"UNDER FIRE" Screenplay by Clayton Frohman and Ron Shelton Story by Clayton Frohman SHOOTING DRAFT SOMEWHERE IN AFRICA EXT. GRASSY PLAINS - DUSK BIRDS ARE FLUSHED FROM HIDING. A soldier carrying an automatic weapon rises up out of the grass and looks around. A mortar shell explodes nearby. There are no sound effects. He seems unperturbed. Several more explosions in the field. The soldier motions with his arm and: FIFTY MORE SOLDIERS RISE UP OUT OF THE GRASS More small explosions. FREEZE FRAME With a click-click of a camera -- still no fx. THE SOLDIERS RUN THROUGH THE GRASS FOLLOWING THEIR LEADER As they do, the platoon leader waves his arms again. FIVE ELEPHANTS CHARGE OUT OF THE SHRUBBERY Through a field of small mortar explosions. FREEZE FRAME With the click-click of a camera. THE ELEPHANTS CHARGE OUT ACROSS THE PLAINS Each carries an enormous load of supplies, and each is ridden by a soldier with a rifle. A HELICOPTER GUNSHIP DIVES OUT OF THE SKY firing rockets at the soldiers and elephants. A tribal mask is painted on the nose of the chopper. THE ELEPHANTS REAR UP IN TERROR The soldiers on the elephants stand up and aim rifles at the chopper and begin firing. THE CHOPPER ATTACKS THE ELEPHANTS against an African sunset. FREEZE FRAME DISSOLVE TO: INT./EXT. LOBBY OF THE 'NEW PEOPLE'S HOTEL' - DAWN A door slams o.s. and the figure of RUSSELL PRICE, 30, appears at the top of some stairs. Sleepy-eyed, he pulls on a multi- pocketed fishing vest over a baggy shirt. He carries a beat up canvas bag over his shoulder. A BLACK WOMAN, 40, sleeps at the lobby switchboard desk. Another OLD BLACK MAN sweeps the floor. Price mumbles a 'good morning' and goes to two vintage WW II vending machines -- one for candy, one for Coca-Cola. He buys two candy bars and a coke, and begins eating his "breakfast" as he crosses the lobby. EXT. THE HOTEL - DAWN JIMMY, a cab driver, has been sleeping in a chair against the wall. Several street vendors have their wares laid out on the sidewalk against the hotel. Some are shaded by makeshift awnings, some are not. Jimmy rises as Price arrives; there is familiar ritual in their greeting. They cross the street together toward Jimmy's waiting taxi, a hand-painted purple old American car with the words on the door, "New People's Taxi Company" and Jimmy's name in script above it. Price hands a candy bar to Jimmy. PRICE 'Morning, Jimmy, think you could squeeze me in? JIMMY Where is you would care to go at once, Mr. Price? PRICE Bang-bang. JIMMY Twenty dollar. Price hands him a wad of bills. PRICE You're a thief, Jimmy. Jimmy smiles broadly, nodding, then points to the sky. JIMMY Booteeful picture, huh, snap-snap? PRICE I don't do skies. The two men get into the strange cab parked in front of an open marketplace just starting to come alive; the cab drives off. EXT. A REMOTE AFRICAN VILLAGE - DAY The taxi arrives, and Price gets out. Price ambles over to stand in the early morning shade against an old building. A hand-painted image of Che Guevarra -- with an X painted over it -- is on one wall. Price pulls a joint from his pocket and lights up, taking a hit. The sounds of war machinery soon interrupt the stillness. Price hurries to the corner. P.O.V. A JEEP LEADING AN ARMY CONVOY Price pulls a handful of colored rags from his pocket and picks out a yellow kerchief, tying it to his arm. Price then steps boldly into the street in front of the approaching convoy. He exchanges shouts with an officer in a jeep, and with a motion is given permission to join. PRICE CLIMBS INTO THE LAST OF THREE TROOP TRUCKS Each truck is filled with perhaps 25 African soldiers in khaki, each holding an automatic rifle. Another jeep follows, towing a World War II cannon. CUT TO: INSIDE THE TROOP TRUCK - DAY PRICE (cheerily) Hi, guys. The soldiers look over disinterestedly. Two dozen cases of Coca-Cola are tied to a stretcher among stacks of guns. As Price settles in for the ride, he begins pulling cameras from his bag. Quickly and automatically, rarely looking, he switches lenses, loads film, and prepares his cameras. He has done this a thousand times. A SINGLE WHITE SOLDIER -- OATES, rises from among the blacks, and shakily makes his way toward Price. A mercenary dressed in a ragged uniform of his own design, carries two machine guns and a .45. He smiles broadly, recognizing Price. HODGE slaps Price's hands as if they were teammates. OATES G'damn, Price, you tuna sucking piece of raw meat -- whatchyou goin' to Zambeze for? PRICE Thought I'd get some great shots of your head gettin' blown to smithereens. OATES Smithereens?! Be a great fuckin' picture, eh? PRICE Be a prize winner. OATES (proudly) Ya think so? (beat; changing tone) Trade ya some greenies for a joint. (beat) I gotta have a joint. PRICE I'm on the wagon, man, sorry. OATES (shrugs) Ahh. Dope-wise, this place sucks. (looks around, leans in confidentially) Lotta fuckin' coons around here, eh? They nod. He laughs obscenely and deeply. PRICE I thought you were fighting for the Government? OATES I am. This is the Government. PRICE These are the Rebels. OATES Fuck they are. This is a Government convoy to Calunda. PRICE This is the Abou-Deian Revolutionary Front. Pause. OATES You're shitting me. Pause. Finally Oates starts laughing uncontrollably. OATES These guys be pissed if they knew, eh? (Price nods in agreement; Oates suddenly gets serious) This is the dumbest motherfucker I ever signed up for. Don't pay shit either. (Price nods in agreement) Nicaragua. That's the spot. Cheap shrimp, lotta rays -- real thin in the spook department too, dig? CUT TO: EXT. THE REBEL'S AIRFIELD - DAY The convoy rumbles past a check-point into a small airfield containing a motley collection of DC-3's and old planes. TWO RUSSIAN ADVISORS and THREE CUBAN ADVISORS watch. OATES Well hell... I wonder where the fuckin' Guvmint is? As he speaks, the cab of the truck is rocked with a mortar shell and explodes. Soldiers scramble to safety. Some grab the guns being transported. TWO SOLDIERS GRAB THE STRETCHER OF COKE and start running for safety. Smoke and explosions are everywhere -- they abandon their cargo and run for cover. OATES SCRAMBLES TO SAFE GROUND quickly and instinctively, looking around wildly to "read" the situation. Price dives next to him. A SOLDIER IS HIT AND GOES DOWN NEARBY, staggering towards Price and Oates. A DC-3 GOES UP IN FLAMES IN THE BACKGROUND THE WOUNDED SOLDIER REACHES FOR OATES who darts out quickly and drags the injured Rebel to safety. PRICE HAS HIS CAMERAS OUT AT ONCE and is firing away. TWO REBEL SOLDIERS POINT TO THE STRETCHER OF COCA-COLA and start moving toward it through the smoke. They want to rescue the soft drinks. PRICE LEAPS FROM HIS BUNKER AND RACES TOWARD THEM dangerously, waving and shouting as he does. PRICE Hold it! Hold it! They don't speak English but stop at his craziness. PRICE STOPS AND AIMS HIS CAMERA, and as he does he motions for the soldiers to continue. P.O.V. THE FRAMED IMAGE -- SOLDIERS, SMOKE AND COKE IN B.G. As the soldiers move toward the Coke, Price snaps picture after picture. A MORTAR EXPLOSION BLOWS THE COCA-COLA TO A MILLION BITS The two soldiers stop short -- several more steps and they would have been killed. Price's intrusion has accidentally saved them. The two soldiers run toward safety, bewildered and scared. ON THE AIRFIELD - THE SMOKE CLEARS AND ALL IS CALM Gradually the airfield comes back to life. Several teams of medics run with stretchers from the hut and begin gathering bodies. Rebel soldiers appear from every conceivable shelter and move across the field. Oates emerges and meets Price on the torn up runway amidst the rubble. They look around at the devastation. OATES Well, I guess we know where the Guvmint is. PRICE (cynically) You can walk to work from here. OATES Convenient, ain't it? Oates starts to walk away, then stops and speaks earnestly, as if trying to connect to a real world that doesn't exist. OATES My brother just got married. PRICE I don't know your brother. Suddenly, the distant roar of a jet. All the soldiers on the field scan the horizon; Price looks up. The air raid siren goes off. A JET DIVES OUT OF THE SKY TOWARD THE AIRFIELD OATES AND THE SOLDIERS DIVE TO COVER JET STREAKS OVERHEAD and, instead of rockets and bombs, it drops something else: THE SKY IS FILLED WITH A MILLION PIECES OF PAPER The jet pulls out and disappears. All is quiet again as the million papers flutter in the sky above the airfield. Out of frustration a single soldier fires a couple of shots at the paper. Price grabs a piece of paper out of the air. It is: A PICTURE OF A SWIMMING POOL IN FRONT OF A CALIFORNIA HOUSE HE STARES AT THE IMAGE and turns it over. There is writing on the backside in Spanish and Russian. He looks around. OATES WANDERS OVER with a handful of the leaflets. PRICE What's this? OATES Great shit, eh? Price tries to read the writing on the back as Oates looks at a leaflet familiarly. OATES U.S. Gummint offers this house to any Cuban pilot flying Migs for the Rebels who chooses to defect to America with a Russian jet. We know they ain't gonna run off with no planes -- but the Rebs don't -- They're scared. They start thinking about that swimming pool. Damn near smell that chlorine. Starts workin' on 'em, and pretty soon they don't let the Cubies near a Mig. Use their own spook pilots and destroy their own air force in a week. Guaran-fuckin- teed. PRICE