EXT. ALLEYWAY - NIGHT
A dark and narrow alleyway, empty of people, sodden as though it has only recently stopped raining. Tall buildings on either side give the impression of a city just out of sight.
A DOOR in one wall is suddenly outlined in light, as though a blinding light is shining on the other side. The Door opens, and two people step through. Charles Smith steps through first, a man in his late 20s wearing a stylish suit (for the time, around 1985) and short but unfashionably unkempt hair. He is carrying a RETRACTABLE UMBRELLA in his hand. He looks over his shoulder at Ms. Doughty, then offers her his other hand, helping her over the threshold. She is a thin-lipped middle-aged bureaucrat in a slightly threadbare and loosely-tailored business suit from the same era. It's obvious that she's not comfortable with the suit, the heels, or Smith.
They are briefly illuminated by the bright light of the door behind them, and then Smith closes the door and returns the alley to darkness. He lifts off of the handle the TIME PENDANT (a small pendant on a silver chain) and slips it over his head.
SMITH
(offering his arm)
Shall we, then?
MS. DOUGHTY reluctantly takes his arm.
Smith and Ms. Doughty walk out of the alley and turn into a street. They walk purposefully down the street toward a mugging just beginning at the end of the street. A middle-aged YUPPIE is being held up at knifepoint by a STREET PUNK, an Hispanic teenager with a desperate, worried look. Ms. Doughty hangs back a little while Smith strides forward into the middle of the scene.
STREET PUNK
Just hand it over!
YUPPIE
Look, I...
SMITH
(to punk)
You don't want to do this.
STREET PUNK
And who the hell are you?
SMITH
(extends umbrella)
I'm the guy who's about to clean your clock.
STREET PUNK
(brandishing his knife)
Yeah? And what about them?
Smith coolly surveys the surrounding area as three more Punks fade in from the shadows behind the Street Punk. The Yuppie takes this moment of distraction as a cue to run to a safe distance. Ms. Doughty backs up against the wall, obviously trying to blend into it.
SMITH
(smiling)
I only brought the one umbrella.
In one smooth motion, Smith steps back and swings the umbrella around, smacking the Street Punk's wrist. The knife drops to the ground and clatters away. Two of the PUNKS charge Smith barehanded, but he grabs the first and accelerates him into the second. They trip over each other and drop to the ground.
He swings the umbrella around again, causing Punk 3 to dodge and lose his balance. Smith takes the opportunity to kick the punk's leg out from under him. The punk lands hard on his back.
Smith swings the umbrella behind, catching Punk 1 in the side of the head as he gets back up. PUNK 2, still on the ground, rolls away from Smith, gets up, and runs back into the shadows.
SIRENS are heard in the distance, getting closer.
Smith catches something out of the corner of his eye and wheels around, but not quickly enough to avoid a slash from the Street Punk's knife.
SMITH
Hey!
Smith's eyes flash anger, and he grabs the knife-wielding arm of the Street Punk and pulls hard. There's a disturbing POPPING SOUND and the punk falls to the ground, holding his arm and writhing.
The sirens get louder and a patrol car screeches to a halt at the entrance to the alley. The remaining Punks run off in the other direction. Smith leans down, lifts the street punk to his feet, and dusts him off a little.
SMITH
(leaning in close)
Think about what you're doing. You could be more than this.
STREET PUNK
What?
SMITH
Your life. This is your whole life you're messing with. Just pay a little more attention, okay?
STREET PUNK
(terrified)
Who are you?
SMITH
The visible hand of history.
A Police Officer walks up the alley toward the remaining PUNK as his Partner moves toward Smith and the Street Punk, gun drawn warily. The Yuppie stands behind their patrol car at the entrance to the alley. Smith takes his hands off the street punk, holds them out, and drops the (now tattered) umbrella on the ground.
SMITH
It's alright, officers. I think they've seen the light.
The Police Officers take both Punks to the patrol car with no resistance. Smith walks back over to Ms. Doughty, who steps back into the light to meet him. He fingers the gash in his suit jacket and shirt, opening it wide enough to show that he himself wasn't cut by the knife.
SMITH
And it's vintage, too. Billy's gonna kill me.
MS. DOUGHTY
Just what was that all about?
SMITH
Just what I said it would be. I--
MS. DOUGHTY
You didn't say anything about fighting in an alley. Honestly, brawling like a bunch of schoolchildren. I have half a mind...
(composing herself)
Honestly. When I agreed to observe you on this...
SMITH
mission--
MS. DOUGHTY
--mission, you said it was going to be important! You said--
SMITH
I said we'd be saving a man's life. And we did.
SMITH walks back to where he dropped the umbrella and picks it up, surveying the damage. MS. DOUGHTY follows him.
MS. DOUGHTY
Oh really?!? And who exactly did all this...
(waves vaguely around)
...this... actually save?
SMITH
(standing up straight)
A future mayor of this city.
Ms. Doughty looks sharply over at the patrol car, in front of which the Yuppie speaks animatedly to the bored-looking Police Officer. His Partner sits inside using the radio. The Street Punk stares sullenly out the back window at Smith.
SMITH
(peering distractedly at the umbrella)
Good one, too.
MS. DOUGHTY
(squinting at YUPPIE)
What? Which...
Smith glances at her, smirks, then points with the umbrella at the Street Punk.
SMITH
Gutierrez. Served three terms. Almost ran for president.
Smith walks away from the patrol car, back toward the side alley they originally came through. Ms. Doughty follows, glancing back over her shoulder at the patrol car and briefly stumbling over her heels. She catches up to Smith just as he reaches a door. He takes off his PENDANT and loops it over the doorknob. A bright light shines through the cracks of the door, then floods them with light as Smith opens the door. The two walk through, and the now-blinding light fades to the MAIN TITLE.
INt. CHANGING ROOM - DAY
This room is as noisy, bright, warm, and active as the alleyway was dark and empty. Row upon row of wooden lockers branch off a central corridor, with benches and chairs haphazardly placed between them, giving the impression of a cross between a busy police station and an amateur theater troupe. A large number of Agents buzz around, chatting with each other as they change into or out of costumes. WILLIAM MACDOUGALL, universally called "Billy", holds a stack of file folders and places a few of them on benches near their intended recipients.
Smith and Ms. Doughty walk briskly down the central corridor. Billy sees them, smiles, and props the stack of papers on one knee as he gets Smith's attention with a wave.
BILLY
Smith! Right on time. Flawless execution, I suspect?
SMITH
(shaking Billy's hand)
Absolutely, Billy. Went by the book the whole way. Well, except...
Smith holds up his arm, showing the shredded suit jacket to Billy. Billy winces.
BILLY
Jeebus, Smith!
(frowning and poking at the rip)
It was vintage, too. You know how hard those are to find now?
SMITH
(holding out the skinny tie to Billy)
Hey, the tie's still intact.
They laugh, which causes Ms. Doughty to scowl and butt in.
MS. DOUGHTY
Mr. Smith!
SMITH
What? Oh. Right.
Smith looks at Billy and gestures with the suit jacket, as though to ask permission. Billy nods and waves the two of them down the corridor. Smith pats his shoulder, and he and Ms. Doughty set off together toward a door at the far end of the room.
INT. HALLWAY - DAY (CONTINUOUS)
MS. DOUGHTY
I'm a patient woman, Mr. Smith, but you still have a lot to explain.
SMITH
Not exactly my strongest suit. Maybe the captain can do a better job.
They arrive at an office door marked "Cpt. Lizet Glass, Supervisor". Smith knocks, avoiding Ms. Doughty's gaze.
CPT. GLASs (o.s.)
Come in!
Smith opens the door, then gestures for Ms. Doughty to enter.
INT. CAPTAIN'S OFFICE - DAY
The office of Captain Lizet Glass is small and cluttered, but an exterior window brings in enough light to keep it from feeling claustrophobic. Cpt. Glass, a middle-aged black woman with a no-nonsense attitude and a business suit that's just shy of a uniform, sits behind her desk, pen in hand. She stands up once she sees Ms. Doughty, puts down the pen, and takes off her reading glasses.
CPT. GLASS
Done already? I didn't realize it was going to be so quick.
MS. DOUGHTY
Neither did I, and if that's the kind of thing this agency gets up on an "ordinary working day", it's no wonder I've been asked to provide oversight.
CPT. Glass
(to Smith)
What did you do?
SMITH
Exactly what I said I would do. Exactly what you asked me to do. An ordinary assignment.
CPT. GLASS
And you explained it to her?
(to Doughty)
He explained it to you before?
SMITH
(simultaneous)
Yes!
MS. DOUGHTY
(simultaneous)
No!
Both Cpt. Glass and Ms. Doughty glare at Smith.
SMITH
--No, not entirely. I went over the basics.
Cpt. Glass rubs her temples and sighs.
CPT. GlASS
All right. Tell me.
SMITH
So it--
CPT. GLASS
--and sit down. You make me nervous, people standing in my office.
Smith and Ms. Doughty take seats. Cpt. Glass moves some papers aside and returns to her chair.
CPT. GLASS
(to Doughty)
Can I get you some water?
MS. DOUGHTY
Yes, please.
CPT. GLASS
Smith, pour the lady some water. And start explaining.
Smith stands up again, walks over to a water cooler in the corner, and grabs a cup from beside it. As he pours, he starts explaining.
SMITH
Like I said, it was an ordinary assignment, something quick like you asked. Billy just finished the puzzle on a little push, and he thought it would be perfect for taking her along.
CPT. GLASS
Hold on, back up.
(to Doughty)
Did you actually get that?
Ms. Doughty takes the cup of water offered by Smith, but shakes her head.
CPT. GLASS
So say it again, but this time actually explain it.
Smith just stares at her sullenly.
CPT. GLASS
Fine, I will.
(to Doughty)
Billy's an events researcher, a kind of historian who can check his answers in the back of the book. He knows more about what really went on in the 20th Century than the three of us combined.
MS. DOUGHTY
Not to malign your staff, but is that really so difficult? It's not exactly ancient history.
CPT. GLASS
Let me put it this way. Do you know what JFK had for breakfast the morning he died? How about the exact number of people on the south side of the parade route?
Ms. Doughty shakes her head again.
CPT. GLASS
Billy knows, because it's his business to know. Was, at least. That file's closed and he's moved on to other things.
MS. DOUGHTY
But why? Who does it help?
CPT. GLASS
That's also Billy's business. He's different from your usual historian in another way; he figures out where and when history needs... a little nudge.
MS. DOUGHTY
A nudge.
CPT. GLASS
Here and there, yes.
MS. DOUGHTY
What kind of nudge?
CPT. GLASS
Like what you just saw today.
MS. DOUGHTY
That was a nudge? I'd call it a brawl.
Cpt. Glass smiles and turns back to Smith, who has taken his seat again.
CPT. GLASS
This is the part where you come in.
SMITH
Right. Billy figures out what I need to do, then I go and do what he tells me I did.
MS. DOUGHTY
What?
SMITH
(deliberately slowly)
Billy discovered a simple change to history I needed to perform... one in 1985. He got the details from the police reports, plus a first-person account from the mayor's memoir. That's what he does.
CPT. GLASS
(reading from the report on her desk)
Gutierrez wrote about how getting arrested changed his life, forced him to think about what he was doing. If he had gone through with the mugging, who knows where he would have ended up?
MS. DOUGHTY
But... who gave you the right to make that choice for him? What happened to the things he did instead of being the mayor? What happened to the other mayor, for one?
CPT. GLASS
There was no other mayor.
MS. DOUGHTY
Then what exactly did you change?
SMITH
Nothing. I made sure it happened just as it should have.
MS. DOUGHTY
Then why did you need to be there in the first place? Why is there an agency with historians, costumes, full-pension field agents and a power bill the size of the national debt?
SMITH
Because history says I was there. No one else could have done what I did, so I had to be there to do it.
CPT. GLASS
And we had to be here to send him.
MS. DOUGHTY
But that's...
CPT. GLASS
Fate?
SMITH
Destiny?
CPT. GLASS
History?
MS. DOUGHTY
...insane!
CPT. GLASS
Welcome to the my job. Try not to think about it too hard, it'll just give you a headache.
Ms. Doughty makes a little strangled sound of frustration.
CPT. GLASS
I know it's hard to swallow, but this is one you just have to accept. Trust me, I've been wrestling with it for over 30 years now.
Ms. DOUGHTY
You're asking me to just accept this on faith, but it's my job to oversee what you're doing, the decisions you're making. How can I possibly do that if it can't be questioned? Do I go back to Senator Grey and tell her, "The budget is determined by destiny?"
