HIGH FIDELITY
 
 by
 D.V. De Vincentis, Steve Pink, & John Cusack
 
 based on the novel by Nick Hornby
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 9/11/98
 
  London Draft
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Registered: WGAw
 
 
 
 
FADE IN:
 
INT. ROB'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
 
STEREO
 
Not a minisystem, not a matching set, but coveted audiophile
clutter of McIntosh and Nakamichi, each component from a
different era, bought piece by piece in various nanoseconds
of being flush.
 
 ROB (V.O.)
 What came first? The music or the
 misery? People worry about kids
 playing with guns and watching
 violent videos, we're scared that
 some sort of culture of violence is
 taking them over...
 
RECORDS
 
Big thin LPs. Fields of them. We move across them, slowly...
they seem to come to rest in an end of a few books... but
then the CD's start, and go on, faster and faster, forever
then the singles, then the tapes...
 
 ROB (V.O.)(CONT'D)
 But nobody worries about kids
 listening to thousands -- literally
 thousands -- of songs about broken
 hearts and rejection and pain and
 misery and loss.
 
It seems the records, tapes, and CD's will never end until...
we come to ROB -- always a hair out of place, a face that
grows on you. He sits in an oversized beanbag chair and
addresses us, the wall of music behind him.
 
 ROB
 Did I listen to pop music because I
 was miserable, or was I miserable
 because I listened to pop music?
 
INT. APARTMENT - NIGHT
 
A group of bags huddled next to the door. Not the go-on-
vacation set, but the clothes-to-coffee-maker moving out
variety. Rob stares at them, his face unreadable, his head
gripped by a big pair Boudokan headphones. We hear what he
is hearing, something foreboding and upbeat at the same time.
 
LAURA, Rob's girlfriend, enters the room, and he immediately
pulls the headphones off. She clocks him for a moment, catching
him in what seems to be an old and repeated moment of
nonpresence. She begins to heft the bags, Rob goes to her, a
little tardy for his big goodbye. Laura begins to cry a bit.
 
 LAURA
 I don't really know what I'm doing.
 
He smiles, and she doesn't. He adjusts.
 
 ROB
 You don't have to go this second.
 You can stay until whenever.
 
 LAURA
 We've done the hard part now. I
  might as well, you know...
 
 ROB
 Well stay for tonight, then.
 
Laura shakes her head, lifts the last small bag, and backs
out the door. A strap catches on a handle and the two of
them wrestle with it a bit, while trying to keep the door
open, until Laura awkwardly disappears from view and the
door shuts behind Rob. He stays right there staring at the
shut door for a long moment, listening to the fading sound
of Laura and her dragging bags.
 
STEREO
 
Rob's left hand cranks the volume knob while his right
switches the CD changer to something loud and adrenal. He
addresses us again.
 
 ROB
 My desert-island, all-time, top
 five most memorable break-ups, in
 chronological order are as follows:
 Alison Ashworth, Penny Hardwick,
 Jackie Allen, Charlie Nicholson,
 Sarah Kendrew.
 
INT. APARTMENT STAIRWELL
 
Laura drags her bags, banging down the stairs --
 
INT. ROB'S APARTMENT
 
Rob moves around the apartment, seeming to expand physically,
looking for change as he continues.
 
 ROB
 Those were the ones that really
 hurt. Can you see your name in
 that list, Laura? Maybe you'd
  sneak into the top ten, but there's
 no place for you in the top five.
 Sorry. Those places are reserved
 for the kind of humiliations and
 heartbreaks that you're just not
 capable of delivering.
 
He adjusts the angle of the TV, stuffs a creepy family
portrait into a drawer.
 
 ROB (CONT'D)
 That probably sounds crueler than
 it's meant to, but the fact is,
 we're too old to take each other
 miserable. Unhappiness used to
 mean something. Now it's just a
 drag like a cold or having no money.
 
He moves through the living room to an open window facing
the street. Looking down two stories, he sees Laura emerge
from the building and drag her bags toward her car across
the street.
 
 ROB (CONT'D)
 If you really wanted to mess me up,
 you should have got to me earlier.
 
  CUT TO:
 
EXT. SUBURBAN PARK - DUSK - 1980
 
Rob and Alison sit on the bench, kissing awkwardly.
 
 ROB (V.O.)(CONT'D)
 Which brings us to number one.
 Alison Ashworth.
 
PARK BENCH - DUSK
 
The same shot, the next night: new clothes, same clumsy
make-out session.
 
 ROB (V.O.)(CONT'D)
 My relationship with Alison Ashworth
 lasted six hours.
 
PARK BENCH - DUSK
 
...Next night...
 
