EXT. WARNER BROTHERS - DAY
Wayne is working at a major studio! Well, not exactly. He is
parading in front of the building, in line with a loose
collection of writers. He wears a standard-issue "Writers
Guild on Strike" gray t-shirt that looks a size or two big
for him, and totes a strike sign. He is walking slightly
behind an attractive female protester and sprints a little to
catch up with her.
WAYNE
Heya. I'm Wayne. Remember me?
FEMALE STRIKER
Why, no. Not at all.
WAYNE
I was the guy with the bagels.
Y'know...avoiding the blueberry
cream cheese. Remember now? Two
bagel halves, plain cream cheese
only, thank you very much. The guy
who didn't believe in mixing fruit
with condiments?
The woman seems to be doing her best not to listen to him.
WAYNE (CONT'D)
I mean, blueberries, pears, apples,
all of the above.
They're proper for...well, you can
put them in cake, you can put them
in cookies, shoot, even chocolate
bars...y'know...but - ha! - cream
cheese! Who's the genius that
thought of that idea? Who, can you
tell me?
FEMALE STRIKER
Umm, no. I guess that one's got me
stumped.
WAYNE
It was last week. Tuesday, I think.
The bagel incident. At Paramount,
we were at the sign-in table
together. You had this cute,
ah...yah, and we were talking about
the cream cheese. Gosh, how could
you forget?
The woman quickens her step.
WAYNE (CONT'D)
Do you come here often? To strikes,
I mean? Not the studio, or this
gate specifically. Y'know, maybe we
could...holy shit! Holy holy shit,
man!
He accidentally shouts this last phrase virtually in the face
of another striker. The striker grabs his ear in pain, and
looks back angrily at Wayne.
Wayne hardly notices, because standing on the curb across the
street is his great friend BOBBY MAGRUDER. Pulling away in
front of Bobby is a taxi. He looks travel-weary. There is a
backpack at his feet.
Bobby waves. A happily surprised Wayne strides over quickly,
his strike sign knocking a baseball hat off a fellow
protester. Wayne's sign tumbles to the ground as well. The
protester, after a moment of shock, looks greatly annoyed.
WAYNE (CONT'D)
Bobby, man...wow, hell...wasn't
expecting you. Damn, this is a
surprise.
The two men hug.
WAYNE (CONT'D)
How'd you know I'd be here?
BOBBY
My mom told me your mom told her
that you're on this strike line
this week.
WAYNE
This is great, but...You should
have let me know you're coming.
I've never understood that, Bobby -
why you simply can't send a simple
email or make a phone call. Even a
little one, just so I'm informed.
BOBBY
See, I got on one of those charter
flights. Happened kinda quick. I
forgot to let you know.
He scratches his head.
BOBBY (CONT'D)
I guess I really shoulda. Just so
you could...ah, prepare or
something. Sorry, man.
WAYNE
That's okay, never mind. The
important thing is that you're
here. And God damn, I am glad to
see you.
BOBBY
Likewise.
The two stand there, apparently letting it sink in.
BOBBY (CONT'D)
Uh, Wayne?
WAYNE
Yeh?
BOBBY
We're standing on the curb.
Wayne looks around and confirms this information.
WAYNE
Oh. Right. Let's move.
They do; Bobby grabs his pack and the two cross the street.
They end up on the sidewalk in front of the strike sign-in
table.
WAYNE (CONT'D)
Yeh, it's cool you're here now. I
still don't know too many people in
town. The writing's going
slowly...well, actually it's kind
of non-existent. That's what's good
about you coming; now I have
someone to talk to and do things
with. Hopefully that'll inspire me.
BOBBY
Yeh. What are the chicks like here?
Wayne looks at his friend with mild reproach.
WAYNE
Right. Girls. Well, that's another
subject. The thing is, in this city
they're so...
His answer is interrupted by a clump of strikers. On their
route they walk between the two men; Bobby steps back to let
them pass. There are a bunch of them so this takes a little
time. Wayne finishes making his point, but what he's saying
is unclear.
The procession moves on; the route is momentarily open.
Bobby is nodding. Then he stops.
A beat or two.
BOBBY
What?
WAYNE
Don't you listen, man? The women
are...
The female striker Wayne made a pass at earlier enters the
frame and walks over to the strike table. She catches Wayne's
last line and flashes a sour look.
WAYNE (CONT'D)
Uh, yah, weather is super in the,
you know, Los Angeles...area.
You're going to love it, really.
BOBBY
Okee, I gotcha, buddy. Anyway...how
long is your shift here?
WAYNE
Another hour and a half.
BOBBY
So you wanna bug out early? We can
go get a Starbucks or something and
catch up, then I can go to the
apartment and crash.
WAYNE
Well, I have to finish my
shift...It needs to look good. It's
important for the networking, for
my future.
BOBBY
I get it, that's cool. So did you
get a lot of contacts so far?
WAYNE
Uh, no. None at all, actually. But
I'm building my way up to it. So if
you're not too exhausted, why don't
you grab a sign? We can talk while
we walk.
BOBBY
Sure, I guess so.
The two men approach the sign-in table. There is a pile of
signs nearby. With narrowed eyes the WGA rep follows Wayne.
WGA REP
Uh, don't you already have a sign?
The one that dropped on the
sidewalk?
He points to the offending sign.
WAYNE
Oh! Right, sorry.
As Bobby takes a sign, Wayne dodges a passing striker or two
to retrieve his. As advertised, it's on the sidewalk.
Signs hoisted, two men start marching on the strike route.
WAYNE (CONT'D)
This is probably just what you
need. A little exercise after being
cooped up on a plane for so many
hours. It'll wake you right up,
too, give you some new energy.
Wayne and Bobby march out of the frame.
CUT TO:
