- EXT. HOTEL MEO - SPACE ORBIT - STARK SUNLIT
- SUPERIMPOSE:
- "300 DAYS LATER"
- Unpainted final construction, slow-rolling; F-23, Elevator-car attached, its unloaded freight at the buoy …
- EXT. F-23
- Son, Copilot, in their spacesuits, seal the canopy…
- And sequence-up for the deorbit trip…
COPILOT (VO)
- Twelve-minute unload is good time,- with both freight, and, passengers.
SON (VO)
- Let's go home;-- take tomorrow off: I'd like to do some small-fishing.
- F-23 VERNIERS backward-and-down with the Elevator-car…
- ROLLS to inverted and turns about…
- And THRUSTS LONG to get away for deorbit … far away…
- The Hotel recedes to miles ahead, slightly above…
- EXT. F-23, TOWING CABLE - ORBIT (SUCCESSIVE HOUR LAPSES)
- MONTAGE SEQUENCE: Leaving the emptiness, far, far behind…
- The CABLE YANKS long-taut: F-23 at its 1000-mi. lead--
- And begins descending… toward vertical far below …
- MONTAGE SEQUENCE: Closer and closer to Earth …
- CUT TO:
- INT. F-23 - 200 MI. ABOVE WEST FRANCE - LATE MORNING
- Hanging on its near-vertical cable descending the last 200 mi. presently 1000 mph slowing; they're enjoying the ride:
- FAINT ALARM: Radar Detecting-And-Ranging an incoming…
COPILOT
- (wags)
- 42 bottles of borsch on the wall-- 42 bottles of borsch; Take one down, pass it around: 41 bottles…
SON
- (interrupts, listening)
- Do you hear an alarum?- I think I'm hearing an alarum: It's very faint.
COPILOT
- (looks about panels)
- No:-- You can't hear sound in outer space, unless your helmet is On.
SON
- Well, Something sounds like alarum!
COPILOT
- Might be sound from the auxiliary power unit conducting through the seat or arm rest…
- Son cocks his helmet against a panel,--
- OMNI-RADAR-ALARM BLARES (FILTERED), shattering his peace:--
SON
- (looks out-about)
- It's the Omni-Radar!
COPILOT
- (sees on his panel)
- I have it on Navigation coming down behind twelve-o'clock, Huge! E-T-A: 20 hesits!- at three hundred miles!
- Son leans his stick: F-23 LEANS AND VERNIERS sideways;
SON
- (military tenor)
- No main stick yet!-- We're heading straight for trouble!
COPILOT
- (addendums)
- Or vice versus…!
SON
- Get me thrust!-- I need a course away from here!
COPILOT
- (equivalent tenor)
- Can't!- We're still hanging high on the elevator cable!
SON
- (flips button, panics)
- I'm firing a Sidewinder!
- (selects Target)
- SIDEWINDER GROWLS…
SON
- (triggers launch)
- Away!
- Sidewinder LAUNCHES, BARKING away, and around to rearward…
- TRANSITION: SWING OUT FOR PURE ENJOYMENT--
- EXT. F-23 CANOPY - SIDEWINDER ROCKETING-RECEDING REARWARD
- Exhaust blooms away … to dimmer in the far rear distance …
- They peer back for any view of whatever is far back there …
- Distant-rearward a HUGE RADIANT EXPLOSION in space,--
SON (VO)
- (to rear view)
- Aye, chee, wa-wa…!
COPILOT (VO)
- (checks monitors)
- Still has a footprint …
- (a beat, calmer)
- You speak Spanish on this occasion?
SON (VO)
- (half distracted)
- Yeah… Great-Great Gran'ma Duchess, -bless her soul,- taught me three Spanish-American phrases.
- INT. F-23 - (CONTIGUOUS)
- Both half-distracted, half-watching:
COPILOT
- What are the other two?
SON
- Acht du lieber!
COPILOT
- That's German.
SON
- Oh;-- Then she taught me some German too!
COPILOT
- And, What's the third?
SON
- (baseball term)
- Homered…!
- The Comet-Dust-Cloud SANDBLASTS down from behind…
COPILOT
- What language is that?!
SON
- I don't know:- I thought it was Spanish-American like the other two: He swang, and, Homered…!?