  ROB (V.O.)(CONT'D)
 The two hours after school and
 before The Rockford Files, three
 days in a row. On the fourth
 afternoon.
 
SAME PARK BENCH
 
...And the fourth night...
 
 ROB (V.O.)(CONT'D)
 Kevin Bannister.
 
Alison and another boy, KEVIN BANNISTER. Kissing. In the
background, Rob approaches and stops. He implodes with
self-consciousness and humiliation and attempts to affect a
casual gait as he mopes away.
 
  ROB (V.O.)(CONT'D)
 It would be nice to think that
 since I was fourteen, times have
 changed, relationships have become
 more sophisticated, females less
 cruel, skins thicker, but there
 still seems to be an element of
 that afternoon in everything that
 has happened to me since. All my
 other romantic stories seem to be a
 scrambled version of that first one.
 
INT. ROB'S APARTMENT
 
Rob sits in his chair, a cord leading from the stereo to
headphones draped around his neck. Behind him is the wall
of music.
 
 ROB
 Number two. Penny Hardwick. Penny
 was great-looking, and her top five
 recording artists were Carly Simon,
 Carole King, James Taylor, Cat
 Stevens, and Elton John...
 
He lets the needle down on the turntable next to him.
"Nobody Does It Better" by Carly Simon begins to play as
PRESENCE...
 
EXT. HIGH SCHOOL LAWN - FLASHBACK - MOS
 
... and continues as SOUNDTRACK. PENNY, 16, is walking
across the grass toward us. She's the clean, sporty, nice
wholesome girl-next-door. She waves tp off-camera friends,
smiling a winning smile.
 
  ROB (V.O.)
 Everybody liked her. She was nice.
 Nice manners. Nice grades. Nice-
 looking.
 
INT. PENNY'S BEDROOM - NIGHT
 
Penny and Rob sit on the edge of the bed, kissing. Rob
moves his hand up toward the breast, but the hand then seems
to have a new idea, and dives south to follow the thigh into
Penny's skirt...
 
 ROB (V.O.)
 She was so nice, in fact, that she
 wouldn't let me put my hand
 underneath, or even on top of, her
 bra.
 
... when he contacts skin, Penny rolls like a gymnast away
and off of the bed, out of frame. Rob looks away balefully.
 
EXT. STREET - NIGHT
 
"Nobody Does It Better" continues as Rob walks Penny to her
front door.  She is smiling, he seems distant.
 
 ROB (V.O.)
 Penny was nice, but I wasn't
 interested in nice, just breasts,
 and therefore she was no good to me.
 And so I was finished with her.
 
She leans in to kiss him, and he shrugs her off.
 
 ROB
 What's the point? It never goes
 anywhere.
 
Without looking at her, Rob turns and walks down the street,
getting smaller. Penny watches for a while.
 
  CUT TO:
 
INT. "EL" TRAIN CAR - MORNING - PRESENT
 
Rob sways with the other commuters.
 
 ROB
 She cried, and I hated her for it,
 because she made me feel bad. I
  started dating a girl who everybody
 said would put out, and Penny went
 with this asshole Chris Thompson
 who told me that he had sex with
 her after something like three
 dates. How had Penny gone from
 a girl who wouldn't do anything to
 a girl who would do everything?
 
A BUSINESSMAN looks up from his paper at Rob, then back down.
 
EXT. CLARK STREET - DAY
 
An old Chicago block of local merchants, on a busy street.
Rob makes his way down the street, jangling a set of keys
and talking to us.
 
 ROB
 My store's right up here. It's
 called The Record Exchange. It's
 carefully placed to attract the
 bare minimum of window shoppers.
 
Rob arrives at a storefront, and begins unlocking a rusty
gate with two locks and then a beaten-down door.
 
 ROB (CONT'D)
 I get by because of the people who
 make a special effort to shop here
 on Saturday young men, always young
 men, who spend a disproportionate
 amount of their time looking for
 deleted Smiths singles and "original
 not rereleased" underline Frank
 Zappa albums.
 
INT. RECORD STORE - DAY
 
In almost darkness. More light might penetrate the windows
if there weren't so many record-release posters taped to
them. A dusty narrow corridor clad in burlap and shag rug.
On the walls are bagged 45's you will never hear unless you
commit your life to the losing proposition of listening to
every noodling of Jah Wobble and Glen Glenn and other people
you've never heard of.
 
But as Rob opens the door, enters, and flips a switch
causing the fluorescents to sputter, we see in his eyes the
reverence and earnestness of a football coach gazing across
an empty field or a priest drawn at midnight to his empty
church.
 
