The little fellow in the borrowed tux shifted from one leg to the other, which was not a long journey.
Brooke remembered her manners. “This is…I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”
“Kevin.”
“Oh yes, of course, Kevin. This is Kevin. He’s from Wales, in England. This is Bruce Delamitri, Kevin.”
“I know,” said Kevin. “I saw
Ordinary Americans
. Bloody hell, I’m glad I didn’t take my gran.”
There didn’t seem to be an obvious answer to this, so Bruce didn’t offer one. Brooke hastened to fill the silence that followed, feeling for some reason that the responsibilities of playing hostess lay with her.
“Kevin’s a winner too, Bruce. ‘Best Foreign Animated Short’. It’s about a boy called Midget—”
“Widget,” Kevin corrected her.
“Yes, that’s right,” said Brooke. “And he has a pair of magic Y-fronts. What are Y-fronts, Kevin?”
“Underpants. They’re called Y-fronts because they have an inverted Y on the front, which provides an orifice through which a bloke can poke his old fella.” Kevin hoped she’d find his British bluntness charming.
“Oh, I see.” It didn’t look as if she did.
Bruce decided it was time to get rid of the Welshman. “Wait a minute, you mean
you’re
Kevin?” he said, light apparently suddenly dawning. “The guy that makes the animated shorts? Jesus, are you a lucky guy! Sharon Stone is looking for you…Yes, that’s right, she wants to talk about your Widget…No I’m not kidding…I don’t know, maybe she likes Welsh guys, but she told me that when she saw your movie it made her nipples hard…That is what she said, word for word: it made her nipples hard…You’d better go talk to her.”
In a pub back home Kevin might have spotted that he was the victim of a less than elaborate hoax, but at the Governor’s party? Talking to Bruce Delamitri? He
had
just won an Oscar, after all, so surely anything was possible, even the notion that the work of the Welsh Cartoon Collective (in association with the Arts Council of Great Britain, Channel Four Wales and some high street bank’s Youth Initiative) could make Sharon Stone’s nipples go hard. He thanked Bruce for the tip and scurried off.
“That was a little cruel, wasn’t it?” Brooke enquired.
“No way. How many guys get to spend five minutes of their life believing Sharon Stone is interested in them?”
Bruce felt much better already. “Great dress,” he volunteered, and of course what he meant was great body, the dress, such as it was, being merely what might be called garnish, or figure-dressing.
“Thanks. Bold, I’ll admit, but it’s tough to make an impact these days. Did you see the Baywatch Babes make an entrance? It was like silicone valley in earthquake season. It’s getting so that the only women who get noticed are the tattooed lesbians from New Zealand.”
A little later they danced. It caused quite a stir, Bruce being nearly at the end of a very public divorce.
“Can I say something embarrassing?” Brooke asked.
“Sure.” Bruce hoped desperately she wasn’t going to comment on the fact that he had been pushing his erection against her stomach for the past five minutes.
“I didn’t see your picture. The one you got the Oscar for,
Ordinary Americans
.”
For some reason Bruce was pleased. “That’s OK, I don’t insist. It’s probably just as well, anyway. Maybe you’d have gone out and shot up a shopping mall.”
For a moment the bitter memory of his speech intruded on Bruce’s burgeoning seduction. He forced such unhappy thoughts from his mind and concentrated on the extraordinary body he held in his arms.
For her own part, Brooke seemed to feel that some apology was called for. “I can’t imagine how I didn’t get to see it.”
“Well, I guess you just never visited a movie theatre when it was playing…”
They danced for a moment in silence. Bruce had a thought. It was so long since he’d asked a girl to leave a party with him he’d been wondering how to broach the subject. Now Brooke had offered him the perfect opening.
“Maybe you’d like to see it now?”
“Now?”
“Sure. I have a print at the studio. We could grab some beers and dumb bits of cracker with blobs of caviare on them and go watch it on my editing machine.”
“My God, I’ve had guys ask me to the movies before, but this is the first time the guy with the Oscar offered me a private view. Quite a date.”
“So you’ll come?”
“No, I have netball practice. Of course I’ll come, for Christ’s sake.”