C.I.A.? OATES (proudly) Smartest guys in the world. (afterthought) Hey, you gotta scoop here, eh? You'll be famous. OATES shakes hands with Price who looks at the picture. PRICE (dispassionately) Maybe. OATES (looking around) I gotta run... have a good one. Oates heads off across the runway as papers continue blowing down out of the sky; Price looks up and speaks to himself. PRICE I love Africa. CUT TO: INT. HOTEL ROOMS AT THE NEW PEOPLE'S HOTEL - NIGHT CLAIRE STRYDER, 40, reads a report over the telephone as she times the call with a stopwatch. A photograph of Claire's high-school-aged daughter sits on her dresser. ALEX GRAZIER, 50, struggles with his tie and a drink at a dresser in the adjoining room. Their connected rooms are littered with hand washed laundry and the paraphernalia of their trade -- typewriters, tape decks, books, notes, pictures. Their love affairs of three years is ending. CLAIRE (on the phone) "...and so this strange war that features two provincial governments, three rival liberation fronts, and at least twenty-five tribal associations, grinds into its seventh year..." Alex picks up a Melodica, a novelty wind instrument, and tries to court her with "Caravan" as she files her story. Though mildly put off, she maintains her cool throughout the call. He thinks he's Paul Desmond. CLAIRE "...The Battle for the Airfield at Abou Deia is just another chapter in this endless story. From Ndjamena, Chad, this is Claire Stryder." (beat) No -- you didn't hear any music -- must be the connection. Okay? So long. She hangs up and rises more irritated than angered. CLAIRE Alex, don't play that God damn thing when I'm filing. (beat) We're late. Quickly expressed, her anger passes. ALEX It's my party -- we'll be late. You called it a "strange war" and an "endless story." If you filed that story for me, I'd say you were editorialishing. CLAIRE I like to editorialize. You drunk? Alex loves to be melo-dramatic and is quite conscious of his ability to charm. He's also aware that it's worn off with her. ALEX Drunk? Only with the memories of making love with you on the plains of Fianga as the first Army of Liberation marched in and opened fire. CLAIRE And freed the Proletariat. Alex raises a drink. ALEX Right. CLAIRE I'm going to the party without you. She leaves -- he quickly puts on his coat and follows her. CUT TO: INT. THE ELEVATOR GOING DOWN - NIGHT ALEX Christ, I don't want to go to this stupid party. I'm bad at false modesty. CLAIRE You're great at it. She straightens his half-tied tie in an act of familiar affection rather than motherliness. Nervousness. She speaks calmly -- this is ground they have already covered. CLAIRE Alex, you're going to make a great anchorman in New York and undoubtedly I could be a Pulitzer Prize winning hostess -- but I'm not going with you. ALEX You can work out of the East Coast. We'll get a place on Long Island and burn our suitcases. CLAIRE I still like suitcases. ALEX Every Saturday night we'll have a party... invite all our friends, sit out on the veranda and interview each other. CLAIRE I've done all that. ALEX I haven't. (beat; changes tack) Well, God dammit, I'm getting tired of memorizing who's the president of the... Republic of Maldives. CLAIRE Mamoon Abdul Gayoom. ALEX Yeah, he succeeded Mamoon Abdul Gayeem. They both smile slightly as the elevator comes to a stop. The door doesn't open, and the light flickers. ALEX And I'm tired of Third World elevators. He bangs the door with his fist. It opens, and they enter a dismal hallway. The sounds of a party come from beyond. ALEX Don't leave me. CLAIRE I already have. As they approach the door to the party, he speaks with new toughness. ALEX Fuck Abou Deia and New York. I'm going to Nicaragua with you. CLAIRE No. ALEX I've heard it's a neat little war with a nice hotel. CUT TO: INT. THE ROOM WITH THE PARTY - NIGHT A cheer goes up for Alex as he and Claire enter. Party hats, booze, hand-made signs reading "Bon Voyage," etc. Fifteen journalists of varying nationalities cover this backwater war. Though both upset, they act as if everything is normal. PRICE STANDS ON A CHAIR AT THE CENTER summoning Alex who moves through the group with ease, instantly at home. Price holds up a bottle of champagne in toast. PRICE Alex, get up here! Alex climbs on a chair next to Price who puts his arm around him. PRICE To the man who gave me my first job, and fired me from my first job... and gave me my second job... VOICE FROM CROWD And fired you from your second job... PRICE Just a few words, Alex. VOICES FROM CROWD Impossible! Can't be done! etc. However miserable, Alex shines in these situations. He raises his hand -- silence. ALEX You may be asking yourself what exactly are you doing here in this "strange war, just another chapter in an endless story... that grinds into its seventh year..." Claire slips to the side bar and pours herself a drink, watching Alex and shaking her head with some affection. JIMMY, THE CAB DRIVER, ENTERS WITH A CAKE covered with candles. The crowd parts for the cake shaped like the country of Chad. The crowd begins singing "Caravan" in a half-drunken tribute to a man they like and respect. PRICE MOVES AROUND THE ROOM TAKING PICTURES of the party; it is all casual, silly, fun. THROUGH CAMERA P.O.V.'S OF ALEX IN A PARTY HAT, whip pan to CABBY WITH THE CAKE, whip pan to DRUNKEN JOURNALISTS. THROUGH CAMERA P.O.V. OF CLAIRE -- FREEZE FRAME, pan follows her as she moves through the room -- FREEZE FRAME, she picks up another drink and leaves through a side door -- FREEZE FRAME. ALEX GIVES IN AND JOINS THE SINGING, enjoying his own tribute once he has managed to give in to it. CUT TO: INT. THE DARKROOM - RED LIGHTS Claire's face is also covered with tears as she smokes, wandering idly among clothespinned photos. A part of her life is ending -- life with Alex -- but it's not ending neatly. A ROW OF HANGING PHOTOGRAPHS catches her eye. She stops and looks closely -- then laughs in spite of herself at a series of pictures: PHOTO OF A TALL AFRICAN NATIVE WITH A COCK SO LONG IT IS TIED IN A KNOT; PHOTO OF A BEAUTIFULLY BREASTED AFRICAN WOMAN; PHOTO OF SEVERAL POSING SOLDIERS; PHOTO OF A PHOTO -- THE RANCH HOUSE WITH POOL; PHOTO SELF-PORTRAIT OF PRICE BLOWING SMOKE RINGS; PHOTO OF CLAIRE AND ALEX IN HAPPIER DAYS. CLAIRE PULLS THE PHOTO OF ALEX AND HER from the clip and looks at it. THE DOOR OPENS, AND PRICE ENTERS PRICE Oh. I didn't know you were here. CLAIRE Sure you did. You were taking pictures of me all over the room. PRICE Well... yeah... you looked great. Why aren't you partying? CLAIRE In a minute. He notices the picture she's looking at. PRICE I printed that up for Alex. CLAIRE It wouldn't be the greatest thing you could give him right now... (beat) We just split up. PRICE Jesus, I'm sorry. Who left who this time? CLAIRE I'm the villain... I thought it could be a little cleaner this time -- me in Central America, him in New York. PRICE That's pretty clean. CLAIRE But he's decided to go to Nicaragua too. PRICE To cover you or the war? CLAIRE To cover everything. Silence. Price moves behind her and gently kisses her on the ear. She smiles quickly and nervously. CLAIRE No. He kisses her on the neck. CLAIRE For godsakes, Russell, listen. The sounds of the party can be heard. He ignores them and moves around her, trying to kiss her on the lips. She puts her hand over his mouth. Price reacts strongly, flaring slightly and withdrawing. PRICE I don't want to wait for you again. We've been circling each other since the Montreal Olympics. CLAIRE You're a genius of bad timing. (beat) I'm going back to the party. She heads to the door; Price stays. She stops before getting there, hesitates, then pulls the PHOTO OF THE ELEPHANT from the string and returns to Price, handing him the photo. CLAIRE This is a great shot. PRICE Thanks. CLAIRE I've heard the light in Nicaragua's even better. He doesn't respond. They stand for several moments -- the sounds of the party get louder. She turns and heads to Alex's celebration, leaving Price alone in the darkroom. PRICE LOOKS AT CLAIRE AS SHE LEAVES, stares aimlessly for several moments, then focuses back on his PHOTO OF THE ELEPHANTS. DISSOLVE TO: NICARAGUA 1979 EXT. THE STREETS OF MANAGUA - THE CAPITOL - AFTERNOON CLOSE ON: TIME MAGAZINE WITH COVER PHOTO OF THE ELEPHANTS, gradually PULL BACK to reveal other magazines, candy, cigars, Nicaraguan toys, all in a corner shop, and finally: A FIRE TRUCK LEADS A PROCESSION through the streets -- a group of middle class Nicaraguan women carry a banner that reads "Our Revolution is in Christ" (in Spanish), followed by three Catholic PRIESTS in bright robes, followed by a sound truck with P.A. system, followed by hundreds of townspeople carrying banana leaves and religious signs. All are singing a Catholic hymn in a swaying, hypnotic rhythm. Small red and black flags are scattered throughout. A CAB DRIVING THROUGH THE STREETS runs into the parade and stops. Price sits in the front seat -- his luggage is tied precariously to the roof. The trunk of the cab has been smashed in beyond repair. Price hops out of the cab with his camera bag -- he doesn't know what the parade is about but it looks great. He hands the cabbie some money to stay nearby. PRICE Wait here. He runs to join the procession. PRICE HOPS ONTO THE RUNNING BOARD OF THE FIRE TRUCK and almost simultaneously his light meter is out. HE