Taxi Driver Page #6

have some coffee and pie with me.

Betsy doesn't quite know what to make of Travis. She is

curious, intrigued, tantalized. Like a moth, she draws

closer to the flame.

BETSY:

Why?

TRAVIS:

Well, Betsy mam, I drive by this

place here in my taxi many times a

day. And I watch you sitting here

at this big long desk with these

telephones, and I say to myself,

that's a lonely girl. She needs a

friend. And I'm gonna be her friend.

(smiles)

Travis rarely smiles, but when he does his whole face glows.

It is as if he is able to tap an inner reserve of charm

unknown even to himself. Betsy is completely disarmed.

BETSY:

I don't know...

TRAVIS:

It's just to the corner, mam. In

broad daytime. Nothing can happen.

I'll be there to protect you.

BETSY:

(smiles)

All right.

(relents)

All right. I'm taking a break at

four o'clock. If you're here then

we'll go to the corner and have

some coffee and pie.

TRAVIS:

Oh, I appreciate that, Betsy mam.

I'll be here at four o'clock

exactly.

(pause)

And... ah... Betsy...

29.

BETSY:

Yes?

TRAVIS:

My name is Travis.

BETSY:

Thank you, Travis.

Travis nods, turns and exits.

Tom, who has been watching this interchange with a pseudostandoffish

(actually jealous) air, steps over to Betsy. His

manner demands some sort of explanation of what Betsy was

doing.

Betsy simply shrugs (it's really none of his business) and

says:

BETSY:

I'm just going to find out what the

cabbies are thinking.

CUT TO:

Travis is pacing back and forth on Broadway just beyond the

Palantine Headquarters. He checks his watch.

TRAVIS (V.O.)

April 26, 1972. Four o'clock p.m. I

took Betsy to the Mayfair Coffee

Shop on Broadway...

INT. COFFEE SHOP

Travis and Betsy are sitting in a booth of a small New York

Coffee Shop. They both have been served coffee; Travis is

nervously turning his cup around in his hands.

As Travis speaks V.O., WAITRESS brings their orders: Apple

pie for TRAVIS, fruit compote for BETSY.

TRAVIS (V.O.)

I had black coffee and apple pie

with a slice of melted yellow

cheese. I think that was a good

selection. Betsy had coffee and a

fruit salad dish. She could have

had anything she wanted.

Betsy's conversation interrupts Travis' V.O.:

30.

BETSY:

We've signed up 15.000 Palantine

volunteers in New York so far. The

organizational problems are becoming

just staggering.

TRAVIS:

I know what you mean. I've got the

same problems. I just can't get

things organized. Little things, I

mean. Like my room, my possessions.

I should get one of those signs

that says, "One of these days I'm

Gonna Organezizied".

Travis contorts his mouth to match his mispronunciation,

than breaks into a big, friendly, infectious grin. The very

sight of it makes one's heart proud.

Betsy cannot help but be caught up in Travis' gin. Travis'

contagious, quicksilver moods cause:

BETSY:

(laughing)

Travis, I never ever met anybody

like you before.

TRAVIS:

I can believe that.

BETSY:

Where do you live?

TRAVIS:

(evasive)

Oh, uptown. You know. Some joint.

It ain't much.

BETSY:

So why did you decide to drive a

taxi at night?

TRAVIS:

I had a regular job for a while,

days. You know, doin' this, doin'

that. But I didn't have anything to

do at night. I got kinda lonely,

you know, just wandering around. So

I decided to works nights. It ain't

good to be alone, you know.

BETSY:

After this job, I'm looking forward

to being alone for a while.

31.

TRAVIS:

Yeah, well...

(a beat)

In a cab you get to meet people.

You meet lotsa people. It's good

for you.

BETSY:

What kind of people?

TRAVIS:

Just people people, you know. Just

people.

(a beat)

Had a dead man once.

BETSY:

Really?

TRAVIS:

He'd been shot. I didn't know that.

He just crawled into the back seat,

said "West 45th Street" and conked

out.

BETSY:

What did you do?

TRAVIS:

I shot the meter off, for one thing.

I knew I wasn't goimg to get paid.

Then I dropped him off at the cop

shop. They took him.

BETSY:

That's really something.

TRAVIS:

Oh, you see lots of freaky stuff in

a cab. Especially when the moon's

out.

BETSY:

The moon?

TRAVIS:

The full moon. One night I had

three or four weirdoes in a row and

I looked up and, sure enough, there

it was - the full moon.

Betsy laughs. Travis continues:

32.

TRAVIS:

Oh, yeah. People will do anything

in front of a taxi driver. I mean

anything. People too cheap to rent

a hotel room, people scoring dope,

people shooting up, people who want

to embarrass you.

(a bitterness emerges)

It's like you're not even there,

not even a person. Nobody knows you.

Betsy cuts Travis' bitterness short:

BETSY:

Com'on, Travis. It's not that bad.

I take lots of taxis.

TRAVIS:

I know. I could have picked you up.

BETSY:

Huh?

TRAVIS:

Late one night. About three. At the

plaza.

BETSY:

Three in the morning? I don't think

so. I have to go to bed early. I

work days. It must have been

somebody else.

TRAVIS:

No. It was you. You had some manila

folders and a pink bag from Saks.

Betsy, realizing Travis remembers her precisely, scrambles

for a polite rationale for her behavior:

BETSY:

You're right! Now I remember! It

was after the Western regional

planners were in town and the

meeting went late. The next day I

was completely bushed. It was

unbelievable.

TRAVIS:

If it wasn't for a drunk I would

have picked you up. He wanted to go

to the DMZ.

33.

BETSY:

The DMZ?

TRAVIS:

South Bronx. The worst. I tried to

ditch him, but he was already in

the cab, so I had to take him.

That's the law. Otherwise I would

have picked you up.

BETSY:

That would have been quite a

coincidence.

TRAVIS:

You'd be surprised how often you

see the same people, get the same

fare. People have patterns. They do

more or less the same things every

day. I can tell.

BETSY:

Well, I don't go to the Plaza every

night.

TRAVIS:

I didn't mean you. But just ordinary

people. A guy I know - Dough-Boy -

met his wife that way. They got to

talking. She said she usually

caught the bus so he started

picking her up at the bus stop,

taking her home with the flag up.

BETSY:

That's very romantic. Some of your

fares must be interesting. See any

stars, politicians, deliver any

babies yet?

TRAVIS:

Well, no... not really... had some

famous people in the cab.

(remembering)

I got this guy who makes lasers.

Not regular lasers, not the big

kind. Little lasers, pocket sized,

small enough to clip your belt like

a transistor radio, like a gun, you

know. Like a ray gun. Zap.

BETSY:

(laughs)

What hours do you work?

34.

TRAVIS:

I work a single, which means

there's no replacement - no second

man on the cab. Six to six,

sometimes eight. Seventy-two hours

a week.

BETSY:

(amazed)

You mean you work seventy-two hours

a week.

TRAVIS:

Sometimes 76 or 80. Sometimes I

squeeze a few more hours in the

morning. Eighty miles a day, a

hundred miles a night.

BETSY:

You must be rich.

TRAVIS:

(big affectionate smile)

it keeps ya busy.

BETSY:

You know what you remind me of?

TRAVIS:

What?

BETSY:

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