huh? I think she's a Communist. 
		I think she's trying to talk me into 
		joining the Party.
		How are you making out?
		Not so hot. I may have to join.
		Hang around. Let's talk a bit.
		I better get back. She's liable to 
		recruit somebody else.
		Where's Arnold?
		He's in the kitchen. I think he's 
		out cold. I'll see you. 

	Charlie nods as Eddie moves off. He returns his morose 
	attention back to his glass of liquor. Then his eyes close, 
	and his face, though impassive, shows pain. After a moment, 
	he opens his eyes and slowly clambers to his feet and makes 
	his way, a little unsteadily, through the living room in the 
	direction of the kitchen. In the background we can hear the 
	piano and somebody singing indistinguishable lyrics. Charlie 
	gets to the kitchen door and looks in. Arnold is at the tiny 
	kitchen table, head on the table, out cold. The kitchen is 
	in a state of havoc.
		Hey Arnold-- You okay, Arnold? 

	Arnold makes no answer. Charlie regards his prostrated 
	friend expressionlessly for a moment. Then turns and 
	shuffles aimlessly back to the group around the piano in the 
	living room. He looks over to the stairway again. The 
	Existentialist is alone now, The Landlord having gone for 
	the moment. She is looking at Charlie, and he drops his eyes. 
	He turns away from the piano and moves out a few steps into 
	the middle of the living room. He moves to the stairway. 
	The Existentialist looks up at him as he approaches, Charlie 
	kind of nods to her, and, for a moment, she just sits and he 
	just stands. Then ...
		That old man I was talking to before? 
		That's my landlord. About ten thirty 
		last night, someone began pounding on 
		my door. So I got up and opened the 
		door, and there was this white-haired 
		man with  a pince-nez standing there. 
		I said: "What do you want?" So he 
		said: "I'm the landlord, and I want 
		the rent." Well, I just looked at him 
		because the landlord I knew was a 
		Hungarian man named Frank, who was 
		crazy about me, and the issue of rent 
		never came up, you see. Well, it 
		turned out that this man with the 
		pince-nez had just bought the 
		building the day before and he kept 
		grabbing my arm and saying he wanted 
		the rent. Well, then I got the point, 
		of course. Well, meanwhile, a boy 
		named Bob I knew had come over. He's 
		engaged to a Javanese girl with 
		wonderful planes in her face who 
		lives at the International House. 
		But he's crazy about me and he drops 
		in about twice a week. Well, 
		meanwhile, my new landlord was 
		grabbing my arm and kept quoting 
		poetry to me which he was trying to 
		pass off as his own. He was an 
		absolute fraud. He scotched the 
		whole thing from Baudelaire. "Tu 
		mettrais." You know that one. Well, 
		he kept screaming about the rent -- 
		I didn't like him, you know -- and I 
		called this boy named George who 
		used to live in Poughkeepsie when I 
		was going to Vassar, and he's crazy 
		about me. He lives in St. Luke's 
		place now, but he goes to 
		Poughkeepsie every Wednesday to see 
		his mother, he's got an Oedipus, so 
		that was out. Well, my new landlord 
		kept telling me how much he was in 
		love with me. I said: "How 
		existentialist can you get? You just 
		met me five minutes ago." He was 
		absolutely crazy about me.
	Charlie has been sort of half-listening to all this. His 
	attention, if any at all, has been vaguely given to the 
	girl's bare arms, the lines of her body. 

		You have an apartment around here 
			(looks up to 
			second floor) 
		What's up there? What kind of rooms 
		are up there?
		So, I finally got to sleep around 
		six thirty.... 

	Charlie bends down to her, takes her arm.
		Come on, let's go. 

			(wrenching her 
			arm away) 
		No! Oh, stop trying to be so 

	Charlie straightens with an irritated sigh.
		I find you very unpleasant. 

