Rachels Fire 11

(WRITING)

INTERIOR. RACHELS FLAT. BEDROOM. EARLY MORNING. 1999.

RACHEL BABYLON sits deep in thought at the dressing table with a large hardbound notepad before her. A blanket - pulled tight around her shoulders - is all that hides her nudity. She chews the lid of a pen/ trying to think of something to write in the notebook. On the floor: balls of screwed up paper which she has scribbled on and then rejected. She clutches a glass of clear liquid. Straight vodka. She is drunk.

Taking a gulp of the vodka RACHEL puts the glass back down and scribbles in the pad. Frowning she angrily tears the page from the book/ screws it up and drops it with the others on the floor. Getting to her feet she stumbles - blanket drawn tight around her - to the window and pulls back the curtain a little to look out.

INSERT a shot of the busy Edinburgh street below from RACHELs POV.

RACHEL turns away from the window and glances at her boyfriend GAVIN who is lying snoring in the bed/ mouth wide open.

RACHEL (to camera): *Arent they just the cutest little things?*

RACHEL staggers to the table and sits back down.

RACHEL (to camera): *Suppose youre wondering how come Im pissed out my face at...* (she looks at the clock on the dresser) *...at five in the morning with the boyfriend giving it serious zeds over there. Nothing unusual I can assure you. This is the only time I get any peace to myself.*

~~~~~

INTERIOR. RACHELS FLAT. LIVING ROOM. EVENING. 1999.

RACHEL and GAVIN are sitting in armchairs on opposite sides of the room. RACHEL is scribbling in a notepad. GAVIN is bored and sulky/ looking for attention.

GAVIN: *What you doing?*

RACHEL (covering page): *Writing.*

GAVIN: *What are you writing?

RACHEL: *Just... just nothing.*

GAVIN (laughing): *Youre always scribbling on wee bits of paper Rachel.*

RACHEL (shrugging shoulders): *Thats what I do.*

GAVIN: *Thats ALL you do.*

RACHEL (scribbling as she speaks): *I watch TV. I read books. I play guitar. Get drunk. Dance. Eat. Fuck. Sleep. Shit.* (she looks up) *I do quite a lot actually.*

GAVIN: *Anything that doesnt involve having to talk to me.*

RACHEL: *What do you want to talk about Gavin? Football? Cars? How often you fart in your sleep?* She laughs but there is bitterness in her voice.

GAVIN (ignoring this): *Can I read it?*

RACHEL: *Its not finished.*

GAVIN (jokingly): *I want to see what youve been writing about me.*

RACHEL does not answer so he gets up and teasingly attempts to snatch the writing pad from her. She violently grabs it back. This only encourages him all the more. He thinks this is a game. RACHEL doesnt. They wrestle with the notepad until RACHEL finally snatches it from him.

RACHEL: *Fuck off Gavin!*

She rips the page she has been writing from the pad and tears it up.

GAVIN sits back down in his armchair. He is hurt and confused. RACHEL continues scribbling in her notepad. Now that she has calmed down again she seems embarrassed by her outburst.

RACHEL (voice over): *Its nice having someone to take out your frustration on. Saves having to look too closely at yourself.*

***

(THE FULLNESS OF TIME)

Close your eyes Rachel and imagine this. A beach. Some filthy yellow beach in Spain or Puerto Rico or

or

BRAZIL. Yes.

Can you see it? Do you smell the sea? Feel the salt breeze caressing your hair?

Good. Now picture the woman. She is dark skinned and sullen. Wild and beautiful. She sits on a crumbling wall. Her pretty hazel eyes screwed up in the Suns glare. A smouldering cigarette hangs flaccidly from the corner of her mouth and theres a bottle of something nasty at her side. She could smile so sweetly but the world doesnt deserve a smile. So she scowls.

Shes just sitting there. Large breasts thrust out beneath her white blouse. Legs crossed high so no one can fail to notice the expanse of smooth dark shaved flesh stretching from her ankle to her thigh.

Whats this Rachel? Are you turned on already? Your body can never lie to me. See how stiff you nipples are getting? Does it get you hot to imagine this mysterious Brazilian sat out there on her wall? She holds so much promise doesnt she? Is she waiting for you? What terrible things could she do to you down there in that filthy sand?

But wait. Dont be impatient sugar. All your questions will be answered in the fullness of time.

***

(CUT-UP no 46: ART ROOTS THE TIME)

Can you rub it if art roots the time? Something bold and crushed by the lust. Blinking in turquoise. Never escapes your cello.

***

(SPLITTING)

Christ this hurts. It really fucking hurts inside. This sadness.

Ive been thinking about Byron a lot recently. Dont know if Ill ever get over him. Occasionally if I smell or see or hear something that reminds me of him the pain explodes through me. Burning into every cell in my body. Devastating me. At these times I struggle to talk or move or think. Paralysed by despair.

Maybe if Id done things differently wed still be together.

