The Apartment Page #4

KIRKEBY:

Certainly not. I'm a happily

married man.

They move down the street. Bud appears from the areaway,

glances after them, then mounts the steps, goes through the

front door.

INT. VESTIBULE - EVENING

There are eight mailboxes. Bud opens his, takes out a

magazine in a paper wrapper and a few letters, proceeds up

the staircase.

INT. SECOND FLOOR LANDING - EVENING

Bud, glancing through his mail, comes up to the door of his

apartment. As he bends down to lift the doormat, the door

of the rear apartment opens and MRS. DREYFUSS, a jovial

well-fed middle-aged woman, puts out a receptacle full of

old papers and empty cans. Bud looks around from his bent

position.

BUD:

Oh. Hello there, Mrs. Dreyfuss.

MRS. DREYFUSS

Something the matter?

BUD:

I seem to have dropped my key.

(faking a little search)

Oh -- here it is.

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

MRS. DREYFUSS

Such a racket I heard in your

place -- maybe you had burglars.

BUD:

Oh, you don't have to worry about

that -- nothing in there that

anybody would want to steal...

(unlocking door quickly)

Good night, Mrs. Dreyfuss.

He ducks into the apartment.

INT. THE APARTMENT - EVENING

Bud snaps on the lights, drops the mail and the key on a

small table, looks around with distaste at the mess his

visitors have left behind. He sniffs the stale air, crosses

to the window, pulls up the shade, opens it wide. Now he

takes off his hat and raincoat, gathers up the remains of

the cocktail party from the coffee table. Loaded down with

glasses, pitcher, empty vodka bottle, ice bowl and potato

chips, he starts toward the kitchen.

The doorbell rings. Bud stops, undecided what to do with

the stuff in his hands, then crosses to the hall door,

barely manages to get it open. Mr. Kirkeby barges in past

him.

KIRKEBY:

The little lady forgot her galoshes.

He scours the room for the missing galoshes.

BUD:

Mr. Kirkeby, I don't like to

complain -- but you were supposed

to be out of here by eight.

KIRKEBY:

I know, Buddy-boy, I know. But

those things don't always run on

schedule -- like a Greyhound bus.

BUD:

I don't mind in the summer -- but

on a rainy night -- and I haven't

had any dinner yet --

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