HIGH FIDELITY
By
D.V. De Vincentis, Steve Pink, & John Cusack
Based on the novel by Nick Hornby
9/11/98
London Draft Registered: WGAw
FADE IN
INT. ROB'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
STEREO
Not a minisystem, not a matching set, but coveted audiophile
clutter of McIntosh and Nakamichi, each component from a
different era, bought piece by piece in various nanoseconds
of being flush.
ROB (V.O.)
What came first? The music or the
misery? People worry about kids
playing with guns and watching violent
videos, we're scared that some sort
of culture of violence is taking
them over...
RECORDS
Big thin LPs. Fields of them. We move across them, slowly...
they seem to come to rest in an end of a few books... but
then the CD's start, and go on, faster and faster, forever
then the singles, then the tapes...
ROB (V.O.)
But nobody worries about kids
listening to thousands -- literally
thousands -- of songs about broken
hearts and rejection and pain and
misery and loss.
It seems the records, tapes, and CD's will never end until...
we come to ROB -- always a hair out of place, a face that
grows on you. He sits in an oversized beanbag chair and
addresses us, the wall of music behind him.
ROB
Did I listen to pop music because I
was miserable, or was I miserable
because I listened to pop music?
INT. APARTMENT - NIGHT
Group of bags huddled next to the door. Not the go-on-
vacation set, but the clothes-to-coffee-maker moving out
variety. Rob stares at them, his face unreadable, his head
gripped by a big pair Boudokan headphones. We hear what he
is hearing, something foreboding and upbeat at the same time.
LAURA, Rob's girlfriend, enters the room, and he immediately
pulls the headphones off. She clocks him for a moment,
catching him in what seems to be an old and repeated moment
of nonpresence. She begins to heft the bags, Rob goes to
her, a little tardy for his big goodbye. Laura begins to
cry a bit.
LAURA
I don't really know what I'm doing.
He smiles, and she doesn't. He adjusts.
ROB
You don't have to go this second.
You can stay until whenever.
LAURA
We've done the hard part now. I
might as well, you know...
ROB
Well stay for tonight, then.
Laura shakes her head, lifts the last small bag, and backs
out the door. A strap catches on a handle and the two of
them wrestle with it a bit, while trying to keep the door
open, until Laura awkwardly disappears from view and the
door shuts behind Rob. He stays right there staring at the
shut door for a long moment, listening to the fading sound
of Laura and her dragging bags.
STEREO
Rob's left hand cranks the volume knob while his right
switches the CD changer to something loud and adrenal. He
addresses us again.
ROB
My desert-island, all-time, top five
most memorable break-ups, in
chronological order are as follows:
Alison Ashworth, Penny Hardwick,
Jackie Allen, Charlie Nicholson,
Sarah Kendrew.
INT. APARTMENT STAIRWELL
Laura drags her bags, banging down the stairs --
INT. ROB'S APARTMENT
Rob moves around the apartment, seeming to expand physically,
looking for change as he continues.
ROB
Those were the ones that really hurt.
Can you see your name in that list,
Laura? Maybe you'd sneak into the
top ten, but there's no place for
you in the top five. Sorry. Those
places are reserved for the kind of
humiliations and heartbreaks that
you're just not capable of delivering.
He adjusts the angle of the TV, stuffs a creepy family
portrait into a drawer.
ROB
That probably sounds crueler than
it's meant to, but the fact is, we're
too old to take each other miserable.
Unhappiness used to mean something.
Now it's just a drag like a cold or
having no money.
He moves through the living room to an open window facing
the street. Looking down two stories, he sees Laura emerge
from the building and drag her bags toward her car across
the street.
ROB
If you really wanted to mess me up,
you should have got to me earlier.
CUT TO:
EXT. SUBURBAN PARK - DUSK -
Rob and Alison sit on the bench, kissing awkwardly.
ROB (V.O.)
Which brings us to number one. Alison
Ashworth.
PARK BENCH - DUSK
The same shot, the next night: new clothes, same clumsy make-
out session.
ROB (V.O.)
My relationship with Alison Ashworth
lasted six hours.
PARK BENCH - DUSK
...Next night...
ROB (V.O.)
The two hours after school and before
The Rockford Files, three days in a
row. On the fourth afternoon.
SAME PARK BENCH
...And the fourth night...
ROB (V.O.)
Kevin Bannister.
Alison and another boy, KEVIN BANNISTER. Kissing. In the
background, Rob approaches and stops. He implodes with self-
consciousness and humiliation and attempts to affect a casual
gait as he mopes away.
ROB (V.O.)
It would be nice to think that since
I was fourteen, times have changed,
relationships have become more
sophisticated, females less cruel,
skins thicker, but there still seems
to be an element of that afternoon
in everything that has happened to
me since. All my other romantic
stories seem to be a scrambled version
of that first one.
INT. ROB'S APARTMENT
Rob sits in his chair, a cord leading from the stereo to
headphones draped around his neck. Behind him is the wall
of music.
ROB
Number two. Penny Hardwick. Penny
was great-looking, and her top five
recording artists were Carly Simon,
Carole King, James Taylor, Cat
Stevens, and Elton John...
He lets the needle down on the turntable next to him.
"Nobody Does It Better" by Carly Simon begins to play as
PRESENCE...
EXT. HIGH SCHOOL LAWN - FLASHBACK - MOS
...and continues as SOUNDTRACK. PENNY, 16, is walking across
the grass toward us. She's the clean, sporty, nice wholesome
girl-next-door. She waves to off-camera friends, smiling a
winning smile.
ROB (V.O.)
Everybody liked her. She was nice.
Nice manners. Nice grades. Nice-
looking.
INT. PENNY'S BEDROOM - NIGHT
Penny and Rob sit on the edge of the bed, kissing. Rob moves
his hand up toward the breast, but the hand then seems to
have a new idea, and dives south to follow the thigh into
Penny's skirt...
ROB (V.O.)
She was so nice, in fact, that she
wouldn't let me put my hand
underneath, or even on top of, her
bra.
...when he contacts skin, Penny rolls like a gymnast away
and off of the bed, out of frame. Rob looks away balefully.
EXT. STREET - NIGHT
"Nobody Does It Better" continues as Rob walks Penny to her
front door. She is smiling, he seems distant.
ROB (V.O.)
Penny was nice, but I wasn't
interested in nice, just breasts,
and therefore she was no good to me.
And so I was finished with her.
She leans in to kiss him, and he shrugs her off.
ROB
What's the point? It never goes
anywhere.
Without looking at her, Rob turns and walks down the street,
getting smaller. Penny watches for a while.
CUT TO:
INT. "EL" TRAIN CAR - MORNING - PRESENT
Rob sways with the other commuters.
ROB
She cried, and I hated her for it,
because she made me feel bad. I
started dating a girl who everybody
said would put out, and Penny went
with this asshole Chris Thompson who
told me that he had sex with her
after something like three dates.
How had Penny gone from a girl who
wouldn't do anything to a girl who
would do everything?
A BUSINESSMAN looks up from his paper at Rob, then back down.
EXT. CLARK STREET - DAY
An old Chicago block of local merchants, on a busy street.
Rob makes his way down the street, jangling a set of keys
and talking to us.
ROB
My store's right up here. It's called
The Record Exchange. It's carefully
placed to attract the bare minimum
of window shoppers.
Rob arrives at a storefront, and begins unlocking a rusty
gate with two locks and then a beaten-down door.
ROB
I get by because of the people who
make a special effort to shop here
on Saturday young men, always young
men, who spend a disproportionate
amount of their time looking for
deleted Smiths singles and "original
not rereleased" underline Frank Zappa
albums.
INT. RECORD STORE - DAY
In almost darkness. More light might penetrate the windows
if there weren't so many record-release posters taped to
them. A dusty narrow corridor clad in burlap and shag rug.