“Great. I think you’ll like the picture. One word of warning though: it does contain scenes of graphic violence.”
TWELVE
INTERIOR. NIGHT. A 7-11 STORE.
A robbery is in progress. Terrified customers and staff lie on the floor with their hands on their heads. Standing over them are WAYNE and SCOUT, poor white trash murdering hoods on a killing spree. They are both heavily armed. Wayne is in his early twenties. He wears work boots, jeans and a torn vest, and has tattoos on his muscular arms. Scout is a waif-like girl in her late teens. She has on pink Doc Martens boots and a girlish little cotton summer dress. Clearly, there has already been a terrible incident: there is money scattered about everywhere, and two or three dead or dying people lie among the cowering customers. Wayne and Scout are both hysterically elated. He grips her to him.
WAYNE
: (SHOUTS WILDLY)
I love you, sugar pie!
SCOUT
: I love you too, honey.
They embrace. A customer, a fat man lying face-down on the floor, still holding a half-eaten hamburger near his mouth, steals a glance at Wayne and Scout Wayne is chewing on Scout’s ear. Close-up on Wayne’s face as he turns away from Scout’s head to notice that the fat man is looking at him.
WAYNE
: You like to watch, fat boy?
The terrified man says nothing. His answer is to bury his face in the floor as hard as he can and wrap his arms around his head. Wayne’s POV is now just the top of the man’s balding head with his pudgy hand pressed against it, holding the half-chewed burger. There is a loud bang and a hole appears in the top of the bald head. Blood runs out as if from a tap, not a spurt but a silent, almost gentle, welling-up, a small flood, so to speak, which quickly forms a large pool, soaking into the hamburger and turning it completely red.
Cut back to Wayne, who is ignoring his victim completely, and is grinding his hips against Scout.
WAYNE
: Oh Sweet Jesus! Killing makes me horny! I’m going to screw you till your teeth rattle, baby.
Wayne’s strong hands clutch at Scout’s buttocks. It is almost as if his fingers will push through the flimsy cotton.
Cut to close-up of the dead fat man’s hand gripping the blood-soaked burger. (NOTE: The impression should be that the burger and Scout’s backside are just two different pieces of meat to be devoured by men.)
Cut back to full-length two shot of Wayne and Scout entwined in lust. Rock music is pumping in their heads and they seem almost to be dancing to it. If they are, it is a primitive, sexual dance, the dance of two wild animals caught between the two great life forces, survival and sex.
WAYNE
: C’mon, sugar.
Wayne pulls Scout’s dress up round her waist, revealing her panties, which are decorated with little hearts or cute cartoon characters. Despite her obvious sexual passion, Scout remains coy and childlike.
SCOUT
: We are in a store, Wayne, a public place! We cain’t do no lovin’ right here now. There are people. They might see.
WAYNE
: No problem, baby doll.
Wayne releases Scout and turns his machine-gun on the prostrate forms. They jolt like puppets as the bullets thud into them. Screams fill the air.
We cut to a series of close-ups.
A mother hugging a child hugging a doll, all suddenly riddled with bullets.
A businessman weeping as he dies.
A poster featuring a happy family shopping and saying, “if you have a problem please ask our staff if they can help.”
A very wide shot of the whole store, a scene of bloody carnage with Wayne in the middle of it all, triumphantly spraying bullets. The muscles and veins on his brawny arms are taut with the tension of controlling the spitting machine-gun.
Close-up of Scout. She is staring at Wayne, transfixed with adoration.
The shooting finally subsides.
WAYNE
: Ain’t no people now, cotton candy, leastways not any going to get offended none.
SCOUT
: Oh Wayne, I surely do love you.
Scout embraces Wayne. One slender, coltish leg, fragile-looking and vulnerable despite the big boots she wears, winds about him as she reaches up an arm to draw Wayne’s face to hers.
THIRTEEN
INTERIOR. NIGHT. THE LIVING AREA OF A RICH CALIFORNIAN HOME.