COPILOT
- (brightens)
- Maybe it's international-speak-- like baseball, or Esperanto!
- A SPACE SHUTTLE LOOMS from behind… 24 mi./5 sec.
SON
- (brightens to smile)
- Homered!?-- Esperanto…!?
- (over-enunciates)
- Homered…! Ho-merred…! Ho-mehred…!
- Shuttle silently ZIPS BY above, But a SLIGHT SNAP UP…
COPILOT
- What was that?!
- Golden lunch-capsule and unowned pen FLOAT weightless…
SON
- (scanning panels)
- I don't know…!
- (notices floaters)
- Uh-oh: We're weightless:- The cable has broken!
COPILOT
- (horrified)
- Oh, God,-- no: We're free-falling: We're going to crash into the atmosphere and burn-up in a flaming cloud of orange plasma vapors!
- A million-METEOR STORM PEPPERS the Earth-below… 30 sec.
SON
- Why should we do that…?
COPILOT
- (lone believer)
- Because that's what always happens in American movies…!
SON
- But we'll only hit five thousand miles per hour… That's the beauty of Professor's design: We don't go astronomic to get up and down in space: We ride his elevator!-- He will radio-up commands to reprogram the cable from the other canister;- He's got this all figured out….
COPILOT
- (amazed)
- Oh…!?
SON
- (continues)
- And we repair or replace the broken cable, next time we go up.
COPILOT
- Oh…
- They dive back to Earth …
- CUT TO:
- EXT. COMING DOWN FROM SPACE - F-23 - BLACK SKY TURNING BLUE
- CHERRY-NOSED reentering down the stratosphere 5000 mph…
SON (VO)
- Prepare for re-ignition.
- V.O. Copilot, a single hard COUGH!
- INT. F-23, CHERRY-RED NOSE
- Plasma-ORANGE CANOPY GLOW: Copilot, helmet off, is sucking a cigar, no smoke, end glowing bright; Son wide-eyed alert--
SON
- (slowly turns, and)
- When, did you-- You know there's No Smoking permitted in the birdcage!
COPILOT
- (mid glowing suck)
- Nngh?
- (puts-out cigar, squeaky)
- Sorry;-- This is my doomsday cigar: I thought this was the living end … And it doesn't smoke in outer space
- (NOSE-COUGHS A PUFF)
- … when I'm inhaling.
- NO MORE GLOW. Son triggers REIGNITION: ENGINES ROAR…
- And they ride down toward the highest cirrostratus clouds …
- CUT TO:
- EXT. CASTLE GOLF-GREEN LAWN - F-23 STOPPED ON RUNWAY - NOON
- Professor surpassed by Fire Brigade with extinguishers, run daintily across the Green, passing senior miniature-golfers and outrunning rolling golfballs … while Emergency Vehicles drive out the rectilinear roadway …
-A SENIOR GOLFER-
- (to fellow Golfers)
- Are we playing golf?-- or croquet…!
- Copilot climbs out down … and paces 30 m of black 1cm braid cabling trailing the still-attached Aeroglider atop …
- All arriving, quick-greet Son climbing down, Then inspect …
PROFESSOR
- (last, breathless)
- Thank God,- you boys landed, alive.
COPILOT
- (returns, pacing)
- Yes, sir.
- Son inspects wings edge-on; Professor, the tail assembly…
- Fingers a speck of white paint in the rear nozzle--
PROFESSOR
- (discovers loud)
- We have to delay your next launch a few days!
SON
- (comes back)
- Why? What did you find?
- (RUMP-PATS his F-23)
- A HORSELIKE WHINNY-- and he pauses puzzled to look fore:
- Somebody up front: a SECOND BLOW, and hankies his nose.
PROFESSOR
- (exhibits fingered speck)
- Looks like you were hit with a paint chip,- probably from the missile explosion.
SON
- (hands-over pen, subdued)
- Your pen?
PROFESSOR
- (takes pen, equally)
- Probably.
COPILOT
- (comes up loud over)
- 'Wow'! Hit up the arse with a paint chit, at seventeen-thousand miles per hour!- What color is it to be?!
- All but Pilots, look furtively about…
COPILOT
- (humbles)
- Excuse me: I wasn't promoting myself.