 ROB
 The fetish properties are not
 unlike porn. I would feel guilty
 taking their money if I wasn't,
 kind of, well, one of them.
 
As he walks one of the two slim aisles toward the back, he
stops on a dime, steps back and pulls a CD from the sea and
replaces it almost the same position, but not quite --
meticulousness and pride in this gesture...
 
After a moment the door creaks open behind Rob, admitting
DICK, a nervous, forlorn but sweet and intelligent discophile
with long greasy black hair, a Sonic Youth T-shirt, a
monstrous pair of headphones, and a canvas record bag
emblazoned with a label logo.
 
 ROB
 'Morning, Dick.
 
 DICK
 Oh, hi. Hi, Rob.
 
 ROB
  Good weekend?
 
 DICK
 Yeah, OK. I found the first
 Licorice Comfits album at Vintage
 Vinyl. The one on Testament of
 Youth. Never released here.
 Japanese import only.
 
 ROB
 Great.
 
 DICK
 I'll tape it for you.
 
 ROB
 No, that's okay. Really.
 
 DICK
 'Cause you like their second one,
 you said, Pop, Girls. etc. The one
 with Cheryl Ladd on the cover. You
 didn't see the cover though.
 
 ROB
 Yeah, I haven't really absorbed
  that one.
 
 DICK
 Well, I'll just make it for you.
 
 ROB
 (resigned)
 Okay.
 
 CUT TO:

INT. RECORD STORE - LATER
 
Dick is behind the counter, Rob in the aisles with a
clipboard doing inventory.
 
 ROB
 (re: music)
 What's this?
 
 DICK
 The new Belle and Sebastian. Like
 it?
 
The door flies open and BARRY, an acid-tongued post-punk
rock misanthrope without quite enough intelligence to
conceptualize his own rebellion, walks in. His teeth are
clenched in air-guitar concentration and he's phonetically
cranking a Clash riff:
 
  BARRY
 BAA! BA BA DANG!
 
Dick shrinks back from him instinctively. He stops mid-step
and cocks his ear at the music playing in the store. His
face adopts an exaggerated grimace.
 
 BARRY (CONT'D)
  Holy Shiite! What the fuck's this?
 
 DICK
 It's the new --
 
 ROB
 It's the record we've been listening
 to and enjoying, Barry.
 
Barry moves in on the stereo behind the counter, and Dick
gets out of his way.
 
 BARRY
 Well that's problematic because it
 sucks ass.
 
He pops the CD out and frisbees it to Dick.
 
 BARRY (CONT'D)
 (re: the CD)
 Yours, I assume...
 
Barry pulls a tape out of his jacket and jams it in. "How
to Kill a Radio Consultant" by Public Enemy comes through at
through the red levels.
 ROB
  (over the blare)
 TURN IT OFF, BARRY.
 
 BARRY
 IT WON'T GO ANY LOUDER.
 
Barry walks in rhythm toward the stockroom and disappears.
Rob goes behind the counter and stops the tape. Barry's
head pops out of the stockroom.
 
 BARRY (CONT'D)
 What are you doing?
 
 ROB
 I don't want to hear Public Enemy
 right now.
 
 BARRY
 Public Enemy! All I'm trying to do
 is cheer us up. Go ahead and put
 on some old sad bastard music see
 if I care.
 
 ROB
 I don't want old sad bastard music
 either. I just want something I
 can ignore.
 
 BARRY
 But it's my new tape. My Monday
 morning tape. I made it last night
 just for today.
 
 ROB
 Yeah, well it's fucking Monday
  afternoon. You should get out of
 bed earlier.
 
 BARRY
 Don't you want to hear what's next?
 
 ROB
 What's next?
 
 BARRY
 Play it.
 
 ROB
 Say it.
 
 BARRY
 (sighs)
 "Little Latin Lupe Lu."
 
Rob groans.
 
 DICK
 Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels?
 
  BARRY
 (defensive)
 No. The Righteous Brothers.
 
 DICK
 Oh well. Nevermind.
 
Barry bristles and moves slowly in on Dick.
 
 BARRY
 What?
 
  DICK
 Nothing.
 
 BARRY
 No, not nothing. What's wrong with
 the Righteous Brothers?
 
 DICK
 Nothing. I just prefer the other
 one.
 
  BARRY
 Bullshit.
 
 ROB
 How can it be bullshit to state a
 preference?
 
 BARRY
 Since when did this shop become a
 fascist regime?
 
  ROB
 Since you brought that bullshit
 tape in.
 