~~~~~

INTERIOR. BYRONS FLAT. BEDROOM. EVENING.

1989. RACHEL is 20 years old. BYRON moves towards her on the bed and kisses her cheek. She draws away from him. Shaking her head. She seems sad. Or maybe angry.

BYRON sits silently. Wanting to understand.

RACHEL (frowning): *Whats wrong?*

BYRON (puzzled): *Nothing. What do you mean?*

RACHEL gets up and turns her back to him while she undresses in the corner of the room. BYRON chews the inside of his cheek and watches her from the end of the bed. She folds her clothes on the chair/ pulls on a silky nightdress and sits back down beside him. BYRON pulls her gently towards him and they hug tightly. It is only now as he feels the moisture on his cheek that he realises that she is crying.

BYRON (worried): *Whats wrong Rachel?*

She begins to sob loudly. BYRON lays back on the bed and pulls her on top of him. RACHEL barely moves as the tears roll down her cheeks onto him. Eventually she sits up/ fumbles about in her handbag for a tissue and wipes her eyes and nose. She blinks and looks at him with her reddened eyes. Forlorn. Nervous.

RACHEL: *Are you happy Byron?*

BYRON: *Yes.*

RACHEL: *Really?*

BYRON (nodding): *Are you?*

RACHEL: *No.*

She sobs loudly.

BYRON: *Well. What happened? I mean how long have you been unhappy?*

RACHEL (shrugging shoulders): *Just lately. What are we going to do?*

BYRON: *What do you mean?*

RACHEL: *About us.*

BYRON: *I dont know. What do you want to do?*

RACHEL: *Do you not think we should try just being friends for a while? See what its like?*

BYRON: *Is that what you want Rachel?*

She nods. BYRON looks at her. He seems unsure how to respond. Lost. RACHEL offers him a melancholy smile.

RACHEL: *Do you know what this is like?*

BYRON: *No. Whats it like?*

RACHEL: *Its like kicking a puppy dog.*

They both laugh.

BYRON: *You think Im a puppy dog?*

They sit staring at each other.

RACHEL: *Ive not found anyone else if thats what youre thinking.*

BYRON: *I dont know what Im thinking. Why are you so unhappy with me?*

RACHEL: *Oh baby. Its not you. I just feel like Im old before my time. We take each other for granted byron. Do you know what I mean?*

BYRON: *No. What do you mean?*

RACHEL (shrugging): *We take it for granted that well always be there for each other.*

BYRON (confused): *Well thats a good thing. Isnt it?*

RACHEL (shaking her head): *No. Its not.*

(Pause)

BYRON: *Do you still want to stay here? With me?*

RACHEL: *It could be awkward.*

BYRON: *Id like you to stay Rach. You can have the bed. Ill sleep in the other room.*

RACHEL BABYLON is crying again.

***

(PENDULOUS)

Dont be impatient Rachel. Look at this woman on her Brazilian beach. Dark eyes. Pendulous breasts. Inviting flesh.

Shes listening to the noise of the traffic. All those busy people behind her and the swoosh out in front as the waves roll in and collide with the land. Drawing heavily on her cigarette she scans the length of the beach.

Over there two big black dogs are running around sniffing each others ass. And away in the distance someone walks slowly across the sand towards her. It is the skinny European girl. She often walks here on the beach. Every morning she shuffles along deep in thought/ occasionally stopping to look out at the sea. Today she is wearing jeans and a white t-shirt with dark sweat stains under the arms/ between her breasts and down the stomach. She is drenched in sweat her face burnt red in this terrible heat.

The Brazilian sighs and clenches her legs tight together.

So here you are my pretty. Aimlessly wandering along this Brazilian beach. Youve already spent three weeks all alone out here with nobody to talk to. If you could speak the language things wouldnt be quite so bad.

Poor lonely Rachel. Every night you lie clutching at yourself in the darkness of your hotel bedroom. Imagining that you are being ravished by some gorgeous South American hunk. But where is this dreamy lover now in the cold light of day?

Stopping a moment you wipe the back of your hand over your brow and gaze around at this sunbaked landscape. A stream of sweat trickles down the inside of your thigh.

Over there two skinny starved looking dogs are fucking. The male is furiously humping the bitch. Its tongue hanging limply between its jaws. The boldness of these doggy lovers shocks you. They dont seem to care how visible they are. You feel a strange tingle between your thighs as you imagine human couples copulating here before you like this in broad daylight.

*Must be getting desperate.* This is what you say to yourself. It seems that all youve been able to think about since you came out here is sex. Even the slightest stimulus - the shape of a bedpost the sound of the barmans voice the feel of your own skin - is enough to send you over the edge into Fantasy Land.

You turn to look up into the town and notice that the Brazilian woman sitting up there on the wall is watching you. You hesitate unsure whether to stare back or look away.

