The Very Best of Tad Williams (35 page)

ERIC

It really got to me. I kind of freaked out on the ride back.

JANICE looks troubled, but also angry.

JANICE

Yeah. Tension and guilt will do that to you.

ERIC

Are you saying I should feel guilty, Janice? I do. Of course I do. But it’s not all my fault.

JANICE

You sure left town like you thought it was.

She has been fidgeting with her silverware. She waves a waiter over.

JANICE
(cont.)

Could you please give me a clean fork, if it’s not too much to ask? This fork is dirty. It’s disgusting.

The waiter leaves. ERIC looks at her. She stares defiantly back.

JANICE
(cont.)

Well, you did, didn’t you?

ERIC

What did you want me to do? I had a scholarship that fall, remember? Did you want me not to go to UCLA?

JANICE

To become a journalist and save the world.

ERIC

To become a journalist, yeah, even if I didn’t know it then. Should I have just stayed?

JANICE

Of course not. Then you would have had to break up with me face-to-face.

ERIC

C’mon—it was as much your idea as mine, wasn’t it?

JANICE

Maybe. But I didn’t get to leave. I had to go to that high school for two years. How do you think that felt? To have people pointing at me, whispering about me...?

ERIC

If you want me to say I’m sorry, Janice, I will. I’m sorry.

(He toys with his food.)

Didn’t you have anyone else to talk to? What about Brent?

JANICE

Oh, sure, Brent. I hardly saw him. He got all weird—started reading like Tibetan Buddhism and stuff.

ERIC

Brent? Reading books?

JANICE

He’s a lot different, Eric. You’d hardly know him. He’s done really well, actually. He lost a lot of weight, married some ex-model, owned his own advertising agency in Los Angeles for a while, then sold out and moved back here...

ERIC

Advertising agency? Oh, shit, he wasn’t the Zenger in Zenger-Kimball, was he? That’s too weird.

JANICE

Like I said, you wouldn’t recognize him...

DISSOLVE TO:

INT.—BRENT’S HOUSE—SAME TIME

The ADULT BRENT ZENGER looks fit and successful—nice haircut, buff body, expensive casual clothes. His wife TRACY and daughter JOANIE look up from the couch where they’re watching television. BRENT heads for the closet to hang up his coat.

BRENT

The man is home.

TRACY

Hi.

JOANIE

Hi, Daddy. The class hamster had babies.

BRENT

I’d love to hear about it after I get myself one little, much-deserved drink.

TRACY

You’re home late.

BRENT

Dinner with a client...

He reaches the closet and throws open the door, starts to hang up his coat, then sees there’s a light of some kind at the back of the closet. BRENT is surprised. He pushes through the coat hangers and discovers a door on the back of the closet, where clearly none has ever been before. He steps through it and into an EXACT DUPLICATE of the living room he’s just left.

BRENT

What the hell...?

TRACY

(looking up in alarm)

Who are you? What are you doing in here?

JOANIE

Mommy? Mommy!

BRENT

What are you talking about...?

TRACY

(pulling JOANIE backward toward the phone)

I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I’m calling the police. Don’t move!

JOANIE

(crying)

Who is that man, Mommy?

Terrified, stunned, BRENT takes a stumbling step backward and falls into the closet. After a confused moment, he fights his way out of darkness again.

TRACY

Brent? What on earth are you doing? Do you need some help?

JOANIE

Daddy’s tangled up in the coats!

CLOSE UP—
BRENT, pale and shaken, as we

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT.—RESTAURANT PARKING LOT—NIGHT

JANICE and ERIC are walking through the lot. She has her sweater pulled tight around her shoulders.

ERIC

...And she put all my stuff in boxes and put them out on the sidewalk with—you know those label guns? With a label on each one reading “property of shit head.” Which is how I became single again.

(a beat)

Hey, I thought you would have enjoyed hearing about my hopeless love life.

JANICE

Oh, Eric, I never wished you bad luck. Not really.

(a beat)

I’m sorry if...if I wasn’t very good company tonight. I told you this was a poor idea.

ERIC

I said I’m sorry about everything, Janice. I really am, I...I was just scared of the whole thing. You, life, what happened...

They have stopped beside his car.

JANICE

I accept the apology. I did stupid things too. Let’s just say goodnight and maybe we can be friends again. That would be something, wouldn’t it? After all this time?

ERIC

It sure would.

He reaches out and takes her hand, holding it awkwardly for a moment— he’s trying to find a way to pull her closer but she’s quietly resisting. Abruptly he drops her hand and walks to his car.

JANICE

Eric?

ERIC

Hang on a second.

He fumbles around, then pops a tape into the player and leaves the door open as he walks back. The quiet intro to Traffic’s “Low Spark of High Heeled Boys” begins to play.

JANICE

I know that.

ERIC

Of course you do. This is now officially middle-aged-people’s music.

He suddenly takes her hand again, then pulls her toward him.

ERIC
(cont.)

Remember slow dancing?

JANICE

The only kind you could do. A casualty of the Disco Invasion is what you were. C’mon, Eric, stop.

ERIC

Just a dance. Better than arguing. Come on.

JANICE allows herself to be drawn slowly into a dance.

JANICE

You do know you’re going back to your motel alone, don’t you?

