The Grifters Page #9

BOBO:

Worries about his mother, eh? Give

him a hug for me.

LILLY:

I will. So long, Bobo.

Lilly leaves the balcony. Bobo eats more orange, looking out

at the ocean. His expression is stern but calm.

INT. CHRYSLER - DAY

Lilly drives along the highway, weeping, shaking, teeth

chattering. Her hands are both high on the wheel, the back of

the right hand developing a large red burn.

LILLY:

Lucky! Lucky! Oh, am I lucky.! Am I

lucky!

INT. HOSPITAL ROOM - DAY

Roy's appalled and embarrassed and ashamed by this story; the

surface result is, he's mad at Lilly.

ROY:

Lucky? You call that lucky?

LILLY:

(simply)

He let me live. He let me be his

friend.

Roy in his agitation wheels himself back and forth in the

wheelchair, bumping into things.

ROY:

You don't put up with that! Nobody

has to put up with that!

LILLY:

You do if you're where I am. Where

you want to be. How'd you get that

punch in the stomach, Roy?

He closes down, sullen, not caring if she believes him or

not.

ROY:

I tripped over a chair.

LILLY:

(calm maternal advice)

Get off the grift, Roy.

ROY:

Why?

LILLY (CONT'D)

(faint smile)

You don't have the stomach for it.

He stares at her, hurt and angry. She stares back,

unflinching. Angrily, he spins the wheelchair around, his

back to her.

Now she's hurt. She shrugs, speaks indifferently to his back.

LILLY:

I just give you your life. What you

do with it is up to you.

ROY:

(his back turned)

That's right.

She hesitates, then stalks out, shutting the door.

Hearing the door close, Roy spins around in the wheelchair to

face where she'd been. He starts to get up, pauses midway.

INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR - DAY

Angry, Lilly takes a step away from the closed door, then

stops, looks uncertainly back.

INT. HOSPITAL ROOM - DAY

Roy, on his feet now, stands still, indecisive.

INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR - DAY

Lilly shakes her head, turns firmly away, marches down the

corridor.

INT. HOSPITAL ROOM - DAY

Roy makes an angry gesture, drops back into the wheelchair,

spins it around and wheels over to the phone. Quick and

angry, he makes a call. SOUND of ring; SOUND of click.

MYRA (V.O.)

(filtered; little-girl

flirtatious)

Myra here. Sorry you missed me.

Tell me how to reach you and I

will, just as soon as I can.

SOUND of answering machine beep.

ROY:

Babe, I'm gettin out of here, and

that's it. Let's take some time out

this weekend, go down to LaJolla,

hit the beach, have some fun.

Forget all this other stuff, huh?

Roy hangs up, sits in the wheelchair looking determined.

INT. MADERO LOBBY - DAY

Simms talks with a MAID.

SIMMS:

Your difference between your folded

towel and your clean towel is a

trip to the laundry. When you're

cleaning those bathrooms, what you

do, you pick up the towel, you give

it a good shake and a good look,

and you say to yourself, 'Would I

dry myself on this towel?' If the

answer's yes, fold it.

Roy comes out of the elevator, crossing toward Simms.

MAID:

What if it's wet?

SIMMS:

Mr. Dillon! Welcome back! You look

fine, just fine.

ROY:

Thanks, Mr. Simms, I'm feeling

fine.

MAID:

(shy)

I'm glad you're better.

Simms hands Roy a stack of mail.

SIMMS:

You're well liked around here, Mr.

Dillon. The entire staff will be

pleased to see you're back.

Roy's touched and embarrassed by this reaction.

ROY:

Well, thank you. And thank them.

SIMMS:

Sickness comes to us all, Mister

Dillon.

ROY:

That's true, Mr. Simms.

SIMMS:

We never know when and we never

know why. We never know how. The

only blessed thing we know is,

it'll be at the most inconvenient

and unexpected time. Just when

you've got tickets to the World

Series. And that's the way the

permanent waves.

ROY:

Well, I'm back now. I just wanted

you to know. Gotta rush.

SIMMS:

Happy to see you looking so good.

Roy crosses back to the elevator, enters it. Elevator door

closes. Simms looks after him, avuncular.

SIMMS (CONT'D)

That fellow could be a congressman.

(turns to maid)

If it's wet, you don't fold it. You

shake it, and hang it neatly on the

rod provided.

MAID:

Yes, sir.

EXT. SARBER & WEBB - DAY

A long low stucco building in an industrial section of Los

Angeles. The company name is on the glass of the main door.

KAGGS, a humorless hotshot of 28, dressed in short-sleeved

white shirt and narrow dark tie, prowls the cracked sidewalk

in front of the place, MAKING REMARKS into a small cassette

recorder. Roy's Honda arrives and drives into the company lot

at the end of the building. Kaggs watches, then goes on

patrolling and TALKING into the recorder. Roy comes out to

the sidewalk and heads for the entrance. Kaggs stops and

watches him approach.

ROY:

(cheerful, confident)

Whadaya say?

KAGGS:

(uptight, minimal)

Hello.

Roy continues on and enters the building.

INT. SARBER & WEBB - DAY

A low rail separates the visitors from an area of desks with

CLERKS typing or adding up figures or TALKING on the phone.

Beyond them are floor-to-ceiling bins and shelves with narrow

aisles between, in which more CLERKS move busily, filling

orders or doing inventory. A great sense of activity and

hubbub. Roy enters, looks around in surprise. A clerk at a

front desk sees him, stands happily.

CLERK:

Roy! Welcome back.

ROY:

(approaching him)

What's going on? This is usually

coffee break time.

CLERK:

Not since Kaggs showed up.

Other clerks, aware of Roy, come over with AD LIB GREETINGS.

ROY:

(happily basking)

Hey, yeah, I'm fine, everything's

great. What's this Kaggs? Sounds

like a disease.

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