A beautiful but rather impersonal interior of vast white couches, glass and steel tables and shelves. Clearly whoever lives here had the place designed for them. Wayne and Scout stand in the middle of the room. Their cheap, dirty, blood-stained clothes are in stark contrast to the cold pastel colours that surround them. They are hot and high with excitement. They have recently broken in and Scout is staring in wonder at this opulence. They both carry machine-guns and have more weapons hanging from them.
Cut from the wide to a mid two shot as Wayne kisses Scout tenderly on the forehead.
WAYNE
: (Sudden exuberant shout)
Ain’t nothing like killing, Scout. I done it all in my time, stock cars, broncos, gambling, stealing and I am here to tell you that there ain’t nothing to touch the thrill of killing.
Close-up on Scout. Her eyes are closed; she is drinking in the atmosphere.
SCOUT
: Don’t shout, Wayne. I was just enjoying the peace. Isn’t it a beautiful home? Don’t you just love the silk cushions and glass coffee tables and all?
Scout kicks off her shoes and walks about.
Close-up of her feet luxuriating in the thick carpet and rugs.
Pan up her legs. Her hands are against her thighs, playing nervously with her dress. She absently pulls the skirt up a little.
We see bruising on her thigh. Two shot Wayne and Scout.
WAYNE
: You know why they have those glass coffee tables, precious? You want to know why they have them?
SCOUT
: So’s they can put their coffee down, Wayne.
WAYNE
: No it ain’t, baby. It’s so they can get underneath and watch each other take a dump.
Close-up on Scout, her jaw dropping in astonishment.
WAYNE
: Yes it is, honey. I read that. It sure is.
Wide shot of room. Wayne has thrown himself on to a vast couch, his big booted feet up on the table under discussion. His comments have completely deflated Scout. She is very volatile; tears show in her eyes.
SCOUT
: That is not so, Wayne! It is just not so and I do not want to hear about it just when everything is nice, you have to start on about people going to the bathroom on their coffee tables.
WAYNE
: That’s the real world, honey. It’s weird. People are weird — they ain’t all nice like you and me. Aw c’mon, sugar, don’t feel bad. I feel good. Do you feel good, baby doll?
Scout’s moods change with alarming speed.
SCOUT
: Yeah, I feel good, Wayne.
WAYNE
: I always feel good after I kill a whole bunch of muthas. It’s like a pick me up, you know. They should make a commercial…like for Alka Seltzer.
Close-up on Wayne.
WAYNE
: Feeling low? Dull? Shitty? Don’t waste a minute. Burn some muthafucka’s ass. You’ll feel great.
Pull out to two shot Wayne is laughing at his fantasy.
WAYNE
: You know what Dr Kissinger said, baby?
SCOUT
: You didn’t tell me you’d seen no doctor, honey.
Scout flops down beside Wayne on the couch. Her dress rides up; again we see the bruising, this time from Wayne’s POV. He can not avoid seeing it. Embarrassed, Scout quickly pulls her skirt over it.
WAYNE
: He wasn’t no real doctor, he was the Secretary of State. A powerful man, killed a whole lot more people than we ever will, not matter how hard we try. Well, you know what he said? He said that power was an aphrodisiac, which means it gets you horny.
SCOUT
: I know what an aphrodisiac is, honey.
WAYNE
: Well, you ain’t never gonna get more power over a person than when you kill them, so I guess killing is an aphrodisiac too.
SCOUT
: I guess so, honey.
A joke occurs to Wayne. He sits up in excitement, which means he has to move the gun on his lap. Moving it makes a harsh metallic sound.
WAYNE
: And get this, baby doll…if you kill a black guy, it’s an Afro-American-disiac!
Wayne falls back, laughing, into the thick cushions. He makes himself more comfortable on the couch.
SCOUT
: I don’t know what you’re talking about, honey, but you keep your dirty boots off that couch and be careful of all that blood on your pants. This is a nice house and I’ll bet the people who own it are real nice people and we don’t want to get no blood on their couch.
WAYNE
: The blood is dry, pussycat. Blood dries real quick on account of it congeals. You know what, honey? If your blood didn’t congeal you could die from just one little pinprick.
SCOUT
: I know that, Wayne.
WAYNE
: And you would be what is known as a homophobic.
