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Light Sleeper Movie Script

Writer(s) : Paul Schrader

Genres : Drama

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                                      LIGHT SLEEPER



                                        Written by

                                      Paul Schrader



                                      SHOOTING DRAFT

                                           1992



                

               JOHN LETOUR, forty, light sleeper. Never meant to be a drug 
               dealer, it just came along. He's been other things: messenger 
               boy, cab driver, model, postal clerk, doorman, nightclub 
               shill -- never meant to be them either. Now he's a D.D. Drug 
               dealer.

               JOHN LETOUR, well-groomed, khaki slacks, leather jacket, 
               tippet-like scarf, belt pouch, "Beatle" boots, a shadow 
               drifting in and out of other shadows, New York, day, night: 
               watching, listening, rarely speaking -- nonexistent, seen 
               only by those he sees. His face an affable blank. Make of it 
               what you will. The eyes flicker; the hands shift discreetly. 
               A map of calculation.

               Once he had a drug problem. Life turned a page. Today he 
               follows instructions: he sleeps light -- one eye open, 
               anticipating. JOHN LETOUR, D.D., loner, voyeur, has been 
               drifting toward an unknown destination. At mid-life the 
               destination draws near. The circle tightens. The dealer is 
               anxious. The destination is love.

               NIGHT IN THE LIFE

               CREDIT SEQUENCE: New York by night. JOHN LETOUR nestles in 
               back of a blue car service sedan, face reflected in the 
               window. Neon mixes with steam, street people with tourists, 
               young dates: each with a different agenda, a hidden purpose.

               His beeper goes off. He clicks it, checks the digital message. 
               The DRIVER stops at an uptown corner. LETOUR opens the 
               curbside door, motions to the DRIVER he'll be back in "ten" 
               minutes. He enters the video laundromat, a twenty-four-hour 
               video rental/laundromat/tanning salon.

               Inside, he meets a RETRO-YUPPIE (J. Crew Division) in the 
               "Classics" section. They exit.

               On the sidewalk, money is exchanged for a packet. LETOUR 
               pockets the uncounted cash. The YUPPIE mouths goodbye, eager 
               to put distance between him and LETOUR. JOHN checks his 
               beeper, stops at a pay phone, dials.

               JOHN LETOUR re-enters the sedan; the DRIVER heads downtown. 
               High-rises give way to Tudor City. Uncollected trash lines 
               the curbs. LETOUR eyes a PEDESTRIAN; PEDESTRIAN looks back. 
               Later. Three a.m. The streets are dark. LeTour's car passes 
               a glowing Korean market.

               LETOUR narrates from diary:

                                     LETOUR
                              (voice over)
                         Labor Day weekend. Some time for a 
                         sanitation strike. Everybody crazy 
                         to stock up. They decide to score at 
                         the last minute and want it now. 
                         Never fails. The faces look alike. 
                         You gotta use memory tricks: each 
                         has some peculiarity -- it keeps you 
                         sharp. A D.D. told me when a drug 
                         dealer starts writing a diary it's 
                         time to quit. I started writing after 
                         that. Not every night -- now and 
                         then. Just to burn off the night. 
                         Fill up one book, throw it out, start 
                         another.

               The sedan drives on. End credits.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               HOMEBASE

               Four a.m.: streets empty. LeTour's sedan drops him off near 
               a ten-story West 80s apartment building. JOHN gives the DRIVER 
               a forty-dollar tip (standard procedure), turns the corner. 
               He presses the intercom; a buzzer unlocks the door. He enters 
               the lobby, walks past English reproduction furniture toward 
               the elevators. Presses the button.

               Penthouse C door opens. ANN lets JOHN in with a smile.

               ANN, forty-four, striking in a tailored dress, greets him 
               with a wet kiss. Her hair is coiffured, her face made up. 
               She is John's employer, mentor, confidante, Mother Hen: she 
               keeps the books. Her ingenuous demeanor belies sterner stuff: 
               she's been in the drug business fifteen years.

               Ann's apartment is a jumble of sensibilities: dark green 
               walls, zebra-skin sofa, Haitian wall friezes, framed magazine 
               photos of Paramahansa Yogananda, Liz Taylor, the Duke of 
               Windsor -- paintings stacked behind an oversized urn. A bird 
               flits in its cage. One corner of the living area is devoted 
               to a fledgling cosmetics business: Macintosh computer, 
               billboard of trade paper clippings and ads, herbal samples, 
               reference books, color charts.

               ROBERT, fifty, slight, waves hello as JOHN locks the door. 
               Gay, hip, worn, he's John's "co-runner."

               They work -- and eat -- out of Ann's apartment. Take-out 
               tins of Indian food are stacked amid crystals, tarot cards, 
               glasses, and vitamin bottles. No sign of drugs, drug 
               paraphernalia, or money.

                                     ANN
                         Darling.

                                     LETOUR
                         Ann.

                                     ANN
                         Have we made New York safe for another 
                         weekend?

                                     LETOUR
                              (waves)
                         Robert.

                                     ROBERT
                         Get a job.

                                     LETOUR
                              (about ROBERT)
                         Sad what ten years without sex can 
                         do.

               Repartee: the plumbing of family feeling.

               JOHN unzips his belt pouch, walks toward the bedroom to 
               deposit the night's earnings.

                                     ANN
                         Any hundreds?

                                     LETOUR
                         Twenties -- and tens.

                                     ROBERT
                         Tens!

                                     ANN
                         Goddamn cash machines.

                                     ROBERT
                         Did what's-his-name give you a hard 
                         time?

                                     LETOUR
                              (out of shot)
                         You mean --?

                                     ROBERT
                         Yeah.

                                     LETOUR
                         Cash Before Delivery.
                              (re-emerges)
                         CBD.

                                     ROBERT
                         Fucking investment bankers.

                                     ANN
                         These Wall Street kids deal with 
                         fake money all day, they think cash 
                         is a theoretical concept -- like it 
                         doesn't apply. I see 'em at two, 
                         shudder to think at nine they're 
                         buying and selling -- turned me off 
                         the stock market.

                                     LETOUR
                         It's late.
                              (to ROBERT)
                         You staying?

                                     ROBERT
                         It's over.

                                     LETOUR
                         I'm gonna crash -- try, at least.

                                     ANN
                              (to LETOUR)
                         Tomorrow will be easier. Maybe we 
                         can all eat together. Go on. You 
                         look tired. Here, take a couple of 
                         C's. I'll pick up anything that comes 
                         in.

               LETOUR turns to leave.

                                     ANN
                         Sleep tight.

                                     ROBERT
                         Pick up the trash.

                                     LETOUR
                              (laughs)
                         Yeah -- big kiss.

               He throws two kisses, exits.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               JOHN'S APARTMENT

               First light reflects across the Hudson as LETOUR walks west 
               on 22nd Street toward his Chelsea apartment building. A 
               delivery truck passes uncollected garbage. He enters a 
               nondescript doorway. Inside his studio apartment, JOHN sits 
               at a second-hand table writing in a composition book. He 
               drinks from an eight-ounce glass of white wine, continues.

               The room has little personality; Ann's apartment has enough 
               for two. Nails indicate where pictures once hung; a boombox 
               sits on the linoleum floor amid cassettes, books 
               (Autobiography of a Yogi, The Secret Doctrine), fashion 
               magazines, a stack of unopened CDs. A futon is unrolled 
               beneath the room's sole decoration, a poster of a human foot 
               advertising a forgotten photo exhibit. Wine bottles -- Chenin 
               Blanc. Precious little to show for forty years.

               LeTour's narration resumes as he writes:

                                     LETOUR
                              (voice over)
                         "Labor Day." "Union Movement" -- 
                         there's a contradiction in terms. I 
                         know about long hours. It's worse 
                         when I'm off -- I just walk and walk. 
                         Where am I going? There's an element 
                         of providence to it all. Like rolling 
                         numbers. Luck. You're walking down 
                         the street, some guy that looks maybe 
                         a little like you does a stick-up 
                         four hours ago, there's an APB 
                         description out and a cop pulls you 
                         in cause he's cold and wants to go 
                         inside -- they grab your stash. Your 
                         number's up. You're busted for 
                         nothing. For bad luck.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               JEALOUS

               Five p.m. A Clinton transient hotel.

               Inside hotel room, LETOUR meets with JEALOUS, a twenty-five-
               year-old drug intermediary in leather jacket. JOHN counts 
               hundred-dollar bills, hands them to JEALOUS.

                                     JEALOUS
                         Are they "faced"?

                                     LETOUR
                         Don't bore me.

               JEALOUS rearranges the hundreds:

                                     JEALOUS
                         Is it so much work to face them the 
                         same direction? You don't do it, I 
                         got to. It's time -- my time --

                                     LETOUR
                              (overlap)
                         Jees --

                                     JEALOUS
                         We've been through all this.
                              (LETOUR shrugs)
                         This nineteen-gram shit is a drag.

                                     LETOUR
                         We pay you more, you put up with 
                         more. White drugs for white people. 
                         Twice the price, twice the safety.

                                     JEALOUS
                         I can't believe Ann's been working 
                         as long as she has -- never busted. 
                         She's something.

                                     LETOUR
                         Never made any big money either.

                                     JEALOUS
                         Sure.

                                     LETOUR
                         She blows it.

                                     JEALOUS
                         You believe that? What you gonna do 
                         after she quits? How long you been 
                         with her?

                                     LETOUR
                         She always says that. We'll see, 
                         Jealous.

                                     JEALOUS
                         She's out. You should pick up her 
                         trade. You're too old to be a go-
                         fer. They know you, they trust you.

                                     LETOUR
                         No way. I'm not the management type. 
                         I get in charge, I'll start using 
                         again -- not for me. I know music 
                         people. I'm gonna get in recording.

                                     JEALOUS
                         Yeah.

               LETOUR reaches for the door.

                                     JEALOUS
                         Tour.

                                     LETOUR
                         What?

                                     JEALOUS
                         Normally this wouldn't matter to 
                         you, but you may get hassled.

                                     LETOUR
                         Why?

                                     JEALOUS
                         You read the papers? The Park murder. 
                         All over the Post. Mariah Rangel -- 
                         nineteen-year-old Barnard co-ed bitch 
                         dead in Turtle Pond coked to the 
                         fucking gills. All of a sudden they're 
                         hot after mid-level dealers. They're 
                         buzzin'. You know her?

                                     LETOUR
                              (shrugs)
                         I look like an encyclopedia? Who 
                         knows?
                              (opens door)
                         Thanks for the warning.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               THE NIGHT BEGINS

               Ann's apartment. Eight p.m. She opens the door for LETOUR, 
               kisses him, goes back to the phone. Mantra muzak plays as 
               JOHN locks door, heads toward bedroom. Inside bedroom, MTV 
               glows silently as ROBERT, wearing a black turtleneck, works 
               at a desk amid tools of the trade: digital scale, "hot box," 
               Deering grinder, block of manite, pure cocaine, pills, felt 
               pen. ROBERT scissors glossy magazine paper (Elle) into neat 
               quarters, folds each into gram-size "bindels" -- envelopes. 
               Red satin drapes the ceiling.

                                     ROBERT
                         Jack.

               JOHN kisses him atop the head.

                                     ROBERT
                         You pick up from Jealous?

                                     LETOUR
                              (passes bag)
                         Yeah, nineteen grams after four times 
                         last night. We're certainly not his 
                         favorite people.

                                     ROBERT
                         We don't make the laws. Nineteen is 
                         carrying, twenty is dealing. Let him 
                         be stupid.

                                     LETOUR
                         He took my hundreds.

                                     ROBERT
                              (stands)
                         Take over for a while. I'm getting 
                         contact high.

                                     LETOUR
                              (sits)
                         Who's Her Majesty talking to?

               ROBERT flips through cable channels as JOHN grinds cocaine.

                                     ROBERT
                         The Ecstasy connection. From Arizona. 
                         She's trying to get them to come 
                         here -- or, better, Europe.

                                     LETOUR
                         That's where the money is.

                                     ROBERT
                         All mark-up -- the "Big One."

                                     LETOUR
                              (laughs)
                         Don't dress.
                              (beat)
                         You really think she means it?

                                     ROBERT
                         That's what she says. New Year's Eve 
                         and out -- no Acid House, no product, 
                         no deliveries.

                                     LETOUR
                         That's just her mouth talking.

                                     ROBERT
                         Next year -- strictly Akasha.

                                     LETOUR
                         "Akasha"?

                                     ROBERT
                         Cosmetics. That's what Ann's calling 
                         the company now --

                                     LETOUR
                              (interjects)
                         -- this week. I don't get it -- 
                         marigolds, violets, sage -- why'd 
                         anyone pay to put weeds on their 
                         face?

                                     ROBERT
                         Why'd anyone pay to put them up their 
                         nose? I like cosmetics. I need 
                         cosmetics. You should come in with 
                         us.

                                     LETOUR
                         You forget: she hasn't asked me.

               ANN hangs up, calls:

                                     ANN
                              (out of shot)
                         Johnny! Robert! Come here!

               They return to the living area.

                                     ANN
                              (open arms)
                         Plant me two kisses, boys, fifteen 
                         hundred Ex at thirty each and the 
                         delivery's here.

               They simultaneously kiss her cheeks.

                                     ANN
                              (to LETOUR)
                         Whatja think?

                                     LETOUR
                         Of what?

