336
SAUL IELLOW
IMOGEN, MOTI'
and
SHELDON
go.
BUMMIDGE :
Wink, my childhood was frightful.
WINKLEMAN:
Oh, screw your childhood. You've got more trouble now
than you ever had. Bella wants to sign divorce papers.
BUMMIDOE:
Are you joking? The terms are unacceptable.
WINKLEMAN:
Come awn, Bummy. She's gone to twenty lawyers al–
ready. The fees can add up to more than the settlement. She says
she wants out.
BUMMIDGE:
What is she getting?
WINKLEMAN:
Three thousand a month, tax free, the buildings on Staten
Island, a piece of the club in Vegas...
BUMMIDOE:
Vegas? But Madge is in that with me.
WINKLEMAN:
What about me? I'm in it, too. We'll stay
in.
Only you'll
be out.
BUMMIDOE:
But it's six-seven hundred thousand....
WINKLEMAN:
Bella was always mad about you, and still is . . . But all
these girls, and especially this latest one.
BUMMIDGE :
It's my son who's behind this. Because I cut him off, he's
going to get Bella's money.
If
he didn't pressure her, she wouldn't go
through with a divorce. Isn't there a way to stop her?
WINKLEMAN:
Actually, she's being reasonable.
If
you let it go to court,
in addition to all the publicity, she'll get even more.
BUMMIDGE:
Hell with the publicity.
WINKLEMAN:
Do you want the papers to print stories about how you
beat her? Hit her on the head so she had a concussion? Kicked her in
the ribs? And when she was
in
the hospital you ran there every day
and made a big noise till they let her out, but as soon as you got her
home, you dumped her, because you were in a big card game.
BUMMIDOE:
Don't go through all this. I know I have neurotic difficulties.
WINKLEMAN:
I'm just reminding you what would come out in court.
BUMMIDOE:
Kicked her in the ribs? I don't remember kicking her
in
the
ribs. That's an interesting point.
WINKLEMAN:
Getting her to dump that other broad-Sybil? And mean–
while you were playing around with Joyce-while Bella was doing
everything possible. And while you were playing the Palladium, you
registered at the Savoy with Joyce as Mr. and Mrs. Furthermore, she
was seen there, naked, by your son, while your wife was at Payne
Whitney with a nervous breakdown.
BUMMIDOE:
That punk! He wouldn't dare testify against his father.
WINKLEMAN:
Why not? He's very much your son.
BUMMIDGE:
He's no good. And Ethel
is
no good.