	He stands, she sits in sullen silence.
		There's nothing upstairs. 
			(suddenly rises, 
		Oh, I don't care.
	She starts up the stairs, Charlie following close behind her. 
	They pick their way past the other people sitting on the 
	stairs to the second-floor landing. They walk in hostile 
	silence down the landing to the bedroom door, which she 
	It is a tiny bedroom. The bed is covered with purses and 
	summer stoles and other guest things. An uncovered, 
	improvised closet, really a rack of hanging dresses and 
	things, gives the room an overburdened look. Charlie comes 
	into the room after her, closes the door, looks for the 
	latch. She pushes some of the things on the bed aside and 
	sits down and waits while Charlie latches the door, a matter 
	of turning a bent nail into locking position. She begins to 
	prattle again.
		So I finally got to sleep around six 
		thirty this morning. At nine thirty, 
		someone began pounding on my door 
		again. I got out of bed and opened 
		the door, and there was my landlord 
		with the pince-nez wearing a blue 
		silk kimono. "Oh, for heaven's 
		sakes," I said, "what do you want 
		now?" He said: "I'm the landlord, 
		and I want the rent." I said: 
		"You're an old man, go to sleep." 
		Then the phone rang. It was a boy 
		named Andrew I know who teaches 
		physics at Columbia University, and 
		he's insanely jealous. He's married 
		and has four children, but he keeps 
		badgering me to run away with him to 
		Nicaragua, throw up his professorship 
		and all that. Well, my landlord began 
		shouting some garbled Baudelaire at 
		the top of his lungs, and a little 
		Verlaine, and a little Huysmans. He 
		apparently has some kind of fetish 
		about French decadents. And 
		naturally, Andrew heard him, and he 
		got furious, and he said: "Who's that 
		I hear?" I said, "That's the 
		landlord." He said: "What does he 
		want?" I said: "He wants the rent." 
		Well, at this point, I felt like 
		chucking the whole business and 
		going back to Bessemer City and 
		going to work in my father's 
		hardware store.
	Charlie has stood a moment, listening to this bizarre story. 
	Then he has busied himself cleaning a place beside The 
	Existentialist on the bed. He brings an end to the rococo 
	narration by putting his arms around The Existentialist and 
	in a moment, she responds hungrily.
	CLOSEUP of Charlie and The Existentialist in a desperate 
		Just say you love me.
		Just say you love me. You don't have 
		to mean it. 

	He tries to kiss her again, himself charged high at the 
	moment, but she turns her face away from him. The dialogue 
	is intense, whispered, hungry.
		No, don't. ...
		What's the matter?
		Say you love me....
		Come on.
		Say you love me....
		Come on....
		No ...
		I love you! I love you!
		Look, maybe we ought to go someplace
		else? I'm having a very tricky thing 
		going with my landlord and I don't 
		want him to see us leaving together. 
		So you know what you do? There's a 
		bar down the street. You go out the 
		door and turn to your right. You 
		know the one I mean?  
		Yes, I know.
		Well, you go there and I'll be there 
		as fast as I can. Now, wait for me 
		now, because I can't stand being 
		alone at night. You'll like me. I'm 
		supposed to be very amusing. All 
	She turns abruptly and goes out the door. He stands for a 
	moment and then follows. He stands on the upper landing, 
	watching her pick her way down the stairs into the living 
	She looks quickly around the room, apparently finds whom she 
	is looking for, and moves quickly to a little group of men, 
	one of whom is about sixty years old with a thin elegance 
	and a cruel face, the landlord. He has several young men 
	around him, all rather frail, Ivy-Leagueish. She joins the 
	group, to the distaste of the young men, and is immediately 
	voluble and gesticulatory. After a moment, Charlie lets his 
	eyes wander over the room, apparently sees Eddie.
			(calling down) 
		Hey, Eddie ...
	Apparently, Eddie doesn't hear him. Charlie frowns and 
	begins making his own way down the stairs to the living room.
	Charlie moves down the stairs into the living room proper. 
	He makes his way to Eddie, who is still sitting in the back 
	of the room, throwing an intense pitch at his girl, talking 
	quickly, smiling, gesturing. 
		Eddie, I'm cutting out.
			(standing, low voice) 
		Wait a minute, I'll go with you.
		I don't want to take you away from 
		your girl, Eddie.
		Aah, this one lives out in Long 
		Island with her mother. What kind of 
		Communist is that? It'll take me a 
		half hour on the subway there and a 
		half hour back.
		Where's Arnold? Still in the kitchen?
		I guess so. 
			(to the girl) 
		I'll see you, next time I get to 
		Long Island. 

