The End of the Tour Page #14

LIPSKY:

(into the device) Dog stuff. Throw

toys, chew toys. Crap stains on

carpet. Shark doll on bookcase.

American flag. Alanis. Coal-burning

fireplace. Brick wall. Fake wood-

paneling. Soda cans. Lots of ‘em.

Diet Rite. Looks like a frat; the

bookish frat. Botticelli calendar:

Birth of Venus. Wooden chess set.

Postcard of Updike. Cartoon:

Comparative anatomy: Brains - Male,

Female, Dog.

110 INT. DAVID'S HOUSE/BEDROOM - 1996 - DAY 110

LIPSKY (CONT’D)

Barney towel used as curtain. Photo

of German philosophers. Photo collage

of his family, the kind kids put in

their dorm rooms. His sister is

pretty, looks like a female him.

Clothes everywhere: sneakers, stuff on

the floor, clothes draped over stuff.

111 INT. DAVID'S HOUSE/BATHROOM - 1996 - DAY 111

LIPSKY (CONT’D)

Padded toilet seat, looks like a rug.

Postcards:
Baboons. Clintons. St.

Ignatius quote:
“Lord teach me to be

generous. / Teach me to serve you as

you deserve; / to give and not to

count the cost... / to toil and not to

seek for rest / to labor and not to

ask for reward, / save that of knowing

that I do your will.”

112A INT. DAVID’S HOUSE/HALLWAY/OFFICE - 1996 - DAY 112A

Lipsky sees the door to David’s office, ajar for the first

time. He pushes his way in and discovers a darkened room. He

looks around quietly, barely breathing, sees the partially

illuminated keyboard and computer. He goes to the closed

drapes, pushes them aside and squints as he takes in the

brilliant snowy field.

81.

112 INT. DAVID'S HOUSE/GUEST ROOM - 1996 - DAY 112

The scraping is still heard. Lipsky packs clothes, a loafer,

and stops when he sees his book, The Art Fair. He looks at

his author’s photo.

113 EXT. DAVID'S HOUSE - 1996 - DAY 113

His book in hand, Lipsky trudges through the snow and finds

David systematically scraping away at his car.

DAVID:

Driving that rental of yours? The

feeling of gliding? This sh*t box

dudn’t even have shock absorbers.

LIPSKY:

What is it?

DAVID:

‘85 Nissan Sentra. I know it doesn’t

look like much, but, man, this thing

starts. It’s actually a problem.

LIPSKY:

Why?

DAVID:

I gotta get a new one but I can’t junk

this.

LIPSKY:

Why not?

DAVID:

It’s my friend.

LIPSKY:

Ah.

Pause.

LIPSKY:

Hey, David, I, uh...

Lipsky shyly presents David with a copy of his book.

DAVID:

Wow. Just happened to have it on you?

LIPSKY:

I debated whether or not I should I do

this.

82.

DAVID:

Why not?

LIPSKY:

I don’t know, you don’t think this is

like some kid-brother sort of thing to

do?

DAVID:

No. Thanks, man, I look forward to

reading it.

LIPSKY:

You’re welcome. I wrote my address

and e-mail on the flyleaf.

DAVID:

I’ll read it soon as I’m done with the

Heinlein and I’ll send you a note.

LIPSKY:

Great. Thanks.

David flips through the book.

DAVID:

I’ll be curious to see what it’s like

being inside your head for a change.

I like your cover.

LIPSKY:

Yeah, me, too. I had them use the

cover art for the British edition.

DAVID:

Come on. You got approval but I - ?

(stops himself)

It’s nice. It’s very nice.

Lipsky puts his bag in the Grand Am and slams the trunk.

LIPSKY:

Hey, isn’t it reassuring that a lot of

people are reading you and saying

you’re a really strong writer?

DAVID:

It’d be very interesting to talk to

you in a few years.

LIPSKY:

Why do you say that?

83.

DAVID:

‘Cause my own experience is that

that’s not so. The more people think

that you’re really good, actually the

bigger the fear of being a fraud is.

The worst thing about having a lot of

attention paid to you, is that you’re

afraid of bad attention. If bad

attention hurts you, then the calibre

of the weapon that’s pointed at you

has gone way up. Like from a .22 to a

.45. But there’s a part of me that

wants a lot of attention. And that

thinks I’m really good, and wants

other people to see it. It’s one of

the ways I think we’re sort of alike,

you know?

LIPSKY:

Uh huh.

Lipsky smiles and nods. Pause.

LIPSKY:

(in farewell) Well...

Lipsky’s awkward attempt at a hug - unreciprocated by David -

turns into a clumsy handshake. Lipsky gets into the car.

David stands at his window.

DAVID:

I’m not so sure you want to be me.

LIPSKY:

I don’t?

DAVID:

(A beat. He smiles.)

Send my best to “Jann.”

David shuts the door. Lipsky starts the car and pulls away

while David returns to scraping his car.

115 I/E. CAR/DAVID'S HOUSE - BLOOMINGTON - 1996 - DAY 115

Lipsky watches David in the rearview mirror get smaller and

smaller until he disappears from view without ever having

looked back at his visitor. From the barren, grey, mid-

western landscape we hear traffic sounds and

SMASH CUT TO:

84.

116

EXT. LIPSKY'S W 77TH ST APT - NYC - 1996 - DAY 116

The urban landscape of Central Park West, near the Museum of

Natural History. Lipsky walks along the sidewalk.

117

INT. LIPSKY'S W 77TH ST APT/LIVING ROOM - NYC - 1996 - DAY 117

Lipsky is typing at his keyboard. The doorbell buzzes.

118

INT. LIPSKY'S W 77TH ST APT/LIVING ROOM - NYC - 1996 -118

MOMENTS LATER:

Lipsky beholds a parcel. The return address is “Dave

Wallace.” What could it be? He excitedly slices open the

box and peels away newspaper to reveal: A SINGLE LOAFER. And

a message written on a post-it: “Yours, I presume?”

Accompanied by a smiley face. Nothing on the reverse.

Nothing else in the box. That’s all. Huh. Lipsky smiles in

bemusement at the lone loafer.

LIPSKY (V.O.)

When I think of this trip...

CUT TO:

119

INT. BARNES & NOBLE BOOKSTORE - NYC - 2010 - NIGHT 119

Lipsky reads from his published book, Although of Course You

End Up Becoming Yourself, to a nice-sized crowd (including

Sarah and Bob, his editor).

LIPSKY:

(reads) ...I see David and me in the

front seat of the car.

INTERCUT:

119A

I/E. CAR/OUTSKIRTS - BLOOMINGTON - 1996 - DAY 119A

Flashes back to the car ride, as described. We see them

talking but cannot hear them; all we hear is the sound of

tires on the road.

LIPSKY (V.O.)

We are both so young. He wants

something better than he has; I want

precisely what he has already. Neither

of us knows where our lives are going

to go. It smells like chewing tobacco,

soda, and smoke. And the conversation

is the best one I ever had.

85.

120 INT. DANCE HALL - BLOOMINGTON - 1996 - SUNSET 120

Lipsky imagines, in slow-motion, David dancing joyously,

sweating like crazy, with members of the church the night

Lipsky left, the night that began the rest of his life.

LIPSKY (V.O.) (CONT’D)

David thought books existed to stop

you from feeling lonely. If I could,

I’d say to David that living those

days with him reminded me of what life

is like -- instead of being a relief

from it... and I’d tell him it made me

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