By Michael Bryan
High above a city street, is a raised platform somewhere in Brooklyn, New York.
Beneath the platform is the usual assortment of stores; a small ma-and-pop grocery, busy laundromat, car lot.
People fan themselves in the city heat. Summer in New York. Not pretty. Daylight is fading and the sky is shifting to night.
JOAN, a woman in her twenties, stands on the platform. Her long blonde hair falls from underneath her brilliant white and orange hat.
She enters the platform and stops.
Row after row of brilliant white orchids drape over the platform, creating a sort of ‘roof.’ The white leaves glow in the fading light.
Each plant hangs from a hook extending over the platform.
Joan walks to one of the plants, runs her fingertips along the petals. She closes her eyes, takes in a deep breath.
The worry fades from her face. The anxiety - gone. She’s lost in a memory.
A man’s face LOOMS before her. She could almost touch him, the image is so realistic. He’s happy, handsome and looking at her lovingly. She smiles wistfully.
Then...he vanishes. She opens her eyes, the worry and anxiety right back in place.
She lowers her hand, removes the bright yellow purse from over her shoulder, opens it.
Inside is a lipstick, pocketbook, a hair brush. And in the far corner a bright, metallic object.
She removes the metallic object from purse. It’s a pair scissors. Shiny, bright scissors.
She looks at her watch. The time: “5:14.”
She places the scissors deftly up the sleeve of her pink blouse and turns around, faces the turnstile.
LIONEL stands in the turnstile. He’s tall, statuesque, in his 20’s - a looming figure.
We recognize his face from her memory when she touched the white petals. But there is no look of love in his eyes now. Only concern.
His rough, hairy, calloused hands push on the wooden turnstile.
LIONEL
I didn’t set you up.
JOAN
How can I believe you?
LIONEL
Because I love you. Isn’t that enough?
Her index finger relaxes. The tip of the scissors slides out - just a bit.
She tilts her head back. She smiles. Her entire face lights up. She could be a model if she wanted to.
JOAN (CONT’D)
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bite your head off. Come here. Let me make it up to you.
She tilts her face toward him, her red lips ready for his kiss. He comes to her.
His eyes close as their lips meet. A breeze ripples across the platform, sending petals fluttering to their feet.
Joan raises her arms. Their lips part, then meet again. She places her arms about his neck. Slowly her hands descend, down his body.
Their legs are very close, their feet touching each other. A pair of perfectly white orchid petals lie at their feet.
Looming and large - the petals almost fill out entire view. Suddenly, his feet struggle. So do hers. Back and forth they intertwine. Something horrible is happening.
Then...they stop. Perfectly still.
Without warning, a single splash of scarlet red blood from high above falls neatly across one of the white petals at their feet as...
INT. HOTEL MARSEILLES NEW YORK CITY / 1939 - EARLY EVENING
...CORNELL WOOLRICH gasps! His bedroom door is flung open!
BEATRICE
Steak?
Cornell (30, hair slicked back, eyes black as buckshot) sits in front of his Smith and Corona typewriter, his hands poised over the keys.
Standing in the doorway of his bedroom is BEATRICE WOOLRICH, his mother. She’s 45, dressed in a long, classic, form fitting black dress, a strand of white pearls in her hand.
She holds a dinner plate of steak and vegetables, a knife and fork on the rim.
CORNELL
You scared me to death.
BEATRICE
Jumpy, jumpy, jumpy. Anxiety makes you die faster, it’s a proven scientific fact. You must learn to relax, Cornell. Besides...
She places the dinner plate on his bedside table.
BEATRICE (CONT’D)
You’re making me jumpy as well. I don’t like being jumpy.
She cuts herself a piece of meat, spearing the steak with the end of the knife.
BEATRICE (CONT’D)
I feel like you’re ignoring me.
CORNELL
I’m writing.
BEATRICE
May I see?
CORNELL
Thank you, but I’m all right.
