He squints at a number, turns into a driveway as we
CUT TO
A THICK GATE. Shut. CLIMBER stops, speaks into a microphone set up for such purposes.
CLIMBER
To see Mister Sinclair. Climber Jones.
(the gate starts to swing open immediately and as he drives through--)
CUT TO
The front yard. Remember when you couldn’t see the mansions but you knew they were there? Well, that was accurate but also incomplete because there are mansions and there are mansions. Well, guess what, this is a MANSION.
When you look at it you realize this--you’ve seen it before. In any article about the great American homes, there is the Breakers up in Rhode Island, and Hearst’s San Simeon in California…
And the Sinclair place. Old old man Sinclair, who founded the railroad fortune in the last century, was always a simple fellow. And when he came to Long Island and spent ten years assembling his home, he always liked it to be referred to as that--the Sinclair place. And so it has remained.
CUT TO
THE HOUSE as CLIMBER drives up. Overwhelming.
CLIMBER registers the grandeur. Not happily.
CUT TO
A BUTLER, in the open doorway. He points down an endless hall.
BUTLER
Mister Sinclair is in the east drawing room, sir.
(CLIMBER nods, starts off and)
CUT TO
CLIMBER, walking along, trying for calm. It’s not just the size--the place is in perfect taste.
CLIMBER comes to a crossing of corridors, hesitates.
A MAID is dusting, spots him, indicates which way to go.
CLIMBER
I don’t suppose you send out St. Bernards.
(she pays no attention, is back to her dusting)
CUT TO
CLIMBER, walking along. Talk about your wrong pew.
CLIMBER (CONT’D)
(mimicking)
Mister Sinclair is in the east drawing room.
(beat)
The fucking east drawing room.
He passes a small room, looks in.
CUT TO
CLIMBER. CLOSE UP. A sudden look of sadness.
CUT TO
What he’s looking at--a table full of photos of ECHO. As a baby, a child, a teenager, growing more glorious before his eyes. He can’t help it, he is drawn there.
HOLD ON
CLIMBER AND THE PICTURES. He picks up a recent shot--at a charity somewhere with a gorgeous young man in a tuxedo.
CLIMBER can’t help this either, he is aware of how he’s dressed. He tugs at a shirt sleeve. Then--
HARRY SINCLAIR (OVER)
(sharp)
My hair was growing gray.
(and on that)
CUT TO
ECHO’S FATHER. One look at HARRY SINCLAIR and you know he’s a world-class rich man’s son. Tanned, handsome, hair in place, probably whacks a great polo ball. Fifty-five years old and trim on the outside, soft where it matters.
He stares at the photo CLIMBER holds. CLIMBER, embarrassed, puts it back hurriedly, knocks over a couple more pictures, which only makes the moment worse.
HARRY SINCLAIR
Someone will tend to it.
CLIMBER nods, leaves the pictures alone, faces the other man.
CLIMBER
You wanted to see me.
HARRY SINCLAIR
(nods)
Remuneration.
(hands over a check)
Twenty-five thousand dollars.
CLIMBER looks at it. Lot of money.
CLIMBER
You’re very generous, Mister Sinclair.
HARRY SINCLAIR
I have only the one child.
CUT TO
THE CLIMBER. The check in his hand.
CLIMBER
You owe me two.
HARRY SINCLAIR
(shocked)
Two thousand additional?
CLIMBER
(head shake)
Total.
(going quickly on)
I get one-twenty-five an hour. Two thousand is what you owe me.
HARRY SINCLAIR
Oh, I see--a man with pride.
CLIMBER
(so what if they don’t like each other)
Shitloads.
HARRY SINCLAIR turns, heads for the door.
I’ll be back in a moment with your pay. Stay here, I don’t want to lose you again.
THE CLIMBER doesn’t move and as soon as SINCLAIR is gone, he can’t help it, he has to look at her pictures.
CUT TO
THE HALLWAY AND HARRY SINCLAIR’S VOICE.