On the walls are bagged 45's you will never hear unless you
commit your life to the losing proposition of listening to
every noodling of Jah Wobble and Glen Glenn and other people
you've never heard of.
But as Rob opens the door, enters, and flips a switch causing
the fluorescents to sputter, we see in his eyes the reverence
and earnestness of a football coach gazing across an empty
field or a priest drawn at midnight to his empty church.
ROB
The fetish properties are not unlike
porn. I would feel guilty taking
their money if I wasn't, kind of,
well, one of them.
As he walks one of the two slim aisles toward the back, he
stops on a dime, steps back and pulls a CD from the sea and
replaces it almost the same position, but not quite --
meticulousness and pride in this gesture...
After a moment the door creaks open behind Rob, admitting
DICK, a nervous, forlorn but sweet and intelligent discophile
with long greasy black hair, a Sonic Youth T-shirt, a
monstrous pair of headphones, and a canvas record bag
emblazoned with a label logo.
ROB
'Morning, Dick.
DICK
Oh, hi. Hi, Rob.
ROB
Good weekend?
DICK
Yeah, OK. I found the first Licorice
Comfits album at Vintage Vinyl. The
one on Testament of Youth. Never
released here. Japanese import only.
ROB
Great.
DICK
I'll tape it for you.
ROB
No, that's okay. Really.
DICK
'Cause you like their second one,
you said, Pop, Girls. etc. The one
with Cheryl Ladd on the cover. You
didn't see the cover though.
ROB
Yeah, I haven't really absorbed that
one.
DICK
Well, I'll just make it for you.
ROB
(resigned)
Okay.
CUT TO:
INT. RECORD STORE - LATER
Dick is behind the counter, Rob in the aisles with a clipboard
doing inventory.
ROB
(re: music)
What's this?
DICK
The new Belle and Sebastian. Like
it?
The door flies open and BARRY, an acid-tongued post-punk
rock misanthrope without quite enough intelligence to
conceptualize his own rebellion, walks in. His teeth are
clenched in air-guitar concentration and he's phonetically
cranking a Clash riff:
BARRY
BAA! BA BA DANG!
Dick shrinks back from him instinctively. He stops mid-step
and cocks his ear at the music playing in the store. His
face adopts an exaggerated grimace.
BARRY
Holy Shiite! What the fuck's this?
DICK
It's the new --
ROB
It's the record we've been listening
to and enjoying, Barry.
Barry moves in on the stereo behind the counter, and Dick
gets out of his way.
BARRY
Well that's problematic because it
sucks ass.
He pops the CD out and frisbees it to Dick.
BARRY
(re: the CD)
Yours, I assume...
Barry pulls a tape out of his jacket and jams it in. "How
to Kill a Radio Consultant" by Public Enemy comes through at
through the red levels.
ROB
(over the blare)
TURN IT OFF, BARRY.
BARRY
IT WON'T GO ANY LOUDER.
Barry walks in rhythm toward the stockroom and disappears.
Rob goes behind the counter and stops the tape. Barry's
head pops out of the stockroom.
BARRY
What are you doing?
ROB
I don't want to hear Public Enemy
right now.
BARRY
Public Enemy! All I'm trying to do
is cheer us up. Go ahead and put on
some old sad bastard music see if I
care.
ROB
I don't want old sad bastard music
either. I just want something I can
ignore.
BARRY
But it's my new tape. My Monday
morning tape. I made it last night
just for today.
ROB
Yeah, well it's fucking Monday
afternoon. You should get out of
bed earlier.
BARRY
Don't you want to hear what's next?
ROB
What's next?
BARRY
Play it.
ROB
Say it.
BARRY
(sighs)
"Little Latin Lupe Lu."
Rob groans.
DICK
Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels?
BARRY
(defensive)
No. The Righteous Brothers.
DICK
Oh well. Nevermind.
Barry bristles and moves slowly in on Dick.
BARRY
What?
DICK
Nothing.
BARRY
No, not nothing. What's wrong with
the Righteous Brothers?
DICK
Nothing. I just prefer the other
one.
BARRY
Bullshit.
ROB
How can it be bullshit to state a
preference?
BARRY
Since when did this shop become a
fascist regime?
ROB
Since you brought that bullshit tape
in.
BARRY
(sarcastic)
Great. That's the fun of working in
a record store. Playing crappy pap
you don't want to listen to. I
thought this tape was going to be,
you know, a conversation stimulator.
I was going to ask you for your top
five records to play on a Monday
morning and all that, and you just
had to ruin it.
ROB
We'll do it next Monday.
BARRY
Well what's the point in that?
From outside. HEAR THE SOUND OF SKATEBOARD WHEELS CLACKING
AND SCRAPING, GETTING LOUDER. Rob, Dick and Barry stop
fighting to listen, then each moves purposefully to a spot
in the store. Dick to the register, Barry to the back, Rob
next to the door, as if bracing for a street fight.
The SOUND gets closer, then stops. The door swings open to
admit VINCE and JUSTIN, two fifteen-year-old skate punks.
Vince's hair is post-apocolyptically hacked to different
lengths, Justin's in uniformly shaven with leopard spots
dyed browse. Rob follows them, watching their every move.
Dick counters from his perch, getting another angle. Barry
cracks his knuckles threateningly. Vince and Justin do their
best browser impersonations. Finally Justin plucks a CD,
and the two move to the counter.
ROB
Hey. Didn't you steal that one
already?
DICK
Can I help you?
JUSTIN
Just this.
DICK
That'll be fifteen-twenty-seven.
Vince reaches into his deep pocket and pulls out a paper
cup, with piece of paper attached that says "Please help me.
I'm retarded." He pours a mass of change and crumpled singles
onto the counter. Dick begins counting it out.
VINCE
Isn't your name Dick?
DICK
Yes.
VINCE
That sucks. Get it?
Dick cracks a sad smile for a second. He bags the CD and
Vince and Justin are off. Rob walks back through the stock
room door.
CUT TO:
INT. RECORD STORE - STOCK ROOM - LATER
Rob is on his knees, opening boxes with a razor knife. He
talks to us as he works.
ROB
I'm sick of the sight of this place,
to be honest. Some days I'm afraid --
Dick sticks his head in the door, looks at Rob, looks where
Rob is looking (camera), and retreats back through the door.
Rob continues.
ROB
I'm afraid I'll go berserk, rip the
Elvis Costello mobile from the
ceiling, throw the "Country Artists
Male A-K" rack out onto the streets,
go off to work in a Virgin Megastore
and never come back --
He hears the bell on the front door RING, and he stops and
listens, looks a bit worried.
CUSTOMER (O.S.)
I'm looking for a record for my
daughter. For her birthday. "I
Just Called To Say I Love You." Do
you have it?
BARRY (O.S.)
Oh yeah. We got it.
Rob relaxes and goes back to work.
CUSTOMER (O.S.)
Great. Can I have it then?
BARRY (O.S.)
No, you can't.
Rob deflates, shaking his head.
STORE FLOOR
Barry leans back, elbows up on the counter behind him, talking
to the CUSTOMER, a middle-aged graying man in a raincoat.
CUSTOMER
Why not?
BARRY
Because it's sentimental tacky crap,
that's why not. Do we look like the
kind of store that sells "I Just
Called To Say I Loved You?" Go to
the mall and stop wasting our time.
CUSTOMER
What's your problem? What did I...
Why are you --
BARRY
Do you even know your daughter?
There is no way she likes that song.
Or is she in a coma?
The Customer throws up his hands and starts out of the store.
CUSTOMER
Okay, okay, buddy. I didn't know it
was Pick On the Middle-Aged Square
Guy Day. My apologies. I'll be on
my way.
He steps out of the door.
BARRY
B'Bye!
