My Own Private Idaho Page #8

MIKE:

Dunno. But I remember it. how

beautiful and kind she good. Yeah,

I remember was. She was good

DENISE:

And she split from you, huh?

MIKE:

Maybe she didn't mean to.

DENISE:

Did you see what was going on,

Mike? Between Pinky and Dale? Did

you see that? That's the third

fight I've seen today. Things

always happen in threes.

MIKE:

I don't know. They have a sort of,

ah, relationship. Between them.

Across the street there are three people, a TALL MAN, who has his

hat stuck on his boot and a lady and another man with a dog on a

leash.

MIKE:

I don't know about that, but, ah,

listen, what you and me talk

about, it's just between us, you

understand? Hey, what's over

there, see those a**holes? Who are

they, you know any of them?

DENISE:

I can't see that far

DENISE STANDS AND OPENS THE FRONT DOOR AND YELLS ACROSS THE

STREET.

DENISE:

HEY!

The group across the street look up and begin yelling back, but

we cannot hear them.

Under the Burnside Bridge, day.

Mike and Denise kiss, and their arms are entangled in a loving,

but awkward embrace. Twigs and leaves are caught in Denise's hair

as they are lying on the ground.

Different STILL COMPOSITIONS OF SEX while they are lying in the

wilds under the bridge.

Then...

Denise lights a cigarette.

DENISE:

That reminds me, I gotta send my

Ma a Christmas card, I still

haven't done it yet.

MIKE:

Yeah, I haven't done it either.

DENISE:

Your mom lives in Idaho right now?

MIKE:

Yeah.

DENISE:

I used to live in Montana.

MIKE:

My own cousin. He's dead. that's

one...two... And my grandma, it

usually comes in threes.

DENISE:

Does come in threes.

MIKE:

My cousin died, my grandmother

died, and right after she died,

her daughter died. My aunt. Within

a year. And they wuz all women,

not even a year, six...well....

six months-eight months, three

women in the family died.

A pause.

MIKE:

That's funny, huh? I WONDER WHY

YOU THOUGHT THAT, cuz, my FATHER

says stuff like that.

DENISE:

Well, my grandma was

superstitious.

MIKE:

My father told me that, said

things usually come in threes...

and I said, .... you're crazy.

A Long pause. A motorcycle passes, someone yells, and a horn

honks.

MIKE:

It sounds crazy. That's my lucky

number too.

DENISE:

Huh?

MIKE:

Three.

DENISE:

Mine's eight.

MIKE:

I like three.

DENISE:

You know why I like eight?

MIKE:

Why?

DENISE:

Cause of the eight ball. You know.

When you're stuck behind the eight

ball? I f***in' feel stuck behind

the eight ball today, I'll tell

you. The business is so slow in the

middle of the week, you know that

Mike?

Public bathroom. Night.

Mike empties the contents of his pockets at a bathroom sink. He

has in his possession: One condom. One comb with blond hair stuck

in it. One nickel. Half a stick of gum. One knife with the letter

W stamped on it.

He arranges these things in a neat order on the surface of the

sink while a man flushes a toilet in the background and uses

another sink. Mike is quite at home here. He takes his time

arranging the articles, and washing his hands. He looks over at

the man washing his hands and gives him a friendly smile.

The man leaves. Mike puts all the things on the sink into his

pockets. Then he walks over to a urinal, unzips his fly and

starts to take a leak. A shadow opens the door in back of him,

and without turning around, Mike senses the presence of a man.

Alleyway. Night.

Scottie is helping Bob with a disguise, putting on pants over a

large belly, with medallions around the neck.

SCOTT:

How long has it been, Bob, since

you could see your own feet?

BOB:

About four years, Scottie. Four

years of grief. It blows a man up

like a balloon.

Mike and Budd appear, running, with costumes on. There are two

others behind them.

MIKE:

There's rock and roll money

walking this way!

BUDD:

And they're drunk as skunks.

MIKE:

This is going to be easy. We can

do it lying down.

SCOTT:

But don't fall asleep, now, Mike.

BUDD:

Shh! Here they come!

SCOTT:

You four should head them off

there!

BOB:

We four? How many are walking with

them?

MIKE:

About six.

BOB:

Huh, shouldn't they be robbing us?

Scottie laughs. Bob waddles along the side of the alleyway,

stepping on a curb, then in a pothole losing his balance. Another

accomplice whistles from atop a building. We SEE the group of

ROCK AND ROLL promoters.

Bob walks further from Mike and Scottie.

SCOTTIE:

If they escape from you, we'll get

them here.

Bob struggles as he walks.

BOB:

Eight feet of cobblestones is like

30 yards of flat road with me.

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