HARRY SINCLAIR (OVER)
Oh, when we’re done you might want to go out back. Echo wanted to say goodbye.
CUT TO
CLIMBER IN CLOSE-UP. Yesssss!
CUT TO
“OUT BACK” and CLIMBER wandering along through what seems to him endless gardens. Fortunately, he spots the pool man.
CLIMBER
Miss Sinclair?
POOL MAN
(points)
Beach.
CLIMBER
Not the east beach or anything tricky?
POOL MAN
Just the one.
CUT TO
THE CLIMBER, at the end of the lawn now. Ahead of him is a rounded wooden bridge that curves over the beginning of the sand dune. You can start to hear the ocean now.
CUT TO
CLIMBER, moving over the bridge. The ocean is louder now, and then
CUT TO
CLIMBER JONES, stopping, staring, because you have to--there are no greater beaches on earth than these and there is no such thing as a private beach in the Hamptons, it’s illegal to have a private beach in the Hamptons--
--but if anybody could have one, it would have been old old man Sinclair--that would have been long ago, of course--but there’s no one on this great expanse at the moment.
CUT TO
THE BEACH AND THE OCEAN and out a good distance, hair wet and long--ECHO. She sees THE CLIMBER, waves.
CUT TO
CLIMBER, waving stupidly back, starting across the dune, picking up speed as he goes.
CUT TO
ECHO, and she looks like you want her to look, and it’s all perfect, the water and the sand and the sun--
--except for this: the waves are dangerously high.
CUT TO
CLIMBER, sand getting into his loafers, big deal, he can always buy a pair of new shoes, and he’s trotting so happily toward the water--
-- and then the happiness dies.
CUT TO
ECHO, getting smacked sideways by a large wave, disappearing for a moment and
CUT TO
CLIMBER, running to the water’s edge now, staring out and then
CUT TO
ECHO, struggling to the surface, coughing, waving at him and
CUT TO
CLIMBER, rooted, watching. He does not move.
CUT TO
ECHO, and just before another wave has her she manages to shout “Help!”
At least that’s what she must have hoped it sounded like but to CLIMBER at the water’s edge, he can barely hear the faintest sound “… help …”
CUT TO
CLIMBER, so afraid for her, for what’s happening to her as he stands as before--
--rooted--
--not moving at all.
CUT TO
ECHO, bobbing to the surface and this time her “Help” scream goes over the waves and
CUT TO
CLIMBER, and he hears it, and there’s only one thing he can do.
CLIMBER
Shit.
And off come his shoes, and still in his clothes he plunges into the raging surf.
CUT TO
ECHO, down again, up again, the wind is getting serious.
CUT TO
THE CLIMBER, splashing through the water, always trying to keep he
r in sight and
CUT TO
ECHO, managing somehow to stay on top of the water and
CUT TO
CLIMBER, panting terribly, pulling up, looking around--
-- and a wave takes him unaware, knocks him terribly down and
CUT TO
THE FOAMING WATER AS CLIMBER struggles to get his bearings--
--no good, another wave has him--
-- and now the worst thing of all--
--the undertow has him.
CUT TO
ECHO, bobbing up and down, trying to see where he is, shouting “Help” over and over and
CUT TO
THE CLIMBER, and he’s not going to help anybody, at least not now, maybe not ever, because he has no defense against the undertow as it pulls him out to sea.
CUT TO
ECHO, and she sees what’s happened.
ECHO
Shit.
CUT TO
A HIGH SHOT and we see the impossibility of it all.
CLIMBER, out of it now, feeble now, being pulled helplessly farther from shore.
ECHO, and she’s the one who needed rescuing just a blink before.
And the distance between them is ever widening.
HOLD ON THE TWO OF THEM. Then--
CUT TO
ECHO, and suddenly she is knifing through the water, kicking the shit out of the waves, pulling in great long strokes, and not only does she have power, she has form, and as she swims faster than before
CUT TO
CLIMBER, trying not to go under, but there’s not a lot he can do
CUT TO
ECHO, and if Johnny Weissmuller ever had a sister, it was this one here, and before she was going fast--
--now she kicks into overdrive.
