Script.

When I was in 9th grade, my "friend" (I use the term sarcastically, since she was a fledgling sociopath who really didn't care about others except for what she could get out of them) asked me to write a script. It was basically for the sake of fantasizing about this guy she, and every other girl who had ever met him, had an enormous crush on. I hadn't met him yet, but I am still friends with him now (because he's NOT a sociopath! or a narcissist!).

That is how it started. I decided to write a detective story, because my obsession with detectives was already in full form, even though I knew squat about noir. Maybe I had seen The Maltese Falcon and the stage musical of Sunset Boulevard (not actually about detectives, but still an influence) at that point, but otherwise I was operating simply on the noir parodies that permeated my childhood cartoons.

Twelves years later, I'm still working on the script. It's been something that I'd pick up every few years and pick at, and then forget about again for a few years. Never sure what exactly I wanted to do with it. Slowly weeding out all the horrible teen writing. This time, I actually feel that I am close to performing my final revisions and proclaiming it done, for really real.

Yesterday I read through it and made notes on specifics to change, after sitting through church doing some conceptual brainstorming. There was one scene that I really liked. This scene was written in a much newer revision, like the last time I tried it, which was a few years ago (2008 perhaps). I liked it enough that I didn't read every line of dialogue and say "omg this is the worst thing I've ever seen." I actually liked the dialogue. The scene can probably use a little more description but I figure the set designer and director can work it out (if that ever happens).

So here it is, The Scene I Didn't Need to Change:

INT. QUINN'S OFFICE -- DAY

Bub and Quinn are sitting in separate seats, wearing their FBI outfits, drinking from mugs.

QUINN
Did you get some amazing, case-breaking information last night?

BUB
Oh yes, amazing, case-breaking information was had by all.

QUINN
Well?

BUB
Oh, I'm not going to tell you. I have a plan.

QUINN
Still upset about Eric?

BUB
I think you should break up with him.

QUINN
He is a bit ridiculous, isn't he.

BUB
Ridiculous, sure.

QUINN
He's great for dancing, that's mostly why I keep him around. And to think, if you had ever bothered to ask me dance ...

Quinn looks at him and leans forward.

QUINN
Who's to say where we'd be now?

BUB
Who indeed.

Quinn stands up and takes Bub's mug, walking across the room and setting it next to the coffee maker, turning on a CD player (jazz), then walking slowly back to Bub.

QUINN
Eric's spontaneity is what makes him great for dancing, but he was never the type I could stick around with. I need someone darker, more tarnished. Chivalrous, yet sardonic. The stuff dreams are made of.

Bub smirks slightly and leans back into the couch.

BUB
Didn't your mother tell you that men like that are nothing but trouble?

QUINN
My mother was convinced I'd get into trouble no matter what kind of men I found. Dance with me.

She pulls him to his feet by the hand and brings him close to her body. They dance.

BUB
I'm a little rusty.

QUINN
Bub, you always came to the club, but you never stayed to dance. Tell me why that is.

BUB
I used to dance, years ago. I know, with an introduction like that you're expecting some tragic romance of my past. But that's not it at all. It was my work, plain and simple. More hours at the station meant less time to myself. I made a point to keep up my friendship with Nora, the manager, because she was a good contact.

QUINN
You haven't relaxed in a long time, have you?

BUB
Things got pretty bad for a while, and I just didn't have it in me to socialize any more. And now I just don't have time to relax.

QUINN
What do you think you're doing now?

Quinn trails her hand from his shoulder up to his neck, leans up, and kisses him.