Dry Your Smile (40 page)

Julian:

(Very quietly:)
I want … some graciousness, some affirmation, in my life. I can hardly breathe without them any longer, Lare.

(Pan Laurence back as he sinks on the sofa with glass in one hand and bottle in the other.)

Laurence:

I can't either, Jule. I can't breathe at
all
anymore. You eat up the air, there's none left for me.
(A pause.)
I honest-to-god don't know what more to do. Every time I've met your New Woman demands—to be more sensitive, divest myself of power, be more supportive—I can almost feel your contempt coming at me for having met them. So now you see this blob, this passive, dependent hiccup of a human being for whom you feel loyalty, pity, affection, responsibility—but no attraction, no respect. I don't know what more I can
become
. Dead? Do I have to die?

(Cut to Julian, shot from over Laurence's shoulder, his perspective:)

Julian:

(An attempt at a lighter note which goes awry:)
Your preoccupation with death has always been the kind of luxurious self-indulgence available to someone who intends others to do his living for him, darling.
(Then, in a more earnest tone:)
I never wanted your guilt
or
your passivity, Larry. I only want you to take responsibility for your own life, not—

(Dolly in slow arc going full circle, from behind his shoulder to frontal two-shot, to him from her perspective, through rear two-shot against wild fourth wall, back to original camera position, during the following exchange:)

Laurence:

—I'm beginning to understand, with a dull, rising nausea, that this is not going to change. I begin to understand how much you hate me.

Julian:

I
don't
hate—

Laurence:

Yeah. Hate me. I begin to realize that I can't even recognize the depth of my hatred for
you
. And how dangerous that is for us both.

Julian:

Larry.
I'm
not the enemy. For god's sake, I'm on
your side
. How can I make you realize that?

(Quick flash-shot to a small black girl running away; back to two-shot as camera continues circling them:)

I've stood by you and stood by you. I've always believed that if there was a genius in this house, it was
you
.

(Quick flash-shots in rapid montage: smiling Eva Braun, smiling Evita Perón, smiling Coretta Scott King, smiling Zelda Fitzgerald, smiling Nancy Reagan, smiling Frida Kahlo, smiling Isabel Allende, into still photo of smiling Clara Wieck Schumann. Rapid dissolve back to two-shot as camera continues to circle Laurence and Julian:)

You know how desperate your career-situation makes me, how I've tried—but those are boring old stories.
I
begin to realize that if I'm destroyed it doesn't save you. I admit I've thought that at times. Like that whole year when I just … stopped writing anything, for fear it might find an audience. Why do my only choices seem guilt or anger?

(Quick flash to The Mother's face, nodding approvingly, then cut back to scene:)

Look at me, I'm not even crying. That scares me. Though you've made such fun over the years of my faucet-ready eyes—not imagining, I guess, how ominous the absence of those tears would be. I'm so afraid …

(By now camera should have completed its full circuit; pull back to full-length two-shot of them sitting in front of dying embers in Franklin stove.)

Laurence:

Getting cold.

Julian:

Yeah.

(Wordlessly, each of them reaches out a hand to the other, but they are too far apart, and neither seems able to move. Zoom in close on the hands straining to touch and the space between; flash-cut to a low-shot of the younger Laurence and Julian, same distance apart, high on the Brooklyn Bridge, as they begin to lean toward one another; dissolve back to the hands reaching.)

Laurence:

(Softly:)
Oh dear god, the pity of it. Poor child. Poor, lost child that never even got a chance to be born.

(Cut to Julian, her face in shock as she thinks Laurence is referring to her secret abortion and years of deception about being unable to bear a child. Stay with her in tight close-up through next speech:)

Julian:

So you knew, after all. So that's why … Laurence. I can never tell you how sorry I am—for you—about my abortion. But I had to terminate that pregnancy. I couldn't face it. I couldn't stall your obsession to be a father anymore. I took the cowardly and manipulative way out. The secret abortion. And then, for years, the pill. In secret. Yes, I lied.