	He starts off after Charlie who is already wandering through 
	the living room in the general direction of the kitchen, 
	looking about for Arnold. They pass The Existentialist en 
	route. She is saying: "... this boy named Charlie, I never 
	saw him before in my life, has been clutching at me all 
	evening. He's absolutely insane about me." Charlie leans 
	into the kitchen where Arnold is awake now, seated at the 
	small kitchen table, staring gauntly, unseeingly at his 
	fingers on the white porcelain-topped table. There are two 
	men, one middle-aged, one young, having a whispered chat 
	over the sink.
			(over Charlie's 
		Hey, Arnold, come on.
	Arnold stands obediently, almost dumbly. He squeezes around 
	the table, his face soddenly expressionless, to join Eddie 
	and Charlie in the kitchen doorway. Eddie is saying to 
		Well, it wasn't a bad party. We 
		killed a couple of hours anyway.
	The three men push their way past three women in their 
	thirties, who are standing in the little hallway before the 
	front door, in earnest brow-furrowed conversation with each 
	other. Charlie opens the door, and the three morose 
	carousers go out into the dark street.
	The three carousers come out into the street. The door 
	closes behind them. The night air is hot and muggy. They 
	walk down the street toward the corner where only the light 
	of the corner bar gives any indication of life. There is a 
	newspaper on the sidewalk which Eddie bends down to pick up, 
	and the three men straggle to a halt. Eddie opens the paper 
	to the sports pages and starts to read by the light of the 
	street lamp. Arnold moves a step to the lamp and leans 
	against it. Charlie stands in the middle of the sidewalk, a 
	melancholy, pondering young man. The evening seems to have 
	come to a dead halt. After a moment, Eddie starts walking 
	again, reading the paper as he does. The others slowly 
	gather themselves and follow him.
	A wall clock reading twenty-five minutes to three. CAMERA 
	PANS DOWN the wall. We are in the bar on the corner of Tenth 
	and Sixth, almost entirely empty except for Charlie, Eddie, 
	Arnold, and the bartender. The three carousers are leaning 
	wearily on the bar over their beers; the only other person 
	in the bar is a worn, battered old veteran of the streets, a 
	woman in her forties, bespectacled, who is perched on a bar 
	stool at the far end of the bar, gloomily reading a 
	newspaper. CAMERA MOVES DOWN and IN on Charlie, Eddie, and 
		... I mean, you can't compare the 
		two. This kid the Yankees have in 
		centerfield. Are you trying to tell
		me he's a natural .368 hitter? What's 
		he normally hit, .310, .315? Musial 
		led the National League in hitting 
		six times. He's only having a fair 
		year, this year -- and he's still 
		hitting .320. Musial is an all-time 
		Yeah. I guess so.
			(stiff with liquor) 
		Eddie -- Eddie. So what do you think, 
		Eddie? You think I ought to go 
		through with this marriage?
		I don't know about you, Arnold, but 
		if it was me, boy, I'd be in China 
		by now. 
			(back to Charlie) 
		Who have the Yankees got on first? 
		Skowron. Boy, how they touted 
		Skowron. All right, he's having a 
		lucky year.
		... Well, I mean, is there any 
		argument? Hodges is the best first 
		baseman in both leagues.... 
		So, Eddie, what do you think? You 
		think I ought to marry her, go to 
		China, or what?
		Arnold, if it bothers you so much, 
		call her up and tell her to forget 
		the whole deal. 
			(back to Charlie) 
		All right Hodges is having a bad 
		year -- but how about last year? He 
		hit over .300. He only hit thirty-
		five homers and he drove in over a 
		hundred runs----
		So, Eddie...
		Arnold! Get rid of her! You're 
		driving me crazy! 

	Arnold lowers his head, and he rises, loses his precarious 
	balance and moves backward a few lurching steps.
		All right, who's on second? We got 
		Charlie Neal or Gilliam, for that 
		matter, and this isn't even counting 
		Jackie Robinson, head and shoulders, 
		even with a trick knee, the best 
		second baseman in both leagues if 
		they'd let him play there. We got 
		three guys, for Pete's sake, who can 
		outplay anybody the Yankees put on 

	Arnold weaves slowly up the bar to the two phone booths at 
	the far end of the counter. Then walks out of shot.
		Ever see Charlie Neal go to his 
		right? That Yankee guy, what's his 
		name -- he can't go to his right. 
		And don't forget Neal gets a lot of 
		bases on balls, and once he's on the 
		bases, man, it unnerves the pitcher ... 

