Playback Page #21

KILLAINE:

(dryly)

Why not?

He picks up his trench coat and starts to put it on.

KILLAINE:

Especially as I already knew it.

He goes out. They watch him leave. As the door closes,

Brandon turns to Betty.

BRANDON:

Bad?

BETTY:

Bad enough.

BRANDON:

He could hardly help suspecting

you.

BETTY:

That's putting it mildly.

She walks across to French doors and stands looking out.

BETTY:

(over shoulder)

What time is it?

BRANDON:

(looking at watch)

Quarter after one. Why?

BETTY:

There's a lot of night left to

live through.

BRANDON:

So there is. You don't want to go

to bed. I don't want to go to bed.

Let's go somewhere and hear some

music--have something to drink--

something to eat--even dance.

BETTY:

Dance? Tonight?

BRANDON:

Let's not pretend Mitchell meant

anything to either of us.

BETTY:

Certainly not to me.

BRANDON:

Just who are you, anyway?

BETTY:

You, too?

(a beat)

My name is Betty Mayfield. I was

born, and I am here. Message ends.

That's what I told him. He didn't

like it.

BRANDON:

I'm different. I like it fine.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. ROYAL HOTEL - LOBBY/DESK/ELEVATOR BANK -- NIGHT

Killaine is standing at the desk, holding a registration

card in his hand. A clerk is across the desk from him.

KILLAINE:

Nice writing--but no information

(he hands the card

back to clerk)

I didn't expect any.

Elevator comes down, doors open. Betty and Brandon come

out. Killaine turns, sees them. Brandon crosses to Killaine.

BRANDON:

Miss Mayfield would like a little

fresh air. Any objections?

Killaine shakes his head.

BRANDON:

In case you want to have us

followed.

KILLAINE:

I don't.

BRANDON:

Well--good night.

Killaine looks past him at Betty. Their eyes meet. Killaine

turns away quickly. Brandon rejoins Betty and they start

out of scene.

INT. ROYAL HOTEL - LOBBY -- NIGHT

TRACKING SHOT - BRANDON AND BETTY WALKING

Lobby is very empty. A short, thick-set MAN is trimming a

cigar in a chain. They pass in front of him. He looks up,

stares hard at Betty. Betty meets his glance, looks away

quickly. CAMERA STOPS AND HOLDS ON SEATED MAN. He looks

after them, puts away his pocket knife, lights cigar

leisurely, stands up, goes after them.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. STREET - WATERFRONT -- NIGHT

Mooring slips on one side, below a sea wall. On the other

side, a row of nondescript buildings, a few which have

electric signs, one of them an old-fashioned winking

electric sign. It is a run-down neighborhood and tough.

Brandon's convertible enters shot, pulls over to curb in

front of blinking sign.

CLOSER SHOT:

Sign is now seen to be "CHARLIE'S" but the "R" is half

out, dead bulbs. Car stops, Brandon and Betty get out.

EXT. SIDEWALK - CHARLIE'S BAR -- NIGHT

CLOSE SHOT:

BRANDON AND BETTY ON SIDEWALK IN FRONT OF CHARLIE'S.

Betty is shivering.

BRANDON:

Cold?

BETTY:

Is this the best you can do?

BRANDON:

At this time of night. It's not as

bad as it looks.

A little reluctantly, she crosses sidewalk with him, they

go into swinging double doors. As the doors open, sounds

of very bad dance music is heard. Doors swing shut again.

CAMERA PULLS BACK AND PANS SLOWLY ACROSS THE STREET, as

the nondescript little car with dim lights comes up to

curb and stops some way behind Brandon's convertible. Lights

go out, and the short, tick-set man from the lobby of the

hotel gets out of car, walks along to Brandon's car, leans

in, pokes a small pencil flash at the registration on the

steering post, takes out a notebook, makes a note in it,

puts notebook and flash away, crosses to swinging doors,

starts in.

INT. CHARLIE'S BAR - UPSTAIRS DINE AND DANCE ROOM -- NIGHT

The decor is strictly Gas-house Gothic. There are booths

like horse stalls, also round scarred tables and hard

chairs. The dance band on plain wooden platform, composed

of five old young men, plays moodily and contemptuously.

There isn't a thing in the joint that could be damaged by

being dropped out of a third-story window. At one table

sits a NAVY SAILOR across from a BLOUSY GIRL. There is an

empty glass in front of him. He sits very straight, vacant

eyed, stupid drunk. A chunky grim-looking character in a

dinner jacket comes by table, pauses to glance at sailor,

makes a signal to girl, who nods. CAMERA PANS him across

to booth in which Brandon and Betty have just sat down.

The MAN in dinner jacket is MAGRUDER. He owns the joint.

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