(Flash to The Mother's face, in pain; cut back to Julian:)

Like Hope lied to me. Like David lied to her. Like you lied about your affairs outside the marriage. Like both you and I lie to the world—telling the truth but not the whole truth. I lied. Part of me always wanted you to catch me in it. But once it got started, the lie had a life of its own, and I … I'm sorry. I just—never could be a mother, that's all. I'd have been an awful one, I've always known that. It's not for me.

(Flash to The Child on a huge parade float, smiling, waving, curtsying. Cut to Laurence, his face full of horror, each word wrenching itself loose:)

Laurence:

I—didn't—even—mean—that. I meant
you
. The child that never got born in Julian Travis. Now you tell me … you tell me that all this time … Julian!
I believed you!

(Cut to Julian, realizing her blunder in telling him the truth, now terrified; cut back to Laurence, his eyes wide with fear of what is rising in him:)

You bitch.
(He gets to his feet unsteadily; the brandy has taken its toll.)

(Voice-over in his mind:
“Gotta drive her away, gotta drive her away.”)

You living toxic mortal wound!

(Cut to wide-angle shot of room as she rises. He totters for a moment, then rushes out. We hear him charging up the stairs to the upper loft floor, the sound of objects falling and breaking, his footsteps stomping. Julian stands where he left her, paralyzed. She stares at the ceiling, following the direction of the noises. Silence, then another crash. We hear Laurence's footsteps dash down the stairs in the outer hall, hesitate for a second at the door to this floor, then rush on down. The street door slams. Camera stays on wide-angle of Julian alone in livingroom as she slowly begins to move through it, talking out loud to herself:)

Julian:

If I'm wrong, I'm insane. If I'm right, it's even worse. I
have
to learn where he leaves off and I begin. I have to learn.

(She opens the hall door and mounts the stairs to the upper loft floor; low-shot watches her ascend; upper-floor camera picks her up from high angle as she rises, then follows her through door and onto the upper floor, moving behind her back, focused over her shoulder, so that the lens sees what she is seeing at the same moment. She enters her study. Her desk chair has been overturned, a potted cactus plant swept off her desk surface and spilled onto the carpet. The shade of her desk lamp is swinging wildly, alternately casting enough light and shadow over her desk for her to see a piece of paper lying on it, pencilled in block letters. She draws nearer. Camera angles over her shoulder to read what she is reading:)

I LOATHE YOU FOR WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO MY LIFE, YOU VAMPIRE. MURDERING BASTARD. FUCK YOU.

(Julian touches the lampshade to stop it from swinging. Dolly back as she rights the chair, starts to gather up the soil and plant back into its pot, stops. She rises from squatting by the plant and moves again, like a sleepwalker, toward another door:)

Julian:

(Out loud, to herself:)
Careful. It isn't the first of those notes. You've read them before. He doesn't mean it. Tomorrow he'll cry and you'll cry and the two of you will have a real talk. Breathe. Idiotic to shake like this, Julian. You're not physically afraid of Larry, you know he wouldn't hurt a fly.
(Internal voice-over in her mind:) You are not a fly. You're a fake and a phony and a coward. You're a bastard. You're a fool and a hypocrite, a murderous martyr. (Out loud:)
Calm. If he gets crazy you must act all the more sane. Focus on details and reality. Function. Burn the note in the Franklin.
(Internal voice-over:) No. Leave it there, don't touch its poison. Maybe he'll think you didn't see it, that you're unscathed by the madness churning through the house. (Out loud:)
Move out of this space. Breathe.

(Pan with her as she opens the other door and enters his study. It is in an even more severe state of breakage than hers. Broken glass lies all over the floor, a standing lamp has been knocked over, the desk chair lies on its side, castor-wheels still spinning. A revolutionary poster has been ripped from the wall; we can see it is a picture of Ché Guevara, the legend reading, “At the risk of sounding ridiculous, I would say that a real revolutionary is motivated by great love.” Then Julian sees the block-letter printed note propped up against his desk lamp. Zoom in on:)

KILLER. YOU'VE STOLEN OR MURDERED EVERYTHING I EVER LOVED: OUR CHILD, MY POLITICS, MY ENERGY, MY REPUTATION, MY LOVE FOR YOU. KILLER BUTCHER THIEF SADIST LIAR!