ERIC

All the more reason to be quiet and let me enjoy this...

They circle across the parking lot, under the lights. A foursome walks past them and makes joking comments, but sweetly—it’s a nice moment.

SLOW DISSOLVE TO:

EXT.—PIERSON HOUSE, 1976—NIGHT

Another quiet song rises up, supplanting Traffic’s—it’s Roxy Music’s “In Every Dream Home a Heartache.” Five people are sitting on the roof of the house. It’s a summer evening, last rays of sunset just vanishing, and the lights of other houses are far on the other side of the orchard.

Five teenagers are sitting along the edge of the roof, passing a joint. YOUNG ERIC and YOUNG JANICE are pressed close. Chunky YOUNG BRENT, wearing cutoffs and deck shoes, is dangling his feet over the edge and taking his turn with the joint. KIMMY, a small girl with glasses, a hooded sweatshirt, and overalls, sits a yard or so from him but close to YOUNG JANICE. YOUNG TOPHER sits against the chimney, swigging from a bottle of Bacardi.

YOUNG ERIC

Last night of summer.

YOUNG JANICE

Shut up. You’ll ruin it.

YOUNG BRENT

(inhaling deeply)

Nothing could ruin it but running out of dope. I love this song. Manzanera rocks so bad on this solo that it isn’t funny.

YOUNG ERIC

The last night of the last summer we’re all in high school together. The night summer vacation dies forever.

TOPHER

(reaching down to take the joint)

Oh, shit. Poetry alert!

Everybody laughs.

YOUNG ERIC

Okay, I’ll just shut up.

YOUNG JANICE

No, baby, you’re so sweet when you talk. But just be quiet for a little while, okay?

She presses in against his side. TOPHER passes the joint to KIMMY. After a hit, she starts to cough. JANICE leans over to slap her back.

YOUNG JANICE
(cont.)

Kimmy, just take little hits! You always do that.

KIMMY

(raspy, almost unable to talk)

At least I didn’t throw up. This time.

TOPHER

Erky. Throw me a cigarette, man.

ERIC tosses up his pack. TOPHER takes one and lights it.

KIMMY

How long are your grandparents gone, Eric?

YOUNG ERIC

Weeks. Months. Years.

YOUNG BRENT

(laughing)

Erky is high.

YOUNG JANICE

They missed their plane. They were supposed to be back today.

The Roxy Music song has been playing under all this, and it’s building to a climax now. YOUNG TOPHER stands up and begins playing air-guitar, using the rum bottle as the guitar neck. He sings along with the song being played.

YOUNG ERIC

Yeah, and if you get too fucked up and put a foot through my grandparents’ roof, it’ll be my fucking heartache, all right. Topher, what are you doing?

YOUNG BRENT

Topher’s higher than Erky.

YOUNG JANICE

Topher, be careful...

The climax of the song comes. TOPHER strides down to the edge of the roof and braces himself, serenading the orchard and surrounding town. He begins to sing, quiet but getting louder, then bellowing the final line about blowing his mind..

As the guitar solo comes wailing in, TOPHER staggers for a moment on the edge of the roof, air-strumming the bottle. Abruptly, he pitches over the edge and vanishes. After a stunned second:

YOUNG ERIC

Shit!

KIMMY

(almost crying)

Is he hurt? Is he hurt?

YOUNG ERIC

Topher, man? You all right?

TOPHER

(weakly; offscreen)

It was all great, except the last little bit. But I think I spilled some of my Bacardi.

YOUNG BRENT

(relieved)

You are such an asshole, man!

YOUNG ERIC

Are you sure you’re okay?

As ERIC begins climbing down from the roof, TOPHER suddenly sits up.

TOPHER

Shit!

(fumbles in pockets)

If those fuckers get lost...

(finds what he’s looking for)

Ah. Far out.

YOUNG ERIC

Don’t do shit like that, man.

TOPHER

I fucking thought I smashed these or something.

YOUNG ERIC

Smashed what?

TOPHER

Let’s go in, man, put on some more tunes—I’ll show you. It’s a surprise...

As Roxy Music plays out, we

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT.—ERIC’S MOTEL—NIGHT

Just to establish the transition, we see the outside of a mid-grade side-of-the-road motel. We move in on ERIC’s room.

INT.—ERIC’S MOTEL—NIGHT

ADULT ERIC is sleeping. We move in on his face, lips moving a little, hear his voice in a dreaming whisper:

ERIC

Topher, don’t...

CUT TO:

Quick FLASH of TOPHER’s distorted current face coming out of shadow, as though it were in ERIC’s room.

ERIC wakes up, gasping, but there’s nothing in the room but a little light from the streetlights leaking through the curtain. ERIC lets his head fall back, then we hear a faint noise. ERIC sits up: he hears it. It’s someone CRYING.

Looking really disturbed, ERIC glances at the digital clock, which reads 3:17. We hear the crying a little louder—a woman’s voice, a hopeless, quiet weeping. ERIC stands up by the bed, turning his head slowly, locating the source of the sound. It’s more upsetting to him than us, because he RECOGNIZES it.

ERIC moves slowly across the dark room toward the bathroom door, which is closed. He slowly leans his head against the door and we hear the crying louder. He looks terrified. The crying gets louder.