Outside, anger catches up to the Customer. He turns and
throws up a middle finger --
CUSTOMER
FUCK YOU!
-- and bolts. Barry smiles and turns to see
ROB
standing in the doorway of the stock room. He feigns
applause.
ROB
Nice, Barry.
BARRY
Rob. Top five musical crimes
perpetrated by Stevie Wonder in the
'80's and '90's. Subquestion -- is
it in fact unfair to criticize a
formerly great artist for his latter-
day sins? "Is it better to burn out
than to fade away?"
ROB
You just drove a fucking customer
away, Barry.
BARRY
We didn't even really have it. I
happen to know for a fact that the
only Stevie Wonder single we have is
"Don't Drive Drunk." I was just
goofing on the straight, and it never
cost you a penny.
ROB
Not the point.
BARRY
Oh, so what's the point then?
ROB
I don't want you talking to our
customers like that again.
BARRY
"Our customers?" You think that Mr.
L.L. Bean out there is going to be a
regular?
Rob's face begins to redden with anger.
ROB
Barry, I'm fucking broke! I know we
used to fuck with anyone who asked
for anything we didn't like, but
it's gotta stop.
BARRY
Bullshit. The guy was going to buy
one record -- which we didn't even
have -- and leave and never come
back again anyway. Why not have a
little fun? Big fucking deal.
ROB
What did he ever do to you?
BARRY
He offended me with his terrible
taste.
ROB
It wasn't even his terrible taste.
It was his daughter's.
BARRY
Oh, now you're defending that
motherfucker? You're going soft in
your old age, Rob. There was a time
when you would have chased him out
of the store and up the street. Now
all of a sudden I'm offending your
golf buddy.
(sarcastic)
You're right, Rob. I am so sorry.
How are we ever going to make enough
money to get you and Laura into the
country club?
Rob is red and seething.
BARRY
And by the way, I tell you this for
your own good: That's the worst
sweater I've ever seen. I have never
seen a sweater that bad worn by anyone
I'm on speaking terms with. It's a
disgrace to the human race.
Rob springs on Barry, grabbing him by the lapels and jerking
him up against the wall. Rob is so mad he can't say anything.
DICK
Hey, guys... Hey.
Rob runs out of steam and drops Barry, who backpedals fast.
BARRY
(extremely shaken)
What are you, some kind of fucking
maniac? If this jacket's torn you're
gonna pay big.
Barry stomps out of the store. Rob turns and goes back to
the stockroom, and sits on the stepladder. Dick appears in
the doorway, terrified.
DICK
Are you all right?
ROB
Yeah. I'm sorry... Look Dick, Laura
and I broke up. She's gone. And if
we ever see Barry again maybe you
can tell him that.
DICK
'Course I will, Rob. No problem.
No problem at all. I'll tell him
next time I see him.
Rob nods. Dick sets out into the uncharted conversational
territory of interpersonal relationships.
DICK
I've ah... got some other stuff to
tell him anyway, so it's no problem.
I'll just tell him about, you know,
Laura, when I tell him the other
stuff.
ROB
Fine.
DICK
I'll start with your news before I
tell him mine, obviously. Mine isn't
much, really, just about Marie LaSalle
(flashes CD of pretty
woman)
playing at Lounge Ax tonight. I
like her, you know, she's kind of
Sheryl Crowish... but, you know,
good. So I'll tell him before that.
Good news and bad news kind of thing.
Dick laughs nervously.
DICK
Or rather, bad news and good news,
because he likes this person playing
tonight. I mean, he liked Laura
too, I didn't mean that. And he
likes you. It's just that --
ROB
I understand, Dick.
DICK
Sure. 'Course. Rob, look. Do you
want to... talk about it, that kind
of thing?
Rob looks up at Dick, who is so nervous that his brow is
wet.
ROB
No. Thanks though, Dick.
Dick sighs with relief, and smiles his way out of the stock
room.
CUT TO:
ROB IN HIS CHAIR
Rob to camera.
ROB
Number three in the top five break-
ups was Charlie Nicholson, sophomore
year of college. Some people never
got over 'Nam, or the night their
band opened for Nirvana. I guess I
never really got over Charlie.
CUT TO:
EXT. COLLEGE QUAD - DAY - FLASHBACK
About twenty feet away we see a tall, thin beauty, bleach-
blonde hair cropped short in darling '80's new-wave asymmetry.
She is speaking animatedly to a PAMPHLETEER, driving her
points home with a forefinger.
ROB (V.O.)
She looked different. Dramatic.
Exotic. She talked a lot, about
remarkably interesting things like
music, books, film, and politics...
INT. CAFE - DAY
A younger Rob sits amongst a group of STUDENTS who are engaged
in a heated conversation. He is smiling, mouth closed, just
happy to be there. Charlie sitting next to him, tousles his
hair as she talks incessantly.
ROB (V.O.)
(over her talking)
...so we didn't have those terrible,
strained sentences, that seemed to
characterized most of my
relationships. And she liked me.
She liked me. She liked me.
Charlie gives Rob a quick kiss and keeps talking...
EXT. STREET - AFTERNOON
Rob and Charlie walk arm in arm, Rob in cool clothes and
sunglasses trying to look cool, Charlie making a point about
something.
Rob checks out how cool he looks with her as they walk by a
store window REFLECTION.
ROB (V.O.)
We went out for two years, and for
every single minute I felt as though
I was standing on a dangerously narrow
ledge. I couldn't get comfortable,
couldn't ever stretch out and relax.
Why would a girl -- no, a woman --
like Charlie go out with someone who
only a few years ago sewed a Foghat
patch on his jacket? I felt like
all those people who suddenly shaved
their heads and said they'd always
been punks. I felt like a fraud.
And I was depressed by the lack of
flamboyance in my wardrobe...
INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY
The fabulous sophomore design student's studio apartment:
White wood floor, white walls, overvarnished door, Doisneaux
print on the wall, futon on the floor. Rob lies back on his
elbows, watching Charlie in uncomfortable, worried awe. She
stands, her back to him, wearing only her underwear and
pulling on a T-shirt -- a heartbreaking image to look back
on.
ROB (V.O.)
...I worried about my abilities as a
lover. I was intimidated by the
other men in her design department,
and became convinced that she was
going to leave me for one of them.
Charlie turns around and looks at Rob with naked ambivalence.
ROB (V.O.)
She left me for one of them. The
dreaded Marco.
EXT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
It is RAINING like crazy, and Rob is shouting up at a lit
window, maniacally gesturing. The curtains part and Charlie's
figure appears, clad only in a sheet. Next to her is a tall,
built, handsome man, MARCO, also in a sheet.
Eventually he falls to his knees with a splash and buries
his head in his hands. The light goes out.
ROB (V.O.)
And I lost it. I lost it all.
Dignity, faith, fifteen pounds...
EXT. STREET - NIGHT
Rob wandering through the rain.
ROB (V.O.)
Any small idea of personal identity
that I had acquired up to that point.
INT. SOME RECORD STORE - DAY
A younger and catatonic Rob listlessly sorts through a stack
of records.
ROB (V.O.)
I came to three months later, and to
my surprise had flunked out of school
and started working in a record store.
INT. ROB'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Rob stands in front of his wall of music, shifting LPs around
between the shelves and piles on the floor as he talks to
us.
ROB
What I really learned from the Charlie
Debacle is that you gotta punch your
weight. Charlie was out of my Class:
too pretty, too smart, too witty,
too much. What am I? Average. A
middleweight. Not the smartest guy
in the world, but certainly not the
dumbest. I've read books like The
Unbearable Lightness of Being,
Angela's Ashes, and Love in the Time
of Cholera, and understood them, I
think -- they're about girls, right? --
just kidding -- but I don't like
them very much. My all time top
five favorite books are Johnny Cash's
autobiography, Snow Crash by Neil
Stevenson, Zen and the Art of
Motorcycle Maintenance, The Trouser
Press Guides to Rock, and, I don't
know, probably something by Kurt
Vonnegut. I look through the New
Yorker when my neighbor's done with
it, and I'm not averse to going down
to the Fine Arts to watch subtitles
films, although on the whole I prefer
American films. Top five being Blade
Runner, Cool Hand Luke, the first
two Godfathers which we'll count as
one, Taxi Driver, and The Shining.
