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A diabetic cowboy, his nutritionist, a real estate agent, and her psychotic former lover. |
EXT. LEONARD CHRISTIAN'S PORCH - DUSK CU LEONARD'S BOOTS LEONARD rocks in a rocking chair. We hear his knife scrape away at a stick, and see wood shavings collect on and around his boots. Small yellow text appears onto the bottom of the frame, accompanied by a click noise. ON-SCREEN TEXT Leonard Christian is a cowboy. The text clicks away. The scraping noise is drowned out slowly by labored breathing. LEONARD stops rocking and digs a heel of his boot into the porch, pushing himself back in his rocking chair. More text clicks on. ON-SCREEN TEXT (CONT'D) He has been diagnosed with Adult Onset (or Type II) Diabetes. Text clicks away. The scraping stops entirely, and LEONARD coughs heavily, wheezing. LEONARD's knife falls from the top of the frame and lodges itself into the porch, wiggling back and forth. LEONARD's breathing intensifies. More text. ON-SCREEN TEXT (CONT'D) Leonard lives alone. Clicks away. A stream of urine runs down LEONARD's pant leg, pooling onto the deck. LEONARD grunts as if trying to communicate, hacking in between. He scrapes his feet on the porch and his arm falls into the frame, still holding a partially whittled stick. CUT TO: INT. TRAN'S CAR - AFTERNOON TRAN PHAM (Early 30s, Vietnamese-American) turns her steering wheel and watches the road. She clicks her turning signal on. Small yellow text clicks onto the bottom of the frame. ON-SCREEN TEXT Tran Pham is a real estate agent. The text clicks away. TRAN pulls over and turns her head towards the sidewalk. Unlocking her door, she steps outside and stares forward. Thomas SEXTON (young, scruffy) is in the doorway of a house, grumbling as he tries to pull a mattress from the hallway through the door frame onto the front lawn. A few feet from the sidewalk is a large pile of furnishings; a mirror, a desk, several pairs of shoes, and an overturned coffee table. Thomas whips his head around suddenly and with animalistic intensity to look at TRAN. FREEZE FRAME: More text clicks on. ON-SCREEN TEXT (CONT'D) Thomas Sexton is an anti-social manic depressive. Text clicks away. More text appears by the mattress. ON-SCREEN TEXT (CONT'D) Tran's mattress. More text by the pile. ON-SCREEN TEXT (CONT'D) Tran's mirror. More text by the pile. ON-SCREEN TEXT (CONT'D) Tran's desk. More text by the pile. ON-SCREEN TEXT (CONT'D) Tran's shoes. More text by the pile. ON-SCREEN TEXT (CONT'D) Tran's coffee table. After a short pause, larger text at the top of the screen clicks on. ON-SCREEN TEXT (CONT'D) Tran's house. All of the on-screen text clicks away. UNFREEZE: Thomas unhands the mattress and charges TRAN's car. TRAN scrambles back inside, clicking on the power lock as Thomas pounds her window. THOMAS You took everything from me! You whore! You have nothing from now on, nothing! Staring forward, TRAN starts her car and pushes the gas, leaving Thomas behind on her lawn. As she drives, TRAN slowly tips her head to the left, eventually leaning it against the window. Grimacing, she shifts her weight until her cheek is pressed tight against the glass, her eyes completely fused shut, driving forward. TRAN sniffles. Text clicks on-screen. ON-SCREEN TEXT Tran has a difficult life. TRAN (softly, under tears) Fuck. Text clicks away. CUT TO BLACK: Large text clicks on, center frame. ON-SCREEN TEXT Cowboy Seeks Townhouse. Text clicks away. FADE IN: INT. MARY'S OFFICE - DAY MARY TAMBER (pretty, businesslike) is a young and successful psychiatrist. Scribbling on her note pad, she is currently in a session with THOMAS SEXTON. THOMAS is curled up on MARY's couch, facing her and smiling comfortably and content. MARY stops scribbling, and furrows her brow as she looks to Thomas, who continues to gaze. Text clicks on-screen. ON-SCREEN TEXT Monday. Text clicks away. MARY Anything on your mind, Thomas? THOMAS (as if surprised) Hmm? No. MARY Alright. How has this week gone for you? THOMAS This week? Well! Uh, as a matter of fact, really good. I've just been thinking about what you said- about taking control- and, and I got to say, work's better, I've been exercising, and I've felt... just, fantastic. MARY That's good, Thomas. THOMAS Yeah. MARY Because I know last week there had been sort of an incident for you. THOMAS Oh, that, that was... You know, and now I've talked to Fred, we've talked about it, and everything is- that's not even an issue anymore. It's a non-issue. It was stupid, and- and insignificant, and I came here feeling really hot about completely stupid things, and then- and then you probably got to hear the worst of it. Just blowing off steam, you know? Being a big jerk. (laughs) You know? MARY Mm-hmm. MARY continues scribbling. THOMAS Ah, but this week, yeah. It's just been great. MARY Alright. How about- (MARY stops scribbling) Have there been any more... voices? THOMAS What? (chuckles) No! No, no of course not! MARY resumes scribbling. THOMAS (CONT'D) Definitely not, no. What are you- there aren't any... Mary- Mary: I'm fine. MARY continues scribbling. THOMAS (CONT'D) Listen, I'm being completely serious, I really, honestly feel like- like- ah, I dunno. Sated. I just- everything is finally making sense again. MARY finishes scribbling. THOMAS (CONT'D) Honestly. MARY Well, Thomas, if you've making progress, then I can't tell you how happy I am for you. THOMAS Good! I'm glad, because I'm happy. MARY But I don't think you are... making progress. Beat. THOMAS (clears his throat) Well. Alright. That's... your opinion, I guess. Can I ask- MARY Last week I saw you become very, very distressed. THOMAS I know, no, I- see? I know that. And I'm really so embarrassed you had to see that, Mary, because it probably gave you a completely- you know- a bad- wrong impression of what's going on up there in the old- ah- headroom. (chuckles) But, honestly, it's as simple as you just caught me on an extremely tough day, the events of which have already become completely ancient history. MARY Thomas, I feel you're trying very hard to impress me. THOMAS I- Impress you? (laughs) What? Well, that's pretty ridiculous, Mary. I mean, at these rates, I hope you can do a little better than that. (continues laughing) Ah, I'm just teasing, though. MARY And I suspect that over the last couple of months you've begun to see our relationship in a very inappropriate way. Beat. THOMAS Our... Are you- No, no, it's not like that at all! MARY It's called transference, Thomas. It's extremely common. All that happened is you became very thankful for the help I've given you, and you just got a little bit confused; misinterpreted your feelings, that's all. And I'm not angry at you, Thomas, and nobody's judging you. Beat. MARY (CONT'D) But, until you start to look at yourself as my patient again, there's absolutely nothing I can say to you that'll be of any help. THOMAS Can I just say that I really think you're off base about all this? MARY So I'm going to ask that you just meditated on this over the next week, try and collect your thoughts, try to keep positive, and we'll have a nice, friendly