                                     ANN
                         The face cream. Almond, marigold, 
                         chamomile, egg, aloe -- the "Almilk" 
                         formula. I remixed it.

                                     LETOUR
                              (smells her)
                         Very nice.

                                     ANN
                         Reminds me, if you get downtown stop 
                         at Enhancements and pick up some 
                         almond oil -- not the California.
                              (fishes menus from 
                              desk)
                         What should we order?

                                     LETOUR
                         How about Indian?

                                     ANN
                         Darling, it's Saturday.

                                     ROBERT
                         Thai. We haven't had Thai in a while.

               The phone rings. Ann's voice repeats a recorded message:

                                     ANN'S VOICE
                         "Hello. This is Ann. If you leave a 
                         message, we'll get back to you -- 
                         sooner than you think."

               Answering machine beeps. MAN'S VOICE speaks from the tiny 
               speaker: "Ann, this is Ed. Call me. 749-2876."

                                     ANN
                              (to ROBERT)
                         Answer that. He'll call back every 
                         five minutes.

                                     ROBERT
                              (walking)
                         The night begins.

               The phone rings again: another message as ANN examines the 
               menu.

                                     ANN
                         "Ped Srilom"? -- it's Northeastern. 
                         Duck.

                                     LETOUR
                              (glancing)
                         I'm going veggie. Get me the "Puk 
                         Ob."

                                     ROBERT
                              (out of shot from 
                              phone)
                         Me too.

                                     LETOUR
                         Use it for facial cream.

                                     ROBERT
                              (out of shot)
                         Remove unsightly hair!

                                     ANN
                         Laugh, one day you'll be watching me 
                         on "Oprah" from a welfare hotel.

                                     LETOUR
                         Forgive us.

                                     ROBERT
                              (returns)
                         Eddie wants now. Now. His place. Top 
                         Lady. God knows what happened to his 
                         shit yesterday.

                                     ANN
                              (to LETOUR)
                         You take it -- call in.

                                     LETOUR
                         It was supposed to be light tonight.

                                     ROBERT
                         Don't you watch TV?

                                     LETOUR
                         Don't have one.

                                     ROBERT
                         Well if you were the normal stupid 
                         fuck you should be so lucky to be 
                         and had one, you'd know it's supposed 
                         to rain --

                                     ANN
                         Good for the trees --

                                     ROBERT
                         Some farmer whacked his numerology 
                         on us.

                                     ANN
                              (peers through curtain)
                         It's started.

                                     ROBERT
                         The Farmer's Almanac is based on 
                         numerology.

                                     LETOUR
                         Raining?

                                     ANN
                         Take a coat.
                              (to ROBERT)
                         And you, clean up the product before 
                         the food delivery comes.

               JOHN grabs his belt pouch, heads for the closet.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               CONFESSOR LETOUR

               Rain falls on LeTour's car near an East Side luxury high-
               rise. The door opens to Eddie's apartment: severe decor, 
               once chic, now dated. EDDIE, thirty-two, is a mess: puffy 
               face, sweaty shirt, pinched lips -- on a drug jag.

                                     EDDIE
                         Le Tour! -- finally. What took so 
                         long?

                                     LETOUR
                              (steps inside)
                         Traffic. It's raining.

                                     EDDIE
                         How's things?

                                     LETOUR
                         Okay.

                                     EDDIE
                         I need a quarter -- you got it?

                                     LETOUR
                              (nods)
                         Robert said he sold you a quarter 
                         yesterday.

                                     EDDIE
                              (slurs)
                         Some friends came over. How much is 
                         that? Fourteen-hundred?

               LETOUR nods as EDDIE, employing diminished skills, counts 
               from a roll of twenties. JOHN looks around: full ashtrays, 
               porn tapes, empty vodka bottles -- there have been no 
               "friends."

                                     LETOUR
                         Eddie. Look at yourself. Sit down. 
                         I've known you, what, like eight 
                         years?

                                     EDDIE
                              (counting)
                         Yeah...

                                     LETOUR
                         Knew you from the other job, the one 
                         before the last one you fucked up. I 
                         knew your wife -- remember her? We 
                         used to sit and talk and talk --

               Pressures EDDIE into chair.

                                     EDDIE
                              (whining)
                         You don't know what she was like --

                                     LETOUR
                         This is no good. I'll sell you a 
                         gram and some downs, but I ain't 
                         gonna put you in the emergency room. 
                         Cool it. Go to bed. Sleep it off.

               John's beeper goes off.

                                     EDDIE
                              (stands)
                         You charge $200 for what goes for 
                         ninety on the street -- and you're 
                         not gonna sell?

                                     LETOUR
                              (clicks beeper)
                         So go to the street.

                                     EDDIE
                         I'll call Ann.

                                     LETOUR
                         Go ahead. You know what she'll say. 
                         Phone's over there.

                                     EDDIE
                              (irrational)
                         I'll tell the fucking cops.

                                     LETOUR
                              (flashes cold)
                         Fuck you. That's it. You're out.
                              (turns to leave)
                         Don't call again. Catch you next 
                         lifetime.

                                     EDDIE
                              (contrite)
                         Please, Tour, I'm sorry. You're right. 
                         I didn't mean that. I'm quitting 
                         anyway. I'll take the gram. Sorry.

                                     LETOUR
                              (turns back)
                         Okay.

                                     EDDIE
                         Two hundred?

               LETOUR nods.

               EDDIE counts $200 as LETOUR takes a gram from his pouch, 
               gives it to him.

                                     LETOUR
                         You got downs?
                              (EDDIE nods)
                         One more thing. I gotta use the phone.

               EDDIE pockets the envelope as JOHN, checking his beeper, 
               walks to the phone.

               Later. LETOUR sits in an Upper West Side apartment as an 
               earnest MID-TWENTIESH MAN, wearing undershorts, snorts a 
               hefty line, offers a rolled dollar bill as he talks. LETOUR 
               declines.

                                     MID-TWENTIESH MAN
                              (continuing)
                         ...but -- if there's no God, how can 
                         man conceive of him? The idea of God 
                         presupposes the existence of God. 
                         That's the Ontological Argument. 
                         Anselm. Twelve hundred. Fourteen 
                         hundred -- I'm not sure --

                                     LETOUR
                              (checks his watch)
                         I've got to go.

                                     MID-TWENTIESH MAN
                              (gesturing)
                         Let me finish. Okay, if the idea of 
                         God is implanted by God -- the sensus 
                         divinitatus, the sense of the divine -- 
                         what is the role of human thought? 
                         Not faith, thought...

               LETOUR's mind drifts. His diary voice overlaps:

                                     LETOUR
                              (Voice over)
                         Everybody wants to talk. It's like a 
                         compulsion. My philosophy is: you 
                         got nothing to say, don't say it. 
                         They figure you can tell a D.D. 
                         anything, things they would never 
                         tell anyone else. He understands. Of 
                         course they're stoned to start. If I 
                         could tie together all the hours of 
                         coke talk I've heard, that would be 
                         a lot of string. It was Robert's 
                         idea to add twenty-five dollars to 
                         home deliveries cause it's such a 
                         hassle. Fifty is more like it.

               Later. Narration continues as sedan drives through rain. 
               Later. A Tribeca loft. LETOUR swaps drug jargon with TWO 
               N.Y.U. STUDENTS at an impromptu party. Attractive ingenues 
               drift by. TRENDY TWOSOME, blasted, sways, to techno-rap.

               Business done, LETOUR turns to leave. The FIRST STUDENT grabs 
               his shoulder:

                                     FIRST STUDENT
                         C'mon, Tour, stick around.

                                     SECOND STUDENT
                         Yeah.

                                     FIRST STUDENT
                         There's only four of us and like 
                         seven of them -- and we're paying 
                         for the dope. See her, over there, 
                         the blonde, long hair, yellow skirt? -- 
                         she's gonna model for Elite.

               DOWNTOWN NYMPH, sixteen going on seventeen.

                                     LETOUR
                              (smiling)
                         Me? I'm an old man. She'd break me 
                         like an old horse.

                                     SECOND STUDENT
                         Shit, dude --

                                     LETOUR
                         Nah. Thanks anyway.
                              (checks watch)
                         I gotta go. Have fun.
                              (heads toward exit)

                                                                    CUT TO:

               FACE FROM THE PAST

               LeTour's sedan heads down Lexington Avenue. It rains unabated. 
               Puddles glisten; red taillights refract on the windshield. 
               JOHN rests in back, a bag from Enhancements beside him.

               Pedestrians, well-dressed and casual, desperately wave for 
               taxis amid sacks of garbage. No use: nothing for blocks.

               John's sedan stops for a midtown light. LETOUR looks out the 
               window, sees a WOMAN vainly hailing a cab. He looks again. 
               She turns her head. He recognizes her.

                                     LETOUR
                              (to DRIVER)
                         Carlos. Wait a second.

               He leans over, opens the far door, calls:

                                     LETOUR
                         Marianne! Marianne! Hop in! I'll 
                         give you a ride.

               MARIANNE JOST, thirty-five, stylish in short black hair and 
               long black coat, steps closer, looks through the rain.

                                     LETOUR
                         John. John LeTour.

                                     MARIANNE
                              (recognizes him)
                         John?

                                     LETOUR
                         Get in. You're getting soaked.

               She ducks inside, slams the door.

                                     MARIANNE
                              (awkward)
                         Hi...

               The car moves on.

                                     LETOUR
                         Where are you going?

               MARIANNE wipes rain from her cheeks; her expression deepens: 
               cautious, suspicious. No reply.

                                     LETOUR
                         I didn't know you still lived here.

                                     MARIANNE
                              (second thoughts)
                         Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. 
                         I should get out.

                                     LETOUR
                         Don't be crazy. It's pouring.

                                     MARIANNE
                         I'm not supposed to be around --

                                     LETOUR
                              (completes sentence)
                         -- former drug associates.

                                     MARIANNE
                         It's four years I'm clean. No alcohol, 
                         no cigarettes, no nothing.

                                     LETOUR
                         I heard. I'm happy for you.

                                     MARIANNE
                         It's still not easy.

                                     LETOUR
                         I know. Mar, you don't need to avoid 
                         me. I'm straight -- two years. It 
                         came that time. I tried to tell you. 
                         I wrote. I called.

                                     MARIANNE
                              (looks around)
                         I should get out.

                                     LETOUR
                         Honest.

                                     MARIANNE
                         But you're dealing.

                                     LETOUR
                         No. I stopped.

                                     MARIANNE
                         What's in the bag?

                                     LETOUR
                         Almond oil. You can check.
                              (opens bag)
                         Look.

               She does: Enhancements Almond Oil. John's beeper goes off! -- 
               he punches it.

                                     LETOUR
                         Shit.

                                     MARIANNE
                         What's that for? In case someone 
                         needs almond oil in the middle of 
                         the night?

                                     LETOUR
                         I still deal a little, but I'm 
                         straight -- that part's true. Believe 
                         me.

                                     MARIANNE
                              (to DRIVER)
                         Stop here. Now. Stop!

                                     LETOUR
                         I won't say anything. I promise. 
                         I'll just sit here. I'll just give 
                         you a ride.

               The car pulls over. MARIANNE opens the door, gets out.

                                     MARIANNE
                         Goodbye, John.

                                     LETOUR
                         Where do you live?
                              (door slams)
                         Mari...

               She fades into the rain. JOHN watches, aching.

                                     DRIVER
                         Sir?

                                     LETOUR
                         Eighty-third Street.

               The sedan continues uptown.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               MEMORIES

               John's apartment. Pre-dawn. His diary lies open on the desk. 
               LETOUR sits clothed on the futon, drinking white wine. He 
               pages through a cheap, half-filled photo album. He touches 
               snapshots, 3�5's from another time:

               -- JOHN and MARIANNE, arm in arm, on a Florida beach

               -- MARIANNE, surprised by the camera, snorting coke at a 
               party

               -- JOHN, MARIANNE, and ANN posing, smiling, same party

               -- JOHN and MARIANNE kissing over birthday cake, same party

               -- MARIANNE IN MOROCCO BAZAAR

               -- JOHN blowing a kiss in Fez airport

                                                                    CUT TO:

               PSYCHIC HEALING

               LeTour's narration continues over embossed card on an entry 
               table: Teresa Aronow, Psychic Reading, 37 Jones Street, New 
               York, N.Y. 10012, (212)473-4297. VOICES under narration:

                                     TERESA
                              (out of shot)
                         Coffee?

                                     LETOUR
                              (out of shot)
                         Thanks.

                                     TERESA
                              (out of shot)
                         Black?

                                     LETOUR
                              (out of shot)
                         Yeah.

                                     TERESA
                              (out of shot)
                         Here.

               JOHN accepts a coffee mug, sits on a sofa across from TERESA. 
               Sunlight falls through crocheted curtains.

               TERESA ARONOW, fortyish, professionally young, is compact, 
               demure; she wears business jacket and skirt, patterned blouse. 
               Nothing about her is remotely paranormal -- nothing except, 
               of course, her "aura." The "Other Side." Her voice is at the 
               same time soothing, piercing.

               Teresa's West Village consultation room is startlingly 
               mundane: a bourgeois walk-up. Upholstered furniture, Tiffany 
               obj�ts d'art, framed photos of her husband and children -- a 
               trip to Capri. A twenties portrait of Madame Blavatsky, above 
               the fireplace, centers the room.

