ra-mona.  and the mattress is always lumpy --
we're all sick in the eyes of god -- but some of us still have manners.
cigarettes, gentlemen? cigars? we stockpiled some havanas before senor castro did his little number.
have we met?
ohyeah, you were the asshole. cobb is suddenly gallant, gentlemanly, even charming.
i accept.
actually it's german and means 'wise protectoress' but thanks for the thought.
who's that?
i don't know baseball from shmaseball but i know a nice man when i see one and i also know it's time for my coffee break. hasta luego. and she's off with her trayful of tobacco to the cocktail lounge.
you again? you could learn some manners from your friend.
the damn thing itches but it's good for tips. give me a scratch, will ya? stump scratches the back of her scalp, somewhat embar- rassed and somewhat aroused.
does it bother you?
you wanta go to bed with me, right?
i'm not a whore! i don't screw for money?! jesus!
just divorced, huh?
it's written all over ya. giant letters right across the forehead. d-i-v-o-r-c-e. ha! plain as day. ramona lets out a loud, hearty laugh without inhibition.
obvious. so, if ya wanta pay me to screw, i won't do it.
screw or pay?
so ya don't wanta screw?
all this ambiguity -- i see why she's divorcing ya. stump, completely befuddled, lets down completely. he doesn't care about getting laid or drunk or anything for the moment, except having someone to talk to -- the some- one is ramona.
oh god.
then go back to her.
then quit crying. you want a divorce, you don't want a divorce, you're asking marital advice from a woman you're trying to get in the sack -- jeez louise!
who is? a sigh. stump is lost. he motions to the bartender.
you being paid?
then it's not a lie. it's a job. quit agonizing -- take the money, do what you gotta do, and get it over with.
then quit.
for godsakes why not? stump has to think about this for a while.
greatness is overrated.
so what do you want?
oh that. why do men have such a hard time saying what they want?
ya think i won't be able to screw if i'm too drunk?
screwed, stewed, and tattooed! she laughs a hearty laugh, letting it all out.
you're so thoughtful -- the others are trying to get me drunk and you're trying to keep me sober. you'd be good husband material.
i didn't mean --
i'm not a whore.
what're you doing?! and cobb backhands ramona across the face, knocking her down.
i don't want to!
my hair.
who are you again?
no. cobb clicks the hammer of his gun with icy calm.
that don't scare me 'cause if you kill me i'll be dead and you ain't gonna screw a dead lady.
you're right. you might.
they aren't so big. they're average, actually -- but these bras are great. push 'em right up there. i owe a lot to the bras and wigs. a girl needs what she needs --
mr. cobb, i --
i'm sure you --
what do you want from me?!
no.
do what you gotta do and get it over with, mr. cobb.
that's all?
for a thousand bucks? hell yes. he reaches out and straightens her wig which is pretty crooked by now. she lets him. then he falls apart, vio- lently grabbing his crotch.
georgia peach my ass -- georgia trash is what you are!
i know.
this is my man, mr. cobb, and he's all man.
mr. cobb!