Wonder Boys Page #5

Without thinking, GRADY flicks out the bedroom light,

leaving James Leer in the dark for the second time today.

James just sits there, a shadow in a room of shadows.

17INT. HALLWAY

A LOW RUMBLE freezes GRADY

as he enters the hail. A few feet away, Poe lies belly to

the ground, his blind blue eyes trained, more or less, in

Grady's direction.

GRADY:

Okay. Easy now. Eee-zy. . . .

GRADY starts to take a step, when.... Poe shoots forward

and sinks himself deep into Grady's ankle.

GRADY:

Jesus!

GRADY hops gracelessly, momentarily lifting Poe off the

ground as he swings his leg up. Poe, countering, rolls his

head in a snapping motion and drops GRADY in a clumsy heap.

GRADY:

Get off of me, you son-of-a-b*tch!

Poe regains his feet, but doesn't let go, whipping his

head back and forth, back and forth, over and over,

growling low, dark, and hideously from the back of his

throat, until there is a sharp...

CRACK! CRACK!

Poe YELPS, goes perfectly still, then topples heavily

onto Grady's legs. GRADY

turns. James Leer stands in the doorway, posed with the

little pearl-handled pistol like Steve McQueen.

GRADY looks at James. Then Poe. Then back to James.

GRADY:

Sh*t, James. You shoe Dr. Gaskell's dog.

JAMES LEER:

I had to. Didn't I?

GRADY:

Couldn't you've just pulled him off me?

JAMES LEER:

No! He was crazy. I didn't-he looked-- 1

thought --

GRADY:

Okay, okay. Take it easy. Don't freak out on

me.

GRADY roils down his sock. Apparently, Poe went through

life with a slight overbite.

JAMES LEER:

Do you have a mirror? It's the best way to see

if someone's breathing.

GRADY:

He's dead, James. Believe me, I know a dead

dog when I see one.

James looks miserably at Poe.

JAMES LEER:

What are we going to do?

GRADY rises awkwardly, holds out his hand.

GRADY:

First you're going to give me that little cap

gun of yours.

18INT. GALAXIE - MOVING

GRADY and James stare gloomily out the windshield.

JAMES LEER:

Professor Tripp? Can I ask you a question?

GRADY:

Yea, James.

JAMES LEER:

What are we going to do with...

James glances in the backseat, where Poe lies, strange

blue eyes gleaming.

GRADY:

I don't know. I'm still trying to figure out

how to tell the Chancellor I murdered her

husband's dog.

JAMES LEER:

You?

GRADY:

Trust me, James, when the family pet's been

assassinated, the owner doesn't want to hear

one of her students was the triggerman.

JAMES LEER:

Does she want to hear it was one of her

professors?

GRADY:

I've got tenure.

19EXT. PARKING LOT -- THAW HALL (CAMPUS)

As sporadic APPLAUSE wafts from the high windowpanes of

Thaw Hall, GRADY leans into the Galaxie's trunk, creates a

space between the tuba and a ZIPPERED SUITCASE.

GRADY:

Okay.

James totters forward, arms hooked under Poe's front legs

looking like a sorry marathon dancer. GRADY frowns, limps

forward, and takes the hind legs.

JAMES LEER:

He's still a little warm.

They lay him down, push him deep into the trunk--until

there is a SOUND like a pencil SNAPPING.

JAMES LEER:

Yuck.

GRADY grabs Crabtree's garment bag, frisks the pockets.

JAMES LEER:

That's a. big trunk. It fits a tuba, a

suitcase, a dead dog, and a garment bag almost

perfectly.

GRADY:

(searching)

That's just what they used to say in the ads.

Come on, Crabtree, I know you're holding...

JAMES LEER:

Whose tuba is that anyway?

GRADY:

Miss Sloviak's.

JAMES LEER:

Can I ask you something about her?

GRADY:

She is. Ah. Here we go...

GRADY unravels a pair of boxer shorts, finds an airplane-

size bottle of JACK DANIELS, then grabs another pair of

boxers.

JAMES LEER:

Oh. So. Is--is your friend Crabtree-- is he--

gay?

GRADY:

Most of the time he is, James. Some of the

time he isn't. Now what do we have here?

GRADY rattles a prescription bottle, then shakes out a

pair of WHITE PILLS, each etched with a tiny numeral 3.

GRADY:

Looks like ...our old friend Mr. Codeine. That

should take the pinch out of my ankle.

(handing the bottle to James)

Have one.

JAMES LEER:

No thanks. I'm fine without them.

GRADY:

Right. That's why you were standing in the

Chancellor's back yard twirling that little cap

gun of yours tonight. You're fine, all right,

you're fit as a f***ing fiddle.

GRADY opens the tiny bottle of Jack with his teeth,

drinks down two number 3's, then looks at James.

GRADY:

I'm sorry, James. I'm sorry I said that.

Recklessly, James takes a pill, tosses it in his mouth,

and tips back the tiny bottle of Jack. Half a second later,

he spits it all out. GRADY looks down, peels the soggy pill

from the lapel of his jacket.

GRADY:

How 'bout we try that again.

20INT. AUDITORIUM - LATER

On the stage. Walter Gaskell stands alone at a podium.

WALTER:

...really needs no introduction. Walk down the

aisle of any airplane or by the pool of any

hotel and you'll see his face beaming back at

you. You all know the name, you all know the

books, so welcome if you will, the man those of

us who know him simply call.. .Q.

As the audience THUNDERS, GRADY and James slink into the

auditorium. It's standing room only. As they head for an

open space against the back wail, GRADY squeezes past a KID

with a GOATEE .who regards him warily.

Q:

Good evening.

GRADY stares, over the gleaming sea of heads before him,

watching as Q pauses, ..for a very long moment... waiting

until the auditorium is consumed in a heavy, anticipatory

hush. Finally, he speaks again.

Q:

I am a writer.

As the audience EXPLODES with glee, GRADY frowns. He

glances to his right, sees James' left brow crinkled with a

similar look of bafflement.

Q (cont'd)

As a writer, one thing you learn is that

everyone you encounter has a story. Every

bartender, every taxi driver, everybody has an

idea or a. story that would make a "great book"

or a "great movie." Presumably, each of you has

an idea. (gestures to the audience)

But, how do you go from there to here? How do

you go from having an idea to having a book?

How do you get across? What is the bridge, the

bridge that allows you to walk on air from the

shoreline of inspiration to the terra firma of

accomplishment? Faith. Faith that your story is

worth the telling, faith that you have the

wherewithal to tell it, faith that the

carefully woven structure you create won't

collapse beneath you...

GRADY glances at James, sees that his eyes are unblinking

and glazed, then sees, beyond him, Sara standing by the far

EXIT. A blink later, she is gone.

Q (cont'd)

...and faith that when you get to the other

side someone will be waiting who gives a damn

about the tale you have to tell.

GRADY leans back, listening to the BEATING of his own

HEART, the soft GLIMMER of the chandeliers hanging by a

thread forty feet above his head...

Abruptly, James LAUGHS OUT LOUD--some private amusement:

bubbling up from the bottom or his brain and out into the

auditorium. As Q looks and four hundred other heads turn,

James ducks down--mortified. Crabtree, sitting a few rows

away, studies James with amusement, then winks at Grady.

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