CPT. GLASS
Look, you saw how it works with your own eyes. I can give you a file full of historical research, interviews, computer simulations, and the personnel files of everyone who worked on them. We have that for every operation since the beginning, including this one.
Cpt. Glass picks up a folder from her desk and waves it at a point outside the door.
CPT. GLASS
There's a whole shelf full of technical manuals for operating the Door, which is something this department has been doing since the Roosevelt administration. In fact, we submit the whole shebang every year, to the Pentagon, the OMB, the NSF, and anyone else who cares to look through it. Our budget is small, it doesn't change much from year to year, and we've never gone over in the history of the department. So what exactly do you want that we're not giving you?
Ms. DOUGHTY
I'm sorry, it's just a little... hard to swallow. All this effort, all this work, all this money going into not changing anything?
SMITH
That's not so unusual. We send the border patrol out to make sure no one gets in, we send the police out to make sure crime doesn't happen, and we send cleaners out to the Washington Monument to make sure it stays the same year after year. How is this any different?
MS. DOUGHTY
I'll tell you how. We know what happens when they don't do those things. The monument gets dirty, the crimes happen. Those people are protecting us from a real threat. What happens when you don't do your job?
Smith and Cpt. Glass share a look. Neither one speaks for a few moments.
MS. DOUGHTY
Well?
CPT. GLASS
In this case, we don't get to ask that question.
MS. DOUGHTY
I see. And doesn't that strike you as a little convenient?
CPT. GLASS
Frankly, yes. But do you want to be the one to take your finger out of the dike?
MS. DOUGHTY
What do you mean?
CPT. GLASS
We can't know exactly what'll happen, but the guys with the computer models have a pretty good idea. If we don't do what history says we did, then it all starts unravelling.
MS. DOUGHTY
What starts unravelling?
CPT. GLASS
History.
MS. DOUGHTY
A city gets a different mayor?
SMITH
A prison gets a new inmate.
CPT. GLASS
...that other mayor builds a ballpark instead of a library. A kid chooses to play baseball instead of curing cancer. A cancer patient dies instead of leading the UN. Who knows what all would change?
MS. DOUGHTY
But who gave you the right to choose?
SMITH
We don't choose! We do what history says we've done.
MS. DOUGHTY
And if history says you bombed Pearl Harbor, or shot JFK?
Smith looks down at the floor. Cpt. Glass stands up suddenly.
CPT. GLASS
Then we make sure we send someone who'll do the job, and not second-guess.
Smith looks up at Cpt. Glass again. Ms. Doughty looks back and forth between the two, making the connection.
MS. DOUGHTY
Are you telling me--
CPT. GLASS
I think we're done here. Smith, thanks. Get that suit back to costumes. I'll stop by your office in half an hour.
Smith stands up and walks out of the office.
INT. SMITH'S OFFICE - NIGHT
Smith sits at his desk, reading a file by the light of an old-fashioned banker's lamp. He's back in his usual clothes, a short-sleeve button-down shirt and jeans.
His office is a bit smaller than the Captain's, and a whole lot tidier. A few files are stacked neatly on his desk, alongside a couple of books, a pair of 50s-era sunglasses, and a current-year cell phone. The PENDANT hangs from the lamp and sparkles a little. The walls of the office have a few small posters of films and events from 50s and 60s, including one of "Rebel Without a Cause". A photo of a pre-Marilyn Norma Jean sits on a battered filing cabinet.
There's a knock on the door, and Smith looks up. Cpt. Glass stands in the doorway with a kindly expression.
CPT. GLASS
It took longer than half an hour.
SMITH
How'd it go?
The Captain walks in and takes a seat. She's obviously exhausted. In a hackneyed script, she'd say something like, "I'm getting too old for this."
CPT. GLASS
I'm getting too old for this.
SMITH
Fast friends?
CPT. GLASS
Oh, the best.
(laughs)
I think I got her to stop talking about shutting us down immediately. Still, I doubt she'll give us a glowing review.
SMITH
Sorry about that.
CPT. GLASS
Not your fault. We'll just have to trust that history will take care of us.
SMITH
As usual.
CPT. GLASS
As usual.
(pauses)
How are you?
SMITH
Fine. Why?
CPT. GLASS
I saw your next assignment.
Look, Smith, I can't say I know why you're always the one to get those...
SMITH
deathwatch cases?
CPT. GLASS
Yes, the deathwatch cases. But I have to say I wouldn't choose any differently.
Really, Smith, you do this job better than anyone I've ever seen. Better than I ever did.
SMITH
Thanks. You know it isn't necessary.
CPT. GLASS
Oh, I think it is. History may say you've done all these things before, but I know what can happen when an agent screws it up.
SMITH
What?
CPT. GLASS
Oh, not enough to do any harm. But I remember a few people who came back after some real close shaves. I had one myself, early on.
SMITH
Really?
CPT. GLASS
Don't look so shocked. Not everyone has your perfect record. It wasn't anything crucial, I just bumped into the wrong man on what was supposed to be a five-minute assignment. Took me three days to steal the wallet he was supposed to drop. Just barely got it to the girl who was supposed to find it before the lottery numbers were announced.
SMITH
I had no idea.
CPT. GLASS
I was saving it up to tell you after your first close call. I just didn't think it would take ten years.
SMITH
Close call? I didn't...
CPT. GLASS
I'm not talking about the mayor, Smith.
SMITH
(looks down at the desk)
That one went off without a hitch.
CPT. GLASS
Oh, you got the job done. We all know that. But don't pretend you haven't been changed by it.
SMITH
It was no different from any other assignment--
CPT. GLASS
--except this time you pulled the trigger.
SMITH pauses, his face darkening.
SMITH
Not the only trigger.
CPT. GLASS
No, but the one that mattered. Otherwise you wouldn't have been there. Even though we don't know why.
SMITH
I don't ask why.
CPT. GLASS
No. I guess you don't. But you'll tell me if you start, right?
Smith says nothing. He just stares at the Captain.
CPT. GLASS
Smith, I want to you take that vacation.
SMITH
But... There's just one more to do before then.
CPT. GLASS
It'll keep. Billy says he has a nice trip lined up for you.
SMITH
Yeah, it'll be great. I just...
