Marcel Camus’ 1959 film brings the ancient Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice to the 20th-century madness of Carnival in Rio de Janeiro.
INT: YVONNE’S APARTMENT
We see a leather suitcase, still packed, parked by her bedroom door. She is hurriedly changing from jeans into a white straight-fitted dress. The phone rings. She lets the machine answer.
MACHINE
Hello. This is YE2-1350. We’re not home right now. But if you leave a message, we’ll get right back to you.
ALEX
Hello, Yvonne Galsworth. This is Alex Dunbar. I just called to tell you how much I liked your article. I’ve been trying to reach you the past few days, so I thought I’d better leave a message this time. (pause) I’d like to see you again and talk, (pause) maybe over a cup of coffee. My number is 590-5898. I hope to hear from you. (pause and, then, a click)
YVONNE
How did he get my number? I’m not listed. He must have called through the paper. No lack of initiative there. Hmmm. Why not?
She picks up the phone and punches in buttons. She talks fast and nervously, without taking a breath, to HENRY, Alex’s roommate, who answers the phone. A native of Belize, Henry looks like the face of Central America, a blend of African slaves, Scottish slave traders, East Indian indentured servants, Portuguese seafarers, Mayan Indian temple builders and Spanish conquerors.
ANGLE INSET OF HENRY
YVONNE
Hello, this is Yvonne Galsworth. I was getting ready for work when you called and didn’t pick up soon enough to catch you. Thank you for the compliment on my story. That was nice of you. And, yes, I would like to get together to talk. Coffee sounds fine.
She exhales. Henry smiles.
HENRY
Ms. Galsworth? Are you calling Alex?
YVONNE
Yes, I thought . . .I—Oh, I’m so sorry.
HENRY
That’s all right. I’ll get him.
Yvonne’s face has sunk. She feels a fool for blurting out her speech to a complete stranger. She begins pacing back and forth as she waits for what seems to be forever, dreading a repeat performance of her acceptance speech.
ANGLE INSET OF ALEX
ALEX
Hello, Yvonne. This is Alex. Thank you for returning my call. My roommate, Henry, answered the phone. He told me that you’ve accepted my invitation. That’s wonderful. What about tomorrow?
Yvonne breathes a sigh of relief because she does not have to say everything again.
YVONNE
Tomorrow’s fine. But I can’t set a firm time in the afternoon because I won’t know what’s happening at work until the time comes. I never know.
ALEX
What about 6:30 then, after work? At Presto on Van Ness across the street from the symphony hall?
YVONNE
All right. Again, it’s chancy. But that sounds good and, if something happens, I’ll call and let you know.
Alex manages to maintain his composure although his chest looks as though it is about to burst and he is wearing a smile almost too big for his face. Yvonne is smiling.
ALEX
Great. Good. I look forward to it.
YVONNE
So do I.
ALEX
Goodbye. See you soon.
YVONNE
Goodbye.
CUT TO:
INT: THE LIVING ROOM IN ALEX AND HENRY’S APARTMENT
Alex places the receiver down on the phone, which sits beside a music speaker on a black metallic foot locker. The trunk sits in front of a large picture window and opposite a couch covered with a rich, green-patterned West African cloth. Over the couch hangs a wood-framed poster of the classic 1959 film Black Orpheus, which was set in Rio de Janeiro. Wooden bookcases line the other two walls, and they are filled with books.
ALEX
(shouting)
She said yes. She said yes.
Henry enters the room.
HENRY
I know. I know. Congratulations. I’m happy for you. All I’ve been hearing around the house for the past few days is this woman’s name. (In a sing-song, high-pitched voice) Yvonne. Yvonne. Yvonne.
ALEX
Oh, but she is wonderful, Henry. She’s bright; she’s pretty, she’s alive.
HENRY
I would hope so. I’d hate to think of you dating a corpse.
ALEX
You know what I mean. She’s full of life.
HENRY
Yes, and a lot of years of life. From what you say, she’s quite a bit older than you.
ALEX
But she’s not old. She’s ripened. Like a reddened mango, soft to the touch and sweet to the taste.
HENRY
You got it bad, man. In Belize, we call it macumba. It’s like she’s got a spell on you.
ALEX
So what if she does. It’s a wonderful spell.
HENRY
I’m happy for you, man. I know that it hasn’t been all hearts and flowers for you and women.
ALEX
I’m happy, too. It’s been difficult to meet women who interest me. I like people who have seen something of the world, people who don’t assume life in the States is like life everywhere else. The biggest shock I got when I first arrived here was the race question. Because I was a foreigner in Senegal, I never felt tribal bias. And I, certainly, didn’t feel racial discrimination in a country where people of color were in the majority, in a world where we are in the majority which is why I don’t consider myself part of a minority group.
HENRY
Alex. Alex. We were talking about meeting women. What does all this have to do with women?