I'm okay looking, average height,
not skinny, not fat. My genius, if
I can call it that, is to combine a
whole load of averageness into one
compact frame. You might say there
were millions like me, but there
aren't, really: Alot of guys have
impeccable music taste but don't
read, alot of guys read but are really
fat, alot of guys are sympathetic to
women but have stupid beards, alot
of guys have a Woody Allen sense of
humor but look like Woody Allen.
Some drink too much, some drive like
assholes, some get into fights, or
show off money, or do drugs. I don't
do any of these things, really. If
I do okay with women it's not because
of the virtues I have, but because
of the ugly flaws I don't have...
So. Charlie and I didn't match.
After her I was determined to never
get out of my league again.
INT. ROB'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Rob presses play on the answering machine. A pleasant, older
female voice is heard. It's JANET, Laura's mother.
JANET
(on machine)
Hello, you two. Laura, it's your
mother. Your father's angina is a
little rough today and I thought
he'd like to talk to you. No big
deal. I love you two. Bye.
Beep.
LIZ
(on machine)
Rob, it's Liz. Just calling to see,
well, if you're okay. Give me a
ring. I'm not taking sides. Yet.
Lot's of love. Bye.
He pulls an LP from a shelf, puts it on the turntable and
sits back in his chair.
EXT. LAKE MICHIGAN WATERFRONT - MOS - THE PAST
The MUSIC becomes SOUNDTRACK to the following scenes. Rob
and SARAH, a thin, modestly attractive young woman, SARAH,
walk and talk. They seem to be emphatically complaining
together.
ROB (V.O.)
Charlie and I didn't match. Marco
and Charlie matched. Me and Sarah,
number four on the all time break-
ups list, matched. She wore more or
less the same clothes as mine, had
an acceptable working knowledge of
music, and she had been dumped by
some asshole named Michael. He was
her moment, Charlie was mine. Sarah
had sworn off men. I had sworn off
women. It made sense to pool our
loathing of the opposite sex, swear
them off together, and get to share
a bed with someone at the same time.
INT. SARAH'S APARTMENT - MOS - NIGHT
Rob and SARAH sit up in bed, staring at the television...
ROB (V.O.)
We were frightened of being left
alone for the rest of our lives.
Only people of a certain disposition
are frightened of being alone for
the rest of their lives at twenty-
six. We were of that disposition.
Everything seemed much later than it
was.
INT. SARAH'S KITCHEN - MOS - DAY ROB'S POV
of Sarah, sitting across the table, mid-confession.
ROB (V.O.)
When she told me that she met someone
else it made no sense. Her meeting
someone else was contrary to the
whole spirit of our arrangement.
All we really had in common was that
we were dumped by people, and that
we were against dumping. We were
violently anti-dump. So how come I
got dumped?
ROB IN HIS CHAIR
The MUSIC becomes PRESENCE again, and Rob takes the needle
off the record.
ROB
You run the risk of losing anyone
who is worth spending time with.
But I didn't know that at the time.
All I saw was that I'd moved down a
division and that it still hadn't
worked out, and this seemed cause
for a great deal of misery and self-
pity. And that's when Laura came
along.
INT. ROB'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Rob is surrounded by stacks of records on the floor. He
looks to camera.
ROB
I'm reorganizing my records tonight.
It's something I do in times of
emotional distress. When Laura was
here I had them in alphabetical order,
before that, chronologically.
Tonight, though, I'm trying to put
them in the order in which I bought
them. That way I can write my own
autobiography without picking up a
pen. Pull them all off the shelves,
look for Revolver and go from there.
I'll be able to see how I got from
Deep Purple to The Soft Boys in twenty-
five moves. What I really like about
my new system is that it makes me
more complicated than I am. To find
anything you have to be me, or at
the very least a doctor in Rob-ology.
If you wanna find Landslide by
Fleetwood Mac you have to know that
I bought it for someone in the fall
of 1983 and then didn't give it to
them for personal reasons. But you
don't know any of that, do you? You
would have to ask me to--
The phone rings again. Rob picks it up.
ROB
Yeah?
MOM
Hi, Rob. It's your mother.
Rob deflates a bit.
ROB
Hi, Mom.
MOM
Everything all right?
ROB
Great. Super-fantastic.
MOM
How's the store?
ROB
So so. Up and down.
MOM
Your lucky Laura's doing so well.
If it wasn't for her, I don't think
either of us would ever sleep...
Rob holds his lips together with thumb and forefinger, but
succumbs --
ROB
She left. She's gone.
MOM
What do you mean? Where did she go?
ROB
How would I know? Gone. Girlfriend.
Leave. Not say where gone. Laura
move out.
MOM
Well call her mother.
ROB
She just called. She doesn't even
know. It's probably the last time
I'll ever hear her voice. That's
weird, isn't it? You spend Christmas
at somebody's house, you know, and
you worry about their operations and
you see them in their bathrobe, and...
I dunno...
Silence.
ROB
There'll be another mom and another
Christmas. Right?
Silence... More silence.
ROB
Hello? Anybody there?
THE SOUND OF SOFT CRYING
ROB
I'm all right, if that's what's
upsetting you.
MOM
You know that's not what's upsetting
me.
ROB
Well it fucking should be, shouldn't
it?
MOM
I knew this would happen. What are
you going to do Rob?
ROB
I'm going to drink this bottle of
wine watch TV and go to bed. Then
tomorrow I'll get up and go to work.
MOM
And after that?
ROB
Meet a nice girl and have children.
I promise the next time we talk I'll
have it all sorted out.
MOM
I knew this was going to happen.
ROB
Then what are you getting so upset
about?
MOM
What did Laura say? Do you know why
she left?
ROB
It's got nothing to do with marriage,
if that's what you're getting at.
MOM
So you say. I'd like to hear her
side of it.
ROB
Mom! For the last fucking time, I'm
telling you Laura didn't want to get
married! She is not that kind of
girl! To use a phrase. That's not
what happens now.
MOM
Well I don't know what happens now,
apart from you meet someone, you
move in, she goes. You meet someone,
you move in, she goes.
Silence. Rob busted.
ROB
Shut up, Mom.
Rob hangs up the phone. He fills up his glass again, takes
a swig, and slumps into a chair. If there was any wind left
in Rob, it just got knocked out. After a moment, he gets to
his feet, grabs his jacket and heads out the door.
CUT TO:
EXT. LOUNGE AX CLUB - LINCOLN AVE. - NIGHT
Rob comes down the street and gets in the short line to enter
the club. From inside he hears a GUITAR, playing a tune
that becomes familiar not only to Rob, but to us. When a
strong, lilting female VOICE begins to sing, we hear what it
is: "Baby I Love Your Way," by Peter Frampton.
Rob smiles at first, but begins to darken as the verse
continues. He steps out of line and leans against the outside
wall, listening. Is he beginning to cry? Yes, he is...
CUT TO:
ROB IN HIS CHAIR
ROB
Peter. Frampton. That perm! "Show
Me the Way"! A phenomenon based on
a live album that was actually
recorded in a studio! What is
happening? I am getting misty, choked
up at a song that I had the good
sense at twelve to realize was so
saccharine and stupid as to be
inarticulatable, until Michael Bolton,
that is.
CUT BACK TO:
EXT. LOUNGE AX CLUB - LINCOLN AVE.
He looks around self-consciously, and paces a bit, deciding
whether or not to stay. He takes a deep breath, and heads
in the door.
