G.I. Jane Page #3

INT. BATHROOM - JORDAN'S HOUSE - NIGHT

... and sets it down beside Jordan, languishing in a tub.

Snow builds on a window sill. Facing Jordan, the man

slides into the tub.

ROYCE:

So why're you even considering it?

Are you?

JORDAN:

Just like you would be.

ROYCE:

Spec-Recon. Those guys are world-

class warriors. And they will not

want you there, Jordan.

JORDAN:

I take it you don't either. Feet.

Dutifully, Royce massages her feet.

ROYCE:

Well, you're doin' sh*t-hot at

Intel.

JORDAN:

Royce. We're the same age, we

started the same time -- and now

you're sitting in the upperdecks

while I'm still down in the bullpen.

What does that tell you about the

Navy?

ROYCE:

(shaking head)

She's haze grey and underway...

JORDAN:

You need operational duty to really

advance... you need combat training

to go operational... yet combat

training is off-limits to people

with tits. I'm topped out at Intel.

Forget the glass ceiling -- I'm

beating my head on a big brass

ceiling.

ROYCE:

So dump on me.

JORDAN:

This has nothing to do with you.

ROYCE:

(getting out)

Well, guess I don't even need to be

here...

JORDAN:

Get your dick back here. It has

everything to do with you.

ROYCE:

You're such a ball-breaker

sometimes. Especially at night.

JORDAN:

Sorry. But after our days...

(a thoughtful sip)

So if I try this thing... if I ship

out to Coronado... what happens

here?

ROYCE:

I'll try to keep the door open. If

you wash out, I make it so that --

JORDAN:

Wai', wait. What happens if it

works? Four months of training,

three years of operational duty.

What then?

ROYCE:

(blowing a sigh)

I don't feel like doing an option

paper on the rest of my life,

Jordan. Maybe we should just let it

happen.

JORDAN:

Which is guy-speak for...

ROYCE:

(conceding)

Sounded lame as soon as it came out

of my mouth. But I'm trying to be

honest, okay? Three years is a long

time. Don't ask me to predict how

I'll feel then, Jordan, because I

don't know. And either do you.

JORDAN:

You know, right up until you said

that -- I thought I did know.

Wounded, she gets out.

ROYCE:

Jordan...

JORDAN:

Thank you, Royce. It was shaping up

like such a tough call -- and then

you go and make it so goddamn easy.

Really, thank you so much.

She punches into a robe and leaves. Royce considers

drowning himself in the tub.

EXT. CORONADO BRIDGE - SAN DIEGO - DAY

Jordan drives a top-down Mustang across the sweeping

Coronado Bridge, cityscape behind her, naval base ahead.

A flock of pelicans pace Jordan alongside the bridge.

Suddenly two NAVY HELOS BLAST overhead, scattering the

pelicans.

EXT. THE GRINDER - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

On base, Jordan carries a gunnysack across an asphalt

courtyard. The is "the grinder," reminiscent of a

gladiator's arena. She notices at one end...

A silver ship's bell. Hung prominently.

INT. ADMINISTRATION - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

JORDAN:

Excuse me, lieutenant. I was told

this is where I check in.

A DUTY OFFICER looks up to find Jordan across a counter.

In no particular hurry, the duty officer makes his way

over to check Jordan's orders.

DUTY OFFICER:

(looking up)

So you're the one.

Hearing, other workers look up. Among them is a female

ensign, KATHY BLONDELL -- no makeup, no nail polish, no

concession to her sex. Throughout, she'll watch Jordan

with more than passing interest.

JORDAN:

Still don't have my bearings yet.

Direct me to the officer's quarters?

The duty officer stamps her paperwork, returns it with

room assignment and keys.

DUTY OFFICER:

You'll proceed directly to the

infirmary for eye tests, blood

tests, urinalysis, pregnancy test.

Uniform issue adjacent. Then you're

to report to the Base Commander.

He'd like a word with you.

JORDAN:

Fine. And the officer's quarters?

DUTY OFFICER:

C.O.'s office can supply you with

directions. Enjoy your visit,

lieutenant.

It's a nasty little barb -- one that Jordan decides to let

slide. Jordan turns for the door. Blondell catches up

with a base map.

BLONDELL:

B.O.Q., south side. Take a

starboard tack out the door.

JORDAN:

Thank you, ensign.

BLONDELL:

No problem, lieutenant.

INT. C.O.'S OFFICE - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

A soft KNOCKING.

C.O.

Come.

A YEOMAN opens the door. Behind him is Jordan.

YEOMAN:

Lieutenant j.g. O'Neil reporting,

sir.

For a beat, COMMANDING OFFICER (C.O.) TURRENTINE takes

stock of the female in his doorway, sizing her up like a

fighter across the ring. Then he stubs out a perfectly

good cigar, rises with an amiable face, and touches the

back of a chair -- stopping just short of pulling it out

for her.

C.O.

Yes, of course. Please, have a

seat, lieutenant...

JORDAN:

Thank you, sir.

C.O.

Would you care for a beverage? Tea?

JORDAN:

I'm fine, sir.

C.O.

So. We're still coming to terms

with the exact protocol for this --

for integrating the Spec-Recon

training. It may not always be

smooth, but we're trying to make it

as painless as possible for you.

JORDAN:

Thank you, sir. But I expect a

certain amount of pain.

More stock-taking. Is he looking at her hair?

JORDAN:

Barber was my next stop, sir.

Would've had it regulation sooner,

only --

C.O.

Don't worry about it. If it's off

your collar and out of your eyes,

that's all I'm going to ask.

JORDAN:

Really, I have no problem with --

C.O.

I'm not out to change your sex,

lieutenant. You'll have separate

beds, separate heads. If you have

specific medical needs, inform the

infirmary. If a classmate or

superior acts in an harassing or

otherwise unbecoming manner, please

inform me immediately so I can deal

with it immediately. Questions?

JORDAN:

None at this time, sir.

C.O.

Then that's all I have to say.

Dismissed.

Another smile, another phantom gesture on the back of her

chair. If Jordan was expecting a fight, the bell never

sounded. She rises, salutes -- then turns back at the

door.

JORDAN:

Sir, I just want you to know... I'm

not here to make a statement. I

don't want to make men look foolish.

All I care about is completing the

training and getting operational

experience -- just like everyone

else, I suspect.

C.O.

If you were like everyone else,

lieutenant, I suspect we wouldn't be

making statements about not making

statements, would we?

(a beat)

Take your leave.

EXT. B.O.Q. - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

The Spec-Recon TRAINEES loiter outside their open rooms,

pumping weights, hosing down dive gear, trading Walkman

tapes. This is the last day of liberty they'll have for a

long time.

MILLER:

What am I scannin' here?

Other eyes quickly lock in on...

Jordan. Across a grass courtyard, she walks the ground

floor of an identical building, trying to match key number

to room number. Every door is open, every room empty.

Soon she feels the presence of...

The men. They're disgorging from their rooms -- ten,

twenty, thirty of them -- all buffed and cut. These guys

are what Hitler saw in his dreams.

Jordan picks up her pace. Where the hell is her room?

On all three levels of their building, the men shadow

Jordan en masse. Not hooting. Not leering. Just

assessing.

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