CPT. GLASS
I just need to know you'll be all here when you get back. Take your two weeks, and deal with something other than death. Go be innocent for a while.
SMITH
All right.
INT. RESEARCH OFFICE - DAY
The research office is a bit less busy than the changing room, but it makes up for it in sheer piled-up mess. The place looks like an archive collided with a fashion retrospective and a natural history museum, then the combined mess was attacked by space aliens. Computers from different eras sit here and there, the largest against the walls and the most advanced-looking ones on desks. A set of still images from the Zapruder film hang off a string, drying-photograph style. Filing cabinets are topped with historical artifacts, more files, office toys, and a model of the TARDIS.
Among the half-dozen desks in the room, Billy's desk is the most prominent, piled high with paper files overflowing onto a current-year Macintosh. A futuristic machine the size of a filing cabinet sits next to his desk. A sheet of paper has been taped to the front with the words "OUT OF ORDER, SEE BILLY" scrawled on it in Sharpie.
Smith stands next to Billy, who is seated at his desk. Billy hands him a fat folder.
BILLY
I don't even think you'll need a costume, Mister Vintage.
SMITH
Nope. It's like going home for spring break.
BILLY
Except you're supposed to have fun on spring break. You are going to have fun, right?
SMITH
(opening the folder)
You should know, Billy. Isn't there a high statistical correlation between me staying on a college campus and the simultaneous occurrence of fun?
BILLY
Are you accusing me of forcing co-eds on you?
SMITH
BILLY
Come on, Smith. You know better than that. I can't plan what history doesn't record, and this is as blank as spot as you can get around that time. What happens at Berkeley stays at Berkeley.
Smith picks up a photocopied leaflet from the folder. It's the kind of thing you'd see at a college campus advertising a poetry reading.
SMITH
(indicating the leaflet)
Ginsberg?
Billy smiles broadly.
BILLY
I'm particularly proud of that. Found that in an obscure archive, but there's no mention of what happened at the reading or who might have been there. Happy birthday.
SMITH
Thanks. That's... Are you sure it'll be okay?
BILLY
It's fine. Like I said, no record. No matter what you do, it doesn't affect him one bit. So enjoy it.
SMITH
I will.
EXT. Berkeley Campus - DAY
University of California campus, very early 1960s, before the San Francisco Renaissance. Students lounge in pairs and groups on the grounds, or walk together or alone. It's late afternoon, and the feel of the place is relaxation and recreation.
Smith walks along, dressed in his usual shirt, jeans, with the addition of sunglasses and a leather jacket, both appropriate to the period (if only just). His hair is still unfashionably unkempt, and the TIME PENDANT is visible around his neck.
Smith stops in front of the entrance to a building. He takes a copy of the poetry reading flyer out of his jacket and consults it, then looks up at the building facade before deciding to go in.
INT. Student Union - Day
The chairs of the well-lit student union building (figure out a better venue) have been arranged loosely around a small table and barstool. Sitting on the barstool is Allen Ginsberg, beat poet. He is chatting happily with the Reading Organizer and a Student, both of whom find what he is saying fascinating. Perhaps half of the chairs are occupied by other students, including Heather O'Reilly and her friends Janet and Meg, all chatting animatedly.
Smith hangs back for a few moments, looking over the scene with a frown. He's uneasy about being here, steeling himself for something that is supposed to be enjoyable. Finally, the organizer claps his hands for attention and smiles at the assembled group.
Organizer
If we could all get started... Everyone take your seats.
JANET
(to Heather)
Really?!? Oh, wow!
MEG
(to Heather)
I don't believe it!
The organizer claps again. The room quiets a little, and Smith takes a seat in the back row behind Heather. Janet and Meg shift to animated whispers and lean in closer to her, who has shifted her attention to Ginsberg.
GINSBERG
Last nite I dreamed of T.S. Eliot
welcoming me to the land of dream
Sofas couches fog in England
Tea in his digs Chelsea rainbows
curtains on his windows, fog seeping in
the chimney but a nice warm house
and an incredibly sweet hooknosed
Eliot he loved me, put me up,
gave me a couch to sleep on...
JANET
(V.O. whisper)
Don't be coy with us, Heather. I want details!
MEG
(V.O. whisper)
Yeah, Heather, you can't just tell us that and leave it there.
JANET
Yeah, we have a right to know.
MEG
We wouldn't keep it from you!
JANET
Let's go over to the skeller anyway.
MEG
Yeah, I--
Smith leans forward suddenly, his lips inches from Heather's ear.
SMITH
I hate to have a poetry reading in the middle of your conversation, but I've come a long way to hear this.
All three women jump in their seats and turn around. Heather's eyes meet Smith's for a moment.
Heather
(whispering)
Sorry.
Her friends smile sweetly at Smith. He nods to the three of them and sits back in his chair as they turn around.
GINSBERG
the bearded lady in the Zoo, the
intelligent puma in Mexico City
6 chorus boys from Zanzibar
who chanted in wornout polygot
Swahili, and the rippling rythyms
of Ma Rainey and Vachel Lindsay.
On the Isle of the Queen
we had a long evening's conversation
Then he tucked me in my long
red underwear under a silken
blanket by the fire on the sofa
gave me English Hottie
and went off sadly to his bed,
Saying ah Ginsberg I am glad
to have met a fine young man like you.
At last, I woke ashamed of myself.
Smith sits up straighter, his eyes bright as he concentrates on what Ginsberg is saying. In front of him, Heather has a similar expression on her face, while Janet looks sullen and Meg stares off into space.
GINSBERG
(V.O.)
Is he that good and kind? Am I that
great?
What's my motive dreaming his
manna? What English Department
would that impress? What failure
to be perfect prophet's made up here?
I dream of my kindness to T.S. Eliot
wanting to be a historical poet
and share in his finance of Imagery-
overambitious dream of eccentric boy.
God forbid my evil dreams come true.
Last nite I dreamed of Allen Ginsberg.
T.S. Eliot would've been ashamed of me.
EXT. BERKELEY CAMPUS - NIGHT
Smith walks away from the student union building. Heather appears at the doorway, looks around for him, and waves to get his attention.
HEATHER
Wait!
Smith doesn't hear, so she runs after him, continuing to shout.
HEATHER
Wait! You in the jacket... Hey!
Smith turns around, finally hearing her calls. He frowns as she walks up to him, a little out of breath.
HEATHER
I just wanted to say... I'm sorry.
SMITH
To me?
HEATHER
Well, I already apologized to him. He's a really nice man.
The two look back at the doorway of the student union, where Ginsberg still stands talking with a crowd of students. Janet and Meg stand a bit apart from the group, looking dolefully at Heather.
SMITH
He's a great poet.
Heather
I'll say! I hadn't read much of his before tonight. But that one about death being "that remedy all singers dream of." Wow!
(shakes her head)
"Dreaming back thru life, Your time--"
SMITH
"Your time-- and mine accelerating toward Apocalypse, the final moment..."
HEATHER
Yeah.
And "T.S. Eliot would've been ashamed of me." That cut deep.
She looks in his eyes.
That's why I had to apologize. To you, not just to him. I was... ashamed.
SMITH
It's alright.
HEATHER
If it helps, I didn't ask them to come. Well, I did originally, but they weren't going to. The only reason they came at all was to...
She trails off as she looks at Smith's face again. He's obviously paying attention, but she looks as though she's decided not to share so much right away.
HEATHER
Well anyway, I'm sorry.
SMITH
That's alright.
HEATHER
And I'm Heather.
SMITH
That's alright, Heather.
Heather looks at the ground uncomfortably while Smith just stares at her.
HEATHER
Anyway, would you, um...
I should...
A light finally dawns in Smith's face. He smiles.
SMITH
Would you like to get a... a pizza or something?
Heather smiles widely and nods.
HEATHER
That would be great! I'd love to talk some more.
SMITH
Great.
HEATHER
Let me just get Meg and Janet.
Smith looks a bit at a loss.
Heather
My friends! Just a second.
Heather runs off to tell Janet and Meg, who shrug and look at Smith suspiciously.
INT. PIZZA PARLOR - NIGHT
Smith and Heather sit across from each other, barely-touched slices of pizza and glasses of beer between them. Janet sits next to Smith, her head drooping as she stares blankly at Meg over their empty plates.
The pizza parlor is nearly empty, indicating that it's really late at night (even for college students). A couple exits out the front doors, leaving the four alone with the wait staff.
HEATHER
I don't know, it's like there's this giant gulf between what I'm learning in class and what's happening out there--
(waving hand at doors)
like the professors can't even catch up to what's really going on.
SMITH
That's because they can't! You can't expect them to be teaching Ginsberg in an American Lit class only a few years after his seminal work is published.
HEATHER
But why?!?
SMITH
He's counterculture! He's practically the embodiment of counterculture. Everything he stands for, everything he says flies in the face of what your teachers are telling you right now.
HEATHER
What good are they, then?
SMITH
They give you everything else you need to learn in order to get what he's saying at all. He didn't write in a vacuum, he's a product of his times, just like you are. Just reading Ginsberg is like skipping to the end of a mystery novel.
In this case it's more like skipping to the middle, but...
Smith looks up and realizes where (and when) he is. He stops talking abruptly.
Heather
I don't see how the one is connected to the other at all. I think he's a genius. I think--
JANET
I think they want us to go.
MEG
Yeah, can we go now?
Smith stands up, a little stiffly.
SMITH
You're right. I didn't realize how late it was getting.
Heather
Oh. All right.
(to Meg)
Yeah, we can go.
(to Smith)
Do you mind walking us back? It isn't that far...
Janet and Meg both sigh loudly, but Heather just shoots them a look.
SMITH
No-- I have to get back too.
HEATHER
Oh, okay.
SMITH
Look, it was nice... really nice to talk to you.
HEATHER
Yeah, likewise.
Smith starts to leave, but Heather grabs a pen and notepad from the counter, runs after him and catches up in the doorway.
HEATHER
Hey!
Smith stops and turns around. Heather scribbles on the pad, tears off the top sheet and gives it to him.
HEATHER
Call me sometime. Heather O'Reilly. Just ask anyone who answers to get me.
Okay?
SMITH
Okay.
EXT. Berkeley Campus - DAY
It's the part we've been waiting for, the montage of LURVE. It's the cinematic equivalent of hand-waving, that sequence of scenes with no dialogue and only the vaguest hints of specific actions.
At the same time, it's seriously effective. A bit of laughter here, an animated conversation there, a walk in the park, a late-night dinner where nothing actually gets eaten. It's a summary of the long, generally boring process SMITH and HEATHER go through as they slowly but surely fall in love.
Well, not that slowly. He's only there for a couple of weeks, so it's not like they've had months to get to know each other. Still.
INT. Pizza Parlor - DAY
Smith sits across from Heather at the same table they shared earlier. This time they're alone, or as alone as one gets in a busy college restaurant. Students continually file in and out of the place, and a continuous murmur of conversation goes on in the background.
None of this seems to touch these two. They sit grinning at each other, oblivious to their surroundings.
HEATHER
Who are you, anyway?
SMITH
What? Do I have to introduce myself again?
HEATHER
No, I mean... You know everything about me, not that there's a lot to tell. We've been friends for a week and all I know about you is that you don't go to Berkeley and you like beat poetry.
SMITH
It's been a week?
Smith looks thoughtful for a second.
HEATHER
Don't try to dodge the question, Charles Smith. I really want to know.
SMITH
Okay. What do you want to know? I can't promise it'll be interesting.
HEATHER
Do you go to college?
SMITH
No. I work.
HEATHER
Where do you work?
SMITH
I work for the government.
HEATHER
Oh! Anything exciting?
SMITH
Not really. I'm a field agent.
HEATHER
That does sound exciting!
SMITH
You haven't been in a field lately.
HEATHER
You're teasing. Anyway, I grew up on a farm. I know all about fields.
SMITH
Really? I didn't know that. What kind of farm?
HEATHER
Don't change the subject. We were talking about you.
SMITH
Just making the point that I don't know everything about you.
HEATHER
You know everything about me that it's fantastically boring. Here I'm just finding out you're a government spy.
SMITH
I'm not a spy!
HEATHER
Oh really?
(ticks off on her fingers)
A mysterious stranger, in town for no reason, wears dark glasses, works for the government as a "field agent"...
Sounds like a G-man to me.
SMITH
No, can't be. G-men wear suits.
HEATHER
Ah, but you're a spy. Have to blend in with your...
(waves at the room)
whoever you're spying on.
SMITH
I could pick someone better to spy on than beat poets.
