Pulp Fiction Page #23

Butch hangs up the phone. He looks at the cab waiting to

take him wherever he wants to go.

BUTCH:

(to himself in French

with English subtitles)

Fabienne my love, our adventure

begins.

CUT TO:

EXT. MOTEL (STOPPED / RAINING) – NIGHT

Esmeralda's taxi pulled into the motel parking lot. The rain

has stopped, but the night is still soaked. Butch gets out,

now fully dressed in tee-shirt, jeans and high school athletic

jacket. He leans in the driver's side window.

ESMARELDA:

Forty-five sixty.

Handing her the money.

BUTCH:

Merci beaucoup. And here's a little

something for the effort.

Butch holds up a hundred dollar bill.

Esmarelda's eyes light up. She goes to take it. Butch holds

it out of reach.

BUTCH:

Now if anybody should ask you about

who your fare was tonight, what're

you gonna tell 'em?

ESMARELDA:

The truth. Three well-dressed,

slightly toasted, Mexicans.

He gives her the bill.

BUTCH:

Bon soir, Esmarelda.

ESMARELDA:

(in Spanish)

Sleep well, Butch.

He tweaks her nose, she smiles, and he turns and walks away.

She drives off.

INT. MOTEL (ROOM SIX) – NIGHT

Butch enters and turns on the light.

Lying curled up on the bed, fully dressed, with her back to

us is Butch's French girlfriend, FABIENNE.

FABIENNE:

Keep the light off.

Butch flicks the switch back, making the room dark again.

BUTCH:

Is that better, sugar pop?

FABIENNE:

Oui. Hard day at the office?

BUTCH:

Pretty hard. I got into a fight.

FABIENNE:

Poor baby. Can we make spoons?

Butch climbs into bed, spooning Fabienne from behind.

When Butch and Fabienne speak to each other, they speak in

babytalk.

FABIENNE:

I was looking at myself in the mirror.

BUTCH:

Uh-huh?

FABIENNE:

I wish I had a pot.

BUTCH:

You were lookin' in the mirror and

you wish you had some pot?

FABIENNE:

A pot. A pot belly. Pot bellies are

sexy.

BUTCH:

Well you should be happy, 'cause you

do.

FABIENNE:

Shut up, Fatso! I don't have a pot!

I have a bit of a tummy, like Madonna

when she did "Lucky Star," it's not

the same thing.

BUTCH:

I didn't realize there was a

difference between a tummy and a pot

belly.

FABIENNE:

The difference is huge.

BUTCH:

You want me to have a pot?

FABIENNE:

No. Pot bellies make a man look either

oafish, or like a gorilla. But on a

woman, a pot belly is very sexy. The

rest of you is normal. Normal face,

normal legs, normal hips, normal

ass, but with a big, perfectly round

pot belly. If I had one, I'd wear a

tee-shirt two sizes too small to

accentuate it.

BUTCH:

You think guys would find that

attractive?

FABIENNE:

I don't give a damn what men find

attractive. It's unfortunate what we

find pleasing to the touch and

pleasing to the eye is seldom the

same.

BUTCH:

If you a pot belly, I'd punch you in

it.

FABIENNE:

You'd punch me in my belly?

BUTCH:

Right in the belly.

FABIENNE:

I'd smother you. I'd drop it on your

right on your face 'til you couldn't

breathe.

BUTCH:

You'd do that to me?

FABIENNE:

Yes!

BUTCH:

Did you get everything, sugar pop?

FABIENNE:

Yes, I did.

BUTCH:

Good job.

FABIENNE:

Did everything go as planned?

BUTCH:

You didn't listen to the radio?

FABIENNE:

I never listen to your fights. Were

you the winner?

BUTCH:

I won alright.

FABIENNE:

Are you still retiring?

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