PROFESSOR
- (takes him aside)
- Your spacecraft was traveling one-thousand miles per hour when it was struck from behind:- The cometary velocity difference was twenty-four,-thousand miles per hour.
COPILOT
- Oh,-- sorry: I promise to watch my language better next time.
- Professor nods a forgiving Yes.
- DISSOLVE TO:
- INT. US SENATOR'S OFFICE, WASHINGTON DC - EARLY MORNING
- His SECRETARY-daughter, staid attire and glasses, is busy.
- Open door KNOCKS… Duchess pokes her head in, on business:
SECRETARY
- Come in… Good morning.
DUCHESS
- (enters, cute distraught)
- Oh my, oh my: I must speak at the Senator for the United States in America, this once! Oh, dear, me-- oh my,- oh my…
SECRETARY
- (smiles; clips)
- He's one of a hundred, ma'am: What State do you live in?
DUCHESS
- (shocked, self-examines)
- Oh: Do I look like I am living in a state?!-- I suppose I do at that…
SECRETARY
- (clips curtly)
- Of the United, States-- ma'am.
DUCHESS
- (touch-testing self)
- Mostly, yes.
SENATOR
- (enters at back)
- Hollow…?
DUCHESS
- (trots to him)
- Oh!-- It is so good of you for seeing me, good kind-mister honorable Senator Rebush, sir…
SENATOR
- (smiley introduces)
- The Duchess, of Gran Fenwijk.
- Secretary smiles, nods,- and resumes work.
DUCHESS
- (relaxes, smiles)
- I must speak, and you --ahem; privately-- if you may please.
SENATOR
- (ushers to back office)
- Do, come in: It is a pleasure to have a royal visitor from so-favored a foreign nation….
DUCHESS
- I know: You don't have them in your country, -a pity-… But even in my country they are scarce:-- Why, my son hardly abides in the palace these days: He's always flying,-off in his U.S.A.-made, F-23:- which he just adores: It is so fast!…
- He smiles obliquely; She peers in and about as they enter--
- INT. BACK OFFICE - (CONTINUOUS)
- Wading in hysterically effusive Fenwijkian musical-sitting, hand-waving, semi-apological suspicious clue-wording, they politely visit:
SENATOR
- (smiles, offering a seat)
- How may I entertain you, today, ma-dam Duchess?
DUCHESS
- (nods, checks, sits)
- Oh, It is in the urgency with which I must speak, and you, about your… international, space-station!
- Finds the wall-picture of the ISS Space Station and stares;
SENATOR
- (goes and sits)
- Oh?- And what would Gran Fenwijk have to do with our International Space Station on a beautiful day?!
DUCHESS
- (stands, points at its picture)
- Yes: That one!
SENATOR
- (stands)
- Would you and your court desire to arrange a visiting-inspection tour?
DUCHESS
- (re-sits: still staring)
- Oh, goodness, no, Senator: It is your altitude, I'm afraid, that must be made adjusted!
SENATOR
- (re-sits)
- My altitude….
DUCHESS
- It is too much in the way for Space Shuttlers, way out there, you know.
SENATOR
- (nodding Yes,-No: honest)
- No…?- Frankly, madam: I hadn't assignated a time to think that much thought.
DUCHESS
- (stands, tidies)
- Yes: You Senators do have your franks,-- or was that the Swiss? Or was it the Vieners…?- Oh: Pardon my French!
- (half-sits; stands after)
SENATOR
- (stands)
- What would you like me to do with, my altitude, madam…?
- (half-sits)
DUCHESS
- (half-sits again, petty)
- I suppose you could lower it somewhat.
SENATOR
- (hovers)
- About how much lower, would you suggest?
DUCHESS
- (re-sits)
- About two-hundred miles, should do it an atmosphere of good.
SENATOR
- (re-sits)
- Yes: That it would,-- but we can't go pushing the station around the world.
DUCHESS
- (stands)
- Yes: I surmised as much;- But it is nevertheless too-much, where it is.
SENATOR
- (stands)
- Some of our NASA engineers think so, too.
DUCHESS
- (wanders)
- Then perhaps you could move it down-south a ways.
SENATOR
- (technically astute)
- The south … in which hemisphere, would you have it southward, ma'am?