is surrounded by images: SMALL GIRLS DRESSED AS ANGELS LINE THE STREET, TOWNSPEOPLE HANG FROM DOORWAYS AND WINDOWS, ICE CREAM CARTS AMONG RELIGIOUS ICONS, SOLDIERS WITH GUNS STAND IN SMALL GROUPS ALONG THE PARADE ROUTE. PRICE IS QUICKLY TAKING PICTURES OF EVERYTHING, changing cameras, occasionally taking a quick light reading; his actions are instinctive and automatic. Suddenly: TEN YOUNG TEENAGERS BURST INTO THE PARADE They wear red and black handkerchiefs, baseball caps, and strange masks. They are chanting: TEENAGE BOYS Rafael, Rafael, Rafael... libre o muerte... Rafael... A LARGE PAINTING OF THE FACE OF RAFAEL is carried aloft on a stick, draped with red and black scarves. PRICE PHOTOGRAPHS the boys and the painting. NATIONAL GUARD SOLDIERS SHOVE INTO THE PARADE Up and down the street they spring into action, running for position with their guns. An ice cream vendor is knocked down, a mother clutches her "angel" daughter, another child is whisked inside a door as the Soldiers break into the procession. THE "MUCHACHOS" WITH RAFAEL TURN TO RUN but realize that the soldiers have cut off their escape. THREE SOLDIERS BREAK into the parade and are separated from the boys only by a group of Priests. Trapped, the boys panic, but as the SOLDIERS push towards them: THE PRIESTS BLOCK THE SOLDIERS and intentionally scuffle with them, allowing the boys just enough time to dart into a house. One of the boys drops the picture of Rafael as he heads in the door. THE CROWD PUSHES FORWARD, the route to the door is blocked off, and the boys escape. SOLDIERS FIND THE PORTRAIT OF RAFAEL and shoot it full of holes with their automatic weapons. PRICE PHOTOGRAPHS "RAFAEL" as his image is ripped to shreds with bullets. The singing and the parade march on. CUT TO: EXT. THE INTERCONTINENTAL HOTEL IN MANAGUA - LATER - DAY Overlooking Managua is a sub-tropical paradise that seems far removed from a brutal civil war, this one time tourist watering hole serves as home base to the international press. The cab pulls up, and Price gets out. The driver unties his luggage from the roof as TWO PRESS CORPS MEMBERS recognize Price and greet him as an old friend. CUT TO: EXT. THE HOTEL POOL AND OUTDOOR BAR - DAY (DUSK) ALEX SITS WITH A BEAUTIFUL NICARAGUAN WOMAN, 35, at a table as PRESS CORPS MEMBERS mingle. A man we will come to know as HUB KITTLE, 40, dressed New York casual, table hops in the b.g. PRICE SEES ALEX and sneaks over to drop the Time magazine over his shoulder onto the table in front of him. Without looking up, Alex knows Price has arrived. He smiles. ALEX Welcome to Managua. They shake hands warmly, and Price sits down. Price points to the cover as a beer is served. PRICE You have something to do with this? ALEX Well... I thought of calling your photographs "Pictures from a Lost War"... I'm great at captions -- the New York editors loved it since none of them knew where the hell Chad was anyway -- it legitimized their ignorance, got you a cover, me a feature, and packaged a class struggle in two words. Nifty, eh? PRICE Nifty. Russell acknowledges ISELA CRUZ sitting with Alex. PRICE I'm Russell Price. ALEX I'm sorry... this is Isela Cruz. She works for the hotel and helps out as a translator. ISELA My pleasure. IN THE BACKGROUND CLAIRE WALKS INTO THE POOL-BAR AREA She carries her handbag and some papers -- she stops short seeing Price sitting with Alex. She hesitates, starts toward them, stops, and sits down at the bar at the opposite end of the pool. Price sees her, and she sees Price. They pretend they don't. Price turns to Isela and launches into a stream of broken, chauvinistic Spanish with his usual elegance. PRICE (in Spanish) Looks like you guys have a lot of bang-bang down here, eh? Little misunderstanding between the poets and the government? ISELA "Misunderstanding?!" "Down here" it's called a war. It started in nineteen thirty. Before you were born. ALEX My Spanish is a little out of shape -- what'd he say? ISELA He said he considers it an honor to be able to photograph our war. Price looks at each of them and decides not to push. ALEX Russell's got a way with words. ISELA I can tell. PRICE You're a helluva translator. ISELA I know. I'm much in demand around here. Will you excuse me? If you have any questions, just ask. Alex stands to help Isela from her chair. Price presses on, instinctively and effortlessly. PRICE Who is Rafael? ALEX It depends who you ask. Alex turns to Isela, who stops as she rises. ISELA Rafael? Comandante Rafael. He is either a Marxist dupe of Russia and Cuba... (beat) ...or the most popular leader of a most popular democratic revolution. (to Price cynically) Take your pick. PRICE I don't really give a damn... but the guy's got a great face. A beat, then Price asks his question almost sexually, as if he thinks he could seduce Isela, Rafael, the whole war. PRICE How would he like to be photographed? ISELA You'd never find him. PRICE Wanta lay odds? ISELA You would lose. (beat) You must excuse me. She starts to leave again, and again he stops her. PRICE Just one more thing -- is Rafael owned by the C.I.A. or the K.G.B.? I'll figure out the rest. Isela seems to welcome the question. Her tone is less flip, and she focuses hard on Price. ISELA Mr. Price... the world is not divided into East and West anymore. It is divided into North and South. By the time you people figure that out -- it will be too late. (beat) Congratulations on your cover. She touches his Time magazine, kisses Alex on the cheek, and floats magically through the pool area. Price frames her with his fingers as if composing a shot. P.O.V. OF ISELA THROUGH PRICE'S FINGERS Isela kisses another journalist, grabs someone's hand, and lands gracefully at another table. PRICE So far this war's got it all over Africa. ALEX You're gonna have a ball. ALEX PLACES HIS HAND OVER PRICE'S "FRAME" blocking out his view of the sexy Isela. Though Alex's tone is gentle, the threat is obvious. ALEX Hands off. I need an interpreter more than you do right now. Price takes the hint. PRICE You still hanging in there with Claire? Alex chooses his words carefully and speaks slowly. ALEX I'm hanging in there like an interim post-war government waiting for the palace to be overrun... by younger men. Silence and an uneasiness that Alex intended. Price manages a smile. PRICE Younger men. Alex smiles disarmingly. CLAIRE RISES AT THE OPPOSITE BAR, picks up her papers, and heads straight for the two men with a bounce in her step. BOTH MEN ARE A BIT SURPRISED AT HER ENTRANCE and she hands a stack of mail to Alex. CLAIRE Hi, Alex... Russell! When did you get in? PRICE Just now. She shakes Price's hand in a friendly manner that comes out awkwardly, then races past the moment to address and entertain both men. CLAIRE You're not going to believe this -- I just beat you guys and everybody else here to a story... (she teases them) ...exclusive... eat your heart out. PRICE What'd ya get? CLAIRE I've just been promised a private interview with Tacho. ALEX (impressed) Congratulations. The bastard won't talk to me. PRICE Who's Tacho? They turn to Price as if everyone knows who Tacho is. CLAIRE That's President Somoza's nickname. PRICE I don't know who the players are yet. ALEX Want me to order you a hot dog and a program? A bit of tension and awkwardness -- Claire quickly takes control and changes the tone. CLAIRE Fellas! No fighting after six at night, all right? Curfew. (beat) C'mon, we've all got something to celebrate. CUT TO: INT. THE VIKING CLUB OF MANAGUA - NIGHT Corrugated metal roofs, thatched hut booths, a strange combination of decorative and architectural devices. DAISY WILLIAMS, a large black woman from Nicaragua, sings "I Left My Heart in San Francisco" with a mediocre jazz group. HUB KITTLE is present, and other journalists drop by the table to say hello. A BOY PHOTOGRAPHER, 13, aims an ancient bellows type polaroid at a booth in which Claire sits between Alex and Price. They are holding a pose indefinitely while the boy struggles with the camera. They hold up the TIME COVER and a couple of beers in celebration, and when he finally snaps the picture -- no flash. The boy puts the camera down disappointedly. BOY PHOTOGRAPHER (in broken English) Sometimes it doesn't work. The three journalists relax their pose. PRICE Let me look. ON THE BANDSTAND Daisy has just finished "San Francisco" and spots Alex, motioning to him. DAISY Ladeez and Gen'mun, hep me get Aaleex ov' here... Daisy applauds lightly for Alex to join them. Alex is equally pleased and embarrassed. ALEX There's not many piano bars left where I'm still welcome. CLAIRE Go ahead. ALEX If she can't sing in the key of C I'm in trouble. Alex excuses himself and joins Daisy on the bandstand. Price and Claire are left alone in the booth as Price hands the repaired camera back to the boy. ALEX AT THE PIANO begins a slow, easy cocktail version of "Stardust," the song of his generation perhaps, and he seems happy, seduced by his own chords. PRICE AND CLAIRE RESUME THEIR POSE, and this time the camera FLASHES. Price pays for the picture from the boy. At first there is a moment of awkwardness between them. PRICE Well... CLAIRE "Well"... you finished your assignment in Chad? PRICE Got Africa all wrapped up and pouched to my editor. She smiles and relaxes a bit at the typical Price remark. CLAIRE You're going to love this war, Russell... there's good guys, bad