                                     LETOUR
                         I'm not sure how this works.

                                     TERESA
                         Have you ever been to a psychic 
                         before?

                                     LETOUR
                         No, but I've, well, I've heard about 
                         it.

                                     TERESA
                         Do you need advice? John?

                                     LETOUR
                              (nods)
                         No... it's not that... I don't know -- 
                         I just decided to come. I thought...

                                     TERESA
                         Be comfortable.
                              (smile)
                         How did you hear about me?

                                     LETOUR
                         A recommendation. Somebody from work. 
                         Two hundred dollars, right?

               TERESA nods. JOHN tucks cash into an envelope, places it on 
               the coffee table.

                                     TERESA
                         It's a lot of money?

                                     LETOUR
                         I don't care.

                                     TERESA
                              (explaining)
                         I look at you. I give you my 
                         impressions. I feel your "vibrations" -- 
                         I don't like that word, it sounds 
                         phony, but I can't think of anything 
                         better.
                              (watching)
                         You're anxious.
                              (he shrugs)
                         More than usual. Your aura is very 
                         strong. I feel a very strong vibration 
                         from you. A change is coming. You're 
                         worried about money. You say you 
                         don't care about money but that's 
                         not true.

                                     LETOUR
                         Yeah.

                                     TERESA
                         Your livelihood is endangered. You're 
                         worried about the future. You don't 
                         have much money saved. What will you 
                         do?

                                     LETOUR
                         I don't know.

                                     TERESA
                         I see a woman who has betrayed you.

                                     LETOUR
                              (smiles)
                         My mother?

                                     TERESA
                              (cuts him short)
                         Who will betray you.

                                     LETOUR
                         Not... I...

                                     TERESA
                         Keep it in mind. I have a strong 
                         feeling about this woman, a woman 
                         close to you, she will betray you. 
                         You're in the entertainment business, 
                         aren't you?

                                     LETOUR
                         Yes.

                                     TERESA
                         But you're not happy. You want to do 
                         something else. Is it music?

                                     LETOUR
                         Yes...

                                     TERESA
                         You have a talent for music.

                                     LETOUR
                         As a child.

                                     TERESA
                         You still have it. It's strong. I 
                         see music in your future. A career 
                         opportunity will come in the music 
                         field. Take it. It won't seem 
                         promising. Take it anyway.
                              (pause)
                         You're full of stress. Are you 
                         exercising?

                                     LETOUR
                         No. I --

                                     TERESA
                         You should exercise more. You must 
                         let go of this stress. It's not good 
                         for your health. I'm not saying you're 
                         going over to the other side, but 
                         it's not good for you. You're still 
                         drinking, aren't you? You have a 
                         drinking problem?
                              (he shrugs)
                         It's interfering with your health 
                         and your life too. You've had other 
                         problems. Drug addiction.

                                     LETOUR
                         Yes.

                                     TERESA
                         This was very important in your life.

                                     LETOUR
                         Yes.

                                     TERESA
                         You are in the balance. Everything 
                         you do -- positive or negative -- in 
                         this life is a drop that will carry 
                         over in the next. Every act, every 
                         decision matters.

                                     LETOUR
                         Teresa?

                                     TERESA
                         What is it?

                                     LETOUR
                         I'm thirty-eight years old.
                              (beat)
                         Forty.

                                     TERESA
                         You're young.

                                     LETOUR
                         I have trouble sleeping.
                              (TERESA waits)
                         Look. What do you see around me? Is 
                         there anything? Is it dark? Have I 
                         run out of luck? Is there luck?

                                     TERESA
                         I see a glow. Everything you need is 
                         around you. The only danger is inside 
                         you.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               MONEY CHANGER

               Ann's apartment. The night has already begun. ANN sits on 
               the floor beside a YOUNG HASID counting money. He wears 
               Orthodox garb: black hat, black coat, peyas. Tibetan bells 
               reverb from speakers as the Bergmanesque cambist runs faced 
               twenty-dollar bills through a battery-operated counting 
               machine, places stacks of cash on the floor. ROBERT returns 
               a call from the kitchen; LETOUR emerges from the bathroom, 
               wiping his hands.

                                     ANN
                              (to LETOUR and ROBERT)
                         Your pay's on the table.

               JOHN walks to the cosmetics corner, finds an envelope with 
               his name on it, looks inside: $500 in twenties. He pockets 
               the money.

               LETOUR sits as HASID double-checks the total: cash covers 
               the available floor space.

                                     YOUNG HASID
                              (dialogue punctuates 
                              action)
                         One hundred thirty-one, let's make 
                         it 130-$13,000, hundreds for small 
                         bills. One percent commission, $130 
                         to you -- add tens or whatever if 
                         you want.

               Opening a satchel, he removes bound $100s, counts off 130 as 
               ANN adds up commission in small bills. He loads the satchel:

                                     YOUNG HASID
                         Same time?

                                     ANN
                              (nods)
                         Two weeks -- don't run. Stay a while. 
                         We'll order kosher. We'll tell you 
                         dirty stories. We'll talk Zionism.

               The HASID laughs. He likes her.

                                     YOUNG HASID
                              (passes hundreds)
                         I'm late already. I only come 'cause 
                         I like you. Sure you're not Jewish? 
                         I don't want to see you hurt. Find a 
                         man. You should do something else.

                                     ANN
                              (offers commission)
                         Invest in my cosmetics line.

                                     YOUNG HASID
                              (takes money)
                         Don't mix business with friendship.

               ANN follows him to the door.

                                     YOUNG HASID
                         Shalom.

                                     ANN
                         Shalom.
                              (opens door)
                         See you next week.
                              (calls after him)
                         Don't eat any hot dogs!

               ANN closes door.

                                     LETOUR
                         Jealous said something about a yuppie 
                         murder in the Park. You know anything 
                         about it?

                                     ANN
                         It's all over the news.

                                     LETOUR
                         Jealous said to be careful.

                                     ANN
                         We are careful.

                                     ROBERT
                              (returning)
                         We're too small time. Besides, she 
                         wasn't one of ours -- not directly.
                              (to LETOUR)
                         Tis is at St. Luke's. He wants 
                         somebody over right away. Second 
                         floor waiting room.

                                     LETOUR
                         A hospital? What's he doing there?

                                     ROBERT
                         He says he needs you to come to St. 
                         Luke's. I'd go but I got the other 
                         thing.

                                     LETOUR
                         The --?

                                     ROBERT
                         Yeah.

                                     ANN
                              (to LETOUR)
                         Go. Keep on his good side. He set up 
                         Arizona.

               Phone rings; Ann's machine answers: "Hello, this is Ann..."

                                     ANN
                              (to LETOUR)
                         Let's have lunch. Tomorrow.

                                     LETOUR
                         Me?

                                     ANN
                         One o'clock. C�te Basque. Is that 
                         too early?

                                     LETOUR
                         No. Yeah -- sure.

                                     ROBERT
                         Tonight?

                                     LETOUR
                         I vote Japanese.

                                     ANN
                         Fine.

                                     ROBERT
                         Okay.

                                     LETOUR
                              (heads for door)
                         Mixed sushi. Oshitashi.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               ST. LUKE'S

               EMS vehicles line street outside St. Luke's -- Roosevelt 
               Hospital. Inside, LETOUR weaves through Emergency (eerie), 
               double-steps the stairs, looks for the second floor waiting 
               area.

               TIS (Mathis -- pronounced Tees), thirty-five, Swiss, paces 
               in the waiting room. He wears a linen jacket, horn-rim 
               glasses, Cerrutti Euro-swank. He spots JOHN, takes him aside:

                                     LETOUR
                         What's going on?

                                     TIS
                         You got some valiums?

                                     LETOUR
                              (nods)
                         -- 'n 'ludes.

                                     TIS
                         Just a valium -- a ten.

                                     LETOUR
                         What is it?

                                     TIS
                         You won't believe it. What a 
                         nightmare. I brought in this chick. 
                         She O.D.ed -- man, I didn't even 
                         know her. I didn't have to bring her 
                         in. The cops are coming back to talk 
                         to me. I'm hyper. I gotta come down.

                                     LETOUR
                              (hands him valium)
                         Here.

                                     TIS
                         Make it two.

               LETOUR obliges. TIS pops a blue without water, pockets the 
               other.

                                     TIS
                         Thanks.

                                     LETOUR
                         She okay?

                                     TIS
                         Who?

                                     LETOUR
                         The girl.

                                     TIS
                         Yeah, yeah. Met her last night. A 
                         walking vacuum cleaner. What a 
                         nightmare. Underage.

                                     LETOUR
                         You need a lawyer?

                                     TIS
                              (gestures toward suited 
                              man)
                         He's here. Thanks.

               TIS folds a bill into John's hand.

                                     LETOUR
                         Any time.

               TIS turns, steps away. LETOUR walks down the long corridor. 
               Curious, reflective, he slows past open doors. Friends, 
               family, patients sit in blue light. Each room a drama.

               He heads down a duplicate corridor. A VOICE turns his head:

                                     RANDI
                         John!

               He turns to see RANDI JOST, thirty, Marianne's younger sister. 
               She wears running shoes, jeans, red sweater.

                                     LETOUR
                         Randi?

                                     RANDI
                              (kisses him)
                         I can't believe it. Marianne's here 
                         too. She flew in. It's been so long. 
                         You look great.

                                     LETOUR
                              (deactivates beeper)
                         You too. Randi, what's wrong? Why 
                         are you here?

                                     RANDI
                         Mom. She's back in. Didn't Marianne 
                         tell you?

                                     LETOUR
                         Serious?

                                     RANDI
                              (nods)
                         More chemo.

                                     LETOUR
                         Can I see her?

                                     RANDI
                         She's sleeping. She sleeps most of 
                         the time. She'd like it, though. She 
                         still talks about you.

                                     LETOUR
                              (sad)
                         I'm so sorry. She's a terrific woman. 
                         I was crazy about her. God.

               MARIANNE, head down, approaches. Looking up, she finds herself 
               unexpectedly beside JOHN and RANDI:

                                     RANDI
                         It's John. What a coincidence.

                                     MARIANNE
                              (gathering herself)
                         Yes.
                              (extends hand)
                         Hi.

                                     LETOUR
                              (shakes hand)
                         Randi told me about your mom. I'm 
                         sorry.

                                     MARIANNE
                         Thanks.

                                     LETOUR
                         She's sedated?

                                     MARIANNE
                         Yeah.

                                     RANDI
                         She would be so happy to see John.

                                     MARIANNE
                         I don't think that would be a good 
                         idea.

               An awkward silence: RANDI doesn't get it.

                                     LETOUR
                         You both look so tired.

                                     MARIANNE
                         One of us has to be here.

                                     RANDI
                         The hospital lets us stay in her 
                         room.

                                     LETOUR
                         Let me buy you some coffee or 
                         something -- the cafeteria's 
                         downstairs. It helps to talk.

                                     RANDI
                         You go, Marianne, it's my turn with 
                         mom.

                                     MARIANNE
                         I shouldn't.

                                     RANDI
                         Go. You haven't eaten. Go on.
                              (nudges her)
                         Go on.

                                     MARIANNE
                         I...

                                     RANDI
                         Bring me a coffee.

               MARIANNE acquiesces.

                                     LETOUR
                         This way.
                              (to RANDI)
                         Kiss your mother for me.

               JOHN escorts MARIANNE toward the stairs.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               EUPHORIC RECALL

               Hospital cafeteria. JOHN and MARIANNE carry trays to a formica 
               table, molded chairs. He mixes sugar in his coffee as she 
               sets out her salad, diet soda, to-go coffee.

               An awkward moment. MARIANNE scans the fluorescent room: 
               doctors, nurses, relatives.

                                     LETOUR
                         I like your mom.

                                     MARIANNE
                         She liked you. You know this will 
                         happen someday, but when it does... 
                         Your mother -- that was a shock.

                                     LETOUR
                              (re: Marianne's mother)
                         She's been sick a while?

                                     MARIANNE
                         A year.

                                     LETOUR
                         Your father?

                                     MARIANNE
                              ("no")
                         Not this time. His new wife -- he'll 
                         make it to the funeral.

                                     LETOUR
                         What have you been doing? Where do 
                         you live?

                                     MARIANNE
                         It's...
                              (deciding)
                         I don't want you to know about my 
                         life.

                                     LETOUR
                         Anything? You married? Have children? 
                         A dog?
                              (smile)
                         House plants?

                                     MARIANNE
                         Details just open the door.

                                     LETOUR
                         The door to what?
                              (no answer)
                         It's not like we're strangers. We 
                         were married.

                                     MARIANNE
                         We were not.

                                     LETOUR
                         There was a ceremony.

                                     MARIANNE
                         He wasn't even a minister. He was an 
                         astrologer.

                                     LETOUR
                         He was also a minister. "Universal 
                         Harmony."

                                     MARIANNE
                         He was a Pisces.

                                     LETOUR
                         You're a Pisces.

                                     MARIANNE
                         It was not legal.

                                     LETOUR
                         In the eyes of Jeanne Dixon we're 
                         still --

                                     MARIANNE
                         I was on the cusp.

                                     LETOUR
                         We were happy.

                                     MARIANNE
                         We were miserable. We were either 
                         scoring or coming down -- mostly 
                         coming down.

                                     LETOUR
                         There were good times. Area, out on 
                         the street, laughing, dancing with 
                         friends -- we were magical.

