Coyote Ugly Page #2

Violet, that is so cute.

Now, let me tell you about me.|My name is Wendy, and I first moved to New York...

when I was 21 to be a dancer,|but I broke my big toe.

And then I got knocked up|by this actor who dumped me to join the Peace Corps.

So for the last 16 years|I been raisin' my daughter all by myself.

And then two weeks ago|she tells me that she is a bisexual...

and that she hates me more|than any person on this planet.

Now, tell me how I can|help you, please,

because I am dying|to make your dreams come true.

You don't take the tape|unless it comes from an agent,

but I can't get an agent|until I get published?

If we were to listen to that tape,|that would give you grounds...

for a copyright|or plagiarism lawsuit.

It's just a little tape.|All I want is someone to sing my songs.

Welcome to the music business.

- Good evening. I.D., please.|- Hi. Uh, sure.

Maybe

back some day

- What can I get you?|- Let me ask you something.

I'm a songwriter. Is there someone|here I could talk to about my songs?

I've been a struggling|sax player for 12 years.

- What can I get you from the bar?|- Pepsi and some crackers.

- Hey. How are you doing?

out there

Excuse me.|Who's that guy?

That would be Mr. O'Donnell.

Mr. O'Donnell.|He's the manager or something?

Yeah. He's the music manager.|He's in charge of finding bands and...

booking new talent.

Run away with my heart

Run away with my hope

Hey, where the hell were you,|O'Donnell?

I got 15 orders stacked up here|and nobody to run the grill.

Fifteen orders, Walt.|Is that all?

Gimme ten minutes,|I'll catch us up. Go on. Lie down.

Relax. You look tired.

We can talk about|my raise later.

You think this is Australia?|There's no raise. I'm about to fire you.

Um, excuse me.|Mr. O'Donnell?

- Yes.|- Mr. O'Donnell. My name is Violet Sanford.

I'm a songwriter.|I just wanted to give this to you.

I know it's not the most professional|way to submit a tape.

- But this is all pretty new to me.|- It's pretty new to me too.

I just figured as the manager|of a club like this, you must know every band on the East Coast.

The manager...|of this club.

Um--

- You guys go ahead. I'll catch up.|- Sure thing.

Mr. O'Donnell.

I don't usually do this,|Violet.

Um, but I-- I have|a feeling about you.

- So I'm gonna take your tape,|and I'm gonna see what I can do. - Thank you.

I can't believe|how easy this was.

Neither can I.

Uh, you wanna go for|some coffee or something?

O'Donnell, who do I look like?|Your god damn maid?

That's Mr. O'Donnell,

but I'll let it slide|this time.

I told you to take your stuff|home and wash it.

You got cow grease|caked on the front.

Walt, I've warned you|about your attitude-- You're fired.

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