	The bartender decides to take issue.
		What's Brooklyn going to do for 
		Never heard of Newcombe? Never heard 
		of Erskine?
		What have you got to compare with 
		Ford, Kucks, McDermott, Turley---
		McDermott -- McDermott hasn't 
		pitched a full game since last year.
		The best relief pitcher in both 
		What's the matter with Eddie Roebuck?
		How do you compare Eddie Roebuck 
		with McDermott? 

		What are you, a Yankee fan? 


		Well, drop dead.
			(turns angrily 
			back to Charlie) 
		A Yankee fan.
	There is a sudden bellow off.
	Eddie and Charlie slowly turn to look in Arnold's direction. 
	CAMERA PANS to see Arnold from their point of view, a 
	wavering, drunken young man standing in front of the phone 
		I did it.
		You did what?
	Arnold staggers a few paces into the center of the empty bar.
		I just woke her up! I called her! I 
		said: "I'm not going to marry you. 
		What do I want to marry you for? I'm 
		having a ball. What am I going to 
		marry you for?"
		What is he talking about?
	Then, suddenly, effortlessly, Arnold sinks down onto the 
	floor -- out cold. For a moment, Eddie and Charlie regard 
	the prostrate form.
		Boy, he's gone.
	Eddie and Charlie move to Arnold, lying curled stiffly on 
	the floor.
		I think he's just called his girl, 
		broke his engagement.
		Is that what he was yelling about?
			(trying to raise 
			Arnold's head) 
		Wake up, kid. Help me get him up, 
		You think he did it because I was 
		needling him there before? I was 
		just needling him.
	The two men contrive to lift Arnold and get him onto a stool.
		You better get him out of here 
		because I'm closing up now.

		We better get him home.
		Ah, let's not break it up yet. I 
		thought you were waiting for this 
		It's three o'clock in the morning, 
		for Pete's sake.
		Take him out in the air. He'll be 
		all right.
		What a bachelor party. We start out 
		celebrating the guy's wedding; we 
		wind up breaking his engagement. 
			(moves to bar) 
		What do we owe you here?
			(he puts some change 
			on the counter) 
		Eddie, pay it, will you? I gave you 
		the ten bucks.
			(following him 
			to the bar) 
		What do you want to go home for?
		It's going to take us an hour to get 
		him home. He lives in Queens 
		somewheres. By the time I get back 
		to Fourteenth Street, it'll be 
		daybreak. What are you going to do, 
		stay up all night? Don't you want to 
		go home sometimes?
		What am I going to do home? I read 
		all the papers.
			(crosses to Arnold)
		Well, go to sleep then.
		Ah, don't go home, Charlie. I feel 
		like doing something. 

	Charlie turns to him, a cold fury in him.
		What? Stand around this bar and 
		argue about the Yankees and the 
		Dodgers? Wind up with some miserable, 
		lonely girl who begs you to say, "I 
		love you"? Go home, Eddie. Go to bed. 
		You got to go home sometimes. I'll 
		take Arnold home. Come on, Arnold, 
		kid. I'm going to take you home.
	Arnold manages, with Charlie's arm, to get out of the booth 
	and stand. Charlie's firm arm holds him, and they start for 
	the exit. Eddie watches the two figures making their way 
	down the length of the bar to the door. They exit. The door 
	shuts behind them. For a moment, Eddie regards the closed 
	door. Then he shuffles to the bar, back to his schooner of 
	beer and looks at it without taking it up. He is profoundly 
	weary. His shoulders slump, his face sags. He runs his hand 
	down his face and shakes his head as if to clear it. He 
	turns and looks down to the other end of the bar where the 
	Bar Hag sits engrossed in her newspaper. He watches her for 
	a moment.
		Hey, honey, what are you, a Yankee 
		fan or a Dodger fan?
	The Bar Hag slowly turns to regard him over the rim of her 
	Bleakly, Eddie shuffles slowly down the long length of the 
	bar to where the battered old woman sits.


