JC:) What did I just say?
(Camera now slowly backs off to show Mrs. Collins sitting stiffly in her daughter's desk chair. When she looks away, the camera pans toward the window where she looks, past the drawing of a unicorn, and stops to focus on how a slight breeze flutters the curtains. Fade.)
SEGMENT 2: Rikki Campion, age 19.
LOCATION: Dark Roast Roost on 4th Avenue, downtown Tucson, evening.
Camera pans the coffee shop's retro Hippie decor, with its psychedelic posters, couches, bean bags chairs, and heavy wooden booths. Rikki sits in one of the booths, gazing out at passing window shoppers. Then she looks into the camera and holds up one fist, which she opens to reveal the lifelike tattoo of an eye. Her own eyes are accentuated by intricately applied purple makeup, and she grins.
Rikki Campion:) This is new. Like it?
Valerie Lott, off camera:) Yes, although the two eyes you already have are more beautiful.
RC:) Think so, huh? (Rikki lowers her hand and looks away)
VL:) Did you know Sarah Collins thought they were beautiful, too?
RC:) Who told you that?
VL:) Sarah did. In her diary.
RC, surprised:) You read her diary?
VL:) Would you like to read it too?
(A small brown book with a unicorn on the cover is slid in front of Rikki. She looks down at it, tentatively reaches for it, then hesitates)
RC:) What else does it say about me? (No answer; a pause; she looks back out the window with a cynical smile) Did she write a poem about me, too? (No answer) I don't know what you want me to say. Sarah's gone. I don't know who did it. I didn't even know Sarah, really. She just showed up an' started hangin' around. Nobody really noticed her at first, but after a while, I dunno, we just kinda got used to her being there. So we showed her stuff. Not like I was her mentor or anything. Just kinda felt sorry for her, is all.
VL:) Where did she get the tattoo?
RC:) Hey, I got no idea. Okay? Some college punk picked her up once, and a week later she showed up with it. I didn't call it a tattoo, though. Called it a brand. Because if she seemed lost before, that was nothing compared to after.
VL:) How do you mean?
RC:) Like she'd been broken. Beat up, or something. Not bruised on the outside, just black and blue with clothes and smeared-on makeup.
VL:) Date rape?
RC:) I guess.
VL:) That ever happen to you?
RC, giggling:) There's a leap. (a pause) Me, I had a nasty Uncle, on my father's side. Can't really call those dates, though, can ya? (laughs) Only rapes after that for me was me doing the raping.
(Camera focuses on Rikki gazing out the window)
VL:) Do you have any siblings, Rikki?
RC:) Had an older brother. Except he committed suicide. Why do they always use the word 'commit,' do ya think? Anyway, I heard he got the whole hell fire and brimstone routine growing up with my mother, until he went to work as a bus driver. Never spent money on himself, lived in a cheap apartment out near the airport. Then one day he up and quit, hopped a plane to Rio. Apparently went to Carnival there. Spent his savings at the Casino, then jumped off the roof. I found the hotel he jumped from on Google Earth, it's opposite Copacabana beach. Did you know you can make out individual cars on the street with Google? Pretty amazing, huh?
VL:) Do you have a sister, Rikki?
RC:) Sister?
VL:) Like Sarah.
RC:) Nope.
VL:) Did you know she sold herself to be on an internet porn site?
(No answer)
VL:) They called her the little Goth girl. They used her in videos for an overseas child porn site, claiming she was even younger than she was. After they took her innocence, then they dumped her.
(Rikki looks down at the diary in front of her, doesn't speak)
VL:) Sarah wanted to be loved. Just for someone to accept her for who she was. She didn't know, herself.
(Rikki continues to stare at the diary. Camera now slowly pans the coffee shop's other patrons, sipping their drinks and talking.)
VL:) When I walked by her that night, I didn't say anything because I didn't know what to say. I had my own problems. Everyone does. And what would I say? More of what everyone says, or everyone expects to be said. Platitudes, anecdotes, witticisms. Words we hide behind just like we hide behind memories, thoughts, and even deeds. It's why we sometimes feel lonely, even in a crowd. It's why a vulnerable girl can slip so easily through the cracks, unnoticed, after giving up hope and becoming a willing victim. Like a suicide.
