(Entering) What do you want to know?

I want to know if you're going to spend the rest of your life not talking to me.

(Reading his paper) Are you talking to me?

That's right, I'm talking to you.

What do you want to know?

I want to know if you're going to spend the rest of your life not talking to me. Because if you are, I'm going to buy a radio.
(No reply) Well?
(No reply) I see. You're not going to talk to me.
(No reply) All right. Two can play at this game.
(Pause) If you're not going to talk to me, I'm not going to talk to you.
(No reply) I can act childish too, you know.
(No reply) I can go on without talking just as long as you can.

Then why the hell don't you shut up?

Are you talking to me?

You had your chance to talk last night, I begged you to come upstairs with me. From now on I never want to hear a word from that shampooed head as long as you live. That's a warning, Felix.

(Stares at him) I stand warned. . . . Over and out.

(Gets up taking key out of his pocket and slams it on the table) There's a key to the back door. If you stick to the hallway and your room, you won't get hurt.

I don't think I gather the entire meaning of that remark.

Then I'll explain it to you. Stay out of my way.

(Picks up key and moves to couch) I think you're serious. I think you're really serious. . . . Are you serious?

This is my apartment. Everything in my apartment is mine. The only thing here that's yours is you. Just stay in your room and speak softly.

Yeah, you're serious. . . . Well, let me remind you that I pay half the rent and I’ll go into any room I want.
(He gets up angrily and starts towards hallway)

Where are you going?

I'm going to walk around your bedroom.

(Slams down newspaper) You stay out of there.

(Steaming) Don't tell me where to go. I pay a hundred and twenty dollars a month.

That was off-season. Starting tomorrow the rates are twelve dollars a day.

All right. (He takes some bills out of his pocket and slams them down on table.) There you are. I'm paid up for today. Now I'm going to walk in your bedroom.

Stay out of there! Stay out of my room!

(Backing away, keeping table between them) Watch yourself! Just watch yourself, Oscar!

(With a pointing finger.) I'm warning you. You want to live here, I don't want to see you, I don't want to hear you and I don't want to smell your cooking. Now get this spaghetti off my poker table.

Ha! Haha!

What the hell's so funny?

It's not spaghetti. It's linguini!

(Picks up the plate of linguini, crosses to the doorway, and hurls it into the kitchen.)
Now it's garbage!

(Looks at OSCAR unbelievingly. What an insane thing to do.) You are crazy! . . . I'm a neurotic nut but you are crazy!

I'm crazy, heh? That's really funny coming from a fruitcake like you.

(Goes to kitchen door and looks in at the mess. Turns back to OSCAR:) I'm not cleaning that up.

Is that a promise?

Did you hear what I said? I'm not cleaning it up. It's your mess.

(Crosses up on landing and looks at kitchen door.) I like it.

(Fumes) You'd just let it lie there, wouldn't you? Until it turns hard and brown and . . . yich. . . . It's disgusting. . . . I'm cleaning it up.
(He goes into kitchen, OSCAR chases after him. There is the sound of a STRUGGLE and falling POTS.)

(Off) Leave it alone! . . . You touch one strand of that linguini-and I'm gonna punch you right in your sinuses.

(Dashes out of kitchen with OSCAR in pursuit. Stops and tries to calm OSCAR down) Oscar . . . I'd like you to take a couple of phenobarbital.

(Points) Go to your room! . . . Did you hear what I said? Go to your room!

All right . . . let's everybody just settle down, heh?

If you want to live through this night, you'd better tie me up and lock your doors and windows.

(Calls out. In a playful mood) I'm home, dear!
Beautiful! Just beautiful!
Oh, yeah. Something wonderful is going on in that kitchen. . . .
No, sir. There's no doubt about it. I'm the luckiest man on earth.

(Without looking at him) What is it? Let's start with what time do you think it is?

What time? I don't know. Seven-thirty?

Seven-thirty? Try eight o'clock.

(Puts lotion down on small table) Alright, so it's eight o'clock. So?

So? . . . You said you'd be home at seven.

Is that what I said?

(Nods) That's what you said. “I will be home at seven” is what you said.

Okay, I said I'd be home at seven. And it's eight. So what's the problem?

If you knew you were going to be late, why didn't you call me?