                                     MARIANNE
                         You took off for three months without 
                         telling me and called once. That's 
                         how magical we were. You were an 
                         encyclopedia of suicidal fantasies -- 
                         I heard them all. Nobody could clear 
                         a room like you, John. And the 
                         friends, you may have noticed, turned 
                         out to be mine, not yours. I envy 
                         you. A convenient memory is a gift 
                         from God.

                                     LETOUR
                         You exaggerate.

                                     MARIANNE
                         In rehab they call this "euphoric 
                         recall." You only remember the highs, 
                         never the lows.

                                     LETOUR
                         We were happy.

                                     MARIANNE
                         I was drowning.

                                     LETOUR
                         It wasn't me --

                                     MARIANNE
                         You watched --

                                     LETOUR
                         You jumped --

                                     MARIANNE
                         You did nothing -- "It wasn't your 
                         business, you weren't responsible" -- 
                         you still think like that.
                              (shakes head)
                         Actions have consequences; so do --

                                     LETOUR
                              (overlap)
                         I --

                                     MARIANNE
                         -- inactions.

                                     LETOUR
                         I didn't --
                              (MARIANNE smiles)
                         I meant well.

                                     MARIANNE
                         You always meant well.

                                     LETOUR
                         We were in love?

                                     MARIANNE
                         Yes.

                                     LETOUR
                         We were happy?

               She doesn't answer. He slides his hand across the table. She 
               notices his gold and onyx ring.

                                     LETOUR
                         You bought it for me. It's inscribed 
                         inside.

               She pushes his hand away. Details open doors.

                                     LETOUR
                         Ann's quitting. I've got to find 
                         something else to do.

                                     MARIANNE
                         Ann? I'll believe it when I see it.

                                     LETOUR
                         It's true.

                                     MARIANNE
                         Are you really straight?

                                     LETOUR
                         Yeah.

                                     MARIANNE
                         Let me see your eyes.

               JOHN leans forward, eyes open. She presses up an eyelid, 
               examines one iris, the other:

                                     MARIANNE
                         Eyes are deceiving.
                              (beat)
                         Congratulations.

                                     LETOUR
                         If I could do that, I could do 
                         anything.

                                     MARIANNE
                         What do you mean?

                                     LETOUR
                         We could do anything. We could start 
                         over.

                                     MARIANNE
                              (bangs her head)
                         What was that? I think I heard 
                         something.

                                     LETOUR
                         I'm serious.

               An INTERCOM VOICE announces visiting hours will end in five 
               minutes.

                                     MARIANNE
                         You're crazy.

                                     LETOUR
                              (gestures to room)
                         This is crazy.

                                     MARIANNE
                         I have to get back.

               JOHN nods, checks his watch -- he's late too. They exchange 
               "last looks"; MARIANNE stands.

                                     LETOUR
                         I'll walk you.

               He stands, follows.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               NEW DIARY

               Later. LeTour's sedan pulls up near Palio, a midtown 
               restaurant.

               JOHN steps around garbage bags, enters.

               Inside, JOHN "maps" bar, greets the MA�TRE D'. LETOUR spots 
               the FRENCH (LaCroix and Montana) COUPLE in the dining section, 
               catches the man's eye. He nods to the MA�TRE D', makes his 
               way toward their table.

               He joins the FRENCH COUPLE, declines a drink, exchanges 
               drugs/money amid air kisses.

               Late night. Fog hangs over 22nd Street: Chelsea's deserted. 
               Homeless men behind windbreaks of trash.

               John's apartment. He writes bareback at the desk. He completes 
               his composition book diary mid-sentence, closes it, discards 
               it. He lifts a new book from the floor, opens it on the desk, 
               continues.

               He fills his glass with wine:

                                     LETOUR
                              (voice over)
                         I can always find another way to 
                         make a living. I never planned this 
                         in the first place -- not like Ann. 
                         She came up to sell, have parties, 
                         make contacts. She was so glamorous. 
                         I just wanted to be around her. She'd 
                         sit up listening to coke stories. 
                         Now it's me and Robert. The whole 
                         crowd was the same age. Everybody's 
                         younger now. She made me.

               LETOUR pulls his weekly pay from his pants, puts five twenties 
               in an envelope. He addresses the envelope. "Linda Wichel, 
               1012B-2 A Street, Sacramento, California," stamps it.

               Dissolves: (1) LETOUR vanishes from his desk, (2) materializes 
               fetally on his futon, bareback, slacks, boots, anxious, 
               awaiting sleep.

               LeTour's diary contains parallel columns of names: one headed 
               "People Who Are Left Handed," the other, "People Whose Eyes 
               Don't Match."

                                                                    CUT TO:

               C�TE BASQUE

               Midday. JOHN, wearing a black tweed jacket, tie, khaki slacks, 
               mails the Sacramento letter, enters C�TE BASQUE, a hoity-
               toity 55th Street restaurant.

               Midmeal. ANN and LETOUR sit in a prominent booth; power moguls 
               confer quietly. A deferential WAITER brings fresh berries, 
               retrieves empty salmon plates.

                                     ANN
                         You have any money saved?

                                     LETOUR
                         There's some. Not much. A thousand 
                         or two. Maybe more -- I'm not sure.

                                     ANN
                         What do you do with your money?

               The CHEF stops by, asks if the meal was satisfactory. ANN 
               assures him it was, kisses his hand. The CHEF nods, gratified. 
               JOHN resumes the conversation:

                                     LETOUR
                         I don't know. It's not that much in 
                         the first place -- as you know.

                                     ANN
                              (counterpoint)
                         It's tax free --

                                     LETOUR
                         Rent, utilities, phone, tips, CDs -- 
                         what about your money?

                                     ANN
                         Kitty Ford once told me, "Ann, the 
                         only person I know that lives as 
                         well as you is my grandmother." All 
                         the money I've made, all the money 
                         I've spent -- it never adds up. This 
                         last two years cosmetics' been taking 
                         everything.

                                     LETOUR
                         I wish I could help.

                                     ANN
                         You still go to meetings?

                                     LETOUR
                         No, but I'm okay. What are the odds 
                         of meeting someone you haven't seen 
                         in years twice in two days?

                                     ANN
                         Ask Robert to make up a chart for 
                         you; the other person -- who is it?

                                     LETOUR
                         Just a contact -- you don't know 
                         him.

                                     ANN
                         What's the plan?

                                     LETOUR
                         The plan?

                                     ANN
                         What you gonna do?

                                     LETOUR
                         My future?

                                     ANN
                         Too conceptual?

                                     LETOUR
                         We had this conversation two years 
                         ago. We'll have it two years from 
                         now.

                                     ANN
                         This time it's for real.

                                     LETOUR
                              (accepting premise)
                         I'm thinking of some music courses. 
                         Mixing, sound editing --

                                     ANN
                         You took that before.

                                     LETOUR
                         That was acting.

                                     ANN
                              (corrects him)
                         Modeling.

                                     LETOUR
                         Why all this concern? Suddenly you 
                         care?

                                     ANN
                         I have feelings too -- you may have 
                         noticed. I guess I'm worried. I'm 
                         tough, you gotta to be tough, 
                         especially in this business, it's 
                         one thing to act tough -- I've seen 
                         Zipporah twice this week.

                                     LETOUR
                         She helps you?

                                     ANN
                              (nods)
                         -- harmonizes, she's encouraging me 
                         to get out of this into the cosmetics 
                         thing --

               WAITER leans in, deposits check as WELL-TANNED CUSTOMER, 
               fifty-five, cologne and hauteur, passes. He looks at ANN 
               blankly, continues. She watches:

                                     ANN
                              (about CUSTOMER)
                         Nomination for Best Picture. I knew 
                         every girl he fucked -- how, why. I 
                         knew when he had trouble shitting. 
                         Like this.
                              (crosses fingers)
                         His wife says he gets straight or 
                         she cuts him off. Old money. I 
                         remember the last thing he said to 
                         me: "See you soon." Yeah, sure. That 
                         was five years ago.

               ANN pulls a wad of twenties from her purse, counts bills 
               atop the check: $260.

                                     ANN
                              (vulnerable)
                         You'll still talk to me, won't you?

               A beat: this is the reason for lunch. The WAITER picks up 
               the cash, appraises the gratuity.

                                     LETOUR
                         You --?
                              (to ANN)
                         Of course I will.

                                     ANN
                         It'll be strange without you around. 
                         I hadn't thought of it -- it hit me.

                                     LETOUR
                              (clever)
                         We'll always have Paris.

                                     ANN
                              (reproachful)
                         John.

               JOHN reaches, touches her visceral emotion. He takes her 
               hand:

                                     LETOUR
                         Ann, you want me, call, write a 
                         letter, tell a wino -- I'll be there.

               She smiles, clasps his hand. Touching, he is touched.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               GENERAL HOSPITAL

               Afternoon. St. Luke's. LETOUR, wearing tweed jacket, walks 
               down the corridor, checks room numbers. A NURSE passes. He 
               stops at a room, pushes the door a crack, peeks inside, 
               quietly enters.

               Inside the hospital room, MRS. JOST, sixty-five, lies sedated, 
               attached to IV tubes and a respirator. Flowers wreathe the 
               bed.

               RANDI sleeps in a chair by the window.

               LETOUR looks from MRS. JOST to RANDI and back again: a vibrant 
               woman reduced to a shell. He soundlessly eases into a vacant 
               chair.

               His mind goes back.

               RANDI twists fitfully in her chair. A stuffed bear peeks 
               over family photos on the window sill.

               MARIANNE steps into the doorway, stops, frozen -- watching 
               the tableau: JOHN, RANDI, her mother. Her face is ravaged: 
               the death watch has taken its toll. LETOUR reaches his arm, 
               touches the hospital bed.

               MARIANNE tiptoes behind JOHN. He turns, stands.

                                     LETOUR
                              (soft)
                         I'm sorry. I...

               She puts her finger to her lips. He nods. She steps closer, 
               holds him politely. His cheek nestles in her neck.

               They turn toward the door, step into the corridor, walk arm 
               in arm as if supporting each other.

                                     LETOUR
                              (after a moment)
                         I always thought my father would die 
                         first. He would die, then my mother 
                         and I would reconcile. Just her and 
                         me. I hated him for living.

                                     MARIANNE
                         It's like a joke. It's not a real 
                         feeling. It's like a feeling of a 
                         feeling.

                                     LETOUR
                         My old man bawling in the hospital, 
                         me popping in and out of the john 
                         getting loaded.
                              (beat)
                         I miss you.

               They stop. She kisses him.

                                     MARIANNE
                         You tried to kill me. You took ten 
                         years of my life one way or another.
                              (he kisses her)
                         I couldn't hate my mom -- I was too 
                         busy hating you.

                                     LETOUR
                         I thought I was just killing myself.

               She runs her hands under his shirt, up his back.

                                     LETOUR
                         Selfish.

                                     MARIANNE
                         I remember.

                                     LETOUR
                         What?

                                     MARIANNE
                         What it felt like.
                              (kisses his face)
                         What this tasted like.

               He slips his hands under her blouse, caresses her breasts.

                                     LETOUR
                         I see you and my heart starts 
                         thumping.

                                     MARIANNE
                         John.

               They kiss deeper, bodies grinding. The painful present fades. 
               A NURSE approaches with WHEELCHAIR PATIENT. She tries to 
               pass one side of JOHN and MARIANNE, tries the other side, is 
               blocked again. The NURSE stops, stares at their soap opera.

               Sensing her glare, JOHN and MARIANNE, hands over and under 
               each other, stop, look to the NURSE: embarrassed -- yet 
               blissful.

                                     LETOUR
                         Excuse us.
                              (to MARIANNE)
                         Let's go.

                                     MARIANNE
                         Come. Come with me.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               HOTEL SEX

               Paramount hotel room: Vermeer's Lace Maker dominates Phillipe 
               Stark decor.

               LETOUR and MARIANNE are all over each other. The pain of the 
               moment, the pain of the past are subsumed by passion. Blind, 
               welcome sexuality.

               Naked, they kneel facing each other on the bed, faded bleeding 
               heart tattoo on his bicep:

                                     LETOUR
                         Have you ever had sex totally 
                         straight?

                                     MARIANNE
                         Not with you.

                                     LETOUR
                         Neither have I.

                                     MARIANNE
                         Such an erection.

                                     LETOUR
                         Never had anything like it stoned. 
                         Feel it.
                              (she does)

                                     MARIANNE
                         Weird.

                                     LETOUR
                              (caresses erection)
                         Wow.

                                     MARIANNE
                         I'm dripping.

                                     LETOUR
                         Let's disappear.

               They smack their sweaty bodies, tumble yelping to the carpet, 
               kiss indiscriminately:

                                     LETOUR
                         Kiss, kiss, kiss.

                                     MARIANNE
                         Kiss, kiss, kiss.

                                     LETOUR
                         Together.

               Later: night. They lie nude in a scramble of twisted sheets 
               and mattresses. Street lights cast horizontal shadows. LETOUR 
               crawls over, falls upon Marianne's breast. She wakes up, 
               looks at JOHN, looks out the window, returns to slow sad 
               reality.

               MARIANNE stands, pulls on her panties.

                                     LETOUR
                              (waking)
                         You need to go back?