ALEX
As an African American, race touches everything in my life. Most Americans – men and women – look at my color and draw assumptions. They think they know who I am before I open my mouth. Yvonne isn’t like that. She’s not a racist.
HENRY
You only spoke with Yvonne for a few minutes. I hope that you’re not disappointed when you meet again.
ALEX
I won’t be. I saw her walk, and it told me everything I need to know. She glides like a queen.
Henry mutters good-naturedly as he leaves the room.
HENRY
My poor enchanted friend.
Alex reaches for a wooden box kalimba near the phone. He walks to the couch, sits and starts plucking the metal tongues of the African thumb piano. He plays a light, happy melody.
CUT TO:
INT: CROWDED, BOISTEROUS CAFÉ
Yvonne, wearing a 1940s green floral dress with tiny stiletto heels and more makeup than usual, walks in and searches for Alex with her eyes. She sees him sitting at a table for two. He also seems to be dressed in his Sunday best in an Italian silk olive-colored shirt with a deep brown design. The sweater thrown around his neck picks up the brown. He still looks the student, however, in that he is wearing jeans, but they are cut to fit his body. Yvonne and he are wearing colors that work well together. Alex sees her. Their eyes meet, and she walks over to him. He stands and extends his hand to her. They shake hands, and he seats her.
ALEX
Hello. It’s good to see you.
YVONNE
It’s good to see you, too.
As he pushes her chair nearer the table, Yvonne’s face shows surprise. She did not expect such genteel treatment from one so young. Alex sits.
ALEX
What can I get you to drink?
YVONNE
An expresso. Here, let me get you –
She opens her small, black pocketbook. But Alex touches her hand and speaks.
ALEX
YVONNE
Thank you.
He gets up and walks to the counter. While he’s gone, Yvonne sneaks a peek at herself in her green antique compact mirror. She follows the curve under her right eye with her fingers. Then, she pauses, contemplating her aging and puts her compact away before Alex returns with two cups in his hands. Yvonne eyes are darting all over the café: she wonders whether anyone is staring at them because of the age difference. No one is looking at them.
YVONNE
What did you get?
ALEX
A cappuccino. A nice hot sweet high-cholesterol cup of cappuccino.
Yvonne laughs, which helps to break the tension of this first meeting. He senses her nervousness. She is even more anxious than he.
ALEX
Why am I feeling so nervous? I’ve been looking forward to talking with you today and finding out more about you. Where you were born. Where you grew up. How you got into journalism.
She relaxes at his initiative.
YVONNE
I don’t know why, but I can answer your questions. I was born and raised in New York, but my parents are from Belize. They met at a Belize dance on Fifth Avenue.
ALEX
Belize?
YVONNE
Yes, it’s in Central America bordering Mexico, Guatemala and the Caribbean.
ALEX
I know where it is. I’m just amazed that your people are from there. My roommate is from Belize.
YVONNE
Really? You know, I thought I detected a Creole accent when I spoke with him yesterday, but then I told myself that I was imagining it.
ALEX
I’ve never been there. But he’s told me that the sounds of nature abound there. The squawking of birds in the rainforest, the pelting of raindrops on a zinc roof, the whistling of gentle breezes through palm tree fronds. He’s told me about the mountain waterfalls, the majestic pine ridge, the lonesome Mayan ruins, the white sand of the cayes (pronounced keys), the brightly colored butterflies and birds. Toucans, parrots, hummingbirds. People with hearts as big as the meals they feed you. It sounds like magic.
YVONNE
It is. What’s your roommate’s surname?
ALEX
Roberts. Henry Roberts.
YVONNE
If he’s from the same family I’m thinking of, our families are close.
ALEX
That’s unbelievable. Henry and I have talked about visiting together. When were you last there?
YVONNE
Earlier this year in March. My parents have moved back there. I try to go once a year.
ALEX
I can understand why. It’s home.
He looks at her with understanding. She smiles shyly, like a girl.
YVONNE
What a coincidence this is.
ALEX
It’s no coincidence.
Yvonne is dumbstruck at Alex’s confidence.
I go back to Senegal, too, about once a year. My parents are there. They are the only family I am close to. When I smell familiar perfumed oils of tree barks and flowers on men and women both, then I know I’m in Dakar. People dress in colors, in cloth of beautiful design, which they wear on bodies carried proudly. I miss it. The first time I went back, the call to prayer brought tears to my eyes. I’m not Muslim, but the singing chant united everyone in the street and welcomed me, its native son, back home.
ANGLE ON ALEX’S COFFEE CUP
It blurs and, then, shows two cups to indicate the passage of time. Alex is paying rapt attention to Yvonne, who is talking.
ANGLE ON ALEX AND YVONNE
YVONNE
I was three years old. My ballet class was performing at the Brooklyn Academy of Music as cats, kittens, really. I forget what the music was. But I remember being disgusted with the other dancers because they were out of step. Yet, I’ve got photographs of the performance, and there I am, center stage, doing something completely different from the others who are in step, more or less, with each other.