(Pauses while making tie) I couldn't call you. I was busy.

Too busy to pick up a phone? . . . Where were you?

I was in the office, working.

(Moves Down Left) Working? Ha!

Yes. Working.

I called your office at seven o'clock. You were gone.

(Tucking in shirt) It took me an hour to get home. I couldn't get a cab.

Since when do they have cabs in Hannigan's bar?

Wait a minute. I want to get this down on a tape recorder . . . because no one'll believe me! . . . You mean now I have to call you if I'm coming home late for dinner?

(Crosses to OSCAR) Not any dinner. Just the ones I've been slaving over since two o'clock this afternoon . . . to help save you money to pay your wife's alimony.

(Controlling himself) Felix . . . this is no time to have a domestic quarrel. We have two girls coming down any minute,

You mean you told them to be here at eight o'clock?

(Takes jacket and crosses to couch. Sits and takes some dip from coffee table) I don't remember what I said. Seven-thirty, eight o'clock. What difference does it make?

(Follows OSCAR) I'll tell you what difference. You told me they were coming at seven-thirty. You were going to be here at seven to help me with the hors d'oeuvres. At seven-thirty they arrive and we have cocktails. At eight o'clock we have dinner. It is now eight o'clock. My London-broil is finished! If we don't eat now the whole damned thing’ll be dried out!

Oh, God, help me.

Never mind helping you. Tell Him to save the meat. Because we got nine dollars and thirty-four cents worth drying up in there right now.

Can't you keep it warm?

(Paces Right) What do you think I am, the Magic Chef? I'm lucky I got it to come out at eight o'clock. What am I going to do?

I don't know. Keep pouring gravy on it.

What gravy?

Don't you have any gravy?

(Storms over to OSCAR) Where the hell am I going to get gravy at eight o'clock?

(Gets up and moves Right.) I thought it comes when you cook the meat.

(Follows him) When you cook the meat? You don't know the first thing you're talking about. You have to make gravy. It doesn't come!

You asked my advice, I'm giving it to you.

Advice? (He waves ladle in his face.) You didn't know where the kitchen was until I came here and showed you.

You wanna talk to me, put down the spoon.

(Exploding in rage, again waving ladle in his face) Spoon? You dumb ignoramus. It's a ladle. You don't even know it's a ladle.

All right, Felix, get a hold of yourself.

(Pulls himself together, sits on loveseat) You think it's so easy? Go on. The kitchen's all yours. Go make a London broil for four people who come a half hour late.

(To no one in particular) Listen to me. I'm arguing with him over gravy.

(Staring at door) That's funny, isn't it, Oscar? . . . They think we're happy. . . . They really think we're enjoying this. . . .

I'd be immensely grateful to you, Felix, if you didn't clean up just now.

(Puts dishes on tray) It's only a few things . . . .

Felix, leave everything alone. I'm not through dirtying up for the night.

(Putting stuff on tray) But don't you see the irony of it? . . . Don't you see it, Oscar?

(Sighs heavily) Yes, I see it.

(Clearing table) No, you don't. I really don't think you do.

Felix, I'm telling you I see the irony of it.

(Pauses) Then tell me. What is it? What's the irony?

(Deep breath) The irony is - unless we can come to some other arrangement, I'm gonna kill you ..that's the irony.

What's wrong?

There's something wrong with this system, that's what's wrong. I don't think that two single men living alone in a big eight-room apartment should have a cleaner house than my mother.

(Gets rest of dishes, glasses and coasters from table) What are you talking about? I’m just going to put the dishes in the sink. You want me to leave them here all night?

(Takes his glass which FELIX has put on tray and crosses to bar for refill) I don't care if you take them to bed with you. You can play Mr. Clean all you want. But don't make me feel guilty.

(Takes tray into kitchen, leaving swinging door open) I'm not asking you to do it, Oscar. You don't have to clean up.

(Moves up to door) That's why you make me feel guilty. You're always in my bathroom hanging up my towels. . . . Whenever I smoke you follow me around with an ashtray. . . . Last night I found you washing the kitchen floor shaking your head and moaning, “Footprints, footprints”

(Comes back to table with silent butler into which he dumps the ashtrays, then wipes them carefully.) I didn't say they were yours.

