A WOLF IN STEELE'S CLOTHING
by
Lauryn Poynor
A dark and stormy night. In a world we think we know, but we
see through a glass darkly -- an overpriced shot glass of twelve
year old Scotch in a cross-time saloon; a world put through the
spin cycle one too many times . . .
FADE IN - INT. - STEELE'S APT - NIGHT
It's raining. It's pouring. Things are going bump in the night.
Or perhaps, thump. Very loud thumps, in series. A fascinatin'
rhythm. In 4/4 time. Or was it 5/4? He couldn't be sure. Steele,
clad in his pajamas, opens up to find . . . a wolf at the door.
A Miss Wolf, in Steele's parlance. Despite the Stain Guard water-repellent
qualities of her stylish trench coat, she's drenched. Her eyes
are bleary and red-rimmed. Her mascara is running for cover.
STEELE: [blinking in surprise] Miss Wolf.
MISS WOLF: [hands on hips] Brilliant deduction, Sherlock.
Are you going to let me in or not?
STEELE: [eyes her warily, then steps back to let her enter]
Normally I'm delighted to find a very wet female on my doorstep.
But in your case, I'll make an exception.
MISS WOLF: The feeling's mutual. [looking around] Is Laura
here?
STEELE: At this hour? [recollects himself] Not to imply
that these luxurious surroundings -- warm, intimate fireside,
art deco furnishings, splendid view of the city skyline, splendid
view of my bedroom, haven't been the setting for many a late night
tryst between us.
MISS WOLF: What is this? A rerun of `Fantasy Island'? I'll take
that as a no.
STEELE: [unfazed] You're dripping on my plush carpeting.
MISS WOLF: Can't a wet femme get something to drink around here?
STEELE: [goes over to the bar area] What's your pleasure?
And please try to narrow it down to one. I don't want to hear
the details of your sordid love life.
at the words `love life' her diamond-hard façade crumbles;
shattered, she sinks to the couch as the tears come
STEELE: [momentarily nonplussed at the sight of her
weeping like an overflowing bathtub. He sets down the drink he's
just poured and fetches her a washcloth from the kitchen]
Here you are. Blow.
MISS WOLF: [blows very loudly into it. Hands it back] Thanks.
STEELE: [holds the cloth gingerly between two fingers]
Don't mention it. [he pitches it on the coffee table]
MISS WOLF: Damn. [sniffles] I really need to talk to Laura.
STEELE: Well, I'm afraid she's not here. [hesitates uncomfortably,
then continues] I trust you'll do the decent thing and never
remind me I said it -- but if you need a shoulder to cry on -
MISS WOLF: [looks up in surprise] Yours?
STEELE: [with offhand gallantry] For the duration. Mind
the mascara. These pajamas are made of the finest Sichuan silk
and my Hong Kong tailor would be very -
MISS WOLF: [bristling] Never mind. You wouldn't understand.
[she picks up the washcloth and wipes her eyes]
STEELE: Try me.
MISS WOLF: Not if you were the last man on earth and I'd just
found the key to my chastity belt.
STEELE: [smiling roguishly at the image her words evoke]
That's nice and clear.
MISS WOLF: [with sudden decision] I need a drink.
STEELE: [retrieves the Scotch, hands it to her] Don't stop
on my account.
MISS WOLF: [she takes a gulp, then exclaims with feeling]
MEN!
STEELE: [wincing at the noise level] Shouldn't you save
your come-ons for your paying clientele. I'll have Fred drop you
off on Sunset.
MISS WOLF: MEN! MEN! MEN!
STEELE: [dryly] So you have a threesome in mind.
MISS WOLF: [wistfully, setting down her drink] I had something
in mind for just one. Do you remember the hunk from Scowl, Furrow,
and Crinkle?
STEELE: The law firm on the eighth floor?
MISS WOLF: [nods] He was so perfect. Like Robert Redford
in "The Way We Were" but with a briefcase and wingtips.
STEELE: Ah. So you spent endless billable hours examining his
legal briefs? [he pours himself a drink and sits down on the
sofa next to her]
MISS WOLF: [takes another gulp of her Scotch] Not a peek.
[unsteadily, she puts down her empty glass and peels
out of her trench coat, laying it over the back of the sofa]
We'd been dating for three weeks. At first I thought he was just
shy. We barely even kissed.
STEELE: How novel for you.
MISS WOLF: It was kind of sweet. He said I was worth waiting for.