discussion about all this on Tuesday. Alright? THOMAS (laughs nervously, frustrated) I- God. Beat. THOMAS (CONT'D) Yeah... Yeah. CUT TO: EXT. STREET - MORNING THOMAS crosses the street, walking towards a large office building. Text clicks on-screen. ON-SCREEN TEXT Tuesday. He veers to the side and stops in front of a STREET VENDOR. No audible dialogue as THOMAS pays for a newspaper and thumbs through it, continuing towards the building. CUT TO: INT. OFFICE - LATER THOMAS staples a document together, holding it in his left hand and tracing his right index finger along a wall of three ring binders, until he eventually lands on one marked "Uv - We." THOMAS pulls the binder out of the wall and opens it up to the center, carefully undoing the rings and sliding the newly stapled document inside. He exits the office. CUT TO: INT. CUBICLE HALLWAY - MOMENTS LATER THOMAS slaloms through a sea of cubicles, eventually arriving at his own. Picking up his coffee mug, he eyes a ring of liquid left behind on his desk. THOMAS sighs deeply, getting up. Looking around his personal effects, THOMAS snatches a coaster from a shelf and sets the mug down on it, wiping the coffee ring away with the sleeve of his jacket. Grabbing a handful of documents from his "IN" box, THOMAS again leaves his cubicle, walking through the hallway. Passing by the door of a large office with a placard reading "DALBY ORELLANO," he stops, lingering in front of the door for a moment, looking around before subtly leaning his ear against the wood. We hear muffled male voices. THOMAS furrows his brow, and eventually lets out a sharp, breathy scoff. CUT TO: INT. DINER - AFTERNOON THOMAS eats a Danish, thumbing through another newspaper. Text clicks on. ON-SCREEN TEXT Wednesday. Text clicks away. Looking up towards the door, he notices two MEN entering in laughter and camaraderie. Inhaling, he rises from his table, wiping his hands on his pants and darting off to the men's room. CUT TO: INT. MEN'S ROOM - MOMENTS LATER THOMAS has locked himself into a stall, which he stands in, leaning on his arm against the door. After a bit of heavy breathing, he begins to pull yards of toilet paper out of the roller, bunching it up around his hands. With much fervor, THOMAS rips the length of paper into individual squares, muttering under his breath. CUT TO: EXT. PARKING LOT - NIGHT THOMAS sits in his car, lights off, tapping his thumbs on his steering wheel. Text clicks on. ON-SCREEN TEXT Thursday. Text clicks away. After a bit, he cranks his window down, leaning his arm out the side of his car before shifting uncomfortably, pulling his arm back inside and rolling his window up again. The sound of a car engine snaps THOMAS into a rush, frantically positioning his rear view mirror which he stares into intently. THOMAS (voice crackling) Aha! After staring into the mirror for a few more seconds, he slams his hands down on the dashboard, rolling forward with his eyes shut and laughing with a mixture of relief and disbelief. CUT TO: INT. CUBICLE HALLWAY - AFTERNOON THOMAS is in his cubicle, clicking out of his computer and folding up a binder on his desk. Text clicks on. ON-SCREEN TEXT Friday. Text clicks away. With everything in its place, he exits his cubicle. CUT TO: INT. MEN'S ROOM - MOMENTS LATER THOMAS checks himself over in the mirror, matting his hair down and straightening his tie. With his finger, he smudges something off one of his front teeth. Looking himself up and down, he nods and gives his knuckles a crack. CUT TO: INT. CUBICLE HALLWAY - MOMENTS LATER In front of DALBY ORELLANO's office, THOMAS rolls back and forth on the balls of his feet for a moment, staring at the floor, before tapping on the door. DALBY (through the door) Just a second! THOMAS continues to rock. DALBY (CONT'D) Come in. THOMAS opens the door and enters. CUT TO: INT. DALBY'S OFFICE - MOMENTS LATER DALBY ORELLANO (heavyset, early 50s), one of the two men from the diner on Wednesday, sits at his desk. DALBY Ah, Thomas. What can I do you for? THOMAS laughs through his nose. THOMAS (eerily coy) Dalby... DALBY (arching his eyebrows) Hmm? THOMAS I know something. DALBY Uh-huh. THOMAS Oh yeah. Oh yeah, I do. DALBY looks to thomas, arched eyebrows, curious. THOMAS (CONT'D) (grinning) You... (chuckles, matter of fact) You've been kissing boys. DALBY (politely smiling) Excuse me? THOMAS (in a playful singsong) It's with Peter... From finance. DALBY (laughs) I've- Thomas, what are you talking about? THOMAS (through the ever-present grin) Inside of here on Tuesday you and him talked about a vacation together, and then you ate lunch with him on Wednesday, and then last night in the carpark, I saw you kissing and driving home in the same car. DALBY (sighs) Alright, Thomas. What is this, blackmail? THOMAS approaches DALBY's desk, leaning his hands on it. THOMAS (very slow and deliberately) You... (exhales slowly) You're not supposed to kiss boys, Dalby. DALBY Oh, for God's sake, Thomas, what do you want from me? THOMAS You're supposed to kiss girls, Dalby. DALBY stares at THOMAS, exasperated. DALBY Why are you even- Abruptly, THOMAS climbs over DALBY's desk and grabs him by the collar, pushing him down, as he shouts: THOMAS (through gritted teeth) You're supposed to kiss girls! DALBY's head hits the floor, and he closes his eyes, groaning. THOMAS shakes DALBY by his shoulders. THOMAS (CONT'D) Look at me! Look at me, Dalby! Grimacing, DALBY opens his eyes. THOMAS (CONT'D) (grabbing DALBY's hair) You kiss the girls! With his free hand, THOMAS punches DALBY twice in the jaw. THOMAS (CONT'D) (still clutching DALBY's hair) You kiss the girls... THOMAS punches DALBY repeatedly in the gut. THOMAS (CONT'D) And you- (another fist to the gut) *hit* the boys! THOMAS flattens his hand over DALBY's mouth, muffling his screams. THOMAS (CONT'D) Dalby! Dalby! You kiss the girls and you hit the boys! THOMAS punches DALBY in the throat. CUT TO: INT. SMALLER OFFICE - LATER THOMAS sits, quietly gazing at his shoes, on a chair in front of a desk, two large SECURITY GUARDS standing at the door behind him. A MANAGER sits across from him. MANAGER Now, new company policy, so Faber and Faber will not be pursuing any charges against you, Thomas. Obviously, ah, Mr. Orellano still- you know- can. Yeah, and I assume he almost certainly will- ah- eh- you know. We- (trails off) Thomas. If you- we can help you get into some kind of therapy. I don't know if that's anything that would- THOMAS mumbles gently, head turned down. MANAGER (CONT'D) What's that, Thomas? THOMAS turns his head up to look at the MANAGER, eyes watery and smiling. THOMAS (nodding and content) I'm already in therapy. THOMAS bursts into loud, staccato laughter. THOMAS (CONT'D) I'm already in therapy! THOMAS reaches his arms up and begins to stand. The SECURITY GUARDS uncross their arms and start to slowly approach THOMAS. THOMAS (CONT'D) (voice breaking, continuing to laugh) I'm already in therapy! I'm already in it! CUT TO: INT. THOMAS' APARTMENT - AFTERNOON THOMAS stares at the television, still in Friday's work clothing. ON-SCREEN TEXT Saturday. CUT TO: INT. THOMAS' APARTMENT - AFTERNOON