Klute Page #13

KLUTE:

--- Bree ---

Standing still, she starts again to cry -- and

bravely to keep the crying to herself. The child

bereft. He contends with himself, then crosses to

her, puts his arms around her, soothes her hair. A

completely asexual gesture at this point, a giving

of comfort. She clings, trembles, burrows. Then --

a SERIES OF DISSOLVES: The street outside, at

different times of night interposed, with Bree and

Klute at different times of love, As Follows:

EXT. THE STREET - DAY

The street as we saw it just previously... still

daylight... still somewhat populated, but drawing

toward dusk.

DISSOLVE:

INT. KLUTE'S APARTMENT: BPEE, KLUTE - NIGHT

Darkness now, or close to dark; the room heavily

shadowed. Bree and Klute sit together on the bed.

He still strokes her hair. He has pulled a blanket

around her shoulders. The transaction is still not

overtly sexual, but the tenderness is more overt.

He rubs his cheek against her forehead. She herself

is quieter, comforted. She begins to stir against

him.

DISSOLVE:

EXT. THE STREET - NIGHT

The street at night. Eleven o'clock, let's say.

Some lit windows; a single car moving past.

DISSOLVE:

EXT. THE STREET - NIGHT

All the windows dark this time. The deepest night,

just before the sky begins to lighten.

DISSOLVE:

INT. KLUTE'S APARTMENT: BREE, KLUTE - NIGHT

Klute is alseep -- more or less -- on his stomach.

Bree beside him lies awake. She trails her fingers

about his back. A rather tentative, exploratory

business. Her expression is more wondering than

anything else -- what does she have here, and can

she get used to it?

DISSOLVE:

EXT. THE STREET - DAY (DAWN)

The street's first stirrings. From not far off, the

sounds of trash cans being collected.

DISSOLVE:

INT. KLUTE'S APARTMENT: BREE, KLUTE - DAY (DAWN)

Klute half sits up in bed. Bree is fast asleep with

her head pillowed on his midsection. Some humor in

this shot:
he wants to move but doesn't want to

wake her. At a point he risks it, reaches out for

something beside the bed. Her eyes open

immediately. He puts his hand on her face, trying

gently to press her back.

KLUTE:

Go back to sleep.

But she takes his hand -- and retains it -- rolls

onto her back. Still relaxed, but a little more

separate, thoughtful -- a mixture of the Bree we've

seen before and the Bree we've glimpsed, the

possible Bree. She observes:

BREE:

I'm still scared.

(beat)

I mean different but still.

(frowns)

Look, I made it very clear from the

start, you're a yokel, you don't

excite me, you don't even interest

me, and so I only have one question

which is what the hell are you

doing in my bed?

KLUTE:

My bed.

She grins, then starts to reach for him, still

receptive -- then feels another (and genuine) pang,

turns her head away sharply.

BREE:

Oh!

He looks at her with concern, but only caresses

her. She manages to explain --

BREE (CONT'D)

I am scared. The things I do. The

things I could do to you.

KLUTE:

Mm.

BREE:

No, not just 'mm'. You don't know

what I --

He settles himself beside her, makes overtures. She

responds, but:

BREE (CONT'D)

Oh boy, say, you think you're

pretty good.

KLUTE:

Yup.

She pretends to bite -- they tussle -- she feels a

suddenly growing excitement, seizes him. Fiercely,

welcomingly, full out.

BREE:

Oh --

And we cut directly to:

INT. SPANGLER'S OFFICE: BREE, SPANGLER - DAY

Bree standing, angry, antagonistic, demanding. In a

way -- a Bree-like way -- she's seized psychiatry

by the throat.

BREE:

The son of a b*tch seduced me!

She waits. Spangler says nothing.

BREE (CONT'D)

I know:
it's ridiculous. But it's

tearing me up and I don't know why.

And look, all right, I came here

didn't I? And if I have to, I'll

keep coming here, the works, and

talk about my mummy and my daddy

and I'll even pay for it, but will

you kindly for God's sakes say

something?

SPANGLER:

(smiles)

I'd just be guessing.

BREE:

Guess!

SPANGLER:

Maybe this wasn't just a trick.

Maybe you're in danger of real

love, real involve --

BREE:

(primly, distintly)

I do not love him.

SPANGLER:

(undeterred, suggests)

You've spent your life avoiding

this. You'll try hard to deny it;

you're quite likely to destroy it.

WE CUT TO:

EXT. THE PLAZA OF LINCOLN CENTER

Sunlight is beaming on the graceful fountains and

elegant architecture.

Groups of cheerful tourists are admiring the

civilized monuments to man's search for culture.

CAMERA pans to ugly street across the way revealing

Klute approaching and entering a dingy warehouse

topped by an absurdly placed copy of the Statue of

Liberty. This is the municipal storehouse.

INT. MUNICIPAL STOREHOUSE - DAY

The abrupt cut from the bright sunlight leaves us

in almost total darkness as we follow KLUTE. We are

in a huge storeroom. As we grow accustomed to the

darkness we see bits and pieces of incongruous

objects scattered along Klute's path - old pieces

of furniture, lamps, piggy banks, etc. - the

remnants of the lives of the plundered, the

destroyed and the dispossessed. Some is stolen

property, some evidence for homicide cases, and

some the unclaimed possessions of the unclaimed

dead.

A CUSTODIAN -- an ancient retainer sort, a civil

servant, leads KLUTE into an old elevator cage.

INT. ELEVATOR

Klute and Custodian as elevator ascends; looking up

the elevator shaft through the open cage we see a

series of doors hanging over space seeming to lead

nowhere. The whole sequence has the feeling of a

dream of being lost in a black limbo.

Klute and Custodian leave elevator on higher floor

and walk down the long very low corridor past rows

of locked vault doors. The Custodian stops at one

and opens it. We are in a small dungeon-like room

filled with banks of files from floor to ceiling.

The Custodian counts to himself --

CUSTODIAN:

Four -- five -- what number'd I

say?

KLUTE:

Four ninety-seven, Jane McKenna

Custodian finds it, unlocks for Klute's inspection.

Reaches for paper Klute's holding.

CUSTODIAN:

-- And I keep the authorization,

please.

KLUTE:

I thought there'd be more.

Klute pokes through a small collection of personal

effects -- perhaps an ankle bracelet, rabbits foot,

faded snapshot of a child, some letters, pitiful

remnants of Jane McKenna's life. Klute closes the

drawer, and the front of the drawer is marked

McKENNA, JANE?

Over the visual material of Klute's trip through

the warehouse we hear WILD TRACK VOICE OVER bits

and pieces of BREE talking with the psychiatrist.

BREE (V.O.)

All right. Loneliness.

(space)

Well -- separated. From other

people. Forgotten.

(space)

Well, as if I can be here, I can go

through the motions, right? But the

truth is, I don't belong.

SPANGLER (V.O.)

(prompts mildly)

Don't belong?

BREE (V.O.)

(snappishly)

Do you always have to repeat?

SPANGLER (V.O.)

Sorry.

(then)

BREE (V.O.)

Well it's more than loneliness.

Hate. People hating me -- and

watching me and following and

waiting to hurt me -- you know? I'm

all screwed up.

SPANGLER (V.O.)

You think people hate you.

BREE (V.O.)

The truth is I hate them: they must

hate me. All right, the money.

(pause)

All right, not the money. A kind of

put-on.

It gets things back together.

(pause)

Well let's say I'd go to one of

these cattle-calls, a tryout. I

mean before -- before I got this

job -- and they'd always say thank

you very much and i'd feel, you

know, brought down. They didn't

want me.

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