His parents were heading back to the Hamptons after their lavish
European vacation and he was dying for me to meet them. I thought,
maybe just once, a girl like me and a guy like him... [sniffles,
lays her soggy head on Steele's shoulder]
STEELE: [pats her arm] There, there. [His pajamas are
getting very damp. He winces slightly]
MISS WOLF: A guy like him. [overcome, she bursts into
tears. The memory is too fresh, too painful, but she has to tell
someone] Gay! And married!
STEELE: [wryly amazed at her recital of disaster] Oh my.
MISS WOLF: [despondently] A double play. And I never even
got to first base.
STEELE: Why, Miss Wolf. You've excelled yourself.
MISS WOLF: Best two out of two. [a cry to the heavens]
What were the odds?
STEELE: Best not to dwell on that in your case.
MISS WOLF: You know what the real kick in the head is?
STEELE: [non committally] Hmm.
MISS WOLF: He was just using me. Mr. Big Shot rainmaker. Trying
to score the agency as a client. If you'd really like to know,
that's not all he was hoping to score.
STEELE: Come again?
MISS WOLF: He kept asking me stuff like who was your tailor, your
hair stylist, where you liked to shop. I thought he was just,
well [searching for the words] fashion forward.
STEELE: [preening] Some are born to lead, others to follow.
MISS WOLF: Yeah? Well I think he'd follow you anywhere. Tonight
he popped the question. Asked if you were seeing anyone. And if
you liked Barbra Streisand. I told him you were a big movie buff.
I was a little slow on the uptake. It never occurred to me that
-
STEELE: Wait a minute! Hang on. Barbra Streisand? You mean he
thought I was -
MISS WOLF: [shoots an imaginary pistol at him] Bingo. Oh,
I forgot. He wanted to know if you wore boxers or briefs.
STEELE: Good lord! Your love life is absolutely Byzantine. I think
I've heard enough.
MISS WOLF: I wouldn't get in the elevator with him if I were you.
STEELE: [makes a mental note] Point taken.
MISS WOLF: Why is it always the gorgeous ones?
STEELE: [pats her hand reassuringly] Well, you've had a
bit of a shock but it's all over now.
MISS WOLF: Yeah. Over. Kaput. Finito. No plain little band of
gold. No cottage in the Hamptons. What a lying louse! His parents
are probably from Fresno.
STEELE: Good riddance, eh?
MISS WOLF: Just when I thought a man might be interested in something
besides my body -- I was --- right! [burying her head on Steele's
shoulder, she bursts into a Niagara of tears]
STEELE: [her damp form is pressed tightly against him, blouse
clinging to her breasts like a second skin. Steele can't
help but feel a little -- moved] Well, it's a lovely
body. Pity he can't appreciate it.
MISS WOLF: [brightens] You think so?
STEELE: [looks her over just to be sure] I'm a connoisseur
of the female form, Miss Wolf. I can say without fear of contradiction
that any man with 20/20 vision and a pulse would consider you
X-rated. That is, any man of the right, um, persuasion.
MISS WOLF: [gives him a grateful smile] Thanks. I needed
that. All those weeks waiting for more than just a peck
on the cheek -- well a girl can't help but think that maybe she's
not so irresistible after all.
STEELE: Nonsense, Miss Wolf. I think your entourage of satisfied
customers is still in tow.
MISS WOLF: [sighs] You know, if this were the movies I'd
have been able to reform him. With a kiss. You know. Like Marilyn
Monroe did to Tony Curtis in "Some Like It Hot".
STEELE: Yes, well, Tony Curtis wasn't gay he was just wearing
nylons. When he wasn't impersonating Cary Grant.
MISS WOLF: So, what do you think? [leans in to him, playfully
seductive] Could a kiss from me reform a guy?
STEELE: Your question boggles the mind, Miss Wolf. But I don't
need to be reformed.
MISS WOLF: [smugly] What a load of conceit! I never said
I was going to kiss you!
STEELE: Then why were your lips pursed up in that funny way?
MISS WOLF: [puts a hand to her face to check] My lips?
Ha! Wishful thinking!
STEELE: On your part, no doubt. Shall I dazzle you with the benefit
of my expertise or should I withhold my affections and leave you
to fantasize alone tonight?
MISS WOLF: Your expertise? Fasten your seatbelt, Cary. It's going
to be a bumpy night! [she grabs him by the collar and kisses
him. Ever so slowly, sensuously, shifting into passion's first
gear. With a final flourish, she breaks contact] How
was that?
STEELE: [eyes her innocently] How was what? Did something
happen?
