Free Getting Even by Woody Allen Page A

you know. And now I really must buzz off. I just remembered, I left the lights on at my castle-bills’ll be enormous…”
       “Please,” the baker says, his arm around the Count in firm friendship. “You’re not intruding. Don’t be so polite. So you’re early.”
       “Really, I’d like to stay but there’s a meeting of old Roumanian Counts across town and I’m responsible for the cold cuts.”
       “Rush, rush, rush. It’s a wonder you don’t get a heart attack.”
       “Yes, right-and now-“
       “I’m making Chicken Pilaf tonight,” the baker’s wife chimes in. “I hope you like it.”
       “Wonderful, wonderful,” the Count says, with a smile, as he pushes her aside into some laundry. Then, opening a closet door by mistake, he walks in. “Christ, where’s the goddamn front door?”
       “Ach,” laughs the baker’s wife, “such a funny man, the Count.”
       “I knew you’d like that,” Dracula says, forcing a chuckle, “now get out of my way.” At last he opens the front door but time has run out on him.
       “Oh, look, mama,” says the baker, “the eclipse must be over. The sun is coming out again.”
       “Right,” says Dracula, slamming the front door. “I’ve decided to stay. Pull down the window shades quickly- quickly !Let’s move it!”
       “What window shades?” asks the baker.
       “There are none, right? Figures. You got a basement in this joint?”
       “No,” says the wife affably, “I’m always telling Jarslov to build one but he never listens. That’s some Jarslov, my husband.”
       “I’m all choked up. Where’s the closet?”
       “You did that one already, Count Dracula. Unt mama and I laughed at it.”
       “Ach-such a funny man, the Count.”
       “Look, I’ll be in the closet. Knock at seven-thirty.” And with that, the Count steps inside the closet and slams the door.
       “Hee-hee-he is so funny, Jarslov.”
       “Oh, Count. Come out of the closet. Stop being a big silly.” From inside the closet comes the muffled voice of Dracula.
       “Can’t-please-take my word for it. Just let me stay here. I’m fine. Really.”
       “Count Dracula, stop the fooling. We’re already helpless with laughter.”
       “Can I tell you, I love this closet.”
       “Yes, but…”
       “I know, I know… it seems strange, and yet here I am, having a ball. I was just saying to Mrs. Hess the other day, give me a good closet and I can stand in it for hours. Sweet woman, Mrs. Hess. Fat but sweet… Now, why don’t you run along and check back with me at sunset. Oh, Ramona, la da da de da da de, Ramona…”
       Now the Mayor and his wife, Katia, arrive. They are passing by and have decided to pay a call on their good friends, the baker and his wife.
       “Hello, Jarslov. I hope Katia and I are not intruding?”
       “Of course not, Mr. Mayor. Come out, Count Dracula! We have company!”
       “Is the Count here?” asks the Mayor, surprised.
       “Yes, and you’ll never guess where,” says the baker’s wife.
       “It’s so rare to see him around this early. In fact I can’t ever remember seeing him around in the daytime.”
       “Well, he’s here. Come out, Count Dracula!”
       “Where is he?” Katia asks, not knowing whether to laugh or not.
       “Come on out now! Let’s go!” The baker’s wife is getting impatient.
       “He’s in the closet,” says the baker, apologetically.
       “Really?” asks the Mayor.
       “Let’s go,” says the baker with mock good humor as he knocks on the closet door. “Enough is enough. The Mayor’s here.”
       “Come on out, Dracula,” His Honor shouts, “let’s have a drink.”
       “No, go ahead. I’ve got some business in here.”
       “In the closet?”
       “Yes, don’t let me spoil your day. I can hear what you’re saying. I’ll join in if I have anything to