DUCHESS
- The northern hemisphere… Well, over Gran Fenwijk…
- (returns, mulls)
- Oh,-- I suppose that changes, every hour and a half: Doesn't it?!- Just like the Palace Guard.
- (wanders again)
- Then maybe you could just move it forward-- more, out of the way.
SENATOR
- (muses)
- Into which, time zone, madam?
DUCHESS
- (returns, petty)
- Oh…well, There must be some way you can residuate this petty grievance!
- (re-sit plops)
SENATOR
- (nods, sits)
- Yes, I'm sure, there is…
- (takes blank form, pen)
- And will there be any other improvements you wish to the space station?- Perhaps we could arrange a royal room done in gold-leaf tapestry and silks…?
DUCHESS
- (smiles pleased at last)
- Oh, That won't be a necessary expense, Senator: We can do that much, ourselves.
SENATOR
- (relieved, pen down)
- Perhaps it is not … Then: Shall I enquire as to your son's F-23 expenses: That did seem to be your spoken concern:--
- (intent smiley clueing)
- Is he flying too much for your royal precedence?-- Might we fore-stall, further ex-orbit-ant, fuel costs-- to your liking…?
- B.G. MR. KENNY arrives to speak urgently with the Senator.
DUCHESS
- (equally intent smiley)
- Yes, And, no: We should requisition more, fuel, with such a bearing, as should be con-comit-ant, with daily training-up, a second pilot, on an available-space-base-is;-- And then my son might visit the Earth -ahh… Palace… grounds,- more oftener…!
- (bigger smiley)
- Secretary leans-in to speak.
SENATOR
- (gives-in: smiles plain)
- I seeee…
- (defers to)
SECRETARY
- Senator, A Mr. Kenny is here to see you: He's two minutes early for his appointed urgency.
SENATOR
- (brightens)
- Thank you: Tell him, I'll receive him presently.
- (keys Speakerphone)
- DIALTONE; She EXITS; He Speakerphones [OSCAR'S OFFICE]:
SENATOR
- (TOUCHTONES 2 DIGITS)
- Now, then, your roy-all hyen'ness:
- CUE B.G. DIALOG.
SENATOR
- If you'll allow my fell-low Senator on The Comedy for Outer Space pork-quisites, to escort you on a frank two-er of our Con-grease-sional es-table-ishment…
[OSCAR'S SECRETARY]
- (youthful lightness)
- Yel-low!-- Mayor's Office!
SENATOR
- (cutely to phone)
- Hi-ya, Barbie: This is Ken;- Dolly: I need squeak with the wiener at once,- if he's not in confer-ence.
[OSCAR'S SECRETARY]
- Sure thing, Ken!
SENATOR
- (resumes to Duchess)
- You may relish a sample of American hand-grease: It'll let-us, catch-up on current policy beefs; mustered-up with a little incumbent heat, we might shake-up a rider on our Space Station in-sewer-ants, milk a few longterm investment buns, side-order a premium rebate footer…
[OSCAR HIMSELF]
- (abrupt)
- Kenny, my boy!- How's the plastic?!
SENATOR
- (grins to Duchess)
- Excuse me a moment.
- (to Speakerphone)
- Gut. Oscar: I have a royal visitor: the Duchess of Gran Fen…
[OSCAR HIMSELF]
- (clips)
- Oh, ho, ho,-- Duchess, it is now…!?
SENATOR
- (snatches handle, grins)
- Yes, Oscar … No … Oscar: We don't make-up royalty in this country…
- (rolls eyes, quieter)
- Listen … Oscar: I need a favor, for the moment: I need you, to give the Duchess, the Congressional tour of honor….
- (smiles at Duchess)
- Yes:-- The Duchess of Gran Fenwijk.
- (a beat, exasperates)
- No, I'm not courting her too: She's a visitor, interested in the Space…
- (a beat)
- After hours, Oscar!-- And, She's a different, princess….
