The Apartment Page #3

MRS. LIEBERMAN

Good night, Mr. Baxter.

She and the Scottie disappear into the house. Bud resumes

pacing, his eyes on the apartment windows. Suddenly he

stops -- the lights have gone out.

INT. SECOND FLOOR LANDING - EVENING

Kirkeby, in coat and hat, stands in the open doorway of the

darkened apartment.

KIRKEBY:

Come on -- come on, Sylvia!

Sylvia comes cha cha-ing out, wearing an imitation Persian

lamb coat, her hat askew on her head, bag, gloves, and an

umbrella in her hand.

SYLVIA:

Some setup you got here. A real,

honest-to-goodness love nest.

KIRKEBY:

Sssssh.

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

SYLVIA:

(still cha cha-ing)

You're one button off, Mr. Kirkeby.

She points to his exposed vest. Kirkeby looks down, sees

that the buttons are out of line. He starts to rebutton

them as they move down the narrow, dimly-lit stairs.

SYLVIA:

You got to watch those things.

Wives are getting smarter all the

time. Take Mr. Bernheim -- in the

Claims Department -- came home one

night with lipstick on his shirt --

told his wife he had a shrimp

cocktail for lunch -- so she took

it out to the lab and had it

analyzed -- so now she has the

house in Great Neck and the children

and the new Jaguar --

KIRKEBY:

Don't you ever stop talking?

EXT. BROWNSTONE HOUSE - EVENING

Bud, standing on the sidewalk, sees the front door start to

open. He moves quickly into the areaway, almost bumping

into the ashcans, stands in the shadow of the stoop with his

back turned discreetly toward Kirkeby and Sylvia as they

come down the steps.

KIRKEBY:

Where do you live?

SYLVIA:

I told you -- with my mother.

KIRKEBY:

Where does she live?

SYLVIA:

A hundred and seventy-ninth

street -- the Bronx.

KIRKEBY:

All right -- I'll take you to the

subway.

SYLVIA:

Like hell you will. You'll buy me

a cab.

KIRKEBY:

Why do all you dames have to live

in the Bronx?

SYLVIA:

You mean you bring other girls up

here?

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