They both laugh.
You couldn’t have told me I was wrong then. I was very hardheaded. I’ve become much more even-tempered since then. My goodness. That was 36 years ago!
She freezes after she lets her age slip. Alex senses her anxiety and picks up the conversation without missing a beat.
ALEX
You’re 39 years old. That must be a great age because you can appraise yourself, know what you’re good and what you’re not good at. Because of your experience in life, you must know what you don’t want and, maybe even, what you do want. Sometimes, I think I know the answers to these questions, but I really don’t. Coming up with answers is an intellectual exercise for me separate from my life. I do a lot of self-evaluation in my studies at Clearview. It has everything to do with why I majored in Philosophy.
YVONNE
Yes, I am clear on what I don’t want and getting closer to knowing what I need in my life. I’m beginning to think more about my job, questioning it. I feel as though there’s nothing new, like I’ve covered every story at some other time in the past. I know that that’s not true, but that’s how I feel. Even worse, I don’t feel as though my stories are of any consequence. They seem reactionary. This feeling of impotence has been haunting me for a while, but I’ve been trying to shake it off. I’ve been operating on automatic pilot for some time.
ALEX
Maybe taking some time off – a sabbatical – would help to rejuvenate you. Can you take a leave of absence?
YVONNE
I suppose I could, but . . .
ALEX
Yes?
YVONNE
I could take some time off, but I’m not sure that would do anything because it’s more than me. It’s the nature of the beast. I got into this business to make a difference for the better in people’s lives. More and more, newspapers question authority and institutions less and less. I just don’t know. I have a friend, Sandy, who’s a writer. She believes that literature, not journalism, will change the world. She says that the power of the written word lives in fiction – in novels, plays and poetry – which are closer to the truth than nonfiction. I’m beginning to agree with her, but I don’t know where that leaves me.
ALEX
Have you ever written any fiction?
YVONNE
When I was in college, I took a few writing classes and wrote a few short stories. For years, I said I would write someday, but I realize now that I have no talent for it. That much I’ve learned.
ALEX
I write poetry. I started when I was 10. I love writing. I wish I could make a living writing my poems, but I know that that’s an impossibility in this world we’ve created. I make a point of buying the work of poets who are still alive. It’s my way of supporting the heroic road they’ve chosen, or which has chosen them.
YVONNE
I’d love to read some of your poetry . . . if you’d let me.
ALEX
I’d love to show it to you.
ANGLE ON THEIR FOUR COFFEE CUPS
The picture blurs, and the four cups become six. The café is not as loud as it was before. It’s beginning to empty-
ALEX
I knew my best friend, Tal, when we were learning to talk. People used to mistake us for each other, we looked so much alike. My parents said he was like the brother I never had. We did everything together – classes, play, study, chores. Then, one day when we were 10, we decided to go swimming in the ocean. We chose a part of the Atlantic about which everyone had sounded warnings. They had said that the undertow was incredibly strong. Tal and I believed that we could handle it: we thought that we could handle anything. He called for help: he called for me. I tried to swim to him, but the ocean had carried him too far away for my child’s arms to take me.
YVONNE
Oh, Alex, that’s horrible. I’m so sorry.
ALEX
I am, too. I still think of Tal. I wonder what he would have accomplished had he lived long enough to become a man. Sometimes I feel as though I’m living for both of us. I owe it to Tal to make good use of my time. What about you, Yvonne? Has death touched you?
YVONNE
My best friend, Howard, died of AIDS-related illnesses four years ago.
ALEX
I’m so sorry.
YVONNE
He was so full of denial. He told only two people that he had the HIV virus. Then, as it progressed and his body and mind began to deteriorate, he started to close himself off from the world. He didn’t want to deal with it. He never came face to face with his death in his entire year of suffering.
ALEX
That’s asking a lot of someone. That’s asking for a lot of courage. Many elderly people refuse to accept death. They think that it’s unfair and deny it in their last breath. Your friend. How old was he?
YVONNE
Thirty-seven.
ALEX
You see. He was younger than you are now. And because AIDS is sexually transmitted, I wouldn’t be surprised if he were plagued with questions of “Why? Why me?” I’m amazed by the people I meet who deny the possibility of either carrying the virus. Talk about denial. Since I came to the States, I’ve been tested every year. I’m HIV-negative.
YVONNE
So am I. You’re right. AIDS is surrounded by denial and by ignorance. When Howard died, a black funeral home in Baltimore, his hometown, refused to accept his body. The rejection hurt everyone who was close to him, everyone who knew about it, that is. We kept it quiet because we were embarrassed by this black business’s treatment of him. A family secret. Howard’s body ended up being buried here.
ALEX
Do you visit the grave?
YVONNE
No, I’ve been there once. I watched the casket being swallowed by the earth. It was wrenching. The feeling of loss. We put him into the ground and left him there. I don’t want to go back there. I don’t want to remember him dead. I think about him all the time, too. I ask myself what he would do in certain situations. Sometimes, I hear his voice advising me. I miss him. His time was too short.
