Blood Simple Page #3

Over Marty's shoulder we see the long bar leading up to the

window in perpendicular. The camera is tracking forward,

past Marty, to frame on the window.

A black man is just now vaulting the near end of the bar,

over onto the customer side.

MATCH CUT TO:

MARTY'S BAR

REVERSE ANGLE VAULTING MAN

Tracking back with him as he lands on the customer side and

heads across the bar. This shot, from the other side of the

back-office window, reveals the window to be one-way glass

mirrored on this side

MEURICE, the black bartender, is muscular, about 200 pounds,

dressed in white pants and a sleeveless T-shirt. He is making

his way through the crowd towards the jukebox.

Another man stands in front of it examining the selections.

He deposits a quarter.

MEURICE:

Hold it, hold it. What's tonight?

MAN:

What?

MEURICE:

What night is it?

MAN:

(studying Meurice)

...Friday?

MEURICE:

Right. Friday night is Yankee night.

Where're you from?

MAN:

Lubbock?

Meurice shakes his head and punches the selector buttons on

the jukebox.

MEURICE:

Right. I'm from Detroit

(turning to leave)

It's a big city up north with tall

buildings.

A Motown song drops. We track behind Meurice as he makes his

way back toward the bar. When he reaches it, he claps a couple

of people on the shoulder, who make way for him. He vaults

back over the top, walks down the bar, and stops in from of

an attractive white woman sitting on a bar stool and sipping

a brandy.

MEURICE:

Where was I?

WOMAN:

You we telling me about the Ring of

Fire.

MEURICE:

Yeah, well, I may be getting in over

my head here, I mean you're the

geologist, but my theory for what

it's worth, you got all these

volcanoes and each time one pops

it's the equivalent of what, twenty,

thirty megatons of TNT? Enough to

light Las Vegas for how long? How

many years? Course, I'm no

mathematician but--

MARTY:

Meurice.

Marty is approaching from the direction of the office.

MEURICE:

Yeah, I know. Pour 'em short.

MARTY:

Has Ray come in yet?

MEURICE:

No, he's off tonight. Where was he

last night?

MARTY:

(glaring)

How would I know?

MEURICE:

I don't know, didn't he call?

Marty loses his glare and his gaze drifts over to the woman.

After an awkward pause, Meurice clears his throat.

MEURICE:

...Marty, I'd like you to meet an

old friend of mine, Debra. Debra,

this is Julian Marty, the dude I'm

always talking about.

She is unselfconsciously returning Marty's stare.

MARTY:

If he does come in I'm not here...

What were you drinking, Debra?

DEBRA:

Remy.

MARTY:

You've got a very sophisticated

palate.

DEBRA:

Thanks.

MARTY:

Give Debra here another drink, and

give me the usual.

Meurice walks down the bar.

DEBRA:

...What's a palate?

Marty studies her for a beat, she studies him, he smiles.

MARTY:

Listen, I got tickets for the Oilers

and the Rams next week in the

Astrodome. Ever sat on the fifty

yard line?

DEBRA:

I don't follow baseball.

Marty laughs.

MARTY:

You won't have to. I'll explain what

a palate is.

DEBRA:

You won't have to. I just wanted to

see if you knew.

Marty smiles bleakly. Debra drains her glass as Meurice

returns. He sets another Cognac in front of Debra, and a

glass of milk in front of Marty.

MARTY:

What's this?

MEURICE:

You said the usual--

MARTY:

Red Label.

MEURICE:

(picking up the milk)

Right. Sorry.

MARTY:

Pour that back.

MEURICE:

What.

MARTY:

Don't throw that out.

MEURICE:

Right.

He wanders on down the bar; Marty's attention returns to the

woman.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes