Int. burt and verona's house--
bedroom--night
We are moving silently through a small house. We see fishing gear, snowshoes, paintings of skeletons. It's a messy, ramshackle, but still somehow charming place.
We arrive in the bedroom, where we see a woman, about 30, lying in bed, her head propped up by four pillows. She's wearing a negligee. It's very dark--we see only her silhouette.
VERONA
Burt?
Now we see that there's a man under the covers, busying himself with her nether regions.
BURT
(from under the sheets)
What?
VERONA
Don't.
There's some shuffling from Burt.
BURT
Why?
VERONA
Come back up. I want to kiss you.
More shuffling in the bed.
BURT
C'mon. I want to do this. I'm staying down here.
VERONA
(sighing)
Okay.
Verona tries to enjoy herself.
VERONA (CONT'D)
Just don't blow.
BURT
What?
VERONA
Don't blow.
BURT
Why would I blow?
VERONA
I don't know why you do anything you do, Burt. Just don't blow.
BURT
(from underneath)
Now stop moving. You're gonna love it.
VERONA
Okay. No more talking.
Burt settles in for the task at hand, then pauses.
VERONA (CONT'D)
What's wrong?
BURT
Nothing.
VERONA
Why'd you stop?
BURT
(thoughtful pause)
I'm trying to figure out the best way to say what I'm about to say.
VERONA
Why do you have to say anything?
BURT
Rona, you taste different. You know that?
Verona sits up, sighing.
VERONA
No. How would I know that, Burt?
(trying to pull him up)
Get up here. I'm not talking to the top of your head. You want me to shower?
Burt emerges from under the covers and stares at Verona.
BURT
No, you don't taste dirty, just different. Kind of . . . fruity.
(something occurring to him)
You know, a woman can taste different depending on various cofactors.
Verona sits up.
VERONA
I don't want to hear this. And I thought we agreed you wouldn't use the word "cofactor."
BURT
I said I wouldn't misuse it. All I'm saying is that from what I've read about vaginal flavor--
VERONA
Jesus!
BURT
From what I've read, abrupt changes happen when a woman's either menopausal . . .
(registering a new, momentous thought)
Or . . .
Verona slugs him. He falls off the bed.
int. burt and verona's car--driving--night
It's November, the remains of snow on the ground. Verona and Burt have just gone to the drugstore for pregnancy tests--they've bought three--and are driving home.
Verona's driving, with Burt in the passenger seat.
burt farlander is 33, white, tall, looking like he could be either an assistant professor or a lunatic shooting people from a tower--there's that funny-crazy look in his eyes. He's very straightforward and earnest, but also eccentric--the type of guy who's never done drugs, but has often gone camping nude. He reads widely but not deeply enough, and has many strange hobbies, which he indulges for short periods of time but with utter seriousness. The last such hobby was bear-tracking. Like his father, he works in the insurance business.
verona de tessant is 34 and of mixed race--her mom was white, her father black. Her parents were both academics who taught at the University of South Carolina. She's cute, funny, and has problem hair, which she's constantly trying to tame with various styles and accessories--braids, curls, pins, a scarf--though the results vary. Still, her beauty and sense of humor are alluring and inspire many admirers.
She's a medical illustrator and has the necessary combination of the artistic and the exacting. Of the pair, she is the more socially presentable and stable, and finds herself apologizing for her partner at least once a week. Still, she is devoted to him and he to her.
VERONA
Nope. I can't wait.
BURT
What?
VERONA
I'm pulling over.
BURT
We're ten minutes away. No.
She pulls over.
BURT (CONT'D)
What're you . . .
ext. highway shoulder--night
Verona is already out of the car and pushing down her jeans.
BURT
At least get off the shoulder!
Sounds of urine hitting gravel.
BURT (CONT'D)
It'll be less accurate out here.
VERONA
What?
BURT
You're supposed to do this in a bathroom. The air out here is different. The alkaline . . .
VERONA
The alkaline? The alkaline? Just . . . please. I'm done. Hold this on the end here. Verona hands him the stick. He holds it at a distance, the way you would a steaming pot, while she pulls up her pants.
VERONA (CONT'D)
Lay it flat.
BURT
Lay it flat? Like on the road? Should I lay it on the road?
VERONA
No . . . on the dashboard or something.
Verona gets back in the driver's seat.
int. burt and verona's car--night
They're in the car, staring at the stick, which has been placed on the dash.
VERONA
It's time. Turn on the light.
Burt turns on the light. It's far too dim to see anything.
VERONA (CONT'D)
That's the light? That's your interior light?
BURT
What? Yes that's my interior light! What's wrong with my interior light? You've never had a problem with my interior light before . . .
VERONA
Just-- Shut up. Turn on the headlights.
She gets out and slams the door.
ext. highway shoulder--in front
of the car--night
They're crouched on the gravel of the shoulder, both bathed in the white light of the headlights.
VERONA
Damn. I can't tell. Go do a control sample. Here.
She hands him a second stick from the package.
BURT
No. This is insane. Let's do it in the bathroom.
Verona gives him a look. Burt turns away from the car. Sounds of urine hitting gravel.
VERONA
Okay, now bring it over here.
BURT
But you said not on the road.
VERONA
I don't care what I said. We need the light.
Verona lays Burt's stick next to the other one on the road. Her movements are meticulous, precise. Burt reads the instructions while they're waiting.
BURT
So basically, one line is nothing, two lines is . . .
Verona holds up both test sticks to the beam of the headlight. It's an intimate moment, and the tone changes from madcap to ethereal. Verona looks at Burt, wide-eyed.
VERONA
Holy mother of God.
ext. colorado town--first light of dawn
We see a quick montage of local landscapes--mountains, trees, valleys, snow-capped peaks, ex-urban sprawl. This is where our couple lives.
The montage blends seamlessly into a new, strange kind of landscape.
The sun is rising over a hill. It's beautiful but also stark and perhaps even eerie, given that the hill is caramel-colored.
int. burt and verona's bedroom--first light of dawn--months later (march)
We back up a few inches and realize that the camera has lined up so Verona's belly--five months pregnant--looks like a small round mountain, and the sun appears to be rising behind it. Burt appears in close up behind Verona's belly.
int. burt and verona's bedroom--morning--later
We hear vague sounds of scraping.
Verona wakes up, turns over, sees Burt sitting up, with a knife and a piece of wood. The wood is about six inches long, and very sad-looking, like a wooden carrot.
BURT
Hey. I'm glad you're up.
VERONA
What are you doing?
BURT
What does it look like? I'm cobbling.
Verona laughs.
BURT (CONT'D)
I want to be a dad who knows how to carve stuff out of wood. I want our kid to get up in the morning, put on her hip-waders, walk out to the back porch, and find me cobbling.
VERONA
You're not cobbling. And why would she be wearing hip-waders?
BURT
(he briefly considers answering the second question but realizes he can't, so moves
onto the first)
I am cobbling. Look. I've got a knife and this wood and I'm making a toy . . .
(looking at the shapeless blob of wood)
. . . stick. I'm cobbling.
VERONA
You're not. That's not what it's called.
BURT
Of course it is. How would you know? You don't have one of these.
(indicating the knife)
VERONA
Burt, cobbling is shoes. That's why the people who make shoes are called cobblers. You're not cobbling. You're carving. Or whittling.
Burt thinks for a while. It dawns on him that she's right. This takes some of the appeal out of it for Burt. He stops carving. He rests his pathetic wooden worm/stick on Verona's stomach.
BURT
Look, she likes it. I saw her kick.
VERONA
No you didn't.
BURT
I can do other things, too. I just bought a book about knots. Three hundred knots, and I'm gonna learn them all. And I'm gonna build a kiln.
Verona goes into the bathroom.
VERONA
Remember we go to your parents' house this afternoon.
Burt calls from the other room.
BURT (O.S.)
I was thinking--we really have to get some bigger bats.
No response from Verona. He reenters the room and stands in the doorway.
BURT (CONT'D)
I know the reasonable part of you agrees with me.
VERONA
We're fine, Burt. You already set up your whole apparatus.
Burt moves into the living room while getting dressed.
Behind him, just inside the front door, Burt has set up a bat-holder, where he keeps three bats for home protection--one standard aluminum bat, one plain wooden bat, and one much-more-threatening wooden bat with three nails driven through it.
BURT
I need more weapons if something happens to you two.
VERONA
What...