               She dresses before responding:

                                     MARIANNE
                         This is the end. It was wonderful. 
                         I'm glad it happened this way. It 
                         will never happen again. You will 
                         not see me, you will not call me 
                         again. I'm happy for you. I wish you 
                         the best. I'm leaving. I'm going 
                         back to the hospital. I shouldn't 
                         have left -- but I don't regret it. 
                         Please dress and leave as soon as 
                         possible. I have a key. Goodbye.

                                     LETOUR
                         Marianne...

                                     MARIANNE
                         It's my fault.

               MARIANNE, clothes askew, exits.

                                     LETOUR
                         I love you.

               LETOUR is alone. He pulls his pants on. Looking for his socks, 
               he peruses Marianne's personal things. He examines her 
               cosmetics, her underclothes. He dabs her perfume on his cheek.

               Buttoning his shirt, he retrieves his beeper from suit jacket. 
               Activated, it disgorges messages. He checks his watch: 9:00 
               p.m.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               GET ON OUT

               Nine-thirty: Ann's apartment building. Trash stacked high.

               LETOUR presses the buzzer.

               LETOUR, exhausted, unfocused, enters Ann's apartment. ANN is 
               immediately upon him:

                                     ANN
                         Johnny, what is this? Your beeper 
                         broke, gettin' some shiatsu? Two 
                         hours: where have you bee?

                                     LETOUR
                         There was a mix-up --

                                     ANN
                         How you gonna survive on your own? 
                         The U.N.'s got some conference in 
                         two days. The holiday's over -- 
                         ragheads everywhere trying to score. 
                         U.N. security at every hotel -- little 
                         creeps with lapel pins. Even I've 
                         been out. This is where our money 
                         is: Europe, Asia, not the streets -- 
                         you wouldn't know crack from 
                         crackerjacks.

                                     LETOUR
                         Where's Robert?

                                     ANN
                         Busting his ass. He's out doing your 
                         job.

                                     LETOUR
                         It was a confusion.

                                     ANN
                         Get confused on your day off.

                                     LETOUR
                         When is that?

                                     ANN
                         Don't get wise. What do you want me 
                         to do? Suck your dick? -- okay. A 
                         raise? No way. Get out there. There's 
                         a list on the TV. I love you. Get 
                         your ass outta here before I kiss 
                         it.

                                     LETOUR
                              (pecks her cheek)
                         I'm on my way. Love you. Forgive me.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               AU BAR

               LeTour's sedan waits between limos.

               Inside, JOHN passes the MA�TRE D', looks around: he's known 
               here. Au Bar, a restaurant/club open 9:00 p. m. to 4:00 a. 
               m., caters to the young, the rich, the European.

               He spots TIS with THOMAS, twenty-five, his handsome trainer, 
               and TWO MODELS at a second-floor table. They exchange nods.

               LETOUR scans the room: suspicion is second nature.

               A laughing man (GUIDONE) at the bar catches his eye. He seems 
               to blend: Italian, twenty-eight, silk suit, impeccable hair, 
               accent -- but something's not right. His black shoes have 
               rubber soles. LETOUR looks for a gun bulge, dirty hands. The 
               ITALIAN turns; LETOUR glimpses his face: too pale. The ITALIAN 
               averts his eyes. Glancing back, LETOUR walks up the stairs 
               to Tis' table.

                                     TIS
                         Tour, sit. Take a rest. LeTour, this 
                         is Gabri, Tasha -- you know Thomas. 
                         They're here for a show.

               The MODELS respond in respective accents. THOMAS extends his 
               hand. JOHN shakes, remains standing.

                                     LETOUR
                         Enchant�.
                              (to TIS)
                         How'd it turn out?

                                     TIS
                              (to GABRI)
                         Questo � un vero Americano.
                              (to LETOUR)
                         What?

               GABRI and TASHA buzz.

                                     LETOUR
                         St. Luke's.

                                     TIS
                         No problem, but -- can you believe 
                         this? -- she's out of the hospital 
                         in one day, calls me up, wants to 
                         "get together." Some people are just 
                         born for losing. Want to go in back?

                                     LETOUR
                         Not now.

                                     TIS
                         Huh?

                                     LETOUR
                         Look at the bar. Black-haired guy, 
                         late twenties, brown suit, drinking 
                         tonic?
                              (TIS nods)
                         He's casing you. Not me, you. 
                         Undercover, whatever -- he's on you.

                                     TIS
                         You know him?

                                     LETOUR
                              (shakes head "no")
                         Just a feeling. You holding?

                                     TIS
                         No. Need help?

                                     LETOUR
                              ("no")
                         Leave a message. Robert or I will 
                         come by later.

                                     TIS
                         Forget it. It wasn't for me anyway.
                              (to MODELS)
                         Who am I trying to impress?
                              (they smile 
                              uncomprehendingly)
                         Make it tomorrow. A half -- no, three-
                         quarters.

                                     LETOUR
                         Nineteen is the top. I'll make two 
                         trips.

                                     TIS
                         Nineteen is fine.

                                     LETOUR
                              (leaving)
                         A domani. Take care, girls.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               THERE IS A DIRECTION

               The blue sedan drives west past Times Square, turns north on 
               Eighth Ave. A plastic wall of trash stretches toward the 
               river. Port Authority hustlers -- male, female -- cruise as 
               TRANSIT COPS whack an emaciated CRACKHEAD. JOHN, lit by neon, 
               lowers his power window.

               John's apartment. Night. He writes in his diary, drinks.

                                     LETOUR
                              (voice over)
                         I feel my life turning. All it needed 
                         was a direction. You drift from day 
                         to day, years go by. Suddenly there 
                         is a direction. What a strange thing 
                         to happen halfway through your life.

               He goes to the phone, dials. A voice answers:

                                     HOTEL SWITCHBOARD
                              (out of shot)
                         Paramount Hotel.

                                     LETOUR
                         Marianne Jost, please.

                                     HOTEL SWITCHBOARD
                              (out of shot)
                         Just a moment.

               A pre-recorded message comes on:

                                     HOTEL MESSAGE
                         "Welcome to the Paramount. Your party 
                         is out. If you would like to leave a 
                         message for --
                              (Marianne's voice)

                                     'MARIANNE JOST'
                              (back to message)
                         -- please do so after the beep."

               LETOUR hangs up, carries the phone to the boombox. He dials 
               again, presses 'Record,' holds the receiver to the mike, 
               records the hotel message, hangs up.

               First light slants from the window. LETOUR lies clothed on 
               the futon, boombox by his ear. He presses "Play" and "Rewind," 
               running the tape over and over, listening, re-listening to 
               Marianne's voice: "Marianne Jost." "Marianne Jost." "Marianne 
               Jost.")

                                                                    CUT TO:

               PHONE CALLS

               Midday. Twenty-second Street. A helter-skelter of daytime 
               activity unseen before.

               John's apartment. Sunlight fills the studio apartment. LETOUR, 
               unshaven in T-shirt and slacks, sets the phone on the desk 
               beside his open composition book. He pauses, dials.

                                     HOTEL SWITCHBOARD
                              (out of shot)
                         Paramount Hotel.

                                     LETOUR
                         Marianne Jost.

                                     HOTEL SWITCHBOARD
                              (out of shot)
                         Just a moment.

               JOHN waits, closes his diary.

                                     HOTEL SWITCHBOARD
                              (out of shot)
                         I'm sorry. Ms. Jost checked out this 
                         morning.

                                     LETOUR
                         She was there yesterday.

                                     HOTEL SWITCHBOARD
                              (out of shot)
                         She checked out this morning.

                                     LETOUR
                         Did she leave a forwarding number?

                                     HOTEL SWITCHBOARD
                              (out of shot)
                         No.

                                     LETOUR
                         Thank you.

               He hangs up, thinks, redials.

                                     ST. LUKE'S SWITCHBOARD
                              (out of shot)
                         St. Luke's -- Roosevelt Hospital.

                                     LETOUR
                         Mrs. Jost. JoAnn Jost. She's a 
                         patient.

                                     ST. LUKE'S SWITCHBOARD
                              (out of shot)
                         Just a moment.

               A long silence. JOHN looks out the window. A MEDICAL STAFF 
               VOICE from the hospital:

                                     MEDICAL VOICE
                              (out of shot)
                         Who is this calling?

                                     LETOUR
                              (thinking)
                         Skyline Floral. We're trying to 
                         confirm a delivery.

                                     MEDICAL VOICE
                              (out of shot)
                         Mrs. Jost passed away last night.

                                     LETOUR
                         Are the funeral arrangements local?

                                     MEDICAL VOICE
                              (out of shot)
                         Just a sec -- yes, Plaza Memorial.

                                     LETOUR
                         Thank you.

                                     MEDICAL VOICE
                              (out of shot)
                         You're welcome.

               JOHN hangs up, paces, sits.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               DIRTY LAUNDRY

               Afternoon. Chelsea laundromat. Mothers and maids gossip, 
               sort clothes. Hispanic radio underscores the whirl of 
               machines.

               LETOUR, unshaven, shoves dirty clothes into a washer. He 
               counts out quarters, starts the machine.

               Heading toward a vacant chair, he spots a MAN out the window. 
               It takes a second to place the face: it's the "Italian" from 
               Au Bar in street clothes. He watches JOHN watching him.

               LETOUR walks outside, approaches GUIDONE on the sidewalk:

                                     LETOUR
                         Can I help you, officer?

                                     GUIDONE
                         What?

                                     LETOUR
                         I hope I haven't made a mistake. You 
                         are a cop, aren't you?

                                     GUIDONE
                         Yes.

                                     LETOUR
                         Could I see a badge?

               GUIDONE eyes LETOUR with disdain: the contempt of a cop for 
               a dealer, of youth for middle age.

                                     GUIDONE
                              (shows credentials)
                         Bill Guidone.

                                     LETOUR
                         What is it?

                                     GUIDONE
                         You think you're invisible, don't 
                         you? You think we don't know you, 
                         LeTour -- that's the name you use, 
                         right?

                                     LETOUR
                         My father's a partner in a powerful 
                         law firm. If you have anything in 
                         mind, do it by the book.

               GUIDONE elbow-stabs LETOUR, kicks his shin. Wincing, 
               retreating, JOHN staggers, regains his balance.

                                     GUIDONE
                              (in his face)
                         You? Who the fuck cares about you? I 
                         could grind you right here! -- maybe 
                         I will! -- and nobody would give a 
                         fuck! You're not worth the paperwork. 
                         I look like Narcotics? I'm Homicide -- 
                         I'm investigating the Park murder.

                                     LETOUR
                              (acquiescent)
                         I don't follow the news.

                                     GUIDONE
                         Downtown's interested how a Barnard 
                         honors student with fancy parents 
                         got a quarter of uncut coke on her 
                         when she was murdered. I mean, we 
                         just don't see this girl cruising 
                         Alphabet City trying to score. 
                         Somebody sold her, somebody upscale 
                         and classy -- you're classy, I hear -- 
                         and that somebody knows something we 
                         need to know.
                              (hand inside LeTour's 
                              shirt, pinching his 
                              tit)
                         Delivery boy!

                                     LETOUR
                         I wish I could help. I don't even 
                         know who's president.

                                     GUIDONE
                         Let me put it this way. Here's my 
                         card
                              (hands card)
                         Ask around, take a week or so. Call 
                         me. Tell me something I don't know. 
                         Either that, leave town, or get your 
                         ass busted day in, day out.

               LETOUR examines the card.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               FUNERAL HOME

               Evening. LETOUR, shaven, in black tweed jacket, white shirt, 
               black tie, crosses Amsterdam Avenue, enters Plaza Memorial 
               Chapel.

               Inside funeral home, JOHN checks the letterboard for Mrs. 
               Jost's name. An arrow directs him.

               Nondenominational muzak. Senior citizens whisper off-screen.

               Walking, he sees MARIANNE, dressed in black. She sees him, 
               turns to him; her face hollow, desperate:

                                     MARIANNE
                         Get out.

                                     LETOUR
                         Marianne...

                                     MARIANNE
                              (emotion rising)
                         Every time you come into my life 
                         something terrible happens. I thought 
                         I was rid of you. How'd you get here? 
                         I don't want you here! I don't want 
                         you around me, I don't want you around 
                         my mother! Damn you!

                                     LETOUR
                         Marianne...

                                     MARIANNE
                              (wild)
                         Get out!

               A PLAZA MEMORIAL EMPLOYEE approaches. RANDI, in black, 
               intervenes, pulls JOHN toward the door. MARIANNE YELLS from 
               behind: "Out!" Outside, they stop midsidewalk.

                                     LETOUR
                         I didn't...

                                     RANDI
                         I'm sorry. That's the way it is. You 
                         shouldn't have come. Marianne has 
                         been up all night, crying and crying. 
                         She wasn't there when Mother passed -- 
                         died -- she blames herself. It 
                         wouldn't have made any difference. 
                         She just slipped away. Marianne's -- 
                         I'm worried --

               A CRACKHEAD strides past trash ramparts, cursing, demanding 
               money: "Fuck white devil, fucking the black, give the fucking 
               money, white fuck...," etc.

                                     LETOUR
                         It's...

                                     RANDI
                         Don't try.

                                     LETOUR
                         How are you?

                                     RANDI
                         Me?

                                     LETOUR
                         Yes, you. I can't think of anything, 
                         but if there was anything I could 
                         do...

