anti-steele your heart away -- act one
Date: Wednesday, March 07, 2001
Susan Deborah Smith <susannah2k@netscape.net>

okay to archive


REMINGTON STEELE

"ANTI-STEELE YOUR HEART AWAY"

a teleplay by Susan Deborah Smith

(with respectful apologies to and much admiration for Brian Clemens)

ACT ONE

FADE IN:

INT. OFFICE - LOBBY - DAY

(Note: This opening scene should be conceived visually and aurally so as to suggest a dream - a nightmare.)

OPEN CLOSE on an American flag. For just a beat, all seems somber, but then suddenly someone CROSSES in front of the flag. MUSIC starts to PLAY, and we PULL BACK TO REVEAL the room is full of well-dressed business people, holding drinks and little plates of hors d'oeuvres. We HEAR vague conversation and LAUGHTER as people mill around, form into little groups, break apart, etc., as at any office party.

Now one of these people - a man named MCFARLANE - steps out of the crowd and moves toward us, toward camera, beaming a smile of welcome.

And suddenly, into DEEP FOREGROUND a hand (TONY'S) dangles a large, old-fashioned pocket watch on a chain. As it spins and turns, we TIGHTEN RIGHT IN ON IT. And:

INT. BACK ROOM - DAY

Of what we shall later see is a run-down billard parlor.

CLOSE ON TONY ROSELLI - he lies face down, his head cradled on his clenched fist and turned toward us so we can see the bruise on his forehead. He is on the brink of unconsciousness - "out" - but somewhere in his addled brain is aware of the vague voices that float across him. We TILT UP off Tony and see that beyond him is the door to a nearby office. The door is open about an inch, and we are aware of someone in the office.

INT. OFFICE - DAY

Though once a sleek, modern office, it is derelict and dusty now - and looks as if it had been hastily abandoned. We see computer terminals with wires hanging limp, keyboards lying detached, some file cabinets with their drawers ajar, venetian blinds askew, and a conference table. On the table rests an old but well-kept pump shotgun with inlaid mother-of-pearl stock.

POPPY, a lean, upper-middle class, by-way-of-Down-East Texan, in his mid to late sixties, faces FAWN, a thirty-something woman with shoulder length, frosted blonde hair.

Poppy: . . . this is an unfortunate thing, here, Fawn, but we're going to rise above it. We can't allow one intruder to alter our plans now.

INT. BACK ROOM - DAY

CLOSE ON Tony - the vague voices floating over him - his eyes flicker open, but he remains dazed, staring at his own clenched fist. He opens his hand and gazes at the old-fashioned pocket watch he clutches. This seems to confuse him further, and now, as he starts to sit up, he stops cold, reacting to:

Just a few feet away from him lies the body of a man. Whether this man is dead or just unconscious is unclear.

FAWN'S VOICE: We'll have to replace Clines.

POPPY'S VOICE: We're on top of the replacement situation. This time we'll call up a guy with a bit more of that discretion thing.

INT. OFFICE - DAY

Poppy cradles the shotgun lovingly in both hands.

POPPY: This is the Missus's favorite. Boy, does she ever love her hunting. Sneaking up on the little critters and blowing their heads off.

He settles the shotgun in Fawn's arms.

POPPY: Think of our intruder as a jackrabbit whose time has come.

Fawn nods, hefts the gun and moves to exit.

INT. BACK ROOM - DAY

Fawn opens the door - steps out - then reacts as she sees that Clines is still there and still unconscious - but Tony has gone!

EXT. BUILDING - DAY

On a Brooklyn street. The exterior of the building doesn't match the tone of the office we've just seen: it's a storefront billiard hall. A run-down pizza place does little business next door, and a sports bar on the corner is boarded up. It's all very dreary.

OPEN CLOSE on a faded advertisement posted on the plywood boards, announcing the re-opening of the sports bar in a new location.

Tony staggers into view, holding the back of his head, and we read the advertisement over his shoulder.

"Big Screen TVs! Watch your favorite sports with us! Mint Juleps on Derby Day!"

Tony stares at it - something stirring in his still-addled mind.

WE TIGHTEN IN ON THE LINE about the mint juleps - and as we do so, we HEAR the ROAR of the crowd - the starting BELL, the CLIP CLOP and then the THUNDER of hooves and:

RESUME Tony as he reels back and bumps into someone tall and black.

COP'S VOICE: Hey, watch it, pal.

Tony spins around and finds himself facing a big black horse with a narrow blaze.

TONY: Whoa!

He looks up and sees a mounted policeman.

TONY (cont'd): Hey, I'm sorry.

He gives the horse an ineffectual pat and smiles stupidly. He looks down and stares at the pocket watch he still holds in his hand, then thrusts it into his pocket.

COP: You all right?

TONY: Yeah. Fine. Cracked my head on something.

The cop eyes him speculatively.

COP: Wanna make a report.

TONY: Nah. I'm fine. Goin' straight home.

COP: Sure?

Tony hesitates. Then he carefully touches his nose with one finger, then the other, to prove his sobriety.

TONY: 'Kay? Uh. Thanks. Bye.

He walks away carefully. The cop watches after him, then knees his horse forward.

EXT. BROOKLYN STREET AROUND THE CORNER - DAY

Tony weaves through traffic, unaware of the skidding, honking cars that miraculously miss him by inches.

Drivers lean out of their cars to shout at him.

DRIVER 1: Watch where you're goin', ya jerk!

DRIVER 2: Waddaya doin', moron?

EXT. BROOKLYN STREET CORNER - DAY

Fawn enters shot, pauses. She has a coat wrapped around the shotgun, concealing it rather successfully as a fashion accessory as she gazes off at:

EXT. BROOKLYN STREET AROUND THE CORNER - DAY

Tony has reached the other side of the street - and becomes screened from sight by intervening vehicles.

EXT. BROOKLYN STREET CORNER - DAY

Fawn hefts the wrapped shotgun and plunges off after Tony.

EXT. WHARF - DAY

A ship is moored there, and a SEAMAN is standing on the deck or the gangway, engaged in some task. Tony enters shot to regard him blearily, and to eventually clutch onto a mooring line for support.

TONY: Excuse me.

SEAMAN: Yeah?

TONY: I'm looking for . . . uh . . . Mister Phelps.

SEAMAN: Who?

TONY: Or is it Maxwell Smart? (shakes his head to clear it) Um. Maybe Napoleon Solo. . .

ANOTHER ANGLE

As Fawn enters the area, she stops as she sees Tony, then lifts the coat- wrapped shotgun to take aim as Tony suddenly reacts, pleased that he has remembered something at last.

TONY (cont'd): Bond. That's it. Yeah. I'm looking for James Bond.

Even as he says this, he loses his grip on the rope and falls off the wharf into the water! Fawn, on the point of pulling the trigger, reacts as she loses sight of her target.

EXT. JOHN F KENNEDY AIRPORT - DAY

ESTABLISHING the airport as a big jet comes in and lands smoothly.

EXT. CAR RENTAL PARK - DAY

As LAURA STEELE tosses her suitcase in the trunk, slams it shut and gets into the car.

EXT. BROOKLYN HOSPITAL - DAY

A large building, not new, at least on the outside. Laura's car is prominently parked in front of it.

INT. WAITING AREA - DAY

There are a few people sitting or reading newspapers far away from each other. Behind the counter of the admitting desk, several NURSES review files and come and go. Off to the side, almost beneath notice, is a MAN in a black suit, wearing sunglasses.

Laura paces up and down.

JEFFERSON'S VOICE: Laura Steele?

Laura turns to see Dr. Jefferson, a tall woman with cool glasses.

LAURA: Yes.

JEFFERSON: I'm Doctor Jefferson. Thank you for making the trip.

LAURA: Well, your message sounded so urgent.

JEFFERSON: Yes. When I called he was unconscious - had been for twenty four hours. But he's awake now and we've found there are . . . well . . . there are some complications. Would you come this way?

Laura follows Dr. Jefferson down the hall, past the man in the black suit who recedes into the shadows.

INT. CORRIDOR - DAY

Dr. Jefferson leads Laura along a corridor towards a door.

JEFFERSON: I know my message must've sounded pretty melodramatic - but your business card was just about all we found on him. No wallet. No identification of any kind.

LAURA: Doctor Jefferson, you still haven't told me what's wrong with him.

JEFFERSON: See for yourself.

As she talks, she opens the door to admit them to:

INT. CONSULTING ROOM - DAY

This is a large, nicely appointed space. The walls are lined with bookcases; there are plants and vases and some upholstered furniture in addition to a large desk and chair. At the far end are tall windows through which Tony is looking, his back to us.

As Jefferson admits Laura,

JEFFERSON: You have a visitor.

Tony turns - he doesn't look any more casual than usual. He smiles a charming but tentative smile.

TONY: Yeah. Hi.

LAURA: Tony?

Tony glances around to see whom she is talking to, then:

TONY: Oh, hey, I'm sorry. Have we met somewhere?

JEFFERSON: This is Laura Steele.

TONY: Laura. Laura Steele. Laura . . . (ponders, snaps his fingers) Sure! Yeah! It's all right, Doc. I remember who I am now.

