Even Cowgirls Get The Blues Page #10

Sissy trembles while she kisses her thumbs.

SISSY:

I will hitch with you, out where

tall birds wade in a lake named for

my Siwash kin. Out where Smokey the

Bear lay down his shovel to romp

with more playful beasts. Out where

starlight has no enemies and the

badland wind no friends. Out where

the boogie stops and the woogie

begins.

INT. TRUCK DAY

And Sissy is now traveling in a truck passing Fourteenth

Street on her way to the Geo. Washington Bridge.

View of that Bridge as the truck crosses it to New Jersy.

View of the wilds of New Jersey as Sissy travels to the West.

INT. COUNTESS' OFFICE

The Countess is on the phone.

THE COUNTESS:

So she left town. Well, that shouldn't

surprise you. Leaving town is what

Sissy is all about. But tell me, how

did she strike you?

Julian is on the other end of the phone.

JULIAN:

Extraordinary!

THE COUNTESS:

She's obviously that. Jesus! Which

would you rather have, a million

dollars or one of Sissy's thumbs

full of pennies?

JULIAN:

Oh, you! I'm not talking about her

hands. They're difficult to ignore,

I confess, but I'm speaking of her

whole being. Her whole being is

extraordinary. The way she talks,

for example. She's so articulate.

THE COUNTESS:

It's high time you realized, honey

babe, that a woman doesn't have to

give the best years of her life to

Radcliffe or Smith in order to speak

the English language.

JULIAN:

Countess. I'm really in a dither.

She's turned my head.

THE COUNTESS:

Ninety degrees to the left, I hope.

How does she feel about you?

JULIAN:

I think she's disappointed that I'm

not more, ah, sort of atavistic.

She's got some naive, sentimental

notions about Indians. I'm sure she

liked me, though; but.... then she

left town.

THE COUNTESS:

She always leaves town, you dummy.

That doesn't mean anything. What

about in bed? How does she like it

in bed?

Julian pauses for a very long moment.

JULIAN:

How does she like what in bed?

THE COUNTESS:

Like what?

The Countess' teeth chatter in his mouth.

THE COUNTESS:

What do you think?

JULIAN:

Well.... er...

THE COUNTESS:

Sh*t O dear, Julian. Do you mean to

tell me you didn't get it on?

JULIAN:

Oh, we didn't get it all the way on.

THE COUNTESS:

Whose fault was that?

JULIAN:

I suppose it was mine. Yes, it

definitely was my fault.

THE COUNTESS:

What do they do to you boys in those

Ivy league schools, anyway? Strap

you down and pump the Nature out of

you? They can even press the last

drop of Nature out of a Mohawk buck.

Why, send a shaman or cannibal to

Yale for four years and all he'd be

fit for would be a desk in the

military-industrial complex and a

seat in the third row at a Neil Simon

comedy. Jesus H.M.S. Christ! If

Harvard or Princeton could get hold

of the Chink for a couple of semesters

they'd turn him into a candidate for

the Bow Tie Wing of the Hall of Wimps.

Oogie boogie.

JULIAN:

If we Ivy Leaguers aren't earthy

enough to suit you hillbillies, at

least we don't go around indulging

in racist terms such as 'Chink.'

Next thing I know, you'll be calling

me 'chief.'

THE COUNTESS:

Chink's the guy's name, for Christ's

sake.

JULIAN:

What guy?

THE COUNTESS:

Aw, he's some old fart holyman who

lives in the hills out West. Gives

my ranch the creeps and the willies,

too. But though he be old and dirty,

he's alive, I'll bet, clear down to

his toes. They don't have his juice

in a jar in New Haven. Well I suppose

that I'll have to write Sissy out on

the road.

EXT. ROAD DAY

Sissy makes little puffs of dust as she walks.

From the direction of the ranch a VW Microbus is approaching.

It is painted with mandalas, lamaistic dorjes and symbols

representing "the clear light of the void."

When the Microbus draws alongside Sissy it stops. Inside are

two men and a woman. They are approximately twenty-four years

old.

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