BEATRICE
That’s not what Addison said.
CORNELL
Addison is an editor, not God. I can do this.
BEATRICE
(small smile)
Of course you can. I never doubted that for one second. But it’s only human to admit you’re stuck, Cornell. That’s why you’ve got me.
Cornell removes the paper from the typewriter and exits the room.
Knife/steak in hand, Beatrice follows.
LIVING ROOM
Beatrice trails behind Cornell.
BEATRICE (CONT’D)
I’m the only one who knows you. I’m the only one who can really help.
Cornell opens the closet by the front door.
BEATRICE (CONT’D)
(slightly garbled)
Did you hear me?
CORNELL
Addison needs the opening of the book tomorrow.
BEATRICE
So I’ll call him and tell him you need an extension.
CORNELL
I could meet the deadline if you left me alone to work!
She points the knife/steak at him.
BEATRICE
You promised me a night at the theater!
CORNELL
I know I did, mother.
BEATRICE
I don’t like liars. Is that what you are, Cornell Woolrich? A liar?
CORNELL
I am a writer who is trying to write his first book.
BEATRICE
No, you are a man who is acting like a very stubborn little boy. Come on, now. Let me see what you’ve written.
CORNELL
I can do it, mother.
BEATRICE
Apparently not.
She yanks the paper out of his hand, pops the steak into her mouth, reads the paper.
CORNELL
Mother.
BEATRICE
(chewing)
Yes?
CORNELL
Give me the paper.
BEATRICE
(playfully)
This? You want this? Oh, Connie wants his pice of paper, Connie wants his piece of paper. What do I get in return?
She waves it in the air, dancing an odd little jig. Faster than a Cobra, Cornell RIPS it out of her hands.
The force of the gesture is so violent, Beatrice is momentarily stunned into silence.
CORNELL (CONT’D)
Now will you leave me alone!?
Beatrices eyelids flutter.
She raises her hand to her forehead - the one with the knife in it - and MOANS.
BEATRICE
Damn headaches.
Cornell’s face says it all - here we go again. He takes a blue sweater out of the closet.
BEATRICE (CONT’D)
(so pained)
I suppose you wish your father were here now.
CORNELL
Why would I want the help of someone I didn’t even know?
BEATRICE
He didn’t love you like I do. No one does. No one loves you like your mama.
Cornell puts the sweater on. She scuttles to him, removes it from his shoulder. He puts it back on. She again removes it.
BEATRICE (CONT’D)
Come on, now. Wear the new cufflinks I bought you. All the ladies will notice.
Cornell moves away from her, puts the sweater on properly, avoiding her eyes.
BEATRICE (CONT’D)
And off to the park he goes.
CORNELL
It calms me down.
BEATRICE
It’s August, Connie. You don’t need a sweater.
CORNELL
I’m cold.
He buttons the sweater in silence.
BEATRICE
I’m awful, aren’t I?
(pause)
I didn’t mean to be so vulgar. Come here. Let me make it up to you.
A startled look crosses Cornell’s face. Where has he heard that before?
He swiftly kisses her on the cheek, opens the door and leaves.
BEATRICE (CONT’D)
Con?
Beatrice stands alone in the empty apartment.
EXT. HOTEL MARSEILLES - MOMENTS LATER
Cornell walks down the sprawling steps of the Hotel Marseilles, his home.
It’s a mammoth, lavish hotel on the corner of Central Park West and 110th street in Manhattan. It towers above him.
EXT. CENTRAL PARK WEST AND 92ND STREET - LATER
His hands in his pocket, he saunters down a nearly deserted city street, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
Ahead, a group of four people walk towards him - two men, two women. Cornell meets the eyes of a woman. She smiles. He turns away.
As they pass him - one couple on each side - Cornell draws in his shoulders, making sure they don’t touch.
MAN
Let’s go into the park!