guys, cheap shrimp... (an afterthought) And Alex is still singing in the background. (beat) I missed you. PRICE We gotta get alone somewhere to talk. ALEX BEGINS SINGING as he plays. He sings like a trumpet player -- no voice but great phrasing. He half smiles as he sings, enjoying the song and enjoying making them uncomfortable. ALEX AT THE PIANO ALEX Sometimes I wonder why I spend these lonely nights, Dreaming of a song... BACK AT THE BOOTH CLAIRE Jesus... he's doing it on purpose. PRICE Alex is one of the world's leading experts on military strategy. They don't really want to talk about Alex though his presence is unavoidable. Price changes gears, gets slightly goofy, and steers the conversation to more comfortable turf. PRICE Well, hell, I just got off the boat... gimme the scoop on Nicaragua... CLAIRE Well... about sixty years ago the U.S. Marines invaded to protect American business interests and put down a peasant revolt led by a little man who wore a giant cowboy hat -- his name was Augusto Sandino... In nineteen thirty-four he was murdered at a peace conference, and the Somoza family has ruled ever since... PRICE No, no, no... I don't mean the stuff about the peasants -- I mean the real stuff. She knows what he means, but she wants to tease him a bit first. CLAIRE The "real" stuff?... you mean a history of class struggle in agrarian societies? PRICE No, c'mon! CLAIRE Oh. Okay... well... (beat) Just a couple things. (beat) One -- there's only two kinds of beer available -- Tona and Victoria. Victoria's better. (beat) And two -- if you see Miss Panama hanging around the hotel bar -- hot, hot, hot -- but don't touch. She belongs to Tacho, and if anybody gets caught with her then El Presidente has promised to personally cut off the guy's... (unsure which word to use) PRICE Pecker? CLAIRE Yeah... and throw it into Lake Managua. PRICE Jesus. CLAIRE And the lake's already polluted. Price is impressed, and yet another new face drops by the booth -- they both recognize and see him coming, a contemporary of Price, REGIS FLYNN, a scraggly British journalist who heads over to their table holding three beers. PRICE (mutters to Claire) Is there anybody here we don't know? CLAIRE No. Regis slides into their booth, happy to see them. REGIS G'damn, Price... kudos on the African snaps. (shakes hands, a perfunctory kiss on her cheek) Jeez, Claire, I haven't seen you since... CLAIRE Three Mile Island. REGIS Yeah... shit... (wistfully) Holiday Inn, right? He nods; they all sip beers and watch Alex sing. CUT TO: INT. THE NIGHT CLUB KITCHEN A teenage DISHWASHER looks around nervously, then pulls a paper sack from off the shelf, removing a strange mask from it. He pulls the mask over his head. Then from the bag he removes a hand-made zip gun, puts a bullet in it, and darts into the shadows of a nook, waiting. BACK TO THE BOOTH where Regis softly croons a few bars of "Stardust" into Claire's mike. The three of them are having a good time, mildly drunk at best, and uninhibited. CUT TO: EXT. THE CLUB As we hear Alex's gentle rendition of the standard, a NECKING COUPLE moves back into the shadows of the club. Each pulls on a mask, as in the b.g.: ISELA AND AN ELEGANT MAN ARRIVE AT THE CLUB The man, somehow out of place, dresses with casual continental style, not overdone but expensive and tasteful -- clearly from another world. He wears a neat hat and moves gracefully. Isela looks stunning, dressed for the evening. The DOORMAN greets them familiarly. Isela casually checks her watch as they enter the club. The masked couple in the shadows check their watches. CUT TO: INT. THE VIKING CLUB As Isela and the man enter, commanding attention without trying. Isela stops at the piano long enough to kiss Alex gently before sitting in the booth with the man. IN PRICE'S BOOTH the new arrivals have caught their attention -- Price and Alex still clown slightly, and Claire teases them. CLAIRE Jesus... Louis Jordan walks in, and I'm sitting with the Everly Brothers. REGIS Before you fall in love -- that's Marcel Jazy... friend of wine, women, and Somoza. They say he's a businessman... CLAIRE (interrupting) He's a businessman in search of a business... he doesn't try very hard to cover up his connections to the C.I.A... P.O.V. OF JAZY LIGHTING ISELA'S CIGARETTE CLAIRE But look at his moves -- can the C.I.A. light cigarettes like that? PRICE What's wrong with the Everly Brothers? THE WAITER ARRIVES AT PRICE'S BOOTH and sets down three shrimp cocktails and more champagne, as: INT. THE BACK DOOR OF THE CLUB It opens quickly, and three more MEN IN MASKS enter quickly. BACK TO THE BOOTH as the waiter speaks with a firm coolness. WAITER Please stay at your table, and you won't be hurt. A FACE IN A MASK MOVES QUICKLY PAST PRICE'S TABLE ANOTHER MASKED FACE COMES OUT OF THE KITCHEN The dishwasher waves a gun. TWO MASKED FACES -- THE COUPLE -- ENTER THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR The woman carries an automatic rifle and guards the entrance. THREE MASKED FACES APPEAR Almost materialize from thin air, moving silently and without commotion. The music winds down slowly. (Six Guerrillas total) A GUERRILLA QUICKLY SPRAYS AN IMAGE ON THE WALL With a few deftly drawn strokes, the FACE OF RAFAEL magically appears. The name "RAFAEL" is written under the face, then other names and revolutionary slogans. As this takes place: A WOMAN GUERRILLA HAS A GUN AT THE HEAD OF A NICARAGUAN BUSINESSMAN The middle-aged, well-dressed local sits with his wife and two other men. They freeze in fear, the nightclub freezes, as the GUERRILLAS take control of the room swiftly and smoothly. ONE GUERRILLA FACES THE NICARAGUAN BUSINESSMAN at the table and speaks loudly but without panic. The masked Guerrillas around the room are serious but nervous. GUERRILLA LEADER (in Spanish) We do not want to waste any ammunition on a head as empty as yours -- but we will. BUSINESSMAN (in Spanish) What is this?! GUERRILLA LEADER (in Spanish) Shut up! Get up! The BUSINESSMAN refuses. The GUERRILLA LEADER takes a hand grenade from his pocket and pulls the pin without hesitation, then holds the grenade in front of him fearlessly, inches away from the Businessman's face. The Businessman rises slowly. The LEADER motions toward the back door of the club. GUERRILLA LEADER (in Spanish) You are coming with us -- you will not be hurt -- we will trade you for the release of some Nicaraguans who care about Nicaragua. The woman with the gun shoves it into the man's head forcing him to move toward the kitchen door. PRICE TAKES PICTURES QUICKLY WITH A TINY CAMERA that fits into the palm of his hand. Neatly, surreptitiously, and calmly -- Price is coolest in any crisis. CLAIRE PUNCHES ON HER TINY TAPE RECORDER instinctively, and a tiny red light comes on. THE BUSINESSMAN IS SHOVED TO THE DOOR He hesitates, afraid to leave the room. The Guerrilla shoves the grenade in his face; the woman sticks the gun into his neck even deeper. MASKED GUERRILLA AT THE FRONT DOOR SHOUTS FOR THEM TO HURRY THE BANDMEMBERS -- INCLUDING ALEX -- BACK AWAY FROM THE BANDSTAND Alex trips over the drum set slightly -- a clanging clash of cymbals startles everyone, and as the drama freezes: THE KITCHEN DOOR SWINGS OPEN, AND THE BOY PHOTOGRAPHER EMERGES Innocently, the young boy struts out of the kitchen to see what's going on, and as he does the DOOR STRIKES THE ARM OF THE GUERRILLA WITH THE GRENADE, and: THE GRENADE IS KNOCKED FREE For an instant, everything freezes, and: THE GRENADE ROLLS ACROSS THE FLOOR Daisy Williams, the singer, runs away screaming as the grenade comes to rest near a crowded section of the club. A Guerrilla guarding the side door rushes for it, picks it up, and as he does: THE GRENADE EXPLODES IN THE GUERRILLA'S HAND A brutal explosion -- the ceiling caves in partially, the musical instruments explode, and: THE SANDINISTA GUERRILLAS DART FROM THE ROOM through various doors. The boy photographer lies bloodied. The Guerrilla who picked up the grenade is a barely recognizable corpse. The Businessman is soiled but unhurt. ONE HALF OF THE CLUB BREAKS OUT IN FLAME As a broken gas pipe feeds a sudden outburst of fire, the club's patrons panic -- screaming and shoving towards the door as the ROOM LIGHTS UP, and: PRICE'S LIGHT METER IS OUT AT ONCE followed quickly by a 35mm camera, quickly clicking off picture after picture of the club amid the flames and panic. The new light makes his job easier. PRICE TAKES A LIGHT READING near the body of the boy photographer. He sees the boy's camera lying nearby. Price puts away his light meter and feels the boy's pulse, then puts his ear to the boy's heart -- making sure he is not still alive. LA GUARDIA SOLDIERS AND FIREMEN FILL THE ROOM CUT TO: INT. THE PRESS ROOM AT THE INTERCONTINENTAL HOTEL - LATER The chaos of a busy, cramped Telex room. A switchboard -- several journalists trying to place phone calls. Press come and go -- coffee, cigarettes, and half-eaten sandwiches. CLAIRE TEARS A STORY OFF THE TELEX while Price stands to the side of the action eating a sandwich and watching. ALEX STANDS AT THE CENTER OF IT ALL Established as the senior figure (or one of them) to whom other, younger journalists come for information. A YOUNG JOURNALIST, a Time stringer, is slightly distraught on the phone, and interrupts Alex's dealing with others, cupping the phone, to announce: TIME STRINGER ...it's Charlie, from