would you like some company. (Pause.) What if I was to sit down here? What would that do for you, huh?
JOAN: No, I don't think so, no.
Pause.
Is there something I can do for you?
BERNIE: Nope. Not a thing in the world, no. I'm just standing here, looking for some place to sit down, huh? (Pause. Sits down at her table.)
Well, is it a free country, or what?
JOAN: Don't torture me, just let me hear it, okay?
BERNIE (Pause): So here I am. I'm just in town for a one-day layover and I happen to find myself in this bar. So, so far so good. What am I going to do? I could lounge alone and lonely and stare into my drink, or I could take the bull by the horns and make an effort to enjoy myself . . .
JOAN: Are you making this up?
BERNIE: So hold on. So I see you seated at this table and I say to myself, “Doug McKenzie, there is a young woman,” I say to myself, “What is she doing here?”, and I think she is here for the same reasons as I. To enjoy herself, and perhaps, to meet provocative people. (Pause.) I'm a meteorologist for TWA. It's an incredibly interesting, but lonely job. . . . Stuck in the cockpit of some jumbo jet hours at a time . . . nothing to look at but charts . . . What are you drinking?
JOAN: Scotch on the rocks.
BERNIE: You're a scotch drinker, huh?
JOAN: Yes.
BERNIE: Well, what the hell, you're drinking scotch. But I say “Why pigeonhole ourselves?” A person makes an effort to enjoy himself, why pin a label on it, huh? This is life. You learn a lot about life working for the airlines. Because you're constantly in touch, you know with what?, with the idea of Death. (Pause.) Not that I'm a fan of morbidness, and so on. I mean what are you doing here? You're by yourself, I can see that. So what do you come here for? To what? To meet interesting new people or not. (Pause.) What else is there?
JOAN: Can I tell you something?
BERNIE: You bet.
JOAN: Forgive me if I'm being too personal . . . but I do not find you sexually attractive. (Pause.)
BERNIE: What is that, some new kind of line? Huh? I mean, not that I mind what you think, if that's what you think . . . but. . . that's a fucking rotten thing to say.
JOAN: I'll live.
BERNIE: All kidding aside . . . lookit, I'm a fucking professional, huh? My life is a bunch of having to make split-second decisions. Life or death fucking decisions. So that's what it is, so okay. I work hard, I play hard. Comes I got a day off I wanna relax a bit . . . I wander—quite by accident—into this bar. I have a drink or two . . . perhaps a drop too much. Perhaps I get too loose (it's been known to happen).* So what do I see? A nice young woman sitting by herself . . .
JOAN: We've done this one.
BERNIE: So just who the fuck do you think you are, God's gift to Women? I mean where do you fucking get off with this shit. You don't want to get come on to, go enroll in a convent. You think I don't have better things to do? I don't have better ways to spend my off hours than to listen to some nowhere cunt try out cute bits on me? I mean why don't you just clean your fucking act up, Missy. You're living in a city in 1976. (Pause.) Am I getting through to you?
JOAN: I think I'd like to be left alone.
BERNIE: Ah, you're breaking my heart. My fucking heart is pumping pisswater for you. You're torturing me with your pain and aloofness. You know that?
JOAN: I'm terribly sorry.
BERNIE: Sorry don't mean shit. You're a grown woman, behave like it for chrissakes. Huh? I mean, what the fuck do you think society is, just a bunch of rules strung together for your personal pleasure?
JOAN: Sometimes I think I'm not a very nice person.
BERNIE: You flatter yourself, (JOAN rises.) So where are you going now?
JOAN: My little boy is sick, and I really should be getting home.
BERNIE: Cockteaser.
JOAN: I beg your pardon?
BERNIE: You heard me.
JOAN: I have never been called that in my life.
BERNIE: Well, you just lost your cherry.
JOAN: I . . . I find that very insulting.
BERNIE: Go get a lawyer, bitch. Go get a writ, you got yourself a case.
(Pause.)
JOAN (sits down again): I . . . I'm . . . I'm sorry if I was being rude to you.
BERNIE: Oh, you're sorry if you were being rude to me.
JOAN: Yes.
BERNIE: You got a lot of fuckin’ nerve. (Rises, calls for check, exits.)
At work, DAN and BERNARD are at work. They are filing.
BERNIE: The main thing, Dan . . .
DANNY: Yes?
BERNIE: The main thing about broads . . .
DANNY: Yes?
BERNIE: Is two things. One: The Way to Get Laid is to Treat ‘Em Like Shit . . .
DANNY: Yeah . . .
BERNIE: . . . and Two: Nothing . . . nothing makes you so attractive to the opposite sex as getting your rocks off on a regular basis.
The Library, DEB is seated, working, DAN cruises her and so on.
DANNY: Hi.
DEBORAH: Hello.
DANNY: I saw you at the Art Institute.
DEBORAH: Uh huh.
DANNY: I remembered your hair.
DEBORAH: Hair memory.
DANNY: You were in the Impressionists room. (Pause.) Monet . . . (Pause.)
DEBORAH: Uh huh.
DANNY: You're very attractive. I like the way you look. (Pause.) You were drawing in charcoal. It was nice. (Pause.) Are you a student at the Art Institute?
DEBORAH: No, I work.
DANNY: Work, huh? . . . work. (Pause.) I'll bet you're good at it. (Pause.) Is someone taking up a lot of your time these days?
DEBORAH: You mean a man?
DANNY: Yes, a man.
