Entrapment Page #12

MAC:

A one and a two and a three and a

four...Stand back!

Gin moves out of the way, but not fast enough for Mac.

MAC:

(continuing)

Get bloody well back! We only have four

seconds for the concrete!

He stays after as they set up again.

MAC:

(continuing)

And where's the air bag? That's on five,

or did you forget five comes after four?

She bites her tongue.

The maze of red yarn at complete. Some fruit cartons have

been stacked in the middle, atop which rests a Halloween mask

indicating the real Mask. Attached to the yarn are small

bells, the kind that go on cat collars.

Blindfolded, Gin tries to navigate through the yarn at Mac's

direction. He will be able to see it, but she cannot.

MAC:

(continuing)

Okay, right arm to the left about six

inches.

She moves her left arm, touches the yarn, the bell jingles.

MAC:

(continuing)

Your other right arm!

She pulls off her blindfold.

GIN:

I need a break.

MAC:

Get it right first.

She puts the blindfold back on, starts over.

Under the planks again. Gin has the air bag in proper

position this time.

MAC:

(continuing)

And five--inflate!

Gin yanks a valve and a mylar bag inflates slowly--too

slowly--beneath them.

MAC:

Then change the valve!

She stares at him, fuming.

MAC (cont'd)

Now, six, lever!

They rip out small steel levers and mimic some action that

looks like prying.

MAC:

(continuing)

Seven--drop--

They rotate off to the side.

It's evening. They're jogging around the grounds. He runs

briskly ahead, turns and motions to her.

MAC (cont'd)

Come on! Come on!

She jogs by him. For just an instant he takes a breath and

guts it up. This is hard for him, but damned if he'll let her

see that.

Nighttime. They're around the table, with the remains of

dinner, going over plans. Their heads are very close. She's

got her hair up in a bun, held in place with a pencil.

She pulls out the pencil to make a mark on the plans, and her

hair falls down. She's concentrating, so she doesn't notice

her hair brush past his cheek, the touch and the smell right

in his face.

Early morning. They're back under the planks.

MAC:

Eight--deflate--

They wrestle the pneumatics in place--a ram powered by the

slice pack.

MAC:

(continuing)

And nine--move it, move it! --ten-- get

the air! Okay, stop. Stop! Am I supposed

to hammer this with my willy?

Gin's had enough of his hectoring.

GIN:

I don't care what you do with your damn

willy! Just don't worry about me! I'll be

there!

MAC:

I just meant to say, if you can't do it

in practice, you can't do it for real.

He's calm, conciliatory, realizing he's pushed her too hard.

The curtains are drawn in the hall. The fire burns. Dressed

in a tight unitard, Gin moves through the maze of yarn. This

time it's like tai chi. Half-cat, half-ballerina, she

negotiates the maze with consummate skill and grace.

We see Mac watching her, knowing that blindfolded she can't

see him. The way he watches is the pride of a mentor for his

protege, but it's much more. For the first time we see how

this amazing, maddening girl is getting under his skin.

And then she's at the Mask case. She rips off her blindfold,

pure joy on her face.

GIN:

I did it!

Mac opens the curtains. Light falls into the room.

MAC:

In practice.

GIN:

Oh come on sourpuss. Admit it. We're

ready.

He produces a box. He gestures at her. Open it. As she opens

it, as any man would he tries to protect himself.

MAC:

It's by some Italian. Supposed to be very

trendy. I thought with your hair, the

color--

There's a beautiful dress inside.

MAC (cont'd)

I hope it's your size.

She holds it up to herself.

GIN:

A Christmas present. For me?

She loves it. Given how hard he's been on her through the

training, she's genuinely touched.

MAC:

It comes out of your share.

GIN:

I don't know what to say.

MAC:

(helpful)

Thank you.

GIN:

Thank you.

There's a held moment between them.

GIN:

(continuing)

I haven't got you anything.

He waves his hand--hardly necessary.

GIN:

(continuing)

No, no, I want to. I'll just go into the

village.

MAC:

It's not a village. There's nothing

there.

GIN:

Won't take any time.

She puts the box under her arm, gives him a big smile, and

departs. On his face is the slightest trace of suspicion.

EXT. COUNTRYSIDE - DAY

Gin rides a bicycle down an isolated country lane.

EXT. VILLAGE - DAY

A small pub. A tiny post office and store. A phone call box.

Gin leans the bicycle against the phone box.

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