SCOUT
: Honey, a homophobic is a person who does not approve of carnal knowledge between a man and a person of the same sex. I believe you’re thinking of a haemophiliac.
Sharp zoom in to close-up on Wayne. His change of expression is as fast as the camera movement. His face has turned from happy to sullen and sinister. Scout knows the signs.
Close-up on Scout, she attempts a casual smile.
Close-up on her hand, which is shaking.
Two shot.
WAYNE
: (With ill-concealed menace)
Is that so?
SCOUT
: (A pitiable attempt to be casual)
Yes, honey, it is.
WAYNE
: Is that so?
SCOUT
: (Shaking now)
I believe it is, honey.
In a sudden lunge Wayne grabs Scout by the neck with one hand and, dropping the gun, pulls back his other hand, clenched into a fist and ready to strike.
WAYNE
: And what d’you call a woman whose mouth is too damn smart, huh? A woman with a busted fucking lip, that’s what.
Wayne pushes Scout off the couch and on to the floor. She screams.
SCOUT
: No! Please, Wayne, don’t!
Wayne drops off the couch on to Scout, straddling her on his knees. Again he grabs her neck, ready to strike. Close-up on his fingers digging into her neck.
Pan up from Wayne’s fingers on Scout’s neck to close-up on her face, mouth gasping for air, eyes making a terrified mute appeal.
Scout’s POV of Wayne’s face directly above her, staring down, face contorted with fury.
WAYNE
: You think I’m dumb, sugar? Is that it? Maybe we’d better see if your blood congeals!
Scout screams in terror.
Two shot. Wayne sits across Scout It seems that he will beat her. Instead he kisses her passionately. After a moment Scout returns the kiss and embraces him.
SCOUT
: Oh honey, you scared me.
WAYNE
: I know that, cotton candy. I love to scare you, because you’re just like a little bird when you’re scared.
Now it becomes sexual. Wayne stretches out on top of Scout and begins to kiss his way down her body.
WAYNE
: (Through his kisses)
You like to live in a house like this, cotton candy?
SCOUT
: Oh yeah, sure. Like I’m ever going to get the chance.
WAYNE
: We’re living in it now, ain’t we honey? I’ll bet they’ve got a real big old bed up them stairs. Stairway to heaven.
Wayne is beginning to undo Scout’s dress.
WAYNE
: How about it, cherry pie? How about we go upstairs and make some noise?
Scout pulls herself away and sits up.
SCOUT
: I ain’t doing no stuff in no stranger’s bed, Wayne…Could be we’d catch Aids or something.
WAYNE
: You can’t catch Aids offa no sheets.
SCOUT
: If they’re dirty sheets, if they’re stained.
WAYNE
: Honey plum, these people are millionaires, billionaires even. They ain’t going to have no stained sheets. Besides which, even if they did you couldn’t catch no Aids offa them ‘less you put them in the liquidizer and injected them directly into your body! Now I bet these people have satin and silk, and I do not often get the chance to fuck my little girl on satin and silk.
SCOUT
: We do not…
(She spells it out)
…F-U-C-K, we make love, and I don’t care if you’re coming at me from behind in the restroom of a greasy spoon, it’s still making love and if it ain’t making love we ain’t doing it no more because I do not fuck.
Wayne nuzzles up to Scout. Close two shot.
WAYNE
: You’re right, honey, I stand corrected. And right now I’m just about bustin’ to make love your brains out. So come on, honey.
Wayne draws Scout to him. Her resistance is weakening. His lips are now at her ear. Close two shot.
WAYNE
: Let’s have us a party. I’ll bet they’ve got a water bed and a mirror on the ceiling and everything…You know something, baby girl? When I get a hold of your ass, I guess I wouldn’t let go of it to pick up a hundred-dollar bill and a case of cold beer.
SCOUT
: Oh Wayne, you know I can’t resist your sweet-talking.
WAYNE
: Well, you don’t have to, honey.
Wide shot.Wayne gets up and slings the various weapons over his shoulder. Then he gathers Scout up in his arms. We linger briefly on the tension in his impressive muscles. He carries her out of the room.