ANGLE ON THEIR SIX CUPS
It blurs into eight cups. Now, there are no other customers but Yvonne and Alex.
ANGLE ON YVONNE AND ALEX
ALEX
President Senghor was a childhood hero of mine. He came to our school to talk about the Negritude movement, and I was in awe of it and of him. I respected him because of his respect for the cultures of the African diaspora. He saw them as many streams flowing from the same river. I met many Senegalese and other Africans who were deeply moved by the Negritude movement. They were writers and other artists who dedicated their work to the cause, so to speak. It was inspiring!
YVONNE
Oh, it sounds wonderful to be there in Senegal!
ALEX
Yes. This is where I got my idea for my senior paper. It’s as much psychological as philosophical. It deals with the Negritude movement’s salutary effect on the psyche of Africans everywhere.
YVONNE
I first learned about the movement in an African American literature class in college. I haven’t talked about it with anyone since then.
They stare at each other filled with the revelation that they are kindred spirits. Alex reaches out and takes Yvonne’s hand. Her expression remains unchanged as she takes his other hand. A CAFÉ EMPLOYEE with an understanding smile approaches their table.
CAFÉ EMPLOYEE
I’m sorry. We’re about to close, and you’ll have to leave.
Yvonne and Alex are startled by the sound of another voice. Yvonne pulls away from Alex as though she’s been shaken awake. She looks at her watch.
YVONNE
Oh!
The café person moves away to clear the other tables.
ALEX
All right.
Yvonne speaks to Alex.
YVONNE
We’ve been talking for five and a half hours. I don’t believe it. Nobody’s here. Everybody’s gone. I had been thinking earlier that we might go out and eat dinner.
ALEX
We can still do that. I’m wide awake, aren’t you?
YVONNE
Yes, but I’m not hungry anymore. Maybe we can get something to eat in the morning.
ALEX
I’d like that.
The café employee looks at them as they leave holding hands and smiles.
INT: YVONNE’S APARTMENT LIVING ROOM
Yvonne and Alex are standing close, looking deeply into each other’s eyes.
ALEX
I feel as though I’ve been here before.
YVONNE
I know. This seems very natural, as though coming home together is something we do every day. I don’t usually invite first –
Alex places his finger over her lips.
ALEX
I know.
He takes her hands and they swing their arms for a minute. Then, they laugh. They give each other three quick kisses on the lips which grow longer each time so that the fourth becomes passionate. They embrace and begin wildly kissing each other’s faces and necks. Suddenly, they stop and tightly hug. Yvonne takes Alex by the hand and leads him into her bedroom illuminated softly by a lone store’s neon light. They resume kissing with the same fire, and they start to undress each other and themselves.
ANGLE ON HER WHITE LACE CAMISOLE AND HIS SHIRT ON THE FLOOR
CUT TO:
INT: MORNING IN YVONNE’S BEDROOM
Sunlight streams through the window. Yvonne’s head rests on Alex’s chest. The telephone rings with a soft New Age-style ring. Yvonne wakes immediately and reaches for it on the nightstand. Alex keeps sleeping.
ANGLE INSET OF BILL, HER EDITOR
BILL
Hello. May I please speak with Yvonne Galsworth?
YVONNE
(in a groggy voice)
This is she.
BILL
Yvonne, we need you to go straight to Clearview University now, instead of coming in here later. Police report fire alarms being turned on all over campus. They don’t know what’s going on, but something is, and you’ve got to find out what. It may have something to do with the protest you covered last week.
Yvonne’s eyes have fully opened and, with her next words, springs out of bed.
YVONNE
Do you know anything else?
BILL
No, that’s it.
YVONNE
All right. I’m on my way.
BILL
Keep in touch.
They both hang up.
ANGLE ON YVONNE
She goes to her closet, opens it, pulls out clothes and starts dressing quietly and quickly. Alex turns over in his sleep. Yvonne smiles at him. She writes him a note.
ANGLE ON PAPER AS SHE WRITES QUICKLY
YVONNE (VOICE-OVER)
Dear Alex,
What an extraordinary evening!
I got a phone call from work and have to go to your campus to cover a disturbance. You sleep like the dead.
I hate to go.
Yvonne
ANGLE ON YVONNE
She attaches the note to her pillow with a safety pin. She kisses her fingers and lightly presses them on his lips. Then, she turns and leaves.
CUT TO:
EXT: CLEARVIEW’S PROTEST
ANGLE ON PROTEST
The scene is similar to the previous rally.
ANGLE ON YVONNE
KEVIN
Nothing has changed. We’re here to remind the administration that we’re serious about our demand for a better reflection of the larger society’s makeup on the college faculty.
YVONNE
Do you know anything about the fire alarms sounding off earlier today?
KEVIN
No, our group had nothing to do with that. We don’t believe in disruptive tactics. That’s not our style. We want to talk and get some action on the part of the administration.