 BARRY
 (sarcastic)
 Great. That's the fun of working
 in a record store. Playing crappy
  pap you don't want to listen to. I
 thought this tape was going to be,
 you know, a conversation stimulator.
 I was going to ask you for your top
 five records to play on a Monday
 morning and all that, and you just
 had to ruin it.
 
 ROB
 We'll do it next Monday.
 
 BARRY
 Well what's the point in that?
 
From outside. HEAR THE SOUND OF SKATEBOARD WHEELS CLACKING
AND SCRAPING, GETTING LOUDER. Rob, Dick and Barry stop
fighting to listen, then each moves purposefully to a spot
in the store. Dick to the register, Barry to the back, Rob
next to the door, as if bracing for a street fight.
 
The SOUND gets closer, then stops. The door swings open to
admit VINCE and JUSTIN, two fifteen-year-old skate punks.
Vince's hair is post-apocolyptically hacked to different
lengths, Justin's in uniformly shaven with leopard spots
dyed browse. Rob follows them, watching their every move.
Dick counters from his perch, getting another angle. Barry
cracks his knuckles threateningly. Vince and Justin do
their best browser impersonations. Finally Justin plucks a
CD, and the two move to the counter.
 
 ROB
 Hey. Didn't you steal that one
 already?
 
 DICK
 Can I help you?
 
 JUSTIN
 Just this.
 
 DICK
 That'll be fifteen-twenty-seven.
 
Vince reaches into his deep pocket and pulls out a paper
cup, with piece of paper attached that says "Please help me.
I'm retarded." He pours a mass of change and crumpled
singles onto the counter. Dick begins counting it out.
 
 VINCE
 Isn't your name Dick?
 
 DICK
 Yes.
 
 VINCE
 That sucks. Get it?
 
Dick cracks a sad smile for a second. He bags the CD and
Vince and Justin are off. Rob walks back through the stock
room door.
 
 CUT TO:

INT. RECORD STORE - STOCK ROOM - LATER
 
Rob is on his knees, opening boxes with a razor knife. He
talks to us as he works.
 
  ROB
 I'm sick of the sight of this
 place, to be honest. Some days I'm
 afraid --
 
Dick sticks his head in the door, looks at Rob, looks where
Rob is looking (camera), and retreats back through the door.
Rob continues.
 
 ROB
 I'm afraid I'll go berserk, rip the
 Elvis Costello mobile from the
 ceiling, throw the "Country Artists
 Male A-K" rack out onto the streets,
 go off to work in a Virgin Megastore
 and never come back --
 
He hears the bell on the front door RING, and he stops and
listens, looks a bit worried.
 
 CUSTOMER (O.S.)
 I'm looking for a record for my
 daughter. For her birthday. "I
 Just Called To Say I Love You." Do
 you have it?
 
 BARRY (O.S.)
 Oh yeah. We got it.
 
Rob relaxes and goes back to work.
 
 CUSTOMER (O.S.)
  Great. Can I have it then?
 
 BARRY (O.S.)
 No, you can't.
 
Rob deflates, shaking his head.
 
STORE FLOOR
 
Barry leans back, elbows up on the counter behind him,
talking to the CUSTOMER, a middle-aged graying man in a
raincoat.
 
 CUSTOMER
 Why not?
 
 BARRY
 Because it's sentimental tacky
 crap, that's why not. Do we look
 like the kind of store that sells
 "I Just Called To Say I Loved You?"
 Go to the mall and stop wasting our
 time.
 
 CUSTOMER
 What's your problem? What did I...
 Why are you --
 
 BARRY
 Do you even know your daughter?
 There is no way she likes that song.
 Or is she in a coma?
 
The Customer throws up his hands and starts out of the store.
 
 CUSTOMER
 Okay, okay, buddy. I didn't know
 it was Pick On the Middle-Aged
 Square Guy Day. My apologies.
 I'll be on my way.
 
He steps out of the door.
 
 BARRY
 B'Bye!
 
Outside, anger catches up to the Customer. He turns and
throws up a middle finger --
 
 CUSTOMER
 FUCK YOU!
 
-- and bolts. Barry smiles and turns to see
 
ROB
 
standing in the doorway of the stock room. He feigns
applause.
 
 ROB
 Nice, Barry.
 
 BARRY
 Rob. Top five musical crimes
 perpetrated by Stevie Wonder in the
 '80's and '90's. Subquestion -- is
 it in fact unfair to criticize a
 formerly great artist for his
 latter-day sins? "Is it better to
 burn out than to fade away?"
 
 ROB
 You just drove a fucking customer
 away, Barry.
 
 BARRY
 We didn't even really have it. I
 happen to know for a fact that the
 only Stevie Wonder single we have
 is "Don't Drive Drunk." I was just
 goofing on the straight, and it
 never cost you a penny.
 