- (forehead in hand, grits)
- Listen, Oscar: It's now, I need … yes … we can discuss your omnibus changes as soon as I catch you in the halls: about fifteen minutes … yes, I promise I'll look real hard at your constituency demands … No, Oscar, I never bribe fellow … And you never, neither, Oscar … Oscar: Can we do this quickly: I have an … Those were leftover twenty-pound sacks of cheese-dogs, Oscar; I have another inter… Yes, We ate-up ten pounds at the picnic,- But there were other good things to eat too, Oscar …
- (2 beats)
- Oscar,-- please: I have a brief, interview:- a few minutes to tend, and I'll be … No: Getting another freezer for the extra sacks would have been asking for a bribe … But Oscar, You like cheese-dogs too … No, that wouldn't have been very host-like … Oscar: I have never, tricked you into passing … No, The Committee doesn't need to know…
- B.G. DIALOG: Kenny explains his urgency to Secretary:
SECRETARY
- The Senator will see you momentarily.
KENNY
- Thank you.
- (a beat)
- I hope he will see me right away.
SECRETARY
- Yes: He will.
- She sets-up her typewriter for work;
KENNY
- Good.
- (a beat)
- This is so important, to the United States of America,- I must tell him personally.
SECRETARY
- He will speak with you personally.
- She TYPES CONCURRENTLY;
KENNY
- Thank you.
- (a beat)
- The evidence I brought tells the real story better than I can.
- (a beat)
- I showed it to the guys at the cable-news station: They said, I had a real full crock, and should show it to the Senate Chairman on Outer Space, as soon as possible.
- Duchess perks at hearing him too.
KENNY
- The other guy said it has the aura of a little borsch, and it'd be really important to share it with the entire Space Committee.
- Duchess leans to hear him better.
KENNY
- What happened was: I attached my new digital video camera to my new telescope; I built it myself in the back yard, with celestial tracking rotation for watching the stars … and I was logging the International Space Station as it passed overhead … it's for my church committee on Saint John's Revelation … But when I replayed it for family, my kids said a destructo-laser beam hit the space station in a flash, after the Space Shuttle left.
- Duchess wide-eyes.
KENNY
- I told them it was sun-glint caused a glitch in the camera recording;--
- Duchess shakes vigorous Yes.
KENNY
- But after replaying that same scene twenty times, I decided it really did, -the station, I mean:- really did change somehow…. But no country in the world I know, has an excimer laser that powerful,- unless it was Gran Fenwijk built one around their Q-bomb: those backworld warmongers:
- Duchess shows her best superpower-apologetic-look.
KENNY
- And after four decades of peaceful coexistence between our countries!
- (beat)
- It can't be D-V-tracking:- I ran my D-V cleaner in the deck forward and back, before recording: I always do that first, on house-power…
- CUT BOTH TO:
- INT. PROFESSOR'S LABORATORY - JUST ENOUGH SPOTLIGHTING
- Professor shows Son in flyfishing apparel, a spacey-gadget-box to fix the cable:
PROFESSOR
- (fitting cable samples)
- Slap the clipped ends-to-end inside this gadget-box, with six inches of overlap;- mash and crank it tight;- inject the hot… solvent… nanofibers interdigitate by capillary action:-
- (interdigitates)
- They siphon-together … just let the solvent evaporate two hours, before applying the taplaser to polymerize the joint…. Think you can do that?
SON
- (intent, nods)
- I'll pack fifty hours of oxygen.
PROFESSOR
- (putting tools up)
- If that fails, we can replace the cable…. And also, we need to order more solvent from Balzac's Hardware Store on my high-technology budget.
SON
- (exiting with gadget-box)
- I have his Order Forms in my desk.
PROFESSOR
- One more update:-- I reprogrammed your missile-lock so that you can fire its motor without releasing it from the wing: in an emergency. And a waitress applicant arrives today. And the Duchess too: same flight.
SON
- (EXITS)
- Three-in-one; Thanks!-- You should have been a three-star General.
- CUT TO:
- INT. SON'S PALACE OFFICE, DOOR AJAR - MIDAFTERNOON
- Son flyfishing-ready, is rummaging for forms in his desk …
- WAITRESS-applicant (the Senator's Secretary-daughter) in a squat-Superman-S-low-neckline bare-midriff fuzzy-warm-soft cling-shirt and hefty-miniskirt waitress outfit, arrives:
WAITRESS (OS)
- (coming in the hall)
- 2-31 … 3-42 … 4-53 … 5-64 …
- A beat … she KNOCKS and looks-edge-in…
SON
- (without looking up)
- Come in!
WAITRESS
- (half enters)
- Hello?
SON
- (doesn't look)
- Yes: Hello.
