Going to his case, Bert sits down on it and lights a cigarette (three times the regular size). He looks around the room and shakes his head. He pulls the sleeve of his jacket back to reveal his watch. It is three times the regular size of a watch. He reads it and pulls the sleeve back over it. He stares out at us for a while, smoking, then gets up and opens his case. He pulls out a script (three times the regular size), sits back down and flicks through it.

. . . shit. Piece o’ goddam shit . . .

He coughs again and goes to the chair, puts it in position, climbs up and picks up the phone.

. . . that the desk? . . . yeah, Michigan . . . uh? . . . yeah, yeah, I hear ya . . . OK, OK . . . fuck you very much, OK . . . yeah, that’s right, you heard me right, honey: fuck you very much, OK.

He slams the phone on the hook and climbs down.

Asshole!

He goes back to his case, picks it up and takes it over to the chest of drawers. He opens the bottom drawer and starts to put his clothes in.

The door opens and Charles – English, early twenties, nervous, suited, carrying a case – enters. He puts his case down and surveys the room. He is clearly impressed with it.

Bert    Don’t even think about calling out.

Charles    Calling out?

Bert    Lousy studio cocksuckers.

Charles    Ah . . .

Bert    Sucks you ask me, kid.

Charles heads over to Bert.

Charles (extending his hand)     Charles Merryweather, London, England.

Bert glances at Charles’s hand and carries on putting his clothes away.

Bert    Bert Kowalski, no fixed abode.

Charles waits, then awkwardly rubs his hands against his trousers and explores the room.

Charles    . . . Culver Heights, the name alone – smashing. The grounds – so beautiful! The flora and fauna, those gorgeous palm trees! You think they might have some picture postcards for sale?

Bert    Picture postcards?

Charles    To send home.

Bert    You one of Singer’s?

Charles    I didn’t know I would have to sing –

Bert    No, Singer’s mob, Leo Singer, the schmuck who got the MGM contract to recruit the likes of us.

Charles    Ah, yes.

Bert closes the drawer and climbs up on the bed.

Bert (delving into his pocket)     You smoke?

Charles    That’s very kind.

Bert pulls out a lighter and waits.

Bert    . . . Well?

Charles cottons on.

Charles    Oh, right, I see.

Charles pulls out a cigarette case and offers it up to Bert. Bert has to reach down to take a cigarette.

Bert (lighting it up)     I heard somewhere cigarettes stunt your growth.

Charles    Oh?

Bert    I don’t listen to gossip though.

Charles frowns and lights his cigarette.

Bert    So, they’ve got midgets in England then, uh?

Charles (affronted)     Midgets?

Bert    English, right?

Charles    You said –

Bert points to himself and Charles.

Bert    Dwarfs, leprechauns, Munchkins, little people . . . freaks. You know, fucken midgets.