When a Stranger Calls Page #5

A bit startled, a bit defensive toward the directness of

this question. It is Curt Duncan. He looks understandably

harried. He hasn't slept or shaved in at least a couple of

days, and is wearing regular clothing.

He clears his throat to answer...

CLIFFORD (O.S.)

What kind of clothes was he wearing...

when he escaped?

CUT TO:

INT. DR. MONK'S OFFICE -DAY

Clifford is looking through the folder again.

DR. MONK

Ordinary street clothes. Not all of

our patients have to wear the green

Gucci gowns.

CLIFFORD:

Did he have any money with him?

DR. MONK

Probably. But not more than, say,

fifty dollars. Some of the patients

are given little jobs around the

ward, for which they are paid. It's

part of the rehabilitation.

Looking down, Clifford pauses over a page in the folder.

CLOSEUP - FACT SHEET IN FOLDER

A page of legibly organized facts and statistics about Curt

Duncan. One of the entries reads: Guy du Marraux.

CLIFFORD (O.S.)

(reading)

What's Guy du Mar--

DR. MONK (O.S.)

(pronouncing it

correctly)

Guy du Marraux syndrom.

BACK TO SCENE:

DR. MONK

It's a psycho-motor dysfunction.

CLIFFORD:

Duncan had it?

DR. MONK

Only from time to time, which is

unusual.

CLIFFORD:

What is it?

DR. MONK

It attacks the nervous system. People

suffering from it are irresistibly

compelled to utter obscenities,

sometimes one, sometimes a whole

string of them. They can't control

it.

CLIFFORD:

(somewhat taken aback)

Are you being serious?

DR. MONK

Yeah. Here, I'll give you an example.

He opens a file cabinet drawer, finds a reel of quarter-inch

magnetic tape and starts to thread it through a recorder on

his desk.

DR. MONK

Duncan never had the twitch that

sometimes goes with it. And with

Duncan, as I said, the disease would

only manifest itself in periods of

extreme anxiety. When he was really

flipping out, in other words.

There is a pause as Monk fiddles with the tape recorder and

Clifford looks back down at the folder.

CLIFFORD:

Duncan was Catholic?

DR. MONK

Yeah.

(beat)

So am I.

CLIFFORD:

(mildly surprised)

That makes three of us.

DR. MONK

Is that right? So we all share the

same guilt.

Clifford smiles. Monk keeps fiddling.

DR. MONK

Here. This is Curt Duncan shortly

after he was admitted here in 1972.

Monk turns on the tape recorder as Clifford sits forward in

his chair to listen.

At first, nothing can be heard. Then there is a click as if

the machine was turned on in the middle of a conversation:

DR. MONK (O.S.)

-- to put the situation right. The

hypodermic needles are only used to

give you medication that will calm

you down. They make you feel good,

relaxed. All right?

(no answer)

We're not putting anything in your

food either. The food is just food.

DUNCAN (O.S.)

(extremely agitated)

No. I don't eat the food. It doesn't

taste right.

DR. MONK

(to Clifford)

That's Duncan.

Clifford nods and keeps listening:

DR. MONK (O.S.)

Curt, why are you fidgeting? Can't

you get comfortable?

DUNCAN (O.S.)

No, I'm not comfortable!

DR. MONK (O.S.)

Wait a -- Hey!

(to someone else)

Hold him down there. Grab him! Never

mind the chair!

There are scuffling noises underneath which can be heard,

heavy breathing and then, getting louder and more furious,

Duncan falling into the throes of Guy du Marraux.

DR. MONK (O.S.)

(periodically

interjecting)

Pull him down... That's right...

Just lay him out... Lay him right

out... Steady... Pull out his knees...

Finally Monk is heard no more and Duncan continues with the

frightening verbal torrent of Guy du Marraux.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. BAR - LATE AFTERNOON - CLOSEUP - DUNCAN

Sitting at his table inside the bar. He takes a long, noisy

drink from what looks like a bourbon on the rocks. It tastes

good, being the first real drink he's had in over six years.

But Duncan cannot relax enough to enjoy it fully. His eyes

are ever restlessly, suspiciously moving about.

ANGLE ON BAR:

As Bill walks up and stands next to Tracy. Hank moves off to

get Bill another beer.

Tracy looks up at Bill and smiles. As regulars at the same

bar, they are loose and comfortable with each other.

TRACY:

(sotto voce)

A little action for your game?

BILL:

(sotto voce)

What, him?

They both turn and look across the room at Duncan.

POV - DUNCAN

As Bill and Tracy look straight at him over their shoulders

and then turn back.

ANGLE ON BAR:

As they both smile at her joke.

TRACY:

I wouldn't bet against you.

BILL:

What's the matter? You don't like me

playing with myself?

Tracy grimaces as Hank comes back with Bill's beer. Bill

picks up the bottle, nods his thanks to Hank and heads back

to the pool table.

CLOSEUP - DUNCAN

As his eyes follow Bill to the pool table, then come back to

Tracy at the bar.

POV - DUNCAN

Looking at the back of Tracy. She reaches into her purse.

ON TRACY:

She takes her pack of cigarettes from the purse. She pulls

out a cigarette, taps it lightly on the bar, puts it to her

lips.

O.S. we hear the sound of a match being struck.

WIDER ANGLE:

Duncan is standing beside her holding a lit match. He shoves

it forward at her. It goes out.

Duncan fumbles for another match as Tracy regards him with

undisguised repulsion. Duncan gets the second match lit and

holds it out for her. She accepts the favor and lights her

cigarette.

Duncan smiles. Tracy nods and turns away. Duncan is still

holding the burning match for her to blow out. As it doesn't

look like she's going to, he lets it drop, still lit, to the

floor.

REACTION SHOT - BARTENDER

He gives a look as if to say, "Jesus, what a f***in' weirdo".

TWO SHOT - DUNCAN AND TRACY

Pause. Duncan is still smiling at her.

DUNCAN:

Hi.

No response.

DUNCAN:

What you been up to?

TRACY:

(looking at him)

My own business.

(beat)

Thanks for the light. Okay?

The Englishman sits down beside her, but doesn't look at

her.

Tracy looks away too, determined to ignore him, not to let

him get into her space.

Duncan coughs. After a long moment, he turns back to her.

DUNCAN:

Next round's on me.

Tracy keeps her eyes straight ahead, acknowledging nothing.

Pause.

Duncan takes some money from his pocket and lays it on the

bar, staring at her. Tracy turns to him:

TRACY:

(annoyed)

Listen, mister, I've got my own money.

So, if you don't mind...

She looks away again. Pause.

DUNCAN:

After what I been through, I don't

mind anything.

Longer pause.

DUNCAN:

See, that's the whole point. My

mind... Your mind... Where do they

fit in? You know what I mean?

Tracy abruptly picks up her purse and moves down the bar

away from him one seat, then another seat.

ANGLE ON ELDERLY COUPLE

They are watching this little spectacle with growing

curiosity.

ANGLE ON DUNCAN:

Still looking at her. By pointing at what she has, he orders

two more drinks from the Bartender. When they arrive, he

takes a big swallow from one, picks up the other, stands,

moves down the bar and sits beside Tracy again.

DUNCAN:

(setting her drink

before her)

Do you live around here?

TRACY:

Get offa me!!

REACTION SHOTS:

Even Bill now looks up from the pool table. His expression

darkens.

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