(Camera returns, focusing on Valerie's face for the first time)
VL:) Her given name was Sarah, but the name itself was only a symbol. Like "apple" or "justice" or "God." Not very useful unless you experience a connection with the reality toward which the word points.
(Camera moves to Rikki, who is reading the diary. A tear runs downs Rikki's cheek. Dissolve to the photo of Sarah that was beside her bed in the previous segment. Fade.)
SEGMENT 3: BRENT S., University of Arizona Sophomore
LOCATION: A table outside Wiggles internet cafe near the U.of A. main gate, evening. Sanders is a stocky, muscular young man with a buzz cut. He closes his laptop to sip a beer and check out the girls passing on the sidewalk. One college girl gives him a sly smile and a little wave. He lifts his glass slightly to her, and grins.
Valerie Lott:) What is your main goal in college, Brent?
Brent S.:) To score. What else?
VL:) You mean high on tests?
BS:) No. (laughs)
VL:) What about academics?
BS:) College is the time to have fun. Unless you're an athlete. Then you gotta work before you can get high.
VL:) You don't study or work?
BS:) Not much.
VL:) Why is that?
BS:) Don't need a job. Never had one, never will.
VL:) So you're not here to learn anything.
BS:) What for?
VL:) What do your parents say?
BS:) Have fun, son. Here's a check.
VL:) Too busy to be bothered?
BS:) Dad's a busy man, sure. Do I want to be an investment banker like him, with no time to have fun? Not hardly. So no, I don't have any big career goals. But then, ya know, some guys get a cake on their birthdays. I got a new Cadillac Escalade. See? (He points toward the evidence, yet the camera never leaves his face)
VL:) How did that make you feel?
BS:) Not getting a cake, just an SUV? Oh, I don't know. Great? (laughs) What do ya think?
VL:) What do you think?
BS:) About what?
VL:) About anything. What are you thinking right now?
BS:) That this is. . . pretty much weird. What is it you want me to say here?
VL:) Anything you like. Start with the truth.
BS:) What's your point?
VL:) I don't have one at the moment.
BS:) I think you're lying. I think your point is to target some college kids so you can blame them for whatever it is you been assigned to cover. Maybe begin by cornering some privileged white dude outside a bar, and have a go at making him fit the profile.
VL:) What profile?
BS:) You name it.
VL:) Okay. Let's start with the profile of the typical visitor to your internet site.
BS, looking away, smiling to himself:) Oh, and now it comes out. I wasn't random after all, was I?
VL:) I never said you were.
BS:) So I'm a playboy. Who wouldn't want to be me?
(He finishes his beer) You ever seen those Girls Gone Wild videos? Those girls go wild for a reason, honey. (a pause) It's kinda like that, and I film it. Big deal.
VL:) You recruit these girls?
BS:) If they're eighteen, not old like you. (chuckles)
VL:) Did you know Sarah Collins?
BS:) Who? Naw. Look, I don't know any women. Who really knows 'em, anyway? You think I got girls as buddies? What am I, gay? Do I look
gay to you?
VL:) No, you don't look gay, but then Sarah was fifteen, so you don't look very intelligent either.
BS:) What did I just say? Read my lips. I. . . didn't. . . know. . . the. . . girl. If she was fifteen, she wasn't on my site, anyway. I always get a driver's license and birth certificate. Always. And they sign a release, too.
VL:) Did you tell the police this?
BS:) I don't tell the police anything, okay? They looked at my records, but I didn't say a peep. Got it?
VL:) You referred Sarah elsewhere, didn't you?
BS, looking away, after a pause:) Ya know, I hate people like you.
VL:) All hatred is self hatred.
BS:) Who the hell said that?
VL:) I did, just now.
BS:) Yeah? Well, you're full of it. Just another (expletives deleted). That's all you are. How about that? Use that in your report, you (expletive deleted).
VL, after a pause:) Do you really think that's my profile? That it's who I am?
BS:) You know that too, honey. But I know who I am. I'm young. I'm rich. I'm good looking. Things that just eat you up.
VL:) You may be young, rich and good looking, Brent, but did you have anything to do with that? (a pause) Have you ever tried being honest with yourself about anything? Or with a counselor?
BS, laughing:) Wow, you can play offense too, can't you? Bravo. (claps) Maybe one day you'll actually score, yourself. Maybe even with somebody rich and good looking, just like me.
VL, after a pause:) You think we're all players trying to score points?
BS:) Okay, you can stop now. (Makes a "time out" sign) You want the truth? Here it is. It is all a game, yeah. This whole thing. What you're doing, what I'm doing. . . (Makes a sweeping gesture around him) Batteries included. Understand? You got your point of view, and I got mine, and like every other player, we're looking over each other's shoulder toward the goal. . . and so when you offend, I defend. And vice versa. It's what we do. Never give an inch, that's my motto. And yours too. It's all about winning, baby.
VL:) What is it that we win?
BS:) Whatever floats your boat. Whatever keeps the sharks away. Thing is, I don't need to lie because I can buy.
VL:) Can you buy peace of mind?
BS:) I can buy anything. I can even buy you. (grins) See, if you find the game offensive, it's because you want my ball. And, you know, the Earth is a ball, too. It's a small world, after all. Wanna know who's going on the offense, next? Flip a coin. Flip two coins. Flip a third into the fountain, and make a wish. Wish the world was different than the way it is, bitch.
(Brent rises and turns to leave)
VL:) Wait.
BS:) What?
VL:) There's one more question.
BS:) Yeah? What's that?
VL:) Did you know most criminals in prison didn't know their fathers, either? And that some of them take college courses, too?
BS, with a chuckle:) Does it look like I'm in prison to you?
(Sanders gives Val the finger, walking away as the camera tracks him to his black Cadillac Escalade. Another young man greets him there with a high five. Sanders hooks a thumb to indicate the camera, and the second young man stares into the lens over Brent's shoulder. Finally, they both laugh, and leave, the SUV blasting rap music. Fade.)
SEGMENT 4: Claire Robinson, KTAT station owner, sole heir to the Summerlin Communications Group.
LOCATION: Mrs. Robinson's foothills home, Oro Valley, morning.
A wrought iron gate is seen to swing open onto a weave pattern cobblestone driveway. An aging Taurus enters and parks. Val gets out and walks to the heavy wooden double doors, which open before she can ring the bell. A middle aged Hispanic woman appears in a maid's uniform to invite Val inside.
CUT to a sitting room, where a silver tea service is laid out on a serving table between two Windsor chairs. Beyond the veiled French doors is a back yard landscaped with Cyprus trees, framing a large rectangular pool. Behind half a dozen teak Adirondack style lounges chairs stands an ornately carved pine gazebo, its six segmented pillars supporting a slated convex canopy.
CUT to Val waiting near the French doors. The camera slowly pans the sitting room, which is wallpapered in brushed gold foil. An oil painting depicting a classic wooden speedboat in a Maine seaport is lit by a craning halogen. A fused glass wall sconce offsets a tall, closed bamboo TV cabinet. On a small antique writing desk is the framed photo of a young man about to toss a football on the lawn in front of a college dorm. It is the same young man who greeted Brent at the end of an earlier segment. When the camera circles to the door, Mrs. Robinson stands there. She is an elegant, thin woman in her late 50s, wearing a moss green blouse with an ivory pendant at the clasp of the collar. Her slight smile is awkward yet discreetly confident. They sit in opposite chairs, and are offered tea by the maid.
Valerie Lott:) Thank you for seeing me.
Claire Robinson:) Thank you for coming. You look lovely. And what would you like to talk about today, Valerie?
VL:) Whatever you like.
CR, smiling curiously:) You'll need to be a little more specific, won't you? Although Greg did tell me your new format is a bit out of the ordinary. (a pause) Are you going to ask me anything at all?
VL:) Okay. Are the same things important to you as to the station's viewers?
CR:) Of course, dear. It's always important to know the audience, and to give them what they want.
VL:) Why is that? Do they really know what they want?
(Claire casually looks toward the pool for a moment, as if needing time to process tone and intent from insufficient clues)
CR:) These are unusual questions, Valerie. But I'm proud of what you've done recently, as you can see. (She lifts one palm in Val's direction in a "here you are" gesture) You've shown bravery and resourcefulness, and our viewers have obviously responded to that.
VL:) Am I important, now?
CR:) Well, David Leiter's story couldn't be told without you. You've even said as much, yourself. Haven't you? (She smiles slyly) Are you going to ask me for a raise now? Because it does seem like the perfect time. Even to me. (She lifts one delicate hand to her mouth) Oh my God, did I really just say that? (She wags a finger)
VL:) Do you believe in God, Mrs. Robinson?
CR:) Of course I do, Valerie. But God doesn't pay our bills. Besides, I'm sure He has plenty of His own.
VL:) He?
CR:) Or She. (Claire leans forward, as an aside:) A word of advice about asking for a raise? Strike while the iron is hot. But remember not to count your chickens before they hatch, or you might just end up eating egg salad for a month.
VL:) I hadn't planned to ask for a raise, Mrs. Robinson.
(Claire looks down at the floor for a moment, her eyes moving from side to side; then she looks up)
CR:) Okay, Valerie, are you going to tell me what it is that you want, if not a raise?
VL:) Just to have a conversation. Since we've never really had one before.
CR:) But we have talked before. Don't you remember?
VL:) Only on the phone. Never here. Never real.
CR, resettling herself after sipping her tea, expansively:) Okay, now's our chance, then. What would you like to talk about?
(Val looks up at the ceiling, then out at the pool, and finally over at the writing table)
VL:) Do you talk to your son much?
CR:) Mark? Of course I do. He's a senior at the University. A political science major.
VL:) Is that who he is?
CR:) Is this a question?
VL:) Do you know his friend Brent?
CR:) My son has many friends, I'm sure.
VL:) Is that an answer? (a pause) It's been said that people rarely change unless something dramatic forces them to see things with a new perspective.
CR:) Is this what happened to you, Valerie?
VL:) Yes.
CR, smiling slightly to herself:) I see. (She takes another sip of tea) You want my opinion?<
br />
VL:) I want to hear anything you have to say.
CR:) I think what you're doing is commendable, actually. You've been through an ordeal, and revealed an entirely new kind of hero for us to marvel at. No superpowers or magic involved there, though, for sure. No machismo, no bulging muscles. Far as I can tell, he's nothing but a pacifist who resisted evil with just his innocence as a weapon.
VL:) But he didn't resist, Mrs. Robinson.
CR:) Because resistance would be futile? Is that what you mean to say?
VL:) I don't mean to say anything. It's the only way to say what you mean.
CR, smiling:) Another riddle.
VL:) Not when you understand that resistance is the cousin of evil. And that evil is only the truth, twisted. In fear of itself.
CR:) So if David didn't resist this evil, then what did he do?
VL:) He asked the same questions he'd asked himself. The questions I'm asking with Time Out. Then he listened and waited.
CR:) Waited for what?
VL:) For the truth. Except it wasn't really waiting. Not like those who wait in line at the post office.
CR:) But tell me, though. Don't you think what's so attractive about David's story is that anyone can do what he's done, and be who he is?
VL:) No one can do what he's done, or be who he is. You can only be yourself, and only when you no longer think about what's attractive, or become obsessed with how your story might turn out.
CR:) You mean you don't think about your own story, anymore? How it might turn out, if David doesn't wake up? (a pause; she smiles slyly) Don't you want a fairy tale ending, at least, Valerie? Or a fairy tale wedding with a big ring? Because, you know, Greg told me you've had a job offer from the Associated Press. Something about covering science and religion as a reporter?
(A pause as Val lifts her purse and takes out Sarah Collins’ journal, which resembles David's. She holds it out, but Claire only stares at it)
CR:) What's this?
VL:) Nothing you should be afraid of, anymore.
(Curiously, Claire takes the journal, and places it on her lap, the fingers of both hands then lightly touching the cover)
CR:) Does this belong to you now?
VL:) I don't own it. But then I don't really own anything, do I?
The Miraculous Plot of Leiter & Lott Page 28