WAITRESS
- Is this the office wanting a cute spacey waitress for a remote diner?
- On-cue she saunters-in:
SON
- (half-look hand-gesture)
- Yes-yes…. Well, No: I'm not hungry: It's in, a remote diner … Have a seat… or no, wait: waitresses stand … well, Do something,-- But don't run around… Bring me a magazine.
WAITRESS
- (on to magazine table)
- I read your ad on the monster-jobs-online-dot-com website:- It sounded kind of out-of-this-world….
- Son, a single COUGH.
WAITRESS
- Do you have a room I can change in?
SON
- (startles head up)
- Well, That's spacey!
WAITRESS
- I mean, the diner.
- She picks, and brings a magazine;
SON
- Oh,-- sure.
- (back to desk drawers)
- But it's not near here: It's really remote.
WAITRESS
- Get a lot of people?
SON
- We're grand-opening this month: We hope thirty or fifty, first trip.
WAITRESS
- (cognizes)
- A cabin inn in the woods!?
SON
- Further than that,-- and no wood:
- (looks up direct)
- It's all aluminum.
- (stands with papers)
- Listen: We can make this interview brief if you're qualified.
- She sets the magazine aside his gadget-box on the desk,--
WAITRESS
- Yes,- I'm qualified.
SON
- Do you like to bus tables?
WAITRESS
- (cute)
- I have three neon lipsticks and a brown belt in karate …
- (a beat, sober smile)
- Okay: Yes: I'm here to work;-- I thought you might appreciate my humor: Most businessmen do,- and it's my way of informing them in advance of their advances.
SON
- The pay-scale is WEMA:-- you use WEMA in America?
WAITRESS
- How did you know I'm an American?
- (rechecks self-front)
- Oh,- the Superman-S:-- This is my waitress outfit:
- (pirouettes skirt)
- Do you like it?
SON
- Did your shirt shrink?
WAITRESS
- (smiles, hands on hips)
- No, silly: This is bare midriff;-- You want spacey: This, is spacey.
SON
- Okay: You're acceptable: Sign here.
- He sets the papers on the magazine.
WAITRESS
- (signs pages)
- Are you going to tell me, where, remote is?
SON
- Oh,-- sure: We get there by jet,- an F-23. Ever flown in an F-23?
WAITRESS
- No,- can't say I have: Sounds military; But I do submarines on-order.
SON
- (reviews signed pages)
- There are no sub--marines coming to this diner;-- But that gives me a thought: Can you run the mess in a submarine?
WAITRESS
- (puzzles forward)
- Mustard sandwiches…?
SON
- (works a beat)
- The work crew needs a cook.
- CUT TO:
- EXT. MID LAKE - BEYOND THE CASTLE RUNWAY - LATE AFTERNOON
- Son and copilot-Brother lazy-fishing from a small rowboat …
- Brother reels-in a feisty… vigorously-wiggly… tiny fish…
BROTHER
- (holds up, unhooks it)
- We've been small-fishing for three days, But I didn't think you could mean this, small…!
- He heaves it far-center…
- A B&W ORCA BREACHES high and snags and swallows the fish…
- CRASHING WAVE RIPPLES out … and ROCKS THEIR BOAT mightily …
SON
- (nonchalant)
- You'd rather catch the big one…?
- Brother bracing a beat … shakes No …
- CUT TO:
- INT. HALLWAY OF GRAN PORTRAITURES - WARM TRACKLIGHTS
- Professor escorts Waitress admiring living portraitures of Great Gran Duchesses adorning the walls of the Hallway and stairs; their musing voices ECHO AS IF ANCIENT themselves:
WAITRESS
- My,-- these are gorgeous paintings: Who did them?
PROFESSOR
- (smiles)
- These, my dear young lassie, are portraitures-- of the Great, Gran, Duchess, of Fenwijk….
WAITRESS
- (reviews all, puzzled)
- They don't all look like one-same, person…
PROFESSOR
- Of course, not… But you can only have one Duchess at a time …
- (a beat readmiring)
- These were taken, a quarter century ago….
WAITRESS
- (puzzled again)
- Taken?-- Are they photographs?
PROFESSOR
- (halts, corrects)
- Oh, heavens, no!- We don't allow that in this country!