WOMAN
Are you kidding? We’ll be murdered!
MAN
What’s so wrong with that?
WOMAN
Only perverts and murders go into the park at night.
MAN
You should feel right at home then.
The woman hits the man on the shoulder. All four LAUGH.
One of them drops a piece of paper. It flutters to the ground, to the base of Cornell’s feet.
It’s a pamphlet with a graphic of a futuristic city on the cover. It reads:
“See the Greatest Wonder of New York! The 1939 Worlds Fair!”
Cornell stands, not noticing a man standing right behind him. The man collides into Cornell, almost knocking him over.
CORNELL
Oh, I beg your pardon.
The man tips his hat to Cornell and smiles. His teeth seem to shine in the darkness.
He walks away. Cornell looks down, spies in the man’s hand a silver dollar as it rolls back and forth between his fingers.
The man pauses at an entrance to the park. He looks once at Cornell, then turns and walks into the city forest.
Cornell inhales deeply on his cigarette. He turns, looks behind him. The four people are down the street, far away.
He throws his cigarette into the street.
EXT. CENTRAL PARK
Cornell trudges through the dimly lit park. He comes to a tiny clearing deep in the woods. He sees movement. He walks forward, his eyes wide, unblinking.
Ahead, a man stands with another man. Both of them have their hands deep in each others trousers.
One of the men looks up. He catches Cornell’s eyes. He looks at Cornell and smiles. Cornell startles, turns and walks away.
Cornell darts through the forest. A low hanging branch cuts him across the cheek. He gives a tiny yelp and runs away.
EXT. O’LEARYS BAR - MOMENTS LATER
Cornell quickly walks down the street. The cut on his cheek is visible. He puffs on a cigarette wedged between his fingers.
He stops outside ‘O’Leary’s Bar’ - a classy, midtown Irish pub - and enters.
INT. O’LEARYS BAR
It’s a plush place. Red walls and black leather. Bustling and busy.
Cornell walks to the bar, reaches into his pocket, pulls out fifty cents. He looks at his hands. They are shaking.
He quickly puts his money on the counter and his shaking hands in his lap, out of view.
CORNELL
Alice, vodka with a little tonic, please.
ALICE, a pretty but seasoned bartender in her late 20’s, pours his drink and places it in front of Cornell.
ALICE
What happened to your cheek?
Cornell frowns. Alice motions to the mirrored bar behind her. He looks at his reflection. He sees the cut on his cheek. He touches it with his shaking fingers.
In the reflection of the mirror, Cornell notices a man. He is staring at Cornell. The man smiles. Cornell hesitantly smiles back.
MANNING OWENSTON. Mid-30’s, black hair slicked back, green eyes, dark skin. A real looker.
Manning wipes his brow, mouths the words ‘It’s a scorcher’.
He raises his glass to Cornell. Cornell raises his glass and drinks. Their eyes meet. They drink their drinks in one, long gulp, all the while staring at one another.
Both place their glasses down at the exact same time. Cornell breaks the stare, pulls a tip from his pocket and places it on the counter.
ALICE
‘Nother round, Cornell?
CORNELL
No, I’m good. Thanks, Alice.
Cornell lights a cigarette and turns. He walks out of the bar.
Manning motions to Alice to pour him another. She does, not noticing that down below, in his hand is a silver dollar rolling over and over.
INT. HOTEL MARSEILLES
Cornell quietly enters his apartment, carefully closing the door behind him.
He tiptoes across the darkened living room when a shard of lights crosses his path.
BEATRICE (O.S.)
Connie?
Beatrice walks down a long, dimly lit hallway to Cornell. She wears a long black and silver nightgown.
BEATRICE (CONT’D)
Where have you been?
CORNELL
At the park. You knew that.
BEATRICE
Did you go to that horrible Irish bar afterwards?
CORNELL
I like it there.
BEATRICE
I don’t know why. It’s beneath you. The Ritz is so much closer.
