Wonder Boys Page #3

MISS SLOVIAK:

Oh, I couldn't agree more.

NEW ANGLE:

GRADY works his way through the crowd, spies Walter, and

changes course. Directly ahead is an oddly commanding MAN

("Q"). From the behavior of the people in his vicinity it's

clear he is someone of interest. Presently, he is putting

the make on Hannah Green.

Q:

And while my latest has been on the New York

Times bestseller list for 40 weeks, I can't

help but lament that my first book, which

contains what I consider my finest writing, was

remaindered in less than five. So, I find

myself conflicted.

GRADY:

Ask him if he's conflicted about his house in

the Hamptons.

HANNAH GREEN:

(brightening)

Grady.

Q eyes GRADY over his wine glass.

Q:

Hello.. .Professor.

GRADY:

Q,. Hannah's had two stories published in The

Paris Review. You'd best dust off the 'A'

material for her.

As GRADY moves off, he sees Poe sniffing, and goes the

other way, heading directly into the crosshairs of a MAH IN

TWEED, who is talking to another, shorter MAN.

MAN IN TWEED:

(to short man)

A supermarket for the mind, my ass. I'm

telling you, they're nothing but a big, fat mob

laundry. Have you ever been to Davenport, Iowa?

Let me tell you, they need a 30,000-square-foot

bookstore like they need another goddamn cow.

(as GRADY passes)

Grady!

GRADY:

Hello, Nathan.

MAN IN TWEED:

My God, I haven't seen you since, what? The

PEN/Faulkner Awards. That was a big night for

you, Grady.

(to his friend)

GRADY was there for Arsonist's Daughter,

The short man blinks, impulsively takes Grady's hand.

SHORT MAN:

Douglas Triddly, Amherst. I kid you not when I

say Arsonist's Daughter belongs in the pantheon

of late twentieth century fiction. I've had it

on my Graduate Studies syllabus three years

running.

GRADY:

(pulling away)

No wonder it's still in print.

As GRADY flees, he passes a WOMAN holding a cigarette.

WOMAN WITH CIGARETTE

...can take my word for it, writer's are lousy

fucks. Poets aren't bad, but then you've got to

deal with the sweater thing. They'll discover

the cancer in your heart every time, but God

forbid they find a decent dry cleaner.

14EXT. REAR GASKELL HOUSE - NIGHT

GRADY comes out the back: door and ferrets a JOINT from

his pocket, lights it. He takes a long draw, walks around

the side of the house. As he passes a window, a VOICE

accosts him.

MAN'S VOICE

There you are.

GRADY starts, but when he looks through the window, he

sees that the VOICE belongs to WALTER GASKELL and the

person to whom he's talking is Sara. They are standing in

the kitchen, near an elaborate WINE RACK.

WALTER:

I could swear I had a '63 Chateau Latour in

here. You haven't seen it, have you?

SARA:

I doubt I'd recognize a '63 Chateau Latour if

I was sitting on it.

WALTER:

You'd recognize it if you tasted it.

SARA:

I doubt it, darling.

WALTER:

(angling & bottle to the light)

Well, Q certainly will. And, given that he

will be addressing 500 people in little over an

hour...

SARA:

You want to keep him happy.

WALTER:

If he' s happy. . .

(kissing her as he exits)

I'm happy.

As Walter goes, GRADY studies Sara as she stands alone in

the quiet little room, looking small and tired. Finally,

she takes a breath, steeling herself, and moves off,

returning to the clamor inside her house.

GRADY sighs, guilt-stricken, then detects a FLICKER of

LIGHT coming from the darkness beyond. A FIGURE is watching

him from the retaining wail that leads to the Gaskell's

garage. GRADY blinks, chagrined that he's been caught

eavesdropping, then his eyes narrow and he steps off the

porch.

GRADY:

James?

James Leer wears the same nasty overcoat from class, a

GREEN KNAPSACK hanging off one shoulder. GRADY looks at

what appears to be a sliver of moonlight in James' palm.

JAMES LEER:

It's fake.

James' face betrays his own fragile chagrin and GRADY

peers more closely at what lies in his extended hand. The

sliver of moonlight is, in fact, a shiny PEARL-HANDLED

PISTOL.

JAMES LEER:

It was my mother's. She won it in a penny

arcade in Baltimore when she was in Catholic

school.

GRADY:

It's very convincing.

JAMES LEER:

It used to shoot these little paper caps, but

they don't make them anymore. The caps.

GRADY reaches for the gun, but James closes his fingers

and slips the tiny thing back into his overcoat.

JAMES LEER:

It's just. ..for good luck. Some people carry

rabbits' feet...

GRADY:

...You carry firearms.

As GRADY exhales a plume of smoke, James' eyes pass

briefly over the jay. GRADY

notices, offers.

JAMES LEER:

No, thank you. I don't like to lose control of

my emotions.

GRADY nods, accustomed to James' weirdness.

JAMES LEER:

I'm not supposed to be here, in case you were

wondering. I crashed. I mean, not

intentionally...

James nods toward the house, where Hannah Green can be

seen in a window, still fending off the determined Q.

JAMES LEER (cont'd)

...but the other night, Hannah and I were

together, at the movies, and she asked me.

Since she was coming. So I ended up coming.

Too.

GRADY nods, ponders this over-elaborate explanation.

GRADY:

Are you and Hannah seeing each other, James ?

JAMES LEER:

No! What gave you that idea?

GRADY:

Relax, James. I'm not her father. I just rent

her a room.

JAMES LEER:

She likes old movies like I do, that's ail.

(glancing back at the window)

Besides, she doesn't really know me. She

thinks she does, but she doesn't. Maybe it's

because she's Mormon and I'm Catholic.

GRADY:

Maybe it's because she's beautiful and she

knows it and try as she might to not let that

screw her up, it's inevitable that it will in

some way.

James looks away from the window, at Grady.

JAMES LEER:

You're not like my other teachers, Professor

Tripp.

GRADY:

You're not like my other students, James. So

what was the movie you two saw?

JAMES LEER:

Huh? Oh. Son or Fury. With Tyrone Power and

Frances Farmer.

GRADY:

She went crazy, Frances Farmer.

JAMES LEER:

So did Gene Tierney. She's in it too.

GRADY:

Sounds like a good one.

JAMES LEER:

(a crooked smile)

It's not bad.

GRADY considers James' fragile face.

GRADY:

Listen, James, about this afternoon. In

workshop. I'm sorry. I think I let things get a

bit out of control.

JAMES LEER:

They really hated it. I think they hated it

more than any of the other ones.

GRADY:

Well...

JAMES LEER:

It doesn't matter. It only took me an hour to

write.

GRADY:

(truly impressed)

Really? That's remarkable.

JAMES LEER:

I have trouble sleeping. While I'm lying in

bed I figure them out. The stories.

As James gazes off at the gloaming greenhouse, GRADY

looks down at the left front POCKET of James' overcoat.

Like a nervous tic, James' hand- hidden-twitches against

the modest bulk of the cap gun.

Rate this script:3.0 / 4 votes