by bob chartain
Counterpane, a screenplay by bob chartain,
Hi- Thanks for stopping by – I wrote this a time ago - it was written on speculation but never pushed around Tinsel Town – I really enjoyed writing this and fell in love with the characters – who took on a life of their own – I was only their scribe - I’m glad to be able to share it with you.
This screenplay is written in the easy to read format of William Goldman “Butch Cassidy” – although this format has never been widely accepted it makes for the easiest read for those who have no understanding of the screenplay format. It can also be a better read for the educated as they generally read down the center of the page and pay the most attention to dialog.
Usual scene headings or slug lines are usually like this; EXT - HOUSE – DAY and really slow the reader down.
Simply notes for reading this is to remember that in a screenplay it’s difficult to delve into a characters psyche and internal dialog as everything must be shown on the screen.
Try to visualize the scenes and read the location setups with care as they might contain the keys to the actions.
I also took the liberty to minimize the (Continued) command, eliminate page numbers and the numbering of scene headings.
FADE IN:
A DARK AND FOREBODING ALLEY IN AN EASTERN BLOC CITY
DAVID CARSON, lean and ruggedly handsome moves furtively past
DAVID CARSON, lean and ruggedly handsome moves furtively past
closed shops and darkened doorways. He glances over his shoulder, then -
FUMBLES IN HIS POCKET –
and pulls out a wadded piece of paper. He studies it carefully, then looks down the alley for the address.
DAVID DUCKS INTO A DARK ALCOVE -
as the SOUND of marching footsteps breaks the silence.
SIX STERN AND REGIMENTED RUSSIAN SOLDIERS -
goose-step across the far end of the alley.
DAVID WIPES THE SWEAT FROM HIS BROW, -
waits pensively until the footsteps fade into silence.
DAVID STEPS BACK INTO THE ALLEY -
and then retreats quickly, as a tin can hits the glistening cobblestones and a disfigured, large rat scurries back into the nearby refuse.
DAVID, NOW MORE ALERT THAN EVER, -
makes his way to an unmarked doorway several yards down the alley and hesitates, fighting with himself.
DAVID
(mutters)
Women.
DAVID KNOCKS -
a predetermined staccato. A small window in the door opens slowly.
DAVID
Catmon.
David lifts the crumpled paper to the opening where the dim light glistens off pearly white teeth.
A BLACK HAND WITH AN EXTRAORDINARILY LONG NAIL –
on the little finger reaches out and snatches the paper, then recoils like a snake. David sighs with relief at the SOUND of several latches being simultaneously unfastened. Soldiers'
FOOTSTEPS are again heard, running on the cobblestone street. "Anne Frank" like, European sirens WAIL closer. The door is thrown open and David is yanked into the -
THE DARKENED ROOM.
He looks up, into the mesmeric eyes of the hawk-featured CATMON, a Caribbean Islander with a sardonic smile. David 3 quickly shifts his glance to the sparse room with it's Oriental, shadowy ambience. Catmon taps David on the shoulder, then -
SLOWLY UNFOLDS HIS HAND, PALM UP.
DAVID fumbles in his jacket, then methodically fills the hand with a pile of large U.S. bills.
CATMON RAISES HIS OTHER HAND -
to David's eye level. Several phosphorescent green tablets are clenched between his thumb and index finger. He LAUGHS an insidious laugh and -
THE LUMINOUS CAPSULES -
roll slowly off the long finger nail into David's outstretched hands. After a beat.
CATMON
(insidiously)
Live long and well, mon'..
A GOVERNMENT BUILDING OVERLOOKING A PLAZA - NIGHT..
PETROVSKY, an official somewhere in Eastern Europe, moves in the shadows, from the window overlooking the plaza to the chess board below the desk light. He picks up an elaborate -
PAWN, A SOLDIER ON HORSEBACK -
and methodically moves it forward a space -
TO A CHECK MATE POSITION.
MOVIE TITLE COMES UP:
"COUNTERPANE"
A CEILING SHOT of an undulating checker-board coverlet on a water bed. The SOUND of laughter and barely audible sexual AD LIBS by male and female voices. Then, -
DAVID AND SHERRY LYNN -
come up for air from beneath the sheets in -
A PLUSH BEDROOM IN THE SANTA MONTICA MOUNTAINS.
SHERRY LYNN, in her early thirties, has striking black hair and a beautiful, somewhat wistful face. She reaches for a cigarette, David sighs and grabs his drink on the bedside table.
DAVID
God Sherry! You're like good wine.
Better with age.
SHERRY
(wincing)
Thanks for nothing.
(a smile)
I love you anyway.
David, seemingly preoccupied, plays with her hair and pats her reassuringly.
SHERRY
You're distant, David.
(lights cigarette)
Things go okay in Europe?
DAVID
Sure.
David pulls on his briefs and carries his drink to the view window. Sherry drags on her cigarette and watches.
SHERRY
David, we've been together eight
Years… I still don't understand you.
OVER DAVID'S SHOULDER AND OUT THE WINDOW
DAVID .V.O.
I'm reassigned, Sherry.
To Central America.