She comes to him, a sweet, soft smile on her face.
BEATRICE (CONT’D)
I’m sorry about earlier.
CORNELL
It’s okay.
BEATRICE
No, it was mean. I’m your mother. Mothers don’t talk to their sons like that. I certainly don’t. Let me make it up to you?
She takes him into her arms.
BEATRICE (CONT’D)
I only want the best for you. You know that, don’t you?
CORNELL
Yes. I know that.
BEATRICE
Well, it’s true. You’re my only boy. I don’t know what I’d do without you. So I don’t want you worrying about a thing. Not the book, not money, nothing.
CORNELL
Yes, mother.
BEATRICE
Because Addison will understand you just can’t write it yourself. You and I will work on together, like we always do.
She holds him at arms length.
BEATRICE (CONT’D)
Do you want me to make you some tea?
CORNELL
I’m going to bed.
BEATRICE
But the opening scene isn’t done.
CORNELL
It’s done.
Beatrice takes his chin in her hand.
BEATRICE
(tender but with force)
I’ll bring the tea to you. I put some new ideas on your desk. I think you might like them.
He faintly nods, looks at the clock on the wall. The hands read “1:12.” He walks away, down the hallway to his bedroom.
Beatrice looks out of the window facing the city street. Her eyes then fall to the window facing the street. Her pupils seem to constrict, her eyes seem to become smaller and dark.
She looks at the clock. It reads “4:33.”
The hands of the clock in the apartment blend, change - until they are the hands on a watch.
A watch on the wrist of a man.
EXT. TRAIN PLATFORM
We are back in the story Cornell is trying to write.
The hands on the watch read “4:33.” The watch is on the wrist of Lionel. He no longer wears a Fedora. His hair is slicked back. His eyes are small, frightened.
He looks to the turnstile.
There’s Joan.
She stands by the turnstile, her face hidden from view by the large, white and orange hat she wears. She walks down the platform, toward Lionel.
LIONEL
You gave me up.
JOAN
Silly, silly Lionel. I only want the best for you.
LIONEL
I don’t believe you.
JOAN
I’d do anything for you, anything to make you happy.
She stops in front of him.
JOAN (CONT’D)
Let me make it up to you?
She takes him into her arms.
Slowly, he raises his hands, holds her from behind.
JOAN (CONT’D)
I love you.
LIONEL
I love you -
Lionel gasps! For a fraction of a second, the face of Joan is replaced with the face of Beatrice.
The color drains from Beatrice’s face as Lionel raises the scissors into the air behind her.
Instantly, the face of Beatrice is replaced again with the face of Joan as Lionel plunges the scissors deep into her!
INT. ADDISON LEFKOWITZ OFFICE - MORNING
...ADDISON LEFKOWITZ, Cornell’s literary agent, a well-dressed, heavy-jawed man in his mid-50’s, looks up from the papers in his hand.
ADDISON
I know what this is.
CORNELL
Really?
ADDISON
It’s, it’s that thing, that story you told me about. Some guy in an apartment complex sees a murder but can’t do anything because he’s trapped -
CORNELL
That’s not it.
ADDISON
What is it then?
CORNELL
It’s the opening. That’s what Binky wants, right? Well...there it is.
Addison opens a massive black book on his desk. Inside are rows after rows of black and white crime photographs.
ADDISON
When was this?
CORNELL
(for the hundreth time)
1912.
ADDISON
And this?
CORNELL
1915.
ADDISON
I didn’t take a single picture in here without you by my side.
He leans into Cornell.
ADDISON (CONT’D)
Now why would I do that? Take a 12 year old kid with me to scenes of murder and violence?
CORNELL
Because you were a demented news photographer?
ADDISON
Well, your father wasn’t going to do it, was he?
CORNELL
I don’t want to talk about him.
ADDISON
Then let’s talk about the fact Binky wants the book in four weeks and you can’t seem to write a single word worth the paper it’s typed on!