(Aloud again to herself:)
Careful. Calm. Breathe. Ignore it.
(She sees cockroaches feasting on the Chinese-food carton left on his desk.)
Don't get drawn in. Don't start cleaning up. The more you clean up one thing, the more you'll notice something else needs doing. Go into the bedroom. Lie down. Sleep. Forget.

(Pan with her as she moves back through his study door into the outer corridor, then through another door, to their bedroom.)

Fear
. God, this is real fear. Of Larry?

(Dolly in behind her as before, to see what she sees: the bedsheet of the double bed is ripped in half from top to bottom. In the center, legs twisted, arms sprawled, lies a faded Raggedy Ann doll. Stay on doll while Julian says aloud:)

He found it. He took it out of tissue paper in my drawer and—

(Her hand reaches into the camera frame to lift the doll. Then she and we see another note lying under it:)

ALL THESE YEARS I MIGHT AS WELL HAVE MADE LOVE TO THIS RAG DOLL AS TO YOU. DESTROYER! DEFENDER OF OUR MARRIAGE TO THE WORLD AND VICIOUS LIMP RAG DOLL TO ME. YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE “I LOVE YOU” PRINTED ON YOUR HEART. DROP DEAD, SNOW QUEEN. FROM THE CANDY GROOM ON THE WEDDING CAKE, THE NEVER-A-FATHER FOOL.

(She drops the doll onto the bed. Pull back to show her full-length, standing by the side of the bed. Julian voice-over in her mind:)

Get out of the bedroom. Deal with it later, change the linen, put the doll away, be grateful he didn't rip her apart. (Out loud:)
He wouldn't do that, there's not a violent bone in Larry's body. Breathe. Think. Get out of the bedroom.

(She walks slowly, an automaton, back into the corridor and toward her own study door. Long-shot follows her figure. A sudden telephone ring shatters the stillness, and we see her start, shudder, then run toward her study.)

See. There. It's him already. Maybe already sorry. Maybe on the way home. We can talk, make a fresh pot of coffee—
(Julian voice-over:) This is Larry good god (Out loud:)
This isn't some brute batterer psychotic alcoholic this is
Larry. (She stands by her desk for a second, then picks up the phone.)
Hello? Hello?

(Tight head-shot of Julian; we can hear the filtered voice coming over the receiver.)

Man's Voice:

Miss Travis? Is this Miss Julian Travis?

Julian:

(Holding her hand over the receiver, whispering to herself in a rapid prayer:)
Dear God, let it not be the police about Larry. And let it not be that maniac breather who wants to throw acid on the women's libber's face. Most of all let it not be something bad about Larry please God.

Man's Voice:

Hello? Hello? Miss Travis?

Julian:

(Uncovering the receiver and speaking into it:)
Y-yes. Who's speaking, please?

Voice:

It's Dr. Grimes, Miss Travis, your mother's doctor. I'm relieved to finally reach you. I've been trying to locate you for two days. Nobody's been home, and I had no other number—

Julian:

(Her face showing momentary relief, then new anxiety:)
Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. The—the phone's apparently been out of order. And I was out of town. Is she—Nothing's happened, has it?

Voice:

I'm afraid something has, Miss Travis. Not critical, but serious. And it makes the matter we discussed a week or so ago—a nursing facility—urgent. She's been brought to the hospital again, day before yesterday.

Julian:

Is it—is she—how—

Voice:

Forgive me, but I haven't inquired of you … I take it you are, ah, estranged from your mother, Miss Travis?

Julian:

Yes, Dr. Grimes. You could say that. I think I told you that for some time now, she's refused to see her friends, her former doctor, her former housekeeper. What I didn't tell you is that she's also refused to see me, for over a year. Whether it's the L-Dopa hallucinations or not, she apparently felt we were all in a conspiracy against her.

Voice:

I see. I have to tell you that this is not uncommon in some of these cases. Sometimes I wonder which is worse, the disease or the medication. But surely if she had been on a regularly monitored dosage—

Julian:

Dr. Grimes, I've been through this now with four different doctors over the years. That was always the trouble, you see. She wouldn't go for regular monitoring. It was a source of friction with all her previous physicians. But can
you
tell
me
—