G.I. Jane Page #8

SLUTNIK:

Jesus Christ. And I only got three

minutes apiece...

ENGLAND:

(jerking him away)

Barkin' up the wrong dress, Slutnik.

You ain't their type.

Overhearing, Jordan snaps a look at Blondell, only now

realizing. Their eyes meet.

INSTRUCTOR PYRO:

O'Neil! What're you gawking at?

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

P.R. FLAK

(reading newspaper)

"... last week at Coronado. The

woman, identity unknown, is believed

to be the first female candidate for

the elite Special Reconnaissance

program. Her presence could signal

a shift in the Navy's long-standing

policy that excludes women from

combat positions."

The P.R. FLAK drops the newspaper on the C.O.'s desk.

It's the San Diego Tribune. Under the headline "G.I.

JANE," a photo shows a chesty sailor running the obstacle

course.

C.O.

(calling O.S.)

I'm asking again. Where is she?

YEOMAN:

Inbound now, sir. Had to pull her

out of the dive bell.

P.R. FLAK

I have interview requests from two

local TV stations. And a

sociologist from U.C. San Diego

called, wanted to know if she could

examine the interaction between

"G.I. Jane" and the men.

C.O.

"A sociol..." Kill the interviews.

I don't need civilians nosin' around

in matters that are supposed to be

covert in nature. Just kill 'em

before this whole thing gets outta

con --

YEOMAN:

Senator DeHaven calling, sir.

The C.O. gets an instant headache.

INT. SENATE BARBER SHOP - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY

C.O. (V.O.)

Base Commander Turrentine speaking.

In the Senate barber shop, DeHaven is having her hair

colored. She holds a fax of the Tribune article in one

hand, a cell phone in the other.

DEHAVEN:

(hitting like a Scud)

Commander, are you of the habit of

letting photographers traipse around

your base snappin' their fill?

These were supposed to have been

discreet test cases --

INTERRCUTTING:

C.O.

Senator, they stand out on the

public highway with telephoto

lenses --

DEHAVEN:

-- and now I got reporters from

Toadsquat, Iowa, calling my office

and askin' what I know about this

"G.I. Jane" thing.

C.O.

-- nothing I can do about it unless

you're suggesting I infringe on

their civil liberties -- which I'd

happily do if you'll just trim a

little fat off the Constitution.

DEHAVEN:

Are you truly mouthin' off to a

senior member of the Senate Arms

Committee? I mean, I'll give you

points for style -- just nothin' for

smarts.

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

The C.O. double-takes as Jordan enters: She's sun-burned,

wind-burned, sand-burned, chapped and chaffed, bloody and

soggy. Her dive suit leaks onto the floor.

JORDAN:

See me, sir?

C.O.

You makin' friends with the press,

lieutenant?

He tosses her the paper. Jordan scans the article as

DeHaven continues over speakerphone:

DEHAVEN:

Well, seein's how this thing is out,

you let me handle the r.p.m. From

this point forward, I want all press

matters coordinated via my office.

I'll be god-damned if I'm gonna

watch Hayes pull flowers out of his

ass and take credit for this one.

Him or the President.

(aside to beautician)

This my shade? "Midnight Mahogany"?

'Cuz I'm comin' dangerously close to

lookin' like Ronald Reagan here.

C.O.

Your prerogative, Senator.

DEHAVEN:

Awright. How's our girl doin',

anyway?

C.O.

Standing right here in my office.

DEHAVEN:

Jordan, dear. How are they treating

you?

JORDAN:

(catching C.O.'s

eyes)

Can't complain, ma'am.

DEHAVEN:

Hmmm. Maybe I'll ask when I see you

in person.

JORDAN:

Uh, ma'am.

DEHAVEN:

Gonna be visiting that all-woman's

America's cup team in a few weeks --

If I were a gambler, I'd say Dennis

O'Conner's days are numbered. But

they're in San Diego, so I thought

I'd take a quick promenade of the

base.

Deafening silence. We aren't sure who dreads the idea

more -- the C.O. or Jordan.

C.O.

Uh, V.I.P. security arrangements

generally take some time, Senator.

DEHAVEN:

"Security"? What the hell you

talkin' about? Your base isn't

secure?

C.O.

Of course, but there's more --

DEHAVEN:

Then set out the good plates, we'll

all have lunch. My office will

follow up with details. Jumping

off, now...

Phone goes dead. The C.O. gives Jordan a look one might

reserve for a lab technician who inadvertently unleashed

Ebola upon the world.

JORDAN:

Sir, I want you to know that I had

nothing to do with any of this. Not

this article, not --

C.O.

"We'll all have lunch." Good idea.

Oh, and let's be sure to invite this

sociologist, too -- just in case we

want to have a F***ING BRIDGE GAME

AFTERWARDS!

YEOMAN:

Sir? Secretary Hayes calling.

The C.O.'s headache becomes a migraine.

JORDAN:

(backing out)

Permission to leave, sir?

C.O.

Permission to evaporate, O'Neil.

INT. SENATE BARBER SHOP - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY

DeHaven hands the phone to her aide. He's set up a

portable office in the next barber chair.

DEHAVEN:

Think I overplayed it?

DEHAVEN'S AIDE

Congress and the Pentagon share a

lot of plumbing. They'll never know

whose leak it is.

EXT. BEACH - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

150-pound rubber boats ("Zodiacs") litter the beach. The

class is breaking down into six-man crews.

THE CHIEF:

Boat Five -- Wickwire, Cozad, Vinyl,

Intagliata, Ayers, and Wise.

Lieutenant Wickwire is your senior

officer. Follow his orders to your

death.

INSTRUCTOR PYRO:

Get it up!

Crew Five finds their Zodiac, hoists it onto their heads.

THE CHIEF:

Boat Six -- England, O'Neil, McCool,

Montgomery, Cortez, and Slutnik.

Lieutenant England is your senior

officer.

Jordan rolls her eyes: At least two of the guys in her

crew are blue-ribbon misogynists. Cortez and Slutnik

don't like it any better.

JORDAN:

Ah, c'mon...

CORTEZ:

Motherachrist...

SLUTNIK:

Me? Again?

THE CHIEF:

(looking up)

Somebody got a problem with the

muster?

JORDAN:

Fine by me, sir!

CORTEZ:

No problem, sir!

SLUTNIK:

Full of joy here, sir!

Exchanging looks across their Zodiac, Jordan and her new

crewmates lift the boat overhead.

THE CHIEF:

Boat Seven...

EXT. BEACH - CORONADO NAVAL BASE - DAY

With BATTLE CRIES, 12 boat crews charge into the teeth of

the POUNDING SURF. Some lose their boat to the first

wave; others clear the surf and scramble aboard.

INSTRUCTOR PYRO:

(into bullhorn)

First crew to finish gets hot food

and warm racks for the night! Rest

of you are digging hide-sites and

eating earthworms tonight!

EXT. OCEAN - DAY

Beyond the breakers, the Zodiacs run parallel to shore,

crews paddling furiously, racing the wind, the sun, the

other crews. Instructors shadow in power boats,

stopwatches running.

EXT. BOAT SIX - OCEAN - DAY

McCool

Don't wanna be pickin' no sandcrabs

outta my ass tonight!

ENGLAND:

So shutup and stroke, McCool!

SLUTNIK:

Hoo-yah! Hoo-yah!

Flea checks on Jordan. She paddles hard, really digging

in. Flea grins:
On some level, he has to admire this

women.

Jordan catches the grin, gives one back.

Ahead, buoys mark the finish line. And just when it seems

victory is at hand...

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