CORNELL
I can do better.
ADDISON
I needed better two months ago! What is wrong with you?
Cornell rises in frustration, looks out of the nearby window.
CORNELL
Every time I sit down to write, she’s there. When I wake, she’s there. When I go to sleep, she’s there. All the time, there she is, lurking, watching me.
(looks up)
I shouldn’t talk like this. It’s not right.
ADDISON
You need to get a room.
CORNELL
A what?
ADDISON
A hotel room, to work. You’ve got four weeks to get this ready.
CORNELL
(smile)
She won’t like that.
ADDISON
I can take care of her.
CORNELL
She’ll be hurt. I don’t want her to be hurt.
ADDISON
And what about you? Huh? Where does it stop for you? Here, let me do this. You just follow along, all right?
Addison picks up the nearby phone and dials.
ADDISON (CONT’D)
The contract for the book is on the table. You need to sign it.
(into phone)
Capital Hill 5-6289, please.
Cornell glances at the papers.
CORNELL
What is a Provision Clause?
ADDISON
Your mother put it together. You can take it to another lawyer if you want.
CORNELL
No, no.
He signs the contract.
ADDISON
(into phone)
Bea! How are you, my dear?
Addison winks at Cornell as he leaves.
EXT. HOTEL CARLISLE - LATER
Cornell walks up the gleaming steps of the sprawling Hotel Carlisle. The porter bows to Cornell and opens wide the massive glass doors.
In Cornell’s hands are two suitcases - one filled with this clothes, the other his typewriter.
INT. HOTEL CARLISLE ROOM #88
Cornell enters his elegant and spacious suite. Fresh flowers adorn the desk and coffee table...a huge platter of fresh food sits nearby. Light lavender curtains flutter in the breeze.
Cornell places his typewriter on the antique mahogany desk and sits down with a pleased sigh.
He sits and types.
LATER
Cornell continues to type. He is surrounded by wads of crumpled paper. He looks miserable. It’s getting dark.
Suddenly, the phone rings. Startled, Cornell picks it up.
CORNELL
Hello?...Oh, hello Mother...
Cornell idly picks up a nearby letter opener. He twists the sharp tip over and over on the desk top.
CORNELL (CONT’D)
But I haven’t finished...yes, I’ve heard of the play...but...all right...fine...no, I said that’s fine...I’ll meet you there...47th and Broadway...okay, Mother...yes, me too. Goodbye.
Cornell hangs up the phone. He looks down, at the letter opener.
To his shock, the blade is buried deep into the desk.
His fingers trace the lines. He stares at them, his brow furrowed, but his expression one of curiosity.
INT. FLEUR DE LIS RESTAURANT - LATER
Elegant candle-lit Manhattan restaurant. Cornell and Beatrice finish their dinner.
BEATRICE
Did you enjoy the play?
CORNELL
Yes, Mother.
BEATRICE
It’s so nice to have dinner with you again.
CORNELL
I’ve only been out of the house for a week, Mother.
BEATRICE
It feels like a lot longer. You know how much I detest an empty house.
Beatrice lights a cigarette. Cornell sip red wine.
BEATRICE
So is the book coming all right?
CORNELL
Fine, fine.
BEATRICE
(devilish surprise)
I have some new ideas for you.
CORNELL
It’s not ready yet.
BEATRICE
(coy)
What do you mean not ready? They’re just ideas.
CORNELL
Let me get through the first draft myself, okay? I appreciate it, but I want to do this alone.
Cornell sips his wine.
BEATRICE
I want you to stop this silliness.
CORNELL
What silliness?
BEATRICE
You know perfectly well what I mean.
Cornell places his glass on the table.
BEATRICE (CONT’D)
And I’d appreciate you not smirking at me like that. It makes me look ridiculous and I am not ridiculous.
CORNELL
I’m sorry if it appears I’m smirking.
