Sugar: I have this thing about saxophone players. Especially tenor sax. Joe (Josephine): Really? Sugar: I don’t know what it is, but they just curdle me. All they have to do is play eight bars of ‘Come To Me, My Melancholy Baby’, and my spine turns to custard…I get goose-pimply all over, and I come to ‘em. Joe: That so? Sugar: Every time. Joe: You know, I play tenor sax. Sugar: But you’re a girl - thank goodness. That’s why I joined this band. Safety first. Anything to get away from those bums. You don’t know what they’re like. You fall for ‘em, you really love ‘em, you think this is gonna be the biggest thing since the Graf Zeppelin. The next thing you know, they’re borrowing money from you, then spending it on other dames and betting on horses. Then one morning you wake up, the guys gone, the saxophone’s gone. All that’s left behind is a pair of old socks, and a tube of toothpaste - all squeezed out. So, you pull yourself together, you go onto the next job, the next saxophone player…it’s the same thing all over again. See what I mean - not very bright. I can tell you one thing: it’s not going to happen to me again - ever. I’m tired of getting a fuzzy end of the lollipop. That’s why I’m glad we’re going to Florida. Joe: What’s in Florida? Sugar: Millionaires. Flocks of them. They all go south for the winter, like birds. Joe: Oh, you gonna catch yourself a rich bird? Sugar: Oh, I don’t care how rich he is…as long as he’s got a yacht, his own private railroad car, and his own toothpaste. Joe: I hope this time you wind up with the sweet end of the lollipop.