HEATHER
Even spies have interests.
They laugh.
SMITH
Seriously, not a spy. I'd be lousy at it. I always lost at hide and seek.
They laugh again, letting it go until they've run out.
HEATHER
What do you do for the government, then?
SMITH
I'm just an observer, really. Kind of an... applied historian.
HEATHER
Hm. Who do you work for?
SMITH
The Bureau of Historical Affairs and Management.
Heather pauses at this, looking skeptically at Smith as though to test whether he's kidding.
HEATHER
Okay, you're right. That is boring.
SMITH
Thanks.
Smith laughs. Heather blushes a little.
HEATHER
I'm sorry, it's just...
(laughing along with Smith)
you should have gone with spy.
SMITH
Yeah, I'll just go with that next time.
HEATHER
Really. Yes. Wow.
How do you even get into something like that?
SMITH
I was recruited.
HEATHER
Really?
SMITH
Yeah, right out of high school.
HEATHER
Wow. Like a football team.
SMITH
Yeah.
Except boring.
HEATHER
Right. Well, when I get my degree, I'll have to look them up. Do they hire English majors?
They laugh again.
SMITH
They only recruit. I don't think they accept applications.
HEATHER
Oh, now you're just trying to be mysterious.
SMITH
No, really! The way it works...
DIRK (O.S)
Hi, Heather!
Heather startles and looks up at Dirk, who stands at the end of the table. He's a student Heather's age, taller than Smith and athletic in a kind of gawky way. He looks at Heather with warm admiration, but shoots a sidelong glance at Smith as well.
HEATHER
Uh, Dirk!
There's an awkward pause. Smith raises his eyebrows at Heather, Dirk continues to look back and forth between Heather and Smith, and Heather is at a total loss.
HEATHER
I...
DIRK
I haven't seen you around much lately. Been busy?
Dirk gives Smith another pointed look.
HEATHER
I...
Heather looks helplessly at Smith, who sticks his hand out at Dirk.
SMITH
Charles Smith. And you are...
HEATHER
Dirk! This is Charles, my... friend. From. Charles, this is my... friend... Dirk.
SMITH
Nice to finally meet you, Dirk.
DIRK
Finally? Have you been... How long have...
SMITH
I've actually just been visiting for a few days. Heather's been nice enough to show me around.
HEATHER
Yes. Charles is a spy.
Heather looks surprised at her own words. Smith smirks a little as Dirk's head whips around in amazement.
DIRK
Really?
SMITH
No, not really. I'm on vacation. My real job is too dull to be believed, so I pretend to be a spy.
DIRK
Oh. Yeah. Well.
Smith offers Dirk a seat next to Heather.
SMITH
Care to join us? We were just talking about what Heather's going to do after she graduates.
DIRK
Thanks.
Dirk sits down eagerly, but Heather frowns at him. Smith continues, a little bit of forced joviality in his voice.
SMITH
So Heather mentioned she's an English major. What's your major, Dirk?
DIRK
Uh, political science.
SMITH
Aha. Going into law, or international relations?
DIRK
I don't know, really. I thought about being a lawyer, but I might want to go into business. My dad's an accountant, and he's always after me to join his firm. You know, father and son.
SMITH
Uh-huh. How about you, Heather?
Heather frowns again, this time at Smith.
HEATHER
What? I... I haven't really thought about it.
DIRK
Probably depends on if you get married first.
Heather looks sharply at Dirk.
HEATHER
What do you mean by that?
DIRK
I just... You said... When we talked about... You said you'd probably end up married before you even had to choose.
HEATHER
Yes, but I wasn't happy about it!
Dirk frowns, confused. Smith smiles at him.
SMITH
That's all right, I'm sure you just got confused.
(turning to Heather)
Besides, you can do a lot with an English degree. Teaching, law, politics...
DIRK
Politics?
HEATHER
(simultaneously)
Politics?
SMITH
... activism, that kind of thing. And there's always writing. Poetry, manifestoes, rabble-rousing. Even songs.
They both just stare ate him, mouths agape.
SMITH
It's not the kind of thing you'd do right now, granted, but you're getting into some interesting times. Civil rights, labor unions, communes, sending men to the moon... It's heady stuff. Someone has to write about it all. Why not you?
DIRK
What do you do again?
SMITH
I write a little history myself sometimes. Most people get bored, but there's something to be said for knowing your history.
EXT. COLLEGE CAMPUS - DAY
Smith walks away from the pizza parlor, a pained look on his face. Heather runs after him and calls to him.
HEATHER
Charles!
Smith stops and turns around. His face is calm and cheerful again by the time she sees it.
HEATHER
I'm sorry about that. God, I always seem to be chasing after you to apologize for my friends.
She shows him a happy smile, but he barely returns it. Heather's smile fades.
HEATHER
I should have told you about Dirk. I'm sorry. It's just... he really is just my friend. I know he'd like it to be more than that, but we really are just friends.
SMITH
It's all right. He's a good guy. You could do worse than be with him.
HEATHER
Just. Friends.
(looking him in the eye)
Really.
SMITH
Okay.
Heather moves closer to Smith and touches the front of his shirt.
HEATHER
You, on the other hand, Mr. Mysterious Spy from the Department of Dull...
She takes his collar between her fingers and pulls him gently toward herself. Despite his mild astonishment, she kisses him quickly on the mouth.
A moment passes, and his face melts into an honestly happy smile. Hers does as well, and they kiss for a bit longer.
EXT. SOMEWHERE PRETTY - DAY
Smith and Heather sit, holding hands and gazing out at the sunset over {some kinda landmark or sight}. Heather's expression is content and happy, but Smith stares straight ahead with a troubled look.
SMITH
It's beautiful.
This causes Heather to look up at his face. For some unseen reason, her face falls and she stares out with the same melancholy expression as Smith.
HEATHER
You leave tomorrow, don't you.
SMITH
Yes. First thing.
They continue to stare.
HEATHER
Will you write?
Smith pauses, as though considering the possibility. His expression becomes resolute.
SMITH
No.
Tears form in Heather's eyes, and she grips his hand tighter.
HEATHER
Can you at least tell me why?
His expression becomes pained at the sound of her sadness, but he continues to stare.
SMITH
No.
They watch as the sun sets.