JEFFERSON: You do?

TONY: Sure. I'm a guy who knows Laura.

He smiles delightedly at Laura who has listened to this exchange with increasing astonishment - and now:

LAURA: What is going on here?!

JEFFERSON (whispers): Amnesia.

LAURA: Oh, not again!

INT. HOSPITAL - PAY PHONE - DAY

Fawn is talking into the phone.

FAWN: That's right, sir. Amnesia. The guy can't remember anything - not even his own name.

INT. OFFICIAL OFFICE - DAY

Although large and opulent by way of drapes and carpeting and style of furnishing, it's a very spare room. An American flag in a corner, a framed photo of Ronald Reagan on the wall, a desk, a telephone, several arm chairs, but no papers to be signed or filed, no work to be done.

POPPY: The poor guy. I feel so darned badly for him. It must be an awful thing not to know where you've been or what you've seen.

FAWN: But this is a lucky break for us, sir.

POPPY: Memories aren't like paper, Fawn. You can't just shred 'em real fine and figure you're done with 'em. No. (beat) Well, heck. Maybe they are like paper! They're like those memos that investigators are always able to put their hands on. They're slippery rascals, these memory things.

FAWN: Yes, sir. Don't worry. He's like a jackrabbit in the crosshairs.

INT. CONSULTING ROOM - DAY

Laura, Tony and Jefferson stand around.

JEFFERSON: You DO know this man?

LAURA: Of course. We work together. (seeing this is not enough) At the Remington Steele detective agency.

TONY (enthusiastic): Oh, yeah!

JEFFERSON: You remember that?

TONY: No. But a detective agency - sounds kinda exciting, doesn't it? (contrasts) I mean, I coulda been a mechanic.

JEFFERSON: Remington Steele. Is that who he is?

LAURA: Him? Remington Steele? (laughs almost hysterically) Hardly. His name is Tony Roselli.

They both look expectantly at Tony.

JEFFERSON: Well?

TONY (frowns): Tony Roselli - Nah. Somehow that doesn't fit. Are you sure? That just doesn't sound like my real name.

JEFFERSON: How about some background - some essential facts?

LAURA: Well . . . Two weeks ago we concluded the Robertson case - remember? Embezzlement at the studio? And before that the Flores case - the man with the scar? And you said -

JEFFERSON (interjects): I'm afraid you'll have to go further back than the recent past, Ms. Steele. His home town - near relatives - that sort of thing . . .

LAURA: Well . . . I . . . I . . . There are gaps.

TONY: Sure - and why not? I mean, we just work together, right? (grins salaciously) It's not like we're - you know - confiding in each other after hours or anything. (insinuatingly) Right?

LAURA (firmly): Right.

Jefferson reacts to the BLEEP of her pager.

JEFFERSON: Excuse me. You two just keep right on talking - something may come back. (sotto voce to Laura) If he could recall anything - anything at all - it might help.

Jefferson exits. Laura and Tony regard each other.

TONY: The detective agency - yeah - I know that's right.

LAURA: Why?

TONY: Because somewhere, way in the back of my mind, is a crime - some kinda crime that we've gotta stop. And . . . danger. (beat) But I think you lied to me.

Laura reacts.

TONY (cont'd): I don't have to remember who I am to know what I am . . . How I feel - what kind of woman I go for. You said we've worked together how long?

LAURA: I didn't say.

TONY: But a while.

LAURA: Yes. A while.

TONY: Closely?

LAURA: Yes.

TONY: How closely?

LAURA (resigned): Pretty closely.

TONY: But you said there are - gaps.

LAURA: Don't forget, Mr. Roselli, that the agency -

TONY: The Agency. Yeah. (a thought flickers across his face and is gone) And the boss has some kinda no-fraternization policy.

LAURA: Exactly.

Tony is only momentarily daunted. He looks her up and down.

TONY: I bet you and I really play by the rules.

He grips her and holds her close. Laura is surprised and gazes at him.

LAURA: So you've really forgotten?

TONY: Maybe. Maybe you could help me jog my memory a little.

And he sweeps her into his arms and kisses her!

TONY (cont'd; off the kiss): Yeah. Oh, yeah.

LAURA: You remember?

TONY: It's coming . . .

And he kisses her again.

LAURA (off the kiss): NOW do you remember?

TONY: How could I forget a moment like that? Oh, yeah! I remember it like it was yesterday. I was . . . lying on the floor. You were beside me - dead - shot or something. Except it wasn't you. It was . . . Maxwell Smart. Or - Napoleon Solo.

They stare at each other.

TONY (cont'd): And a crime we've gotta stop. And danger - deadly danger.