BEATRICE
(low voice)
Why are you torturing me like this?
Cornell looks up at her. She sees the admonishment in his eyes. She sees the judging.
BEATRICE
What has gotten into you?
CORNELL
I told you, I need to finish the opening.
BEATRICE
You’ll need me.
CORNELL
I can do it myself.
BEATRICE
You won’t be able to finish it in time.
CORNELL
I am finishing it. At the Carlisle, like Addison said, like you agreed to.
BEATRICE
With my money.
(pause/regrouping)
Why can’t you finish it at home? You have everything you need there. You have food and shelter and me to help you along.
CORNELL
Exactly.
Pause.
BEATRICE
I see.
Beatrice gestures for the waiter to bring over the check. Cornell reaches into his pocket for money.
BEATRICE
I’ve got it.
CORNELL
Stop being silly. I can pay my portion.
BEATRICE
I said I have it.
She smiles at him, stands, places the napkin in her lap on the plate and walks away.
EXT. RESTAURANT - LATER
Cornell helps Beatrice into a cab.
A PAIR OF HAND twirl a silver dollar between it’s fingers. It’s Manning, watching Cornell and his mother from across the street.
Cornell leans into the passenger window of the cab.
CORNELL
Thank you for dinner, mother. I enjoyed your company.
Beatrice takes a tube of red lipstick from her purse, as well as a compact mirror.
She looks at her reflection in the mirror. The street across the way is visible, as well as Cornell’s looming reflection.
BEATRICE
110th and Central Park West, please.
The cab speeds off.
Cornell watches as it glides down the street, around the corner and out of sight.
The SILVER DOLLAR stop twirling in Manning’s hand. He crosses the street, follows Cornell.
INT. O’LEARYS BAR
Cornell stands at the entrance of the bar.
His eyes sweep across the landscape, settling on Manning - the man who said ‘it’s a scorcher.’
Cornell sits at the bar.
CORNELL
Vodka tonic, Alice.
Alice nods, makes him a drink, places it in front of him. Cornell takes a sip, removes a cigarette from his pocket, places it in his mouth, searches for a match.
A flame comes into his view. Cornell looks up at the man as he leans forward and lights Cornell’s cigarette.
CORNELL (CONT’D)
Nice lighter.
Manning rests his hand on the edge of Cornell’s chair.
MANNING
Someone gave it to me as a gift.
CORNELL
You must have done something awfully special.
MANNING
You could say that.
CORNELL
I’m sorry, I hope I’m not being rude, but I came in here for a drink.
MANNING
So did I.
CORNELL
By myself.
MANNING
So you’re not here with anyone?
CORNELL
No.
MANNING
I’m waiting for a date.
CORNELL
Good for you.
MANNING
I”ve never met her before. A friend suggested me meet. He said she’s very mysterious. I hope she’s at least attractive. I dislike unattractive women. Don’t you?
Cornell raises his eyebrows, downs his drink. Manning follows in suit.
INT. REAR CORNER OF O’LEARYS - LATER
Cornell and Manning sit in a booth in the back of the bar. It’s nearly deserted.
An ashtray filled with cigarette butts sits in front of them.
MANNING
Even after moving into the hotel?
Cornell nods.
MANNING (CONT’D)
I’ll bet you could if you really tried.
CORNELL
Ah. Devil’s advocate.
MANNING
Want a piece of wisdom?
CORNELL
Wisdom or opinion?
MANNING
You can’t admit what it is you want. That’s why you can’t write.
CORNELL
That’s the wisdom?
MANNING
Clear away the clouds and see the problem for what it is. If you knew what you wanted you could write the book.
CORNELL
And saying what I want will do that? Miraciously bring me into focus, heralding the call of my muse, whoever that may be?
Manning blows out a stream of smoke, tilts his head and stares at Cornell.
Cornell takes Manning cigarette case into his hand, pressing his thumb against the outside.