/> Sherry angrily tosses her hair back, crushes the cigarette and yanks her robe on.
SHERRY
(moving from the bed)
I knew it, damnit!
She walks to the vanity and abstractly arranges her hair in the mirror.
SHERRY
(now deceptively calm)
When do you have to go?
David moves to the closet and pulls out a tuxedo.
DAVID
Day after tomorrow.
IN THE MIRROR, Sherry's face is expressionless.
SHERRY
Let's get married, David. Tomorrow.
I need something more than a shadow.
DAVID
I'm sorry, it's not in the company's
manual. You know that.
Sherry's face is stone; she has heard this before. She moves to the bathroom. David, dressing, watches, half guilty, half angry. Over the SOUND of running water.
DAVID
It's a different war down there.
(beat, then defensively)
I can't help it, babe. That's what
I do for a living, damn it!
Sherry appears at the door, drying her face.
SHERRY
Don't tell me you can't help it.
(throwing towel on the floor)
Men can never help it.
David shrugs.
SHERRY (cont'd)
Every man I ever met is obsessed
with toys and games… the older they
get it, the more its takes more to satisfy them.
With you, it's spies and counterspies.
DAVID
It's not that simple.
SHERRY
(moving to her closet)
No. After all the blood spilled
in this world. You're building a new
improved version of the same insanity.
Sherry pulls on an expensive evening gown and moves to the ﾍ
dressing table. David pops a -
RED PILL.
SHERRY
Do you really like what you're
doing, David?
David turns, struggling with the cummerbund on the tux.
DAVID
It's a job.
IN THE MIRROR, Sherry silently pouts and primps.
DAVID V.O.
(breaking the silent tension)
Are you so crazy about the modeling
rat race?
A TIME-DISSOLVE IN THE MIRROR, -
where Sherry gives her glamorous image a once-over, frowning at the crow's feet.
SHERRY
Well how do I look?
DAVID
You look beautiful.
Sherry smiles, moves to David and hugs him.
SHERRY
I'm sorry, handsome. I didn't want
to fight with you. Not tonight.
DAVID
The answer is yes.
Sherry's quizzical look.
DAVID
I love you.
SHERRY
I didn't ask. I was chicken.
DAVID
Let's get that god damned party over with,
so we can get back here and have our own.
SHERRY
(gayly)
Si, si, Senor.
She takes a last look around the bedroom, moves to the bedstand and tosses some personal effects into the drawer.
A QUICK CLOSE UP OF A GREEN CAPSULE IN THE DRAWER.
SHERRY
Got the keys?
A BLACK TIE AFFAIR IN LOS ANGELES, -
David and Sherry make their entrance and walk down elegant stairs past groups of kibitzing upper-crusters. A cluster of gawking -
LEGGY AND PRISSY, MODEL TYPES, -
AD LIB about David's good looks. "Get a load of that hunk,” etc. In the b.g. Sherry, reconciled to the status quo, holds David’s hand, and leans against his shoulder.
MODEL
Good God. Did you see who he's
with? That's Sherry Lynn.
I didn't know she was that old.
MODEL #2
She doesn't know it, either.
SHERRY AND DAVID ON THE DANCE FLOOR.
DAVID
(fidgeting with collar)
God, I hate these parties.
SHERRY
It's part of my job.
(beat)
Will you be gone a long time?
DAVID
I'll keep in touch as best as
I can. You going to be okay?
SHERRY
Don't worry about me. I'm a big girl.
David, you really do love me, don't you?
DAVID
Do fish swim?
Birds fly?
SHERRY
What do bees do?
A WINDY, DUSTY PLATEAU ABOVE THE CENTRAL AMERICAN RAIN FORESTS
MANUEL RAMIREZ, an older, mustachioed Mexican-American C.I.A. Operative, disguised as a peasant, and several swarthy ethnics are unloading equipment from several rugged trucks with the USGS logo and stacking it near a partially completed camp site.
DAVID, NOW UNSHAVEN, SHIRTLESS AND DIRTY, -
takes a break from the work to survey the forests below with -
HIGH POWERED BINOCULARS.
There are quick movements in the dense jungle foliage. Far in the distance, silent wisps of mortar smoke float gently up.
DAVID
Hurry Manny, they're almost here.
MANNY
I'm hurrying jefe.
MANNY, -
quickly moves the USGS cartons and crates away from the real cargo - heavy crates of armaments with Russian markings that were captured in the Mideast.
MANNY
Jose, de'me una barra. Pronto!
Manny takes the crowbar and opens the crates of weapons.
A RAGTAG AND MOTLEY COLUMN OF SOLDIERS -
winds their way up the plateau and into the camp. In the b.g. Manny passes mortar shells to waiting hands at the back of the truck. David studies the worn, dispirited soldiers and grins a poor soul smile.
JOE, the leader, smiles back, wearily. He is a boyish, shy, ungainly hunk and also C.I.A, but assigned to the military.
DAVID
Hey Joe, you're a long ways from
Texas, cowboy.
JOE
Bubba. You son of a gun.
Where's my love letters?
DAVID
They can't write in Texas, buddy.
If they did, you couldn't read 'em.