YVONNE
Have you had a meeting with the administration since the last protest?
KEVIN
How can we when all they say is, “No, no, no.”
YVONNE
Is that what they’re saying?
KEVIN
In so many words. We want at least one person hired for next year. They have time which they claim they don’t have. We’ll keep marching until they meet our demands and things are set in balance at this school.
YVONNE
Do you have a list of potential candidates?
For the first time, Kevin pauses to answer a question for which he does not have a ready answer.
KEVIN
No. I don’t know how I’d get that. Shouldn’t the administration know how to do that?
YVONNE
There must be professional organizations for different ethnic groups that would be helpful.
Kevin’s look is far away as though he’s thinking about Yvonne’s advice.
YVONNE
I’ve got to go, Kevin. I may have to call you later.
KEVIN
All right, Yvonne.
CUT TO:
INT: PRESIDENT OAK’S OFFICE
ANGLE ON JOAN MIRÓ’S Silence in which the word is spelled out.
ANGLE ON PRESIDENT OAK
PRESIDENT OAK
I got a flyer from a group or someone claiming responsibility for the fire alarms today and demanding a minority hire by next year, but the letter was not signed. Here’s a copy of it. You can hold onto it, Yvonne. The college deplores this sort of childish prank. The entire school was turned upside down today. We canceled the first classes this morning, all because of someone’s attempt to get attention.
ANGLE ON PRESIDENT OAK AND YVONNE
Yvonne is sitting on the other side of President Oak’s desk, taking notes as she was at the protest and is always doing when she is out on a story.
YVONNE
Any idea who did it?
PRESIDENT OAK
I have an idea, but I have no confirmation so I’d rather not say.
YVONNE
The Third World Coalition leader, Kevin Chin, says his group didn’t do it. He says he wants to talk.
PRESIDENT OAK
No, he doesn’t want to talk. He wants to pontificate. I have no time for that.
YVONNE
The group is protesting again.
PRESIDENT OAK
I know. I’m beginning to think that protesting is the whole point to their existence. They don’t know the first thing about the arduous process of finding and interviewing potential teaching candidates.
YVONNE
Are there any students on the Faculty Search Committee?
PRESIDENT OAK
(slowly and thoughtfully)
No. We’ve never considered that. Faculty members and members of the administration are on the panel. I couldn’t see students voting but sitting on the committee in an advisory capacity would expose them to the rigors of headhunting. It’s not easy to find teachers of different ethnic backgrounds. And that’s only the half of it. Once you find suitable candidates, the bidding war begins. Demand is high; supply is low. You have to entice them. I don’t know. Maybe because students have never participated, they would have fresh ideas. Clearview is sincere about hiring a diverse faculty. But we’re still trying to figure out how to do that. In the meantime, we want to conduct the university’s business without interruption.
YVONNE
When is the Faculty Search Committee meeting again?
PRESIDENT OAK
We’re not scheduled for another meeting until next week, but I’ll call an emergency meeting for later today. There are some ideas we need to discuss.
YVONNE
Please keep me posted.
PRESIDENT OAK
Of course, Yvonne. You’ll be the first person I call.
Yvonne gets up to leave.
YVONNE
Thank you.
CUT TO:
EXT: Yvonne on her cellphone.
YVONNE
Nothing much, Bill. Whoever pulled the alarm remains anonymous. Someone sent the president an unsigned flyer claiming responsibility, but the Third World Coalition, protesting again today, says it isn’t responsible,
She pauses to listen.
YVONNE
All right. See you soon.
She looks at her phone for a few seconds. Then, she smiles and makes another call.
CUT TO:
INT: YVONNE’S APARTMENT
The phone rings three times, and her phone message begins.
MACHINE
Hello. This is YE2-1350. We’re not home right now. But if you leave a message, we’ll get back to you.
YVONNE
Hello, this is Yvonne. If you’re still there, Alex, would you pick up?
ANGLE ON ALEX
He is waking up. He looks beside himself expecting to see Yvonne. Instead, he spots the note and hears her voice at the same time. He leaps out of bed to grab the phone, bumps into a table and searches wildly for the phone. By the time he finds it on the floor on the opposite side of the bed, Yvonne has hung up.
ALEX
(exasperated)
Oh no!
CUT TO:
EXT: YVONNE PUTTING HER PHONE INTO HER BAG
YVONNE
(disheartened)
Oh well.
CUT TO:
INT: NEWSROOM
Yvonne is at her desk typing furiously on her computer. When her telephone rings, her brow becomes unfurrowed and her tight expression melts into a smile. She answers and, then, her face drops because the caller is not Alex. She puts on a deadpan look, which she keeps throughout the short conversation. When she gets off the phone, she returns to her typing. She soon finishes and ceremoniously hits the key that transfers her story from her file to City Desk, where it will be edited for holes in the story and questions that have been raised but not answered. As she gathers her bag and newspapers, and puts on a light jacket, we can see through the window beside her desk that it is twilight and the end of her day.