His translucent thumbprint is visible. As he talks, the thumbprint slowly vanishes.
CORNELL
I’m so tired of being worried all the time. It’s like this weight is on me and I can’t get it off. I know something’s wrong with me. I look at people and I know they aren’t haunted by the same things. They look so happy, you know? Like they’ve got all the answers.
(laugh)
Why am I telling you this?
Manning rests his hand on Cornell’s.
MANNING
It’s called being human.
Cornell looks at Mannings hand. He lifts his gaze, looks into Mannings brilliant green eyes.
CORNELL
Where is this going?
MANNING
Where do you want it to go?
Their eyes lock. Then, Cornell slides his hand from under Mannings.
Cornell takes money from his wallet, puts it on the table and stands. He removes a key from his pocket - a key with the words ‘Carlysle Hotel’ printed on it.
Manning looks at the key, looks up at Cornell.
INT. CORNELL’S HOTEL ROOM - LATER/SAME NIGHT
Cornell stands by the bar. He puts two ice cubes into a glass, pours a splash of scotch over the ice and sits on the couch.
Manning pours his drink, sits across the room.
MANNING
Can I ask you something?
CORNELL
Why does a 35-year-old man still live with his mother?
MANNING
That wasn’t the question.
CORNELL
But it’s what you wanted to ask.
MANNING
Do you read minds as well as write mysteries?
CORNELL
I don’t write mysteries. I don’t care who did it. I care why.
Manning rises, sits in a chair closer to Cornell.
MANNING
Is she ever a bitch?
CORNELL
I didn’t ask you up here to discuss my mother.
MANNING
I’ll bet you never raise your voice to her, do you?
CORNELL
Of course I do.
MANNING
You’re a terrible liar.
Manning rises again, sits closer.
MANNING (CONT’D)
Why did you ask me up here?
CORNELL
I wanted the company.
MANNING
That’s all?
CORNELL
You have a kind face. I know how that sounds, but...I feel I know you. Like I’ve know you for a very long time.
MANNING
I feel I know you as well.
Manning moves closer.
MANNING (CONT’D)
Like we’ve known each other our entire lives.
CORNELL
(breathless)
Yes.
Manning leans into Cornell for a kiss. As their lips touch, Cornell LAUGHS.
MANNING
This is funny to you?
CORNELL
Hysterical.
(leaning back)
I saw you at the park. I saw you at the restaurant and I saw you at the bar. What’s your angle?
MANNING
My angle?
CORNELL
Everyone has one.
MANNING
You. You’re my angle.
CORNELL
I don’t have any money. My mother has all of it. I’m not good looking and I’m certainly not a very good lover.
MANNING
I didn’t come here for your money. I could give a shit about your mother. As for the lover part...my judgement’s pending.
Manning swoops in for a kiss. Cornell tries to scramble away, but Manning holds him in place. The kiss turns passionate.
Cornell’s hands clench. Slowly, they unclench, his palms spread open on the couch.
Manning releases his hold on Cornell. Their lips part.
CORNELL
You scare me.
MANNING
That’s bad?
CORNELL
What do you want? I...it can’t be just...
MANNING
What? You? Don’t look so shocked. After that night in the park, I couldn’t get you out of my mind.
CORNELL
I can’t do this...I, I can’t want this. It doesn’t make any sense.
MANNING
This...
He kisses Cornell.
MANNING (CONT’D)
...never makes sense.
Mannings eyes search Cornell’s. He stands, unbuttons his shirt.
His chest is firm, strong. A thick line of curly black hair snakes down his stomach and down the lip of his pants.
He takes Cornell’s hand in his and places it on his chest. Cornell visibly shivers.
Manning takes Cornell’s face into his hands. He kisses him. Then he lowers onto his knees, beside Cornell, and slowly unbuttons Cornell’s shirt.
They make love.
END OF ACT ONE
