EXT. ASTON, PENNSYLVANIA -- VARIOUS ANGLES -- WINTER NIGHT
A middle-class, blue-collar suburb outside Philadelphia.
In WIDE EXTERIOR SHOTS we see:
CONCHESTER BOWLING ALLEY. A KMART. A PATHMARK grocery store.
Their parking lots filled with American-made cars.
COCO’S PIZZERIA. Families cram into vinyl booths eatingpizza, Herr’s potato chips, and cheesesteaks.
O’FLAGHERTY’S PUB. A MAN and a WOMAN make-out against hispick-up truck. His hands are buried in her back pockets.
SUN VALLEY HIGH SCHOOL. A football game is played under thelights.
EXT. 142 LAMP POST LANE -- DEB’S HOUSE -- NIGHT
A modest split-level Colonial built in the 1960s. A DodgeSpirit and a Ford Escort are parked in the crumbling drive.
The sidewalks are flanked by crusted, weeks-old mounds ofsnow. Two yellow lights glow in the upstairs bedroom windows.
One bright, the other dim.
The dim light grows dimmer and dimmer until it goes dark.
INT. MASTER BEDROOM -- DEB’S HOUSE -- NIGHT
CLOSE ON A CLOCK RADIO: 7:27 PM. Cyndi Lauper’s ‘Time After
Time’ plays as WE PAN AROUND THE ROOM. The decor hasn’t beenupdated since the 80s. Floral balloon valances, turquoisecarpet, and a wooden JcPenney bedroom set.
Atop the dresser are stacks of paperback romance novels,
souvenir shot glasses from Sea Isle City, New Jersey, aplastic ashtray filled with Parliament Light butts, and a sixpack
of Miller Lite cans.
Continuing along, picture frames hang on the wall. Searsportrait studio photographs of a mother, DEB, and herdaughter, BRIDGET, over the years. From rompers to overallsto braces and crimped hair. In the most recent photo Bridgetholds a baby boy in her arms.
Finally we arrive at the bathroom door. Inside, DEB CONNOR,
32, trim, attractive, stands before the mirror applyingmascara as she sings along to the music. She’s dressed in ablouse, a too-short miniskirt and knee-high leather boots.
She’s reckless, petulant, impulsive: more girl than woman.
Her sister believes she drinks too much. It’s the smokingthat concerns her mother. She had Bridget at sixteen-years-
old and her life since has been a series of bad decisions,
dead-end jobs and dead-end men. And yet she’s unreasonablyhopeful that one man -- one great romance -- could change itall. A Prince Charming could rescue her from the doldrums ofher blue-collar existence and transport her to that drugstoreromance novel denouement she so desperately believes exists.
Deb exits the bathroom, cracks open a can of beer and takes aswig. She calls into the hallway now --
Bridg, can you come in here? I needyour help with something.
Moments later, BRIDGET, 17, enters in a Sun Valley HS t-shirt
and sweatpants. She was prettier and slimmer in the pictures.
Happier, too. Much of that change can be attributed to thefact that she’s a mother now: chronically sleep-deprived andoverwhelmed. She quietly closes the door behind her.
Which boots do you like?
Sshh. I finally got him down.
Bridget turns the volume down on the clock radio, then belly-
flops onto the bed, wiped.
I think he’s cuttin’ another tooth.
Keeps gnawin’ on his pacifier.
Which boots? Hurry up, Brett’s
gonna be here.
Bridget props her head up on her hands, considers the bootson Deb’s feet: one brown, one black.
Really? I was kinda thinkin’ thebrown.
I don’t like the brown. Too manystraps goin’ on or something.
Yes, really. Geez.
I like all the straps. Gives it alittle something extra.