(Angrily, sits Down Right in wing chair) Well, they were mine, damn it. I have feet and they make prints. What do you want me to do, climb across the cabinets?

No! I want you to walk on the floor.

I appreciate that! I really do.

(Crosses to telephone table and cleans ashtray there) I'm just trying to keep the place livable. I didn't realize I irritated you that much.

I just feel I should have the right to decide when my bathtub needs a going over with Dutch Cleanser. . . . It's the democratic way!

(Puts down silent butler and rag on coffee table and sits down on couch, glumly) I was wondering how long it would take.

How long what would take?

Before I got on your nerves.

I didn't say you get on my nerves.

Well, it's the same thing. You said I irritated you!.

You said you irritated me. I didn't say it.

Then what did you say?

I don't know what I said. What's the difference what I said?

It doesn't make any difference. I was just repeating what I thought you said.

Well, don't repeat what you thought I said. Repeat what I said! . . . My God, that's irritating.

You see! You did say it!

I don't believe this whole conversation.

(Pawing with a cup) Oscar, I'm-I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me.

(Paces Down Right) And don't pout. If you want to fight, we'll fight. But don't pout! Fighting I win. Pouting you win!

You're right. Everything you say about me is absolutely right.

(Really angry, turns to FELIX) And don't give in so easily. I'm not always right. Sometimes you're right.

You're right. I do that. I always figure I'm in the wrong.

Only this time you are wrong. And I'm right.

Oh, leave me alone.

And don't sulk. That's the same as pouting.

I know. I know.
(He squeezes cup with anger) Damn me, why can’t I do one lousy thing right?
(He suddenly stands up and cocks his arm back angrily about to hurl the cup against the front door, then thinks better of it and puts it down and sits)

(Watching this) Why didn't you throw it?

I almost did. I get so insane with myself sometimes.

Then why don't you throw the cup?

Because I'm trying to control myself.

Why?

What do you mean, why?

Why do you have to control yourself? You're angry, you felt like throwing the cup, why don't you throw it?

Because there's no point to it. I'd still be angry and I'd have a broken cup.

How do you know how you'd feel? Maybe you'd feel wonderful. Why do you have to control every single thought in your head? . . . Why don't you let loose once in your life? Do something that you feel like doing-and not what you think you're supposed to do. Stop keeping books, Felix. Relax. Get drunk. Get angry. . . . C'mon, break the Goddamned cup!

(Suddenly stands up and hurls the cup against the door, smashing it to pieces. Then he grabs his shoulder in pain.)
Oww! . . . I hurt my arm

(Throws up hands) You're hopeless. You're a hopeless mental case!

(Grimacing with pain) I'm not supposed to throw with that arm. What a stupid thing to do.

Why don't you live in a closet? I’ll leave your meals outside the door and slide in the papers. Is that safe enough?

(Rubbing arm.) I used to have bursitis in this arm, I had to give up golf. . . . Do you have a heating pad?

How can you hurt your arm throwing a cup? If it had coffee in it, that's one thing. But an empty cup . . .

All right, cut it out, Oscar. That's the way I am. I get hurt easily. I can't help it.

You're not going to cry, are you? I think all those tears dripping on your arm is what gave you bursitis.

(Holding arm) I once got it just from combing my hair.

(Shaking his head) A world full of room-mates and I pick myself the Tin Man.

(Puts rag and silent butler on bar. Takes chip box from bar and crosses to table.) You're darn right, you could have. A lot worse.

How?

What do you mean, how? How'd you like to live with ‘Ten-thumbs Murray’ or ‘Speed’ and his complaining?
(Gets down on his knees, picks up chips and puts them into box) Don't forget I cook and clean and take care of this house. I save us a lot of money, don't I?

Yeah, but then you keep me up all night counting it.

(Goes to table and sweeps chips and cards into box) Now wait a minute. We're not always going at each other. We have some fun too, don't we?

(Crosses to couch) Fun? Felix, getting a clear picture on Channel Two isn't my idea of whoopee.

What are you talking about?

All right, what do you and I do every night?

(That's right. After we've had your halibut steak and the dishes are done and the sink has been Brillo'd and the pans have been S.O.S.'d and the leftovers have been Saran-wrapped-what do we do?
(Finishes clearing table and puts everything on top of bookcase.) Well, we read . . . we talk . . .