Scene 39 - Night Vision

(First word said to a blank screen)

Bruce: ...Down.

(Bruce and Mary in car at night. Fake street lights going by, illuminating Bruce and Mary's faces.)

Mary: Does Carol remind you of your wife?

Bruce: Ex-wife.

Mary: Does she?

Bruce: A little bit, I guess. They were best friends.

Mary: Really?

Bruce: Carol introduced me to Dianna.

Mary: (In thought) Whom do I remind you of?

Bruce: Hey, your grammar. I'm so proud. Whom do you remind me of? Trick question. Hmm, let's see. Harpo Marx? No, that's not right. Uh, Betty Grable? No, your legs are much nicer. (Glances down at Mary's legs) Yourself. (Looks over) You are one of a kind. (Continues driving. Then looks over again.) You're worth your weight in gold.

Mary: (Smiles) How much is that?

Bruce: Ummm, I'd say about... (thinks, glancing over at Mary) I'd say about $560,000 or so.

Mary: (Trying to comprehend the amount) Wow, that's more than most houses. Would you buy me?

Bruce: Hmmm. (Smiles. Looks over.) Sure. I'd have to rob a bank or break the law or something.

Mary: You've already done that.

(Bruce looks over, a little nervously, then smiles.)

(Pause. Close up of Mary's eyes, smiling, as she looks up and out of the corner. Strong highlights in her eyes.)

Mary: (Suddenly) I wrote you a poem the other day.

Bruce: You did?

Mary: Yep, in the canyon.

Bruce: Iambic pentameter?

Mary: (Thinks, then) I don't know. (Pause, then suddenly aware Bruce is joking with her) You're being silly. (She takes off her seat belt and sits up on her knees on the seat, leaning toward Bruce's ear.)

Mary: (Lowering her voice. She says in a seductively innocent tone.) You wanna hear it?

Bruce: (Tersely) Yes.

(Mary leans both hands on Bruce's right shoulder, bringing her lips close to Bruce's ear. She recites Mary's Poem to him, in a whisper. As she does this, ambient noise (traffic, engine noise) increases, so that the audience can no longer hear her voice. Words to the poem display along the bottom of the screen, white text against a black background. As Mary whispers her poem there are close ups of her mouth and Bruce's ear, Bruce's eyes, his hands on the wheel, Mary's legs on the seat, oncoming traffic. Mary finishes the poem. She pulls her head away, smiling. The feeling of Mary's recital is like that of an extended kiss on Bruce's ear. Mary looks off to the side, out of window, still smiling.)

Mary: Oooh. Let's stop here. I need to call my mom.