Kalifornia Page #4

Adele nods.

ADELE:

You gonna talk to him?

Early gets in his car.

EARLY:

If he comes back, don't answer the

door.

Early revs the raspy engine.

ADELE:

Suppose he hears me inside?

Adele's words are unheard as Early pulls away flinging his

beer bottle at a couple of chained PITBULLS in Diebold's

front yard.

OMITTED:

Sequence omitted from original script.

INT. BRIAN AND CARRIE'S LOFT - AFTERNOON

Brian enters the darkened loft interior.

BRIAN:

I picked up some Chinese. Did you

hear from the gallery?

Brian turns the corner, he's immediately greeted by a series

of erotic images being projected on the far wall. They are

slides of Carrie's photographic work. In regard to the nature

and content of Carrie's photographic work, her photographs

address the sexual collision of opposites. "What if's." The

subjects of her photographs are hypothetical and highly

unlikely partners. Studies in contract. Moments of passion.

BRIAN:

(tentative)

You got your slides back.

From across the room, he hears Carrie's disembodied voice.

He drifts toward the couch.

CARRIE:

Yeah, same old sh*t. Too graphic...

not suitable for mass consumption...

one of those... I forget. Who cares.

Brian finds her slumped down on the couch. He sits down.

She's got a drink in her hand. A bottle on her lap. She

continues to click through the slides. As she rambles on,

it's obvious that she's definitely under the influence of

something 90 proof.

CARRIE:

Christ Brian I'm dying here... you

are too, you just don't know it yet.

You're too busy working on that damned

thesis... And, thing is... when you

finally do finish it, it's just gonna

get filed away on some shelf at the

University Library... then what?

Brian can see she's upset. Drowsy from the booze. He just

watches her. Listens. Her words linger in his head.

CARRIE:

(continues)

I thought you wanted to be a writer.

BRIAN:

(quietly)

...I do.

CARRIE:

Then you can write anywhere. Let's

get out of here, while we still can.

BRIAN:

Carrie, come on... we can leave

anytime we...

CARRIE:

No we can't. We can never leave once

you start talking about tenure...

and vacation pay... and parking

privileges and... oh sh*t! let's

just go to California now, right

now, before it's too late.

BRIAN:

...just like that?

CARRIE:

Just like that. Load up the Lincoln...

point it West... stop when we hit

the f***ing ocean.

The bold graphic sexual photographs of Carrie's continue to

accentuate her comments.

CARRIE:

That's half the kick anyway. Doing

something you've never done before.

Experiencing something... different.

Something... unpredictable.

Brian notices an envelope on the floor nearby. He picks it

up. Opens it. Inside, he finds the photographs Carrie took

at the warehouse. Interested, he shuffles through them. He

becomes more and more intrigued with what he sees.

BRIAN:

...These are great.

He glances over to Carrie... she's fallen asleep. He reaches

over and quietly pulls the drink glass from her hand.

EXT. EARLY'S TRAILER - LATE AFTERNOON

Early's Grand Prix has a head of steam up as it tears across

the drive and hangs a hard right into his parking space next

to the trailer. Suddenly, Early hits the brakes hard! Another

car is parked there.

INT. EARLY'S TRAILER

Early spills through the doorway.

EARLY:

Adele, who's car's that out...

Early spots his PAROLE OFFICER standing in the bedroom area

snooping around. He has a prosthetic hand which he uses to

search through Early's things.

PAROLE OFFICER:

She's not here.

The Parole Officer hiccups throughout the scene.

EARLY:

What are you doin' here? I ain't

supposed to be at the Parole Office

'til tomorrow, two o'clock.

Early notices the man looking through some of his letters

and papers.

PAROLE OFFICER:

Social call.

The Parole Officer opens one of the closet doors, pilfers

through things inside, as if searching for something. Early

is getting pissed off but says nothing.

PAROLE OFFICER:

You're supposed to call me when you

lose your job Early. I stopped by

the mirror factory today, you left

quite a mess behind there.

EARLY:

Wasn't my fault...

He lifts his crudely bandaged middle finger.

EARLY:

...It was dangerous there and they

treated me like sh*t.

Parole Officer steps over to the refrigerator, opens it,

snoops around inside.

PAROLE OFFICER:

(swallows a hiccup)

Yeah... Well you never have been

'treated right'... Have you?

(hiccup)

Your father was pickin' on you when

he threw you out of the house for

stealing the tires off his truck.

The Marines misunderstood you when

they gave you that dishonorable

discharge.

He finishes with the refrigerator and continues his search

through the drawers and cabinets of the trailer.

PAROLE OFFICER:

(hiccup)

...The police were way out of line

when they stopped you from beating

that bartender half to death. And no

doubt God'll be pickin' on you on

Judgement Day...

EARLY:

I ain't got nothing against God.

It's the people he let come into the

world... lot of them should have

been stopped at the door. What are

you looking for?

The Parole Officer ignores the question. He steps up to a

sink overflowing with dirty dishes.

PAROLE OFFICER:

That girlfriend of yours ain't much

for housekeeping, is she.

Early dismisses the place with a glance.

EARLY:

I'm thinking about moving...

Early opens the refrigerator, grabs a bottle of beer.

EARLY:

Maybe down to Texas... Probably get

some work on them offshore oil rigs.

Hear the pay's good... hell, the

weather's got to be better'n here.

Early sits down at the table. The Parole Officer steps over

to him.

PAROLE OFFICER:

What are you talking about? You know

you can't leave the state.

(hiccup)

What you can do is get a job.

The Parole Officer pulls a slip of paper from his shirt

pocket, sets it on the table.

PAROLE OFFICER:

You be at this personnel office,

Friday, three o'clock sharp.

EARLY:

What is it?

PAROLE OFFICER:

...Janitor's job.

EARLY:

Oh man... come on, I don't want no

janitor job.

Early lifts his beer for another drink. The Parole Officer's

prosthetic hand snaps tight around the neck of the beer

bottle, just inches from Early's lips.

PAROLE OFFICER:

Hey, I don't give two shits about

what you want or don't want... I'm

telling you to be there Friday, three

o'clock sharp or the sheriff will be

here for dinner. You understand?

With that Early looks up at the man, almost defiantly, then

stands up. The Parole Officer hiccups again. Early stares at

him for a moment.

EARLY:

You oughta think about putting a bag

over your head... Might cure them

hiccups.

The Parole Officer shakes his head in disgust and walks out

of the trailer to his car.

OMITTED:

Sequence omitted from original script.

BRIAN'S DESK IN ANOTHER PART OF LOFT APARTMENT - NIGHT

Brian's in the midst of working his way through pages and

pages of thesis notes scattered atop his desk. Using

chopsticks he shovels Chinese straight out of the carton as

he studies Carrie's warehouse photographs.

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