                                     RANDI
                         Thanks. I'm okay -- I guess. I mean, 
                         we've been expecting it. It'll hit 
                         me later.

                                     LETOUR
                         I saw her.

                                     RANDI
                         Who?

                                     LETOUR
                         Your mother. I came in the room. You 
                         were sleeping. I just watched.

                                     RANDI
                         Oh.
                              (beat)
                         I'd better get back. Marianne's 
                         probably flipping out.

               She re-enters the funeral chapel.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               ON A ROLL

               Eight p.m. LETOUR, direct from Plaza Memorial, enters Ann's 
               apartment. ANN, coiffured and made up, gestures to take-out 
               tins:

                                     ANN
                         Have some shu mai. Just delivered.

                                     LETOUR
                         No.

                                     ROBERT
                              (entering)
                         I told Ann you'd be on time. Tis 
                         called. He said before ten. He said 
                         you were right.

                                     ANN
                         About what?

                                     LETOUR
                         An undercover cop. Not a narc. The 
                         Park murder. Jealous was straight on 
                         that -- you hear anything?

                                     ROBERT
                         Remember the time that cop called 
                         here? Wanted to know if we had "nose 
                         candy"?
                              (laughs)
                         Ann says, "John Candy?" "John Candy?"

               ANN looks at JOHN, approaches:

                                     ANN
                         What's wrong baby? You like like 
                         shit. Something wrong?
                              (holds his face)

                                     LETOUR
                         No.

                                     ANN
                         You can't fool me. I can read you.

                                     LETOUR
                              (distressed)
                         What do you care? You're leaving me. 
                         A few more months -- sayonara.
                              (to ROBERT)
                         You too. John who? What was his name 
                         again? Le --?
                              (to ANN: pained)
                         I mean it's not exactly like I got a 
                         pension plan.

                                     ROBERT
                              (hurt)
                         Jack.

                                     ANN
                              (takes his hands)
                         Johnny, it's not that at all. Is 
                         that what you think? You hate 
                         cosmetics. You don't care about it. 
                         You told me that.

                                     LETOUR
                         I know.

                                     ANN
                         Who knows what will happen?

                                     ROBERT
                         I got a friend -- a D.D. -- got into 
                         lapidary. I'll introduce you. You 
                         have to pass a test.

                                     LETOUR
                         Lapi --?

                                     ROBERT
                         Gems, you know, crystals, diamonds.

                                     LETOUR
                         Any more about the Park murder?

                                     ANN
                              (re: murder)
                         What's with this thing?

                                     ROBERT
                         Stay away.

                                     ANN
                              (genuine)
                         You want in? We'll make a place for 
                         you.

                                     LETOUR
                         No.

                                     ANN
                         It's --

               The kitchen phone rings. A voice follows the pre-recorded 
               message:

                                     EDDIE
                              (out of shot -- 
                              answering machine)
                         "Ann, this is Ed. You gotta come. 
                         The other thing is over. I'll be 
                         home all night. 749-2876."

                                     ROBERT
                         Shit.

                                     ANN
                              (unequivocal)
                         Don't answer it. Let him call all 
                         night. He's trouble. I don't want to 
                         deal with him.

                                     LETOUR
                         It's alright, I'll go. Let me handle 
                         it.

                                     ROBERT
                         I'm sorry if --

                                     ANN
                              (about EDDIE)
                         He gives you shit -- fuck him.

                                     LETOUR
                              (to ROBERT)
                         Forget it.

                                     ROBERT
                         We're going Chinese tonight, okay? I 
                         mean we're on a roll --

                                     ANN
                         Spring roll.

                                     LETOUR
                              (preparing to leave)
                         Sure, whatever. Surprise me.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               INTERVENTION

               Eddie's high-rise apartment. EDDIE is worse, if anything. 
               He's been scoring on the street: broken pipes and vials crunch 
               underfoot.

               EDDIE and LETOUR argue ("Fuck you!" "Fuck you!"). EDDIE spits, 
               pushes TOUR, JOHN pushes back. Eddie's feet tangle. He trips, 
               FALLS. A bottle SMASHES.

               JOHN goes to the phone, checks Eddie's directory, dials.

                                     EDDIE
                              (on floor)
                         You gotta get permission? Check with 
                         Mama?

                                     LETOUR
                         I'm calling your brother.

                                     EDDIE
                         Huh?

                                     LETOUR
                         Yeah, the lawyer in Bronxville. I'm 
                         gonna ask him to come over.
                              (EDDIE protests)
                         You've told me so much about him.

                                     EDDIE
                              (panicked)
                         No, don't. Please, I'll give you 
                         money, anything. He doesn't 
                         understand. Whose side are you on?

                                     LETOUR
                              (on phone)
                         Is this Martin Jeer?
                              (beat)
                         Thank you.

               EDDIE, woozy, tries to stand.

                                     EDDIE
                         I shoulda never called.

                                     LETOUR
                              (to EDDIE)
                         I recommend Hazelden. It has the 
                         best all-around program.
                              (on phone)
                         Martin Jeer?
                              (beat)
                         I'm here with your brother Ed.
                              (beat)
                         Yeah, in the city. I'm afraid there's 
                         a medical emergency. You're going to 
                         have to come.

               EDDIE lurches toward LETOUR. JOHN -- flash of anger -- 
               bootkicks him in the head! Eddie's cheek hits the carpet.

                                     LETOUR
                              (on phone)
                         He'll be here.

               JOHN, cooling down, measures his breaths. A spring can only 
               be wound so tight.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               LEXINGTON AVENUE

               LETOUR walks from his sedan around the corner to the Lexington 
               Avenue entrance to Grace Towers, a pre-war apartment building. 
               In the lobby, he gives his name to the SECURITY GUARD, is 
               directed to the express elevator.

               He exits on the thirtieth floor; footsteps muted by thick 
               carpet.

               Victorian prints on dark blue walls. He looks about, 
               approaches a door, presses the buzzer.

               THOMAS opens the door; JOHN enters Tis' opulent apartment.

               Salle and Clemente hang on the walls; New York twinkles 
               outside panoramic windows. A pipe and syringe lie atop art 
               books. TIS, in jogging sweats, comes from the bedroom to 
               greet him.

                                     TIS
                         Tour, just in time. We were out. 
                         Nineteen, right?

                                     LETOUR
                         Thirty-eight hundred -- got any 
                         hundreds?

                                     TIS
                         Some, not the whole thing.
                              (to THOMAS)
                         You got hundreds?

                                     THOMAS
                         No.

               LETOUR hands him a plastic bag of gram envelopes. TIS opens 
               a packet, pours the contents on the coffee table.

                                     TIS
                         I like that about Ann. Always takes 
                         the time to grind it. If you do it, 
                         do it right.

               JOHN hears footsteps, turns to see MARIANNE stumble out of 
               the bedroom! She looks terrible: shoeless, blouse out, hair 
               undone, bruise on her forehead -- perhaps she fell against 
               something -- hands trembling.

                                     TIS
                              (to MARIANNE)
                         Looks like you could use some help.
                              (MARIANNE looks up, 
                              sees JOHN, goes pale)
                         Mari, this is Tour. You got any 
                         hundreds?

               JOHN stares speechless: the girl who won't talk to him because 
               he's a dealer. MARIANNE bolts back into the bedroom, SLAMS 
               the door!

                                     TIS
                         Not the talkative type. Haven't seen 
                         her in years. You know her, don't 
                         you?
                              (no answer. TIS counts 
                              the money, offers 
                              it. LETOUR is frozen)
                         Why they call me? What a nightmare.
                              (extending money)
                         You want it or not?

                                     LETOUR
                              (vacant)
                         Yeah.

               LETOUR pockets the cash. TIS, his arm on John's elbow, "walks" 
               him to the door:

                                     TIS
                         See you later.

               TIS nudges JOHN to the corridor, closes the door behind him. 
               JOHN looks toward the elevator; TIS, behind the door, calls 
               "Marianne!"

               Time cut: LETOUR stands in the elevator, red floor numbers 
               flashing past, blank eyes mirrored in dark glass.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               FALL FROM GRACE

               JOHN exits Grace Towers, walks past a limo toward Lexington 
               Avenue. Rounding the corner, he sees his blue sedan. He looks 
               at the cash, repockets it. He continues slowly, each step a 
               separate task.

               LETOUR reaches for the door handle. A scream pierces traffic 
               noise. A car screeches, another. Voices call out.

               LETOUR steps back, listens. He retraces his steps, turns 
               onto Lexington Avenue. The SECURITY GUARD, walkie-talkie in 
               hand, clusters on the sidewalk with the limo driver, two 
               pedestrians. A cabbie jumps from his taxi, joins the confusion 
               ("My God!"). A siren approaches. John's beeper goes off.

               Drawing closer, LETOUR sees the partial bloodied shape of a 
               broken body on the sidewalk: he recognizes Marianne's skirt. 
               A squad car brakes with a screech. TWO COPS converge, climb 
               over trash, clear the crime scene:

                                     FEMALE COP
                         Get back!

                                     MALE COP
                         Who saw it? What happened?
                              (the FEMALE COP bends 
                              over Marianne's body)
                         EMS is on the way.

                                     FEMALE COP
                         Too late --

               A second squad car pulls up. JOHN turns away, walks around 
               the corner.

               LETOUR opens the car door, closes it, sits inside. A wailing 
               ambulance flashes past, speeds up Central Park West.

               LETOUR doesn't react. Beeper re-beeps; he disconnects the 
               battery.

               The driver, CARLOS, twenty-five, Hispanic, shirt starched, 
               turns, looks, thinks, says:

                                     CARLOS
                         Where to?

                                     LETOUR
                         What?

                                     CARLOS
                         Where to, sir? Where are we going?

                                     LETOUR
                         Nowhere just now. Wait.

                                     CARLOS
                              (after a moment)
                         You want me to wait here?

                                     LETOUR
                         Yes.

               Pause. More police cars. The EMS siren starts up; the 
               ambulance speeds downtown past LeTour's sedan. No reaction. 
               CARLOS turns off the engine.

                                     LETOUR
                         Downtown.

                                     CARLOS
                         Yes.

               CARLOS starts the car, pulls into traffic.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               TWENTY-TWO MINUTES

               John's apartment. Late night. LETOUR, barefoot, T-shirt, 
               slacks, stands flat against the wall.

               WINS broadcasts twenty-four hour news on the boombox. ("Give 
               us twenty-two minutes and we'll give you the world.") Sports, 
               ads, bullshit -- LETOUR hears what he's been waiting for:

                                     NEWSCASTER
                              (out of shot -- radio)
                         This story is just in. A woman has 
                         fallen thirty stories to her death 
                         from a posh Grace Towers apartment 
                         on Lexington Avenue. Police are 
                         withholding identification pending 
                         the notification of the next of kin. 
                         The incident happened about ten p.m. 
                         According to the sources on the scene 
                         there was no one else in the posh 
                         Grace Towers apartment when the fall 
                         occurred. We will bring you more 
                         details as we get them.
                              (teletype efx)
                         An end to the sanitation strike seems 
                         imminent. Negotiations at the Helmsley 
                         Palace are continuing to this hour...

               Actions have consequences.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               MOTHER TERESA

               First light. Jones Street. LETOUR, sleepless, pounds on 
               Teresa's door. No answer. Knocks again. Again.

               Noises from inside. A sleepy voice:

                                     TERESA
                              (out of shot)
                         Who is it?

                                     LETOUR
                         John. John LeTour. Can I see you?

                                     TERESA
                              (out of shot)
                         What time is it?

                                     LETOUR
                         It's important, Teresa.

                                     TERESA
                              (out of shot)
                         Call. Make an appointment.

                                     LETOUR
                         Open the door. You're awake anyway.
                              (no answer)
                         Teresa.

               TERESA, wearing oriental bathrobe, unlatches the door. JOHN 
               enters, turns to her. The door closes.

                                     LETOUR
                         Read me. What do you see?

                                     TERESA
                         Do I know you?

                                     LETOUR
                         We had a session last week. What do 
                         you see?

                                     TERESA
                              (remembering name)
                         John?

                                     LETOUR
                         Yes. Look at me.

               TERESA takes a moment to concentrate.

                                     TERESA
                         Step back.
                              (he does)
                         Again.
                              (he does)
                         Death.

                                     LETOUR
                         Someone I knew died tonight.

                                     TERESA
                         This was not an accident. This person 
                         was murdered.

                                     LETOUR
                         Am I in danger?

                                     TERESA
                              (beat)
                         There is danger around you. It's 
                         very close. I'm sleepy.

                                     LETOUR
                         What should I do?

                                     TERESA
                         I can't see it.

                                     LETOUR
                         Please.
                              (she shrugs)
                         Am I lucky?

                                     TERESA
                         Yes. Don't be afraid. Go home.

               TERESA shuffles toward her bedroom -- the "reading" is over.

                                     LETOUR
                         What do I owe you?

                                     TERESA
                         Nothing. Forget it. Let me sleep.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               SNITCH

               Mid-morning. LETOUR, still awake, walks past towering Chelsea 
               trash.

               He passes a newsstand. Tabloids feature yearbook photo of 
               MARIANNE; the headline: "Fall from Grace."

               LETOUR walks to a pay phone, takes out Guidone's card, inserts 
               a quarter, dials.

                                     POLICE SWITCHBOARD
                              (out of shot)
                         Ninth Precinct.