CUT TO:
INT: YVONNE’S APARTMENT
Yvonne tears into her home carrying a paper bag filled with dinner and all of her gear. She throws everything down in the living room and rushes to the bedroom, where the bed has been made. She turns down the covers looking for the note, which has disappeared. She runs into the bathroom and finds everything in order, no trace of a man or anyone. She returns to the living room and plays back her phone messages.
MACHINE
Hello, Yvonne. This is Mari. Thought I’d catch you at home. I just wanted to thank you for helping me celebrate my birthday. It meant a lot to me to have you here. Also, good news! I will be coming out there to do a food styling job for a TV commercial. I want to stay in San Francisco a few extra days, just long enough to exhaust your generous hospitality. Talk with you soon.
Yvonne smiles. There are no other messages. The phone rings. She answers it excitedly, thinking that it’s Alex.
YVONNE
Hello.
ANGLE INSET OF SANDY
SANDY
Hi. It’s Sandy.
YVONNE
Oh.
SANDY
(sarcastically)
I’m excited to hear your voice, too.
YVONNE
I’m sorry, Sandy. It’s not you.
SANDY
It is me. Who did you expect it to be?
YVONNE
Oh, just someone I met at Clearview. I’ve been going over there regularly on this story.
SANDY
Someone you met at Clearview. Somehow, Yvonne, this doesn’t sound like business.
Yvonne laughs.
YVONNE
It’s not. His name is Alex. We met for coffee last night and closed down the place. It was like a dream. It was so easy talking with him. I haven’t met someone I could talk to in . . . well, you know. It’s been a long time.
SANDY
And you slept with him.
YVONNE
I see you’re not mincing words here. Yes, we spent the night together. And before you ask, it was an enchanting evening of stimulating conversation and safe sex.
She pauses, smiles and, then, her expression turns sober.
But this morning, early this morning, I got a call from work and had to leave him sleeping. I haven’t talked with him since last night. There’s no reason for me to think that something’s wrong, but you know how it is. I’m waiting for that call of reassurance after having sex with someone for the first time, the call that reaffirms that he also had a wonderful time, so much that he wants to get together again.
SANDY
Yes, I know what you mean. Every woman knows what you mean, but many men don’t. It’s been less than 24 hours. It’s not time to worry yet. You can always call him.
YVONNE
I know. But I don’t want to. I’ll wait. I may start howling into the night. But I’ll wait. I’ll wait.
SANDY
What does Alex do at Clearview?
YVONNE
He’s in philosophy.
SANDY
Different. Well, I hope he calls tonight.
YVONNE
Me, too. And you? How have you been?
Yvonne walks into the bathroom and starts running a bubble bath. Then, she walks back into the living room and sits on the couch.
SANDY
Tired. But I’ve turned a corner in my book. I’ve come to a clearer understanding of one of my main characters. It’s his fear of life that renders him indecisive.
YVONNE
Any relationship between him and Danny?
SANDY
We know each other well, don’t we? Danny and I got together last night. It was my day off yesterday. We talked. I did more than talk. Over lobster salad with mango and avocado, I proposed, with a champagne toast.
YVONNE
You proposed?
SANDY
Over chocolate mousse with sautéed raspberries and a glass of port, he said no.
YVONNE
Oh, no. I’m sorry, Sandy.
SANDY
He said that he can’t see getting married again. He doesn’t believe that there’s such a thing as a happy marriage. He feels that the institution is saturated with resentment and pain. He said that he loves me. Oh, it was so painful to listen to him. His world is so gray and without promise. Hopeless. I was confident asking Daniel to marry me. I love him dearly and know that we could have a rich life. If he had said yes, then he would have been ready to enter another marriage with hope, faith and love in his heart. He is not ready. Any relationship that he attempts now will be tainted by his hurt and anger over his first marriage. I wish I could reach inside him and untie the knot of misery that holds him back. But I can’t. He has to do that. But he’s too afraid. Although I try not to think of it, it is possible that he may never move on with his emotional life. The thought of him remaining stuck in his past gives me the chills. I am sorry for him.
YVONNE
What now?
SANDY
I told him that we can’t keep seeing each other and talking as friends. We need closure on this relationship. I’m not going to remain trapped in a world of what ifs. That was a big reason for proposing last night. Life goes on. I believe in marriage enriching my life, not embittering it. That’s what I’m seeking. So, in answer to your question, I’m gaining my freedom from him.
YVONNE
I hope you’re right. I’m sorry again about Danny.
SANDY
Thanks.
YVONNE
When are we going to get together? It’s been a few weeks. Do you still look the same?
SANDY
Just a little greener around the gills.
They both laugh.
Are you going to Jim and Rhoda’s housewarming/baby shower in Rockridge, Oakland? It’s at the end of September. Two weeks already.
YVONNE
I’ll definitely be there.
SANDY
I’ll see you then. And I can hear all about New York and Alex.