CUT TO
CLIMBER, going down, and if ever your life should flash before your eyes, well, this is the moment.
CUT TO
ECHO, a rocket, and now she’s near him and
CUT TO
CLIMBER, or rather where he was, he’s gone and
CUT TO
ECHO, or rather where she was, she’s gone, too.
CUT TO
THE OCEAN. Nothing but the waves pounding toward shore.
HOLD.
KEEP HOLDING,
Then here they come--she’s got one arm locked around his chest, and with the other she starts the trip toward shore and it’s a long way but you can tell from just looking at her, she’s not going to stop halfway.
HOLD. Then, after a long moment
CUT TO
THE SHORE as she pulls him through the surf, up to a drier part of the beach, lays him down, kneels over him, tilts his neck back, pulls his mouth open, starts to give mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, and as she does--
CUT TO
THE BRIDGE over the start of the dune. And here comes THE POOL MAN. Beat. Now THE BUTLER chugs into view.
Beat
Now the staff, half a dozen people in uniform flooding over the wooden bridge--
-- and now here come half a dozen more--
CUT TO
ECHO AND THE CLIMBER. He’s blinking now, awake now.
But barely. He looks like shit.
CUT TO
ECHO
This is my hero.
THE STAFF applauds enthusiastically.
HOLD on the moment. Then--
CREDITS START TO ROLL.
As they go on, we
CUT TO
The table with the photographs, the one that CLIMBER found so irresistible, with all the pictures of ECHO growing up. The table still has pictures, but different ones.
CUT TO
A RING. Can’t tell more than that until we
SLOWLY PULL BACK TO REVEAL
ECHO AND THE CLIMBER, in front of Nathan’s Famous hot dogs in Coney Island. He holds a Cracker Jack box. The ring came from there. You can tell from the uncertain look on his face he is asking her to marry him. You can tell with the look in her perfect eyes she’s not going to let him out of the room.
CUT TO
CLIMBER. IN CLOSE UP. The uncertain look from the previous picture replaced by something completely different: blind panic.
SLOWLY PULL BACK TO REVEAL
IT’S THEIR WEDDING DAY. CLIMBER, not in the world’s most fetching tuxedo, stands paralyzed, trying to smile. This is their marriage moment. Echo, in a gown Grace Kelly would have killed for, stands by her man. Beside her is her FATHER. Beside CLIMBER is his, JIMMY, also in a terrible tux, looking more Cagney-like than ever. They are in a church somewhere. A giant church. And it is crammed with hundreds of the rich and famous.
CUT TO
ECHO AND THE CLIMBER on their honeymoon. A fabulous Parisian three-star. The chef stands at their table. ECHO is enchanted. CLIMBER is staring at the food on his plate, a look of confusion on his face.
CUT TO
CLIMBER, a look of agony on his face.
PULL BACK TO REVEAL
He has been shot, and seriously; lying in the gutter.
CUT TO
A HOSPITAL CORRIDOR. ECHO AND JIMMY sit pale and waiting.
CUT TO
THE BEACH BY THE MANSION. CLIMBER, recovering, sits covered by a blanket in a chair. ECHO sits alongside him, reading to him, a look of such adoration in her eyes.
CUT TO
CLIMBER, night, slumped over the wheel of his car, bleeding much worse than the first time. He looks very close to dying.
CUT TO
ECHO AND THE CLIMBER, in the city. She holds his arm. He is walking with a cane.
CUT TO
A FORMAL DINNER PARTY AT THE MANSION. CLIMBER clearly has his strength back--he has just finished clobbering another guest, who is reeling back, his lip bleeding. ECHO, too late, is rushing to the scene.
CUT TO
SHIRLEY SINCLAIR JONES--ten minutes old--he is their firstborn and right now he is screaming--ECHO AND THE CLIMBER look at him--with amazement and such pride.