	HIGH ANGLE SHOT looking down on the sidewalk immediately 
	outside the bar Arnold and Charlie have just come out of. 
	There is a house with a small stoop, and Arnold is standing 
	slumped by the stoop, holding himself up by the iron railing. 
	He is being sick, quietly retching. Charlie is standing a few 
	paces away from him in the middle of the sidewalk, a deeply 
	unhappy figure in his own right. From our angle, we may or 
	may not be able to tell that Charlie is crying.
	CLOSE SHOT of Charlie standing in the middle of the sidewalk 
	of Sixth Avenue and Tenth Street, the whole dark world around 
	him, silent and empty. He is crying quietly, unashamedly, his 
	shoulders shaking ever so little.  Behind him, Arnold is bent 
	over the railing of the stoop, weak and spent.
	ANOTHER SHOT of the two men. Charlie stops crying, sighs, and 
	starts toward Arnold.
		Are you all right, Arnold?
	Arnold nods weakly. Charlie gets out a handkerchief and 
	gives it to Arnold who begins to weakly clean his chin and 
	spots on his suit.
		Would you like to go back in and 
		sit down? 

	Arnold shakes his head weakly "no."
		What subway do you take, Arnold, 
		the BMT? Can you make it?
	Arnold nods weakly. Charlie puts his arm supportively around 
	his friend's back, but Arnold makes no move yet, being 
	thoroughly drained.
		Come on, Arnold, I'll take you home.
	There is a clicking of high heels on concrete pavement, and 
	Charlie looks up. The Existentialist has just come out of 
	the party several houses down and has come up a few steps 
	and is standing watching them. She has her bag and her light 
	summer stole. She nods to Charlie, sort of smiles, moves a 
	few steps closer to them.
		Is he all right?
		Yeah, he's all right. Look, I've got 
		to take my friend home...
	The two men start slowly down the street to the corner. 
	Arnold leaning heavily on his friend. The Existentialist 
	stands, watching them a moment.
			(calling lightly) 
		Are you coming back? Where does he 
		live? How long will you be?
	REVERSE SHOT Charlie and Arnold just about getting to the 
	corner. Charlie hasn't heard her.
	FULL SHOT of The Existentialist watching them disappear 
	around the corner. Then she turns, and, wetting her lips, 
	she hurries back to the house where the party is.
	Half past three, and the car is absolutely empty except for 
	Charlie and Arnold. Arnold is sprawled across the straw seat, 
	one leg buckled beneath him, the other on the floor. He is 
	sleeping heavily. Charlie sits expressionlessly, obviously 
	involved in deep introspection. The car buckets along into 
	the night. 

	Arnold and Charlie coming up to a landing. It is the third 
	floor; we can see enough of the corridor to see two 
	apartment doors, lettered "3D" and "3C." A small overhead 
	bulb provides a thin sketchy light. Charlie and Arnold 
	shuffle down the landing to apartment 3D. They pause outside 
	the door. The scene is played in low mutters and whispers.
		Well, thanks a lot, Charlie.
		You all right?
		Yeah, I'm all right. I'm a little 
		groggy, but I'm awake anyway. You 
		don't want to come in, do you?
		No, I don't think so.
		I think my father and mother are up. 
		I hear voices. My girl must have 
		called them because they wouldn't 
		be up at this hour.
		Well, you just go in and explain to 
		them that you were drunk, and you're 
		sorry, and you'll call your girl the 
		first thing in the morning because 
		she must really be upset about this.
			(who has been 
			listening at 
			his door) 
		I think she's here.