INT. LOUNGE AX - NIGHT
As Rob enters he looks to the stage, where MARIE LASALLE is
standing alone with her acoustic guitar, heading toward the
song's finish. Rob's expression begins to shift from the
melancholy to something else altogether. Marie is beautiful,
and Marie has touched his heart. Rob navigates toward her
though the small crowd as if pulled by something unseen. He
addresses us over his shoulder.
ROB
Sentimental music makes you nostalgic
and hopeful at the same time. Marie's
the hopeful part. Laura's the
nostalgia part. These things happen.
They happen to men, at any rate.
This is why I shouldn't be listening
to pop music.
As he gets closer to the stage --
DICK
ROB!
Rob looks over to see Dick sitting with Barry, a few feet
away. He shakes it off and sits with them, extending a
meaningful hand to Barry, who takes it. They turn back to
the stage as Marie finishes the song.
ROB
I always hated this song.
DICK
Yeah.
BARRY
Yeah.
ROB
But now I kind of like it.
Dick and Barry nod, then keep watching. All three of them
are in their own private fantasies with Marie.
DICK
She shouldn't done it on "The Number
Four With a Smile."
BARRY
Isn't her album called "Number Four
With A Smile?"
DICK
That's what I said.
BARRY
No, no, no, you said "The Number
Four With a Smile," and there's no
"The" at the front of the title of
the album.
DICK
It's a reference to a Chinese meal
in Toronto and I think that there is
a "The." But I could be wrong.
BARRY
You can be and are wrong.
They drop it, so that their eyes can drift back to Marie.
BARRY
I wanna date a musician...
ROB
(nods in agreement)
I wanna live with a musician. She'd
write songs at home, ask me what she
thought of them, maybe even include
one of our private jokes in the liner
notes.
BARRY
...Maybe a picture of me in the liner
notes...
DICK
Just in the background somewhere.
MARIE
as the song ends, and she smiles out over the room. The
audience applauds.
MARIE
Thanks, you guys, I know I'm not
supposed to like that song, but I
do. I'm gonna take a break for a
second. Anybody wants to buy one of
my tapes, they're five bucks up here.
One of my other personalities will
be selling them.
ROB, DICK, AND BARRY
BARRY
Let's go get one.
ROB
Let's not.
DICK
I want a tape.
Barry and Dick stand and begin to move off...
ROB
I don't need to go up there right
now.
...and they're gone. After a beat, Rob gets up and follows
them.
FOOT OF THE STAGE
Dick and Barry wait nervously to buy a tape, Rob just behind
them. Marie processes sales with polite monosyllables, until
the three get up front.
MARIE
Enjoying yourselves?
They dart eyes to each other, then nod.
MARIE
Good. 'Cause I'm enjoying myself.
ROB
Good.
Rob hands her a ten and she roots around in a duffel bag for
change...
ROB
So you live in Chicago now?
MARIE
Yup. Not far from here, actually.
BARRY
You like it?
MARIE
It's okay. Hey. You guys might be
the sort to know. Are there any
good record stores around here or do
I have to go downtown?
Barry and Dick do not try to control themselves. They point
to Rob.
DICK
He's got one!
BARRY
On Clark Street!
DICK
A couple blocks! About six!
BARRY
We work there!
DICK
You'd love it!
Marie laughs.
MARIE
What do you sell?
BARRY
A little of anything that matters.
Rock, soul, R&B, punk rock, hip-
hop, ska, new wave...
MARIE
Sounds great.
The line behind them is moving in, and Marie smiles at them
and turns to someone else. They scurry back toward their
table.
ROB
What did you tell her about the shop
for?
BARRY
I didn't know it was classified
information. I mean, I know we don't
have any customers, but I thought
that was a bad thing, not, like, a
business strategy.
Rob looks over Barry at Marie. She catches his eye as she
looks over the room. His eyes shoot to the floor.
CUT TO:
INT. RECORD STORE - STOCK ROOM - LATER
Rob is going through a huge stack of used CD's, sorting them
off into different bins, bouncing his head absently to the
music -- the same song of Marie's that Rob had on when Laura
called last night.
BARRY (O.S.)
ROB! PHONE!
Rob reaches over and hits the SPEAKER button on the phone,
still in the groove of sorting.
ROB
Rob here.
LIZ (O.S.)
Hey. It's Liz.
ROB
What's happenin'.
LIZ
You called this morning?
ROB
Yeah. I just wanted to thank you
for that message last night. It
made me feel like... like less of an
asshole.
LIZ
How're you holding up?
ROB
Actually, I'm fine. I'm great.
Last night I got to thinking, "you
know what? Maybe it is time to move
on. Maybe we're just not right for
each other. Or maybe we are. But
time will tell and at this point I'm
going to be fine with whatever's
meant to be." You know?
LIZ
Yeah. Like I said, I don't want to
take sides. And I like Laura with
you. She's more fun, more open.
You guys are good together. I just
wish you two could, I don't know. I
don't think much of this Ian guy --
-- Dick bursts in, huge-faced --
DICK
Rob.
ROB
Liz, hold on a second --
(turns to Dick)
What?
DICK
Marie LaSalle is in the store! Here,
she's here, and now!
Rob freezes, he and Dick turn to the speaker, which cranks
Marie's voice. Rob goes to the phone and picks up the
handset.
ROB
Liz, can you hold for a second?
He hits hold.
ROB
(to Dick)
I'll be out there! Go!
(picks up the phone)
Hey, Liz, I gotta go... Tomorrow
night? Great. Green Mill. Fine.
Seven? Done. Thanks. Right. Bye.
He hangs up fast, spins around to look in a cracked one-foot-
square cracked mirror bearing the logo of Aerosmith that is
mounted on the wall, and moves out into the
FRONT ROOM
and up the aisle fast toward the stereo where he turns Marie's
music off. He takes a deep breath and looks up, meeting her
eyes.
ROB
Oh. Hi.
Marie smiles.
MARIE
(re: music)
Don't you like that?
ROB
No, no, I love, it's just, thinking
you're, you must be so sick of it...
Well.
He reaches back and puts it back on. He cracks his face
into a smile, then walks fast back to the stock room door.
Marie watches him go.
STOCK ROOM
where as soon as he crosses the threshold his fist clench
and he grimaces:
ROB
WHAT FUCKING IAN GUY?!!
Dick comes in --
DICK
Rob --!
ROB
-- FUCK OFF!
Dick backs out fast. Rob leans on a wall. Barry enters --
BARRY
We're only on the fucking list for
Marie's gig at the Pulaski Pub, that's
all! All three of us.
ROB
That's fucking great, Barry. We can
spend fifteen bucks on a cab to save
five each. Fantastic, Barry!
BARRY
We can take your car.
ROB
It's not my car, now is it? It's
Laura's car, and thus Laura has it.
So it's an ass-bumping double-
transferring bus ride through
bumblefuck or a fat wad on a cab.
Wow. Fucking great.
Barry sighs, throws up his hands and heads out the door.
BARRY
Jaggoff...
Barry exits. Rob seems to be having trouble staying on his
feet.
ROB
Who the fuck is Ian?!
CUT TO:
INT. ROB'S BUILDING'S LOBBY - NIGHT
Rob enters and walks to the mail table, looking like shit.
He starts sifting through envelopes for his.
ROB
Laura doesn't know anybody called
Ian. There's no Ian at her office.
She has no friends named Ian. She
has never met anyone called Ian in
her whole life. Although there may
have been one in college -- but I am
almost certain that since 1989 she
has lived in an Ian-less universe.
He slows... and stops. His face gets a little paler as he
lifts a letter up to his face.
CLOSE-UP: LETTER
A cable service bill to a Mr. I. Raymond.
ROB
as he looks at it, divining.
