Sideways Page #31

MILES:

Hit me again.

The same small amount is poured and downed. Once again Miles

holds out his glass.

MILES:

Pour me a full glass. I'll pay for

it.

POURER:

This is a tasting, sir. Not a bar.

Miles slams a TWENTY-DOLLAR BILL on the table.

MILES:

Just give me a full goddamn pour.

The pourer turns away to serve another party. Miles looks

around indignantly, as though everyone should be sympathetic

to this injustice.

Now Miles boldly reaches over and pours himself a glass right

up to the brim and beyond.

POURER:

Sir, what are you doing?

MILES:

I told you I need a drink.

POURER:

Then buy a bottle and go outside.

The pourer grabs Miles by the wrist before he can drink.

POURER:

Put the glass down.

In the ensuing struggle, the wine spills, and everyone nearby

steps back.

POURER:

You're going to have to leave, sir.

The pourer signals to a SECURITY GUY at the door. Across the

room Jack notices the disturbance and heads over.

Miles hoists up the SPIT BUCKET, holds it aloft and starts

to GUZZLE it. Wine cascades down the sides of his face, onto

his shirt and even onto his shiny new shoes.

The Security Guy yanks the bucket away from Miles, and drags

him toward the EXIT. Jack catches up.

JACK:

(to the horrified

onlookers)

It's all right. His mother just died.

EXT. BEACH - DAY

Two PELICANS soar low over the water. One of the DIVES,

crashing into the water and disappearing from view.

Jack and Miles sit on the hood of the Saab, gazing at the

ocean, sharing a bottle of wine.

JACK:

Just write another one. You have

lots of ideas, right?

MILES:

No, I'm finished. I'm not a writer.

I'm a middle-school English teacher.

I'm going to spend the rest of my

life grading essays and reading the

works of others. It's okay. I like

books. The world doesn't give a sh*t

what I have to say. I'm unnecessary.

(a dark laugh)

I'm so insignificant, I can't even

kill myself.

JACK:

What's that supposed to mean?

MILES:

You know -- Hemingway, Sexton, Woolf,

Plath, Delmore Schwartz. You can't

kill yourself before you've even

been published.

JACK:

What about that guy who wrote

Confederacy of Dunces? He committed

suicide before he got published, and

look how famous he is.

MILES:

Thanks.

JACK:

Don't give up. You're going to make

it.

MILES:

Half my life is over, and I have

nothing to show for it. I'm a

thumbprint on the window of a

skyscraper. I'm a smudge of excrement

on a tissue surging out to sea with

a million tons of raw sewage.

JACK:

See? Right there. Just what you just

said. That's beautiful. A thumbprint

on a skyscraper. I couldn't write

that.

MILES:

Neither could I. I think it's

Bukowski.

Unable to respond, Jack looks up and down the beach.

EXT. BUCOLIC ROAD - DAY

ZOOM! There goes the Saab.

The CAMERA lingers behind and PANS to reveal THE DEAD DOG,

now covered with FLIES AND MAGGOTS.

EXT. WINDMILL INN - DAY

Jack and Miles pull into the parking lot.

JACK:

(lighting up)

Oh, look. There's Steph!

He smiles broadly and honks his horn. Miles turns to see --

STEPHANIE:

seated halfway up on the motel stairs, her HELMET in her

lap, watching patiently as --

THE SAAB:

pulls to a stop in a parking space.

Miles masks his concern as he gets out of the car and reaches

in the backseat for his Sears bag.

JACK:

(calling out)

Hey, baby.

Stephanie stands up and slowly descends the steps, as Jack

reaches into the trunk and pulls out a BIG CUDDLY LION DOLL.

JACK:

Look what I got for our favorite

girl.

Stephanie walks toward Jack as he waddles toward her hugging

the lion. When they get close, Stephanie's face transforms

with rage.

STEPHANIE:

YOU MOTHERF***ER!

She swings her helmet and HITS JACK FULL IN THE FACE.

Jack falls, blood spraying out of his nose. Stephanie stands

over him and continues to BEAT HIM with her helmet as he

rolls back and forth, protecting his head with the stuffed

lion.

Miles ineffectually attempts to stop her, dancing just out

of range.

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