YVONNE
It’s a deal. See you then.
SANDY
Goodbye.
ANGLE ON YVONNE
She goes into the kitchen and unpacks the brown paper bag holding her takeout dinner in cardboard boxes. She dishes it out onto a plate, opens a bottle of beer and pours it into a glass, and carries her dinner into the bathroom, where she places it on the tub edge. She brings the phone into the bathroom, places it on the floor and undresses and gets into the tub. As she reaches to turn the water off, the phone rings. As she brings the receiver to her ear, she knocks the glass of cold beer into the tub.
YVONNE
(anxiously)
Hello.
MAN’S VOICE
(off screen)
Hello, Mrs. Galsworth. Are you receiving the San Francisco Daily Mirror on Sundays. We’re offering a bargain this week. Readers who begin a daily subscription will get Sundays free. You can’t beat that. We can start you this Sunday. How would you like to pay? We can bill you in a couple of weeks or you can mail in a check now. Whichever you prefer?
YVONNE
(angrily)
No. No. No.
She slams the phone down.
Boy, did I blow it!
CUT TO:
INT: NEWSROOM
Yvonne and her editor, Bill, are standing and talking with each other near her desk. It’s Friday evening around 6. The newsroom is emptying of reporters on the right side of the room, while copy, news and wire editors click away on the left side.
YVONNE
I’m looking for something to happen in this Clearview University flap. Something constructive. Both sides have to join forces. They can’t continue as friends and enemies, good guys and bad guys, we and they. Aside from the ethnic differences, there is also a question of age and authority. Youth is questioning the elders’ actions and their sincerity, and vice versa. The phantom fire alarmists aren’t helping matters. A certain amount of trust has to exist before people can sit down and talk with each other.
A reporter carrying her briefcase passes them on her way out.
REPORTER NO. 1
Good night, Bill. Yvonne. Have a good weekend.
Bill and Yvonne don’t look away from each other, but they acknowledge the farewell.
BILL-YVONNE
Good night.
BILL
This isn’t the first year the demand for more minority faculty has been issued. I’m not too hopeful anything different is going to happen this time around. There’s no incentive to change the way thigs are now. And the protests have become so common that alumni and faculty have become inured to them. Why should the administration do the righteous thing, which is going to cost more time and effort? Out of the goodness of its heart? Come on, Yvonne. We both know that’s not motivation for the human race. We have to be the motivation.
YVONNE
We?
BILL
Yes, the paper. I’d like you to devote your full energy to this story. Let’s not wait for them to give us news events. I want you to write what’s really going on at that campus. The Clearview story is a national one. Students from the Atlantic to the Pacific have been demanding representation. What’s it like to be a member of a minority group at a changing, but still predominantly, white university? Are students of different ethnic backgrounds friends? Are they dating?
Another reporter goes by.
REPORTER No. 2
Good night, guys.
Yvonne and Bill raise their hands in a wave as they continue talking.
BILL
Or are they ghettoized? How do most white students feel about demands? Do they care? Are they upset by them? Do they feel that minority students get breaks? I want you to write the sociological story of a school community. And I want to run it before readers forget.
YVONNE
I like the idea, Bill. I like the idea a lot.
BILL
Also, I was talking with Tom at the story budget meeting earlier today. He wants an editorial for the paper along with a column written by a reporter with personal views on the issue. Any ideas?
YVONNE
Yes. I was talking about this the other day. The similarities between the recent protests at Clearview and the demonstrations at my college, Williams, 19 years ago. I’d like to write about my experience as a black nation builder at my little Ivy League school in the Berkshires.
BILL
A first-person piece. That sounds good. Really good. Well, all right.
YVONNE
It would be helpful if I could concentrate on all these great story ideas without being torn away to work on other things.
BILL
I know, Yvonne, I know. I’ll do the best I can, but we are short-staffed. I can’t promise that we won’t need you to cover something breaking. You’re one of the best people we have for getting the story on breaking crises like fires and quakes.
YVONNE
Why, thank you, Bill. I’m just trying to avoid a crisis on getting this larger Clearview story, that’s all.
BILL
I know, Yvonne. I will try to spare you from other stories, but we’re working within constraints here.
YVONNE
Sure. I understand, Bill. I’ll start working on this story this weekend. Looking at old newspaper clips. Plotting out the research.
BILL
Great. Maybe we can turn things around this year.
YVONNE
Maybe so. Thanks, Bill.
BILL
Thank you.
He walks back to his desk, and she sits at hers. Another reporter walks by as she picks up the phone receiver and is about to call someone.
REPORTER NO. 3
A couple of us are going down to the M & M for a drink. Want to join us?
YVONNE
Sure, but it’ll be later. I’ve got a few things to do here first.
REPORTER NO. 3
All right. We’ll be down there for a while for a Happy Hour that’ll probably close the place down.
YVONNE
Good. I’ll see you later.
She continues to place a call, beginning a long night of intense work.