New York -- says that a terrorist bombing of a Central American restaurant isn't big enough to hold for the world section... ALEX Tell him we have pictures. YOUNG JOURNALIST He knows. ALEX Tell him there were pieces of body in the piano, and somebody was singing, "I Left My Heart in San Francisco." (beat) What's he got better than that? TIME STRINGER He's got the Pope visiting Egypt. Alex grabs the phone in disgust and launches in. ALEX Forget the Pope, Charlie. Every week you got the Pope somewhere. This is a very big story down here because it's the first sign of fighting in Managua. (beat) Yeah, well get a map and look up Nicaragua -- ya drive to New Orleans and turn left. While Charlie argues on the other end of the phone, Alex initials papers and performs several jobs at once. ALEX Like hell I'm editorializing, the whole thing happened in a roomful of C.I.A. and press. What do you want?! (beats) How do I know they were C.I.A.? They wore name tags, what do you think? We're backing a Fascist again -- I know that ain't news, but see if you can find an angle! HUB KITTLE has been floating through the room and, upon hearing the word "fascist," takes offense and approaches Alex. HUB Hey! There's fascists and then there's fascists, right? Be careful how you throw words like that around. Alex ignores Hub though he is slightly pestered by him, and continues on the phone as he initials papers brought to him. ALEX We don't have any pictures of Rafael because nobody knows where the son of a bitch is, and anybody crazy enough to go after him... Alex spots Price who is standing nearby, still eating a sandwich, still enjoying the high energy buzz of the room. Alex directs his next line so that Price cannot fail to get the message. Alex plays the moment coolly. ALEX ...is liable to get his nuts shot off. Hub nods seriously, in agreement. Price turns. Alex smiles. Price smiles. Alex hangs up, grumbling, then turns his attention to the persistent Hub Kittle. ALEX Yeah, well g'bye... (to Hub) Who the fuck are you? HUB (extending a hand) Hub Kittle. I'm with Lewitsky and Knupp -- New York. We have a client down here. Alex is irritated but fascinated. ALEX Who? HUB President Somoza. Alex is incredulous that Somoza employs a New York P.R. firm. Hub is professionally used to this reaction -- no panic. HUB I know, I know... (beat) But there's an untold story here. I mean, the man has a point of view too, right? Alex turns to leave; Hub corners him. HUB We got a national anthem contest going on right now, and you guys are ignoring it. Lotta human interest. Alex turns to other business though Hub persists. ELSEWHERE IN THE ROOM a young NICARAGUAN WOMAN, 18, is talking to Claire. She seems to be part of the local press. CLAIRE I want you to get me copies of the Government inventory lists of all captured Guerrilla weapons. I want to know if the guns are Israeli, Belgian, Russian, Cuban... YOUNG WOMAN The Guerrillas are not supplied by anybody from the outside. CLAIRE Fine -- give me proof. A TELEPHONE OPERATOR CALLS TO CLAIRE through the chaos. OPERATOR Su hija, su hija! Your daughter from Los Angeles. Claire sighs at the bad timing but seems delighted to be interrupted by her daughter, and brushes aside a Stringer forcing paperwork upon her. Claire takes the phone into a bare, adjacent hallway for some privacy. IN A BARE HALLWAY Claire talks to her daughter. CLAIRE Hi, baby! How are you? (beat) Has Grandmother spoiled you silly by now? She has? Good. (beats) Yes, I got your letter with the picture of your new boyfriend. He's very good looking... but he's a bit old, isn't he? No? Just how old is he?... P.O.V. FROM THE TELEX ROOM TO CLAIRE Price knows this is not his world, and he wanders outside. CUT TO: EXT. MANAGUAN STREET NEAR THE HOTEL - LATER THAT NIGHT Price bounces along, whistling, "San Francisco." An occasional Guardia jeep or taxi rumbles past. He strolls up the walkway of a house from which comes a strange, blue glow. INT. THE MONEYCHANGERS HOUSE - NIGHT Blue walls, bare bulbs, several pictures on the wall, and an old woman lying in a hammock. Music in the b.g. Price approaches her and hands her a $100 bill -- there is a brief negotiation of the black market value. PRICE (in broken Spanish) Cuanto? OLD WOMAN Quince. PRICE Veinte. OLD WOMAN Diezysiete. She shrugs, declaring the negotiation ended, and leaves the room to change the dollar into cordobas. Price idly studies the pictures on the wall: PICTURE OF ANASTAZIO SOMOZA IN WHITE, PICTURE OF THE VIRGIN OF GUADALUPE, PICTURE OF SANTA CLAUS, FADED NEWSPHOTO OF HANK AARON HITTING HIS 715TH HOME RUN. PRICE SMILES AND TURNS RIGHT INTO A SHARP BAYONET mounted to a rifle held threateningly by a Guardia soldier. THE SMALL ROOM IS FILLED WITH NATIONAL GUARDS We haven't heard them enter over the sounds of music and our preoccupation with the pictures. PRICE What is this? I'm a journalist! No answer. Price pulls a thick passport and press credentials from a pocket, handing them to the Officer in charge. PRICE Journalista, journalista! The officer looks at Price's passport photo, studies it briefly and takes the passport. He nods. A rifle butt is jammed violently into Price's belly -- he doubles over. The Officer nods, and Price is led away. As the Guard hauls him outside, the OLD WOMAN appears in the doorway with a stack of local currency. CUT TO: INT. MILITARY HOLDING CELL - NIGHT Price is led into a dark cell where another PRISONER, 50, lies in street clothes on the floor. The Prisoner is spat upon by the Guards and kicked awake. Price cringes. GUARD Padre Puta, Padre Puta, Padre Puta... (in Spanish to Price) Here is a Priest for you to confess your sins. The Guards laugh and leave. The Prisoner rises to his feet. Price keeps his distance. The Prisoner looks in bad shape. PRISONER PRIEST Cigarillo? Price hands him a cigarette and lights it. A long, deep drag. PRICE Priest? (the man nods) (in broken Spanish) What are you doing here? PRISONER PRIEST (in Spanish) The government accused me of using the church to hide Rebels and guns. PRICE (in Spanish) Governments are always wrong, eh? PRISONER PRIEST (in Spanish) This time they're right. Who are you? PRICE (in Spanish) Un periodista. PRISONER PRIEST (in Spanish) Whose side are you on? PRICE (in Spanish) I don't take sides. I take pictures. PRISONER PRIEST (in Spanish) No sides? PRICE (in Spanish) No. The Prisoner Priest looks at Price with disdain. PRISONER PRIEST Periodista Puta, todos periodistas son putas. (All journalists are whores) The Prisoner sits down in the corner ignoring Price who is surprised to be treated so despicably. PRISONER PRIEST (quietly) Go home. CUT TO: INT. A BRIGHTLY LIT ROOM Price is led into a lineup of 10 people, all Nicaraguans. The room is narrow and so brightly lit that at first he covers his eyes. FIGURES MOVE IN THE SHADOWS A Guardia soldier moves up and down the lineup, stopping to point at a prisoner. In the line we recognize the WAITER from the Viking Club. Price speaks to the soldier in a calm, reasoned tone. PRICE Mi amigo -- mala interpretacion, eh? Periodista, comprende? Famoso. Time magazine. The soldier whirls at Price in a rage out of all proportion to Price's tone, shouting: SOLDIER (in Spanish) Shut up! Price holds up his hands -- he may be fearless, but he's not stupid. The soldier pulls a knife, then pulls his own tongue from his mouth, and makes motions with the knife as if cutting out his tongue. The message is clear -- Price doesn't speak. The soldier walks up to the Waiter and points. The Waiter is frightened. Through the shadows we see an officer talking with a civilian in a hat. The civilian points to a door. THE WAITER IS LED AWAY THROUGH A DOOR protesting desperately as he goes. The soldier moves to the next prisoner -- he too is led away. This repeats itself until the soldier arrives at price. THE SOLDIER POINTS TO PRICE PRICE'S P.O.V. THROUGH THE SHADOWS The civilian is in a discussion with the officer -- it is clear that his opinion affects the decisions. For a moment Price doesn't know where he's going to be led. The civilian points to a different door -- it opens -- and Price steps down off the display rack into a room. THROUGH THE DOOR as Price steps through, the action continues with the other Nicaraguan prisoners. Price looks around quickly, but the Civilian and Officer are gone. He is quickly shown into a bare office. INT. THE BARE ROOM Pictures on the wall of Somoza and the FLAG RAISING AT IWO JIMA. Price's cameras and bag sit on a desk. P.O.V. THE CIVILIAN THROUGH A DOOR -- IT IS MARCEL JAZY His rumpled elegance is at odds with the brutal surroundings. The door closes. A SENIOR OFFICER ENTERS THE BARE ROOM, and Price addresses him at once. PRICE Soy un periodista. SENIOR GUARD OFFICER (in excellent English) Mr. Price... you must accept our deepest apologies for the misunderstanding. Somebody saw you taking photographs of terrorists hooligans in the parade and at the nightclub -- our young officers get carried away... they're always looking for traitors. PRICE That film is half way to New York by now. SENIOR GUARD OFFICER I know, I know... It was all a misunderstanding... una mala interpretacion. Your cameras. The Officer reaches for one of Price's cameras and hands it to him, but as he does: THE CAMERA DROPS TO THE GROUND AND BREAKS -- SILENCE The Officer would love for Price to get angry. SENIOR GUARD OFFICER I'm sorry. Price smiles barely, and refuses to pop off. PRICE Forget it. Price puts his cameras in his bag, and as he is shown from the room he notices a copy of the TIME MAGAZINE WITH ELEPHANT sitting on the desk. SENIOR GUARD OFFICER This way. Price is shown to a door, handed over to a soldier, and led outside into the night. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. MILITARY PRISON - DAWN Claire stands at the main doorway surrounded by GUARDS, an OFFICER, and an unidentified CIVILIAN -- she is arguing with them in rapid Spanish, not allowing them to get in a word. CLAIRE (in Spanish) You throw a journalist in jail -- it gets in the papers. You walk all over the same press credentials you pass out. I demand to speak to someone in authority or I'll go to Tacho myself... I don't understand you -- you're big and strong and handsome but you're not so smart! (beat) You should be trying to seduce us! OFFICER Senora... PRICE IS SHOWN OUT A DOOR IN THE BACKGROUND and sees her. PRICE Claire! They hurry toward each other and embrace briefly. The Guards watch it all curiously. CLAIRE You're okay? PRICE I'm fine -- what're you doing here? These guys are goons. CLAIRE They love being beaten up by a woman (beat) I've been looking for you all night -- why'd they lock you up? They walk away together. PRICE I don't know. Taking pictures. The usual. Jazy got me released. CLAIRE Jazy?! You think there's a story there? PRICE Ahh... C.I.A. stories are all alike. I wanta find Rafael. CLAIRE You need help? PRICE No. You? CLAIRE No. (beat) When should we start. PRICE I figure you probably want to do a little research on the history of Marcel Jazy's business connections in the third world countries with C.I.A. influence... CLAIRE Oh. I assumed you'd just look him in the eye and say "Gimme a break, for crissakes, Marcel, are you a spy or aren't you?" CUT TO: EXT. GARDEN COURTYARD OF MARCEL JAZY - DAY LATER Marcel Jazy stands, drink in hand, looking slightly rumpled in the daylight, slightly older, but more charming and self- effacing than his first impression indicated. His two story Mediterranean style house is in slight disrepair; the gardens are scraggly and overgrown. The pool is empty. Jazy addresses Price and Claire. PRICE ...are you a spy or aren't you, eh? JAZY (smiling) Spy is such an odd word, Mr. Price... nobody is a... 'spy'... anymore. CLAIRE Russell prefers pictures to words... JAZY You don't have to apologize... you're journalists. CLAIRE And you're a businessman? JAZY A businessman? That sounds good. Okay, I'm a businessman. PRICE Why was I arrested, and why did you get me released, and who are you? As he speaks, the questioning comes to a sudden halt as a SPECTACULAR LOOKING WOMAN emerges from the shadows of the house into the light of the courtyard. She is tall, Latin, and besides high heels wears only a shiny, high fashion swimsuit, cut high on the legs. Price, Claire, and Jazy stop to watch as the woman stops to look into the empty pool. WOMAN IN SWIMSUIT No agua. JAZY (nodding) No agua. WOMAN IN SWIMSUIT (in Spanish) Oh, Marcel! You told me there would be water in the pool this week! Jazy leans in very coolly to Price and Claire as he pours an extra glass of wine and speaks softly in English again. JAZY If she dove in, I assure you she wouldn't notice. He carries the glass of wine to the woman, smiling warmly. JAZY (to Miss Panama in Spanish) Sweetheart, the Guerrillas knocked out the pumping station on the road to Masaya, and we must ration water for the time being. Next week maybe things will be better. WOMAN IN SWIMSUIT (in Spanish) Maybe I should go back to Panama. JAZY (in Spanish) Maybe you should. Jazy pushes a lounge chair over to her and hands her a glass of wine. The woman unfolds gracefully into a lounge chair in the sun. Very sexy. She reaches for and kisses Jazy's hand affectionately -- he kisses her forehead. She feels better now. Jazy motions for Claire and Price to follow him inside. INT. JAZY'S HOUSE - DAY The pool is visible in b.g. His house, like the pool, is rumpled and slightly sloppy though it betrays the taste of its occupant -- books everywhere, pictures on the wall, nothing cheap or tacky but everything is well worn. JAZY You were arrested because the Guardia are clowns who specialize in excess. You were released because I told them to release you. CLAIRE These are not the normal duties of a businessman. He looks at them directly. JAZY But they are the normal duties of a... spy, eh? You win, I'm a spy. (smiles) There, are you happy? I feel better. He refills their glasses. JAZY Now we can relax. You can turn off your little thing. The red light of her recorder is on. She smiles slightly, undisturbed, and turns it off. JAZY Oh, I trust you won't say anything to hurt me. In some ways I'm a terrible spy. I used to be much better at it, but now it seems everyone knows who I am. I have too many girlfriends. I like to be photographed. (beat) I talk too much. Price and Claire are almost afraid to speak, afraid to interrupt this strange performance. JAZY I always talk too much... but my girlfriends like that... No matter. (pointing to the swimsuited woman) You know who she is? CLAIRE AND PRICE No. JAZY That's Miss Panama. Do you know who that is? CLAIRE AND PRICE Oh, yeah, yes, etc. JAZY She's in love with me. I've got to get some water in the pool. (beat) And once a week I have lunch with President Somoza to discuss security measures against the Sandinista insurgents, but all he wants to talk about is Miss Panama... he's worried about her. Claire interrupts with a smile. CLAIRE Because he thinks she's seeing another man? Jazy smiles slightly before confirming. JAZY ...and he assigned me to find out who the man is. They all smile at this complication. Price is impressed. Jazy changes the subject with fluent and disturbing ease. JAZY We all know the Revolutionaries are going to win, don't we? Silence. They don't know how to respond. THEIR P.O.V. AS MISS PANAMA STRETCHES LIKE AN ENORMOUS CAT They all are slightly entertained and glad for the relief. Unsure what to say next, Price notices a picture on the wall: CLOSEUP - A BLOWN-UP FRAMED PHOTO OF THE RANCH HOUSE WITH POOL The same picture we saw on the leaflets in Africa. PRICE There's a rumor about this picture. Some people say you're a genius -- that you invented this scheme. JAZY It was lots of people's idea... Have you been to Leon? CLAIRE We're going to Masaya... they say the Rebels have hit the cuartel. PRICE It's supposed to be nasty there... a lotta people think Rafael's in the South. I want to find out. JAZY No, no, it's not "nasty" yet. Another week maybe. (beat) You would love Leon. A nice cathedral and beautiful light... et un peu de bang-bang. CLAIRE We're not doing a travelogue, you understand. JAZY Of course, of course... only I have heard that Comandante Rafael has recently had his unit in the area. PRICE (surprised) Rafael is near Leon? JAZY Well... it's a rumor, what do I know? The voice of Miss Panama. MISS PANAMA Estoy desemperado! JAZY She's lonely! CLAIRE Don't let us stand in the way. JAZY It's my job. (beat) You think I talk too much? He doesn't wait for an answer, but excuses himself and goes out to tend to Miss Panama. P.O.V. OF JAZY AND MISS PANAMA BY THE EMPTY POOL as Jazy touches her, whispers, and she waves to Claire and Price. DISSOLVE TO: INT. PRICE'S HOTEL BATHROOM - DAY Early morning. Price lathers up with shaving cream for the first time, cleaning up. As he applies the lather he stops, and slowly draws a face on the mirror with shaving cream until he is staring at: THE IMAGE OF RAFAEL IN SHAVING CREAM ON THE MIRROR CUT TO: EXT. NICARAGUAN COUNTRYSIDE - DAY A RENTED CAR WITH WHITE FLAGS turns onto the road to Leon. Price drives, eats, and reads a map. Claire takes the map from him and reads it herself. They seem to enjoy their first moment alone without Alex looking over their shoulder. A small band-aid is on Price's clean shaven cheek. CLAIRE Did you dream about Miss Panama last night? PRICE I dreamed about you. CLAIRE Have a good time? PRICE Yeah... so'd you. She reaches out and touches his band-aid. CLAIRE And old war injury flaring up? PRICE Is the tape on? CLAIRE Of course. PRICE I was on the deck of the U.S.S. Pueblo catching some rays when the North Koreans attacked... took a bullet right in the chest, but by luck I had an extra roll of high speed ektachrome in this pocket right here... over the heart... CLAIRE And the bullet ricocheted off the film, grazed your cheek, and saved your life. PRICE You heard about it?! I was lucky. PASSING SHOT OF A CLUSTER OF ROADSIDE CROSSES marking a series of graves. Immediately the tone in Claire's voice changes, sobered by the reminder of war. CLAIRE Did anyone ever die next to you in combat? PRICE Yeah. CLAIRE What did you do? PRICE F.8 at a sixtieth. CLAIRE That's an old joke. My question was serious. PRICE So was I. (beat) You ever dream about me? CLAIRE Once. PRICE How was I? CLAIRE Fast. Again their glibness is interrupted by what they came to see. Even as they joke, they watch the landscape with concern. REFUGEES ARE STREAMING OUT OF LEON, mostly women and children, some old men, carrying their possessions. Soldiers stand around. CLAIRE I'm basically a coward, Russell, I hope you understand that. I hope we don't get shot. PRICE Me too. CUT TO: A GUARDIA ROADBLOCK ON A HILL OVERLOOKING THE