THOMAS sits in an identical pose, television blaring, whiskers starting to sprout on his cheeks, hair matted and messy. ON-SCREEN TEXT Sunday. CUT TO: INT. MARY'S OFFICE - DAY THOMAS lays on MARY's couch, curled up and staring at her with cloudy, affectionate eyes and a gentle smile. MARY taps her pen on her note pad, frowning slightly at THOMAS. MARY So, Thomas, how was your week? THOMAS (slow and breathy) Fantastic. MARY Mhm. And have you given any thought to what- THOMAS (all smiles) Yes, and I know now that I'm in love with you, so I plan to terminate immediately so we can start spending the rest of our lives together. Beat. MARY (scribbling on her pad) Mhm. CUT TO: EXT. LEONARD CHRISTIAN'S PORCH - AFTERNOON LEONARD CHRISTIAN (early 40s, vest, chaps and boots) is keeled over on his porch. He coughs, letting out a small cloud of dust. LEONARD (V.O.) Dad, the problem I've had all my life is that I just can't trust doctors. HARLAN (V.O.) Ginny Perriera's son was a doctor. Good man. Honest man. LEONARD opens his eyes, straight into the overbearing sun. Gagging slightly, he closes them again and rolls onto his side, reopening them in the shade. LEONARD (V.O.) I just find that trying to keep me alive and trying to take my money to be sorta' like... conflicting interests. LEONARD looks down to his hand, the side of which is caked with dry blood. His eyes dart to the knife in his deck, which is likewise, smeared with dry blood. LEONARD (CONT'D) (hoarsely) Hell. LEONARD meekly pushes himself up onto his feet, clutching his wounded hand with the other, and stumbling inside. CUT TO: INT. LEONARD'S HOUSE - MOMENTS LATER LEONARD teeters slowly towards his sink as if drunk. HARLAN (V.O.) Well, if you don't like 'em, then don't see 'em, I guess. LEONARD (V.O.) Yeah, Dad. I know. LEONARD turns the tap on and leans his head underneath the sink, sucking water down his throat before lifting his head up to the mirror, his face covered in dirt and still dripping with water. LEONARD (CONT'D) Shoot. CUT TO BLACK. LEONARD (V.O.) (CONT'D) But I got my condition, right? HARLAN (V.O.) Oh, yeah, right. There is that. So that's a problem, I guess? LEONARD grabs a towel and begins to mat the dirt and sweat off of his face. LEONARD (V.O.) Well, what I done is, a few years back I found myself a real fine nutritionist. CUT TO: EXT. BAR - NIGHT A slightly younger LEONARD is sitting on some railing outside of a city bar, tipping back a bottle of beer. His friend, GIL (tubby, sprightly) is standing behind LEONARD's right, leaned over the railing with a bottle hanging in his hand. GIL Damn! (chuckles, drunkenly) Damn, Leonard, how d'you drink like that? LEONARD (spits) What are you on about? GIL You put 'em down like a real badass, you know that? LEONARD (laughs) Gil, keep quiet. GIL Nah, Leonard! I mean it! I think it's the eyes. LEONARD Oh, yeah. The eyes, huh? GIL Yep. Gotta be the eyes. LEONARD Well, Gil, I gotta hand it to you: You sure know how to sweet talk 'em. GIL (laughs) Fuck you, Leonard. LEONARD Your place or mine? GIL (laughing) Fuck you, fuck you. Another round? LEONARD tilts his bottle into the light, eyeing it and sighing. LEONARD (belches) Yeah, sounds good. GIL (coughs, turning around) But seriously, some of these days you gotta teach me how to drink like that. GIL wanders back inside, as LEONARD pulls a cigarette from his shirt pocket and pops it in his mouth, digging through his pants for a moment before producing a lighter. He flicks the flint and holds the flame to his cigarette. EDMUND (O.S.) For goodness sake, son- You're pitching a no-hitter tonight. PAN TO REVEAL: EDMUND COLLARD (late fifties, haggard but sharply dressed) is crouched on the ground ten feet to the left of LEONARD. LEONARD (dragging off of his cigarette) Excuse me? EDMUND I was in the "U" Diner earlier tonight, and I saw you do away with a cut of beef bigger than my head. Then, you gone through eight bottles in an hour and a half. And I bet that pack's only got, what, two sticks left? LEONARD chuckles deeply. LEONARD What's it to you? EDMUND Well, you're sprinting for an early grave, I take it? LEONARD (eyeing him over, confused) Mind your business. EDMUND Fine, fine. 'Course I'm just trying to help. (Looks away momentarily, before) But you're really killing yourself, you know that? LEONARD What's your name, old man? EDMUND It's- ah- it's Collard. Edmund Collard. LEONARD You a doctor or something? EDMUND Uh-huh. That's right. Text clicks on-screen. ON-SCREEN TEXT Edmund Collard is not a doctor. LEONARD Well, (Leonard drops his cigarette, stamping it out) Edmund Collard, you went and sermonized the wrong son of a bitch on the worst possible night. LEONARD jumps to his feet, throwing his bottle into the street, which shatters off screen. EDMUND sighs, standing up. The two men, walk up to each other, chests out. LEONARD has EDMUND by a few inches. EDMUND Alright, cowboy- this your game? LEONARD Oh yeah, doctor. This is my game. CUT TO: EXT. STREET - MOMENTS LATER LEONARD and EDMUND wrestle into the street, trading punches. LEONARD whips around EDMUNDS back, holding him into a headlock. LEONARD Come on, you pieceashit! Let's hear s'more! How long would you say I got, huh? Ten years? Five? Huh? Huh?! EDMUND gags. LEONARD (CONT'D) But, shit, I dunno- Maybe you can get me on a regimen! Diet, exercise, Technicolor cocktail of pharmaceuticals, huh? EDMUND elbows LEONARD in the gut, sending him back, doubled over. EDMUND spins and sends out a fist, which catches LEONARD in the head, sending him to the ground. Standing over him, EDMUND kicks LEONARD in the gut. LEONARD moans. EDMUND (much slower, calmer than LEONARD) Mhm. Well, you've got a real sharp mouth on you, don't you, pretty boy? EDMUND kicks LEONARD again. EDMUND (CONT'D) Oh, but that's right- This is your game, isn't it? You're the star, yeah? You call the shots, huh? EDMUND kicks LEONARD, who hacks. EDMUND (CONT'D) But guess what; I can keep this up all night, cowboy. EDMUND kicks LEONARD. EDMUND (CONT'D) Or are- (grunts) - you done playing? EDMUND kicks LEONARD. EDMUND (CONT'D) (suddenly in a shout) Well, come on, boy! I ain't fixing to just quit on my own accord, so let's hear it! (spelling it out) Have you had enough? LEONARD moans. EDMUND (CONT'D) Huh? LEONARD (meekly, under his breath) Uncle... EDMUND What's that? LEONARD (shouting) Uncle! EDMUND (laughs, leaning into a stretch) Alright. Alright. LEONARD rolls onto his back, clutching his gut and breathing heavily. EDMUND (CONT'D) And what was that line? The wrong son of a bitch on the worst possible night? (laughs) That was good. LEONARD rests for a moment, before lunging out at EDMUNDS leg and sinking his teeth into his ankle. EDMUND screams. CUT TO: INT. BAR - LATER EDMUND and LEONARD sit across from one another at a table, EDMUND holding a glass of beer up against his eye, his busted lip sticking out underneath, and LEONARD leaning back in his chair with a blood soaked napkin covering his face. The jukebox blares. After some time: LEONARD They don't play good music in this bar. EDMUND Well... I wouldn't say they play good music in any bar. BOTH take a swig from their glasses. From the motion, LEONARD stifles a groan. LEONARD Boy, doctor. You know how to throw a punch. EDMUND (weakly chuckles) Yeah. Thanks, uh- LEONARD My name's Leonard Christian. EDMUND Leonard Christian? Well, that's a good name. LEONARD Came from my granddad. EDMUND Mine, too. Though I can't say I done well with Edmund. LEONARD Yeah, Edmund, uh- (clears his throat) You said you was a doctor? EDMUND I did, but- uh- I lied. Well, no- I mean, I'm like a doctor, just except it's- LEONARD What, are you a nurse or something? EDMUND No! No, no. I'm, uh... I'm a nutritionist. After a pause, LEONARD begins to laugh uncontrollably, threatening to fall over in his chair. EDMUND (CONT'D) That's right, that's right, whoop it up, cowboy. LEONARD peels the napkin off of his face, leaning forward with two puffy eyes and a crooked nose, laughing. LEONARD (voice crackling) I'm sorry, I'm sorry. (sighs, laughter trailing) No- (one last chuckle) - that's not bad. EDMUND Gee, thanks. LEONARD Honestly, Edmund, it's better that you're a nutritionist. You know? 