CUT TO
SHIRLEY SINCLAIR JONES--three years old now-- and it’s another hospital room and he is with his parents and they are all looking at the newest arrival--PHOEBE JONES herself, and it’s her turn to be ten minutes old. Less amazement this time, even more pride.
CUT TO
CHRISTMAS MORNING. A giant tree. It’s a few months later. SHIRLEY is four now, and already gorgeous. PHOEBE is one, and already not. Their parents hold them in their arms--
-- and this much you know: they could not look happier.
And on their radiant faces--
CREDITS COME TO AN END.
FADE OUT.
FADE IN ON
THE MANSION. Perfect autumn morning. Warm, no humidity, slight breeze.
Here comes the CLIMBER, driving up the driveway. He stops by the front door and does something we don’t expect--
--he stays in the car, honks a few times. As he does this--
CUT TO
ECHO. We’re behind her as she walks down the enormous second-floor corridor, calling out.
ECHO
Children, your father’s here.
We hear their reaction--not a joyous one.
CUT TO
ECHO, we’re still behind her as she turns into the nearest bedroom.
ECHO
None of that now.
CUT TO
THE BEDROOM and SHIRLEY standing there--ten years old now. He is a perfectly beautiful young man, slender and brilliant. He is finishing a charcoal sketch of the view from his window--the kid is talented.
SHIRLEY
Why do we have to go, Mother? It’s so boring. You should hear him try and make conversation. Once he gets off the Knicks, death. He has nothing whatsoever of interest to say.
ECHO
That’s not exactly new news, buster, I was married to him.
(starting out)
Now I’ve got wonderful Philharmonic tickets for you.
SHIRLEY
That will certainly help.
CUT TO
THE GREAT PHOEBE. She is lying on her bed in terrible agony. She wears ballet clothes. Her face bears a kind of weird resemblance to Edward G. Robinson.
PHOEBE
I can’t go. I’m burning up.
ECHO
Oh, same song, second verse. It’s only overnight.
(she paddles PHOEBE lightly)
CUT TO
DOWNSTAIRS by the front door.
ECHO is examining her troops. They are perfectly groomed, beautifully dressed. Their manners are beyond reproach.
ECHO, it should be noted, no longer looks like the Audrey Hepburn of Roman Holiday. Now she’s a ringer for the Hepburn of Breakfast at Tiffany’s. ECHO is thirty-two years old, and still pretty much perfect.
ECHO
Now listen, you two--I am sick of your behavior. You father adores you, he cannot help his limitations. He is as brave as anyone on earth, and I want you to enjoy your weekends. As of now, your whining days are done. Capiche?
(they nod)
CUT TO
ECHO as she opens the front door. There is a small mirror nearby and for an instant only, she checks her appearance. All is well. As the door opens--
CUT TO
THE CLIMBER. There’s a world-weariness now. Bogart in Casablanca. Mid-forties, the accompanying flecks of gray.
He nods to his children. It’s kind of sad--he’s awkward, kind of fumbling, at a loss for what to say.
CLIMBER
(a dumb little wave)
Hi, kids--
(they say nothing at all, just stare at him as if he were from another planet. This makes his nervousness worse)
Oh boy, are we going to have fun.
(THE KIDS hug ECHO, get into CLIMBER’S backseat)
You guys want to sit up front with Pop?
PHOEBE
Not really.
SHIRLEY
We’re fine, Dad.
(he hides his hurt, talks to his ex)
CUT TO
ECHO AND THE CLIMBER.
ECHO
(handing him an envelope)
Philharmonic--all-Bartok program--they couldn’t be more thrilled.
(hands him a large basket)
Cook made this for their dinner--all from the health-food store. And their breakfast cereals have been ground for them. Just put this all in the fridge.
(beat)
You do have one?
CLIMBER
(ignoring this)
Maybe next week they might like a Yankee game.
ECHO
At least you didn’t suggest a tractor pull in New Jersey.
CLIMBER
(soft)
You are so tough.
ECHO
Had a tough husband.
(going to the car)
Three tomorrow, darlings.
CLIMBER
(whipped, he gets in the front. Nods to her)