  ROB
 Not the point.
 
 BARRY
 Oh, so what's the point then?
 
 ROB
 I don't want you talking to our
 customers like that again.
 
  BARRY
 "Our customers?" You think that Mr.
 L.L. Bean out there is going to be
 a regular?
 
Rob's face begins to redden with anger.
 
 ROB
 Barry, I'm fucking broke! I know
  we used to fuck with anyone who
 asked for anything we didn't like,
 but it's gotta stop.
 
 BARRY
 Bullshit. The guy was going to buy
 one record -- which we didn't even
  have -- and leave and never come
 back again anyway. Why not have a
 little fun? Big fucking deal.
 
 ROB
 What did he ever do to you?
 
 BARRY
 He offended me with his terrible
 taste.
 
 ROB
 It wasn't even his terrible taste.
 It was his daughter's.
 
 BARRY
 Oh, now you're defending that
 motherfucker? You're going soft in
 your old age, Rob. There was a
 time when you would have chased him
 out of the store and up the street.
 Now all of a sudden I'm offending
 your golf buddy.
 (sarcastic)
 You're right, Rob. I am so sorry.
 How are we ever going to make
 enough money to get you and Laura
 into the country club?
 
Rob is red and seething.
 
 BARRY (CONT'D)
  And by the way, I tell you this for
 your own good: That's the worst
 sweater I've ever seen. I have
 never seen a sweater that bad worn
 by anyone I'm on speaking terms
 with. It's a disgrace to the human
 race.
 
Rob springs on Barry, grabbing him by the lapels and jerking
him up against the wall. Rob is so mad he can't say anything.
 
 DICK
 Hey, guys... Hey.
 
Rob runs out of steam and drops Barry, who backpedals fast.
 
 BARRY
 (extremely shaken)
 What are you, some kind of fucking
 maniac? If this jacket's torn
 you're gonna pay big.
 
Barry stomps out of the store. Rob turns and goes back to
the stockroom, and sits on the stepladder. Dick appears in
the doorway, terrified.
 
 DICK
 Are you all right?
 
 ROB
 Yeah. I'm sorry... Look Dick,
  Laura and I broke up. She's gone.
 And if we ever see Barry again
 maybe you can tell him that.
 DICK
 'Course I will, Rob. No problem.
 No problem at all. I'll tell him
 next time I see him.
 
Rob nods. Dick sets out into the uncharted conversational
territory of interpersonal relationships.
 
 DICK (CONT'D)
 I've ah... got some other stuff to
 tell him anyway, so it's no problem.
 I'll just tell him about, you know,
 Laura, when I tell him the other
 stuff.
 
 ROB
 Fine.
 
 DICK
 I'll start with your news before I
 tell him mine, obviously. Mine
 isn't much, really, just about
 Marie LaSalle
 (flashes CD of pretty woman)
 playing at Lounge Ax tonight. I
 like her, you know, she's kind of
 Sheryl Crowish... but, you know,
 good. So I'll tell him before that.
 Good news and bad news kind of thing.
 
Dick laughs nervously.
 
 DICK (CONT'D)
 Or rather, bad news and good news,
 because he likes this person
 playing tonight. I mean, he liked
 Laura too, I didn't mean that. And
 he likes you. It's just that --
 
 ROB
 I understand, Dick.
 
 DICK
 Sure. 'Course. Rob, look. Do you
 want to... talk about it, that kind
 of thing?
 
Rob looks up at Dick, who is so nervous that his brow is wet.
 
 ROB
 No. Thanks though, Dick.
 
Dick sighs with relief, and smiles his way out of the stock
room.
 
 CUT TO:
 
ROB IN HIS CHAIR
 
Rob to camera.
 
 ROB
 Number three in the top five break-
 ups was Charlie Nicholson, sophomore
 year of college. Some people never
 got over 'Nam, or the night their
 band opened for Nirvana. I guess I
 never really got over Charlie.
 
 CUT TO:
 
EXT. COLLEGE QUAD - DAY - FLASHBACK
 
About twenty feet away we see a tall, thin beauty, bleach-
blonde hair cropped short in darling '80's new-wave asymmetry.
She is speaking animatedly to a PAMPHLETEER, driving her
points home with a forefinger.
 
  ROB (V.O.)
 She looked different. Dramatic.
 Exotic. She talked a lot, about
 remarkably interesting things like
 music, books, film, and politics...
 
INT. CAFE - DAY
 
A younger Rob sits amongst a group of STUDENTS who are
engaged in a heated conversation. He is smiling, mouth
closed, just happy to be there. Charlie sitting next to
him, tousles his hair as she talks incessantly.
 