ROB
"I. Raymond." Ray. "I." IAN.
CUT TO:
ROB IN HIS CHAIR
Rob to camera.
ROB
Mr. I Raymond. "Ray" to his friends,
and, more importantly, to his
neighbors. The guy who up until
about six weeks ago lived upstairs.
I knew it was him the moment I saw
the letter. I start to remember
things now: His stupid clothing, his
music -- Latin, Bulgarian, whatever
fucking world music was trendy that
week--stupid laugh, awful cooking
smells. I can't remember anything
good about him at all. I never liked
him much then, and I fucking hate
him now... I manage to block out the
worst, most painful, most disturbing
memory of him until I go to bed.
INT. ROB'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Darkness. We move silently through the rooms, and enter the
bedroom... closer to the bed, we see Rob on his back, sheets
held clenched up to his chin. He stares at the ceiling,
sadly.
JUMP CUT
To almost the same shot, but it's Rob and Laura in the bed,
semi-tangled. Laura has a book in her lap. A CREAKING is
heard. Laura's eyes go to the ceiling, and Rob sits up at
attention. They look up at the light fixture, which shakes
a little faster, with the rhythm of the creaking. Someone
is definitely having sex upstairs, and they are going for
it.
ROB
Jeez. He goes on long enough.
LAURA
I should be so lucky.
They turn to each other and laugh.
JUMP CUT BACK
to Rob lying still in bed, staring at the ceiling.
ROB
You are as abandoned and as noisy as
any character in a porn film, Laura.
You are Ian's plaything, responding
to his touch with shrieks of orgasmic
delight. No woman in the history of
the world is having better sex than
the sex you are having with Ian in
my head.
ROB'S IAN-LAURA SEX NIGHTMARE - QUICK CUTS
Ian mercilessly savages Laura from behind, below, and above,
champagne showers, toe-sucking, and animal screams --
BACK TO ROB IN BED,
imploding with disgust and sorrow. Tears run down his cheeks
into his ears.
ROB
Number five -- Jackie Allen. My
break up with Jackie Allen had no
effect on my life whatsoever. I
just slotted her in to bump you out
of position, Laura. Yes, you do in
fact make it into the top five.
Welcome. And just to remind you,
the list is in chronological order,
not in the order of pain and
suffering.
INT. RECORD STORE - DAY
Dick and Barry are stocking the racks. Rob stands at the
register, rocking back and forth sort of like an idiot, to
"Always and Forever" by the Commodores. He is a mess.
FEMALE VOICE
Hey.
Rob looks up to see a nineteen or twenty-year-old GIRL
standing in front of him.
GIRL
Do you have soul?
Rob smiles bitterly at her, clearly having a different meaning
in mind.
ROB
That all depends.
She kind of backs away and goes back to browsing. The phone
rings and Rob picks it up.
ROB
Record Exchange... How many records...
Right, well if you could bring them --
okay, well, where do you live?
Right... how about now? I can come
right over...
(Rob scribbles)
Okay.
He hangs up and grabs his jacket. Dick emerges from the
back.
ROB
(to Dick)
Some lady's got some singles to sell.
I'll be back in a half-hour.
Rob walks out.
EXT./INT. FANCY LINCOLN PARK TOWNHOUSE - DAY
Rob mounts the stairs and rings the doorbell. The door opens,
revealing a too-tan WOMAN in her late forties, in designer
jeans and a T-shirt bearing a rhinestone peace sign.
She says nothing.
ROB
Hi. You called about the records?
She turns and walks into the house, leaving the door open
for him. He follows her in and through a fabulous first
floor, packed with big-bucks bourgeois: Rugs, art, and
antiques:
She ushers Rob into a large study, and turns the light on.
He misses a breath. The walls are lined with mahogany cases
custom-built for CDs, albums, epicurean stereo components, a
couple priceless vintage guitars -- every one of the thousands
of items bear a little numbered sticker, like a museum. She
points to several boxes on the floor, full of hundreds of
singles.
WOMAN
Those.
Rob steps into the room like an Undeserving, and carefully
drops to his knees to examine the singles, each pristine in
a plastic sleeve: the original God Save the Queen by the Sex
Pistols, original Otis Reddings, Elvis Presleys, James Browns,
Jerry Lee Lewises, Beatles... on and on. The mother lode.
Rob is doing the best to control the onset of
hyperventilation. He dares a glance over his shoulder to
her to see if this is a joke.
WOMAN
What do you think?
ROB
It's the best collection I've ever
seen.
WOMAN
Give me fifty bucks and they're all
yours.
Rob's face goes funny. He looks around for a hidden camera.
ROB
These are worth at least, I don't
know --
WOMAN
I know what they're worth. Give me
fifty and get them out.
ROB
But you must have --
WOMAN
I must have nothing. Their my
husband's.
ROB
And you must not be getting along
too well right now, huh?
WOMAN
He's in Jamaica with a twenty-three-
year-old. A friend of my daughter's.
He had the fucking nerve to call me
and ask me to borrow some money and
I told him to fuck off, so he asked
me to sell his singles collection
and send him a check for whatever I
go, minus a ten percent commission.
Which reminds me. Can you make sure
you give me a five? I want to frame
it and put it on the wall.
ROB
It must have taken him a long time
to get them together.
WOMAN
Years. This collection is as close
as he's ever come to an achievement.
Rob looks back at the records but avoids the trance.
ROB
Look. Can I pay you properly? You
don't have to tell him what you got.
Send him forty-five bucks and blow
the rest. Give it to charity. Or
something.
WOMAN
That wasn't part of the deal. I
want to be poisonous but fair.
ROB
(looking back at the
records)
Look... I... I'm sorry. I don't
want to be any part of this.
WOMAN
Suit yourself. There are plenty of
others who will.
ROB
That's why I'm trying to compromise.
What about fifteen-hundred? They're
worth five times that.
WOMAN
Sixty.
ROB
Thirteen hundred.
WOMAN
Seventy-five.
ROB
Eleven-hundred. That's my lowest
offer.
WOMAN
And I won't take a penny over ninety.
They start smiling at each other.
WOMAN
With eleven hundred he could come
home, and that's the last thing I
want.
ROB
I'm sorry but I think you better
talk to someone else.
WOMAN
Fine.
Rob half stands, then drops again for one last lingering
look.
ROB
Can I buy this Otis Redding single
off you?
WOMAN
Sure. Ten cents.
ROB
Oh, come on! Let me give you ten
dollars for this, and you can give
the rest away for all I care.
WOMAN
Okay. Because you took the trouble
to come up here. And because you've
got principles. But that's it. I'm
not selling them to you one by one.
CUT TO:
EXT. FANCY LINCOLN PARK TOWNHOUSE - DAY
Rob comes down the stairs holding his single, and walks down
the street talking to camera.
ROB
How come I end up siding with the
bad guy, the man who ran off to
Jamaica with some nymphette? I just
got left for someone else, so why
can't I bring myself to feel whatever
it is his wife is feeling? All I
can see is that guy's face when he
gets that pathetic check in the mail
for those records, and I can't help
but feel desperately, painfully sorry
for him.
CUT TO:
INT. GREEN MILL - NIGHT
The bar where Al Capone used to party, and it looks about
the same: colored lightbulbs, shadowboxes, deep plush booths
and a stage for jazz. Rob slumps back in a booth, stirring
a drink with his finger. After a beat, we hear a DOOR SLAM
off camera, and Rob looks up with a bit of fear.
Heavy footsteps get louder and closer, until a shadow shrouds
Rob -- LIZ stands in front of him.
LIZ
MOTHERFUCKER.
She is enormous, and she is mad as hell. Rob reflexively
shrinks.
ROB
What's the -- hey, Liz --
LIZ
-- No, no, no, don't even. I talked
to Laura, Rob. I talked to her and
she gave me a little background.