MISS WOLF: [makes a face] Well, considering what I had
to work with I'd give myself an "A" for effort.
STEELE: You call that a kiss? Cary Grant could get better from
his maiden aunt!
MISS WOLF: Says you! Anyway, that was just the windup.
STEELE: Ah. Baseball jargon again. You know, Marilyn Monroe was
married to one of your baseball heroes. Joe Di Maggio, wasn't
it?
MISS WOLF: [rolls her eyes] Yeah. I'll bet he didn't try
to talk her to death when they were in a clinch. It don't mean
a thing if it ain't got that swing.
STEELE: That was Duke Ellington.
MISS WOLF: Whatever. Limeys! Jeez Louise. Cut to the chase. I
could grow roots waiting for a fastball from you. Or a change-up.
STEELE: [smiling dangerously] Speaking of all talk and
no action, when are you going to put those lips of yours to better
use? Or is that the best you can do?
MISS WOLF: Those bimbos of yours can do better?
STEELE: Perceptibly. Their lips actually move.
MISS WOLF: Yeah. When they read big words.
STEELE: [yawns] Fire away. I'll tell you when my pulse
gets above ninety.
MISS WOLF: Hold on to your heart rate, buster! [she kisses
him again. It's a decadent, high calorie kiss, like a rich dessert
with a warm center. Her tongue darts between Steele's lips. When
he barely responds, she pulls back, annoyed] It's better
when you help.
STEELE: [smirking] I'd be happy to oblige, Miss Wolf, but
I'd hate to ruin it for you.
MISS WOLF: You already have. [the other shoe drops] Am
I hearing things? The Casanova of con artists admitting he's a
lousy kisser?
STEELE: On the contrary. I was merely giving you fair warning
that a kiss from me and a woman is spoiled forever for the lesser
charms of other men. That conga line of yours would seem like
so many sloppy seconds. Or thirds. Etcetera, etcetera. [waves
a hand airily]
MISS WOLF: Wanna bet? Put your mouth where your money is!
STEELE: [pricks up his ears] How much?
MISS WOLF: I've got a better idea. If this kiss of yours isn't
an eleven on a scale of one to ten, you have to call me Miss Fox.
For a week. In front of Murphy. And Laura. And all the agency's
clients.
STEELE: Really, Miss Wolf. That's so petty. So childish. So -
MISS WOLF: Pucker up. I haven't got all night.
STEELE: Spoken like a true romantic. [eyeing her dispassionately]
If pride and semantics weren't at stake here, it would hardly
seem worth the effort.
MISS WOLF: [monumentally provoked] Worth the effort? Well
here's some incentive, you dope! [she unbuttons her blouse
and peels the sticky fabric off her body. Underneath she's wearing
a lace trimmed bra in a fabric that's dangerous when wet. Dangerous
enough to stop a man's heart at close range]
STEELE: [his gaze locks in on the target as if it was wire-guided;
he forgets to breathe, brain losing cabin pressure as all the
blood rushes below his waist] I think you just tipped the
odds in my favor, Miss Wolf.
MISS WOLF: I should have quit while I was ahead. [sighs]
Well, at least I haven't lost my touch. [her eyes are drawn
to his crotch]
STEELE: [clears his throat] I think I need a moment alone.
MISS WOLF: Pulse rate above ninety, big boy?
STEELE: [preoccupied] I seem to have lost count.
MISS WOLF: Damn, I'm good. How about yourself? Ready to lock lips?
A girl gets tired of sloppy seconds.
STEELE: [flashes her a lopsided grin] It's your lucky day,
Miss Wolf. What say we cancel the bet. Ars gratia artis. Let's
do it for art's sake, eh?
MISS WOLF: [challenging] You're on.
Steele gradually lowers his lips to hers. She lifts hers to
his. It's the Guinness World's Record, the Mount Everest of kisses.
Like duelists fighting for supremacy they crank it up to eleven
and to the highest height to which mortal skill can aspire. It's
everything one kiss can be, if art is the measure. They pull away
from the contest, dazed and breathless; it's too close to call.
It's a dead heat, a photo finish . . .
STEELE : [catching his breath, winks lewdly at her]
A knee trembler, eh? How was that, luv?
MISS WOLF: [discreetly uncurling her toes] Awful! My chihuahua
kisses better than you, and she's been fixed!
STEELE: Tsk. Tsk. A lesbian Chihuahua and a gay, married boyfriend
from Fresno. What a menagerie!