 ROB (V.O.)
 (over her talking)
 ...so we didn't have those terrible,
 strained sentences, that seemed to
 characterized most of my
 relationships. And she liked me.
 She liked me. She liked me.
 
Charlie gives Rob a quick kiss and keeps talking...
 
EXT. STREET - AFTERNOON
 
Rob and Charlie walk arm in arm, Rob in cool clothes and
sunglasses trying to look cool, Charlie making a point about
something.
 
Rob checks out how cool he looks with her as they walk by a
store window REFLECTION.
 
 ROB (V.O.)
 We went out for two years, and for
 every single minute I felt as
 though I was standing on a
 dangerously narrow ledge. I
 couldn't get comfortable, couldn't
 ever stretch out and relax. Why
 would a girl -- no, a woman -- like
 Charlie go out with someone who
 only a few years ago sewed a Foghat
 patch on his jacket? I felt like
 all those people who suddenly
 shaved their heads and said they'd
 always been punks. I felt like a
 fraud. And I was depressed by the
 lack of flamboyance in my wardrobe...
 
INT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - DAY
 
The fabulous sophomore design student's studio apartment:
White wood floor, white walls, overvarnished door, Doisneaux
print on the wall, futon on the floor. Rob lies back on his
elbows, watching Charlie in uncomfortable, worried awe. She
stands, her back to him, wearing only her underwear and
pulling on a T-shirt -- a heartbreaking image to look back on.
 
 ROB (V.O.)
 ...I worried about my abilities as
 a lover. I was intimidated by the
 other men in her design department,
 and became convinced that she was
 going to leave me for one of them.
 
Charlie turns around and looks at Rob with naked ambivalence.
 
 ROB (V.O.)
  She left me for one of them. The
 dreaded Marco.
 
EXT. CHARLIE'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
 
It is RAINING like crazy, and Rob is shouting up at a lit
window, maniacally gesturing. The curtains part and
Charlie's figure appears, clad only in a sheet. Next to her
is a tall, built, handsome man, MARCO, also in a sheet.
Eventually he falls to his knees with a splash and buries
his head in his hands. The light goes out.
 
 ROB (V.O.)
 And I lost it. I lost it all.
 Dignity, faith, fifteen pounds...
 
EXT. STREET - NIGHT
 
Rob wandering through the rain.
 
 ROB (V.O.)
 Any small idea of personal identity
 that I had acquired up to that point.
 
INT. SOME RECORD STORE - DAY
 
A younger and catatonic Rob listlessly sorts through a stack
of records.
 
 ROB (V.O.)
 I came to three months later, and
 to my surprise had flunked out of
 school and started working in a
 record store.
 
INT. ROB'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
 
Rob stands in front of his wall of music, shifting LPs
around between the shelves and piles on the floor as he
talks to us.
 
 ROB
 What I really learned from the
 Charlie Debacle is that you gotta
 punch your weight. Charlie was out
 of my Class: too pretty, too smart,
 too witty, too much. What am I?
 Average. A middleweight.  Not the
 smartest guy in the world, but
 certainly not the dumbest. I've
 read books like The Unbearable
 Lightness of Being, Angela's Ashes,
 and Love in the Time of Cholera,
 and understood them, I think --
 they're about girls, right? -- just
 kidding -- but I don't like them
 very much. My all time top five
 favorite books are Johnny Cash's
 autobiography, Snow Crash by Neil
  Stevenson, Zen and the Art of
 Motorcycle Maintenance, The Trouser
 Press Guides to Rock, and, I don't
 know, probably something by Kurt
 Vonnegut. I look through the New
 Yorker when my neighbor's done with
 it, and I'm not averse to going
 down to the Fine Arts to watch
 subtitles films, although on the
 whole I prefer American films.
 Top five being Blade Runner, Cool
 Hand Luke, the first two Godfathers
 which we'll count as one, Taxi
 Driver, and The Shining. I'm okay
 looking, average height, not
 skinny, not fat. My genius, if I
 can call it that, is to combine a
 whole load of averageness into one
 compact frame. You might say there
 were millions like me, but there
 aren't, really: Alot of guys have
 impeccable music taste but don't
 read, alot of guys read but are
 really fat, alot of guys are
 sympathetic to women but have
 stupid beards, alot of guys have a
 Woody Allen sense of humor but look
 like Woody Allen. Some drink too
  much, some drive like assholes,
 some get into fights, or show off
 money, or do drugs. I don't do any
 of these things, really. If I do
 okay with women it's not because of
 the virtues I have, but because of
 the ugly flaws I don't have... So.
 Charlie and I didn't match. After
 her I was determined to never get
 out of my league again.
 