		My girl. I think I hear her voice in 
		Well, be nice to her, Arnold. 
		Remember, you woke her up in the 
		middle of the night and probably 
		scared her to death.
		What'll I say to her, Charlie?
		I don't know, Arnold. What do you 
		feel like saying to her? Do you 
		really love this girl? Do you want 
		to marry her? Are you marrying this 
		girl because your family wants you 
		to marry her, or why?
		I think I like her, Charlie. It's 
		just that I'm afraid I won't make a 
		good husband.
		Well, tell her what you told me, 
		Arnold. Tell her you're scared, and 
		that you don't think you'll make a 
		good husband. If she's a halfway 
		decent girl, she'll try to understand 
		how you feel, and, if she loves you, 
		she's going to make it her job to 
		make you happy. That's what love is, 
		Arnold, when you have somebody else 
		in the world you want to be happy. 
		My wife, Arnold, I don't know what 
		I'd do without her. Arnold, I've got 
		a tough grind ahead of me. Work all 
		day, I'll go to night school at night. 
		But my wife knows that I need this to 
		be happy, and she does everything she 
		knows to help me. And we've got a 
		baby coming. But if you love that 
		baby and you love your wife, then 
		it's easy. Everything seems so easy 
		to me now -- I don't know why I even 
		thought of quitting.
			(tears have welled 
			in his eyes, and he 
			hurriedly puts his 
			hand to his face 
			shading his reddening 
		Arnold, I want my wife so much right 
		now. I want her to be happy. I want
		to just go home and hold her and tell 
		her how much she means to me. I mean, 
		even Walter, he's going to die, but 
		don't you think he'll be in tomorrow 
		morning, same old Walter, jokes and 
		laughs? He's got somebody to live 
		for. He's even got somebody to die 
		for. I mean, how rich can a man be? 
		And poor Eddie -- I used to be so 
		jealous of him. I used to think he 
		was so free. Free from what? From 
		loving a woman, from really wanting
		a woman. Arnold, what I'm trying to 
		tell you is life is nothing if you 
		don't love somebody but life is 
		wonderful if you do love somebody. 
		Arnold, I want my wife so much right 
		now ...
	Arnold is a little embarrassed by his friend's display of 
	emotion and, frankly, hasn't understood a word Charlie was 
	talking about.
		I'm going to tell her about that 
		woman tonight and everything. I'll 
		tell her about that woman.
		Arnold, I want to get home so much 
		to my wife right now I'm going to 
		I'll see you, Charlie.
		Good-bye, Arnold, have a nice 
		honeymoon. I'll see you when you get 
		I'll see you, Charlie.
	But he is talking to an empty staircase. Charlie has plunged 
	down into the darkness of the floor below. Arnold turns and 
	sighs and shuffles back to the door of his apartment. He 
	rings the bell lightly, takes a deep breath. A moment, and 
	the door opens. A girl of about thirty-five, bespectacled, 
	rather plain, with a sensitive face, stands in the doorway. 
	Arnold stands, his head down in shame.
		Hello, Louise. I'm very sorry, 
		Sure, Arnold, I know.
	She looks anxiously over Arnold's shoulder to see if anyone 
	else is there. Arnold lumbers past her into the apartment. 
	Voices, both male and female, pop out at him. "What's the 
	matter with you, are you crazy?" "What's the matter with 
	you?" "For heaven's sakes, where have you been?" ... The 
	door closes.
	LONG SHOT looking down the wide courtyard of Stuyvesant Town, 
	its endless little pathways winding from the various 
	apartment house doors to the central pathway which leads to 
	a stairway to the street. It is half past five in the morning. 
	The sky is gray and desolate. The courtyard and any other 
	street we see is absolutely empty. THE CAMERA PANS OVER this 
	empty expanse to the stairway where Charlie appears now, 
	coming quickly up the steps. He moves down the central 
	sidewalk, a little faster than he would usually walk; you have 
	the feeling he is exerting an effort to keep from running. 
	CAMERA PANS with him as he hurries to one of the winding side 
	lanes leading to a particular apartment house.
	MEDIUM SHOT looking from the foyer of the apartment across 
	the dining area to the front door. The apartment is dark. 
	The door opens and Charlie comes in. He closes the door 
	quietly after himself and moves a few steps into the 
	apartment. He stops when he sees Helen seated on the couch, 
	wearing a kimono over her pajamas. She stands; she has been
		I love you, Helen.
	She moves slowly to him and puts her head on his chest and 
	cries quietly. He holds her tightly.
			(crying softly) 
		I love you so much, Charlie. I love 
		you so much....
		I love you....
		I love you, Charlie, I love you, 
		Charlie. I love you, Charlie ...
	CAMERA MOVES SLOWLY UP AND AWAY from the young couple, 
	holding each other closely and tightly, murmuring to each 
	other in the dark living room of a two-and-a-half-room 
	apartment in a housing project. 

						FADE OUT