The Front

(GUNSHOTS)

(HORSE WHINNIES)

Hiya, Howard.

Ali! Jeez...

- How are ya? - What are you doing here?

- Why didn't you tell me you were coming? - I just thought I'd drop in on you.

God, that's so funny because, you know,

I was just thinking about you the other day.

I saw your show on TV.

- Oh, yeah? - Yeah.

What I had to do to get these clowns to turn off the ball game.

This is Alfred Miller. He's my friend.

He's a big TV writer.

This is Margo, the big waitress.

- How are you? - Pleased to meet you.

Listen, er, I thought maybe before the dinner rush, we could take a walk,

play a little chess or something.

Sure.

Marg?

Can you take over the, er, register?

Sure, Howard.

I mean, unless you're too busy.

For you? Are you kidding?

- Great to see ya. - Yeah, you too.

- Hey, Howard. - Yeah?

What's the price on the Kid Gavilan-Basilio fight?

It's eight-to-five, Gavilan.

I'll take Basilio, five times.

Okay, you got it.

(GUNSHOTS)

You never change.

It's your move.

Howard, I can't work anymore.

Yeah? What, like writer's block?

No.

What? You're not sick, are you?

I'm blacklisted.

Yeah, right. But you feel okay?

I feel terrible.

But you're healthy? I mean, besides your ulcer?

Howard, they won't buy my scripts.

I'm on a blacklist. Do you know what that means?

It's a list of names.

The studios have them, the networks, the ad agencies.

You're on the list, you're marked. You don't work.

What difference does it make if I'm healthy?

Well, you know, it makes a difference.

So, what are you blacklisted for?

I'm a Communist sympathiser.

Well, you always were.

Well, it's not so popular anymore.

Hey, how many times have I told you?

Take care of number one.

So, all right, who can you sue?

Nobody.

Nobody admits there's a blacklist.

I mean, they just say, er, "Your script's not good enough."

"You're not right for the assignment." You know, that kind of thing.

I know some people.

They're not exactly "people",

but for $50 they'll break a few legs,

and you're not bothered anymore.

- That's not what I need. - What, do you need money?

I'm locked into a stock boom for now

which is low right now, but it's going through the roof.

I need another name.

Yeah, I can see that.

Erm... Rappaport.

Alf... Alfred Rappa... Arnold Rappaport!

Pseudonyms don't work. They know we're all changing our names.

I need a real person, Howard.

Oh... Of course.

Someone, er, they can believe and I can trust.

Naturally.

Now, listen, I wouldn't ask you to do this...

Who would you ask? I'd be insulted.

Well, nobody'd know about it, just you and me.

When do we start?

Well, just wait a minute.

You'd better find out what you're getting into.

You want to put my name on your scripts.

It's not that simple.

I write the scripts. I send them in under your name.

- They buy the scripts, right? - It's perfect.

Then they're gonna wanna meet the writer.

So?

So, you're gonna have to go in there, really be the writer.

So I'll be the writer. What's the big deal?

I can do it, and I wanna do it.

I'm your friend. You're in trouble.

What's a friend for?

Well, these days, you can get in trouble being friends.

Life is risk.

I'm gonna pay you for this, Howard.

What do you mean, "pay"?

What is that, a friend takes money?

10% from each script, and no arguments.

You can use the money. You're always in hock, and, er...

I'd be paying that much to an agent, anyway.

- Ten percent? - Off the top.

Well, how much do you get for a script?

Erm, $750, $1 000. It depends on the show.

Go home and write. Your troubles are over.

What are you pulling here?

Huh? You owe me for three winners already.

What am I, some kind of charity?

Don't get excited. Your money's coming.

You book bets, you lose, you pay off.

What? You don't trust me? You know... what... I...

Hey, don't get me mad on you, you hear, Howard?

We've been doing business a long time.

So don't get me mad on you.

I don't understand you.

What do you do with your salary?

Flush it down the toilet?

No, I had a tip on a stock. It looked good, so I plunged.

Who do you come to stocks? Why don't you ask me?

I'm familiar with the market.

Ask me before you flush your salary down the toilet.

All right, next time, I'll ask you.

Howard, Howard, what's it going to be with you?

Mama and Papa would turn in their graves.

I haven't found myself yet, you know.

But it's all going to change, Myer.

You were always the smart one.

Did I get the lessons?

You could've gone to college. Instead, you're a bum.

How much this time?

Er... $600.

You said on the phone "four".

Yeah, I know. Four.

Four gets me even, then I'm blank.

I'm keeping strict accounts.

You said "four", you get four.

Enough is enough.

I'm at the end of my rope, Howard.

I got a business.

You know what it costs now to feed one lousy mink?

You know what a cutter gets today?

Thanks for...

At least if you were realising your potential,

I'd say, "Fine, that's an investment."

I'm working on it, Myer.

At that cockamamie job you got?

You call that a job? With a head like yours?

I think you're gonna be surprised.

I'm serious.

The well is running dry.

Sink or swim.

$500.

The winner, number 3, Mr. Turf, ridden by William Boland.

3-60 and 2-90.

The place horse, number 6, Step Child.

The show horse, number 10, Easy Whirl.

...Belmont Park are a service of WTRM.

Each race...

Er, Loews Sheraton.

Well, who wants him?

Who? Florence Barrett?

What do you look like?

Oh, yeah.

Yeah. This is... That's right.

This is Howard Prince, the writer.

No kidding. Did ya?

Yeah? You liked it?

Sure. No, I can meet... When? Afternoons are fine.

'Cos, I... Y'know, I use the evenings to write

because there's less noise.

Okay, great.

Tuesday's perfect.

Right.

Ciao.

Yes, Old Gold,

the cigarette with nearly 200 years

of tobacco know-how behind it.

Er, Florence Barrett?

The one with the hair.

I won't tell him, Phil.

You're the producer. Do your own dirty work.

All Hecky has to do is go talk to the man.

Why should he? Who is this creep anyway?