INT. Changing Room - DAY
Smith sits on a bench amid the hubbub of the changing room, looking a little forlorn. It's that "first day back on the job" look; it's obvious that he'd rather be on vacation still. He's half-dressed in a terrible business suit from the early 1970s, but the jacket and tie are still hanging from a hanger on the hook in front of him. A file folder sits next to him, the same "deathwatch job" file folder he was given before he left on vacation.
BILLY
It's another one, isn't it?
SMITH
What?
(glances at the file)
Oh, right.
Billy picks up the file, opens it, and reads down the first page.
BILLY
At least you don't have to actually witness anything. Just check into the hotel, wait till 10:48, and call the police with this script.
SMITH
Yup.
BILLY
Police show up, they find the body in 303, you give a statement, you're out of there.
SMITH
I know, Billy.
Smith still sits on the bench, staring at the suit on its hanger.
BILLY
You know we don't choose to give you these, right?
SMITH
No, I understand.
BILLY
--'cause it's not something anyone chooses. The hotel registry says Charles Smith was there, so we send Smith.
(shrugs)
Hey, if it was my name we found, I'd go.
Smith gives Billy a rueful smirk.
SMITH
Is it ever your name?
BILLY
No.
Billy sighs as he looks toward the Door end of the room.
BILLY
They don't let me go at all. "He who learns from history is doomed not to repeat it." Stupid timeline.
Smith laughs, visibly cheered from his earlier funk. He picks up the suit jacket, then makes a face at it.
SMITH
Ugh. I don't mind a deathwatch job nearly as much as I mind this suit.
Billy laughs.
BILLY
I'm sorry, man. I know it feels like you're being singled out. To tell the truth, though, I can see why you're always the one to go.
SMITH
Why?
BILLY
Because you always come back. I totally can't imagine anyone doing these jobs as well as you do.
Smith gives Billy a puzzled look, then shakes his head and gets back to tying his tie.
SMITH
Look, it's simple. I do the job because I did the job. There's not really anything to mess up.
Smith finishes tying the tie. Billy grins at him.
BILLY
That's the Smith I know. Go get 'em.
EXT. CITY - DAY
Washington, DC. The nation's capital. Land of politics, seat of government, and all that jazz. This is Washington in the early 70s, a much grittier and pragmatic place than Berkeley was.
Smith walks down the street in the terrible suit, carrying a small black soft-sided overnight bag. He turns and walks through the revolving doors of an upscale but middle-class hotel.
INT. HOTEL LOBBY - DAY
The lobby of this hotel is buzzing with business types of both sexes and all descriptions. It looks like a convention is in town, but it's just as likely they're all part of the political machine.
Most of these people are either going in and out of the hotel, or milling about and chatting with each other, so Smith easily weaves his way through them and goes up to the check-in counter. A Clerk looks up from her paperwork and addresses him.
CLERK
Can I help you, sir?
SMITH
I'd like a room for tonight. Third floor preferred.
CLERK
Do you have a reservation?
SMITH
No, I don't.
CLERK
I'm sorry, sir, we're all full for tonight. You might try the Hyatt.
SMITH
Are you sure? Nothing available at all? I'll just need it for the one night.
CLERK
I'm sorry, sir. We've been booked for weeks due to the convention.
SMITH
I understand. Can you just check, though? Humor me.
Smith gives the Clerk a big grin and she relents.
CLERK
Just one second, then. I'll take a look.
The Clerk goes over to a wall full of cubbyholes for keys, and Smith turns around to survey the lobby. His face shows no trepidation at all, no doubt that he'll get what he asked for. The Clerk returns a moment later.
CLERK
Well, aren't you the lucky one? There was just a cancellation.
SMITH
It never hurts to ask.
CLERK
Room 301. It's a suite; will that be OK?
SMITH
That'll be just fine.
CLERK
All right then.
The Clerk starts filling in a guestbook.
CLERK
Your name?
SMITH
Charles Smith.
She writes the name in the book with a bit of a smirk.
CLERK
Okay, Mr... Smith, if you'll just sign here...
INT. Hotel Room 301 - Day
Room 301 is an ordinary hotel room of the time, loud curtains and other fabrics in colors that never should have been approved for human use. This one has a sitting room off the bedroom, the two separated by a louvered set of folding doors. A CLOCK sits prominently on the dresser. (The clock could be one of those with flip-down numbers, which would provide a clear readout and a way to audibly "click" to emphasize what time it was.)
Smith drops his bag on the bed, then looks at himself in the room's mirror. He winces once again at the terrible suit and tie. He checks the time on the clock. It's 4:48.
He sits on the edge of the bed, then bounces up and down a few times. It's obvious he has nothing to do.
INT. Hotel Bathroom - Day
Smith, jacket and tie removed again, splashes water over his face. He looks in the bathroom mirror for a few moments, then sighs.
INT. Hotel Room 301 - Day
Smith sits down in one of the sitting room's armchairs, a careworn copy of HOWL in his hand. He starts reading the book at a bookmarked spot in the middle, but then looks up at the clock almost immediately. It's 5:11.
Smith sighs, puts the book down, and jumps out of the chair.
INT. Hotel Lobby - DAY
The lobby seems to have cleared out a little since we last saw it. Smith walks out of the elevator, jacket and tie back in place. He strides up to the same Clerk at the front desk and catches her attention.
SMITH
Do you have any recommendations for where I might get a bite to eat?
CLERK
I could, yes. What are you in the mood for?
Smith pauses, thinking about it.
SMITH
I don't know. Italian? Is there good Italian around here?
CLERK
Absolutely. It's right down the street.
EXT. CITY STREET - DAY
Smith walks out of the hotel and steps up to the curb. He cranes his neck and peers down the street, looking for a taxi. Standing next to him and doing almost the exact same thing is Heather, now a decade older and considerably more worldly. She's wearing a casual, stylish outfit, the kind of thing that wouldn't look out of place on an upwardly-mobile feminist of the era.
Heather does a double-take. Her jaw drops as she recognizes Smith.
HEATHER
Is that... Charles Smith?
Smith's head whips around at the sound of her voice. He's floored, completely surprised to see her. He says nothing, just stares at her for a few seconds with a look of utter astonishment. Heather's expression grows more dubious.
HEATHER
Aren't you going to say something? It's Heather. Heather O'Reilly.
SMITH
I know. Heather... I'm just... surprised. What are you...
Heather frowns, and Smith snaps out of it long enough to catch himself.