And you're a fucking ASSHOLE.
She turns and stomps toward the door. Rob gets up and
follows.
EXT. STREET - NIGHT
Rob comes out of the club and follows Liz. She hears him
and turns on him, punctuating with a finger in his chest.
LIZ
To think I sympathized with you for
two seconds! Poor Rob! Laura left
him out of nowhere for the schmuck
upstairs. You let me believe that!
ROB
It's true!
LIZ
Rob! Two years ago you got Laura
pregnant; you then proceeded to cheat
on her! You borrowed money from her
and never paid a dime back! And
then, just a few weeks ago, you told
her you were unhappy with her and
were "kind of looking around for
somebody else!"
ROB
Well she --
She turns again and keeps walking, holding a defiant middle
finger over her shoulder as she fades down the street.
INT. SUBWAY CAR - NIGHT
Rob sits, rocking slightly with the movement of the train.
He stares at an OLD COUPLE who do not speak to each other.
ROB
She's right, of course. I am a
fucking asshole. I did and said
those things. But before you judge,
although you've probably already
done so, go off for a minute and
write down the top five worst things
that you have done to your partner,
even if -- especially if -- your
partner doesn't know about them.
Don't dress things up or try to
explain them. Just write them down
in the plainest language possible...
A LONG BEAT, even five or ten seconds.
ROB
Pencils down. Okay, so who's the
asshole now?
CUT TO:
INT. RECORD STORE - DAY
Saturday. For the first time we see the place kind of busy.
Rob watches the room. Barry is toward the back, talking to
a CUSTOMER. "Cruel to Be Kind" by Nick Lowe plays.
BARRY
It's almost impossible to find,
especially on CD. Yet another cruel
trick on all of the dumbasses who
got rid of their turntables. But
every other Echo and the Bunnymen
album --
CUSTOMER
I have all of the others.
BARRY
Oh really. Well what about the first
Jesus and Mary Chain?
CUSTOMER
They always seemed...
BARRY
They always seemed what? They always
seemed really great, is what they
always seemed. They picked up where
your precious Echo left off, and
you're sitting here complaining about
no more Echo albums. I can't believe
that you don't own that record.
That's insane.
He plucks it from the rack, and sticks it in the Customer's
hand, who regards it with a bit a of shame.
CUSTOMER
Well what about the new Echo --
BARRY
Do not get ahead of yourself.
DICK
is listening to a female customer, but he doesn't hear her
voice.
CUSTOMER - DICK'S POV
The army bag with a red cross on it. The ring-of-ivy tattoo
around the wrist. The monkey boots. The eye shadow.
DICK
thinking, calculating...
DICK
The interesting thing about Green
Day is that so much of their music
is in truth directly influenced by,
in my opinion, two bands.
FEMALE CUSTOMER
The Clash.
DICK
Correct. The Clash. But also the
Stranglers.
FEMALE CUSTOMER
Who?
DICK
I think you would love the
Stranglers...
Dick pulls a Stranglers record and puts it on the stereo.
Her brow furrows, and then she smiles.
FEMALE CUSTOMER
This sounds great.
Dick smiles humbly. Two people in the store turn and
approach.
CUSTOMER
Is this the new Green Day?
BARRY still talking to his Customer, who now has several
CD's in his hand. He looks at Barry with a mixture of hate
and adoration.
BARRY
That is perverse. Do not tell anyone
you don't own fucking Blonde on
Blonde. What about Television?
CUSTOMER
I have a television.
BARRY
NO--!
Barry adds more records to the Customer's stack.
A FEW MINUTES LATER - ROB AND DICK
stand behind the counter. Rob holds a CD in his hand, and
surveys the roaming customers with a semi-serious air of
authority.
ROB
I will now sell four copies of Cats
and Dogs by the Royal Trux.
DICK
Do it. Do it.
Rob pops the CD in and it begins to play... He stands there
with his arms folded, waiting. After a moment, a Customer
approaches.
CUSTOMER
(re: music)
What is this?
ROB
It's the Royal Trux.
CUSTOMER
It's great.
ROB
I know.
ROB'S POV
of the room. Something has caught his eye: a cropped head
with a leopard skin pattern surfaces and disappears, like
Nessie.
Rob's face gets hot and mad. He jumps out from behind the
counter.
ROB
Dick, ring the man up...
He moves like a cat through the crowd. Justin sees him coming
and counters around the middle island and heads for the door.
Vince appears next to him, fiddling with his belt.
He sees Rob now, and he and Justin bolt for the door. Rob
doubles back.
ROB
DICK! THE DOOR!
Dick sees Vince and Justin too late. Rob is right behind
them and as they get out the door, he reaches... and comes
up with the back half of a skateboard.
EXT. RECORD STORE - DAY
Rob emerges behind them, Vince's skateboard in hand. They
have enough distance to bolt, but they can't leave that board
behind.
ROB
Okay, fuckos. How much is this deck
worth to you, and how many CD's did
you rip off? Can you do the math?
Justin pulls two CD's out and slides them over to Rob.
ROB
(to Vince)
And what about you, dork?
Vince pulls about six, and puts them down in a neutral spot.
Rob picks all of them up and starts looking through them.
Dicks pokes his head out of the door.
ROB
Dick, call the police, please.
Vince and Justin look at each other.
ROB
(looking through the
CD's)
Eno import. Sigue Sigue Sputnik.
Break beats. Serge Gainsbourg.
Ryuchi Sakamoto, Syd Barrett...
What's going on here? Are you guys
stealing for other people now?
VINCE
Naw. Those are for us.
ROB
Oh really. You two are slamming to
Nico now?
JUSTIN
You're, like, so bigoted to look at
us and, like, think you know what we
listen to.
VINCE
You got the CD's so can I have my
board back?
ROB
I think you have more.
VINCE
Well we don't.
ROB
I can't frisk you but the cops can.
Justin reaches down again into his baggy shorts and comes up
with a tattered old book, "How To Make A Record." He tosses
it over.
ROB
Jesus. That thing's been in the
bargain bin for six months! Was it
just your criminal nature or what?
Hell, I would've given it to you for
free.
VINCE
No, we...
JUSTIN
We don't know how it works. Nobody
even knows, so we wanted to check it
out in that mag.
Rob snorts.
JUSTIN
Like, do you know how to actually
make a CD?
Rob can't resist edifying them -- the curse of the
underappreciated expert.
ROB
Uh, yes I, like, do... It's simple.
You make the tracks -- recording
studio -- deliver them to the pressing
plant where a master is cut, the
master is then dubbed to submasters,
which are the "mothers," as their
called, for each press in the plant.
You press the CD's or records, put
in your cover art, and that's it.
VINCE
Records are those big round black
things, right?
ROB
Fuck off.
Rob turns to go back in the store.
VINCE
Hey, can I have my board?
Rob drops it and enters the store.
CUT TO:
INT. RECORD STORE - NIGHT - QUICK CUTS:
Barry emerges from the back with three opened bottles of
beer as the last customer goes out the door... The three
lean against the bins, tired and smiling.
BARRY
(to Rob)
What?
ROB
What do you mean, "what?"
BARRY
What are you snickering about?
ROB
I'm not snickering. I'm smiling.
Because I'm happy.
BARRY
What am I missing? What do you have
to be happy about?
DICK
Well we rang $900 today.
ROB
Yeah but more than that. I'm happy
because I'm proud of us. Because
although our talents are small and
peculiar, we use them to their best
advantage.
Dick and Barry look at each other. They almost know how to
take a compliment.
EXT. RECORD STORE - NIGHT
Rob, now alone, turns the sign from "open" to "closed" shuts
the door behind him, and pulls the gate across. Laura appears
from the next doorway. He jumps.
ROB
Shit!
LAURA
Hi.
ROB
Hi.
LAURA
I thought I could give you a lift
back.