CITY The press car pulls up to a stop. Price and Claire get out quickly, hand their credentials to a soldier, and open the trunk and the hood. As the car is searched they look down at the city. P.O.V. LEON AS A PLANE CIRCLES FIRING ROCKETS AND SMOKE RISES from several places in the town. The sound of gunfire. CLAIRE (to soldier in Spanish) I thought it was quiet here. SOLDIER (in Spanish) Quiet? Are you sure you want to go down there? Not me. The soldier laughs at the journalists and hands back the credentials. SOLDIER (in Spanish) You must leave the car here. Price speaks in English knowing he can't be understood. PRICE (to soldier) You thinking of scoring a Toyota? CLAIRE (in Spanish) No problem -- we leave the car. Price and Claire remove their things from the car, and Price takes the distributor cap as well as the keys. They walk over and look down the road leading into the city under seige. MORE REFUGEES EVACUATE THE TOWN -- it is a most uninviting sight. The plane passes over the town in the distance firing rockets. CLAIRE Now what? Price responds by flashing his light meter in the air, taking a quick, nervous reading. PRICE C'mon. Be careful. CLAIRE Be careful?! Where the fuck we going? Better light? CUT TO: EXT. STREET INTO LEON - DAY PRICE AND CLAIRE WALK SLOWLY INTO LEON Looking around warily as they go, they are the only people entering the town. Claire speaks softly into her tape recorder as they walk in, recording the event without editorializing. CLAIRE ...June tenth... the evacuation of Leon... a woman carries a pig... signs for the F.S.L.N. are everywhere... a body... THE BODY OF A YOUNG MAN lies ignored on the sidewalk. They continue walking and soon come to: AN INTERSECTION HELD BY LA GUARDIA TROOPS WITH A TANQUETTA Price and Claire duck into a doorway, protected in effect by the Government soldiers who wait silently, guns ready, around the corner of a building. We see what they're waiting for. A YOUNG SANDINISTA COMES OUT OF A BUILDING a block away, holding a handgun. Momentarily confused, he begins running toward us, toward the soldiers waiting in ambush. The Guerrilla races quickly to his waiting death, and as he turns the corner right into a dozen Guardia troops: THE GUARDIA GUNS OPEN UP ON THE YOUNG GUERRILLA, killing him instantly. CLAIRE TURNS HER HEAD AWAY unable to watch. PRICE RECORDS THE EVENT WITH HIS CAMERA THE GUARDIA FOLLOW THE TANQUETTA SLOWLY down the street toward the Rebel youth's house. Suddenly the intersection is empty. PRICE AND CLAIRE MOVE DOWN A SIDESTREET SLOWLY as: SEVERAL GUERRILLA MUCHACHOS DART OUT OF AN ALLEY with sharpened sticks, a spear gun, and one home-made gun. The Muchachos hesitate briefly, lost, and see Price. THE MUCHACHOS QUICKLY POSE FOR A PICTURE motioning for Price to record them. They pose instantly in "tough-guy" posture. PRICE TAKES THEIR PICTURE and just as quickly they dart away through a bombed out building. THREE SANDINISTAS LEAP OFF A ROOFTOP and race toward Claire and Price who freeze: CLAIRE Russell?! For a moment they aren't sure what this means -- are they in trouble? The Sandinistas shove past the two journalists, pushing open a doorway and disappearing inside. For a moment Price and Claire are alone on the street. THE DOOR OPENS AGAIN SLOWLY and a middle-aged WOMAN appears, motioning for them to come inside. INT. PEDRO'S HOUSE - DAY The Three Sandinistas, dressed half in khaki, half recycled disco, are pleading with a young man, PEDRO, 15. SANDINISTA #1 (in Spanish) You must come and help us... one more time. PEDRO (in Spanish) No, please... One of the Sandinistas brings Pedro his rumpled baseball jersey from another room. SANDINISTA #2 (in Spanish) For Leon... for Nicaragua! Pedro sees Price and Claire and is more interested in them. He speaks in broken but understandable English. PEDRO Americans? Journalists? CLAIRE AND PRICE Yes. Pedro lights up, and runs to a shelf where he returns with a baseball he is signing. PEDRO Ah! I put my autograph on this ball. SANDINISTA #1 (in Spanish) Pedro! There is no time to waste. Pedro is more interested in the two Americans. PEDRO When you get back to the United States, I want you to give this ball to Tippy Martinez for me. He is from Nicaragua. Pedro hands Claire the baseball as the Sandinistas plead with Pedro for his help. He is more interested in getting the baseball delivered to Tippy Martinez. Claire accepts the ball graciously, exchanges awkward glances with Price, and puts it in her shoulder bag. SANDINISTA #1 (in Spanish) Enrique is dead! Roberto has disappeared! The Guardia has the church, and we need you! PEDRO (to Claire and Price) You come, eh? (to the Sandinistas) Can they come with us? SANDINISTA #2 Come! Everybody come! They go to the door and open it a crack to look out. P.O.V. THE TANQUETTA PASSES as Soldiers kick open doors across the street. The Sandinistas go to a corner of the room and push a book shelf out of the way. A large hole has been broken in the wall. They climb through the hole into the living room of the next house; the woman pushes the shelf back over the hole with great effort. INT. THE NEXT HOUSE - DAY A family huddles in the corner as the MAN OF THE HOUSE pulls back a couch and a hanging blanket, revealing another hole knocked in the wall. The Sandinistas, Pedro, Claire and Price scramble through. P.O.V. THROUGH A SERIES OF DOOR-SIZED HOLES IN THE WALLS of all the houses on the block, connecting the homes with a secret passageway. The six of them race through the houses, each hole opening and then closing magically. INT. THE KITCHEN OF A TINY SIDEWALK RESTAURANT - DAY The Three Sandinistas, Pedro, Claire, and Price emerge. A WOMAN, 50, runs the cafe and welcomes them. The SIX crawl so as not to be seen from the street; they stop long enough to survey the plaza. P.O.V. THE CENTRAL PLAZA OF LEON DOMINATED BY A HUGE CATHEDRAL Half a dozen bodies are scattered across the plaza. Otherwise, it is empty. P.O.V. SIX GUARDIA SNIPERS IN THE CHURCH TOWER control the plaza. As we watch, they fire off occasional shots in different directions--there is no way to cross the plaza. THE WOMAN PULLS A TRAY OF "CONTACT BOMBS" from the oven, home-made grenades that look like muffins on a tray. Pedro grabs one and pretends to bite into it. The Sandinistas start to laugh and catch themselves as Pedro clowns. Claire and Price aren't sure what the "muffins" are and don't respond; mostly they are on edge. The contact bombs are put in a sack. The woman opens a trap door in the floor, and the six of them climb down a ladder into a tunnel. CUT TO: INT. TUNNEL UNDERNEATH THE FLOOR - DAY Pedro leads them with a candle through a dark passage under the street. Overhead we hear gunfire. Rats scurry, and water runs through an open sewer. CUT TO: INT. THE CATHEDRAL - DAY A tapestry rug is pulled away, and Pedro's head appears. He climbs out and soon all the party is in the church. A PRIEST leads them quickly through an immense, nearly. European interior of ornate altars and burning candles. The small party is led to a small corner of the sanctuary where a long, rickety ladder leads up to the roof. THE SANDINISTAS SCRAMBLE UP THE LADDER as it sways. Pedro follows with his sack of contact bombs. Then Price goes up as the Priest holds the ladder. The American is much larger than the Nicaraguans -- the ladder squeaks and sways, and when he is nearly at the top: THE LADDER CRACKS as Price reaches the top and is helped to safety. The Priest steadies the ladder now made unsafe and clearly Claire wants to go onto the roof. PRIEST (in Spanish) No, please... it's not safe. You must come with me. Claire looks at Price -- she wants to go on the roof but the sound of close gunfire settles the dilemma. Claire hurries off to safety with the Priest. CUT TO: EXT. THE ROOFTOP OF THE CATHEDRAL OF LEON - LATE IN DAY THREE SANDINISTAS, PEDRO, AND PRICE EMERGE FROM A TUNNEL onto a lower level of the cathedral rooftop where a body lies. They are exposed immediately and automatic weapons fire opens up on them -- the Sandinistas flatten against a wall, quickly becoming separated from Price and Pedro. TWO SANDINISTAS RACE FOR COVER BEHIND A CUPOLA in a move that is equally daring and foolish. The diversion draws fire from the two soldiers. PRICE'S LIGHT METER IS INSTANTLY OUT TAKING READINGS as Pedro huddles with him, curious at this strange act. TWO GUARDIA MOVE INTO POSITION TO FLUSH OUT THE SANDINISTAS as they hide behind the cupolas. The hidden Third Guerrilla opens fire killing a Guardia soldier, and the other soldier races for the belltower. As he does: THE SANDINISTAS SEIZE THE MOMENT TO RUSH CLOSER, waving to Pedro who slips along a wall with his bag of bombs. PRICE STARTS TO FOLLOW BUT IS PINNED DOWN BY FIRE and chooses to take refuge halfway in an alcove. As fire from both sides ricochets all over the rooftop, Price switches camera lenses seemingly oblivious to the action. PEDRO MEETS ONE OF THE SANDINISTAS in a protected niche and quickly they are unfolding his bag, setting the "muffin bombs" out on the rooftop. THE OTHER TWO SANDINISTAS OPEN HEAVY FIRE and briefly draw heavier fire from the belltower, as: PEDRO PICKS UP A MUFFIN weighing it briefly in his hand, like a pitcher. He studies the surroundings -- runners on first and third, no outs -- he spits in his left (his pitching hand) and rubs it in casually. Pedro crosses himself, goes into an