INTERIOR:
TELEPHONE COMPANY INFORMATION OFFICE. DAY.

We move slowly through a crowded office. A hundred

information operators in booths. SHARON works at a computer

terminal. Close on her. She's on a kind of autopilot as she

does her job, and the people talking to her hear so little

personality that her humanity barely registers. That she

might have a beauty that is becoming hollow, or a private

life that would astonish them -- this, no one thinks about.

She watches the clock. Five minutes to six.

SHARON:

Please hold for the number.

Operator 134, what city please?

(Pause, as she

types in the name.)

Is that a business or residence?

Please hold for the number.

(Pause.)

Operator 134. What city please?

(Pause.)

How do you spell that?

The clock. Two minutes to six.

SHARON:

(pause)

Please hold for the number.

(Pause.)

Operator 134. What city please?

(Pause.)

Is that a business or residence?

(Pause.)

Please hold for the number.

Pause. Behind her, a woman, another OPERATOR, waits for the

chair.

Six o'clock.

SHARON gets up. The other OPERATOR takes her place and takes

her headphones. SHARON starts to stand as she begins the

next sentence. Pause.

SHARON:

Operator 134. Is that a business or

residence? ...

And the other OPERATOR takes her headset and completes the

number as SHARON leaves her post.

OPERATOR:

Please hold for the number.

SHARON walks away.

Cut to:

EXTERIOR:
STREET. NIGHT.

And now we see her sitting in the back of a Jaguar

convertible. VIC is driving the car. VIC looks to someone

offscreen.

VIC:

What about them?

SHARON:

No. He's wearing a rug, and she has

a nose job.

VIC:

It's not a bad nose job.

SHARON:

They're all bad.

Now we see VIC. He is a beardless werewolf [I mean,

spiritually]. SHARON is excited. She likes danger.

Underneath, we feel her deep exhaustion.

SHARON:

Let's go to the Continental Club.

VIC:

Really?

SHARON:

Come on, Vic, you don't want to go

back to the airport.

He's thinking.

VIC:

I like the airport. I like the bars

at the airport hotels. I like

tourists.

(Meaning the bar:)

I don't want that tonight.

SHARON:

What's the matter, are you scared

of getting dirty?

VIC:

(uncertain)

Maybe.

SHARON:

C'mon, Vic. That's the place to

start. Let's have some fun.

From her challenging smile, his laugh, we cut to:

INTERIOR:
BAR. NIGHT.

A rummy's bar in Hollywood. SHARON and VIC lean against a

wall, drinking from bottles. VIC studies a couple sitting

alone at a table, side by side. Sharp-featured, long-haired,

not talking, they are smoking.

SHARON:

I like them.

VIC:

You would.

SHARON and VIC walk across the floor to the table. They

slide into the seat facing the couple. Call her DIANA.

Call him RANDY.

VIC:

I'm Vic.

SHARON:

I'm Sharon.

VIC:

Hi.

RANDY and DIANA are quietly amused.

RANDY:

What brings you to this side of

town?

SHARON:

We got tired of shooting the dogs

where the rich people live.

DIANA:

What are you looking for now?

SHARON:

Now we're looking for something a

little less obvious.

VIC:

But fun. Definitely fun. We're very

social people.

RANDY:

You might be asking for something

you couldn't handle.

SHARON:

I can handle it.

RANDY:

What if things go out of control?

SHARON:

What's control got to do with it?

VIC:

I think he wants to find out if

you have any limits.

SHARON:

Tell him that I haven't found them

yet.

VIC:

Sharon hasn't found her limits yet.

DIANA:

Talk, talk, talk.

(To RANDY:
)

Let's go somewhere.

VIC:

I have a store. Let's go to the store.

They stand up. VIC takes DIANA'S hand. RANDY and SHARON

follow.

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