                                     LETOUR
                         Bill Guidone, please. Homicide.

                                     POLICE SWITCHBOARD
                              (out of shot)
                         Hold on.

               JOHN, suspicious, looks around. GUIDONE speaks:

                                     GUIDONE
                              (out of shot)
                         Guidone.

                                     LETOUR
                         This is John LeTour. Remember me?

                                     GUIDONE
                              (out of shot)
                         Laundromat. Your father's got 
                         connections.

                                     LETOUR
                         You said I should ask around, tell 
                         you something you didn't know.

                                     GUIDONE
                              (out of shot)
                         I thought you'd call.

                                     LETOUR
                         It ain't much, but it's something.

                                     GUIDONE
                              (out of shot)
                         Go on.

                                     LETOUR
                         A girl died last night. Lexington 
                         Ave.

                                     GUIDONE
                              (out of shot)
                         The jumper. Druggie.

                                     LETOUR
                         The news said she was alone in the 
                         apartment when she went out -- she 
                         wasn't. It's a cover-up. There was 
                         someone else.

                                     GUIDONE
                              (out of shot)
                         Who?

                                     LETOUR
                         Who lives in the apartment?

                                     GUIDONE
                              (out of shot)
                         You there?

                                     LETOUR
                         That's all I know. You asked me to 
                         tell you something. I told you 
                         something.

               Hangs up.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               A LITTLE SLEEP

               Noon. LETOUR enters a West Village apartment building.

               He presses an intercom button. Robert's voice answers:

                                     ROBERT
                              (out of shot)
                         Who is it?

                                     LETOUR
                         Jack. Let me in.

               The door buzzes.

               ROBERT opens the door to his overdecorated apartment. JOHN 
               looks around. TONY, Robert's younger, unattractive lover, 
               sips coffee at the table.

                                     ROBERT
                         Where have you been? We were worried.

                                     LETOUR
                         I need some sleep -- not much. I 
                         don't want to go home just yet. A 
                         little sleep first. Can I crash here? 
                         Nice place.

                                     ROBERT
                         It's hideous. I did it years ago. 
                         I've got to throw everything out. 
                         You haven't been here?
                              (noticing TONY)
                         Oh, Jack, this is Tony. I told you 
                         about him. You should talk. He's the 
                         lapidopterist -- gems.

                                     TONY
                              (corrects him)
                         Lapidarian.

                                     ROBERT
                         Same thing.

                                     LETOUR
                         Can I?

                                     ROBERT
                         Sure.

                                     LETOUR
                         What do you know about Tis? What's 
                         his relationship to Ann?

                                     ROBERT
                         They go way back -- before me. Did 
                         you cross him?

                                     LETOUR
                         No.

                                     ROBERT
                         Don't. He's Ann's Ecstasy connection. 
                         She needs that score. What happened?

                                     LETOUR
                         Nothing.

                                     ROBERT
                         Don't mess with him.

                                     LETOUR
                         Is he dangerous?

                                     ROBERT
                         Everybody's dangerous. We heard what 
                         you did to Eddie. Ann thought it was 
                         great. She was afraid that was why 
                         you didn't come back.

                                     LETOUR
                         It was something else. Tell me if 
                         you hear anything.

                                     ROBERT
                         About what?

                                     LETOUR
                         Tis.

                                     ROBERT
                         Tis who? Ann says you want a chart 
                         done.
                              (beat)
                         What's wrong?

                                     LETOUR
                              (internal)
                         Ah...

                                     ROBERT
                              (sympathetic)
                         You down?

                                     LETOUR
                              (nods)
                         Yeah...
                              (culling thoughts)
                         You ever think about it?

                                     ROBERT
                         What?

                                     LETOUR
                         That it'd be like this -- like, your 
                         life, you... that it would turn out 
                         this way? --

                                     ROBERT
                         Compared to what? My thinking this 
                         or that is going to make any 
                         difference? There's a plan unfolding. 
                         "Will my plane crash?" "Does life 
                         have meaning?" -- why ask me? 
                         Thinking's a fear of living, negative 
                         living; living's something else. 
                         You're afraid. Let the plan unfold. 
                         Stop. Stop, live one day -- one day --

               Words blur to jargon. LETOUR cuts in:

                                     LETOUR
                         -- Robert --

                                     ROBERT
                         -- day at a time.

                                     LETOUR
                              (touches ROBERT)
                         You've lost your fucking brain.

                                     ROBERT
                              (laughs)
                         I'm a drug dealer.

                                     LETOUR
                         Got a tub?

                                     ROBERT
                              (gestures)
                         Yeah.

                                     LETOUR
                         Great.

               Turns to bathroom.

                                     ROBERT
                         There's a plastic bottle of bath oil 
                         in the cabinet. Yellow. Use it -- 
                         tell me what you think. It's a new 
                         formula.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               JUMP-OFFS

               Six p.m. LETOUR, shaved and bathed, rides a cab uptown, past 
               Harlem, past 158th Street. He motions to the DRIVER; the 
               taxi stops at a blue door between retail stores begging for 
               renovation. TEENAGE LATINOS hang out. LETOUR gives the CABBIE 
               a twenty. LETOUR walks to the blue door; the YOUTHS stop, 
               watch. He knocks on the door. A PUERTO RICAN DOORMAN in white 
               leather pants and a heart-shaped diamond ring opens the door, 
               looks him over. JOHN reaches into his pouch, removes a gram 
               envelope, hands it to him. The DOORMAN takes a taste, buzzes 
               him through a door hand-lettered "Jump-Offs."

               Inside Jump-Offs, a cocaine "spot," every eye turns to JOHN: 
               the only Anglo in a Hispanic after-hours club. Tough young 
               faces, each with a style and two inches of attitude. Willie 
               Colon plays on the jukebox.

               Searching, LETOUR recognizes a face, walks over:

                                     LETOUR
                         Manny.
                              (MANUEL, thirtyish, 
                              Puerto Rican, looks 
                              closer, trying to 
                              place LETOUR)
                         LeTour.
                              (helping out)
                         Jealous. "Jell." SOB's.

                                     MANUEL
                              (remembering)
                         Reggae night.

                                     LETOUR
                         Burning Spear.

                                     MANUEL
                         How'd you get in?

                                     LETOUR
                         C-C.

                                     MANUEL
                         You buying?

                                     LETOUR
                         How's product?

                                     MANUEL
                              (gesture: "primo")
                         How much?

                                     LETOUR
                         I got a problem. I need a piece.

                                     MANUEL
                         Piece? Piece of what? Piece of candy?

                                     LETOUR
                         A gun.

                                     MANUEL
                         When?

                                     LETOUR
                         Now. Anything.
                              (MANUEL is silent)
                         Am I speaking too fast?

                                     MANUEL
                         How much you spend?

                                     LETOUR
                         The rate. What you got?

               MANUEL calls over a TEENAGE DOMINICAN, explains the situation 
               in Spanish. The DOMINICAN replies; MANUEL turns back to JOHN:

                                     MANUEL
                         He's got a 64 Smith-son. Detective 
                         Special. Nobody wants 'em. Fresh 
                         from a cop.

                                     LETOUR
                         How much?

                                     MANUEL
                              (consults DOMINICAN)
                         Four -- including me.

                                     LETOUR
                         You're fucking me.

                                     MANUEL
                              ("so what?")
                         Street price.

                                     LETOUR
                         Where is it?

                                     MANUEL
                         Sigame.

               They lead him to an even darker back room. The DOMINICAN 
               retrieves an automatic pistol from a trash pail, hands it to 
               MANUEL. JOHN counts cash from Tis' roll; MANNY hefts the 
               piece.

                                     MANUEL
                         The hundreds -- Franklins.

               Bills and guns exchanged.

                                     LETOUR
                         How do you use this?

                                     MANUEL
                         Automatic.

                                     LETOUR
                         I don't have much use for a gun. 
                         Never used one like this.

                                     MANUEL
                              (translates for 
                              DOMINICAN)
                         Cono!

               The DOMINICAN laughs; LETOUR takes his measure.

                                     LETOUR
                              (businesslike)
                         What do you do?

                                     MANUEL
                         Simple. You put the bullets in --
                              (inserts cartridge)
                         you point it at the bad guys, pull 
                         the trigger and they fall down!

               MANNY repeats this for the DOMINICAN ["bang, bang!"]; they 
               laugh again. LETOUR eases the .38 into his crotch. MANNY 
               turns, exchanges Latin hug:

                                     MANUEL
                         Vaya con Dios.

                                     LETOUR
                         -- Dios.

               JOHN exits, works his way through the club.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               OUT WITH THE OLD

               John's apartment. Seven p.m. LETOUR, sweating, bareback, 
               tucks the .38 under his futon.

               He takes a bottle of cologne from the bathroom, pours it 
               over his hair, face, and torso, rubs it in.

               Licking his finger, he removes Marianne's gold and onyx ring 
               with a tug. His finger stings. He opens a window, throws the 
               ring full force into the junk-strewn courtyard. He shakes 
               his torso; cologne glistens.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               JOHN AND RANDI

               Interior, Plaza Memorial Chapel. LETOUR enters the "viewing 
               room," motions to RANDI. She follows him.

               They slip into a door, enter the embalming room: stainless 
               steel table surrounded by surgical cabinets.

               They embrace, disengage. JOHN looks: Randi's exhausted face 
               mirrors his.

                                     LETOUR
                         Have you been to the police station?

                                     RANDI
                              (nods)
                         She was back on drugs. Really back. 
                         They're gonna bring her here too. My 
                         God.
                              (he comforts her)
                         I thought she was playing for 
                         attention.

                                     LETOUR
                         I didn't know.

                                     RANDI
                         You're not to blame. Don't blame 
                         yourself. You weren't responsible. 
                         She was always -- she loved you.

                                     LETOUR
                              (wipes tear from her 
                              cheek)
                         She loved you. You were what she 
                         wanted to be.

                                     RANDI
                         She scared me.

               JOHN pulls a Polaroid from his pocket.

                                     LETOUR
                         Look. Do you recognize anyone?

               The picture features ANN and TIS: side by side at a dinner 
               party.

                                     RANDI
                         Tis.

                                     LETOUR
                         You know him?

                                     RANDI
                         His father's a lawyer. Did some tax 
                         things for Mom. He was at the 
                         hospital. What's that smell?

                                     LETOUR
                         It's me. Cologne. I'm a sucker for 
                         that cheap airplane stuff. Did 
                         Marianne mention him yesterday?

                                     RANDI
                              ("no")
                         It was his apartment. What are you 
                         thinking?

                                     LETOUR
                         I don't know.

                                     RANDI
                         She jumped.
                              (LETOUR hangs on every 
                              word)
                         You loved her, but she -- this sounds 
                         terrible but it's true -- she was... 
                         she ruined everything... bad luck.

                                     LETOUR
                              (heard enough)
                         When's the funeral -- your mother's?

                                     RANDI
                         Tomorrow. Will you come?

                                     LETOUR
                              (vague)
                         Well, I got this thing to do. It's -- 
                         I don't know if I can get away.

                                     RANDI
                         Try? For me.

                                     LETOUR
                         I'll try.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               PRODIGAL SON

               Ann's apartment. Eight p.m. ANN greets LETOUR with a hug.

                                     ANN
                         The Prodigal Son.

                                     LETOUR
                         Sorry about last night. Something 
                         came up.

                                     ANN
                         Where were you?

                                     LETOUR
                         T.C.T.E.

                                     ROBERT
                         "Too Complicated To Explain."

                                     LETOUR
                              (enters bedroom)
                         I'm $500 short from last night. I'll 
                         get it, you can take it from my 
                         salary.

                                     ANN
                              (stung)
                         This is family. Are you saying that 
                         to hurt me?
                              (LETOUR returns)
                         It's not money.

                                     LETOUR
                              (chagrined)
                         Sorry.

                                     ROBERT
                         Look at this.
                              ("Akasha" visual)
                         We had a graphic artist make it up -- 
                         you know, Billy, Five Towns.

                                     ANN
                         The label for the cosmetics line.

                                     LETOUR
                              (examines it)
                         Classy. Sorta -- Katmandu...

                                     ANN
                              (corrects him)
                         Kathmandu.

                                     LETOUR
                         I love it.

                                     ROBERT
                         Tis called twice. He wants you to 
                         come by.

                                     LETOUR
                              (wary)
                         Me?

                                     ANN
                         Yeah. Says you were supposed to show 
                         up again yesterday, but didn't.

                                     LETOUR
                         A lie. I don't want to go. The suicide 
                         and all. Let's stay away.

                                     ANN
                         Can't. He's the Ecstasy connect. No 
                         way I can fuck this.

                                     LETOUR
                         C'mon...

                                     ANN
                         This is business.

               LETOUR, suspicious, looks from ANN to ROBERT. He knows TIS 
               knows he knows MARIANNE was not alone when she went out the 
               window.

                                     LETOUR
                         Let Robert go.

                                     ANN
                         Tis won't deal with fags.

                                     LETOUR
                         Since when?

                                     ANN
                         Just is -- so he's a bigot? What's 
                         new? So's everybody else.

                                     LETOUR
                         I don't want to go. I got a bad vibe.

                                     ROBERT
                         He said you.

                                     ANN
                              (to LETOUR)
                         Why?

                                     LETOUR
                              (to ANN)
                         Why don't you go? He's your contact.

