Mona Lisa Page #2

- So where did they get you from?

- Under a cabbage leaf.

I have to work in these places.

The bar boy turns a blind eye,

but the manager doesn't.

- you gonna tell me

where you want to go?

- The Lambert.

- [Tires Screech ]

- Jesus!

Sorry.

Didn't they tell ya that?

You're to be my date,

not my minicab driver.

- [Horn Honks ]

- What does your date do?

He looks after me, you dingbat.

There's men who want to see me.

- What if he don't?

- He pretends.

How do you pretend?

- Christ! Who sent you?

- Does it matter?

- You're the tom, darling.

-Just shut up and drive, would you?

Oh, can I have

a large Bloody Mary?

I'm sitting here,

all right?

Hey, did you hear me?

Are you serving here or just

wearing in a new pair of shoes?

Oi!

Want a drink? They don't seem

to serve you here.

I've done it wrong again,

haven't I?

Okay, I got it wrong.

That's-- Oof!

What do you expect?

I'm not used to working

in piss holes like this.

[Stereo:
Orchestra ]

- That was quick.

- you were asleep.

- Was I?

- How was he?

- I beg your pardon.

- How was the Arab?

- None of your business.

Huh. All right.

Where to?

King's Cross.

[ Women Laughing]

[ Hookers Chattering ]

Hello.

Like a chocolate sandwich?

[Woman Laughing]

- Goddamn market, isn't it?

- Shut up.

Drive on, please.

[Woman ]

Hey, don't go, mate!

- And now?

- you leave me here.

Good night then.

you have to get yourself

some clothes.

Why would I have to get myself

some clothes?

If you're to drive me.

Here. Use this.

- I'm not having you paying me.

- Why not?

- you don't even like me.

- I can claim it.

Good night.

- Is this real?

- Aye, of course.

- Got a present for ya.

- All right.

- Is it good? Yeah?

- It's brilliant. Aye.

- Somebody's murdering

opera singers, right?

- Right.

And after every murder,

they'll leave a Percheron.

- What's a Percheron?

- A kind of horse.

Isn't it-- you mean like a white horse

that pulls a milk cart?

- Aye, that kind of thing.

- All right.

- And?

- Well, then it gets complicated.

- It might just spoil it for you.

- Oh.

[ Laughing, Chattering ]

Christ.

What do you think?

Jesus.

- you don't like 'em?

- Do you?

- Well, I bought them, didn't I?

- you bought them, all right.

Ah, f***. Here.

Here's your change.

Not here.

For Jesus' sake!

You're as much cover

as a pair efficient tights.

I may as well be wearing

a sign around my neck.

All you're missing

is the gold medallion.

- you don't like them either.

- F***ing hate them.

Right.

See, I'm cheap. I can't help it.

God made me that way.

Being cheap

is one thing.

Looking cheap is another.

That really takes talent.

Some women are whores.

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