The Grifters Page #3

Myra enters from the front, looks across at Simms, points

upward. Simms calls to her.

SIMMS:

Oh, yes, Mrs. Langtry, he's up

there, he's expecting you.

Myra crosses to the elevator. Simms speaks more softly.

SIMMS:

If you keep out the women in the

first place, see, you keep out the

hookers, and then you keep out the

cops, and that's how you have a

clean place.

EXT. ROY'S APARTMENT - DAY

AN ANGLE along the balcony, with Roy's apartment door in f.g.

and Los Angeles in b.g. Myra crosses to the door, opens it

with her key, enters.

INT. BATHROOM - DAY

A small crowded old-fashioned bathroom. Roy, shirt open and

trousers pushed down almost to his crotch, looks in the

mirror at purplish greenish bruises on his stomach. He

touches his stomach, winces.

MYRA (O.S.)

Roy?

He looks at the door, then grins at his reflection.

ROY:

Your medicine is here.

He leaves the bathroom.

INT. LIVING ROOM - DAY

Hotel furniture, shabby and anonymous. On the walls,

contrasting with everything else, are two crying-clown

pictures on black velvet, mounted in big boxy frames. Myra

stands in the middle of the room, and Roy enters, shirt and

trousers still disarranged.

MYRA:

(amused by clothing)

Well, well. In a real hurry, are

we?

ROY:

Always, for you, baby.

He reaches for her, but she playfully holds him off.

MYRA:

You aren't taking me for granted,

are you?

ROY:

Taking you for granite?

He grins, as his fingertip prods her breast.

ROY:

That isn't granite. If that fell on

me, it wouldn't hurt at all.

MYRA:

(playing along)

Are you sure?

ROY:

(pulling her close)

Let's find out.

EXT. HIGHWAY PHONE BOOTH - DAY

Lilly's white Chrysler is parked next to an open-air phone.

Traffic whizzes by. Lilly talks on the phone, with pen and

notebook at the ready. The racetrack is visible in the b.g.

LILLY:

I'm done here. Do I come back to

Baltimore?

INT. OFFICE - DAY

It could be an expensive, if gaudy, lawyer's office.

Baltimore harbor is visible past the windows. IRV, the

accountant, sits at a desk covered -- but neatly covered --

with ledgers, computer printouts, etc. He speaks on the

phone.

IRV:

Bobo wants you to go on to Delmar.

INTERCUT PHONE BOOTH AND OFFICE

LILLY:

Delmar? I never go out to

California. That's a thousand miles

from here.

IRV:

Nine hundred. Bobo needs somebody

to handle playback this time. Come

on, Lilly, you don't argue with

Bobo.

LILLY:

(fatalistic)

I know.

IRV:

Take two, three days. Call when you

get there.

LILLY:

Maybe I'll swing around Los Ang

gleez on the way.

This is Lilly making the best of the situation. She listens a

bit more, GRUNTS a farewell, hangs up, moves to her car.

INT. BEDROOM - DAY

Again, anonymous hotel furniture. Roy and Myra naked in bed,

he on his back, she straddling him, both moving gently. He's

half feeling pleasure, half unconscious.

MYRA:

Roy?

ROY:

Mm?

MYRA:

Look at me.

ROY:

Oh, I am, baby, believe me.

MYRA:

Roy? It this all we have?

ROY:

All? It ain't bad.

MYRA:

No more than this?

He tries to concentrate on her.

ROY:

What are you talking abut, Myra?

Marriage?

MYRA:

I didn't say that. You aren't

marriage material.

He keeps watching her, ironic, hips moving. Looking for a

distraction, she notices the bruise on his stomach.

MYRA:

What's that?

She touches it; he flinches back, in real pain.

ROY:

Ow! Hey, what are you trying to do,

throw me off my game?

MYRA:

(laughing)

No, baby. Come to Mama.

She folds forward onto him. He puts his arms around her. They

rock together slowly.

EXT. MOTEL - DAY

The same mountains in b.g. as at the track. Lilly carries two

small bags from her motel room, puts them on the back seat of

the Cadillac, gets behind the wheel, drives away.

INT. BATHROOM - DAY

Myra, dressed, primps at the mirror, surveys herself

critically, is reasonably satisfied, leaves.

INT. BEDROOM - DAY

Roy lies supine on the bed, semi-conscious, half-covered by a

sheet. Myra, casual, not noticing his condition, leans her

head in through the doorway.

MYRA:

Wore you out, did I? It's a good

woman you can't keep down, baby.

He moves fitfully, CROAKS an attempt at speech.

MYRA:

Have a good sleep, baby. Call you

tomorrow.

He sits up, trying to grin and be easy.

ROY:

Wait'll next year.

AN ANGLE across Roy's profile, with open bedroom door beyond

him. Through it, the living room and outer door can be seen.

Myra crosses the living room, opens the door. Bright sunlight

pours in, emphasizing the sweat on his face. She closes the

door, and he gives up trying to smile. Gingerly, he touches

his bruised stomach, winces.

ROY:

Damn that guy.

He's going to get out of bed, but movement creates pain. He

sits back against the headboard, looks around, reaches

painfully to the bedside table drawer, takes a quarter from

it, studies the quarter, feels it with fingertips, places it

on the back of his left hand, slowly moves the soft pads of

his right palm over it, then turns the quarter over and

repeats. Then he takes the quarter in his right hand, flips

it, slaps it down onto the back of his left hand, SPEAKS

simultaneously with the hands coming together.

ROY:

Smack.

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