Smoke Page #4

VINNIE:

Sounds like another one of your stories to me.

AUGGIE:

(Shakes his head)

She upped and married some other cat after I

joined the navy. By the time I got my

discharge, though, she was divorced. Her

husband poked out her eye in a domestic

quarrel.

VINNIE:

(Puffing on his cigar)

Lovely.

AUGGIE:

(Remembering)

She made a play for me after I got back, but

her glass eye kept interfering with my

concentration. Every time we got into a clinch,

I'd start thinking about that hole in her head,

that empty socket with the glass eye in it. An

eye that couldn't see, an eye that couldn't

shed any tears. The minute I started thinking

about it, Mr. Johnson would get all soft and

small. And I can't see getting married if Mr.

Johnson isn't going to be in tiptop shape.

VINNIE:

(Shaking his head)

You don't take anything seriously, do you?

AUGGIE:

I try not to, anyway. It's better for your

health. I mean, look at you, Vincent. You're

the guy with the wife and three kids and the

ranch house on Long Island. You're the guy with

the white shoes and the white Caddy and the

white shag carpet. But you've had two heart

attacks, and I'm still waiting for my first.

VINNIE:

(Takes cigar out of his mouth

and looks at it with disgust)

I should stop smoking these damn things is what

I should do. The f***ers are going to kill me

one day.

AUGGIE:

Enjoy it while you can, Vin. Pretty soon,

they're going to legislate us out of business

anyway.

VINNIE:

They catch you smoking tobacco, they'll stand

you up against a wall and shoot you.

AUGGIE:

(Nodding)

Tobacco today, sex tomorrow. In three or four

years, it'll probably be against the law to

smile at strangers.

VINNIE:

(Remembering something)

Speaking of which, are you still going ahead

with that deal on the Montecristos?

AUGGIE:

It's all set. My guy in Miami said he'd have

them within the next few weeks.

(Pause)

Are you sure you don't want to go in with me?

Five thousand dollars outlay, a guaranteed

ten-thousand-dollar return. A consortium of

Court Street lawyers and judges. They're just

drooling to get their lips around some genuine

Cuban cigars.

VINNIE:

No thanks. I don't care what you do, but just

make sure you don't get caught, okay? The last

I heard, it was still illegal to sell Cuban

cigars in this country.

AUGGIE:

It's the law that's buying. That's what's so

beautiful about it. I mean, when was the last

time you heard of a judge sending himself to

jail?

VINNIE:

Suit yourself. But don't keep the boxes around

here long.

AUGGIE:

They come in, they go out. I've got it planned

to the last detail.

VINNIE:

(Looking at his watch)

I've got to get moving. Terry will bust my

chops if I'm late. See you in September,

Auggie.

AUGGIE:

Okay, my man. Love to the wife and kids, et

cetera, et cetera. Drop me a postcard if you

can remember the address.

VINNIE leaves. AUGGIE turns back to his pizza and magazine.

8. EXT:
EVENING. FACADE OF THE BROOKLYN CIGAR CO.

A shot of the darkening sky. A shot of the cigar store. We see the

lights go out. AUGGIE comes outside, locks the door, and begins pulling

down the metal gate in front of the windows. Cut to:

A shot of PAUL running down the street toward AUGGIE.

PAUL:

(Out of breath)

Are you closed?

AUGGIE:

You run out of Schimmelpennincks?

PAUL:

(Nods)

Do you think I could buy some before you leave?

AUGGIE:

No problem. It's not as though I'm rushing off

to the opera or anything.

AUGGIE lifts the gate and the two of them go into the store.

9. INT:
EVENING. THE BROOKLYN CIGAR CO.

PAUL and AUGGIE enter the darkened store. AUGGIE turns on the lights

and then goes behind the counter to fetch PAUL'S cigars. PAUL, on the

other side, notices a 35-millimeter camera near the cash register.

PAUL:

Looks like someone forgot a camera.

AUGGIE:

(Turning around)

Yeah, I did.

PAUL:

It's yours?

AUGGIE:

It's mine all right. I've owned that little

sucker for a long time.

PAUL:

I didn't know you took pictures.

AUGGIE:

(Handing PAUL his cigars)

I guess you could call it a hobby. It doesn't

take me more than about five minutes a day to

do it, but I do it every day. Rain or shine,

sleet or snow. Sort of like the postman.

(Pause)

Sometimes it feels like my hobby is my real job,

and my job is just a way to support my hobby.

PAUL:

So you're not just some guy who pushes coins

across a counter.

AUGGIE:

That's what people see, but that ain't

necessarily what I am.

PAUL:

(Looking at AUGGIE with new eyes)

How'd you get started?

AUGGIE:

Taking pictures?

(Smiles)

It's a long story. I'd need two or three drinks

to get through that one.

PAUL:

(Nodding)

A photographer ...

AUGGIE:

Well, let's not exaggerate. I take pictures.

You line up what you want in the viewfinder and

click the shutter. No need to mess around with

all that artisto crap.

PAUL:

I'd like to see your pictures some day.

AUGGIE:

It can be arranged. Seeing as how I've read

your books. I don't see why I shouldn't share

my pictures with you.

(Pause. Suddenly embarrassed)

It would be an honor.

10. INT:
NIGHT. AUGGIE'S APARTMENT

AUGGIE and PAUL are sitting at the kitchen table, opened boxes of

Chinese food pushed to one side. Most of the surface of the table is

covered with large black photograph albums. There are fourteen in all,

and the spine of each one is labeled with a year -- ranging from 1977

to 1990. One of these albums (1987) is open on PAUL'S lap.

Close-up of one of the pages in the album. There are six

black-and-white photos on the page, each one of an identical scene: the

corner of 3rd Street and Seventh Avenue at eight o'clock in the

morning. In the upper right-hand corner of each photo, there is a small

white label bearing the date: 8-9-87, 8-10-87, 8-11-87, etc. PAUL'S

hand turns the page; we see six more similar photographs. He turns the

page again:
same thing. And again: same thing.

PAUL:

(Astonished)

They're all the same.

AUGGIE:

(Smiling proudly)

That's right. More than four thousand pictures

of the same place. The corner of 3rd Street and

Seventh Avenue at eight o'clock in the morning.

Four thousand straight days in all kinds of

weather.

(Pause)

That's why I can never take a vacation. I've

got to be in my spot every morning. Every

morning in the same spot at the same time.

PAUL:

(At a loss. Turns a page,

then another page)

I've never seen anything like it.

AUGGIE:

It's my project. What you'd call my life's

work.

PAUL:

(Puts down the album and picks up

another. Flips through the pages and

finds more of the same. Shakes his

head in bafflement)

Amazing.

(Trying to be polite)

I'm not sure I get it, though. I mean, how did

you ever come up with the idea to do this ...

this project?

AUGGIE:

I don't know, it just came to me. It's my

corner, after all. It's just one little part of

the world, but things happen there, too, just

like everywhere else. It's a record of my

little spot.

PAUL:

(Flipping through the album,

still shaking his head)

It's kind of overwhelming.

Rate this script:4.3 / 4 votes