CUT TO:
INT: NEWSROOM LATE INTO THE NIGHT
The newsroom is empty except for Yvonne, who looks tired, worn and disheveled. Her desk is covered with old newspaper articles and magazines. She closes a legal pad and puts down her pen.
YVONNE
I think I’d better call it a night. I’m exhausted.
She looks at her watch.
It’s 2:15. No wonder.
She packs up and walks out with a stack in one arm and a full shoulder bag as well as her briefcase. She takes the elevator downstairs and passes the burly guard, SAM, on her way out.
YVONNE
Hello, Sam. Listen, would you mind walking me to my car. I’m parked in an alley, a perfect secluded spot to be mugged, raped and killed and my body to be discovered in days later stuffed into a garbage can.
SAM
Sounds like it’s time for you to go home. How can I refuse a request like that?
YVONNE
Didn’t think you would.
They walk out into the street and immediately pass a homeless man, woman and toddler sleeping on cardboard. The man and woman are hugging each other with the child between them. A drunk man sits on the sidewalk not too far from the family.
DRUNK MAN
Spare a dollar. Just a dollar.
Yvonne and Sam look to be ignoring the plea and the other street scenes, although they are aware of them.
YVONNE
Kind of quiet out here.
SAM
Yeah.
Two men in black leather jackets with lots of zippers walk in the opposite direction. Yvonne and Sam turn down an alley and find her car.
YVONNE
I’ll give you a ride back.
SAM
Thanks, but I’d like to walk and get some air.
YVONNE
All right. Thank you.
She gets in, starts the engine and listens to the jazz musician, Thelonius Monk, playing a soft piano. She drives through downtown San Francisco filled with sleeping and roaming homeless people, then reaches the Haight, where she catches glimpses of young homeless people. She parks in her garage, then unlocks the door to her apartment building. Slowly, she climbs the stairs. When she reaches her landing and turns to walk toward her apartment, she spots a big brown-rapped package at her door. Her face shows confusion and surprise.
YVONNE
(muttering)
A bomb? Come on, Yvonne. You haven’t attacked anyone in print lately.
She walks to her door but can’t make out anything in the dim hall light. She unlocks her door, walks around the package with difficulty and dumps everything in her arms on the couch. Then, she carries the package inside and sets it on the floor. The return address says: Alex Ibrahim Dunbar, 890 Alameda Street, Berkeley, California 93207.
YVONNE
Alex!
Her face lights up as she tears open the package. It’s the wood-framed poster of the classic film, Black Orpheus, which we saw earlier hanging in Alex’s house. She rips open the card which is taped to the glass. Yvonne reads it aloud.
Dear Yvonne,
I wanted to give you something I’ve had and treasured for a long time.
Love,
Alex
She clutches the card at her breast. A tear falls from one eye. She picks up the phone receiver and calls him.
ANGLE INSET OF ALEX
He is sitting in the living room on the couch with books all around him. He is holding a pen in his other hand.
ALEX
Hello.
YVONNE
Hello. This is Yvonne.
ALEX
(softly)
I know. I’ve been waiting for your call.
YVONNE
I just got in. I worked late tonight. (pause) It’s wonderful. A very special gift. I love it. I loved the film, too. Thank you so much.
ALEX
I’m happy you like it. When will we see each other again?
YVONNE
Well, I planned to work this weekend.
ALEX
Me, too. What about dinner tomorrow evening?
YVONNE
All right. That sounds good.
ALEX
I’ll pick you up at seven?
YVONNE
Seven sounds good. Thank you, again.
ALEX
It was my pleasure. Sweet dreams.
YVONNE
You, too.
They both hang up smiling.
CUT TO:
INT: ALEX’S HOME
ALEX’S HOME
He is sitting on the couch staring at the bare spot on the wall and grinning. Henry walks in with a book in his hand.
HENRY
Everything all right? Was it Yvonne who called?
ALEX
It was Yvonne who called.
HENRY
Thank God for big favors. I don’t know if I could have taken another day of your worrying questions – Does she want to see me again? Does she feel as strongly about me as I do for her? Why doesn’t she answer when I call her at home? Is she out with someone else? Mr. Dunbar, you were about to drive me mad with your anxiety.
ALEX
I know.
HENRY
She received the Black Orpheus poster?
ALEX
Yes.
HENRY
Well? Was she surprised? Did she like it? I hope so. It’ll certainly be missed here.
ALEX
She called it a very special gift. She said she loves it.
Alex turns and looks at Henry.
Henry?
HENRY
Yes?
ALEX
I’m falling in love.
HENRY
We’ve known that, Alex. The question now is, “What are you going to do about it?”
ALEX
I want her in my life, Henry.
HENRY
Why doesn’t that surprise me?
ALEX
I hope that she wants that, too.
HENRY
Me, too. Because the fall you’d take if she says no would make more than a thud. I want everything to work out the way you want. I guess the question now is, “When?”