'Cause I hate doctors. EDMUND Alright, yeah, yeah. LEONARD Well, I do. (shifts his weight) But, listen- I, uh... I had to get a few tests done about a month and a half ago, and they- I guess- found some stuff that's- you know- really got me all worked up. EDMUND Yeah? LEONARD Yeah. And, look I was just gonna ignore it, but if it's not too big a deal, you think I could make, like, a- an, uh- EDMUND An appointment? LEONARD Yeah, that's right, an appointment to come in sometime and- well, I dunno- talk it over or something? EDMUND stares at LEONARD for a moment before himself succumbing to laughter. LEONARD (CONT'D) What? No, come on, what? EDMUND (hysterical, unable to communicate) We - you just - ah! LEONARD Alright, alright, alright- come on. EDMUND (subsides) Oh, man. No, I- hoo. LEONARD Okay. Okay. EDMUND Well, of course I will, Leonard! LEONARD Yeah? EDMUND Yeah, sure! LEONARD Well- okay! Damn, thanks Edmund! LEONARD raises his glass, which EDMUND matches in cheers. CUT TO BLACK. HARLAN (V.O.) That's good, son. See? You figure these things out. I'm glad for you. LEONARD (V.O.) Yeah, well. Thing is, though, now I got me, like, a new problem. CUT TO: INT. LEONARD'S LIVING ROOM - AFTERNOON Back in the present, a slightly cleaned up but still wrecked looking LEONARD wedges his phone in between his ear and shoulder, dialing a number from a piece of paper. CUT TO: INT. EDMUND'S HOUSE - SAME TIME EDMUND's phone rings three times. EDMUND (O.S.) Yeah. Yeah, yeah. I hear you. EDMUND, dressed for golf, enters to pick up his receiver. EDMUND (CONT'D) (slightly out of breath) Hh- Edmund Collard speaking. CUT TO: INT. LEONARD'S LIVING ROOM - SAME TIME LEONARD Hi, Edmund. EDMUND (on the other end) Leonard? God! Been too long. LEONARD I know, I know, yeah, real busy. EDMUND (on the other end) How you keeping, son? LEONARD Well, Edmund, been better. I- ah- I think I experienced today something akin to... Well, I guess, a diabetic coma. CUT TO: INT. EDMUND'S HOUSE - SAME TIME EDMUND holds the phone, standing silently, before sitting down in a chair and facing the wall. EDMUND (sighs, rubbing his head) Leonard... Ah, jeez. Come on, man. I mean, what do you want me to do for you? LEONARD (on the other end) I dunno, anything? EDMUND Well, I sure as hell ain't making a two thousand mile house call, if that's what you're getting at. LEONARD (on the other end) No, I don't mean like that- EDMUND Shit, Leonard... You know you've got to do something. I mean, I'm not getting into specifics over the phone, but this sounds like it's gonna get pretty serious and real quick, too. LEONARD (on the other end) Yeah. I know. EDMUND Look, it's twenty minutes to Galveston, and I can assure you, they got some real good doctors there. LEONARD yells unintelligibly over the other end. EDMUND (CONT'D) (yelling back) Wait a minute, wait a minute- Stop acting like a child and take some fucking responsibility for your situation! LEONARD (on the other end) I know. I know. EDMUND (calmed down) Damn it, Leonard, you know I understand how you feel, but if you don't get on this *now*, you're gonna die. CUT TO: INT. LEONARD'S LIVING ROOM - SAME TIME LEONARD sighs. LEONARD Alright, but I can't do it, Edmund. I just can't do it. Beat. LEONARD (CONT'D) Boy, I sure wish you hadn't have moved. EDMUND (on the other end) That's not fair, Leonard. LEONARD Nah, I mean- I know you got your practice down there now and you're doin' real well and I'm real happy for you and everything. I just- (exhales) Hoo, the way things work out sometimes, you know? CUT TO: INT. EDMUND'S HOUSE - SAME TIME EDMUND Yeah, I know, Leonard. I know. Beat. EDMUND (CONT'D) Look, don't do anything stupid like upping your dose a bunch. Eat lots of grain, drink as much water as you can hold, and sleep next to the toilet. (reaching into a drawer) Now, I know you'll hate this, but I'm gonna give you an address, and first thing tomorrow morning, you've got to give it a try. LEONARD sighs over the other end. EDMUND (CONT'D) At least for me, right cowboy? CUT TO BLACK. HARLAN (V.O.) Yeah, son. That is a problem. LEONARD (V.O.) Well... Yeah. INT. WAITING ROOM - NEXT MORNING A blonde RECEPTIONIST speaks on the telephone with a headset, typing at her computer throughout. LEONARD sits in a chair across the room, visibly impatient. RECEPTIONIST No, Thursday isn't going to work. Not at any time before three. After five? I thought you said- oh, alright. Actually, I think there might be a... Hang on a minute... No, not after five, either. There's still an opening for Wednesday at four if you're- What's that? No. Okay. Oh, well, we're closed on the weekends. Yes, that includes Saturday. LEONARD stands and leans against the wall, irritated. RECEPTIONIST (CONT'D) You mean the following Tuesday? Actually... Well, I'll have to check, hang on. Alright, I see that we can get you in at ten o'clock. Ten. AM, yes. Oh, that's alright. No, of course not. The next- Actually, I'm sorry, Wednesday is basically booked. If you want to come in the following Thursday, not the twenty first but the twenty-eighth- LEONARD pulls a cigarette out of a pack in his pocket and begins to light it. RECEPTIONIST (CONT'D) Just a moment. Sir? (holds out her hand to LEONARD) Sir. LEONARD pauses to look at the RECEPTIONIST. RECEPTIONIST (CONT'D) You can't- There's no smoking in here. LEONARD eventually reacts by plucking the cigarette from his mouth and putting it back in the breast pocket of his vest. RECEPTIONIST (CONT'D) Sorry about that. But the Thursday after, the twenty eighth, we would have... let me check... four hours starting at noon, and two hours- CUT TO: EXT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE - LATER LEONARD exits the building and sidles over to a pay phone, which he pumps a handful of quarters into, dialing. LEONARD (after a moment, shouting over the traffic and wind) Okay, I couldn't do it! What? It's Leonard! Yeah, I know- you're right! And I'm sorry! But anyway, I'm really really scared about all of this, so I'm thinking I'm just gonna go ahead and load up all my junk on a