INT. ROB'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
 
Rob presses play on the answering machine. A pleasant,
older female voice is heard. It's JANET, Laura's mother.
 
 JANET
 (on machine)
 Hello, you two. Laura, it's your
 mother. Your father's angina is a
 little rough today and I thought
 he'd like to talk to you. No big
 deal. I love you two. Bye.
 
Beep.
 
 LIZ
 (on machine)
 Rob, it's Liz. Just calling to
 see, well, if you're okay. Give me
 a ring. I'm not taking sides. Yet.
 Lot's of love. Bye.
 
He pulls an LP from a shelf, puts it on the turntable and
sits back in his chair.
 
EXT. LAKE MICHIGAN WATERFRONT - MOS - THE PAST
 
The MUSIC becomes SOUNDTRACK to the following scenes. Rob
and SARAH, a thin, modestly attractive young woman, SARAH,
walk and talk. They seem to be emphatically complaining
together.
 
 ROB (V.O.)
 Charlie and I didn't match. Marco
 and Charlie matched. Me and Sarah,
 number four on the all time break-
 ups list, matched. She wore more
 or less the same clothes as mine,
 had an acceptable working knowledge
 of music, and she had been dumped
 by some asshole named Michael. He
 was her moment, Charlie was mine.
 Sarah had sworn off men. I had
 sworn off women. It made sense to
 pool our loathing of the opposite
 sex, swear them off together, and
 get to share a bed with someone at
 the same time.
 
INT. SARAH'S APARTMENT - MOS - NIGHT
 
Rob and SARAH sit up in bed, staring at the television...
 
  ROB (V.O.)
 We were frightened of being left
 alone for the rest of our lives.
 Only people of a certain disposition
 are frightened of being alone for
 the rest of their lives at twenty-
 six. We were of that disposition.
 Everything seemed much later than
 it was.
 
INT. SARAH'S KITCHEN - MOS - DAY ROB'S POV
 
of Sarah, sitting across the table, mid-confession.
 
  ROB (V.O.)
 When she told me that she met
 someone else it made no sense. Her
 meeting someone else was contrary
 to the whole spirit of our
 arrangement. All we really had in
  common was that we were dumped by
 people, and that we were against
 dumping. We were violently anti-
 dump. So how come I got dumped?
 
ROB IN HIS CHAIR
 
The MUSIC becomes PRESENCE again, and Rob takes the needle
off the record.
 
 ROB
 You run the risk of losing anyone
 who is worth spending time with.
 But I didn't know that at the time.
 All I saw was that I'd moved down a
 division and that it still hadn't
 worked out, and this seemed cause
 for a great deal of misery and
 self-pity. And that's when Laura
 came along.
 
INT. ROB'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
 
Rob is surrounded by stacks of records on the floor. He
looks to camera.
 
 ROB
 I'm reorganizing my records tonight.
 It's something I do in times of
 emotional distress. When Laura was
 here I had them in alphabetical
 order, before that, chronologically.
 Tonight, though, I'm trying to put
 them in the order in which I bought
 them. That way I can write my own
 autobiography without picking up a
 pen.  Pull them all off the shelves,
 look for Revolver and go from there.
 I'll be able to see how I got from
 Deep Purple to The Soft Boys in
 twenty-five moves. What I really
 like about my new system is that it
 makes me more complicated than I am.
 To find anything you have to be me,
 or at the very least a doctor in
 Rob-ology. If you wanna find
 Landslide by Fleetwood Mac you have
 to know that I bought it for
 someone in the fall of 1983 and
 then didn't give it to them for
 personal reasons. But you don't
 know any of that, do you? You
 would have to ask me to --
 
The phone rings again. Rob picks it up.
 
 ROB (CONT'D)
 Yeah?
 
 MOM
 Hi, Rob. It's your mother.
 
Rob deflates a bit.
 
 ROB
 Hi, Mom.
 
 MOM
 Everything all right?
 
 ROB
 Great. Super-fantastic.
 
 MOM
 How's the store?
 
 ROB
 So so. Up and down.
 
 MOM
 Your lucky Laura's doing so well.
 If it wasn't for her, I don't think
 either of us would ever sleep...
 
Rob holds his lips together with thumb and forefinger, but
succumbs --
 
 ROB
 She left. She's gone.
 
 MOM
 What do you mean? Where did she go?
 
 ROB
 How would I know? Gone. Girlfriend.
 Leave. Not say where gone. Laura
 move out.
 
  MOM
 Well call her mother.
 