abbreviated pitching motion, then rears and fires the 'muffin' toward the belltower window, exposing himself as he does. AN EXPLOSION IN THE TOWER PEDRO THROWS ANOTHER INTO THE TOWER -- another explosion. A GUARDIA SOLDIER STAGGERS INTO THE WINDOW and a Sandinista drops him with a shot. All is quiet. THE THREE SANDINISTAS CAREFULLY RUSH THE TOWER, looking in and motion to Pedro and Price that all is okay, and as they do: ANOTHER SHOT RINGS OUT -- they whirl around -- Pedro and Price drop again. A lone Guardia soldier fires at them from the other tower. A THIRD SANDINISTA DROPS HIM WITH A VOLLEY OF FIRE Again all is quiet. PRICE FOLLOWS THE SANDINISTAS TO THE FIRST BELLTOWER and looks in. FIVE BODIES LIE SCATTERED AND BLOODIED One of the Guerrillas kicks a couple of them to make sure they are dead. In the corner, one body lies on top of another. Satisfied, the Sandinistas head for the other tower. PRICE STAYS BEHIND TO TAKE A FEW PICTURES and the ever-present light meter appears, followed by several quick shots of the bodies. Then Price goes to one of the arched, stone windows. He looks out over the city. P.O.V. OF LEON -- DUSK Late in the afternoon now, the fighting is over for the day. An occasional gunshot. Smoke rises from scattered places throughout the city. There is new rubble. The town is littered with bodies. P.O.V. THE RED CROSS WAGON MOVING THROUGH THE STREET A man walks in front of it, chanting slowly, rhythmically: RED CROSS MAN Hay heridas o muertes aqui? Hay heridas o muertes aqui? (Are there wounded or dead here?) We see a woman drag a body out into the street. The Red Cross man makes small stacks of bodies. He douses the bodies with gasoline and sets the pile aflame. Then continues. RED CROSS MAN Hay heridas o muertes aqui? Price watches. He thinks he hears something, then dismisses it. Something else. A voice, almost a whisper. VOICE Price. You motherfucker, Price, I'm talking to you. He turns. One of the bodies speaks. VOICE Where are those bastards... are they away? Price looks out -- the Sandinistas are on the other side of the roof. This war gets stranger. PRICE They're away. A body rolls out from under another body. Blood-splattered, smiling, wiping the blood from his face. It is Oates, the mercenary from Africa. He peeks out the window -- the Sandinistas are on the other side of the roof. He whispers. OATES What the fuck are you doing here? PRICE What the fuck are you doing here? For a moment they understand that they are there for the same reason -- they make their livings off war. Oates peeks out the window nervously and repeatedly. OATES Awright, awright -- you're lookin' good... how ya like Nicaragua? OATES readies his automatic weapon in case it's needed -- routine. Price doesn't know how to answer. PRICE It's beautiful. Oates laughs quickly and softly -- he is tuned into the strangeness of Price's answer. OATES Shitload o' greasers though, eh? P.O.V. THE SANDINISTAS HEADING BACK TOWARD US OATES AND PRICE SEE THEM, and Oates crawls back under the pile of bodies. THE SANDINISTAS LOOK INTO THE BELLTOWER, all looks quiet, and they motion to Price. SANDINISTA #1 (in Spanish) It's getting late -- come on. CUT TO: EXT. THE FRONT OF THE CATHEDRAL - DUSK The Three Sandinistas, Pedro, and Price are hiding in the shadows of the main church entrance. The Sandinistas are carefully peeking around the corner, checking out the plaza. It seems safe. The door opens; the Priest lets Claire out. For a moment she looks around to see who's still alive -- in the shadows Price looks like one of the Guerrillas. They see each other and embrace briefly. CLAIRE You're okay? The Sandinistas seem to relax. The Sandinistas take pride in Pedro and pat his left arm for Price and Claire. SANDINISTA #1 San-dee Koufax, no? SANDINISTA #2 Si, Koufax. SANDINISTA #3 Es mejor que Koufax, eh?! They seem to want approval from the Americans. CLAIRE Much better than Koufax. The Sandinistas slap hands, familiar with the American gesture. The Six start walking across the plaza away from the church. In the b.g. we see piles of bodies burning; the Red Cross tends to the wounded locals. Spirits are high as they walk. The tiny red light glows on Claire's recorder. PEDRO Koufax is okay... but Tippy Martinez, he is the best... he pitches for the Baltimore Orioles, and some day I will be the second man from Nicaragua to play in the major leagues... SANDINISTA #1 (to Price and Claire) Tippy Martinez had a good fastball, but Pedro has a curveball and a screwball that are better. All five of them agree that Pedro is the best; they slap his valued arm and relax for the first time all day. PEDRO You will give my autographed baseball to Tippy and tell him in five years I will be pitching with him, okay? He better watch out for me, eh? CUT TO: EXT. ROOFTOP OF THE CATHEDRAL - DUSK OATES CHECKS THE CLIP ON HIS RIFLE and looks down into the plaza. OATES P.O.V. TO THE SIX WALKING AWAY He doesn't smile or joke -- it's all business. He aims the rifle. CUT TO: EXT. THE PLAZA - DUSK SANDINISTA #1 (in Spanish) It's too dangerous to return to Managua at night. You should stay at the house of hammocks. CLAIRE (in Spanish) Gracias. Can they get into trouble for keeping us? PEDRO No, no... you are not combatants. (would rather talk baseball) The Baltimore team is my team... A SHOT RINGS OUT, AND PEDRO'S CHEST EXPLODES in front of us. Sudden panic, rage, confusion -- the Sandinistas whirl and scan the building. P.O.V. OATES RACING ACROSS THE CATHEDRAL ROOFTOP into the night. PRICE GRABS PEDRO'S GUN AND WHIRLS to face the church; his action is instinctive, angry, and electric with energy. CLAIRE GRABS PEDRO'S ARM AND DRAGS THE BODY to safety, though there is no safety and the body is lifeless. Her actions are protective and automatic. THE SANDINISTAS TAKE CONTROL OF THE SITUATION and move quickly. Two of them fan out to cover the escape. Price screams in the direction of Oates, PRICE You bastard! Claire drags the body near a bench under a tree. CLAIRE What about him?! SANDINISTA #1 (dispassionately) He's dead. The Sandinistas survey the cathedral and streets carefully, warily, upset at their nonchalance. They know the sniper is disappearing into the night, but they continue to look. SANDINISTA #1 I will talk to Pedro's mother. You must go to the house of the hammocks if you want to be safe. The Three Sandinistas fan out toward the church as it gets dark. PRICE AND CLAIRE STAND NEXT TO PEDRO, feeling helpless and ineffective. They both look at the body. Price realizes he's holding Pedro's gun and places it down next to the body. Price notices the tiny red light is still glowing on her tape recorder. He points it out to Claire. She turns it off. CUT TO: INT. THE HOUSE OF HAMMOCKS - NIGHT IN A NEARLY DARK ROOM full of hanging hammocks, Claire sits on the floor lit by a low wattage bulb hanging from a cord. In another room through a door Price can be seen with a family in the hammock workshop. Claire talks softly into her recorder. CLAIRE Hello sweetheart, this is your mother. I'm in Leon and I miss you. Don't worry about me -- it's not dangerous at all. I guess you can't believe what you hear on the news. I'll put this this tape in the mail when I get back to Managua, but knowing what the mail service is like, I may be home before it arrives. I think about you all the time and hope I can make it back before you graduate from Jr. High. As she speaks Price bids the family farewell and comes into the room with Claire where he lies down in a hammock. CLAIRE I love you and I'll finish this letter when I get back to the hotel. Claire lies down on a mat, exhausted, after turning out the light. Several moments pass before Price speaks. PRICE I know who shot Pedro. I knew somebody was in the tower. CLAIRE Why didn't you tell the guerrillas? PRICE I don't know... then they would've killed him I guess. I didn't want to interfere. CLAIRE It wasn't an easy choice. PRICE I think I made the wrong one. Silence. CLAIRE You didn't take any pictures when it was over. PRICE I didn't? (beat) I picked up a gun. Jesus. (beat) Is something happening to us? CLAIRE Yes. Silence. They lie for a long time in the dark. A light in the house is turned off. Finally: PRICE Are you asleep? CLAIRE No. Price gets out of the hammock and lies down next to her. They don't speak. They kiss. She unbuttons his shirt. He unbuttons her blouse. They undress just enough to begin making love softly, quietly. DISSOLVE TO: INT. PRICE AND CLAIRE'S ROOM - DAWN The first light of dawn strikes Claire's bare torso. PRICE'S LIGHT METER APPEARS AT HER BACK Price takes a reading, then moves the meter to her neck, another reading. He moves it down her nude body lit beautifully in the vague light, partially covered with a blanket. He scurries across the room, stark naked, with a camera. Price begins photographing her. He moves back to her and gently removes the blanket from the rest of her body. His actions are quiet and easy. He stops frequently to admire her. Claire lies sleeping nude, except for her socks. Price moves around the room -- picture, picture, picture. CLAIRE WAKES UP SLOWLY and pulls the blanket back over her. She opens her eyes and sees Price sitting in a chair several feet away with his camera. PRICE G'morning. CLAIRE What are you doing? PRICE You look beautiful. She realizes what he's been doing. CLAIRE How long have you been doing this? PRICE