                                     ROBERT
                         He is --

                                     ANN
                              (to ROBERT)
                         You giving orders?

                                     ROBERT
                              (deferential)
                         No, Missy.

                                     LETOUR
                              (testing her)
                         Come with me -- the two of us.

                                     ANN
                              (upbeat)
                         Okay. You got it. Like old times -- 
                         Ann and Johnny.
                              (turns to go)

                                     LETOUR
                         Okay.

                                     ROBERT
                         Stop it. You're breaking my heart.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               LAST RIDE

               Night. ANN and LETOUR side by side in the sedan. CARLOS, at 
               the wheel, anonymous. Outside, SANITATION WORKERS toss sacks 
               of trash into garbage trucks: the strike is over.

               ANN reminisces as lights flash:

                                     ANN
                         It's going to be strange, not doing 
                         this. I mean I've had it, but 
                         sometimes...

                                     LETOUR
                         You're gonna do it, aren't you? You're 
                         gonna quit.

                                     ANN
                              (nods)
                         I think so. Seal this thing with 
                         Tis, turn it -- go with the cosmetics. 
                         You gotta take a chance in life. No 
                         risk, no gain. I've already got retail 
                         connections here, London. It was 
                         great at the beginning, though.

                                     LETOUR
                         When?

                                     ANN
                         You know, when we first started out 
                         of the place on Greene Street. Before 
                         deliveries, when you were still using. 
                         It was open house every night but 
                         Sunday. We had everything: uppers, 
                         downers, meth, six kinds of hash, 
                         all in that trousseau, remember? You 
                         could get in for a gram, stay all 
                         night -- everybody, music people, 
                         movies, Wall Street, fashion -- even 
                         politics. I think like five marriages 
                         came out of those parties, babies -- 
                         really. God.
                              (JOHN eyes her: why 
                              this Niagara, this 
                              nostalgia?)
                         You stayed, you then Robert -- but 
                         he... I'da never thought you'd, what 
                         is it, twelve years? Others, lucky a 
                         year max, eight months, in, out, 
                         start using, unreliable -- nice kids. 
                         Remember when you first came: long 
                         hair, dirty fingers --

                                     LETOUR
                              (overlapping)
                         You made me --

                                     ANN
                         -- never washed --

                                     LETOUR
                         -- khaki pants.

                                     ANN
                         I should write a book someday. Did 
                         you know somebody wanted to do my 
                         story? Ghostwrite. It was impossible, 
                         of course -- my lawyer freaked I 
                         even had the meeting. People envy 
                         me. They think my life is so 
                         glamorous, but they don't know. I 
                         know. Glamorous.
                              (beat)
                         It was for a while. Then came crack 
                         and fucked everything.

               JOHN wonders: The Big Goodbye? Is she acting at Tis' behest?

                                     LETOUR
                         I gotta stop home a second.

                                     ANN
                         Why? It's out of the way. They're 
                         expecting you.

               "They're?"

                                     LETOUR
                         You know I got a bad vibe about Tis.

                                     ANN
                              (unconvincing)
                         Chill. This is routine.

                                     LETOUR
                         I want to get my lucky jacket.

                                     ANN
                         Oh. Okay.

               The sedan continues south. It turns, stops in front of John's 
               Chelsea apartment building.

               JOHN hops out, goes in.

               Inside John's apartment he -- a man possessed -- pulls his 
               black tweed from the closet, throws it on the futon. He rolls 
               up his shirt, reaches under the futon, removes the .38.

               He straps the gun to his back, wraps duct tape around his 
               chest, end to end over the .38. He tucks in his shirt, puts 
               on the jacket, checks the mirror to see if the gun shows: it 
               doesn't. A pause to appreciate.

               LETOUR closes his diary, throws it out the window: a trifle. 
               He slaps cologne on his cheeks -- annointing; heads toward 
               the door.

               Outside, LETOUR emerges, walks quickly to the car, plops 
               beside ANN. The sedan drives off. Back seat:

                                     ANN
                         That took long enough. What did you 
                         do, douche while you were at it?

                                     LETOUR
                         Ann, you got some mouth on you.

                                     ANN
                         You don't want to know where it's 
                         been.
                              (sniffs him)
                         Cologne?

                                     LETOUR
                         For you.

                                     ANN
                         Phew. It smells like that stuff they 
                         give you on airplanes. It's no good 
                         for your skin. All chemicals.

               LETOUR pulls out a slip of paper, writes a name and address: 
               "Linda Wichel, 1012B-2 A Street, Sacramento, California."

                                     ANN
                         What's that?

                                     LETOUR
                         Do me a favor.

                                     ANN
                         What?

                                     LETOUR
                         Don't ask why, just promise.

                                     ANN
                         What is it?

                                     LETOUR
                              (testing again)
                         If anything happens to me -- if I 
                         should like, you know, fucking die -- 
                         write and tell her.

               Extends slip of paper.

               ANN starts to speak, stops.

                                     LETOUR
                         It's my sister. Her husband's in San 
                         Quentin. She worries, you know.

               She takes the name and address.

                                     ANN
                              (eye contact)
                         Okay.

               ANN, sad, looks out the window. She touches his knee. The 
               car pulls in front of the Pennsylvania Hotel, 34th and 7th.

                                     LETOUR
                         I thought we were going to Tis'?

                                     ANN
                         We are. He's here. He can't very 
                         well work out of his apartment after 
                         what happened yesterday, can he?

               They get out.

                                                                    CUT TO:

               SHOOT-OUT

               Pennsylvania lobby: a baseball card convention is in progress. 
               ANN squeezes through, goes to the house phone. JOHN follows, 
               scans the tacky lobby: what's up?

                                     ANN
                              (on phone)
                         Mathis Bruge, please.
                              (beat)
                         Tis? Ann. I'm here with Tour.
                              (beat)
                         Okay.
                              (hangs up)

                                     LETOUR
                         Tis there?

                                     ANN
                         Twelve-oh-four.

               They go to the elevators, wait with CHATTY CARD COLLECTORS 
               [Pete Rose this, Pete Rose that].

               Twelfth floor. ANN and JOHN step out of the elevator, look 
               for 1204.

               LETOUR, a step behind, is all eyes, all ears.

               ANN checks the number, rings the bell.

               THOMAS lets them in the standard issue suite, locks the door.

               LETOUR was right: it's a set-up. THOMAS and a TEENAGE CUBAN 
               stand either side of them, waistbands conspicuously bulging. 
               No TIS. JOHN turns to ANN:

                                     LETOUR
                              (Jesus-to-Judas)
                         Ann.

               ANN's confused, then furious: she had no part in the "set-
               up." In fact, she doesn't even know it's a set-up.

               Bursting rage, she turns on THOMAS, YELLS:

                                     ANN
                         I told you greasy fucks I don't deal 
                         with guns! I see guns, I walk! How 
                         dare you?

               She slaps THOMAS, pulls the 9mm from his waistband, throws 
               it to the carpet.

               The CUBAN watches bewildered, gun drawn, awaiting 
               instructions. Now ANN's on him:

                                     ANN
                         And you, beaner, whoever the fuck 
                         you are, kiss my fat ass!
                              (she spits on his 
                              shirt, knees him in 
                              the crotch, yanks 
                              his gun, throws it 
                              beside the gut-
                              clutching CUBAN. She 
                              crosses the room, 
                              YELLING:)
                         That's it! TIS! Shitball! I know 
                         you're fucking there! Let this be a 
                         lesson! You wanna deal, you gonna 
                         apologize for this!
                              (to LETOUR)
                         Let's go.

               THOMAS and the CUBAN TEEN retrieve their guns; ANN unlocks 
               the door.

                                     THOMAS
                              (pointing gun)
                         Hold it! Stop right there.

               She turns defiantly. TIS enters from bedroom:

                                     TIS
                              (to THOMAS)
                         No!
                              (to ANN)
                         Sorry about the guns. My fuck-up. I 
                         was just trying to make a point -- I 
                         apologize.

               TIS looks to THOMAS and the CUBAN: they lower their weapons. 
               He only means to threaten LETOUR.

                                     TIS
                              (about THOMAS and 
                              CUBAN)
                         Assholes. What a nightmare.
                              (to ANN)
                         We'll make the deal tomorrow -- same 
                         terms. Ann. Sorry. Go on, leave, 
                         you're upset. I just need to talk to 
                         Tour a second. About a police matter.
                              (to LETOUR)
                         Right?

                                     LETOUR
                              (to ANN)
                         Go on.

               She hesitates.

                                     TIS
                         Tour and I need to get our stories 
                         straight. Somebody's talking to the 
                         police. The guns were for emphasis, 
                         to make a point, dumb --

               ANN gets it. Fear hits:

                                     ANN
                              (to TIS)
                         We came together, we're leaving 
                         together.
                              (to LETOUR)
                         Johnny, come with me.

               Opens door.

                                     TIS
                              (a command)
                         Thomas.

               THOMAS fixes his gun on ANN.

                                     TIS
                              (to ANN)
                         Don't be stupid. Get out. Leave.
                              (to LETOUR)
                         I had nothing to do with Marianne -- 
                         she jumped: she was there, then she 
                         was gone.
                              (nods ANN to leave)
                         Nothing will happen to Tour.

               ANN computes, bolts out, flees, SCREAMING at the top of her 
               lungs:

                                     ANN
                              (out of shot)
                         Fire! Fire! Fire!

               The fire bell rings.

               THOMAS, TIS, and the CUBAN stare dumbfounded.

               LETOUR reaches behind his shirt in the confusion, yanks out 
               the .38 with a painful rip, turning, fires point-blank into 
               the Cuban's chest. BLAM! Shirt fabric flares, flies: the 
               CUBAN falls with blank expression.

               THOMAS, off guard, wheels and fires wildly at LETOUR.

               JOHN fires back. Both are hit. TIS ducks into the bedroom.

               THOMAS and LETOUR fire again, again -- hitting, missing. A 
               bullet hits its mark: THOMAS, frozen, grabs his blood-spurting 
               throat, slumps to floor.

               LETOUR bleeds from the stomach and shoulder. His shirt soaks 
               red; he struggles to stand. CUBAN and THOMAS -- both dead. 
               LETOUR checks the .38: five rounds fired -- one left.

               LETOUR staggers into the bedroom, finds TIS frantically 
               searching an open suitcase. Off-screen VOICES under the fire 
               bell.

                                     TIS
                              (desperate)
                         I didn't --

               LETOUR steps to TIS, aims, shoots him barrel to forehead. 
               Exit debris hits the wall. He is dead.

               Off-screen screams of guests are countered by commands from 
               hotel security: "Get down!" "Get back!" Fire horns and sirens 
               reverb from the street.

               LETOUR, losing consciousness, sits bedside. Gun slips from 
               his hand.

               Deflating, he drifts back-first to the bedspread. Blood 
               spreads. His eyes are open.

               POLICE VOICES approach.

                                                                  FADE OUT:

               EVERY GRAIN OF SAND

               Prison waiting area. ANN, wearing a wool suit, waits among 
               black/Hispanic FRIENDS and RELATIVES. The first scene without 
               LETOUR: she sits quietly. A CORRECTIONS OFFICER instructs 
               the visitors to proceed.

               ANN walks through a concrete corridor, finds the visiting 
               area.

               LETOUR, in prison fatigues, sits at a table. He sees her, 
               smiles.

               ANN sits down. This is not her first visit.

                                     LETOUR
                         Hello.

                                     ANN
                         Hi.

               Checks watch.

                                     LETOUR
                         Twenty minutes. You look terrific.

                                     ANN
                         I look respectable. Any news?

                                     LETOUR
                         Sentencing's in ten days -- supposed 
                         to be. Because of the extenuating 
                         circumstances -- our cooperation -- 
                         they say it won't be more than five 
                         years -- maybe seven. With time 
                         served, good behavior, parole, I 
                         could be out in two years -- maybe. 
                         I hope.

                                     ANN
                         It feels like forever.

                                     LETOUR
                         It's not so bad. It's a relief in a 
                         way -- at least so far. I've been 
                         writing, reading.

                                     ANN
                         I love your letters.
                              (pause)

                                     LETOUR
                         How's business?

                                     ANN
                         Robert quit. He went back to dealing. 
                         I think he thought it would be less 
                         work, more money. It's lucky in a 
                         way I got mixed up in it -- now I 
                         have to see this thing through. So 
                         it's cosmetics after all.

                                     LETOUR
                              (affectionate)
                         I miss you.

                                     ANN
                         Me too.

                                     LETOUR
                         Did we ever fuck?

                                     ANN
                         What do you mean?

                                     LETOUR
                         You know, make love.

                                     ANN
                              (thinks)
                         There was that party when everybody 
                         was so stoned, but -- oh yeah, that 
                         night you came over and crashed and 
                         we slept together.

                                     LETOUR
                         We were naked, but did we --?

                                     ANN
                         You had a hard-on...

                                     LETOUR
                         I didn't --

                                     ANN
                         You tried...

                                     LETOUR
                         I was thinking about it and I realized 
                         we never really did. It's one of the 
                         things I think about. It's one of 
                         the things I look forward to. I've 
                         been looking forward.

                                     ANN
                         Me too.

                                     LETOUR
                              (touches her hand)
                         Something can be right in front of 
                         you and you can't see it.

                                     ANN
                              (kisses his hand)
                         Strange how things work.

               The tableau fades.

                                         THE END