Misery Page #8

PAUL, staring out the window.

PAUL:

(calling out)

I guess you don't get bothered by

neighbors much.

ANNIE (o-s)

Don't worry about that. You'll have

total solitude so you can

concentrate on your work.

PAUL:

Great.

CUT TO:

ANNIE in the doorway, carrying reams of typing paper, pencils,

pens and sharpener.

CUT TO:

CUT TO:

PAUL, watching her -- it's all kind of amazing. She hands him a

box of typing paper.

ANNIE:

I got you this expensive paper to

type on.

CUT TO:

PAUL, looking at the paper. It's Corrasable Bond. An idea hits

him; he masks it as best he can.

ANNIE:

(putting the rest

of the paper on the

table)

And I got a great deal on this

fifty-pound clunker -- on account

of it's missing an "n." I told the

saleslady "n" was one of the

letters in my favorite writer's

name.

PAUL:

It's two of the letters in my

favorite nurse's name, Annie.

ANNIE:

(embarrassed, blushing)

You -- fooler...!

(turns, grabs up pens,

pencils, paper)

Did I do good?

PAUL:

(gesturing to the

box of paper)

You did great, except there's just

one little thing -- I can't work

with this paper. It's Corrasable

Bond, it smudges. Maybe you could

go back into town and bring me some

white, long-grained mimeo.

ANNIE:

But mine cost the most so I don't

see how it could smudge.

PAUL:

(quickly taking a

sheet of paper, making

a pencil mark on it)

C'mere, I'll show you.

As she approaches, he rubs his thumb over the pencil mark.

ANNIE:

(looking at it)

Well, it does smudge after all --

isn't that fascinating?

PAUL:

I thought you'd be interested. I'd

like you to be in on everything,

Annie. Not just the finished book,

but how it's written.

ANNIE:

Thank you for thinking of me.

(She can be so

charming when she

wants)

Anything else I can get while I'm

in town? Any other crucial

requirements that need satisfying?

Would you like a tiny tape recorder?

Or maybe a handmade set of writing

slippers?

PAUL:

No, just the paper will be fine.

ANNIE:

(suddenly very agitated)

Are you sure? 'Cause if you want,

I'll bring back the whole store

for you.

PAUL:

Annie, what's the matter?

ANNIE:

What's the matter? I'll tell you

what's the matter. I go out of my way

for you. I do everything to try and

make you happy. I feed you, I clean

you, I dress you. And what thanks do

I get? "You bought the wrong paper,

Annie. I can't write on this paper,

Annie." Well, I'll get your stupid

paper, but you just better start

showing me a little more appreciation

around here, Mister Man.

With that, she throws the ream of paper in PAUL'S LAP, causing

considerable pain.

CUT TO:

THE DOOR as she slams it shut, locks it, stomps off and

CUT TO:

THE WINDOW. Annie, in a parka, can be seen storming out in the

direction where her Cherokee was parked. She gets in and drives

off.

CUT TO:

PAUL. He heaves a sigh, reaches out toward his tortured knees,

then drops his head. He sees something.

CUT TO:

A BOBBY PIN on the floor.

CUT TO:

PAUL, as he moves toward the bobby pin. Or tries to. It's brutally

hard for him. The chair moves half a foot. Stops. Paul strains

again. Another half foot. Another.

CUT TO:

The BOBBY PIN. The wheelchair is beside it now. PAUL reaches down

for it. Can't make it. Tries again. Can't. He takes a deep breath,

forces himself to bend, ignoring the pain. The bobby pin is in his

hands.

CUT TO:

PAUL, inserting the bobby pin into the keyhole, beginning to jimmy

the lock.

CUT TO:

THE LOCK -- it makes a SOUND -- something has caught.

CUT TO:

PAUL, excited, trying to force the bobby pin and he's doing great-

-until it slips from his hands, falls to the floor again.

PAUL:

(furious)

Sh*t...

CUT TO:

THE BOBBY PIN. Paul reaches for it. The pain has him. He reaches

again, involuntarily cries out. But he grabs it, clutches it

tight.

CUT TO:

THE KEYHOLE. Paul is trying to jimmy the lock a second time.

No luck.

CUT TO:

PAUL. In wild frustration.

PAUL:

You've written how to do this --

now do it!

CUT TO:

THE KEYHOLE. There is a loud CLICKING sound.

CUT TO:

THE DOOR as Paul turns the knob. The door opens a crack.

PAUL:

(amazed)

What do you know, it actually works.

CUT TO:

PAUL, trying to get out of the room -- but it's a b*tch because in

order to get to the lock he had to move the wheelchair up to the

door and in order to get out, he's got to maneuver it out of the

way of the door and every turn of the chair's wheels is an effort

for him. He works at it and works at it, but his energy is failing

him. He's pale, perspiring. Finally he succeeds, barely forces his

way into the hall.

CUT TO:

PAUL, in the hallway outside. He looks around for a phone. Doesn't

see one. He wheels himself over to the front door, tries it. It's

locked from the outside.

PAUL:

What a surprise.

He looks off into the living room, and...

CUT TO:

THE TELEPHONE.

CUT TO:

PAUL, wheeling into the living room. Dark red predominates. It's a

musty room. Over the mantel, a photograph of a six-year-old ANNIE,

with her mother and father in front of the family car -- a new

1952 Buick. These were happier times.

The windows have bars on them.

As PAUL begins to wheel as fast as he can toward the phone --

CUT TO:

THE PHONE as PAUL at last grabs for it, gets it, punches the

"operator" button --

PAUL:

Operator...

(nothing)

...OPERATOR...

(wildly frustrated)

...Sh*t!

He shakes the phone. It's terribly light. He picks it up, turns it

over -- it's hollow, just a shell of a telephone. He stares at it

for a long moment, shaking his head, the disappointment plain.

PAUL:

You crazy b*tch...

He puts the phone back on the table.

CUT TO:

THE GENERAL STORE. DAY.

Annie exits the store, carrying new paper, hops into her Cherokee

and drives off.

CUT TO:

THE STUDY, as PAUL enters. He looks around.

It's stuffed with heavy, graceless furniture as well as lots of

coffee tables covered with knickknacks. As he, with effort, wheels

across it --

CUT TO:

A shelf of BOOKS. PAUL SHELDON books. EVERY Paul Sheldon book.

CUT TO:

PAUL, pausing, looking at her collection. The only book on the

shelf that isn't his is a large scrapbook. The title on the back

reads "My Life."

He glances back at the shelf as he forces his wheelchair across

the study, and we

CUT TO:

A SMALL TABLE with little ceramic doodads on top. The wheelchair

his it, one of the doodads topples -- it's a penguin, fragile

looking, and as it's about to fall to the floor and shatter --

CUT TO:

PAUL, grabbing for it, catching it, putting it back where it was.

He continues his slow way across the room and

CUT TO:

THE HALLWAY.

Out in the hallway, on his way toward the kitchen, PAUL notices a

door to his right. He wheels over and surprisingly it opens.

However, this is not a door to the outside of the house, only a

storage pantry. He looks around -- nothing but canned goods,

potato chips, cereals and large plastic Coke containers, etc. Just

as he is about to close the door, he notices an open cardboard

box. He opens the flap and sees all kinds of prescription drugs.

Among them are a couple of strips of Novril encapsulated in

blisters. He grabs them and stuffs them into his sweatpants. Now

he closes the pantry door and heads to the kitchen.

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