Scene Thirty-Nine - The Ball

INT. AMBASSADOR'S RESIDENCE, CAIRO, 1939. NIGHT

Last seen at the Troops Christmas party, the INNER COURTYARD has been transformed into an elegant outdoor banquet, with a small band providing entertainment. The Almásy/Madox team is assembled for A FAREWELL DINNER. They are waiting for Almásy to arrive, his seat conspicuously empty.

He is very late. And then he's there, dangerously drunk, terribly dashing. He practically dances to his chair, which he drags violently away from its position opposite Katharine. He bows to Lady Hampton.

ALMÁSY : I believe I'm rather late.

MADOX (ignoring the drama of this entrance)

Good, we're all here? A toast, to the International Sand Club--may it soon resurface.

THE OTHERS

The International Sand Club!

ALMÁSY (raising his glass) : The International Sand Club! Misfits, buggers, fascists, and fools. God bless us, everyone.

The others drink, trying to ignore his mood.

ALMÁSY : Oops! Mustn't say International. Dirty word. Filthy word. His Majesty! Die Führer! Il Duce!

CLIFTON : Sorry, what's your point?

ALMÁSY (not responding) :

And the people don't want us. You must be joking. The Egyptians are desperate to get rid of the Colonials...
(to an embarrassed Fouad)
Isn't that right, Fouad?

Some of their best people down on their hands and knees begging to be spared a knighthood.....
(to his host, Sir Hampton)
Isn't that right? Isn't that right, Sir Ronnie?

Ronnie Hampton shrugs. They're all very uncomfortable. Almásy turns to Clifton.

ALMÁSY : What's my point?
(standing up)
Oh! I've invented a new dance--anybody up for it--it's called--it's called--the Bosphorus Hug. Madox? Bermann? You'll dance with me...D'Ag? Come on D'Aggers.

D'AGOSTINO :

Let's eat first. Sit down.

The Band is now playing "Manhattan." Almásy, without missing a beat, begins to sing, replacing the words with alternatives he knows. He lurches around. Katharine can't look at him.

"....We'll bathe at Brighton, the fish you'll frighten when you're in--your bathing suit so thin, will make the shellfish grin, fin to fin." They're playing it far too slowly, but these were the words, actually, before they were cleaned up. Might be a song for you, Mrs. Clif--

Madox gets up and pulls Almásy into his chair, taking charge.

MADOX (whispering sharply) :

Look, either shut up or go home. You're completely plastered! Now sit down.

ALMÁSY (loudly) : Absolutely right, shut up, shut up. Sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't think what came over me. Lashings of apologies--all around.