LAURA: I'm going to ask the doctor what we need to do to get you out of here. (to herself) If only I could reach Mr. Steele.

TONY: Wait. Who's Mr. Steele?

LAURA: The other man in my life.

TONY: Other man?! And I don't mind?

LAURA: We have an arrangement. You share me.

Laura exits.

TONY: Share her. Whoa. If only I could remember what a great time she's been having!

INT. CORRIDOR - DAY

As Laura comes out of the room, she almost collides with Fawn, who is dressed like a nurse. Her dark stockings and high heels extend from her white scrub pants incongruously.

LAURA: Excuse me.

FAWN (balancing tray of medicine): Sorry.

As Laura maneuvers around her, she glances at the tray Fawn's carrying.

CLOSE ON

Fawn's exquisitely manicured hands and polished nails gripping the tray.

LAURA

As she continues down the corridor, then frowns as she glances back to where Fawn is just entering the consulting room. Something bothers her, but she doesn't know what.

INT. CONSULTING ROOM - DAY

Fawn enters and looks at Tony. Tony looks back.

FAWN: Time for your medicine, sir.

INT. WAITING AREA - ADMISSIONS DESK - DAY

Laura stands at the counter, holding a sheet of paper, waiting for someone to help her. She stares idly down the corridor. Two MEN in black suits are conferring.

ADMITTING NURSE: Can I help you?

LAURA: Yes, I'm here to see about a John Doe who was brought in two nights ago. Dr. Jefferson has the case.

As the admitting nurse turns away, one of the men in black suits puts on his dark glasses and moves away, passing Laura.

ADMITTING NURSE: White male, approximately thirty five years old, dark hair, brown eyes, head injury?

LAURA: That's right. His real name is Roselli. Anthony Roselli. Social security number one zero two . . .

As the admitting nurse adds this information to the database, Laura frowns. She is obviously troubled by something.

ADMITTING NURSE: Insurance?

Laura hands over the sheet of paper. Then she suddenly realizes what's been bothering her and snaps her fingers.

LAURA: Long fingernails. High-heeled shoes. THAT was it!

And she sprints away from the counter. The admitting nurse puts the insurance paperwork on the counter, then REALIZES that Laura is no longer there.

ADMITTING NURSE: Ma'am? Ma'am?

INT. CONSULTING ROOM - DAY

Fawn's manicured hand offers a glass of medicine to Tony - who takes it, seems about to drink, then:

TONY: Don't I know you from somewhere?

FAWN: Oh, yes. I brought you your medicine last night.

TONY: You did? (looks her up and down) I wish I could remember.

He frowns, trying to force his mind to work.

FAWN: It doesn't have much taste, sir. Just toss it back.

Tony nods, lifts the glass to drink - and at this moment Laura bursts into the room.

LAURA: No!

She lunges forward to knock the glass from Tony's hand in the quickest, surest way - by tackling him like a defensive back and knocking him off his feet.

She rounds on Fawn - but Fawn hip-checks and then body-slams her. Laura staggers back and trips over Tony who is just getting up and sends them both sprawling to the floor. Fawn runs for the door.

INT. CORRIDOR - DAY

Fawn rushes out and looks up and down the corridor.

ANOTHER ANGLE

Doctors, nurses, people - but no men in black.

INT. CONSULTING ROOM - DAY

Tony and Laura are on the floor.

TONY: Whoa, coming on a little strong there, huh? I like it.

He stops dead as both he and she look at the spot between them where the glass fell and spilled. Smoke is rising from the carpet where the caustic liquid has burned a big hole in it.

LAURA: We've got to get you out of here!

As they pull each other up:

INT. CORRIDOR - DAY

Dr. Jefferson is about to push the door open when Laura emerges with Tony in tow.

JEFFERSON: Ah, Ms. Steele. Any progress?

LAURA: Yes, he's remembered everything.

TONY: I have?

LAURA: See? Total recovery! Thank you, Doctor. The insurance forms are all filled out. Come along, Mr. Roselli . . .

She tugs him away.

WE HOLD ON the bewildered Dr. Jefferson gazing after them

EXT. HOSPITAL - DAY

As Laura emerges, hustling Tony toward the car.

TONY: Where're we going?

LAURA: I don't know. Somewhere safe where we can talk this thing out.

THEY get into the car.

EXT. BROOKLYN STREET - DAY

Laura's rental car pulls out into traffic.

ANOTHER ANGLE

Laura's car joins the stream of honking, jostling cars. As it recedes up the street, WE PICK UP AND PAN WITH another car - Fawn at the wheel - following them.

FADE OUT
End Act One
To Act Two

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