train and move down to Cimarron! You know, so's that I can keep on seeing you from there! Beat. LEONARD (CONT'D) (laughs) Yeah, I am serious! Uh-huh, that's right! I'll, uh... Well, I'll drop by- I dunno- Tuesday, I guess! LEONARD laughs. LEONARD (CONT'D) Yeah. Okay, Edmund! Ah- you have yourself a good day! CUT TO BLACK. LEONARD (V.O.) (CONT'D) So don't be mad or nothing, Dad, but it's looking like that's how it's gonna have to be. CUT TO: EXT. LEONARD'S BACKYARD - NIGHT LEONARD sits in front of a large, round gravestone, legs outstretched. HARLAN CHRISTIAN (built like LEONARD, grey, dusty) sits on top of the gravestone, hunched over. HARLAN Nah, Leonard. I ain't mad. LEONARD nods. LEONARD (exhales) Hoo, the way things turn out sometimes, you know? HARLAN Yeah, I know, son. (clapping his hands together) So, what're you gonna do with the house? LEONARD Well, I ain't sure. I hadn't even thought about it. I mean, what do you think, Dad? Should I sell it? HARLAN (shocked) Sell it? Leonard, what the hell's wrong with you? LEONARD Well, I don't know, Dad, you asked! HARLAN What, you need money or something? LEONARD No, no! Come on, I'm fine. I won't sell it, Jesus. I'm sorry. HARLAN (sighs) Damn it, Leonard- I just meant, well, have a talk with Larry Masters or somebody and have 'em drop in from time to time. Sell it- Damn place is gonna fall over one of these days! LEONARD Fine, Dad. Why didn't you just say that in the first place? The CHRISTIANS sigh in synchronicity. HARLAN Well. City life, huh? LEONARD City life? Dad, you ever been to Cimarron? HARLAN I know, I know. But, still, it's gonna be different than out here, you know? LEONARD Well, I know. I'll be alright. HARLAN Oh yeah, I'm sure you will. HARLAN chews his lip for a moment. HARLAN (CONT'D) But then I reckon that means nobody's gonna come out here and talk to me no more, huh? LEONARD (scratching his head) Ah, come on, Dad. You're dead. HARLAN Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am. The CHRISTIANS sit in a moment of quiet reflection. HARLAN (CONT'D) Well, I suppose you got some more packing to do. LEONARD (getting up) Yeah. Suppose I do. HARLAN Then I don't wanna keep you none. LEONARD I'll talk to Larry about the house like you said. HARLAN Appreciate it. And- ah, I appreciate you coming out here and talking to me about this. LEONARD pats his father on the shoulder and starts to walk towards the house. HARLAN (CONT'D) Don't be a stranger, son. (calling after him) Oh, and see if you don't have any luck finding yourself a wife down in Cimarron! I'd sure like to meet myself a New Mexican one of these days! LEONARDM (O.S.) (laughing) Will do, Dad. HARLAN chuckles for a bit, before slapping his thighs and hunching forward, looking from side to side as if waiting for something. FADE TO: INT. VICTORIAN KITCHEN - MORNING TRAN PHAM's hand reaches high up onto a shelf, wiping off a thick coat of dust with a white rag. CUT TO: INT. VICTORIAN BATHROOM - MOMENTS LATER TRAN PHAM's hand clutches a bottle of industrial strength cleaner in one hand and a sponge in the other, tackling a rusty stain in a sink. CUT TO: INT. VICTORIAN LIVING ROOM - MOMENTS LATER TRAN PHAM's hand plugs a cord into a wall socket, immediately blowing the power and switching out the lights. TRAN sighs. CUT TO: EXT. SIDE OF VICTORIAN HOUSE - MOMENTS LATER TRAN PHAM's hand opens up a circuit box, running up and down an array of switches before hesitating over and hitting one, sending sparks all over. TRAN shrieks. CUT TO: EXT. VICTORIAN BACKYARD - MOMENTS LATER TRAN PHAM stands a swimming pool with a large, telescoping net, fishing out leaves and clutter. VICTORIAN HOUSE (V.O.) (gentle, male voice) You're awfully quiet today. TRAN Hmm. VICTORIAN HOUSE (V.O.) Is something wrong, Tran? TRAN No. I just don't have anything to say. VICTORIAN HOUSE (V.O.) Then why not hum? You normally hum. TRAN continues to clean the pool. VICTORIAN HOUSE (V.O.) (CONT'D) Are there people coming to see me today, Tran? TRAN (sighs) Uh- yes. There are. VICTORIAN HOUSE (V.O.) What kind of people? TRAN walks around to the other side of the pool, getting on her knees and reaching out to fish out a leaf that's wandered dead into the center. VICTORIAN HOUSE (V.O.) (CONT'D) When are they arriving? TRAN continues to reach. VICTORIAN HOUSE (V.O.) (CONT'D) I'm sorry about my pool being such a mess. Of course, do you think the people are going to mind that one little leaf? TRAN grunts, leaning further over the water, before slipping and soaking the front of her shirt in the pool. TRAN Shit! TRAN throws the net into the pool and sits back on her hands, irritated. VICTORIAN HOUSE (V.O.) Are you mad at me, Tran? TRAN No, I'm not mad, but I'm really, really busy right now and I really need to concentrate, so just shut up for a few minutes, okay? After a moment, TRAN gets up and tries wiping her shirt off before stepping to the pool and reaching out to grab the net and try again on the leaf. VICTORIAN HOUSE (V.O.) You're such a bitch today. CUT TO: INT. VICTORIAN HALLWAY - LATER TRAN escorts a YOUNG COUPLE (yuppies, attractive) through the VICTORIAN HOUSE. TRAN Okay, the bathroom is a little bit on the cozy side- GIRLFRIEND Uh-oh... TRAN - But, it's got something that I absolutely love. TRAN opens the door to the bathroom, the COUPLE entering. BOYFRIEND Oh, wow. GIRLFRIEND (gasps) Hers and his sinks! Oh, that is too much! TRAN I know! Don't you love it? CUT TO: INT. VICTORIAN LIVING ROOM - LATER The COUPLE sits on the sofa, across from TRAN in her chair. GIRLFRIEND Now, there are some issues. The street's a little bit busy- BOYFRIEND And the location. GIRLFRIEND Stan's of course worried about getting to work. But- actually, I don't honestly think that's gonna be too much of a problem. TRAN No, it shouldn't be. I mean, Stan, coming from the west end of town, you have the Almendarez bridge traffic- BOYFRIEND Yeah. TRAN - so even though this is maybe a couple more miles out- I mean, I've got a lot of clients just like you, and you will not- I guarantee you- will not even notice the difference. BOYFRIEND Yeah, I've been told that. But, I mean, you have to make sure your bases are covered. GIRLFRIEND Also, the color is an issue for me. TRAN Oh, yeah? GIRLFRIEND Yeah. Actually, I think we'd probably have to paint everything. BOYFRIEND Uh-huh, I was gonna say- GIRLFRIEND Maybe something sunnier? Oh, and I really, really don't like the hardwood floor in the bedroom- BOYFRIEND Hmm. GIRLFRIEND What? BOYFRIEND No, it's nothing. I just- GIRLFRIEND Go ahead, speak your mind. BOYFRIEND Well, honestly? You know, I didn't mind that. GIRLFRIEND No? BOYFRIEND No, not really. GIRLFRIEND Honey? Ick, ick, ick. BOYFRIEND (laughs) Of course, I'm not married to it. TRAN (laughs) Oh, and by the way, all of this is fine. Standard changes, easy changes. No problem whatsoever as far as any of this is concerned. GIRLFRIEND And, again, with the color. Honestly, I can't even think of what system would work with those walls. You know, I mean as far as carpeting and trim and everything. TRAN Mm-hm. GIRLFRIEND So it's a lot of work. TRAN Mm-hm. GIRLFRIEND But we love the