She points at the bottle beside her. Motions for you to join her. *You are English?* she asks stubbing out the butt of her cigarette on the wall.

You shake your head. *Scottish.*

She seems confused but nods and passes you the bottle. You allow a few drops of the vile liquor to trickle over your tongue and the woman laughs as your face contorts.

*It is very cheap* she advises. Taking the bottle from your hand she puts her lips round the neck and gulps. A few drops of liquid dribble from the corner of her mouth and you blush. The Brazilian wipes her lips and chin with the back of her hand. *Would you like to walk with me?* she asks. The empty bottle thuds onto muddy grass and rolls.

You stare into those dark eyes and shrug. Might be fun to have a friend here to show you around.

She seems to study you a moment Rachel. What does she see? Thick shoulder-length black hair. Melancholy green eyes. You are usually quite a pale girl but the cruel Sun has burned your face and arms turning you an unhealthy red. A crustacean scuttling from the boiling pot. You must look strange to her Rachel. Almost alien.

***

(WHY ARE YOU BEING SUCH A BITCH?)

Dec 1989. By the time Byron got home from work I was drunk and had started throwing all my stuff into my big blue suitcase.

*Where are you going?* he asked. Troubled.

*I cant tell you. Im meeting someone. Its been arranged.*

Byron was devastated by this news: *What do you mean? Meeting who?*

*I said I cant tell you.* I tapped my nose and tripped - giggling - onto the bed.

*Rachel.*

*Do you want to fuck me before I go? Is that what you want?*

*No. Tell me where youre going? What do you mean youre meeting someone?*

*Hes taking me to the pictures.*

*Who?* he sat down on the bed beside me.

*Im not your girlfriend anymore Byron. I can sleep with whoever I like.*

I saw tears forming in his dark eyes. *Fuck off Rachel!*

*Thats what Im doing Byron. Im fucking off out of your life.* I hurled some panties and t-shirts into the case.

*This isnt fair. Why are you being such a bitch?*

I shrugged my shoulders. *Cause its over.*

***

(ACROSS HER SHOULDER)

The Brazilian gets to her feet/ kicks off her sluttish red shoes - discarding them where they land - and walks bare-foot in front of you. Her peroxide hair reaches to the small of her back. Bouncing as she walks. *What is your name?* she asks. The words floating across her shoulder.

*Rachel.*

*Rachel? I like that. Its from the Bible no? Im Maria* she says. *Maria Helena Marquez.*

You catch her up. Trying not to make it too obvious that youre watching her breasts move beneath the material of her blouse. Top buttons undone. Droplets of sweat trickling into her cleavage.

Large-breasted women have always fascinated you for some reason. You glance self-consciously down at your own smallish bosom. (I refuse to be intimidated. Theyre only tits. Weve all got them.)

Maria shoots you a strange look.

(So why of all people did Gavin have to go and shag Leanne Nesbit? It wasnt the size of her cerebral cortex that got him so hot under the waistband was it? Shit. Dont think about that. Youll only make yourself bitter girl.)

*Rachel?*

*Huh?* You havent heard a word shes said.

*I said I see you here on the beach every morning. You are always alone.*

*Aye well. Im on holiday.* you mumble.

*No husband?*

Shaking your head: *Ive got a boyfriend but were not getting on too great.*

Maria stops and looks at you/ lips curling into a sneer. *Men are no good. You dont need a man Rachel. They are shits. BIG SHITS.* She spits this out with the bitterness of too much experience.

*Do you have a husband?* you ask. The question seems somehow comical once the words have left your mouth. You cough/ feeling strangely uncomfortable. Something about the way Maria is staring at you.

***

CUT-UP no 32: PRIMITIVE TREES

Imagine the scuzz. Pissing mud for dead flecks wriggling. Hard-on canvas ate primitive trees.

***

(CRUMPLED)

This has been a terrible day. I know Ive secretly wanted it to happen for a long time - I convinced myself that freedom would bring me happiness - but it has only brought me more pain. I just dont think I can face the prospect of being alone again.

What hurts most is that I couldnt see this coming. I wasnt prepared. Todays despair arrived like a vicious punch in the stomach. Sudden. Cold. Final.

It hit me before I even pushed open the bedroom door. Perfume. I could smell perfume. Her coat draped over the banister.

And then all those hurtful noises. The bed squeaks. He whispers. She pants.

I crumpled down onto the stairs. Sat there listening. Soaking up the betrayal. I should have walked out right then but I needed to torture myself. To feel the knife twisting in my gut. Wrenching out my innards.

I pulled myself to my feet/ nervously smoothed wrinkles from my skirt and shoved open the door. I stood and watched them. Dying a little more inside with each thrust.

When the girl finally saw me she jumped and self-consciously crossed her arms over her white breasts. She tried to clamber off of Gavin and tumbled over the side of the bed onto the floor. *Ouch!*