Alex/Kati Moment
From Rom Com
At this point maybe Alex and Kati have a discussion about how the bet is starting to feel unethical. They are obviously starting to get closer, but they disagree over what to do about the bet. Alex wants to call it off, ostensibly because of his painful interaction with Aimee, but also because he is behind in number of photos. No conclusion is exactly reached.
Same day/time as previous scene.
INT. Hallway. Day
The camera follows just behind Alex. Alex leaves Aimee's apartment, knocks at Kati's door. (All attempts should be made to keep this scene as different as possible from the "Confrontation", in staging, lighting, behavior.) Kati opens the door. Alex and Kati go inside. Kati gestures to two young men who are sitting on the bed, or couch, or whatever, to leave. They get up and go, silently.
I think we should destroy the photos.
Hmm? Why?
It's become a routine. I meet someone, usually female, whom I don't like and barely know. And then it sort of flashes forward, until everything's over and I'm slowly pasting another picture into the book. And there's this certain sordid smell--
You don't care about that.
Maybe not. All the same, it's boring. (Pause.) You don't have a problem with it?
Why would I?
It's meanspirited.
And?
And I'd be fine with that, usually, only I'd prefer to avoid permanently alienating my actual friends.
So you forfeit.
No. (Pause.) I want both of us to agree to call it off.
If we stop while I'm ahead, you lose.
Can we forget about winning and losing for five minutes?
Remember the time you stripped naked and walked an entire city block to win a five-dollar bet?
Yes, and I lost, because you walked two blocks.
You could have kept going.
There were cops.
You could have kept going.
Let's get rid of the photos.
How will we document evidence? We certainly can't just believe each other.
I don't know. I don't care. All I know is I've got pictures of people, fifty-six now--
By the way, I'm at sixty-one.
And they're all in love with me, you can see it. And when you open the book they just stare at you. Accusingly.
It's almost touching how guilty you manage to pretend to sound. (Pause.) Do you want a drink? It's only five-thirty, but we might as well, considering you've suddenly become conscience-stricken.
It's funny that you're finding it so hard to believe me, when for the first time I really feel as if I'm telling the truth. I really do.
