Getting Even

Death (unimpressed): Uh-huh. (Looking around) This is a nice place. You do it yourself?

Nat: We had a decorator, but we worked with her.

Death (looking at picture on the wall): I love those kids with the big eyes.

Nat: I don’t want to go yet.

Death: You don’t want to go? Please don’t start in. As it is, I’m nauseous from the climb.

Nat: What climb?

Death: I climbed up the drainpipe. I was trying to make a dramatic entrance. I see the big windows and you’re awake reading. I figure it’s worth a shot. I’ll climb up and enter with a little-you know… (Snaps fingers)

Meanwhile, I get my heel caught on some vines, the drainpipe breaks, and I’m hanging by a thread. Then my cape begins to tear. Look, let’s just go. It’s been a rough night.

Nat: You broke my drainpipe?

Death: Broke. It didn’t break. It’s a little bent. Didn’t you hear anything? I slammed into the ground.

Nat: I was reading.

Death: You must have really been engrossed. (Lifting newspaper Nat was reading) “NAB COEDS IN POT ORGY.” Can I borrow this?

Nat: I’m not finished.

Death: Er-I don’t know how to put this to you, pal…

Nat: Why didn’t you just ring downstairs?

Death: I’m telling you, I could have, but how does it look? This way I get a little drama going. Something. Did you read Faust?

Nat: What?

Death: And what if you had company? You’re sitting there with important people. I’m Death-I should ring the bell and traipse right in the front? Where’s your thinking?

Nat: Listen, Mister, it’s very late.

Death: Yeah. Well, you want to go?

Nat: Go where?

Death: Death. It. The Thing. The Happy Hunting Grounds. (Looking at his own knee) Y’know, that’s a pretty bad cut. My first job, I’m liable to get gangrene yet.

Nat: Now, wait a minute. I need time. I’m not ready to go.

Death: I’m sorry. I can’t help you. I’d like to, but it’s the moment.

Nat: How can it be the moment? I just merged with Modiste Originals.

Death: What’s the difference, a couple of bucks more or less.

Nat: Sure, what do you care? You guys probably have all your expenses paid.

Death: You want to come along now?

Nat (studying him): I’m sorry, but I cannot believe you’re Death.

Death: Why? What’d you expect-Rock Hudson?

Nat: No, it’s not that.

Death: I’m sorry if I disappointed you.

Nat: Don’t get upset. I don’t know, I always thought you’d be… uh… taller.

Death: I’m five seven. It’s average for my weight.

Nat: You look a little like me.

Death: Who should I look like? I’m your death.

Nat: Give me some time. Another day.

Death: I can’t. What do you want me to say?

Nat: One more day. Twenty-four hours.

Death: What do you need it for? The radio said rain tomorrow.

Nat: Can’t we work out something?

Death: Like what?

Nat: You play chess?

Death: No, I don’t.

Nat: I once saw a picture of you playing chess.

Death: Couldn’t be me, because I don’t play chess. Gin rummy, maybe.

Nat: You play gin rummy?

Death: Do I play gin rummy? Is Paris a city?

Nat: You’re good, huh?

Death: Very good.

Nat: I’ll tell you what I’ll do-

Death: Don’t make any deals with me.

Nat: I’ll play you gin rummy. If you win, I’ll go immediately. If I win, give me some more time. A little bit -one more day.

Death: Who’s got time to play gin rummy?

Nat: Come on. If you’re so good.

Death: Although I feel like a game…

Nat: Come on. Be a sport. We’ll shoot for a half hour.

Death: I really shouldn’t.

Nat: I got the cards right here. Don’t make a production.

Death: All right, come on. We’ll play a little. It’ll relax me.

Nat (getting cards, pad, and pencil): You won’t regret this.

Death: Don’t give me a sales talk. Get the cards and give me a Fresca and put out something. For God’s sake, a stranger drops in, you don’t have potato chips or pretzels.

Nat: There’s M amp;M’s downstairs in a dish.

Death: M amp;M’s. What if the President came? He’d get M amp;M’s too?

Nat: You’re not the President.

Death: Deal.

(Nat deals, turns up a five.)

Nat: You want to play a tenth of a cent a point to make it interesting?

Death: It’s not interesting enough for you?

Nat: I play better when money’s at stake.

Death: Whatever you say, Newt.

Nat: Nat. Nat Ackerman. You don’t know my name?

Death: Newt, Nat-I got such a headache.

Nat: You want that five?

Death: No.

Nat: So pick.

Death (surveying his hand as he picks): Jesus, I got nothing here.

Nat: What’s it like?

Death: What’s what like?

(Throughout the following, they pick and discard.)

Nat: Death.

Death: What should it be like? You lay there.

Nat: Is there anything after?

Death: Aha, you’re saving twos.