 ROB
 She just called. She doesn't even
 know. It's probably the last time
 I'll ever hear her voice. That's
 weird, isn't it? You spend
 Christmas at somebody's house, you
 know, and you worry about their
 operations and you see them in
 their bathrobe, and... I dunno...
 
Silence.
 
 ROB (CONT'D)
 There'll be another mom and another
 Christmas. Right?
 
Silence... More silence.
 
 ROB (CONT'D)
 Hello? Anybody there?
 
The sound of SOFT CRYING
 
 ROB (CONT'D)
 I'm all right, if that's what's
 upsetting you.
 
 MOM
 You know that's not what's upsetting
 me.
 
 ROB
 Well it fucking should be, shouldn't
 it?
 
  MOM
 I knew this would happen. What are
 you going to do Rob?
 
 ROB
 I'm going to drink this bottle of
 wine watch TV and go to bed. Then
 tomorrow I'll get up and go to work.
 
 MOM
 And after that?
 
 ROB
 Meet a nice girl and have children.
 I promise the next time we talk
 I'll have it all sorted out.
 
 MOM
  I knew this was going to happen.
 
 ROB
 Then what are you getting so upset
 about?
 
 MOM
 What did Laura say? Do you know
 why she left?
 
  ROB
 It's got nothing to do with
 marriage, if that's what you're
 getting at.
 
 MOM
 So you say. I'd like to hear her
 side of it.
 
 ROB
  Mom! For the last fucking time,
 I'm telling you Laura didn't want
 to get married! She is not that
 kind of girl! To use a phrase.
 That's not what happens now.
 
 MOM
  Well I don't know what happens now,
 apart from you meet someone, you
 move in, she goes. You meet
 someone, you move in, she goes.
 
Silence. Rob busted.
 
 ROB
 Shut up, Mom.
 
Rob hangs up the phone. He fills up his glass again, takes
a swig, and slumps into a chair. If there was any wind left
in Rob, it just got knocked out. After a moment, he gets to
his feet, grabs his jacket and heads out the door.
 
  CUT TO:
 
EXT. LOUNGE AX CLUB - LINCOLN AVE. - NIGHT
 
Rob comes down the street and gets in the short line to
enter the club. From inside he hears a GUITAR, playing a
tune that becomes familiar not only to Rob, but to us. When
a strong, lilting female VOICE begins to sing, we hear what
it is: "Baby I Love Your Way," by Peter Frampton.
 
Rob smiles at first, but begins to darken as the verse
continues. He steps out of line and leans against the
outside wall, listening. Is he beginning to cry? Yes, he
is...
 
 CUT TO:
 
ROB IN HIS CHAIR
 
 ROB
 Peter. Frampton. That perm! "Show
 Me the Way"! A phenomenon based on
 a live album that was actually
 recorded in a studio! What is
 happening? I am getting misty,
 choked up at a song that I had the
 good sense at twelve to realize was
 so saccharine and stupid as to be
 inarticulatable, until Michael Bolton,
 that is.
 
 CUT BACK TO:
 
EXT. LOUNGE AX CLUB - LINCOLN AVE.
 
He looks around self-consciously, and paces a bit, deciding
whether or not to stay. He takes a deep breath, and heads
in the door.
 
INT. LOUNGE AX - NIGHT
 
As Rob enters he looks to the stage, where MARIE LASALLE is
standing alone with her acoustic guitar, heading toward the
song's finish. Rob's expression begins to shift from the
melancholy to something else altogether. Marie is beautiful,
and Marie has touched his heart. Rob navigates toward her
though the small crowd as if pulled by something unseen. He
addresses us over his shoulder.
 
 ROB
 Sentimental music makes you
 nostalgic and hopeful at the same
 time. Marie's the hopeful part.
 Laura's the nostalgia part. These
 things happen. They happen to men,
 at any rate. This is why I
  shouldn't be listening to pop music.
 
As he gets closer to the stage --
 
 DICK
 ROB!
 
Rob looks over to see Dick sitting with Barry, a few feet
away. He shakes it off and sits with them, extending a
meaningful hand to Barry, who takes it. They turn back to
the stage as Marie finishes the song.
 
 ROB
 I always hated this song.
 
 DICK
 Yeah.
 
 BARRY
 Yeah.
 
  ROB
 But now I kind of like it.
 
Dick and Barry nod, then keep watching. All three of them
are in their own private fantasies with Marie.
 
 DICK
 She shouldn't done it on "The
  Number Four With a Smile."
 
 BARRY
 Isn't her album called "Number Four
 With A Smile?"
 
 DICK
 That's what I said.
 
 BARRY
 No, no, no, you said "The Number
 Four Wi