Even Cowgirls Get The Blues Page #9

...Until one by one, we see button necks freed. Soon Sissy

can feel it.

Someone is undressing her. In a voice webby with sleep she

lifts her head up, and sees Howard and Marie.

SISSY:

Where are the others?

HOWARD:

Oh, Rupert and Carla had a little

hassle and went home.

MARIE:

Julian fell asleep on the couch; we

covered him up.

HOWARD:

We thought that we should make you

comfortable too.

Sissy thinks this is nice, but wonders, however, why they

are both in their underwear.

SISSY:

Yes, thanks...

Between the two of them, they have gotten Sissy out of her

dress in no time. Sissy feels she should apologize for not

having on a brassiere.

Marie slips out of her own brassiere and moves her bare bosom

close to Sissy's.

MARIE:

Mine are fuller but yours are more

perfectly shaped.

HOWARD:

Highly debatable. I'll wager they're

the exact same size.

Howard cups his left hand about a Marie breast and his right

about one of Sissy's. He weighs them in his palms, squeezes

them the way an honest grocer squeezes excess water from a

lettuce, and spreads his fingers to sample their

circumference.

HOWARD:

Hmm. Yours are larger, Marie, but

Miss Hankshaw's -- Sissy's -- are

more firm. You'd think they would

have started to droop; I mean, from

not wearing a bra.

MARIE:

Howard! Watch your manners. You've

made her blush. Here, Sissy, let me

compare.

Marie seizes Sissy's free breast, quickly, like a monkey

picking a fruit, rolling it about in her hungry little finger,

rubbing it against her chin and cheeks...

...and...

...it was like her earlier days as a hitchhiker....

nostalgic..... tropical plums.

SISSY:

(in ecstasy)

This place is finer than the place I

live!

Like a disc jockey from Paradise, Howard flips Marie over

and plays her B side. Every now and then she reaches for

Sissy to include her, but the laws of physics insist on being

obeyed.

Over and over Marie calls Sissy's name with half-closed eyes.

The Barths are really going at it, Marie yowling like a cat.

The POODLE in the kitchen begins to growl.

SISSY:

So this is what it's like... so this

is what it's really like.

INT. LIVING ROOM NIGHT

Sissy bounces out of the bed and patters through the living

room and crawls under the cover with Julian. Julian stirs

awake.

JULIAN:

Oh, Sissy. I am sorry about all the

fuss.

Julian and Sissy embrace and go at it under the covers But

suddenly:
Julian stops after a brief climax.

JULIAN:

(with downcast eyes)

I apologize.

Sissy cradles Julian and comforts him.

JULIAN:

It is the measure of Western

Civilization that it can encompass

in harmony, balance off, as it were,

such divergent masterworks as A

MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM and THE

AMERICAN DREAM, as the dome of the

Sistine Chapel and the ceiling of

the Paris opera.

Sissy sits up, her eyes moping about the apartment, looking

but not seeing the macrame wallhangings, the volumes of Robert

Frost.

JULIAN:

What's the matter?

After a while Sissy answers.

SISSY:

I'm cold.

JULIAN:

Here. I'll turn down the air

conditioner.

SISSY:

It's not the air conditioner that's

making me cold. Nothing moves in

here. Not even your birds.

Sissy gets out of bed and begins to dress.

JULIAN:

What are you doing?

SISSY:

Getting dressed. I've got to go.

JULIAN:

But I don't want you to leave. Please

stay. We can go to dinner. I owe you

a dinner. And tonight... we can...

really make love.

SISSY:

I have to go, Julian.

JULIAN:

Why? Why do you have to go?

SISSY:

(somewhat frantic)

My thumbs hurt. I've made a mistake.

I've been negligent. I haven't

exercised. I have to hitchhike a

little bit every day, no matter what.

It's like a musician practicing his

scales. When I don't practice, my

timing gets off, my thumbs get stiff

and sore.

EXT. CITY DAWN

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes