Birthday Girl Page #2

JOHN:

We all have someone in our past who

uh... one skeleton, if you like.

We've all got at least one person,

as it were, under the patio. Not

literally of course. I suppose I

only say this because I always thought

people who did this sort of thing

were... I had an image that they

were losers. Not losers. A bit sad.

But I think this is the modern world.

And I think really it's quite a brave

move. Quite a brave, reasonable thing

to do.

He smiles.

JOHN:

Sorry can we start again?

SINGLE CARD ON BLACK:

BIRTHDAY GIRL:

John's fingers in close-up, type JOHN BUCKINGHAM, and his

AMEX number into his PC. Finished, he stops, and rests his

face on his hands.

He hits SEND. That instant, a worry of black crows bursts up

in the field behind him and takes to the swirling air.

Blackout. Music. Titles.

The titles pop and slide over footage of Russian women, on

computer video, advertising themselves. They mostly speak in

Russian, some of which is subtitled, some speak in English.

The women slide on and off the screen, overlap and collide,

as the titles appear. Close-ups on mouths and eyes, tight

and pixellated. It becomes a wall of image and sound.

CUT TO:

EXT. SKY - DAY

The GIGANTIC UNDERSIDE of a Boeing 747 TEARS down the screen.

INT. AIRPORT TRAVELATOR - DAY

John slides across the screen, motionless, towards Arrivals.

INT. AIRPORT - DAY.

Last calls for flights leaving for the other side of the

world.

Travellers criss-cross and swirl.

INT. AIRPORT MAIN ARRIVALS BOARD - DAY

BA 1880 MOSCOW On time.

INT. AIRPORT RESTROOM - DAY

He dries his face with a paper towel, then checks himself in

the mirror. He looks okay, a little white.

INT. ARRIVALS GATE - DAY

The Arrivals gate slides open and passengers flood through.

John stands among the chauffeurs and cab drivers, as the

passengers trundle by.

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