MISS WOLF: [sighs] You can say that again. [She picks
up her blouse from the back of the sofa and starts to slip it
back on]
STEELE: Allow me. [unbuttoning, he offers her his only
slightly damp pajama top]
She puts it on, eyeing his bare chest appraisingly; for an idle
moment she wonders about what might have been, if it were just
the two of them that day he walked through the doors of Suite
1157. Would she have invited Ben Pearson over for a spot of tea?
Watching her in turn, Steele is struck by an odd sensation that
could pass for regret. Maybe, if their longitude and latitude
had crossed in some exotic clime . . . of all the gin joints in
all the towns in all the world . . . his lips twitch in a smile
as he discards the heretical notion; better to leave the stars
in their courses, the opposite poles unaligned. The natural order
of the universe was not to be trifled with.
STEELE: All things considered, Miss Wolf, you made
a delightful Marilyn Monroe.
MISS WOLF: [grins at him in grudging appreciation]You're
not a bad Cary Grant, either.
STEELE: [waggles his eyebrows] Want to have another healthy
go at it?
MISS WOLF: Let's not, and say we did.
STEELE: Better safe than sorry, eh?
MISS WOLF: No more fuzzy end of the lollipop for me. I'm swearing
off. [raises her right hand]
STEELE: Lollipops?
MISS WOLF: Men!
STEELE: You? Swearing off the opposite sex? Adding the word "no"
to your vocabulary? [his brow furrows] I give it
a week. Two at the outset.
MISS WOLF: Damn. I hate it when you're right. [thoughtfully]
Do you think, if things had been different, a girl like me and
a guy like you - [shakes her head] Nah. It could never
happen.
STEELE: Don't be so hasty, Miss Wolf. You're wearing my silk pajama
top. In parts of China that's the same as being married.
MISS WOLF: Throw in a house in the Hamptons and you have a deal.
STEELE: [grins smugly] Swearing off men, eh? I knew it
wouldn't last.
MISS WOLF: Con man! Cheater!
STEELE: Such language! See if I kiss you again!
MISS WOLF: See if I kiss you!
STEELE: Being irresistible is such a chore.
MISS WOLF: Likewise. Now that you've been kissed by someone who
knows how -
STEELE: Last Thursday, I believe. Gorgeous redhead. Delicious.
Slight overbite, but such enthusiasm!
MISS WOLF: I think the word you're looking for is desperation.
STEELE: [calmly surveys his fingernails] She did get hysterical
when we ran out of chapstick.
MISS WOLF: [crosses her arms] Admit it. I'm the best woman
you'll never have.
STEELE: [sniffs] Finally something we agree on. Wouldn't
have you on a platter! Wouldn't have you jumping naked out of
a cake! Wouldn't have you rolling in hundred dollar bills with
non consecutive serial numbers!
MISS WOLF: Fantasy will get you nowhere. [grins triumphantly]
That kiss really did a number on you, Mister Ben Pearson. It was
some of my best work.
STEELE: A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh, Miss Wolf.
MISS WOLF: [finding herself strangely relieved at his
summation ] Thank God for that.
a silence falls, disturbed only by the metronomic pounding
of the rain; she stares out the window at the watercolor skyline
MISS WOLF: Nice view. Shame I only have you to share it with.
[weary sigh] Dropped like a hot pop tart by some jerk who
just wanted to get into your pajamas!
STEELE: Be of good cheer, Miss Wolf. [grins salaciously]
The view from my bedroom is even more splendid, to say nothing
of the one in my pajamas.
MISS WOLF: Yeah. The less said the better.
STEELE: I'm sure I can provide you with a singularly inspiring
conversation piece, given the right motivation.
MISS WOLF: [eyes him up and down] How do you want it?
STEELE: You Americans. So charmingly direct.
MISS WOLF: Laundered or dry cleaned?
STEELE: Eh?
MISS WOLF: Your pajamas. Wouldn't want to do anything to spoil
the view.
STEELE: All the intimacies we could share and you opt for one
hour martinizing.
MISS WOLF: It's the only way you'll ever steam up my sheets!
STEELE: Say the word and it's "sayonara" to sloppy seconds.
MISS WOLF: [thinking better of it] Let's not -
STEELE: [ditto] And say we didn't.
MISS WOLF: [cracks a smile] Think we'll ever iron out our
differences?
STEELE: Not if the fates are kind.
MISS WOLF: [keeping fingers crossed] Don't look now, but
I think we stand a chance of getting lucky.
FADE TO BLACK