ROB
Are you coming home?
LAURA
Yes. Well, I'm coming over to your
house to get some things.
ROB
My house?
Laura turns and begins walking. Rob looks at camera.
ROB
First of all: The money. The money
is easy to explain: She had it and I
didn't, and she wanted to give it to
me. If she hadn't, I would have
gone under. I've never paid her
back because I've never been able
to, and just because she's took off
and moved in with some Supertramp
fan doesn't make me five grand richer.
So that's the money --
Laura's CAR HORN is heard. He heads off.
CUT TO:
INT. LAURA'S CAR - NIGHT
They move down the street, and it's a little tense. Laura
pushes a tape into the stereo. Art Garfunkel's "Bright Eyes"
begins to play. Rob turns away from her and makes a face,
but she knows he's making it.
LAURA
You can make all the faces you want.
My car. My car stereo. My
compilation tape.
Rob tries not to speak, but --
ROB
How can you like Art Garfunkel and
Marvin Gaye? It's like saying you
support the Israelis and the
Palestinians.
LAURA
It's not like saying that at all,
actually, Rob. Art Garfunkel and
Marvin Gaye make pop records --
ROB
-- Made. Made. Marvin Gaye is dead,
his father shot him in --
LAURA
-- whatever, and the Israelis and
the Palestinians don't. Art Garfunkel
and Marvin Gaye are not engaged in a
bitter territorial dispute, and the
Israelis and the Palestinians are.
Art Garfunkel and Marvin Gaye --
ROB
-- Alright, alright but --
LAURA
-- and who says I like Marvin Gaye,
anyway?
He reels on her.
ROB
Hey! Marvin Gaye! "Got to Give It
Up!" That's our song! Marvin Gaye
is responsible for our entire
relationship!
LAURA
Is that right? I'd like a word with
him.
ROB
But don't you remember?
LAURA
I remember the song. I just couldn't
remember who sang it.
Rob shakes his head in disbelief.
LAURA
I can see why you prefer Gaye to
Garfunkel. I get it, really. But
there are so many other things to
worry about. They're only records,
and if one is better than the other,
well, who cares, besides you and
Barry and Dick? I mean really, who
gives a flying fuck?
Silence.
ROB
You used to care more about things
like Marvin Gaye than you do now.
When I first met you, and I made you
that tape, you loved it. You said --
and I quote -- "It was so good it
made you ashamed of your record
collection."
LAURA
Well, I liked you. You were a deejay,
and I thought you were hot, and I
didn't have a boyfriend, and I wanted
one.
ROB
So you weren't interested in music
at all?
LAURA
Yeah, sure. More so then than I am
now. That's life though, isn't it?
The car slows, and Laura parks.
ROB
But Laura... that's me. That's all
there is to me. There isn't anything
else. If you've lost interest in
that, you've lost interest in
everything.
LAURA
You really believe that?
Laura turns the engine off and unbuckles her seat belt.
ROB
Yes. Look at me. Look at our --
the apartment. What else do I have,
other than records and CDs?
LAURA
And do you like it that way?
ROB
Not really.
She half smiles.
LAURA
Let's go in.
She gets out of the car. Rob turns to camera, speaking
quietly and urgently.
ROB
Okay, Number two: The stuff I told
her about being unhappy in the
relationship, about half looking
around for someone else: She tricked
me into saying it. We were having
this state of the union type
conversation and she said, quite
matter-of-factly, that we were pretty
unhappy at the moment, and did I
agree, and I said yes, and she asked
whether I ever thought about meeting
someone else. So I asked her if she
ever thought about it, and she said
of course, so I admitted that I
daydream about it from time to time.
Now I see that what we were really
talking about was her and Ian, and
she suckered me into absolving her.
It was a sneaky lawyer's trick, and
I fell for it, because she's much
smarter than me.
He scrambles out of the car.
INT. APARTMENT - NIGHT
The lock turns and Rob enters, holding the door for Laura
who slips by, her coat in her hands. She glances down at
the table by the door and sees Ian's envelope.
ROB
You can take it with you if you want.
She slips it into her purse. He stands facing her for a
moment, then crosses to her, takes her coat and tosses it on
a chair. She opens the closet and takes out a big laundry
sack.
LAURA
Have you tackled the Great
Reorganization yet?
ROB
Don't you think there are more
important things to talk about than
my record collection?
She begins putting books and other things into the bag...
LAURA
You bet. I've been saying that for
years.
Having no comeback, Rob goes for the moral high ground.
ROB
So. Where have you been staying for
the last week?
LAURA
I think you know that.
ROB
Had to work it out for myself, though,
didn't I?
Laura looks suddenly tired and sad, and looks away.
LAURA
I'm sorry. I haven't been very fair
to you. That's why I came here to
the store this evening. I feel
terrible, Rob. This is really hard,
you know.
ROB
Good.
(beat)
So. Is it my job?
LAURA
What? Gimme a fucking break. Is
that what you think? That your not
big enough a deal for me? Jesus,
gimme a little credit, Rob.
ROB
I don't know. It's one of the things
I thought of.
LAURA
What were the others?
ROB
Just the obvious stuff.
LAURA
What's the obvious stuff?
ROB
I don't know.
She stands and walks toward the bathroom.
LAURA
I guess it's not that obvious, then.
ROB
No.
As soon as she shuts the door behind her, he turns to camera.
ROB
And number three: The Pregnancy. I
didn't know she was pregnant. Of
course I didn't. She hadn't told me
because I had told her I was... sort
of... seeing somebody else. We
thought we were being very grown-up,
but we were being preposterously
naive, childish even, to think that
one of us could fuck around and then
own up to it while we were living
together. So -- I didn't find out
about it 'til way later. We were
going through a good period and I
made a crack about having kids and
she burst into tears. I made her
tell me what it was all about, and
she did. I felt guilty and so I got
angry. She told me that at the time
I didn't look like a very good long-
term bet. That it was a hard decision
and she didn't see any point in
consulting me about it... When the
whole sorry tale comes out in a great
big --
We hear the bathroom door open.
LAURA (O.S.)
What?
ROB
(covering)
What, what?
Laura comes out with a toiletry bag and places it by the
door.
LAURA
Did you say something?
ROB
No. So. Is it working out with
Ian?
LAURA
Rob. Don't be childish.
ROB
Why is that childish? Your living
with the guy! I'm just asking how
it's going.
LAURA
I am not living with him. I've just
been staying with him for a few days
until I work out what I'm doing.
Look, this has nothing to do with
anyone else. You know that, don't
you? I left because we weren't
exactly getting along, and we weren't
talking about it. And I suddenly
realized that I like my job, and I
like what my life is could be turning
into, and that I'm getting to a point
where I want to get my shit together
and I can't really see that ever
happening with you, and yeah, yeah,
I sort of get interested in someone
else, and that went further than it
should have, so it seemed like a
good time to go. But I have no idea
what will happen with Ian in the
long run. Probably nothing.
ROB
Well then why don't you quit it while
you seem to not be ahead?
Laura rolls her eyes and head off into the bedroom with the
laundry bag. Rob turns back to camera.
ROB
-- When the whole sorry tale comes
out in a great big lump like that,
even the most shortsighted jerk,
even the most self-deluding and self
pitying of jilted, wounded lovers
can see that there is some cause and
effect going on here, that abortions
and Ian and money and affairs all
belong to, all deserve each other.
Laura reappears, her bag half-filled with clothes, and goes
to the book shelves next to the records. She starts topping
off the bag with books.
LAURA
Look. Maybe you'll grow up and we'll
get it together, you and me. Maybe
I'll never see either of you again.
I don't know. All I know is that
it's not a good time to be living
here.
ROB
So, what, you haven't definitely
decide to dump me? There's still a
chance we'll get back together?
LAURA
I don't |
