G.I. Jane Page #4

JORDAN:

(with a look)

Is this my glory, sir?

On the upper walkway, a frazzled N.I.C. SECRETARY

appears. She spots Royce and Jordan below.

N.I.C. SECRETARY

Excuse me, but I have Senator

DeHaven on the line for you.

ROYCE:

Jesus God, what now?

He bounds up the stairs toward his office.

N.I.C. SECRETARY

I'm sorry, sir no -- she asked to

speak with Lieutenant O'Neil.

Royce turns back and gives Jordan a hall-of-fame look.

"Oh, really?"

INT. DEHAVEN'S OFFICE - CAPITOL BLDG. - DAY

DEHAVEN:

(into phone)

So everyone I talk to says you're

top drawer with silk stockings

inside.

JORDAN (V.O.)

Thank you, ma'am. Um, may I ask

what this is regarding?

DEHAVEN:

(reading file)

High-school pentathlete... ROTC

scholarship, graduated with

honors... top marks in Basic

Training... and, as it just so

happens, a constituent of my home

state of Virginia. Oh, the things

I'll do for one extra vote.

INT. BULLPEN - N.I.C. - DAY

On the phone, Jordan glances around. Co-workers mull

within earshot. Those out of earshot post E-mail memos on

Jordan's computer: "Moving up in life." "I want a full

report." "Don't tell her who you really voted for."

DEHAVEN:

Lieutenant O'Neil, I am prepared to

nominate you for the Navy's Special

Reconnaissance program. Should you

accept, you'll ship out to Coronado

next week and join in the big

testosterone festival. Complete the

course, and you'll have a fast

ticket to any assignment you want.

That's my personal promise to you.

A beat as Jordan's mind catches up to her ears. Now

INTERRCUTTING the two:

JORDAN:

"Coronado."

DEHAVEN:

California.

JORDAN:

I know that, sir. Ma'am. It's just

that... Beggin' your pardon,

Senator, but... do you understand

that this involves combat training?

DEHAVEN:

This is just a test case, O'Neil.

But if it works out -- if you work

out -- it could well change the

Navy's official policy on women in

combat. Or, actually, its official

non-policy. Now who's your

immediate superior there?

JORDAN:

Captain Dwyer. Technically.

DEHAVEN:

My office will fill him in and help

expedite. Look forward to meeting

you at the proper time. Jumping off

now...

JORDAN:

Uh, question, ma'am.

DEHAVEN:

Yes, dear.

JORDAN:

Would I be the only one? The only

woman?

DEHAVEN:

There'll be more to follow -- but

yes, dear, right now you're the pick

of a very large litter. And your

success would mean a lot. Jumping,

now...

The line goes dead. Jordan hangs up catatonically.

JORDAN:

Well, sh*t-a-doodle-do...

EXT. GUNKHOLE HARBOR - POTOMAC - NIGHT

A small gunkhole harbor up the Potomac. Snow falls thick

and silent on overturned canoes, stored for the winter.

Beyond stands a clapboard rental house.

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