American Graffiti Page #6

CURT (grinning as he pulls out a pack of cigarettes)

Kids...Want one?

MR. WOLFE (taking one from the pack)

All right. Hey, I thought you'd left.

CURT:

No, not yet. (looking for matches) I have no matches.

Mr. Wolfe takes out a pack of matches and lights both their

cigarettes. They walk down a chain-link fence, past dark,

venetian-blinded classrooms.

MR. WOLFE

Brother, how do I get stuck with dance supervision? Will you tell

me that?...You going back East? Boy, I remember the day I went

off. Got drunk as hell the night before. Just--

CURT:

Blotto.

MR. WOLFE

Blotto. Exactly. Barfed on the train all the next day.

CURT (grinning)

Cute. Very cute. Where'd you go again?

MR. WOLFE

Middlebury. Vermont. Got a scholarship.

CURT:

And only stayed a semester.

MR. WOLFE (smiling and nodding)

One semester. And after all that, I came back here.

CURT:

Why?

MR. WOLFE (shrugging)

Decided I wasn't the competitive type. I don't know...maybe I was

scared.

CURT:

Well, you know I might find I'm not the competitive type myself.

MR. WOLFE

What do you mean?

CURT:

Well, I'm not really sure that I'm going.

MR. WOLFE

Hey, now--don't be stupid. Go. Experience life. Have some fun,

Curtis.

Then a voice calls from the shadows.

JANE (off)

Bill?

They turn and see a girl coming out of a doorway. Mr. Wolfe looks

at Jane, one of his students, but doesn't say anything.

JANE:

I mean--Mr. Wolfe. Can I speak with you a minute. (She smiles at

Curt.) Hi, Curt.

CURT:

Jane...

He looks at Mr. Wolfe, who seems a little embarassed. Then, Mr.

Wolfe sticks out his hand.

MR. WOLFE

Anyway--good luck, Curtis.

Curt shakes his hand. CURT

Yeah...I'll see you. Thanks a lot.

Curt walks back toward the gym. Looking around, he sees Mr. Wolfe

standing in the shadows with the girl, talking intimately. Curt

turns away and goes off. Before going back into the gym, Curt

stops. He sees a white T-bird parked among a row of cars in the

parking lot. He walks--then starts running toward the car.

There's a blonde sitting in the front seat making out with some

guy.

Curt leans down to the window and is about to say something to

his dream girl. But she turns and he sees it's not her. Her

boyfriend glares at him like he's some kind of peeping Tom. Curt

backs away awkwardly, trying to smile. He leaves.

CRUISING MAIN STREET--'32 DEUCE COUPE

The yellow Ford coupe is gliding down the street--skimming around

corners gracefully as the night lights glide up its lacquered

hood.

Inside the car, Carol glances at John and smiles. The Wolfman is

howling on the radion.

WOLFMAN (voice over)

A Wolfman exclusive for ya now. The Beach Boys, baby, a brand new

group. I predict they gonna go a long way. This is called

"Surfin' Safari."

Carol is continuing to jabber on, relating past adventures with

her little friends. John is unimpressed.

CAROL:

So the next night we found out where they parked and went out

with ammunition.

JOHN:

Don't you have homework or something to do?

CAROL:

No sweat--my mother does it. Anyway, he thought he was had. He

started the car and couldn't see through the windshield--and

zoomed straight into the canal--it was a riot.

John smiles sarcastically.

I still got some, so don't try anything. She takes a pressurized

can of shaving cream and squirts his nose. He swipes the shaving

cream on his nose--swerving--A car honks. JOHN

Hey, watch it will ya! Jesus Christ, thanks a lot. (looking at

her angrily) Hey, drivin' is a serious business. I ain't havin'

no accidents because of you.

Carol sinks into her corner of the car. She sticks her tongue out

for a quick moment.

(catching her look) Come on, don't give me any grief. I'm warning

ya.

CAROL:

Spare me, killer.

He stares at her and she shuts up. "Surfin' Safari" is blaring on

the radio and she starts twisting with the music. John turns the

radio off.

CAROL:

Why'd you do that?

JOHN:

I don't like that surfing sh*t. Rock 'n Roll's been going

downhill ever since Buddy Holly died.

CAROL:

Don't you think the Beach Boys are boss!

JOHN:

You would, you grungy little twerp.

CAROL:

Grungy? You big weenie, if I had a boyfriend he'd pound you.

JOHN (looking in the rear-view mirror)

Sure--ah, sh*t, Holstein!

She looks around, and sees a police car following them, bubble

lights aglow.

CAROL:

Good, a cop--I'm going to tell him you tred to rape me.

John pulls the car over and stops.

JOHN:

Oh, no--No. Hey--

CAROL:

It's past my curfew. I'm going to tell him how old I am, my

parents don't know I'm out and you tried to rape me. Boy, are you

up a creek.

John looks at her.

JOHN:

Hey--ah, really--don't say anything.

She looks at him.

CAROL:

If you say "I was a dirty bird. Carol's not grungy, she's

bitchin'."

The cop is tapping at John's window. John wipes his face.

CAROL:

Say it--I'll tell him.

JOHN (quietly)

I was a dirty bird, Carol's not grungy, she's bitchin.'

CAROL:

Okay--I'll think about it.

"The Great Imposter" can be heard on the passing car radios.

John rolls down his window. He looks at the surly cop.

HOLSTEIN:

Where you going, Milner?

JOHN:

I'm going home--sir.

HOLSTEIN:

Where you been, Milner?

JOHN:

Ah--at the movies--sir.

HOLSTEIN:

Milner, you weren't around the 12th and G streets at about 8:30,

were you?

JOHN:

No, I wa at the movies--like I said--sir.

Holstein looks at him, then steps back, looks at the car.

Holstein's only a couple years older than John, but the uniform

separates them by light years.

HOLSTEIN:

Uh-huh. Milner, the reason I stopped you was because the light on

your license plate is ou. (opening his ticket book) I'm gonna

have to cite you for that. And Milner, the front end of

this...this...this thing you're driving looks a little low.

JOHN:

Oh, no sir. It's twelve and a half inches. Regulation size. Now,

it's been checked several times. You can check it if you like,

sir. Holstein just glares at him and then leans in close through

the window.

HOLSTEIN:

Look, Milner.

JOHN:

Yes, sir.

HOLSTEIN:

You can't fool with the law.

JOHN:

Yes, sir.

HOLSTEIN:

We know that was you tonight. We have an excellent description of

this car. I could run you in right now and I could make it stick.

But I'm not gonna do that, Milner, you know why?

John shakes his head no.

Because I want to catch you in the act. And when I do, I'm gonna

nail you, but good. Happy Birthday, Milner.

Holstein drops the ticket through the window onto John's lap. He

starts back to his patrol car. When he's out of earshot John

answers.

JOHN:

Thank you--a**hole.

CAROL (looking over at him)

You're a regular J.D.

JOHN:

Here, file taht under C.S. over there.

Carol takes the ticket and opens the glove compartment.

CAROL:

C.S.? What's that stand for?

JOHN:

Chicken sh*t--that's what it is.

CAROL:

Oh...

She looks amazed as she adds the new ticket to a mess of similar

tickets crammed in the glove compartment. The police car pulls by

them. John scrowls, then roars his engine and pulls back into the

stream of traffic.

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