garden- VICTORIAN HOUSE (V.O.) (drowning them out) I don't like these people. TRAN blinks awkwardly as if slightly thrown. BOYFRIEND And the pool. GIRLFRIEND Oh, the pool. And, we love- VICTORIAN HOUSE (V.O.) (drowning them out) I don't want to be painted. Not by them. Get them out of me. BOYFRIEND (laughs) I know, definitely. TRAN (chuckles) Ah, I- I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. The GIRLFRIEND begins to speak, but: VICTORIAN HOUSE (V.O.) Tran, listen to me: These people aren't right. You have to get them out of here, and you have to do it now. GIRLFRIEND - if that makes any sense. TRAN Mm-hm. Mm-hm. GIRLFRIEND So, we're definitely going to keep this one in mind, definitely. But for the next place, if we could try for something- VICTORIAN HOUSE (V.O.) Tran, please- TRAN (screaming) Fuck, stop it! The COUPLE stares at TRAN. GIRLFRIEND I'm sorry? CUT TO: EXT. VICTORIAN BACKYARD - LATER Looking in through the sliding glass door as TRAN walks up, trying to pull it open to no avail. After a few frustrated tugs, she kicks the glass which cracks in a large web pattern towards the bottom. VICTORIAN HOUSE How unnecessary. After fidgeting for a moment, TRAN undoes the lock, and slides the door open, storming outside. VICTORIAN HOUSE (CONT'D) Why are you doing this? TRAN steps in front of the pool and turns around, facing the house. VICTORIAN HOUSE (CONT'D) There will be more people, Tran. You know that. TRAN spreads her arms out like wings and falls backwards into the pool, completely submerged. VICTORIAN HOUSE (CONT'D) (after TRAN has stayed beneath for a while) You're like a child. CUT TO: SPLIT SCREEN: INT. TRAN'S HOUSE - LATER THAT EVENING SPLIT WITH: INT. TEN'S HOUSE - SAME TIME At camera left, TRAN dries her hair with a free hand, holding the receiver to her ear with the other, wandering towards her kitchen. TEN PHAM (ancient-looking, stern), TRAN's mother, is sitting on a chair at frame right, holding her receiver gracefully, as if it might be made of crystal. TRAN (SUBTITLE) (spoken in Vietnamese) That is just a ridiculous question. TEN (SUBTITLE) (spoken in Vietnamese) No it isn't. No, it's a good question. Everything you've been- TRAN (SUBTITLE) (spoken in Vietnamese) Whether or not I'm happy doesn't have anything to do with- TEN (SUBTITLE) (spoken in Vietnamese) Tran! Tran! TRAN (SUBTITLE) (spoken in Vietnamese) - Never mind the implication, which couldn't be any more obvious, but it doesn't have anything to do with anything! TRAN opens up her refrigerator. TEN (SUBTITLE) (spoken in Vietnamese) Yes it does. It does if you're unhappy. TRAN (SUBTITLE) (spoken in Vietnamese) Okay, then. Yes, I am happy. TEN (SUBTITLE) (spoken in Vietnamese) You can't be happy just to get me to leave you alone! TRAN (SUBTITLE) (spoken in Vietnamese) I can't- Is this whole thing a game for you or something? After sifting through her refrigerator, TRAN pulls a carrot out of the bottom crisper and takes a bite. TEN (SUBTITLE) (spoken in Vietnamese) Listen to me, Tran: You are unhappy, and I know why you're unhappy, and you know why, too, so I don't even have to say it. TRAN (SUBTITLE) (spoken in Vietnamese with her mouth full) Good. Then let's move on. TEN (SUBTITLE) (spoken in Vietnamese) You can't agree with me just to get me to leave you alone! TRAN spits the bite of carrot into the sink and throws the remainder down the garbage disposal. TRAN (to herself) No, no. I can't afford another pizza. TEN (SUBTITLE) (spoken in Vietnamese) What was that? TRAN (SUBTITLE) (spoken in Vietnamese) Nothing, what were we talking about? TEN (SUBTITLE) (spoken in Vietnamese) Don't curse me in English, because I know! TRAN (SUBTITLE) (spoken in Vietnamese) How about you stop being such an asshole and maybe I'll try and have a real conversation with you someday? TEN freezes as if struck by an arrow through the heart. TRAN (CONT'D) (to herself) Oh, stupid. Stupid, stupid... (SUBTITLE) (sighs, spoken in Vietnamese) Mom, I didn't mean it. TEN (SUBTITLE) (spoken in Vietnamese) All I can think is, if a girl speaks in such a way to her own mother, how does she hope to find a man to settle down with? TRAN shrieks TEN (SUBTITLE) (CONT'D) (spoken in Vietnamese) What about Thomas? Thomas was nice. TRAN (SUBTITLE) (spoken in Vietnamese) Stop calling my house! TRAN hangs up her phone. CUT TO: EXT. TRAIN STATION - AFTERNOON Looking deep-eyed on to the city before him, LEONARD steps off of a midday train with a bag on each arm. Flaring his nostrils, he takes in a deep breath of Cimarron air, before doubling over in a fit of hacking. In a bit of a panic, he yanks a zipper down on one of his packs, pulling out the first shirt he can get his hands on and pressing it over his mouth, coughing heartily into it and slowing his breath. LEONARD (in between sighs) Okay... Gotta get used to a... Tighter air. CUT TO BLACK. We hear a zipper close. CUT TO: INT. ART DECO ONE STORY - LATE NIGHT Extended quiet interior shots of a vibrantly colored art deco house, fully furnished in that late sixties take on ultra modern. In an explosion of sound and motion, the front door swings open, TRAN rushing in from the outside, bundled and determined looking. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) (bubbly but calm younger female voice) Oh, Tran! I had no idea you were coming! TRAN (rushing to the kitchen) Hi, yeah- sorry, so much to- such a... CUT TO: INT. ART DECO KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER TRAN pauses briefly in the kitchen, scanning the cupboards before jerking her head down to the floor, watching the linoleum for something. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) What are you here for? TRAN's eyes dart up level, pointing towards nothing in particular. TRAN (choosing her words carefully) Oh, I'm just here because of... the- ah, the trim. TRAN gets on her hands and knees, reaching into the corner behind the furnishings to feel at the floor-to wall trimming, as if to strip it away. TRAN (CONT'D) It's very thick rubber, it's extremely scuffed up, and it doesn't at all coordinate with the theme of the room. (grunting now) And I have no idea what kind of tools- ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) Tran, that can't be why you're here. TRAN fidgets for a few seconds more, before stopping entirely. TRAN No, yeah... Of course you're right, I mean, of course it's not. I was actually... (edging out of the kitchen) I was rushing over to do a little bit of emergency landscaping. CUT TO: EXT. ART DECO BACKYARD - MOMENTS LATER TRAN breezes into the backyard, where she begins to scoop up stepping stones. TRAN These stones are, like, really really old world, which is totally confusing the whole ultra, ah, contemporary sort of vib you have going here. I'm not a feng shui kind of girl or anything, you know that, but it's, like, I dunno! A total drag. Just misguided, stupid. Did I put these here? I did, didn't I? Stupid. Stupid. Obvious. Stupid. TRAN collects an armful of stones and dumps them by the entry way of the house, before returning to collect the remainder. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) Tran, come on. That isn't why you're here. TRAN freezes, back to the house. TRAN (softly, as if scolding herself) No. Ah- no. (instantly) It was the fucking blinds! TRAN fires off back inside. CUT TO: INT. ART DECO FAMILY ROOM - MOMENTS LATER TRAN dashes towards the windows and pulls a pair of scissors from her pocket, lining them up with a support string for a set of venetian blinds. TRAN These windows are so tiny, it's absolutely disgusting. No idea who did this or what they were thinking, (she snips a string, sending a set of blinds to the floor) But any sunlight I can possibly squeeze into this family room, that's twenty thousand right there. Easy. Just like that. If I can just get a little bit more... (snips another string, another blind falls) I'd even knock out a big chunk, right? A huge rectangle, dead in the middle. If I could just be sure- ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) Tran, it's not this. TRAN groans sickly, dropping her scissors. TRAN Why not? Why isn't it this? It could be this. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) No, Tran. It can't. TRAN (completely exasperated) Yes it can! ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) Tran, there's no way you came here about the blinds. TRAN Well, why not? ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) Because it's four-thirty in the morning on Tuesday. TRAN closes her eyes, breathing and standing. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) (CONT'D) What are you here for, Tran? TRAN falls on her ass and crosses her legs, head slumped over embarrassed. TRAN (softly) I'm here because I have to talk now or else I'm gonna die. CUT TO: INT. ART DECO KITCHEN - LATER TRAN runs her finger along the rim of a glass of deep Merlot, looking deeply perturbed. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) What do they say you do in the magazines? TRAN What? In the magazines? Turn to page 53 for special mail-in rebate, try this recipe at home, send a letter to the editor. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) No, the smart ones. I think they say you've got to identify the problem. TRAN Okay, right! No, that's good advice, but that's exactly what the problem is. I can't even *describe* the problem. Everything's a problem, so I know there's a problem, but I can't tell you where the problem ends and I start, or something. Maybe not even that, I don't know. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) Well, isn't part of the problem admitting that you have a problem? TRAN I think that's only if I'm a crack addict or something. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) And you're not? TRAN No, definitely not. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) Okay, so we're one step closer! TRAN buries her head on the table. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) (CONT'D) Just a joke. Look, I'm mostly just repeating things I heard on television and whatever. TRAN (into her arms, still sprawled on the table) It's okay. People do that, too. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) Is it one big problem or a lot of little problems? TRAN (after a pause) A lot of little. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) Well, maybe that really is the problem, then! Maybe you're so overwhelmed by the bunch of little problems that you don't understand the big picture or the big problem, and that's why you're confused! Too many little problems, right? TRAN lifts her head up, eyebrow cocked. TRAN In a very strange way, I think you might be onto something. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) Okay! So, let's try that! Just name a bunch little problems in your life, okay? TRAN (sighs heavy) No, it passed. You're definitely wrong again. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) Come on, it would be fun! TRAN What the fuck are you talking about? It wouldn't be fun at all. What, you mean, for you? ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) Yeah! And for you, it'll be cathartic. TRAN I just- (groans) Beat. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) Well? TRAN My mom is calling me way too much. Beat. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) Oh. TRAN See? That's stupid! That's not even a problem, and it must not be the problem, because I'm not an idiot and I wouldn't get all worked up about something like that. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) Relax, relax. Just roll with the punches, yeah? TRAN And, you know... I hate myself that I have to do this. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) Do...? TRAN Talk to fucking houses? I get sad so I talk to a house? ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) Well, I think that one's alright- TRAN What, am I just supposed to be poor forever until I'm dead? So I can never afford to go out and eat good food and do regular people things, and see a real therapist? A real human therapist, with a big leather couch and maybe even a moustache? ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) I may not have the best advice, but- TRAN Ugh, like that! Stop getting so defensive! You don't even exist, it's ridiculous! ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) Well. Where reasonable minds differ. TRAN And, on another note, you are a big, big fucking problem. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) Excuse me? TRAN I'm never going to sell you, ever. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) (gasps) And why's that?! TRAN Because you're absolutely atrocious. I spend hours at a time on you, chipping away, stripping and destroying and rebuilding, and every time I get a walk in, they just stare at me like, 'Oh, you must be joking.' (letting it sink in) You disgust everybody and you waste my time. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) I always just assumed you were sabotaging the viewings because you didn't want to lose me. TRAN frowns at her Merlot, irritated at first, but resorts to frustrated laughter, instead. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) (CONT'D) But I guess not. TRAN's laughter slowly, slowly trails off. TRAN And... and then Thomas. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) I remember this part, I'm almost sure. Almost sure you mentioned him before. TRAN I'm afraid of Thomas. I know he's getting worse and worse. He's definitely getting less predictable. I'm- you know, I'm not sure if he even knows what he's doing anymore. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) That he might hurt himself? TRAN What? No! Hurt me. Hurt me. Hurt himself- Thomas always- he's always hurting himself. Shit, if that bothered me I'd never leave this kitchen. ART DECO ONE STORY (V.O.) But you and he were together for some time? TRAN Some time, I- yeah. Not very long, no. I just- He was never ever my type, even before all of the... You know, Thomas has a very... TRAN trails off and stares at her glass. Lifting it, she pours the contents down her throat in a single gulp. With a small belch and a cough, she inhales deeply before continuing. TRAN (CONT'D) Thomas has a very effective way of presenting himself. CUT TO: INT. COUNTY COURTHOUSE - AFTERNOON THOMAS SEXTON stands at a window, talking to a courthouse receptionist. THOMAS You know, you call this a citizen service, but you people haven't actually covered your end. COURTHOUSE RECEPTIONIST Sir- THOMAS Yeah, I know, I know. Duty of the people and everything, but you've got to admit, (leaning in to whisper) It's a pretty shoddily run operation you've got here, isn't it? COURTHOUSE RECEPTIONIST (sighs) Sir... THOMAS (lowering his whisper) Well, the waiting? I mean, we don't eat, there's nothing to read. What, we just sit and wait? COURTHOUSE RECEPTIONIST We're very busy, here, sir THOMAS But don't get me wrong, here: I'm not trying to get down on you or call you out or anything. But, you know, I mean- I'd probably sit a lot easier if you'd just admit that you guys are being real terrific assholes from your side of the bargain. COURTHOUSE RECEPTIONIST Alright, Mr.- THOMAS Sexton. COURTHOUSE RECEPTIONIST Sexton. We of the Renderos County Court system- I, my co-workers, and all of my professional affiliations- are being real terrific assholes from our side of the bargain. THOMAS tightens his lips and nods. THOMAS Alright. (slaps the counter) Thank you. COURTHOUSE RECEPTIONIST Thank you, Mr. Sexton. THOMAS returns to his seat, arms folded contentedly. Next to him sits a bemused, onlooking TRAN PHAM, who glances back and forth between the COURTHOUSE RECEPTIONIST and THOMAS. TRAN That was very brassy. THOMAS Oh, the- uh- (chuckles) Yeah, thanks. TRAN I know a lot of people probably try to wiggle their way out of jury duty, but I think you might have actually found an exit just now. THOMAS Wait, you mean- Oh, I hope not! Ah, come on, I've been looking forward to this all week. TRAN laughs at first. TRAN You're serious? THOMAS Yeah, man- We're not getting some petty thief or something. Trial by jury. Come on, what if we get, like, a murder, or a rape, or something? No, I just did that because they shouldn't make us wait like this. You know? TRAN (nodding) You like murder and rape? THOMAS Well, I mean- everyone's got to admit, it's interesting. From a purely psychological standpoint. You know, as long as it's not happening to you, it's interesting. TRAN I guess so. Well, if I get picked and you don't, I'll happily trade. THOMAS I would say yes. I would. But I don't think I look very Chinese. They laugh lightly. THOMAS (CONT'D) Of course, now I feel like a jerk for saying that, because I'm *positive* you're not Chinese. TRAN Vietnamese. THOMAS Hey, what's your name? Can I ask? TRAN Yeah. It's Tran Pham. THOMAS Tram- TRAN Tran. THOMAS Tran Pham. TRAN Uh-huh. THOMAS Okay! Yeah, that's very, very pretty. TRAN I've never thought so. THOMAS How do you spell that? TRAN Me? I spell it in Vietnamese. THOMAS nods. TRAN (CONT'D) And that was a joke. THOMAS Of course! Yeah! (laughs) Sorry, a long day. TRAN Here, take my card. TRAN produces from her purse an attractive, orange business card, handing it to Thomas. TRAN'S CARD Tran Pham Agent Maxi Real Estate THOMAS Real Estate agent? TRAN Yeah. THOMAS If I said I needed one, I'd just be lying because you're pretty. TRAN Mm-hm. Well, I do alright, as is. THOMAS Oh, how rude- here, this is mine. THOMAS removes his battered wallet and hands her a plain white card. THOMAS' CARD Thomas Sexton Sexton and Holmes TRAN (intrigued) Oh! Sexton and Holmes? Like on television? THOMAS chuckles nervously. TRAN(CONT'D) Boy, Sexton of Sexton and Holmes. Insurance, right? (shakes her head) It's impressive. Thomas, how old are you? THOMAS Ah- Twenty-six. Twenty-six. TRAN A young entrepreneur. That's sort of the American thing, isn't it? THOMAS Well, I guess, but it's- (suddenly harsh) I hate talking about this stuff, Tran. Really. TRAN Oh. I'm sorry. THOMAS Why can't we take a clue from the British? See, over there, you can get away with pretty much anything in conversation- everything's fair game. But there are three topics that you cannot breach- *cannot*. TRAN Okay. THOMAS It's a well known fact. One of them's religion, one of them's politics, and the other is money. TRAN (after a pause) Hmm. THOMAS And I'm all for that. All for it. I'm not religious, I've never been, and if you are, I wouldn't care to know. And then, Politics are just a thing you bring up when you want to sound smart or piss off somebody at a dinner party, right? TRAN Well- THOMAS And who cares whether or not I have money? Or whether or not you have money? If I do or don't, whatever. Money is a two second conversation that doesn't ever need to be had. Yes or no: Do you have it? That's it. Beyond that, aren't you just blowing smoke out of your ass? TRAN It's a philosophy. Definitely a philosophy. THOMAS Anyway, lemme shut up. What's Vietnam like? TRAN Well, from what I hear, jungle, rain, swarming with gooks and child suicide bombers, right? THOMAS I... TRAN I was born in Philadelphia. THOMAS (laughs) Right, ah! TRAN But if I hear anything, I'll let you know. THOMAS laughs and nods his head, crossing his arms. The two sit comfortably, waiting for somebody's name to be called. CUT TO BLACK. A key turns in its latch. CUT TO: INT. HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT A BELLHOP opens the door and LEONARD enters, setting his two bags down on the bed. The BELLHOP follows. BELLHOP This is room 308, sir- Shower in here, with linens and toiletries provided. You get basic cable with the optional adult entertainment package. We have wireless internet, and if you need anything from the desk, please don't hesitate to call. LEONARD pulls open the curtain and looks into the street. LEONARD ...Okay. And the- and the shitter? BELLHOP (clears his throat) Facilities in that room, again. With the shower. LEONARD saunters over to the bathroom to look inside. LEONARD Ah, yeah. Alright. Those windows open? BELLHOP Uh, no. LEONARD Mhm. Why not? BELLHOP Well, with the safety risk and whatnot. LEONARD Huh. What, do people just fall out of windows around here? BELLHOP I can ask at the desk, if- LEONARD No, it's fine. They pause and face each other for a moment, the BELLHOP crossing his hands in front of his body. LEONARD (CONT'D) Ah, shit- sorry. (digging through his pocket) I guess I ain't even really been inside a hotel since I was up in Canada with my folks. And that was the seventies, I reckon. Dunno, though- seems like the rooms got even smaller since then. LEONARD finally hands the BELLHOP several torn, crumpled, sweaty bills, which the BELLHOP pockets. BELLHOP Yes, I'm sure you're right, Mr. Christian. Well, please enjoy your night. And again, don't hesitate to phone the desk for anything you may require. LEONARD falls back on his bed. LEONARD Yeah, alright. BELLHOP Good evening, sir. BELLHOP excuses himself from the room. LEONARD stares at the ceiling momentarily before getting up and walking to the television, turning it on and off several times. LEONARD turns to the window and moves towards it, pulling hooking his fingers around the curtains for a peak into the street. The sound of traffic builds. |
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