- (calmer to art)
- These are the real, thing!
WAITRESS
- (standing near)
- Then who, took, them?!
PROFESSOR
- All the most infamous pirates to have passed this way, have had their hands -or hooks- on them: But we recovered them every time:-- Sometimes in burlap sacks…
Sometimes in painters' drop-cloths…
Sometimes in parachute nylons…
Once in silk pajamas, with the pira-tess, still wearing them:--
- (grins)
- That, was a big, police evidence recovery event!
WAITRESS
- (mildly chides)
- Sounds like you need a little help with security around here.
PROFESSOR
- (bemused, resumes stroll)
- Why?! We always get them back.
WAITRESS
- (a brow beat, awkwardly)
- Who, did them, originally,-- before the pirates, began, taking, them?
- They pass opposite Duchess herself posed in regalia, neatly framed in a doorway,-- but Waitress never looks directly;
PROFESSOR
- Ahhh-- originally, the most famous of all art-forgers: the little-known Henrier Ferrier, during the Golden Age of Gran Fenwijk, back in the late '60's: when we had gold:- lot's of it: We could afford the very best back then,-- But alas, those days are gone… since the collapse of the U.S. gold and dollar markets on the Gran Fenwijk Securities Exchange, months ago….
- (confides furtively)
- Confidentially: It was the Russians cut-off their secret backing for the U.S. dollar on the open market, and bidders went wild-boar-wild buying-up everything American:-- space station utilities, second-hand commodities, futures in farming manure; It's been a free-for-all here in these last few months! And one reason we hired your outside help.
WAITRESS
- (persists)
- What makes Henrier Ferrier famous, if he's little-known?
- She shakes No on "forgers":
PROFESSOR
- (truthfully)
- There are none better known: He's the most famous of them all: Do you know any great art forgers?- We could use a new one for the reining Duchess herself: Henrier was caught forging the new U.S. golden dollar while serving hard time on a charge
- (and wags head No)
- of… Noxious Art Fakery;-- alas…
WAITRESS
- What was the original art, that was noxious in the first place?
PROFESSOR
- None really: He went out on a ritzy lecture party circuit, -got totally zotzed,-- and painted a cubist nude Mona Lisa in the style of a Gauguin on a rocking chair: It was sooo… obvious … Then some mongrel ripped open the jumbo garbage bag.
WAITRESS
- (admits)
- Oooh… I imagine he didn't want to claim credit for discovering that one… What do you suppose tipped-off the dog?
PROFESSOR
- Hungh? No: An art-critic: There are spies all over the place…. Anyway, we need somebody who can fill in
- (and looks askance)
- for Henrier, for about ten years.
WAITRESS
- (declines)
- Ahhh-- no,-- not real-ly.
PROFESSOR
- (relents)
- 'Tis all right: If art forgers were too famous there wouldn't be enough fame for them all: Kind-of like a third-hand commodities market: doesn't really exist.
- They continue quietly upstairs….
- CUT TO:
- INT. SECOND FLOOR BEDROOM - FACING RUNWAY LAKE
- Charming craftsmanship. Breezes rustling, birds chirping in the trees outside. Alone, Waitress stands at the window and opens her cellphone, keys selection, and waits watching:
- Afar, Orca jumps about the rowboat, catching tossed glints;
- In the yard below: a child pumping his swing extremely high … rides back calling "Rotorbit!" And two more children step to and, yelling "Rotorbit!" heave him forward … and he goes over the top -She catches her breath- … He goes over again;
- RINGING ANSWERED--
WAITRESS
- (breathes again)
- Senator Rebush, please-- Xanadu, calling.
- She sit-flops on her made bed, kicking off her shoes: She's Daddy's grownup girl; Voices in her cellphone are masked:
WAITRESS
- (waits for 2nd pick-up)
- Hi, Daddy.
- (rolls to feet up)
- I got the job! And it pays WEMA-scale.
- (takes kudo, considers)
- Daddy: What's WEMA scale for a waitress in a diner on-call 24-hours-a-day?
- (waits for book found)
- Yes-- he said, they do.
- (listens; qualifications)
- Ungh-hungh.
- (listens)
- Yes: I do.
- (listens, all smiles)
- Wow…!
- (rolls, listens)
- CUT TO:
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