SMITH
...doing for dinner?
Now it's her turn to be taken aback.
HEATHER
Oh! I was... just going to meet a friend for dinner.
SMITH
Oh.
A cab pulls up in front of them. Heather opens the door, then pauses and turns around to Smith again.
HEATHER
Would you like to come along?
SMITH
(simultaneously)
Yes.
INT. RESTAURANT - DAY
Heather and Smith walk into the restaurant, a classic Americanized Italian place with dribbly candles, checkered tablecloths, photos of famous visitors on the walls, the works.
Heather peers into the gloom, then spots someone and waves.
HEATHER
Dirk!
(to Smith)
Actually, you might remember him. We went to school together.
They walk together to the table where Dirk is standing. On the way, Smith leans in toward Heather.
SMITH
So are you two...
HEATHER
No! Not that it's any business of yours.
Dirk and Heather embrace warmly. Dirk is also a decade older, dressed in an expensive, stylish business suit and tie, with hair that's a bit long (but probably fashionably so). Dirk turns to Smith and holds out his hand.
DIRK
Hi, I'm Dirk. Heather didn't mention she was bringing company.
HEATHER
It's Charles Smith, Dirk. I ran into him outside the hotel.
Dirk's expression is blank. He doesn't seem to be placing the name. He peers at Smith's face more closely.
DIRK
Charles...
SMITH
Smith. We met briefly at Berkeley. Back in '62.
Dirk's eyes widen with surprise.
DIRK
That is a blast from the past. Well, well. What brings you to Washington? Or do you live here?
SMITH
Just passing through, actually. I leave tomorrow morning.
Relief shows through the magnanimous facade on Dirk's face. He waves a hand at the table.
DIRK
Well, you're more than welcome to join us. Unless...
He looks critically at Heather, as though weighing options.
HEATHER
What?
DIRK
I was just thinking we might do this another night. You and I, that is. I don't want to get in the way of you two catching up.
HEATHER
(simultaneous)
No, really, that's not--
SMITH
(simultaneous)
No, I don't--
DIRK
It's all right, Heather. I insist. You're here for a week, so we'll have plenty of time to get together. Smith's here for one night. Take advantage of it.
He embraces Heather again.
HEATHER
Thanks, Dirk.
DIRK
Not at all.
(to Smith)
Take good care of her.
Dirk leaves. Smith indicates a seat to Heather, and she sits down. He sits down across from her and picks up a menu. He's regained his composure a bit, and he smiles at her over the top of the menu.
SMITH
Should we share a pizza?
HEATHER
No, I'd rather...
She looks up at him sharply, picking up on his reference. Her eyes narrow and she looks more closely at his face in the dribble candlelight. She looks puzzled for a moment, then frowns.
HEATHER
You haven't changed a bit.
SMITH
Thanks.
HEATHER
No, it wasn't a compliment.
Heather puts down her menu and stares at him angrily.
HEATHER
You really haven't changed. Swooping in like not a day has passed since--
SMITH
Swooping? There was no swooping! You invited me to come along, I was just--
HEATHER
Ten years, Charles! I've moved on! In fact, I've moved on so many times I'm ready to move back!
Heather and Smith both pause for a second.
SMITH
What?
HEATHER
Not to you, I... I don't know what that means. I just mean it's been a really long time... I hurt for a very long time, and I looked all over for...
She looks into his eyes. He shows surprise.
SMITH
For me?
HEather
No! Not for you. For me. That woman you told me about back in college, the one who had a life full of promise and opportunity ahead of her. The places I looked... Berkeley, San Francisco, India, Cambodia, Mexico...
(she sighs)
Washington...
SMITH
And did you find her?
HEATHER
No. I found a world, a real world. Corruption, and heartache, and death. And I found there wasn't some special place in it for me, no shining path for me to follow to adventure and enlightenment.
SMITH
So is that why you're here?
HEATHER
Dirk works at a firm that handles some really big government contracts. He's been asking me to visit him for years, writing me all about his climb up the corporate ladder.
(shakes her head)
He's been moving forward while I've just been... moving.
SMITH
Wow.
HEATHER
So forgive me if I'm not excited about going back to the good old days.
The Waiter arrives. Smith continues to stare at Heather, even while she orders.
WAITER
What can I get you tonight?
HEATHER
I'll have the spinach lasagna and a side salad, thanks.
WAITER
And you, sir?
SMITH
What? Oh. The eggplant.
WAITER
Would you like any wine?
HEATHER
Yes.
SMITH
Yes, please.
The Waiter leaves and they sit awkwardly for a moment.
HEATHER
So what brings you to Washington? Business?
SMITH
Yes.
HEATHER
What do you do these days? Still working for the government?
SMITH
Yes.
HEATHER
That same department? Historical...
SMITH
Office of Historical Affairs, right. Just a quick assignment here, then I'm headed back home.
Heather gives him an incredulous look.
HEATHER
You really are a spy, aren't you.
SMITH
I'm not, no. I'm just--
HEATHER
No, don't bother. I remember the lines. I actually convinced myself you were when you left; it made it easier to think you had gone because you had to, because your mysterious and important job had to come first.
Smith just stares in response.
HEATHER
Then I figured you were just a jerk on vacation, telling me a pack of lies so I wouldn't question it when you up and left after two weeks. I figured you must have really been a head case to come up with something so detailed and consistent, but when I thought back on it you really didn't tell me much of anything, did you?
SMITH
It wasn't either one of those things.
The Waiter arrives with food, and Heather gives Smith an appraising look. She smirks.
HEATHER
No, I guess you weren't.
SMITH
You believe me?
HEATHER
Well...
(she smiles)
No real spy would have wear such a terrible suit.
Smith goggles, then bursts out laughing. Heather laughs even harder.
SMITH
I could be under cover...
Heather
No, not even under cover.
INT. ITALIAN REstaurant - Night
Smith and Heather chat amiably, empty dessert plates and wine glasses between them on the table.
SMITH
So you were there? The People's Park protests?
HEATHER
Yup. It wasn't really as exciting as the news made it out to be.
SMITH
Oh, come on.
Heather
No, mostly we just sat there until someone agreed to pay attention to what we were saying. We held firm. Stuck together.
Heather gets a wistful look in her eye, but it's quickly replaced by something hard and unhappy.
HEATHER
Of course, that all had to end.
